Wuthering Heights

During Yom Tov, I had the opportunity to read Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights. I had never read any of the works of the Bronte sisters, leading me to feel culturally deficient, so I finally bit the bullet and read this one.

At first, I couldn’t stand the book. Every character – save the twin narrators, Mr. Lockwood and Nelly Dean – is a villain, some through malevolence and some through weakness of spirit and some through caprice. Not only that; these villains are far over the top, painted in such forceful colours as to be fairly unbelievable.

But the book has grown on me since I finished reading it. I tend to agree with Rabbi Shalom Carmy's thought, expressed in a Tradition article last year last year (45:2, As We are Now is Not the Only Way to Be: On the Place of the Humanities in Contemporary Religious Culture): Our religious identities can be greatly enriched by exposure to the humanities. This book has given me much to think about along those lines.

In particular, Wuthering Heights offers a vivid portrayal of the effects of scorn on human beings.

• Experiencing even mild scorn and contempt drives certain characters to radical selfishness, to abuse of others, and to malevolence that endures across years and generations. (Think of Heathcliff's response to Hindley Earnshaw, and Isabella's son Linton's response to Heathcliff.)
• Other characters respond to scorn with equanimity, even if they are troubled. (Think of Heathcliff's responses to Nelly Dean.) 
• This is a book of villains, and so it is hard to find someone driven by scorn to deeds of greatness – but on some level this may be seen, I think, in Nelly Dean, and perhaps in Catherine Earnshaw as well.
• And then there is Joseph and his contrarian response to scorn, I suppose, but I'm not sure how to read him; he is really presented as more of a caricature.

The characters' responses vary as broadly as do the natures of the characters, and their situations in life.

At the other end of the relationship spectrum, affection at times drives a character away (Heathcliff and Isabella), and at other times has a humanizing effect (Hareton and Cathy). There is more to be said here, but in the interest of space I'll leave this be.

So how might this influence my religious identity? I'd rather leave this as a general comment, because the ideas are bigger and more abstract than any application I would give them, and applications will necessarily shrink them – but think about the various ways people response to biblical criticism [as in, criticism that leveled by the bible, not criticism of the bible...], or to harsh disapproval and mussar, particularly by parents.

Wuthering Heights is, on some level, a cautionary tale about the hazards and potential benefits of scorn; neither can promise a positive response, neither is entirely negative, and the intensity of the response to each will not necessarily be commensurate with the intensity with which they are applied. It has much more to do with the natures of the characters themselves, and their personal situations, and sensitivity to both is warranted when deciding how to instruct.

ואכמ"ל.

The greatest issues in chinuch today?

Good moed!

I've been invited to speak at a program after Succos, on the greatest issues in chinuch [Jewish education] of our children today.

I am going to skip the perennial items of (1) Good teaching and (2) The tuition crisis, because they are obvious and because I don't have much to add on those. But here are five items I have thought of; I'd welcome additions or comments:

1. Taking advantage of our advantages
We possess many potential advantages for modern education, including advanced research in educational methodology, greater educational technology and social connectedness, a social break (relatively) from anti-Semitism (in North America), parents who are yeshiva-educated, and access to the State of Israel.
The results of making proper use of these developments could be fantastic - but if were to attempt it without real thought and research, we would lose precious time and money on unworthy, wasteful, education-damaging projects.

2. Time
This has been a perennial issue, due to our dual curriculum, the constant push for extra-curriculars, and the need for both parents to work full-time jobs, but it is worse today.
Today, our social connectedness means we all know of great programs running in other communities, and we feel pressured to imitate them, especially as that same connectedness means that the creators of those programs come market them to us.
Today, our children have resume pressure to take on outside activities.
Today, parents are aware of research that suggests kids need down time from their programmed lives.
The result is that children have gaps in basic areas of their Jewish education - halachah, tefillah, Jewish thought, Jewish history, gemara... and they form weaker relationships with their parents and mentors.
My own feeling is that we need a longer school day, and educational extra-curriculars for kids who would benefit.

3. Independent children
Our kids have lines of communication (email, IM, Facebook, cell phones, texting) that are not subject to parental permission. Those same lines of communication give them the ability to purchase whatever they want, without parental control.
The result can be poor relationships with parents and mentors, and undisciplined approaches to learning and life. To me, there is a need for parents and mentors to combat this not by trying to impose control [although I really believe that high school students don't need cell phones], but by building relationships with kids.

4. Sophisticated ignorance
Children generally migrate toward shallow and superficial presentations of information, because those are easier to grasp and they tend to sound good. Today, those presentations are all over - blog posts (like this one?), Wikipedia articles, chat room diatribes, and so on. It's everywhere, and reading it is often encouraged through school as teachers assign kids to read Wikipedia and similarly shallow resources, rather than wrestle with more complex material.
The result is that children become cynical, and they closed to real explanation and analysis. When it comes to Judaism, they read and absorb superficial on-line atheism, thinking that they have now learned it all.
To me, parents need to spend time with kids talking through the issues they learn about on-line, and helping them learn to think and analyze on a more serious level.

5. Lack of spirituality
Our culture prizes intellect over emotion (particularly in males). Add in the fathers who are yeshiva-educated and likely to pull out a sefer during davening, and the time pressure that causes people to give short shrift to tefillah, and kids don't see a whole lot of emotion in the religion of their role models. Combine this with the academic cynicism our children will encounter in their teenage years, and religion is in trouble.
My thought would be to help remedy this by having parents work on their own spirituality, and make it visible to their children.

That's my current list. What would you add/delete? What would you change?

Sapere Aude? Existimare Aude! (Derashah, Rosh HaShanah 5774)

About two weeks ago, I received a long email from a yeshiva-educated man from a Modern Orthodox community. In the last ten years, he wrote, a friend had worked to undermine his belief in Judaism – and had succeeded.

The man described how he had sought answers to his friend's challenges, studying Jewish sources as well as secular science, history and philosophy. He sincerely wished he could believe, find meaning in Judaism, and re-join the world of observance and its lifestyle. His problem, which he eloquently articulated in the most vivid terms, is that he no longer finds Judaism, its claims regarding the authenticity and transmission of Torah, the age of the earth, and so on, intellectually credible. [I would quote his email here rather than rely on this shallow summary, but I would not want to endanger his privacy.]

