Americans for Peace Now has just announced that it is beginning a new feature: a weekly Torah commentary on Middle-East peace topics. This week is already up, and has a nice little drash on wrestling with angels and moving out of injury to blessing by new staff member (and Jewschool contributor) Rabbi Alana Suskin.
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Thanksgiving celebrators around the country, here ye. Amidst all your holiday planning and travel, and your decisions on how to spend “Black Friday,” please consider how you might conclude this festive weekend. On Saturday evening, Rosh Chodesh will be upon us. On Sunday morning it is traditional to give praise to the Most High. One way to do this is by Occupying Rosh Chodesh, as some of us are doing this Sunday at Zuccotti Park in Lower Manhattan. All are invited. For more information see below:
What is Rosh Chodesh? This Sunday November 27th we are entering into the darkest month of the year, Kislev. However, during the month of Kislev, we celebrate Hanukkah, the festival of light.
Why be Occupied with it? It’s easy to celebrate when life is pleasant, when victory has been achieved and when the weather is warm. Rosh Chodesh is a monthly celebration fueled by a historical memory of enslavement. No matter where we are in the struggle for freedom and justice, Jewish tradition commands us to find ways to join forces and sing together – to experience the feeling of what redemption will truly taste like.
How will we celebrate it? On the Thanksgiving Sunday, two days after Black Friday, we will welcome the Hebrew month of Kislev with song and praise. In contrast to the melodies used to urge us toward the season of ‘holiday shopping’ we will sing the traditional Hallel / songs of praise sung on Rosh Chodesh. As part of the service, there will also be a chance for some learning and reflection on how Rosh Chodesh connects to the wider Occupy movement. The whole service should last no longer than one hour.
Who is invited? We welcome people of all backgrounds, races, gender identities and religious/faith affiliations.
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Chevre, I’m pleased to offer Uri L’Tzedek’s High Holiday supplement, Mah Ani, for free download here. Read, share, enjoy. Wishing you all a shana tova and a year full of sweet, sweet justice.
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Little else in life is as painful and horrifying as the death of a loved one. The experience
of loss can be all the more difficult for the bereaved in the case of a sudden departure,
such as in the case of murders and freak accidents. Whereas the Torah’s response to pre-
meditated murder is fairly simple and direct, its treatment of unintended manslaughter is
somewhat more involved and ethically advanced for its times.
Last Shabbat’s Torah double-portion, Mattot-Mase’ei, introduces a system whereby
individuals responsible for accidental manslaughter can seek refuge in one of six cities
specially designated as a safe space for them until the death of the current Kohen Gadol
(the High Priest). Outside of these cities of refuge, the accidental killer could be pursued by the victim’s loved ones, within the legal bounds of Torah law. (Note, however, that Deut. 19, in its review of this case, does not mention the clause about returning home upon the death of the Kohen Gadol. Additionally, under the broad designation of “unintended manslaughter,” the Mishnah distinguishes between three separate categories)
The entire concept of the cities of refuge forcefully reminds us that there is an essential and insurmountable gap between that which is felt—that which is lodged in the innermost chambers of our hearts—and that which is expressed. While symbolic expressions of grief (and quite possibly anger) are inextricably bound to the emotion that triggered them, these forms are always a culturally-conditioned performative measure and should never be mistaken for the incommensurable raw emotion itself.
Indeed, the six identified cities not only represent that impossible gap between what is internally felt and externally performed, they themselves literally enact that distance in a formalized legal setting, collectively honoured and acknowledged by the whole of that society. The symbolic power of the cities of refuge lies in its very designation as an outwardly symbolic response. Clearly, the deceased has not been, and cannot be, returned to her/his loved ones; any proposed quid pro quo ‘exchange’ (such as a ‘blood price’ or execution) is not only a superfluous measure, but this kind of symbolic restitution actually undermines the unspeakable tragedy of the loss itself in literally ‘quantifying’ the loss.
As we see in The Illiad, in a different context (this time involving an intended murder), Achilles cannot accept Agamemnon’s offer of material compensation in the face of his unbearable tragedy. Ajax’s response to Achilles’ refusal of any blood-price by connecting that insuperable distance between feeling and expression to the reparative power of social forms and to human mortality itself:
And yet a man takes from his brother’s slayer
the blood price, or the price for a child who was killed, and the guilty
one, when he has largely repaid, stays still in the country,
and the injured man’s heart is curbed, and his pride, and his anger
when he has taken the price; but the gods put in your breast a spirit
not to be placated. . . .
