Justice Scalia: Orthodox or Karaite?

Harry Maryles at Emes ve-Emunah recently published "Why Orthodox Jews Tend to be Politically Conservative".

Rabbi Maryles wrote: Conservatives are strict constructionists or ‘Originalists’ (as Scalia called them). They see the constitution to be followed as the framers originally intended. ... It is this mindset that Orthodox Jews see when they evaluate who they support for the three branches of government.

I agree that Orthodox Jews tend to like Justice Scalia's conclusions (see this statement by the OU and RCA), but I would distinguish between his philosophy and its results. Its results appeal to a conservative who feels at home with the values of the late 18th century, but I believe that Justice Scalia's Originalist method is not at home in traditional Jewish jurisprudence.

As summed up in the National Post, this species of Originalism promotes "the notion that the U.S. Constitution should be interpreted by the original meaning of the words set down by George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison and the other founding fathers. He believed the framers’ intentions on social-legal issues two centuries into the future are unknowable and immaterial." Since we can't know their intent, we must simply be true to their words.

There is a word for Justice Scalia's approach, within Jewish thought; it's called Karaism - a doctrine of fealty to text above all - a movement branded as heresy more than a millennium ago.

Mainstream Jewish tradition certainly is Originalist, in that we seek to satisfy that which we believe G-d had in mind in creating the Torah. However, we  believe that the Divine intent is knowable and material. We cannot read G-d's mind, but G-d did convey a "spirit of the law" to go along with its mechanics.

So it is that we are given such open-ended jurisprudential imperatives as lifnim mishurat hadin [an obligation to transcend the letter of the law], kedoshim tihyu [an obligation to pursue sacred conduct], Shabbaton [an obligation to create a "Shabbat atmosphere" on Shabbat], and v'shamru et mishmarti [an obligation to establish prohibitions to prevent accidental violation of biblical law]. We are taught to live up to the Divine expectation that we will properly derive and apply these values from the Torah's own text, understand their relevance today, and translate them into law.

To my mind, it is an acceptably small oversimplification to say that the Jewish legal tradition is Creatively Originalist. [An example of an area requiring more careful explanation: the limitations of דרשינן טעמא דקרא.] We are loyal to the message of G-d, and some of our greatest intellects harness their formidable talents to interpret its eternal message and apply it to changing circumstances.

May we ever retain a Scalia-like reverence for the original text, but may we honour that text by applying it anew each day.

523, but not 524

I sent the following post to my Beit Midrash email list last week, and received enough positive feedback that I've decided to post it here. (I hope my non-Canadian readers will excuse the Canadianisms):

A friend of mine in university once commented to me that if he could change just one Jewish law, it would be the requirement of reciting Shema in the first quarter of each day, every day. Observers of this rule can never sleep in, and he just wanted a day to sleep late, on occasion.

My friend was right: Jewish law emphasizes an intense consistency, a "No Days Off" mentality. But while this can be difficult to maintain, every once in a while I come across good reminders of why "No Days Off" is an important commitment. This week's reminder came from an American football player named Stephen Gostkowski.

A little background: In American football, scoring a touchdown is worth 6 points, and a team that scores a touchdown may then kick a ball between posts about 28 meters away and more than 3 meters in the air, earning one "extra point".

Stephen Gostkowski is a kicker of remarkable consistency; he plays for the New England Patriots. Between the last regular season game of the 2006 season, and the last playoff game of this year's season, Gostkowski set a record by kicking 523 extra points in a row. (The next-best streak was by Matt Stover, with 422 extra points in a row.)

This past Sunday, Gostkowski finally missed. With the Patriots playing against the Denver Broncos, and a berth in the Super Bowl at stake, Gostkowski finally missed an extra point. To make a long football explanation short: Had he made #524, the Patriots would likely have gone into overtime against the Broncos, with the momentum in favour of the Patriots. Instead, the Patriots lost.

Gostkowski was 52 for 52 in kicking extra points in the regular season, as the team won 12 of their 16 games - but in only one of those victories did the extra point make a difference. Most of those kicks did not change the result of a game. The one that Gostkowski missed, though, made a large difference in ending the Patriots' season.

My point is not to discuss football, or who should have won. Rather, my point is that the "No Days Off" mentality matters because, as Pirkei Avot (2:1) says, we don't know which mitzvah is going to matter in an extraordinary way.

Stephen Gostkowski kicked 523 in a row, but the one that got away was the one that could have helped carry his team to the Super Bowl. That kind of pressure can be positive, if we embrace it not out of anxiety or drudgery, but out of excitement, as we ask ourselves: We say Shema every morning and evening; we give tzedakah and perform acts of chesed (generosity) for every needy person we meet; we learn Torah daily. Which mitzvah will be the one that changes the game?

The World's Second Fastest Chazan, Part 2 of 2

(See the previous post for Part 1)

Finally, the day of the competition arrived. Ami rose before first light, so that he could down a breakfast of raw eggs without violating the prohibition against eating before davening. Nervous, he put on his tallis and tefillin at home just to use up the time before the showdown. Finally, accompanied by an entourage of family, friends and neighbours, he walked into the door of the Minyan Factory. Ami looked at the chart on the coatroom door, found the minyan with his name, and went to the assigned room. His male allies filled the benches around him; the females had to wait outside, as there was no Women’s Section.

The rules of the competition allowed the competitors to choose their chazan for Pesukei d’Zimra. Ami had his brother, Simcha, for the task. Simcha’s job was to serve as a pacesetter, helping Ami to warm up and build up speed. After the first two years of failure, Ami had thought about replacing Simcha, but at the moment he didn’t know of anyone better. Simcha was a good boy, Ami reflected; he knew how to get the rhythm going, and he had even changed his own pronunciation to match Ami’s newly adopted customs.

