Hiatus

You may have noticed that I have not posted anything in a bit over a month. We are in transition from Norwich, CT to Gaithersburg, MD, and the needs to find a new home, pack, move, etc. have taken priority. As of August 1 I will be the rabbi of Kehilat Shalom in Gaithersburg and I'm very excited to join this warm and vibrant community. I hope to resume posting in early to mid August.

Two-minute Torah: In The Wilderness

This Shabbat we begin reading the fourth book of the Torah. The English name of this book is Numbers but in Hebrew it is known as B'midbar, "In The Wilderness." It covers almost 38 years of the 40 year period from the departure from Egypt to the entrance into the promised land.

In his seminal book "Exodus and Revolution," the great American Jewish philosopher Michael Walzer draws a contrast between messianism and what he calls "Exodus Politics." In some ways for us Jews it is a subtle distinction, because obviously Passover is connected in Jewish thought with the messianic idea. For example, we symbolically welcome Elijah (the harbinger of the Messiah) at the Passover Seder, and most of the many references to the Exodus in Jewish liturgy make it clear that it is viewed as a synechdoche for the ultimate redemption of the entire world.

Yet, Walzer points out that messianism and "Exodus politics" are in tension if not actually opposites. Messianism is supernatural, for one thing; it depends on divine action. It is total and immediate and does not take realpolitik into account. Exodus politics is gradualistic -- we don't go from slavery to Promised Land overnight, it takes 40 years. And exodus politics is melioristic -- it strives not for perfection but for improvement. As long as today is better than yesterday, we are moving towards the Promised Land.

The message of the Wilderness is not one we like to hear. We live in a society of microwaves, instant messaging and sound bites. The American Jewish community is looking for the magic bullet that will cure all of our problems. For a while it was day schools, then it was Birthright, then it was Jewish camping, then "indie minyanim," and now it's Tribefest and Moishe House. All of these are good things, by the way, but no one magic bullet is going to guarantee the survival of American Jewry. And no one magic bullet is going to solve the problems of any particular synagogue. It takes a lot of work and a lot of patience.

As Walzer says, there are three lessons of Exodus politics:

1.) wherever you are now, it is probably Egypt;

2.) the Promised Land is real;

3.) the only way to get there is to march through the wilderness -- there are no shortcuts.

Two-minute Torah: Strangers and Sojourners

Both English and Hebrew have pleonasms, phrases which express in more than one word something that could just as easily be expressed with only one word. We often speak of "tuna fish" when "tuna" would convey exactly the same thing. My late Uncle Max used to say that something has "all the vitamins and minerals" and lawyers often speak of "rules and regulations." Yes, technically a vitamin is not a mineral and a rule is not a regulation, but we recognize both of these usages as simply figures of speech.

In the Hebrew Bible we find the terms "ger v'toshav," "stranger and sojourner." When he seeks to buy a burial place for his wife Sarah, Abraham describes himself to the native Hittites as a "ger v'toshav." And in this week's parasha, in Lev. 25:23, we are told that the land cannot be sold in perpetuity, because we are "gerim v'toshavim" with God, which the new JPS translation renders as "for you are but strangers resident with Me."

We accept "ger v'toshav" as a pleonasm meaning something like "resident alien."  But I recently came across a teaching from my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather Rabbi Yaakov Krantz, the Dubner Maggid, where he says that they are actually opposite. 

"Ger carries the connotation of temporariness while toshav carries the connotation of permanence. God said to Israel: “The relationship between you and Me is always that of ‘strangers and settlers.’ If you live in the world like strangers, remembering that you are only here temporarily, then I will be a settler in your midst, in that My Presence will dwell with you permanently. But if you will regard yourselves as settlers, as permanent owners of the land on which you live, forgetting that the land is actually not yours but Mine, My Presence will be a stranger in that it will not dwell in your midst.“

“In any case, you (Israel) and I (God) cannot be strangers and settlers at the same time. If you act like a stranger, then I will be the settler, and if you act the settler, I must be the stranger.”

