I’ve written about depression before, here and elsewhere, including in my Rosh HaShanah derashah from a few years ago, and a shiur linked here on halachic issues in treating depression.
And I’ve kept my link to Rivka of Ha'azina Tefillati in the sidebar for ages, visiting pretty much weekly, hoping she would come back and post again. She knows so well how to say what needs to be said to the world, to help people become more sensitive to depression and more open to people who are dealing with it. Look at this post of hers, for example.
Depression can be a killer, ending people’s lives even if the air is still travelling in and out of their lungs.
Depression can be a knife, severing relationships, stabbing marriages, carving up families.
Depression can be a cloud or a fog, in its milder form, sapping special moments of their joy, hovering with an ominous weight over days and weeks and months.
Depression can be a thief, stealing love and hope and satisfaction and happiness.
Depression can be an ex-communicator, forcing people to the fringe because they cannot face other people, or because they cannot find people who will accept them.
And it’s everywhere, everywhere, everywhere, in people who are blessed with cooperative biology and ideal coping mechanisms and in people who are genetically predisposed to funk or unable to respond resiliently to disaster. It’s in smart people and attractive people and hard-working people and creative people and, yes, funny and entertaining people. Highly intelligent people especially, actually. It’s in kids and teens and adults and seniors, men and women, everywhere.
It's not a death sentence, and it's not necessarily life in prison, either. For many people, there are treatments and therapies and friends and coping mechanisms and bootstraps that can take being tugged on every day.
But it can be on-going, requiring dogged, persistent therapy and a stick-to-itiveness that the depression erodes all too easily.
It requires friends and supporters who won’t flash in and out of people’s lives, but who will be there for the long haul, תמיד, who can deal with being rejected and resented and raged at when things are bad, without necessarily seeing the benefits of their presence and friendship.
I apologize for being so very heavy, perhaps pedantic with this post. I know that many of you know all of this, and could teach me a lot more about the topic yourselves. But I’m trying to reach those who don’t yet know, to convey an element of the seriousness in a few hundred words.
Why now?
Because yesterday I came across a newish blog called Kindred Spirit, by a woman who says, “I am a Jewish girl suffering from Depression fighting for hope and hoping for fight,” and I'm hoping you'll take a look at it, please.
Showing posts with label Blogs I read. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blogs I read. Show all posts
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
My life as a secret agent
CNN has an article here about a woman named Laura Miller who styled herself “Secret Agent L” and did nice things for people anonymously, and then started a blog to encourage others to do the same. You can find her blog here.
ברוך שכוונתי – My wife and I did this in our community in Rhode Island, when we had just gotten married. This is the first time I’m writing about it; as the Rambam wrote, it’s best to be fully anonymous, but I think Laura Miller is also right – it pays to publicize this sort of thing, in order to encourage others to do likewise.
It was very simple: We went to a local florist on a Friday and bought a bouquet, and then gave it to our partner in crime, a high school student who did the delivery. The note was simple: “Have a good Shabbos,” and it was signed, “A Friend.” That was it.
We did it for several months – this was before we had children, when we (thought we) could afford it. We sent the flowers to older people who lived alone and to families, to people who had friends and people who were more reclusive, to people from our shul and to people who were not affiliated.
It was fun, and it felt good, and it was a mitzvah, designed around the gemara’s account of Mar Ukva and his wife leaving money behind a door, for a pauper to find (Kesuvos 67b). I admit that we naively thought it might take off on its own, inspiring recipients to do likewise for others, but we never heard of anyone else doing it.
[Of course, we also worried that there might be a "creep factor" involved - that someone might suspect something weird or improper was behind the flowers, leading to trouble. Not unlike some of the "secret missions" listed on Laura Miller's blog; in one, for example, someone leaves body wash and body lotion in a fitness club shower, with a note that this is a gift given in kindness. I, for one, wouldn't use those if I found them; I'd worry about a hidden camera prank, or worse.]
Fast-forward a dozen years later, and the Internet is a great tool for helping to promote this sort of activity. יישר כחך, Laura Miller – good job, and may you grow stronger in your efforts.
Added note: In a sense, the shul rabbinate is essentially a career of anonymous favors - finding ways to help people, directly and indirectly, often without them knowing you are the provider. Now that I’m out of the pulpit the opportunities are fewer, but there is always some way to do it.
To cite Rav Yitzchak of Volozhin, regarding his father, Rav Chaim of Volozhin:
ברוך שכוונתי – My wife and I did this in our community in Rhode Island, when we had just gotten married. This is the first time I’m writing about it; as the Rambam wrote, it’s best to be fully anonymous, but I think Laura Miller is also right – it pays to publicize this sort of thing, in order to encourage others to do likewise.
It was very simple: We went to a local florist on a Friday and bought a bouquet, and then gave it to our partner in crime, a high school student who did the delivery. The note was simple: “Have a good Shabbos,” and it was signed, “A Friend.” That was it.
We did it for several months – this was before we had children, when we (thought we) could afford it. We sent the flowers to older people who lived alone and to families, to people who had friends and people who were more reclusive, to people from our shul and to people who were not affiliated.
It was fun, and it felt good, and it was a mitzvah, designed around the gemara’s account of Mar Ukva and his wife leaving money behind a door, for a pauper to find (Kesuvos 67b). I admit that we naively thought it might take off on its own, inspiring recipients to do likewise for others, but we never heard of anyone else doing it.
[Of course, we also worried that there might be a "creep factor" involved - that someone might suspect something weird or improper was behind the flowers, leading to trouble. Not unlike some of the "secret missions" listed on Laura Miller's blog; in one, for example, someone leaves body wash and body lotion in a fitness club shower, with a note that this is a gift given in kindness. I, for one, wouldn't use those if I found them; I'd worry about a hidden camera prank, or worse.]
Fast-forward a dozen years later, and the Internet is a great tool for helping to promote this sort of activity. יישר כחך, Laura Miller – good job, and may you grow stronger in your efforts.
Added note: In a sense, the shul rabbinate is essentially a career of anonymous favors - finding ways to help people, directly and indirectly, often without them knowing you are the provider. Now that I’m out of the pulpit the opportunities are fewer, but there is always some way to do it.
To cite Rav Yitzchak of Volozhin, regarding his father, Rav Chaim of Volozhin:
והיה רגיל להוכיח אותי על שראה שאינני משתתף בצערא דאחרינא. וכה היה דברו אלי תמיד שזה כל האדם. לא לעצמו נברא רק להועיל לאחריני ככל אשר ימצא בכחו לעשות.
He regularly rebuked me, because he saw that I did not participate in the pain of others. And these were his constant words to me: "This is the entire person. One is not created for himself, but to benefit others with the full extent of his powers."
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Why Rabbis Stop Believing
Following on the heels of last week’s Orthoprax Rabbi discussions, I thought I’d add a more general note on the problem of Emunah in the Rabbinate. Specifically: There are few professions which are worse for one’s belief in Gd and Judaism than the rabbinate.
Certainly, there are reasons why a pulpit rabbi should have greater faith than others do: Training, regular exposure to wonderful people in their congregations, chizuk [reinforcement] from colleagues, the ability to spend much of the day involved in Torah study.
Nonetheless, I reiterate: The pulpit rabbbinate is bad for Emunah.
It’s not [only] because of the practical joke that Gd played on rabbis by creating the month of Tishrei; it’s a deeper, and more serious, issue. Here are the problems I see:
• A rabbi who really engages a community lives his life under theological siege, constantly facing people’s questions and challenges against faith. It’s like water sitting on a roof; eventually, some will seep in;
• A rabbi sees all sorts of tragedy and pain, and no one comes along to reassure him as he reassures others;
• A rabbi has no time for emotional bounceback, let alone philosophical bounceback, from the pain he sees;
• A rabbi lacks the space to step back and work through his theological challenges; he gets no religious Time Out. Whether they are right or wrong, other people can and do drop out of minyan or shiur for a few days, but the rabbi has no such option;
• A rabbi normally devotes little time to read works of hashkafah that might reinforce his belief; all of his time goes into the community. Reading it in order to teach it doesn’t count!;
• A rabbi sees the weak reasons behind some people's belief;
• A rabbi sees how some people turn to Judaism not out of strength, but out of absence of anywhere else to turn;
• A rabbi sees the professed believers who act immorally and corruptly, and knows what others get away with.
[Interesting: I imagine these items apply equally to priests,ministers, imams, etc.]
Clearly, there are ways to deal with this. Many rabbis, like myself, have found ways to manage. A rabbi can and should deal with a lot of these problems by scheduling time to learn mussar and machshavah (ethical instruction and Jewish belief), as well as scheduling vacation. But this definitely requires a certain mindfulness, an awareness of what is happening to him, why it’s happening, and how to address it.
There are a lot of pitfalls in this business.
Certainly, there are reasons why a pulpit rabbi should have greater faith than others do: Training, regular exposure to wonderful people in their congregations, chizuk [reinforcement] from colleagues, the ability to spend much of the day involved in Torah study.
Nonetheless, I reiterate: The pulpit rabbbinate is bad for Emunah.