The stability of human social interaction, according to Ajax’s response, is contingent upon the feasibility of social exchanges that do not express individuals’ feelings, but rather, gives concrete form to them in a purely symbolic manner. In this way, we can view the creation of the cities of refuge not as an adequate correlative of what the bereaved individuals feel, but rather, as an attempt to forge a fixed symbolic understanding of the very nature of loss and the emotions it engenders. And while the cities of refuge presents a particularly illustrative example of the essential distinction between symbolic and literal compensation, Mattot-Mase’ei offers other instances of symbolic arrangements. The double-portion opens with a discussion of the handling of vows (Num. 30) and closes with a recap of Zelophehad’s daughters’ land settlement (Num. 36).
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(With apologies for such a belated vort)
Looking back at Parashat Balak, one might be compelled to ask why exactly is this story included within the book of Numbers. In particular, the Moabite prophet Balaam’s peculiar exchange with his donkey seems rather random when considered within the larger narrative arc of the story.
As the only instance of a speaking animal since the cunning snake in Genesis, one might expect our portion’s donkey to say something of exceeding importance and weight. Instead, she utters something utterly understated and even banal: she asks her master why he struck her three times when she has never wronged him. The simplicity of the dialogue and the repetitive rhythm of the characters’ actions here all suggest an almost fable-like story structure. As such, we can perhaps most productively view this story as primarily didactic in nature.
What is the relevance of the speaking donkey? The Midrash Rabbah on the book of the Numbers explains that this scene represents the ultimate reversal of nature. Balaam was the wisest of men, and here he is upstaged by his donkey, the lowest of animals. For a more lofty and respectful view on the man-animal relationship however, let us turn our attention to a more inspiring passage found in the book of Job (Job 12:7-8):
But ask the animals, and they will teach you,
or the birds of the air, and they will tell you;
or speak to the earth, and it will teach you,
or let the fish of the sea inform you
Here animals can be understood as possessing the very essence and wisdom of our earth. To communicate with animals is to share in their well-being, which is ultimately our well-being as humans. Perhaps this ‘dialogue’ does not take place in actual words, as it does in Parashat Balak, but rather, in actions, such as the way we relate to the environment and to our fellow creatures inhabiting this earth. Animals serve as the index of our respect for our planet, and, as we see from the recent BP disaster, when we turn away from our responsibility, the result to the earth and to the creatures which inhabit it is devastating.
If we are thinking about what it means to relate meaningfully to animals, we also must consider what it actually means to be human. As humans, we possess the intelligence and power to be deliberately holy beings. From the text alone, it appears the prophet Balaam prophesizes in the name of “Hashem, my God.” The overwhelming majority of the midrashic commentators pounce on this phrase and insist, rather vehemently, that Balaam was not a monotheistic, but rather, an idol worshipper, diviner, and a generally evil person. (Intriguing evidence of the former can be found in an inscription discovered in 1967 in the plains of the Jordan, at a site identified with Sukkoth in the area of the Jabok river. These fragments from “Visions of Balaam the son of Beor, seer of the gods” include a description of a goddess, fear of the havoc she could wreck, and an interesting array of god-names.)
Image of the Balaam Inscription
The overarching message, however, seems clear: whereas animals are all too often subjugated to their masters’ will (or that of other creatures), man possesses the unique capacity both for flaw and transcendent holiness, as we also learn through the story of Adam, Eve, and the snake. How? Through freedom of choice.
Balaam even knew in advance that his attempts to curse the Jews would ultimately prove abortive, but he kept trying—a weakness on his part. Despite his intimate knowledge of God (with God writ large or god in the plural, depending on your understanding of the text), Balaam remained a slave to his own social context. Balaam certainly was capable of achieving holiness, but he failed by succumbing to external pressures until only a donkey could teach him otherwise.
Interestingly, all but one of the Biblical characters in the Pentateuch whose names are immortalized as parasha titles are figures born as non-Jews. In the cases of Noah, Sarah, and Jethro, each drew closer to God in her/his own way through righteous and deliberate actions (Sarah and Jethro being ‘Jews by choice,’ but I contend that in our modern times all Jews are Jews by choice—today to identify actively as Jewish is no small feat). Such is most certainly not the case with Balak, the Moabite king after whom this pericope is named. All we know of Balak is his fear and desire to thwart the Israelites in their attempt to pass through the land. In this way, Balak seems to forgo our most interesting and empowering birthright as humans: our capacity for choice and constructive conflict resolution.
