tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73723695330565171232024-02-08T12:07:53.238-08:00Banot D'Rabbi Natanוקנה לך חבר כיצד?
מלמד שיקנה האדם חבר לעצמו, שיאכל עמו, וישתה עמו, ויקרא עמו, וישנה עמו, ויישן עמו ויגלה לו כל סתריו: סתר תורה וסתר דרך ארץ. How does one acquire a friend? By eating together, drinking together, reading together, studying together, sleeping together and revealing one's secrets: both Torah secrets and everyday secrets.Avitalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553464673516632402noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7372369533056517123.post-32668410940116924222012-03-02T14:13:00.002-08:002012-03-02T14:16:30.254-08:00Laborious Covenants<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">In Shemot 32:15, we read: “<i>Sheshet yamim ye’aseh melacha, u’vayom ha’shvi’i Shabbat shabbaton kodesh, </i>Six days you shall work, and on the seventh day there will be the holy Shabbat.” We have been taught from a young age of Shabbat’s sanctity and beauty, and so, in reading this pasuk, many of us may skim over the “work” part and jump right to Shabbat. Avot D’Rabbi Natan, however, does no such prioritizing. The <i>brit olam </i>(eternal covenant) referred to in the next pasuk of Shemot is not just referring to Shabbat, but also to work. “<i>K’shem she’ha’Torah nitna bivrit, kach ha’melacha nitna bivrit, </i>Just like the Torah was given by covenant, so too is work given by covenant,” we learned this week in Avot D’Rabbi Natan. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">To assert that work is part of our covenant with God is a very profound statement. Work, then, is not a means to Shabbat but rather has value in and of itself. Like God, we work, and, also like God, we rest. Perhaps what the rabbis mean here is that there is something about labor that creates a partnership between God and people. “According to the effort is the reward,” it says in Pirkei Avot. It makes sense (and is an accepted truth) that our grades will reflect the amount of studying we did or that our gardens will blossom according to the amount of care we put into them. This same principle can be applied to a relationship with God. Houses don’t build themselves and (unfortunately) calculus tests are not miraculously studied for without the time being applied. So too, a relationship with God doesn’t come to be if there is no human input. This linkage of labor and Shabbat reminds us that we need to work really, really hard to become God’s partners (even when it sometimes feels like there is little Divine output), and then we also have to stop that work and experience God. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">After giving several examples of the importance of work, the text quotes Rabbi Tarfon. “Even the Holy One, Blessed be He, did not allow his Presence on Israel until they had done work, as it is written (Shemot 25), <i>v’asu li mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham, </i>And they shall make for me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among them.” God’s presence is found only after the Children of Israel do the work of creating space in their encampment and finding time in their lives for God.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">In the Psalm for Shabbat, we recite the phrase, “<i>b’maaseh yadecha aranen, </i>I rejoice in the works of Your hand.” By fulfilling both the labor and Shabbat aspects of our covenant, this statement can become one that is reciprocal. When I look around the world and see beauty and humanity, I can say to God: “I rejoice in the work of Your hand.” It is partly with this in mind that I strive to live a life in which I may merit having God say the same words back to me. When we work to fix the parts of the world that are not so beautiful and that lack humanity, our fervently whispered prayers are lovingly boomeranged back to us, as God affirms: “I rejoice in the works of your hands.” I often think about to what extent <i>yismach Hashem b’maasav, </i>God rejoices in His works (humans). But maybe the more pertinent question, and one that I feel more sure in answering, is how much God rejoices in the <i>maasim </i>of his <i>maasav, </i>the work (deeds) done by His work (humanity). <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">Alef Dalet Gordon wrote, “We lack the habit of labor--not labor performed out of external compulsion, but labor to which one is attached in a natural and organic way.” I often compartmentalize Zionism and rabbinic texts into separate groupings, but I love thinking about Gordon’s “natural and organic” labor as an integral piece of the Divine covenant. To have God dwell among us, we need to create a Covenant, one that encompasses working, creating, and doing with keeping and remembering. The authenticity of our Covenant lies in our ability to fully immerse ourselves in what we are doing. I find that there is nothing as satisfying as fully pouring myself into writing a paper or using all of my strength to shovel snow. Likewise, there is nothing like giving up all of my being to Shabbat. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">As I write this, Shabbat is only a half-hour away. And so I must end here to attend to the non-labor part of our covenant. Shabbat Shalom! </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Mayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05057793625990339063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7372369533056517123.post-42457224128439188732012-02-22T20:11:00.000-08:002012-02-22T20:11:20.872-08:00We are Your children, and You are our Father<div class="MsoNormal">When God struck Miriam with leprosy, Moshe prayed for her. According to Avot d’Rabbi Natan, he intensified that prayer by drawing a circle, getting inside it, and telling God that he would not leave until his sister was healed. This tactic seems to work: <i>“b’ota sha’ah” </i>“at that very time” God tells Moshe that God will have mercy on her for Moshe’s sake. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Choni HaMe’agel famously used this strategy to pray for rain (and then to pray for the rain to stop when it worked too well, in a scene that always reminded me of Strega Nona’s spaghetti). My first thought was that this reflects a theology where God is dependent on people: God must need Moshe and Choni, or he would be able to say “All right, then. Stay there and die of thirst.” I understand how someone might make a <i>neder </i>that she would bring a sacrifice to the Temple if God answers her prayers, but here, Moshe and Choni assume that what God wants is us, and that assumption seems to be correct. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have been thinking about this image of God who needs people lately, as part of my new obsession with the medieval Hebrew poet Yehuda HaLevi, which started a few weeks ago when my teacher Rabbi Jeremy Kalmanofsky showed me one of his poems. In another of his poems, <i>“Ya’alat Chen,” </i>“The Graceful Doe,” a lover describes his relationship with a woman whom he loves and who seems to love him but who often rejects and hurts him. According to my very cursory looks at what people say about this poem on the internet, it could be either a straight-up human love poem or a poem from God’s point of view about God’s relationship with Israel. I’ll assume the latter for now. The Hebrew isn’t showing up right, so I’ll write using my own problematic translation, but <a href="http://benyehuda.org/rihal/Rihal2_2.html">here</a> it is.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Much of the poem is spent describing how attracted God is to beautiful Israel, and how Israel rejects God over and over: “She trapped my heart with the breasts that rest on it—A heart like a rock, but it brought out two apples!” and “I was longing for her love like a drunkard for wine,” says God, and when he finally had his hands “grazing in her garden and touching her breasts,” she tells him to take his hands away. A reasonable person might ask whether he should really be in this relationship, but that does not seem like a question for him: he says that, if his lover ever leaves “[her] leaving will be his tragedy.” Here, God needs the need the lover, but just because he loves her, not <i>for </i>anything in particular. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The Choni story provides a relationship where the lack of reciprocity might seem less troubling. After Choni stops the rain, Shimon ben Shatach tells him, “If you were anyone else, I would have put a ban of excommunication on you. But what can I do against someone like you, who need only tell God his needs and God fills them, the way a son can tell his father his needs and his father will fill them” (Ta’anit 19a). God does not want Moshe and Choni to stay in their circles forever, not because he needs them to be functional for him, but because he loves them. In fact, in God’s response to Moshe, God compares himself to Miriam’s father (and therefore also Moshe’s). Moshe is often described the one who sees God face-to-face, but here, the relationship is markedly unequal, and that works for both parties. The tactic of staying in a circle until you get what you want might seem more appropriate to a sulky three-year-old than to the leaders of our people, but in these stories, we are God’s toddlers, and that is one of the things God loves most about us: in each of these stories, people tried ordinary verbal prayers, but God was more affected by the appeal to God's parental side and the reminder of our childlike vulnerability.