Irony Wall?

This isn't news. Just something I was thinking about the other day, for no apparent reason. (Actually, I think I was listening to an NPR piece about the U.S. border).

On July 25, 2003, President George W. Bush said (in reference to the Israeli Separation Wall), "I think the wall is a problem." This "wall" has drastically reduced the number of successful Islamic attacks in Israel.

In November, 2006, that same President Bush signed a bill authorizing the construction of a fence along one-third of the 2,100-mile (3,360-kilometer) U.S. border with Mexico.

Can someone please explain that to me?

Well, Waddaya Want?

I had an interesting conversation with someone who had objected to one of my earlier posts. Among his complaints, which were valid, was that you have to be careful about what you post online, as it goes out to the Internet, and you can't control who will read what you write. Better to avoid controversial topics.

So last week, after posting nothing whatsoever for quite some time, I posted a Torah thought on Mishle. I then forwarded him the link to it, partly because I thought he might be interested in what I had to say (or ask, rather), and partly to demonstrate that I was no longer posting the kind of things he had found so objectionable.

His response surprised me, a little.

He said (and I'm paraphrasing because I don't remember it word-for-word), "I just glanced at it and didn't have the chance to read it through yet, but it looked like it was just Torah." When I said that's what it was, he said, "Ah - that's all? I don't need to read that!"

Now, this was not someone who doesn't value Torah, and I know he didn't mean that Torah isn't important. The way I took it was that there is (thank God) lots of Torah available on the Internet, and you couldn't possibly sit and read it all. But, now, if it had been something more titillating, it would be worth really reading.

I do understand that perspective, of course, but I find it to be a bit like speaking out of both sides of one's mouth. On the one hand, I shouldn't write about things that are controversial. On the other hand, things that are more pareve aren't very interesting to read.

This is the same reason that most people speak Loshon Ha'Rah. With the exception of the folks who are actually trying to hurt people with their speech, most people talk about other people because other people find it interesting, and everyone wants to be listened to. Nobody wants to be boring. Not even those who genuinely are.

So if I'm not supposed to speak Loshon Ha'Rah, and I'm supposed to stay clear of things that are controversial, and Torah topics are boring, what should I write about?! I know, I know... No one says I have to write about anything. No one says I have to write at all! But I like to write, and it's flattering to think that people read it.

I guess I'm going to continue writing what I write anyway, and like I said in my first post here, if you don't like what you read, feel free not to. But this was sort of eye-opening to me... a little... but not entirely... which is, frankly, sad.

Thanks

My wife and I were talking, this evening. We do that on occasion. Somehow we got onto the topic of the overwhelming number of people on anti-depressant meds. It got me to thinking: Is it bad medicine, i.e. are doctors just over-diagnosing Depression and doling out pills like candy in an effort to make us all Happy People? Or could it be that, societally, we truly are increasingly depressed?

While I think there is likely much of the former, I also think that the latter is very true. Somehow we, and I mean in Western Society at large - not just the Orthodox Community - are increasingly unhappy in our lives. We've lost sight of the ideal expressed in Pirkei Avot (Ch. 4, Mishna 1) that says, "Eizeh hu ashir? Ha'same'ach b'chelko" - "Who is wealthy? He who is happy with what he has."

I've been thinking about that a lot lately. At first, I didn't really appreciate the wisdom of those words. To me, they seemed to be anti-ambition: "Why can't you just be happy with what you have?" This never really satisfied me as a child, or as an adult. So I just chalked it up as one of those pithy sayings you see sometimes, that sound good but aren't really very useful.

Lately, though, I've taken another view on it. My wife and I have been working very hard on improving ourselves, personally and financially. So, we've been reading books and listening to books-on-tape (well, CD's really.) Among them are things like Napoleon Hill's "Think and Grow Rich" and "The Secret," by Rhonda Byrne. Both books are very similar in many ways, speaking of the importance of a positive attitude, and of giving charity. (Ayn Rand is doing backflips in her grave.)

One of the concepts that both those books, and others we've read, suggest is that the starting point for everything else they're trying to teach is Gratitude. That's the foundation, without which you really can't get anywhere.

Now I don't know about you, but that wouldn't have been my thought. I would have said something like, Organization or Creative Thinking or Persistence, etc. So I had to think about that for awhile, and have concluded that it's true.

Gratitude is the appreciation of what you already have. It doesn't mean you don't want more, but it does mean that your life won't be governed by what you don't have. If that's your focus, you'll never be happy - because there will always be something you don't have, and you'll be consumed by your wanting of it. You'll convince yourself that, if you just had that thing, you would be happy. And so, even if you inherited Bill Gates' fortune, you wouldn't be happy.

On the other hand, if you appreciate what you do have, you'll always be happy. You can focus on increasing material wealth, if that's your bent, or anything else you want to work on, and you will be happy. Once you've accomplished that, then you're ready to use the positive energy or Law of Attraction or good karma or whatever you want to call it, to your benefit.

So that's what I now believe Chaza"l meant in Pirkei Avot. Be grateful, and the rest will come.

But today we're continually fed a stream of negativity. Gasoline prices are going up. The war in Iraq. Bush is bad. Global warming is going to kill us all in 15 minutes. I mean, when was the last time you saw a happy story on the news? Alright, I don't mean the ones they play at the very end, showing the duck who's learned how to rollerblade or the kid who saved a puppy trapped in a meat grinder. I mean a real newsworthy story about something good. Almost never. And we're bombarded by media all day, every day.