It’s not [only] because of the practical joke that Gd played on rabbis by creating the month of Tishrei; it’s a deeper, and more serious, issue. Here are the problems I see:
• A rabbi who really engages a community lives his life under theological siege, constantly facing people’s questions and challenges against faith. It’s like water sitting on a roof; eventually, some will seep in;
• A rabbi sees all sorts of tragedy and pain, and no one comes along to reassure him as he reassures others;
• A rabbi has no time for emotional bounceback, let alone philosophical bounceback, from the pain he sees;
• A rabbi lacks the space to step back and work through his theological challenges; he gets no religious Time Out. Whether they are right or wrong, other people can and do drop out of minyan or shiur for a few days, but the rabbi has no such option;
• A rabbi normally devotes little time to read works of hashkafah that might reinforce his belief; all of his time goes into the community. Reading it in order to teach it doesn’t count!;
• A rabbi sees the weak reasons behind some people's belief;
• A rabbi sees how some people turn to Judaism not out of strength, but out of absence of anywhere else to turn;
• A rabbi sees the professed believers who act immorally and corruptly, and knows what others get away with.
[Interesting: I imagine these items apply equally to priests,ministers, imams, etc.]
Clearly, there are ways to deal with this. Many rabbis, like myself, have found ways to manage. A rabbi can and should deal with a lot of these problems by scheduling time to learn mussar and machshavah (ethical instruction and Jewish belief), as well as scheduling vacation. But this definitely requires a certain mindfulness, an awareness of what is happening to him, why it’s happening, and how to address it.
There are a lot of pitfalls in this business.
Friday, July 2, 2010
A last thought on the plight of the Orthoprax Rabbi
Something to ponder before Shabbos, following up on Part I and Part II, about the Orthoprax Rabbi.
I see the problem faced by someone who has been living a life of religion in a community of religion, and who depends on this life for his economic and social survival, and who then decides that he no longer believes in it. I have criticized his certitude, but I understand the situation as best one can without actually living it; as I noted in Part I, there was a time when I seriously feared I might end up that way, as well.
But living unethically is not going to solve his problem. It's not about Judaism or belief, it's about living a split life, and a deceptive life.
Michah 6:8 instructs us that Gd expects of us to, “Practice justice, love generosity and walk privately with Gd.”
Normally, we view the first two principles as social, and the third as covering our relationship with Gd. Rav Yaakov Ettlinger (19th century Germany, rebbe of Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch), though, saw them differently:
Translation:
Michah specified three activities, representing three types of mitzvot: Between Man and Gd, between Man and Other, and between Man and Self.
Between Man and Self – Practice justice, meaning to weigh all of one’s deeds to ensure that they are just, and he has no corruption in his hand.
Between Man and Other – Love generosity, meaning providing acts of generosity between himself and another.
Between Man and his Creator – Walk privately.
(Aruch l’Ner to Makkot 24a)
In other words: Justice is not only about ensuring the safety of those around me. Justice is also about ensuring my own inner balance. It's a responsibility to myself. This is one of the reasons why the great majority of atheists and agnostics live ethical lives.
So what can he do? I've known many people who have had to switch careers mid-stream - professors who received terrible student evaluations, businessmen who were cheated by their partners, stock traders who lost their shirts and their confidence. It happens.
Ofcourse, one difference between the cases above and that of the Orthoprax Rabbi is that these people were forced out by external circumstances; this rabbi has no external pressures, only internal ones. And on some level he probably tells himself that this could be temporary; he might still be able to return to his previous faith, rather than give up his trade.
Another difference is that those other jobs were primarily jobs, for financial survival. The rabbinate has so much family and social weight that it is much harder to leave the field.
But for his own health, aside from the ethical responsibility to his community I discussed in Part II, I think he would be better off looking into academia, administration and management professions, civil service, a transition to law school or accounting, freelance writing, anything rather than remain in the synagogue rabbinate. Tell the family and community it's because of the stress of the rabbinate. It's healthier for him, for his family and for the community that depends on him.
I see the problem faced by someone who has been living a life of religion in a community of religion, and who depends on this life for his economic and social survival, and who then decides that he no longer believes in it. I have criticized his certitude, but I understand the situation as best one can without actually living it; as I noted in Part I, there was a time when I seriously feared I might end up that way, as well.
But living unethically is not going to solve his problem. It's not about Judaism or belief, it's about living a split life, and a deceptive life.
Michah 6:8 instructs us that Gd expects of us to, “Practice justice, love generosity and walk privately with Gd.”
Normally, we view the first two principles as social, and the third as covering our relationship with Gd. Rav Yaakov Ettlinger (19th century Germany, rebbe of Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch), though, saw them differently:
והנה פרט מיכה ג' דברים נגד ג' מיני מצות, שבין אדם למקום, בין אדם לחבירו, ובין אדם לעצמו. נגד לעצמו אמר עשות משפט, שישקול כל מעשיו שיהיו במשפט ושלא יהיה עול בכפו. ונגד בינו לחבירו אמר ואהבת חסד, שהוא גמילות חסדים שבין אדם לחבירו. ונגד בינו לקונו אמר והצנע לכת
Translation:
Michah specified three activities, representing three types of mitzvot: Between Man and Gd, between Man and Other, and between Man and Self.
Between Man and Self – Practice justice, meaning to weigh all of one’s deeds to ensure that they are just, and he has no corruption in his hand.
Between Man and Other – Love generosity, meaning providing acts of generosity between himself and another.
Between Man and his Creator – Walk privately.
(Aruch l’Ner to Makkot 24a)
In other words: Justice is not only about ensuring the safety of those around me. Justice is also about ensuring my own inner balance. It's a responsibility to myself. This is one of the reasons why the great majority of atheists and agnostics live ethical lives.
So what can he do? I've known many people who have had to switch careers mid-stream - professors who received terrible student evaluations, businessmen who were cheated by their partners, stock traders who lost their shirts and their confidence. It happens.
Ofcourse, one difference between the cases above and that of the Orthoprax Rabbi is that these people were forced out by external circumstances; this rabbi has no external pressures, only internal ones. And on some level he probably tells himself that this could be temporary; he might still be able to return to his previous faith, rather than give up his trade.
Another difference is that those other jobs were primarily jobs, for financial survival. The rabbinate has so much family and social weight that it is much harder to leave the field.
But for his own health, aside from the ethical responsibility to his community I discussed in Part II, I think he would be better off looking into academia, administration and management professions, civil service, a transition to law school or accounting, freelance writing, anything rather than remain in the synagogue rabbinate. Tell the family and community it's because of the stress of the rabbinate. It's healthier for him, for his family and for the community that depends on him.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
On the Orthoprax Rabbi, Part II: Would you buy a used car from this man?
[This week’s Toronto Torah is here; enjoy!]
I’ve been asked to flesh out one point from Part I regarding The Orthoprax Rabbi: The unethical and unhealthy character of serving as a rabbi while thinking that Judaism is wrong.
Some have compared the rabbi to any other tradesman or professional, like a lawyer who renders technical legal advice regardless of his own faith in the legal system. But as I see it, a Rabbi is not only a technical functionary, a suited officiant; a Rabbi is also a marketer for Judaism, a salesman, on two levels, and on both levels a salesman must believe in his product:
• The rabbi markets practice: The rabbi is a role model, his example proving that the lifestyle he promotes can actually be lived. He’s like a car salesman who can proudly state, “I drive one, too.” And a rabbi who is not practicing is selling people a lifestyle he isn’t actually living. The Honda dealer is telling people he drives the Honda he is selling, but he actually drives a Chevrolet.
• And the rabbi markets belief: The rabbi is a resource to answer questions of philosophy and resolve Judaism’s internal conflicts. He’s like a car salesman who explains how the car operates and resolves any doubts about its function. And a rabbi who justifies pesukim and resolves doubts while not believing his own answers is like a car salesman who insists the transmission is fine while hiding a defect in the engine.
This is an unethical proposition; would you buy a car from this man? No one would want to buy from a salesman who thought his product was poor quality, who lied when he said that he drove the car, too, or who concealed defects from the consumer.
And this is an unhealthy proposition, because a normal human being who makes a living marketing defective products as though they were high quality will ultimately come to despise himself.
I suspect that this conflict is also what has led The Orthoprax Rabbi to start his blog. If I may play pop psychologist for a moment, I think he’s trying to find a way to vent what’s inside, to convince himself that he is living an honest life on some level. I don’t think it will work, though; doing it anonymously, and part-time, will not suffice as an outlet for a life of dissembling.
What could he do? Certainly, there are non-salesman aspects to the rabbinate. The Orthoprax Rabbi could become an officiant-for-hire, or an academic, or a writer of sefarim. But he should get out of Sales, for his shul’s sake and for his own, until he resolves his doubts to the extent that he achieves some level of personal confidence.
I’ve been asked to flesh out one point from Part I regarding The Orthoprax Rabbi: The unethical and unhealthy character of serving as a rabbi while thinking that Judaism is wrong.
Some have compared the rabbi to any other tradesman or professional, like a lawyer who renders technical legal advice regardless of his own faith in the legal system. But as I see it, a Rabbi is not only a technical functionary, a suited officiant; a Rabbi is also a marketer for Judaism, a salesman, on two levels, and on both levels a salesman must believe in his product:
• The rabbi markets practice: The rabbi is a role model, his example proving that the lifestyle he promotes can actually be lived. He’s like a car salesman who can proudly state, “I drive one, too.” And a rabbi who is not practicing is selling people a lifestyle he isn’t actually living. The Honda dealer is telling people he drives the Honda he is selling, but he actually drives a Chevrolet.