Which leads into this coming Shabbat’s portion, Parashat Pinchas, which immediately follows Parashat Balak. The only born-Jew to have a portion named after him, Pinchas, is, in a way, the Jewish counterpart of Balak, the Moabite king. Here again, we are revealed the disastrous consequences of an over-zealous man whose only response to a perceived threat is violence and destruction. Ironically, the house of David emerges from a Moabite woman (Ruth), as if to teach us, at this intersection between the Balak and Pinchas narrative, that all Jews originate from non-Jews, and in all cases (whether Jew or non-Jew), holiness is a choice, and constructive co-existence is a worthy uphill battle.
Image from the Soncino edition of Meshal HaQadmoni. The above shot is from the third chapter, entitled "In Praise of Good Advice," which even includes a story involving a donkey
(And If you’re a fan of morals and religious teachings embodied through speaking animals, I hereby commend yourattention to 13th century Spanish qabbalist R’ Isaac Ibn Sahula’s wonderfully understated collection of fables, Meshal HaQadmoni, a kind of Jewish, Torah-inspired answer to Aesop’s fables.)
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If you are a facebook user, you’ve likely received some sort of hack invitation recently to join or ‘like’ a page entitled Fact, all girls tell these 10 lies to men when they are cheating. (Note: the males are men while the females are girls.) Even if you have not seen this page on the internet, you still have an opportunity to engage in cultural myth-making vis-à-vis women’s chastity with this week’s Torah portion.
In biblical times, there was a different kind of over-the-top forum for humiliating public disclosure, equally intrusive, but with much higher stakes: the Temple in Jerusalem. Indeed, if you skip ahead to Chapter 5 of Numbers, you can read first-hand of the kind invasive intimidation tactics routinely used to “deal with” women whose husband’s suspected them of marital infidelity.
Because such a spectacle is better seen than described, I have taken the liberty to sketch out this rather involved procedure (see below). Interestingly, the text does not include any kind of formal questioning about the suspected woman’s partner(s). Considering how terrifying and demeaning this whole ritual must have been to the accused woman, one can rather safely assume that the desired effect was that she buckled under pressure and disclosed her tawdry secrets, if, indeed, such secrets existed.
The isha sota (or ‘deviant woman’) episode is disturbing on so many counts; one barely knows where to start working through these issues. If the woman proves innocent, she must resume her marital life with a man who has caused her such shame (if this is the case, the man is expected to give an offering as well—but this is only a gesture to God, not to his wife whom he falsely accused). If she is guilty of the charges, her “stomach distends and her thighs sag.”
Fast-forwarding to the Haftorah (Judges 13:2-25) which accompanies this week’s Torah portion, where we read of Manoach who, interestingly, appears suspicious of his wife when she comes to him and reports that an unnamed man appeared before her when she was out in the field all by herself and announced that she would soon become pregnant. While Manoah’s suspicions do not appear to reach the level of jealousy described in the Torah portion, he does insist on seeing the “man” himself. Particularly interesting with regard to this tale is that the son born to this couple as a result of the aforementioned annunciation is a strapping young fellow whose thunderous passion for the wrong woman leads him to his undoing.
What is to be learned here? One should exercise restrain not only in one’s actions, but also in one’s judgments of others.
Click on thumbnails for full-sized images, a step-by-step instruction on testing your woman:
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Who is holy? How does one become holy? The pursuit and attainment of holiness is the central preoccupation of this week’s double portion.
Not only people, but animals are holy (see Ex. 13.2) and even clothes can be designated as holy (Ex. 28:2). The spaces we inhabit are endowed with a sacred ‘priestly’ quality (see Num. 35:1-34). Consider the way in which a firstborn calf is not to be used for common work, but rather is set aside and consecrated to God. Similarly, the utensils and vessels (Ex. 25:29) used in the Temple were to serve sacred Temple-related purposes only, and the priests’ garments are to be worn only during sacral service. This is the first component of holiness: acknowledgement of a possible material-spiritual union—the belief that material objects and creatures of flesh and blood can, in fact, be imbued with or take on aspects of sanctity that elevate them above the merely mundane.
