There is a new fellowship opportunity at JTS next year which will feature a weekly philosophy seminar and bring some of the leading Jewish thinkers to the class to talk about their work as we read it.
And it’s a paid gig, too. Sounds good to me. Below is the application essay for the seminar, an assignment to address the main issues in Jewish thought today. In some ways it's rhetoric, but I'm also interested in the translation of the issues to the practical, which I touch on in the essay itself.
The wording of the question: Describe what you think the main philosophical and theological issues confronting the Jewish thinker are. What methods should Jewish thought follow? What audiences should Jewish thought address? What external philosophical and theological frameworks should Jewish thought employ?
I also point you to a well articulated similar thesis by Rabbi Ethan Tucker, recently published in the Forward.
“The establishment of the State of Israel is the second challenge of the modern world to the survival of Judaism. The first challenge came about 150 years ago, with our emancipation from political and economic thralldom and with our admission into the body politic of western mankind. We have not yet recovered from the impact of that first challenge.” — Mordecai Menahem Kaplan, Delivered Dec. 6, 1949
The merits of Kaplan’s speech still ring true six decades later. The fundamental question that American Jews encounter today is to define Jewish identity in an age of unmatched autonomy. These questions are not new; they remain the fundamental questions of the modern age, one still very much with us in the 21st century.
Yet while the questions themselves endure, the contemporary scene presents untold challenges in terms of scale. As Chancellor Arnold Eisen frames the issue, 21st -century Judaism exists within an age of the “sovereign self,” a condition prevailing ever since Emancipation. Yet even to address the predicament of Judaism within modernity, the very discourse must be refreshed from that moment when Kaplan spoke to the Rabbinical Assembly of Conservative Judaism. Whereas Judaism as a religion and Israel as the center of its peoplehood had previously stood as fundamental presuppositions for philosophers and social leaders in the community, any contemporary scene ideology seems hollow compared to previous generations.
Before Judaism can truly engage in dialogue with modernity, a prior — and primary — task must be to bring Judaism into conversation with itself. Only then can we add those layers that continue to challenge the modern Jew. Earlier this semester, I heard contemporary Zionist thinker Hillel Halkin address why there is a decrease in Zionist fervor in Israeli society, saying that “the age of ideology is dead.” Whether or not, this verdict is hyperbolic or premature, such a comment compels the re-crafting of particular messages, particularly for Zionism, even if the message itself remains fundamentally the same.
During November this year, the New York Times published an article about a British court case, contesting whether a publicly-funded Jewish school could deny a child access based on religion. This decision was particularly charged, because the child was an observant Jew as defined halakhically, but the British chief rabbinate still refused to accept the supervision of the child’s mother’s conversion. This article soared up the “Most Read” chart on the website, surely indicating its pertinence for the Jewish readership of the New York Times as well as the sociological realities of American Judaism’s relationship to the media. But, more importantly, the British high court decision touched a nerve at the core of the religion, the essential question of our contemporary era: What does it mean to be Jewish? What comprises the meaning of Jewish identity?
In Israel, contemporary sociology addresses the ongoing definition of the Jewish state, particularly by dealing with a special subset of the wider question of Jewish peoplehood. The national flavor of “Israel” poses an even more basic question regarding the kind(s) of separation between Church and State. A few examples: Minister of Justice Yaakov Neeman recently declared that the law of the State of Israel should be the same as religious halakha. Similarly, Hesder Yeshiva rabbis have declared that the law of the land will not replace the law of God, so that Hesder students and soldiers thus feel conflicts between the authority of their rabbis and of their nation with regard to military actions. The Haredi community can nearly shut down the Intel plant in the Kiryat Sh’muel neighborhood of Jerusalem because it was open on Shabbat. And Nofrat Frenkel was arrested for wearing a talit at the Kotel. All these items manifest the central issue: whether indeed there is such a universally valid concept as the Jewish people or is it a fiction, reinforced throughout the collective memory, but actually variable according to geography and politics?
The question of what it means to be “Jewish” centers around discussion of Jewish peoplehood, of the “Israel” component of the philosophical triad, “God, Torah, Israel.” Today the American Jew finds herself in the freest society in the history of Judaism, all but free of anti-Semitic attacks, which historically forced the community to coalesce and necessarily defined Jewish identity, albeit from the hostile outside. Precisely because Jews have such autonomy in the world and because others on the outside are no longer defining Judaism, Jewish thought from the inside must now affirmatively restate in contemporary, yet fundamental terms the basic postulates of both faith and peoplehood. — What is Judaism? Who are the Jewish people? How does the Jewish people relate both to itself and to the Other? What meaning and degree of priority does the state of Israel hold in this context? All of this discussion will undoubtedly involve the halakhic definitions of a Jew in this discussion, but these issues also transcend legal arguments.
Virtually every segment of the American sociology shows Jews engaging with the non-Jewish world, and in many cases, defining this social work with Jewish language. This interaction can be seen most clearly in the wide spectrum of Jewish service organizations that serve the greatest needs in society, usually outside the Jewish community, but also throughout the philanthropic world.
Clearly, the modern Jew holds competing allegiances, multiple identities. But more accurately, the American Jew is a member of a series of concentric circles, which need not stand in opposition to one another, and in fact can effectively complement each other, if only they are so construed. In a world where individuals are engaging with “American” identities and “Jewish” identities, often within separate cultures, can we find a framework that honestly engages both American and Jewish identities within a larger, shared system? Indeed can there be some synthesis in the Hegelian sense of Jewish life within America? For me this dilemma remains an open question, one which personally I have struggled to reconcile over in the past several years. But affirmatively engaging both American (or even Israeli) and Jewish identities, the thesis and antithesis, provides the central task of Jewish thought in the 21st century.
Lest this description leads one to think that such a framework leads to a dilution of Judaism, with the infusion of American ideals, I will emphasize that democracy “fundamentally implies the right to be different,” as Rabbi Leo Jung stated in 1945 (“Religion in the American Dream,” The Orthodox Union, June 1945, 4). The articulation of strong particularist ideals is essential for religion to thrive in the land of autonomy.
Part of this thinking about particularist ideals must clearly engage with how other religions are addressing the same issues of engaging both the particular and the national-universal. Communities across the country are engaging in “inter-faith” dialogue, of commonalities across cultures, of social action for the communities they each share. The framework that other religions are using of Americanism and that religion are the best partners that Jewish thought has.
During an era when anti-religion, anti-God manifestos, soar up the best-seller charts, engaging religion from the center, from various religious perspectives, serves as the only way to engage such polar attacks. By describing in positive terms the redemptive qualities of religion, of the particular, religion in turn stakes a claim for itself on the American landscape as a contributor to democratic ideals. What is Jewish peoplehood? Paradoxically through the particular, the American Jew, and for that matter every other religionist in the United States, declares democratic ideals more powerfully than a polemical attack ever could. But this is the case only when religion is framed in such a context of being both universalistic and particularist in and of itself.
The question arises: why America in particular? What about the rest of the world? What about Israel? Indeed all of these are important questions, but I am writing from my own perspective, and one that I think is underserved. Additionally, the point of American Jewish identity is the starting point, by definition, for American Jews. Perhaps the land and state of Israel should indeed be the ontological presupposition of Jewish peoplehood, indeed an Ahad Ha’am-ist view of the cultural epicenter of the Jewish nation. Throughout all of this, these issues represent the fundamental importance of engagement with these issues, of redefining and reframing “Israel” for contemporary Jewish thought. For Jewish thought to be relevant, it must engage with the fundamental issues the day, which by definition are those which occur on the ground.
The Seminary’s decision to change the name of the philosophy department to the department of “Jewish thought” reflects the emphasis of looking outward and expressing thoughts rather than looking inside to find Truth. For Jewish thought to be relevant, it must be conducted in the matrix of the community. And it is precisely for this reason, that engaging with Jewish peoplehood in the 21st century must be the central issue in Jewish thought.
Showing posts with label Food for thought. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Food for thought. Show all posts
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
A response to Halkin — from a teacher
One of the educators on our Thursday informal programs through Israel recently published what I read partly as a response to Halkin's talk with our group. Alex Sinclair's article Why Silence over Israel's wrongs is anti-Zionist mandates American engagement with Israel, and condemns Halkin's explicit Israel-centrism of the relationship.
It's well written. Based on what you know from the previous post, I'd be interested in your feedback on how it relates to my own thoughts.
Follow-up questions for Alex are how to make these proposals happen in the micro, on the ground.
Below is the article from Haaretz:
Why silence over Israel's wrongs is anti-Zionist
By Alex Sinclair
Israel is not living up to its potential, and one reason for that is because American Jews have not insisted that their voices be heard.
The recent flood of articles and essays about American Jews "losing their love" for Israel is based not only on a misguided conception of Israel-Diaspora relations, but also on a misguided conception of what a loving relationship is about.
There is a famous Rashi on Genesis 2:18, in which God decides to create a partner for Adam. The Biblical narrator has God say "It is not good for man to be alone; I will make him a helper against him." The Hebrew here, "ezer k'negdo," is tricky, and has always perplexed translators. Some try "corresponding to him," some try "beside him," some try "fitting." None of these captures the oddness of the Hebrew.
Rashi comments as follows: "If he is worthy: a helper; if he is not worthy: against him, to fight with him." Generations of rabbis have used this beautiful comment to talk about the complexity of the relationship between spouses, and to suggest that a true marriage is based on the ability and willingness to give honest and critical feedback to one's spouse if they lose their way. A spouse is not a yes-man (or woman); a spouse is someone who disagrees with you when you are wrong.
The current crisis - and it is a crisis, make no mistake about it - in the relationship between American Jewry and Israel is because we have forgotten this Rashi.
We need to remember this Rashi because it suggests that American Jews should offer angry, vocal, confrontational critique when they feel that Israel is practicing particular policies that they find unworthy. Note the word that Rashi uses: "to fight." Not just to critique, not just to gently remind, not just to seek to influence, but to shout, to confront, to demand to be heard.
If we want American Jews and Israel to be in a truly deep relationship, then we need to enable American Jews to be the ezer k'negdo, the helping spouse who fights. After all, they do enough helping. We can't ask American Jews to support us, visit us, give us their money, and be inspired by us, without allowing them - demanding of them - to tell us what they think. It is taxation without representation. It is an abuse of the relationship between us. It is blasphemy to the very notion of a Jewish state.
This approach will ultimately lead to a much richer marriage between American Jews and Israel. Young American Jews throw their weight behind other causes, causes where demands are made on them, where they are encouraged to fight against injustice, to debate, to create change. We don't give them these opportunities with Israel. Go and change the world, we say; but when it comes to Israel, you must close off your creative energies, your critical thinking, your fiery emotions, and just support politely from the sidelines. No wonder they are not interested.
Young American Jews will not develop renewed commitment to Israel unless we demand that they make demands; that they become the ezer k'negdo. Every Jewish day school should require every single student to join an Israeli political party. Every synagogue should do the same for its members. When American Jewish groups come here on missions, they should be doing so not just to support, but also to demand, to critique, to tell us where we are going wrong.
The lack of American Jewish voices in modern Israel is a tragedy. Israel, for all its wonders, its achievements, and its robustness, is not living up to its potential, and one of the reasons for that gap is the lack of American Jewish voices in its culture, religion, and politics.
Thomas Friedman writes more perceptively about Israeli politics than any Israeli journalist or politician; why are his pieces not regularly and immediately translated into Hebrew? Abraham Joshua Heschel revolutionized our understanding of Jewish spirituality; most religious Israelis have never heard of him. Diaspora Jewish educational thinkers and practitioners have made enormous strides in working out how to get Jews of different religious streams to sit, talk, and learn together; Israel is decades behind. There are countless other examples. Both sides are at fault. Israelis have been too stubborn, too arrogant, or too busy, to listen; but American Jews have not been willing to be the ezer k'negdo, the spouse who fights.
Israel is not living up to its potential, and one reason for that is because American Jews have not insisted that their voices be heard. This is scandalous. It is anti-Zionist. It is suicidal. It must change
It's well written. Based on what you know from the previous post, I'd be interested in your feedback on how it relates to my own thoughts.
Follow-up questions for Alex are how to make these proposals happen in the micro, on the ground.
Below is the article from Haaretz:
Why silence over Israel's wrongs is anti-Zionist
By Alex Sinclair
Israel is not living up to its potential, and one reason for that is because American Jews have not insisted that their voices be heard.
The recent flood of articles and essays about American Jews "losing their love" for Israel is based not only on a misguided conception of Israel-Diaspora relations, but also on a misguided conception of what a loving relationship is about.
There is a famous Rashi on Genesis 2:18, in which God decides to create a partner for Adam. The Biblical narrator has God say "It is not good for man to be alone; I will make him a helper against him." The Hebrew here, "ezer k'negdo," is tricky, and has always perplexed translators. Some try "corresponding to him," some try "beside him," some try "fitting." None of these captures the oddness of the Hebrew.
Rashi comments as follows: "If he is worthy: a helper; if he is not worthy: against him, to fight with him." Generations of rabbis have used this beautiful comment to talk about the complexity of the relationship between spouses, and to suggest that a true marriage is based on the ability and willingness to give honest and critical feedback to one's spouse if they lose their way. A spouse is not a yes-man (or woman); a spouse is someone who disagrees with you when you are wrong.
The current crisis - and it is a crisis, make no mistake about it - in the relationship between American Jewry and Israel is because we have forgotten this Rashi.
We need to remember this Rashi because it suggests that American Jews should offer angry, vocal, confrontational critique when they feel that Israel is practicing particular policies that they find unworthy. Note the word that Rashi uses: "to fight." Not just to critique, not just to gently remind, not just to seek to influence, but to shout, to confront, to demand to be heard.
If we want American Jews and Israel to be in a truly deep relationship, then we need to enable American Jews to be the ezer k'negdo, the helping spouse who fights. After all, they do enough helping. We can't ask American Jews to support us, visit us, give us their money, and be inspired by us, without allowing them - demanding of them - to tell us what they think. It is taxation without representation. It is an abuse of the relationship between us. It is blasphemy to the very notion of a Jewish state.
This approach will ultimately lead to a much richer marriage between American Jews and Israel. Young American Jews throw their weight behind other causes, causes where demands are made on them, where they are encouraged to fight against injustice, to debate, to create change. We don't give them these opportunities with Israel. Go and change the world, we say; but when it comes to Israel, you must close off your creative energies, your critical thinking, your fiery emotions, and just support politely from the sidelines. No wonder they are not interested.
Young American Jews will not develop renewed commitment to Israel unless we demand that they make demands; that they become the ezer k'negdo. Every Jewish day school should require every single student to join an Israeli political party. Every synagogue should do the same for its members. When American Jewish groups come here on missions, they should be doing so not just to support, but also to demand, to critique, to tell us where we are going wrong.
The lack of American Jewish voices in modern Israel is a tragedy. Israel, for all its wonders, its achievements, and its robustness, is not living up to its potential, and one of the reasons for that gap is the lack of American Jewish voices in its culture, religion, and politics.
Thomas Friedman writes more perceptively about Israeli politics than any Israeli journalist or politician; why are his pieces not regularly and immediately translated into Hebrew? Abraham Joshua Heschel revolutionized our understanding of Jewish spirituality; most religious Israelis have never heard of him. Diaspora Jewish educational thinkers and practitioners have made enormous strides in working out how to get Jews of different religious streams to sit, talk, and learn together; Israel is decades behind. There are countless other examples. Both sides are at fault. Israelis have been too stubborn, too arrogant, or too busy, to listen; but American Jews have not been willing to be the ezer k'negdo, the spouse who fights.
Israel is not living up to its potential, and one reason for that is because American Jews have not insisted that their voices be heard. This is scandalous. It is anti-Zionist. It is suicidal. It must change
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Supporting Israel from the Diaspora — What does it mean?
Israel is one of the greatest human adventures of all time. A people absent from its land for 1500 years, whatever, driven from one corner of the earth to the other. Standing up for its beliefs. Suddenly comes back and reconstitutes itself as a full functioning society. Where else do you have such a story in the annals of the human race? Such tenacity! Such identity! To be able to come back to the original source and reconstitute itself. We have stood up for the rights of small people as no other has. We stand up for others — we want to save the whales, the whooping cranes. The struggle of the Jews is the struggle of small cultures everywhere — of the Indians in the Amazon, of the Inuits in Alaska, the Tibetans in China. We are one of the few people that has survived as a culture. The story of Israel is the story of survival of the small culture.
- Hillel Halkin, author and translator, from a meeting we had on Thursday, 12 Nov. in Zikhron Yaakov, Israel.
On Thursday we journeyed north to Hod HaSharon, Kfar Sababa and Zikhron Yaakov to visit Masorti Congregations and speak about Conservative Judaism in Israel.
Hillel Halkin, who writes for Commentary, has written a few books of his own and translated some of the Israeli classics, concluded the day. He got us all thinking. (for a few articles, see here and here).
It’s not that he doesn’t care about American Judaism. It’s that he wants us to care more about Israel than he does about America. And he realizes that this is hypocritical.
He voiced particular displeasure toward the recent actions of the organized American left (read JStreet) voicing opinions in moral absolutes, as voyeurs on a situation which they interact with from afar.
He voiced frustration with the very formulation of moral absolutes, particularly in terms of defense. American liberals really can attempt to explore the moral ramifications of checkpoints?
Why support the government of Israel? Because they are the democratically elected representatives of the state. After one takes part in that democratic process, protest away — but be a part of it first.
The issue transcends the particularist political view, though. For right-wingers, as well, supporting the settler movement from the Diaspora was encouraging an oppressive state. If people had such ideologies, they should get up and find their favorite hill in the Shomron (Samaria).
What does all this practically mean? He compares the ethics of the Diaspora toward to those of his youth, when he and other like-minded Jews headed down to Alabama during the Civil Rights movement. They did good work for a year. But in the end, they left after a year. And Black Alabamans stayed living in Alabama.
“The ethics of the Diaspora are like the ethics of Jews like me in Alabama — doing a little here and a little there,” he said. “Here everything is our problem. This is the test of Jewish ethnicity. If we can’t make it work here, then it’s not worth anything.”