This young man read a blog post I published a few years ago on the challenges of faith, and it brought him to email me, looking for advice. I won't go into my response here – as I write this derashah, our dialogue is on-going – but I think his situation has a lot to teach us about the purpose of the shofar.

2100 years ago, the Roman poet Horace coined the Latin phrase, sapere aude. It means "Dare to be wise", or "Dare to know". For centuries leading up to his day, there was a movement to know for one's self, to cease trusting received wisdom and instead dare to figure things out.[1] Like Avraham rebelling against the idolatrous received wisdom of his day, להבדיל אלף הבדלות, along came Anaximander, Pythagoras, Socrates, Aristotle, Epicurus, with their own explorations. These were the famous Greek philosophers, and they lived by the belief that the human mind, working hard enough, will be able to solve every mystery and uncover every truth. Don't trust – dare to know.

Fast-forward to 17^th, 18^th century Europe - skipping important history in the interest of time - and we find the Age of Enlightenment, founded on that same slogan of sapere aude. Spinoza. Voltaire. Kant. These men of letters taught that human beings needed to grow up and stop believing things simply because others had said them. Dare to figure it out for yourself! And they gave us modern science, modern philosophy, modern politics, modern university, the modern mind itself.

Our sages' response to each of these two groups was identical: Stay away from them. By and large, the earlier generation banned the study of Greek philosophy, and the later generation banned attendance at enlightened universities. Not because the Sages ignored the mishnah of דע מה שתשיב, that one must know how to respond to heresy. Not because they could formulate no responses to particular claims made by Greek and Enlightenment philosophers. Rather, it was because they saw a threat in accepting the premise that underlay the concepts those philosophers proposed: The idea that the human mind can fathom everything.

In truth, our sages were not the only ones to reject the Enlightenment-era primacy of the brain; it's not the 18^th century anymore, folks. The Enlightenment ended as philosophers came to embrace other isms, and as history proved the bankruptcy of ideologies that emphasize the dominance of the "civilized" mind.

But to return to Judaism, and the reaction of our sages:

Even though Judaism survives on the intellectualism of Torah study,

Even though the Rambam contended that intellectual growth is the true barometer of a Jew's closeness to Gd,

Even though we have the ability and obligation to deduce and comprehend great intellectual truths,

Nonetheless, our sages saw great danger in the confident assertion that we can all "dare to know" everything. [2]

Our sages believed that emphasizing supremacy of the mind would lead to a hegemony of intellectualism, and when intellectualism would come up with ideas that denied religion, Jewish intellectuals would leave Judaism in droves, without cause. Seeing dinosaur fossils and textual anomalies in the Torah does lead to certain conclusions, but those conclusions may not be correct. As anyone who has ever worked with someone smarter than him can attest, our answers, however well-researched and thought-out, are not always right.

The legitimacy of intellectualism is limited by the intellect itself.

What, then, does Judaism propose in place of "dare to know"? Existimare aude, dare to feel. Dare to use your heart – because in moments of great feeling, our more Vulcan side is dampened, and we can hear what our soul is saying. At times of our hearts' sincere emotion and passion, with patient contemplation, as Rav Klonymus Kalman Schapira wrote a century ago in his בני מחשבה טובה,[3] the drumbeat of the dominant intellect is drowned out by the heart, and we are awakened to the messages of our souls.

Our souls declare that we were created by Gd and placed here with a Divine mission. That we are immortal and pure. That the world does not begin and end with that which the intellect can grasp; there is a greater depth and dimension than the mind can fathom.

We can achieve this sensitivity with experiences that inflame the heart with authentic emotion. A waterfall cascading from a mountainside after a long hike. A baby's laugh. A beautiful poem, a concerto, a rock anthem, a subtle painting. An athletic performance. A meaningful book.

So it is that Judaism is structured with an emphasis not only on the intellect, but also, as a complement, on experience.

• We recite Maggid, but we also lean and drink wine and play-act at the Seder.
• We read the megillah, but we also have a feast and give out celebratory gifts.
• We say shemoneh esreih, but we also stand at attention and speak in a whisper.
• We say על חטא and think of our sins, but we also strike our heart.

These moments of the heart do  not prove anything about Gd or Torah. None of these moments have anything to say, intellectually, at all. But at these times, our radical, splendid faith shines forth. The brain is exposed for the pallid gray calculator it is, while the soul reigns triumphant.

I should be careful to make this clear: We do not seek to flee from the world of the mind, but to balance it; Intellect must work in tandem with Heart.[4] For all of our Jewish emphasis on the intellect and its calculation, our faith is known only in the soul, and comprehending it happens when we arouse the heart.

Which brings me to shofar, because it wasn't until I received this email that I truly understood the role of shofar in our musaf amidah. For decades I have been troubled: Our musaf features a berachah called Malchiyos which talks about the grandeur of Gd and accepts Him as our King. It then features a berachah called Zichronos which talks about Gd remembering our merits in His judgment. Both of those have simple, clear themes. But then we arrive at Shofaros, and that's just a list of disjoint verses about shofar blasts! Where is the message?

Even the machzor itself seems confused – For malchiyos we have two whole introductory paragraphs spelling out the theme of Divine monarchy, for zichronos we have three paragraphs on Divine judgment, and then for shofaros we get just 3.5 sentences saying that there was a shofar at Sinai and people trembled. Doesn't the machzor have a message for shofaros?

The answer, perhaps, is that shofaros offers a different kind of message, which isn't conveyed by verbal exposition. It's not an intellectual message about a relationship with Gd or a day of judgment. Rather, shofaros is an experience. The point of shofaros is that there was a shofar and people trembled. גם כל העולם כלו חל מפניך! The whole world shook! The point of shofar is the moment when we are taken aback by a mighty blast, when our hearts stir even if we know the sound is coming, when our hearts are caught up and we suddenly feel.

Look at the pesukim of shofaros: ויחרד כל העם אשר במחנה, the entire nation in the camp trembled! ויהי קול השופר הולך וחזק מאד, the shofar's voice was very mighty! וירא העם וינעו, the nation saw and shuddered! And it continues with the shofar of song and celebration and redemption and war! The shofar is the answer to my email correspondent, the shofar dares to challenge the modern hegemony of sapere aude with its own cry of existimare aude! Don't devote yourself entirely to intellectual debate and proofs and rebuttals; there is a deeper truth to be found, but you need to awaken yourself to an entirely different type of knowledge.

