Why does our daf today tell us to stay away from heresy?
According to the Marharsha we are warned to stay away from heresy because engaging with it is "intellectually pleasing" and therefore we might be drawn into wrestling with its ideas.
I want to state openly that I both read and enjoy many of the things traditional Judaism calls heresy. And I'm not the only one. Read thinkers like Rabbi Sacks and you will see that there are traditional Jews who do the same (it's not just the liberals). I'm studying Spinoza in a small group and it might be one the most fulfilling things I learn. Part the reason I love it is because it is so intellectually stimulating. His arguments are clear, his attack on those who disagree with him is biting.
It's interesting to see that the Maharsha comes to the same conclusion about these types of ideas, but chooses to condemn this practice of study.
Tuesday, August 31, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Change is slow (Avodah Zarah 16a)
Posted by
Marc
Change is hard. Change takes time. You move too slow and people vote with their feet. You move to fast and people complain and you may lose your credibility. While there is a place for fast paced change, for the most part increment change is the safest bet.
In today's Daf we get a great model of this incremental change. Faced with a choice of selling a fattened ox to an idolatrous king on his festival day (something forbidden by law) or making the king angry with his failure to give his usual gift (of a fattened ox), Rebbi took the middle ground.
On the first year, Rebbi bribed the king 40,000 coins so that he could break with tradition and bring the cow on the day after the festival. After the king was ok with this, Rebbi decided to change even more the next year. On the second year he bribed the king the same amount so that he might be able to slaughter the cow before bringing it. Finally on the last year the bribed the king so that he didn't need to bring an ox at all.
If Rebbi had changed too quickly, deciding not the bring the cow at all on the first year he would have certainly gotten into trouble. Had the failed to act he would have been going against his morals.
Rebbi is a great teacher. Change is hard, but slow change is often the safest and most effective route.
In today's Daf we get a great model of this incremental change. Faced with a choice of selling a fattened ox to an idolatrous king on his festival day (something forbidden by law) or making the king angry with his failure to give his usual gift (of a fattened ox), Rebbi took the middle ground.
On the first year, Rebbi bribed the king 40,000 coins so that he could break with tradition and bring the cow on the day after the festival. After the king was ok with this, Rebbi decided to change even more the next year. On the second year he bribed the king the same amount so that he might be able to slaughter the cow before bringing it. Finally on the last year the bribed the king so that he didn't need to bring an ox at all.
If Rebbi had changed too quickly, deciding not the bring the cow at all on the first year he would have certainly gotten into trouble. Had the failed to act he would have been going against his morals.
Rebbi is a great teacher. Change is hard, but slow change is often the safest and most effective route.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
A good friend (Avodah Zarah 15b)
Posted by
Marc
When are you allowed to tell a friend not to do something and when should you keep your mouth shut?
Here's an example. If your best friend is overweight and goes on a diet are you allowed to remind them of this when they eat a giant burger? What if they don't go on a diet but you are worried about their weight?
This question is at the heart of today's daf. Here is the example we find today. Quoting from Mishnah Sheviit 5:6 we learn:
The reason why we must not give him the tools is because we would be violating the prohibition from Lev 19 "Do not put a stumbling block before the blind." Our tradition teaches that all who sin are blind. We can think of it like they don't see the "light" of Torah. If we do anything to help them sin further (like selling them a plow) we are essentially puting a stumbling block before them.
To return to our question: are we allowed to say anything to our friend? I would guess so. We are reminded to rebuke our fellow in the same section of Torah as the precept not to put a stumbling block in front the the blind. And a person's health is a worthy cause to take up. However, our tradition is unequivocal that we must not serve our overweight friend a huge hamburger. That would be wrong and like putting a stumbling block before the blind.
(A note: Blind is sometimes an apt term for my eating. I eat mindlessly and often will sit down to eat a meal only to learn a few minutes later that I have eaten it without either tasting it or enjoying it).
Here's an example. If your best friend is overweight and goes on a diet are you allowed to remind them of this when they eat a giant burger? What if they don't go on a diet but you are worried about their weight?
This question is at the heart of today's daf. Here is the example we find today. Quoting from Mishnah Sheviit 5:6 we learn:
These are the tools that a person is not allowed to sell during the seventh year (the shmitah year when all land must lie fallow): The plow and all its accessories, the yoke, the shovel, and the hoe.All of these tools are used to tend to the earth. We worry that someone who is known to violate the laws of shimatah wants these tools and therefore, we must not give them to him because we will be aiding him in sinning (working land that should be fallow).
