One of the most difficult situations a Rabbi enters is the "end of life"/"quality of life" debate.
* Families can be torn apart as they debate the patient's best interests and preferences;
* Doctors are conflicted between their mission of preserving life, their responsibility to the overall healthcare system, and their personal feelings about the patient's state and prospects;
* Rabbis don't know which way to turn.
One of the hardest such cases is the persistent vegetative state. In many cases the doctors aver that the patient has no consciousness and will never have any consciousness. Family members might interpret certan physical movements as signs of consciousness, while medical staff will explain those movements in other ways. Everyone will debate what the patient wanted, or would have wanted. And various players will point to the cost of maintaining healthcare, insisting that there is no point in persisting - while traditional halachah insists that we are obligated to provide certain basic elements so long as we are not prolonging a painful death.
One of the critical questions involved, and perhaps the most critical, is this: Is the patient conscious?
As of this moment, CNN.com and NYtimes.com have not picked this up - but they will, it was only published 24 minutes ago:
Vegetative Ontario man Scott Routley ‘talks’ to researchers through brain scans
Severely brain-injured Scott Routley hasn’t spoken in 12 years. But scientists using an MRI to peer into his brain, can “see” what he’s thinking as various parts of his brain light up.
Essentially, his brain is doing the talking for him, say leading scientists at the University of Western Ontario’s Brain and Mind Institute.
As a result of breakthrough work on brain activity, the 39-year-old motor vehicle accident victim from London, Ont. has responded to a series of questions, including letting researchers know that he is not in pain.
“It became very clear that Scott had some awareness and he could respond in the scanner to the task we asked him to do while he was in there,” British neuroscientist professor Adrian Owen, who leads the research team, told the Toronto Star Tuesday.
“What we have done here for the very first time is ask a patient a question that is actually relevant to their clinical care.
“Asking somebody whether they are in pain in tremendously important, because of course if the answer had been yes, we could do something,” he said.
Owen said there is no doubt that being able to communicate in this way with a person thought to be a vegetative state is a first and it is hoped will lead to routine communications with at least one in five people in this uncommunicative state.
“That’s where we are trying to get to. We are trying to create what’s called a brain computer interface … some form of a machine that could allow somebody like Scott to routinely communicate with the outside word . . . We would like to give these patients a voice to enable them to actually communicate their wishes and needs,” he told the Star.
By using a functional magnetic imaging procedure he said they can tell by how different parts of Routley’s brain light up that he is responding to suggestions and questions.
“We put him in an MRI scanner and while he is in the scanner we ask him to imagine doing certain things in his mind . . . for example, we ask him to imagine using his arms. Scott is unable to use his arms in reality but it turns out he is perfectly able to imagine moving his arms. And we can pick that up on the scanner and we can tell he’s doing what we ask him to do,” Owen said.
The professor noted in an earlier interview with the Star that while functional magnetic resonance imaging machines, or fMRI images are the gold standard, they are expensive — machines can cost up to $2 million — and it is both costly and disruptive to move patients to the scanners in hospitals.
Owens says it’s quite possible that a portable high-end EEG machine, costing about $75,000, can be used at a patient’s bedside. An EEG uses scalp electrodes to measure the electrical signals coming from neurons in the brain.
Owen said command-following is a routine method of telling if a person is conscious and aware, “and with Scott we can tell he is activating his brain when we ask him to do so.”
“And when we say ‘now stop doing that imagining’ and then we see the little blob in the brain disappear. But when we say start it again now the blob lights up again,” he said.
Owen said Routley on two occasions through a series of question and commands “responded that he wasn’t in any pain.”
This research also raises ethical questions about whether these patients, once they are able to communicate, should be able to direct their care — and the end of their lives.
Showing posts with label Life in the Rabbinate: Halachic authority. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life in the Rabbinate: Halachic authority. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
The Rabbi's Pesach Stress
Why did your Rabbi cringe today when you approached him with that ladle?
Why does he start to tremble when people mention smoothtop stoves or granite countertops?
Is he ever going to have a normal expression on his face when someone mentions quinoa?
Yes, we are at the height of pre-Pesach rabbinic stress. It's all about the shailos (halachic questions).
I've written in the past about the stress that comes with answering shalos. It's hard to apply halachic principles to practical situations, and to be sure we have asked the right questions and understood the responses.
Certain types of questions are worse than others. Niddah questions, when a couple is having fertility problems. Yom Kippur fasting for people in poor health. And, yes, Pesach questions. We have established principles for leniency, but applying them is tough.
Example 1: "I inherited a used set of china from a relative who did not observe kashrut; can I kasher it for Pesach?"
For year-round use, the answer is easier; since the alternative to kashering would be to throw it out, and china is valuable, the argument for leniency due to hefsed (financial loss) is clear. But regarding Pesach, there is a rabbinic counter-argument: "You won't lose money if you save this china for year-round use." To which the congregant might respond, "But I don't have a nice set of china for the seder." Well, just how important is having such a set for the seder?
Example 2: "I was given a $50 bottle of Scotch for Purim. Can I include it in my sale of chametz?"
Following the view that one may sell bona fide chametz only in a case of financial loss, we now need to define financial loss. On the one hand, $50 is a loss – the congregant would never go out and spend $50 on liquor on his own. On the other hand, is it really such a loss? He pays annual tuition of $23,000 for his daughter's high school education, and he wouldn't blink if it was suddenly $23,050.
Example 3: "Can I drink Lactaid on Pesach? I get cramps from regular milk."
Assuming (as I believe major kashrut organizations do) that Lactaid poses a kitniyos problem, it is permitted for someone who needs to drink milk, and who cannot use regular milk. But define "needs to drink milk". And "cannot use regular milk", for that matter.
And the cases go on and on.
It's rare that I feel good about no longer being in the shul rabbinate, but pre-Pesach is one of those times…
Why does he start to tremble when people mention smoothtop stoves or granite countertops?
Is he ever going to have a normal expression on his face when someone mentions quinoa?
Yes, we are at the height of pre-Pesach rabbinic stress. It's all about the shailos (halachic questions).
I've written in the past about the stress that comes with answering shalos. It's hard to apply halachic principles to practical situations, and to be sure we have asked the right questions and understood the responses.
Certain types of questions are worse than others. Niddah questions, when a couple is having fertility problems. Yom Kippur fasting for people in poor health. And, yes, Pesach questions. We have established principles for leniency, but applying them is tough.
Example 1: "I inherited a used set of china from a relative who did not observe kashrut; can I kasher it for Pesach?"
For year-round use, the answer is easier; since the alternative to kashering would be to throw it out, and china is valuable, the argument for leniency due to hefsed (financial loss) is clear. But regarding Pesach, there is a rabbinic counter-argument: "You won't lose money if you save this china for year-round use." To which the congregant might respond, "But I don't have a nice set of china for the seder." Well, just how important is having such a set for the seder?
Example 2: "I was given a $50 bottle of Scotch for Purim. Can I include it in my sale of chametz?"
Following the view that one may sell bona fide chametz only in a case of financial loss, we now need to define financial loss. On the one hand, $50 is a loss – the congregant would never go out and spend $50 on liquor on his own. On the other hand, is it really such a loss? He pays annual tuition of $23,000 for his daughter's high school education, and he wouldn't blink if it was suddenly $23,050.
Example 3: "Can I drink Lactaid on Pesach? I get cramps from regular milk."
Assuming (as I believe major kashrut organizations do) that Lactaid poses a kitniyos problem, it is permitted for someone who needs to drink milk, and who cannot use regular milk. But define "needs to drink milk". And "cannot use regular milk", for that matter.
And the cases go on and on.
It's rare that I feel good about no longer being in the shul rabbinate, but pre-Pesach is one of those times…
Friday, March 9, 2012
The Shul Rabbi is the communal authority
One of the key rules we set up for our Beit Midrash when we started almost three years ago was that no member of the Beit Midrash is allowed to pasken. All questions are referred to the shul rabbi. I always reiterate this in halachah shiurim, as well.
From time to time, people challenge me on this; after all, popular custom is for everyone from gemara rebbeim to roshei yeshiva to non-practicing musmachim to opine freely on halachic matters. Why won't I?
I have several reasons, including:
1. The shul rabbi knows the community, and knows the impact of an answer given to a particular party;
2. The shul rabbi is responsible for setting a communal standard, which could be easily wrecked by amateurs;
3. The shul rabbi is the one who will need to pick up the pieces if there is fallout from the ruling;
4. The original system of semichah was designed this way, to have just one ruling authority in any given location.
The other day I came across reinforcement in the Chasam Sofer. Addressing a question put to him, he wrote (Chasam Sofer 1:123):
I think he was pretty clear on the subject.
From time to time, people challenge me on this; after all, popular custom is for everyone from gemara rebbeim to roshei yeshiva to non-practicing musmachim to opine freely on halachic matters. Why won't I?
I have several reasons, including:
1. The shul rabbi knows the community, and knows the impact of an answer given to a particular party;
2. The shul rabbi is responsible for setting a communal standard, which could be easily wrecked by amateurs;
3. The shul rabbi is the one who will need to pick up the pieces if there is fallout from the ruling;
4. The original system of semichah was designed this way, to have just one ruling authority in any given location.
The other day I came across reinforcement in the Chasam Sofer. Addressing a question put to him, he wrote (Chasam Sofer 1:123):
לא ידעתי אם יש רב יושב על כסא הוראה דקהלתכם כי אז אליו תשמעון ודברי כלא היו
I don't know if there is a Rabbi sitting on your community's seat of halachic authority. If there is, you should listen to him, and my words are as nothing.I think he was pretty clear on the subject.
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Questions from Rosh HaShanah
[This week's Haveil Havalim is here]
While we wait for post-Yom Tov "Derashah Reviews"...
As we have discussed, I keep a hard and fast rule: I don't answer halachic questions that require anything more than "See this note in the Mishneh Berurah/Aruch haShulchan", referring them instead to the Rabbi of whichever shul is involved. I have a few reasons for this, including respect for the shul Rav, necessity for consistency in communal psak, and a feeling that psak should be rendered by the one who is responsible for communal needs and fallout.
Nonetheless, I am sometimes the first stop on the way to the Rabbi of the shul. Here are some of the interesting questions I was involved with over Yom Tov; some of them may come up for you, too:
• May I braid challah on Yom Tov?
This is actually more complex than it may sound. On the one hand, acts from kneading and onward in the bread-making process are permitted on Yom Tov. On the other hand, the reason we don't braid dough is because it is "construction", and construction is prohibited on Yom Tov. Indeed, Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach is cited in Shemiras Shabbos k'Hilchasah, Chapter 11 foonote 43 as opposing the practice, although he does offer a potential halachic justification.
• Why do we recite Shehechiyanu on shofar on the second day of Yom Tov, but not on lulav for the second day of Succos?
For shofar we recite Shechiyanu, but the reason is not clear (indeed, the tokeia may wear an appropriate new garment in order to remove doubt regarding the Shehechiyanu). For lulav, though, I see less reason to recite Shehechiyanu. One could argue that we must recite Shehechiyanu for shofar, since the only way we should blow shofar is if it's Day 1. For lulav, though, we pick up the lulav even for days 2-7.
• If the kitchen sink stops up on the first night of a three-day Yom Tov, may we plunge it?
If there is a great need, one may use a plunger for a sink, ideally in an unusual way. See Shemirat Shabbat k'Hilchatah Chapter 12, footnote 50, for more on this.
• May one change the orientation of a ceiling light in shul, to aid davening?
The answer seems to be Yes; we generally permit moving a lamp altogether on Shabbos and Yom Tov.
• We say (see Igrot Moshe Orach Chaim 2:36) that one should not interrupt between the berachah on the shofar and the end of the blasts blown in the repetition of the Amidah. What if one interrupted after the first 30?
It seems that there is nothing to do at this point. The reason to be silent through the second set of 30 is in order to tie the berachos of the repetition of the amidah to the shofar blowing; if that doesn't happen, one certainly doesn't daven musaf a second time.
• What melachah has one performed, if one cuts a worm in half (without moving it) on Shabbos or Yom Tov, and both halves of the worm live?
Okay, this one is weird, fine. It was my own, sparked when I saw someone step on a worm in a park on Yom Tov. It's interesting, though:
One is not guilty of netilas neshamah, taking a life, since the worm lives.
One may help an animal give birth on Shabbos, but one may not physically pull the young out (Shabbos 128b); what is the status of the cutting action?