Berachos. Ashrei. Hallelukah 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5. Baruch HaShem l’Olam. Az Yashir. And then, there it was, the amud was open. Ami stood up; somewhere in the back of his head, he heard “The Eye of the Tiger” playing. He marched to the front, breathed, and launched into Yishtabach. Kaddish. Borchu. As always, Ami was careful to maintain optimal kavvanah – an awareness of what each paragraph was about, but not so much awareness that he would be distracted from the business at hand.

First berachah. Ahavah rabbah. Shema. After completing Shema, while waiting for the Rabbi to finish, Ami glanced at his friends; they were smiling. The rhythm was there today. His lips were dry enough that there would be no salivary distraction, but not so dry as to be a nuisance. And the pages were turning well; score one for Koren. If he won, Ami would never use Artscroll again.

The Rabbi said "Emes", and Ami was off and running. He used the minyan’s silent Shemoneh Esreih as one final preparation run for chazaras hashatz, just like the gemara (Rosh HaShanah 34b) said he should. Then he watched for the signal – and there it was! Ami sped through the words like he had never sped through them before. Avos. Gevuros. Kedushah. Refaeinu – with a moment’s thought about his sick mother, who couldn’t be here this morning because she was recovering from a heart attack yesterday. Teka b’Shofar. Modim. Birchas Kohanim – and his chevra knew how to respond Kein Yehi Ratzon quietly enough that they wouldn’t distract him. Sim Shalom. And he was done. Ami was out of breath, but he knew it had been a good race; now he just needed to wait for the results from the other minyanim.

The minyan skipped tachanun – the Minyan Factory imported chasanim daily to ensure they wouldn't need to recite this wordy apology for their sins. Ami recited kaddish, took out the Torah, and then he was done. Someone else would mop up, while he waited nervously for the scores.

Ami took off his tefillin, waited for Aleinu and the Yom to end, and then went downstairs to the breakfast room, joining the contestants from the other minyanim. They all grinned at each other, with the camaraderie of men who shared a fierce but fair rivalry. The Yekkie was there; he clapped Ami on the back and said, “I’ve heard you were good!” Ami tried to parse what those words might mean, but dropped it as the Chief Gabbai made the announcement –

- declaring Ami the winner! He had done it! Ami was the World’s Fastest Chazan!

Oh, the joy and jubilation! Later, Ami would face the nervousness that would come with needing to defend his title, but for now, he was the Champion! He hugged his wife and children, called his mother in the hospital, did a prizefighter pose with the golden gartel for the photographers, and sat down for a bagel with cream cheese. Later, he would watch these moments on YouTube and relish the joy all over again.

On the following Sunday, while getting ready to go to shul, Ami overheard his nine year old son David  davening in his room. Or it seemed like he was davening, but he didn’t seem to be saying all of the words. Ami listened outside for a while, and then entered the room and asked, “David, what’s going on? Why are you skipping words?”

David blushed. “I’m not as fast as you yet, Abba. I’m only the world’s second fastest chazan, Ima says. So I need to skip some words in order to keep up. But when I’m older, I’ll be as fast as you, and then I’ll be able to say all of them.” And he gave his father an admiring hug, and went back to his Koren siddur.

The World's Second Fastest Chazan, Part 1 of 2

The contest ad was released on the listservs of dozens of shuls at 10:00 PM EST after Shabbos Shirah. By 10:02 PM, Ami had texted his wife, married son and five closest friends, “Game On!” He would have Tweeted it, but as a fifty-something who hadn’t noticed Twitter for its first few years he always had the feeling he was missing something about how the platform worked, and he didn’t want everyone laughing at him for some silly error. Better to focus on the competition instead.

And focus is what Ami did; he posted the flyer for the Third Annual World’s Fastest Chazan competition in his cubicle at work and over their desktop computer at home. He put a copy in his tallis bag, and a mini-version in his siddur. Game On, indeed; Ami was going to finish first this year, he could feel it.

In truth, Ami had felt this certain before; he was perennially sure no one could match his strategies at the Minyan Factory showdown. For the first year, he had switched to Sephardic pronunciation in order to take advantage of the split-second benefit of Tav over Sav. (The rules allowed chazanim to compete in their declared mivta; Ami hoped his ancestors wouldn’t mind this switch.) He had lost anyway, by a handful of seconds, to a Yekki from Washington Heights.

For the second annual competition, Ami had tried another change: From now on, he would pronounce every sh'va as a sh’va nach instead of a sh’va na. He was definitely faster, but it still wasn’t enough; his Yekkish nemesis was faster again, apparently without effort.

But after the second year’s race Ami had noticed something – examining slowed-down video footage for clues, he had realized that his all-Hebrew Artscroll included more words per line than his chief competitor’s Koren. What if there was something psychological or neurological about seeing more words on a line? It was counterintuitive – after all, fewer words on a line meant more possibilities for distraction when going from one line to the next – but what if...? And he also wondered about those thin Koren pages; might they turn faster than the softer Artscroll pages? So he would switch to Koren this year, and see if that would help.

Ami spent a great deal of time searching for minute advantages, but he knew that the main thing would be to practice – and did he ever practice. The contest’s setting would be a bona fide Monday morning minyan of Minyan Factory commuters trying to catch a train, and the timed contest would be chazaras hashatz (the chazan’s repetition of Shemoneh Esreih), and so Ami took every opportunity available to recite those words of the liturgy. Sitting in traffic on his morning and evening commutes, riding in elevators, running on the treadmill at the gym, standing in the shower (without stating G-d’s Name or complete pesukim, of course)… his wife Rivkah reported he was even mumbling kedushah in his sleep.

Ami’s regular morning minyan joined the effort; it would be a point of pride, as well as a marketing advantage in the neighbourhood, if their chazan would hold aloft the golden gartel of the World’s Fastest Chazan. Their shul did not have money or a very large membership, but who wouldn’t appreciate the chance to walk, rather than run, to the train after davening? So when Ami began chazaras hashatz each morning, the members of the minyan all looked at the clock, aware of what was at stake. When he finished they all noted the time. But no one mentioned times to Ami; it wouldn’t do to rattle him if the news was bad, or jinx him if it was good.

