Do Spray Deodorants Require Pessah Supervision?
Why does Pesah = insanity in much of the Orthodox world? This question should be simply answerable. The answer should be a clear no, deodorant doe NOT need kosher for Pesah supervision, based on Biblical/Talmudic sources. However, the writer of the article, an Orthodox rabbi, is unable to just say NO!
I’m posting this a bit early, because I’m also going to post an article from the Jerusalem Post magazine that perfectly illustrates my point.
No holiday encourages fanatical Jewish behavior like Passover. It’s not bad that many people keep kosher for Pesah much more strictly than they keep kosher the rest of the year. However, the almost pathological behavior of scouring the home of every microscopic crumb of leavening can obscure the beauty of the meaning of the holiday. I hope the following exchange will help you enjoy a serious Seder without having exhausted yourself by its preparation.
Dear Rebbe
Question: We had two wonderful seders, but this year particularly, it seemed that the last two days of preparation – Sunday, a day which lasted twelve hours as we turned the kitchen over and Monday, the day we spent in preparation for the first seder – left us crippled with exhaustion and pain. It was very much like forced labor with this uncompromising deadline. I kept thinking, “why did we leave the fleshpots of Egypt? Let’s return to Egypt where we eat for free.” And then I remembered Rush Limbaugh’s warning that socialism is slavery and nothing comes for free, so I put my head down and continued scrubbing.
But a serious thought crossed my mind. Is this our age showing? What will Pesah preparations be like when we are seventy or eighty and have no children to do this work. As it was, at age 63, I found myself incapable of davening either day. I tried, but I couldn’t focus my mind. I don’t understand how one can do it all, I certainly can’t. I think even we lived next to the shul, I would not have had the strength to make it through the davening.
We had a student at our table on Tuesday. He doesn’t observe much, but he goes to shul on major holidays and his self-image is one of a Jew who is loyal to our traditions. Once we got to the meal, he took out his cell phone and started to send a text! I told him to put it away and he sheepishly set it aside. I understand that teachers in classrooms have similar problems with students who can’t seem to let go of their cell phones. But I was surprised to see its appearance at my seder!
Answer: I think you have bought into the Orthodox trend to make Pesah more and more difficult by multiplying the humrot, the ways to be more and more restrictive in Jewish observance. Marisa and I, over the past several years, have cut way back on the cleaning, returning to the Mishnaic model of Pesah. You clean the rooms that you eat in – you don’t need to search out and sterilize every surface of the house. You rely on biur hametz, the ritual destruction and nullification of hametz, so if you miss a few crumbs here and there, you have not endangered your eternal souls with karet, spiritual excommunication. Our kitchen doesn’t look like a 1950’s spaceship, covered in $100 worth of aluminum foil. We clean counters and pour boiling water on them, relying on the fact that we don’t cook on the counters or eat food off of them. Self cleaning ovens are great. We are relaxed about the refrigerator – hametz doesn’t contaminate like the bubonic plague. We don’t serve a 6 course gourmet feast – 3 courses is enough! – so we can focus more on the hagaddah and less on the food. We, especially on the 2nd night, are not hung up on the hagaddah. At the proper candlelighting time, we tell the story of Pesah in a very abbreviated way. In keeping with the mishnah’s instructions to tell the story from degradation to redemption, we basically tell the story by reading the key passages of the Hagaddah from Deuteronomy 26:5-8, reciting the plagues, the teaching of Rabban Gamliel and the beginning of Hallel. Before candlelighting, we do the 4 questions and 4 children and singing songs.
Regarding the student – before the Seder, send out a note to your guests making your expectations clear. Here’s a sample, sent by one of my colleagues, Rabbi Arnold Resnicoff:
To our Seder Guests
I am delighted — and honored — that all of you have agreed to join me at this year’s Passover/Pesah Seder.
For me, the Seder has always been one of the highlights of the year — and one of the most important rituals of the Jewish faith. It is a reminder, to me, of the fact that we cannot change history, but to a very large extent, we can control its impact on us, so that memory becomes a springboard to move us forward toward better times, not a trap, to hold us prisoners of the past. We understand that no one can be told to “forget and move on,” but we can help others, and ourselves, understand HOW to remember, so that our memories become a blessing, not a curse, and history becomes part of a rich and treasured heritage, that reminds us of the hope we must have for the future…. And so, at the seder, we remember stories of Israelite slavery in Egypt. But we learn not to hate Egypt, but instead, to hate slavery…and value freedom. We learn from our memories of pain not to hate others, but to reach out to them, including all those treated like strangers, or feel like strangers, so that their pain might be less.