Two-minute Torah: Conflict of Laws

What does one do if two different authorities give you conflicting orders? For example, during Prohibition the manufacture and sale of wine was prohibited. But according to some understandings of Jewish law, wine (as opposed to grape juice) MUST be used for Friday night Kiddush and the four cups during the Passover Seder. What to do?

As it happens, the Prohibition legislation allowed for a "sacramental exemption" and both synagogues and Catholic churches were able to obtain wine under it. But what if such an exemption had not been allowed?

This week's Torah reading contains a curious line. Lev. 19:3 says "Everyone shall revere his mother and his father, and you shall observe My sabbaths, I am the LORD." Why are the two combined in this one verse?

It should be noted, of course, that both observing the Sabbath and honoring our parents had already been commanded in the Ten Commandments. So we already know that we are supposed to do these things. What new knowledge does this particular verse impart to us?

Rashi says that the verse is specifically addressing a situation where one's parent tells him or her to violate Shabbat. Yes, in general we are supposed to obey our parents, but in this particular case, the verse is clarifying that at least as far as Shabbat goes, our obligation to God outweighs our obligation to our parents. In other words, the letter "vav" in the verse really means "nevertheless", not simply "and."

I don't know whether this was a common issue in Rashi's day but it is not uncommon today. In sociology, "Hansen's Law" tells us that in immigrant societies, the third generation often seeks to reclaim what the second generation discarded. And thus it is not uncommon for American Jews who are grandchildren of immigrants (as I am) to be more observant than their parents. And with the growth in the number of Jews by Choice, it is also not uncommon for observant Jews to have non-Jewish parents. And so our parents may schedule a family reunion on Shabbat, or expect us to attend some other type of event on Shabbat. We feel a tension because we know we are supposed to honor our parents, but we also have Shabbat norms that we should not violate.

This verse gives us guidance. If it is possible to honor our parents' wishes without violating Shabbat (or eating non-kosher food), we should do so. Hopefully, our non-Jewish or non-observant parents will meet us halfway and seek to accommodate our needs. But if it is impossible to do both, Shabbat takes precedence. And it stands to reason -- we are obligated to honor our parents, but both us and our parents are obligated to honor God.

American Jews and the Jesuit-Dominican Dispute in China

Have you ever heard of Kaifeng, China? Kaifeng was the home of the only indigenous Jewish community in China. There have been other Jewish communities in places like Harbin and Shanghai, and a few years ago, a colleague of mine went to Beijing in his capacity as mohel to perform a circumcision, but these communities are made up of Western expatriate Jews. Kaifeng was the only home of indigenous Jews, who were Chinese in culture, language, and appearance. It is surmised, though not known for sure, that they were descendants of Persian Jewish merchants who settled in Kaifeng and then married local women.

The Kaifeng community became known to the West through the work of Matteo Ricci, an Italian Jesuit missionary who had gone to China in the late 1500s with, among other things, the goal of contacting indigenous Chinese Christian communities who were believed to exist. He was contacted by a Jewish government official from Kaifeng who had been told about this bearded Westerner who believed in one God. The Chinese Jew assumed Ricci was Jewish, Ricci assumed the official was Christian, and it took some time until the confusion was straightened out to Ricci's satisfaction, although the Chinese Jew apparently never quite caught on. Today, the Kaifeng community is only a memory, though there are still some descendants of the Chinese Jews in the Kaifeng area. If you ever travel to Cincinnati, you can go to the Rare Book Room at the Hebrew Union College and see documents from the Kaifeng Jewish community which were saved by Jesuits. They are fascinating, being written in both Chinese and Hebrew.