No wonder we're all depressed!

The trick seems to be in getting back to gratitude. I'm working on that. So thanks for reading this post.

Midot Award

Last night, my oldest daughter graduated high school. We're very proud of her.

She didn't win awards last night, but that doesn't bother me. I know who she is, and so does she. So even the "Midot Tovot Award" went to someone else.

A boy came from Silver Spring (about an hour away) because he was "close friends" with two of the graduates. My daughter wasn't one of his friends, but somehow, after graduation, this kid wound up having no place to go. His friends didn't want him messing up their after-grad party plans.

So he came to our house, and my daughter and her friend drove him home. She didn't go to the after-grad party.

The Midot Tovot Award winner did.

But I still think she won.

Etz Chaim?

I'm learning Mishle (Proverbs) for the first time. I'm back on my track of trying to go through Nach, at least so's I can get some idea as to what's in there. Most kids - even Orthodox kids - aren't exposed to very much Nach in their school careers. This is especially so with boys, who are instantly shunted to Mishna and Gemara once they're old enough. Nearly 20 years ago, while trying to learn a particularly difficult piece of Aggadic Gemara, I realized that part of the reason I was finding it so difficult was that I didn't know the events and people the Gemara was referring to. So I embarked on this effort.

Anyway, enough about that.

In Proverbs, Chapter 3, there are two verses that I find interesting, both in terms of their placement, and in terms of reference. I'm including the Hebrew here both to show off that I can (and that I'm practicing typing in it), and because the verses are well known in Hebrew.

17: "דרכיה דרכי נעם וכל נתיבותיה שלום" - It's ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its paths are peace.
18: "עץ חיים היא למחזיקים בה ותומכיה מאשר" - It is a tree of life for those who grasp it, and those who draw near it are fortunate.

Now here's what interests me:

First, we say these verses during davening, when putting the Torah away. Except, we say them in the reverse order. I'm wondering why?

Second, these verses, usually quoted in reverse, as mentioned, are often used by rabbis as referring to Torah. In other words, when it says "It is a tree of life...", the it is said to be Torah.

The problem is that's not what the verses seem to indicate.

To find what the verses are referring to, you have to go back until you find the apparent definition of "It" (or "She", if you want to be technical). So let's go back some verses:

16: Length of days is in its right hand; in its left hand are riches and honor.
15: It is more precious than pearls, and all your desirable things cannot be compared to it.
14: For its commerce is better than the commerce of silver, and its gain is better than fine gold.

Nope. None of these tell us what it is. You have to go all the way back to verse 13.

13: Fortunate is the man who has found wisdom and a man who gives forth discernment.

Aha!! We've found the elusive it! It is WISDOM.

So Wisdom is the tree of life.... Wisdom's ways are pleasant.

That does make sense. The problem is that rabbis all over the place don't tell us that. They say it means Torah. Now I suppose you could say that Torah is the Mekor Chachma - the source of Wisdom, and I wouldn't argue that point. But it does seem a little bit dishonest to tell us that the verse is referring directly to Torah, when it clearly isn't.

Once again, I don't, as yet, have an answer to these. Any thoughts?

Maybe Talk Isn't So Cheap

I recently posted a blog entry about something having to do with sexual abuse (Other than my Touched By a Rabbi post). It related a conversation I had with someone about it, and what might be done about it. I made efforts to keep things anonymous and not to let identifiable information slip, but evidently I didn't go nearly far enough in that. Upon request, I pulled the post, first temporarily; now permanently. It seems that, in my efforts to describe my struggle to decide what to do in a particular situation, I may have hurt people, and jeopardized the entire thing. I hope I didn't.

To be honest, I didn't think there were more than 5 or 6 people who actually read my blog. (My suspicion is that, other than the previous two posts, there aren't.) And I guess I failed to really understand the reach of these things. After a long conversation with someone I respect (more now, even, than before,) I think I understand it better.

Writing helps me sort out how I feel about things. It's cathartic, somehow, to set down my thoughts, sift through them, and try to really get to the crux of it all. But they say that Abraham Lincoln used to write letters to all sorts of people, that he would then put in his desk and never send. I guess that was one post I should have never let out either.

In any case, I'm sorry, and am pretty much done blogging on this topic. I do hope you'll continue reading, though. It's nice to think someone actually reads this.

Touched by a Rabbi

In it's February 23rd issue, Phil Jacobs, of the Baltimore Jewish Times, led with a cover story called "Today, Steve is 25." (I'd link to it, but the article seems to be no-longer-available on the JT website.) The article was important because it began to open a dialog in our community that has been long repressed: Sexual Abuse in the Orthodox Jewish Community. This article generated a lot of response, both the to BJT and to Phil, personally. (See Phil's blog - As of this post, pay particular attention to the articles: "Way Too Much Fear," "It's About the Victims," and "Is This Orthodox Bashing?")

Two weeks later, the article was followed up by a short piece describing Phil's visit to a local weekly kiddush, where many of the participants are men (age ranges from 20's to 40's) who were abused by teachers and others in their youth. (Again, I would link to it if I could find it.) These guys talk about the subject most weeks, both reliving past events, and discussing things that are going on currently. I know this because I periodically go to the kiddush as most of these guys are my friends. The title of this post, in fact, is something one of them came up with.