Intellect is very important for us, as Jews and human beings. We are meant to use our minds, and to explore. Nonetheless, I believe that if the Jewish community is to survive in a world of universities and scientific achievement, a world which declares that all exists in the province of the mind, then the Jewish community must do one of two things: Either it must completely shut out the world of science and philosophy and take its chances on self-sustenance, or it must teach its children to listen to the shofar, to stir their hearts with experiences of passion and beauty, and to listen to their souls in those moments of emotion and hear what they have to say.

We are about to blow the shofar. In a few moments, I will make the announcements that I make every year, about not interrupting with speech because of our halachic obligation to hear the shofar. This year, though, I would like to change that announcement. Don't interrupt – but not only because of the technical issue of hefsek. Rather, don't interrupt because this is a time to listen with our hearts and to dare to be moved.

This is our chance. I pray that my email correspondent is having the same chance today. This is our opportunity to transcend sapere aude, and to choose existimare aude, and so to come to credere aude – to transcend "dare to know", to choose "dare to feel", and so to come to dare to believe.

---

[1] This isn't necessarily what Horace had in mind with that line, in context, but his words were adopted as a slogan for the Enlightenment movement

[2] Cf. Ben Sira – במופלא ממך אל תדרוש, cited approvingly in the second perek of Chagigah

[3] בני מחשבה טובה, סדר אמצעי ויסוד החברה יא

[4] Cf Wendell Berry, Getting Along with Nature, and the balance of nature and human artifice

The King is in the Building (potential derashah for Vayelech, 5774)

[This is my Toronto Torah article for this week; you can download the entire issue here.]

The mother of all Jewish conventions, the septennial hakhel gathering features an assembly of Jews of all ages. As Devarim 31:12 records Moshe's instruction, "Gather the nation: men, women, children, and the stranger at your gates." After every shemitah year, on the second night of Succot, all who call themselves by the name Israel must assemble and hear sections of the book of Devarim read aloud. Historically, this reading was done by the king, in an area of the Beit haMikdash.

The Torah's demand that children participate in the celebration is unique among our mitzvot; in no other communal mitzvah does the Torah explicitly require their participation. The Talmud (Chagigah 3a) is sensitive to this quirk, and it suggests that the reason to bring the children is "to provide reward for those who bring them." This seems circular, though; does the Talmud mean to say that G-d created a mitzvah solely for the sake of rewarding those who fulfill it?

One might explain the Talmud to mean that those who bring their children will be rewarded by the very act of bringing them. For example: Sefer haChinuch (612) contends that hakhel increases our love of Torah, through the glory of this gathering. Perhaps, then, having our children at hakhel rewards the bringers, by inculcating love of Torah into those children.

Alternatively, Ibn Ezra (Devarim 31:12) sees the benefit of hakhel as educational; those who attend will be inspired to ask questions, and thereby to learn more throughout the year. Having our curious children at hakhel will inspire them to inquire and learn.

However, a third benefit of bringing children may be linked to the practice of having the king conduct the public reading. Rambam does not list hakhel as a king's mitzvah, and indeed the Torah does not identify the reader explicitly. However, our sages (Sotah 41a) took for granted that this should be the king. [See also Yereim 233 and 266, Tosafot Yom Tov to Sotah 7:8, and Minchat Chinuch 612:2.] Certainly, there is added splendour an gravitas when the king leads a ritual, but why this ritual, in particular?

Every seven years, during the period of shemitah, the normal rules of society cease to function: the fences surrounding fields are broken, the tithes that support the kohanim and leviyim are neglected, the heirarchical relationship between employer and employee is severed, hardworking farmers become men of leisure, and loans are forgiven and forgotten. This can constitute a healthy break for society, and a community's rules can be strengthened by this sort of periodic vacation. [See Jeffrey Rubenstein, Purim, Liminality and Communitas.] However, with such a haitus we risk the possibility that the community falls in love with its lawless vacation, and forgets to return.

This may be part of the role of hakhel: To remind the Jewish nation that its existence is still governed by the rules and institutions of the Torah. Thus the nation reads key biblical passages: the fundamentals of our faith; the tithes given to the kohanim, the leviyim and the needy; the monarchy; and the national covenant into which we enter at the end of the book of Devarim. (Mishnah Sotah 7:8; Tosefta Sotah 7:17) We re-commit ourselves to these obligations, and to our national structure.

Within this context, having the king perform the reading is entirely logical; the king is the heart of the command structure we reiterate with hakhel. And bringing our children is its own reward, for even children who are too young to comprehend the reading will realize that the entire community has assembled as one to hear the instructions of its king, and this will create a lasting appreciation for the honour of our government and society's institutions.

In less than one week, we will perform a version of hakhel as we gather to mark Rosh haShanah. Among the central themes of this day is the coronation of G-d as King, and this, too, is a necessary reminder. From Yom Kippur to Rosh haShanah there is very little in our lives that declares to us, "HaShem hu ha'Elokim!" We can go through much of our year, even while observing mitzvot, without devoting significant thought to the meaning and implications of the Divine Throne. So it is that once each year we set aside time to gather with the explicit aim of coronating our King. May we be personally and communally impacted by this grand celebration – and may we ensure that our children participate in the moment, so that they will be impacted as well.

What rocked your world this year?

Sorry for not posting for a while. I must admit that it's not only about time; I don't feel like I have much that is both fresh and blogworthy to say these days. My thoughts are on Elul, on what it was like to be a shul rabbi in Elul vs. what it's like to be running a kollel in Elul, on teshuvah, on stress – all things I've written about copiously before. I don't need to regurgitate here; it's all in the archives.

However, I have come up with a new aspect of cheshbon hanefesh ("accounting of the soul") for myself this year, in advance of Rosh HaShanah. In addition to the standard questions and reviews, I've been asking myself: What rocked my world this year?

I don't mean highlights or lowlights, but events that truly, lastingly, changed the way I 'do business'. What changed me this year?

