Sukkot: Fragile Dwelling Place

 

“The land of Israel is not rich in water
resources. . . For this reason, a special
prayer for rain was inserted into the
[Sukkot] service. Since the rainy season
starts approximately at Sukkot, it was
the appropriate time to pray for rain.
Jews are realists. One prays for rain
during the rainy season, not during
the dry summers. One walks across
water by stepping on rocks . . .”

-- Rabbi Irving Greenberg, The Jewish Way

 

I saw the full moon of Sukkot, Season of Our Joy, rising over the mesa in the east, into the white and misty clouds of hail that had just fallen over Freedom Ridge Ranch and was now falling out toward the Red Hill and Cimarron Mesa.  On the ground by the roses, on the porch, and over on the cabin and barn roofs, drifts of pellet-sized hail lay, melting slowly into the waters running off of the hills and mesas, downcutting into rills, rapids and even falls, as they sang their way down to Red Hill Draw.

 

There will be no Sukkah at Freedom Ridge Ranch tonight. Rain was still falling intermittently as Tippy and I picked our way across to check the chickens, jumping across a stream and its smaller tributary, both coming down from the dirt tank west of the barn. The other dogs were not the least bit interested in leaving the shelter of the living room. They were shell shocked from lightning, thunder, downpour and then hail. A sudden appearance of the setting sun lit up a rainbow over Freedom Ridge, and then curtains of rains covered it again, until the clouds passed to the east and the moon rose into them.

 

In the pattern of the Holy Days this year, building a Sukkah was called due to rain. The damage to the landscape, the flooding, the car bottoming out in standing water in Red Hill Draw by the shipping pens, all these things together made the typical Sukkot not only difficult, but unimaginable. Sukkot celebrates not only the Ingathering Harvest, the last of the Israeli year, but it also commemorates the years of wandering in the desert. It is a reminder of the fragility and impermanence of life.  

For so many people in New Mexico, Arizona and Colorado, this impermanence is very real, as they realize what the floodwaters took, and clean up what is left, much of the stuff of their lives washed away like the stuff of our hillsides, roads and driveways. Normal life will not come for weeks or even months for friends of ours who live in Coal Creek Canyon. There house is high and soggy, but they will not see a return of drinking water and natural gas for a long while. They know the fragility of their dwelling place on real terms this Sukkot.

For us, the damage is in a bottomed out car, washed out roads and rilling and gullying in our harsh but fragile landscape. We’ve come through lightly, really. But on another level, we are also confronting impermanence without the need to build a Sukkah this year. Although this is now our permanent dwelling here at Freedom Ridge Ranch, we are in the midst of completing repairs requested by the buyers of the house up in Sedillo, the beautiful house we both thought would be our last. And we are buying a casita, a small and comparatively inexpensive house on a hill north of the Sedillo house a good ten miles by road.

The casita will be a place for the Cowboy to live while he finishes his degree and certifications in welding and metal technology. It will be a place for me to stay this fall and next spring, as I focus intensively on finishing my coursework so I can take my comprehensive exams. It will be a place for the Engineering Geek to land when he comes up to Albuquerque and Sandia Labs on business, for he has contracts that require his intermittent presence. It will not be home. But we will be back and forth between home and not-home a lot, all of us. And while this is the case, we hope to be completing the additions and renovations that will make the ranch house uniquely ours.

Our dwelling place will be most fragile and impermanent this year. Like our ancestors, who had to wander in the wilderness until they understood what freedom really requires. 

“As Jews moved into exile, they understood
what the Sukkah had always taught them: G-d
is not fixed; G-d is everywhere. After the
Exodus, Israel went into the desert to meet
its lord. Later, the favor was returned by
G-d, who went with them into exile, into
the travail of history. Jews learned that the
Shekhinah (Indwelling Presence) was with them
in times of exile and wandering.”

    --Rabbi Irving Greenberg, The Jewish Way

I miss the Sukkah already. The fragrant fall odors of Etrog and s’chach; the moonlit nights in the Sukkah, and the warm Shabbat afternoons. All the delights for the senses, the celebration of the harvest. But this year, with all of our life so impermanent, with our family scattered hither and yon, the reminder of the fragility of life, the shaky nature of shelter in the autumn wind is being delivered another way. Like so many of our friends and neighbors, undone by the Great Southwest Flood of 2013, we don’t need the Sukkah to remind us of these things. Our life is fragile enough. As Rabbi Greenberg reminds us:

“Until the world is redeemed from slavery,
Jews are on an Exodus journey; perforce
they are in, but not really of,the society
and culture they inhabit. Jews can con-
tribute without really accepting the
system. The tremendous effort to parti-
cipate led to Jewish integration into the 
host culture. Then the Sukkah reminded
them to push on. There were miles to go,
on the Exodus way . . .”

-- The Jewish Way

Mother Nature has completed the traditional Water-Pouring, Tevillah, that used to take place on the first night of Sukkot during the days of the Second Temple. She even through in some ice to go with the fiery lighting. And now life itself, and the way it works, is bringing us to a new understanding of impermanence.

Life is a fragile thing, and we shake like a Sukkah in the autumn winds. Yet like the Sukkah, we generally manage to remain standing. Through fire. And water. And ice.
There is a toughness to us as well. It gets us through hard times and makes us too stiff-necked to bow down to what our hands have made.

That is the point of the Exodus journey. Freedom isn’t free. It takes time and an understanding that idolatry is not compatible with our liberty. The adventure has been worth the cost, as we are reminded again each Sukkot what is important and what is not.

Our spirits have a fragile dwelling place, a body that bends and sometimes breaks. But we also have Shekhinah, reminding us that beyond all the fragility, something of us is strong and mighty.

Chag Sameach. Happy harvest!

 

Technorati Tags: Flood,Rain,Sukkot,Times and Seasons

High Holy Days 5774:Who Causes the Wind to Blow and the Rain to Fall

Ordinarily, on Shemini Atzeret--the eighth day of lingering--at the end of Sukkot, we add t'filat ha-geshem--the prayer for rain--to the Amidah, which is the standing prayer in the daily services.  It is considered bad luck when the rains come early, and make it difficult to dwell in the Sukkah--the harvest booth--as is commanded during the Feast of Ingathering Harvest.

 Geshem continues to be said across the winter until the spring Festival of Pesach is celebrated, when the summer blessing for Tal--Dew--is added and Geshem is retired until the next Sukkot Holiday. This corresponds to the seasons of Israel, wet in the winter and dry in the summer. 

This year. even as the Holy Days came early in the solar year, Rosh Hashanah starting on the evening of the 4th of September, so too did the rains come early. Or in our case, the monsoon stayed late, making holiday travel as difficult for Jews in Catron County, New Mexico, as it was for the Jews of Judea in the days of old when farmers were expected to build their Sukkot on the hills surrounding Jerusalem.

We had planned to attend High Holy Day Services in Flagstaff, at the little Heichal ba-Oranim synagogue, where we had gone last year. I was looking forward to finally being able to join that congregation, now that the house in Sedillo is under contract, and we are able to make the necessary contributions. We have been without a home synagogue for more than a year, and we were looking forward to making a commitment and enjoying a pleasant holiday in a very haimish shul. 

Alas, it was not to be. As September came, a new and very wet monsoon plume settled over the Southwest. Predictions of thunderstorms and flash floods became a daily reminder that our roads could become impassible in no time at all.