The reason why we must not give him the tools is because we would be violating the prohibition from Lev 19 "Do not put a stumbling block before the blind." Our tradition teaches that all who sin are blind. We can think of it like they don't see the "light" of Torah. If we do anything to help them sin further (like selling them a plow) we are essentially puting a stumbling block before them.
To return to our question: are we allowed to say anything to our friend? I would guess so. We are reminded to rebuke our fellow in the same section of Torah as the precept not to put a stumbling block in front the the blind. And a person's health is a worthy cause to take up. However, our tradition is unequivocal that we must not serve our overweight friend a huge hamburger. That would be wrong and like putting a stumbling block before the blind.
(A note: Blind is sometimes an apt term for my eating. I eat mindlessly and often will sit down to eat a meal only to learn a few minutes later that I have eaten it without either tasting it or enjoying it).
Sunday, August 22, 2010
An Interesting Trend (Avodah Zarah 7b)
Posted by
Marc
For the past few days the Talmud has focused on one question: are we allowed to do business with idol worshipers on the days surrounding a pagan holiday. According to the predominant view of the Mishnah we are not allowed to buy, sell, loan, lend, and borrow from pagans three days before and three days after their holiday (called eid).
However, this law was written at a time when Jews had the flexibility to avoid business with non-Jews around their holidays. As time went on and Jews and non-Jews did more business this flexibility would fade.
On our daf (page) today we have the first notion that things are changing. Shmuel (who lives in Babylonia) limited the rather stringent ruling from the Mishnah to communities who live in Israel. For those who live in the Diaspora (his home) is only forbidden to do business on the festival itself.
Later scholars, living in places like the Rhineland and Provance will take this a step further. Some will explain that due to fear and livelihood this law no longer applies (see Rashi). Others like the Meiri and Rabbeinu Tam will prove that Christian Europe is a wholly different thing than pagan Israel or Babylonia and trading with Christians near their festivals should be allow even a priori.
All this shows that the halachah is a fluid process, moving and changing (albeit with a lot of intention and respect to tradition) throughout time.
However, this law was written at a time when Jews had the flexibility to avoid business with non-Jews around their holidays. As time went on and Jews and non-Jews did more business this flexibility would fade.
On our daf (page) today we have the first notion that things are changing. Shmuel (who lives in Babylonia) limited the rather stringent ruling from the Mishnah to communities who live in Israel. For those who live in the Diaspora (his home) is only forbidden to do business on the festival itself.
Later scholars, living in places like the Rhineland and Provance will take this a step further. Some will explain that due to fear and livelihood this law no longer applies (see Rashi). Others like the Meiri and Rabbeinu Tam will prove that Christian Europe is a wholly different thing than pagan Israel or Babylonia and trading with Christians near their festivals should be allow even a priori.
All this shows that the halachah is a fluid process, moving and changing (albeit with a lot of intention and respect to tradition) throughout time.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
An angel get's it's wings (Avodah Zarah 4b)
Posted by
Marc
Yesterday, a colleague of mine joked that the Talmud tells us that each time we do a good deed an angel get’s its wings. Another colleague looked at him astonished, “Really! It says that in the Talmud?”
“No” laughed my first colleague, “I was actually just quoting Peter Pan.”
What was funny about his comment was that in a way he was actually right about the Talmud. Leaving Peter Pan (or any other source for a similar quote) we learn from today’s Talmud page that each time that someone does a mitzvah (lighting candles, feeding the poor, etc.) that mitzvah becomes manifest as a spirit of sorts. The Talmud goes on to explain that when one is judged in future ages, these living mitzvoth come to court and testify on his behalf to help get him into the world to come.
I tell this story not for the content but because it illustrates a point. Rabbi Ben Bag Bag famously stated that we should turn the Torah again and again because all is in it. I believe strongly in the truth of the statement. We can learn law, ethics, standards, love and a host of other important things, if we have an eye to read the text in the right light at the right moment. The texts can offer us what we need if we approach them with openness.
And now we add one more to the list of things in our Torah: a humorous way to root pop culture (an idiom that often speaks very strongly to Jews in America) in our tradition.
