Grown Near Wheat

I have always been amazed at how many different types of crops all seem to grow near wheat, at least when it comes to the annual search for more unnecessary Pesach chumrot.  Finally, I came across this helpful diagram of the modern American farm which helps explain the need for all these chumrot.  Of course, most of our produce is grown on very small farms where all the crops overlap and are mixed together in a sack by the one yokel who goes out to harvest.  And this ingenious design allows every single crop to be grown right next to wheat, so anyone can justify a nonsense chumra by claiming the crop grows close to wheat:

By the way, you know what else grows near wheat?  Wheat!  And yet we still make matza out of it.

Chag Kasher V'Sameach!

The end of the world as we know it

I don't expect the world to end today.  Nor did I expect it to end last year when some idiot was going around predicting the rapture.  But I was thinking about the fact that pretty much every religion has a concept of the end of days.  Judaism's is generally more positive (messianic times) than negative (destruction), though there are prophesies of destruction as well.  Every religion also has a narrative for the beginning of the world.

Why is that?  In reality, the world has been around for a really long time, and will be around for a really long time.  I think the concept of infinite time, going backwards or forwards, is really too complex for humans to conceptualize.  The same is true of the infinitely expanding size of the universe.  In fact, this is why I believe there is a divine element to the world - there are simply too many things about the world that are beyond human comprehension.

But what religion tends to do, instead of reacting with wonder and awe at the beauty and majesty of the world, we react by simplifying things.  The world isn't infinitely old - it's only a few thousand years old, and will probably only last a few (hundred) more years before ending or completely changing.  That idea seems designed to make the world easier to understand.

In fact, while the end of the world seems frightening, perhaps what the most frightening idea is that tomorrow will be just like today, and the world we live in, with all its flaws, will never fundamentally change?

Two assumptions of my education

Thinking back to my yeshiva day school education, I noticed that there were certain assumptions that I picked up that I've more recently come to question, which were at the heart of my changing views on Orthodox Judaism.  I'm not sure if these ideas were explicitly taught, implicitly taught, or whether they were just my own assumptions which I picked up along the way.  I'd be interested to hear if you had the same understandings in yeshiva.  Note that I went to mainstream modern Orthodox schools, not right wing or chareidi by any sense of the words.

1 - The manner of fulfilling mitzvot.  The way I recall being taught about halacha is that there is a specific way to fulfil ("be yotzei") a mitzvah, and either you do it right, or you don't.  I have the image of a heavenly Computer that measures the input, and either returns true or false.  Of course, you never get the output, so you just need to make every effort to fulfill the mitzvah correctly.  For example, if after the fact, you find out your tefilin have a missing letter, or your etrog was the wrong species, etc., then you've done no action towards fulfilling those commandments - you get no credit.  The extreme of this is trying to be "yotzei kol hadeot" to eliminate any chance of getting the wrong combination.  Of course, no value is given to religious experience - you either got the mitzvah or you wasted your time.  I think this is probably a Lithuanian/Brisker bias, but it could go all the way back to the Temple priests (put the wrong spice in the ketoret, and you die.)  I don't think of God as a big Computer anymore, but sometimes it is hard to find the balance where you don't obsess over the details, but still find meaning in trying to follow halachic guidelines.

2 - Timelines of Biblical books.  I do remember discussing some aspects of when certain prophets lived, but overall, I think I always imagined all of Tanach (not just the Torah) as being written at a single point in time, and all representing the exact same divine truth.  The idea that Isaiah and Ezekiel could have different ideas about what is important or what God wants never occurred to me.  Similarly, I don't think I was ever taught that God wrote the book of Kings, but I'm pretty sure I was taught that when the book says a king was "good" or "bad" in the eyes of God, this represents God's assessment of the king, not that of the book's author.  There is certainly more room for historical context to be taught even within the bounds of traditional Bible study, but I wonder if there is a slippery slope there as well if children become accustomed to questioning the motives of Biblical authors.

So, do you remember learning this way?  Are kids now being taught the same way?

לשמוע אל הרינה ואל התפילה

I went to selichot on Saturday night, as I do every year.  I'm not planning on saying any more selichot (until Yom Kippur, at least), but I do enjoy going that first night.  I remember discovering many years ago that the Yamim Noraim are a lot more pleasant when you don't kill yourself staying up until 2am every night saying selichot.