 Rosh Hashanah itself was partly cloudy, but the threat of rain made us decide to stay home lest we not be able to get back should the rains come.  We had a festive meal with all of the traditional foods on Erev Rosh Hashanah, and we prayed the evening service on the porch.
 The next morning, we again prayed on the porch, the sun dancing with the clouds as I proclaimed: Ha-yom harat olam!  This is the day of the world's birth! And the Engineering Geek blew the intricate set of Shofar calls three times: once for Creation, once for Memory, and once for Revelation. The sound of the Shofar rang out across Freedom Ridge, and the horses raised their heads, the dogs barked, and the cows began lowing. The hawk soared and circled on the wind, unconcerned. 

In the afternoon, we did leave for a drive around Big Lake, where the EG and my nephew skipped stones on the water after we cast our bread upon them in the ancient and fanciful ceremony of Tashlich, a casting away of the old and inviting in of the New Year. I have always thought that Tashlich is simply an excuse to take a walk on Rosh Hashanah afternoon, after a long morning service. It began to rain as we drove back along the county road to the ranch. Second day, and thunderstorms near candle-lighting for Shabbat. We missed the Sacred Assembly on the first and second days of the Seventh Month entirely. 

On Sunday after a day of rain, I drove out with the EG behind me in the Dodge Ram in case he had to pull me out. After slipping and sliding down the county road,  I went to Albuquerque for class, and to take care of some business. And on Tuesday, the rain set in there. It rained all day. ALL DAY. A record rainfall. I came home Wednesday, between storms. The road was soft, and there was water in the arroyo, and I drove on the high spots between ruts. Thursday, the rain began in our part of the state, and we knew that there would be no travel to Flagstaff for us. Friday, as I prepared the pre-fast meal, I read about the flooding in Colorado on the internet.

Just before sunset, we invited Yitzak Pearlman to perform Kol Nidre via YouTube.
All vows that we make between this Yom Kippur and the next . . .
Then candle lighting, and the evening service. I sang the parts of the service we could do without a minyan.
 Lightning played across Freedom Ridge as we let the dogs in and began the Al Chet. 
 V'al kulam eloah s'lichot . . . for all these, O G-d of Forgiveness. . . 
and the electric lights flickered along with the candles. A bolt of lighting. Almost simultaneous thunder. And the lights went out, leaving only the flickering candles.  
Lev tahor b'ra-li, elohim . . .create in me a clean heart, O G-d . . . our shadows large upon the eastern wall in the candle light. Sometime in the night, the candles went out and the electricity was restored, but we were sleeping and the next light we saw was a pearly, gray dawn and ragged clouds scudding across the sky, driven by a wet wind. 

We dressed again in white. No leather, no grooming. For the first Yom Kippur day of my marriage, I did not see my husband--Reform Princeling that he is--in a dark suit, starched white shirt and somber tie. As we sat on the couch and read aloud from Climbing Jacob's Ladder: One Man's Journey to Rediscover a Jewish Spiritual Tradition the clouds gathered in the south. "Wind from the South has water in its mouth'\," chanted the EG, as the sky darkened and the rains began.
All that day, as we prayed in the cool, shadowy living room in stocking feet, our tallitot wrapped for warmth and the feeling of being enfolded by Shechinah--the Indwelling Presence--the rains came in sprinkles and soft curtains, now and again hiding the Red Hill.

Morning Service.
"Let us proclaim the sacred power of this day:
It is awesome and full of dread . . .
On Rosh Hashanah it is written, on Yom Kippur it is sealed. . . 
Who by fire, and who by water, who by sword and who by beast . . ."

Additional Service. And a short walk in the sprinkling rain.
Resting on the porch, still well wrapped.
Memorial Service.

Afternoon Service. The Ten Martyrs.
Eili tzion v'areha . . . For Zion and her cities I mourn 
like a mother in her anguish,
 like a woman who mourns the husband of her youth.  
I mourn the exile of the servants of G-d,
makers of sweet melodies,
v'al dama asher shufach . . . their blood poured out like Zion's streams. 

And all that day the rains fell, weeping like Rachel for her children . . .
For we did not know, cut off in the sacred silence of that day, that in Colorado, in New Mexico, in Catron County, the flood waters were rising, and in the Blue River Canyon on Catron's border with Arizona, people were lifted out by helicopter and brought out on bulldozers. And it rained. And rained.

Neilah. The Closing of the Gates. 

"This is the house of G-d.
This is the gate of heaven . . . 
El norah alila . . . G-d of awesome deeds, 
grant us pardon . . . b'sh-at neilah . . . as the gates begin to close.
Avinu malkenu . . . let the gates of heaven be open to our prayer . . .
let the new year be a good year for us . . . make an end to all oppression
upon us . . .be our help. 

And the rain stopped. And we stopped to say the blessing for the Rainbow
 as the last rays of the setting sun shone across our valley.
". . . zocher ha-brit . . . who remembers the covenant . . .
Seu Sha-arim roshechem . . . Lift up your heads, O Gates!
Ha-shem, hu ha-elohim. . . 
Seven times and the last long blast of the Shofar.
We thought of it happening hour after hour as the world turned from day to night.
All those at the Wall.

Havdalah. 
"Blessed is the One who separates the holy from the ordinary,
light from darkness, the House of Israel from among the peoples. . ."
And the candle is extinguished in the sweet wine, the taste of which is on our lips.
And the lamps are lighted.

Motzi.
". . . who brings forth bread from the earth . . ."
Sweet round challah with raisins. 
Cream cheese.
Salmon. 

We broke the fast, and eating and drinking, we once again consider the goodness of the ordinary riches of our lives. 
"For I saw how good it is for [man], and beautiful, to eat and drink and know goodness for all his work that he does under the sun . . ."  

We had good holidays. It was still beautiful and filled with meaning that we made, though we missed the beauty of being in the midst of the holy congregation.
But the rains kept us off the roads and in our home. 
We made the best of it and we did well. 

We are soggy, and today I bottomed out the car in the arroyo, and had to have it towed because the box that monitors emissions and engine codes came loose. 
We have rutted roads, a few wash-outs, and full streams.
But no helicoptors or bulldozers.
We have electricity.
We are well.

It's raining again.
The water-pouring of Shemini Atzeret comes a little early.
Blessed is the One who causes the wind to blow and the rain to fall.
Geshem. 
We wanted rain and we needed rain. 
Everything is green, even as the Aspens are beginning to turn gold.
But maybe, just maybe, it's time to build an ark? They need one in Colorado, Northern New Mexico, and on the Blue River.
What's a cubit . . . 

Yom Kippur: The Day of Decision

“This is the Day of Decision . . .”

“ . . . in the camps and streets of Europe mother and father and child lay dying, and many looked away. To look away from evil: Is this not the sin of all “good” people?”

“Turn back, turn back from your evil ways; for why should you choose to die, O House of Israel?”

--Sha’arei T’shuvah: The Reform Machzor

 

Our lives are fleeting, like a leaf that rides on the river of time, for a while, and then subsides, while the river flows on. This is one theme of Yom Kippur and the High Holy Days in general, timed as they are in the month of autumn, from the dark of the moon to its waxing. This year the Engineering Geek and I felt this acutely, as our daily household has shrunk to just the two of us, with both children up and out.

