The Special Place of the Rabbinate: Something to Wrestle With (Shev 31b)

There's been a lot of talk about the power of the rabbinate, especially around the latest conversion bill. Although it's tabled for the short term it will probably come up again soon.

So why do we care? One reason comes from yesterday's daf. In it we find that if I ask someone to testify on my behalf outside of a courtroom and they lie, saying that they don't have relevant testimony, they are exempt from any penalty. However, if I ask the same question to someone in court, they are liable for having lied.

This is just one example of the special place of the rabbinate and rabbinical courts throughout Jewish tradition. Although we may not like it, there has always been something different, something special about testifying in court, before the rabbis.  While its been contested just how much power the rabbis had during the time of the Mishnah (when our daf text was written), we know that over time, the rabbinate has grow in traditional communities have have a lot of power.

One of the things that's missing from the debate about the place of the rabbinate for Jews today is the nod at the texts that give the rabbinate power. While many will plainly say that they don't want the rabbinate running their lives without considering this history (which is an important position to have), there needs to be other liberal Jews who are loudly wrestling with these traditional texts. How can we as modern Jews feel bound by these texts when they do give the rabbinic court power and might invalidate our standing as Jews? How can I fight for what I believe in (the place of liberal judaism in America and Israel) but not forget that we have a two thousand year tradition behind us (and in front of us)?

Of course, sometimes you just have to look at what's going on and shake your head. Why is the rabbinate telling me that I can't sing under the chuppah at my wedding?

Youtube and the Talmud (Shev 28b)

There's been a lot of buzz around the recent court case of Google/YouTube vs. Viacom over what copywritten material may or may not appear on YouTube. Although its a complicated suit one major issue revolves around when one must take copy written content down from its website. Is it enough that Viacom asks preemptively that no clips of the Daily Show end up on YouTube or do they need to ask each time for this content to be taken down?

This debate parallels one in our daily Talmud page. Here we find a dispute between Rabbi Yochanan and Reish Lakish. According to Yochanan, if someone is warned that their actions are illegal, they are liable for lashes if their wishes are violated. This includes instances where the person asking is unsure about whether their wish will be violated at all. This ruling would accord with those who say that Viacom can ask preemptively that none of their content appear on YouTube.

Reish Lakish on the other hand does not hold like Yochanan. He believes that one must have a definite warning to warrant lashes. Therefore, asking YouTube to ban Viacom content is only viable when they are sure the content will be on the site. Because YouTube can't police people's living rooms to be sure that they will be putting the content up, it means that they are only liable after it appears on the website.

In out time Google/YouTube won this battle. However Jewish tradition doesn't agree with this settlement. In an 11th century ruling RAMBAM explained:

The following laws apply when a person transgresses a negative commandment that can be corrected by a positive commandment. Before the transgressor violates the negative commandment, witnesses must administer a warning, telling him: 'Do not perform this activity. If you perform it and do not fulfill the positive commandment associated with it, you will receive lashes.' If, after receiving such a warning, the transgressor violates the commandment and does not fulfill the positive commandment, he receives lashes. Although the warning involved uncertainty, - for if he fulfills the positive commandment, he will be released unpunished - an uncertain warning is considered as a warning. (MT Sanhedrin 16:4)

So take your pick, RAMBAM or American law, who do you think is right?

Eat Food (Shev. 22b)

Michael Pollin has a famous motto:

Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.

Although Pollin wasn't the first person to deny that Mcdonalds and similar restaurants fail to serve real "food," he popularized this idea. In essence, Pollin draws a line between what he sees as "food" and what he sees as everything else. Food is natural, real, and you know where it comes from. Mcdonalds is processed, fatty, and sugary. Although these menu items make you feel full and taste like food, they are not food. The best one can say is that they are "like" food.

Like Pollin, the Rabbi Shimon has made this distinction between real "food" and other items that are "like food." For the him the thing that separates food from non-food is whether it is kosher. Therefore, if someone were to make an oath not to eat anything and they ate pig, frog, bugs, or sick animals, R. Shimon exempts him. This is because pig, frogs and the like are not food (food is what we are allowed to eat from the time of Sinai). Therefore, if one eats these things they are liable for eating non-kosher food but they are not liable for breaking their oath.