Some of the answers don't belong on a blog, but here are several that I can mention, in no particular order: 

• The passing of my grandmother, now almost a year ago;
• The passing of two good friends - a wonderful man (recorded here in Death of a Go'el) and a truly remarkable young woman;
• Being invited by a shul to become their Rabbi, and dithering far too long about it before declining;
• Events bringing me face-to-face with the questions that come with raising a newly adolescent son and daughter;
• Taking said son and daughter on two brief road trips;
• Agreeing to give classes  which compelled me to devote more time to learning Choshen Mishpat (business halachah);
• Being asked to write an article (Yom ha'Atzmaut YU To Go) on the Zionism of Rav Soloveitchik;
• Deciding to drive 7.5 hours each way to the RCA Convention during the Three Weeks, which resulted in me listening to two series of audiotapes, on the Enlightenment and on the early Greek philosophy;
• Receiving an email from someone who said that my role at her humanist Chanukah party for students at a university more than ten years ago was a positive influence along her path to traditional Judaism;
• Receiving a letter from someone who told me that he had been tormented for years by animosity between us back in high school. [I must admit that I have absolutely no recollection of this. This was a gamechanger for me.]

There's more, naturally, but that will do to convey the idea, and I hope the benefit, of reviewing the year this way.

Perhaps noteworthy: There is nothing on my list involving world events or politics. It has been a year of some change, but I can't think of anything about it that changed me. I can't say I'm surprised.

Species of hatred

I'm having a hard time making time to write original material for this blog - not for lack of topics, but for lack of time. On the other hand, I translate texts all the time, so here is one of those translations I did this week. Writing about hatred feels very negative, but I like a few of the reminders found in Orchos Tzaddikim in his section on hatred, so here it is (original Hebrew at the end):

There are several kinds of hatred: Some hate others for harming them financially, or striking them, or embarrassing them, or giving them a bad reputation. For all of these and similar cases, one should not hate his peer in silence, as the wicked are said to have done (Shemuel II 13:22), "Avshalom did not speak with Amnon, bad or good, for Avshalom hated Amnon." Rather, he is obligated to inform him, saying, "Why did you do this to me?" As Vayikra 19:17 says, "Instruct your peer." If he then requests forgiveness, one must forgive. The forgiver may not be cruel… And even should he not request forgiveness, one may not hate him, but only deal with him with love. In the end, he will come to correct that which he had corrupted.

There is an evil which is pointless hatred; this destroyed the Second Temple. 

Hatred resulting from jealousy is even worse; one should take pains to distance himself from these. 

Some hate a person for not acting generously toward him, or not giving him a desired gift, or not lending when he was in need; it would be appropriate to distance one's self from all of these, and all similar states. One should lovingly accept that which the Creator decrees, and not rely on others…

Also, a craftsman who hates his competitors – this is all futile and a great evil, for he should think that no one can profit more than the Creator decrees for him.

And the worst and harshest type of hatred is that of people who hate those who instruct them and rebuke them, to show them the straight path, as Amos 5:10 says, "They hate the instructor at the gate."

And there is an even worse hatred: People who hate those who perform good deeds and pursue righteousness, as Psalms 38:21 says, "They hate me, in return for my pursuit of goodness."…

A wise man [Mivchar Peninim 40] said: If you wish your peer to hate you, criticize him continually. If you wish him to love you, criticize him only on rare occasion. Thus Proverbs 25:17 says, "Make your foot rare from your friend's home, lest he be sated with you and hate you." And you must know that when one hates others, they will also hate him, and one who elevates hatred in his heart will bring evil upon himself.

יש כמה מיני שנאה: יש שונא את חבירו עבור שהזיק לו בממונו, או שהכהו, או עבור שביישהו, או שהוציא עליו שם רע. על כל אלו וכיוצא בהן לא ישנא את חבירו וישתוק, כמו שנאמר ברשעים (שמואל ב יג כב): "ולא דבר אבשלום עם אמנון למרע ועד טוב כי שנא אבשלום את אמנון" - אלא מצוה עליו להודיעו ולומר לו: למה עשית לי כך וכך? שנאמר (ויקרא יט יז): "הוכח תוכיח את עמיתך". ואם חזר ובקש ממנו למחול לו, צריך למחול לו, ולא יהיה המוחל אכזרי... ואף אם לא יבקש ממנו למחול לו, לא ישנאהו, אלא יתנהג עמו באהבה, ולבסוף יבוא לידי כך שיתקן לו מה שעיוות.

יש רעה, והיא שנאת חנם, והיא החריבה בית שני. ושנאה מחמת קנאה היא רעה ממנה. וראוי לאדם לייסר את נפשו להתרחק מהן. ויש שונא את חבירו עבור שאינו גומל לו חסד, או שאינו נותן לו מתנה כפי חפצו, או שאינו מלוה לו בשעת דחקו. ראוי לאדם להתרחק מכל זה ומכיוצא בו. אך יקבל מאהבה כל מה שיגזור לו הבורא, ברוך הוא, ולא יבטח באדם...

וגם אומן שונא בני אומנותו - הכל הבל ורעה רבה, כי יחשוב ששום אדם לא יוכל להרויח יותר ממה שגזר לו הבורא. והרעה שבמיני השנאה והקשה שבהן - כגון בני אדם השונאים מוכיחיהם והמייסרים אותם להורותם הדרך הישרה, כענין שנאמר (עמוס ה י): "שנאו בשער מוכיח". ויש שנאה רעה ממנה - כגון בני אדם השונאים עושי טובה ורודפי צדק, כענין שנאמר (תהלים לח כא): "ישטנוני תחת רדפי טוב"...

אמר החכם: אם תרצה שישנאך חברך - בקרהו תמיד, ואם תרצה שיאהבך - בקרהו לעתים רחוקות, ועל זה נאמר (משלי כה יז): "הוקר רגלך מבית רעך פן ישבעך ושנאך". וצריך שתדע, כי מי שישנא בני אדם - גם הם ישנאוהו, והמגביר השנאה בלבו - הוא מביא על עצמו רעה.

The Stokes Game

This is an absolutely stunning article, on "The Stokes Game", on the Grantland website. I highly recommend it, and particularly for Elul. Chesed, chesed, chesed - the beginning, middle and end of our mission here in this universe.