This is a reminder, in part, of the fact that the essence of the seder is discussion. The evening is based on the Biblical verses that command us to tell the story. “Haggadah,” the book that helps us remember the story and its traditions, comes from the Hebrew word for “telling.” “Seder,” which means “order,” reminds us that there is a traditional order to the evening’s discussion, but, as the Haggadah states, “the person who elaborates is to be admired.” In other words, no two seders are ever alike, because all those involved elaborate in terms of what the very ideas of slavery and freedom mean to them, and how their individual memories can come together with the memories of the Jewish people — or humanity itself — so that, as we remember, we share the lessons we have learned from the past, and then join together to work for the future.
As I look forward to seeing all of you, here are a few “house-keeping” notes:
“Bringing” do’s and don’t’s. Please do NOT bring any food, drink, or flowers. The laws of Passover food and drink are so complicated, and we are stocking up with so much, that there is no room for anything else (even flowers!). However, DO BRING something: bring a story you might have of another Passover seder — or another holy day that taught you something that has helped you struggle with values and ideas, and with life; bring a question — about Passover, about Judaism, or about faith; bring an insight about the different kinds of slavery that still exist, and what freedom really means…. These will be gifts that all of us will treasure, for the seder, and for the future. Just as we focus on freedom from Egypt at our Seder, we also focus on freedom from various other enslaving devices of modern day society, such as cellphones and texting devices. I ask that you refrain from using such devices at the table, so we can focus on being fully present for each other.
An opinion piece by Rabbi Steven Greenberg (Orthodox), originally published in the American Israelite, February 10, 2011.
Letter to the Editor, Feb. 10
February 10th, 2011 | Section: Opinion
Dear Editor,
Purim is a holiday that celebrates the power of secrets and their revelation; it is, in effect, the holiday of “coming out.” The rabbis of the Talmud mark Purim explicitly as the festival of masks, which calls for nothing less than an unmasking of ourselves and ultimately, of God. This is the one time of the year when drinking a bit too much is a “mitzvah” because, in their words, “the wine goes in and the secrets come out.” If there way any day that might be employed by gay Jews to signify the meaning of coming out, the fast of Esther ending in the celebration of Purim is it.
The story begins with all its characters in lavish concealment. Each of them manage a powerful public persona while hiding an inner secret that if revealed would seem to undo them. There is a sustained tension between what characters are and what they seem to be that moves the plot forward and it is the careful unraveling of disguises that makes for salvation.
King Achashverosh, according to tradition, was not of royal blood; he had married into Persian royalty. Vashti was the true Persian princess and because she refuses to take off her royal robes she is banished or killed. She is the only one who refuses to dress up (or in this case down) as something she is not. Achashverosh has risen to royal power, but he is not royal material. He is a fool and a degenerate, a common lout dressed up in royal robes. He is also terribly insecure, anxious to build his political support and fearful of being challenged or manipulated.
Esther and Mordechai are closet Jews. Mordechai is a statesman who is known in the king’s court but he does not flaunt his Jewish identity. Indeed, it is perhaps for this very reason that he warns Esther not to reveal her identity. The people perceive Esther as a lovely Persian woman who has become a Persian queen.
Haman, like the king, rises to power with little, if any, merit. His secrets are his bloated ego and his hunger for royal power. Haman conceals all this from the king, including his irrational hatred of Mordechai.
The turn in the plot occurs when Mordechai is forced to choose between his inner and outer identities. Is he a Jew or a Persian noble? If he refuses to bow down to Haman, he will almost certainly lose his status among the Persian elite. If he bows, he understands that he will lose his inner Jewish self. In this moment of reckoning, Mordechai recognizes himself as a Jew and refuses to bow. The story isn’t clear as to
how Mordechai’s secret is found out. Someone tells someone who tells Haman that this rude fellow is a Jew, and Haman begins his plot to revenge himself of Mordechai and his people.
Mordechai realizes that he must turn his secret inside out. He must now bear witness to the inner truths. He sits at the gate of the palace in sack cloth, a bold and public expression of his internal state of affairs no longer concealed in beautiful robes. Mordechai’s self-expression sets in motion the unmasking of Esther, then of Haman, and finally of Achashverosh.
It is, however, Esther’s moment of courage that carries the most dramatic turn of story. She is at first resistant. Her coming to the king uninvited is mortally dangerous. Moreover, even if he is willing to hear her out, she has no reason to think that he will not side with Haman against her. Her cousin presses her not to try to save herself by passing. Esther reveals her secret deftly while aware of all the risks and uncertain of the outcomes.
What does all this drama between revealed and concealed selves say to us? Of course, the Book of Esther could be read as a midrash on Jewish life in the diaspora. How we conceal and reveal ourselves as Jews, is a diaspora story.