It isn’t that there is not a role for Diaspora Jews in Israel. But that there should not be an illusion of what that service is.
I picked up Halkin’s book, Letters to an American Jewish Friend: A Zionist's Polemic, Sunday at the library. It still has me thinking, frustrated and confused. What is my place here as a continual visitor in Israel? Is there a place for support from the outside? Am I really “on trial” during my visit to Israel, as he stresses repeatedly during the book? Should I be?
In many ways, I felt that Halkin was speaking directly to me on Thursday. I’m about a third of the way through his book — same story.
He presents the metaphor of a person who enters a synagogue and wants people to come up and welcome him:
“There is still a third possibility. This time our visitor has no wish to evade the ambiguous nature of his relationship, it s in the hope of resolving it that he has so eagerly looked to his visit, although at the same time he is apprehensive of being questioned by the congregants and unsure of what to reply. Inside he is disappointed to find that the building is not terribly attractive and that he service is noisy and indecorous; yet he is nevertheless drawn to its dramatic location and to the stark but haunting view with its powerful associations by feelings he cannot deny. In fact, when he rises to leave in the end, he lingers for a moment by the door in the hope that he will be approached after all, since there’s a thought he needs to get off his chest— and this doesn’t happen he lapses into dialogue with himself. “Will you join our congregations?” he asks, taking the part of an imaginary congregant. And he answers: “Your question doesn’t surprise me, and I’m even glad that you asked. Yet, if I may speak frankly, your building is too unattractive to me and your service too foreign for this to be possible. I could never feel ant home with them, and I would be untrue to myself if I allowed myself to think that I could. But I will continue to take and interest in your fortunes, which I know are related to mine, and to remember you fondly when I leave; and I will certainly make every attempt to visit you here again soon.” And with that he drops a modest sum, though it’s perhaps all he has in his pockets, into the donation box, makes a humorous remark to keep the moment from becoming too solemn and walks pensively out the door” (30).
Underlying this paragraph is that one needs to have more than a “shrug and nervous laugh” in relationship to why not live in Israel — particularly after spending a significant amount of time here.
It assumes, in Heschelian language, that Israel is the “ontological presupposition” of Jewish peoplehood, that the experience of Israel and engaging with the fullness of the Jewish nation in Israel presupposes any knowledge of the reality as such.
And while I rarely hear things framed thusly, perhaps there’s something to it — Why aren’t you living in Israel?
Maybe that should be the formulation of the question. Are we afraid of it?
I have several reasons why living in America is best for me individually, and communally, too. A few for why living in Israel isn’t the right fit, as well — some of which are selfish in orientation, some which have more solid backing.
But through this all, what then does it mean to “support” Israel from the Diaspora. Political support? Louis Brandeis’ monetary Zionism of the second decade of last century? Education about Zionism as a fundamental component of Jewish identity?
Halkin comments:
“It all very kind of Jews in New York or Los Angeles to wish to express their solidarity with us in the face of such a scandal and to find no better way to do so than to wear “I am a Zionist” buttons like carnations in their lapels, but since a Zionist is precisely what none of them is — for what Zionism happens to involve is the Jewish decision not to live in Los Angeles or New York — they are doing no one any service by confusing the issue even further” (19).
This is an oversimplification, to be sure.
But castigating it just for the reason that you disagree with it is also silly. What is wrong about the statement? Formulate an alternative in positive terms.
In my mind there is a combination of factors which contribute to answer this central question, chief among them education about Israel’s place in the history of the Jewish people. Putting on a button, waving a flag, very well might be a part of the emotional outpouring of the relationship with Israel, in fact it probably has to be. But that is not the relationship at its core.
Halkin cites a series of statistics about the downfall of Judaism in the Diaspora, of ignorance, of assimilation. While it is not “assimilation,” as such, I could just as easily cite the similar religious ignorance in Israel, even in an enveloping Jewish state, a lack of Zionist ideology, as well.
Halkin himself stated on Thursday that "The age of ideology is dead — now the hard work begins." That is not unique to Zionism, but indeed a primal factor of life in the post-modern world, a term which I dislike, but recognizes this paradigm shift most readily.
Such is the polemical approach, one which I wish Halkin didn’t take. He didn’t needed it, and it is counterproductive.
The underlying question in my mind is there such thing as Jewish nationhood outside of Israel. Is there such thing as it in general, quite frankly?
On Thursday, Halkin suggested that Israel represents Jewish ideology and ethics in action, the activation of a living tradition, the test of the fabric of the religion itself.
Indeed, Israel Friedlaender (my favorite Zionist, if you’re keeping track at home) voiced this sentiment 100 years ago, while the state was but a dream:
We Jews love Palestine, not because it tickles our political ambitions, or allures us with material prospects, but because we fervently hope that those great ideals which were proclaimed in ancient Palestine thousands of years ago may once more be realized in modern Palestine, not only for the benefit of the Jews, but as an object-lesson for the whole of humanity. “For out of Zion shall come forth the Law, and the word of the Lord out of Jerusalem."1
Goosebumps, really. Beautiful stuff. Friedlaender was killed by a gang in 1920, in his forties, while on a relief mission to Russia. It is amazing to think what he would have accomplished with more years.
Yet where Halkin differs from Friedlaender is his polemic against the Diaspora. These pillars of Jewish peoplehood, of nationhood, are not irreconcilable poles, but necessary compliments to the other. I understand that, again, I cite from a document a century old. But the contemporary relevance is uncanny2 (this is a long source, but is gold, Jerry, GOLD. Read to the end, please. I also guarantee that you haven’t read it — unless you hang out in the JTS archives):
As one who follows carefully your public utterances, I may be forgiven for saying that your remarks about Nationalism and Zionism do not seem to me to be wholly justified. I would not say a word if Nationalism and Zionism would actually be guilty of what you attribute to them. We would simply have to respect your convictions, though they be unfriendly to us. But, it seems to me that neither Nationalism nor Zionism, as generally understood and advocated by their representatives, deserve your strictures. When Jewish nationalists speak of the Jews as a Nation, this does not at all imply that they have, or should have, a political government. The word is merely used in the meaning, which it has all over Europe, i.e., in that of a community bound together, not only by the ties of religion, but also by the bonds of common birth (from the Latin natio), in the same way as they speak in Europe of a Polish nation…. It is true, the term “nation” has assumed a somewhat different connotation in America, but I am sure that few, if any, Jewish nationalists use the word in the sense which you attribute to them. The best proof for this is the fact that there are thousands of Jews, right here in this city, who call themselves Jewish nationalists, but are not Zionists and are, in many cases, even anti-Zionists.
As for Zionism, you [sic] contention would be justified if Zionism were to teach that all Jews must leave the lands of their abode and settle in Palestine. Such exaggerated notions may have found isolated expression in the first beginnings of the Movement, when the wonderful personality of Dr. Herzl made the impossible appear possible. But, I can assure you that no responsible advocate of Zionism upholds this idea. All that Zionism, as generally understood, hopes and works for, is that of the twelve million Jews, who are scattered all over the world and are, or should become, part and parcel of the commonwealth in which they live, a fraction, let us say, one or two millions, shall settle in the land of their Ancestors where, undisturbed by any non-Jewish or anti-Jewish influences, they may develop a genuine Jewish culture and may give full and unrestricted expression to our great Jewish ideals. If I may speak for myself, I am a strong believer in the future of American Jewry, which, I hope, will grow in numbers and in powers and will be equally American and Jewish, and I dream of the time when American Judaism will be as great and as glorious as was Judaism in Spain. But I cannot possibly see any contradiction in believeing [sic], at the same time, that there will be a Jewish settlement in Palestine, which, under the suzerainty of Turkey, will live the life of a free people, will build up our historic home, will speak our historic message, will cherish our great religion with its historic institutions and will foster our lofty historic ideals, so that, far from interfering with the Jews in other countries, the Jewish centre in Palestine may be a source of inspiration and instruction for them and that the law may once more, come forth from Zion and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.3
Thus, education about Judaism fundamentally is also teaching about Jewish nationhood. Jewish nationalism fundamentally is not restricted to Israel, though Israel is an, even the, essential part of this discussion in 2009. Is Jewish peoplehood really dead, as Halkin suggests here?
I have more faith in Judaism than that.
The above thoughts didn’t emerge from Halkin alone. Such feelings don’t exist in a vacuum.
After a long talk with a good friend, I no longer feel the painful discomfort that I had over the past week. My autonomy really does matter, as do the contributions which I hope to contribute to Jewish nationhood, to Jewish civilization, in the Diaspora. The discomfort will undoubtedly reappear. Israel has had that affect on people for centuries.
Halkin’s views certainly have merit. To dismiss them is easy to do because of simple discomfort. But that precisely is the “nervous laugh” which he pins right back on the individual. Encountering this view is an essential component of being honest to the very fabric of her being.
Israel perhaps should be the ontological presupposition of modern Jewish nationhood— we should at least think to frame it in those terms.
And some do.
In Hebrew the letter “Vav” (ו) can be both conjunctive and disjunctive. Two years ago, we studied an example in Talmud where Rashi and the Ritba read the course of a sugya in completely opposite ways, depending on whether that vav meant “but” or “and.” I’ll leave it ambiguous here, too.
Vav there’s good stuff happening in America. I’ve seen it. There’s a need for hard work across the Jewish nation.
--
1. Friedlaender, “Palestine and the Diaspora,” in Past and Present, (Burning Bush Press: New York, 1961), 333
2. Chancellor Arnie Eisen also noted the startling parallels:
It is positively eerie to read Israel Friedlaender’s essay of a century ago and consider how utterly contemporary its formulations remain. The awesome events we call the Holocaust and Israel still lay far in the future. The successes of the present-day Jewish community in this country were unimagined and unimaginable. Yet the quandaries Friedlaender posed are still our quandaries for the most part, his commonplaces and assumptions closely resemble ours, his evasions are the ones to which we too resort. Even the conception of the American Jewish situation as ‘problem’ remains in full force despite achievements and opportunities which should have made us, long since, far more confident of our present as well as our future.
See: Eisen, “The Problem is still very much with us,” Conservative Judaism, Volume 56, Special Supplement, 2004, 20
3. Letter from Friedlaender to Jacob Schiff, April 10, 1911, Archives of the Jewish Theological Seminary
- Hillel Halkin, author and translator, from a meeting we had on Thursday, 12 Nov. in Zikhron Yaakov, Israel.
On Thursday we journeyed north to Hod HaSharon, Kfar Sababa and Zikhron Yaakov to visit Masorti Congregations and speak about Conservative Judaism in Israel.
Hillel Halkin, who writes for Commentary, has written a few books of his own and translated some of the Israeli classics, concluded the day. He got us all thinking. (for a few articles, see here and here).
It’s not that he doesn’t care about American Judaism. It’s that he wants us to care more about Israel than he does about America. And he realizes that this is hypocritical.
He voiced particular displeasure toward the recent actions of the organized American left (read JStreet) voicing opinions in moral absolutes, as voyeurs on a situation which they interact with from afar.
He voiced frustration with the very formulation of moral absolutes, particularly in terms of defense. American liberals really can attempt to explore the moral ramifications of checkpoints?
Why support the government of Israel? Because they are the democratically elected representatives of the state. After one takes part in that democratic process, protest away — but be a part of it first.
The issue transcends the particularist political view, though. For right-wingers, as well, supporting the settler movement from the Diaspora was encouraging an oppressive state. If people had such ideologies, they should get up and find their favorite hill in the Shomron (Samaria).
What does all this practically mean? He compares the ethics of the Diaspora toward to those of his youth, when he and other like-minded Jews headed down to Alabama during the Civil Rights movement. They did good work for a year. But in the end, they left after a year. And Black Alabamans stayed living in Alabama.
“The ethics of the Diaspora are like the ethics of Jews like me in Alabama — doing a little here and a little there,” he said. “Here everything is our problem. This is the test of Jewish ethnicity. If we can’t make it work here, then it’s not worth anything.”
It isn’t that there is not a role for Diaspora Jews in Israel. But that there should not be an illusion of what that service is.
I picked up Halkin’s book, Letters to an American Jewish Friend: A Zionist's Polemic, Sunday at the library. It still has me thinking, frustrated and confused. What is my place here as a continual visitor in Israel? Is there a place for support from the outside? Am I really “on trial” during my visit to Israel, as he stresses repeatedly during the book? Should I be?
In many ways, I felt that Halkin was speaking directly to me on Thursday. I’m about a third of the way through his book — same story.
He presents the metaphor of a person who enters a synagogue and wants people to come up and welcome him:
“There is still a third possibility. This time our visitor has no wish to evade the ambiguous nature of his relationship, it s in the hope of resolving it that he has so eagerly looked to his visit, although at the same time he is apprehensive of being questioned by the congregants and unsure of what to reply. Inside he is disappointed to find that the building is not terribly attractive and that he service is noisy and indecorous; yet he is nevertheless drawn to its dramatic location and to the stark but haunting view with its powerful associations by feelings he cannot deny. In fact, when he rises to leave in the end, he lingers for a moment by the door in the hope that he will be approached after all, since there’s a thought he needs to get off his chest— and this doesn’t happen he lapses into dialogue with himself. “Will you join our congregations?” he asks, taking the part of an imaginary congregant. And he answers: “Your question doesn’t surprise me, and I’m even glad that you asked. Yet, if I may speak frankly, your building is too unattractive to me and your service too foreign for this to be possible. I could never feel ant home with them, and I would be untrue to myself if I allowed myself to think that I could. But I will continue to take and interest in your fortunes, which I know are related to mine, and to remember you fondly when I leave; and I will certainly make every attempt to visit you here again soon.” And with that he drops a modest sum, though it’s perhaps all he has in his pockets, into the donation box, makes a humorous remark to keep the moment from becoming too solemn and walks pensively out the door” (30).
Underlying this paragraph is that one needs to have more than a “shrug and nervous laugh” in relationship to why not live in Israel — particularly after spending a significant amount of time here.
It assumes, in Heschelian language, that Israel is the “ontological presupposition” of Jewish peoplehood, that the experience of Israel and engaging with the fullness of the Jewish nation in Israel presupposes any knowledge of the reality as such.
And while I rarely hear things framed thusly, perhaps there’s something to it — Why aren’t you living in Israel?
Maybe that should be the formulation of the question. Are we afraid of it?
I have several reasons why living in America is best for me individually, and communally, too. A few for why living in Israel isn’t the right fit, as well — some of which are selfish in orientation, some which have more solid backing.
But through this all, what then does it mean to “support” Israel from the Diaspora. Political support? Louis Brandeis’ monetary Zionism of the second decade of last century? Education about Zionism as a fundamental component of Jewish identity?
Halkin comments:
“It all very kind of Jews in New York or Los Angeles to wish to express their solidarity with us in the face of such a scandal and to find no better way to do so than to wear “I am a Zionist” buttons like carnations in their lapels, but since a Zionist is precisely what none of them is — for what Zionism happens to involve is the Jewish decision not to live in Los Angeles or New York — they are doing no one any service by confusing the issue even further” (19).
This is an oversimplification, to be sure.
But castigating it just for the reason that you disagree with it is also silly. What is wrong about the statement? Formulate an alternative in positive terms.
In my mind there is a combination of factors which contribute to answer this central question, chief among them education about Israel’s place in the history of the Jewish people. Putting on a button, waving a flag, very well might be a part of the emotional outpouring of the relationship with Israel, in fact it probably has to be. But that is not the relationship at its core.
Halkin cites a series of statistics about the downfall of Judaism in the Diaspora, of ignorance, of assimilation. While it is not “assimilation,” as such, I could just as easily cite the similar religious ignorance in Israel, even in an enveloping Jewish state, a lack of Zionist ideology, as well.
Halkin himself stated on Thursday that "The age of ideology is dead — now the hard work begins." That is not unique to Zionism, but indeed a primal factor of life in the post-modern world, a term which I dislike, but recognizes this paradigm shift most readily.
Such is the polemical approach, one which I wish Halkin didn’t take. He didn’t needed it, and it is counterproductive.
The underlying question in my mind is there such thing as Jewish nationhood outside of Israel. Is there such thing as it in general, quite frankly?
On Thursday, Halkin suggested that Israel represents Jewish ideology and ethics in action, the activation of a living tradition, the test of the fabric of the religion itself.
Indeed, Israel Friedlaender (my favorite Zionist, if you’re keeping track at home) voiced this sentiment 100 years ago, while the state was but a dream:
We Jews love Palestine, not because it tickles our political ambitions, or allures us with material prospects, but because we fervently hope that those great ideals which were proclaimed in ancient Palestine thousands of years ago may once more be realized in modern Palestine, not only for the benefit of the Jews, but as an object-lesson for the whole of humanity. “For out of Zion shall come forth the Law, and the word of the Lord out of Jerusalem."1
Goosebumps, really. Beautiful stuff. Friedlaender was killed by a gang in 1920, in his forties, while on a relief mission to Russia. It is amazing to think what he would have accomplished with more years.
Yet where Halkin differs from Friedlaender is his polemic against the Diaspora. These pillars of Jewish peoplehood, of nationhood, are not irreconcilable poles, but necessary compliments to the other. I understand that, again, I cite from a document a century old. But the contemporary relevance is uncanny2 (this is a long source, but is gold, Jerry, GOLD. Read to the end, please. I also guarantee that you haven’t read it — unless you hang out in the JTS archives):
As one who follows carefully your public utterances, I may be forgiven for saying that your remarks about Nationalism and Zionism do not seem to me to be wholly justified. I would not say a word if Nationalism and Zionism would actually be guilty of what you attribute to them. We would simply have to respect your convictions, though they be unfriendly to us. But, it seems to me that neither Nationalism nor Zionism, as generally understood and advocated by their representatives, deserve your strictures. When Jewish nationalists speak of the Jews as a Nation, this does not at all imply that they have, or should have, a political government. The word is merely used in the meaning, which it has all over Europe, i.e., in that of a community bound together, not only by the ties of religion, but also by the bonds of common birth (from the Latin natio), in the same way as they speak in Europe of a Polish nation…. It is true, the term “nation” has assumed a somewhat different connotation in America, but I am sure that few, if any, Jewish nationalists use the word in the sense which you attribute to them. The best proof for this is the fact that there are thousands of Jews, right here in this city, who call themselves Jewish nationalists, but are not Zionists and are, in many cases, even anti-Zionists.
