Okay, So I Lied

I just learned about the New English Translation of the Septuagint series from PaleoJudaica. This will be the greatest publication since Bernard Taylor's Analytical Dictionary of the Septuagint. (Translation: My Greek sucks.) In the meantime, there's Perseus.

I'm going to get back to writing my paper now.

Taking a Break

After this brief burst of blog and livejournal activity, I am going to take a little break to write a paper. I'll be back in December.

Bombs and Brimstone

What do you do when someone seriously -- and repeatedly -- advocates genocide at your table? I've blogged about this sort of thing before, but when it came up, I barely said anything at all. In part, this was because I was sitting all the way at the other end of the table (there were 9 of us), and I didn't feel like yelling. It was also in part because arguing seemed unnecessary. Everyone else was protesting, and the guy obviously wasn't going to change his mind.

On the other hand, it was my home. DH was mostly silent as well, and this bothered him. He told me later that he should have mentioned the Torah portion, in which God declares that he won't destroy Sodom if there are as many as ten innocents in the city. But that raises the question of whether we can legitimately discuss, in this sort of context, the "Torah perspective" on genocide. It isn't wrong because the Torah seems to imply that it's wrong (or at least, because it seemed to imply that last week). It isn't wrong because, as a rabbi I know once said, no major poskim [legal authorities] have permitted it. It is simply wrong -- deeply, morally, unquestionably wrong -- to murder noncombatants. I'm sure our guest realized this when he read the horrible news from Tel Aviv this morning. How is killing Palestinian civilians any different?

But here I am trying to make a rational argument again, on a subject that doesn't deserve to be granted this degree of legitimacy. So back to the practical end of things: what should we have done? Should we have risen in righteous indignation and refused to serve the next course until he recanted? Should we have shown him the door? Or should we simply have changed the subject?

Mom's Latest Book Design

An animated ad for Yiddish with Dick and Jane. (Gevalt!)

Cheeeeeeeeeeeese!

This may seem like a lame topic to choose after a month of not blogging, but it's important to me. Cabot cheeses certified kosher by Tablet-K now bear the Tablet-K symbol on their packages, so we won't have to request a copy of their certificate every year. More importantly, Cabot sharp and extra-sharp cheddars are now kosher. (The extra-sharp cheddar is fantastic.) Most Cabot cheeses are also certified Halal, and the rennet used at the Cabot plant is certified by the American Vegetarian Society. (No, they're not paying me for this.)

A recent comment thread on Kosherblog suggested that Cabot bar cheeses may at some point be certified by the more widely-accepted OU. It looks to me like the process is being held up for strictly financial reasons, but of course, one can never be sure.

Yom Kippur Post-Mortem

I wanted to provide an update on our plans for Yom Kippur services before they actually happened, but things got a little bit crazy, and then they kind of stayed that way. On the whole, services went pretty well. Many thanks to those of you who suggested sources for readings. Special thanks to Rachel Barenblat, who provided an original poem entitled "Kol Nidre," which we used. I'd also like to thank Brother-in-Law if he is reading this. He worked very hard to make these services happen.

I led the kol nidre/ ma'ariv service,* which was held in the Moot Court [insert sarcastic comment here]. I could have done better, but I certainly could have done worse. The remaining services took place in the Hillel building. DH lead shacharit and neilah, I lead mussaf, and Brother-in-Law lead mincha, both before kol nidre and before ne'ilah. Pesukei d'zimra was (were?) lead by a local student. Other students read the Torah portion and the haftarah.

Planning the service was actually a lot of fun. We had to use the Birnbaum machzor, an Orthodox prayerbook published in 1951, and we wanted to adjust the service for our community without creating too much confusion. We referred to four other machzors for guidance: the Conservative Silverman machzor, published in the 1948, the Conservative Harlow machzor, published in 1972, the Reform machzor, called Gates of Repentance,** and the infamous Artscroll, the Orthodox machzor du jour. None of these alone would have been quite right for our purposes. For starters, none uses inclusive language or accommodates a female shlichat tsibbur. Gates of Repentance and Harlow preserve too little of the traditional text; Artscroll and Birnbaum preserve too much. Birnbaum and Silverman have positively awful translations. Only Artscroll has a complete set of instructions. Here's a little summary of the various ways in which we attempted to deal with these issues:

Piyyutim: Traditional High Holy Day prayerbooks are full of medieval liturgical poems, or piyyutim. These accumulated gradually over the centuries, and different communities used different selections of poems. Phillip Birnbaum and Rabbis Scherman and Zlotowitz (otherwise known as Rav Scroll) edited their respective machzors with the apparent intention of including every piyyut ever written. I'm all for comprehensiveness, but reciting every piyyut in either Orthodox machzor is a bit silly. Some of the piyyutim are in fairly difficult Hebrew, and even those that aren't are difficult to grasp when you're ripping through them at breakneck speed. Our rule of thumb was to omit piyyutim that don't appear in Silverman and to replace a number of the remaining piyyutim with English readings on similar themes. We used one reading from Gates of Repentance, a few from Harlow, and a few from S. Y. Agnon's Days of Awe.

Slichot: Each of the five Yom Kippur services contains a version of slichot, a set of confessions and prayers for forgiveness. The extended versions recited during ma'ariv, mussaf, and ne'ilah include a string of piyyutim surrounding a refrain centered on the "thirteen attributes" of Divine mercy. Artscroll and Birnbaum repeat the refrain seven times in each set of slichot. Harlow and Silverman have it recited once. We decided to repeat the refrain three times, following the custom in our home community. Some of the piyyutim were replaced by English readings.

Avodah: The mussaf service includes a recitation/ partial reenactment of the Temple service for Yom Kippur. In Ashkenazic tradition, the avodah takes the form of a lengthy and difficult piyyut. (I am told that Sephardim use a piyyut that is considerably easier to understand.) Rabbi Harlow had the brilliant idea of replacing the piyyut with a reading consisting primarily of selections from the mishnah on which the piyyut is based. We used his version, reading most of it in English, but switching to Hebrew for the confessions of the High Priest and the prostrations.

Martyrology: The avodah is traditionally followed by a piyyut relating the (largely apocryphal) tale of the death of ten sages at the hands of a Roman emperor. The practice of reading the martyrology at this point is rooted in the (somewhat disturbing) idea that since the destruction of the Temple, Jews attain atonement through the "blood of the righteous." Naomi Chana suggested reading the midrash on which the piyyut was based instead of the poem itself, and she recommended the translation in Stern and Mirsky's Rabbinic Fantasies. I had never read the midrash before this year, so I am very grateful for the recommendation. It is a fascinating, theologically complex piece that certainly deserves to be read in its entirety, as Naomi Chana suggested. However, the midrash is quite a bit longer than the piyyut, and the martyrology is not supposed to be the centerpiece of the mussaf service. We included the entire midrash in our source packets, but we did not read it all aloud.

Additional Readings: None of us is very good at public speaking (although we were fortunate enough to have a student present who was willing to speak briefly before mincha and ne'ilah). In place of a Kol Nidre sermon, we recited Rachel Barenblat's poem. We included a reading from Harlow on fear of sin to get people into the mood for the u'netane tokef prayer, and we read a story from Days of Awe before ne'ilah.

Egalitarianism: I have a few things to say about this, but not right now.

Okay, folks, it's almost Sukkot. We're going to visit the in-laws in New York, and I have to pack. Chag Sameach.

* Here is some basic information on Yom Kippur and its liturgy. It includes definitions of several of the terms that I use in this post. Others are defined here.
** We also referred to the British version, Gate of Repentance, which is more or less the same.

My Jihad Against Idiocy

From Roland Merullo's impressively unenlightening column on liberals and conservatives in today's Globe:

I began to form the impression then that the conservative mindset springs from what, for lack of a better term, might best be described as an Old Testament world view: Life is harsh, God is angry, enemies ought to be treated without mercy. An eye for an eye. There is good and there is evil, and the distinction between them is as clear as the line between sin and righteousness.

This is not the first column I've read that uses "Old Testament" as shorthand for "cruel, violent, and unenlightened." I find this usage offensive, not only because it misrepresents the Hebrew Bible, but because it slights those of us who regard the "Old Testament" as scripture and aren't so morally and theologically simplistic.

Meanwhile, "jihad" has replaced "crusade" as the favored metaphor for overly zealous, often foolish and destructive endeavors. "Crusade," of course, can be used in a positive sense as well. But when was the last time you heard of a "jihad" for the environment or civil rights?