Sexual abuse, particularly by an authority figure, is a terrible thing. It's insidious. It messes with people's lives in ways they can't even explain. It effects their marriages, their relationships with their children, their self-esteem, their careers. In some cases, it leads to further abuse, as the abused become abusers themselves. For some victims, there can be tremendous guilt as though they might be partially to blame. This is especially so in cases where a boy was abused and his own arousal was required for the abuse to take place.

It's horrible, and I will never say anything to defend the perpetrators of these crimes.

But I have a few questions:

1. The problem, historically, has been one of power. The authority figure held power over the victim. His word was more likely to be believed than that of the victim. Sometimes the power came from powerful families whose names were seen as better not besmirched.
   
   The problem today is that the power is shifting to the other extreme: to the victims. One has only to say that there has been an abuse, and the "abuser" can be destroyed, even without proof. "Where there's smoke, there's fire," is the attitude, and while that may protect some people from a real danger, it may also destroy a career and/or a family, even if the person is innocent. As Ray Donovan put it, "Where do I go to get my reputation back?"
   
   A byproduct of this is that good-quality teachers and leaders are sometimes choosing to stay away from these fields that could potentially cost them so much with so little effort. I know personally of one situation in which an excellent educator, with many years of experience, is being pressured by his family to leave teaching because of their fear of this. It will be a terrible loss if he does.
   
   So how do we structure this to both protect our children (and even young adults) from sexual predators disguised as teachers and community leaders, while also protecting good teachers and community leaders from unfair accusations?
   
   
2. How should the community react towards a person who has been accused, or even convicted? Should we ostracise them? Place them in cherem? Should we refuse to do business with them, have them in our shuls or even to acknowledge them on the street?
   
   How about their families? Should we hold them accountable? What about parents who know that their son is a predator, and try to protect him instead of turning him over to the police?
   
   Similarly, what about school administrators who knowingly get rid of a problem teacher by sending him elsewhere (which has happened many times)? Should they be punished too? How?
   
   
3. Finally, for whatever we do decide is the appropriate community action, for how long? I mean, a teacher who abuses students should never be allowed to teach kids again, as far as I'm concerned. The recidivism rate is too high. The Torah tells us "Don't put a stumbling block before a blind man." Putting a predator back in with the prey would just be asking for trouble. But if, for example, ostracism is part of the community reaction, should he be ostracised forever? And again, how about those that enabled him to continue?

These are serious issues that need to be considered and addressed by our community leaders. And the guidelines need to start coming soon.

Yesterday, I sat and talked with one of my friends, who was abused, about this. See, I know someone who is a predator. So I asked my friend, "How do I react towards him, when I see him? When he comes over to me and wishes me a 'gut Shabbos' and asks after my family, what do I do?" My friend said, "It's always harder when there's an actual person associated with the name." He's right on that. But it still doesn't help me.

Today was the last day of Pesach, and rabbis across Baltimore spoke publicly about this problem, and some of the things the community is working on to deal with it. We're expecting materials to be coming in the mail, discussing the issue. This coming weekend, we're also expecting another major article on the topic in the BJT. I'll keep you posted.

A Crossed Line

I do a lot of networking. Not the kind with wires and computer (although I do that too), but the kind with people. I go to several networking events regularly, and run a "chapter" of one group once a week. On occasion, I go to visit other group meetings within the same organization - it's a good way to meet new people and see how other folks run their meetings. Several weeks ago, I made such a visit. It was a good meeting, and I came away with a few people with whom I wanted to have further contact with.

I met one of them in his office. Nice guy. Seemed very interested in talking to me. When we sat down in his conference room, he made sure to mention that he had a bar-mitzvah. Now I go to my business meetings and such with my kippah on, so I'm used to people saying things like that to me. They want to make sure you know they're Jewish, so they'll say things like, "... and I said, 'Oy gevalt!'" or something like that. I figure that it's nice that they're trying to connect with me, so I kind of nod and smile, and continue on to the business at hand.

So this guy is obviously not frum, so I was a little surprised when he said, "You know, I have a book I'd really like you to read. It really helps deepen our understanding of Torah." Now, I know quite a few people who would have things to say that could deepen my understanding of Torah, but this guy wasn't one of them. It made me very suspicious, and my first thought was, Jews for Jesus. Nonetheless, I said something non-committal and continued with the meeting. By the end of the meeting, he hadn't really said anything else like that, and he hadn't handed me any books, so I figured it was over.

Three weeks passed by before the package showed up in my mailbox. Sure enough, it was a book essentially trying to reconcile Christianity with Judaism, and trying to prosyletize me. The book's called Betrayed, and it's about this one particular guy's struggle with his daughter's decision to become a "Jewish Christian." PS - in the end, he and his whole family wind up converting to Christianity. Nebach.

Now from a religious perspective, I'm not worried. See, Christianity is something of a hobby of mine - I don't practice it; I just find it fascinating that so many people believe in it. Anyway, I have no doubt that I've spent far more time studying Christianity than he has studying authentic Judaism, and am not worried that he's going to "get" me.