The second component of holiness as spelled out by this week’s portion is the rejection of all actions and objects that contain properties which oppose holiness–all which is “evil” or “base.” The pursuit of righteousness and attainment of holiness can be accomplished only through the active eschewal and, when necessary, banishment of evil. This theme figures prominently in this week’s double portion, as we are repeatedly told what not to do (and consequently what to do to those who commit these transgressions). The righteous figure is defined by her/his distance from iniquity, as so aptly captured in images of the first Psalm. Thus we see the converse relationship between the first, positive component of holiness and the second, negative component of holiness working together to achieve an idealized, if perhaps unattainable, balance. This daunting task is only further complicated by the divine imperative expressed in Lev. 20:7.
“Be Holy as I am Holy” (Lev. 20:7). With this command, God charges us with the impossible. “As I am Holy”: how can we know how God is holy—let alone imitate this holiness ourselves? Without diving into a bottomless ocean of apophatic conjecturing, the answer actually seems to hover in its very construction. The void in our knowledge of divine sanctity (“As I am holy”), our essential incomprehension of the divine, signals the insuperable distance between God and creation. It is through this striving in imitatio dei that a mortal elevates his material being toward an existence enveloped by holiness. Of course the fundamental impossibility of this proposition cannot be resolved so easily.
In Acharei-Mot Kedoshim the stakes of this relationship (the holy/profane binary) are significantly raised. Whereas in the Ten Commandments, we are told how to act and how not to act, without any attached penalty or reward (the one exception is the 5th commandment, which quickly alludes to a reward). In Acharei-Mot Kedoshim, on the other hand, the prohibition against a rather prodigious litany of possible sinful deeds (Lev. 20:10-11) is punctuated with grave reminders of their devastating consequences (ranging from banishment from the community to immediate death penalty). Importantly, the incentive to eschew evil is, at first, not stated as emphatically in the negative: before the invocation of penalty, we are given concrete positive motivation to act properly (see for example, Lev. 18:5). Many of the regulations found in Leviticus 18 resurface almost verbatim in Leviticus 20, but this time in a slightly more impersonal form. Leviticus 18 addresses the listener directly (“the nakedness of your brother,” etc.), whereas Leviticus 20 tends to revert to the “Ish, ish” construction, roughly equivalent to “if one were to…” Perhaps this gesture also formally represents a ‘divine separation’: the enactment of distance in the face of repeated sin.
Is holiness then merely a matter of pursuing the good and resisting the evil? If we return to the opening of Acharei Mot, we find that even according to the text’s own logic, the world is not that simple. Acharei-Mot picks up where parashat Shmini leaves off, with the untimely demise of Nadav and Avihu, two of Aaron’s sons. Nadav and Avihu died while performing their priestly duties. The text cryptically refers to their offering up an “aysh zarah,” a strange fire. Beyond that, we know little of the circumstances of their deaths. While for many of the commentators, the Nadav and Avihu incident gives way to a field day of apologetics, we must remember that the text itself only hints at wrongdoing, and a minor infraction at that. How are we to understand the suffering of ostensibly well-intentioned, if not exceedingly righteous, people? The very beginning of Acharei-Mot Kedoshim seems to defy flagrantly the otherwise axiomatic quality of divine reward and punishment clearly established throughout the rest of the double-portion. The lack of rationale for their deaths provided back in Parashat Shmini (Lev. 10) is unsettling, and within eight verses, everyone is summoned back to work, business as usual, only to be continued at the outset of Acharei Mot.
In a rare glimpse of emotional interiority, the text describes Aaron as “silent” upon learning of Nadav and Avihu’s deaths (Lev. 10:3). It is entirely possible Nadav and Avihu’s intentions were only good. Aaron, the highest priest of a “nation of priests” finds himself at a loss for words. What can one actually say, after all, in the face of such seemingly random tragedy? So too, in attempting to decipher the Divine and grasp the staggering injustices of our times, we may find ourselves at a loss for words. We may never find those elusive words, but it is upon us to resume the work and discover meaning in its continuing mystery. This is holiness.
(One must imagine Sisyphus happy)
Shabbat shalom.
And this is what is not holy (or at least that from which Leviticus 20 attempts to safeguard us):
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Upon setting out to write this dvar Torah, I had grand visions of talking about the halakhic status of coed toilets. If a woman is ritually unclean, how can other members of her family use the same toilet, for example?