Should we contend that this is an act of tearing for a constructive purpose, if it is done intentionally?
One didn't move a muktzeh entity.
Would it bleed? But even if so, would the blood be coming from inside the flesh, or from a cavity? (mifkad pakid vs chiburei michbar, in Kesuvos-speak)
Is one guilty of molid, creating something new, as in creation of a spark or investment of scent in a garment?
Dunno. Ask the Rabbi.
While we wait for post-Yom Tov "Derashah Reviews"...
As we have discussed, I keep a hard and fast rule: I don't answer halachic questions that require anything more than "See this note in the Mishneh Berurah/Aruch haShulchan", referring them instead to the Rabbi of whichever shul is involved. I have a few reasons for this, including respect for the shul Rav, necessity for consistency in communal psak, and a feeling that psak should be rendered by the one who is responsible for communal needs and fallout.
Nonetheless, I am sometimes the first stop on the way to the Rabbi of the shul. Here are some of the interesting questions I was involved with over Yom Tov; some of them may come up for you, too:
• May I braid challah on Yom Tov?
This is actually more complex than it may sound. On the one hand, acts from kneading and onward in the bread-making process are permitted on Yom Tov. On the other hand, the reason we don't braid dough is because it is "construction", and construction is prohibited on Yom Tov. Indeed, Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach is cited in Shemiras Shabbos k'Hilchasah, Chapter 11 foonote 43 as opposing the practice, although he does offer a potential halachic justification.
• Why do we recite Shehechiyanu on shofar on the second day of Yom Tov, but not on lulav for the second day of Succos?
For shofar we recite Shechiyanu, but the reason is not clear (indeed, the tokeia may wear an appropriate new garment in order to remove doubt regarding the Shehechiyanu). For lulav, though, I see less reason to recite Shehechiyanu. One could argue that we must recite Shehechiyanu for shofar, since the only way we should blow shofar is if it's Day 1. For lulav, though, we pick up the lulav even for days 2-7.
• If the kitchen sink stops up on the first night of a three-day Yom Tov, may we plunge it?
If there is a great need, one may use a plunger for a sink, ideally in an unusual way. See Shemirat Shabbat k'Hilchatah Chapter 12, footnote 50, for more on this.
• May one change the orientation of a ceiling light in shul, to aid davening?
The answer seems to be Yes; we generally permit moving a lamp altogether on Shabbos and Yom Tov.
• We say (see Igrot Moshe Orach Chaim 2:36) that one should not interrupt between the berachah on the shofar and the end of the blasts blown in the repetition of the Amidah. What if one interrupted after the first 30?
It seems that there is nothing to do at this point. The reason to be silent through the second set of 30 is in order to tie the berachos of the repetition of the amidah to the shofar blowing; if that doesn't happen, one certainly doesn't daven musaf a second time.
• What melachah has one performed, if one cuts a worm in half (without moving it) on Shabbos or Yom Tov, and both halves of the worm live?
Okay, this one is weird, fine. It was my own, sparked when I saw someone step on a worm in a park on Yom Tov. It's interesting, though:
One is not guilty of netilas neshamah, taking a life, since the worm lives.
One may help an animal give birth on Shabbos, but one may not physically pull the young out (Shabbos 128b); what is the status of the cutting action?
Should we contend that this is an act of tearing for a constructive purpose, if it is done intentionally?
One didn't move a muktzeh entity.
Would it bleed? But even if so, would the blood be coming from inside the flesh, or from a cavity? (mifkad pakid vs chiburei michbar, in Kesuvos-speak)
Is one guilty of molid, creating something new, as in creation of a spark or investment of scent in a garment?
Dunno. Ask the Rabbi.
Sunday, September 25, 2011
Shailophobia: The fear of answering Shailos
I first wrote the post below in a different forum, in Sept '06. I still feel much the same.
It comes to mind now as I draft my viduy for another Rosh HaShanah, and I recall a dozen Yom Kippur viduys in which I apologized for any psak in which I may have erred.
One of the perks of being out of the shul rabbinate is that Shailophobia is mostly academic for me these days.
-
I don’t know whether my experience reflects that of other rabbis or not, but I become very nervous when faced with a shailoh (question of Jewish law).
Over the years I’ve dealt with such commonplaces as Living Will/Power of Attorney, brain death, organ donation, meat-lid/dairy-pot, mikvah chatzitzah (items on one’s skin that disqualify ritual immersion), personal eruv extensions, taharah (preparation for burial) problems, fertility treatments, etc - the sort of thing that every rav has to be able to handle, whether personally or with the help of a serious posek (legal authority).
I’m not that nervous about the knowledge issues - Thank Gd, I know where to look for answers. If need be, I know who to ask for help. My problem is with the application to real-life situations, and the nuances of psak for real, sensitive, people.
It’s hard to know when people are up for the l’chatchilah (ideal answer) and when the bedieved (ex post facto leniency, often employed under duress as well) is called for. It’s about knowing what their background is and how they’ll respond here. It’s about the strength of their commitment. It’s about whether they can afford to buy a new one. It’s about how they’ll handle future issues.
It’s about their friends, who will hear about this and make their own judgments as well as their own extrapolations to other circumstances. It’s about their cousin who’s a rabbi and who will hear my kula (leniency) and think I must be a lunatic lefty. It’s about their sister who will hear my chumra (stringency) and try to convince them I’m a right-wing nut. It’s about my own yom hadin, when I’ll have to answer for my mistakes in allowing that which was prohibited, or prohibiting that which was allowed.
There really is no up-side in psak (issuing legal decisions). At best you handle the situation correctly; at worst you fouled up her kitchen or his taharah or her tvilah or his tfilah, etc. But poskim are needed, nonetheless.
It comes to mind now as I draft my viduy for another Rosh HaShanah, and I recall a dozen Yom Kippur viduys in which I apologized for any psak in which I may have erred.
One of the perks of being out of the shul rabbinate is that Shailophobia is mostly academic for me these days.
-
I don’t know whether my experience reflects that of other rabbis or not, but I become very nervous when faced with a shailoh (question of Jewish law).
Over the years I’ve dealt with such commonplaces as Living Will/Power of Attorney, brain death, organ donation, meat-lid/dairy-pot, mikvah chatzitzah (items on one’s skin that disqualify ritual immersion), personal eruv extensions, taharah (preparation for burial) problems, fertility treatments, etc - the sort of thing that every rav has to be able to handle, whether personally or with the help of a serious posek (legal authority).
I’m not that nervous about the knowledge issues - Thank Gd, I know where to look for answers. If need be, I know who to ask for help. My problem is with the application to real-life situations, and the nuances of psak for real, sensitive, people.
It’s hard to know when people are up for the l’chatchilah (ideal answer) and when the bedieved (ex post facto leniency, often employed under duress as well) is called for. It’s about knowing what their background is and how they’ll respond here. It’s about the strength of their commitment. It’s about whether they can afford to buy a new one. It’s about how they’ll handle future issues.
It’s about their friends, who will hear about this and make their own judgments as well as their own extrapolations to other circumstances. It’s about their cousin who’s a rabbi and who will hear my kula (leniency) and think I must be a lunatic lefty. It’s about their sister who will hear my chumra (stringency) and try to convince them I’m a right-wing nut. It’s about my own yom hadin, when I’ll have to answer for my mistakes in allowing that which was prohibited, or prohibiting that which was allowed.
There really is no up-side in psak (issuing legal decisions). At best you handle the situation correctly; at worst you fouled up her kitchen or his taharah or her tvilah or his tfilah, etc. But poskim are needed, nonetheless.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
When is it better for a rabbi to hold his tongue?
A common rabbinic question: When is it better to speak up, and when is it better to say nothing? If you know that people are doing something incorrectly, is it better to sermonize on it and get some to listen, knowing that others will then ignore your counsel and break the law knowingly?
Rav Moshe Feinstein dealt with this question in terms of calling for silence before shofar blowing, and I have translated the bulk of his responsum (Igrot Moshe Orach Chaim 2:36) below. I particularly like his last suggestion here – that there is a third choice, separately notifying those who will listen. This requires more work, of course, but that's an important point: Often a rabbi can do better for his community by putting in the extra work.
Herewith the translation:
Regarding the matter of whether to announce before shofar blowing that one may not interrupt verbally until after the "standing blasts" [the second set of 30 blasts, blown during Musaf], in a shul where many simple people daven and it is known that they will not listen to the announcement, and they will interrupt. One person contends it would be better not to announce this, so that the people would sin accidentally rather than intentionally. His honor [the letter-writer] responds: Should we fail to teach the general population any laws because of such a concern, saying regarding them, 'Better that they sin accidentally'?
The principle of 'better that they sin accidentally' applies specifically where people definitely will not accept, as seen in Tosafot Bava Batra 60 and Rosh to Beitzah 30. We should not teach such people. The question of how we could refrain from teaching is not difficult; since they definitely would not adhere even were they to learn it, there would be no benefit in teaching them.
However: If it is unclear that they will not accept the law, we definitely are obligated to protest their conduct, and all the more so to teach them outside of the time when this violation is occurring.
It also appears obvious that when someone comes to learn, we definitely teach him everything according to the law, even if it is clear that he will not accept it. One should not teach incorrectly just because the listener will not practice it. It is only when they do not ask, that we do not independently protest. But in this case [where they ask], there is no issue of 'better accidental than intentional.'
It also appears obvious that if the population includes people who will listen, one must inform them of the prohibition – even if it is known that some will not listen and will violate intentionally. We do not harm those who would accept the instruction in order to avoid harming those who will violate the law intentionally and be punished as intentional sinners. Were we not to inform these people, they would violate accidentally, which would also be a legal violation, causing harm.
Therefore: In a shul which may include people who do not know the prohibition against interruption, and who will interrupt [the shofar blowing] and accidentally break the law, but who would listen if it were announced and would not interrupt, we must announce the law unless there is a way to convey the information to those people individually. If it is known that no one is present who will accept it, or if there is some way to inform only those who might listen, then we should not announce it.
Note: For lack of time I didn't translate his last paragraph, which includes a separate, fascinating point on the problem inherent in teaching a chumra as though it were law. Here it is:
Rav Moshe Feinstein dealt with this question in terms of calling for silence before shofar blowing, and I have translated the bulk of his responsum (Igrot Moshe Orach Chaim 2:36) below. I particularly like his last suggestion here – that there is a third choice, separately notifying those who will listen. This requires more work, of course, but that's an important point: Often a rabbi can do better for his community by putting in the extra work.
Herewith the translation:
Regarding the matter of whether to announce before shofar blowing that one may not interrupt verbally until after the "standing blasts" [the second set of 30 blasts, blown during Musaf], in a shul where many simple people daven and it is known that they will not listen to the announcement, and they will interrupt. One person contends it would be better not to announce this, so that the people would sin accidentally rather than intentionally. His honor [the letter-writer] responds: Should we fail to teach the general population any laws because of such a concern, saying regarding them, 'Better that they sin accidentally'?
The principle of 'better that they sin accidentally' applies specifically where people definitely will not accept, as seen in Tosafot Bava Batra 60 and Rosh to Beitzah 30. We should not teach such people. The question of how we could refrain from teaching is not difficult; since they definitely would not adhere even were they to learn it, there would be no benefit in teaching them.
However: If it is unclear that they will not accept the law, we definitely are obligated to protest their conduct, and all the more so to teach them outside of the time when this violation is occurring.
It also appears obvious that when someone comes to learn, we definitely teach him everything according to the law, even if it is clear that he will not accept it. One should not teach incorrectly just because the listener will not practice it. It is only when they do not ask, that we do not independently protest. But in this case [where they ask], there is no issue of 'better accidental than intentional.'
It also appears obvious that if the population includes people who will listen, one must inform them of the prohibition – even if it is known that some will not listen and will violate intentionally. We do not harm those who would accept the instruction in order to avoid harming those who will violate the law intentionally and be punished as intentional sinners. Were we not to inform these people, they would violate accidentally, which would also be a legal violation, causing harm.
Therefore: In a shul which may include people who do not know the prohibition against interruption, and who will interrupt [the shofar blowing] and accidentally break the law, but who would listen if it were announced and would not interrupt, we must announce the law unless there is a way to convey the information to those people individually. If it is known that no one is present who will accept it, or if there is some way to inform only those who might listen, then we should not announce it.