A month before the competition, one of the regulars lost his father; the minyannaires felt for him, but they also wanted Ami to have his shot, and so they established a breakaway minyan for the avel, where he could also daven for the amud. They all had Ami's back, even the avel. Ami felt like Rocky Balboa running the streets of Philadelphia, trailing a parade of admirers and supporters.

One week before the showdown, Ami asked Rabbi Schwartz for special dispensation to perform extra recitations of the complete repetition of Shemoneh Esreih, with G-d's Name, during his day. “Couldn’t it be like a tefillas nedavah (voluntary prayer)?” he pleaded. “I would have total kavvanah, I always do!” But Rabbi Schwartz explained that this was not a valid halachic option. Ami suspected that he was not a fan of the competition, but it was hard to tell for sure; whenever Ami looked at Rabbi Schwartz during chazaras hashatz, the Rabbi was always reading from a sefer or looking at his phone.

Continued here...

From house to House (Bo 5776)

In 19th century Germany, Karl Graf and Julius Wellhausen argued that most of the book of Devarim was published in the era of King Yoshiyahu in the first Beit haMikdash, and that the “Priestly Code” (parts of the first four chumashim, the end of Devarim, and part of Yehoshua) was published centuries later. As the theory went, one of the central goals of this “Priestly Code” was to centralize service of G-d around the Beit haMikdash.

In 1903, Rabbi Dovid Zvi Hoffmann published a lengthy challenge, noting inconsistencies in the theory. His first note addressed the Korban Pesach.

In our parshah (Shemot 12), Moshe tells the Jews to sacrifice the Korban Pesach at home. On the other hand, Devarim 16:5 instructs, “You may not slaughter the Pesach at one of your gates,” but rather at the communal Sanctuary. If a goal of Shemot 12 and the “Priestly Code” was to centralize korbanot, why would the alleged editors of the Torah take our founding ritual, already decreed to be performed at the site of the Beit haMikdash (Devarim 16:5), and already performed there (Melachim II 23), and provide reason to celebrate it at home? (Carla Sulzbach, “David Zvi Hoffmann’s Die Wichtigsten Instanzen gegen die Graf-Wellhausensche Hypothese, 1903” (MA Thesis, McGill University, 1996))

Graf-Wellhausen aside, we need to consider a problem within our own, traditional read of the Torah’s text. Parshat Bo clearly places the Korban Pesach in the home. Why, then, did the Torah move the Korban Pesach to the Sanctuary?

Private or Public Korban?
Indeed, the Korban Pesach is ambiguous; Rambam described the Korban Pesach as “a private korban which is like a public korban”. (Introduction to Seder Zevachim) The Korban Pesach is brought by private groups. However, it overrides Shabbat and ritual impurity, like a communal korban! (Yoma 50a-51a) The transition of the Korban Pesach from the private home to the public Sanctuary seems to be part of a greater picture, in which the Korban Pesach, naturally private, displays elements of public ceremony. Understanding why the Korban moved from house to House may help us understand this mixed celebration.

1: Grandeur
Sefer haChinuch (#487) justifies use of a national site, stating, “The honour and publicity of the mitzvah is greater when it is performed in a designated location, with everyone together...” In other words, the Korban Pesach is fundamentally private, but adorned with the trappings of a communal korban in order to elevate its status.

2: National identity
Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch (Commentary to Devarim 16:5) offers an opposite perspective. He writes, “Each person must include himself and his household in the communal structure of a national network… Only afterward can one joyfully recognize the value of his own home.” Per Rabbi Hirsch, the Korban Pesach is fundamentally communal. The home celebration in Egypt was an anomaly, in which “the doorposts and lintel filled the place of the [communal] altar.”

3: Private and Public
We might suggest a third possibility: the Korban Pesach of Egypt was private, but afterward it gained a dual identity.

The initial Korban Pesach inhabited a Jewish world which was not covenantal nation, but prolific clan. Therefore, each family celebrated at home. Soon after, though, our nation’s shared history began with the brit at Sinai. In the second year, as evidenced by Bamidbar 9:10’s concern for being too far from the Mishkan, the Korban Pesach could be celebrated only as part of our national community. The personal identity remained, as each group brought its own korban, but the national identity became dominant, overriding Shabbat and ritual impurity, and setting the Sanctuary as the site for this ritual.

Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein wrote that Jewish identity entails both a personal relationship with G-d and a national experience of “the vertical historical axis, bonding with the full range of Jewish existence, across the millenia, from our incipient national cradle to the epiphany of our metahistorical vision.” So it is that conversion to Judaism, for example, includes acceptance of both personal religious obligations and membership in the Jewish nation. (Brother Daniel and the Jewish Fraternity (1968); Diaspora Religious Zionism: Some Current Reflections (2007)) These two themes are present in the Korban Pesach.

When we bring the Korban Pesach – as we will in just a few months, G-d-willing – we will mark our personal relationship with G-d, as we did in that first year. However, we will also recognize “the full range of Jewish existence”, our national identity, and so we will leave our homes and bring our private korbanot to the site of the Beit haMikdash, in Jerusalem.

Donald Trump in the Torah

Pirkei Avot (5:22) says of the Torah, "Turn it over and turn it over, for all is in it." As an American living in Canada, who is regularly asked [or mocked, or harangued] about Donald Trump, I have been wondering: Is Pirkei Avot serious? Is Donald Trump to be found in the Torah?

And I think the answer is Yes; Donald Trump's ancestor was named Avimelech. This is not the Avimelech of Bereishit; rather, it is Avimelech of the book of Shoftim (Chapter 9).