This gives us both pause about where we are in our lives, with more years behind us than ahead, but it also confers a certain freedom, and one way that we expressed it was to choose to spend Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur differently, cutting ties to the synagogue where the children were raised. We went to the small, eclectic and egalitarian shul in Flagstaff, taking a hotel room in order to experience Yom Kippur free of the distraction of long distance driving. Of course, in the odd way of the Jewish world, where smaller degrees of separation abound and bind across continents, we found connections with the president of the congregation, another member who remembers me as a very pregnant cantorial soloist, and the rabbi herself, with whom I share a mentor, a study partner, and a course of study.  

And for the first time in our ten years of marriage, the EG and I also were free to really spend some time on the Day of Atonement studying the Machzor—the High Holy Day Prayer Book—free of distractions. This was a boon we had not counted upon, and it worked out because the little shul has an organized morning service followed immediately by Yizkor (the Memorial Service), after which there is a long break until Neilah, the evening service just before breaking the fast. Not wanting to put ourselves in places of commerce nor to go back to the hotel, we went instead to Buffalo Park—a huge open space under the San Francisco Peaks—and there we found a lone marble bench facing the mountains, cloud-shadowed beyond a field of yellow daisies, where we prayed the afternoon service for ourselves, stopping to discuss and comment upon it along the way. And as is always true for me, themes that match what is going on in my inner and outer life fairly jumped out of the pages of the Machzor, demanding to be confronted.

Yom Kippur is, as the prayer book says, a day of decision. The image is the Book of Life being open at the Seat of Judgment, as every human being chooses between good and evil, life and death:

You open the book of our days and what is written there proclaims itself, for it bears the signature of every human being. . . This is the Day of Judgment . . .”

But the problem for many Jews is that we have taken a concept of judgment from the dominant culture, one that is foreign to our own world view. This idea is that human beings should eschew judgment altogether, that it is wrong to make a judgment—which I cannot help but point out, is a judgment itself. For because human being have the capacity to make decisions, we must necessarily make judgments between good and evil, between right and wrong, between life and death. Judgment is not an option, and it is also not something to be feared:

Your love is steadfast on Judgment day, and you keep your covenant in judgment . . .

You penetrate mysteries on Judgment Day, and you free your children in judgment . . .

You uphold all who live with integrity on Judgment Day . . .

On Yom Kippur, we take the time to ponder, to burn away the clouds of mystery, and to make judgments about ourselves, determining where we have failed in judgment and where we have gone beyond our own boundaries, in order to restore integrity to our lives.

Beyond our own lives, we must make judgments about our world. We cannot say: Who am I to judge this policy, this action, these people and their behaviors? We Jews know what the sin of silence and the sin of indifference mean.To refuse to judge evil as evil, and evil doers as evil doers is to allow it and to become a part of it. There are no innocent bystanders. And those who claim to desire peace but refuse to confront evil cannot create peace, rather they will bring death and destruction upon themselves and upon those who excuse them, for to excuse the guilty is an injustice waged upon the innocent.

In the praying of the services, in the thoughts that the words in the Machzor inspire, and in our discussion of them, I have made some decisions for myself, or I have set the standards and benchmarks for decisions that I expect to need to make this year. Over the years of my upbringing and education, and on into young adulthood, I had developed the habit of self-censorship in response to a great many things, and over the last 11 years I have made a concerted effort to rid myself of this habit, for it is a dangerous abdication of the mind and heart. I will continue to root this out of my life, and replace such fears and hesitations as I may have with reliance on making judgments that are just and true. This year, more than ever, as our world spirals out of control and our civilization seems bent on suicide, this emphasis on truth and justice as the basis of judgment becomes more important than ever, and that integrity is something I want to restore in small ways as well as large, and in my personal as well as any public life I might have.

There are other conclusions that I have come to in order to fulfill my desire to mend my errors and to  be proud of what I have written in my book of life, and perhaps I will share more of them at another time, but I know that confronting untruth will be my greatest challenge. The Hebrew word for truth is EMET and the Hebrew word for justice is TZEDEK. EMET and TZEDEK will be my words for 5773. These are big words, and knowing my own weaknesses regarding them, I take pause before them. They require great  courage and discernment both, and i tend to err on both. And yet I long to come closer to these marks. I may not have the power to change the world that seems to be hell-bent on destruction, but creating an island of order and sanity within the chaos is a worthy goal.

 

Technorati Tags: Judaism,Times and Seasons,Yom Kippur

You Shall be a Blessing: Debbie Friedman z'l

To stand in covenant with God is to accept a challenge

to regard one’s entire life as a channel for

bringing divine presence and blessing into the world.

We as a Jewish people, the people of Sinai, made such a commitment,

one to which we remain bound forever. To understand us Jews

is to realize that we are eternally devoted to that vision.

No matter how secular we may declare ourselves,

something within us remains priest at that altar.

--Rabbi Arthur Green

There is a lot going on in the world. There is a lot going on in my life, too, as we are packing and moving into a new life of our own making. And at our ages!

I have had several blog posts planned, some political and some personal, but they can wait.




Yesterday, I heard that Debbie Friedman died.
I put aside the boxes, the bubble wrap and the packing tape.
And I sat on a just-packed box of Siddurim and cried.

Although I can count the number of times I met her on both hands, she was one of those people that completely altered the direction of my life. Many Reform Jews of my generation can probably say the same thing. Debbie was a singer and songwriter who completely changed the world of Jewish Music, and the way worship services are conducted in Reform synagogues. And yet she had no formal training, did not read music, and never got the credentials that have become so very important in the Reform Jewish world.

Debbie's heart and soul were her credentials, and all of the fussy rabbis and cantors looking for degrees and checking for skills off of lists were undone by her energy, her joy, and her love for her work.


But for me, Debbie's influence was much more personal. I believe her music saved my life and confirmed to me my Jewish soul--the one that was standing at Sinai*-- though I didn't believe in that at the time.

*In the Talmud we are told that the soul of every Jew that has ever lived or ever will live stood at Sinai and directly experienced the giving of Torah, each one accepting the Covenant for herself.

My high school years were a living hell.
My Aspergian traits were in full flower, though I had never heard of Hans Asperger. In me resided a strange combination of idealism and social naivete that together made me a perfect candidate to be the class outcast. I went to a small private high school in a very socially conscious town, where social climbing was a blood sport, conducted both on and off the athletic fields. I am not an athlete, and to this day I possess that self-conscious awkwardness that plagues so many of us Aspies.


Things at home were difficult for me as well. There were aspects of my childhood home and family of origin that made it very difficult for me to believe that my differences had value, and that what I did or did not do made any difference at all. Depression is a common co-morbidity for Aspies, and I struggled with undiagnosed depression for most of high school and into the beginning of college. My parents had no idea of what to make of my moods, my social ineptness, my perseverations, and my passions. I was a strange little kid who grew into a very different and difficult teenager. I was vehement that they should leave me alone, and they did. To be fair,they were trying to sort out their rebellious middle child whose behavior required a great deal of attention, and it must have been overwhelming. They finally got a break with my even-tempered, mostly normal baby sister. But that was years later.


And into this difficult picture burst a short young woman with long flowing hair, unbounded energy, a huge guitar and an even huger voice.
My best friend and twin-sister-by-different-parents bought me her first album, Sing Unto God, from Olin-Sang-Ruby Union Institute Camp where Debbie was a song leader, and I fell head over heels in love. In love with this voice and this music, and in love with Judaism and the Hebrew language through the music.