As for Zionism, you [sic] contention would be justified if Zionism were to teach that all Jews must leave the lands of their abode and settle in Palestine. Such exaggerated notions may have found isolated expression in the first beginnings of the Movement, when the wonderful personality of Dr. Herzl made the impossible appear possible. But, I can assure you that no responsible advocate of Zionism upholds this idea. All that Zionism, as generally understood, hopes and works for, is that of the twelve million Jews, who are scattered all over the world and are, or should become, part and parcel of the commonwealth in which they live, a fraction, let us say, one or two millions, shall settle in the land of their Ancestors where, undisturbed by any non-Jewish or anti-Jewish influences, they may develop a genuine Jewish culture and may give full and unrestricted expression to our great Jewish ideals. If I may speak for myself, I am a strong believer in the future of American Jewry, which, I hope, will grow in numbers and in powers and will be equally American and Jewish, and I dream of the time when American Judaism will be as great and as glorious as was Judaism in Spain. But I cannot possibly see any contradiction in believeing [sic], at the same time, that there will be a Jewish settlement in Palestine, which, under the suzerainty of Turkey, will live the life of a free people, will build up our historic home, will speak our historic message, will cherish our great religion with its historic institutions and will foster our lofty historic ideals, so that, far from interfering with the Jews in other countries, the Jewish centre in Palestine may be a source of inspiration and instruction for them and that the law may once more, come forth from Zion and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.3
Thus, education about Judaism fundamentally is also teaching about Jewish nationhood. Jewish nationalism fundamentally is not restricted to Israel, though Israel is an, even the, essential part of this discussion in 2009. Is Jewish peoplehood really dead, as Halkin suggests here?
I have more faith in Judaism than that.
The above thoughts didn’t emerge from Halkin alone. Such feelings don’t exist in a vacuum.
After a long talk with a good friend, I no longer feel the painful discomfort that I had over the past week. My autonomy really does matter, as do the contributions which I hope to contribute to Jewish nationhood, to Jewish civilization, in the Diaspora. The discomfort will undoubtedly reappear. Israel has had that affect on people for centuries.
Halkin’s views certainly have merit. To dismiss them is easy to do because of simple discomfort. But that precisely is the “nervous laugh” which he pins right back on the individual. Encountering this view is an essential component of being honest to the very fabric of her being.
Israel perhaps should be the ontological presupposition of modern Jewish nationhood— we should at least think to frame it in those terms.
And some do.
In Hebrew the letter “Vav” (ו) can be both conjunctive and disjunctive. Two years ago, we studied an example in Talmud where Rashi and the Ritba read the course of a sugya in completely opposite ways, depending on whether that vav meant “but” or “and.” I’ll leave it ambiguous here, too.
Vav there’s good stuff happening in America. I’ve seen it. There’s a need for hard work across the Jewish nation.
--
1. Friedlaender, “Palestine and the Diaspora,” in Past and Present, (Burning Bush Press: New York, 1961), 333
2. Chancellor Arnie Eisen also noted the startling parallels:
It is positively eerie to read Israel Friedlaender’s essay of a century ago and consider how utterly contemporary its formulations remain. The awesome events we call the Holocaust and Israel still lay far in the future. The successes of the present-day Jewish community in this country were unimagined and unimaginable. Yet the quandaries Friedlaender posed are still our quandaries for the most part, his commonplaces and assumptions closely resemble ours, his evasions are the ones to which we too resort. Even the conception of the American Jewish situation as ‘problem’ remains in full force despite achievements and opportunities which should have made us, long since, far more confident of our present as well as our future.
See: Eisen, “The Problem is still very much with us,” Conservative Judaism, Volume 56, Special Supplement, 2004, 20
3. Letter from Friedlaender to Jacob Schiff, April 10, 1911, Archives of the Jewish Theological Seminary
Monday, October 26, 2009
Polarities in Balance — The morning prayer experience
Last year, I wrote this dvar Torah for a class on Biblical theology. It centers around a theology of tensions, of looking for polarities in the course of every day life and a middle path that transcends them. It speaks of complicating the picture, of finding beauty in between. There will a series of posts on this, too.
For now, exploring the morning Shacharit service. For later, some stories and thoughts about living in Israel, which will include tales of laughter and joy, reflection of all kinds.
And away we go.
Each morning, the liturgy takes us on a metaphysical journey to the origins of existence. As early as the very first prayer of the morning Shacharit service, we meditate on creation, taking us back to the Beginning, a world of polarities in balance and with God as the ultimate sovereign of the universe who literally creates everything. Every day, each individual is forced to contemplate the radical amazement of the world around her.
We are not allowed to become normalized to the wonder of creation, as it would be so easy to do — we must attempt to engage with the process each morning. Yet beyond celebrating a God of a singular Creation, the prayer extends in subsequent paragraphs to express that we are witness to radical amazement each day, that God perpetually bears a new creation, hamehadesh b’tuvo b’chol yom tamid maaseh breisheit (God, in his goodness, renews creation day after day) — the miracle continues and we have an obligation to acknowledge it as such.
But is this impossible? Can we really take hold of the weight of creation each day? “If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life,” British novelist George Eliot once wrote, “it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel’s heartbeat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence.”1
We will never actually bear witness to the face of God, to the transcendent power of the Infinite. Doing so would give us a similar fate to the Nazis in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Last Ark, whose faces melt from the Awe of the Arc of the Covenant — the power of the squirrel’s heartbeat literally has the power to destroy us if we had the knowledge of how nature actually functions in a cosmic sense.
But pausing to reflect on moments of radical amazement, no matter how accustomed we may be to them, is a divine obligation.2 Particularly during the morning hours, when the sun tangibly alters and affects our lives, we vocalize God as the Creator.3 In the words of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, “He who has ever gone through a moment of radical insight cannot be a witness to God’s non-existence without laying perjury to the soul.”4 Will we bear witness to wonder each morning? Perhaps not. But we have to try.
With the clear underlying goal of sanctifying creation in the first bracha (prayer) during Shacharit, it is noteworthy that the liturgical codifiers choose to refer to the creation narrative as expressed in Isaiah 45:7, not Genesis. Additionally, the liturgist alters the original text of Isaiah from “Yotzer or u’vore choshech, oseh shalom u’voreh ra” (Who fashions light and creates darkness, ordaining peace and creating evil) to a more hygienic version of the text, where God is a creator of everything, “hakol,” not specifically of evil.5
The narrative of Genesis features a creation story of separation from the primordial “tohu vavohu” (translated as “unformed and void” by the Jewish Publication Society, as “welter and waste” by Robert Alter) into a sense of order and clarity. God creates light and separates the light from the darkness. But God does not create the darkness in this narrative. God separates the waters, creating a firmament (rakia) to separate the upper waters from the lower waters. But neither does God create the waters in this narrative. There was “something” in the “before,” and seemingly God separates a giant glob of primordial Play-do into the various colors which are recognizable by humans and other creations.
The Isaiah narrative involves God more intimately in the creation process than Genesis, as one who “creates” in the modern sense of the word. God creates sets of polarities, both light and darkness and good and evil, mutually complementary entities which cannot exist without the other.6 Commenting on the first half of this beracha, the Rabbis of the Talmud rhetorically ask, “Shall we not say, ‘Who forms light and creates brilliance (nogah)?’” Rav Ullah responds, saying that the original wording is retained “so as to mention the attribute of day at night and the attribute of night in day.”7
Arguably, the most spectacular moments of nature occur when night and day meet. We hike to the top of a mountain so that we can see a sunrise better and at the very rim of the earth. When I was on a ship at sea, each night I would head outside at sunset to watch the giant yellow ball of the sun dip to the horizon and meet the seemingly never-ending blue of the water. On rare occasions the synthesis of these refracted colors radiated green light across the sky in the brief moment in nature known as a “green flash.”8
The most remarkable moments in nature occur when two poles meet in mutual harmony. We must be conscious of both what we see and what we don’t see at any particular time — because the truest beauty and awe occur when opposites paradoxically meet.9 In the same way that we sanctify the night during the day, our first beracha during Maariv recognizes the mutual process of recreation at both ends of the day: “You create day and night, rolling light away from darkness and darkness away from light.”10We take stock of what we can see and also its opposites, which mutually define the entity as what it is in the first place.
While we do not say “Who fashions light and creates evil” during Shacharit, but rather use the euphemism “and creates everything” (u’voreh et hakol), the Rabbinic mind could not help but think back to the original context in Isaiah. Notably, God remarks that each day’s creation is “tov” in Genesis 1, but there is no mention of “ra,” until the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden.11 Like his inclusion of both or and hoshech, for the narrator of Isaiah, one element, either tov or ra, cannot exist in a vacuum. As twentieth century theologian, Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer reflects:
“Good and evil, tob and ra (sic.), here have a much wider meaning than good and evil in our terminology. The words tob and ra speak of an ultimate division in the world of man in general which goes beyond moral discord, so that tob would perhaps also mean “full of pleasure” and ra “full of pain.” Tob and ra are the categories for the deepest division of human life in every aspect. The essential thing about them is that they appear as a pair and that, in their state of division, they belong inseparably together.”12
Engrained in our happiness and successes necessarily rests conflict and insecurity.13
We do not dwell on the problems of theodicy first thing in the morning, however, and therefore the redactors of the siddur replace ra with the “hakol” of the siddur. This creates the phrase oseh shalom u’voreh et hakol, which the Rabbis interpret to mean that “peace is equal in weight to everything.”14
We are living in a world of continual balancing acts and also a world where peace is at the core of our existence, which renews itself on a daily basis. It’s quite comforting to read peace as a part of the original creation narrative, even more so to repeat daily in echo of His renewal that God is recreating peace each day.
Above all else, the text of this prayer tells us that we must be aware of both light and darkness, of moments when we are engrained in the rational human world and when we “abandon the pretense of being acquainted with the world.”15 We must devote our attention both to halakha and aggadah, to keva and kavanah, the Rabbinic schools of Ishmael and Akiva,16 to science and religion.17 In these terms, reading one item to the exclusion of another perhaps is more than ignorance, but a modern formula for heresy of the highest order! Reading one pole as the sole element in any part of life limits God’s power and the human being’s capacity to encounter her own potentials.18
As we go through our lives, we encounter opposites at every turn. We cannot preach that people should pray exclusively from the words of the page, nor can we say that people should exclusively meditate from the words of the heart. Modern Jews need both a thriving diaspora and the uniqueness of the Jewish state.
As we say each day, God is a creator of light and darkness, of peace and of all things. We read creation and recreation of life itself on a daily basis as continually reinforcing actions.
The true beauty occurs in a synthesis of two positions. It is a theological green flash across our lives.
--
1. I saw this quote in a New York subway advertisement for Barnes and Noble. It originates in Eliot’s book, Middlemarch. See George Eliot, Middlemarch, (New York: Modern Library, 1984 edition)
2. For commentary on appreciating individual moments, see Abraham Joshua Heschel, God in Search of Man, (New York: Farar, Straus and Giroux, 1955), 131
3. Dr. Ben Sommer noted that the laws of saying Qeriat Shema are in place so that the individual will take note of the sun during its rising. Our obligations in prayer are uniquely tied to the patterns of nature and thus change as the sun rises earlier throughout the course of the year.
4. Heschel, 132-133
5. Rabbi Reuven Hammer explains that this prayer serves to respond to the Persian outlook of there being a god of darkness and god of light; this prayer illustrates God as a creator of both light and darkness. See Or Hadash, ed. Reuven Hammer, (New York: The Rabbinical Assembly and United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism, 2008), 30
6. While I acknowledge the important issues of theodicy in claiming that God is a creator of evil, I do not wish to dwell on them in this context. Rather, I note the synthesis of the dialectics.
7. Babylonian Talmud, 11a. I learned several of the sources in this paper with Rabbi Elie Kaunfer at the 5768 Hadar Shavuot Retreat.
8. For more information of the “green flash,” see http://zuserver2.star.ucl.ac.uk/~mmd/greenfla.html
9. Rabbi Gordon Tucker reflected once in a talk about Torah Min HaShamayim that perhaps we should use the term “paralaxical” in similar contexts to the current one. This invented word reflects the idea that paradoxes often run in parallel harmony and somehow complement each other, rather than the assumption that they are irreconcilable, as the definition of the word “paradox” suggests.
10. Translation from Siddur Sim Shalom, ed. Jules Harlow, (New York: The Rabbinical Assembly and United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism, 2005 edition)
11. It should be noted that God does not dub the second day’s creation as “good.”
12. Krista Tippet, Speaking of Faith, (New York: Penguin Books, 2007), 66. It should be noted that Bonhoeffer is specifically referencing the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in this passage. The message relates to my thesis in Isaiah, as well.
13. Ibid., 67
14. See Sifra Behukotai 1:8, Sifrei Bemidbar 42 and Rashi’s synthesis of Rabbinic commentary in his comment to Leviticus 26:6
15. Heschel, God in Search of Man, 131
16. Rabbi Heschel notes the beauty of the tension between these giants as follows: “The diversions and dissensions between the two ‘fathers of the world’ continued on their way throughout the generations. It is just that sometimes we find discrete methodologies, each internally consistent, and sometimes we find the two intellectual subsets included side by side, or intertwined, within a single method. Sometimes one approach appears to have been subsumed by the other, and sometimes they have been synthesized, so that it seems that two rival ways of grasping the world can somehow coexist within the same mind.” See Heschel, Heavenly Torah as refracted through the generations, ed. Gordon Tucker and Leonard Levin, (New York: Continuum, 2005), 33
17. My thoughts on this subject ultimately always go back to Rabbi Heschel’s chapter on “The Problem of Polarity” in God in Search of Man.
18. To expand on this issue, I think much more broadly about the notion of “hyphenated identities” in the modern world, perhaps particularly in America. At all times, we have different elements of our identity tugging at us for attention. While practically tough to articulate in concrete terms, perhaps we should not be thinking from the outset in terms of “sacrificing one item for the sake of the other.” We will arrive to transcending the dialectic by charging forward full-steam with each of our convictions and engaging the clash of ideals only when we reach this juncture (though we clearly know it is inevitable from the outset). With this approach, there is inherently more risk, of course.
I think to the Hebrew word mahloket, meaning argument, but which has the root ch.l.q, meaning both to separate and to smoothen — by charging forward and meeting at the intersection, we smoothen each of the positions.
Dr. Arnold Eisen’s article “Jews, Judaism and the Problem of Hyphenated Identity in America” provides an overview for twentieth century philosophical exploration of the topic. I also draw from Mordecai Kaplan’s characterization of Jews living in two parallel civilizations (though not his conclusions) as a springboard to the discussion on “cultural hyphenates.”
See Eisen, “Jews Judaism and the Problem of Hyphenated Identity in America,” in Ambivalent Jew: Charles Liebman in America, eds. Stuart Cohen and Bernard Susser, (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America Press, 2007) and Kaplan, Judaism as a Civilization, (New York: McMillan, 1934), 250.
For now, exploring the morning Shacharit service. For later, some stories and thoughts about living in Israel, which will include tales of laughter and joy, reflection of all kinds.
And away we go.
Bearing witness to wonder
Each morning, the liturgy takes us on a metaphysical journey to the origins of existence. As early as the very first prayer of the morning Shacharit service, we meditate on creation, taking us back to the Beginning, a world of polarities in balance and with God as the ultimate sovereign of the universe who literally creates everything. Every day, each individual is forced to contemplate the radical amazement of the world around her.
We are not allowed to become normalized to the wonder of creation, as it would be so easy to do — we must attempt to engage with the process each morning. Yet beyond celebrating a God of a singular Creation, the prayer extends in subsequent paragraphs to express that we are witness to radical amazement each day, that God perpetually bears a new creation, hamehadesh b’tuvo b’chol yom tamid maaseh breisheit (God, in his goodness, renews creation day after day) — the miracle continues and we have an obligation to acknowledge it as such.
But is this impossible? Can we really take hold of the weight of creation each day? “If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life,” British novelist George Eliot once wrote, “it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel’s heartbeat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence.”1
We will never actually bear witness to the face of God, to the transcendent power of the Infinite. Doing so would give us a similar fate to the Nazis in Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Last Ark, whose faces melt from the Awe of the Arc of the Covenant — the power of the squirrel’s heartbeat literally has the power to destroy us if we had the knowledge of how nature actually functions in a cosmic sense.
But pausing to reflect on moments of radical amazement, no matter how accustomed we may be to them, is a divine obligation.2 Particularly during the morning hours, when the sun tangibly alters and affects our lives, we vocalize God as the Creator.3 In the words of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, “He who has ever gone through a moment of radical insight cannot be a witness to God’s non-existence without laying perjury to the soul.”4 Will we bear witness to wonder each morning? Perhaps not. But we have to try.
With the clear underlying goal of sanctifying creation in the first bracha (prayer) during Shacharit, it is noteworthy that the liturgical codifiers choose to refer to the creation narrative as expressed in Isaiah 45:7, not Genesis. Additionally, the liturgist alters the original text of Isaiah from “Yotzer or u’vore choshech, oseh shalom u’voreh ra” (Who fashions light and creates darkness, ordaining peace and creating evil) to a more hygienic version of the text, where God is a creator of everything, “hakol,” not specifically of evil.5
The narrative of Genesis features a creation story of separation from the primordial “tohu vavohu” (translated as “unformed and void” by the Jewish Publication Society, as “welter and waste” by Robert Alter) into a sense of order and clarity. God creates light and separates the light from the darkness. But God does not create the darkness in this narrative. God separates the waters, creating a firmament (rakia) to separate the upper waters from the lower waters. But neither does God create the waters in this narrative. There was “something” in the “before,” and seemingly God separates a giant glob of primordial Play-do into the various colors which are recognizable by humans and other creations.