Note: For lack of time I didn't translate his last paragraph, which includes a separate, fascinating point on the problem inherent in teaching a chumra as though it were law. Here it is:
וקצת יש להסתפק בדין זה דאסור להפסיק גם אחר תקיעות דמיושב עד שיגמור תקיעות דמעומד שלא ברור האיסור דהר"ן בשם בעה"מ סוף ר"ה הקשה ע"ז דמידי דהוה אמדבר באמצע הסעודה והובא בט"ז סימן תקצ"ב סק"ב והתירוצים דחוקים והר"ן מסיק דרק משום דהביא זה הרי"ף בשם הריש מתיבתא צריך ליזהר בזה עיי"ש, ונמצא שאף אם במזיד יפסיק בדבור לא יעבור באיסור ממש אפשר ליכא בזה משום מוטב שיהיו שוגגים וצריך להכריז. או אדרבה כשיכריזו שאסור ויעבור יהיה עובר יותר מצד מחשבתו שהוא יסבור שהוא איסור ממש, שיש ע"ז עונש אף שבעצם אינו איסור ממש כדדריש ר"ע בקידושין דף פ"א וכשלא יכריזו הרי יהיה רק שוגג בדבר שהוא רק חומרא בעלמא שאולי לא יענש ע"ז ואין להכריז, ואין בידי לע"ע הכרעה בספק זה. ולכן יש לעשות כדלעיל שאם אפשר שיקבלו איזה מהשומעין צריך להכריז שאסור להפסיק ואם ידוע שכל האין יודעין הדין לא יקבלו אין להכריז. ידידו מברכו בחג שמח, משה פיינשטיין.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
How long does it take to become a Rabbi?
[Post I just read: JTA Archives are now digitized and on-line for free , at Michtavim]
The other day, a comment from a friend caused me to calculate just how much time rabbis spend in training for the halachic component of the rabbinate.
Without any particular goal in mind, while sitting on a plane, I did the math: Aside from pastoral, administrative, or communal training, aside from studies of Hebrew language, Chumash, Navi, Jewish History, homiletics and so on… how much time do rabbis spend on learning either law, or legal theory, in Talmud or Halachah classes?
Of course, the answer will vary by program. I understand that there are 1-year rabbinic training programs. I also know that certain yeshivot grant automatic ordination when their kollel students get married. And then, of course, there are ‘partial ordination’ programs in which students specialize in specific areas of law, for which they are tested and for which they receive certificates.
So I’ll take a student who follows a course of study with which I am familiar: Day school, followed by Modern Orthodox high school, followed by Yeshiva University, two years in Israel, and semichah studies at RIETS-Yeshiva University.
As a general rule, day schools have their students – sometimes boys and girls, sometimes just boys – begin to study mishnah and gemara in 5th or 6th grade. Let’s say it’s 6th grade. They generally spend 40 minutes each day for the first year, for which I’ll assume 180 curricular days. So that’s 120 hours.
For 7th and 8th grade it’s more intense, more like 90 minutes each day. Continuing with 180 days each year, that’s 540 more hours, for a total of 660 hours.
Then high school. As I recall, we spent 3.5 hours each day in gemara and halachah at MTA. Again, I’ll allow 180 days. Over a four year high school career, that’s 2520 more hours, for a total of 3180 hours by the time he graduates high school.
[Of course, I have not counted time spent on homework, or Sunday school, or outside chavrusa learning; that’s too hard to estimate. And I also haven’t counted summer learning experiences, formal or informal.]
Our student then goes off to Israel, where he studies for two years. For five days each week he studies gemara and halachah for at least 8 hours per day, and in certain yeshivot more like 10-12 hours per day. But let’s go with 8 hours per day during the week for 200 days each year, and then 6 hours on each Friday-Shabbos combination for 40 weeks. That’s really undercutting it, but it yields 1840 hours each year, 3680 total [again, minus summers], for a lifetime total of 6860 hours spent in studying gemara and halachah.
Not all of these studies are at the same level, of course; in 6th grade he’s getting an introduction. In 7th-8th he learns about Rashi and Tosafot on some level. In high school he studies Rishonim, and to a certain extent he is introduced to Acharonim. In Israel he may learn Acharonim in greater depth. But it’s 6860 hours, before he has even entered college.
At YU’s Mazer Yeshiva Program, he studies gemara and halachah for 4 hours each day as part of the curriculuum, and another 2 hours each night, and let’s assume 180 days per year. Again, we discount outside studies, Sundays, summers. But for 3 years in college, that yields another 3240 hours. Total of 10,100 hours lifetime.
Then he enters the semichah program, and he learns 8 hours each day, 180 days per year, for 3 years, for a total of 4320 hours. Again, this is undercounting because of summers and Sundays, and it undercounts the numbers per day, but it’ll have to do. Total of 14,420 hours lifetime, before receiving semichah.
By comparison – someone who attends a full daf yomi cycle, hearing 1 hour of shiur per day (as opposed to our 35 minutes here!), spends about 2707 hours. This is more than 5 times that number.
And it’s only the beginning; a rabbi who stops learning when he enters the rabbinate will soon find himself out of his depth.
That’s an awfully long time to spend on this, much more than I think necessary for a person who is not entering the rabbinate. For a non-rabbi, I think the time could be better spent on other parts of Torah.
Further, one could give educational classes and write articulate articles and give inspiring speeches without all of this study. It’s not particularly hard for an experienced student to tackle a new topic by reading a few existing articles, digesting and organizing the information and finding a good way to present it.
I've been told by Conservative and Reform colleagues that this time is unnecessary, that primary sources can be summed up by secondary and tertiary sources, later articles presenting a digest of learning and views.
But I do think this amount of time is necessary if one is to be serious about learning and teaching on a deep level, let alone answering halachic questions. Accepting someone's digest means sacrificing the possibility of personal investigation, and the depth of understanding that comes with that investigation. And it means that when new questions come up, one flounders for a way to address them. The time is necessary.
As I said, I don’t really have a goal or conclusion here. Just thoughts on a plane.
The other day, a comment from a friend caused me to calculate just how much time rabbis spend in training for the halachic component of the rabbinate.
Without any particular goal in mind, while sitting on a plane, I did the math: Aside from pastoral, administrative, or communal training, aside from studies of Hebrew language, Chumash, Navi, Jewish History, homiletics and so on… how much time do rabbis spend on learning either law, or legal theory, in Talmud or Halachah classes?
Of course, the answer will vary by program. I understand that there are 1-year rabbinic training programs. I also know that certain yeshivot grant automatic ordination when their kollel students get married. And then, of course, there are ‘partial ordination’ programs in which students specialize in specific areas of law, for which they are tested and for which they receive certificates.
So I’ll take a student who follows a course of study with which I am familiar: Day school, followed by Modern Orthodox high school, followed by Yeshiva University, two years in Israel, and semichah studies at RIETS-Yeshiva University.
As a general rule, day schools have their students – sometimes boys and girls, sometimes just boys – begin to study mishnah and gemara in 5th or 6th grade. Let’s say it’s 6th grade. They generally spend 40 minutes each day for the first year, for which I’ll assume 180 curricular days. So that’s 120 hours.
For 7th and 8th grade it’s more intense, more like 90 minutes each day. Continuing with 180 days each year, that’s 540 more hours, for a total of 660 hours.
Then high school. As I recall, we spent 3.5 hours each day in gemara and halachah at MTA. Again, I’ll allow 180 days. Over a four year high school career, that’s 2520 more hours, for a total of 3180 hours by the time he graduates high school.
[Of course, I have not counted time spent on homework, or Sunday school, or outside chavrusa learning; that’s too hard to estimate. And I also haven’t counted summer learning experiences, formal or informal.]
Our student then goes off to Israel, where he studies for two years. For five days each week he studies gemara and halachah for at least 8 hours per day, and in certain yeshivot more like 10-12 hours per day. But let’s go with 8 hours per day during the week for 200 days each year, and then 6 hours on each Friday-Shabbos combination for 40 weeks. That’s really undercutting it, but it yields 1840 hours each year, 3680 total [again, minus summers], for a lifetime total of 6860 hours spent in studying gemara and halachah.
Not all of these studies are at the same level, of course; in 6th grade he’s getting an introduction. In 7th-8th he learns about Rashi and Tosafot on some level. In high school he studies Rishonim, and to a certain extent he is introduced to Acharonim. In Israel he may learn Acharonim in greater depth. But it’s 6860 hours, before he has even entered college.
At YU’s Mazer Yeshiva Program, he studies gemara and halachah for 4 hours each day as part of the curriculuum, and another 2 hours each night, and let’s assume 180 days per year. Again, we discount outside studies, Sundays, summers. But for 3 years in college, that yields another 3240 hours. Total of 10,100 hours lifetime.
Then he enters the semichah program, and he learns 8 hours each day, 180 days per year, for 3 years, for a total of 4320 hours. Again, this is undercounting because of summers and Sundays, and it undercounts the numbers per day, but it’ll have to do. Total of 14,420 hours lifetime, before receiving semichah.
By comparison – someone who attends a full daf yomi cycle, hearing 1 hour of shiur per day (as opposed to our 35 minutes here!), spends about 2707 hours. This is more than 5 times that number.
And it’s only the beginning; a rabbi who stops learning when he enters the rabbinate will soon find himself out of his depth.
That’s an awfully long time to spend on this, much more than I think necessary for a person who is not entering the rabbinate. For a non-rabbi, I think the time could be better spent on other parts of Torah.
Further, one could give educational classes and write articulate articles and give inspiring speeches without all of this study. It’s not particularly hard for an experienced student to tackle a new topic by reading a few existing articles, digesting and organizing the information and finding a good way to present it.
I've been told by Conservative and Reform colleagues that this time is unnecessary, that primary sources can be summed up by secondary and tertiary sources, later articles presenting a digest of learning and views.
But I do think this amount of time is necessary if one is to be serious about learning and teaching on a deep level, let alone answering halachic questions. Accepting someone's digest means sacrificing the possibility of personal investigation, and the depth of understanding that comes with that investigation. And it means that when new questions come up, one flounders for a way to address them. The time is necessary.
As I said, I don’t really have a goal or conclusion here. Just thoughts on a plane.
Monday, March 28, 2011
Pesach is coming!
[This week's Haveil Havalim is here!]
I wrote the following in 2007, when I was still in the pulpit. It is a measure of the intimidation that is Pesach that I can vividly remember how I felt when I wrote it.
Pesach is coming.
I know what you’re thinking: Of course Pesach is coming! What did you expect, when Purim is so last week!
But you don’t understand: Pesach is coming.
Five derashos - two for the first days of Pesach, one for Shabbos Chol haMoed, two for the last days. Not to mention another for Shabbos right after Pesach.
Divrei Torah for each night of Yom Tov, and Shabbos.
Shiurim for each afternoon of Yom Tov, and Shabbos, between Minchah and Maariv.
Krias haTorah for eight days, and a different one each day, including Chol haMoed.
Pesach is coming, I tell you.
And the shailos, oh, the shailos. How do I kasher my coffee-maker? What’s the latest on kashering microwave ovens? Does this need a special hechsher for Pesach? Why? Why not?
My grandmother used peanut oil and had no problem with it. My grandmother refused to use peanut oil, and would have spit on your Pesach kitchen.
What’s the story with mustard? Does meat need a special hechsher? What about fresh fish?
Rabbi, I’m away for Pesach; can I just do a bedikah on the front hallway of my house? How about just a bathroom?
Oh, yes, Pesach is coming, my friend.
The mass exodus of two-thirds of my shul to various relatives. We can't get anyone to come to our Seder. Maybe they go away just to avoid being invited to our Seder.
Somewhere, some community swells massively with the exflux of my congregants. And we don’t get nearly as many influxers as we have exfluxers; presumably the overflow is in the hotels.
Or worse: Maybe they all just say they're going away. They're hiding in their homes.
Pesach is coming to town.
“Yes, I know you’re busy playing Rabbi,” the rebbitzen will say to me one day very soon, “but how about playing husband a little, too? You know, cleaning up your study, the bedroom, the garage, the basement? Watching the kids for a while? Doing some of the shopping? And if you’re too busy to kasher our sink, why do you have the time to kasher everyone else’s?”
And my favorite: “You told Mrs. X she doesn’t need to cover that counter, and ours are the same - why are we covering ours?”
Pesach is coming; look on Pesach, ye mighty, and despair.
Yom HaAtzmaut will get short shrift.
As will Lag ba’Omer even though it’s a Sunday this year.
Yom Yerushalayim? Be happy we’ll say Hallel, pal.