• And the rabbi markets belief: The rabbi is a resource to answer questions of philosophy and resolve Judaism’s internal conflicts. He’s like a car salesman who explains how the car operates and resolves any doubts about its function. And a rabbi who justifies pesukim and resolves doubts while not believing his own answers is like a car salesman who insists the transmission is fine while hiding a defect in the engine.
This is an unethical proposition; would you buy a car from this man? No one would want to buy from a salesman who thought his product was poor quality, who lied when he said that he drove the car, too, or who concealed defects from the consumer.
And this is an unhealthy proposition, because a normal human being who makes a living marketing defective products as though they were high quality will ultimately come to despise himself.
I suspect that this conflict is also what has led The Orthoprax Rabbi to start his blog. If I may play pop psychologist for a moment, I think he’s trying to find a way to vent what’s inside, to convince himself that he is living an honest life on some level. I don’t think it will work, though; doing it anonymously, and part-time, will not suffice as an outlet for a life of dissembling.
What could he do? Certainly, there are non-salesman aspects to the rabbinate. The Orthoprax Rabbi could become an officiant-for-hire, or an academic, or a writer of sefarim. But he should get out of Sales, for his shul’s sake and for his own, until he resolves his doubts to the extent that he achieves some level of personal confidence.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
On The Orthoprax Rabbi
Last night Isaac referred me to The Orthoprax Rabbi, a blog claiming to be the words of a non-believing, publicly-observing rabbi of an Orthodox synagogue, and asked me for comment.
To be blunt: That situation is my worst rabbinic nightmare. In my first year in the rabbinate, I nearly left the field out of concern that The Orthoprax Rabbi might someday be me.
Let’s unpack that a bit.
It began with a normal, healthy maturing process:
As a child, I - like many children - always took it for granted that there were experts who ran the show, making everything work as it should. From painters to plumbers to publishers to actors, the people who designed and produced my world seemed to possess perfect knowledge and tools, since everything around me looked as (I assumed) it should. Even as a teenager, I continued to maintain that assumption, for the most part. Doctors, judges, political leaders, rabbis, all of them most know what they’re doing.
Then my first name changed to Rabbi, and I began to learn the truth that all of us must learn as we mature: That many of the people given titles and respect are just like everyone else, muddling their way through. When people began to call me a talmid chacham and look to me for advice and decisions, I got scared. Is this what the world is like? Are people like me (as in, imperfect people with imperfect knowledge and tools,) the ones running business, government, Judaism?
That revelation led me to seriously reflect on the fallibility of many of Judaism's architects, and on the less-credible aspects of Judaism and Torah, and on the great masses of people who thought Jews were living an illusion, and on the somewhat smaller number of people who were relying on fallible me as I had once relied on fallible others.
And that led me to want out.
I wanted to have the freedom to work out these issues without having a responsibility to a community, without concern that my ultimate decisions would damage my shul.
I wanted to know that fear of harming a community, or hunger for a paycheck, wouldn’t force me to live a hypocritical life, pretending one thing to the world and living another in my heart.
In essence, I wanted to avoid becoming what The Orthoprax Rabbi seems to have become.
I didn’t exit the rabbinate. And I didn’t become The Orthoprax Rabbi, either. Instead, I spent years thinking through my doubts and concerns, resolved the great majority of the big ones and left a couple as standing questions, and continued onward with an awareness that I have yet to reach my ‘final’ understandings, and that I will likely spend my entire life oscillating between poles of conviction.
I feel bad for The Orthoprax Rabbi, who seems to have gone further in his certainty than I ever did. Such certainty is stultifying.
I also feel bad for The Orthoprax Rabbi because I believe he experiences great internal pain in living this split identity. Despite his insistence that there is no inconsistency in being an unbelieving rabbi, the fact that he must conceal his disbelief is proof otherwise. And I am convinced that psychologically healthy human beings naturally wish to live a unified life, sincere and honest, and are pained by concealing their souls.
Definitely my worst rabbinic nightmare.
Does that answer your question, Isaac?
To be blunt: That situation is my worst rabbinic nightmare. In my first year in the rabbinate, I nearly left the field out of concern that The Orthoprax Rabbi might someday be me.
Let’s unpack that a bit.
It began with a normal, healthy maturing process:
As a child, I - like many children - always took it for granted that there were experts who ran the show, making everything work as it should. From painters to plumbers to publishers to actors, the people who designed and produced my world seemed to possess perfect knowledge and tools, since everything around me looked as (I assumed) it should. Even as a teenager, I continued to maintain that assumption, for the most part. Doctors, judges, political leaders, rabbis, all of them most know what they’re doing.
Then my first name changed to Rabbi, and I began to learn the truth that all of us must learn as we mature: That many of the people given titles and respect are just like everyone else, muddling their way through. When people began to call me a talmid chacham and look to me for advice and decisions, I got scared. Is this what the world is like? Are people like me (as in, imperfect people with imperfect knowledge and tools,) the ones running business, government, Judaism?
That revelation led me to seriously reflect on the fallibility of many of Judaism's architects, and on the less-credible aspects of Judaism and Torah, and on the great masses of people who thought Jews were living an illusion, and on the somewhat smaller number of people who were relying on fallible me as I had once relied on fallible others.
And that led me to want out.
I wanted to have the freedom to work out these issues without having a responsibility to a community, without concern that my ultimate decisions would damage my shul.
I wanted to know that fear of harming a community, or hunger for a paycheck, wouldn’t force me to live a hypocritical life, pretending one thing to the world and living another in my heart.
In essence, I wanted to avoid becoming what The Orthoprax Rabbi seems to have become.
I didn’t exit the rabbinate. And I didn’t become The Orthoprax Rabbi, either. Instead, I spent years thinking through my doubts and concerns, resolved the great majority of the big ones and left a couple as standing questions, and continued onward with an awareness that I have yet to reach my ‘final’ understandings, and that I will likely spend my entire life oscillating between poles of conviction.
I feel bad for The Orthoprax Rabbi, who seems to have gone further in his certainty than I ever did. Such certainty is stultifying.
I also feel bad for The Orthoprax Rabbi because I believe he experiences great internal pain in living this split identity. Despite his insistence that there is no inconsistency in being an unbelieving rabbi, the fact that he must conceal his disbelief is proof otherwise. And I am convinced that psychologically healthy human beings naturally wish to live a unified life, sincere and honest, and are pained by concealing their souls.
Definitely my worst rabbinic nightmare.
Does that answer your question, Isaac?
Friday, March 26, 2010
Of Rabbi Blogs and Rebbetzin Blogs
Yesterday I spoke to several shul rabbis who were in varying stages of preparation for Shabbos haGadol and Pesach. All of them exuded stress in waves; I could feel sympathy tension in my back and neck, and a powerful, drummed-in Nisan reflex to check my To Do list and wonder what I was missing.
Among the things I did every Pesach for the last dozen years, and I did not do over the past two weeks:
• Answer questions about urns and coffeemakers and Lactaid and eggs and heirloom china and canola oil and peanut oil. (On the other hand, I did answer a lot of questions about quinoa - repeat after me: Ask. Your. Rabbi.)
• Kasher people’s kitchens
• Wonder when I was going to kasher our own kitchen
• Canvas supermarkets to determine what kosher for pesach products were available
• Pursue people to make sure they contracted with me to sell their chametz
• Drive to New York to pick up Shatzer Matzah for the shul
• Arrange the communal chametz-burning and men’s mikvah times
• Write derashos for the first days of Yom Tov, for Shabbos Chol haMoed, for the last days of Yom Tov
• Check shul lockers for random chametz
• Take care of other random shul pre-Pesach chores
• Arrange sedarim and yom tov meals for college students
To be honest: Yes, I miss a lot of it, and I suspect I will return to it one day.
But! That didn’t stop me from turning my eyes heavenward yesterday and saying with a full heart, “Baruch… SheLo Asani Rabbi!” [Thank You, Gd, for not making me a Rabbi.]
One thing I did do in the past week was canvas the blogs of rabbis and rebbetzins of various flavors, to see what they were saying as Pesach approached. Along the way, I picked up on a few differences between Rabbi Blogs and Rebbetzin Blogs.
Most noticeably, Rabbis tend to blog as an extension of their rabbinate and Rebbetzins tend to blog in spite of their rebbetzinate. In other words: Rabbis tend to write like rabbis, even when writing about personal matters; Rebbetzins tend to write like bloggers, even when writing about Torah matters.
There are a whole host of reasons for that difference, of course. Some of it is gender; the women rabbi blogs tend to read far more human than the male rabbi blogs. I think that more of it, though, is that Rebbetzins are human beings rather than clergy.
A few Rebbetzin blogs as Exhibit A:
Redefining Rebbetzin
Rebbetzin Man in Japan
The Rebbetzin Rocks
And a few Rabbi blogs as Exhibit B:
NY’s Funniest Rabbi
Velveteen Rabbi
Or am I?