But I'm offended by his behavior. I met with him in good-faith, to discuss business. This is sort of a violation of generally unwritten groundrules. It's chutzpah. (I guess I gotta admire his "brass," though.)

Oh, he also included a note suggesting that we could go out for lunch, on him, if I read the book and had any questions.

Two weeks later, he called me to make sure I got the book. I wasn't ready to speak to him about this. Frankly, I was still mad. After speaking with him for about 15 mins... well, mostly I was trying to get a word in edgewise, I've come away unsure about his real intentions. He told me that he really didn't have any Jewish background growing up - which I'd figured - and that he really didn't find anything "spiritual" until he was introduced to Christianity. I told him that it was sad that he felt he had to go out there to find what was truly available (and in the original yet) in here. He said that if I sent him some information, he'd be glad to read it.

Now I'm not sure if he means he'd be willing to give his own heritage a real chance, or if he's after something else, and I'm not sure what to send him. I don't want to send him something combative, like You Take Jesus, I'll Take God, because it attacks his beliefs. That's not the way to convince anyone.

Have you had an experience like this? What did you do? Any suggestions on materials to send, if any?

Chirac Reveals French Opinion

From the NY Times:

PARIS, Jan. 31 — President Jacques
Chirac said this week that if Iran had one or two nuclear weapons, it would not pose a big danger, and that if Iran were to launch a nuclear weapon against a country like Israel, it would lead to the immediate destruction of Tehran.

He went on to try to call journalists back in, to retract his statement, saying, “I should rather have paid attention to what I was saying and understood that perhaps I was on the record.” In other words, "That is what I truly believe, but I didn't want to go on record as having said it."

So there you have it, folks. In case there was still any doubt as to what France thinks of Israel, you are hereby on notice: The French don't consider it a big deal if Israel is destroyed by nuclear weapons.

Not that this is a surprise...

Borat: The Joke's On You, America!

I don't know why I never posted this, back in January. It's now the end of June and here it is.


Alright, I admit it. I watched Borat, Sasch Baron Cohen's movie about a "Reporter" from Kazakhstan who comes to America to learn about us, and Pamela Anderson.

Now, I can't say it was a hilarious movie, although parts of it were amusing. I can't even say it was a good movie. In fact, just as a movie, it was somewhat boring, and even a bit disturbing. But the most interesting thing about the movie, to me anyway, was that the vast majority of the audience, didn't even get it, and that was part of the joke.

One of the central jokes Mr. Cohen seems to bring out is the ease with which our Non-Jewish neighbors can be drawn into anti-semitism; how very close beneath the surface it lies. Of course, his earlier foray into that realm was with his character, Ali G, and his famous "Throw the Jew Down the Well" video, which took place in a honky-tonk in Arizona. He had those folks dancing and singing, with one woman even making horns with her fingers while singing the lyrics, "You must take him by his horns..."

But while the people directly involved in the overtly, if not downright exaggerated anti-semitism, in Mr. Cohen's work are clearly demonstrated to be anti-semites, the real joke seems to be on the American public; the audience.

Let's consider some of the numbers:

• According to the latest (as of this writing) US Census Bureau data, there are approximately 299.4 million people in America.
• According to American Jewish Committee data, there are 6.4 million Jews in America; about 2% of the American population.
• According to the movie-industry analysts at The-Numbers.com, "Borat" has grossed $126,738,371, as of 1/11/2007.
• According to the National Association of Theatre Owners (NATO), the average ticket price in the US in 2005 was $6.41. For my calculations below, I'm going to raise it to $6.50 for 2006, which is probably at least close to accurate.
• Using these numbers, we find that approximately 19.5 million tickets have been sold for this movie, since it opened on Nov. 3, 2006.
• This means that, even if every single Jew in America saw this movie, there would still be over 13 million non-Jews who also saw it.
• Borat was the #1 movie in the country for two weeks, and was still in the Top Ten for an additional four after that.

Now you don't get to be the #1 movie if people don't like it. So that means that, for at least two weeks, people thought this movie was the best thing running! They recommended it to their friends. They thought it was hilariously funny!

And who wouldn't? I mean, what could be funnier than that scene with "The Running of the Jew," where two ultra-stereotyped charicature "Jews" run down the street in Kazakhstan, complete with horns, big noses and sidelocks (on the man, of course)? And when the Jewess lays an egg, and all the children are encouraged to go break the egg with sticks to make sure it doesn't hatch? I mean, that's comedy right there!

Virtually none of them realized that the joke was not only on them; it was them.

I wonder how many weeks it would have been in that slot if he were making fun of any other minority

Why Do We Fast?

Alright, so it's now smack-in-the-middle of Sukkot, and here I am writing about fasting... which would certainly have been more appropriate two weeks ago. Hey, such is life. Deal with it.

This actually does stem from a conversation I had with one of my sons immediately prior to Yom Kippur, though. He asked me why we fast. Obviously, he had Yom Kippur on his mind, as well he might - he doesn't fast well - but it's a good question.

Well I thought about the question for a minute or so, and came up with something I thought I should write down.

We fast because we can.

Alright, so it's a little simplistic, but not very much so.

See, it occurred to me that we are probably the only creatures on the planet that can fast, and that somehow that's connected with the reason we do it. (Animals can refrain from eating, but that's not the same as fasting. They do it because their bodies don't require food at certain times, because there is no food available, or because they are sick.)