Yom haShoah? I follow Rav Soloveichik that Tisha b'Av is the day for national avelus.
All of those dates will be ignored in the rush of PESACH, and by the time Yom Tov is over I’ll have not the slightest energy for planning more special events. We’ll be lucky if I get together an all-night program in time for Shavuos.
Pesach is coming.
And you know the worst part? It’s just five months from Rosh Chodesh Nisan to Rosh Chodesh Elul.
And then you wonder why I get drunk at the Seder.
I wrote the following in 2007, when I was still in the pulpit. It is a measure of the intimidation that is Pesach that I can vividly remember how I felt when I wrote it.
Pesach is coming.
I know what you’re thinking: Of course Pesach is coming! What did you expect, when Purim is so last week!
But you don’t understand: Pesach is coming.
Five derashos - two for the first days of Pesach, one for Shabbos Chol haMoed, two for the last days. Not to mention another for Shabbos right after Pesach.
Divrei Torah for each night of Yom Tov, and Shabbos.
Shiurim for each afternoon of Yom Tov, and Shabbos, between Minchah and Maariv.
Krias haTorah for eight days, and a different one each day, including Chol haMoed.
Pesach is coming, I tell you.
And the shailos, oh, the shailos. How do I kasher my coffee-maker? What’s the latest on kashering microwave ovens? Does this need a special hechsher for Pesach? Why? Why not?
My grandmother used peanut oil and had no problem with it. My grandmother refused to use peanut oil, and would have spit on your Pesach kitchen.
What’s the story with mustard? Does meat need a special hechsher? What about fresh fish?
Rabbi, I’m away for Pesach; can I just do a bedikah on the front hallway of my house? How about just a bathroom?
Oh, yes, Pesach is coming, my friend.
The mass exodus of two-thirds of my shul to various relatives. We can't get anyone to come to our Seder. Maybe they go away just to avoid being invited to our Seder.
Somewhere, some community swells massively with the exflux of my congregants. And we don’t get nearly as many influxers as we have exfluxers; presumably the overflow is in the hotels.
Or worse: Maybe they all just say they're going away. They're hiding in their homes.
Pesach is coming to town.
“Yes, I know you’re busy playing Rabbi,” the rebbitzen will say to me one day very soon, “but how about playing husband a little, too? You know, cleaning up your study, the bedroom, the garage, the basement? Watching the kids for a while? Doing some of the shopping? And if you’re too busy to kasher our sink, why do you have the time to kasher everyone else’s?”
And my favorite: “You told Mrs. X she doesn’t need to cover that counter, and ours are the same - why are we covering ours?”
Pesach is coming; look on Pesach, ye mighty, and despair.
Yom HaAtzmaut will get short shrift.
As will Lag ba’Omer even though it’s a Sunday this year.
Yom Yerushalayim? Be happy we’ll say Hallel, pal.
Yom haShoah? I follow Rav Soloveichik that Tisha b'Av is the day for national avelus.
All of those dates will be ignored in the rush of PESACH, and by the time Yom Tov is over I’ll have not the slightest energy for planning more special events. We’ll be lucky if I get together an all-night program in time for Shavuos.
Pesach is coming.
And you know the worst part? It’s just five months from Rosh Chodesh Nisan to Rosh Chodesh Elul.
And then you wonder why I get drunk at the Seder.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Immunizing the Rabbis?
[This week’s Haveil Havalim is here]
Esser Agaroth notes that an Israeli Knesset member, Michael Ben-Ari, has put forth a bill to immunize rabbis from prosecution for halachic statements. After all, Knesset ministers are immunized from prosecution for their remarks, even when those remarks are against the state.
Presumably, this is meant to protect proclamations like the recent letter against selling/renting out homes in Tzfat, and it could easily go much further.
The article at Esser Agaroth points out certain problems with this bill, but I’d like to add one: The great need, from a Torah, halachic perspective, for rabbis to convince the public of their positions. It’s not for nothing that the leaders of every generation, from Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananiah (debates in Bei Avidan) to Rav Saadia Gaon (Emunot v’Deiot) to Rambam (Moreh haNevuchim) to Rav Moshe Isserles (Torat ha’Olah) to Rav Shamshon Raphael Hirsch (Horeb), endeavored to explain Torah and halachah in a way that would appeal to the community.
Maybe this is a difference between the Israeli and non-Israeli rabbinate. Perhaps fighting for the sanctity of Israel and the future of its Jewish communities emboldens the rabbis involved, and reinforces their sense that they need be beholden to no one. Indeed, לא תגורו מפני איש, a judge in court is not permitted to fear repercussions! But the approach seems counterproductive in the public arena, because such brazen disregard for the opinions of the greater population, and such clear contempt for diplomacy, only guarantees alienation of the great majority of listeners.
Perhaps having a significant population which rallies to your strongly worded positions makes you feel less obligated to reach out beyond – but then why make these statements at all? Do we speak only for the sake of hearing the echoes in our ears? If a rabbi speaks in his own forest, is there a sound?
To me, immunity would just provide incentive for more out-there, devil-may-care (so to speak) bombast. I’d rather see no immunity, and a greater attempt to win the battle for hearts and minds.
Evading formal government censure has never been the barometer of rabbinic success, you know. להגדיל תורה ולהאדירה (to elevate Torah and bring it glory) is the classic litmus test.
Esser Agaroth notes that an Israeli Knesset member, Michael Ben-Ari, has put forth a bill to immunize rabbis from prosecution for halachic statements. After all, Knesset ministers are immunized from prosecution for their remarks, even when those remarks are against the state.
Presumably, this is meant to protect proclamations like the recent letter against selling/renting out homes in Tzfat, and it could easily go much further.
The article at Esser Agaroth points out certain problems with this bill, but I’d like to add one: The great need, from a Torah, halachic perspective, for rabbis to convince the public of their positions. It’s not for nothing that the leaders of every generation, from Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananiah (debates in Bei Avidan) to Rav Saadia Gaon (Emunot v’Deiot) to Rambam (Moreh haNevuchim) to Rav Moshe Isserles (Torat ha’Olah) to Rav Shamshon Raphael Hirsch (Horeb), endeavored to explain Torah and halachah in a way that would appeal to the community.
Maybe this is a difference between the Israeli and non-Israeli rabbinate. Perhaps fighting for the sanctity of Israel and the future of its Jewish communities emboldens the rabbis involved, and reinforces their sense that they need be beholden to no one. Indeed, לא תגורו מפני איש, a judge in court is not permitted to fear repercussions! But the approach seems counterproductive in the public arena, because such brazen disregard for the opinions of the greater population, and such clear contempt for diplomacy, only guarantees alienation of the great majority of listeners.
Perhaps having a significant population which rallies to your strongly worded positions makes you feel less obligated to reach out beyond – but then why make these statements at all? Do we speak only for the sake of hearing the echoes in our ears? If a rabbi speaks in his own forest, is there a sound?
To me, immunity would just provide incentive for more out-there, devil-may-care (so to speak) bombast. I’d rather see no immunity, and a greater attempt to win the battle for hearts and minds.
Evading formal government censure has never been the barometer of rabbinic success, you know. להגדיל תורה ולהאדירה (to elevate Torah and bring it glory) is the classic litmus test.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Make sure to check my Tefillin
In a conversation the other day, someone used me as grounds for permitting a certain leniency, extrapolating from another practice I had once permitted.
This was a significant mistake, for two reasons:
First: I had specific halachic guidance, unique to that situation, from a respected authority. The talmudic rule of אין מדמין מילתא למילתא, that we do not extrapolate from one case to another, applies here.
And second, and the focus of this post: Practices and rulings, whether lenient or stringent, are not automatically enshrined as law.
Unfortunately, people often cite precedent unquestioningly. Every shul rabbi knows the Precedent Conversation:
Rabbi: I think we should change shul policy, to do X [such as have the chazan wear a talis/jacket; daven at plag on Friday night; have youth leaders daven hashkamah before running their youth groups].
President/Gabbai/Board/Membership: Rabbi Predecessor didn’t require this. Wasn’t he frum enough?
And so do teenagers learning in yeshiva:
Teen: I don’t feel comfortable doing that [eating in Restaurant X; going to a movie; kissing her uncle] anymore.
Parent: It was good enough for your parents/grandparents, it’s good enough for you.
But argument from tradition is not necessarily valid. I am familiar with the argument that Judaism was classically passed down memetically, by imitation of the previous generation’s behavior, but (1) This thesis is not universally correct, and (2) Saying that general current practice is based on general past practice does not mean that all past practices are carried forward. Respect is our predecessors’ just due, but questioning is warranted.
There are poskim, legal authorities, whose word ought to be automatic law by dint of their proven knowledge, clarity and analysis; their maturity and gravitas; and their apprenticeship to other such authorities. But even then, such guaranteed authority is granted to their explicit rulings, not to vague stories which are open to interpretation.
To return to my opening point, then:
When I move on from this world and my tefillin go to someone else to use, I hope his rabbi will have them checked, and not simply say, “Those were Torczyner’s tefillin, they should be fine.”
When I eat a certain product, I hope that someone who sees me will ask about the hechsher and not assume that I must have done so.
And when someone finds out that I permitted X, I hope he’ll stop and ask, “But does that mean I should do the same?”
This was a significant mistake, for two reasons:
First: I had specific halachic guidance, unique to that situation, from a respected authority. The talmudic rule of אין מדמין מילתא למילתא, that we do not extrapolate from one case to another, applies here.
And second, and the focus of this post: Practices and rulings, whether lenient or stringent, are not automatically enshrined as law.
Unfortunately, people often cite precedent unquestioningly. Every shul rabbi knows the Precedent Conversation:
Rabbi: I think we should change shul policy, to do X [such as have the chazan wear a talis/jacket; daven at plag on Friday night; have youth leaders daven hashkamah before running their youth groups].
President/Gabbai/Board/Membership: Rabbi Predecessor didn’t require this. Wasn’t he frum enough?
And so do teenagers learning in yeshiva:
Teen: I don’t feel comfortable doing that [eating in Restaurant X; going to a movie; kissing her uncle] anymore.
Parent: It was good enough for your parents/grandparents, it’s good enough for you.
But argument from tradition is not necessarily valid. I am familiar with the argument that Judaism was classically passed down memetically, by imitation of the previous generation’s behavior, but (1) This thesis is not universally correct, and (2) Saying that general current practice is based on general past practice does not mean that all past practices are carried forward. Respect is our predecessors’ just due, but questioning is warranted.
There are poskim, legal authorities, whose word ought to be automatic law by dint of their proven knowledge, clarity and analysis; their maturity and gravitas; and their apprenticeship to other such authorities. But even then, such guaranteed authority is granted to their explicit rulings, not to vague stories which are open to interpretation.
To return to my opening point, then:
When I move on from this world and my tefillin go to someone else to use, I hope his rabbi will have them checked, and not simply say, “Those were Torczyner’s tefillin, they should be fine.”
When I eat a certain product, I hope that someone who sees me will ask about the hechsher and not assume that I must have done so.
And when someone finds out that I permitted X, I hope he’ll stop and ask, “But does that mean I should do the same?”
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The challenge of instructing others
[A new, excellent edition of Haveil Havalim is here]
One of the most difficult aspects of the rabbinate is the need - job requirement, really - to correct communal or private behavior. Talking in shul, kashrut standards at home, commitment to minyan and to learning Torah, education of children, lashon hara, support for Israel, Jew/non-Jew relations... synagogue rabbis are expected to provide leadership which includes not only modeling, but also instruction, in these areas and more. It's tough.
This past Shabbos I delivered one shiur on the topic [tried to cram in way too much material to the time; I hope people got something out of it], and then I delivered another, related shiur on it this morning. Still working through the ideas in my own head.
As I asked at the Shabbos class: How do you instruct people who don't want to be instructed? What do you do when someone at your Shabbos table mentions his latest way to make money - and it involves fraud? Or when he makes a racist comment, or speaks lashon hara?
Here are three basic sources related to the topic:
Talmud, Erchin 16b
Talmud, Yevamot 65b
Talmud, Shabbat 55a
So which is it - are we entitled to say, "They won't listen," or not?
One of the most difficult aspects of the rabbinate is the need - job requirement, really - to correct communal or private behavior. Talking in shul, kashrut standards at home, commitment to minyan and to learning Torah, education of children, lashon hara, support for Israel, Jew/non-Jew relations... synagogue rabbis are expected to provide leadership which includes not only modeling, but also instruction, in these areas and more. It's tough.