The Rebbetzins sound like people. The Rabbis sound like, well, rabbis. As I suppose I do, for that matter.
But enough of this. I may not have Pesach to prepare, but I do have post-Pesach shiurim to work on… Chag kasher v’sameach, and may we merit to bring the korban pesach in a unified Yerushalayim!
Among the things I did every Pesach for the last dozen years, and I did not do over the past two weeks:
• Answer questions about urns and coffeemakers and Lactaid and eggs and heirloom china and canola oil and peanut oil. (On the other hand, I did answer a lot of questions about quinoa - repeat after me: Ask. Your. Rabbi.)
• Kasher people’s kitchens
• Wonder when I was going to kasher our own kitchen
• Canvas supermarkets to determine what kosher for pesach products were available
• Pursue people to make sure they contracted with me to sell their chametz
• Drive to New York to pick up Shatzer Matzah for the shul
• Arrange the communal chametz-burning and men’s mikvah times
• Write derashos for the first days of Yom Tov, for Shabbos Chol haMoed, for the last days of Yom Tov
• Check shul lockers for random chametz
• Take care of other random shul pre-Pesach chores
• Arrange sedarim and yom tov meals for college students
To be honest: Yes, I miss a lot of it, and I suspect I will return to it one day.
But! That didn’t stop me from turning my eyes heavenward yesterday and saying with a full heart, “Baruch… SheLo Asani Rabbi!” [Thank You, Gd, for not making me a Rabbi.]
One thing I did do in the past week was canvas the blogs of rabbis and rebbetzins of various flavors, to see what they were saying as Pesach approached. Along the way, I picked up on a few differences between Rabbi Blogs and Rebbetzin Blogs.
Most noticeably, Rabbis tend to blog as an extension of their rabbinate and Rebbetzins tend to blog in spite of their rebbetzinate. In other words: Rabbis tend to write like rabbis, even when writing about personal matters; Rebbetzins tend to write like bloggers, even when writing about Torah matters.
There are a whole host of reasons for that difference, of course. Some of it is gender; the women rabbi blogs tend to read far more human than the male rabbi blogs. I think that more of it, though, is that Rebbetzins are human beings rather than clergy.
A few Rebbetzin blogs as Exhibit A:
Redefining Rebbetzin
Rebbetzin Man in Japan
The Rebbetzin Rocks
And a few Rabbi blogs as Exhibit B:
NY’s Funniest Rabbi
Velveteen Rabbi
Or am I?
The Rebbetzins sound like people. The Rabbis sound like, well, rabbis. As I suppose I do, for that matter.
But enough of this. I may not have Pesach to prepare, but I do have post-Pesach shiurim to work on… Chag kasher v’sameach, and may we merit to bring the korban pesach in a unified Yerushalayim!
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
How to lie with statistics
A triviality, for today....
In my days at YU, I took a Sociology class for which we read a book called How to Lie with Statistics. The book was a fun read, but it had nothing on a column I saw yesterday, Communicating in 2010: Why leaders cannot ignore the impact of social media, which used (without attribution!) statistics from Socialnomics.
The article consists largely of a set of statistics selected to show that social media outlets in the age of the Internet (a) have grown quickly and (b) now reach a lot of people. Neither is a particularly novel or controversial point... which, perhaps, is what drove the author to use inappropriate comparisons and conclusions in order to say something that would grab people's attention. It's like a rabbi in a speech, extending himself to greater and more outlandish hyperbole in an attempt to grab people's attention.
Here are examples:
* It took radio 38 years to reach 50 million users, television 13 years, the Internet four years, and the iPod three years. In just a nine month period, Facebook added 100 million users, and downloads of iPhone applications reached one billion.
- The Facebook total is cumulative, including people who joined and never used it, or who joined and left and re-joined with another name. The radio and television users are simultaneous - 38 years after radio's inception, 50 million people were listening;
- iPhone applications are not one-per-person, and therefore they don't reflect an accurate means of comparison with the other items.
* Print newspaper circulation is down 7 million over the last 25 years. But in the last five years, unique readers of online newspapers have increased 30 million.
- Print circulation is down 7 million from a very, very large number. (Anyone know it?) Online newspapers are up from 0.
* Collectively, ABC, NBC, and CBS get 10 million unique visitors every month, and these businesses have been around for a combined 200 years. YouTube, Facebook, and MySpace get 250 million unique visitors each month, and they’ve only been around for the last six years.
- The unique visitors to networks are people who watch lots of television, at least 30-minutes worth. The unique visitors to MySpace include people who look at just one page.
- 'Unique visitors' to networks are gauged by household, and so 10 million may actually be 40 million or more. 'Unique visitors' to Internet sites are gauged by individual.
- I am not at all clear on why we are combining the network ages at all, but if we are then we should also combine the ages of Youtube, etc. for consistency.
* In 2008, John McCain raised $11 million for his U.S. presidential bid through traditional campaign fundraisers. Barack Obama leveraged online social networks to raise $55 million.
- Note: This was not on the Socialnomics site; don't know where she got this one.
-Why are we comparing apples (McCain and traditional fundraisers) to oranges (Obama and online fundraising)? Probably because Obama raised some $650 million dollars overall, which makes $55 million via social media look a little lame.
- Also unclear: McCain raised more than $30 million for his campaign - so did 2/3 of his fundraising come from online social networks? I'm confused.
* More than 1.5 million pieces of content are shared on Facebook daily.
- Define "content"!
* 80 per cent of companies are using LinkedIn as a recruitment tool.
- Going back to the data source shows they are actually using the site as a way to do research on prospective hires, once they have located the candidates in more traditional ways.
And so on.
Who cares? I do; I like statistics, but I also like honest presentations. Seems I have a תרתי דסתרי problem here. [תרתי דסתרי doesn't really translate into English; best I can do is "inherent contradiction.]
In my days at YU, I took a Sociology class for which we read a book called How to Lie with Statistics. The book was a fun read, but it had nothing on a column I saw yesterday, Communicating in 2010: Why leaders cannot ignore the impact of social media, which used (without attribution!) statistics from Socialnomics.
The article consists largely of a set of statistics selected to show that social media outlets in the age of the Internet (a) have grown quickly and (b) now reach a lot of people. Neither is a particularly novel or controversial point... which, perhaps, is what drove the author to use inappropriate comparisons and conclusions in order to say something that would grab people's attention. It's like a rabbi in a speech, extending himself to greater and more outlandish hyperbole in an attempt to grab people's attention.
Here are examples:
* It took radio 38 years to reach 50 million users, television 13 years, the Internet four years, and the iPod three years. In just a nine month period, Facebook added 100 million users, and downloads of iPhone applications reached one billion.
- The Facebook total is cumulative, including people who joined and never used it, or who joined and left and re-joined with another name. The radio and television users are simultaneous - 38 years after radio's inception, 50 million people were listening;
- iPhone applications are not one-per-person, and therefore they don't reflect an accurate means of comparison with the other items.
* Print newspaper circulation is down 7 million over the last 25 years. But in the last five years, unique readers of online newspapers have increased 30 million.
- Print circulation is down 7 million from a very, very large number. (Anyone know it?) Online newspapers are up from 0.
* Collectively, ABC, NBC, and CBS get 10 million unique visitors every month, and these businesses have been around for a combined 200 years. YouTube, Facebook, and MySpace get 250 million unique visitors each month, and they’ve only been around for the last six years.
- The unique visitors to networks are people who watch lots of television, at least 30-minutes worth. The unique visitors to MySpace include people who look at just one page.
- 'Unique visitors' to networks are gauged by household, and so 10 million may actually be 40 million or more. 'Unique visitors' to Internet sites are gauged by individual.
- I am not at all clear on why we are combining the network ages at all, but if we are then we should also combine the ages of Youtube, etc. for consistency.
* In 2008, John McCain raised $11 million for his U.S. presidential bid through traditional campaign fundraisers. Barack Obama leveraged online social networks to raise $55 million.
- Note: This was not on the Socialnomics site; don't know where she got this one.
-Why are we comparing apples (McCain and traditional fundraisers) to oranges (Obama and online fundraising)? Probably because Obama raised some $650 million dollars overall, which makes $55 million via social media look a little lame.
- Also unclear: McCain raised more than $30 million for his campaign - so did 2/3 of his fundraising come from online social networks? I'm confused.
* More than 1.5 million pieces of content are shared on Facebook daily.
- Define "content"!
* 80 per cent of companies are using LinkedIn as a recruitment tool.
- Going back to the data source shows they are actually using the site as a way to do research on prospective hires, once they have located the candidates in more traditional ways.
And so on.
Who cares? I do; I like statistics, but I also like honest presentations. Seems I have a תרתי דסתרי problem here. [תרתי דסתרי doesn't really translate into English; best I can do is "inherent contradiction.]
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Shh! The Rabbi's Coming!
First: A reader has started a new website, Mi Yodeya, posting questions and answers about Judaism on a Wiki-style site. The site just opened for business last week, and is particularly interesting for the types of questions it has gathered - Did Rav Moshe Feinstein pronounce his last name “Feinstain” or “Feinsteen”? and Kosher accommodations in out-of-the-way US places are two recent examples.