There are, admittedly, Muslims who make "jihad" seem like a pretty awful concept, and they've managed to call a lot of attention to themselves. Christian fundamentalists (l'havdil?) are also pretty high profile. That doesn't make it acceptable for columnists to use words like "jihad" and phrases like "Old Testament world view" without the foggiest notion of what they're talking about.

Am I being petty?

Flourless Honey Pecan Cake

My gluten-free, three-ingredient Rosh HaShana dessert worked out, and now that I'm not starving, I can share the recipe. It's good for Passover, too.

Ingredients:
3 eggs, separated
3/4 cup honey
12 oz. pecans, finely ground

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Grease an 8-inch pan (nonstick spray is perfect) and sprinkle with corn starch, potato starch, or confectioners' sugar. Set aside.

Beat egg whites until they form soft peaks. In a separate bowl, combine yolks, honey, and pecans. Fold in whites. Pour into prepared pan.

Bake in preheated oven about 40 minutes, or until golden brown and firm. Cool before removing from pan.

Funky Grammatical Issues

For those who haven't figured this out yet, apikursus is an Aramaicized Greek word in its Ashkenazic (Eastern/ Central European Jewish) form. In Jewspeak, it means "heresy." An apikoris is a heretic, which, I suppose, is what I am, but I haven't been able to figure out what the correct feminine form of the noun would be. Imshin suggests epikorsit, which, as she concedes, is a (modern Israeli) Hebraicism. Opinions?

Words of Torah

Before beginning, I'd like to request forgiveness from any of my readers whom I've hurt, offended, mislead, misrepresented, etc. I will try to use this medium responsibly in the future. I wish everyone a sweet new year and a gmar chatima tova.* To all who will be observing Tsom Gedalia tomorrow, I wish an easy fast.

Now, to the point: I'm not very good at giving divrei torah (sermons, essentially). Shiurim (study sessions), I can do. I am always pleased to be asked to teach a mishna on Shabbat morning. But ten-minute speeches on the Torah portion can be really tough. How am I supposed to engage the text and make a point that's religiously meaningful to contemporary Jews in that amount of time?

My particular problem is that I feel the need to present the peshat, or plain meaning, of the text as I understand it. I have no problem with midrash, medieval exegesis, or modern Jewish philosophy. The Torah can be interpreted in many different, interesting, and (I concede) legitimate ways.** But my way is to start with peshat, which for me means interpreting the Torah as an ancient Near Eastern document. Other approaches make me uncomfortable, at least when I'm the one speaking.

I do believe that studying the Bible in its original context can yield insights that are meaningful to contemporary Jews and Christians. However, this approach is not conducive to producing sound bites. Speaking on the High Holy Days is particularly challenging, since I am not addressing the usual Jewishly literate crowd. No, I'm addressing the usual Jewishly literate crowd plus about 100 others. Their conception of Judaism may actually be affected by what I say. To make matters worse, these people are smart. I can't talk down to them. They won't tolerate logical leaps. It's horrible.

I shared these concerns with a friend, after having written a speech for the second day of Rosh Hashanah with at least two glaring logical disjunctions. She said, people will have other things on their minds. They won't be worrying about whether the d'var torah hangs together. I should be thinking about keeping their attention, making a point, and wrapping it up before they drift off.

So that's what I tried to do. I made a few jokes, glossed over the leaps of logic, and escaped the bima as soon as possible. My basic point (in case you're curious) was that the story of the binding of Isaac isn't fundamentally about obeying God even if it seems immoral, but about obeying Him even if it hurts terribly. There were a few references to Levenson's Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son, and I managed to stuff in a quote from Micah and a few lines about gemilut chassadim, "sacrifices" that benefit our fellow human beings. A few Jewish education types seem to have genuinely liked it, and I didn't notice anyone averting their eyes from me afterward, so I guess it went okay. I got some practice speaking before a large audience, and discovered (yet again) that I could use a lot more practice. I also learned (yet again) the Number One Rule of d'var torah delivery: keep it short, and people with thank you.

* I don't know how to translate this phrase. It expresses the wish that God evaluate the listener (or reader) positively and reward him or her with a happy year. The theory behind the saying is that God issues something along the lines of mid-term evaluations on Rosh Hashanah and determines our final grades on Yom Kippur. I guess I don't mean it literally.