This past Shabbos I delivered one shiur on the topic [tried to cram in way too much material to the time; I hope people got something out of it], and then I delivered another, related shiur on it this morning. Still working through the ideas in my own head.
As I asked at the Shabbos class: How do you instruct people who don't want to be instructed? What do you do when someone at your Shabbos table mentions his latest way to make money - and it involves fraud? Or when he makes a racist comment, or speaks lashon hara?
Here are three basic sources related to the topic:
Talmud, Erchin 16b
תניא, א"ר טרפון: תמה אני אם יש בדור הזה שמקבל תוכחה, אם אמר לו טול קיסם מבין עיניך, אמר לו טול קורה מבין עיניך. אמר רבי אלעזר בן עזריה: תמיהני אם יש בדור הזה שיודע להוכיח…
Rabbi Tarfon said: I would be stunned if anyone in this generation would accept rebuke. If one would say, ‘Take a splinter from between your eyes,’ he would reply, ‘Take a beam from between your eyes.’
Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah said: I would be stunned if anyone in this generation actually would know how to rebuke.
Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah said: I would be stunned if anyone in this generation actually would know how to rebuke.
Talmud, Yevamot 65b
ואמר רבי אילעא משום ר' אלעזר בר' שמעון: כשם שמצוה על אדם לומר דבר הנשמע, כך מצוה על אדם שלא לומר דבר שאינו נשמע. רבי אבא אומר: חובה, שנאמר: +משלי ט'+ אל תוכח לץ פן ישנאך הוכח לחכם ויאהבך.
And R’ Ila’a said, citing R’ Elazar b’R’ Shimon: Just as there is a mitzvah to say that which will be heard, so there is a mitzvah to avoid saying that which will not be heard. Rabbi Abba said: It is obligatory, as it is written, ‘Do not rebuke a scorner, lest he hate you. Rebuke a wise man and he will love you.’
Talmud, Shabbat 55a
מעולם לא יצתה מדה טובה מפי הקדוש ברוך הוא וחזר בה לרעה חוץ מדבר זה, דכתיב +יחזקאל ט+ ויאמר ה' אליו עבר בתוך העיר בתוך ירושלים והתוית תו על מצחות האנשים הנאנחים והנאנקים על כל התועבות הנעשות בתוכה וגו'. אמר לו הקדוש ברוך הוא לגבריאל: לך ורשום על מצחן של צדיקים תיו של דיו, שלא ישלטו בהם מלאכי חבלה. ועל מצחם של רשעים תיו של דם, כדי שישלטו בהן מלאכי חבלה. אמרה מדת הדין לפני הקדוש ברוך הוא: רבונו של עולם, מה נשתנו אלו מאלו? אמר לה: הללו צדיקים גמורים, והללו רשעים גמורים. אמרה לפניו: רבונו של עולם, היה בידם למחות ולא מיחו! אמר לה: גלוי וידוע לפני, שאם מיחו בהם - לא יקבלו מהם. אמרה לפניו: רבונו של עולם, אם לפניך גלוי - להם מי גלוי?
Gd never expressed a good verdict and then retracted it to cause harm, other than in this case: “Gd said to him, pass through the city, through Yerushalayim, and draw a ‘Tav’ on the foreheads of the people…for all of the abominable acts performed in it.”
Gd said to Gavriel: Go inscribe a ‘Tav’ in ink on the heads of the righteous, so that the angels of destruction will not have any effect on them. Inscribe a ‘Tav’ in blood on the heads of the wicked, so that the angels of destruction will have an effect on them.
The trait of Justice said before Gd: Master of the Universe, what is the difference between these and those?
Gd responded: These are completely righteous, those are completely wicked!
It said: Master of the Universe, they ought to have protested, and they did not do so!
Gd responded: I know clearly that had they protested, the people would not have accepted it from them.
It said: Master of the Universe, if to You it is clear, to them is it clear?
Gd said to Gavriel: Go inscribe a ‘Tav’ in ink on the heads of the righteous, so that the angels of destruction will not have any effect on them. Inscribe a ‘Tav’ in blood on the heads of the wicked, so that the angels of destruction will have an effect on them.
The trait of Justice said before Gd: Master of the Universe, what is the difference between these and those?
Gd responded: These are completely righteous, those are completely wicked!
It said: Master of the Universe, they ought to have protested, and they did not do so!
Gd responded: I know clearly that had they protested, the people would not have accepted it from them.
It said: Master of the Universe, if to You it is clear, to them is it clear?
So which is it - are we entitled to say, "They won't listen," or not?
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Creating a Friendly Kollel
One of the policies we established at the outset of our Toronto project is that we are not rabbis creating a shul.
Therefore:
• No one in our group, including me, is permitted to answer a halachic question;
• We do not have our own minyan;
• We will do nothing, programmatically or otherwise, to undermine any shul rabbi.
Part of this is personal; after a dozen years in the shul rabbinate, I would never do anything that would take anything away from a sitting shul rabbi. I respect and love shul rabbis, I know what it means to be in their shoes, and this is a matter of highest importance to me. I would not have signed on, were this not our policy.
Part of this is halachic; as the gemara makes clear, every location has its own halachic authority. Classic סמיכה (ordination) was like filling a seat on a judicial bench; your license was for a specific location, where there was a need. That’s why major talmidei chachamim didn’t receive סמיכה; there was no court vacancy.
And part of it is communal; having multiple rabbis offering psak is bad for communal unity, and even if those rabbonim actually agree. I’ve seen it in my professional life, repeatedly. Competition is good in many areas, but when it comes to leadership, to quote Sanhedrin 8a, דבר אחד לדור ואין שני דברים לדור, there is one leader for a generation, not two leaders for a generation.
The one catch: In theory, all of this is clear. In practice, it becomes complicated.
• I can be standing in a minyan and someone can turn to me to ask whether he needs to repeat the amidah for missing המלך המשפט; it’s a ביעתא בכותחא question, not something requiring analysis. I get a call from someone who has a halachic problem an hour before Shabbos, and he doesn’t want to bother the rabbi. Someone asks me to discuss a halachic issue with him, but he doesn’t ask me for a final decision, a psak.
• The same gray areas develop regarding our minyan rule; what if a group comes to a late shiur, and they want to daven maariv afterward?
• And regarding avoiding undermining a shul rabbi – is it undermining if we schedule shiurim and a rabbi’s congregants attend, resulting on a drain in his own audience?
So the implementation isn’t straightforward, but I believe we must take this tack – for the sake of community, for the sake of halachah, and for the sake of my personal comfort. We are not separatists; we are here only to help, להגדיל תורה ולהאדירה.
Therefore:
• No one in our group, including me, is permitted to answer a halachic question;
• We do not have our own minyan;
• We will do nothing, programmatically or otherwise, to undermine any shul rabbi.
Part of this is personal; after a dozen years in the shul rabbinate, I would never do anything that would take anything away from a sitting shul rabbi. I respect and love shul rabbis, I know what it means to be in their shoes, and this is a matter of highest importance to me. I would not have signed on, were this not our policy.
Part of this is halachic; as the gemara makes clear, every location has its own halachic authority. Classic סמיכה (ordination) was like filling a seat on a judicial bench; your license was for a specific location, where there was a need. That’s why major talmidei chachamim didn’t receive סמיכה; there was no court vacancy.
And part of it is communal; having multiple rabbis offering psak is bad for communal unity, and even if those rabbonim actually agree. I’ve seen it in my professional life, repeatedly. Competition is good in many areas, but when it comes to leadership, to quote Sanhedrin 8a, דבר אחד לדור ואין שני דברים לדור, there is one leader for a generation, not two leaders for a generation.
The one catch: In theory, all of this is clear. In practice, it becomes complicated.
• I can be standing in a minyan and someone can turn to me to ask whether he needs to repeat the amidah for missing המלך המשפט; it’s a ביעתא בכותחא question, not something requiring analysis. I get a call from someone who has a halachic problem an hour before Shabbos, and he doesn’t want to bother the rabbi. Someone asks me to discuss a halachic issue with him, but he doesn’t ask me for a final decision, a psak.
• The same gray areas develop regarding our minyan rule; what if a group comes to a late shiur, and they want to daven maariv afterward?
• And regarding avoiding undermining a shul rabbi – is it undermining if we schedule shiurim and a rabbi’s congregants attend, resulting on a drain in his own audience?
So the implementation isn’t straightforward, but I believe we must take this tack – for the sake of community, for the sake of halachah, and for the sake of my personal comfort. We are not separatists; we are here only to help, להגדיל תורה ולהאדירה.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Beit Midrash vs. Shul, Theory vs. Practice
The other day I was reminded of the difference between the beit midrash and the shul. It was an amusing reminder, and it made me think about my current transition from shul back to beit midrash.
After Shacharit I presented a technical halachah related to HaMotzi (the blessing recited before eating bread). If you are allergic to technical halachah, you might want to skip the next three paragraphs.
I pointed out two competing imperatives: We want to minimize the interruption between reciting HaMotzi and eating the bread, but we also want to recite the berachah upon a whole loaf, if possible, to show respect for the berachah. So when do we actually cut the bread?
Early sources, such as the Rosh, felt that cutting the bread does not constitute a significant interruption. Others agree, particularly with thin-crusted bread like ours. Nonetheless, some suggest one should satisfy the “interruption” concern by starting to cut the bread - without cutting too deeply - before reciting HaMotzi.
The Shulchan Aruch (Orach Chaim 167:1) records this as the recommended practice, but the Rama notes that one should not do this on Shabbat. On Shabbat we are especially concerned about using two whole loaves (memorial for the manna, and more) and about avoiding any damage to those loaves, so we don’t cut the loaf at all before the berachah. The Mishneh Berurah supports this as well.
Fine, a straightforward after-davening halachah to start the day.
But that day we had a group from Baltimore visiting the area, and a young man, perhaps late high school at Ner, mentioned politely that he had seen a sefer suggesting cutting the bread before HaMotzi on Shabbat as well. He couldn’t remember the source, but someone had showed it to him.
I took a few minutes to do some superficial looking, and found nothing in the standard halachah sefarim – Rosh, Tur and Beit Yosef, Aruch haShulchan, even Kitzur Shulchan Aruch, all seem to agree with what the Rama presents. Some (Aruch haShulchan, Darkei Moshe from the Mordechai in Eruvin*) note that cutting on Shabbat like the weekday isn’t a disaster, but no one specifically recommends cutting before HaMotzi on Shabbat.
I am certain that the young man did have a source (and yes, I asked him to contact me if he were to find it). For every halachah, there is always a rishon (early source) somewhere, or certainly an acharon (later authority) somewhere, with a reason to disagree with the mass of halachic authorities. Sometimes the disagreement is because of lomdut (deep analysis), sometimes it’s because of an exotic source, sometimes it’s because of an overall shitah (thematic approach) or shikul hadaat (weighing opposing considerations and coming up with a conclusion). But there’s always someone, on every issue, who will go against the status quo.
When I was in beit midrash, I – like many others – was always concerned about these dissident views. I would learn them, enjoy them, and look for ways to accommodate them. For example: At the seder I preferred the haggadah that had unique ways for covering and uncovering, picking up and putting down, ordering the hallel and its berachah, etc.
But a shul rabbi’s presentation of halachah is a different story; a shul rabbi must offer rulings that are clear, that are grounded in mainstream sources rather than unique points of view, and that are practical for the hamon am (general population). Lomdut is saved for shiurim, and kept out of psak. I feel that to do otherwise is irresponsible and irrational, and erodes people’s trust in the rabbinate.
So in a two-minute halachic lesson after davening, or in addressing a shailah, I generally go with straight mishneh berurah. I may note dissident views occasionally, but not to provide a recommended practice.
To return to my opening paragraph: Now that I am transitioning out of the pulpit and into more of a beit midrash role, but still actively teaching in the community, I suppose I will find myself straddling these two worlds. Should be fun.
*Note that the Mordechai doesn't quite say this. The Mordechai says that bread which has been partially cut still qualifies for lechem mishnah. He does not discuss preferences for HaMotzi. But the implication is what the Darkei Moshe is using.
After Shacharit I presented a technical halachah related to HaMotzi (the blessing recited before eating bread). If you are allergic to technical halachah, you might want to skip the next three paragraphs.
I pointed out two competing imperatives: We want to minimize the interruption between reciting HaMotzi and eating the bread, but we also want to recite the berachah upon a whole loaf, if possible, to show respect for the berachah. So when do we actually cut the bread?