While Ricci and his fellow Jesuits preserved the knowledge of Judaism in China, they also played an important role in introducing Western ideas to China and Chinese ideas to the West. They did not, however, succeed in converting many Chinese to Christianity. The Jesuits believed that many of the ideas of Confucianism were more cultural than religious, and could be made compatible with Christianity if correctly understood. In particular, they were willing to allow their Chinese converts to continue veneration of the dead. The Jesuits' Dominican rivals reported this to Rome, and the Jesuits were recalled, to be replaced by Dominicans and Franciscans who were much more “orthodox” in their approach. As a result, Christianity never really spread significantly in China, as would-be Chinese converts could rarely bring themselves to give up venerating their ancestors as the price of becoming Christian.

It is not always easy to determine whether a practice is religious or merely cultural. I doubt that there is anyone in our congregation who has a problem with observing Thanksgiving, but in Baltimore or New York, for example, the question of whether or not to close a Jewish day school on Thanksgiving is a hot-button issue that serves to demarcate a school as Modern Orthodox or “ultra”-Orthodox. In our family, we do not wear Halloween costumes or put up Halloween decorations, but we give candy out to those who come to our door.  To my way of thinking, Halloween retains enough of its non-Jewish religious origin so that I am not comfortable actively observing it. Yet, as part of the larger American society – and realizing that most Americans, most Jews included – don't see Halloween as religious, I act as a good neighbor in distributing candy.

Thanksgiving is an easy call – secular, American, appropriate for Jews to observe. Halloween is less easy – I don't observe it but I don't strongly object if other Jews choose to do so. Christmas or Easter, it seems to me, is also an easy call. And yet . . .

The fact of the matter is that almost all contemporary Jews have Christian relatives. A Jewish elementary school child today is far more likely to have at least one Christian grandparent than he or she is to have at least one immigrant Jewish grandparent. Whereas once the hostility between Jews and Christians was so great – on both sides – that the child of a convert to Judaism was unlikely to have a strong relationship with his or her Christian grandparents, today that is no longer the case. Christian grandparents proudly participate in the Bar and Bat Mitzvah services of their Jewish grandchildren. Under the circumstances, it is not reasonable to expect that a Jewish family refuse to attend Christmas or Easter celebrations of their extended Christian family members.

When I am asked to set parameters for the participation of non-Jewish friends or relatives in a Jewish service, the main guideline which needs to be followed is that the non-Jew not do anything which would create the appearance that they were in fact Jewish. So they could not have an aliyah, lead the congregation in required prayer, count as part of a minyan (which consists of ten Jews), and so on. They can read the prayer for the government, the prayer for peace, or additional readings which are not part of the service itself. We try to be inclusive of non-Jewish friends and relatives while maintaining the integrity of our Jewish worship.

It seems to me that these guidelines should be followed in reverse when a Jew is invited to a Christian celebration. It is perfectly fine to attend as a guest, as long as it is clear that this is what is happening. Keleigh and I have on occasion attended Christmas celebrations at the home of some of her relatives in Kentucky, who went out of their way to make sure that there was food which we could eat. They understood that we could not participate in any of their prayers or Christmas songs.

Our participation in a multicultural, pluralistic society creates questions and dilemmas our ancestors never imagined. In resolving them, I recommend we use the wisdom of a Matteo Ricci – who, it should be noted, was offered , and declined, the position of Chief Rabbi of Kaifeng if only he would give up eating pork.

Two-minute Torah: Nadav and Avihu died for your sins?

Dear Friends:
There are teachings in each religion that those of other religions
often find puzzling. In my experience, one of the Christian ideas that
Jews find to be odd or problematic is the teaching that Jesus died for
our sins. It seems pretty strange. Each of us is responsible for the
wrongs that we do. How can someone else's death atone for my sins?
This week's Parasha, Shemini, contains the story of the death of Nadav
and Avihu. They were the two oldest sons of Aaron. They went into the
Tabernacle to offer a sacrifice -- one which they had not been
commanded to make -- and were burned up. Moses says to his brother
Aaron: "I will show myself holy through those who are near to me, and
I will be glorified before all the people." And Aaron was silent.
Moses then says that he and his surviving sons are not to perform the
typical mourning rituals on behalf of Nadav and Avihu, "but your
brethren, the whole House of Israel, may bewail the burning which the
Lord has kindled."

