Author: Rabbi David Krishef

Embodying Torah at the Ethical Crossroads

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For Judaism to be a fully embodied religious behavior, we need to be aware moment by moment of the actions we are taking and the decisions we are making, and how Jewish wisdom might inform us.  Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, in “The Halakhic Man,” [sic] poetically explains how everything we see, hear, and touch, all of our input, as it were, should pass through the filter of halakha.  For example — the sight of a leafy pear tree might engender thoughts of the appropriate berakha for fruit, the suitability of his branches to use for s’khakh to cover a sukkah, and the impermissibility of building the sukkah under the tree.

As I remember his book, Rabbi Soloveitchik was primarily thinking about traditional Jewish practices such as Shabbat, kashrut, celebration of holidays, prayer, etc.  However, his philosophy also applies to Jewish ethical behavior.  In the course of an average day, how many moments do we experience when we are faced with some kind of ethical decision?  I kept track of a number of those moments over the course of a weekend – questions that did prompt – or should have prompted – thought about the Torah’s response to my situation.

  • • Following services at Ahavas Israel, I was asked to help make another minyan – I declined.  Are we obligated by Jewish ethics to be the 10th person in a minyan?  Does it matter if the minyan is populated by people who would not reciprocate?  Might we ever ethically decline to help another Jew in need of a minyan?
  • • May one publish a possibly embarrassing incident online, if we change the name of the subject of the story?
  • • At what point does a parent helping a child with homework cross the line from teaching the child to doing the child’s work?
  • • Does using profane language violate Jewish ethics?

I’d like to devote occasional posts to Jewish ethics using real world dilemmas.  Would you share with me moments when you were at a crossroads and weren’t sure what to do?  Moments when you might not have turned to Jewish sources for an answer, but made a decision and after reflection you are now curious whether Jewish wisdom might have suggested a different answer?  You may post your moments on the blog in response to this post or you may email them to me at Rabbi@AhavasIsraelGR.org.  If you want them to remain private please indicate this, and I will change enough details so that you cannot be identified.  If I am not sure whether I have sufficiently disguised your identity or if you want to see what I’ve written before I publish it, I will email my response to you before publishing anything.

Remember — The purpose of this blog and the mission of the synagogue is to explore what it means to make our lives embody Torah.  How does our eating, our Shabbat practice, our prayer experience, embody Torah?  How do we internalize and embody our Torah study?  How do we embody Torah in our ethical decision making?  Please join me in this exploration — I welcome your comments and suggestions.

“Avatar” and Pantheism; “A Serious Man” and Job

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In an Op-Ed in the New York Times critical of the religious message of Avatar, Ross Douthat writes that:

… “Avatar” is Cameron’s long apologia for pantheism — a faith that equates God with Nature, and calls humanity into religious communion with the natural world.

From Wikipedia:  Pantheism (Ancient Greek: πᾶν (pan) “all” and θεός (theos) “god”; literally “belief that God is all”) is the view that everything is part of an all-encompassing immanent God and that the Universe (Nature) and God are equivalent.

After seeing the movie (don’t worry, no spoilers here!), I came to a different conclusion.  Again from Wikipedia:

Panentheism: (from Greek πᾶν (pân) “all”; ἐν (en) “in”; and θεός (theós) “God”; “all-in-God”) is a belief system which posits that God exists and interpenetrates every part of nature, and timelessly extends beyond as well.

The difference is whether God IS nature (pantheism, not really a Jewish theology) or God is beyond nature (a theology found within Jewish mystical traditions).  In distinction to “A Serious Man” (not to worry, still no spoilers!), whose directors clearly knew the book of Job and wrestled with serious theological issues in making the movie, James Cameron was focused on telling a compelling story, not exploring or promoting theology.  I don’t think Cameron was sufficiently aware of the theology behind his movie to know the difference between the two theologies or to systematically argue for one or the other.

I thought both movies were terrific, entertaining, and thought provoking.  I suggest that before seeing “A Serious Man,” you should do a little homework.  Read the book of Job (or at least read the article about Job from the Encyclopedia Judaica or the Jewish Encyclopedia).  The parallels are brilliant, and the theology of the movie is a serious critique of the theology of the book.

For Avatar, you might want to read up on the Hasidic idea of leit atar panui mimenu, “there is no place or no thing in which God is absent.”  From the Jewish Encyclopedia:

The Divine in all Things.