“No” laughed my first colleague, “I was actually just quoting Peter Pan.”
What was funny about his comment was that in a way he was actually right about the Talmud. Leaving Peter Pan (or any other source for a similar quote) we learn from today’s Talmud page that each time that someone does a mitzvah (lighting candles, feeding the poor, etc.) that mitzvah becomes manifest as a spirit of sorts. The Talmud goes on to explain that when one is judged in future ages, these living mitzvoth come to court and testify on his behalf to help get him into the world to come.
I tell this story not for the content but because it illustrates a point. Rabbi Ben Bag Bag famously stated that we should turn the Torah again and again because all is in it. I believe strongly in the truth of the statement. We can learn law, ethics, standards, love and a host of other important things, if we have an eye to read the text in the right light at the right moment. The texts can offer us what we need if we approach them with openness.
And now we add one more to the list of things in our Torah: a humorous way to root pop culture (an idiom that often speaks very strongly to Jews in America) in our tradition.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
How To Spend a Day (Avodah Zarah 3b)
Posted by
Marc
I really like the way God spent his day before the destruction of the Temple. Here's the breakdown (of a 12 hour day):
First three hours: God studies Torah
Second three hours: God judges the world
Third three hours: God provides nourishment for the entire world
Final three hours: God plays fetch with his pet (the Leviathan)
If only I had the discipline to model this in schedule in my everyday life!
Imagine beginning the day with spiritual nourishment. I imagine a regimen of study would give me insight, energy, and passion to continue throughout the whole day. Then after gaining inspiration, I would get to work. God judges the world, I answer e-mails, field phone calls, and do the "tasks" and are expected of me. Once I finish with my work, I turn to volunteering. God gives food and nourishment to the whole world. I would work at a soup kitchen or help out at an afterschool program. Finally, I end with possibly the most important part of my day, recreation and time with my loved ones. God plays with his pet. I go out to dinner with my fiancé or go out with friends.
The wonderful thing about God's schedule is that it is diverse. Knowing how to diversify one's life is the easiest way to avoid burnout.
There's a great text in the Talmud (Sotah 14a) which tells us to emulate God's deeds. God clothes the naked. So should we. God visits the sick. So should we.
Here we learn that God balances learning, work, loving acts, and play. Even if not everyday, even if not equally, why can't we experience all of these in a given week?
First three hours: God studies Torah
Second three hours: God judges the world
Third three hours: God provides nourishment for the entire world
Final three hours: God plays fetch with his pet (the Leviathan)
If only I had the discipline to model this in schedule in my everyday life!
Imagine beginning the day with spiritual nourishment. I imagine a regimen of study would give me insight, energy, and passion to continue throughout the whole day. Then after gaining inspiration, I would get to work. God judges the world, I answer e-mails, field phone calls, and do the "tasks" and are expected of me. Once I finish with my work, I turn to volunteering. God gives food and nourishment to the whole world. I would work at a soup kitchen or help out at an afterschool program. Finally, I end with possibly the most important part of my day, recreation and time with my loved ones. God plays with his pet. I go out to dinner with my fiancé or go out with friends.
The wonderful thing about God's schedule is that it is diverse. Knowing how to diversify one's life is the easiest way to avoid burnout.
There's a great text in the Talmud (Sotah 14a) which tells us to emulate God's deeds. God clothes the naked. So should we. God visits the sick. So should we.
Here we learn that God balances learning, work, loving acts, and play. Even if not everyday, even if not equally, why can't we experience all of these in a given week?
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Orthodox By Design
Posted by
Marc
I just bought Jeremy Stolow's new book, Orthodox By Design: Judaism, Print Politics, and the ArtScroll Revolution.
I'm looking forward to reading it. Beside finding the topic interesting, it might better help me understand the methodology and ideology behind the Schottenstein Talmud, the translation that I use for Daf Yomi.
Here is a wonderful review of the book by Shaul Magid that appeared in Zeek.
The product description from Amazon follows:
I'm looking forward to reading it. Beside finding the topic interesting, it might better help me understand the methodology and ideology behind the Schottenstein Talmud, the translation that I use for Daf Yomi.
Here is a wonderful review of the book by Shaul Magid that appeared in Zeek.