</div><!--EndFragment-->Avitalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553464673516632402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7372369533056517123.post-44640479869845735512012-02-06T14:52:00.000-08:002012-02-06T14:57:42.759-08:00Scattered Souls<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">Our learning for this week was focused around the teaching from Pirkei Avot: <i>“aseh lecha rav, u’kneh lecha chaver, v’hevey dan et kol ha’adam l’chaf zchut. </i>Make for yourself a teacher, acquire for yourself a friend, and judge every person with the scales tipped in his favor.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">When we learned this text over the summer, one of its aspects that I particularly liked was the use of the verb <i>aseh</i> (make) rather than <i>kneh </i>(acquire) in reference to finding teachers. A teacher, implies the text, is not discovered but cultivated. More so, anyone can be made into a teacher, as it is a process of relationship building rather than a swift act of obtaining. Avot d’Rabbi Natan reads this text a bit more literally. <i>“Melamed she’ya’aseh lo rav kavua. </i>This teaches us that a person should have a fixed teacher.” From this teacher, a student should learn Torah, Mishna, midrash, halachah, and aggadah. In this way, if a teacher forgets a detail when teaching Torah, for example, this detail will still ultimately be imparted to the student when the teacher teaches Mishna.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">I know very few people who have a <i>rav kavua, </i>a fixed teacher. In my personal experience, I have not only had different teachers for Tanach<i>, </i>Mishnah, and the rest of my Jewish learning, but I also have a whole other set of teachers from whom I have learned English literature, calculus, physics, and history. Furthermore, there is no one rabbi I would go to for <i>psak, </i>nor is there one denomination or ideology to which I fully subscribe. In speaking about students like me, Avot d’Rabbi Natan asserts that “<i>nimtza adam ha’hu…b’lo tov u’vracha. </i>A man like this will be found…to have neither goodness nor blessing.” Great…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">A really interesting note on the commentary offered on the original line in Pirkei Avot (a meta-commentary?) reads: <i>“Ha’lomed Torah me’harbe anashim yesh lo pizur hanefesh lachsov al leshono v’daato shel kol achad v’achad. </i>One who learns Torah from many people has a spreading out of the soul because s/he has to think of the words and opinions of everyone.” Avital and I often talk about the Bifurcated Existence. We go to school and spend all day solving for x and analyzing Shakespeare, and then we come home and spend hours on Skype learning geonic commentaries on Pirkei Avot. It’s <i>pizur nefesh </i>(spreading out of the soul) to an even greater degree than what is referred to in the text. We both talk about wanting college to be a “unified experience,” but I’m not entirely sure what I mean by that. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">On the one hand, I love the idea of having a <i>rav kavua. </i>It would largely eliminate the agony of choosing and being forced to make decisions. Sometimes I hate this <i>pizur nefesh</i>, this feeling of always having a foot in both worlds and never truly belonging in either. But there is also something about it that fascinates me. We are studying existentialism now in school, and I love imagining what Kafka would think of Kohelet or how Camus would read a Reb Nachman text. During my physics class, I often ponder how halachah would be different if we applied the physics definition of work to the idea of <i>melacha. </i>So what are those of us with fragmented souls to do? <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">We were very excited that our blog’s epigraph appeared in this week’s learning, as an explanation of the “acquire for yourself a friend” dictum. Immediately following the text that spurred our <i>pizur nefesh </i>crisis, it is precisely this text on friend acquisition that may serve as the answer to our dilemma. I may not have found that one teacher, but I have found friends that have helped in the process of <i>karev pzureinu, </i>bringing in all my scattered musings. When I learn with Avital, she is just as quick to quote Rashi as Kant or reference academic thought on medieval Jewish life as she is to bring up modern philosophical or psychological thought. Maybe I will find unity by acquiring friends who are equally as scattered. When there is no longer a need to compartmentalize, when Talmudic and political examples are both fair game to back up a point, then living in two worlds feels slightly less lonely. Friendship has the potential to create that immersive community that I am always seeking. Maybe when I talk about college feeling unified, I mean that I hope to find a community composed of all those who lack a <i>rav kavua </i>but are looking to acquire friends, a community of all those with leaking, seeping, spreading souls. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">When we learn about acquiring a friend, Avot d’Rabbi Natan tells us that a person should find a friend to “<i>galeh lo kol starav, seter Torah v’setet derekh eretz, </i>reveal one’s secrets to, both Torah secrets and everyday secrets.” The best, though, is when these secrets are one and the same, and then neither Torah nor academic pursuits exist in isolation. When a person leads a life that is so infused with Torah to its core that <i>seter Torah </i>and <i>seter derekh eretz </i>are indistinguishable, and then, on top of that, has a friend with whom to share this, then that person is surely <i>ma’le tova u’vracha, </i>full of goodness and blessings. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Mayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05057793625990339063noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7372369533056517123.post-90699994563495544622012-01-05T18:32:00.000-08:002012-01-08T13:19:40.763-08:00Rabbi Eliezer the Genius<div class="MsoNormal">Rabbi Akiva, as Maya described in the last post, became a great Torah scholar through hard work: he studied each letter methodically and was unashamed of beginning at the very beginning with his young son. Avot d’Rabbi Natan sets him in opposition to Rabbi Eliezer ben Hurcanus. If Rabbi Akiva is a model of a scholar who works hard and methodically, Rabbi Eliezer ben Hurcanus is the model of the natural genius. When he was twenty-two, he had never studied Torah before, but he decided to go study with Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai. His father (the classic disapproving father of the genius narrative) told him that he wasn’t going anywhere until he finished plowing a full furrow. Eliezer woke up early, plowed the furrow and left to go to Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai, who quickly predicted that he would be a great Torah scholar. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After that, his father, Hurcanus, heard that he was studying Torah, and planned to come to Jerusalem to disinherit Eliezer. Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai was giving a public lecture. Hurcanus came and sat down in the crowd. In the middle of his lecture, Rabban Yochanan looked at Rabbi Eliezer and told him to teach. Eliezer said that he couldn’t, but his teacher pushed him, and when he started to teach, he said things that no one had ever heard before. At everything he said, Rabban Yochanan said “I have learned the truth.” When the lecture was over, Hurcanus stood up and announced that, although he had come to disinherit Rabbi Eliezer, he would actually give all of his possessions to him and disinherit his brothers. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">It feels almost like a fairy tale: his father disapproved of him, he left home, he had special talents, his father eventually recognized them, and he became famous and powerful. Avot d’Rabbi Natan uses this story about Rabbi Eliezer as the example for <i>“Hevei mitabek be’afar ragleihem”</i>—“sit in the dust at [your teachers’] feet.” I’m not sure how exactly he did that here—it seems like he rose up to teaching his teacher very quickly. Is it just that he briefly refused to teach instead of Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai? That doesn’t seem to me like enough to make him <i>the </i>example of that principle. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With Rabbi Akiva, there’s an implied moral: behave like him and you, too, could be a great scholar some day. But most of us will never get up with no preparation and teach amazing and startling things that will make all of our greatest teachers exclaim over us, so is there a message to this story? One thing we could learn is that, despite Rabbi Eliezer’s natural talent, if he had not decided that he wanted to study Torah, no one would have ever discovered him. It’s a good encouragement to try new forms of study, even if we have to abandon our plowing temporarily to do it. This reminds me of one of Maya’s (and my, but it was hers first) favorite psukim, from Megillat Esther: <i>“Umi yodea im la’et kazot higat lemalchut?”