In Part I here, I explained: I've been recruited to speak in a panel discussion this coming Shabbos, on Rabbinic Jurisdiction in Israel. Since I'm the North American on the panel (beside Rav Dovid Stav and Rabbanit Pnina Neuwirth), my responsibility is to talk about how North American, "Modern Orthodox" Jews feel about Israel's Chief Rabbinate.
In that first part, I talked about why North American Modern Orthodoxy loves the Chief Rabbinate – because of our love for its history, because of our hopefor a Judaism-guided administration in the State, and because of our desire for structure in our religious organizations.
At the same time, we are disappointed. Beyond the specific controversies, I see four reasons for our disappointment:
1. Reality
A real-world Chief Rabbinate, just like the rabbi in your shul, must choose between reasonable views and alienate those who adopt the opposing view. Sometimes the motivations are intellectual, sometimes subjective, sometimes political. And whereas one who is in a shul can argue with the rabbi, or daven at a different minyan, or leave the shul, we can't switch Israels.
2. Life in Galut
Modern Orthodox Jews living outside of Israel want to be ambassadors for Israel – and so headlines about conversion difficulties, or the troubles of the non-observant in navigating the Chief Rabbinate's bureaucracy, or acceptance of shackle-and-hoist schechitah, frustrate us. Further, for many Jews there is a concern for מה יאמרו הגויים, "What will the neighbors say".
3. Delegitimization
Modern Orthodoxy is very good about accepting those who are different – but when others come to discredit them in the name of Torah, whether from the Right or from the Left, they become quite hostile. This applies to the conversion crisis, but also to the discomfort some have over a lack of a Modern Orthodox presence in the Rabbinate and among its appointness.
4. Imposed authority
Although North American Modern Orthodoxy appreciates structure, they are heirs to the North American political tradtion and the concept of democracy over republic, the power of the individual over the presumed rightness of government. Witness, for example, the furor last year regarding the authority of Young Israel over its branches.
The result of this disappointment is alienation, and the opposite of the love that would otherwise thrive. Issues of Jewish identity, of beit din bureaucracy, of kashrut and heter mechirah and shechitah, become flashpoints. There is a definite need for a solution here.
Showing posts with label Israel: Galut (Exile). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Israel: Galut (Exile). Show all posts
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Monday, July 4, 2011
Part I - Our love for the Chief Rabbinate of Israel
I've been recruited to speak in a panel discussion this coming Shabbos, on Rabbinic Jurisdiction in Israel. Since I'm the North American on the panel (beside Rav Dovid Stav and Rabbanit Pnina Neuwirth), my responsibility is to talk about how North American, "Modern Orthodox" Jews feel about Israel's Chief Rabbinate.
I think this should be more than a litany of the controversies involving that beleaguered institution. True, issues of Jewish identity [conversion, Russians, Ethiopians] are front and center in our minds. Other issues, like shackle-and-hoist shechitah, heter mechirah, problems facing people navigating the rabbinic bureaucracy and the corruption charges of several years ago are all major fault lines in our relationship with Israel's government-linked rabbinic leadership.
But, to my mind, in order to speak intelligently and appropriately (a modest goal) about these issues and the state of the relationship, we first need to understand why the North American, Modern Orthodox Jew is predisposed to love Israel's Chief Rabbinate. It's that love which makes the relationship so difficult; I believe we would not be half as exercised by our frustrations if we didn't long to embrace the Chief Rabbinate and call it our own.
I see three primary reasons for our affection:
1. History
The institution of the Chief Rabbinate reminds us of Rav Kook ודעימיה, religious leaders who promoted a serious, rigorous Torah observance while working hand-in-hand with secular Jews - a vision which mirrors idealized versions of our own communities, and for which we are nostalgic.
2. Concept
In theory, the Chief Rabbinate is a government-associated voice of religion, offering the possibility of a Judaism-guided administration in the State of Israel, while still allowing for the separation of church and state which appeals to North American Jews.
3. Practical
We want structure for our religious organizations, as seen in the creation of the OU and Young Israel synagogue movements. We resist imposed order – something I'll also discuss in the session – but we love order itself. Centralized authority offers that.
Then, we get into our disappointment in the institution, and what we might do about it...
I think this should be more than a litany of the controversies involving that beleaguered institution. True, issues of Jewish identity [conversion, Russians, Ethiopians] are front and center in our minds. Other issues, like shackle-and-hoist shechitah, heter mechirah, problems facing people navigating the rabbinic bureaucracy and the corruption charges of several years ago are all major fault lines in our relationship with Israel's government-linked rabbinic leadership.