** See the VR's sermon on the Binding of Isaac (which is much more polished than mine).

(I hope Naomi Chana doesn't mind that I've been using her footnoting technique.)

In Defense of Agnosticism

While browsing Kol Nidrei sermons on the web, I came across this very unusual drash, delivered by Rabbi Ethan Seidel in 2002. 2001 was a difficult year for Rabbi Seigel, as it was for most of us. Aside from the September 11th attack, he endured the death of a friend, and this precipitated what he describes as "theological depression."

I don't mean to make light of clinical depression - that's serious business, and my condition was just not that serious. But for a Rabbi, at least, a theological depression is a problem. I'm paid to believe in God. If I'm suddenly convinced that all is chaos, how is that helpful to my congregation?

Rabbi Seidel relates some of the thoughts that plagued him during this period, thoughts that are very familiar to me. Then he gives us his reason for self-disclosure, and it's one of those simple truths, the kind that is as shocking as it is obvious:

I wonder if you all realize how common such a theological crisis is, even among us Rabbis? Maybe you think that there are some people who have perfect faith, and that you with your imperfect faith are somehow a defective Jew. I'm here to tell you not to think that.

It gets even more outrageous:

I think that there is something pareve, even unhealthy about both the atheist and the fundamentalist. How can they be so sure of themselves? They live in a world where everything is known. But is that 2-dimensional world reality? I ask the atheist: is goodness really just a human invention, just a matter of opinion? And how can the fundamentalist ignore the chaos that seems to permeate the world? Reality is incomprehensible. And I mistrust . . . those who claim to understand life.

There is, admittedly, a certain arrogance to this approach. How can he be so sure of himself? How can he declare something that others claim to know to be fundametally unknowable?

But I understand. I think that way, too.

Anyway, it's a good read. Somewhat comforting, if you're one of those Jews who struggles privately with the fundamentals.

Belated Arrival Day Post

The Head Heeb has asked his fellow bloggers to contribute their thoughts on the future of American Judaism in honor of Arrival Day, the 350th anniversary of the arrival of the first Jews in New Amsterdam. I've been trying not to spend too much time on the internet lately, but I'd like to add my two cents before it's really too late. In brief:

The American Jewish community is more religiously diverse today than it has ever been. We have Ashkenazim and Sephardim, Chassidim and so-called Mitnagdim, Conservative Jews, Reform Jews, Reconstructionist Jews, Humanist Jews, pagan Jews and Bu-Jews. Frumster lists over ten varieties of Orthodoxy, ranging from "Black Hat Yeshivish" to "Flexidox." Perhaps as a consequence of this ridiculous proliferation of labels, an increasing number of American Jews are choosing not to affiliate with any "denomination." Our generation has seen the birth of "non-denominational" congregations, day schools, and rabbinical schools. These are institutions that, though they may have their own philosophies, do not accept the authority of external organizations. They tend to promote the idea that we have a responsibility to educate ourselves, and, ultimately, to decide what Judaism means to each of us. Jewish identity and practice are viewed in very personal terms.

There can be no doubt that the current conflict with radical Islam will influence the development of American Judaism. We may see a shift away from the idea of personal autonomy and toward a more conservative, ethnocentric, nationalist approach to religion. We may see a revival of the fight against intermarriage, a new interest in conversion, and increased emphasis on aliya (moving to Israel) as a Jewish ideal. The trend toward ever-increasing diversity may reverse, as Jews seek refuge from adversity in a more unified, clearly defined religious identity.

Whether or not these changes occur will depend both on events in the Muslim world and on how the United States chooses to manage its relationship with Israel. Either way, I am relatively certain of one thing. The terms "Orthodox," "Conservative," and "Reform," which defined American Judaism for so long, are well on their way to becoming entirely meaningless. We will have to continue to find new ways of articulating who we are and what we believe.

Who's Being Untsniusdik Now?

I wonder what Rav Shachter was thinking last night when Rebbetzin Jungreis delivered a "benediction" before the entire Republican National Convention. He was probably proud to see an Orthodox Jew standing up for the president. For some reason, modesty is only an issue in Orthodox settings. Keep women behind a curtain in shul, and the rest of their lives is irrelevant.