On the other hand, we read a little later in the Mishnah that if one says "my wife will receive no benefit from me if I have eaten today" and earlier that day  he had eaten his wife becomes prohibited to him. This is true even if what he ate was pig, frog, bugs, or sick animals. Rashi explain that reason for this is because even though these foods are prohibited, they are nonetheless edible and explains that Rabbi Shimon would agree with this ruling. Rashi makes a distinction here between the act of eating and the idea of "food." Pigs may not be "food" per say according the rabbis, but one definitely eats them.

This brings us back to Pollin. While we are told to eat food we are also reminded "not too much." No matter whether we eat "food" or not, eating has implications of its own. Eating food is a subcategory of just plain eating, and eating too much of anything, even "food" can be harmful.

It's not just about eating the right stuff, it's about eating the stuff right.

A notable difference (Shev. 20)

I always thought Kol Nidre was like the Kaddish, a bunch of indistinguishable synonyms. As much as we try, there's not a notable difference between works like l'hitpaar, l'hitnasei, l'hithadar, and l'hitallel. They are all word to that essentially mean to praise. That's why translations of the Kaddish often come out as weird sounding.

I always thought that Kol Nidre was doing the same thing. In it we declare that all vows that we have made during the previous year should be annulled. However, in the prayer we find a lot of words for vow. The Hebrew of the first line is:

Kol Nidrei, Ve'esarei, Ush'vuei, Vacharamei, Vekonamei, Vekinusei, Vechinuyei. D'indarna, Ud'ishtabana, Ud'acharimna, Ud'assarna Al nafshatana

Oddly, most translations won't translate every word. A neder is usually translated as an vow, a shevuah is usually translated as an oath, an isur is usually translated as a prohibition. I never used to worry about which was which because I thought this prayer was like the Kaddish, just synonyms for the same idea, promises one makes to God.

I wasn't wrong to think this. In fact, all of these words are indeed promises. But each matters! Yesterday I learned one of example of how these differ. According to tradition a neder (vow) is made when one changes the status of an object. He says "I vow that this bread is forbidden to me." In essence, the bread changes status--it is now forbidden--however the speaker is no different for having made this vow. A shevuah (oath) on the other hand is the opposite. The speaker changes. Therefore, when he makes an oath "I will not eat this bread" he is the one who has changed, not the bread.

The reason it is important to have these two synonyms in the text is very different than the Kaddish's reason for its synonyms. It is not so that one can get lost in the rhythm of the many words for oath (as some have argued is the case for the many words for praise) or to show just how many kinds of oaths there are. Rather it is to cover one's bases. Disavowing an oath does nothing for a vow and visa versa. Practically if I make the vow "I vow that this bread is forbidden to me" and then say that all oaths are nullified I have made sure that my status resorts back to it proper place, but I have done nothing to the status of the bread; it is still forbidden to me.

Therefore, the Kol Nidre prayer, on top of annulling our vows, oaths, and other carefully chosen legal terms, also reminds us of an important theme in the High Holy Day season: that one should be careful with each and every word he uses and see the power in the difference between one word and the next.

 

A view of Jerusalem: Haftarah Devarim

Isaiah 1:1-27

Leave it to Isaiah to know exactly what to say on a week like this. Not just because we are only days away from Tisha B’Av, and not just because the Palestinian conflict rages, but because Jerusalem, I feel has been lost in some way to me this week.

Alas, She Has become a harlot,
The faithful city
That was filled with justice,
Where righteousness dwelt…”(verse 21)

…Where I dwelt for a year because my love for my people and my love of my homeland, the land of my birth and of my people drew me to a profession staked and steeped in its preservation. The city whose problems I knew going in, and whose tenuous relationship to modernity I embraced and came to appreciate, has left me weeping remembering her.