Using a copy of Gates of Prayer: The New Union Prayerbook (with transliteration) and a dusty little Hebrew dictionary I found at the university library, I sat down to teach myself Hebrew. Not yet a university student, I had to do that work at the library. I began to light a candle for Shabbat, hidden alone in my room, like a Spanish converso. I began to understand that somehow, those Jews in part of my family tree had reached out across space and time and bequeathed to me the soul that stood a Sinai. I have no better explanation for this.

My Hebrew study and my solitary practice were not terribly successful, but they stood me in good stead later, when as a college student I began attending services sporadically at the local Reform synagogue. It never occured to me to actually talk to a rabbi; I would go in, sitting with my best friend if she was there, and if she wasn't, I'd leave immediately after the service. Later, when as an adult I actually joined the Reform synagogue here in Albuquerque, I had learned a few social skills and actually talked to people. And I felt like I was coming home to a place I had never been before.

Throughout the years that followed as I studied Hebrew intensively, had an adult Bat Mitzvah at the age of 33 (only 20 years late), served for a while as a cantorial soloist, taught Hebrew, and took my own children through life-cycle ritual and Holy Days--throughout it all--Debbie's music kept the beat of my Jewish life. It was her melody that I sang to end Shabbat with the ceremony of Havdalah. It was her Shehecheyanu that I chanted at my Bat Mitzvah. It was her Misheberach with which I prayed for the sick. And it was her healing album, Renewal of Spirit, that brought me through breast cancer and gave me the courage to ask for the help I so desperately needed. And I sang Debbie's Arise, My Love at the reception after I married my dear Engineering Geek under the Chuppah.

It isn't as if Debbie was my only Jewish mentor. There are countless others who were angels unawares for different parts of my Jewish journey: My two rabbis, Paul Citrin and Joseph Black, challenged me to choose life in very different ways--and I wasn't such an easy student then, either. (Just ask them. Or better yet, don't ask). And my cantor's cantor, Jacqueline Shuchat Marx, taught me how to pursue happiness again after a very dark time. Glenda, my Hebrew teacher, pushed and prodded and mothered, helping me learn to be a grown-up, as well as starting me on the way as a Hebrew scholar. But Debbie was there through her music for the entire long, strange trip my life has been.

I did have the privilege of singing with her as her student at several CAJE (Conference on Alternatives in Jewish Education) conferences, and I was able to thank her in person and sing "Days of Wine and Haroses" with her when she gave a concert at Congregation Beth Shalom in Santa Fe. I will never forget, when she came to give a concert at Congregation B'nei Israel in Albuquerque, her story of being stuck on the tarmac in an airplane at the Sunport. The reason for the delay escapes me now, but Debbie was having health problems even then, and I suppose it must have been uncomfortable for her. It was very early morning, pre-dawn, she said, and she was staring out of the little window at darkness, until, she said, "Suddenly, the mountains came out!" And her joy at their beauty was obvious in the energy with which she said it. That was Debbie, and that was something else that she reminded me of, something that with my Aspie tendency to see the glass as half-full, cracked and dingy, I too easily forget. There is beauty in the most unexpected places and in the most uncomfortable situations. Then she called all of the cantors and soloists in the audience to come up and sing Carlbach's Esa Enai (I look to the Mountains) with her.

Yes, Debbie and her music have been there for my entire Jewish journey.
Until now. And I feel as if, when she left us, she took a little piece of my soul with her.
As many Jews of my generation feel today, our crown is broken and a precious jewel has been taken from us.

And yet I know that her music remains. In particular, her song taken from the verse in B'reshit (Genesis) in which G-d tells Abraham to go to a new and strange place when Abraham is already somewhat advanced in age, speaks to me anew these days. It is not only about the journey of the young, but about the new adventures that await us, boundary crossers all, as we travel on our life's path. Each new step requires a choice. When G-d told Abraham to "GO!", old Abe still had a choice. But despite his age, and all the other reasons to stay in Haran, he went. The Hebrew words for G-d's command are lech l'cha--go to/for yourself!--the name of the song is the feminine of these words, Lechi L'ach:






L'simchat Chayim--to a joyful life!

Debbie Freidman has taught me that we are all meant to make of our lives a blessing. I have been a rather recalcitrant student, and it has taken me all these years to learn the lesson that finding joy in life is what makes our lives a blessing.

Debbie's name and her memory will be a blessing to me and to all who were touched by her energy, her music and that heart of hers.

Alev ha' Shalom, Debbie.

More on Mixed Premises: Part I--Challenging Assumptions

As a blogger, I am always gratified when there is discussion of my posts. Discussion brings out differing points of view, new insights, as well as the intellectually stimulating process of further thinking, the clarification of the writing, and the countering of arguments. Such has been the case with the post I published on Sunday 7/18 concerning Glenn Beck's mixed premises. I am well aware that my counters, my clarifications and my thought will not necessarily change the closely held opinions of others, and especially when they involve the issue of religion which is so basic to many people's thought that it goes unquestioned and is therefore difficult to discuss passionately without hurt feelings and misunderstandings. And although sometimes I do change my own opinions in response to these arguments, more often the synthesis of ideas in my own mind that occurs due to them leads me to a better understanding and better expression of my thesis.

In this spirit then, I would like to clarify and discuss some of the common themes that have arisen in the comments I have received here and on my Facebook link to the same post. This essay will be presented in two parts. First, as I have listened more to Glenn Beck on this topic, as well as reading the comments, I have noticed a certain assumption--that there is something called Judeo-Christian tradition--that has led to a good deal of unclarity about the very real differences between Judaism and Christianity. Although most Jews have a reasonably good idea of the differences, most Christians--as a result of being the dominant religious culture--are not aware of the fundamental differences that make Judaism and Christianity different religions entirely, even if both are Western in root and thought.

PART I: CHALLENGING ASSUMPTIONS

Hot August night and the leaves hangin' down
And the grass on the ground smellin' - sweet
Move up the road to the outside o' town
And the sound o' that good gospel beat
Sits a ragged tent, where there ain't no trees
And that gospel group, tellin' you and me

It's Love, Brother Love
Say Brother Love's Travellin' Salvation Show-ow (halle-halle)
Pack up the babies and grab the old ladies
And everyone goes, 'cause everyone knows, brother Love's show
(Neil Diamond, Brother Love's Traveling Salvation Show, 1969)

In listening to Glenn Beck I have noticed a shift in the emphasis of his themes, so that as he approaches his big Washington Restoring Honor Rally, it has become "Brother Glenn's Traveling Salvation Show". I have also noticed that he tends to treat Judaism and Christianity as one thing--Judeo-Christian--emphasis on the Christian--and from the Jewish perspective, he adds insult to injury by assuming that Jews are in agreement with the Christian gospel. His focus, though presented broadly as "America has to get back to God", is really that America has to accept the Gospel. I have heard him make statements refering to "Judeo-Christianity" that give me reason to believe that he is not only ignorant of the real differences between Judaism and Christianity, but that he shares the common assumption that Judaism is a sect of American Christianity, a sort of Christian-lite. Harmless, I suppose, for the most part, except that this ignorance and this assumption have lately caused him to make certain statements that revive the ancient deicide charge against Jews, and have also caused him to misperceive the reaction to these anti-semitic remarks.