But, to my mind, in order to speak intelligently and appropriately (a modest goal) about these issues and the state of the relationship, we first need to understand why the North American, Modern Orthodox Jew is predisposed to love Israel's Chief Rabbinate. It's that love which makes the relationship so difficult; I believe we would not be half as exercised by our frustrations if we didn't long to embrace the Chief Rabbinate and call it our own.
I see three primary reasons for our affection:
1. History
The institution of the Chief Rabbinate reminds us of Rav Kook ודעימיה, religious leaders who promoted a serious, rigorous Torah observance while working hand-in-hand with secular Jews - a vision which mirrors idealized versions of our own communities, and for which we are nostalgic.
2. Concept
In theory, the Chief Rabbinate is a government-associated voice of religion, offering the possibility of a Judaism-guided administration in the State of Israel, while still allowing for the separation of church and state which appeals to North American Jews.
3. Practical
We want structure for our religious organizations, as seen in the creation of the OU and Young Israel synagogue movements. We resist imposed order – something I'll also discuss in the session – but we love order itself. Centralized authority offers that.
Then, we get into our disappointment in the institution, and what we might do about it...
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Who owns the Holocaust – Israel, or the Diaspora?
[Please note: Blogger has been having trouble, but I understand that the comments which appear to have been lost will be restored in the coming days.]
[This week's Haveil Havalim is here]
I’ve been thinking about the triangular relationship between Israelis, Diaspora Jewry, and the Holocaust.
That relationship has been emotionally fraught since the beginning; Israelis and Diaspora Jews have seen the Holocaust in fundamentally different ways since the war itself. For example, the latter tend to emphasize the suffering while the former emphasize the Jews who fought back, as well as the imperative to build a state which can defend itself.
For the past sixty-five years, in part due to the fact that the majority of survivors lived outside of Israel, Diaspora Jews have dominated the Holocaust narrative. Despite the presence of Yad VaShem, the world’s leading Holocaust memorial, in Israel, it has still seemed – based on news media, published literature, academic studies and conferences – that the Holocaust’s heirs, if you will, were the Jews around the world.
Two events from the past two weeks have made me change my thinking about where we are, though:
1. An Israeli friend pointed out to me that Israelis postponed this year’s Yom haShoah commemoration from the 27th of Nisan (a Sunday) to the following day, to avoid violation of Shabbat in the evening’s ceremonies. He was upset that much of the Diaspora did not follow Israel’s lead.
To me, this was surprising; unlike Yom ha’Atzmaut or Yom Yerushalayim, there is nothing inherently Israeli about Yom haShoah. (The concern for Shabbat violation in holding ceremonies on Saturday night was not relevant, either; faced with a Sunday Yom haShoah in lands where Sunday is a day off, communities tend to use Sunday for their Yom haShoah programs.) So why should world Jewry follow the Chief Rabbinate’s decision on marking this day? But to him, and I suspect to many Israelis, it was obviously the correct thing to do.
[PS Thanks to Michael Sedley's comment, I recognize that the preceding paragraph is actually incorrect - The idea of remembering the Holocaust on the 27th of Nisan is actually an Israeli concept. I was always taught that Yom haShoah was a global day, but that's an error, product of a Diaspora education. Fascinating. I'm leaving the original post as-is to point to that common error.]
2. When John Demjanjuk was convicted this week in a German court for his role in the Nazi genocide, local radio went looking for Jewish reaction not in Jewish Toronto, or even at the Simon Wiesenthal Center, but instead in “man on the street” interviews in Israel.
I think one reason for this shift is the passing of so much of the Survivor generation. As those who witnessed it personally disappear, there is less reason for their Diaspora communities to represent the Jews who were lost. But more, I think it’s because of a growing clarity that the only viable Jewish community in the world, long-term, is Israel. As powerful Jewish communities in Galut shrink, there is decreasing reason to consult them on “Jewish matters”.
Interesting.
[This week's Haveil Havalim is here]
I’ve been thinking about the triangular relationship between Israelis, Diaspora Jewry, and the Holocaust.
That relationship has been emotionally fraught since the beginning; Israelis and Diaspora Jews have seen the Holocaust in fundamentally different ways since the war itself. For example, the latter tend to emphasize the suffering while the former emphasize the Jews who fought back, as well as the imperative to build a state which can defend itself.
For the past sixty-five years, in part due to the fact that the majority of survivors lived outside of Israel, Diaspora Jews have dominated the Holocaust narrative. Despite the presence of Yad VaShem, the world’s leading Holocaust memorial, in Israel, it has still seemed – based on news media, published literature, academic studies and conferences – that the Holocaust’s heirs, if you will, were the Jews around the world.