The Isaiah narrative involves God more intimately in the creation process than Genesis, as one who “creates” in the modern sense of the word. God creates sets of polarities, both light and darkness and good and evil, mutually complementary entities which cannot exist without the other.6 Commenting on the first half of this beracha, the Rabbis of the Talmud rhetorically ask, “Shall we not say, ‘Who forms light and creates brilliance (nogah)?’” Rav Ullah responds, saying that the original wording is retained “so as to mention the attribute of day at night and the attribute of night in day.”7
Arguably, the most spectacular moments of nature occur when night and day meet. We hike to the top of a mountain so that we can see a sunrise better and at the very rim of the earth. When I was on a ship at sea, each night I would head outside at sunset to watch the giant yellow ball of the sun dip to the horizon and meet the seemingly never-ending blue of the water. On rare occasions the synthesis of these refracted colors radiated green light across the sky in the brief moment in nature known as a “green flash.”8
The most remarkable moments in nature occur when two poles meet in mutual harmony. We must be conscious of both what we see and what we don’t see at any particular time — because the truest beauty and awe occur when opposites paradoxically meet.9 In the same way that we sanctify the night during the day, our first beracha during Maariv recognizes the mutual process of recreation at both ends of the day: “You create day and night, rolling light away from darkness and darkness away from light.”10We take stock of what we can see and also its opposites, which mutually define the entity as what it is in the first place.
While we do not say “Who fashions light and creates evil” during Shacharit, but rather use the euphemism “and creates everything” (u’voreh et hakol), the Rabbinic mind could not help but think back to the original context in Isaiah. Notably, God remarks that each day’s creation is “tov” in Genesis 1, but there is no mention of “ra,” until the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in the Garden of Eden.11 Like his inclusion of both or and hoshech, for the narrator of Isaiah, one element, either tov or ra, cannot exist in a vacuum. As twentieth century theologian, Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer reflects:
“Good and evil, tob and ra (sic.), here have a much wider meaning than good and evil in our terminology. The words tob and ra speak of an ultimate division in the world of man in general which goes beyond moral discord, so that tob would perhaps also mean “full of pleasure” and ra “full of pain.” Tob and ra are the categories for the deepest division of human life in every aspect. The essential thing about them is that they appear as a pair and that, in their state of division, they belong inseparably together.”12
Engrained in our happiness and successes necessarily rests conflict and insecurity.13
We do not dwell on the problems of theodicy first thing in the morning, however, and therefore the redactors of the siddur replace ra with the “hakol” of the siddur. This creates the phrase oseh shalom u’voreh et hakol, which the Rabbis interpret to mean that “peace is equal in weight to everything.”14
We are living in a world of continual balancing acts and also a world where peace is at the core of our existence, which renews itself on a daily basis. It’s quite comforting to read peace as a part of the original creation narrative, even more so to repeat daily in echo of His renewal that God is recreating peace each day.
Above all else, the text of this prayer tells us that we must be aware of both light and darkness, of moments when we are engrained in the rational human world and when we “abandon the pretense of being acquainted with the world.”15 We must devote our attention both to halakha and aggadah, to keva and kavanah, the Rabbinic schools of Ishmael and Akiva,16 to science and religion.17 In these terms, reading one item to the exclusion of another perhaps is more than ignorance, but a modern formula for heresy of the highest order! Reading one pole as the sole element in any part of life limits God’s power and the human being’s capacity to encounter her own potentials.18
As we go through our lives, we encounter opposites at every turn. We cannot preach that people should pray exclusively from the words of the page, nor can we say that people should exclusively meditate from the words of the heart. Modern Jews need both a thriving diaspora and the uniqueness of the Jewish state.
As we say each day, God is a creator of light and darkness, of peace and of all things. We read creation and recreation of life itself on a daily basis as continually reinforcing actions.
The true beauty occurs in a synthesis of two positions. It is a theological green flash across our lives.
--
1. I saw this quote in a New York subway advertisement for Barnes and Noble. It originates in Eliot’s book, Middlemarch. See George Eliot, Middlemarch, (New York: Modern Library, 1984 edition)
2. For commentary on appreciating individual moments, see Abraham Joshua Heschel, God in Search of Man, (New York: Farar, Straus and Giroux, 1955), 131
3. Dr. Ben Sommer noted that the laws of saying Qeriat Shema are in place so that the individual will take note of the sun during its rising. Our obligations in prayer are uniquely tied to the patterns of nature and thus change as the sun rises earlier throughout the course of the year.
4. Heschel, 132-133
5. Rabbi Reuven Hammer explains that this prayer serves to respond to the Persian outlook of there being a god of darkness and god of light; this prayer illustrates God as a creator of both light and darkness. See Or Hadash, ed. Reuven Hammer, (New York: The Rabbinical Assembly and United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism, 2008), 30
6. While I acknowledge the important issues of theodicy in claiming that God is a creator of evil, I do not wish to dwell on them in this context. Rather, I note the synthesis of the dialectics.
7. Babylonian Talmud, 11a. I learned several of the sources in this paper with Rabbi Elie Kaunfer at the 5768 Hadar Shavuot Retreat.
8. For more information of the “green flash,” see http://zuserver2.star.ucl.ac.uk/~mmd/greenfla.html
9. Rabbi Gordon Tucker reflected once in a talk about Torah Min HaShamayim that perhaps we should use the term “paralaxical” in similar contexts to the current one. This invented word reflects the idea that paradoxes often run in parallel harmony and somehow complement each other, rather than the assumption that they are irreconcilable, as the definition of the word “paradox” suggests.
10. Translation from Siddur Sim Shalom, ed. Jules Harlow, (New York: The Rabbinical Assembly and United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism, 2005 edition)
11. It should be noted that God does not dub the second day’s creation as “good.”
12. Krista Tippet, Speaking of Faith, (New York: Penguin Books, 2007), 66. It should be noted that Bonhoeffer is specifically referencing the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in this passage. The message relates to my thesis in Isaiah, as well.
13. Ibid., 67
14. See Sifra Behukotai 1:8, Sifrei Bemidbar 42 and Rashi’s synthesis of Rabbinic commentary in his comment to Leviticus 26:6
15. Heschel, God in Search of Man, 131
16. Rabbi Heschel notes the beauty of the tension between these giants as follows: “The diversions and dissensions between the two ‘fathers of the world’ continued on their way throughout the generations. It is just that sometimes we find discrete methodologies, each internally consistent, and sometimes we find the two intellectual subsets included side by side, or intertwined, within a single method. Sometimes one approach appears to have been subsumed by the other, and sometimes they have been synthesized, so that it seems that two rival ways of grasping the world can somehow coexist within the same mind.” See Heschel, Heavenly Torah as refracted through the generations, ed. Gordon Tucker and Leonard Levin, (New York: Continuum, 2005), 33
17. My thoughts on this subject ultimately always go back to Rabbi Heschel’s chapter on “The Problem of Polarity” in God in Search of Man.
18. To expand on this issue, I think much more broadly about the notion of “hyphenated identities” in the modern world, perhaps particularly in America. At all times, we have different elements of our identity tugging at us for attention. While practically tough to articulate in concrete terms, perhaps we should not be thinking from the outset in terms of “sacrificing one item for the sake of the other.” We will arrive to transcending the dialectic by charging forward full-steam with each of our convictions and engaging the clash of ideals only when we reach this juncture (though we clearly know it is inevitable from the outset). With this approach, there is inherently more risk, of course.
I think to the Hebrew word mahloket, meaning argument, but which has the root ch.l.q, meaning both to separate and to smoothen — by charging forward and meeting at the intersection, we smoothen each of the positions.
Dr. Arnold Eisen’s article “Jews, Judaism and the Problem of Hyphenated Identity in America” provides an overview for twentieth century philosophical exploration of the topic. I also draw from Mordecai Kaplan’s characterization of Jews living in two parallel civilizations (though not his conclusions) as a springboard to the discussion on “cultural hyphenates.”
See Eisen, “Jews Judaism and the Problem of Hyphenated Identity in America,” in Ambivalent Jew: Charles Liebman in America, eds. Stuart Cohen and Bernard Susser, (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America Press, 2007) and Kaplan, Judaism as a Civilization, (New York: McMillan, 1934), 250.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Coercion and the mitzvah of לא תחמד (do not covet)
Some people have commented that my blog posting has dropped off in recent days. That's because I am now a student again. One week of school done, week two starting up tomorrow.
Posts will continue about any and all subjects — don't you worry. Top 5 fans of the blog, and otherwise, should know that I have a West Wing post in the wings, but am waiting for Sarit to watch Season 4 Episode 1, as not to ruin it for her.
I know. What a friend, indeed.
And now back to our regularly scheduled program.
Ari pointed out that a recent podcast of Rabbi Eli Mansour — who is worth listening to for his combo Syrian-New York accent alone, let alone depth and breadth of knowledge — focused on our recent topic of choice.
When does a person cross the boundary of לא תחמד (Do not covet, found in the Decalogue of both Ex. 20 and Deut. 5)? In a case where someone manipulates another person to give him property? Is the line that one cannot transgress even thinking about manipulation, or perhaps when one begins the verbal coercion, when the individual actually gives over the property that he did not want to give?
Additionally, what are some of the practical differences between the two adjacent phrases of the tenth commandment of the Decalogue in Deut. 5, "לא תחמד" and "לא תתאוה" (do not covet and do not desire are rough translations)?
R. Mansour brings a teshuva (legal responsum) from the Ben Ish Hai (Rav Yosef Haim, 19th c. Baghdad), who brings both the position of the Rambam and the Ra"avad (Rabbi Abraham Ben David of Posquieres, 1120-1198), ultimately ruling according to the Rambam.
As you will see from R. Monsour's elucidation of the text, the issues are immediately applicable to our discussion about mandating thought, the place of transfering thought to words and then tangible action.
Immediately below is the transcript from the podcast, below that the teshuva of the Ben Ish Hai and then the sources from the Rambam and Ra"avad, which he cites.
The Transcript
The Ben Ish Hai, in Parashat Ki Tavo (17), discusses the prohibition of “Lo Tahmod” – “You shall not covet” (listen to audio recording for precise citation). He writes that one violates this prohibition by applying pressure upon his fellow to sell him his possession, such as his home or utensils. If a person desires his friend’s property, which the friend does not wish to sell, and he pressures the individual or sends people to pressure him to sell it, and the friend ultimately relents, then the buyer has violated the prohibition of “Lo Tahmod.” Even though the friend ultimately agrees to the transaction, and the buyer pays a fair price, he has violated this transgression because he applied pressure to coerce his friend to sell something he had not intended to sell. The Ben Ish Hai notes that one violates this prohibition only when the owner finally relents and proceeds with the sale.
There is a separate prohibition, the Ben Ish Hai writes, of “Lo Titaveh” (literally, “You shall not desire”), which refers to the feeling in one’s heart. A person violates “Lo Titaveh” when he begins devising a scheme to persuade his fellow to sell him the item in question. Already at that moment, one transgresses this prohibition because he begins thinking in his mind of ways to obtain the coveted object. The Ben Ish Hai emphasizes that one does not violate this prohibition if he simply wishes in his heart that the owner would agree to sell the object. The transgression is committed only when one begins devising practical strategies for convincing the owner to sell.
The Ben Ish Hai’s ruling follows the view of the Rambam, who held that one transgresses “Lo Tahmod” once the owner acquiesces and agrees, under duress, to sell. The Ra’abad, in his critique of the Rambam’s Mishneh Torah, disagrees. He maintains that to the contrary, if the owner consents to the transaction, then the buyer cannot be said to have done anything wrong. Even if the owner agrees due to pressure, the Ra’abad argues, a buyer who purchases an item with the owner’s consent does not commit any offense. Halacha, however, follows the Rambam’s position, that one indeed transgresses this prohibition by pressuring the owner to the point where he relents and agrees to sell the item which he had initially not intended to sell.
Summary: The Torah forbids pressuring somebody to sell a possession which he had not intended to sell. A person violates one prohibition the moment he begins devising a scheme to pressure the owner, and he violates another prohibition if the owner ultimately relents and agrees to sell the possession.
Text of the Ben Ish Chai, Parshat Ki Tavo, 17
Anyone that covets the house of his friend or his property (lit. utensils), and they do not have any intention of selling them, and he pleads incessantly for them or increases berating the person until he sells them, this person transgresses the negative commandment of "Do not covet" (לא תחמד) — Ex. 20:13, Deut. 5:17.
But he does not transgress this negative commandment until he takes the object that he coveted. And from the time that he gave into the temptation and thought how he would buy the object, he transgresses the negative commandment of "do not desire" (לא תתאוה) — Deut. 5:17. Because desiring only occurs in the heart (one's thoughts). However, if the individual does not have thoughts of desire (lit. desire in his heart) to do the acts of the desires, he transgresses at the very moment of the efforts and breach — and all of this is according to the Rambam.
But the Raavad (R. Abraham ben David, Provence, 12th c.) said also in any case that he does not transgress except if he thought to take the object by force from the owner (as opposed through shrewd talk). But if he thought how he would manipulate the owners, he does not transgress the negative commandment — and our law follows that of the Rambam.
The laws of the Rambam and Raavad in context
I note that the Rambam says that it is a violation of "Lo tahmod" to coerce a store owner into selling an object, but he does not say that the buyer should get the punishment of lashes, because he actually pays for the object. Yes, this is a sin, and one that is by definition illegal, but it is certainly not on the same level as outright stealing. It is not on the same level as other manifestations of transgressing "Lo Tahmod," either — though I certainly need to look further into other examples of what might constitute transgressing the commandment.
The Ra"avad finds this argument preposterous, saying that if the Rambam were serious with this declaration, which the Ra"avad find absurd in the first place, then the punishment would be lashes. He thus claims that there is no violation of Lo Tahmod if the buyer paid the worth of the object, even if the seller did not want to sell it in the first place. After all, the seller could have said no — there is no physical coercion involved. Therefore, why should the buyer be punished?
(Note, too, that thinking about coercion is not an issue for this manifestation of "lo tahmod." This is different than previous manifestations of the law that we have seen)
Rambam Laws of Theft and Lost Objects, 1:9
Anyone that covets the slave, house, utensils, or anything else that it is possible to purchase from him (the seller) and he (the buyer) aggravates the individual, pleading incessantly for the object until he gives it to him — even though the buyer gives a great sum of money for the object, this person transgresses the negative commandment of "Lo Tahmod".
(Yet) we do not give him (the court-sanctioned) lashes as a punishment because there is no specific action involved (ie. it is a violation, even though the "coerced seller" could have said no, and there was money in the transaction). The buyer does not transgress the commandment until he takes the object that he coveted.
Such is the case (where lashes would be sanctioned, however,) in Deut. 7:25, "You shall consign the images of their gods to the fire; you shall not covet the silver and gold on them and keep it for yourselves, lest you be ensnared thereby; for that is abhorrent to YHVH your God."
Gloss of Ra"avad: Any person that covets the slave, etc...(from above).
Despite that he gave him valuable money.
Gloss: And the person does not receive lashes for a negative commandment because there is no direct action.
I have never seen such an absurd case, and why is it such a big deal to give up the object? (my translation accentuated here). The Rambam should have said (if he were truly serious about this being a case of "lo tahmod") that the buyer is required to to return the object's value, for he is like a thief who is required to return the object itself. Therefore, he does not receive the punishment of lashes, because he is required to return the object to its owner.
Posts will continue about any and all subjects — don't you worry. Top 5 fans of the blog, and otherwise, should know that I have a West Wing post in the wings, but am waiting for Sarit to watch Season 4 Episode 1, as not to ruin it for her.
I know. What a friend, indeed.
And now back to our regularly scheduled program.
Ari pointed out that a recent podcast of Rabbi Eli Mansour — who is worth listening to for his combo Syrian-New York accent alone, let alone depth and breadth of knowledge — focused on our recent topic of choice.
When does a person cross the boundary of לא תחמד (Do not covet, found in the Decalogue of both Ex. 20 and Deut. 5)? In a case where someone manipulates another person to give him property? Is the line that one cannot transgress even thinking about manipulation, or perhaps when one begins the verbal coercion, when the individual actually gives over the property that he did not want to give?
Additionally, what are some of the practical differences between the two adjacent phrases of the tenth commandment of the Decalogue in Deut. 5, "לא תחמד" and "לא תתאוה" (do not covet and do not desire are rough translations)?
R. Mansour brings a teshuva (legal responsum) from the Ben Ish Hai (Rav Yosef Haim, 19th c. Baghdad), who brings both the position of the Rambam and the Ra"avad (Rabbi Abraham Ben David of Posquieres, 1120-1198), ultimately ruling according to the Rambam.
As you will see from R. Monsour's elucidation of the text, the issues are immediately applicable to our discussion about mandating thought, the place of transfering thought to words and then tangible action.
Immediately below is the transcript from the podcast, below that the teshuva of the Ben Ish Hai and then the sources from the Rambam and Ra"avad, which he cites.
The Transcript
The Ben Ish Hai, in Parashat Ki Tavo (17), discusses the prohibition of “Lo Tahmod” – “You shall not covet” (listen to audio recording for precise citation). He writes that one violates this prohibition by applying pressure upon his fellow to sell him his possession, such as his home or utensils. If a person desires his friend’s property, which the friend does not wish to sell, and he pressures the individual or sends people to pressure him to sell it, and the friend ultimately relents, then the buyer has violated the prohibition of “Lo Tahmod.” Even though the friend ultimately agrees to the transaction, and the buyer pays a fair price, he has violated this transgression because he applied pressure to coerce his friend to sell something he had not intended to sell. The Ben Ish Hai notes that one violates this prohibition only when the owner finally relents and proceeds with the sale.
There is a separate prohibition, the Ben Ish Hai writes, of “Lo Titaveh” (literally, “You shall not desire”), which refers to the feeling in one’s heart. A person violates “Lo Titaveh” when he begins devising a scheme to persuade his fellow to sell him the item in question. Already at that moment, one transgresses this prohibition because he begins thinking in his mind of ways to obtain the coveted object. The Ben Ish Hai emphasizes that one does not violate this prohibition if he simply wishes in his heart that the owner would agree to sell the object. The transgression is committed only when one begins devising practical strategies for convincing the owner to sell.