Think about it. How do we really differ from the rest of the animal kingdom? Monkeys make tools. There are some dolphins, whales and maybe even gastropods and apes that are smarter than we are. Yet, none of them has dominated the planet as we humans have. Naturists will tell you that there are a number of animals that have developed complex family structures. But not one of them has developed an actual civilization. None of them have notions of commerce, religion, written language, property rights, laws... (Hmm... Sounds like John Lennon's Imagine, actually... )

In short, nothing but Man seems able to think, and act, based on things beyond immediate self-preservation; the here and now. Perhaps the key distinction between man and the rest of the animal kingdom is our ability to act based on our beliefs, in ways that are not evidently in concert with our physical needs.

So if we wanted to demonstrate our Humanity; If we wanted to show God that we are His special creation, and therefore deserving of some slack when we don't always do what He wants of us, how should we do that? By doing an act which is clearly not to our evident benefit, out of choice, not necessity. (We don't fast because we're not hungry; we fast despite our being hungry.) So fasting becomes, in a real sense, a simple yet profound statement about what we really are.

In other words, we fast because we can.

Jewish Policemen

Sometimes I just scan through the stations while driving, to see whether there's something interesting, beyond the stations I have "preset". Today, I happened to come across our former Chief of Police, Ed Norris, on his regular talk-show on WHFS (105.7 FM). Happened to be that the topic they were discussing at the time was (as described on www.ednorris.com):

"A Towson University police officer is in a battle with the school over his off time. He became an Orthodox Jew in 2000 and has asked for the Sabbath off. The school at first said ok, and no is saying no citing unfairness to other officers and unneeded overtime costs and more. Are his religious rights being violated? Why should and employer be forced to allow employees time off for religious functions?" [sic]

I listened to this for awhile, until I got to my meeting and had to get out of the car. Now, I've heard his show before, and often agree with what he says - he's no dummy - and I guess I can concede that this could be a somewhat complicated issue. But Ed drew an analogy with which I have a big problem.

He said that this is akin to any other situation where someone is simply not capable of meeting the requirements of the job. His position was that if the guy can't do the job - for whatever reason - then he needs to find a different job. He compared it to someone who can't lift 50 lbs. wanting to be in a job where he needs to be able to lift 50 lbs, and that political correctness has robbed our country of good sense.

The problem is that, according to this line of reasoning, just about anyone should be allowed to discriminate against Jews (or Muslims, or others for that matter) on religious grounds, for just about any job. Let's explore some possible jobs that could be affected:

Stock Boy: Now surely an orthodox stock-boy wouldn't have a problem, right? Well let's see... What if, once a quarter, all the store employees are required to work over the weekend to check inventory. But this poor guy can't work on Friday night and Saturday... What would Ed say? "Oh well... I guess he's just not able to do the job. He'll have to find something else to do."

Lawyer: Now there are lots of Jewish lawyers out there, so this shouldn't be a problem at all. Some even work for large firms! They're working on a big case, and this one particular Orthodox Jewish lawyer is the one of the leads. The judge decides to hear arguments this Monday (Oct. 2, 2006) - Yom Kippur. Hey - Monday's a work day, right? And they need him on the case, but the judge isn't hearing any of it. He says, "You have other attorneys who are familiar with the case. Put one of them on it." Now, his boss says he needs him to be ready for trial because this is a big case for the firm. Look, the judge is a jerk, but that's the job. And what would Ed say? "Oh well... I guess he's just not able to do the job. He'll need to find something else to do."

This same logic can apply to just about any job where he's not the boss. From the staff-doctor at the hospital to the guy who sweeps the elephant dung at the zoo. If his religious beliefs don't adhere to those of the Christian Majority in this country, Ed seems to believe that he (or she, of course) can be discriminated against. To hell with religious freedom! To hell with the Constitution! This country was created by Christians, damnit, and if you don't like it, git back to where you came from... right, Ed?

The problem is, I also understand where Ed's coming from. There are terrible abuses of the system. There was the wheel-chair bound college kid who sued his school because he wanted to take dance, for example. (Don't ask me when or where - it's been so long, I don't remember.) And there are countless examples of things like that. People suing companies for jobs they really can't do, because "they're being discriminated against."

I don't know the answer to this problem. I'm not even sure that this Jewish policeman should get to keep his job. Ed might be right, in this case... or he might not. What I am sure of is that Ed's reasoning is shortsighted.

Fighting for Peace

Greetings from beautiful, sunny San Diego, where my wife and I have come so she can take a business seminar. Alas, I am doomed to wander San Diego by my lonesome for two days. Whatever shall I do... first?

'Nuff said about that.

Years ago, ironically in Israel, I saw a t-shirt that read, "Fighting for peace is like f***ing for virginity." (Stars are mine.) I thought it was a cute slogan, but dead wrong... but I never really considered exactly why.

I think that last week's parsha - Pinchas - and the current situation in the Middle East can give us some insight to that.

The parsha begins by describing Pinchas as the grandson of Aharon. R. Yissachar Frand asks the following question:

Why did tracing Pinchas' genealogy to Aharon satisfy anyone? Everyone realized that Pinchas had two grandfathers. What does it help that he was the grandson of Aharon? No one disputed that. This would not seem to mollify anyone's complaint - that in this instance he undertook an action which reflected on his descent from a Priest of Avodah Zarah [ForeignWorship, i.e. - idolatry].