Two events from the past two weeks have made me change my thinking about where we are, though:
1. An Israeli friend pointed out to me that Israelis postponed this year’s Yom haShoah commemoration from the 27th of Nisan (a Sunday) to the following day, to avoid violation of Shabbat in the evening’s ceremonies. He was upset that much of the Diaspora did not follow Israel’s lead.
To me, this was surprising; unlike Yom ha’Atzmaut or Yom Yerushalayim, there is nothing inherently Israeli about Yom haShoah. (The concern for Shabbat violation in holding ceremonies on Saturday night was not relevant, either; faced with a Sunday Yom haShoah in lands where Sunday is a day off, communities tend to use Sunday for their Yom haShoah programs.) So why should world Jewry follow the Chief Rabbinate’s decision on marking this day? But to him, and I suspect to many Israelis, it was obviously the correct thing to do.
[PS Thanks to Michael Sedley's comment, I recognize that the preceding paragraph is actually incorrect - The idea of remembering the Holocaust on the 27th of Nisan is actually an Israeli concept. I was always taught that Yom haShoah was a global day, but that's an error, product of a Diaspora education. Fascinating. I'm leaving the original post as-is to point to that common error.]
2. When John Demjanjuk was convicted this week in a German court for his role in the Nazi genocide, local radio went looking for Jewish reaction not in Jewish Toronto, or even at the Simon Wiesenthal Center, but instead in “man on the street” interviews in Israel.
I think one reason for this shift is the passing of so much of the Survivor generation. As those who witnessed it personally disappear, there is less reason for their Diaspora communities to represent the Jews who were lost. But more, I think it’s because of a growing clarity that the only viable Jewish community in the world, long-term, is Israel. As powerful Jewish communities in Galut shrink, there is decreasing reason to consult them on “Jewish matters”.
Interesting.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Israel is acquired through suffering (Derashah Vayyigash 5769)
Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai predicted it, during the Roman era of two thousand years ago. He said, “שלש מתנות טובות נתן הקב"ה לישראל, וכולן לא נתנן אלא על ידי יסורין. אלו הן: תורה וארץ ישראל ועולם הבא.” “HaShem gave the Jewish people three gifts - Torah, Israel and Olam HaBa - but none of them may be acquired without יסורין, without suffering.”
And what a long parade of suffering it has been. Three generations of slavery in Egypt. Forty years of desert wandering. Even two thousand years of exile were not sufficient, apparently. 1929. 1948. 1967. 1973. 1981. 1990. 2000. 2006. And now 2008. This week, once again, we have seen that suffering that comes hand-in-hand with living in our land. Rockets strike kindergartens and high schools, young men and women stand ready to march into the deathtrap that is Aza…
And these are only the highlights, the points when the powderkeg ignited, as opposed to the years in between of hijackings and suicide bombings.
Yes, these יסורין continue.
But what is the value of these יסורין, why does the Torah guarantee that the Jew, through the ages, will be forced to experience trauma before he may receive his territorial heritage? Our sages have offered three classic explanations:
The Maharal of Prague, writing almost five centuries ago, offered what many consider the obvious explanation: The Jew must endure pain in order to purify himself from his sins, such that he will deserve to tread upon this sacred earth.
A midrash seems to say as much, comparing the יסורין inflicted upon the Jew who would live in Israel with the יסורין a parent inflicts upon a child in order to refine his behavior.
Rabbeinu Yosef Chaim of Baghdad, in the 19th century, suggested a second understanding: Self-sacrifice is a test of our loyalty and commitment to the land of Israel.
Just as one who wishes to convert to Judaism must demonstrate sincere, enduring commitment to Gd, to Torah and to the Jewish people, so the Jew who wishes to acquire his share in Israel must demonstrate that his four cubits in this land mean more to him than four cubits in any other land on earth. Avraham was once summoned to sacrifice that which was most dear to him, and his descendants have been held to that same standard.
And there is a third layer: Rav Shmuel Eidels, also known as Maharsha, explained back in the 17th century that our historic privation is a lesson in the very purpose of Israel.
Lest we think that we have been given Israel for its beautiful beaches, for its wine country, for the hills of Yehudah or the mountains of the Galil or the shores of the Kinneret, these יסורין teach us that Israel is not to be the Cancun of the Middle East, some spa for physical pleasure. Rather, it is a center for spiritual growth.
I must admit that this feels cold, this philosophy of assigning national meaning to the individual pain of a bombing victim, an ambushed soldier, a parent whose child is missing in action. We are not normally a religion that reads the mind of Gd, identifying motives for the suffering of individuals.
But the Maharal, Rabbeinu Yosef Chaim, the Maharsha and Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, giants of Judaism, did develop this philosophy. They believed that this is the way we are to understand the suffering we have endured in the name of this land: That it purifies us, that it pushes us to demonstrate our sincere commitment to the land, that it ensures we will properly appreciate Israel as a place of spiritual growth.