The Ben Ish Hai’s ruling follows the view of the Rambam, who held that one transgresses “Lo Tahmod” once the owner acquiesces and agrees, under duress, to sell. The Ra’abad, in his critique of the Rambam’s Mishneh Torah, disagrees. He maintains that to the contrary, if the owner consents to the transaction, then the buyer cannot be said to have done anything wrong. Even if the owner agrees due to pressure, the Ra’abad argues, a buyer who purchases an item with the owner’s consent does not commit any offense. Halacha, however, follows the Rambam’s position, that one indeed transgresses this prohibition by pressuring the owner to the point where he relents and agrees to sell the item which he had initially not intended to sell.
Summary: The Torah forbids pressuring somebody to sell a possession which he had not intended to sell. A person violates one prohibition the moment he begins devising a scheme to pressure the owner, and he violates another prohibition if the owner ultimately relents and agrees to sell the possession.
Text of the Ben Ish Chai, Parshat Ki Tavo, 17
בן איש חי, פרשת כי תבוא, אות י''ז
כל החומד ביתו של חבירו או כליו שאין בדעתו למכרם, והפציר בו בדברים או הרבה עליו רעים עד שמכרם לו הרי זה עובר בלאו דלא תחמוד, ואינו עובר בלאו זה אלא עד שיקח החפץ שחמד, ומשעה שנפתה לבו וחשב איך יקנה החפץ עובר בלאו דלא תתאוה כי אין תאוה אלא בלב, מיהו אם רק נתאוה בלבו שאמר הלואי שיתרצה זה למכור ואקנה ממנו אינו עובר בלאו, אבל אם חשב בלבבו לעשות המצאות של השתדלות והפצרות ה"ז עובר משעה שחשב אופני ההשתדלות וההפצרות, וכל זה להרמב"ם, אבל להראב"ד גם בכה"ג אינו עובר אא"כ חשב ליקח החפץ בעל כרחם של בעלים, אבל אם חושב איך יעשה לרצות הבעלים אינו עובר בלאו וקי"ל כרמב"ם ז"ל
Anyone that covets the house of his friend or his property (lit. utensils), and they do not have any intention of selling them, and he pleads incessantly for them or increases berating the person until he sells them, this person transgresses the negative commandment of "Do not covet" (לא תחמד) — Ex. 20:13, Deut. 5:17.
But he does not transgress this negative commandment until he takes the object that he coveted. And from the time that he gave into the temptation and thought how he would buy the object, he transgresses the negative commandment of "do not desire" (לא תתאוה) — Deut. 5:17. Because desiring only occurs in the heart (one's thoughts). However, if the individual does not have thoughts of desire (lit. desire in his heart) to do the acts of the desires, he transgresses at the very moment of the efforts and breach — and all of this is according to the Rambam.
But the Raavad (R. Abraham ben David, Provence, 12th c.) said also in any case that he does not transgress except if he thought to take the object by force from the owner (as opposed through shrewd talk). But if he thought how he would manipulate the owners, he does not transgress the negative commandment — and our law follows that of the Rambam.
The laws of the Rambam and Raavad in context
I note that the Rambam says that it is a violation of "Lo tahmod" to coerce a store owner into selling an object, but he does not say that the buyer should get the punishment of lashes, because he actually pays for the object. Yes, this is a sin, and one that is by definition illegal, but it is certainly not on the same level as outright stealing. It is not on the same level as other manifestations of transgressing "Lo Tahmod," either — though I certainly need to look further into other examples of what might constitute transgressing the commandment.
The Ra"avad finds this argument preposterous, saying that if the Rambam were serious with this declaration, which the Ra"avad find absurd in the first place, then the punishment would be lashes. He thus claims that there is no violation of Lo Tahmod if the buyer paid the worth of the object, even if the seller did not want to sell it in the first place. After all, the seller could have said no — there is no physical coercion involved. Therefore, why should the buyer be punished?
(Note, too, that thinking about coercion is not an issue for this manifestation of "lo tahmod." This is different than previous manifestations of the law that we have seen)
רמב"ם הלכות גזלה ואבדה פרק א
הלכה ט
כל החומד עבדו או אמתו או ביתו וכליו של חבירו או כל דבר שאפשר לו שיקנהו ממנו והכביד עליו ברעים והפציר בו עד שלקחו ממנו אף על פי שנתן לו דמים רבים הרי זה עובר בלא תעשה שנ' +שמות כ' ט"ז+ לא תחמד, ואין לוקין על לאו זה מפני שאין בו מעשה, ואינו עובר בלאו זה עד שיקח החפץ שחמד, כענין שנ' +דברים ז' כ"ה+ לא תחמד כסף וזהב עליהם ולקחת לך חימוד שיש בו מעשה. +/השגת הראב"ד/ כל החומד עבדו או אמתו וכו' אע"פ שנתן לו דמים יקרים. א"א ולא אמר רוצה אני. /השגת הראב"ד/ ואין לוקין על לאו זה שאין בו מעשה. א"א לא ראיתי דבר תמה גדול מזה והיכן מעשה גדול מנטילת החפץ אבל היה לו לומר מפני שהוא חייב בתשלומין שהרי הוא כגזלן שחייב להשיב את הגזלה ולפיכך אינו לוקה וגם זה חייב להשיב את החפץ לבעליו
Rambam Laws of Theft and Lost Objects, 1:9
Anyone that covets the slave, house, utensils, or anything else that it is possible to purchase from him (the seller) and he (the buyer) aggravates the individual, pleading incessantly for the object until he gives it to him — even though the buyer gives a great sum of money for the object, this person transgresses the negative commandment of "Lo Tahmod".
(Yet) we do not give him (the court-sanctioned) lashes as a punishment because there is no specific action involved (ie. it is a violation, even though the "coerced seller" could have said no, and there was money in the transaction). The buyer does not transgress the commandment until he takes the object that he coveted.
Such is the case (where lashes would be sanctioned, however,) in Deut. 7:25, "You shall consign the images of their gods to the fire; you shall not covet the silver and gold on them and keep it for yourselves, lest you be ensnared thereby; for that is abhorrent to YHVH your God."
Gloss of Ra"avad: Any person that covets the slave, etc...(from above).
Despite that he gave him valuable money.
Gloss: And the person does not receive lashes for a negative commandment because there is no direct action.
I have never seen such an absurd case, and why is it such a big deal to give up the object? (my translation accentuated here). The Rambam should have said (if he were truly serious about this being a case of "lo tahmod") that the buyer is required to to return the object's value, for he is like a thief who is required to return the object itself. Therefore, he does not receive the punishment of lashes, because he is required to return the object to its owner.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
A full engagement with Shabbat — "Mind control," Shabbat edition
Kiddush on Shabbat morning is much more than Pop-ems and gossip. It's a veritable sociological phenomenon. Different groups in their different corners. Some individuals weaving their ways through all of them. People talking about their parents, talking about their children. About the D'var Torah. About the spread of lox on the table.
And of course, amidst all of that there are inevitably conversations about plans for that evening, about the coming week at work or otherwise, which according to halakha, runs people into certain problems (read "people" as me).
Described most famously, and poignantly, by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, the Sabbath stands as a palace in time. Judaism, as a religion of time, sanctifies that time throughout the course of both regular and Holy moments.
With this understanding and framework (which deserves a much fuller and explicated treatment), it is logical that one should live in the palace of time for that allotment and engage fully with this particular Holy moment.
But does that mean that one cannot engage at all with the rest of the week while sanctifying Shabbat? Even with words? Again, must we abstain even from said thoughts about the week?
The original discussion appears in Masechet Shabbat (150a).
MISHNAH. A man must not hire laborers on the Sabbath, nor instruct his neighbor to hire laborers on his behalf.
GEMARA: Wherein does he differ from his neighbour? — Said R. Papa: A Gentile neighbour [is meant]. R. Ashi demurred: [Surely] an order to a Gentile is [forbidden as] a shevut? Rather said R. Ashi: One may even say [that] an Israelite neighbour [is meant]. [Yet] he [the Tanna] informs us this: One may not say to his neighbour, ‘Hire labourers for me,’ but one may say to his neighbour, ‘Well, we shall see whether you join me in the evening!’
And with whom does our Mishnah agree? With R. Joshua b. Karhah. For it was taught: One must not say to his neighbor, ‘Well, we shall see whether you join me in the evening’! R. Joshua b. Karhah said: One may say to his neighbour, ‘Well, we shall see whether you join me in the evening’! Rabbah b. Bar Hanah said in R. Johanan's name: The halachah is as R. Joshua b. Karhah. Rabbah b. Bar Hanah also said in R. Johanan s name: What is R. Judah b. Karhah's reason? Because it is written, "nor finding your own pleasure nor speaking your own words" (Isaiah 58): [explicit] speech is forbidden, but thought is permitted (Soncino Translation, my emphasis).
The give and take of the gemara is quite clear in this case — the law follows R. Yehoshua b. Karha, that speech about melacha is forbidden, but thoughts are permitted. The Mishnah's statement that one may not instruct her neighbors to hire laborers logically expands to all cases where a person speaks about doing an activity that would transgress Shabbat.
The Rif (11th c. Morroco), in codifying the halachic components of the Gemara, sides with R. Yehoshua b. Karha, that one may not speak about "melachic" activities on Shabbat but one may think about them.
Regarding controlling one's thoughts on Shabbat, Maimonides (hereafter referred to as the Rambam, 1135-1204, Spain, Egypt) also says that one may not speak about mundane actions of the week, such as business matters that one will undergo the next day or how he will build his house, plans for what people will do on Saturday night, and so on (Hilchot Shabbat 24:1). However, thinking about these actions is permitted.
Rambam, Laws of Shabbat 24:1
There are things that are forbidden on Shabbat despite the fact that they are not melacha (forbidden work on Shabbat) and they also do not bring one to do melacha. And why was this forbidden? Because it says, "If you refrain from trampling the sabbath, From pursuing your affairs on My holy day; If you call the sabbath 'delight,' The Lord’s holy day 'honored'; And if you honor it and go not your ways Nor look to your affairs, nor strike bargains, nor speaking thereof..." (Isaiah 58:13). Therefore it is forbidden for a person to go through with these business actions on Shabbat, and even to speak about them, such as speaking with his roommate what he will sell or buy tomorrow, or how he will build this and go about with this business, go to a particular location — all of this and things like it are forbidden, as it says, "Speaking thereof" (Isaiah 58:13).
Such a mandate is extremely hard to follow. People talk about their week, about the week to come. That's the sociological realities of our time, and quite frankly of all eras in history. Jews kibbitz.
Reflecting on the law, though, can we find an underlying flavor to the mitzvah?
The world was created with words — God spoke and the world came into being. So on a fundamental level, words are as important as the very actions which constitute our modern understanding of work, and our more nuanced understanding of melacha ("work"). On the very day where we sanctify creation, it is essential we should be aware of our speech.
The great medieval law code, the Shulchan Arukh (edited by Joseph Caro, Spain/Tzfat, 15th c.), takes a more stringent approach to this topic. While thinking about mundane (i.e. non-Shabbat) matters is permitted, it is discouraged (OH 306:8).
Shulchan Arukh, OH 306:8.
Thinking about business matters is permitted; despite this fact, because of oneg shabbat (roughly translated as Shabbat joy — Entemann's brings joy, after all. Is this thing on?) it is a mitzvah not to think about them (business matters) at all, and to envision for herself as if the actions have been completed.
Citing Rabbeinu Yonah's (13th c. Spain) Iggeret HaTeshuva, Caro explains this more nuanced, and perhaps stringent view, in the Beit Yosef, his commentary to the Tur:
Beit Yosef 306:8
Despite this, it is a mitzvah, because of the concept of oneg shabbat, not to think about them (non-Shabbat topics). Thus wrote Rabbeinu Yonah in Iggeret HaTshuva:
"It is forbidden for a person's heart to be worried with business activities on Shabbat, even though the Rabbis wrote that 'thoughts are permitted' (see above, Massechet Shabbat 150). If these thoughts include worrying/pain of the heart or back-and-forth worrying, they are forbidden because it says "And you shall complete all of your melacha" (Exodus 20, "Fifth commandment"). And it says in the Mechilta that all of your melacha will appear in your eyes as if it is complete, so that you don't think about it. And we also say in the Amidah on Shabbat, 'The rest of peace, the quite and assurance, a complete rest that you want during the day.' And in Birkat HaMazon (Blessing over eating food) we say 'that there will be no distress or sadness on our day of rest.'"
Rabbeinu Yonah's position emphasizes that thoughts really can cause stress for a person, that stress in itself is real work and occupies the entirety of a person. During our prayers on Shabbat we pray for a day of complete rest, of body and mind. During a day which emphasizes a such serenity, of residing in a palace of time, rest should and must include respite from thoughts about the week. Moreover, it is impossible to have a day of rest without freeing ourselves from thoughts of the week.
Stress is real, it is consuming — for a day, one per week, one should leave these thoughts behind, view the world completely in the moment.
In explaining the strict ruling, the Mishnah Berurah gives a more technical answer, that one must particularly be aware of her "worries of the heart/mind," lest they lead to prohibited action. There is no assurance that these thoughts will lead to action, but there is certainly a worry that this will be the case.
Is there a general takeaway from all of this? I'd like to say that it is to live in the moment, a legal codification for Shabbat and Festivals, and a general policy for all of life. Thoughts consume all of us. Often they keep us up at night. Sometimes they prevent us from performing to our highest capacities.
When we are in a "good mood" we are more pleasant to be around. Our moods, our thoughts, are real entities. There is a real place in our life for being consumed in stress about the daily goings-on of life — it shows that the individual cares about the task at hand, about the people she interacts with, about the particular melacha, and beyond.
But on Shabbat, with the understanding outlined largely by the Beit Yosef, we should assure that the entirety of our humanity is focused on living in a cathedral of time, honoring creation and ourselves.
And of course, amidst all of that there are inevitably conversations about plans for that evening, about the coming week at work or otherwise, which according to halakha, runs people into certain problems (read "people" as me).
Described most famously, and poignantly, by Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, the Sabbath stands as a palace in time. Judaism, as a religion of time, sanctifies that time throughout the course of both regular and Holy moments.
With this understanding and framework (which deserves a much fuller and explicated treatment), it is logical that one should live in the palace of time for that allotment and engage fully with this particular Holy moment.
But does that mean that one cannot engage at all with the rest of the week while sanctifying Shabbat? Even with words? Again, must we abstain even from said thoughts about the week?
The original discussion appears in Masechet Shabbat (150a).
משנה. לא ישכור אדם פועלים בשבת, ולא יאמר אדם לחבירו לשכור לו פועלים.
גמרא. (פשיטא) מאי שנא הוא ומאי שנא חבירו? - אמר רב פפא: חבר נכרי. מתקיף לה רב אשי: אמירה לנכרי שבות! - אלא אמר רב אשי: אפילו תימא חבירו ישראל, הא קא משמע לן: לא יאמר אדם לחבירו שכור לי פועלים, אבל אומר אדם לחבירו הנראה שתעמוד עמי לערב? ומתניתין מני - כרבי יהושע בן קרחה. דתניא: לא יאמר אדם לחבירו הנראה שתעמוד עמי לערב? רבי יהושע בן קרחה אומר: אומר אדם לחבירו הנראה שתעמוד עמי לערב? אמר רבה בר בר חנה אמר רבי יוחנן: הלכה כרבי יהושע בן קרחה. ואמר רבה בר בר חנה אמר רבי יוחנן: מאי טעמא דרבי יהושע בן קרחה? - דכתיב +ישעיהו נח+ ממצוא חפצך ודבר דבר; דיבור - אסור, הרהור - מותר.
MISHNAH. A man must not hire laborers on the Sabbath, nor instruct his neighbor to hire laborers on his behalf.
GEMARA: Wherein does he differ from his neighbour? — Said R. Papa: A Gentile neighbour [is meant]. R. Ashi demurred: [Surely] an order to a Gentile is [forbidden as] a shevut? Rather said R. Ashi: One may even say [that] an Israelite neighbour [is meant]. [Yet] he [the Tanna] informs us this: One may not say to his neighbour, ‘Hire labourers for me,’ but one may say to his neighbour, ‘Well, we shall see whether you join me in the evening!’
And with whom does our Mishnah agree? With R. Joshua b. Karhah. For it was taught: One must not say to his neighbor, ‘Well, we shall see whether you join me in the evening’! R. Joshua b. Karhah said: One may say to his neighbour, ‘Well, we shall see whether you join me in the evening’! Rabbah b. Bar Hanah said in R. Johanan's name: The halachah is as R. Joshua b. Karhah. Rabbah b. Bar Hanah also said in R. Johanan s name: What is R. Judah b. Karhah's reason? Because it is written, "nor finding your own pleasure nor speaking your own words" (Isaiah 58): [explicit] speech is forbidden, but thought is permitted (Soncino Translation, my emphasis).
The give and take of the gemara is quite clear in this case — the law follows R. Yehoshua b. Karha, that speech about melacha is forbidden, but thoughts are permitted. The Mishnah's statement that one may not instruct her neighbors to hire laborers logically expands to all cases where a person speaks about doing an activity that would transgress Shabbat.
The Rif (11th c. Morroco), in codifying the halachic components of the Gemara, sides with R. Yehoshua b. Karha, that one may not speak about "melachic" activities on Shabbat but one may think about them.
רי"ף מסכת שבת דף סד עמוד א
אמר רבה בר בר חנה אמר רבי יוחנן הלכה כר' יהושע בן קרחה. דאמר קרא "ממצוא חפצך ודבר דבר" דבור אסור מחשבה מותרת. והני מילי דבר הרשות הוא דאסור, אבל דבור דמצוה מותר, דאמר קרא "ממצוא חפצך ודבר דבר" חפציך אסורין חפצי שמים מותרין
אמר רבה בר בר חנה אמר רבי יוחנן הלכה כר' יהושע בן קרחה. דאמר קרא "ממצוא חפצך ודבר דבר" דבור אסור מחשבה מותרת. והני מילי דבר הרשות הוא דאסור, אבל דבור דמצוה מותר, דאמר קרא "ממצוא חפצך ודבר דבר" חפציך אסורין חפצי שמים מותרין
Regarding controlling one's thoughts on Shabbat, Maimonides (hereafter referred to as the Rambam, 1135-1204, Spain, Egypt) also says that one may not speak about mundane actions of the week, such as business matters that one will undergo the next day or how he will build his house, plans for what people will do on Saturday night, and so on (Hilchot Shabbat 24:1). However, thinking about these actions is permitted.