It is certainly true that Judaism and Christianity both arose from the same roots--the tribal Israelite religion of the Hebrew Scriptures--but it is not true that Christianity either arose from or replaced modern Judaism. Rather, both arose at about the same time--Judaism being the elder by a few centuries--and in response to the same historical events, making both truly Western religions. (I would argue that Islam is not truly Western, though it is often given that designation, but that's another essay). Modern Judaism, which has its roots in the Babylonian exile and matured due to the Roman wars with Judea and the Second Exile, is a complete religion in its own right; it is not Christianity "lite", nor is it merely a precursor and foundation to Christianity. Although there are many differences between them, the most foundational of them have to do with each religion's understanding of human beings, to the nature of the Divine, and to the nature of law and faith. In broad strokes, these differences are as follows:

1) Rabbinic Judaism understands the human being to have free will, and to be responsible for his or her own actions, and to be expected to make decisions about those actions based on the importance of life as it is right here. There is no notion of original sin in Judaism; a person is judged solely on his or her own moral choices, and the standard of value is life on earth; there is no heaven or hell although some Jews have a notion of a "world to come" in which all men live by divine law.

Although normative Christianity also posits free will, it is incomplete because of the doctrine of original sin which posits that human choices are by nature skewed towards evil, which is why a human being cannot obtain goodness on his own and needs the blood sacrifice of Jesus in order to obtain it. Normative Christianity has a well-thought out notion of an afterlife and of eternal reward and punishment that supercedes in importance any earthly consequences.

2) Rabbinic Judaism does not have a well-characterized theology of the nature of the Divine; the existence of G-d is assumed, but not described. It is quite possible to be a good Jew without having any specific notion of the Divine, or any such belief at all, and many modern Jews believe that the Eternal dwells within the human being, rather than outside the universe. Rabbinic Judaism does not posit Divine omniscience and omnipotence. The Rabbinic tradition, and more formally, the Jewish philosophers of the European Enlightenment both convey the understanding of the amorality inherent in such a being.

Christianity, on the other hand, has many different well-developed theologies about the nature of their Trinity--which has made some creative and some destructive tendencies in the relationships among its sects--nearly all of which posit Divine omniscience and omnipotence. These theologies create for Christianity much lively thought and argument about the nature of good and evil, the quasi-dualistic nature of the universe, and faith and works, among others. This might be a reason for the multiplicity of different sects within Christianity and the the arguments about which sects are legitimately Christian and when a sect has become a different religion entirely. Whereas Rabbinic Judaism, without this theological specificity, has three broad sects related to differing views of the relationship of the individual to Jewish Law. This second difference is, I suspect, a result of the third difference below.

3) The Jewish religion in broad strokes is based on the mythos of a Divine covenant(contract) with a particular people, B'nei Israel, and since the basis of a contract is specific actions, Judaism does not rest on agreement to intellectual beliefs, but rather to agreement to specific actions codified in Halachah--Jewish Law. The Rabbis--the founders--of modern Judaism placed this Law in the realm of human action on earth ("It is NOT in heaven"), because they said it was not necessary to any being that does not have free will and freedom of action. The law (Halachah) and the teaching (Torah) belong to us, here and we a responsible to make our contribution to its implementation. Judaism is therefore orthopraxic--a religion of right action. It is also particularistic--Jews do not believe that others have the same obligations or purposes; rather they have other Divine obligations and purposes.

On the other hand, Christianity is based on the concept of the universal blood sacrifice of Jesus that brings all human beings in right relationship with the Trinity. According to Christianity, law is secondary to this atonement, done not from the merit of human beings but from grace. In order to participate in this atonement, each person must agree to "believe" in it, accepting specific intellectual beliefs--doctrines and dogmas--that bring him into the community of believers. From that point on--in varying degrees according to sect--Christians must act in certain virtuous ways modeled on the sacrifice of Jesus, but Christianity is primarily a religion of orthodoxy--right belief. It is universalistic in that Christians have a mission to cause everyone to accept these beliefs and thus attain salvation.

The bottom line for me is that Jews accept that there can be many covenants that lead different people to salvation, and Jews are concerned about their own particular covenant; whereas Christians accept only one covenant that supercedes all others, and are concerned that everyone accept that one. Jews are more concerned about right action that leads to more abundant life in the here and now; Christians are more concerned about right beliefs that put each human being in alignment with the atonement of Jesus' death and will be rewarded by eternal life in the eschatological there and then.

Both religions secondarily recognize the primary concerns of the sister religion, it is the primary emphasis that creates the fundamental difference. Both religions, in their normative forms and sects, focus on the individual and his or her responsibilty to Law and Action (Judaism) or Grace and Faith (Christianity). However, of the two, Judaism defines virtue as action that leads to life in the here and now, and Christianity defines virtue as sacrifice of earthly desires for heavenly gain.

Both religions are western--having borrowed or developed Greek logical argument, as well as the Greek emphasis on thought that leads to specific actions. However, Judaism borrowed more heavily from Greek logic and rationalism, and Christianity borrowed more heavily from Greek Gnosticism. These differences are probably due to the nascent time periods for each religion.

Again, I want to emphasize that this is a summary of what I see as the critical differences between modern Judaism and Christianity, done in very broad strokes. Whole books have been written just on the issues I touched on in this post, and volumes have been written about the historical periods and philosophical arguments that underpin each. I am also aware that neither religion is monolithic, and that Christianity, in particular, has a multiplicity of sects that differ among themselves in regard to the relative importance of these ideas, among other things. These arguments have indeed made Europe a bubbling and sometimes brutal cauldron of ferment and change.

Further, I am writing about these two religions from a different perspective than most, being more concerned with and knowlegable about Judaism than Christianity. I am not interested here in opening a debate about the relative merits of the two religious traditions, although I am sure my thoughts on this are clear to readers. And I have little regard for the argument that the United States is a "Christian" country; from 1791 onward,when the First Amendment to the US Constitution was ratified, it became the supreme law of the land that the United States has NO established religion, and that everyone (including Brother Love) has the right to freely exercise of any religion he or she chooses. Finally, I am not open to comments that attempt to convert me to Christianity. I have chosen my path, and my feet are firmly on the Way of Torah. This part of the discussion was written for the sole purpose of laying common groundwork so that a fruitful discussion of Beck's remarks, the reactions to it, and his assumptions vs. reality can be entertained.

Objectivist Questions About Rights and Religion (Part I)

Every now and then, I get comments that contain some very thoughtful questions from a reader. These are questions that require a lot of thought and writing, and sometimes they even cause me to revise my own thinking. Such challenging questions are a pleasure to answer for several reasons. One is that I truly enjoy metacognition which is the process of thinking about my own thinking. Another is that I get the sense that I have found a kindred spirit, someone who really understands where my thinking is going, and does so even before I get there.

In the Buddhist tradition there is a saying: When the student is ready, the teacher appears.
This post is one of those metacognitive exercises based on two questions posed by C. August, an Objectivist. His blog is Titanic Deck Chairs and he also blogs at The Rule of Reason. I read it at least once a week, as it is usually part of the Objectivist Round-up. He began his first question with a compliment about my blog:

"I stop by your blog once in awhile, often when RationalJenn links to it, and am always struck by your eloquence, the depth of your thought and how you dig into ideas and explore them, and, inevitably for me, the contradictions between your ideas as espoused in this post, and what I presume to be your faith."