—</i>“Who knows if it is for this moment that you became queen?” I use this pasuk as a balance to my natural instinct to bide my time forever and not do anything: it reminds me that sometimes, we have opportunities that are risky, but offer a lot of potential good and may never be available again. </div>Avitalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553464673516632402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7372369533056517123.post-53355971846742576992011-12-07T21:34:00.000-08:002011-12-07T21:43:02.173-08:00To Engage in Torah<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">“<i>V’hevey mitabek b’afar ragleihem, </i>Sit at the dust of their [the sages’] feet,” we are told in Pirkei Avot. Avot d’Rabbi Natan takes this quite literally: “Don’t sit before him; not on a bed, or on a chair, or on a bench. Rather, sit before him on the ground.” I find the humility a student shows for his/her teacher in this type of dynamic appealing in many ways. It’s full of <i>kavod </i>to the utmost degree.<i> </i>However, compare this with the relationship between Rabbi Yoshiya and Rabbi Matya ben Charash that we learned about in the very first perek. In this instance, despite the fact that the text clearly labels R. Matya as the student and R. Yoshiya as the teacher, they are described as “<i>yoshvim v’oskin b’divrei Torah, </i>sitting and engaging in the words of Torah.” This story contains the Learned and the Learner, the Transmitter and the Receiver, but it also implies a sense of equality. At one point, R. Matya even calls his teacher out for what he thinks is inappropriate behavior. R. Matya prefaces his critique with the phrase “<i>v’af al pee she’atah rabi v’ani talmidecha, </i>even though you are my teacher and I am your student [I am still going to criticize you]!” This is a very different relationship than sitting in the dust, eagerly waiting to be taught. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">Today, I completed my last class in a course I have been taking at the University of Pittsburgh. The class was a lecture with 450 students. The professor was always prepared and quite competent. I learned a lot throughout the semester, but I was also continually frustrated by the fact that the class was so large that I couldn’t ask a question. <i>V’hevey mitabek b’afar ragleihem, </i>(although, in this case, referring to an accomplished neuroscience professor instead of Torah scholars) turned out to be less fulfilling than I had thought it would be. I recently read a piece from <i>Pedagogy of the Oppressed, </i>an educational philosophy book by Paulo Freire. In the book<i>, </i>Freire rejects what he refers to as the “banking method” of education, in which students are seen as vessels into which knowledge is poured. He proposes rather a “problem-solving” model of education, in which learners are seen as partners in the process of knowledge-seeking. This reading, and also my class, has gotten me thinking a lot about what actually constitutes education. Is <i>v’heyey mitabek b’afar ragleihem </i>the banking method, and Matya/Yoshiya is the problem-posing method? I am inclined to say no, that there is perhaps a time and a place for both talking to and talking with. I think our modern sensibilities first direct us towards rejecting sitting at the dust of their feet, but, in thinking more about it, having a Teacher like this doesn’t mean that one is excused from serious thought and struggle but that there is a person who can articulate goals and vision with more authority and push us to take that next step. (Question: Can a straight lecture ever count as “problem-posing?” Can a lecture with 450 people ever move beyond “banking?” Can sitting in the dust ever count as active, engaged learning?)<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">The next piece is one of my favorite lines that we have learned so far. <i>“V’chol davar she’yetzei mi’piv kableihu alecha b’eimah b’yirah birtet u’ve’zeya, kederech she’kiblu avoteinu me’har Sinai b’eima b’yirah birtet u’ve’zeya, </i>And every word that comes out of his [your teahcer’s] mouth, receive it with awe and fear and trembling, <u>in the same way that our fathers received it from Mount Sinai, with awe and fear and trembling.”</u> This is really an incredible statement: Not only is learning from a teacher that same as learning directly from Sinai, but Sinai itself actually reoccurs every time we learn. (<i>v’al niseacha she’b’chol yom imanu!) </i>This line is implying more than that we are renewing Torah learning. It is saying that revelation itself, with the joy and awesomeness that it brings, is within our grasp. Always. This idea brings to mind the story in Shir HaShirim Rabbah about Shimon Ben Azzai. When Ben Azzai learned Torah, we are told, <i>esh melahaete svivotav, </i>the fire flashed around him, <i>v’hayu ha’dvarim smeichim k’netinatan m’sinai, </i>and the words were as sweet as when they were given at Sinai. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"">The last part of this week’s learning related the famous story of Akiva, at the advanced age of forty, going off to study Torah. I would like to end by mentioning two phrases in this story that we found particularly intriguing. When Rabbi Akiva witnesses the water wearing away the stones of a well, the text tells us that he immediately <i>“dan kal v’chomer b’atzmo”. </i>That is, Akiva said to himself that if something soft (water) could mold something hard (rocks), <u>how much more so </u>could something hard (Torah) mold something soft (his heart). To relate this kind of reasoning back to oneself is incredibly perceptive. If we are to live our lives as a commentary on Torah, then we should apply hermeneutics to ourselves, right? Later, when Akiva goes off to learn Torah, he joins a class of the very youngest children who are learning the alef-bet. After learning every letter, he went and sat <i>“beino l’vein atzmo, </i>between him and himself.” What a great way to describe real learning. He contemplates the meaning of every letter of the alef-bet, and, as he sits between him and himself, he hears the various voice of the tradition arguing and discussing and contemplating. Perhaps problem-posing education can be an experience of immanence, as well. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--><p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Mayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05057793625990339063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7372369533056517123.post-25109256650562072572011-11-28T15:17:00.000-08:002011-11-28T15:17:48.044-08:00Rabban Yochanan and Self-Delusion<div class="MsoNormal">In the second part of the fourth chapter, we have a collection of stories about Vespasian and the Roman armies, from the beginning of the siege until they finally captured Jerusalem and destroyed the Temple. As a illustration of the importance of <i>gemilut hasadim, </i>gifts of loving-kindness, Avot d’Rabbi Natan brings a well-known story in which, after <i>Beit HaMikdash </i>was destroyed, Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai was walking with Rabbi Yehoshua. Rabbi Yehoshua said, “Alas, that this place where Israel atoned for its sins has been destroyed!” Rabban Yochanan replied, “My son, don’t worry—we have another form of atonement that is just as good. And what is it? Gifts of loving-kindness,” using the prooftext “chesed hafazti ve’lo zavach,” “I desire loving-kindness and not sacrifices.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the next story, we learn that, before the destruction of Jerusalem, Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai was an advocate for submission to the Romans. He urged the people to follow Vespasian’s suggestion that they surrender rather than waiting for him to destroy the city, and, when Vespasian offered him a favor, he asked only that he be allowed to set up a house of study in the nearby town of Yavneh. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">From the combination of those two stories, we might have thought about Rabban Yochanan as a very modern Jew who does not need the Temple cult to feel confident that he will be able to atone for his sins. Of the three pillars of the world, he privileged the two that we are most comfortable with—study and loving-kindness—over sacrifices. We might even expect him to be glad that the temple had been destroyed because it would force people to focus on the important parts of Judaism. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Rabban Yochanan may have actually felt those things, but not as simply as that. In the next story, we learn his reaction when the Temple was destroyed. He sat and trembled, and, when he heard that the Temple had been burnt, he tore his clothes as a mourner does. His students also tore their clothes, and they wept and cried and gave eulogies. They told the story of the High Priests who were in the Temple when it was destroyed, who took their keys and threw them up to God, saying “Master of the Universe! Take back these keys that you gave to us, since we are not trustworthy guardians to do the will of the King and eat from His table. Now take back these keys!” and jumped into the flames. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Rabban Yochanan’s complex reaction could illustrate a few different ideas. One is that, sometimes, the best option is not good. This reminds me of what a speaker we heard this summer in Israel said about the Israeli settlements: he said that he believes they eventually will need to be destroyed and given back, but we should acknowledge that that is not a good situation. On the day the settlements are destroyed, he said, he plans to mourn, but also help the settlers move out of their homes. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Another option is that he really does wish that we could keep the Temple, but acknowledges that it is not what is happening now. With this reading, he really agrees with Rabbi Yehoshua in the first story that the destruction of Jerusalem is a tragedy, but since he knows that God did it on purpose, he can be sure that God now desires loving-kindness and not sacrifices. If he had wanted sacrifices, he would not have let the temple be destroyed. And in the second story, it is not that he wants the people to surrender, but only that he knows that the Romans will inevitably capture Jerusalem. He is like Jeremiah walking around with his iron yoke—he doesn’t <i>want </i>Jerusalem to be captured; he’s just advocating realism. If it’s going to happen, let’s be as mentally prepared as possible. This reading seems to explain the story about the priests slightly better: he includes them in his eulogy as an example of people who, knowing they have failed, acknowledge their failure and give up. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">With either reading, for Rabban Yochanan, one of the worst things is self-delusion. Which of these two bad options is worse? If we have chosen something, are we pretending that it is better than it is to satisfy ourselves? What have we successfully have done? What is still possible? What cannot be done? Often, there are answers to those questions that are easier to face than the true ones. Rabban Yochanan demands that, even in the worst situations, we force ourselves to answer those questions truthfully.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><!--EndFragment-->Avitalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553464673516632402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7372369533056517123.post-48648891852302957382011-11-21T18:34:00.000-08:002011-11-21T18:42:00.060-08:00Not by smoke and not by fire...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">The fourth perek begins with the famous statement by Shimon HaTzadik: “On the three things the world stands—on Torah, on worship/sacrifice, and on acts of loving kindness.” The first area explored is the pillar of Torah. To prove that the world does indeed depend on Torah, the text quotes a passage from Hoshea: “<i>Chesed chafatzti v’lo zavach, v’da’at Elohim me’olot</i>, I desire kindness over sacrifices and knowledge of God over offerings.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Although Torah exceeds them both, an <i>olah, </i>we are told, is better than a <i>zevach </i>because an <i>olah </i>is completely burned up for God, while part of a <i>zevach </i>is burnt and part is eaten by the Kohanim. Although an <i>olah </i>is preferable because it is exclusively for God, God apparently doesn’t desire burnt offerings. The difference between a <i>zevach </i>and an <i>olah </i>brings up a very basic question: Should we derive a benefit from the mitzvot we do, or should they be done for God’s sake alone? Despite the text’s apparent preferences for <i>olot, </i>the idea of a <i>zevach </i>is much more appealing to me, as it is a ritual act that creates a partnership between God and people. There is something that feels very noble about an <i>olah, </i>about setting something on fire and giving it entirely to God. But there is also something impersonal about it, something that makes it feel like a completely one-sided relationship. The <i>zevach </i>represents creating a relationship with God that takes into account both the self and the community. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Written after the destruction of the Temple, the adamant assertion the rabbis of Avot d’Rabbi Natan repeatedly make concerning the importance of Torah study over sacrifices feels like an attempt at consolation. For them, as for us, comparing <i>zevachim, olot, </i>and Torah study is essentially a moot point, as only one of these is actually an option. The most interesting and most compelling point, in my opinion, made about this subject reads, “<i>V’talmud Torah chavivah lifnei ha’makom me’olot, lefi sh’im adam lamed Torah, yodea da’ato shel makom,</i> And God finds learning Torah sweeter than offerings because if a man learns Torah, he knows the will of God.” Perhaps it is precisely the partnership/relationship of learning that makes the study of Torah greater than both types of sacrifices. When learning this, I was reminded of the words Rav Adin Steinsaltz shared with us this summer: “[When studying Torah,] I am searching for the truth. It is a connection of my mind with His mind and my attempt to understand…Learning is a kind of communication. The learning is a togetherness not done by any external act. We are building together.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s interesting to note that, according to this text, the only requirement for knowing God’s opinion or will is learning Torah. Perhaps this is to say that the will of Hashem is Talmud Torah, not just the actions associated with halachah, and that any halachic decision that is arrived at through serious and honest Talmud Torah is one that aligns with God’s desire.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Mayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05057793625990339063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7372369533056517123.post-53518521311807816812011-11-15T12:13:00.000-08:002011-11-15T12:13:25.157-08:00You Get What You Give?<div class="MsoNormal">Hi everyone! This post will also not have a summary of everything, since it’s covering an entire chapter. If you want to know about a story where Rabbi Akiva is really nice and reasonable to a woman, some interesting things about burial customs, or what kinds of teachers one should study with (and you should, because they’re all great!) you should read the rest of this perek. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The third perek of Avot d’Rabbi Natan includes many didactic sayings and stories that tell us to behave well because otherwise, bad things will happen to us in a way that is very neatly correlated with what we did wrong. For example, Rabbi Akiva says that if you take tzedakah when you did not needed, you will live to be dependent on the charity of others; and if you hope for your brother’s death so that you can marry his wife, he will outlive you.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Next, there is a series of explanations of a verse from Kohelet: “<i>Baboker zerah et zarecha vela’erev al tanah yadecha”—</i>“In the morning, sow your seeds, and in the evening, do not rest your hands.” The rabbis interpret this to mean that we should build redundancy into important systems to make sure that we accomplish what needs to get done. In the first, and most literal, reading, Rabbi Dostai says in the name of Rabbi Yannai that if you have sowed during the first rain, you should sow again in the second rain, in case there is hail and the first planting dies. Then, Rabbi Yishmael says in the name of Rabbi Yose that, even if you have studied in your youth, you should still study in old age, because you do not know which will take hold. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Those teachings culminate in a very odd anecdote about ghosts that is very long, so I will tell only part of it, even though all of it is really cool. A man had a fight with his wife and went to sleep in the graveyard. While he is there, he hears two spirits talking to one another about what they have heard from “beyond the veil.” One of them says that there will be a hail storm, and anything planted at the time of the first rain will die. The man goes home and plants at the second rain, so his crops survive, and everyone else’s die. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After that, there are two more didactic stories. There was once a pious man who was accustomed to give tzedakah. Once, he was on a boat, and the boat sank. He went to the bottom of the sea, but the waves said to one another, “Let us bring this man up from the sea because he has given tzedakah all his life.” The next story is very similar: Benjamin the Righteous once gave a starving widow some of his own money because there was no communal money to give her. When he got sick, the angels said to God “Didn’t you say that anyone who saves a single life is as if he saved an entire world? This man saved not only the widow but also her seven children, and here he is dying in bed.” God immediately gave him twenty-two more years to live. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">These stories all display a retributive idea of justice—the punishment should literally fit the crime. I’ve been reading a lot about retribution lately as part of my independent study. There’s a quality about retributive justice that feels very fair to people: it feels complete for an offender to be punished in proportion to how bad his crime was. Retributive punishment also usually works as a good deterrent: if everyone knows that every time anyone commits a particular crime, a known, predictable bad thing will happen, they will know not to commit crimes. In <i>Discipline and Punish, </i>Michel Foucault points out a few criteria without which the deterrent system will not work. The one that is the biggest issue for the system Avot d’Rabbi Natan describes is “the rule of perfect certainty”: “the link from [crime] to [punishment] must be… unbreakable” so that there is no chance of committing a crime and not being punished for it. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Obviously, that is not the situation in our world. In each of these stories, people who behave according to the principles of good behavior get direct rewards. It makes sense that if you plant early and often, it’s more likely that some of your crops will survive, but we all know that, sometimes, charitable people die young with no supernatural help from the waves, and people who take from the community without giving back go on to lead happy lives before dying of old age. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Leaving aside from the theologically troubling proposition that only good things happen to good people in this world, I don’t understand why the Rabbis would say that. The stories are set up didactically, but as fables, that sort of thing could work only until people push it. If you had a group of people who were behaving well because otherwise, proportional bad things would automatically happen to them, they would probably stop as soon as they saw a bad thing happen to someone who was following the rules. I try to work with the assumption that Chazal were not stupid, so what were they thinking here? Could they be making these statements to show up how unfair the world is? Maybe their intended audience was not very intellectually sophisticated and they thought this might work? Those don’t seem very persuasive to me, so I’d welcome any other ideas from our learned readers. <o:p></o:p></div><!--EndFragment-->Avitalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553464673516632402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7372369533056517123.post-83612118539736805372011-11-04T11:34:00.000-07:002011-11-04T11:37:14.814-07:00Kant Buy Me Freedom<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:officedocumentsettings> <o:allowpng/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> <w:zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:trackmoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:trackformatting/> <w:punctuationkerning/> <w:drawinggridhorizontalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:drawinggridverticalspacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:displayhorizontaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:displayverticaldrawinggridevery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:validateagainstschemas/> <w:saveifxmlinvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:ignoremixedcontent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:compatibility> <w:breakwrappedtables/> <w:dontgrowautofit/> <w:dontautofitconstrainedtables/> <w:dontvertalignintxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style> /* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0in; mso-para-margin-right:0in; mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0in; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:10.0pt; font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family:"Times New Roman";} </style> <![endif]--> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"" >Hello everyone, <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"" >I would like to apologize for the length of time between these posts. Unfortunately, college applications have had to take priority over blogging the past couple of weeks. (Although every time I sit down to do schoolwork instead of blog about Avot d’Rabbi Natan, I think of Rabbi Matya ben Charash’s admonition in the first perek: “<i>Ein tov la’azov et divrei Elohim Chayim v’lishtof b’derech eretz</i>; It isn’t good to leave the words of the Living God and engage in worldly matters!”) But, I have to remind myself, <i>im ein kemach ein Torah</i>, without flour (read: college applications), there is no Torah. Although I guess the obvious response to that would be <i>im ein Torah ein kemach</i>…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"" >Because Avital and I saw one another in person in between this post and the last one, a lot of learning has happened, and I will, regrettably, not be able to provide an adequate summary of all of it. Instead, I am going to focus on a couple of interesting pieces we have learned over the last couple of weeks. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"" >“At that time Moshe went up to receive the Ten Commandments, that were written and put down at the time of Creation, as it is written (Shemot 32): “’<i>V’ha’luchot ma’aseh Elohim hemah, v’ha’michtav michtav Elohim hu charut al ha’luchot’—al tikrei ‘charut’, eila ‘cheirut’, she’kol mi she’osek ba’Torah harei hu ben-chorin le’atzmo</i>. And the Tablets are the work of God, and the writing is the writing of God that is engraved on the Tablets—do not read “engraved” (<i>charut)</i>, rather read “freedom” (<i>cheirut) </i>because whoever engages in Torah is a free person.” I was immediately struck by this phrase. If I were to list all of my favorite things about Torah study (and there are many!), “freedom” would not be one of the words to first come to mind. In fact, my belief in the compatibility of freedom and Torah learning is sometimes a bit tenuous. At times, it feels like living my life within the context of Torah and Halachah gives me a sort of freedom to better be who I am. But, at other times, it feels like Torah study is meant to lead to a Halachic lifestyle that inhibits my freedom more than anything else. As we discussed this, Avital offered an incredibly insightful comment connecting the idea of “whoever engages in Torah is a free person” with Kantian philosophy. Kant describes freedom as the ability to think and understand for oneself. Avital recently wrote me an email as we continued to discuss the idea and explained: “Kant's definition of enlightenment is the ability to use reason for oneself instead of relying on other people's reasoning and taking what they say as a given. He says that a ruler should try to increase enlightenment, so the one thing he can't prohibit is public, academic use of reason. It's good if rulers mandate behavior because then everything will be orderly, but they shouldn't ever stop people from arguing. He describes his favorite monarchs as saying ‘Argue as much as you want, about whatever you want, but obey!’ Isn't that really Jewish? There are no belief requirements, and you're encouraged to question and argue as much as possible, but you have to follow the rules. God is an enlightened monarch!” I have often felt that “struggling with the issues” is a slightly dishonest way to describe contemplation of one’s Jewish life because, if one has committed to living a life guided by Halachah, we already know the general answers at which we are going to arrive before the struggling. (Of course, Halachah is not a machine that gives a single answer, and thought and time must go into making a true halachic decision. However, if I “struggle” with observance of Shabbat, I don’t intend to actually <i>stop </i>observing Shabbat. I wrestle with how to make my practice meaningful, but I have my end goal of shmirat Shabbat in mind through the struggling.) Kant’s description of freedom and questioning makes me feel like my way of struggling isn’t that dishonest after all. Perhaps, the text is telling us, there is a freedom greater than freedom of action. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"" >Another interesting story immediately follows the Freedom/Torah discussion. The ministering angels, relates the text, strongly disapproved of Hashem giving the Ten Commandments to Moshe. Hashem ignores them and gives the tablets to Moshe anyways. When Moshe descends the Mount Sinai and sees the people worshipping the Golden Calf, he exclaims: “<i>Heyach ani noten lahem et ha’luchot, mazkikani otan limtzot chamurot umchayvani otan mita la’shamayim. She’ken katuv ba’hen ‘lo yihiye lecha elohim acherim al panai</i>. How can I give them these Tablets? I would be obligating them to major commandments and, thus, condemning them to death, as it says on them, “You shall have no other gods before Me”. This midrash explains that Moshe breaks the Tablets out of his concern for the Jewish people. If he had given the laws to them, they surely would have died, as they were already breaking one of the most important mitzvot! “Don’t give people more than they can handle,” seems to be the message here. Or, perhaps more accurately, “Don’t put someone in a situation in which there is no chance of a positive outcome.