-
Almost two years ago (I actually mentioned it in my post here), my Rebbetzin recommended Marilynne Robinson's Gilead to me as a book with both great writing and a compelling story. I never got past the opening chapters; Death is a major theme in the book, and I shy away from that topic when I can. But yesterday I finished my current reading and decided to pick it up again.
I'm glad I did; the words of the book's narrator, an aging preacher, resonate with my own experience. In particular, an incident on pages 5-6 grabs me, both for its writing and for its authenticity:
The preacher talks about walking past two young men and seeing them laughing at some joke. As he nears, they stop laughing. He says to himself, I felt like telling them, I appreciate a joke as much as anybody. There have been many occasions in my life when I have wanted to say that. But it's not a thing people are willing to accept. They want you to be a little bit apart.
Very true - but even more true is the piece on the next page:
That's the strangest thing about this life, about being in the ministry. People change the subject when they see you coming. And then sometimes those very same people come into your study and tell you the most remarkable things. There's a lot under the surface of life, everyone knows that. A lot of malice and dread and guilt, and so much loneliness, where you wouldn't really expect to find it, either.
This has certainly been my experience; the same people who won't make an inappropriate joke within my earshot will tell me about experiences that reflect on them in a far worse light, or will divulge inner feelings and doubts and struggles, personal pain and loss, that are far closer to the reality of their souls than some email humor.
It is, as Robinson writes, a remarkable thing. Here's my own take:
Telling a 'dirty' joke is lighthearted fun, and is not a serious source of temptation; it simply says I am corrupt. In divulging personal weakness, though, I can portray myself as struggling, working to perfect myself or to overcome a challenge.
There is no shame in telling the rabbi I am having trouble dealing with an addiction, if the message is that I am trying to deal with it.
Shades of מתחיל בגנות ומסיים בשבח at the Pesach Seder; we don't mind portraying ourselves as fallen heroes, so long as we can add that we are picking ourselves up and aiming for glory.
-
Almost two years ago (I actually mentioned it in my post here), my Rebbetzin recommended Marilynne Robinson's Gilead to me as a book with both great writing and a compelling story. I never got past the opening chapters; Death is a major theme in the book, and I shy away from that topic when I can. But yesterday I finished my current reading and decided to pick it up again.
I'm glad I did; the words of the book's narrator, an aging preacher, resonate with my own experience. In particular, an incident on pages 5-6 grabs me, both for its writing and for its authenticity:
The preacher talks about walking past two young men and seeing them laughing at some joke. As he nears, they stop laughing. He says to himself, I felt like telling them, I appreciate a joke as much as anybody. There have been many occasions in my life when I have wanted to say that. But it's not a thing people are willing to accept. They want you to be a little bit apart.
Very true - but even more true is the piece on the next page:
That's the strangest thing about this life, about being in the ministry. People change the subject when they see you coming. And then sometimes those very same people come into your study and tell you the most remarkable things. There's a lot under the surface of life, everyone knows that. A lot of malice and dread and guilt, and so much loneliness, where you wouldn't really expect to find it, either.
This has certainly been my experience; the same people who won't make an inappropriate joke within my earshot will tell me about experiences that reflect on them in a far worse light, or will divulge inner feelings and doubts and struggles, personal pain and loss, that are far closer to the reality of their souls than some email humor.
It is, as Robinson writes, a remarkable thing. Here's my own take:
Telling a 'dirty' joke is lighthearted fun, and is not a serious source of temptation; it simply says I am corrupt. In divulging personal weakness, though, I can portray myself as struggling, working to perfect myself or to overcome a challenge.
There is no shame in telling the rabbi I am having trouble dealing with an addiction, if the message is that I am trying to deal with it.
Shades of מתחיל בגנות ומסיים בשבח at the Pesach Seder; we don't mind portraying ourselves as fallen heroes, so long as we can add that we are picking ourselves up and aiming for glory.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Banning Muslims and Jews from the US Military
[Note: Haveil Havalim is here!]
I am a big fan of the Treppenwitz blog; David Bogner often makes me laugh as well as think.
The other day he commented on Ed Koch's suggestion that Muslims in the US military be exempt from fighting wars against Muslim countries. An excerpt:
I don't see the value in allowing Muslims to serve in the U.S. military if the only place in the whole world that their expensive training can be utilized is along a 155 mile stretch of the 38th Parallel. And even there, with North Korea, Syria and Iran being all chummy... well you see the problem.
I hear his point (which is somewhat exaggerated, of course; there are a few US deployments that relate to conflicts involving non-Muslim entities). Still, it makes me uncomfortable. I am reminded of the Jewish response to Napoleon's sixth question to his Sanhedrin:
Question: Do Jews born in France, and treated by the laws as French citizens, consider France their country? Are they bound to defend it? Are they bound to obey the laws and to conform to the dispositions of the civil code?
And part of the Jewish response:
The love of the country is in the heart of Jews a sentiment so natural, so powerful, and so consonant to their religious opinions, that a French Jew considers himself in England, as among strangers, although he may be among Jews; and the case is the same with English Jews in France.
To such a pitch is this sentiment carried among them, that during the last war, French Jews have been seen fighting desperately against other Jews, the subjects of countries then at war with France.
(For the full text, go here.)
I believe many modern observant Jews would not follow this pseudo-Sanhedrin's formulation, in the absence of a direct threat. So should Jews be banned, publicly declared persona non grata, as well?
In truth, David does distinguish between Jews and Muslims. He notes that the US deploys a significant portion of its forces in conflicts involving Muslim countries, but does not currently deploy forces against Israel - and that even were such a thing to happen, that would still leave many other places a Jew could serve. According to this argument, the issue is not moral philosophy, but military utility; a Muslim will have few places to serve, a Jew will be able to serve more. The Jew would be the equivalent of a Catholic during a conflict against Vatican City; he could avoid this war, and still fight in others.
But I think this still misses a key point; the issue is fundamentally about morality.
I believe that what offends the American mind about Nidal Malik Hasan, even before the horror of his mass murder, is his distinction between Muslim and non-Muslim. Apparently, he is comfortable with the idea of going to war for the US to kill Jews, Christians, Buddhists, Hindus or atheists, but he would not be comfortable killing Muslims. Loyalty to the US can justify killing anyone except a Muslim.
That Muslim/non-Muslim distinction is what brings about the call to exclude Muslims from the US military - the fear that they are Muslim first, and American second.
And in this regard, Jews may be no different - we might have difficulty shooting at a co-religionist over a territorial dispute, too. Therefore, an exclusion of Muslims must also lead to an exclusion of Jews. That's why this idea makes me uncomfortable; I'd rather see an exclusion from this war rather than an exclusion from the military.
One question, though: Why are Protestants and Catholics different in this regard?
I am a big fan of the Treppenwitz blog; David Bogner often makes me laugh as well as think.
The other day he commented on Ed Koch's suggestion that Muslims in the US military be exempt from fighting wars against Muslim countries. An excerpt:
I don't see the value in allowing Muslims to serve in the U.S. military if the only place in the whole world that their expensive training can be utilized is along a 155 mile stretch of the 38th Parallel. And even there, with North Korea, Syria and Iran being all chummy... well you see the problem.
I hear his point (which is somewhat exaggerated, of course; there are a few US deployments that relate to conflicts involving non-Muslim entities). Still, it makes me uncomfortable. I am reminded of the Jewish response to Napoleon's sixth question to his Sanhedrin:
Question: Do Jews born in France, and treated by the laws as French citizens, consider France their country? Are they bound to defend it? Are they bound to obey the laws and to conform to the dispositions of the civil code?
And part of the Jewish response:
The love of the country is in the heart of Jews a sentiment so natural, so powerful, and so consonant to their religious opinions, that a French Jew considers himself in England, as among strangers, although he may be among Jews; and the case is the same with English Jews in France.
To such a pitch is this sentiment carried among them, that during the last war, French Jews have been seen fighting desperately against other Jews, the subjects of countries then at war with France.
(For the full text, go here.)
I believe many modern observant Jews would not follow this pseudo-Sanhedrin's formulation, in the absence of a direct threat. So should Jews be banned, publicly declared persona non grata, as well?
In truth, David does distinguish between Jews and Muslims. He notes that the US deploys a significant portion of its forces in conflicts involving Muslim countries, but does not currently deploy forces against Israel - and that even were such a thing to happen, that would still leave many other places a Jew could serve. According to this argument, the issue is not moral philosophy, but military utility; a Muslim will have few places to serve, a Jew will be able to serve more. The Jew would be the equivalent of a Catholic during a conflict against Vatican City; he could avoid this war, and still fight in others.
But I think this still misses a key point; the issue is fundamentally about morality.
I believe that what offends the American mind about Nidal Malik Hasan, even before the horror of his mass murder, is his distinction between Muslim and non-Muslim. Apparently, he is comfortable with the idea of going to war for the US to kill Jews, Christians, Buddhists, Hindus or atheists, but he would not be comfortable killing Muslims. Loyalty to the US can justify killing anyone except a Muslim.
That Muslim/non-Muslim distinction is what brings about the call to exclude Muslims from the US military - the fear that they are Muslim first, and American second.
And in this regard, Jews may be no different - we might have difficulty shooting at a co-religionist over a territorial dispute, too. Therefore, an exclusion of Muslims must also lead to an exclusion of Jews. That's why this idea makes me uncomfortable; I'd rather see an exclusion from this war rather than an exclusion from the military.