Now, a compliment from an Objectivist, especially about one's thinking, is never idle and never intended to flatter. I am therefore honored by the compliment. The last clause above then gets straight to the point and prefaces C. August's first question. However, before I attempt to answer it, I wish to clarify the position from which I answer.

I am not a philosopher. Although I have had some formal training in philosophy (six credit hours at the undergraduate level and three at the graduate level) and in logic (three credit hours), my primary approach to the world is as a scientist. This is a very important distinction because philosophers tend to build their arguments from axioms, from which they develop premises, and they make make inferences, but the result is a grand system of thought. A scientist on the other hand, tends to muck about in the physical universe, asking questions which are answered by way of the scientific method. Scientists develop hypotheses from observations of the actual workings of reality and then test those hypotheses and we require measurable results. Whereas a philosopher must probe the nature of reality, scientists begin with the assumption that reality is real. It is the philosophers of science that get down to the business of probing into how scientists think about their science. Most working scientists operate within the dominant paradigm of their disciplines, busy with the job of testing those ideas against the workings of the physical world. Science limits itself to probing questions about the physical world that can be answered by measurement and observation of its workings. In the world of modern philosophy, science is a red-headed step-child, divorced from its philosophical underpinning because most academic philosophers hold theories of knowledge that start with the idea that reality is not what it appears to be. Science cannot function with integrity within such a context.*

*IMHO as a scientist, this is the main problem with the pseudoscientific claims and extra-scientific claims being used for political purposes these days.

I make the above point to stress that although I may use philosophical terms in my response, I use them with the understanding of an interested layman and not as an academic philosopher. I am much more comfortable using the terminology of science and I use such terminology as a professional and academic in my fields. These caveats are further complicated by the fact that C. August's question delves into my adherence to the religion of Judaism, and although I am a well-educated Jew, and in a very important sense Judaism is my life's work, I am neither a professional Jew nor do I have a formal academic degree related to it.

C. AUGUST'S QUESTION

". . . [Y]ou refer to the natural rights of man, upon which most of your arguments in the post lie. What, ultimately, do you think is the source of those rights?
To frame the question, assuming it's one of the two, do you subscribe to the Lockean notion of rights from god? Or Rand's idea of rights as derived from the metaphysical nature of man as a rational animal, and the requirements of a being who lives by the free reason of his own mind?"

RESPONSE

Note: I attempted a response in the comments to my post Rules for Patriots? It was not very considered nor was it clear. This question really required more thought and careful writing.

C. August, in the clarification of your question your assumptions are spot on. My ideas about the Rights of Man as I describe them must come from either Locke or Rand. And, as you doubtless noted, I quoted Rand twice in the course of the post. With respect to my intellectual history, my thinking about such natural rights comes primarily from Locke, whom I studied in high school (I was classically educated) as part of American History. I studied his ideas with respect to natural rights in more depth in college as well, during classes in philosophy, anthropology, and history. So Locke is one of the giants upon whose shoulders I stand.

I first read Ayn Rand's fiction works in high school as well, not as part of any assignment, but because someone handed me Atlas Shrugged, and later I went out and purchased Anthem, The Fountainhead, and We the Living. I read them primarily for the story, and I most appreciated Atlas Shrugged. Although I enjoyed reading the others, it was this one that really got me thinking. I think Atlas was the first contemporary novel that I ever read that struck me as a novel about ideas rather than just as a story. Later I read Rand's Capitalism: The Unknown Ideal, but I never did read any of her other fiction. (In the past year I had to purchase new copies of both Atlas and Capitalism, as the old ones were old and well-used paperbacks).

Given all of this, then, my understanding of the Rights of Man (natural rights), is founded on the Enlightenment ideas of Locke. But Rand's thinking completes Locke and Jefferson and builds on them and clarifies the true nature of the human being's niche on earth as a being capable of rational thought. I consider this idea to be Rand's unique contribution to the concept of natural rights. (I may be wrong here, as I am not well versed in modern philosophy).

Further, I think Jefferson's use of the term Creator is really a metaphor to describe something that he had not fully delineated in his own mind. I think he understood that natural rights are inherent to the human being (thus the adjective 'natural') because of his nature as a thinking organism who must knowingly choose between good and evil, and that the fact that rights are inherent means that they cannot be removed by fiat or by vote. By ascribing the origin of the Rights of Man to the Creator, I think both Locke and Jefferson thought they were placing natural rights beyond the reach of kings and governments. Further, I strongly argue that both Locke and Jefferson, each in his own way, had a more sophisticated concept of the Christian deity than do most American Christians today. Such is the abyssimal state of American education.


C. AUGUST FURTHER QUERIES

Basically, I'm curious how you square -- assuming you do -- faith in god with a this-worldly view of the rational, egoistic life of man that is seemingly implicit in your arguments (much like it was in the Founders' arguments).

RESPONSE

C. August, I believe that here your question rests on the assumption that my "faith" requires an intellectual belief (Is this an oxymoron?) system and that it is related to some "other-worldly" realm. In short, you begin with an understanding of religion and of the Eternal that is influenced almost exclusively by Christianity, a creedal, universalistic religion that requires intellectual assent and which has a very narrowly defined theology and which was spread throughout the West by force. Although certainly the Israelite religion did engage in conquest, Judaism never had that kind of power.

However, I suscribe to Judaism, which is really a world-view that originated as a set of tribal traditions handed down orally prior to being written. Whereas Christianity relies on doctrine and intellectual assent for membership, Judaism is primarily passed down from generation to generation as a set of memes. Whereas Christianity requires conversion, Judaism allows adoption.

In essence, the answer to your question is that Judaism requires no other world and thus need not be squared with the world we know; it was intended to situate Jews in the world they inhabit. Judaism is about living in this world as Jews, and Jews see themselves as both of this world and in it. When Jews have isolated themselves, it is for protection from those who have risen to destroy us.

Judaism is a set of traditions based on a rather sophisticated (for its time of origin) concept of law, which came from the Israelite religion but was transformed into Rabbinic Judaism two millenia ago. That transformation was in itself a remarkable achievement that was intended to preserve the values and ideas of a people going into permanent exile; an achievement that worked. But in that exile, something else occured as well, and Jews took part in the Great Conversation of the West (a classical metaphor), and Judaism proved to be durable, holding firmly to certain basic ideas, and yet evolving to become modern.

More to the point of your question, Judaism is not creedal and has no prescribed concept of the Deity. For the ancient Israelites, G-d was assumed to be, and attributes were assigned according to what Israel experienced as G-d*. Thus the G-d of Israel become associated with Law, with freedom, and by the time of the prophets, with individual responsibility. First and foremost in Judaism is the concept of the Covenant between G-d and Israel, in which Israel stands as eternal (it appears) witness to the lawfulness of Creation. The Covenant itself spells out a very particular set of behaviors and consequences that cannot reasonably be taken literally by a modern person. However, the overall point of the story is that actions have consequences and that G-d cannot mitigate them.


*Thus the famous (and usually badly translated) exchange between G-d and Moses in Shemot (Exodus). According to the story, Moses basically says: The people are never going to believe that the god of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob wants them to go free from slavery. They're gonna to want you to introduce yourself by name. (e.g. Who the heck are you? Joe Shmoe?) And the famous answer is: "Eyeh asher eyeh" which can roughly be translated as "I am what I shall be." I tend to think this answer, a play on the Hebrew verb hey-yud-hey (to be) means roughly: Wait and see what I do, then you'll know who I am. Other Jews may disagree. That's the fun of Midrash.