I have nothing to add to that, but I'll throw in Rav Yitzchak of Volozhin's recollection of the rebuke of his father, Rav Chaim of Volozhin, since I haven't post it in a while:

והיה רגיל להוכיח אותי על שראה שאינני משתתף בצערא דאחרינא. וכה היה דברו אלי תמיד שזה כל האדם. לא לעצמו נברא רק להועיל לאחריני ככל אשר ימצא בכחו לעשות.

He regularly rebuked me, because he saw that I did not participate in the pain of others. And these were his constant words to me: This is the entire person. One is not created for himself, but to benefit others with the full extent of his powers.

Why Orthodox Judaism cannot refute Biblical Criticism

R' Zev Farber's articles on thetorah.com sparked considerable hostility at the beginning of this summer, and calls for Orthodox refutation of biblical criticism. At that time I was doing some reading on Enlightenment ideas in ancient Greece and in 18th century Europe, and that research led me to some conclusions I've been reflecting on these past few weeks.

Two of my conclusions are:
1. Disproving biblical criticism is impossible, and
2. Modern Orthodoxy, as opposed to more traditional forms of Orthodoxy, is particularly drawn to biblical criticism.

First: Disproving biblical criticism is impossible
Biblical criticism both ancient and modern, as I understand it – and I've read quite a bit of it – is not about debunking religion. Rather, it's about identifying problems in biblical text and offering reason-rooted explanations. It's based on the assumption that the human mind is powerful enough to be able to solve any problem, an approach which was found in ancient Greek philosophers, in the Karaite-related heresies of the early Middle Ages, and in Enlightenment Europe.

Because biblical criticism is about a search for answers via human reason, it examines and rejects answers which are illogical or which run counter to evidence. The answers which survive that examination are logically convincing.

This is why Orthodox Judaism cannot reasonably disprove biblical criticism: you simply cannot use critical reason to disprove the entire product of critical reason.

This doesn't mean that the school of reason is correct, or consistent with faith and revelation - only that reason won't disprove reason.

We might show particular hearos of the critics to be flawed, but one cannot disprove every finding of logical analysis. It would be like refuting the study of biology – one might debunk a particular scientific finding due to a weakness in its reasoning, but how likely are you to be able to refute the reasoning behind every finding of a field of research?

Our Sages understood this. This is why they banned the study of Greek philosophy [which was founded on the idea that the human mind could comprehend everything on its own] and why they prohibited reading sefarim hachitzonim. Despite the mishnaic imperative, "Know how to reply to an apikoros," the sages did not publish challenges to each of the ideas expressed by the Greek schools (other than a few scattered debates recorded in the Talmud). Rather, they rejected the entire approach, and simply banned it. Ditto, in a more modern age, the opposition to university education.

So there can be no disproof of the set of findings of biblical criticism, only a faith-based rejection of its method.

Second: Modern Orthodoxy is particularly drawn to biblical criticism
Judaism is bound to revelatory tradition, but it also endorses the use of human reason, even within the development of Jewish law. We have hermeneutical methods which operate only based on received tradition, but we also have the kal vachomer which is applied by human reason, within certain limits (אין עונשין מן הדין). There is a balanced relationship, in which Revelation is primary and Reason is secondary.

Classically, Orthodoxy honored the primacy of revelatory tradition, and opposed empowering the investigations of human reason. Hence the aforementioned bans on Greek philosophy and university attendance, and hence the fervent opposition to Rambam's publication of Greek philosophical ideas as part of Judaism.

Modern Orthodoxy, to my mind, is an embrace of the Enlightenment ideology that touts the power of the human mind to comprehend and assess all phenomena. The various isms of Modern Orthodoxy – women's education, Zionism, universalism, personal autonomy – are only applications of the fundamental idea that I, with the cells inside my cranium, am able to draw my own conclusions about the world.

To that point of view, biblical criticism, rooted in personal critical thinking, is very appealing. How can we send our children to university and train them in critical thought and the idea that the mind can comprehend the universe, and then expect that the application of critical thinking to Torah will not draw them?

Question
My question, then, is this: If our Modern Orthodox community is being drawn to this approach, which opts for logical evisceration of the meaning of "Torah miSinai", and if we cannot disprove that which people are embracing, then what do we do? Is it a matter of reinforcing the primacy of faith? Or re-examining our approach to university education? Or simply accepting the problem?

An inspirational slogan?

I expect to resume blogging this week, after my brief hiatus. I've been thinking through a few large topics I would like to get down on 'paper', but I'm still not sure how to say what I'm thinking. Probably because I'm not entirely sure what I'm thinking yet.

Just a quick note for now: Last week, I went with a couple of my children on a road trip to see three of the five Great Lakes. We live near Lake Ontario, so we've already seen that one, and Lake Superior is too far away and too minyan-less, so we made this a trip for Lake Huron, Lake Michigan and Lake Erie.

At some point while driving near the Indiana/Michigan border, we saw a billboard for Ferris State University. I'm sorry I didn't pull over for a picture, but I thought I could find one on-line, and now it seems I cannot. But the billboard offered this slogan: "You're ahead of the person behind you... Stay there."

That just seemed so absurdly wrong, in so many ways. To count off a few:
* Is that really a goal in life - to stay ahead of the guy behind us?
* Should this be the reason we learn, and attend an institution of higher learning?
* Is attending your university the best way for me to accomplish that goal?
* What do you do on campus to inculcate that goal into your students?
* How will you help me accomplish that goal?


I wonder if that billboard was the inspiration behind this April Fools prank by Ferris State students...

For Daf Yomi folks: Scalded bread

The gemara we are about to hit in Daf Yomi (Pesachim 37) talks quite a bit about bread made with "scalded flour" [חלוטה], either by pouring flour into boiling water or by pouring boiling water on to flour.

This is one of the many instances in which one can learn the gemara without having any clue what they are actually describing, but I prefer the interesting findings which turn up with a little research. In this case, take a look at this video; the key point starts at 1:03:



There is much more available on-line; with a little searching, you can find recipes as well as academic papers on the scalded flour phenomenon.

[And are those decorated breads at the start of the video examples of סריקי בייתוס...?]

Blog Break

Note:

I expect to take a blog break over the next couple of weeks. Nothing traumatic is going on, and I'm not on vacation, I just want to break the habit of posting for a while. Otherwise, I fear falling into a state of posting just for the sake of posting.