God in His endless and innumerable attributes manifests Himself in creation, which is onlyoneaspect of His activity, and which is therefore in reality a self-limitation. And just as God in His goodness limited Himself, and thus descended to the level of the world and man, so it is the duty of the latter to strive to unite with God. The removal of the outer shell of mundane things, or, as the cabalist terms it, “the ascension of the [divine] spark,” being a recognition of the presence of God in all terrestrial things, it is the duty of man, if he experience pleasure, to receive such emotion in all purity and sanctity as a divine manifestation, for He is the source of all pleasure.

Read more:  http://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/view.jsp?artid=103&letter=B&search=hasidism#336#ixzz0bc1r2dPr

As you watch Avatar, see if you think agree with Ross Douthat that the movie argues for pantheism, or with me, that it is equally plausible that the God present in the movie might be a panentheistic manifestation of a larger Divine presence.  In either case, enjoy the ride!

Why I Do — and Do Not — Fast on Asarah B’Tevet

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Today is Asarah B’Tevet, the 10th of Tevet, the first of three fasts in the Jewish calendar cycle related to the destruction of the Temple(s) in Jerusalem.  2,596 years ago and again 1940 years ago, the Temple in Jerusalem, the religious center of Jewish ritual, was destroyed.  Asarah B’Tevet commemorates the beginning of the siege of Jerusalem by the Babylonian King Nebuchadnezzar II.

Ironically, given effect of the flattening of history by the Jewish calendar, the 10th of Tevet is commemorated a mere 7 or 8 days following Hanukkah, the celebration of the rededication and purification of the Temple.

Why I fast on Asarah B’Tevet:

  • Part of me longs for the restoration of the Temple rituals.  I eat meat, and have always wondered what it would be like to be part of a Temple ritual at which I present the life of the animal to God and watch it be slaughtered, or witness the raw power of the Yom Kippur atonement ritual.  For the vegetarian imagination, how powerful would it be like to present the first fruits from the pear tree in my backyard?
  • Mourning for the loss of the Temple represents the longing for a messianic world in which God’s presence is universally felt, and acts of war and intentional evil and hatred no longer exist.

Why I do not fast on Asarah B’Tevet:

  • There is something absurd about mourning for the destruction of Jerusalem as if 1948 and 1967 never happened, as if Jerusalem was not a beautiful and vibrant city over 700,000 people.
  • In 1981 and 1985-6, my first trip to Israel and my year studying in Israel, going to the Kotel, the western wall of the Temple, was a spiritual experience.  I felt connected to God through the thousands of years of Jewish history, suffering and triumph, focused on the Temple as mythic center of the world.  Since then, however, the Kotel has become an increasingly politicized tool for the imposition of a narrow set of Hareidi values on the rest of the Jewish world.  The Kotel is no longer a gathering place for the Israeli public for the celebration of national events.  My sense of mourning for the lack of a Temple is overwhelmed by my sense of fear that were such a place to exist, it would be a tool of oppression rather than a means for bringing people together.

In the end, I do fast, for at least part of the day, less in mourning over Jerusalem and the Temple, and more in mourning for a world of pluralism and understanding, in which our sacred places do not belong to one denomination or stream,  but rather are shared within Judaism as well as outside.

The dire consequences of turning away potential converts – a Talmudic Midrash

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In a piece of Midrash I was studying last week from Sifre D’varim, I came across a fascinating midrash in Talmud Bavli, Sanhedrin 99b.  Here’s the original, followed by an translation/explanation.

מיהת אחות לוטן תמנע מאי היא? תמנע בת מלכים הואי, דכתיב (בראשית ל”ו) אלוף לוטן אלוף תמנע. וכל אלוף מלכותא בלא תאגא היא. בעיא לאיגיורי, באתה אצל אברהם יצחק ויעקב ולא קבלוה, הלכה והיתה פילגש לאליפז בן עשו. אמרה: מוטב תהא שפחה לאומה זו, ולא תהא גבירה לאומה אחרת. נפק מינה עמלק, דצערינהו לישראל. מאי טעמא דלא איבעי להו לרחקה.  סנהדרין דף צט ע”ב

The issue behind the Midrash is prompted by a verse in Genesis “The sons of Lotan were Hori and Hemam; and Lotan’s sister was Timna.”  (Genesis 36.22 JPS)