In the period when the Jews were led by Judges, between the death of Joshua and the start of Jewish monarchy, Avimelech rose to power in the region of Mount Ephraim as an anti-government outsider. He rabble-roused against the leaders in power. (9:1-3) He spent a fortune to attract supporters who are biblically described as "empty and senseless", who helped him overthrow those in power. (9:4-5) And, yes, he appeared misogynist - he died after a woman dropped a millstone on his head, and his dying request was for a youth to kill him, "lest they say of me that a woman killed him." (9:53-54)

Of course, the analogy to Avimelech is imperfect - for starters, Avimelech actually succeeded in gaining public office - but I mention it because of an important lesson within Avimelech's story. After Avimelech's rise, his half-brother Yotam ascended Mount Gerizim and proclaimed a scathing rebuke against those who had selected Avimelech.

Yotam described the trees trying to anoint a leader from among themselves.
First they approached the olive, but the olive refused, lest the job diminish its important oil.
Then they approached the fig, but the fig refused, lest the job diminish its sweet fruit.
Then they approached the grape, but the grape refused, lest the job diminish its joy-inducing wine.
Finally, they approached the thorn, which produces nothing useful. The thorn agreed to take on the role. (9:7-15)

Society runs a grave risk when those who are qualified shy away from leadership, for then only thorns are left to lead. May we not be stuck with the thorns; may those who are qualified - our olives, figs, and grapes - always step up, to guide our community and world forward.

Preparing for Shabbos

A simple question, but it matters to me; I've been thinking about it for the past few weeks. I'd be happy to hear responses from the few people who are kind enough to visit my largely defunct blog:

What is your favourite part of preparing for Shabbos?

I ask because there is so much that is challenging and stressful about getting ready for Shabbos, and it can make the experience miserable. Perhaps looking for favourite parts might help?

We Are Bnei Rivkah (Derashah, Chayei Sarah 5776)

(This isn't actually a derashah; it's more of a nugget, which could be developed into a derashah.)

Next week's Torah portion, Toldot, will begin with Rivkah pregnant with twins. Her children will "race about" in her womb, and she will react with a question: אם כן, למה זה אנכי? (Bereishit 25:22)

Rivkah's language is odd. Commentators generally explain that Rivkah asked, "This is so painful, why did I want it?" (Rashi) Or, "This is so painful, why should I continue to live?" (Ramban) But Dr. Yael Tzohar, of Bar Ilan University (Hebrew here), notes that this doesn't fit Rivkah's words, which translate literally to, "If so, why me?" Further, would a woman who prayed for children for twenty years respond to pain with this level of rejection? [Yes, I am not qualified to answer that question, but perhaps Dr. Tzohar has more familiarity with pregnancy than I do...] And how does G-d's response, predicting the rivalry between her two fetuses, answer either version of Rivkah's question?

Dr. Tzohar suggests that we consider Rivkah's background, from our Torah portion of Chayei Sarah. Rivkah lived with her pagan family until her monotheistic cousin's servant came to visit. That servant declared that Rivkah was special, by dint of her generous conduct at the well. (ibid. 24:14-20)  The servant announced that a Divine miracle had identified her as special. (ibid. 24:40-48)  When the family hesitated, the servant reiterated that G-d had selected her. (ibid. 24:56)  Her family then blessed her - "You shall produce myriads." (ibid. 24:60) This is the woman who will mother the next generation of the family promised to Avraham and Sarah.

Against this backdrop, Dr. Tzohar says that Rivkah interpreted the pains of pregnancy as a message that something was wrong, and she was ineligible. And she turned to G-d and asked, "If so, then why ME?" If there is something wrong with my pagan lineage, if I am not worthy, then why did You bring me here and set me up for this?

To this ancient question - which echoes our own question today as we face knife attacks, demonization in the media, and diplomatic ostracism - G-d answers, "There are two nations in your uterus. Two nations will separate from your womb." (ibid. 25:23) Yes, Rivkah - you are the one I have selected, you are the one who is suited for this task. There is pain now, and there will be pain in the future, and I need you to fill this role.

Rivkah remembered G-d's answer. Many years later, when the birthright and the family's future was at stake, and Yaakov suggested that his mother's shockingly brazen plan might cause him to be cursed, Rivkah told him with the superlative confidence of G-d's official delegate, "Any curse of yours is on me." I was destined for this position because G-d wanted me to make this decision. (ibid. 27:13)

There are many answers to the "Why us?" question, but this answer inspires me. The Divine plan requires that a nation accept G-d's Torah, live in Israel and stand apart from the world, and it may well be fundamental to human nature and Free Will that this will bring with it great animosity from others. It hurts terribly, and we must do what we can to minimize the pain, whether diplomatically or militarily - but at the end of the day, we are here because G-d knows that Rivkah's descendants are uniquely suited to stand up to the task.

We have stood up to the challenge for thousands of years, with remarkable success, producing a rich culture and a sustained tradition of intellectual depth and moral heights. The light at the end of the tunnel is in view, with our return to national life in Zion. G-d's bet on Rivkah was a good one, and I believe the same is true for G-d's bet on her descendants.

Rebbetzin Naama Henkin, in her own words

The element I appreciated most in Dr. Yagil Henkin's eulogy for his brother, Rabbi Eitam Henkin, was the insight he gave into Rabbi Henkin's personality. To provide something similar regarding Rebbetzin Naama Henkin, I am including here my translation of a blog post she wrote. (The original Hebrew is available here.)

It's not a dvar torah, in the usual sense. It's a description of her feelings about a business meeting with secular Israelis. The feelings she describes will likely be familiar to those who travel in multiple religious worlds.

And again I prepare to travel to a business meeting in Tel Aviv, again I open the closet to vacillate for the hundredth time as to what to wear to be tzanua (private, modest) but sufficiently modern, elegant but not too pretentious, and again I know in the shelter of my heart that when I leave the car in the parking lot in the heart of Allenby that I will feel, as always – foreign, unusual, other, of “them”. My designer kerchief, which at a women’s evening in the yishuv (community) would draw compliments and inquiries of “Where did you buy it,” is exactly as relevant on Allenby Street as a Muslim hijab, meaning that it is not at all relevant.