I am still posting on the daily Torah Thought and Halachah blogs, and if something relevant for this blog does come up that I think is time-sensitive, I'll post it here, Gd-willing.

Thanks for reading,
Mordechai

Unity, Rav Kook Style

I came across Rav Kook's introduction to Shabbat ha'Aretz last week, and just loved it. Here it is in translation; it's perfect for after Tisha b'Av.

The ellipses are because I translated this for the new edition of Toronto Torah, where we have space limitations; feel free to read the full Hebrew, which I have included at the end.


All of the justifications I present on behalf of our brethren… who depend upon the permission and release [of the land] practiced in past sabbatical years from the rulings of sages who found this appropriate due to needs of that time, are only intended to inform people not to equate these labourers, who act based upon proper rulings, with those who violate the laws of Torah, G-d forbid.

It is also to strengthen our brethren, scattered in the diaspora, who yearn to come and settle in the desirable land and would do so if only they would be shown a way to be supported by the labour of their hands. They fear the halt of labour in contemporary shemitah, when the Divine blessing is still hidden until its revelation, may it come speedily. Especially those who desire to invest large sums to establish orchards, vineyards, fields of grain and pleasant gardens… As a result [of their fears] these people withdraw their hands from the holy land and sink themselves into the lands of the nations…

But it would be gravest desecration to deduce from this any laxity in this holy and beloved mitzvah [of settling the land] on the part of one in whose heart G-d has placed a pure spirit and sufficient courage and faith to practice the laws of shemitah fully! He will be blessed by G-d, who dwells in Zion, who wants the desirable land and the sanctity of her mitzvot…

This requires no announcement, but no individual or institution should use our words to compel work during shemitah, G-d forbid, even with the permission and release, on the part of these men of heart who have love of G-d and desire for His mitzvot in them. They desire with all their heart to guard and fulfill the mitzvah of shemitah as it is stated, without any of the leniencies offered due to contemporary difficulties. And certainly, these, too, in whose hands enters full observance of the mitzvah, must judge favourably, with total feelings of honour and love of Israel, all those whose individual or communal circumstances compel them to conduct themselves with this permission and release. "Do not think evil of another in your hearts… and love truth and peace." (Zecharyah 8:17-19)

Original Hebrew (also available on Hebrewbooks.org here):

כל הדברים אשר הרציתי ב"מבוא" להמליץ על אחינו יושבי אדמת קדשנו ת״ו הסומכים על ההיתר הנהוג משמטות שעברו ע"פ הוראת חכמים שמצאו את הדבר נכון להורות בו הלכה למעשה להוראת שעה, לא באו כי־אם להודיע שלא להשוות את העובדים הללו — העושים את מעשיהם ע"פ הוראה מסודרת — לעוברי חק תוה״ק חלילה. וכן למען חזק את רבים מאחינו פזורי הגולה, הכמהים לבא ולהאחז בארץ חמדה אם רק יראה להם דרך איך להתפרנס מעמל כפיהם, ופוחדים הם מפני הפסק העבודה בשביעית בזמן הזה, אשר ברכת ד' עודנה חבויה עד בא עת הגלותה ב"ב. וביחוד אותם החפצים להשקיע סכומי־כסף גדולים לכונן פרדסים, כרמים, שדי־תבואה, גני־חמד, שהם דואגים מאד מפני שביתת המסחר והפסק חבורו בשביעית, שעל־ידי־זה לא יוכל להתכונן במדה הגונה גם בכל ימות השנים

כולם. מתוך כך אלה ואלה מושכים את ידיהם מארץ הקדש ומשקעים עצמם בארץ־העמים, וקדושת חמדת ישיבת ארץ־הקדש ובנינה נעזבת מהם. לפיכך מצאתי לנפשי חובה, לבאר את תכן ההיתר הנהוג על־פי ההפקעה בעת ההכרח, למען דעת, שאם ידרש הכרח ישיבת

אה"ק להתנהג בו, הרי הדבר ערוך ונכון ע"פ יסודות נאמנים, וחלילה לעזוב משוס זה את חמדת ארץ צבי, ומעלות־בקודש העליונות, אל הפרט ואל הכלל האמורים. נזכרים ונעשים בישיבתה ובנינה ע"י עם ד' אסירי התקוה.

אבל הלילה וחלילה לדון מזה איזו התרשלות מקיום המצוה הקדושה והחביבה הזאת, לכל אשר נתן ד' רוח־טהרה בלבבו ודי אמץ ובטחון בנפשו לעשות ולקים את כל פרשת דבר השמטה, כהלכתה וכמאמרה  — ברוך יהיה לד' שוכן ציון החפץ בארץ חמדה ובקדושת מצותיה התלויות בה, אשר בהם אוצר חביון גנוז ושרש גאולת עולמים לגוי קדוש על אדמת הקדש.

וכגון דא ודאי אין צריך למודעי, שלא ימצא שום יחיד או מוסד, שישתמש בדברינו, לכוף חם ושלום לעבוד בשביעית, אפילו ע"פ סדרי ההיתר בדרך ההפקעה, את אלה אנשי לב אשר רוח אהבת ד' וחמדת מצותיו נוססה בהם. והם רוצים בכל לבם לשמור ולקיים את מצות השמטה כמאמרה בלא שום דרכי הקולות שנאמרו מפני דוחק השער. ובודאי ידעו גם אלה אשר תעלה בידם שמירת המצוה במילואה לדון לכף זכות בכל רגשי כבוד ואהבת ישראל את כל אלה שמצבם בפרט או מצב הישוב בכלל מכריח אותם להתנהג ע"פ סדרי ההיתר וההפקעה, "ואיש את רעת רעהו אל תחשבו בלבבכם והאמת והשלום אהבו."

Yom Kippur and Tishah b'Av: Individual and Community

Of course, Yom Kippur and Tishah b'Av are nothing like each other. On both days we don't eat or drink, wear leather shoes, etc, but the days are of radically divergent spiritual characters.

On Yom Kippur we are [guardedly] optimistic; on Tishah b'Av we are miserable.
On Yom Kippur we are forgiven; on Tishah b'Av the world comes crashing down.
On Yom Kippur we declare our relationship with Gd, כי אנו עמך, "For we are Your nation"; on Tishah b'Av we say סתם תפלתי, "HaShem blocked my prayers."