There was going to be a blow-out Foucauldian analysis of the halakhic sources, followed by a lengthy exegesis on Melanie Klein’s partial object; Kohut’s narcissistic transference, and Freud’s paranoia “syllogism” as taken up by Lacan. And then the ground-breaking revelation that we have been/are currently/always will be sinning.
It was going to be fabulous.
Perhaps fortunately for you, Masechet Niddah, Masechet Khullin, and Masechet Keilim (11:2) took me to school. Once again. We can use the same toilet as someone who is ritually unclean because the toilet is “מחובר לקרקע” (it is connected to the ground)—this is the loophole. (For those following at home, this is the same term used in reference to mikvaot, or ritual bath pools). Furthermore, I learned that in our times–i.e. post-Temple times–we are all tamei met already, and thus this is a non-issue.
Now that we’re all breathing comfortably…
I will tell you, instead, about how I first learned about sex. (What does this have to do with tazria metzorah, you ask? Just wait. You’ll see.) More »
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There is no more persuasive a proponent of the coherence and relevance of the Bible than Judy Klitsner in her new (new-ish, I’m a little late on the review here) book, Subversive Sequels in the Bible.
The premise of the book is that when the Bible appears to repeat a story or contradict one narrative with another, it is making a point or offering a new, equally valid read of the same issue or situation.
Subversive Sequels is a remarkably lucid, clear, easy read. Despite being relatively short, it is packed with creative, original, mind-blowing reads of of stories both familiar and obscure. The book will be accessible to any reader, regardless of prior knowledge. For those familiar with the Bible, it will be a refreshing way to revisit familiar territory. For those new to Bible study, it will provide the most engrossing intro possible.
In each of the first five chapters, Klitsner explores a biblical story and in the second half of the chapter explores a second story, which serves as a subversive sequel to the first.
In my favorite example, Klitsner explores the Tower of Babel. Her conclusion, the same reached by many classical commentators, whom she consults quite a bit, is that the sin in Babel was the oppression of the nameless citizens of Babel. Closely examining narrative styles, specific words and phrases, Klitsner demonstrates pretty convincingly that the story of Israelite slavery in Egypt is a subversive sequel to Babel. In Babel, God acts to end the oppression. Through the example of the remarkably named midwives (compare with the completely unnamed citizen-slaves of Babel), the sequel encourages us to take matters into our own hands and act to end our own oppression.
The book is pretty much the greatest thing ever. So go read it. It’s gonna make you say “Wow!” more times a day than you’d expect.
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Parashat Shemot is packed with action: the old Pharaoh, the new Pharaoh, the persecution of the Jews in Egypt, the killing of the Jewish baby boys, Pharaoh’s daughter’s adoption of Moses, Moses’ attempts at refereeing between warring factions, Moses retreat into the wilderness, the beginning of Moses’ family, Moses’ encounter with God at the burning bush, and much more.
Instead of attempting to address all of these different strands of narrative, I would like to fast-forward to the end of this week’s portion, in which God speaks to Moses, apparently from a burning bush (Exodus 3:2-4:17). The dialogue here is a bit strange: first God summons Moses by calling out his name twice, and Moses responds, “הנני,” here I am. This snippet of dialogue recalls an exchange between God and Abraham in Genesis 22:11: ” ויאמר אברהם אברהם ויאמר הנני” God then continues, informing Moses that the earth upon which he stands is holy. God proceeds to instruct Moses to appear before Pharaoh and take the children of Israel out of Egypt.
Despite witnessing an impressive visual display and briefly even seeing the very face of God (Ex. 3:6), Moses’ seemingly humble response reveals a hidden skepticism. Upon experiencing such an overwhelmingly powerful theophany, how could the young prophet challenge God’s word?
Moses’ skepticism and reluctance persists. He asks God how he is supposed to convince Israel of the legitimacy of his mission. After uttering a very cryptic “proof” “אהיה אשר אהיה” (I am that I am), God then explicitly spells out the practical mechanics of this Exodus.
Moses, however, remains unconvinced (Ex. 4:1): what if they do not believe me and don’t listen to me? It is at this point, that God empties the divine magic bag and arms Moses with a few tricks that are sure to dispel any doubts of his legitimacy as a prophet.