Looking at the words of the selichot, there is very little I connect to conceptually, nor would these be the kind of tefilot I would compose on my own.  I don't enter the high holidays with trepidation, trying every possible way to appease a vengeful deity, nor to I feel ashamed of everything I've done in the past year.  I do, however, look forward to an introspective and reflective time.  And I find that the nusach, the musical themes of the time, evoke an inspiring sense of majesty.  The fast, repetitive, soulful chants of the selichot seem naturally designed for a calming of the mind, much like the way a yoga meditation might use a repetitive chant.

I find religion most meaningful as food for the soul, not the mind, and thus it is the rhythms and melodies, not the words, that I look forward to this time of the year.  For the same reason, I try to blow the shofar every morning, even if I don't daven.  I think of it as the simplest of prayers, the wordless call that reaches into the depths of the soul, without any words that more likely than not just detract from the moment.

For anyone dreading this holiday-intense period, I hope you can find some time among all the over-eating and over-praying to reflect on what is truly important to you, even (especially) if it's not found in the machzor.

Why I'm Fasting Today

I'm pretty bad at fasting, and tend not to fast on the minor fast days.  Today will be harder since my wife is not fasting, having recently given birth.  So I thought it would be helpful to write down my reasons for wanting to fast.  (And yes, it is a choice - we all make choices whenever we observe something or don't.)

Firstly, it occurred to me that Tisha B'Av is the only Jewish holiday that commemorates something that actually happened, and unfortunately, there are many real tragedies that have befallen the Jewish people over the years.  I'm not terribly torn up over the loss of the temples, and from reading Tanach and Jewish history, it doesn't sound like the times of either the first or second Temples were such glorious times.  Modern Israel may arguably be much better.  But it has never been easy to be a Jew, and the Crusaders, Cossacks, Nazis, Arabs, etc. have never cared if a Jew was yeshivish, modern, Satmar, or unaffiliated.  As long as someone identifies at all as a Jew, they are bound to this tragic history.

There is also something meaningful about commemorating something along with Jews all over the world.  We evoke powerful symbols the way we sit on the floor and darken the shul.  It occurred to me that Tisha B'Av is always the same day of the week as Pesach, and both have strong symbols.  Reclining and drinking wine is a strong symbol of freedom, and sitting on the floor and not drinking is a strong symbol of tragedy.  Both are real parts of our history, and both are important to spend a day thinking about.

Finally, aside from any religious motivation, it's worthwhile to take one day a year to remember that there are many people in the world who are starving, and may have to go a day without food, without downing Vitamin Water beforehand, and scarfing down bagels and lox afterwards.  Let's be grateful that at least we are choosing to fast today, but will have plenty to eat tonight.

Tzom Kal.

Don't think too much!

This article caught my eye (and gave me an initial laugh when I saw the headline): Thinking can undermine religious faith, study finds.  It states that people who think more analytically tend to be less religious.  This makes sense, as religion appeals to our more emotional sense.  But it goes on to say that the same people, when the study put them in a more analytical mood, tended to express slightly less religious sentiment than those in a more emotional state.

I think this makes a lot of sense, and I've experienced it myself.  If you think analytically enough, of course all the myths and superstitions of religion don't make sense anymore.  But when you are in a place of emotions - scared, loving, transcendent, etc., then religion becomes a lot more appealing.  In fact, I think that often God takes over where rationality end, for example, when contemplating the beginning, or end, of time, something that is very difficult to conceptualize rationally.

Finding meaning in Kashrut

Daniel Rosenberg asks if I find meaning in kashrut, the way I find meaning in Shabbat.  It is an interesting question which prompted me to think about how kashrut impacts us as Modern Orthodox Jews.

Interestingly, with Shabbat, the fundamental nature of the day is what separates us from the rest of the world. But with kashrut, it is really only certain ancillary rabbinic restrictions which set us apart. Everyone has dietary restrictions in the form of foods they avoid, whether due to religion, diet, health, allergy, etc., and they all manage to find something to eat in most restaurants. What sets us apart is our avoidance of eating food cooked on the same equipment as was used to cook non-kosher food, and to a lesser degree, our avoidance of eating certain foods cooked by gentiles (bishul akum). Both of these are rabbinic additions to kashrut, likely with the express purpose of making it difficult to eat with non-Jews. (This is explicitly the reason for bishul akum - not sure about the issues of "beliah" from pots.)