He then quotes R. Meir Bergman to explain the answer. He says that, of course everyone knew that Pinchas was the grandson of Aharon. Their assumption, however, was that Pinchas' behavior could not possibly have been from the Aharon-side of the family. After all, Aharon was known to be the man of peace. Clearly, this must have been from the Yitro-side.

Not so, says God. This was from the Aharon-side of the family! This is what Aharon himself would have done in that situation!

And that is why Pinchas is not referred to as the Ohev Shalom, but rather the Rodef Shalom - and this is the main point. Rodef Shalom literally means, "Chaser of Peace". The Chasam Sofer explains that a rodef is one who chases something, and that in this case, it means that Pinchas was one who was willing to chase away peace - in order for there to be peace.

Sometimes, in order for there to be peace, one must chase peace away - in other words, make conflict; even war. There is evidently something that can be considered a bad peace, that must be removed in order to bring out a good peace.

Looking at the current situation in Israel, I think one can understand this as the difference between a sort of cold war, and real peace. For years, Israel and Hezbollah have been engaged in a cold war; a war of open hostility, but little actual fighting, per se. Terrorist attacks, and retaliatory strikes... but no open war. This was a bad peace; a status-quo peace; a peace of uncertainty.

Now Israel has become a rodef shalom. They are actively pursuing peace, at the necessary expense of those determined to allow none. They are determined to rid their borders of those who have never made any bones about their intention to kill us all. All Hezbollah has to do is lay down their arms and commit to ending aggression against Israel, and the fighting will stop. In short, all they have to do is the one thing they will never do... until forced to.

Will Israel be successful in their endeavor? Not without God's help. There is simply too much to do, in my opinion.

But it's a start.

Death and Tehillim

My cousin died this afternoon. She'd been battling cancer and she lost... so did her family... so did the rest of us. The world is a poorer place without her.

Last night, my brother called me to let me know that she'd been taken into the hospital with fluid in her lungs, and that things were very bad. He told me her Jewish name - the one I've been inserting into my tefillot for some 6+ months already - and said that we should daven for her and say some Tehillim.

It occurred to me to wonder why.

It seems that we're very often asked to daven for someone whom God has seen fit to give a life-threatening illness... and that God doesn't usually change his mind. There is no, "Well... I was gonna kill 'em... but then all these people started asking me not too... so I decided, what the heck!" My personal assumption is that He knew what He was doing when He gave them the disease in the first place.

Now I'm all for it when there's a realistic possibility that the person can recover. But at a certain point, I think it's sort of wasted effort to pray for their recovery. At those times, I think it would be more useful to daven for them not to be in pain, or for their families, or in their z'chut so that their n'shamot will have an aliya when the time comes. But for their recovery? God has already decided that they weren't going to.

Now, I know... I know... "But God can do anything. He could make them recover if He wanted to." Yes, yes... that's true. But first of all, we're taught al tismach al ha'ness - we don't rely on miracles. If someone has a disease like pancreatic cancer or something. If the prognosis is just bad, then maybe we ought to focus on what comes next.

In fact, I think that's alluded to by the Medrash when discussing the illness of Yitzchak. If I recall it correctly, the Medrash says that, until his time, people would just drop dead. When your time was up, it was up. Yitzchak prayed, asking that people be given time to get their affairs in order. And God responded by saying, "That's a good idea. I'll start with you."

Maybe, if we looked at terminal illness as the mechanism for preparing for our imminent departure, we'd be better off. We'd, at least, not be so frustrated when we've davened and the person dies anyway.

Please pray for the freed soul of Rena Tamar bat Ester.

We should meet only in... life?

Recently, I got to thinking about that thing people say to each other, especially if they haven't seen each other in a long time (or aren't likely to), or if they are seeing each other on an unpleasant occasion: "May we meet only at simchot".

It occurred to me that I don't agree with this notion.

Simchot are times when, by definition, the heart is light. Things are good. The clouds have parted. The angels are singing. So it's very easy to meet at simchot; very comfortable. Unhappy events are not when we are at our best. Crying does not do much for one's appearance.

On the other hand, somehow it's often when there is an unhappy event, that we become bound together. Relationships become solidified. The slag is removed and people's true essences (good or bad) shine through.

So when someone says, "May we meet only at simchot", they could be saying, "I really don't want a relationship with you with any depth. Let's just keep things at the nice and comfy surface, okay?"

On the other, other hand, pain sucks. It's necessary, and part of life, but no one likes it very much. (Except those people who are just unhappy unless they're unhappy - and we all know people like that!) So we hardly want to be saying, "May our next meeting be in sorrow." It's just too intense.

So what should we say? Or at least, what should we mean, regardless of what we say?

I think both poles are necessary for a good relationship, and everything in between as well. So what we really should mean is something along the lines of "May we have other occasions in which to share each others' company," or "May we see each other again soon," or even just, "See ya'!"

The thing is, we also always want to end things on a "better" note. We're just wired that way. We're uncomfortable with bad stuff, which makes sense since it's necessarily uncomfortable.