I suppose one should be grateful for small things.

Update: Simcha says:

Don't be silly. Rebbetzin Jungreis has been condemned for years for precisely this issue. She is persona non-grata in many places in the yeshiva world. But you wouldn't know that from reading The Jewish Press.

All right, then. I was trying to give Rav Shachter the benefit of the doubt. Frankly, I'd prefer a little hypocrisy to what is apparently "centrist" Orthodoxy's actual attitude toward women in public roles.

What can you do.

Shabbat Dinner Preview

We discovered that we were having a vegetarian over for dinner after we'd decided to make chicken. We needed a parve, vegetarian side dish with whole protein, so I decided to make mengedarrah, but I dressed it up a bit for Shabbos. While the onions were cooking, I added two teaspoons each of ground cumin, coriander, paprika, cinnamon, and ginger. I just tasted it, and I am very pleased.

By the way, you do need to add an additional 1/4 cup of water if you're using brown rice. It should take 40-45 minutes to cook, but check on it after 30.

In Which I Finally Convince the World that I Have Exchanged Judaism for Tiflus

In another venue, I mentioned that I've been idly composing liturgy for a same-sex wedding/commitment ceremony for no one in particular. Andrea asked to see it, at which point I decided that I may as well "come out of the closet" on this issue. Yes, I am a silly, empty-headed liberal Jew with the audacity to make up blessings. Sue me.

Now that that's over with, some background:

A halakhik wedding ceremony consists of two components, ארוסין or קדושין and נשואין. Combined, these procedures change a woman's sexual status from "forbidden to all men" to "permitted to her husband." Of course, this is not the ultimate essence of marriage, but it is its halakhik essence, and that is reflected in the blessing that accompanies ארוסין.

I believe that there are halakhik grounds for permitting sexual relationships between two men or two women, but, short of a rabbinic edict (which is impractical for a variety of reasons), there is no way to effect the sort of status change that takes place in a Jewish heterosexual wedding. Therefore, the terms ארוסין, קדושין, and נשואין are inappropriate in this context, as is the blessing traditionally recited over ארוסין. I see no problem, however, with applying the English terms, "marriage," "wedding," "bride," and "groom," or the Hebrew terms חתן and כלה (groom and bride). These terms are of primarily cultural, rather than halakhik, significance, and the concepts that we associate with them are perfectly applicable to same-sex unions.

I have heard that Rachel Adler, in Engendering Judaism (which I have yet to read), proposes a union ceremony that has the halakhik function of merging two people's property. This seems to me like about the right idea. Ideally, the procedure would involve an exchange of rings, which, in my understanding, it very well could.

The bit that I've been working on (if you can call it "working,") is a version of the "Seven Blessings" (שבע ברכות), which are traditionally recited as part of the נשואין ceremony and at meals througout the following week. My goal was to change as little as possible while ensuring that blessings be appropriate for this new context. Below are the blessings, in Hebrew and English, followed by explanations of the changes. (My translation is heavily influenced by Adler's.)

ברוך אתה ה אלוקינו מלך העולם שהכל ברא לכבודו.

1. Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who created everything for your glory.

ברוך אתה ה אלקינו מלך העולם יוצר האדם.

2. Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, shaper of humanity.

ברוך אתה ה אלקינו מלך העולם אשר יצר את האדם בצלמו, בצלם אלקים ברא אותו, זכר ונקבה ברא אותם. ברוך אתה ה יוצר האדם.

3. Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who has shaped human beings in Your image, creating male and female. Blessed are You, Lord, shaper of humainity.

.שוש תשיש ותגל העקרה, בקבוץ בניה לתוכה בשמחה. ברוך אתה ה משמח ציון בבניה.

4. May the barren one exult and be glad as her children are joyfully gathered to her. Blessed are You, Lord, who gladdens Zion with her children.

שמח תשמח רעים האהובים, כשמחך יצירך בגן עדן מקדם. ברוך אתה ה משמח רעים אהובים.

5. Grant great joy to these loving companions as You once gladdened your creations in the Garden of Eden. Blessed are You, Lord, who gladdens loving companions.