After I succeed in overcoming a wave of feelings of inferiority, I enter a building tiled in parquet, they are already waiting for me for a meeting that was set ten minutes ago (somehow, the density of the traffic jams at the entrance to Tel Aviv and in its streets always succeeds in surprising me). One last trip into the restroom to arrange the kerchief, to check that the makeup is still present, and a last, final and decisive sigh: Who am I kidding? A dossit (quasi-derogatory term for ‘religious’) remains a dossit.

A moment before I enter the meeting, the usual consideration passes through my mind – will they be surprised that I am religious? Did the  one who invited me add this description as an inseparable part of my description – “We will work with Naama, she designs interfaces. Oh, yes, she is also religious – nu, dossit with a kerchief, but she’s sababa (A-OK)”… I was never present in the room when this sentence was uttered,  if it was uttered, but I can always sense it when I enter the room, even though I am received entirely naturally, and with a smile, the hands of the men are not extended to me for shaking, and the smiling receptionist hastens to inform me that the coffee is kosher.

Then the moment comes when, as part of the small talk, someone is interested in asking, “Where do you come from? Did you say Jerusalem?” (They always remember Jerusalem, because of the area code.) And I blush, “No, no, a small yishuv, in the vicinity of Modiin.” Oh, they all nod, Modiin, yes, we have heard of that city, we really must get there some time with the kids, they say there is an excellent park there.

There will come a day – I promise the small, agitated pursuer of honesty inside me – when I will gather the courage, and in response to this question I will answer with the truth: I live in Neriah, a community yishuv in Binyamin. Yes, it is across the Green Line, what they call in the media a “settlement”, but we prefer to call it a development. You should come to visit some time; it’s very nice here.

This is part of what was viciously taken from us - a thoughtful, sensitive human being who lived in multiple Jewish communities, and who could have brought them together through her actions and words. חבל על דאבדין ולא משתכחין, woe to us for those we have lost, who are no longer found.

The Yom Kippur Grapevine (Derashah, Yom Kippur 5776)

I ended up re-writing my derashah this morning... I do think this will be better than the previous version.

Live in Israel, even among idolaters

לעולם ידור אדם בא"י אפי' בעיר שרובה עובדי כוכבים, ואל ידור בחו"ל ואפילו בעיר שרובה ישראל, שכל הדר בארץ ישראל דומה כמי שיש לו אלוק, וכל הדר בחוצה לארץ דומה כמי שאין לו אלוק...

Always, one should live in Israel, even in a city which is mostly idolatrous, rather than live outside of Israel even in a city which is mostly Jewish, for one who lives in Israel is as though he has a relationship with Gd, and one who lives outside of Israel is as though he has no relationship with Gd…[1]

I didn’t make it up – this is a gemara!

One thousand years ago, Rabbi Yehudah haLevi explored this assertion that one can only have a relationship with Gd in Israel.[2] He explained that we, the Jewish people, are like a prolific grapevine which is tailored to flourish in a particular soil, and with particular cultivation. The acts of cultivation are taught in the Torah, and the soil is the Land of Israel.

I want to come back to the question of whether one can only connect to Gd in Israel. First, though, I want to focus on another startling part of this passage – that I must move to Israel even if that means living in an עיר שרובה עובדי כוכבים, an idolatrous city!

When I taught this passage in a shiur several weeks ago, one of the participants challenged me. Is an idolatrous city where our grapevine should be cultivated? What about all the ways in which Judaism places such a powerful emphasis on living among good influences, and avoiding bad ones!

·         The Torah demonstrates the dangers of living in idolatrous societies.  Think of Egypt with Avraham and Sarah, the Philistines with Yitzchak and Rivkah, and Shechem with Dinah. Yosef tells his brothers to live in Goshen, not among the Egyptians.

·         The gemara records rabbinic decrees meant to encourage Jews to live away from bad influences,[3] to avoid joint meals and social drinking,[4] and so on.

·         Rambam rules that a Jew who lives among people who are bad influences is required to move![5]

On Rosh HaShanah we spelled out the importance of איחוד הנפשות, of bonding with others in empathy, but did Rav Yerucham Levovitz really envision unity and empathy with idolaters rather than Jews? How can the gemara tell me to go live among idolaters in Israel?!

The risks of community

I believe that Rav Levovitz’s vision of building a community in which people bear each other’s burdens is incomplete; more is necessary, because community based solely on a shared set of actions can become a negative:

·         A community in which people join together to do good things can become a community of peer pressure, in which people do right only because deviating would carry a social price.

·         A community which develops norms of practice can become a community focussed on rules and rote – what Yeshayah[6] called מצות אנשים מלומדה - without spiritual depth.

If community becomes all about doing as the herd does, then we fail the promise of unity.

The goal of Kesuvos: Communities of beautiful grapevines

I believe that talmudic passage about living in Israel means to teach us to cultivate a community of souls who personally connect with Gd as Step One, and who then communally carry forth that Image of Gd into this world,bearing each other’s burdens, as Step Two.

To use the Kuzari’s grapevine metaphor:

·         When our roots are a search for Gd, then we will be nourished not by peer pressure but by personal spiritual desire.  

·         When we are nourished by personal spiritual desire, then our rules and rituals will not be the essence, but the means of bringing forth spreading shoots, lush leaves, fragrant flowers and sweet fruit, the mitzvot and chesed and empathy.

·         And once we unite these grapevines in spiritual communities which develop the empathy and chesed we discussed on Rosh HaShanah, then we will benefit, individually and collectively, from the joint influence of so many human beings growing together and reaching heavenward.

So first we should seek Gd, as Step One – and then we are able to take Step Two, and build spiritual communities.

Outside Israel, we have Yom Kippur

And now I return to that gemara’s specification of living in Israel to be near HaShem. We are not in Israel; how can we seek Gd? Does the gemara believe that all is lost? Would the Kuzari say we are wasting our time?[7] I think not – because even though HaShem is most available in Israel, we can seek HaShem, in a life-changing way, in the experience of Yom Kippur, anywhere.