Therefore: A Jew who wishes to embrace the land of Israel must be prepared to confront pain, and overcome it. And without it, he cannot claim ownership of the land.
Witness the covenant extracted from the tribes of Gad and Reuven, when they wished to monopolize the portion of Israel on the eastern side of the Jordan River. Gd required that they cross the Jordan and aid their brethren in settling Israel itself, before they could return to the land to the east.
Why did Gd require this of Gad and Reuven? The conquest of Israel was engineered miraculously, so what difference would it make whether the tribes of Reuven and Gad fought, or sat it out?
It wasn’t for the sake of military success - it was for the sake of Gad and Reuven themselves. It was about their Yisurin, the suffering that would earn them a portion in this land. If the tribes of Reuven and Gad would endure the difficulties, then they could have a stake in Israel - whether the land east of the Jordan or the land to the west. But if they would not endure the difficulty of acquiring Israel, then they would own no true stake in that land.
Which leaves us, outside of Israel, in trouble.
• We lack the purification that comes with suffering.
• We have not passed the test of sincerity that comes with enduring great difficulties.
• We have yet to learn the lesson of Israel’s spiritual nature that comes with material privation.
In short - like Reuven and Gad if they remain on the eastern side of the Jordan - we have not undergone the yisurin. So how do we gain a share in Israel?
In truth, the answer is that we don’t gain a share. There is no substitute for those Yisurin; we are not earning what the Jews in Israel are earning, no matter how close we feel to our family there, no matter how loudly we yell at the television commentators, no matter how compulsively we refresh the Jerusalem Post homepage on our computer.
Nonetheless, there are things we can do, actions with which we can contribute positively to the war effort, ways we can help אחינו בני ישראל deal with their יסורין, and so, in some small way, claim to have dealt with these יסורין ourselves.
First, we can daven on behalf of the IDF, and the situation in general.
Second, we can engage in hasbara, explaining the Israeli position.
o This is not a minor endeavor; American public opinion matters to our politicians, and therefore it influences American government policy toward Israel. How much pressure or how little pressure the US administration exerts upon Israel depends largely on their perception of the thinking of the average American citizen.
o For those who are Internet-savvy, there are many venues for this sort of debate. Whether on blogs or Twitter or Reddit or Digg or CNN’s comment pages or a million other places, the battle is on for public opinion, and the results matter.
o This can happen in person, in discussions at work or the grocery store or anywhere we hear Israel being discussed. And anyone can do it - even people who are not 100% behind Israeli policies, people who think the avenues of diplomacy with Hamas were not exhausted, can recognize and defend Israel’s basic right to defend itself.
o When we hear people say, “Israel’s response is disproportionate,” we can respond, “What do you consider a proportionate response to people who rocket kindergartens?”
o When we hear people say, “There is a humanitarian disaster in Gaza,” we can respond, “These people elected Hamas on a platform of rocketing Israel, and they publicly supported firing those rockets right up until Israeli air raids began last week.”
o If you aren’t familiar with the issues, we have copies of Mitchell Bard’s classic “Myths and Facts” book in the library, and sheets in the lobby listing websites where you can get more information.
And third, we are able to support the soldiers and the ambulance corps.
o There are websites, Pizzaidf.org and Burgeridf.org, which bring care packages of food to soldiers at the front lines, including at the Gaza border.
o National Council of Young Israel has an on-going “Support the IDF Troops Campaign,” and they take donations on-line. https://www.youngisrael.org/securecontent/donate.cfm
o United Hatzalah of Israel is taking contributions for emergency medical equipment on-line, as well. http://www.unitedhatzalah.org/
One additional point: There is another reason for us to become involved in hasbara and for us to donate to support the IDF, besides sharing in their yisurin.
In his classic essay, Kol Dodi Dofek, Rav Soloveitchik wrote regarding Israel’s War of Independence, “For the first time in the history of our exile, divine providence has surprised our enemies with the sensational discovery that Jewish blood is not free for the taking, is not hefker [ownerless]!”
Rav Soloveitchik’s words ring powerfully in our own day, not only as a rebuke to our enemies but also as a rebuke to ourselves. Do we truly believe that Jewish blood is not free for the taking? Do we truly believe that Jewish blood is not hefker? If so, then we bear the responsibility of standing together with our brethren and shouldering whatever portion of their burden extends to our position in exile.
Whether by davening or by arguing for Israel or by sending contributions, we will illuminate our world with this news: כל ישראל ערבין זה בזה, All Jews are responsible for each other, all Jews stand together. Like Yehudah standing up for Binyamin in this morning’s parshah, we will ensure that the blood of our family will not be free for the taking. And when we demonstrate this for ourselves, when we make the sensational discovery that Jewish blood is not hefker, for ourselves, then the rest of the world will be forced to realize it as well.
