This amazing post was written by a friend of Jewschool.
You may know Oliver and Abigail, the Social Justice Tourists. They swoop into a deprived area, get their hands dirty for a week, and then fly home feeling all good about themselves.
This is a post about spiritual tourism and the Ninth of Av. More »
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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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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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I just wrote a post about a thing that looks like a scribal error in this week’s parsha, and it’s jolly interesting and educational, so of course you want to read it.
It’s got some Hebrew words in it (with English translation), because if I’m talking about scribal errors in a Hebrew text it’s more or less advisable to have the Hebrew in sight. But I can’t seem to post here with Hebrew (er, what?) so to read it you’ll have to clicky through to my blog, which has the whole thing. Sorry ’bout that.
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From this week’s Forward:
While the Jewish community is energetic about replying to perceived slurs against Jews or the State of Israel, we are remarkably passive when it comes to answering insults against our religion or our God.
Seems like a workable presmise.
The article first take on the athiests, Sam Harris, Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens. So far we’re good. There’s a bit about apologists and The Guide for the Perplexed:
In fact, the Mishnah makes it every Jew’s obligation to be an effective apologist, an obligation that most of us ignore nowadays: “Know how to answer an unbeliever†(Pirke Avot 2:14) — with the word for unbeliever being apikorus, a follower of Epicurus, the Greek philosopher.
Epicurus is known as a primary exponent of materialism, the belief that material reality is all there is in the universe. And materialism happens to be one of the most serious challenges that religion is up against today.
Right on! Then things take a turn:
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The current issue of Shma: A Journal of Jewish Social Responsibility is all about charismatic leadership–a crucial issue with which the Jewish community hasn’t yet begun to grapple in any sort of substantive way.
. When we support a charismatic teacher in the belief that he alone is needed to be a teacher of Torah, we support the very hubris that allowed that teacher to confuse himself for the object of love. Only by abdicating his role can the charismatic rabbi who has violated sexual boundaries begin the work of teshuvah. The rabbi’s professional history must remain transparent in future employment searches, and he must do work where his history has little potential to have traumatizing effects. There is good work that rabbis can do without the title rabbi. Just as an alcoholic should forever avoid strong drink, it is precisely because the rabbinate and teaching are erotic businesses that healing from abusive behavior is signaled by leaving the profession — humbly and for good.
–Lori Hope Lefkowitz
Some of its content is online, but it’s worth tracking down a copy of the print journal to see the whole issue. Link here.
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Nothing says haredi Judaism like thousands of men packed in a room talking about what women need to do, does it?
A huge, married-men-only conference on modesty was held a week-plus ago to discuss the necessity of buckling down on dress codes for women and girls. As far as the article indicates, male modesty and/or a more broadly defined modesty as humility and care for the other (see Rambam’s Hilchot Deot Ch. 5) were not discussed.
Ynet reports that one of the speakers said, for example,
“One of our generations biggest obstacles is tight clothing… each and every one of us must stand guard and make sure his wife and daughters’ clothing are modest, both in how much they cover the body and how they are worn. 
The details of what that might mean were, not surprisingly, enumerated. (Note the injunction against too-long wigs.) This list, below, makes me want to remind everybody that we were all (“male and female”) created b’tzelem Elokim, and that our female tzelemim in their naked state were pretty OK for God in Eden. Which is not to say that I think that we should walk around nekkid now, and I do believe that there are more and less appropriate ways of dressing in various contexts, but I do take exception to the implication that the shape in which I was created is a source of shame and that I should walk around making sure that the “form of my body” is hidden at all times.
Shirts, skirts, sweaters and the like should be loose enough that the form of the body is not seen….
Shirts should be at least 10 centimeters longer than the edge of the waistline on the skirt, in such a way that they would cover the skin in any movement. The collar should be appropriately closed. Sleeves should cover the elbows at any movement. Any fabrics that cling to the body such as spandex, tricot, and the like are prohibited.
Skirts should began at the waist and end at the middle of the leg, and as mentioned, should be loose and not of clinging fabric. Wigs must not be too long or in models that have been prohibited.
The one woman that they quoted used the tagline of the recent modesty handbook Oz Hadar Velevusha (which is replete with debates about the permissibility of patterned tights and the like) –“Just as the Torah is most important to men, so is modesty for women.â€
I have never understood this. Torah isn’t important for women? Even if this was intended to mean “Torah study,” it still sounds awful. Men get God’s 613 commandments and a book describing the covenant between God and Israel, and women get implored to make sure shirts are at least 10 centimeteres longer than their waistlines?
(Rabbi Yehudah Henkin observes, “This ideology prohibits a woman from standing out—and from being outstanding. She must not act in a play, paint a mural, play an instrument or otherwise demonstrate special skills in front of men, lest she attract attention and her movements excite them.â€)
Interestingly, Tamar, the woman quoted, also used some incorrect history when implying that feminism, in its way, has caused some of this problem:
“That is to say, there was a time when there were less influences. The haredi world was much less opened. Today the world has evolved; many women are educated and work outside the home, and study in places they didn’t used to, like computers or interior designâ€.
She’s probably right that women’s education and increased work opportunities have created somewhat of a crisis, as more women today encounter more of non-haredi culture. However: Jewish women have worked outside of the home for centuries, in many different cultures. The question of what to do about the cultural meetings that resulted have been addressed in many different places in many different ways. One of them is here and now, I suppose.
In any case. Full story here. An article from JOFA on modesty issues, here.
(X-posted to Jerusalem Syndrome)
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I just put up a little musing on the problematic theology of the Unetane Tokef on Jerusalem Syndrome. If you’re interested, feel free to check it out here.
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We spend a lot of time on this blog debating what Judaism and being Jewish means to us.  Or at least, what it could or should mean. To you. But the Godol Hador of the JBlogs asks a foundation question: Is there anything to this whole Judaism thing? Can you prove it?
He questions the common “proofs” for Judaism. In fact, he disputes eleven categories of “proofs” in summary form, conceding that though he spent
…many months arguing with the skeptics, and writing mega chizuk posts which contained all sorts of arguments proving Judaism and the existence of God[...]Â ultimately I found my opponents arguments more convincing than my own.
On the bright side, he concludes that the sum of some of these “proofs” may offer at least theological comparative advantage. Which is really all most of us outside the Haredi world believe anyway. Â
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