But there is also a more personal journey described. In many ways we are all Marranos, hiding behind our various masks and robes. What can we glean from Esther to help us manage the interplay between our inner and outer lives? Can Mordechai teach us something about the search for wholeness? At the end of the story all the inner truths come to light. As the story unfolds, there seems to be a redemptive quality in self-expression. When all is revealed, Esther becomes a powerful queen and Mordechai the king’s most trusted counselor. Even Achashverosh seems to achieve a more royal demeanor. Each of these fuller identities was achieved by reconciling the inner and outer persons.
The story is also about the need to protect a life apart from the public eye. As Esther enters the king’s palace Mordechai warns her not to reveal her identity. Later he implores her to do so. It seems that there is a right and wrong time to reveal the self. Perhaps the story is about the dynamics of identity that cannot escape a tension between expression and inhibition. We are who we are not only by our self- revelations, but by our careful nurturing of a private world.
As well, not all inner lives are equal. Haman uses his disguise for singularly destructive ends, and is ultimately destroyed by his inner self. Haman falls on Esther’s couch revealing more than an urge for power. Mordechai is revealed by his principles; Haman by his hubris and his libido. At the perfect moment, Esther reveals herself as a
Jew and saves the Jewish people. Though the war between the inner and outer worlds is over, there is no clear victory of one self over another. Instead there is a new and diverse wholeness, an integration of mask and man.
The rabbis describe the God of the Book of Esther as a hidden God, a God who dances in between the revealed and the hidden, patient and waiting for the right moment to burst forth. The name of Esther in Hebrew means, “I will hide,” which is nothing less than God’s invitation to us to start looking for him. We too, find our journey in both inward and outward movements. Often we work behind the scenes nurturing a life apart, a sense of privacy and clarity. And when the moments come to stand for one’s inner truths, for principle, or for one’s people, then we must turn inside out and witness, loud and proud and sure.
The time has come for a National Jewish Coming Out Day. The fast of Esther may seem a bit austere for such a commemoration, but actually it possesses a potent acknowledgment of the fears and the dangers of those in the closet and holds a place for the confusion and disruption that the coming out of a loved one can have for family and friends.
Those actually using the day to come out may indeed wish to employ the fast in order to center themselves in clarity, prayer and soulful preparation. Perhaps in those last moments of the Fast of Esther, just before the reveling of Purim begins, it is the right time to start telling the truth. Others may wish to skip the strum and drang and come out to friends and family on the day of Purim, as a celebration of Esther’s courage. In either case, the moment is perfect for the taking off of masks and conveying, perhaps for the first time, that our story is a Jewish one.
Rabbi Steven Greenberg
Question:
I was just reading an article about “being green” (reducing, recycling, etc.) and it got me thinking about the carnival prizes we give out at our Purim carnival. I’ve been to many events like this where the kids win all kinds of plastic toys that end up broken and in the trash within a few days. Is there another prize idea we can offer that is more environmental, in keeping with our Jewish values?
Answer:
There are many environmentally sensitive prizes in keeping with Jewish values. For example:
Any other suggestions?
My colleague Rabbi Brad Artson gave a talk to rabbis recently in which he said that rabbis need to get over their traditional aversion to dealing with congregational financial issues. Fundraising and other financial issues in an institution of Torah are as sacred as the study of Torah itself. Therefore, for the second month in a row, I find myself writing about how we make decisions about giving.
These thoughts were sparked by an article in the Jerusalem Post about the Chronicle of Philanthropy’s list of the top 50 givers in 2010. Five of the top six are Jewish, and at least 19 of the top 53 (there were three ties) are Jewish.
While Jews have reason to be proud of the accomplishments of some of our fellow members of the tribe, we also have cause for concern. George Soros and Michael Bloomberg, numbers 1 and 2 on the list who gave a combined total of about $600 million, less than $2 million of that went to Jewish causes. Overall, Jews give only about 25% of their charitable gifts to Jewish causes.
While I am not arguing that 100% of our giving should go to Jewish causes, I pose a question: If Jews do not give to UJC, the Synagogue, JNF, the Jewish Braille Institute, Israel Guide Dogs for the Blind, Hadassah Hospital, and other worthy Jewish causes, who will? Doesn’t it make more sense for 75% of our giving to stay within the “family” rather than only 25%? When we give to relief efforts, such as the Haitian earthquake, the 2004 Tsunami in East Asia, Hurricane Katrina, we like to channel our money through Jewish organizations.
As you are doing your taxes for 2010, take a careful look at your charitable giving. Ask yourself whether it reflects the religious and communal priorities of your life to which you aspire. Ask yourself whether you have paid enough attention to the institutions which nurtured and continue to nurture your Jewish identity, which take care of Jews in need all around the world. Imagine how different our Jewish world would be if even half that the $3.3 billion given by the top 50 had gone to Jewish causes.
Embodied Torah 