-
Notes:
1. R' Shimon bar Yochai is Berachos 5a. The Midrash I cite (linking yisurin to parental discipline) is in Shmos Rabbah 1:1. The Maharal is in Netivot Olam (II) - Netiv haYisurin Chapter 2. Rabbeinu Yosef Chaim, aka Ben Ish Chai, is in the Ben Yehoyada to Berachot 5a. The Maharsha is in Chiddushei Aggadot to Berachot 5a.
2. I know Bnei Gad/Reuven receive a share in Israel even if they don't fight, but the idea is that then this share would not truly be their own. For a similar idea, see R' Ben Zion Firer in Midei Shabbat b'Shabbato. As far as my comment about monopolizing the eastern side of the Yarden, see Kiddushin 61a-b.
3. As I note in the derashah itself, I really am very uncomfortable with this direct identification of personal suffering with national fate. But, as I said there, it is an undeniable component of our tradition.
4. Yes, this is another derashah expressing my not-so-latent guilt about living outside of Israel.
And what a long parade of suffering it has been. Three generations of slavery in Egypt. Forty years of desert wandering. Even two thousand years of exile were not sufficient, apparently. 1929. 1948. 1967. 1973. 1981. 1990. 2000. 2006. And now 2008. This week, once again, we have seen that suffering that comes hand-in-hand with living in our land. Rockets strike kindergartens and high schools, young men and women stand ready to march into the deathtrap that is Aza…
And these are only the highlights, the points when the powderkeg ignited, as opposed to the years in between of hijackings and suicide bombings.
Yes, these יסורין continue.
But what is the value of these יסורין, why does the Torah guarantee that the Jew, through the ages, will be forced to experience trauma before he may receive his territorial heritage? Our sages have offered three classic explanations:
The Maharal of Prague, writing almost five centuries ago, offered what many consider the obvious explanation: The Jew must endure pain in order to purify himself from his sins, such that he will deserve to tread upon this sacred earth.
A midrash seems to say as much, comparing the יסורין inflicted upon the Jew who would live in Israel with the יסורין a parent inflicts upon a child in order to refine his behavior.
Rabbeinu Yosef Chaim of Baghdad, in the 19th century, suggested a second understanding: Self-sacrifice is a test of our loyalty and commitment to the land of Israel.
Just as one who wishes to convert to Judaism must demonstrate sincere, enduring commitment to Gd, to Torah and to the Jewish people, so the Jew who wishes to acquire his share in Israel must demonstrate that his four cubits in this land mean more to him than four cubits in any other land on earth. Avraham was once summoned to sacrifice that which was most dear to him, and his descendants have been held to that same standard.
And there is a third layer: Rav Shmuel Eidels, also known as Maharsha, explained back in the 17th century that our historic privation is a lesson in the very purpose of Israel.
Lest we think that we have been given Israel for its beautiful beaches, for its wine country, for the hills of Yehudah or the mountains of the Galil or the shores of the Kinneret, these יסורין teach us that Israel is not to be the Cancun of the Middle East, some spa for physical pleasure. Rather, it is a center for spiritual growth.
I must admit that this feels cold, this philosophy of assigning national meaning to the individual pain of a bombing victim, an ambushed soldier, a parent whose child is missing in action. We are not normally a religion that reads the mind of Gd, identifying motives for the suffering of individuals.
But the Maharal, Rabbeinu Yosef Chaim, the Maharsha and Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, giants of Judaism, did develop this philosophy. They believed that this is the way we are to understand the suffering we have endured in the name of this land: That it purifies us, that it pushes us to demonstrate our sincere commitment to the land, that it ensures we will properly appreciate Israel as a place of spiritual growth.
Therefore: A Jew who wishes to embrace the land of Israel must be prepared to confront pain, and overcome it. And without it, he cannot claim ownership of the land.
Witness the covenant extracted from the tribes of Gad and Reuven, when they wished to monopolize the portion of Israel on the eastern side of the Jordan River. Gd required that they cross the Jordan and aid their brethren in settling Israel itself, before they could return to the land to the east.
Why did Gd require this of Gad and Reuven? The conquest of Israel was engineered miraculously, so what difference would it make whether the tribes of Reuven and Gad fought, or sat it out?
It wasn’t for the sake of military success - it was for the sake of Gad and Reuven themselves. It was about their Yisurin, the suffering that would earn them a portion in this land. If the tribes of Reuven and Gad would endure the difficulties, then they could have a stake in Israel - whether the land east of the Jordan or the land to the west. But if they would not endure the difficulty of acquiring Israel, then they would own no true stake in that land.