The product description from Amazon follows:
Orthodox by Design, a groundbreaking exploration of religion and media, examines ArtScroll, the world's largest Orthodox Jewish publishing house, purveyor of handsomely designed editions of sacred texts and a major cultural force in contemporary Jewish public life. In the first in-depth study of the ArtScroll revolution, Jeremy Stolow traces the ubiquity of ArtScroll books in local retail markets, synagogues, libraries, and the lives of ordinary users. Synthesizing field research conducted in three local Jewish scenes where ArtScroll books have had an impact--Toronto, London, and New York--along with close readings of key ArtScroll texts, promotional materials, and the Jewish blogosphere, he shows how the use of these books reflects a broader cultural shift in the authority and public influence of Orthodox Judaism. Playing with the concept of design, Stolow's study also outlines a fresh theoretical approach to print culture and illuminates how evolving technologies, material forms, and styles of mediated communication contribute to new patterns of religious identification, practice, and power.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
Outdated Law (Shev 46a)
Posted by
Marc
I've noticed a number of themes that keep reappearing in the past few days of study. One such theme is the protection against the shoddy memory of a householder who hires a worker.
We know that the rabbis are in the business of creating laws to protect individuals from flaws in the system. Because a householder is often busy and often has many workers, the rabbis made laws that aimed to avoid problems that might arise from a certain householder's flaw; perhaps he hire a worker and forget the wage that he promised him.
Therefore, the rabbis changed a number of laws to avoid this problem. When there is a dispute between a householder and a worker over wages, for example, Jewish law would usually permit the householder to swear that he is correct. However, because the householder may be remembering wrong--he may have been thinking of a conversation with someone else--it reversed the oath and gave it to the worker. There are other examples as well and you can find them in and around today's Talmud page.
In post-Talmudic legal literature there is one word that appears over and over again, ha'idana, meaning today or currently. When you see this word it usually means that the rabbis are looking at a ruling in the Talmud and explaining why it doesn't work in this day and age.
With this in mind, I have a question about this ruling for today, ha'idana. The rabbis I'm sure never dreamed that many people would have e-mail. And furthermore that most e-mail (like g-mail) would be able to store thousands of documents in a searchable database. Today, it doesn't matter whether the householder has a good memory or a bad memory. Since most agreements are done over e-mail, any dispute can be settled with a click of a mouse.
I wonder then, if many of these rulings are based on a system of hiring that is outdated. If one lives though this halachic (Jewish legal) system of oaths, when do we accept that maybe the rulings aimed at protecting against the householder's shoddy memory may not be needed?
We know that the rabbis are in the business of creating laws to protect individuals from flaws in the system. Because a householder is often busy and often has many workers, the rabbis made laws that aimed to avoid problems that might arise from a certain householder's flaw; perhaps he hire a worker and forget the wage that he promised him.
Therefore, the rabbis changed a number of laws to avoid this problem. When there is a dispute between a householder and a worker over wages, for example, Jewish law would usually permit the householder to swear that he is correct. However, because the householder may be remembering wrong--he may have been thinking of a conversation with someone else--it reversed the oath and gave it to the worker. There are other examples as well and you can find them in and around today's Talmud page.
In post-Talmudic legal literature there is one word that appears over and over again, ha'idana, meaning today or currently. When you see this word it usually means that the rabbis are looking at a ruling in the Talmud and explaining why it doesn't work in this day and age.
With this in mind, I have a question about this ruling for today, ha'idana. The rabbis I'm sure never dreamed that many people would have e-mail. And furthermore that most e-mail (like g-mail) would be able to store thousands of documents in a searchable database. Today, it doesn't matter whether the householder has a good memory or a bad memory. Since most agreements are done over e-mail, any dispute can be settled with a click of a mouse.
I wonder then, if many of these rulings are based on a system of hiring that is outdated. If one lives though this halachic (Jewish legal) system of oaths, when do we accept that maybe the rulings aimed at protecting against the householder's shoddy memory may not be needed?
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Interesting Article
Posted by
Marc
I recently came across an interesting blog post where the author argues that daf yomi cannot make one into a real scholar.
I would tend to agree with Tzvi. I don't retain nearly enough to feel like I have a command of the tradition. Nevertheless, I find it meaningful for other reasons.