This is all a very long way to get around to your final point, which I translate to mean "How the heck can a rational, egoistic modern woman believe all that Mickey Mouse Crap?"
You said it more elegantly and politely than that, but that's how a Jew might very well put it to another Jew.

My answer: I have never felt obligated to take it all literally. I interpret the tradition, just as our teachers and our teachers' teachers did before me. I intrepret the tradition to derive the purpose and meaning of my Jewish identity within the context of the Jewish community, right here in Albuquerque, NM. And I interpret the mythos of Hebrew scripture from what I know about human beings, and what I know about the world, all within the normative understanding of Judaism as it has evolved to this point. None of what I do with the tradition, and my more personal and private understandings of G-d, are at odds with my scientific understanding of the world, nor do they require me to divorce myself from rational thought and discourse.

Ultimately, in my understanding, G-d is a metaphor for the fullness of life, for wholeness, and for human freedom and dignity. G-d is not some alien entity that resides outside the universe, but rather, is some part of who we are as human beings. G-d is that part of us that strives continually to reach beyond our present selves, that longing to reach a potential that is not yet. (I am what I will be). Or perhaps, to paraphrase Nachman of Bratislava, G-d is those "better angels of our nature" that whisper to us continually, "Grow! Grow!"

Well, C. August, I am going to stop here. I will respond to your second question, the one in your second comment, the one that asks "what is good", later. It's time to eat and the dogs want my company on a happy exploration of the meadow.

Maggid: Justice Delayed and Justice Denied . . .

Last night we celebrated the First Seder at our house.
We were eleven people strong.
We were, as Exodus recounts it, "with our young and with our old," with fellow Jews and with "the strangers that dwell amongst us."

Once again, we lit the festival candles and recited the kiddush--the sanctification of the day:
" . . . For you have given to us with love festivals for rejoicing, seasons of celebration, this festival of Matzot, zeman kheruteinu--season of our freedom--in memory of our going out from Egypt . . ."

Once again, we dipped our parsley, broke the middle matzah, and spilled out ten drops for the plagues upon Egypt. Once again, we participated in the Maggid, the Telling of when we came forth from Egypt.

And once again, as I opened the Baskin Haggadah, certain words and certain phrases fairly leapt off the page and into my consciousness; words that I had read time and again, but this year I heard them in the context of the time and the season. Different words and phrases do this each year, and each year it as if I am hearing the Haggadah for the first time.

This year it happened when we came to these words:
"Our rabbis taught: When the Egyptian armies were drowning in the sea, the Heavenly Hosts broke out in songs of jubilation. [The Eternal] silenced them and said: 'My creatures are perishing and you sing praises?'

"Though we descend from those redeemed from brutal Egypt,
and have ourselves rejoiced to see oppressors overcome,
yet our triumph is diminished by the slaughter of the foe,
as the wine within the cup of joy is lessened
when we pour ten drops for the plagues upon Egypt.

"Our rabbis taught: 'The sword comes into the world because of justice delayed and justice denied' . . . To remember upheaval that follows oppression we pour ten drops for the plagues upon Egypt . . ."
(Central Conference of American Rabbis [1994]. A Passover Haggadah [a.k.a.the Baskin Haggadah], Revised Edition. Drawings by Leonard Baskin. New York. pp. 48-49)

The Hebrew letters of these words turned to flame, dancing off the page towards my eyes as we read them. Earlier in the day the Boychick and I had heard the story of the Lone Survivor, Marcus Luttrell, and his dog, Dasy. We had learned that this Navy Seal, who had survived a terrible battle and had been captured and tortured by the Tailiban, had received a therapy dog as part of his rehabilitiation. This dog has meant the world to him as he experiences the dark night of the soul that is the inevitable consequence of his brutal encounter with the nexus between life and death. This dog not only meant friendship and unconditional love to Marcus, she also represented the living presence of the souls of his team; each letter of Dasy's name represented the name of one of his lost companions. But late one night last week, four men came to the ranch where Marcus now lives with his mother, and they shot his dog dead. They didn't know Marcus. These psychopaths had been killing dogs in the county just for fun. Marcus ended up holding three of the four men at gunpoint, but he didn't shoot, making him a hero once again. He turned the men over to the Texas Rangers after a high-speed chase across four counties.

This is a haunting story, made more heartbreaking still by Marcus' cri de coeur that in Dasy's death, his friends are lost "all over again." Just before the Seder, I came into my room to find the Boychick and the Chem Geek Princess sitting in front of Shayna's crate, as the Boychick related the story to his sister in his cryptic, halting fashion. So when the words of the Haggadah became fire at this place in the Telling, I stopped and asked the Boychick to tell this story, too, at the Seder.

This story belonged in the Seder this year and at this place in the story because given the means and the motive for revenge, Marcus Luttrell did not exact it upon his enemies. But he needs justice.

He said:
" . . . is there any justice? What has happened to us? Who are these guys? It's like I have been trained my whole life to live honorably and to go out and to get the bad guys, and the bad guys have always been some place else. And now the bad guys come to my house and they shoot my dog, and I have to stop because I'm no longer the guy that can exact justice on the bad guys." (Quoted by Glenn Beck on April 7, 2009 on The Glenn Beck Radio Show).

He said:
"I follow a different set of rules now. I . . . just can't get into that kind of stuff any more. And it's not something worth going to prison over . . . I did what I did (e.g.in Afganistan: EHL) because I love, I love my country . . . You know, the reason I'm out there busting my ass across seas and the rest of that in the military is so that when I come home and someone decides to murder my dog, justice gets done! I mean that's kind of the point, I think. I'm pretty sure it is . . . fightin' for freedom and all that, that's kind of the idea. Now it's out of my hands, you know, they took it away from me, and then the judicial system's takes care of it . . . but not really. One of 'em's not in jail because . . . like I said before, like I said before . . . if there was a human being out there and four guys stepped out and murdered him, they'd all be in prison. She was like a daughter to me! This guy, this idiot says: 'I wasn't a part, I was just there.' Well, ah, you know, you were all laughing. I didn't see you try to get out of the car . . . so, you're lyin'. He's lyin'. I looked at him, you know, I know when people are lyin' to me . . ." (From The Glenn Beck Show, April 8, 2009. My transcription).

The point that goes with the Seder is this: Justice delayed and justice denied will bring the sword. According to the Telling this is what happened in Egypt, and the innocent suffered right along with the guilty.

Here is a man who has suffered unspeakable things so that "justice will get done." He showed great personal restraint in the face of a great injustice that was done to him and his dog. He had the bad guys in his sights, but he didn't shoot. He called the Texas Rangers, he told them that they needed to catch these guys because he was afraid that otherwise he would kill them. And now he is afraid that one of them will get off with just a slap on the wrist; he does not trust that justice will be done.

It is important that justice be done. Justice must prevail in this case and in every case where great harm is done to one person by others.
If justice is not accomplished, then the innocent suffer at the hands of guilty.
Khamas (senseless violence) becomes rampant on the earth. And with the Rule of Law subverted, those who are wronged will take up the sword.

Our rabbis said: "The sword comes into the world because of justice delayed and justice denied."

And upheaval and suffering will inevitably follow.