Which leaves us, outside of Israel, in trouble.
• We lack the purification that comes with suffering.
• We have not passed the test of sincerity that comes with enduring great difficulties.
• We have yet to learn the lesson of Israel’s spiritual nature that comes with material privation.
In short - like Reuven and Gad if they remain on the eastern side of the Jordan - we have not undergone the yisurin. So how do we gain a share in Israel?
In truth, the answer is that we don’t gain a share. There is no substitute for those Yisurin; we are not earning what the Jews in Israel are earning, no matter how close we feel to our family there, no matter how loudly we yell at the television commentators, no matter how compulsively we refresh the Jerusalem Post homepage on our computer.
Nonetheless, there are things we can do, actions with which we can contribute positively to the war effort, ways we can help אחינו בני ישראל deal with their יסורין, and so, in some small way, claim to have dealt with these יסורין ourselves.
First, we can daven on behalf of the IDF, and the situation in general.
Second, we can engage in hasbara, explaining the Israeli position.
o This is not a minor endeavor; American public opinion matters to our politicians, and therefore it influences American government policy toward Israel. How much pressure or how little pressure the US administration exerts upon Israel depends largely on their perception of the thinking of the average American citizen.
o For those who are Internet-savvy, there are many venues for this sort of debate. Whether on blogs or Twitter or Reddit or Digg or CNN’s comment pages or a million other places, the battle is on for public opinion, and the results matter.
o This can happen in person, in discussions at work or the grocery store or anywhere we hear Israel being discussed. And anyone can do it - even people who are not 100% behind Israeli policies, people who think the avenues of diplomacy with Hamas were not exhausted, can recognize and defend Israel’s basic right to defend itself.
o When we hear people say, “Israel’s response is disproportionate,” we can respond, “What do you consider a proportionate response to people who rocket kindergartens?”
o When we hear people say, “There is a humanitarian disaster in Gaza,” we can respond, “These people elected Hamas on a platform of rocketing Israel, and they publicly supported firing those rockets right up until Israeli air raids began last week.”
o If you aren’t familiar with the issues, we have copies of Mitchell Bard’s classic “Myths and Facts” book in the library, and sheets in the lobby listing websites where you can get more information.
And third, we are able to support the soldiers and the ambulance corps.
o There are websites, Pizzaidf.org and Burgeridf.org, which bring care packages of food to soldiers at the front lines, including at the Gaza border.
o National Council of Young Israel has an on-going “Support the IDF Troops Campaign,” and they take donations on-line. https://www.youngisrael.org/securecontent/donate.cfm
o United Hatzalah of Israel is taking contributions for emergency medical equipment on-line, as well. http://www.unitedhatzalah.org/
One additional point: There is another reason for us to become involved in hasbara and for us to donate to support the IDF, besides sharing in their yisurin.
In his classic essay, Kol Dodi Dofek, Rav Soloveitchik wrote regarding Israel’s War of Independence, “For the first time in the history of our exile, divine providence has surprised our enemies with the sensational discovery that Jewish blood is not free for the taking, is not hefker [ownerless]!”
Rav Soloveitchik’s words ring powerfully in our own day, not only as a rebuke to our enemies but also as a rebuke to ourselves. Do we truly believe that Jewish blood is not free for the taking? Do we truly believe that Jewish blood is not hefker? If so, then we bear the responsibility of standing together with our brethren and shouldering whatever portion of their burden extends to our position in exile.
Whether by davening or by arguing for Israel or by sending contributions, we will illuminate our world with this news: כל ישראל ערבין זה בזה, All Jews are responsible for each other, all Jews stand together. Like Yehudah standing up for Binyamin in this morning’s parshah, we will ensure that the blood of our family will not be free for the taking. And when we demonstrate this for ourselves, when we make the sensational discovery that Jewish blood is not hefker, for ourselves, then the rest of the world will be forced to realize it as well.
-
Notes:
1. R' Shimon bar Yochai is Berachos 5a. The Midrash I cite (linking yisurin to parental discipline) is in Shmos Rabbah 1:1. The Maharal is in Netivot Olam (II) - Netiv haYisurin Chapter 2. Rabbeinu Yosef Chaim, aka Ben Ish Chai, is in the Ben Yehoyada to Berachot 5a. The Maharsha is in Chiddushei Aggadot to Berachot 5a.
2. I know Bnei Gad/Reuven receive a share in Israel even if they don't fight, but the idea is that then this share would not truly be their own. For a similar idea, see R' Ben Zion Firer in Midei Shabbat b'Shabbato. As far as my comment about monopolizing the eastern side of the Yarden, see Kiddushin 61a-b.