I would tend to agree with Tzvi. I don't retain nearly enough to feel like I have a command of the tradition. Nevertheless, I find it meaningful for other reasons.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
The Importance of Returning Lost Items (Shev 42)
Posted by
Marc
A quick thought of Talmud for the day.
Imagine that you find a wallet. If you can find the owner, would you return it?
Most would.
Now what if I told you that the wallet you found has $50, but once had $100. Before you found it someone had taken half of the money. Would you still return it?
What if I told you that the owner of the wallet would berate you for taking the $50 and would continue to believe that you stole the money. I'm not sure if anyone has done this particular study on this scenario but I imagine the number of honest citizens would be much lower than our original wallet scenario.
During the rabbinic era, this wallet conundrum was posed, but to make matters more complicated the rabbis had to deal with a ruling that stated that if someone accuses someone of something and they admit to part of the claim, they must swear (using God's name) that they do not owe the other part (the oath is called a shevua modeh b'mikzat). In practical terms, if I return the wallet with $50 and am told that the original amount in the wallet was $100, I have to swear that I didn't take the other $50.
As I've mentioned in previous posts, swearing is serious. In fact, we find on pg 39 of our tractate that the whole world quaked when God commanded that we should not make vain / false oaths (the wording depends on whether one is reading the Ten Commandments in Exodus or Deuteronomy). So if one knows that they might have to swear about the amount in a wallet, they might not return it in the first place.
Knowing this, the rabbis made a special exemption for the shevua modeh b'mikzat: if you are returning a lost item, no one can force you to swear that you did not take a part of it. The reason is simple. Returning lost articles is of the upmost importance and nothing should stand in it's way.
Remember that next time you find a wallet on the street.
Imagine that you find a wallet. If you can find the owner, would you return it?
Most would.
Now what if I told you that the wallet you found has $50, but once had $100. Before you found it someone had taken half of the money. Would you still return it?
What if I told you that the owner of the wallet would berate you for taking the $50 and would continue to believe that you stole the money. I'm not sure if anyone has done this particular study on this scenario but I imagine the number of honest citizens would be much lower than our original wallet scenario.
During the rabbinic era, this wallet conundrum was posed, but to make matters more complicated the rabbis had to deal with a ruling that stated that if someone accuses someone of something and they admit to part of the claim, they must swear (using God's name) that they do not owe the other part (the oath is called a shevua modeh b'mikzat). In practical terms, if I return the wallet with $50 and am told that the original amount in the wallet was $100, I have to swear that I didn't take the other $50.
As I've mentioned in previous posts, swearing is serious. In fact, we find on pg 39 of our tractate that the whole world quaked when God commanded that we should not make vain / false oaths (the wording depends on whether one is reading the Ten Commandments in Exodus or Deuteronomy). So if one knows that they might have to swear about the amount in a wallet, they might not return it in the first place.
Knowing this, the rabbis made a special exemption for the shevua modeh b'mikzat: if you are returning a lost item, no one can force you to swear that you did not take a part of it. The reason is simple. Returning lost articles is of the upmost importance and nothing should stand in it's way.
Remember that next time you find a wallet on the street.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Prayer and Patience (Parshat Re'eh)
Posted by
Marc
Here is the sermon that I gave at Congregation Beth Elohim in Brooklyn last night. It deals with a legal issue that came up during the daf yomi cycle a few months ago:
Every once and a while, you meet a student who makes you question everything you thought you knew. Mine came during the summer between my junior and senior year in college.
It had been my tenth summer at the URJ Eisner Camp in the Berkshires. During this summer, my job was to act both as counselor to a group of ten graders and to coordinate and lead t’fillah and song sessions for them.
One night, our group watched scenes from the movie Dogma and met afterward to discuss the theological questions that came up from the movie. You know the basic stuff that friends chat about over a drink: free will, theodicy (why bad things happen), and the existence of God. During this talk, one student emphatically stated that she got nothing out of prayer. Turning to me she asked accusingly, “do you ever actually feel anything when you lead prayer?”
I froze because I knew the answer that I had to give. Not really. I made some excuse about how when I lead prayers, I had to worry about keys and guitar chords and that took away from my experience, but the truth was I had sat through plenty of services where I felt nothing. In fact, I could only count a handful of times when I had really ever felt something.
For the rest of the summer, I questioned myself every time I left services untransformed. I might be doing something wrong. Why spend so much time in prayer when so much of it feels rote? Why don’t I walk away a different person for having prayed?