But this year I came to an unsettling realization about a way in which Tishah b'Av and Yom Kippur do, indeed, run parallel to each other: They are both Days of Judgment.

Rosh haShanah is a day of judgment of each individual, and Yom Kippur is the day when each individual is again weighed. We prepare for the day by assessing our conduct, taking a personal accounting, and making amends and apologizing for our wrongdoing while trying to chart a more positive path.

And Tishah b'Av, it seems to me, is a day of judgment for the Jewish world. We are taught (Yerushalmi Yoma 1:1) that if the Beit haMikdash is not rebuilt in a generation's time, we view it as though the Beit haMikdash had been destroyed in that generation's time. So each Tishah b'Av, as we mark again the devastation of the Beit haMikdash, we are judged and we are found collectively guilty.

It's an unsettling thought, because we believe that every Yom Kippur ends with forgiveness for the individual, while every Tishah b'Av ends with a declaration of our community's guilt.

But then I had another thought: Why can't we end Tishah b'Av with forgiveness, as we do on Yom Kippur? What if we had, hypothetically, a leader who could deliver a "State of the Union" in the days leading up to Tishah b'Av, identify the elements needing fixing and apologize for wrongdoing, and so on?

Even if Tishah b'Av marks the time of Divine obscurity and blocked prayers, perhaps with proper preparation we could have a Tishah b'Av which ended with a Divine declaration of סלחתי, "I have forgiven," just as the original Tishah b'Av did? (Bamidbar 14:20)

Of course, such a thing is far from where we are today, in a world in which rabbis are assaulted by followers of other rabbis, in a world in which one Jew can easily call another Amalek, in a world in which… oh, forget it. You don't need me to run down the list of every bit of strife playing out on the Jewish world's polluted stage.

But maybe one day we'll turn Tishah b'Av into a national version of Yom Kippur.

On feeling a profound absence of generosity

[The Nine Days make me terribly grim; I apologize in advance. Please forgive the darkness of these pre-Tisha b'Av musings.]

A rapid series of knocks at the door on a Friday afternoon – I get up from my computer where I am trying to finish preparing a source sheet for a Shabbos shiur, grab the checkbook and walk to the door. But not without a krechtz [sigh] at the untimely intrusion.

A car noses its way in front of me, trying to force its way into the lane, not even bothering with a turn signal – I pause to let him get in front of me. But not without a glare.

I give the tzedakah, I let the car in. I am not Sdom; I do what is right. But the feeling of generosity isn't there, and it scares me. It's only human to sigh and glare, but that doesn't mean it's right or healthy.

People hear about a public figure speaking on a charged topic, and immediately want the dirt on what was said. Who insulted whom, and how strongly? What was the reaction? What will be the political fallout? This is such an unwholesome approach to other people's lives.

I am reminded of a note by Rav Yonasan Eibeschutz in his Yaaros Dvash (drush 10) – the translation here is from one of our avreichim, Adam Frieberg, in this week's Toronto Torah:

This is not to say, Heaven forbid, that each Jew doesn’t love his friend's physical person. If harm were to befall him, or if the government would falsely charge a Jew, all of Israel would be quick to help him, with their lives and resources. We don’t even need to mention saving a life, he will surely redeem his brother. They would completely affix themselves, with their lives and with their resources, day and night, and would not quit. And if one would become sick, all would pray and visit, and any possible help they would not withhold, they would even race three kilometers through sand. If a woman would have difficulty giving birth and suffer pain, would not all of the wealthy, complacent women rise in the darkness of the night, and go to be with her to help! Can there be greater love, brotherhood and friendship than this?! Your portion is meritorious, holy nation, before the holy King!

My experience matches Rabbi Eibeschutz's glowing description of the way we go to great lengths on each other's behalf. However, I still sense a problem in myself, and I suspect I share this with others: A profound absence of generosity. Of love.

One can daven without concentrating;
One can learn Torah without being emotionally attached to the text;
One can observe Shabbos without feeling מעין עולם הבא (that one is thereby connected to the Next World);
And one can visit the sick, bury the dead and give tzedakah to the needy without an inner pull of "I love to help" generosity.
But to me, this last deficiency is potentially even more destructive than the previous three - and if the bliblcal and talmudic emphasis on social relationships is to be trusted, it makes us far less worthy of ultimate redemption and an end to these Tisha b'Av fasts.

I sense that acts of generosity without generous feeling are hard to sustain – they are more likely to fade as excuses present themselves.

I sense that acts of generosity without generous feeling are hard to transmit to our children – our children are more likely to absorb the sigh than the check.

And I sense that generous feeling is necessary for overall religious commitment. People who feel a need to guard their preserves are less likely to open their hearts, homes and wallets in the way that religion demands, whether in their relationship with Gd or in their relationship with others. Children who absorb that mentality are, in my opinion, less likely to find the "derech" attractive.

How, then, do we build generous feeling? Certainly, the point made by the Sefer haChinuch (216) that generous deeds will help inspire generosity of spirit, is a start. Perhaps this is also part of the talmudic statement (Berachos 6b) that the central reward for fasting comes from the tzedakah we give – when we take the food out of our mouths and give it away, that may help inculcate or reinforce generosity of spirit. But I would like more. How can I make myself a more generous person?

The Reb, z"l

I entered Yeshiva University expecting to major in English; I had a vision of becoming a writer. That changed, for numerous reasons beyond the scope of this post, but in my freshman year at YU, before I went to Israel to study, I had the opportunity to take a course with Rabbi Dr. Maurice Wohlgelernter, who passed away last week.

I don't have that much to write about Rabbi Dr. Wohlgelernter, to be honest. I remember him vividly, of course; it would be hard to remember him in any other way, with his energy and his arch humour. I can see him in front of me. We called him The Reb; I remember him telling us, on numerous occasions, that the administration wanted to "get rid of the Reb." I remember him talking about the challenge of writing, about how he had difficulty writing because he would review his work and want to change every sentence. And I remember, to a certain extent, the way he taught us about symbolism in poetry - the meaning of death, actually, for example.