One question, though: Why are Protestants and Catholics different in this regard?
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Someone thinks I'm Kreativ
ProfK has honored me with a Kreativ Blogger award; thanks, Prof![I've posted my thoughts on blog awards here.]
Here are the rules for this award:
1. You must thank the person who has given you the award. Thanks!
2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog. Done!
3. Link to the person who has nominated you for the award. Done!
4. Name 7 things about yourself that people might find interesting. See below.
5. Nominate 7 other Kreativ Bloggers, link to them and let them know.
I can't fulfill this term of the award; I am certain there are many, many bloggers who deserve it, but I just don't read them. I read the same five or six blogs when I get the chance, and that's about it.
To compensate, though, I will go all-out to fulfill the third term of the award: To list seven interesting pieces of information about me. (I don't know that these are actually interesting, but they are the best I can do.)
1. Embarrassing teenage story: In high school (MTA), I once tossed an orange out the window, during a pre-class game of catch. Yes, it was on purpose. No, I did not mean to hit the (red-haired!) cop on the corner...
2. Formative influences: I can remember almost all of my grade school teachers (HALB) and how they influenced me positively.
3. If I had one hour to do anything in the world that was not one of the 613, I would: Watch a 3-year old play.
4. A hobby: I used to write fiction, although I haven't set aside time for it in years. I have written 3 full-length novels - one about a Torah-observant man trying to reconcile his homosexuality with his observance, one about a man masquerading as a rabbi and taking over a synagogue, and one about a man dying in a nursing home, and his family.
5. Odd chumra: I omit the Name of HaShem in singing zemiros on Shabbos, to remind myself to treat the Name with honor. I say it often in the course of learning, so I feel this precaution is necessary for me.
6. Something I despise: Pretense. Especially in myself. Which happens too often.
7. The great love of my life: Chocolate. Not the expensive kind - the Hershey's/Krackel/M&Ms kind.
There you go - seven items. Thanks, Prof!
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Here's to me - and to you, Jack!
In honor of Ancient Jack's birthday (which is celebrated with the newest Haveil Havalim here!)
Years ago - at least seven - a Shabbat guest gave us a bottle of champagne. At the time I was wrestling with a thorny communal issue, and my honored Rebbetzin and I decided that we would pop the bottle when that issue was resolved.
The issue was indeed resolved, but not cleanly; related problems developed, and so we waited on the champagne. Then those matters came to a close, but other entanglements made us feel it wasn't time yet. The bottle came out of the fridge, and sat in a corner. Eventually it moved to a cabinet.
New milestones neared, and the champagne returned to the refrigerator, but then crisis resolutions fell short of their promise and the champagne was again sidelined. Toilet training. New contract. Conflict mediation. A cure for a friend. And so on.
At some point, the bottle disappeared entirely from my mental horizon. When it came to mind last week, I wasn't even sure we had it. (The Rebbetzin, of course, knew exactly where it was stashed.)
But I’ve changed my mind; I think it's time to drink the champagne.
We have not reached some great moment; numerous obstacles remain before our current move will be complete, and even when those are surmounted we will only be at the beginning of another long climb. But I think we’ve been going about the champagne all wrong.
Sure, celebrating success is great, but that’s not when I need a high or an incentive. Success really is its own reward. I need the celebration, the positive feeling – whether from bubbly drinks or grape juice or a hot fudge sundae or whatever – when I’ve invested hard work and have not yet seen the results I want.
Pirkei Avot says, “If someone tells you he has worked hard without finding success, don’t believe him.” True enough – but only in the long term. The results don’t necessarily show up in the short term, and I need the reinforcement while I wait.
Some aspects of the Torah encourage us to be goal-oriented, and thereby push us to hold all celebration until we have achieved complete success. There is no full-throated laughter and joy while we lack a Beit haMikdash. An animal with a slight blemish is disqualified from use as a korban, a tefillah with slightly inadequate kavvanah (mental focus) is defective, an etrog with black spots is inferior to an etrog of perfect color, a good seder (period of learning) is one in which there is no bitul zman (wasting of time). The goal is 100% - so how can I celebrate when I am still far short?
But other elements of Torah point out the value of providing incentives along the way. As I noted in one of my favorite derashot here, Zecharyah summed up the malaise of his generation with the four words, “מי בז ליום קטנות,” “We degrade the day of small achievement.” The Jews of his day looked at their glorious past, at their memory of the majestic and miraculous first Beis haMikdash, at fire descending from heaven to the altar and the mysteriously spacious room in which they gathered on Yom Kippur, at the Aron holding Moshe’s Luchos, and they contrasted that with the small steps of their own day, at their strife with the Samaritans, at their own spiritual and economic poverty, and said, “We are in a Yom Ketanot, we are accomplishing nothing!”
And Zecharyah offered one solution: Stop seeing yourselves as terminally small; you are Bnei Yisrael, and you will have a Beis haMikdash, and a Kohen Gadol, and all of their associated splendor. Just visualize it. The solution to being בז ליום קטנות, the way to stop degrading the day of small things, is to break away from the everyday and think BIG, to think of BIG ideas and to develop BIG dreams.
With this post I add a second solution: Take a momentary break, drink the champagne, and celebrate the efforts which have brought you here.
So even though we have a ways to go, I think it’s time, one of these days, to break out the bottle. And while we’re at it, we’ll drink to Birthday Boy Jack, who may not have achieved all of his goals yet either, but who certainly deserves a l’chaim along the way.
Years ago - at least seven - a Shabbat guest gave us a bottle of champagne. At the time I was wrestling with a thorny communal issue, and my honored Rebbetzin and I decided that we would pop the bottle when that issue was resolved.
The issue was indeed resolved, but not cleanly; related problems developed, and so we waited on the champagne. Then those matters came to a close, but other entanglements made us feel it wasn't time yet. The bottle came out of the fridge, and sat in a corner. Eventually it moved to a cabinet.
New milestones neared, and the champagne returned to the refrigerator, but then crisis resolutions fell short of their promise and the champagne was again sidelined. Toilet training. New contract. Conflict mediation. A cure for a friend. And so on.
At some point, the bottle disappeared entirely from my mental horizon. When it came to mind last week, I wasn't even sure we had it. (The Rebbetzin, of course, knew exactly where it was stashed.)
But I’ve changed my mind; I think it's time to drink the champagne.
We have not reached some great moment; numerous obstacles remain before our current move will be complete, and even when those are surmounted we will only be at the beginning of another long climb. But I think we’ve been going about the champagne all wrong.
Sure, celebrating success is great, but that’s not when I need a high or an incentive. Success really is its own reward. I need the celebration, the positive feeling – whether from bubbly drinks or grape juice or a hot fudge sundae or whatever – when I’ve invested hard work and have not yet seen the results I want.
Pirkei Avot says, “If someone tells you he has worked hard without finding success, don’t believe him.” True enough – but only in the long term. The results don’t necessarily show up in the short term, and I need the reinforcement while I wait.
Some aspects of the Torah encourage us to be goal-oriented, and thereby push us to hold all celebration until we have achieved complete success. There is no full-throated laughter and joy while we lack a Beit haMikdash. An animal with a slight blemish is disqualified from use as a korban, a tefillah with slightly inadequate kavvanah (mental focus) is defective, an etrog with black spots is inferior to an etrog of perfect color, a good seder (period of learning) is one in which there is no bitul zman (wasting of time). The goal is 100% - so how can I celebrate when I am still far short?
But other elements of Torah point out the value of providing incentives along the way. As I noted in one of my favorite derashot here, Zecharyah summed up the malaise of his generation with the four words, “מי בז ליום קטנות,” “We degrade the day of small achievement.” The Jews of his day looked at their glorious past, at their memory of the majestic and miraculous first Beis haMikdash, at fire descending from heaven to the altar and the mysteriously spacious room in which they gathered on Yom Kippur, at the Aron holding Moshe’s Luchos, and they contrasted that with the small steps of their own day, at their strife with the Samaritans, at their own spiritual and economic poverty, and said, “We are in a Yom Ketanot, we are accomplishing nothing!”
And Zecharyah offered one solution: Stop seeing yourselves as terminally small; you are Bnei Yisrael, and you will have a Beis haMikdash, and a Kohen Gadol, and all of their associated splendor. Just visualize it. The solution to being בז ליום קטנות, the way to stop degrading the day of small things, is to break away from the everyday and think BIG, to think of BIG ideas and to develop BIG dreams.
With this post I add a second solution: Take a momentary break, drink the champagne, and celebrate the efforts which have brought you here.
So even though we have a ways to go, I think it’s time, one of these days, to break out the bottle. And while we’re at it, we’ll drink to Birthday Boy Jack, who may not have achieved all of his goals yet either, but who certainly deserves a l’chaim along the way.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Purim Post I: Kosher Beer Guide
The Kosher Beers blog has performed a great service for the kosher-consuming, Purim-observing community, posting a Kosher Beer Guide in honor of Purim.
Note that, as I said here, I don't favor a heavy drinking approach on Purim, and I am very against drinking in the presence of children on Purim.