Early sources, such as the Rosh, felt that cutting the bread does not constitute a significant interruption. Others agree, particularly with thin-crusted bread like ours. Nonetheless, some suggest one should satisfy the “interruption” concern by starting to cut the bread - without cutting too deeply - before reciting HaMotzi.
The Shulchan Aruch (Orach Chaim 167:1) records this as the recommended practice, but the Rama notes that one should not do this on Shabbat. On Shabbat we are especially concerned about using two whole loaves (memorial for the manna, and more) and about avoiding any damage to those loaves, so we don’t cut the loaf at all before the berachah. The Mishneh Berurah supports this as well.
Fine, a straightforward after-davening halachah to start the day.
But that day we had a group from Baltimore visiting the area, and a young man, perhaps late high school at Ner, mentioned politely that he had seen a sefer suggesting cutting the bread before HaMotzi on Shabbat as well. He couldn’t remember the source, but someone had showed it to him.
I took a few minutes to do some superficial looking, and found nothing in the standard halachah sefarim – Rosh, Tur and Beit Yosef, Aruch haShulchan, even Kitzur Shulchan Aruch, all seem to agree with what the Rama presents. Some (Aruch haShulchan, Darkei Moshe from the Mordechai in Eruvin*) note that cutting on Shabbat like the weekday isn’t a disaster, but no one specifically recommends cutting before HaMotzi on Shabbat.
I am certain that the young man did have a source (and yes, I asked him to contact me if he were to find it). For every halachah, there is always a rishon (early source) somewhere, or certainly an acharon (later authority) somewhere, with a reason to disagree with the mass of halachic authorities. Sometimes the disagreement is because of lomdut (deep analysis), sometimes it’s because of an exotic source, sometimes it’s because of an overall shitah (thematic approach) or shikul hadaat (weighing opposing considerations and coming up with a conclusion). But there’s always someone, on every issue, who will go against the status quo.
When I was in beit midrash, I – like many others – was always concerned about these dissident views. I would learn them, enjoy them, and look for ways to accommodate them. For example: At the seder I preferred the haggadah that had unique ways for covering and uncovering, picking up and putting down, ordering the hallel and its berachah, etc.
But a shul rabbi’s presentation of halachah is a different story; a shul rabbi must offer rulings that are clear, that are grounded in mainstream sources rather than unique points of view, and that are practical for the hamon am (general population). Lomdut is saved for shiurim, and kept out of psak. I feel that to do otherwise is irresponsible and irrational, and erodes people’s trust in the rabbinate.
So in a two-minute halachic lesson after davening, or in addressing a shailah, I generally go with straight mishneh berurah. I may note dissident views occasionally, but not to provide a recommended practice.
To return to my opening paragraph: Now that I am transitioning out of the pulpit and into more of a beit midrash role, but still actively teaching in the community, I suppose I will find myself straddling these two worlds. Should be fun.
*Note that the Mordechai doesn't quite say this. The Mordechai says that bread which has been partially cut still qualifies for lechem mishnah. He does not discuss preferences for HaMotzi. But the implication is what the Darkei Moshe is using.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Yom haShoah, tallit, and the dangers of a rabbi’s quirks
I, personally, do not observe Yom haShoah as a day of its own.
Aside from the mourning-in-Nisan issue, I follow what I heard Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik say, in his recorded Tishah b’Av talks: Tishah b’Av should be the day to commemorate the Holocaust. I grant that there are plenty of sources to show that Jews have, historically, observed other memorial days (such as 20 Sivan) for specific tragedies, but this is the view to which I gravitate.
However, I attend Yom haShoah programs anyway, because of a much bigger issue: The problem of a rabbi displaying his own unique practices in public.
I see three problems with public idiosyncrasy:
1: One rabbi’s personal quirks may inappropriately spread to others.
Example: I daven with a tallis over my head for most of the morning davening, and I know that others have started doing the same. I don’t know whether it’s emulation, or something they picked up on their own, but I worry if it’s emulation, because although I do it for personal concentration, I’m not sure the others understand it that way.
Another example: I have long wished to wear a tallis with the recently discovered murex techelet. I don't think it is proven, 100%, to be the right one, but there is no downside to wearing it even if it is wrong. However, I resist because it’s expensive, and I wouldn’t want others to think the expense obligatory because, “The rabbi wears it.”
2: One rabbi's quirks may inadvertently make others look bad.
To return to the earlier examples: What will people think of another rabbi who chooses not to wear a tallis over his head, or who doesn't wear techelet?
This issue is brought up in the gemara; it’s a concern called “laaz,” which translates loosely as “slander.” The gemara (Gittin 5b) talks about the case of Bar Hedya, who wished to be certified as a deliverer of gittin (billls of divorce):
Bar Hedya wanted to be approved to deliver gittin. He came to R’ Achi, the official responsible for gittin, who told him, “You must be present for the writing of every letter.”
He then came to R’ Ami and R’ Asi, who told him, “You need not do so. And if you should say, ‘I will practice stringently,’ you would slander earlier gittin!’”
So we don’t have a right to introduce stringencies which will make others look bad.
Note, though, that this concern for slander requires more nuance; it should not be a catch-all warning against public stringency.
In my class on Pesach regarding Machine Matzah and its early controversies, I noted that the Sanzer Rebbe (Divrei Chaim 24) argued vociferously against adoption of machine matzah, and rejected outright the concern that his insistence on using hand matzah would make others, who ate machine matzah, look bad.
The Sanzer brought several arguments, including:
• If others truly are not careful with mitzvot, I don’t need to worry that my care with mitzvot makes them look bad;
• The “slander” concern regarding a get is worse than in other areas of law, because it would result in children being mistakenly labelled “illegitimate.”
• The “slander” concern is not relevant if others are the ones who choose to deviate from the norm, and I maintain the norm.
And more.
3. Who are you to be quirky, anyway?
"Oh, he thinks he's Mr. Pious, wearing his tallis over his head like that for davening. Why, I remember when he..."
This is a concern for yuhara, which translates roughly to "arrogance" and "self-righteousness." This, too, is a talmudic concern, that one should not adopt practices which are identified with special piety, lest he seem to think too much of himself.
Or, to quote the classic punchline, "Look who thinks he's a gornisht!" (Google it, if you don't know the joke. It's out there.)
Again, nuance is required; the gemara does say that in certain cases one may adopt special practices, and ignore yuhara appearances, because his practices won't stand out or because his righteousness will encourage others to be righteous. (See, for example, Pesachim 54b.)
But, at bottom, this is another reason to avoid exhibiting unique halachic behavior in public.
So I try not to exhibit religiously quirky behavior (other types of quirky behavior are fine…) in public, I attend Yom haShoah programs, and it’s a small price to pay to avoid these three problems.
Aside from the mourning-in-Nisan issue, I follow what I heard Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik say, in his recorded Tishah b’Av talks: Tishah b’Av should be the day to commemorate the Holocaust. I grant that there are plenty of sources to show that Jews have, historically, observed other memorial days (such as 20 Sivan) for specific tragedies, but this is the view to which I gravitate.
However, I attend Yom haShoah programs anyway, because of a much bigger issue: The problem of a rabbi displaying his own unique practices in public.
I see three problems with public idiosyncrasy:
1: One rabbi’s personal quirks may inappropriately spread to others.
Example: I daven with a tallis over my head for most of the morning davening, and I know that others have started doing the same. I don’t know whether it’s emulation, or something they picked up on their own, but I worry if it’s emulation, because although I do it for personal concentration, I’m not sure the others understand it that way.
Another example: I have long wished to wear a tallis with the recently discovered murex techelet. I don't think it is proven, 100%, to be the right one, but there is no downside to wearing it even if it is wrong. However, I resist because it’s expensive, and I wouldn’t want others to think the expense obligatory because, “The rabbi wears it.”
2: One rabbi's quirks may inadvertently make others look bad.
To return to the earlier examples: What will people think of another rabbi who chooses not to wear a tallis over his head, or who doesn't wear techelet?
This issue is brought up in the gemara; it’s a concern called “laaz,” which translates loosely as “slander.” The gemara (Gittin 5b) talks about the case of Bar Hedya, who wished to be certified as a deliverer of gittin (billls of divorce):
Bar Hedya wanted to be approved to deliver gittin. He came to R’ Achi, the official responsible for gittin, who told him, “You must be present for the writing of every letter.”
He then came to R’ Ami and R’ Asi, who told him, “You need not do so. And if you should say, ‘I will practice stringently,’ you would slander earlier gittin!’”
So we don’t have a right to introduce stringencies which will make others look bad.
Note, though, that this concern for slander requires more nuance; it should not be a catch-all warning against public stringency.
In my class on Pesach regarding Machine Matzah and its early controversies, I noted that the Sanzer Rebbe (Divrei Chaim 24) argued vociferously against adoption of machine matzah, and rejected outright the concern that his insistence on using hand matzah would make others, who ate machine matzah, look bad.
The Sanzer brought several arguments, including:
• If others truly are not careful with mitzvot, I don’t need to worry that my care with mitzvot makes them look bad;
• The “slander” concern regarding a get is worse than in other areas of law, because it would result in children being mistakenly labelled “illegitimate.”
• The “slander” concern is not relevant if others are the ones who choose to deviate from the norm, and I maintain the norm.
And more.
3. Who are you to be quirky, anyway?
"Oh, he thinks he's Mr. Pious, wearing his tallis over his head like that for davening. Why, I remember when he..."
This is a concern for yuhara, which translates roughly to "arrogance" and "self-righteousness." This, too, is a talmudic concern, that one should not adopt practices which are identified with special piety, lest he seem to think too much of himself.
Or, to quote the classic punchline, "Look who thinks he's a gornisht!" (Google it, if you don't know the joke. It's out there.)
Again, nuance is required; the gemara does say that in certain cases one may adopt special practices, and ignore yuhara appearances, because his practices won't stand out or because his righteousness will encourage others to be righteous. (See, for example, Pesachim 54b.)
But, at bottom, this is another reason to avoid exhibiting unique halachic behavior in public.
So I try not to exhibit religiously quirky behavior (other types of quirky behavior are fine…) in public, I attend Yom haShoah programs, and it’s a small price to pay to avoid these three problems.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Mechitzah, Women Rabbis and Intermarriage: I prefer Challenge over Open-mindedness
This morning, visitors to our shul davened outside of the actual room where we were davening; they believed our mechitzah was too low.
My hackles rise, of course, at this sort of insult (and it is an insult*). I recall the Rosh Yeshiva from Yeshivas Mir of Eretz Yisroel who davened in our shul a couple of years ago on a trip through town, as well as numerous rabbonim from Lakewood, Brooklyn and Monsey, all of whom have understood the situation here and did not leave the room.
But I don’t bother trying to convince the ones who don’t get it. I don't believe in being infinitely open-minded. I believe people are correct to evaluate for themselves, assuming they evaluate based on hard Torah sources.
I was in their shoes this past week, in thinking about R’ Avi Weiss’s “Maharat” sort-of-rabbinic ordination of a woman, Sara Hurwitz.
I was in their shoes some time back when I watched an Orthodox rabbi give public honor to a donor in his shul event, with the donor’s non-Jewish fiancee present.
I'll admit that a little voice inside my head says, "You know, others don't agree with you, either." But, speaking rationally rather than emotionally, I feel no obligation to be open-minded or "to each his own" pluralistic just because others question me as well. Being a centrist doesn't mean you need to include everyone else in the middle as well.
Or to put it differently: The fact that all of us are vulnerable to challenge doesn't mean that all of us should accept everyone else's positions. That would create a cabal of self-protecting innovators, open-minded for the expedient sake of avoiding challenge.
All of the rabbis involved in these circumstances claim that we are acting on the basis of Jewish sources, that we have the weight of tradition behind our positions, that other Torah-loyal authorities should agree with our conclusions. So let those Torah-loyal authorities make their own evaluations, and come to their own conclusions - even if it's my own leniency they challenge.
The challenge is good, and even the disagreement is good; it should keep us honest.
How we express disagreement, Where we express disagreement, is another matter - but we all own the right and share the responsibility of evaluation and disagreement.
For that matter, the same goes beyond the rabbinate, to the way we conduct ourselves in our personal religious lives.
Any time you move away from the accepted norm – and “accepted norm” is in the eye of the beholder rather than any objective standard– you face that charge of being too open-minded, or, on the other side, too closed-minded. As the gemara (Menachot 40a) puts it, you become מן המתמיהין, among those who shock people and make them go Hmmm.