ברוך אתה ה אלקינו מלך העולם אשר ברא ששון ושמחה, חתן וכלה, גילה, רינה, דיצה וחדוה, אהבה ואחוה ושלום ורעות. מהרה ה אלקינו ישמע בערי יהודה ובחוצות ירושלים קול ששון וקול שמחה, קול חתן וקול כלה, קול מצהלות חתנים מחפתם
ונערים ממשתה נגינתם. ברוך אתה ה משמח רעים אהובים.

6. Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who created joy and gladness, groom and bride, merriment, song, dance and delight, love and harmony, peace and companionship. Lord our God, may there soon be heard in the cities of Judah and in the streets of Jerusalem the voice of joy and the voice of gladness, the voice of the bridegroom and the voice of the bride, the rapturous voices of the wedded from the bridal chambers, and of young people feasting and singing. Blessed are You, Lord, who gladdens loving companions.

ברוך אתה ה אלקינו מלך העולם בורא פרי הגפן.

7. Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who creates the fruit of the vine.

Comments:

1. This blessing is unchanged.

2. This blessing is unchanged. Hebrew אדם, like English "man," can be either exclusive or inclusive of females. I've followed Adler in using the translation "humankind."

3. The original blessing is based on Gen. 2:22. It emphasizes the complementary roles of male and female, suggests that woman comes from man, and may also refer to couples' ability to perpetuate God's image through procreation. This version is based on Gen. 1:27. It emphasizes the essential sameness of man and woman and our common divine origin. It also suggests that where the word אדם ("man," or "humankind") occurs in these blessings, it should be understood in a gender-neutral sense.

4. This blessing is unchanged. (While it poses certain theoretical problems in this day and age, they have nothing to do with the gender of the couple, so I've left the blessing alone.)

5. I've replaced "bride and groom" with "loving companions," a reference to the Song of Songs. (The Hebrew literally translates, "beloved companions," but I think this translation conveys the meaning more accurately.) The first occurance of the phrase in the blessing is original. So, yes, I've rendered it redundant. I don't think this is a problem. (Compare the original versions of blessings 3 and 6.)

6. This blessing conveys the hope that Jerusalem will one day be filled with happy brides and grooms. (Again, a bit of a problem, but not particular to this context.) It reflects the language of Jeremiah. I see no reason to alter the terms "bride" and "groom" in this context. However, the end of the original blessing ("who gladdens the bridegroom with the bride") is inappropriate. I've replaced the bridegroom and bride with the "loving companions" of the previous blessing, but I'm not sure I like it. Suggestions?

7. This blessing is unchanged.

Feedback is welcome.

A Call For English Readings

My brother-in-law is running High Holy Day services in Montreal (with a little bit of help from others, including DH and me), and he has apparently had trouble finding English readings that are accessible without being completely vapid. This has left me thinking about why appropriate readings are so difficult to find.

Part of the problem is that our situation is so far from ideal. It would be nice if everyone could read the traditional prayers in their original language. It would be nice if everyone were sufficiently familiar with the liturgy to be able to invest it with meaning on their own. It would be nice if we could count on everyone to be 100% present, ready to be intellectually and emotionally invested in the service. Since none of these is the case, we is stuck trying to find texts in the vernacular that relatively apathetic congregants might find meaningful on their first and only reading.

Another problem is that the readings that exist are found mainly in Reform and Reconstructionist prayer books, and they are generally unsatisfying. Just as liberal Jews seem to have trouble achieving a sense of grief on Tisha B'Av, they seem to have trouble promoting guilt and remorse on the High Holy Days. Liberal spiritual leaders want to make worship a positive experience. They want to emphasize God's mercy and unconditional love for all humankind. They don't like the idea of divine judgment. That's all very well, but in the final analysis, there can be no repentance without remorse, and without repentance, the quest for spirituality is rather vacuous. We have to start by feeling bad about ourselves.

A third problem is the literary quality (or lack thereof) of most contemporary "creative liturgy." The Conservative prayer book is filled with horrid compositions by committees of rabbis, which sound like translations even though they aren't. Stilted language can be distracting.

Now that I've made the task seem completely insurmountable, does anyone know where we might be able to find quality English readings? They don't have to be perfect. The more material we have, the better, even if we don't love all of it. Contemporary poems by actual poets are good (I look to the VR here). Excerpts from works of Jewish philosophy, ancient or modern, are good too. Translations of traditional prayers are great if they're readable. (Does anyone know where we could find a halfway decent translation of the High Holy Day piyyutim?) Midrash, psalms, biblical passages . . . whatever. Variety is the spice of life.