רמב''ם הלכות שבת כד:א
יש דברים שהן אסורין בשבת אף על פי שאינם דומין למלאכה ואינם מביאין לידי מלאכה, ומפני מה נאסרו משום שנאמר +ישעיהו נ"ח+ "אם תשיב משבת רגלך עשות חפציך ביום קדשי ונאמר וכבדתו מעשות דרכיך ממצוא חפצך ודבר דבר", לפיכך אסור לאדם להלך בחפציו בשבת ואפילו לדבר בהן כגון שידבר עם שותפו מה ימכור למחר או מה יקנה או היאך יבנה בית זה ובאי זה סחורה ילך למקום פלוני, כל זה וכיוצא בו אסור שנאמר ודבר דבר דבור אסור הרהור מותר
Rambam, Laws of Shabbat 24:1
There are things that are forbidden on Shabbat despite the fact that they are not melacha (forbidden work on Shabbat) and they also do not bring one to do melacha. And why was this forbidden? Because it says, "If you refrain from trampling the sabbath, From pursuing your affairs on My holy day; If you call the sabbath 'delight,' The Lord’s holy day 'honored'; And if you honor it and go not your ways Nor look to your affairs, nor strike bargains, nor speaking thereof..." (Isaiah 58:13). Therefore it is forbidden for a person to go through with these business actions on Shabbat, and even to speak about them, such as speaking with his roommate what he will sell or buy tomorrow, or how he will build this and go about with this business, go to a particular location — all of this and things like it are forbidden, as it says, "Speaking thereof" (Isaiah 58:13).
Such a mandate is extremely hard to follow. People talk about their week, about the week to come. That's the sociological realities of our time, and quite frankly of all eras in history. Jews kibbitz.
Reflecting on the law, though, can we find an underlying flavor to the mitzvah?
The world was created with words — God spoke and the world came into being. So on a fundamental level, words are as important as the very actions which constitute our modern understanding of work, and our more nuanced understanding of melacha ("work"). On the very day where we sanctify creation, it is essential we should be aware of our speech.
The great medieval law code, the Shulchan Arukh (edited by Joseph Caro, Spain/Tzfat, 15th c.), takes a more stringent approach to this topic. While thinking about mundane (i.e. non-Shabbat) matters is permitted, it is discouraged (OH 306:8).
שולחן ערוך, אורח חיים שו:ח
הרהור בעסקיו, מותר; ומ"מ משום עונג שבת, (לח) מצוה שלא יחשוב בהם כלל (לט) ויהא בעיניו כאילו כל מלאכתו
עשויה
הרהור בעסקיו, מותר; ומ"מ משום עונג שבת, (לח) מצוה שלא יחשוב בהם כלל (לט) ויהא בעיניו כאילו כל מלאכתו
עשויה
Shulchan Arukh, OH 306:8.
Thinking about business matters is permitted; despite this fact, because of oneg shabbat (roughly translated as Shabbat joy — Entemann's brings joy, after all. Is this thing on?) it is a mitzvah not to think about them (business matters) at all, and to envision for herself as if the actions have been completed.
Citing Rabbeinu Yonah's (13th c. Spain) Iggeret HaTeshuva, Caro explains this more nuanced, and perhaps stringent view, in the Beit Yosef, his commentary to the Tur:
בית יוסף שו
והרהור בעסקיו מותר. בפרק שואל (קנ.) ודבר דבר דבור אסור הרהור מותר:
ומה שכתב ומכל מקום משום עונג שבת מצוה שלא יחשב בהם. כן כתב ה"ר יונה באגרת התשובה (דרש ב אות לה [יום ה]) אסור לאדם שיהא לבו טרוד בעסקיו בשבת אף על פי שאמרו חכמים הרהור מותר. אם יש לו מתוך ההרהור טרדת לב או נדנוד דאגה אסור שנאמר ועשית כל מלאכתך ואמרו במכילתא (יתרו, בחדש פ"ז אות ט) שתהא כל מלאכתך בעיניך כאלו היא עשויה שלא תהרהר עליה וכן אנו אומרים בתפילה מנוחת שלום השקט ובטח מנוחה שלימה שאתה רוצה בה ובברכת מזון אנו אומרים שלא תהא צרה ויגון ביום מנוחתנו עכ"ל
ומה שכתב ומכל מקום משום עונג שבת מצוה שלא יחשב בהם. כן כתב ה"ר יונה באגרת התשובה (דרש ב אות לה [יום ה]) אסור לאדם שיהא לבו טרוד בעסקיו בשבת אף על פי שאמרו חכמים הרהור מותר. אם יש לו מתוך ההרהור טרדת לב או נדנוד דאגה אסור שנאמר ועשית כל מלאכתך ואמרו במכילתא (יתרו, בחדש פ"ז אות ט) שתהא כל מלאכתך בעיניך כאלו היא עשויה שלא תהרהר עליה וכן אנו אומרים בתפילה מנוחת שלום השקט ובטח מנוחה שלימה שאתה רוצה בה ובברכת מזון אנו אומרים שלא תהא צרה ויגון ביום מנוחתנו עכ"ל
Beit Yosef 306:8
Despite this, it is a mitzvah, because of the concept of oneg shabbat, not to think about them (non-Shabbat topics). Thus wrote Rabbeinu Yonah in Iggeret HaTshuva:
"It is forbidden for a person's heart to be worried with business activities on Shabbat, even though the Rabbis wrote that 'thoughts are permitted' (see above, Massechet Shabbat 150). If these thoughts include worrying/pain of the heart or back-and-forth worrying, they are forbidden because it says "And you shall complete all of your melacha" (Exodus 20, "Fifth commandment"). And it says in the Mechilta that all of your melacha will appear in your eyes as if it is complete, so that you don't think about it. And we also say in the Amidah on Shabbat, 'The rest of peace, the quite and assurance, a complete rest that you want during the day.' And in Birkat HaMazon (Blessing over eating food) we say 'that there will be no distress or sadness on our day of rest.'"
Rabbeinu Yonah's position emphasizes that thoughts really can cause stress for a person, that stress in itself is real work and occupies the entirety of a person. During our prayers on Shabbat we pray for a day of complete rest, of body and mind. During a day which emphasizes a such serenity, of residing in a palace of time, rest should and must include respite from thoughts about the week. Moreover, it is impossible to have a day of rest without freeing ourselves from thoughts of the week.
Stress is real, it is consuming — for a day, one per week, one should leave these thoughts behind, view the world completely in the moment.
In explaining the strict ruling, the Mishnah Berurah gives a more technical answer, that one must particularly be aware of her "worries of the heart/mind," lest they lead to prohibited action. There is no assurance that these thoughts will lead to action, but there is certainly a worry that this will be the case.
הרהור בעסקיו מותר - דכתיב ודבר דבר דבור אסור הרהור מותר:
מצוה שלא יחשוב וכו' - ומכ"ש אם יש לו ע"י ההרהור טרדת הלב ודאגה דיזהר בזה עיין בב"י
מצוה שלא יחשוב וכו' - ומכ"ש אם יש לו ע"י ההרהור טרדת הלב ודאגה דיזהר בזה עיין בב"י
Is there a general takeaway from all of this? I'd like to say that it is to live in the moment, a legal codification for Shabbat and Festivals, and a general policy for all of life. Thoughts consume all of us. Often they keep us up at night. Sometimes they prevent us from performing to our highest capacities.
When we are in a "good mood" we are more pleasant to be around. Our moods, our thoughts, are real entities. There is a real place in our life for being consumed in stress about the daily goings-on of life — it shows that the individual cares about the task at hand, about the people she interacts with, about the particular melacha, and beyond.
But on Shabbat, with the understanding outlined largely by the Beit Yosef, we should assure that the entirety of our humanity is focused on living in a cathedral of time, honoring creation and ourselves.
A time to love and a time to hate? Another investigation of controlling thoughts
At Seudah Shelishit (the third meal, i.e. dinner on Shabbat) on Shabbat/Sukkot, a group of friends were sitting in the Sukkah and singing the well-known third chapter of Kohelet (Ecclesiastes) — "There is a time for everything under the sun." Codified in 20th century pop-culture by the Byrds, this chapter outlines a series of polarities which humanity encounters during life.
As I was sitting there, the eighth verse of the chapter grabbed my attention: עֵת לֶאֱהֹב וְעֵת לִשְׂנֹא, עֵת מִלְחָמָה וְעֵת שָׁלוֹם (A time to love and a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace).
Out loud, I wondered, is there really a time for hatred? What does that mean? We should allot particular time in our lives for hatred? Hateful thoughts are okay under specific situations?
The person across from me said absolutely. The Nazis killed his ancestors. He hates them and there is nothing wrong with that. More than that, he should hate them. He clearly should not act on these thoughts, but they are completely justified in themselves. There is a time to hate under the sun.
I am less confident with such a declaration. I, thankfully, do not have an interaction with such atrocities which give me the intangible and irrational emotions which lead individuals to emote and think as such.
Again, my thoughts go to West Wing. When President Bartlet asks Charlie if he would like for the man who murdered his mother executed, he responds: "I wouldn't want to see him executed, Mr. President. I'd want to do it myself" (Season 1, "Take this Sabbath day").
This passage does not specifically say "you shall hate Amalek." But it mandates that you should Remember how Amalek picked off the very weakest of your people and killed them with complete and utter disregard to humanity writ-large. That's a pretty explicit remembrance.
I'm not sure how you could remember this without hating. After all, the verse outlines exactly what you are to remember and gives you "a show but don't tell" edict of "You shall hate Amalek."
Perhaps this is Ecclesiastes' time under the sun?
Throughout all of this, my mind immediately goes to the verse in Leviticus 19:17 — לֹא-תִשְׂנָא .אֶת-אָחִיךָ, בִּלְבָבֶךָ You shall note hate your brother in your heart.
But who is this אחיך, your "brother"? It certainly doesn't seem to be Amalek. They aren't my family.
But could they be? Are there inherently evil people? Is this verse referring to the brotherhood of humanity?
Such an analysis understands thought to be directly related to actions, and that only through restraining thought will society function. Or voiced in the negative, only through controlling thoughts will society avoid destroying itself from the inside.
Again, this understanding particularly relates to the Rabbis' (of the Rabbinic age) understanding of the destruction of the Second Temple occurring because of sinat hinam, senseless hatred (Milgram, 1646). Milgrom also points to Proverbs 26:24-25, which Ramban had as well, to illustrate that thoughts are often masked by inward cunning and plotting:
24. An enemy dissembles with his speech, Inwardly he harbors deceit. 25. Though he be fair-spoken do not trust him, For seven abominations are in his mind.
Are hateful thoughts preventable? In an immediate way, perhaps not. But psychologically, over time, I would like to think that such hatred diminishes — but only with active work. Again, Milgram suggests that Avsalom's hatred of his half-brother Amnon and his plot to kill him is directly related to the fact that Avshalom did not "utter a word to Amnon good or bad" (2 Sam 13:22).
Had he conversed, engaged with this hatred, would the result have differed?
Can we keep such thoughts out of heads on a permanent basis? No.
After engaging with these texts, I am more inclined to say that perhaps there are times under the sun for hatred. VERY specific times.
But who gets to decide this? The ramifications of this decision are dangerous to the utmost. These thoughts produce very real and tangible results in our world. In many cases, these thoughts mark tangible sins. But these momentary sins are blips on the radar compared to the long-term danger of festering hatred, the reason that CJ was quite so emphatic about the Hate Crimes legislation.
So is there a time for hatred under the sun?
Your turn.
As I was sitting there, the eighth verse of the chapter grabbed my attention: עֵת לֶאֱהֹב וְעֵת לִשְׂנֹא, עֵת מִלְחָמָה וְעֵת שָׁלוֹם (A time to love and a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace).
Out loud, I wondered, is there really a time for hatred? What does that mean? We should allot particular time in our lives for hatred? Hateful thoughts are okay under specific situations?
The person across from me said absolutely. The Nazis killed his ancestors. He hates them and there is nothing wrong with that. More than that, he should hate them. He clearly should not act on these thoughts, but they are completely justified in themselves. There is a time to hate under the sun.
I am less confident with such a declaration. I, thankfully, do not have an interaction with such atrocities which give me the intangible and irrational emotions which lead individuals to emote and think as such.
Again, my thoughts go to West Wing. When President Bartlet asks Charlie if he would like for the man who murdered his mother executed, he responds: "I wouldn't want to see him executed, Mr. President. I'd want to do it myself" (Season 1, "Take this Sabbath day").
Such a vocalization is cathartic and healthy. To suggest that one should push aside thoughts of hatred after an incomprehensible tragedy such as murder is both callous and dangerous to the victim's family. Such thoughts need to be expressed openly, not held back.
But the question is if after such catharthis, there is something dangerous in festering hatred.
In line with this whole line conversation, I'm led to believe that thoughts do not exist in isolation, and are in dynamic tension with words and actions. Such is the reason that the vidui tells us we must be so conscious of הרהור/י הלב, our reverberations, our "uncontrolled" thoughts. They are the keystone to all of our interactions with the outside world.
Yet at the same time, are there times in our lives when hatred truly is not only a merited response, but the correct and only one for the moment? Ecclesiastes decidedly says yes.
During the Shabbat before Purim, we read "Parashat Zachor," specifically mandating us to remember what the Amelekite nation did to the Hebrews when we/they left Egypt (Deut. 25:17-19):
In line with this whole line conversation, I'm led to believe that thoughts do not exist in isolation, and are in dynamic tension with words and actions. Such is the reason that the vidui tells us we must be so conscious of הרהור/י הלב, our reverberations, our "uncontrolled" thoughts. They are the keystone to all of our interactions with the outside world.
Yet at the same time, are there times in our lives when hatred truly is not only a merited response, but the correct and only one for the moment? Ecclesiastes decidedly says yes.
During the Shabbat before Purim, we read "Parashat Zachor," specifically mandating us to remember what the Amelekite nation did to the Hebrews when we/they left Egypt (Deut. 25:17-19):
יז זָכוֹר, אֵת אֲשֶׁר-עָשָׂה לְךָ עֲמָלֵק, בַּדֶּרֶךְ, בְּצֵאתְכֶם מִמִּצְרָיִם. יח אֲשֶׁר קָרְךָ בַּדֶּרֶךְ, וַיְזַנֵּב בְּךָ כָּל-הַנֶּחֱשָׁלִים אַחֲרֶיךָ--וְאַתָּה, עָיֵף וְיָגֵעַ; וְלֹא יָרֵא, אֱלֹהִים. יט וְהָיָה בְּהָנִיחַ יְקוָק אֱלֹהֶיךָ לְךָ מִכָּל-אֹיְבֶיךָ מִסָּבִיב, בָּאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר יְהוָה-אֱלֹהֶיךָ נֹתֵן לְךָ נַחֲלָה לְרִשְׁתָּהּ--תִּמְחֶה אֶת-זֵכֶר עֲמָלֵק, מִתַּחַת הַשָּׁמָיִם; לֹא, תִּשְׁכָּח
Remember what Amalek did to you by the way as you left Egypt; 18 how he met you by the way, and killed your most vulnerable, all that were languishing in the back, when you were faint and weary; and he did not fear God 19 Therefore it shall be, when Adonai your God gave you rest from all your enemies around, in the land which Adonai your God gave you for an inheritance to possess it, that you shall blot out the remembrance of Amalek from under heaven; you shall not forget.This passage does not specifically say "you shall hate Amalek." But it mandates that you should Remember how Amalek picked off the very weakest of your people and killed them with complete and utter disregard to humanity writ-large. That's a pretty explicit remembrance.
I'm not sure how you could remember this without hating. After all, the verse outlines exactly what you are to remember and gives you "a show but don't tell" edict of "You shall hate Amalek."
Perhaps this is Ecclesiastes' time under the sun?
Throughout all of this, my mind immediately goes to the verse in Leviticus 19:17 — לֹא-תִשְׂנָא .אֶת-אָחִיךָ, בִּלְבָבֶךָ You shall note hate your brother in your heart.
But who is this אחיך, your "brother"? It certainly doesn't seem to be Amalek. They aren't my family.
But could they be? Are there inherently evil people? Is this verse referring to the brotherhood of humanity?
In Hannah Arendt's terms, what is the banality of evil? Are all humans capable of indescribable horror and thus we truly are all brothers?
Abraham Ibn Ezra (12th c. Spain) says that verse 17 is a negative recitation of the so-called "Golden Rule," which is immediately following. And thus, it would necessarily include all of humanity — I don't know of any religious tradition that suggests "Love your neighbor as yourself" only applies to a particular ethnic group or religion. Yet in the very same comment, he says that the Second Temple was destroyed for such "senseless hatred," שנאת חינם, which gives the commandment a decidedly particularistic mandate — this was Jewish senseless hatred, not that of others. And thus the dialectic remains in the air.
More than this, the Spanish scholar says that one must protect these thoughts from entering here heart, as the commandment completely emphasizes thought-based activities.
20th century Bible scholar Jacob Milgrom notes that Nachmanides (hereafter referred to as Ramban, 13th c. Spain) suggests that verses 17 and 18 are written in a chiastic structure, the first half of each verse being general commands and the end of each, the details of how to accomplish them (Anchor Bible Commentary, Leviticus 17-22, 1646).