In fact, it was wrestling with these questions that kept from applying to Rabbinical school in my senior year in college.
It’s taken me many years to realize that there was nothing wrong with me or my connection to Judaism. I simply wasn’t willing to give the tradition the time that it needed. I was impatient and wanted to have a transformative experience every time I opened my mouth in prayer, every time studied a little Torah, and every time I drank the Shabbat wine. I failed to see that these expectations were unrealistic. In fact, these expectations were antithetical to a lot of what the rabbis teach us about Jewish practice. Judaism is a religion only experienced through patience.
I want to give one example of the centrality of patience that appears in this week’s Torah portion, but to do so I have to make a short diversion. In this week’s portion we have a description of the Ir Hanididachat (the apostate city). The law of this city is simple. If as all the inhabitants of a city renounce God and begin to practice idolatry, their city should be destroyed. The Torah explains that one should make a bon fire in the middle of town and the whole city should go up in flames like Sodom and Gemorah.
Hundreds of years later, the Rabbis looked at this passage with the same discomfort that I imagine we are feeling today. However, the Rabbis were not willing to throw out the law. Instead, they re-imagined it. The rabbis understood that the only way a city could be considered an ir hanidachat is if it was first a practicing Jewish city that turned to idolatry. What does it mean to be a practicing Jewish city? That it has Torah scroll, Mezuzot, and prayerbooks.
Turning their attention to the line in the Torah that tells us to build a bon fire and burn everything, the rabbis ask: are we really allowed to burn everything in the city? Even the Torahs? Even the Mezuzot?
Therefore, the Rabbis made a rule: as long as there is at least one Mezuzah in the city we can’t fulfill the commandment to burn everything in the city (because we may not burn a mezuzah). A city with at least one mezuzah cannot be called an ir hanidachat and must be saved.
And since the Rabbis can’t imagine a practicing Jewish city without at least one Mezuzah they are forced to say: never has there been and never will there be an ir hanidachat.
Here we have ingenious solution to a troubling passage. However, there is one problem: if the idea of the ir hanidachat is irrelevant, why bother studying it? Why should we spend time studying anything that has no practical significance for us? Shouldn’t we walk away from every study session with some insight that will make us better Jews, better friends, better people?
The Rabbis have one answer, I have another. The Rabbis explain that one should study it because study itself it a mitzvoth (a commandment) and doing commandments, no matter their practicality) earn one a place in the world to come.
I want to add may own thoughts to this discussion. The reason we study about the ir hanidachat is because it helps teach us patience. Growing up, I had a neighbor whose hobby it was to make Nantucket baskets, those finely woven wicker baskets that sell for way too much in New England. This neighbor used to spend hours and hours, patiently weaving one strip of material in and out of another. If she thought that each moment was going to be an enlightening experience, she would have been very disappointed. The work was tedious. However, she knew that at some undetermined point she would be finished and her basket would be complete.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks explains that Jewish practices (like prayer and study) function in the same way to my neighbor’s baskets. Each time we pray, each time we study, each time we choose to eat Kosher food, we patiently weave under and over each stave of our basket. And when we are finished (and it might take day, months, or even years) we have made ourselves into a vessel, a container. Sacks goes on to explain that when God wants to give us blessings, God doesn’t put them on a platter in front of us, rather God throws them into the wind and allows us to gather them ourselves. Only with a basket can we catch God’s blessings. And only by prayer, study and other Jewish practices can we make this vessel.
Just as Nantucket baskets don’t last forever, so too our vessels don’t last forever. That’s because we has humans are always changing. And when we do, we must go through the patient process of weaving another basket.
Prayer isn’t supposed to connect us to God. Study shouldn’t make us enlightened. Rather each time we study, we move one step closer to creating our vessel, and basket in hand, begin to connect to God and begin to reach enlightenment. That’s why we study impractical sections like the laws of the ir handichat. These laws are just as good as any other for patiently weaving our basket.
Religion, like most things in life takes patience, and sometimes we might question why we do certain things. However, if it’s done with care, love, and foresight we walk away from our encounter just a little different, having woven one more piece of our baskets. Like water on a rock often this change cannot be seen immediately. But trusting that it will, is the essence of faith.