But I don't remember enough, and hearing of the Reb's passing, hearing people's reminiscences about him, reminds me that this is entirely my fault, and the fault of the immaturity I shared with my friends in our college years. Part of it was that I went to YU "early admissions", skipping my senior year in high school and starting college before going to Israel; the result was that I was younger than my classmates, and still very much in a high school mindset of getting away with as little work as possible, instead of maximizing my opportunities. And part of it was my own superficiality; despite some good teachers in high school, I didn't really think about what a quality learning experience could mean for me.

The result is that I am now in what I suspect is the July of my years, and I look back in wonder at the way I have wasted certain opportunities, like those years in college. No courses in astronomy or oceanography or Chinese culture. Credits crammed in, courses cut. Worthy professors whose words I listened to only for the sake of excelling at exam time. What a foolish young man I was; I've spent years since then reading up on many of the subjects I missed, but all of the reading I do now cannot replace what could have been, and how it could have impacted upon my growth.

Note to self: I hope that well before my children go to university I will sit down with them and encourage them to be smarter than I was. It would be a shame if they, too, missed out on their Rebs.

Leaving Israel to visit the graves of righteous people

A few weeks ago, I received a request to publicize a website which lists the graves of righteous people, "throughout Israel and the world."

Visiting the graves of righteous people, and praying to Gd there, is an ancient Jewish practice. Of course, the standard objection to visiting graves is the concern for praying to the dead, as opposed to asking their aid for our prayers to Gd; this topic has been done to death, so to speak. But there is another issue, for Israelis: leaving Israel in order to visit a grave.

Here is a partial translation from a responsum of Rav Binyamin Zilber (Az Nidbiru 12:28) on the topic; I find the arguments he cites fascinating.

[The translation was done by R' Ezra Goldschmiedt, an avreich in our Beit Midrash, for an issue of Toronto Torah several weeks ago.]

...And here is the place for me to point out concerning those who have begun to travel from the Holy Land to visit graves of righteous ones in foreign lands, that this is an insult to the Land of Israel and to the holy forefathers, the tannaim and amoraim, giants of Israel who are buried here. The custom was that people would come here to visit, particularly from nearby lands, and they did not go elsewhere to visit those buried there! This is certainly so for us, who merit to dwell in the field of G-d! 

Also from the perspective of law that one may not leave the Land of Israel to travel outside the Land of Israel, I find no allowance for this.

Also, every trip is associated with great loss of  Torah study and with financial expenditures which could have been used to sustain the poor. Rabbi Yonatan Eibeschutz has already explained that when they say (Avot 2:1), "Consider the cost of a mitzvah against its rewards," that speaks of when both [possibilities presented] are mitzvot. In a moment of [improper] inclination and desire to tour, every individual must consider with himself whether his intent is only for the sake of heaven.

Further, all of [these considerations] are not worth [this compromise], even when one's intention is that the non-Jews should [be induced to] guard the graves of the righteous...

It seems that there is in this [desire] an inappropriate mixture with outlooks that have not been received from Sinai, and which men have fabricated from their hearts. In such a case we believe that the Torah will never be replaced!

The original Hebrew is available here.

Rabbi, be nice!

A few weeks ago, I received an email from a shul rabbi, asking for advice on dealing with a particular type of congregant. The characterics of such a congregant are that (s)he is: influential in the community, known to be a baal chesed (generous person), and eager to spread complaints and gossip about the rabbi behind his back. The congregant doesn't complain to the rabbi, such that the rabbi could address the issues directly. So what can/should the rabbi do?

My advice was for the rabbi to ignore the gossip and be nice to such a congregant, for the following reasons:

1) You won't win a mudslinging fight, both because you know better and because you will be seen as defensive;

2) Trying to hunt down the mudslinging will be frustrating and ineffective, and make you look unhealthily weak and insecure even if that is not reality;

3) People who see that you are good to him may come to recognize that his comments are unfounded;

4) You see yourself as a baal chesed - it's one of the reasons you entered the rabbinate. Pursuing this with hostility will only make it hard for you to look at yourself in the mirror;

5)  In time, being nice to this person will help you come to see him in a positive light, and his comments will bother you less.

I don't know that this is the best advice available, but it's what I can come up with. What would you advise?

When vitriol is justified

[Note: I don't like the word Chareidi, since I believe it is an overused term that obscures the nuances between certain religious groups, but I don't have a better term for this post. So I'm using it.]


I've been sitting on this post for a couple of weeks, unsure what I want to say and even more unsure how to say it.

In my rabbinic circles and in my Toronto circles, I've heard a lot about "vitriol", "venom" and "hate speech" coming out of Chareidi circles regarding Yesh Atid, Rabbi Dov Lipman, and the much-discussed plans to cut stipends for kollel members and push Chareidi men into the army or the workforce.

Realistically, I know that much of the vitriol/venom/hate speech is aimed at "my kind": RCA-affiliated rabbis with knitted yarmulkas who are open to the idea that:
1. The Chareidi community in Israel has grown past the point where it can be supported at current levels, and
2. The combination of its size, its political and economic demands and its political inflexibility has become unacceptable within an Israeli society that is increasingly fed-up with dealing with it.

However, I don't think it's fair to criticize Israeli Chareidim for the violence of their speech. We are talking about people who are being forced to radically change their lives or face starvation, aside from feeling that they are under ideological siege by a powerful majority. If it was fair for Jews in Gaza facing Disengagement to sharply criticize those who evacuated them - and the term "rasha" is hardly the worst term they used at the time - then it is fair for Chareidim to use such language now. Being wrong does not mean they cannot be upset.

I'm not talking about people who have no personal connection with the situation, for whom the debate is one of ideology; they should be guarding their tongues.

I'm not talking about the battles over whether to compromise with women who want to wear tefillin at the kotel, or whether a restaurant serving treif will open in another neighbourhood. In that matter, too, they should be guarding their tongues.

But when it comes to their livelihood and the existence of their community in the form they desire - This isn't about ideological debate, or delivering tochachah with a positive tone. These are people who feel their lives are being threatened.

As I said above, I've been mulling this post for a couple of weeks now, and I'm still not sure I'm the right person to say this, and I'm not sure this is the way to say it. But my sense is that when it's a matter of life and death, then vitriol is justified.

Is vitriol helpful? No. Understandable? Yes.