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"" >The last piece I would like to focus on is a short section in the text that describes the <i>seyag </i>(fence) the Prophets put around their words. The majority of the passage goes through different metaphors for God used throughout the Tanach and then adds the caveat that there is a difference between earthly and heavenly versions of that description. For example, it quotes a pasuk from Amos in which Hashem is described as a lion. But, Avot d’Rabbi Natan warns us, “<i>lo ke’aryeh she’lemata, ela ke’arye she’le’maalah</i>, not like an earthly lion but rather like a heavenly lion.” Metaphors, then, are a<i> seyag </i>around God. God is this awesome power that is really beyond human description, and so we use metaphors (a lion, a warrior, etc.) to begin to understand, so that we may attempt to approach. Rabbi Judah Goldin agrees, explaining that the Prophets’s <i>seyag </i>is that “they employed some metaphor in the description of God who, strictly speaking, is beyond description and comparison.” The section ends with a line that I think quite appropriately explains the use of metaphor: “<i>Eila mareen et ha’ayin ma she’yechola lirot, u’mashmi’een et ha’ozen ma she’yechola lishmoah</i>, But the eye is shown what it can see and the ear is permitted to hear what it can hear.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"" >One last thought… I am signing up for classes next semester at the university, and I am considering taking a Bible as Literature class. I, of course, do not intend to start viewing Torah as just another piece of literature, but the class sounds interesting, is with a really great professor, and is something that I have never studied before. BUT we learned this week towards the end of the second perek: “Don’t go out among the apikorsim (heretics, those who have left the tradition), and do not enter into their presence because you might stumble. You might say, ‘I am confident in myself, and even if I go out among them, I will not stumble. I will hear what they have to say and then return.” Avot d’Rabbi Natan responds to these people by quoting a pasuk from Proverbs: “<i>Kol ba’eyah lo yeshuvun v’lo yashigu archot chayim</i>, All that go unto her do not return and neither do they attain long life.” Does Chazal have an unnecessarily negative view of human nature? Is it ridiculous to claim that I may lose my entire identity just by listening to another point of view? Or is there some truth to this? Another line from Proverbs quoted here explains that: “Until an arrow strikes through his liver, like a bird hastens to the snare, he didn’t know that it was at the cost of his life.” I don’t want to be that bird! Any thoughts? Please feel free to voice opinions in the comments! <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:"Times New Roman"" >Shabbat shalom to all! </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Mayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05057793625990339063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7372369533056517123.post-9894237804073413652011-10-04T21:14:00.000-07:002011-10-05T16:30:36.401-07:00Sexism and the SagesThis week, we began the second chapter of Avot d'Rabbi Natan, with still more discussion of "fences" around words, in this case, the fence the Torah made around its own words. The example given is that, in the purity laws, the Torah says that a man should not "come close" to a woman while she menstruating, because if it had forbidden only sexual contact, we might think that hugging, kissing, chatting or sharing beds fully clothed are permitted. As an aside, we also learn that women should not wash their faces or put on makeup while they are in niddah, because the Sages are pleased with those women who neglect themselves during menstruation. One possible reason for that is that, while sexual contact is forbidden, they don't want the women to make themselves attractive.<br />
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Continuing on the menstruation theme, we have an extremely disturbing story: Once, there was a man who studied Torah and Mishnah and assisted many great Torah scholars. He died tragically young. His wife took his tefillin into the Houses of Study and Worship and screamed and cried, asking the scholars how it could be that her husband died so early, since the Torah promises long life to its students. No one could answer her.<br />
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So far, this is an really interesting story. It's very similar to the well-known story of Elisha ben Abuyah, who saw a young boy die while performing two of the mitzvot that promise long life to those who obey them, and was driven to abandon Jewish tradition, but I found it interesting to have it told this time through a woman, especially since she's apparently learned enough to use a prooftext to back up her criticism of Torah. In addition, all the scholars seem to agree that there is no good answer to the question of why bad things happen to good people-- all they can do is be silent in the face of tragedy. It seemed like it might be one of the stories that make me feel good about the way Judaism relates to both women and doubt.<br />
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Those of you who know the story are probably wincing at my naivete right now, because, unfortunately, the story continues. The woman met Elijah the prophet, who asked her why she was crying. When she told him, he asked "When you were menstruating, what did he do?"<br />
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She replied, "Sir, God forbid; he didn't touch me even with his little finger. Rather, he said to me 'Do not touch me at all, so that we can avoid all doubt of breaking the prohibition."<br />
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Elijah asked, "And in the last days (meaning the seven days after she had stopped menstruating, when there is a Rabbinic extension of the menstruation rules, in case she is not actually done), what did he do?"<br />
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"Sir, I ate with him, and drank with him and slept in the bed with him with my clothes on, and we touched but didn't mean anything by it."<br />
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He said "Blessed is God who killed him, for it says in the Torah 'Do not approach a woman while she is impure with menstruation.'"<br />
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(If possible, it only gets worse from there. We also learn that men may not be alone with women, even their close relatives in an inn, or even walk around in the marketplace with their own wives for fear of public opinion, and then some general statements about avoiding small transgressions, because they may lead to bigger ones, and then finally, a slight concession-- a man may choose whether to cohabit with his wife while she in menstruating: no one but God can judge him for his decision.)<br />
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Stories like this make it very difficult for me to see myself as an intellectual inheritor of Jewish tradition. I really do think I am, most of the time. I study with teachers who studied with teachers in an intellectual lineage that goes back to the sources we're studying, and I think that's an amazing and beautiful thing. I like to think that everyone in that line would have thought so too, but sections like this remind me that that really is not true. Chazal, our Sages of blessed memory, were misogynists. Not worse than anyone else of their time, maybe even better, but they wouldn't have liked me very much, and that bothers me because I really love them.<br />
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A lot of the time, it helps to think about them historically; to say "Wow, look what people thought in the 9th Century. That's so interesting." Or to think of them as crochety older relatives whom we love and listen to, but don't really take seriously. But neither of those does justice to the rabbis as real founders of a tradition that I live in and engage with. I don't feel any obligation to let other Medieval sources influence my life or have my social values dictated to me by my great-aunts, but I do want to live in the system created by Chazal. It feels to me more like acknowledging that America was founded on slavery and massacre, and working to fix the parts of the system that still enforce that, rather than throwing out the whole idea of America and starting over more equitably. Like America, Jewish tradition has enough really excellent values and ideas that it is worth facing the unpleasant parts of its unpleasant beginnings.Avitalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553464673516632402noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7372369533056517123.post-41067212442878564552011-10-03T17:14:00.001-07:002011-10-03T17:29:49.040-07:00As if He had destroyed the world...We had to end last week in the middle of a section, so I will pick right back up. As Avital wrote, last week’s learning concluded with the sad fact that, as a result of the expulsion from Gan Eden, we lost special magical/helper scorpions. A verse from Tehillim is then quoted: “V’adam bikar bal yalin nimshal ka’behemot nidmu, Man doesn’t last even a day in honor, he is like a best that perished”. The classic “point followed by proof text” formula is reversed here, as the pasuk is first quoted and then examples are given to back it up. The text goes on to emphasize that on the same day Adam’s form and limbs and innards were created, his soul was given to him, he stood on his own two feet, he named the animals, he was joined with Chava, he entered into Gan Eden, God commanded him what to eat/what not to eat, he sinned, and he was banished from the Garden. All in a day’s work. Adam, as recounted in Tehillim, did not last for even a day in honor. (The first thing that came to mind when we learned this part was the line from The Crucible by Arthur Miller in which Reverend Hale states: ‘Man, remember, until an hour before the Devil fell, God thought him beautiful in Heaven.’ I have tried to banish that image from my mind, though, because it is definitely not how I want to think about either God or Adam.)<br /><br />We are then told that ten punishments were given to both Adam and Chava, although we are never given the full list of these ten. Basically, it explains that Adam will have to work the land to provide food, and Chava will have to endure various types of pain (there is a lot of detail about this) in bearing children. The word used for punishment “gzeirah” is reminiscent of the High Holiday liturgy we read this past week: “U’teshuva u’tfillah u’tzedakah ma’avirin et roa ha’gzeirah, And repentance, prayer, and tzedakah lessen the severity of the decree”. Maybe if Adam and Chava had known these three we wouldn’t still be under the gzeirot given to them…<br /><br />My favorite part of the text comes next: “At evening time, Adam HaRishon saw that darkness was coming onto the western part of the world. ‘Woe is me, because I have sinned the Holy One Blessed Be He is darkening the whole world!’ And he didn’t know that this was the way of the world. At dawn, when he saw the world lighting up from the East, he was gladdened with a great happiness.” He then builds an alter and sacrifices to God. “At this time, three groups of ministering angels came down, and in their hands were violins and harps and all the instruments of song. They sang a song with him: ‘Mizmor shir l’yom HaShabbat tov l’hodot l’Hashem, A song for Shabbat, it is good to praise God’”. (This is the traditional psalm of the day for Shabbat.) I was particularly struck by the fact that, in this story, Adam thinks that Hashem is ending the world because he has sinned. He believes in a God that punishes directly and harshly. But he doesn’t yet know that the darkness is a part of how the world works, not the work of a malicious God conspiring against him. It makes sense that in the daily Maariv prayers, we praise God as “ha’maariv aravim, the One who evenings the evening”, as a sort of reminder of Adam’s fear of a God who “machshich alai et ha’olam, darkens the world to me”. Adam’s joy upon waking up to a world of light is very real and gives a nice context to the line in Shacharit “ha’meir l’aretz u’l’dvarim aleyah b’rachamim uv’tuvo mechadesh b’chol yom tamid maaseh breisheet, In compassion, He gives light to the Earth and its inhabitants, and in His goodness continually renews every day the work of creation”. After Adam’s personal journey of sorts through the long night, the angels coming down to praise God with him is a lovely image of Heaven and Earth working together. <br /><br />The text sees the fact that the Psalm for Shabbat has just been related as a perfect opportunity to go through the psalms for each day of the week and explain the connection between that day’s psalm and what happened on that day in creation. The perek closes with the statement that if God hadn’t punished the serpent, Adam, and Chava, it would have been as if He had destroyed the whole world. That is something interesting to ponder as we contemplate justice and mercy during these Days of Repentance. Feel free to comment with thoughts!<br /><br />This is the first perek that we have finished, right in time for Rosh HaShanah, so we were quite excited. <br /><br />Gmar chatima tova!Mayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05057793625990339063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7372369533056517123.post-88112984448824811932011-09-26T15:21:00.000-07:002011-09-26T15:21:15.004-07:00Fence-making is the only thing that stopped you from having a magic domesticated snake<div class="MsoNormal">We picked up right where we left off in Avot d’Rabbi Natan, in the middle of a discussion of making a “fence” around one’s words to avoid accidental wrongdoing. It turns out that we’re not done with Adam and Eve, but first, we have a digression about the Emperor Titus. The Adam and Eve part from last week ended with a story in which the Tree of Knowledge prays not to be touched by the evil snake by reciting a verse from Psalms: “Do not let the foot of pride overtake me, or the hand of the wicked shake me.” Another interpretation of that verse is that it refers to Titus, who, according to Avot d’Rabbi Natan, used to bang on the altar and challenge God to wage war against him, so he is the “prideful foot” and the wicked one who shakes the Temple.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After that, we’re back to Adam and Eve. First, it repeats the snake’s conversation with Chava, in which he points out to her that touching the tree is safe and asks her to extrapolate that everything Adam said is a lie. This time, we have the added detail that she thought to herself “Everything my teacher said was a lie” and that she originally always called Adam “my teacher.” It’s also very possible that <i>rabbi </i><span style="font-style: normal;">means “my master.” Either way, there’s a pretty unpleasant power dynamic, since Adam does not know much at this point either, but if it’s “teacher” there are still other nice things to say about the story. If it means “teacher,” it highlights the special obligation of teachers to tell the truth: because students trust their teachers so completely, it is much worse for a teacher to lie than for someone else to lie. In a class where I do not trust the teacher, I can’t trust any of the information she says, or even his fairness, and I definitely would not want to reveal anything of myself to that kind of teacher, so even one small breach of trust can ruin an entire class. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Next, there’s a list of the ten curses Chava received as punishment, and then, exactly the statement we had been hoping for! “From here we learn—even though a person needs to make a fence around his words, he shouldn’t make the fence greater than the main point, for if he does, it will not be able to stand. Rabbi Yose says: A ten hand-breadth fence that stands up is better than a hundred-cubit one that falls down.” Maya’s post last week explained why we love this so much, so I’ll just add that I think the difference between these two statements of the same principle is interesting. The anonymous opinion asks for proportionality—the fence should be smaller than the main point, so a larger point calls for a larger fence—while Rabbi Yose’s opinion is more pragmatic: how big the fence should be relates to how big you can make it before it will fall down. I prefer the anonymous one—Rabbi Yose’s implies that we should want the biggest possible fence, and I think there are many situations where that is not true. I would rather give bigger fences to things that require them and smaller fences when there is more room for leniency.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After that, there are some odd details about the snake. It originally wanted to kill Adam and marry Chava so that he could rule the world, walk upright, and eat good food. The negation of each of those corresponds to a part of his punishment. Then, Rabbi Shimon ben Menasia laments that such a good servant as the snake went out of the world, because if the snake had not been cursed, everyone in Israel could have had two snakes in her house, and they would bring us precious stones, and nothing could injure them. You could even use them instead of a camel or other beast of burden for farm work. I don’t know what this is about. It doesn’t seem consistent with the pre-expulsion snake, who was humanoid, not inclined to be anyone’s servant, and had no connection with gems. It also seems a little absurd to lament that, of all things, about the expulsion from Eden. Isn’t it worse that humans are banished from paradise and cursed to endure pain and hard labor? Comment if you have any interesting ideas!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We stopped in the middle of the next section, so I’ll leave it for Maya, but get excited for some analogies with scorpions next week. </div><!--EndFragment-->Avitalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553464673516632402noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7372369533056517123.post-77555841732502993742011-09-13T22:12:00.000-07:002011-09-13T22:21:04.690-07:00On Patience, Haste, and Fences<span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; ">Our second Avot D’Rabbi Natan chevruta session started off with a bang, as we quickly delved into a very long discussion in the text about the first of three pieces of advice given by the Anshei Kenesset HaGedolah (the members of the Great Assembly): </span><i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; ">“hevu metunim ba’din, </span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; ">Be cautious in judgment”. There is a short description of why one should be hesitant when judging, and then there is a short aside that relates some history about the books of Proverbs, Shir HaShirim, and Kohelet. Apparently, these books were not copied down until long after they were written. They wanted to wait for the text to grow old before copying it down so that they could appropriately bring Shlomo’s wisdom to light. (It is interesting to note a nice play on words here: The word <i>atik</i> means<i> </i>both “copy” and “old”.)