Thanks for your help.

Why I "Do Halakha"

This started as a Live Journal meme (originally from Smartphil, via debka_notion), but the topic seemed blogworthy.

Smartphil presents a number of possible answers to the question, "why do you do halakha*?" The reasons come from Rabbi David Golinkin's "Halakhah of Our Time," and are summarized here. The following are my current thoughts on why I choose to lead a (more or less) halakhik lifestyle. I've used the summary of Golinkin's work as a guide. (Note: These are today's thoughts. My reasons may be different tomorrow.)

A. Theocentric Reasons

In my understanding, there can be no halakha without the presumption that (1) God exists, (2) God cares about human behavior, and (3) human beings can, at least to a certain extent, discern God's will. Without these presumptions (we can call them "postulates," for DH's sake), you might have something that looks like halakha, but the essence of halakha is missing. (We call that something "tradition.")

I do not believe that the entire Torah, let alone the Babylonian Talmud, was dictated to Moses at Sinai. I do, however, like to think that the Torah, the Talmud, and the expressions of Judaism that came after them contain some element of divinity. I would rather not be any more specific than that. This is all speculation.

As Naomi Chana once said somewhat more articulately, I don't think God really cares whether or not I mix meat and dairy, but I do think He cares that I care. (Sorry, I'm old fashioned. My God is a He.) Halakha offers a means to demonstrate my commitment to God's will, even if I can't be sure exactly what it is that He wants.

B. Ethnocentric Reasons

To be honest, I don't quite understand the argument that Jews should adhere to Jewish law simply in order to preserve Judaism or the Jewish people. There's no sense in trying to preserve something unless it has inherent value. And I don't buy the argument that Judaism is worth preserving simply on account of the ethical principles that it imparts. Certainly, Judaism has contributed certain ethical values to the world (or, at least, certain expressions of those values), but there can be ethics without Jews or Judaism, and, sadly, there are nominally religious Jews with little regard for ethics.

That said, the specific ways in which I observe halakha have a lot to do with tradition and community. I want to strive to live in accordance with God's will, but I don't want to do it alone. I want to be a part of the "evolving religious civilization of the Jewish people" (as the Reconstructionists put it), and I want to be a part of a living community.

C. Anthropocentric Reasons

Golinkin offers two very different anthropocentric reasons to observe halakha:
(1) It encourages self-discipline, and
(2) It brings joy.

With regard to (1), I would say that self-discipline is only valuable insofar as it is applied to inherently valuable pursuits. It is quite possible that if I prayed more regularly I would also exercise more regularly, study more diligently, arrive on time for appointments, and be more cautious about my diet. I was once better at all these things, and I daresay they were connected. It wasn't so pleasant, though. People were always telling me to "loosen up." Maybe instead of loosening up I should have learned to hide my stress. (Something to think about over this season of repentance.)

As for (2), well, this seems like a good opportunity to plug Naomi Chana's recent posts on prayer. For my own part, I admit that one of my primary reasons for observing Shabbat as I do is that it makes me happy. I like having a chance to rest, take a break from what I normally do, wear nice clothes, eat good food, and chat with friends. I attend synagogue partly out of a sense of religious obligation, but also because I genuinely enjoy it. Missing services puts me in a lousy mood.

I certainly don't enjoy all mitsvot. Waking up early to pray is pretty unpleasant (unless I'm joining the wonderful egal minyan, in which case it's not too bad), and when I'm not in a religious setting, restrictions on eating and movement can be very awkward. I suppose the true test of my commitment to halakha is the extent to which I observe the mitsvot that I don't enjoy. But I don't think that getting pleasure out of mitsvot** is inherently bad. Like the Chassidim, I like to think that God wants us to be happy.

* Jewish law/ religious observance
** Commandments.

My Response to Schick's Response to Goldberg

My mother sent me a link to this Jewish Press column by Joseph Schick. The column is a response to the New York Times column by Jeffrey Goldberg to which I linked earlier this week. (Sorry, folks. The NYT column is no longer available for free.)