The news from Jerusalem this week, both the arrest of Anat Hoffman for carrying a Torah scroll at the Western Wall, and the preliminary passage of a bill ceding control of conversion to the Haredi Rabbinate in Israel, caused me two very distinct reactions. One, a cringe that the version of Israel that I had in my mind was not really there. A version of Israel that was truly a homeland to all Jews. There was apparently now, a Jerusalem of the heavens, a Jerusalem of the earth and a Jerusalem of my mind. Unfortunately, never the three shall meet, it appears.

The second reaction was a form of resolve. It became important to sign a petition and write a letter, and pass the word along. And I have a sense that I was not the only one with this reaction, judging by the Facebook status updates and postings to articles about either or both of these tragic events.

The similarity between these events is not just that it is a question of Tradition vs. Modernity. It is not simply Reform vs. Ultra-Orthodox. The conversion bill was introduced by a Nationalist Party MK. It is a question of who belongs. It is a question of identity and who has the right and authority to tell anyone else what they can do, where they can do it, who they can do it with, and how they should be doing it. It is the assumption that there is a right way based on a notion of tradition that understands only rigidity and the narrowest conception of what God wants.

That you come to appear before Me —
Who asked that of you?
Trample My courts
no more;
Bringing oblations is futile,
Incense is offensive to Me.
New moon and sabbath,
Proclaiming of solemnities,
Assemblies with iniquity,
I cannot abide. (12-13)

What good is all this religion, if it is accompanied by behavior devoid of ethics?

Alas, Jerusalem, this week, mourns her destruction. Will we open our ears to her cry? Will we allow her to pray? I weep with her this week, yet I hope. I hope that the resolve and the response elicited by this week’s events causes her to be renewed. That the notion that Jerusalem and all it stands for is not only for one idea and one way. That Judaism rightly exists in more than one iteration. That through respect, mutual and truthful, acceptance, fully of differences and similarities, and openness, to what is known and what is unknown we can turn back to what Jerusalem is supposed to be: the city of wholeness for the whole of the Jewish people, the city of peace. Then we will be on the right track, and Isaiah will have been right again:

Zion [will have been] saved in the judgment;
Her repentant ones, in the retribution. (27)

Shabbat Shalom.

Rabbis paying dues (Shev 13b)

Should rabbis pay dues to their synagogue? It’s a tough question. On the one hand, rabbis are employed by their community. Therefore, paying dues might be viewed as a formality; paying a rabbi less will accomplish the same thing financially for a community. However, for some, rabbinical dues is a goodwill gesture. It show that they see themselves as part of the community and thus are willing to sacrifice something of theirs in order to see the community thrive.

I know I may change my mind when I get out of rabbinical school, but for now I see myself siding with this later view. The ideal rabbi should feel a part of their community. I’ve seen too many rabbis who view their rabbinate as simply a job. I don’t see it that way. Being a rabbi means having an intimate knowledge and connection to a community. It’s intense and therefore one must give up a part of themselves to succeed. Like time, energy, and space, a healthy abdication of some financial resources is an important gesture toward the community and shows the scope of a rabbi’s connection.

Reading the daf a few days ago, I found a great model for this. The high priest (modeled after Aaron) spends their life serving the Jewish community. They spend their time worrying about sacrifices and purity. They also receive their food from the offerings of those in their community. However, the Torah still mandates that when the Kohen Gadol brings their individual sacrifice on Yom Kippur it must come from them, meaning, they must purchase the bull with every penny of their own money. In doing this, the Kohen Gadol is made pure and he then (in his purity) can offer sacrifices that atone for the rest of the community.

I think this case has a lot to teach rabbis about the responsibility to one's community. The Kohen Gadol is a human like everyone else. Therefore they sin like others and must seek forgiveness like others. Unlike priests, rabbis are no closer to God than any other congregant is. For this reason, they must prayer, act, and give like anyone else. Although it’s problematic to say that membership and affiliation are akin to sacrifice (although it would be nice if all I had to do is give a bit of money and I’d achieved at least some form of atonement) I wonder if the Kohen Gadol can’t help tip the scales toward the argument that Rabbis should give something tangible of themselves as a way to cement their standing not just as the leader of a community but as part of it as well.