At that point, we must be open to evaluation based on the sources you claim on your behalf. If we can stand up to that test, good. And if not, then perhaps it’s time for a self-evaluation.
(*The insult is not that they decided to refrain from davening here; the insult is that they came into the building knowing the situation, just to daven outside that room.)
My hackles rise, of course, at this sort of insult (and it is an insult*). I recall the Rosh Yeshiva from Yeshivas Mir of Eretz Yisroel who davened in our shul a couple of years ago on a trip through town, as well as numerous rabbonim from Lakewood, Brooklyn and Monsey, all of whom have understood the situation here and did not leave the room.
But I don’t bother trying to convince the ones who don’t get it. I don't believe in being infinitely open-minded. I believe people are correct to evaluate for themselves, assuming they evaluate based on hard Torah sources.
I was in their shoes this past week, in thinking about R’ Avi Weiss’s “Maharat” sort-of-rabbinic ordination of a woman, Sara Hurwitz.
I was in their shoes some time back when I watched an Orthodox rabbi give public honor to a donor in his shul event, with the donor’s non-Jewish fiancee present.
I'll admit that a little voice inside my head says, "You know, others don't agree with you, either." But, speaking rationally rather than emotionally, I feel no obligation to be open-minded or "to each his own" pluralistic just because others question me as well. Being a centrist doesn't mean you need to include everyone else in the middle as well.
Or to put it differently: The fact that all of us are vulnerable to challenge doesn't mean that all of us should accept everyone else's positions. That would create a cabal of self-protecting innovators, open-minded for the expedient sake of avoiding challenge.
All of the rabbis involved in these circumstances claim that we are acting on the basis of Jewish sources, that we have the weight of tradition behind our positions, that other Torah-loyal authorities should agree with our conclusions. So let those Torah-loyal authorities make their own evaluations, and come to their own conclusions - even if it's my own leniency they challenge.
The challenge is good, and even the disagreement is good; it should keep us honest.
How we express disagreement, Where we express disagreement, is another matter - but we all own the right and share the responsibility of evaluation and disagreement.
For that matter, the same goes beyond the rabbinate, to the way we conduct ourselves in our personal religious lives.
Any time you move away from the accepted norm – and “accepted norm” is in the eye of the beholder rather than any objective standard– you face that charge of being too open-minded, or, on the other side, too closed-minded. As the gemara (Menachot 40a) puts it, you become מן המתמיהין, among those who shock people and make them go Hmmm.
At that point, we must be open to evaluation based on the sources you claim on your behalf. If we can stand up to that test, good. And if not, then perhaps it’s time for a self-evaluation.
(*The insult is not that they decided to refrain from davening here; the insult is that they came into the building knowing the situation, just to daven outside that room.)
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
What sort of questions should you ask a rabbi?
A while back (in response to my post on Choosing a Rabbi) I was asked: “for what types of questions do you think a person needs to turn to a rabbi.”
I replied: "What time is it," "Will it rain today," "What is my favorite color," that sort of thing.
My questioner pressed: i don't understand. why would i ask a rabbi those questions?
To which I answered:
"What time is it" - To know when to daven.
"Will it rain today" - To know whether to put on a raincoat.
"What is my favorite color" - To figure out which suit I should get.
All right, fine. It's just my sense of humor. In truth, the answer is that this is a very vague issue, without a clear resolution. I might post on this in the next week or so.
It’s been three months rather than a week, but here are two thoughts on the topic. They're really just common sense, but you asked...
1) Ask the right person
It is popular to ridicule chasidim who consult with their Rebbe about a business venture, or about a medical treatment. People allege that a Rebbe will overstep his knowledge and experience, advising followers with his “Daas Torah” on areas about which he knows nothing.
Many of the ridiculers are simply insecure about their own reliance upon - or non-reliance upon - advice from the Torah. In general, people who ridicule betray a problem of their own. (cf כל הפוסל במומו פוסל - Those who insult others, do so regarding a blemish they see in themselves.)
In truth, though, I do agree that this sort of overreach is a potential problem – but it’s easy to solve: Just choose a humble mentor who knows his own limits. As the gemara (Chagigah 15b) advises, choose a mentor who appears to you like a מלאך, an angel - and angels (with a couple of notable midrashic exceptions) have no ego.
Humility is very easy to identify – pick someone who regularly uses the magic words, “I don’t know,” “I’m not sure,” and the like.
2) Know what sort of answer you expect.
If the mentor knows his own limits, then what remains is for the questioner to manage his own expectations. Ask a rabbi any question you like, but know what you want in terms of an answer.
An answer may be פסק (halachic ruling): מותר, אסור, Do this, Don’t do that.
Example: I can ask about basketball on shabbos, or mixed swimming, or organ donation, and expect a clear halachic analysis.
An answer may be חוות דעתו (expression of his opinion): Based on my knowledge of Torah and my life experience, consider X path.
Example: I can ask about schools for my children, and my mentor can give me the benefit of his experience.
An answer may be Food for thought: Here are a few aspects to contemplate.
Example: I can ask a mentor about a potential move - expecting my mentor to point out issues of potential concern.
And an answer may be Guidance: Assistance in figuring out the right questions to ask, as well as the right answer.
Example: I can ask my rebbe about dating, and my rebbe can help direct my thinking.
So know what type of response you seek. Also, make sure to convey that information as part of the question. This is important so that your rabbi will not feel pressed to extend his advice beyond his reliable pool of knowledge.
Once you have both of those elements - the humble mentor and a clear understanding of what type of answer you expect - ask any question you like. Business, medicine, where to live, halachah, hashkafah, anything is safe.
And, by the way: It’s 10:00 AM, weather.com says it will rain here today, and your favorite color is pine green. Or puce; I'm humbly uncertain.
I replied: "What time is it," "Will it rain today," "What is my favorite color," that sort of thing.
My questioner pressed: i don't understand. why would i ask a rabbi those questions?
To which I answered:
"What time is it" - To know when to daven.
"Will it rain today" - To know whether to put on a raincoat.
"What is my favorite color" - To figure out which suit I should get.
All right, fine. It's just my sense of humor. In truth, the answer is that this is a very vague issue, without a clear resolution. I might post on this in the next week or so.
It’s been three months rather than a week, but here are two thoughts on the topic. They're really just common sense, but you asked...
1) Ask the right person
It is popular to ridicule chasidim who consult with their Rebbe about a business venture, or about a medical treatment. People allege that a Rebbe will overstep his knowledge and experience, advising followers with his “Daas Torah” on areas about which he knows nothing.
Many of the ridiculers are simply insecure about their own reliance upon - or non-reliance upon - advice from the Torah. In general, people who ridicule betray a problem of their own. (cf כל הפוסל במומו פוסל - Those who insult others, do so regarding a blemish they see in themselves.)
In truth, though, I do agree that this sort of overreach is a potential problem – but it’s easy to solve: Just choose a humble mentor who knows his own limits. As the gemara (Chagigah 15b) advises, choose a mentor who appears to you like a מלאך, an angel - and angels (with a couple of notable midrashic exceptions) have no ego.
Humility is very easy to identify – pick someone who regularly uses the magic words, “I don’t know,” “I’m not sure,” and the like.
2) Know what sort of answer you expect.
If the mentor knows his own limits, then what remains is for the questioner to manage his own expectations. Ask a rabbi any question you like, but know what you want in terms of an answer.
An answer may be פסק (halachic ruling): מותר, אסור, Do this, Don’t do that.
Example: I can ask about basketball on shabbos, or mixed swimming, or organ donation, and expect a clear halachic analysis.
An answer may be חוות דעתו (expression of his opinion): Based on my knowledge of Torah and my life experience, consider X path.
Example: I can ask about schools for my children, and my mentor can give me the benefit of his experience.
An answer may be Food for thought: Here are a few aspects to contemplate.
Example: I can ask a mentor about a potential move - expecting my mentor to point out issues of potential concern.
And an answer may be Guidance: Assistance in figuring out the right questions to ask, as well as the right answer.
Example: I can ask my rebbe about dating, and my rebbe can help direct my thinking.
So know what type of response you seek. Also, make sure to convey that information as part of the question. This is important so that your rabbi will not feel pressed to extend his advice beyond his reliable pool of knowledge.
Once you have both of those elements - the humble mentor and a clear understanding of what type of answer you expect - ask any question you like. Business, medicine, where to live, halachah, hashkafah, anything is safe.
And, by the way: It’s 10:00 AM, weather.com says it will rain here today, and your favorite color is pine green. Or puce; I'm humbly uncertain.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Funeral Tchotchkes
It took me a while to figure out how to write “tchotchkes” in English. I went through a few versions – czoczkes, tshotshkes, chachkas, tchatchkes… - before settling on the spelling chosen by Wikipedia and Merriam-Webster.
Anyway, to cite the first two paragraphs of the Wikipedia article:
Tchotchke (originally from a Slavic word for "toys" (Polish: cacka, Russian: цацки)), adapted to Yiddish טשאַטשקע tshatshke, trinket, are small toys, knickknacks, baubles, trinkets or kitsch. The term has a connotation of worthlessness or disposability, as well as tackiness, and was long used in the Jewish-American community and in the regional speech of New York City.
The word may also refer to swag, in the sense of the logo pens, keyfobs and other promotional freebies dispensed at trade shows, conventions and similar large events. Also, stores that sell cheap souvenirs in tourist areas like Times Square and Venice Beach are sometimes called tchotchke shops.
I use the term here in its kitsch sense, to describe a funeral product brought to my attention by a local company a few years ago. [I first mentioned this product here, and have now found time to tell the story.]
The company is Israeli, kibbutz-owned; they work with concrete here in the US, sending over Israeli employees for a few years at a time. Corporate management came to me some time back to present their new idea: Ornamental casket liners made from Israeli earth.
They had manufactured, if I remember correctly, a pressed-earth piece displaying a מגן דוד (“star of David”), to place beneath the person’s head. There were a few other pressed-earth pieces, as well, with obvious Israel connotations – the horizon of Yerushalayim, the kotel hamaaravi, that sort of thing. And they wanted my הסכמה, my approbation, to show that this was a halachically acceptable burial accessory.
This was an interesting problem:
On one hand: Without a doubt, such an item would be halachically acceptable. Jewish tradition expects a body to be buried in contact with the earth, to the extent possible. Further, we customarily use Israeli earth as part of the Chevra Kadisha’s preparation of the body. This company had simply found a way to monetize the Israeli earth by converting it into a product people would buy. Why not offer it to people?
On the other hand: Accessorizing the funeral would go against the grain of Jewish burial tradition dating back to Rabban Gamliel’s insistence on being buried in plain white canvas. We use the simplest possible casket and תכריכין (shrouds) because we don’t want to embarrass anyone who cannot afford something nicer – so I wouldn’t want to endorse an innovation which would result in higher costs, and embarrass people, at such a sensitive time, into paying for something they don’t need.
I shudder to imagine the potential next step - commemorative items like the aforementioned keyfobs, pens, et al. Maybe, eventually, a trowel embossed with the profile of the deceased and displaying the logo, "My parents went to X's funeral and all I got was this lousy shovel." There are no limits to poor taste.
In the end, I consulted with a halachic authority whose words I greatly respect, and he confirmed the latter view. I declined to give them a letter of approval.
I must confess that my refusal nags at me; I don’t feel comfortable mixing fuzzy values issues into a clearcut מותר/אסור decision process. But that’s what פסק (issuing a halachic ruling) is about – seeing not only the nuts-and-bolts, but the greater machine as well.
Anyway, to cite the first two paragraphs of the Wikipedia article:
Tchotchke (originally from a Slavic word for "toys" (Polish: cacka, Russian: цацки)), adapted to Yiddish טשאַטשקע tshatshke, trinket, are small toys, knickknacks, baubles, trinkets or kitsch. The term has a connotation of worthlessness or disposability, as well as tackiness, and was long used in the Jewish-American community and in the regional speech of New York City.
The word may also refer to swag, in the sense of the logo pens, keyfobs and other promotional freebies dispensed at trade shows, conventions and similar large events. Also, stores that sell cheap souvenirs in tourist areas like Times Square and Venice Beach are sometimes called tchotchke shops.
I use the term here in its kitsch sense, to describe a funeral product brought to my attention by a local company a few years ago. [I first mentioned this product here, and have now found time to tell the story.]