But Milgram says that the Joseph Bekhor Shor's (12th c. France) analysis is more precise, that the two verses form literary parallels:
Prohibition:
17 Do not hate your brother in your heart לֹא-תִשְׂנָא אֶת-אָחִיךָ, בִּלְבָבֶךָ
18 Do not bear any grudge against the children of your people לֹא-תִקֹּם וְלֹא-תִטֹּר אֶת-בְּנֵי עַמֶּךָ
Remedy:
17 You shall surely rebuke your neighbor הוֹכֵחַ תּוֹכִיחַ אֶת-עֲמִיתֶךָ וְאָהַבְתָּ לְרֵעֲךָ כָּמוֹךָ
18 You shall love your fellow as yourself ואהבת לרעך כמוך
Rationale:
17 So that you will not bear sin because of him וְלֹא-תִשָּׂא עָלָיו חֵטְא
18 I Adonai (have spoken) אני יקוק
Abraham Ibn Ezra (12th c. Spain) says that verse 17 is a negative recitation of the so-called "Golden Rule," which is immediately following. And thus, it would necessarily include all of humanity — I don't know of any religious tradition that suggests "Love your neighbor as yourself" only applies to a particular ethnic group or religion. Yet in the very same comment, he says that the Second Temple was destroyed for such "senseless hatred," שנאת חינם, which gives the commandment a decidedly particularistic mandate — this was Jewish senseless hatred, not that of others. And thus the dialectic remains in the air.
More than this, the Spanish scholar says that one must protect these thoughts from entering here heart, as the commandment completely emphasizes thought-based activities.
אבן עזרא ויקרא י''ז
יז) לא תשנא את אחיך הפך ואהבת לרעך (יח). והנה אלה המצות כולם נטועות בלב, ובהשמרם ישבו בארץ, כי על שנאת חנם חרב בית שני. הוכח תוכיח שמא תחשדהו בדבר ולא היה כן, וזה טעם ולא תשא עליו חטא, כי עונש יהיה לך בעבורו:
20th century Bible scholar Jacob Milgrom notes that Nachmanides (hereafter referred to as Ramban, 13th c. Spain) suggests that verses 17 and 18 are written in a chiastic structure, the first half of each verse being general commands and the end of each, the details of how to accomplish them (Anchor Bible Commentary, Leviticus 17-22, 1646).
פירוש הרמב''ן, פסוק יז
לא תשנא את אחיך בלבבך - בעבור שדרך השונאים לכסות את שנאתם בלבם כמו שאמר (משלי כו כד) בשפתיו ינכר שונא, הזכיר הכתוב בהווה:
ואמר הוכח תוכיח את עמיתך - מצוה אחרת, ללמדו תוכחת מוסר, "ולא תשא עליו חטא" שיהיה עליך אשם כאשר יחטא ולא הוכחת אותו. ולזה יטה לשון אונקלוס שאמר, ולא תקבל על דיליה חובא, שלא תקבל אתה עונש בחטא שלו. ואחרי כן צוה שתאהוב אותו. והנה השונא את רעהו עובר בלאו, והאוהב לו מקיים עשה:
והנכון בעיני, כי "הוכח תוכיח", כמו והוכיח אברהם את אבימלך (בראשית כא כה). ויאמר הכתוב, אל תשנא את אחיך בלבבך בעשותו לך שלא כרצונך, אבל תוכיחנו מדוע ככה עשית עמדי, ולא תשא עליו חטא לכסות שנאתו בלבך ולא תגיד לו, כי בהוכיחך אותו יתנצל לך, או ישוב ויתודה על חטאו ותכפר לו. ואחרי כן יזהיר שלא תנקום ממנו ולא תטור בלבבך מה שעשה לך, כי יתכן שלא ישנא אותו אבל יזכור החטא בלבו, ולפיכך יזהירנו שימחה פשע אחיו וחטאתו מלבו. ואחרי כן יצוה שיאהב לו כמוהו:
ואמר הוכח תוכיח את עמיתך - מצוה אחרת, ללמדו תוכחת מוסר, "ולא תשא עליו חטא" שיהיה עליך אשם כאשר יחטא ולא הוכחת אותו. ולזה יטה לשון אונקלוס שאמר, ולא תקבל על דיליה חובא, שלא תקבל אתה עונש בחטא שלו. ואחרי כן צוה שתאהוב אותו. והנה השונא את רעהו עובר בלאו, והאוהב לו מקיים עשה:
והנכון בעיני, כי "הוכח תוכיח", כמו והוכיח אברהם את אבימלך (בראשית כא כה). ויאמר הכתוב, אל תשנא את אחיך בלבבך בעשותו לך שלא כרצונך, אבל תוכיחנו מדוע ככה עשית עמדי, ולא תשא עליו חטא לכסות שנאתו בלבך ולא תגיד לו, כי בהוכיחך אותו יתנצל לך, או ישוב ויתודה על חטאו ותכפר לו. ואחרי כן יזהיר שלא תנקום ממנו ולא תטור בלבבך מה שעשה לך, כי יתכן שלא ישנא אותו אבל יזכור החטא בלבו, ולפיכך יזהירנו שימחה פשע אחיו וחטאתו מלבו. ואחרי כן יצוה שיאהב לו כמוהו:
But Milgram says that the Joseph Bekhor Shor's (12th c. France) analysis is more precise, that the two verses form literary parallels:
Prohibition:
17 Do not hate your brother in your heart לֹא-תִשְׂנָא אֶת-אָחִיךָ, בִּלְבָבֶךָ
18 Do not bear any grudge against the children of your people לֹא-תִקֹּם וְלֹא-תִטֹּר אֶת-בְּנֵי עַמֶּךָ
Remedy:
17 You shall surely rebuke your neighbor הוֹכֵחַ תּוֹכִיחַ אֶת-עֲמִיתֶךָ וְאָהַבְתָּ לְרֵעֲךָ כָּמוֹךָ
18 You shall love your fellow as yourself ואהבת לרעך כמוך
Rationale:
17 So that you will not bear sin because of him וְלֹא-תִשָּׂא עָלָיו חֵטְא
18 I Adonai (have spoken) אני יקוק
Such an analysis understands thought to be directly related to actions, and that only through restraining thought will society function. Or voiced in the negative, only through controlling thoughts will society avoid destroying itself from the inside.
Again, this understanding particularly relates to the Rabbis' (of the Rabbinic age) understanding of the destruction of the Second Temple occurring because of sinat hinam, senseless hatred (Milgram, 1646). Milgrom also points to Proverbs 26:24-25, which Ramban had as well, to illustrate that thoughts are often masked by inward cunning and plotting:
כד. בִּשְׂפָתָו, יִנָּכֵר שׂוֹנֵא; וּבְקִרְבּוֹ, יָשִׁית מִרְמָה. כה. כִּי-יְחַנֵּן קוֹלוֹ, אַל-תַּאֲמֶן-בּוֹ: כִּי שֶׁבַע תּוֹעֵבוֹת בְּלִבּוֹ.
24. An enemy dissembles with his speech, Inwardly he harbors deceit. 25. Though he be fair-spoken do not trust him, For seven abominations are in his mind.
Are hateful thoughts preventable? In an immediate way, perhaps not. But psychologically, over time, I would like to think that such hatred diminishes — but only with active work. Again, Milgram suggests that Avsalom's hatred of his half-brother Amnon and his plot to kill him is directly related to the fact that Avshalom did not "utter a word to Amnon good or bad" (2 Sam 13:22).
Had he conversed, engaged with this hatred, would the result have differed?
Can we keep such thoughts out of heads on a permanent basis? No.
After engaging with these texts, I am more inclined to say that perhaps there are times under the sun for hatred. VERY specific times.
But who gets to decide this? The ramifications of this decision are dangerous to the utmost. These thoughts produce very real and tangible results in our world. In many cases, these thoughts mark tangible sins. But these momentary sins are blips on the radar compared to the long-term danger of festering hatred, the reason that CJ was quite so emphatic about the Hate Crimes legislation.
So is there a time for hatred under the sun?
Your turn.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Mind control — bathroom edition
Several years ago, Eytan Kenter gave the List College graduation speech in a towel. "90 percent of your best ideas come to you in the shower," he stated. "Now it's time to do something about those ideas."
He then threw the towel into the crowd.
And the crowd erupted in applause.
Using an informal poll, I've discovered just how right Eytan was — people really do some of the their best thinking in the shower.
For example, raise your hand if you have great ideas come to you in the shower.
I thought so.
But there is a legal prohibition against Torah study from entering the bathroom, either the toilet or the bath. There is an underlying ethos that because the bathroom is not a modest or respectful place, therefore Torah should not be present there — but it should be everywhere else. For this reason, for example, a mezuzah is not placed on the doorpost of a bathroom.
So clearly, that means that the Bible is not good bathroom reading. But does it really mean that even thinking Torah thoughts are forbidden? Even during my prime thinking time of the day?
What if these thoughts will ultimately help others? I should really censor these thoughts? After all, this differs dramatically from trying to censor thoughts which have the potential to inflict danger, as I discussed in the previous post. These are thoughts which have the potential to do a great service for people.
I don't have any answers to these questions, but come, let us explore.
The law originates in the Babylonian Talmud (hereafter referred to as the Bavli), Kiddushin 33a. The Gemarra (commentary on the Mishnah) itself notes that there is a difference between voluntary and involuntary thoughts in the bathroom. As I'll note, this is not the way the law is codified, though. (The word "hirhurim" is also used here, the same as noted in the previous post).
From Kiddushin 33a:
There is a parallel text in Masechet Berachot, as well:
Berachot, 24b
Who said that Rabbi Yochanan spoke thusly? Rabbah Bar Bar Chana said in the name of Rabbi Yochanan: In every place it is permissible leharher with words of Torah — except for the bath house and the toilet room.
Commenting on the Kiddushin text, Rashi (Rabbi Shelomo ben Yitzhak, 11th c. Provence) explains that involuntary thoughts (literally, thoughts "which are forced [into the mind]) occur against peoples' wills sometimes. Even when one specifically decides at the entrance to the bathhouse/modern bathroom that she is not going to think about such topics, sometimes they force their way into her mind and she thinks about them.
Legal exegesis of this concept:
Below are a series of the major Medieval legal exegetes and how they rule on the above question of excising particular thoughts from the bathroom.
Rabbi Yitzhak Alfasi (hereafter referred to as the Rif, 11th c. Morocco) codifies the legal portion of this Talmudic argument with Rabbi Yochanan's statement that it is forbidden to have hirhurim in the bathroom.
Ri''f, Masechet Berachot, Chapter 3
Rav Huna said: A talmid hacham (wise one) is forbidden to stand in a place of excrement, because it is impossible for him to be without Torah (ie. existentially, he is a person of Torah knowledge and will always think Torah thoughts). And Rabbi Yochanan said: In all places, one is allowed to have hirhurim — except in the bath house and toilet room.
As codified in Maimonides' Mishneh Torah (12th c. Spain, Egypt, hereafter referred to as Rambam) the laws about proper intention while in the bathroom are listed under the "Laws of Keriat Shema" (reading the Shema) because the Shema requires particular intention in its recitation. The Rambam codifies the mahmir (stringent) opinion in the Gemarra, which forbids even thinking "Torah thoughts" while in the bathroom, or in the vicinity of it, for that matter (Hilchot Keriat Shema 3:4).
Rambam, Laws of reading the Shema
This does not apply only to reciting the Shema, rather any aspect [which could apply as] "Holy words" is forbidden to say in the bath house (referring Greco-Roman-style of the Rabbinic age, but applying to any parallel of the particular time) and in the toilet room. And it is even forbidden to say it in a mundane language (anything other than Hebrew). And not only is saying it forbidden, but even to think words of Torah in his heart while in the bath house or toilet room is forbidden...
The Shulkhan Arukh (edited by Joseph Karo, Spain/Tzfat, 15th c.) rules almost identically as the Rambam, which can be seen clearly here — don't even THINK about it.
Even thinking about words of Torah is forbidden in the toilet room and in the bath house and in a place of refuse, defined as a place where there is feces and urine.
Okay, not that much difference, except for the extra details I gave you, which had previously been after the ellipses of the Rambam passage. But here's where it gets interesting.
How exactly do we define Torah? The Hebrew Bible? Halakhic texts? The gamut of philosophy in the Jewish tradition?
Tradition Renewed?
Hebrew grammar?
Yes, that's right.
As an individual who is particularly fond of grammar in any language, amen to that? (I should note that in seventh grade, my dad asked my English teacher if we would be learning to diagram sentences and he was extremely disappointed when the answer was no. "They're very important," he retorted. The dinner table made up for what we lacked in class. In 10th grade, Dr. Hemminger gave me the title "Grammar King," I'll have you know. Such nachas). It should be noted that my love of Hebrew grammar pales in comparison to those who have named their blog after a favorite vowel/grammatical form.
In his commentary on this section of Shulkhan Arukh, the Mishnah Berurah (R. Yisrael Kagan, 19th c. Poland) says that while one is in the bathroom he may not think about Hebrew grammatical details, such as verb tables, because that might lead the individual to think of a Biblical verse with similar constructs.
It is forbidden to study Hebrew noun and verb tables in the bathroom, because there is no way to prevent one from only thinking about the Writings as they are related to the particular word, and he will come to think about the Torah...
I must note that this example is slightly different than my previous ones. One does not refrain from thinking about Hebrew grammar because this in itself is legally problematic. Rather, doing so is a harhaka (distancing) from breaking the actual law of thinking Torah thoughts in a location which is not suitable for them. For grammar aficionados (I'm looking at YOU, Emily Cook), it's also entertaining.
I don't know what it is about the shower that provides such fodder for thought. If you do, please share. Any general comments on such a prohibition?
More examples to come.
He then threw the towel into the crowd.
And the crowd erupted in applause.
Using an informal poll, I've discovered just how right Eytan was — people really do some of the their best thinking in the shower.
For example, raise your hand if you have great ideas come to you in the shower.
I thought so.
But there is a legal prohibition against Torah study from entering the bathroom, either the toilet or the bath. There is an underlying ethos that because the bathroom is not a modest or respectful place, therefore Torah should not be present there — but it should be everywhere else. For this reason, for example, a mezuzah is not placed on the doorpost of a bathroom.
So clearly, that means that the Bible is not good bathroom reading. But does it really mean that even thinking Torah thoughts are forbidden? Even during my prime thinking time of the day?
What if these thoughts will ultimately help others? I should really censor these thoughts? After all, this differs dramatically from trying to censor thoughts which have the potential to inflict danger, as I discussed in the previous post. These are thoughts which have the potential to do a great service for people.
I don't have any answers to these questions, but come, let us explore.
The law originates in the Babylonian Talmud (hereafter referred to as the Bavli), Kiddushin 33a. The Gemarra (commentary on the Mishnah) itself notes that there is a difference between voluntary and involuntary thoughts in the bathroom. As I'll note, this is not the way the law is codified, though. (The word "hirhurim" is also used here, the same as noted in the previous post).
From Kiddushin 33a:
ה"נ מסתברא, דאמר רבה בר בר חנה אמר ר' יוחנן: בכל מקום מותר להרהר, חוץ מבית המרחץ ומבית הכסא! דילמא לאונסיה שאני
For Rabbah b. Bar Hanah said: One may meditate/have thoughts [about learning] everywhere except at the baths and in the toilet room. [That however does not follow:] maybe it is different when [done] involuntarily. (Translation: Soncino)There is a parallel text in Masechet Berachot, as well:
ברכות כ''ד:ב
ומי אמר רבי יוחנן הכי? והאמר רבה בר בר חנה אמר רבי יוחנן: בכל מקום מותר להרהר בדברי תורה - חוץ מבית המרחץ ומבית הכסא
Berachot, 24b
Who said that Rabbi Yochanan spoke thusly? Rabbah Bar Bar Chana said in the name of Rabbi Yochanan: In every place it is permissible leharher with words of Torah — except for the bath house and the toilet room.
Commenting on the Kiddushin text, Rashi (Rabbi Shelomo ben Yitzhak, 11th c. Provence) explains that involuntary thoughts (literally, thoughts "which are forced [into the mind]) occur against peoples' wills sometimes. Even when one specifically decides at the entrance to the bathhouse/modern bathroom that she is not going to think about such topics, sometimes they force their way into her mind and she thinks about them.
רש''י
לאונסיה שאני - פעמים שהוא טרוד ומעיין בשמועתיה לפני כניסתו למרחץ, וע"כ היא שגורה בפיו ולבו ומעיין בה בבית המרחץ.
Legal exegesis of this concept:
Below are a series of the major Medieval legal exegetes and how they rule on the above question of excising particular thoughts from the bathroom.
Rabbi Yitzhak Alfasi (hereafter referred to as the Rif, 11th c. Morocco) codifies the legal portion of this Talmudic argument with Rabbi Yochanan's statement that it is forbidden to have hirhurim in the bathroom.
רי''ף, מסכת ברכות, פרק ג
אמר רב הונא תלמיד חכם אסור לעמוד במקום הטנופת שאי אפשר לו בלא תורה. ואמר רבי יוחנן בכל מותר להרהר חוץ מבית המרחץ ומבית הכסא
Ri''f, Masechet Berachot, Chapter 3
Rav Huna said: A talmid hacham (wise one) is forbidden to stand in a place of excrement, because it is impossible for him to be without Torah (ie. existentially, he is a person of Torah knowledge and will always think Torah thoughts). And Rabbi Yochanan said: In all places, one is allowed to have hirhurim — except in the bath house and toilet room.
As codified in Maimonides' Mishneh Torah (12th c. Spain, Egypt, hereafter referred to as Rambam) the laws about proper intention while in the bathroom are listed under the "Laws of Keriat Shema" (reading the Shema) because the Shema requires particular intention in its recitation. The Rambam codifies the mahmir (stringent) opinion in the Gemarra, which forbids even thinking "Torah thoughts" while in the bathroom, or in the vicinity of it, for that matter (Hilchot Keriat Shema 3:4).
רמב''ם ,הלכות קריאת שמע ג:ד
ולא קריאת שמע בלבד אלא כל ענין שהוא מדברי הקדש אסור לאומרו בבית המרחץ ובבית הכסא ואפילו אמרו בלשון חול, ולא לאמרו בלבד, אלא אפילו להרהר בלבו בדברי תורה בבית הכסא ובבית המרחץ...
Rambam, Laws of reading the Shema
This does not apply only to reciting the Shema, rather any aspect [which could apply as] "Holy words" is forbidden to say in the bath house (referring Greco-Roman-style of the Rabbinic age, but applying to any parallel of the particular time) and in the toilet room. And it is even forbidden to say it in a mundane language (anything other than Hebrew). And not only is saying it forbidden, but even to think words of Torah in his heart while in the bath house or toilet room is forbidden...