Through the rest of the year - whether in Israel or elsewhere - the drive of the day-to-day and the reality of our religious doubts make it hard for us to commit to a search for Gd without nagging voices distracting us. “I need to go to work.” “I have a meeting to get to.” “My phone is ringing.” “My emails are piling up.” “If Gd is good, how do you explain tsunamis and earthquakes?” “If Torah cultivates spiritual Jews, what about that rabbi who was arrested?” “I don’t see Gd anywhere!”

But Yom Kippur is our Israel, the place where Gd is found. Yom Kippur is a day when we put aside the busyness and the questions; Yom Kippur is a day of experiential Judaism. We don’t eat. We don’t wash. Husbands and wives are apart. It’s all about focusing on Gd. We recite viduy, privately specifying our mistakes from the past year. It is a personal conversation with Gd. And the Talmud[8] says that this is the time when HaShem is near – קראוהו בהיותו קרוב. It’s not only that Gd is near to hear our repentance; Gd is here for our connection, and our cultivation. This is the fertile soil in which we can cultivate the grapevines of the Jewish people - and even if we currently live in exile.

What that connection looks like

What does that connection look like? What are we looking to cultivate in our hearts?

Shir haShirim, the ultimate love song between Gd and the Jewish people, describes it in beautiful and moving terms:[9]

(ט) מַה־דּוֹדֵךְ מִדּוֹד הַיָּפָה בַּנָּשִׁים מַה־דּוֹדֵךְ מִדּוֹד שֶׁכָּכָה הִשְׁבַּעְתָּנוּ: (י) דּוֹדִי צַח וְאָדוֹם דָּגוּל מֵרְבָבָה: (יא) רֹאשׁוֹ כֶּתֶם פָּז קְוֻצּוֹתָיו תַּלְתַּלִּים שְׁחֹרוֹת כָּעוֹרֵב: (יב) עֵינָיו כְּיוֹנִים עַל־אֲפִיקֵי מָיִם רֹחֲצוֹת בֶּחָלָב יֹשְׁבוֹת עַל־מִלֵּאת: (יג) לְחָיָו כַּעֲרוּגַת הַבֹּשֶׂם מִגְדְּלוֹת מֶרְקָחִים שִׂפְתוֹתָיו שׁוֹשַׁנִּים נֹטְפוֹת מוֹר עֹבֵר: (יד) יָדָיו גְּלִילֵי זָהָב מְמֻלָּאִים בַּתַּרְשִׁישׁ מֵעָיו עֶשֶׁת שֵׁן מְעֻלֶּפֶת סַפִּירִים: (טו) שׁוֹקָיו עַמּוּדֵי שֵׁשׁ מְיֻסָּדִים עַל־אַדְנֵי־פָז מַרְאֵהוּ כַּלְּבָנוֹן בָּחוּר כָּאֲרָזִים: (טז) חִכּוֹ מַמְתַקִּים וְכֻלּוֹ מַחֲמַדִּים זֶה דוֹדִי וְזֶה רֵעִי בְּנוֹת יְרוּשָׁלִָם:

The daughters of Jerusalem ask the heroine of Shir haShirim, the Jewish people: Why is your Beloved different from any other? Why do you seek your Beloved like this?

And the heroine responds,“My beloved is pure white and red, standing out even among ten thousand others. His head is like gold, his coiled hair is black like a raven! His eyes are like doves by streams of water, bathing in milk, set in a gorgeous foundation. His cheeks are like a bed of fragrant flowers, mounds of spices; his lips are like lilies, dripping flowing myrrh. His arms are cylinders of gold, set with gems; his torso is ivory, inlaid with sapphire. His legs are marble pillars, founded upon sockets of gold; his appearance is like the choice cedars of Lebanon. His palate is sweet, he is entirely desirable. This is my Beloved, This is my friend, daughters of Jerusalem!”

And we find a similarly beautiful description of that connection each time we repeat the amidah on Yom Kippur, right before the viduy, in כי אנו עמך, when we declare to Gd:

For we are Your nation,                       and You are our Gd.

For we are Your servants,                    and You are our Master…

For we are Your lot,                             and You are our Destiny.

For we are Your sheep,                        and You are our Shepherd.

For we are Your vineyard,                   and You are our Guardian…

For we are Your beloved,                    and You are our Lover.

For we are Your splendour,                 and You are our Friend.

For we have spoken for You,              and You have spoken for us.

This is what that gemara wants for us – not to live among idolaters, but to find Gd - in Israel and on Yom Kippur! And once we have found Gd, then we can engage in איחוד הנפשות, bringing ourselves together to form spiritual communities.

Yizkor, and beyond

Yizkor is an especially appropriate time to think along these lines:

·         At Yizkor, each Jew recites the Kel Malei and asks Gd to remember as we do. Bereavement could be all about personal loss, and not a religious experience – but Yizkor makes it about Gd. Yizkor is a moment of locating Gd personally, even within grief.

·         But it is also about community We invoke the memory of those who created our Jewish world. Victims of the Shoah. Valiant founders and defenders of the State of Israel. Parents and other relatives. Yizkor is a time of profound community.

And when we put back the Torah after Yizkor, and begin Musaf, let us retain that blend of the two steps. Let us stand as a community of human beings, daven as a community, sing as a community. But let us also retain that Shir haShirim and Yom Kippur focus on the private union with Gd, even outside the Land of Israel, cultivating grapevines that are nourished spiritually, and that flourish communally.

Derrick Coleman

One last note, which might take the level of dialogue somewhat out of the rarefied spiritual atmosphere we associate with Yom Kippur, but which I hope you will find as meaningful as I do:

It can be hard to detach ourselves from the world around us, and experience a union with Gd. We are surrounded by neighbours and friends and relatives here. We get distracted, and pausing to re-focus is challenging. And perhaps we have a history of Yom Kippur davenings which did not reach those heights, telling us cynically that this day won’t be any different.