Most commentators have assumed that the deaths of Nadav and Avihu were
a punishment, and have tried to figure out what the punishment was
for. Most focus on one of two ideas. Either the punishment was for
religious innovation -- we are supposed to do the rituals we are
commanded by God to do and not invent our own. Or for drunkenness --
while the text does not explicitly tell us they were drunk, the Torah
does tell us shortly after this story that Kohanim, priests, are not
allowed to drink alcohol prior to performing the sacrifices.

The Sefat Emet, a Chasidic commentator who lived from 1847 to 1905,
offers another possibility. Here is his comment on the story:

"Concerning the verse but your brethren, the whole house of Israel,
may bewail the burning which the LORD has kindled. It appears that
every man of Israel is obligated to weep for them, as it is written in
the Holy Zohar, Parashat Acharei. And the matter can be explained in
this way: they were completely righteous (tzaddikim g'morim). And our
sages have said that "in the place where a penitent (ba'al teshuvah)
stands, the wholly righteous cannot stand. This being the case, they
were punished on our behalf, therefore we have to weep for them. And
it is best not to go on about this matter."

What is the Sefat Emet saying about Nadav and Avihu? Were they sinners
or saints? Was their death punishment or vicarious atonement? And why
is it best not to go on about this matter?

Two-minute Torah: "Command" vs. "Speak"

This Shabbat we read Parashat Tzav. The word "tzav" is an imperative form of the word which also gives us "mitzvah." Therefore "tzav et b'nai Yisrael," the first phrase in our Parasha, means "command the Israelites" or even "proclaim a mitzvah to the Israelites." The Torah is full of mitzvot but the formula "tzav et b'nai Yisrael" does not appear that often. Usually it is "vayidaber Adonai et Moshe l'emor" -- God spoke to Moses, saying. Why here is it "command" and not just "say"?

Rashi writes: "The expression “command” always implies urging ("ziruz") one to carry out a command and also implies that the command takes effect at once and is also binding on future generations. Rabbi Shimon said: “Especially must Scripture urge the fulfillment of a command in cases involving financial loss.”

It may be that the reason ziruz, urging, was so necessary here was because the commandment concerned the bringing of the daily sacrifices, which were to be brought twice daily for all eternity. Inasmuch as this would require the expenditure of vast sums, some hesitation might be expected. However, in the case of other mitzvot, e.g. lulav, even though they require expenditure of money, it is limited, so the Torah does not use the word tzav in connection with such commandments."

Rashi shows a recognition here that Jews may not always be enthusiastic to fulfill the mitzvot. Of course here there is a rational basis for the reluctance -- it's expensive. And the fact of the matter is that financial issues were often a challenge to fulfillment of mitzvot -- but the halacha tried to evolve to accommodate external reality. For example, the selling of chametz before Passover was developed because of Jewish distillers and liquor merchants who found it impossible to literally dispose of their entire inventory for Passover.

But of course there were limits. Late Friday night services were an American invention. In the old country services were held Friday evening at sundown, not at 8 or 8:30 pm. But in America in the early part of the 20th century, people had to work on Shabbat. Business put up signs that said "if you don't come to work on Saturday, don't come to work on Monday either."  But no one ever explicitly said it was OK to work on Shabbat.

Today the disincentive to observe mitzvot is rarely financial.Jews in prior generations went to work on Shabbat because they really had to -- there was no legal protection for religious observance and there was a legitimate issue of survival. People felt that they were doing the wrong thing but felt they really had no choice. Although there were people who made the sacrifice, they knowingly chose poverty in order to observe Shabbat. But today for the most part nonobservance is through choice, not necessity.

If something is a mitzvah we can deduce two things about it. One is that we would not otherwise do it; the other is that we can do it. God doesn't waste time commanding is to do the self-evident but neither does God command us to do the impossible. What's yourreason for not observing some of the mitzvot you currently choose not to observe?