3. As I note in the derashah itself, I really am very uncomfortable with this direct identification of personal suffering with national fate. But, as I said there, it is an undeniable component of our tradition.
4. Yes, this is another derashah expressing my not-so-latent guilt about living outside of Israel.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
"Bless this our country, the United States of America"
There is a near-universal practice, in traditional Orthodox synagogues, of blessing the local government and praying to Gd to provide it counsel and support. From East Asia to Russia to Europe to North and South America, in languages varied and with diverse texts, Jews call upon Gd to benefit the lands in which they live. (I'm not sure about Africa.) There are many motivations for this practice, including simple gratitude, a recognition that all citizens benefit from law and order, and a solicitous desire to demonstrate patriotism.
Our shul recites a version that appears in the siddur (prayer book) compiled by Rabbi David deSola Pool several decades ago. This prayer begins, “Heavenly Father, bless this our country, the United States of America.”
The “Heavenly Father” invocation is always jarring for first-timers, but it makes sense as a translation of Avinu sheBashamayim – and it is certainly less offensive to the Jewish ear than a more literal rendition: “Our Father who art in Heaven.”
The more jarring part of that opening line, for many, is the word our. If we term America “our country,” is that a demotion of Israel, and/or a rejection of the fundamental Jewish longing for the arrival of Mashiach and kibbutz galuyot, the ingathering of Jews to Israel?
I've mulled and debated this question for the past seven-plus years, and overall I have made my peace with this dubious “our.” The word describes a relationship, yes, but not in an exclusive sense. In my view, our accurately describes both our relationship with Israel and our relationship with America.
If "our" described ownership, I would reject this our; there is only one Jewish land. But, to my mind, “our” is less a statement of possession than a statement of loyalty and responsibility. Our families, our homes, our lives, our careers, our friends – these are ours which are less about owning than about being owned, more about fealty than about property. In this sense, both lands are “our” lands, for both lands may rightfully claim our hearts and our powers.
Israel is “our” country in the sense that it is the only land which is truly attached to a Jew. It is the land in which our genetic and spiritual ancestors lived, loved, worshipped, were born, died and were buried. As we have been taught for millenia, it is the true locus for all that is Judaism, the theater where mitzvot have their greatest meaning as well as application, the earthly soil where a Jew can most fully connect to the Divine. Israel has been promised to us, and we have been promised to it; this land lodges a claim upon our lives as great and as permanent as our own claim upon its soil.
But America is also “our” country, in the sense that it is the land which absorbed us, which afforded us the freedom to live as Jews when no other polity would do likewise; which came, over the course of centuries, to recognize Jews as worthy of education and position and political authority; which bucked the trend of human history and divested religion of government imprimatur and military enforcement; which provided social and economic support for the founding of some of the most vibrant Jewish communities and Torah yeshivot in the world.
More: American values heavily influenced the founders of the modern state of Israel, and American ideology yet recognizes the kinship between the two lands; this connection is another strand in this “our.”
Certainly, my heart - and, one day soon, Gd-willing, my body - is in Israel.
Certainly, the relationship between sectarian Jew and universalist United States, and between America and Israel, is perennially conflicted and inherently insecure.
Certainly, not every government and governor has been as generous of heart toward the descendants of Avraham and Sarah.
Indeed, I am penning this essay on a day when the vast majority of my neighbors celebrate the birth of a man whose ideology I declare anathema, and whose theological descendants have massacred millions of my kin over the past two thousand years.
Still, for all of the reasons above, there is little doubt in my mind that America, even on the twenty-fifth of December, is “our” land.
And so I continue to bless “this our country.” When new people enter our shul, I continue to explain to them, to the best of my ability, why I agree with “our.” And when I spend Shabbos in a different community, one which does not verbalize an “our” in its prayer for the government, in my own mind this expression of loyalty and responsibility still attaches itself to the name of that more perfect union, “our country, the United States of America.”
Our shul recites a version that appears in the siddur (prayer book) compiled by Rabbi David deSola Pool several decades ago. This prayer begins, “Heavenly Father, bless this our country, the United States of America.”
The “Heavenly Father” invocation is always jarring for first-timers, but it makes sense as a translation of Avinu sheBashamayim – and it is certainly less offensive to the Jewish ear than a more literal rendition: “Our Father who art in Heaven.”
The more jarring part of that opening line, for many, is the word our. If we term America “our country,” is that a demotion of Israel, and/or a rejection of the fundamental Jewish longing for the arrival of Mashiach and kibbutz galuyot, the ingathering of Jews to Israel?
I've mulled and debated this question for the past seven-plus years, and overall I have made my peace with this dubious “our.” The word describes a relationship, yes, but not in an exclusive sense. In my view, our accurately describes both our relationship with Israel and our relationship with America.