Free Agency: Parshat Mattot-Mas'ei

Numbers 30:2-36:13

Sorry for the lack of post last week.

Also, I'll be posting my d'var for this week about the Torah portion, not the Haftarah.

Something very important for our people happened yesterday.

Last night at 9:27 pm, LeBron James made his announcement that he would be joining the Miami Heat, ending the weeks of speculation about what he would do with his free agency. He explained that he made his decision based on a variety of factors. In the end, LeBron said that he “had to make sure that [he] was making the right decision for no one else but [him]self.” LeBron found himself at the end of this last NBA season in a state of free agency. A basketball player temporarily without a home. No contract. No team.

Many cities tried to court him to their court, each one offering him a contract and provisions and most likely promises that he could be most successful there. The championship that has eluded him for seven years, they would tell him, would become a sure reality. In the end, LeBron would have to pick the place that he felt was the best fit, for him to be successful.

Free agency happens when a contract expires and players are free to look around for better places to play. Places that are a better fit.

Though I am not sure basketball was on their minds, the tribes of Gad, Reuven and one-half of the tribe of Manasseh ask to be made free agents in their covenant with God in the midst of this week’s Parasha. 'Let us live on the east side of the Jordan,' they ask Moses. 'The land here is better for our cattle, and we are, after all, cattlemen. We know that the land on the other side of the Jordan is great and all, but we feel we can be most successful here. We will thrive here. We will survive here. We want to live here. We love our homeland, but this is better for us. We have to make the right decision for us.'

Like any good Team Owner, Moses contemplates this and realizes he now has a bargaining chip. If you want to be free agents, he tells them, you have to promise that you will first cross the Jordan River and help your brothers to conquer the land. “Are your brothers to go to war while you stay here?” (Num. 32:6) Essentially, Moses is asking for a guarantee that the tribes of Gad, Reuven and the half-tribe of Manasseh carry out the terms of their already existent contract. They have to enter the land. They have to make their way into the land and fight alongside their brothers. Once that has been accomplished, they, in essence, become free agents in the land grab of Canaan.

LeBron had a big decision to make. Should he stay in Cleveland, his home team and home town, or should he utilize his free agent status and go elsewhere? By asking to live outside of the boundaries of the Land of Israel that are established in this parasha, are these two and a half tribes being disloyal to the home team? Will the other 9.5 tribes be burning their jerseys and calling them traitors and narcissists?

Do we need to live in Israel in order to be a part of the Jewish people?

Back then, the answer from Moses was a qualified no: 'you can live on the other side of the Jordan, but you need to be here for us when we need you.’ Do we get the same consideration these days? When we go to Israel, do we get the sense that people there feel we are less than what we could be, because we have made a choice to live outside the boundaries of the land? Do we feel that way about ourselves?

When my family moved away from Israel in my infancy, my uncle railed against my father telling him that his children would grow up not knowing Judaism, not having Jewish homes and not having a connection to their past. Well, it is clear that my uncle was mistaken. Without going into a deep family tree, I will simply tell you that between me and my siblings and our cousins, my brother, sister and I are perhaps the most connected to our Judaism, though there is still a stigma for living abroad. Living in Galut, living in the diaspora or in exile is looked down upon by many.

The Israeli author A. B. Yehoshua caused an uproar when, in Washington DC 2006, he proclaimed that the future of the Jewish people was only in Israel. He claimed that diaspora Jews were merely playing at Judaism. Interestingly, he also commented that his identity had little to do with Judaism per se, but was rather based entirely on the fact that he was Israeli. He believes that Jews in Israel lead a more fully Jewish life than is possible in the diaspora.

One of the problems with that statement has to do with what it understands as the definition of what means to be Jewish. In Israel, there is one way to do Judaism, well two. Secular and Religious. Though Reform and other liberal, humanist, and modern understandings of Judaism have made inroads in Israel, it is largely in the absence of Israel’s influence that religious variety and a spectrum of creativity, belief and understanding has flourished. Babylonia, Spain, Germany and the United States should all be credited with expanding the notions of what Judaism means and how it can function.