Amazingly, even these magical acts were not enough to inspire confidence in the young run-away. Moses then concedes to his lack of rhetorical finesse (interpreted in multiple ways by the commentators), “I am not a man of words.” God attempts to allay Moses’ fears by reminding Moses that as God’s agent, he will have the strength of full Divine power supporting him. Yet this was not enough. Moses begs for an intermediary to speak on his behalf. At this point, the text describes God as becoming quite angry, but agreeing to send Aaron to speak for him.
Unlike any prophet or Biblical character before him, Moses stands in dialogue with God and argues aggressively. And even more impressively, God respects him all the more for it. In this way, we can view the Pentateuch as a developing narrative of active questioning and argumentation. The first character to be addressed by God is Adam. God asks Adam “where are you,” to which Adam seemingly remains silent (conceivably out of fear) and is summarily punished. The first major character to “bargain” with God is Abraham, when he cautiously interceded on behalf of the few righteous people of Sodom and Gomorrah—and succeeded!
Moses’ intercessions are more emphatic. Later in this narrative (for example Numbers 14:11-24) God threatens to wipe out the whole of Israel save Moses and his family, and Moses actively objects to this plan. Indeed, according to this narrative, it’s only thanks to Moses that the Jews survived.
In view of this trajectory, one understands why the five books conclude with the death of this dynamic and assertive leader. Never again was there a prophet such as Moses (Deuteronomy 34:10). Thus, the five books open with Adam (although the etymology of his name is never explained within the text itself, one can safely assume this name is derived from adama, earth)—a passive figure who literally does not answer, and builds to end with Moses (named such by Pharaoh’s daughter because he was drawn from the water (Ex. 2:11))—who, despite his claim that he is not a “man of words” is arguably the most vociferous, outspoken, and unfearing figure in the entire Bible. Such is the nature of our world: we are all composed of different elements, both material and spiritual. Adam the reticent represents the elements of Earth and Air (the spirit of life was breathed into his nostrils), whereas Moses, the bold debater, represents Water and Fire (the burning bush). While we cannot exist without this continued balance, the progression of Jewish prophecy seems to suggest that the more elevated the person, the more complicated the questions.
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from Guestposter Soferet Avielah Barclay
New York City’s underground fashion’s latest darling, bad-boy wild child Levi Okunov, is dressing women up as Torahs.
Now, I’m not the smartest person in the world. Sometimes it takes me a while to fully get an idea. I need time to process so I can fully appreciate the impact of a situation or an event. But not with this. This I got right away. Just not in the way you think.
For a little background, please see Jay Michaelson’s Jewcy article and this 1:22 minute film on YouTube.
Okay, it’s interesting – sort of. As for his actual auto-didactic fashion designs, nothing special there. It’s a bit of a simplistic rebellion, and therefore boring. And empowering the Torah as a focus of fetish (in the religious or veneration-of-the-animal sense) is not new, as Michaelson’s article pointed out. Neither is heresy new – nor necessarily offensive or threatening. “Heresy”, after all, is just a Greek word for “choice”.
More »
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Remember when Jay Michaelson declared the death of “Jewish Hipster Cool” in Sh’ma almost two years ago? (The article is old enough that it’s fallen off the bottom of Sh’ma’s own online archives.) Well, apparently nobody told D. G. Myers of Texas A&M (that bastion of Jewish thought), who writes in the latest Commentary a rant against “The Judaism Rebooters” that inspires among us, the accused, nostalgia more than anything else.
The article came to our attention — and here I use “our” to really mean the Jewschool contributors collectively — about a week and a half ago when David A. M. Wilensky forwarded around a brief blurb from Tablet about the article. He titled his e-mail to us “Someone has to have something to say about this.”
It turns out, many of us had something to say, but none of us had much to say… but I’m getting ahead of myself. Read on. More »
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Now we’re talking. Just in time for your Shavuot Night Torah Study, the American Jewish World Service has launched On1Foot.org, a user-editable repository of social justice-oriented texts from Jewish tradition.
If you were wondering where in the Jerusalem Talmud is the original source for the dictum “one who saves a single life has saved the world entire”, a simple search yields Sanhedrin 4:22.
If you’re looking for a well-spoken prophet of antiquity who railed against the exploitation of the poor — Amos pops up with some choice words.
If you are curious what statement was made by some Jewish leaders arrested working for civil rights in Florida in 1964, you can read a passage from it here.