Every once and a while, you meet a student who makes you question everything you thought you knew. Mine came during the summer between my junior and senior year in college.
It had been my tenth summer at the URJ Eisner Camp in the Berkshires. During this summer, my job was to act both as counselor to a group of ten graders and to coordinate and lead t’fillah and song sessions for them.
One night, our group watched scenes from the movie Dogma and met afterward to discuss the theological questions that came up from the movie. You know the basic stuff that friends chat about over a drink: free will, theodicy (why bad things happen), and the existence of God. During this talk, one student emphatically stated that she got nothing out of prayer. Turning to me she asked accusingly, “do you ever actually feel anything when you lead prayer?”
I froze because I knew the answer that I had to give. Not really. I made some excuse about how when I lead prayers, I had to worry about keys and guitar chords and that took away from my experience, but the truth was I had sat through plenty of services where I felt nothing. In fact, I could only count a handful of times when I had really ever felt something.
For the rest of the summer, I questioned myself every time I left services untransformed. I might be doing something wrong. Why spend so much time in prayer when so much of it feels rote? Why don’t I walk away a different person for having prayed?
In fact, it was wrestling with these questions that kept from applying to Rabbinical school in my senior year in college.
It’s taken me many years to realize that there was nothing wrong with me or my connection to Judaism. I simply wasn’t willing to give the tradition the time that it needed. I was impatient and wanted to have a transformative experience every time I opened my mouth in prayer, every time studied a little Torah, and every time I drank the Shabbat wine. I failed to see that these expectations were unrealistic. In fact, these expectations were antithetical to a lot of what the rabbis teach us about Jewish practice. Judaism is a religion only experienced through patience.
I want to give one example of the centrality of patience that appears in this week’s Torah portion, but to do so I have to make a short diversion. In this week’s portion we have a description of the Ir Hanididachat (the apostate city). The law of this city is simple. If as all the inhabitants of a city renounce God and begin to practice idolatry, their city should be destroyed. The Torah explains that one should make a bon fire in the middle of town and the whole city should go up in flames like Sodom and Gemorah.
Hundreds of years later, the Rabbis looked at this passage with the same discomfort that I imagine we are feeling today. However, the Rabbis were not willing to throw out the law. Instead, they re-imagined it. The rabbis understood that the only way a city could be considered an ir hanidachat is if it was first a practicing Jewish city that turned to idolatry. What does it mean to be a practicing Jewish city? That it has Torah scroll, Mezuzot, and prayerbooks.
Turning their attention to the line in the Torah that tells us to build a bon fire and burn everything, the rabbis ask: are we really allowed to burn everything in the city? Even the Torahs? Even the Mezuzot?
Therefore, the Rabbis made a rule: as long as there is at least one Mezuzah in the city we can’t fulfill the commandment to burn everything in the city (because we may not burn a mezuzah). A city with at least one mezuzah cannot be called an ir hanidachat and must be saved.
And since the Rabbis can’t imagine a practicing Jewish city without at least one Mezuzah they are forced to say: never has there been and never will there be an ir hanidachat.
Here we have ingenious solution to a troubling passage. However, there is one problem: if the idea of the ir hanidachat is irrelevant, why bother studying it? Why should we spend time studying anything that has no practical significance for us? Shouldn’t we walk away from every study session with some insight that will make us better Jews, better friends, better people?
The Rabbis have one answer, I have another. The Rabbis explain that one should study it because study itself it a mitzvoth (a commandment) and doing commandments, no matter their practicality) earn one a place in the world to come.
I want to add may own thoughts to this discussion. The reason we study about the ir hanidachat is because it helps teach us patience. Growing up, I had a neighbor whose hobby it was to make Nantucket baskets, those finely woven wicker baskets that sell for way too much in New England. This neighbor used to spend hours and hours, patiently weaving one strip of material in and out of another. If she thought that each moment was going to be an enlightening experience, she would have been very disappointed. The work was tedious. However, she knew that at some undetermined point she would be finished and her basket would be complete.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks explains that Jewish practices (like prayer and study) function in the same way to my neighbor’s baskets. Each time we pray, each time we study, each time we choose to eat Kosher food, we patiently weave under and over each stave of our basket. And when we are finished (and it might take day, months, or even years) we have made ourselves into a vessel, a container. Sacks goes on to explain that when God wants to give us blessings, God doesn’t put them on a platter in front of us, rather God throws them into the wind and allows us to gather them ourselves. Only with a basket can we catch God’s blessings. And only by prayer, study and other Jewish practices can we make this vessel.