The other day, I saw a video[10] that really resonated with me on this point. It featured an American football player, Derrick Coleman. Coleman is deaf, and in the commercial, he talked about what it took for him to reach his goal of football success. Speaking over a montage of football scenes, Coleman said this:

They told me it couldn’t be done. That I was a lost cause. Kids were afraid to play with me. I was picked on… and picked last. Coaches didn’t know how to talk to me. They gave up on me, told me I should just quit. But I’ve been deaf since I was three – so I didn’t listen.

For the record, Coleman was not drafted by any NFL team out of college. But then he signed as a free agent after the 2011 season. He became the first deaf NFL offensive player in 2012, and won Super Bowl 48 at the end of the 2013 season. As of the start of the current season, he has two more NFL touchdowns than I do.

Sometimes, all of us need to refuse to listen. Achieving community with Gd is hard – but even if we have yet to achieve it today, or ever, this Yom Kippur isn’t over. Coleman concludes by saying, “Now I’m here, with a lot of fans in the NFL cheering me on. And I can hear them all.” May we merit Coleman’s level of success in our Yom Kippur, and may HaShem hear us all.

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[1] Kesuvos 110b

[2] Kuzari 2:21 specifically cites this passage, but look more broadly at 2:8-24

[3] Eruvin 62a re: גזירה שמא ילמוד ממעשיו

[4] Avodah Zarah 59b, for example

[5] Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Deios 6:1

[6] Yeshayah 29:13

[7] Of course, Ramban to Vayyikra 18:25 cites Sifri that mitzvos outside of Israel are really training for mitzvos in Israel

[8] Rosh HaShanah 18a

[9] Shir haShirim 5:9-16

[10] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzQFA2hxyRQ

Don't Forget Step One (Derashah for Yom Kippur, 5776)

I'm not entirely sure I like this derashah enough to use it. Not for any reason I can pinpoint, except perhaps that it feels educational rather than inspirational. Thoughts?
-

Orthoprax Disillusionment

The following comes from a blog written by a shul rabbi a few years ago:[1]

My first rabbinic position was as an assistant rabbi…. The rabbi [asked me] to daven Mussaf for the shul on the second day of Rosh ha-Shana. I was flattered… I went home, almost running the whole way, to tell my wife the good news… I immediately began practicing. I got tapes of various chazzanim and spent hours each day memorizing the tunes. I recorded myself so that I could hear how I sounded… My wife was enlisted to listen to Mussaf, over and over again. I had a friend in Yeshiva who was something of a Chazzan, and we spent time on the phone going over each tune I intended on using. In the end, I knew the entire Mussaf by heart, no small feat.

Finally, the day came and I would like to think that I acquitted myself well… I was, however, surprised at the comments by the congregation. Everyone I met complimented the davening, but I was startled to discover that although each congregant focused on something different—a particular tune or tefilah—they, almost uniformly, included a variation on, “and we got out so early” or “it was so quick.”

At the time I didn’t know if they were being polite – perhaps they didn’t really enjoy it and that was all they could come up with. Over time, however, I learned that my congregants weren’t sugarcoating their praise or trying to come up with at least one redeeming quality from my Mussaf. Rather, the most important factor for most everyone during the Yomim Noraim, almost uniformly, was to make sure they were home by noon.

The Community we don’t seek

I think there was a flaw in the derashah I gave on Rosh HaShanah, and I don’t mean the fact that it lasted more than 10 minutes, and we didn’t make it home by noon. I believe the vision I presented from Rav Yerucham Levovitz, Rav Chaim of Volozhin and Rav Moshe Cordovero[2] was incomplete, because I left the impression that so long as we create community and bear the burdens of others with them, we have succeeded as Jews.

That sort of community is important – but it is only a partial job description, because that sort of community can easily become corrupted into what that assistant rabbi experienced:

·         A culture of observance can become a culture of rote, of what Yeshayah[3] called מצות אנשים מלומדה, trained practice rather than inspired action, just because these behaviours have been the norm forever.

·         A community in which people join together for mitzvot can become a community of peer pressure, in which people do right only because deviating would carry a social price.

·         A community which refines and hones religious practice can become a community of rules and ritual, without spiritual depth.

Certainly, Jewish communities should not exile people who currently observe by rote, who are influenced by peer pressure, and who follow rules without seeing meaning in them. But when community becomes all about doing as the herd does, then we fail the promise of unity. To my mind, Torah is a set of blueprints vouchsafed to us for the sake of shaping souls who personally connect with Gd as Step One, and who communally carry forth that Image of Gd into this world as Step Two.

Kesuvos says: Gd Before Community

I base this on a controversial passage of gemara.[4]

לעולם ידור אדם בא"י אפי' בעיר שרובה עובדי כוכבים, ואל ידור בחו"ל ואפילו בעיר שרובה ישראל, שכל הדר בארץ ישראל דומה כמי שיש לו אלוק, וכל הדר בחוצה לארץ דומה כמי שאין לו אלוק...

Always, one should live in Israel, even in a city which is mostly idolatrous, rather than live outside of Israel even in a city which is mostly Jewish, for anyone who lives in Israel is as though he has a relationship with Gd, and anyone who lives outside of Israel is as though he has no relationship with Gd…

Let’s leave aside the most controversial part, the assertion that one can have a relationship with Gd only in Israel; that’s a good topic for another time. But look at the second-most-controversial part – that I must move to a place where I can connect with Gd, even if that means living in an עיר שרובה עובדי כוכבים, an idolatrous city!

When I taught this passage in a shiur several weeks ago, one of the participants challenged me. What about all the ways in which Judaism places such a powerful emphasis on living among good influences, and avoiding bad ones!

·         The Torah presents the dangers of living in Egypt with Avraham and Sarah, among the Philistines with Yitzchak and Rivkah, and near Shechem with Dinah. Yosef tells his brothers to live in Goshen, not among the Egyptians.

·         The gemara records rabbinic decrees meant to encourage Jews to live away from bad influences,[5] to avoid joint meals and drinking,[6] and so on.