The company is Israeli, kibbutz-owned; they work with concrete here in the US, sending over Israeli employees for a few years at a time. Corporate management came to me some time back to present their new idea: Ornamental casket liners made from Israeli earth.
They had manufactured, if I remember correctly, a pressed-earth piece displaying a מגן דוד (“star of David”), to place beneath the person’s head. There were a few other pressed-earth pieces, as well, with obvious Israel connotations – the horizon of Yerushalayim, the kotel hamaaravi, that sort of thing. And they wanted my הסכמה, my approbation, to show that this was a halachically acceptable burial accessory.
This was an interesting problem:
On one hand: Without a doubt, such an item would be halachically acceptable. Jewish tradition expects a body to be buried in contact with the earth, to the extent possible. Further, we customarily use Israeli earth as part of the Chevra Kadisha’s preparation of the body. This company had simply found a way to monetize the Israeli earth by converting it into a product people would buy. Why not offer it to people?
On the other hand: Accessorizing the funeral would go against the grain of Jewish burial tradition dating back to Rabban Gamliel’s insistence on being buried in plain white canvas. We use the simplest possible casket and תכריכין (shrouds) because we don’t want to embarrass anyone who cannot afford something nicer – so I wouldn’t want to endorse an innovation which would result in higher costs, and embarrass people, at such a sensitive time, into paying for something they don’t need.
I shudder to imagine the potential next step - commemorative items like the aforementioned keyfobs, pens, et al. Maybe, eventually, a trowel embossed with the profile of the deceased and displaying the logo, "My parents went to X's funeral and all I got was this lousy shovel." There are no limits to poor taste.
In the end, I consulted with a halachic authority whose words I greatly respect, and he confirmed the latter view. I declined to give them a letter of approval.
I must confess that my refusal nags at me; I don’t feel comfortable mixing fuzzy values issues into a clearcut מותר/אסור decision process. But that’s what פסק (issuing a halachic ruling) is about – seeing not only the nuts-and-bolts, but the greater machine as well.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Choose a rabbi you can follow
For the past ten years I've been sending out daily "Torah Thought" emails, which I began archiving here one year ago. Occasionally readers reply with questions or comments, and last week I had an interesting exchange with a friend/commenter regarding the role of a rabbi.
The original "Torah Thought" (from Menachot 99b):
"Ben Dama, the nephew of R’ Yishmael, asked R’ Yishmael: I have learned the entire Torah. May someone like me study Greek wisdom?
"R’ Yishmael responded by citing this verse (Joshua 1): ‘This Torah scroll will not leave your mouth, and you will speak of it day and night.’ Go find a time which is neither day nor night, and during that time you may study Greek wisdom."
To which my commenter asked:
Does one truly understand this Gemara to mean that one should not study things other than Torah?, or that it's okay as long as it is not "Greek wisdom" or presumably other philosophy? What is the halacha l'meisah re: this exhortation?
To which I replied:
That, my friend, is one of the truly eternal debates, and the halachah l'maaseh varies among many points of view.
And so my commenter asked:
Given the debate and difference among different knowledgeable people, am I free to choose the view that is most compelling and convincing to me? And, is it then important to be sure that one's Rav sizes up the answer similarly to the one asking the question?
This is where the discussion transcended the specific realm of Torah study vs. secular study and became a general discussion about the rabbi's role:
1) Can I (as student/congregant) choose between valid opinions on my own, or do I need to consult a rabbi?
2) If I need to consult a rabbi, how do I choose one? Or should I be choosing at all - perhaps I should just accept the person the geographic community around me accepts?
To which I would say the following:
First: I believe, per Avot 2:1, that I may not make a decision like the one mentioned above about Torah/secular study on my own; I need the counsel of objective others, or at least an objective other - a rabbinic expert. I am biased by my own preferences, and may not read the sources accurately in making this decision.
Second: I must choose a rabbi rather than follow whoever is around; see Eruvin 47b, which notes that not every rabbi is a good fit for everyone.
Third: So how do I choose a rabbi? I believe that I must choose a rabbi I can follow, meaning one whose orientation and approach is one I can understand and accept. Of course, that orientation and approach must be firmly grounded in Torah sources and in solid mentors, but I must also feel that I will be able to find myself in his Torah, that his guidance will help me grow in Torah.
At the same time, going back to my earlier point, I cannot choose a specific rabbi because his opinions and practices mirror my own. Then I would be my own rabbi - which is as bad as being your own lawyer or barber. Rather, I should choose a rabbi who will, again, help me to grow, even demand that I grow, along a path that is consistent with Torah and with my ideals and personality.
And so I replied:
I'd say we all need an objective Torah voice, someone with nothing to gain and with a view anchored in Torah, to help us answer these questions for ourselves. We are too biased by our own experiences and interests. That person, I'd think, should be one's Rav.
But I'm a rabbi by profession, so maybe I'm biased. What do you think?
The original "Torah Thought" (from Menachot 99b):
"Ben Dama, the nephew of R’ Yishmael, asked R’ Yishmael: I have learned the entire Torah. May someone like me study Greek wisdom?
"R’ Yishmael responded by citing this verse (Joshua 1): ‘This Torah scroll will not leave your mouth, and you will speak of it day and night.’ Go find a time which is neither day nor night, and during that time you may study Greek wisdom."
To which my commenter asked:
Does one truly understand this Gemara to mean that one should not study things other than Torah?, or that it's okay as long as it is not "Greek wisdom" or presumably other philosophy? What is the halacha l'meisah re: this exhortation?
To which I replied:
That, my friend, is one of the truly eternal debates, and the halachah l'maaseh varies among many points of view.
And so my commenter asked:
Given the debate and difference among different knowledgeable people, am I free to choose the view that is most compelling and convincing to me? And, is it then important to be sure that one's Rav sizes up the answer similarly to the one asking the question?
This is where the discussion transcended the specific realm of Torah study vs. secular study and became a general discussion about the rabbi's role:
1) Can I (as student/congregant) choose between valid opinions on my own, or do I need to consult a rabbi?
2) If I need to consult a rabbi, how do I choose one? Or should I be choosing at all - perhaps I should just accept the person the geographic community around me accepts?
To which I would say the following:
First: I believe, per Avot 2:1, that I may not make a decision like the one mentioned above about Torah/secular study on my own; I need the counsel of objective others, or at least an objective other - a rabbinic expert. I am biased by my own preferences, and may not read the sources accurately in making this decision.
Second: I must choose a rabbi rather than follow whoever is around; see Eruvin 47b, which notes that not every rabbi is a good fit for everyone.
Third: So how do I choose a rabbi? I believe that I must choose a rabbi I can follow, meaning one whose orientation and approach is one I can understand and accept. Of course, that orientation and approach must be firmly grounded in Torah sources and in solid mentors, but I must also feel that I will be able to find myself in his Torah, that his guidance will help me grow in Torah.
At the same time, going back to my earlier point, I cannot choose a specific rabbi because his opinions and practices mirror my own. Then I would be my own rabbi - which is as bad as being your own lawyer or barber. Rather, I should choose a rabbi who will, again, help me to grow, even demand that I grow, along a path that is consistent with Torah and with my ideals and personality.
And so I replied:
I'd say we all need an objective Torah voice, someone with nothing to gain and with a view anchored in Torah, to help us answer these questions for ourselves. We are too biased by our own experiences and interests. That person, I'd think, should be one's Rav.
But I'm a rabbi by profession, so maybe I'm biased. What do you think?
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
“End of Life” issues and Rabbinic Insecurity
Chana at Curious Jew has done a great job here providing a sense of the September 14th “End of Life” medical ethics conference held by Yeshiva University/Center for the Jewish Future. I wanted to attend but could not make it, so I’m glad to have this summary until any audio recordings are disseminated on-line.
I was particularly interested in Dr. Beth Popp’s comments about why families, synagogue rabbis (as opposed to major halachic authorities) and physicians rarely communicate about these issues. My own experience has matched her observations, although I would add this:
A lot of it comes down to the rabbi’s own insecurity, which leads him not to volunteer counsel, both before the fact and in the heat of the moment.
*Rabbis often feel unequipped to answer these major questions, and are reluctant to put themselves in this tough situation unasked.
The best solution for this, in my experience, is for the rabbi to attach himself to a major authority, to whom he can ask any question. I have been blessed with the opportunity to do this with a doctor/posek considered by many to be the last word on these issues. He has been wonderful; he is in Israel, but he answers emails within hours, with clear and detailed responses. His medical knowledge is so complete that he can tell me what I am describing and add in further medical information, correct information I have been given, and predict what will happen and what the next question will be, etc. And always with the utmost patience and respect. A true gadol.
*Rabbis often fear that families will not be receptive to their advice, and do not want to set up an opposition with them.
Many rabbis – hopefully most of us – enter this field to help people. We don’t want to create conflict, particularly with people who are experiencing the pain of losing a spouse, a child, a parent, a friend.
Rabbis are particularly fearful of volunteering counsel when they are not confident that their advice is accurate – which brings me back to point #1 above.
*Rabbis sometimes encounter physicians who appear unreceptive to rabbinic involvement, and that preys on the rabbi’s own insecurity.
Clergy in hospitals, including professional chaplains, often feel that they are second-class citizens in the hospital atmosphere. Eleven years ago I sat at a clergy conference in a Veterans Hospital in Rhode Island and heard Father Crowley speak on precisely this point; many physicians don’t respect the role of spiritual inspiration for patients, let alone the guidance of religious law.
In truth, sometimes the perception of physician resistance is only projection, but sometimes it’s a reality. I have faced physicians who have actually lied to families in order to convince them to “pull the plug.” I’m not talking about oversimplifying medical facts; I’m talking about outright falsehood, as in, “We need this bed for a patient in the ER,” when such was not the case.
All of these problems can and must be solved as rabbis do the research, gain experience, and consult with leading authorities. Gd-willing more rabbis will learn about this in-depth and develop the expertise needed.
Saying שב ואל תעשה, to say nothing rather than risk error, is inappropriate; a rabbi should never pasken when he doesn’t know, but it’s equally criminal to withhold psak when he does know.
[This week's Haveil Havalim is here.]
I was particularly interested in Dr. Beth Popp’s comments about why families, synagogue rabbis (as opposed to major halachic authorities) and physicians rarely communicate about these issues. My own experience has matched her observations, although I would add this:
A lot of it comes down to the rabbi’s own insecurity, which leads him not to volunteer counsel, both before the fact and in the heat of the moment.
*Rabbis often feel unequipped to answer these major questions, and are reluctant to put themselves in this tough situation unasked.
The best solution for this, in my experience, is for the rabbi to attach himself to a major authority, to whom he can ask any question. I have been blessed with the opportunity to do this with a doctor/posek considered by many to be the last word on these issues. He has been wonderful; he is in Israel, but he answers emails within hours, with clear and detailed responses. His medical knowledge is so complete that he can tell me what I am describing and add in further medical information, correct information I have been given, and predict what will happen and what the next question will be, etc. And always with the utmost patience and respect. A true gadol.
*Rabbis often fear that families will not be receptive to their advice, and do not want to set up an opposition with them.
Many rabbis – hopefully most of us – enter this field to help people. We don’t want to create conflict, particularly with people who are experiencing the pain of losing a spouse, a child, a parent, a friend.
Rabbis are particularly fearful of volunteering counsel when they are not confident that their advice is accurate – which brings me back to point #1 above.
*Rabbis sometimes encounter physicians who appear unreceptive to rabbinic involvement, and that preys on the rabbi’s own insecurity.
Clergy in hospitals, including professional chaplains, often feel that they are second-class citizens in the hospital atmosphere. Eleven years ago I sat at a clergy conference in a Veterans Hospital in Rhode Island and heard Father Crowley speak on precisely this point; many physicians don’t respect the role of spiritual inspiration for patients, let alone the guidance of religious law.
In truth, sometimes the perception of physician resistance is only projection, but sometimes it’s a reality. I have faced physicians who have actually lied to families in order to convince them to “pull the plug.” I’m not talking about oversimplifying medical facts; I’m talking about outright falsehood, as in, “We need this bed for a patient in the ER,” when such was not the case.
All of these problems can and must be solved as rabbis do the research, gain experience, and consult with leading authorities. Gd-willing more rabbis will learn about this in-depth and develop the expertise needed.
Saying שב ואל תעשה, to say nothing rather than risk error, is inappropriate; a rabbi should never pasken when he doesn’t know, but it’s equally criminal to withhold psak when he does know.
[This week's Haveil Havalim is here.]
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