The extreme opposite end of the spectrum, the anti-Yehoshua statement might even say that the ingathering of exiles has destroyed the variety of Jewish voices and customs, opting for the one Israeliness that Yehoshua values above all others. Much of Judaism’s greatest achievements have come from diaspora communities. And, in fact, it is only because of the diaspora that Judaism was able to reinvent itself again and again to remain a powerful force for morality, justice, and law. When Judaism exists in a variety of milieus, it benefits from the best those places have to offer. When Judaism exists in one place, particularly in a place with a narrow understanding of what Judaism means, it has a possibility of suffocation.

What Moses understood, unlike A. B Yehoshua seems to by his 2006 statement, is that both sides of the Jordan are important. The variety of voices lends to a creativity and vibrancy in Judaism that cannot be paralleled. When the Gadites, the Reuvenites and half of the Mannashites ask to stay where they can be of the most success and the most good, it is good for the entirety of the people. They do not ask to be cut off from their brethren. They just want to play for another city.

Free agency allows the player to go where they are best suited, where they can be the most successful, and ultimately, where they can thrive. A league with one team might win all the championships, but it certainly isn’t very meaningful.

Shabbat Shalom.

Chazak, Chazak v'Nitchazek!

It could happen here

I came across and an interesting argument yesterday (although not in the day's daf).

On Sotah 11a we find a debate between two rabbinic sages, Rav and Shmuel about the meaning of Exodus 1:8, "and there arose a Pharoah who knew not Joseph."

According to Rav this means that a new Pharoah arose, someone who had no relationship with Joseph and was not beholden to him. According to Shmuel our texts means that it was the same Pharoah. He knew Joseph but chose to forget him. This allowed him to enact decrees for his own benefit and against those of the Israelites.

This debate is classic and exists today. It went on in Germany in the period before WWII. The Ravs saw a changing society and said, "as long as Germany is Germany we'll be fine. We've made a home here." The Shmuels on the other hand knew that even the same society, even the same people, could turn on you at any moment.

Even in America we are constantly walking a tightrope between Rav and Shmuel. America has been a great place for the Jews. Will it always be? America has been Israel's greatest friend? Will we always be?

As Daniel Boyarin pointed out in his book "Intertextuality and The Reading of Midrash" perhaps the truth doesn't belong to either Rav or Shmuel but rather lives between their polarities. Maybe we should trust the society from which we live (Rav) while at the same time, keeping our guard up and knowing that it is not infallible (Shmuel).

Suspension of Sin (Shev. 8b)

There's an interesting idea in today's daf. If one commits an inadvertent sin and they don't know about it (the classic example is one who knows they are impure but forgets and eats food that must only be eaten in a state of purity), their sin is "suspended" after Yom Kippur.

What this means is simple. We know from our above example that if someone forgets they were impure and never remembers otherwise, the Yom Kipper sacrifice suspends punishment their sin. According to traditional Jewish belief, there is a system of reward and punishment that begins as soon as someone sins. This system can become activated at any time. Therefore, if I sin on a given day, I might be punished for that sin immediately or it might take years before I suffer for it. In fact, I might only get this punishment after I die.

The case of eating pure foods in a forgotten state of impurity complicates the simple cause and effect of reward and punishment. In this case, the Yom Kippur sacrifice puts a moratorium on the punishment. In effect, it says, "Hold on! This person may one day realize they sinned and then they will repent. But until then, let this Yom Kippur sacrifice be the person's atonement so that they don't get punished for something they don't even know they did."

What I love about this idea is that this vision of Yom Kippur is complicated. Here Yom Kippur is not a magic bullet, fixing everyone's sin. If I remember that I sinned the clock resets and I must quickly make amends for my mistakes. Additionally, Yom Kippur is not a formality. Here Avodah (priestly sacrifice) really serves to "temper judgment's severe decree."

No matter whether this theology seems appealing or anathema, Yom Kippur is richer when it is complicated. Yom Kippur is a great example of a theology of punishment and a theology of mercy in dialogue.