The Shulkhan Arukh (edited by Joseph Karo, Spain/Tzfat, 15th c.) rules almost identically as the Rambam, which can be seen clearly here — don't even THINK about it.
שולחן ערוך, אורח חיים, פ''ה: ב
אפי' להרהר בד"ת, אסור בבית הכסא ובבית המרחץ ובמקום הטנופת, והוא המקום שיש בו צואה ומי רגלים. הגה: ואפי' הלכות המרחץ אסור ללמוד במרחץ (ר"ן פ' כירה וב"י בשם א"ח). דברים של חול, מותר לאמרם שם בלשון הקדש...
Shulkhan Arukh, Orach Hayyim, 85:2Even thinking about words of Torah is forbidden in the toilet room and in the bath house and in a place of refuse, defined as a place where there is feces and urine.
Okay, not that much difference, except for the extra details I gave you, which had previously been after the ellipses of the Rambam passage. But here's where it gets interesting.
How exactly do we define Torah? The Hebrew Bible? Halakhic texts? The gamut of philosophy in the Jewish tradition?
Tradition Renewed?
Hebrew grammar?
Yes, that's right.
As an individual who is particularly fond of grammar in any language, amen to that? (I should note that in seventh grade, my dad asked my English teacher if we would be learning to diagram sentences and he was extremely disappointed when the answer was no. "They're very important," he retorted. The dinner table made up for what we lacked in class. In 10th grade, Dr. Hemminger gave me the title "Grammar King," I'll have you know. Such nachas). It should be noted that my love of Hebrew grammar pales in comparison to those who have named their blog after a favorite vowel/grammatical form.
In his commentary on this section of Shulkhan Arukh, the Mishnah Berurah (R. Yisrael Kagan, 19th c. Poland) says that while one is in the bathroom he may not think about Hebrew grammatical details, such as verb tables, because that might lead the individual to think of a Biblical verse with similar constructs.
משנה ברורה פה:ה
בד"ת - וכן אסור לעיין בבה"כ במשקלי השמות והפעלים של לשון הקודש שאין דרך להגיע לידיעה רק ע"פ הכתובים ויבוא להרהר במקרא
Mishneh Berurah 85:5It is forbidden to study Hebrew noun and verb tables in the bathroom, because there is no way to prevent one from only thinking about the Writings as they are related to the particular word, and he will come to think about the Torah...
I must note that this example is slightly different than my previous ones. One does not refrain from thinking about Hebrew grammar because this in itself is legally problematic. Rather, doing so is a harhaka (distancing) from breaking the actual law of thinking Torah thoughts in a location which is not suitable for them. For grammar aficionados (I'm looking at YOU, Emily Cook), it's also entertaining.
I don't know what it is about the shower that provides such fodder for thought. If you do, please share. Any general comments on such a prohibition?
More examples to come.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Mind control? Do we have control of our thoughts? (A multi-part series)
Last year, one of my friends and classmates sat down for lunch in the JTS courtyard and reflected that as he was going through his alumni magazine, he felt unhealthily jealous of many of the accomplishments that others had attained. And as he noted, he had chosen a different path. He has a beautiful family, the love of friends and is literally engaged in a living dream as he studies Torah each day.
It wasn't as if he actually wanted to be at the top of a particular firm — that would not bring him happiness. But still, it was tough to read about the accomplishments of others and not "covet" their place in life.
Such is the conundrum of the 10th statement/commandment of the Big Ten (15, before Mel Brooks dropped a tablet). Is it really possible ever to fulfill the mandate of not coveting? In broader terms, can thought be legislated?
Exodus 20:13 reads in full:
יג לֹא תַחְמֹד, בֵּית רֵעֶךָ; לֹא-תַחְמֹד אֵשֶׁת רֵעֶךָ, וְעַבְדּוֹ וַאֲמָתוֹ וְשׁוֹרוֹ וַחֲמֹרוֹ, וְכֹל, אֲשֶׁר לְרֵעֶךָ.
13. You shall not covet your neighbor's house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, nor his man-servant, nor his maid-servant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that belongs to your neighbor
As you will quickly note while reading this blog, if you don't know this already, I find great wisdom in the West Wing. In this case, the episode entitled "Take out the trash day" touches precisely on the dilemmas of this verse.
Sam: "There's a town in Alabama that wants to abolish all laws except the Ten Commandments. . . . Well, they're going to have a problem. . . . Coveting thy neighbor's wife, for instance. How're you going to enforce that one?"
and then a follow-up to this rhetorical monologue
Sam: Leo, did you know there's a town in Alabama that wants to (abolish all laws except the Ten Commandments)...
Leo: Yes.
Sam: What do you think?
Leo: Coveting thy neighbor's wife's gonna cause some problems.
Sam: That's what I said. Plus, if I were arrested for coveting my neighbor's wife, I'd probably bear false witness.
That's precisely the issue, of course — how does one mandate thought, let alone legislate against it. Of course it works differently when being enforced by God, an omniscient power (bear with me on the theology for now — I use it purposefully, though could word it differently if this is a deal-breaker) and a state which does not have said powers. But the issue remains. Do humans have control over their thoughts at all, and if not, is it setting people up to fail to legislate against how people should think?
Another episode in Season One of the West Wing (In Exelcis Dio) approaches the same issue, this time in relation to a Hate Crimes legislation. Here's part of the script, which emphasizes the dialectic; it is an argument pulsing with emotion after a parallel in the narrative to the Matthew Shepard attack:
C.J.
Beyond the crime itself is a manifestation of racism, or sexism, or anti Semitism or
homophobia that are only a tip of the iceberg of the pathology troubling this country.
LEO
I’m aware of all that. I’m just not sure it’s right to legislate against how someone thinks.
A lot of people aren’t sure, a lot of ‘em work here and I’m telling ya’ to dial it down.
We could continue with other such examples of whether states should censor particular topics, even the most hateful ones which could eventually manifest violence toward its citizens. What are the results of various European countries banning public displays of anti-Semitism, of denying the Holocaust?
Is there merit in banning books? In excommunicating the most heretical members of a society? EVER? If so, what are the ramifications of such actions?
These are not perfect parallels. But the similarities provide fodder for discussion.
During Yom Kippur, we will recite the Vidui repeatedly throughout the liturgy. We will recite various sins which we have transgressed, beating our breasts in rhythm and turn. We will recite "our sins that we have committed by hirhur halev" (inner thoughts; I prefer to translate it as reverberations of the mind) — על חטא שחטאנו לפניך בהרהור הלב.
(A note: Many cringe at the word sin. They prefer a P.C. term such as "missing the mark." Sin, after all has fire and brimstone connotations, Fundamentalist overtones. But I insist on it. Rabbi Richard Hirsh, my rabbi when we lived in Evanston, framed it best when he said:
Often Jews mistakenly dismiss the reality of sin, substituting the gentler but weaker image of “missing the mark.” This suggests that sin lies only in failing to do what we should rather than in failing to be who we should be.
Reducing sin to the status of an almost inadvertent error hardly seems tenable in the light of our awareness of the horrors of which humans, individually as well as collectively, have proved capable. The very nature of human nature lies before us as an open question.
There is a dark side to human nature, an impulse to evil which distorts and corrups our best intentions... Sin is not only what we do, or do not do it is also a question of who we are. In order to confess sin, we must first confront sin. (From Siddur Kol HaNeshama))
Today during the weekly sicha (discussion) at the Conservative Yeshiva, Reb Shmuel suggested that the confession of sinning because of inner reverberations is the paradigm for all of the statements where we confess our sins. Everything builds from this. These "reverberations of the heart" are real, intended thoughts. And they lead to tangible manifestations of negating that the human in front of us is an entire world to herself. They negate our humanity and place in the wider world.
Yes, there are times such unintended thoughts creep into our minds, but that does not imply that we cannot work on conditioning these "in-between moments," as Reb Shmuel suggested. It is an endless task, certainly. But fundamentally "an understanding of an ideal moral state is through trying to achieve it."
Before today, I questioned strongly whether it was possible to restrict said hirhurim from entering the mind. The question still is reverberating around my own mind. But again, as Reb Shmuel suggested, cleaning up one's act is largely about cleaning up one's mind. Moreover, almost all theories of psychological health try to make the unconscious, conscious. In sum, "there is nothing more powerful than denying what you want to know about yourself."
It is important to note that this is not an all-in phenomenon — it would be self-defeating and overwhelming to suggest that such a repair could be.
The notion that restraining thought, or more accurately restricting it, is at the forefront of the "10th commandment." Abraham Ibn Ezra (12th c. Spain) introduces his commentary on the verse with a self reflective question — "Many people are astonished about this mitzvah! How is it possible that one can not covet something beautiful in his heart if it is so beautiful in his eyes?!"
לא תחמוד אנשים רבים יתמהו על זאת המצוה?! איך יהיה אדם שלא יחמוד דבר יפה בלבו כל מה שהוא נחמד למראה עיניו
I will not quote the entire passage, which includes a parable which leads to an answer. But such a rhetorical introduction notes the inherent difficulty in this mitzvah. How does one restrain hirhurim?
And thus is the challenge.
As Amichai Lau-Lavie notes, the mandate of "do not covet/ לא תחמד" ultimately protects the very fabric of society. If only people were more punctilious about it:
"The tenth commandment does not refer only to the sins of lust. It lists the types of properties one must not desire – someone else’s spouse, servant or ox (or laptop). Like the other nine commandments, this one is a pretty good idea, an early form of ethical norm making. But, unlike the other nine, it is the only one that prevents one from even thinking about transgression. It’s an early version of mind control. But how well does it work?
Coveting, in all its manifestations, can easily, perhaps too easily, be identified as the possible root of so many evils – consider consumerism or adultery, and useless wars and crashing markets. Have I mentioned global warming? Throughout human history, it seemed, with an eye always on the next big thing, our healthy appetites became binges of craving, crashing delicate eco-systems of propriety, and destroying lives, homes and countries. Now it may even be the planet."
As I enter Yom Kippur, I think about the uncontrollable and know that it is a cop-out to frame it as such. It is a continual task to be aware of when these ideas come to my mind — and there are most certainly commonalities among them — and proceed onward from there. Because these thoughts are sins in themselves. But thoughts also affect the very fabric of an individual.
Intellectually, I'm also curious — when are we commanded to refuse certain thoughts from entrance to our minds? Why these cases?
I've assembled a few examples to illustrate this — for now "negative" examples. When can I not think certain things? What are these thoughts?
But that's for a later post. For now, on to Shabbat in Tel Aviv and Yom Kippur in Yerushalayim. Hineh Ani Ba, indeed.
It wasn't as if he actually wanted to be at the top of a particular firm — that would not bring him happiness. But still, it was tough to read about the accomplishments of others and not "covet" their place in life.
Such is the conundrum of the 10th statement/commandment of the Big Ten (15, before Mel Brooks dropped a tablet). Is it really possible ever to fulfill the mandate of not coveting? In broader terms, can thought be legislated?
Exodus 20:13 reads in full:
יג לֹא תַחְמֹד, בֵּית רֵעֶךָ; לֹא-תַחְמֹד אֵשֶׁת רֵעֶךָ, וְעַבְדּוֹ וַאֲמָתוֹ וְשׁוֹרוֹ וַחֲמֹרוֹ, וְכֹל, אֲשֶׁר לְרֵעֶךָ.
13. You shall not covet your neighbor's house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, nor his man-servant, nor his maid-servant, nor his ox, nor his ass, nor any thing that belongs to your neighbor
As you will quickly note while reading this blog, if you don't know this already, I find great wisdom in the West Wing. In this case, the episode entitled "Take out the trash day" touches precisely on the dilemmas of this verse.
Sam: "There's a town in Alabama that wants to abolish all laws except the Ten Commandments. . . . Well, they're going to have a problem. . . . Coveting thy neighbor's wife, for instance. How're you going to enforce that one?"
and then a follow-up to this rhetorical monologue
Sam: Leo, did you know there's a town in Alabama that wants to (abolish all laws except the Ten Commandments)...
Leo: Yes.
Sam: What do you think?
Leo: Coveting thy neighbor's wife's gonna cause some problems.
Sam: That's what I said. Plus, if I were arrested for coveting my neighbor's wife, I'd probably bear false witness.
That's precisely the issue, of course — how does one mandate thought, let alone legislate against it. Of course it works differently when being enforced by God, an omniscient power (bear with me on the theology for now — I use it purposefully, though could word it differently if this is a deal-breaker) and a state which does not have said powers. But the issue remains. Do humans have control over their thoughts at all, and if not, is it setting people up to fail to legislate against how people should think?
Another episode in Season One of the West Wing (In Exelcis Dio) approaches the same issue, this time in relation to a Hate Crimes legislation. Here's part of the script, which emphasizes the dialectic; it is an argument pulsing with emotion after a parallel in the narrative to the Matthew Shepard attack:
C.J.
Beyond the crime itself is a manifestation of racism, or sexism, or anti Semitism or
homophobia that are only a tip of the iceberg of the pathology troubling this country.
LEO
I’m aware of all that. I’m just not sure it’s right to legislate against how someone thinks.
A lot of people aren’t sure, a lot of ‘em work here and I’m telling ya’ to dial it down.
We could continue with other such examples of whether states should censor particular topics, even the most hateful ones which could eventually manifest violence toward its citizens. What are the results of various European countries banning public displays of anti-Semitism, of denying the Holocaust?
Is there merit in banning books? In excommunicating the most heretical members of a society? EVER? If so, what are the ramifications of such actions?
These are not perfect parallels. But the similarities provide fodder for discussion.
During Yom Kippur, we will recite the Vidui repeatedly throughout the liturgy. We will recite various sins which we have transgressed, beating our breasts in rhythm and turn. We will recite "our sins that we have committed by hirhur halev" (inner thoughts; I prefer to translate it as reverberations of the mind) — על חטא שחטאנו לפניך בהרהור הלב.
(A note: Many cringe at the word sin. They prefer a P.C. term such as "missing the mark." Sin, after all has fire and brimstone connotations, Fundamentalist overtones. But I insist on it. Rabbi Richard Hirsh, my rabbi when we lived in Evanston, framed it best when he said:
Often Jews mistakenly dismiss the reality of sin, substituting the gentler but weaker image of “missing the mark.” This suggests that sin lies only in failing to do what we should rather than in failing to be who we should be.
Reducing sin to the status of an almost inadvertent error hardly seems tenable in the light of our awareness of the horrors of which humans, individually as well as collectively, have proved capable. The very nature of human nature lies before us as an open question.
There is a dark side to human nature, an impulse to evil which distorts and corrups our best intentions... Sin is not only what we do, or do not do it is also a question of who we are. In order to confess sin, we must first confront sin. (From Siddur Kol HaNeshama))
Today during the weekly sicha (discussion) at the Conservative Yeshiva, Reb Shmuel suggested that the confession of sinning because of inner reverberations is the paradigm for all of the statements where we confess our sins. Everything builds from this. These "reverberations of the heart" are real, intended thoughts. And they lead to tangible manifestations of negating that the human in front of us is an entire world to herself. They negate our humanity and place in the wider world.
Yes, there are times such unintended thoughts creep into our minds, but that does not imply that we cannot work on conditioning these "in-between moments," as Reb Shmuel suggested. It is an endless task, certainly. But fundamentally "an understanding of an ideal moral state is through trying to achieve it."
Before today, I questioned strongly whether it was possible to restrict said hirhurim from entering the mind. The question still is reverberating around my own mind. But again, as Reb Shmuel suggested, cleaning up one's act is largely about cleaning up one's mind. Moreover, almost all theories of psychological health try to make the unconscious, conscious. In sum, "there is nothing more powerful than denying what you want to know about yourself."
It is important to note that this is not an all-in phenomenon — it would be self-defeating and overwhelming to suggest that such a repair could be.
The notion that restraining thought, or more accurately restricting it, is at the forefront of the "10th commandment." Abraham Ibn Ezra (12th c. Spain) introduces his commentary on the verse with a self reflective question — "Many people are astonished about this mitzvah! How is it possible that one can not covet something beautiful in his heart if it is so beautiful in his eyes?!"
לא תחמוד אנשים רבים יתמהו על זאת המצוה?! איך יהיה אדם שלא יחמוד דבר יפה בלבו כל מה שהוא נחמד למראה עיניו
I will not quote the entire passage, which includes a parable which leads to an answer. But such a rhetorical introduction notes the inherent difficulty in this mitzvah. How does one restrain hirhurim?
And thus is the challenge.
As Amichai Lau-Lavie notes, the mandate of "do not covet/ לא תחמד" ultimately protects the very fabric of society. If only people were more punctilious about it:
"The tenth commandment does not refer only to the sins of lust. It lists the types of properties one must not desire – someone else’s spouse, servant or ox (or laptop). Like the other nine commandments, this one is a pretty good idea, an early form of ethical norm making. But, unlike the other nine, it is the only one that prevents one from even thinking about transgression. It’s an early version of mind control. But how well does it work?
Coveting, in all its manifestations, can easily, perhaps too easily, be identified as the possible root of so many evils – consider consumerism or adultery, and useless wars and crashing markets. Have I mentioned global warming? Throughout human history, it seemed, with an eye always on the next big thing, our healthy appetites became binges of craving, crashing delicate eco-systems of propriety, and destroying lives, homes and countries. Now it may even be the planet."
As I enter Yom Kippur, I think about the uncontrollable and know that it is a cop-out to frame it as such. It is a continual task to be aware of when these ideas come to my mind — and there are most certainly commonalities among them — and proceed onward from there. Because these thoughts are sins in themselves. But thoughts also affect the very fabric of an individual.
Intellectually, I'm also curious — when are we commanded to refuse certain thoughts from entrance to our minds? Why these cases?
I've assembled a few examples to illustrate this — for now "negative" examples. When can I not think certain things? What are these thoughts?
But that's for a later post. For now, on to Shabbat in Tel Aviv and Yom Kippur in Yerushalayim. Hineh Ani Ba, indeed.
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