It is very unusual for women to be mentioned in a genealogy.  In this case, Timna is mentioned because of something we learned 10 verses earlier:  “Timna was a concubine of Esau’s son Eliphaz; she bore Amalek to Eliphaz”  (Genesis 36.12 JPS)

The impetus for the Midrash, however, is an inference we can draw from the fact that Timna and Lotan were siblings.  We know a little about Lotan from verse 20, “These were the sons of Seir the Horite, who were settled in the land: Lotan” (Genesis 36.20 JPS).  Lotan would have been the prince of a tribe of Seir, and therefore Timna would have been a princess.

Here’s where the imagination of the Midrashist takes over — Why would Princess Timna become a concubine to Esau’s son Eliphaz, rather than marry a tribal chieftain?   Perhaps she went to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and told them that she wanted to become part of their family, to convert.  For some reason, they did not accept her as a candidate for conversion.  Her response?  “I would be better off as a concubine to this people than the wife and queen of another nation.”  She wants to be a part of the family so badly that she refuses to marry outside of the family of Abraham and Isaac, even if it means becoming a kind of servant.

Every midrash has a purpose and a message — Here’s the punch line of this one:  She married Esau’s son and gave birth to Amalek, the arch-enemy who afflicted Israel. Why? — Because they should not have turned her away.

Amalek is the Biblical ancestor of Hamen, the spiritual ancestor of every Hitler-like evil man or woman who attempted to eradicate Jews or Judaism.  This Talmudic midrash is suggesting that there are dire consequences for turning away prospective converts.

This piece of Talmud suggests that the actions of the modern day Israeli rabbinic establishment, including retroactively invalidating conversions, refusing burial in a Jewish cemetery to individuals whose conversion they question, and throwing up tremendous barriers to immigrants to Israel who want to become Jewish, are endangering the physical safety of the state, which depends of a strong and loyal Jewish population for growth and protection.

Isn’t this something to think about?  1700 years ago, at the point of Jewish history when the early Christian church was beginning to pressure Jews into giving up their historic openness to accepting converts, an anonymous rabbi preached a sermon or taught a lesson reminding his fellow Jews not to turn away those who want to convert to Judaism.

Worshipping God — in Silence or with Words and Music?

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I’ve been on Sabbatical for the past couple of months.  One of my projects has been to study the art of preaching.  I’ve been meeting with various pastors, and spending an unusual amount of time visiting church services to hear the sermon.  This post, however, is not about the sermons, but rather about the prayer experience surrounding the sermon.

This past Sunday I visited Ridge Point Community Church in the Holland area (not affiliated with any particular denomination); the week before I had visited Plymouth Congregational UCC in Grand Rapids.

The Pastor of Plymouth UCC, Doug Van Doren, used a great deal of silence during the service.  At the end of each of his prayers, at the end of his sermon, at various points and at the end of the service, he would pause and without words, invite silent reflection.

The service at Ridge Point was carefully choreographed to last exactly one hour.  The first 1/2 hour was non-stop music.  One song led directly into another, backed up by a full and rather loud band.  The volume might not have been rock concert, but the atmosphere was.  The pastor, Jim Liske, even said at one point that he felt like he should be in the back row holding up a lighter!  The music led directly and without pause to the teaching in the second 1/2 hour.  There was not a moment of silence.

Objectively, there are no criteria to prefer one experience over the other.  A service that leaves room in between the words and songs allows the worshipper to explore his or her own thoughts, feelings, reactions, motivations, needs, and desires — and share all of this with God in the form of personal prayer.  A service composed of a series of carefully chosen songs focused on a particular theme followed by a well-taught message sends people away from the worship experience  holding onto a message, which potentially will transform the way they live their lives.

Ultimately, we choose a Synagogue or Temple or minyan or denomination or other place of worship based on how we best find meaning and connection with the Divine.  Personally, I find silence critically important within a service.  I hate congregational readings, responsive or otherwise.  I like the self-directedness of a traditional Jewish service.  Too many words and too much music crowd out my own thoughts and prayers.  Occasionally, though, I visit congregations which have more structured liturgy and use more music and less silence and I have learned how to find the beauty and the Divine Presence.  It’s always nice, though, to go back home to my own congregation!