Our rabbis taught: "The Holy One, Blessed be G-d, is urgent about justice, because the world depends upon justice "

And so the world does. Civilization depends upon Justice and the Rule of Law.
Without these, we slide into mob rule, vigilantism, and barbarism.

As we poured ten drops for the plagues upon Egypt, we poured one more, for the evil, senseless killing of Dasy, and the torment it brought her man. And we pray for Marcus Luttrell: Peace be upon him! Be strong for good! Be strong for what is right! And may we all be strengthened to do justice. Hazak. Hazak. V'nithazek!

Birkat HaChama: Blessing for the Sun

This morning I was up before dawn as per usual on the morning of the night of the first Seder, but this morning was different from all other first Seder mornings.


This morning, as the Boychick and I walked the dogs and watched the sunrise, we added a special blessing to our usual blessing when the sunrises. This is the Birkat HaChama--the Blessing of the Sun. We said:


"ברוך אתה ה' אלהינו מלך העולם עושה מעשה בראשית"
"Blessed are You, LORD, our God, King of the Universe who makes the works of Creation."


This morning at dawn, tradition tells us, the sun returns to the place in the machzor gadol--the great cycle--the very place at which it was created in space. Thus, according to the Jewish calendar, this occurs on a Tuesday every twenty-eight years. As in all things Jewish, there are minority opinions, and debate.


But it is a beautiful and pleasant custom that makes this Pesach different from all other Pesachim! May we all still be riding the machzor gadol when the day comes to make this blessing again, in 2038! And let us say, Amen!

Zissen Pesach!

The Moral Implications of Redistribution and Righteousness

In a comment to my blog entry Going Galt? an anonymous interlocuter suggests that because I am opposed to the Obama adminstration's plans for the federal government to redistribute private wealth (personal and corporate) from those who produced and earned it to those who have not, I am "standing idly by while (my) neighbor bleeds." He was quoting loosely from Yayikra 19:16, and he wrote:

"And yet "Do not stand idly by while your neighbor bleeds." Leviticus 19."

This commandment is in the part of the Book of Leviticus known as the Holiness Code in which the commandments all harken back to the statement:

"And Adonai spoke to Moshe, saying: Speak to the whole Congregation of Israel and say to them: You shall be holy* for I, Adonai your G-d, am holy." (VaYikra 19:1-2)

Hebrew digression 1: The word for holy in Hebrew, kadosh, is from the root (kaf-dalet-shin) קדש , which has the meaning of separate. So the meaning of holiness from the Hebrew is to make oneself separate from or other than the ordinary. The verse could be translated as: You shall be separate (other) because I, Adonai your G-d, am separate (other)."

The Holiness Code is therefore a series of commandments intended to instruct the People Israel on how to live a covenental life; a life that is other than or separate from the way that the other nations live. It is the way in which Israel sets itself apart as a covenental people. Here is the entire verse (in blue) in context:

"You shall not steal; you shall not deal deceitfully or falsely with one another. You shall not swear falsely by my name, profaning the name of your G-d, I am Adonai.

"You shall not defraud your neighbor; you shall not commit robbery. The wages of the day-laborer shall not remain with you until morning.

"You shall not curse the deaf, nor put a stumbling block in front of the blind; You shall be in awe of G-d, I am Adonai.

"You shall do no unrighteousness in judgement; you shall not favor the poor nor show deference to the great; you shall judge your people in righteousness. You shall not accuse your people falsely; you shall not stand by the blood of your neighbor, I am Adonai.

"You shall not hate your brother in your heart; you shall surely rebuke your neighbor and not bear sin because of him." (VaYikra 19:11 - 17).

Verse 16a has also been translated as "you shall not go about as a talebearer among your people" and "you shall not deal with your people basely." The Hebrew verb is related to the misuse of speech.

Verse 16b has also been translated as: "Do not profit by the blood of your neighbor" and "Do not conspire against your neighbor."

Verses 11-16 deal specifically with the holiness inherent in the dealings among neighbors in the court of law. The theme of these verses is that all such dealings should be imbued with justice*, which is also translated as "righteousness." The position of the part of the verse in question (You shall not stand by the blood of your neighbor), just after the commandment against falsely accusing one's neighbor, suggests that this verse means that it is a very bad thing to make false statements against one's neighbor in court because such false statements might lead to the conviction of the innocent neighbor thus causing him suffering; or to the acquittal of the guilty, causing the victim of the crime to bleed. This is a crime against justice.

*Hebrew digression 2: The Hebrew word tzedekah, which has the root tzaddi-dalet-kuf
צדק , can be translated as either "justice" or "righteousness". The sense of the root is the concept of being straight, right or fair.

In the wider context of the verse, it is clear that to favor the poor in a court of law because they are poor is a violation of justice, as is favoring those who are great simply because of their status. To act justly means to treat everyone as equal before the law, taking no regard to their actual inequality in fact.

Other verses in this discourse on the holiness of judgement in a court of law state that it violates the holiness of dealings among neighbors to steal from them or rob them. The location of these verses in the discourse suggest that it is unholy for the court to take the goods of one of the litigants by force (this is the meaning of stealing) and give it to another unjustly. That means it is unrighteous to impose fines or otherwise transfer wealth from one to another, unless it is a tort payment--that is the payment by one neighbor to another as recompense for injury--imposed by the court in order to make the relationships between neighbors right.

Given the context and the meaning of the verse, then, I would actually be "standing idly by while (my) neighbor bleeds" if I do not speak out against the injustice of the Obama administration's attempts to allow judges in US courts to change the mortgage contracts of certain people, just because they are "poor" i.e. "unable to pay their mortgages." Such an action, in which certain taxpayers and their descendents would thus be forced to pay for the mortgages of certain citizens because of their status is certainly unrighteous.

The unholiness of this action goes beyond the dealings among neighbors in court in that it violates not only the rights of the current generation of taxpayers, but also incurs debt upon future generations without their knowledge or consent. This becomes the ultimate unholiness in Jewish values, for it is slavery.

The problem with the assertion of my commenter is not only that he took the verse out of context (to the point of only quoting half of it), but further, he assumed a false dichotomy: either the federal government takes the wealth of certain citizens (namely, taxpayers) by force to pay off the houses of other citizens OR those who cannot pay their mortgages will continue to suffer (bleed).

Missing in this false dichotomy is another solution: that the "bleeding" neighbor can declare bankruptcy and start over; and that when bankrupt, he can go to family, to friends, and to neighbors, asking for help making that new beginning.

Another meaning of the word tzedakah in Jewish life, is the holiness of being neighborly by helping those in need. Tzedakah is a moral choice made by individuals, alone or in free association with others. If a person is not free to choose an action, then the action has no moral meaning. It is incumbent upon Jews by virtue of their the Covenant of Holiness to engage themselves in acts of tzedakah. Nevertheless, each Jew must be responsible for choosing those actions and how they are made.

According to the Rambam (Maimonides) there are eight levels of this kind of giving, and the most honorable is to make it unneccesary for a person to become dependent on others. This is the opposite of the socialist agenda that would make us all dependent upon the government for our health, wealth and happiness. The purpose of the socialist agenda is to put the power to decide in the hands of an oligarchy and to destroy individual liberty. The purpose of tzedakah done at the most honorable level is to build up the power of individuals to decide for themselves and thus for them to become menschen--moral human beings.