Schick writes:

The clear message from Goldberg`s piece is that Jewish settlers, with the tacit support of some Orthodox Jews and rabbis, want to kill Ariel Sharon. Unfortunately, this charge is not completely baseless. As I wrote in my last column, there are fanatics who have called for, or implicitly condoned the idea of, Sharon`s murder. Especially in light of Yitzhak Rabin`s murder at the hands of an Orthodox Jew, there is an obligation on all Jews to condemn the fanatics and not to ignore the danger they present.

However, Goldberg never distinguished between the fanatics and the other 95 percent of Yesha residents. Instead, he defamed all of them. He completely ignored the Yesha Council`s repeated statements that it unequivocally opposes any and all forms of violence in the framework of opposition to Sharon`s unilateral withdrawal plan. He also ignored the pact signed by Yesha Council leaders two weeks ago, in which they agreed that IDF soldiers would not be asked to disobey orders to dismantle settlements and that no form of violence was acceptable. And though Goldberg highlighted Avi Dichter`s concern about 150-200 extremists, he disregarded that Dichter also emphasized that the extremists were in no way representative of the general settler public.

I never had any doubt that these fanatics were in the minority. Residents of the settlements tend to be politically right-wing, but they are generally peaceful people. It is easy to be opposed to settlements; that is how supporters of Israel show that they are "moderate." But the issue doesn't seem that simple to me. There are some very well-established Jewish communities in the West Bank, and, after all, there are Arab communities in Israel. Why not Jewish communities in a Palestinian state?

Nonetheless, I am uncomfortable with Schick's article. It raises an issue with which I often struggle when I post on matters relating to Israel in this blog. On the one hand, I agree with Schick that the secular media is often unjust in its depiction of settlers, and that is a problem. On the other hand, I don't think readers of the Jewish Press need to be reminded of that. Ditto for readers of my blog, who (I surmise from the comments) are almost exclusively religious Jews who support the Jewish state.

I am grateful for media watchdog organizations such as CAMERA and Honest Reporting, but I seldom visit their websites or read their newsletters. I don't think there's much to be gained by nurturing feelings of victimization. Jews like to point out that Palestinian extremists are more numerous and more prone to violence than Israeli extremists. That is true, for a variety of reasons (none of which has to do with Arabs being evil or Jews being nice). But the violent Israeli extremists exist, and we, as Jews, should be more disturbed by that than by any bias we perceive in the media. It is our religion that they are perverting.

Anti-Semitism and Homophobia

Jason Kuznicki of Positive Liberty has written a thought-provoking post on the parallels between anti-Semitism and homophobia. These thoughts were apparently triggered by Martha Nussbaum's essay on disgust, with which I don't entirely agree, but Jason's comments are, in my view, very reasonable. He focuses, in particular, on the relationship between nineteenth-century attempts to convert Jews and contemporary "conversion therapy" for gays:

In these phenomena, we can see the disastrous results when disgust-as-morality turns inward, upon the self, for many of the most outspoken advocates of both movements have been converts.. . .

The modern drive to "repair" homosexuality is of course different in some ways from its nineteenth-century counterpart, but it shares three main traits with our ancestors' desire, as they termed it, to "regenerate" the Jews:

--Hypothetically, the main argument of these movements may well be true: If Jews or gays successfully converted, they might well be happier. At least some of them.

--Objectively, it is a fantasy. Change in one's sexual orientation does happen from time to time, but engineering it is still a utopian dream. Change in one's religion is probably almost as hard to achieve through human design. People hold religions based on faith, and faith is inscrutable. Conversion does happen on occasion, but planning for it is absurd.

--Morally, they both reek of condescension.

Read the whole thing.

To All of You With Blog Experience

I've been thinking about switching from Haloscan because of the annoying character limit, but I haven't been able to find anything better. I don't like the new Blogger comment feature because it forces anyone who doesn't have a Blogger account to post anonymously. Does anyone know of a free, Blogger-compatible comment service that:

1. has no character limit, or a limit of 3000 characters or more,
2. accepts and stores contact information from all commenters,
3. allows the blogger to edit and delete comments,
4. accepts HTML, and
5. opens links properly, in a separate window.

If not, please answer this: which of these features would you, as a blogger or commenter, most readily do without?