Just as Nantucket baskets don’t last forever, so too our vessels don’t last forever. That’s because we has humans are always changing. And when we do, we must go through the patient process of weaving another basket.
Prayer isn’t supposed to connect us to God. Study shouldn’t make us enlightened. Rather each time we study, we move one step closer to creating our vessel, and basket in hand, begin to connect to God and begin to reach enlightenment. That’s why we study impractical sections like the laws of the ir handichat. These laws are just as good as any other for patiently weaving our basket.
Religion, like most things in life takes patience, and sometimes we might question why we do certain things. However, if it’s done with care, love, and foresight we walk away from our encounter just a little different, having woven one more piece of our baskets. Like water on a rock often this change cannot be seen immediately. But trusting that it will, is the essence of faith.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Avoiding army service: a precedent (Shev 35b)
Posted by
Marc
First of all, I didn't realize it but last post was our 100th post!
I don't want to get into the politics behind allowing the ultra-orthodox community in Israel to avoid army service. The issue deserves a better post than I can give it now. Until then check out this interesting article about the issue in the Jerusalem Post this past spring.
Leaving aside the issues on the ground, I was blown away by a Midrash on today's daf that seems to give precedent for allowing a subset of Yeshivah boys an exemption from the army.
According to the Talmud text, the line in Song of Songs, "My vineyard is before me. One thousand are for you, Shlomo (King Solomon), and two hundred are for those who guard [the vinyard's] fruits." (Song of Songs 8:12) actually deals with conscription in the army. The Talmud text goes on to elaborate on the meaning of this line. Taking Rashi's commentary, as well as a few lines from the 16th centurty commentator the Maharsha (Samuel Eidels), one can make the argument that the text is referring to the ratio of conscription: for every 1000 men that Solomon could enlist in his army, he had to leave 1/5th (200 men) behind to study Torah. Eidels's argument hangs on the idea that the Jewish people are referred as God's vineyard in Isaiah (5:7). Therefore, when the text says that one should "guard the vineyard" they mean they should look out for the welfare of the Jewish people. As it was rabbis who were writing this text, it makea sense that they believe that the highest form of protect of the Jewish people is the protection of the ideas and ideals that have sustained the Jewish people since Sinai (i.e. the Torah).
I was blown away by this text and spent some time looking on Google to find out of this text was ever used in defense of the huge numbers of ultra-Jews avoiding army service. I didn't find anything.
If anyone can help me, I'd be very interested to know if this text ever entered the public debate on topic and if so who brought it out?
I don't want to get into the politics behind allowing the ultra-orthodox community in Israel to avoid army service. The issue deserves a better post than I can give it now. Until then check out this interesting article about the issue in the Jerusalem Post this past spring.
Leaving aside the issues on the ground, I was blown away by a Midrash on today's daf that seems to give precedent for allowing a subset of Yeshivah boys an exemption from the army.
According to the Talmud text, the line in Song of Songs, "My vineyard is before me. One thousand are for you, Shlomo (King Solomon), and two hundred are for those who guard [the vinyard's] fruits." (Song of Songs 8:12) actually deals with conscription in the army. The Talmud text goes on to elaborate on the meaning of this line. Taking Rashi's commentary, as well as a few lines from the 16th centurty commentator the Maharsha (Samuel Eidels), one can make the argument that the text is referring to the ratio of conscription: for every 1000 men that Solomon could enlist in his army, he had to leave 1/5th (200 men) behind to study Torah. Eidels's argument hangs on the idea that the Jewish people are referred as God's vineyard in Isaiah (5:7). Therefore, when the text says that one should "guard the vineyard" they mean they should look out for the welfare of the Jewish people. As it was rabbis who were writing this text, it makea sense that they believe that the highest form of protect of the Jewish people is the protection of the ideas and ideals that have sustained the Jewish people since Sinai (i.e. the Torah).
I was blown away by this text and spent some time looking on Google to find out of this text was ever used in defense of the huge numbers of ultra-Jews avoiding army service. I didn't find anything.
If anyone can help me, I'd be very interested to know if this text ever entered the public debate on topic and if so who brought it out?
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