It’s a veritable wiki-concordance of “tikkun olam”! Here is how it is described in an announcement from AJWS:
On1Foot is an online, open source database of Jewish social justice texts. We invite you to visit On1Foot to explore this exciting new resource for Jewish social justice education.
On1Foot allows users to:
- Search and browse hundreds of biblical, rabbinic and contemporary Jewish texts about social justice
- Upload new texts
- Comment on existing texts
- Create custom source sheets using the texts and suggested discussion questions
On1Foot is a project of American Jewish World Service and is co-sponsored by AVODAH: The Jewish Service Corps, Hazon, Tzedek, Mechon Hadar and Uri L’Tzedek.
As we say down here in the District: Happy learning!
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Dear Readers,
Jews, as you may have gathered, often have opinions. And it is my opinion that certain ideas in circulation have gotten so warped through vapid repetition that they have entered the domain of lies. Yes, you heard me. LIES.
We, as a people, value education and text. So, in the coming weeks, I am embarking on an occasional series here at Jewschool entitled Lies We Were Taught in Hebrew School. I will be attacking, head-on, the sorts of alleged truisms that get repeated and repeated so often that they have become utterly divorced from anything resembling truth. It is my hope that by debunking some of these commonly-propagated myths, we can elevate our discussions with knowledge, rather than resort to pithy aphorisms.
“What,” you may be asking, “is he talking about?” Well, dear readers, I’ll give you some examples. The first post in this series is entitled 613 is a Meaningless Number. Bold? Absolutely. An overstatement? Perhaps. But are you intrigued? Read on.
More »
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The following is from AJWS:
AJWS is pleased to announce that we are accepting applications for the Dvar Tzedek Lisa Goldberg Memorial Writers’ Fellowship for 5770 / 2009-2010. AJWS Dvar Tzedek Fellows receive a modest stipend and write weekly Torah commentaries relating to the Jewish imperative for social justice. The Dvar Tzedek currently reaches over 4,000 people a week over e-mail.
To see examples of the work of this year’s Dvar Tzedek commentaries, and to download the application for the fellowship, please visit www.ajws.org/parshah.
We invite you to apply for the fellowship and to circulate information about the fellowship to anyone else you think would be interested. For more information, please contact Lisa Exler at lexler@ajws.org.
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Exactly 28 years ago, the Lubavitcher rebbe Menachem Schneerson, advising energy independence. Maybe he was a little prophetic after all…
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Yonah Lavery up in Toronto has created a whole series of comix based on (and generally pretty faithful to) Tractate Brachot.
She’s got a bunch of the better-known stories, like when Bruria gives R. Meir the smackdown for praying for the wrong thing and R. Elezar Ben Azaria’s election to head of the Sanhedrin and God’s tefillin, but also some of the, uh, quirkier moments in the tractate, like some of the business with rooster cursings and (a personal favorite) the recipe for seeing demons that involves cat placenta. Also, I love this illustration alluding to the death of Bruria.
It’s pretty awesome. Go check it out here.
(ETA: There’s some great miscellany on the site, too, like this amazing portrait of Kafka. Go root around.)
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Rabbi Joshua Levine Grater is the spiritual leader of the Pasadena Jewish Temple and Center in Pasadena, CA. He serves as National Secretary of Brit Tzedek V’shalom, the largest grassroots Middle East Peace organization in the country.
In every generation, if we are lucky, there rises to the top of our collective human existence, a voice; a voice that captivates us, motivates us, inspires us and moves us toward the greater good; a voice that calls on us to hear the Divine angels inside of us and love one another, care for one another, treat one another with dignity, compassion, respect and equality; this voice cries out from the wilderness of our lost humanity, and calls us back to the central focus of our existence: to create a world of peace, justice and fairness for all. We listen for these voices; we need this voices. This weekend we honor two great voices of our recent generation, voices that started alone, each strong, unique, and purposeful, yet in the end, found harmony together for a short period, joining with a chorus of other great figures, calling for justice and peace in their time. Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, whose yartzheit, the anniversary of his death, we observed this past week, and Rev. Martin Luther King, whose birthday we observe this coming week, were such voices. These were voices that changed hearts, moved minds, and created a pathway of hope for the next generation; what we have done with that pathway is a mixed bag, and we will examine both sides of the bag a bit in this short exposition.
To state the obvious: Tuesday’s inauguration is a ringing success for the work of Dr. King, and our country should be proud and in awe of the progress we have achieved as a nation to see an African American be sworn in as president. More »
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