</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">The text then goes on to explain that the same cautiousness one applies to judgment should also be applied to one's speech. “This teaches that a man should be careful with his words and shouldn’t be hasty with them, for whoever is hasty with his words, his words are forgotten.” A story is then related of a time in the book of Bamidbar when Moshe Rabbeinu was too hasty with his words and became angry and was unable to follow God’s command. “If this happened to Moshe Rabbeinu, the wisest of the wise, the greatest of the great, the father of the prophets, when he became too hasty with his words and forgot his words, then how much more for us!” Rabbi Natan explains.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Ben-Azzai then seems to try and bridge the first and third pieces of advice given by the Anshei Kenesset HaGedolah. He says: “Be careful of putting obstacles in front of your words; make a fence around them”. (This third precept of the Great Assembly is <i>“v’asu seyag la’Torah, </i>make a fence around the Torah”.) Apparently, God, Adam, the Torah, Moshe, Job, and prophets, writers, and the wise ones all made fences around their words. It seems that the text tries to back up (at least part of) this statement by essentially saying that God made a fence around His words by predicting the future <i>with </i>appropriate caveats in a pretty specific example cited. (The purpose of the caveats being so that we won’t think God is wrong.)</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">A long story about Adam and Chava ensues that attempts to show how important it was that Adam made a fence around his words. However, I find several things very problematic with the story provided. The story begins with God telling Adam not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge. Adam adds a <i>seyag </i>around his words when repeating these instructions to Chava. He tells her that it is forbidden to eat from the tree and it <i>also </i>forbidden to touch the tree. (Adam is so shomer negiyah he doesn’t even touch <i>trees</i>!) The evil serpent comes along to Chava later and insists that it is okay to touch the tree, demonstrating by rubbing his arms and legs all over it. (Yes, the <i>nachash </i>had limbs. Don’t ask.) Chava, seeing that the serpent has touched the tree and lived, does the same and is also fine. The snake then says to her: “Just like you touched it and didn’t die, so too if you eat from it, you will not die”. Chava thinks to herself that, thus far, everything Adam has said has been a lie. She has no reason to trust that she shouldn’t eat the fruit after it turned out that touching was okay, so she eats it.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">I find this example quite problematic. Is the root cause of this notorious story of “Eve eating the forbidden fruit” all a product of Adam making a fence around Hashem’s word? I don’t see how this is evidence that supports our fence-building practices. Jews have historically been quite fond of fences. They are the reason that “not boiling a kid in its mothers milk” has turned into having separate sponges and that “not kindling a flame on Shabbat” has turned into not turning on and off lights on Shabbat. But what if, as this story seems to subliminally imply, these fences are actually taking us farther away from the intent of Hashem’s intent? What if we lose sight of the real mitzvah behind miles and miles of fences? Do we become “Worshippers of the Fence”? And what if, as in this story, we actually break a mitzvah because of a <i>seyag </i>that is added?</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">This reminded me of a poem we looked at this summer, <i>Bimkom Shir Ahavah </i>by Yehudah Amichai. I apologize for not being able to provide the Hebrew text here.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">Instead of a Love Poem</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>To Chana</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">From “thou shalt not seethe a kid in its mothre’s milk,”</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">they made the many laws of Kashrut,</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">but the kid is forgotten and the milk is forgotten and</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span"><span></span><span></span><span></span><span></span><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>the mother is forgotten</span></span></p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span">In this way from “I love you”</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span class="Apple-style-span" >we made all our life together.</span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >But I’ve not forgotten you</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >as you were then.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" > </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><span class="Apple-style-span" >That’s it for now. Until next week! </span></span><span style="font-size: 28px; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; "><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--></span>Mayahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05057793625990339063noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7372369533056517123.post-23752086063010932832011-09-09T13:42:00.000-07:002011-09-09T13:42:26.539-07:00Moshe recieved the Torah at Sinai and it ruined his friendships<div class="MsoNormal">This week was the beginning of Maya’s and my Avot d’Rabbi Natan chevruta. Avot D’Rabbi Natan is a commentary on Pirkei Avot, so it begins with the first mishna of Avot—“<span class="apple-style-span"><span style="background: white; color: black; font-family: David;">משה קיבל תורה מסיני”</span></span> -- “Moses received the Torah at Sinai.” It starts with a discussion of the choreography of Moshe’s interactions with God at Sinai—what happened before and after the giving of the Ten Commandments? What did the Divine Cloud do, exactly? And why did Moshe have to stay on the mountain for six days without being spoken to? All good questions with inconclusive answers. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After that, there is a rabbinic anecdote about Rabbi Yoshia and Rabbi Matia the son of Charash who were sitting and learning Torah, when Rabbi Yoshia began talking about everyday matters— דרך ארץ—instead. Rabbi Matia the son of Charash, who was Rabbi Yoshia’s student, said “My teacher, why are you leaving the words of the Living God for everyday matters?! Even though you are my teacher and I am your student, it is not good to leave the words of the Living God for everyday matters.”<span> </span>And an anonymous “they” replies, “The whole time that they were sitting and engaging in words of Torah, they were like people who are jealous of one another; when they stopped, they were like people who have loved each other since their youth.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I don’t entirely know what to make of that story. For one thing, this is a book of Torah, so I would have expected its authors to be pro-Torah. And even more than that, I expect Jews to be pro-study. I’m used to that daily life needs to take precedence over Torah sometimes, and that’s absolutely a Jewish concept, but this story sounds as if Torah is inherently bad, not just less urgent. If we could be like people who have loved each other since our youth, why would we ever decide to be jealous? The best answer I’ve come up with is that maybe learning alone can’t make a real relationship; it’s too hard to really get to know people by talking about purely academic topics. It’s much easier to build relationships by talking about real life and things that are important to us. Still, there should be a good way for study and important real-life topics to not be mutually exclusive.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">After that, there’s some more discussion of Moshe’s role in the revelation at Sinai and a little about the priestly tradition that has endured for generations. It looks like the writers of Avot d’Rabbi Natan may have had a different version of the Mishnah than we have, because the chain of transmission includes judges receiving the Torah from the Elders, and Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi receiving it from the Prophets, which is odd, because I thought they were prophets. We ended our study session with the Torah getting to Anshei Knesset Hagedolah, the Great Assembly, and we’ll be back next week with more Banot d’Rabbi Natan. <o:p></o:p></div><!--EndFragment-->Avitalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16553464673516632402noreply@blogger.com1