·         Rambam rules that a Jew who lives among people who are bad influences is required to move![7]

How, then, can the gemara tell me to go live among idolaters, in order to reside in a place where Gd is found?

And so I contend that before the Step Two that is Jewish Community, we need Step One: Personal relationships with Gd. This is how we avoid what that rabbi described, a world of Jews whose worship is rote.

Where do we find Gd?

As Rabbi Korobkin noted on Shabbos Shuvah, different people achieve Step One in different ways. To flesh that out:

·         Some people connect with Gd when hiking in the woods and appreciating our world;

·         Some people connect with Gd when learning Gd’s Torah;

·         Some people connect with Gd when walking where our ancestors walked, in Israel;

·         Some people connect with Gd when listening to music, or meditating and stripping away the noise buzzing around us;

·         Some people connect with Gd by channelling their own Image of Gd and putting it to work in helping other people;

·         Some people connect with Gd when engaged in activism and community leadership;

·         Some people connect with Gd when speaking directly to Gd of their experiences and dreams in davening.

Hopefully, all of us evolve and mature over the course of our lives, and find that even activities which were anti-spiritual in our youth can become meaningful and fulfilling later on. But each of us must be capable of finding something for Step One - and then using it to inform the community we construct in Step Two.

·         Then we can construct a community that remembers its connection with Gd and agrees to become responsible for each member, great and small, under the banner of ערבות, as part of the collective commitment we made to Gd when we crossed the Yarden.[8]

·         Then we can construct a community that testifies eternally to the contours of its covenant with Gd;[9] that will wear tefillin in 2015 matching tefillin unearthed from 2000 years earlier; that will live in far-flung, long-severed communities and yet read a sefer torah that remains eerily isometric; that will value their shared national connection with Gd beyond ties of geography, ethnicity and even ideology.

·         Then we can construct a community that is loyal to its relationship with Gd, and shapes its Torah observance in a way that is true to that relationship.[10]

Yom Kippur

Yom Kippur is a day of both Step One and Step Two.

Yom Kippur is a grand day for Step Two: Community with Others. The Jew dare not be a pious hermit on Yom Kippur. At Kol Nidrei, we rescind communal vows, welcoming even the ex-communicated back among us. We stand before Gd together.

But first, Yom Kippur establishes Step One: Community with Gd. We do not eat, we do not bathe, we do not wear makeup, husbands and wives are apart, it’s all about focusing on Gd. We recite viduy, privately specifying our mistakes from the past year. It is a personal conversation with Gd.

On Yom Kippur we recognize the importance of community – but we assert that there is no Jewish community without Gd at the centre of each individual life, and we create the external circumstances which will make a focus on Gd simpler.

Yizkor, and beyond

Yizkor, especially, blends these two steps:

·         We invoke the memory of those who created our Jewish world. Victims of the Shoah. Valiant founders and defenders of the State of Israel. Parents and other relatives. Yizkor is a time of profound community.

·         But at the same time, people recite their Kel Malei and ask Gd to remember as we do. Bereavement could be all about personal loss, and not a religious experience – but Yizkor makes it about Gd. Yizkor is a moment of locating Gd within grief.

When we put back the Torah after Yizkor, and begin Musaf, let us retain that blend of the two steps. Let us stand as a community of human beings, daven as a community, sing as a community. But let us also retain that Yom Kippur focus on the private union with Gd, even outside the Land of Israel, to ensure that our prayers and songs are not מצות אנשים מלומדה, but are centred on the Inspiration for it all.

Derrick Coleman

One last note, which might take the level of dialogue somewhat out of the rarefied spiritual atmosphere we associate with Yom Kippur, but which I hope you will find as meaningful as I do:

It can be hard to detach ourselves from the world around us, and experience a union with Gd. We are surrounded by neighbours and friends and relatives here. We get distracted, and pausing to re-focus is challenging. And perhaps we have a history of Yom Kippur davenings which did not reach those heights, telling us cynically that this day won’t be any different.

The other day, I saw a video[11] that really resonated with me on this point. It featured an American football player, Derrick Coleman. Coleman is deaf, and in the commercial, he talked about what it took for him to reach his goal of football success. Speaking over a montage of football scenes, Coleman said this:

They told me it couldn’t be done. That I was a lost cause. Kids were afraid to play with me. I was picked on… and picked last. Coaches didn’t know how to talk to me. They gave up on me, told me I should just quit. But I’ve been deaf since I was three – so I didn’t listen.

For the record, Coleman was not drafted by any NFL team out of college. But then he signed as a free agent after the 2011 season. He became the first deaf NFL offensive player in 2012, and won Super Bowl 48 at the end of the 2013 season. As of the start of the current season, he has two more NFL touchdowns than I do.

Sometimes, all of us need to refuse to listen. Achieving community with Gd is hard – but even if we have yet to achieve it today, or ever, this Yom Kippur isn’t over. Coleman concludes by saying, “Now I’m here, with a lot of fans in the NFL cheering me on. And I can hear them all.” May we merit Coleman’s level of success in our Yom Kippur, and may HaShem hear us all.

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[1] https://theorthopraxrabbi.wordpress.com/2010/07/29/speed-reading/

[2] Saw this great additional material afterward: Ohel Moshe to Sefer Shemos, pp. 119-130 in the pdf - http://www.hebrewbooks.org/pagefeed/hebrewbooks_org_46192_119.pdf

[3] Yeshayah 29:13

[4] Kesuvos 110b

[5] Eruvin 62a re: גזירה שמא ילמוד ממעשיו

[6] Avodah Zarah 59b, for example

[7] Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Deios 6:1

[8] Sanhedrin 43b

[9] Rav Hai Gaon, cited in Raavad’s Tmim Deim 119

[10] See Rama Choshen Mishpat 25:1, and see Rav Kook’s Beer Eliyahu to Choshen Mishpat 25:7

[11] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JzQFA2hxyRQ