I think I can fundamentally understand the benefit of having dietary restrictions as a way of elevating the act of eating, but I'm not sure I really appreciate the benefit of setting up a huge barrier between us and the rest of the world by making sure we can only sit down to a meal with others on our own terms.

A segment of the LWMO world has solved this for themselves by accepting the concept of "eating out." From what I can tell, this entails being OK with eating food cooked on equipment shared with non-kosher food, and eating food cooked by non-Jews. Since people usually refer to eating "dairy out," I imagine this also entails eating cheese, and probably wine products add well, which were produced without supervision, though I imagine you could "eat out" and still avoid cheese and wine as well as meat. (You might also be able to avoid bishul akum as well by eating foods that can also be eaten raw, and are not "oleh al shulchan melachim," leaving only the issue of shared equipment.)  But eating out fundamentally changes the experience of keeping kosher, since you can pretty much find something to eat in any restaurant or home in the world, as opposed to only eating in homes or restaurants owned by Orthodox Jews. I personally don't "eat out," but I do find the concept intriguing, and have only recently been exposed to it among people considering themselves Orthodox.  I'm not sure if this is a good MO innovation that enables simultaneous participation in the religious and modern worlds (such as secular education) or a destructive innovation that unravels the basic ties that bind us together as a community (such as driving on shabbat).

What do you think? Do you eat out? What parameters do you use in determining what to eat? How has it impacted your Judaism?

Foreskin's Lament

I just finished reading Foreskin's Lament, by Shalom Auslander.  It was a quick read, and very engaging.  It portrays the effects of an upbringing based on fear of God and fear of divine punishment.  Many of us grew up, to some degree, in a similar environment.  My wife experienced it more than me, but even though I did not grow up Orthodox, and went to modern Orthodox schools, I still managed to encounter this perspective along the way.  I suppose to a certain degree, certain personalities will be more inclined to take literally the promises of divine retribution than others.

Most striking in the book is the deep sense of shame around sexuality, and the fear of any sexual urges being swiftly punished by an angry God.  The scene where he goes through his parents' room and burns their porn and sex toys in an effort to appease God is most poignant.  I would imagine such feelings of guilt, fear, and resulting self-loathing are very common among Orthodox boys (maybe girls too), and contributes to an unhealthy relationship with sex that could take a lifetime to undo.

I have long felt that an education based on fear is unhealthy, and eventually people will realize that the threats are empty and the system is a sham.  An education based on love, as long as it is paired with a loving home, cannot so easily be undone.  This is certainly what I want for my children.  But, I wonder, is it possible to do so in the face of the overwhelming theme of divine reward and punishment that pervades the entire Bible, Talmud, and rabbinic literature?  Is it possible for our teachers to leave out this material, or teach it, and then for them or us as parents to tell our kids that it isn't really true?  Is it possible to have a positive Jewish education that is at the same time based on our textual tradition?

Public school teacher fails to teach fantasy to children; scandal ensues

http://www.foxnews.com/us/2011/12/03/new-york-teacher-tells-kids-there-is-no-santa-claus/

What happened to separation of church and state?  I wonder if the same outrage would be expressed if a teacher said God didn't exist.  I know they can't teach about God in public school, right?  Can they teach the opposite?  How can they be required to teach about Santa Claus, but not allowed to teach about God?  It doesn't make any sense.

Borei Meorei Ha'esh

One way in which religion and ritual add meaning to life is by enabling us to appreciate things we would otherwise take for granted.  Here is a recent example.

A few weeks ago, on Shabbat afternoon, our power went out.  For most of the day, we went about our regular business.  But as the sun started to set, it became harder to do anything, such as read.  For the last half-hour or so of Shabbat, we were just sitting in the dark.  Although we never sing zmirot, we sort of spontaneously started singing yedid nefesh.  I understood why people sing during seuda shlishit - what else are you supposed to do?  On Friday night, you have the light of the candles.  But for those last moments of Shabbat afternoon, it's totally dark.

Finally, we counted three stars and said havdalah.  When we lit the candle and said borei meorei ha'esh, I found it to be a very emotional moment.  I actually connected to the blessing of fire and light, and the blessing of sight in general; we didn't have to ceremoniously turn off the light for a minute to say the bracha - we really appreciated the gift of being able to see.  We also connected to how our ancestors must have experienced the end of Shabbat, and probably understood better where some of these traditions come from.  Even though we are always mumbling brachot thanking God for everything and anything, there are precious few moments when we really appreciate what we have.