So I guess I'm stuck with "May we meet in simchot" or "May we meet in happier times" or some such claptrap... but when I say it, you'll know that's not entirely what I mean.

Chag kasher v'sameach to all...

Learning from the Goyim - A Rant

Bumper Stickers
You're driving down the road, and pull up behind a black woman waiting for a light. There's a bumper sticker - at least one - on her car. It says, "I brake for rapture!" or "God said it. I believe it. That settles it." or "Know Jesus, know peace. No Jesus, no peace." Maybe she's got all three on there!

Normally I don't think about it. This past week I did. I thought about the Christian community - particularly the Black Christian community, and it occurred to me that they've got something we've lost, for the most part. They're enthusiastic about their religion and their beliefs. And we, well we so often just do mitzvot because we have to; because it's ingrained. We all know, "Ivdu et Hashem b'Simcha", but yet we so often seem to forget that last word there. No wonder we have trouble inspiring our kids! We're not inspired ourselves!! Moreover, when we see someone who is inspired - you know, like new Ba'alei Teshuva - we think of it as just a little weird.

Prayer Mats
I remember walking in Manhattan - something I do very infrequently because I live in Baltimore, and because frankly, I hate NY - and seeing a Muslim taxi driver pull his cab over, take out his prayer mat, and start bowing toward Mecca, right in the middle of the sidewalk. No one bothered him, although he did get a few looks from the passers-by. Now maybe this was an unusal occurrence... but I've seen similar things in other places. Muslims, particularly Arab Muslims, have no qualms about their religious beliefs either. When it's time to pray, they just do.

And us, we try to dress so as not to stand out. We stand in phone booths when we're trying to daven Mincha (unless we're in a minyan), and pretend we're having phone conversations. We're embarrassed by our religious requirements, because they make us different - and we so don't want to be different.

But maybe
...just maybe... (alright, more than just maybe) we're wrong. Maybe this is something we should be making concerted efforts in our communities to address. Why should we be embarrassed by the trappings of our beliefs? Do we feel God is an imposition on our lives? (Maybe we do...) Why aren't we happy about God and our relationship with Him? What is our relationship with Him?

We taught Monotheism to the World. Now we need to study from our talmidim.

Lying to Pharoah

In the past few weeks, the parshiot have discussed the Exodus from Egypt, and the preceding plagues. Something that's been bothering me about them is this:

Exo. 8:23

"What we must do is make a three day journey into the desert. There we will be able to sacrifice to God, our Lord, just as He told us."

He then further tells Pharoah that he's going to take all the women, children and animals when he goes. Pharoah doesn't like it, but eventually (after Makat B'Chorot) relents and sends them out. But it's clear that Pharoah has been given reason to believe that we were not leaving, we were going out for a few days to serve God.

Then we see the following:

Exo. 14:5

Meanwhile, the king of Egypt received the news that the people were escaping. Pharoah and his officials changed their minds regarding the people, and said, "What have we done? How could we have released Israel from doing our work?"

Now that first phrase there - he "received the news that the people were escaping." Clearly, Pharoah had not been under the impression that this was to be a permanent thing.

In other words, we left under false pretenses. At best, we allowed Pharoah to be fooled. At worst, we lied outright. Neither of these is acceptable, in my view, for the "Ohr la'goyim". The Torah tells us, "Mi'd'var sheker tirchak" - stay away from falseness. Yet we didn't exactly exemplify this here.

I haven't come up with a good answer for this yet, btw. Feel free to share your thoughts.

Meled

This morning I received an email regarding a program in Israel called Meled (Mercaz L'mida Dati), in Jerusalem, which I think is very important. Meled takes disaffected youth from religious homes, and helps then reorient themselves. These are kids with problems, living in a world in which their problems may seem small to everyone else.

For all the wonderful things about Israel, it is also well known that Israelis can be hard people. If you have a problem, you are expected to just deal with it. I suppose you can't blame them, really, but there are kids for whom that approach doesn't work. Meled is working with them.

On our recent trip to Israel, we saw a number of these kids in Chashmona'im. Troubled kids from nearby Kiryat Sefer. My friend, Arie, told me that on Shavuot, he passed by a group of them, hanging out in the playground near the batei knesiot. One of them called out to him, "Learn with us." He did, and they enjoyed it.

These aren't dumb kids. They aren't bad kids. They're lost kids. Meled is helping them find their way home. Please take a look at their site, and their program, and help out where you can.

Parshat ha'Man and Humanity

In the mornings, when I have time, I like to say some of the extra stuff at the end of davening. I try to say the 6 Zichronot, the Ani Ma'amins (more on that another time, I think) and the tefilot for parnasa, including Parshat ha'Man.

Now, for those of you who don't know what this is, it's a prayer for sustenance along with a selected Torah reading about the giving of the Manna - which is sort of the fundamental notion of God's provision of sustenance to His people.

There were a couple of things that struck me this morning... well, one of them struck me quite some time ago, but I've never written about it before.

One of the important things to know about it, if you haven't read it, is that it chronicles the People's failure to comply with God's orders... twice:

1. They were told to take only a measure for each person in their household, to last the day. They were not to take extra, and they were not to leave any over. The Torah records that they did, in fact, take extra, and that it became wormy and dried out. Moshe gets mad at them and yells at them.
   