Further, I don't really like beer. Dark, light, calories, no calories, malty or oaky or hoppy or imported or domestic or whatever... to me, it's all just cheap alcohol.
But for those seeking a good beer for a moderate drink at the seudah, go see the guide here.
We generally assume that unflavored beers are kosher, but please note that:
1) Beers might be flavored without clear advertisement of that fact, and
2) There are kosher flavored beers.
So see the list here.
I hope to get to Purim Post II later today... apparently, a major Jewish organization has now decided to outlaw the rabbinic sermon for Shabbat mornings. More to come, if I can clear the time.
Note that, as I said here, I don't favor a heavy drinking approach on Purim, and I am very against drinking in the presence of children on Purim.
Further, I don't really like beer. Dark, light, calories, no calories, malty or oaky or hoppy or imported or domestic or whatever... to me, it's all just cheap alcohol.
But for those seeking a good beer for a moderate drink at the seudah, go see the guide here.
We generally assume that unflavored beers are kosher, but please note that:
1) Beers might be flavored without clear advertisement of that fact, and
2) There are kosher flavored beers.
So see the list here.
I hope to get to Purim Post II later today... apparently, a major Jewish organization has now decided to outlaw the rabbinic sermon for Shabbat mornings. More to come, if I can clear the time.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Sorry, I have no lemons... but these two do
[This week's Haveil Havalim is here.]
Jendeis has honored me with a Lemonade Stand award, “for those who use the lemons in their lives to make lemonade, or who help do the same for others.”
I am flattered; as I have written elsewhere, “it’s rewarding to have someone say, “Good job,” especially when that someone is a blogger whose work you also respect.”
But, frankly, I don’t really have any lemons.
I know that could be taken as a pretty corny, not to mention disingenuous, line. Who doesn’t endure times when they hate their situations? Who doesn’t make decisions they regret, or just get beaten up by other people?
Come on, Rabbi – Don’t give me that line about “I have a great family, a great community…” I know you’re not always happy. I’ve seen you at 4:45 AM.
True; guilty as charged. But I am far more likely to get angry at myself for mis-handling a situation than I am to get upset about the situation itself. Not because of emunah [faith in Gd], not because I’m happy-go-lucky [ I am so not], but just because that’s my personality. I get annoyed with myself, and I’m good at it.
But she gave me the award, thank you very much. Time to move on to the obligation that comes with it: to pass along this award to “those who use the lemons in their lives to make lemonade.”
This is not easy for me; I don’t read too many blogs regularly. I feel guilty about this, first because other people are saying some pretty good things, and second because I enjoy it when they visit my little corner here. It’s sort of like expecting other people to come to your shiur, but not going to theirs. (Which, come to think of it, is something I do all the time.)
But I don’t read too many blogs on a regular basis, and of the ones I do read, most of them don’t engage in the lemons-to-lemonade exercise.
I used to read Wings Like a Dove, where Rivka struggled mightily to turn the table on some very serious lemons, the kind you can’t joke about, but she hasn’t posted since November. I hope she is well.
Jameel used to do the lemons-to-lemonade thing regarding life in Israel, but ever since Cast Lead started it’s been lemons all the way around.
And don’t get me started on Orthonomics, where even the roses smell lemon-fresh these days.
The Renegade Rebbetzin (no, not the same as my esteemed rebbetzin) is a perennial favorite of mine, but she actually glories in her lemons. Why bother seeing the good side of a congregant or shul issue when you can rant about it? [Please, RenReb, don’t change – I love reading that stuff.]
I guess there are two blogs I read regularly which fit the bill:
Everyone Needs Therapy, where Therapydoc describes lemons in detail. As a good doctor, she won’t turn them into lemonade for you, but she will help you turn them into lemonade yourself.
And good old Jack, who turns the lemons of aging into lemonade. Not for himself, mind you; he can’t get past the big 40 staring at him, and I suspect that as soon as 40 is gone, it’ll be 45 that frightens him. But he does turn the aging lemons into lemonade for me – because whenever I think about getting older, I can always say, “Yeah, but Jack’s a couple of years ahead of me.”
Doc, Jack - thanks for everything you do.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
An award? For moi?
Leora, of Here in Highland Park, has chosen to honor The Rebbetzin’s Husband with the Premio Dardos award. Per her description:
The Prémio Dardos is given for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values transmitted in the form of creative and original writing. These stamps were created with the intention of promoting fraternization between bloggers, a way of showing affection and gratitude for work that adds value to the Web.
I am happily flabbergasted. Cultural, ethical, literary and personal values… and here I thought I was just talking about whatever was on my mind and in my life at the time. A little ranting, a little fun, a little whining, and a little Torah. And presto!
Okay, so it’s not like this is the Academy or the Nobel committee, but it’s rewarding to have someone say, “Good job,” especially when that someone is a blogger whose work you also respect. So thanks, Leora!
Now I have to decide upon whom I might bestow this award. That will require thought – not because of whom I might include, but because of whom I might unintentionally exclude. I rarely read any blogs, but there are many I enjoy reading when I can make the time. How could I give this to only a few?
On a separate note, I fried my home computer last night.
It was a foolish thing, all my fault. I read about the liquidation sales at Circuit City, and I’ve needed more RAM for a while, so I went out and picked up a unit. Bad move – it wasn’t compatible, or at least it didn’t fit right in the slot.
Being a stubbornly happy-go-lucky guy, though, and knowing that all sales were final, I thought I would see if maybe it might really be compatible after all. Who knows - maybe the fact that it doesn’t look like a good fit is more because I don’t understand the way it’s supposed to be fit, right? Why not? What could go wrong?
Well, the computer wouldn’t start. So I took the new RAM out… and the computer still wouldn’t start. It powers up, checks CD-ROM drives, then stalls in some kind of waiting mode. The monitor thinks it’s in Power Save mode, keyboard and mouse not activated.
So I tried various experiments, and I think it’s the old RAM unit. I did ground myself before starting, but I must have discharged static at some point anyway, or mis-handled the old RAM in some way.
So I’ve ordered new RAM, and have to wait for it. This is frustrating; I don’t wait well. Too many projects, and they depend on information I have stored on that computer. I did back up my system last month, thank Gd, but I am not about to unpack it on another computer, not when I can just wait two days.
So the projects are in limbo, and I’m spending more time on my shul computer. Frustrating, but it’s my own fault for being stubborn. I love being stubborn, but, boy, is it a pain sometimes.
The Prémio Dardos is given for recognition of cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values transmitted in the form of creative and original writing. These stamps were created with the intention of promoting fraternization between bloggers, a way of showing affection and gratitude for work that adds value to the Web.
I am happily flabbergasted. Cultural, ethical, literary and personal values… and here I thought I was just talking about whatever was on my mind and in my life at the time. A little ranting, a little fun, a little whining, and a little Torah. And presto!
Okay, so it’s not like this is the Academy or the Nobel committee, but it’s rewarding to have someone say, “Good job,” especially when that someone is a blogger whose work you also respect. So thanks, Leora!
Now I have to decide upon whom I might bestow this award. That will require thought – not because of whom I might include, but because of whom I might unintentionally exclude. I rarely read any blogs, but there are many I enjoy reading when I can make the time. How could I give this to only a few?
On a separate note, I fried my home computer last night.
It was a foolish thing, all my fault. I read about the liquidation sales at Circuit City, and I’ve needed more RAM for a while, so I went out and picked up a unit. Bad move – it wasn’t compatible, or at least it didn’t fit right in the slot.
Being a stubbornly happy-go-lucky guy, though, and knowing that all sales were final, I thought I would see if maybe it might really be compatible after all. Who knows - maybe the fact that it doesn’t look like a good fit is more because I don’t understand the way it’s supposed to be fit, right? Why not? What could go wrong?
Well, the computer wouldn’t start. So I took the new RAM out… and the computer still wouldn’t start. It powers up, checks CD-ROM drives, then stalls in some kind of waiting mode. The monitor thinks it’s in Power Save mode, keyboard and mouse not activated.
So I tried various experiments, and I think it’s the old RAM unit. I did ground myself before starting, but I must have discharged static at some point anyway, or mis-handled the old RAM in some way.
So I’ve ordered new RAM, and have to wait for it. This is frustrating; I don’t wait well. Too many projects, and they depend on information I have stored on that computer. I did back up my system last month, thank Gd, but I am not about to unpack it on another computer, not when I can just wait two days.
So the projects are in limbo, and I’m spending more time on my shul computer. Frustrating, but it’s my own fault for being stubborn. I love being stubborn, but, boy, is it a pain sometimes.
Monday, October 6, 2008
The Unity Kollel - Let's do it in Israel
I'm going to ramble here a bit, as I continue to not write my Yom Kippur derashah. The fact that right after Yom Kippur we have a Bar Mitzvah here, followed by Succos, followed by Shabbos Chol haMoed, followed by Shemini Atzeres/Simchas Torah, is, oddly enough, not helping me concentrate on work...
My friend Alan Krinsky posted an essay on his Achrayus blog this past July proposing, among other things, a Unity Kollel, which he described as “centers of Jewish education and outreach consciously designed to include members from different Hashkafos.”