If "our" described ownership, I would reject this our; there is only one Jewish land. But, to my mind, “our” is less a statement of possession than a statement of loyalty and responsibility. Our families, our homes, our lives, our careers, our friends – these are ours which are less about owning than about being owned, more about fealty than about property. In this sense, both lands are “our” lands, for both lands may rightfully claim our hearts and our powers.
Israel is “our” country in the sense that it is the only land which is truly attached to a Jew. It is the land in which our genetic and spiritual ancestors lived, loved, worshipped, were born, died and were buried. As we have been taught for millenia, it is the true locus for all that is Judaism, the theater where mitzvot have their greatest meaning as well as application, the earthly soil where a Jew can most fully connect to the Divine. Israel has been promised to us, and we have been promised to it; this land lodges a claim upon our lives as great and as permanent as our own claim upon its soil.
But America is also “our” country, in the sense that it is the land which absorbed us, which afforded us the freedom to live as Jews when no other polity would do likewise; which came, over the course of centuries, to recognize Jews as worthy of education and position and political authority; which bucked the trend of human history and divested religion of government imprimatur and military enforcement; which provided social and economic support for the founding of some of the most vibrant Jewish communities and Torah yeshivot in the world.
More: American values heavily influenced the founders of the modern state of Israel, and American ideology yet recognizes the kinship between the two lands; this connection is another strand in this “our.”
Certainly, my heart - and, one day soon, Gd-willing, my body - is in Israel.
Certainly, the relationship between sectarian Jew and universalist United States, and between America and Israel, is perennially conflicted and inherently insecure.
Certainly, not every government and governor has been as generous of heart toward the descendants of Avraham and Sarah.
Indeed, I am penning this essay on a day when the vast majority of my neighbors celebrate the birth of a man whose ideology I declare anathema, and whose theological descendants have massacred millions of my kin over the past two thousand years.
Still, for all of the reasons above, there is little doubt in my mind that America, even on the twenty-fifth of December, is “our” land.
And so I continue to bless “this our country.” When new people enter our shul, I continue to explain to them, to the best of my ability, why I agree with “our.” And when I spend Shabbos in a different community, one which does not verbalize an “our” in its prayer for the government, in my own mind this expression of loyalty and responsibility still attaches itself to the name of that more perfect union, “our country, the United States of America.”
Friday, November 7, 2008
The Jew and the Hanging Tree
On Monday, the first day of our UJC/Federation trip to Israel, we were given free time to walk around the Tel Aviv/Yafo area. My roommate led a group of us in a walk along the water. As part of his knowledgeable tour of the area, he took us to see “the hanging tree.”
As you can see in the picture at the start of this post (credit: found it here), a large container of soil hangs, suspended, in the middle of a courtyard, and a large tree grows out of that container. Walking down an alley and suddenly encountering this large, floating refugee from a JNF forest, is a surreal experience.
I also saw the tree on a previous trip, but – like any good work of art – it hit me differently, and more powerfully, the second time. I have spent a lot of time thinking about it over the past few days, and about why it so moved me now.
The tree seemed lonely to me, hauntingly isolated not only from other trees, but also from the nourishing and secure soil which is its right, by dint of its very identity. A tree out of soil, a fish out of water... a Jew out of his homeland.
Rootbound in its cramped container, suspended between heaven and earth, lacking the security and comfort and nourishment of soil, that tree nonetheless continues its existence daily, gives shade, provides a resting place for a passing dove. This is the life it knows.
But what if its life were different? What if there were other hanging trees in the courtyard, sharing suspended soil with our lonely tree? What if she knew the company of others of her kind, likewise bereft of space for their roots, secure footing for their trunks?
And so the hanging tree became, for me, in the course of visits to Beit haTefutsot and Beit Guvrin, the Palmach and Yad VaShem, in the course of listening to Aluf Benn and Rabbi Melchior, in the course of praying by a roadside in Yoav and by the Wall at sunrise, a central theme of my experience on this trip.
I am very much a hanging tree, doing my best to thrive even though my roots are cut off from the land which should be theirs. So are all of us in the Diaspora, hanging trees whether we know it or not, whether we feel it or not. And, yes, even in Israel the Jew is a hanging tree, suspended in that courtyard, at home geographically but still seeking meaning, seeking needs both physical and spiritual, seeking the company of others. Rabbi Soloveitchik wrote of “The LonelyMan of Faith,” seeking Gd in the universe – but we also seek each other.
We are all hanging trees – but when we join together as our group did in this trip, to feed the hungry, to offer succor to people living under threat of rockets, to honor the memory of those who have passed and to encourage those who are building the future, then our hanging trees become a hanging forest, planted in common soil.
May we plant many more trees, hanging and otherwise, in the future.
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