   
2. On Friday, they went out and found double the amount they had found on the other days. They went and told Moshe, who told them that this is the way it was going to be. On Fridays they would collect double portions for everyone in the household, and prepare it for Shabbat. They would eat one day's portion on Friday, and the remainder they would hold over until Shabbat morning. They should by no means go out on Shabbat morning to collect Manna, because it wouldn't be there.
   
   The Torah then records that the Manna they held over until morning did not become wormy and dried out, and that they did go out to collect, but found nothing. This time God Himself gets mad at them, asking Moshe, "Until when will they listen to me?" (or something like that - I don't have Chumash in front of me at the moment.)
   

Now, sidestepping the question about who got mad when and why, my question is basically, why get mad at them at all?

Now I have an answer to this, which is compelling, but not at all satisfying. Simply, God commanded them not to leave it overnight during the week, and not to collect it on Shabbat. These were, therefore, commandments for them. They don't directly apply to us today, but they were very serious Issurei D'Oreita for them.

There is no problem with this answer, but I guess it doesn't really address the underlying question which is, why get mad at them at all?

Here's how I'm looking at it: God said don't do it. They wanted to see what would happen if they did, so they tried it. It became dried out and wormy. End of discussion. God said don't collect it on Shabbat. They wanted to see what would happen if they did, so they tried it. There was nothing there. End of discussion.

This, to me, sounds like Science. Hypothesis, experiment, conclusion. What's wrong with that?

"But this is God," you'll say to me. "Where was their bitachon?"

Furthermore, I will acknowledge that it's unreasonable to hold that as an appropriate way to regard all mitzvot. In general, we don't believe in immediate, causal consequences. We don't believe, for example, that if you break Shabbat a lightning bolt will come down from the skies and cook you like a turkey, so that sort of experimentation wouldn't work with everything.

But in this case, it did. It was like testing Gravity or Air Pressure. "I wonder what happens if..."

And there's another thing... This is how God created us. He gave us an innate curiousity about the world. He made us want to experiment and to find out how things work. He's why we have Science; why we've developed the methodologies we use to learn about our world.

Not only that, but you can see this in us, His creation, since our beginnings. This is exactly what Chava was doing with the Tree of Knowledge. This is especially true according to the opinions that hold that the whole conversation between Chava and the snake were really taking place in her head. She saw the snake on the tree and wondered why it didn't die - after all, Adam said, "Don't touch the tree, lest you die". But the snake was all over the tree, and fine. So she touched the tree... and didn't die. Hypothesis, experiment, conclusion. Then she hypothesized again... maybe you could actually eat the fruit...

Alright, so we're imperfect beings, but at least we come by it honestly... and God knew that because he created us this way. So why get so mad about the Manna?

I guess that's the personal responsibilty thing. Yes, it's in our nature to be curious, and to want to experiment. But we are expected to overcome our instincts and natural curiousities, if it means transgressing the Torah. The Rambam, for example, makes it very clear that we do not refrain from eating non-kosher food because the food is bad. We do it because God said so, and that's that.

About Reuven

This week's parsha (Miketz) got me thinking - admittedly, sometimes a dangerous thing - about Reuven.

Yosef is playing headgames with his brothers - there are many questions about this, but that's not my topic for the moment - and he eventually comes to Binyomin. He wants to see his only full-brother. The other brothers try to talk him out of it, but he's not having any of it. He wants Binyomin, and refuses to give them any food until they produce him.

The brothers go home, and try to approach Yaakov about it. They know it's going to be a hard sell, after all, look what happened the last time one of Rachel's children was left in their care. So Reuven - being the oldest, and all - decides that he'd better be the one to step up and take personal responsibility for Binyomin's safety. And how does he do this?

Gen 42:36-37
And Jacob their father said to them, "You have bereaved me of my children: Joseph is no more, and Simeon is no more, and now you would take Benjamin; all this has come upon me." Then Reuben said to his father, "Slay my two sons if I do not bring him back to you; put him in my hands, and I will bring him back to you."

Reuven tells his father, "Pop, I'll tell you what. If I don't bring Binyomin home, I'll let you kill your grandkids. Trust him with me."

Yaakov declines the offer - wisely, in my opinion.

So the question is: What was Reuven thinking?!

I mean, did he really expect to be taken seriously with that kind of offer? Was he perhaps smoking too much of the local herbs? What could possibly have been going through Reuven's mind to say something like that?

We were talking about this a bit at kiddush this morning, and I realized that this really seems to be part of Reuven's character, and probably the reason he was not worthy of the malchut. I think that while Reuven was generally well intentioned, he was just a bit impulsive. He just didn't think things through before acting on them.

In fact, this is at least the third time in Tanach that we see this sort of behavior from him. The first time is when Reuven moves Yaakov's bed into Leah's tent. He decided it was fair, and did it, not considering whether his father might have an opinion about the matter. The second time was with Yosef and the pit. It was Reuven who had him moved to the "empty pit that had no water", which Rashi tells us was instead filled with snakes and scorpions. In other words, Reuven didn't check out whether this was a safe thing to do. He just acted.

This, of course, is not to say that Reuven was not a great man - he clearly was. But it does seem to indicate a certain personality flaw.

Given that I have at least one son with this same sort of problem, I guess this gives me some hope that he can still grow up to be a great man some day.