Alan continued to say, “Imagine if we created a kollel, and learning and teaching together we could find, just for example, a YU graduate, a Ner Yisrael grad, someone from a Chasidic group, and an individual from an explicitly Religious Zionist institution? Imagine the dynamic learning that would go on in such a kollel, and the effect such a group would have in outreach to the community!”
It’s a fascinating concept, albeit a non-starter. It’s a non-starter because the core members of some of those groups actually believe that the core members of some of the other groups are fundamentally and irredeemably wrong, on a level such that it would be a halachic violation to support, or in any way endorse, each other’s existence and appeal.
I'm not a pessimist; it's just that, L’havdil, this endeavor would be like asking Roman Catholic priests to study in equal partnership with Episcopalian priests; the idea would be anathema to them.
Of course, each group has members who are more tolerant and less certain of their own monopoly on truth, but those individuals don’t truly represent the group. The hardcore ideology of each group is exclusive of the others – and, again, on an halachic level.
Now, since Yom Kippur is coming up, someone may well protest that at Kol Nidrei we say, “אנו מתירין להתפלל עם העבריינים,” explicitly saying we will pray with the sinners? Surely, then, we could learn with them!
But this argument would be incorrect, on two levels:
First, that line is not really meant to welcome sinners. Rather, it’s meant to welcome in people who had been excommunicated by the community, and it’s contingent upon their having “seen the light” and repented.
Second, that’s a Yom Kippur tefillah in which the ausvorfen (oisvorfen? my yiddish is terrible) are explicitly labelled as sinners; that’s not the same thing as creating a joint beis medrash in which all will participate equally. If anything, use of the “sinners” label actually proves my point.
To return to the Unity Kollel, though: I’m not sure it’s necessary.
If our goal is, as Alan writes, Unity and an end to baseless hatred, perhaps we could try, instead, for a Unity supermarket. Or a Unity office building. Or a Unity city. A New Square planned with different groups living together in the same metropolitan area. Some space in which the different groups interact and, hopefully, learn to like each other.
Oh, wait. I think that exists. It’s Yerushalayim, right?
So perhaps the answer is for all of us to make aliyah, and work on developing our Unity City (or Unity Cities) there…
PS According to legend, the beit midrash of Yeshivat Kerem b’Yavneh was, originally, to be a “Unity Kollel” beit midrash. As I heard it when I was in yeshiva there, the beit midrash and campus were designed with various corners to encourage each of the European yeshivos to come set up shop in the beit midrash there, in its own niche. Can anyone confirm that legend?
My friend Alan Krinsky posted an essay on his Achrayus blog this past July proposing, among other things, a Unity Kollel, which he described as “centers of Jewish education and outreach consciously designed to include members from different Hashkafos.”
Alan continued to say, “Imagine if we created a kollel, and learning and teaching together we could find, just for example, a YU graduate, a Ner Yisrael grad, someone from a Chasidic group, and an individual from an explicitly Religious Zionist institution? Imagine the dynamic learning that would go on in such a kollel, and the effect such a group would have in outreach to the community!”
It’s a fascinating concept, albeit a non-starter. It’s a non-starter because the core members of some of those groups actually believe that the core members of some of the other groups are fundamentally and irredeemably wrong, on a level such that it would be a halachic violation to support, or in any way endorse, each other’s existence and appeal.
I'm not a pessimist; it's just that, L’havdil, this endeavor would be like asking Roman Catholic priests to study in equal partnership with Episcopalian priests; the idea would be anathema to them.
Of course, each group has members who are more tolerant and less certain of their own monopoly on truth, but those individuals don’t truly represent the group. The hardcore ideology of each group is exclusive of the others – and, again, on an halachic level.
Now, since Yom Kippur is coming up, someone may well protest that at Kol Nidrei we say, “אנו מתירין להתפלל עם העבריינים,” explicitly saying we will pray with the sinners? Surely, then, we could learn with them!
But this argument would be incorrect, on two levels:
First, that line is not really meant to welcome sinners. Rather, it’s meant to welcome in people who had been excommunicated by the community, and it’s contingent upon their having “seen the light” and repented.
Second, that’s a Yom Kippur tefillah in which the ausvorfen (oisvorfen? my yiddish is terrible) are explicitly labelled as sinners; that’s not the same thing as creating a joint beis medrash in which all will participate equally. If anything, use of the “sinners” label actually proves my point.
To return to the Unity Kollel, though: I’m not sure it’s necessary.
If our goal is, as Alan writes, Unity and an end to baseless hatred, perhaps we could try, instead, for a Unity supermarket. Or a Unity office building. Or a Unity city. A New Square planned with different groups living together in the same metropolitan area. Some space in which the different groups interact and, hopefully, learn to like each other.
Oh, wait. I think that exists. It’s Yerushalayim, right?
So perhaps the answer is for all of us to make aliyah, and work on developing our Unity City (or Unity Cities) there…
PS According to legend, the beit midrash of Yeshivat Kerem b’Yavneh was, originally, to be a “Unity Kollel” beit midrash. As I heard it when I was in yeshiva there, the beit midrash and campus were designed with various corners to encourage each of the European yeshivos to come set up shop in the beit midrash there, in its own niche. Can anyone confirm that legend?
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
RenReb – Back from the dead, or only pretending?
I don’t have the time to write this, but I must: In a fine afikoman gift to the blogosphere, RenReb has posted her first new post in many, many months! (How did she know I’ve been good this year?) I feel like saying a ברוך מחיה המתים (Blessed is the One who resurrects the dead) blessing, only it hasn’t been twelve months since her last post… it just feels like it.
Yes, the Renegade Rebbetzin is back, or at least back for a day, for one post, a post which reminded me all over why I have loved to read her site. It was funny and personal and hit on something that has upset me greatly (the horrible death of Rabbi Jacob and Devorah Rubenstein) and then made me laugh with its notes about the Rebbetzin as appendage… and it was altogether too short.
One reason I like today’s RenReb post is that it reminds me of why I named this blog “The Rebbetzin’s Husband” in the first place. (Well, not in the first place. I only used this name when someone posted it several months ago in response to my “Help me name this blog” post. I really mean, why I used that name for this blog at all.)
My wife is altogether too often mis-identified as “The Rabbi’s Wife.” That is a farce; the Rebbetzin role is its own entity, with way too many unique responsibilities and way too many skill requirements to be categorized as Rabbi Redux. The Rebbetzin is mother to many, counselor to many, friend to many, teacher to many, host to many, even halachic resource to many - this aside from all of the ways she makes me a better rabbi – and to call her “Rabbi’s Wife” is as absurd as to call a rabbi “The Rebbetzin’s Husband.” (Or to have an orange on the seder plate, but that’s another topic.)
Two notes, for the record:
1) My wife is not the Renegade Rebbetzin. She certainly is one of the many, many rebbetzins who have been suspected of this. To be honest, I would love to see her blog one day. But no, she is not it.
2) My blog title is not, in any way, meant to indicate any association with her blog, which I readily acknowledge is far superior to mine. Hers is funny, mine is not. Hers is personal in the way an anonymous rabbinic blog can be; mine is not. Hers makes me want to keep on my reading; I don’t like reading my own writing.
The Renegade Rebbetzin blog is still the blog I would love to write, if only I possessed the sense of humor and the anonymity. The former I can’t have, because either you have it or you don’t. The latter I can’t have either, because my ego won’t allow it. So, I muddle on.
RenReb, thanks for re-surfacing. Hope to hear from you again.
Yes, the Renegade Rebbetzin is back, or at least back for a day, for one post, a post which reminded me all over why I have loved to read her site. It was funny and personal and hit on something that has upset me greatly (the horrible death of Rabbi Jacob and Devorah Rubenstein) and then made me laugh with its notes about the Rebbetzin as appendage… and it was altogether too short.
One reason I like today’s RenReb post is that it reminds me of why I named this blog “The Rebbetzin’s Husband” in the first place. (Well, not in the first place. I only used this name when someone posted it several months ago in response to my “Help me name this blog” post. I really mean, why I used that name for this blog at all.)
My wife is altogether too often mis-identified as “The Rabbi’s Wife.” That is a farce; the Rebbetzin role is its own entity, with way too many unique responsibilities and way too many skill requirements to be categorized as Rabbi Redux. The Rebbetzin is mother to many, counselor to many, friend to many, teacher to many, host to many, even halachic resource to many - this aside from all of the ways she makes me a better rabbi – and to call her “Rabbi’s Wife” is as absurd as to call a rabbi “The Rebbetzin’s Husband.” (Or to have an orange on the seder plate, but that’s another topic.)
Two notes, for the record:
1) My wife is not the Renegade Rebbetzin. She certainly is one of the many, many rebbetzins who have been suspected of this. To be honest, I would love to see her blog one day. But no, she is not it.
2) My blog title is not, in any way, meant to indicate any association with her blog, which I readily acknowledge is far superior to mine. Hers is funny, mine is not. Hers is personal in the way an anonymous rabbinic blog can be; mine is not. Hers makes me want to keep on my reading; I don’t like reading my own writing.
The Renegade Rebbetzin blog is still the blog I would love to write, if only I possessed the sense of humor and the anonymity. The former I can’t have, because either you have it or you don’t. The latter I can’t have either, because my ego won’t allow it. So, I muddle on.
RenReb, thanks for re-surfacing. Hope to hear from you again.
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