The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2012 annual report for this blog.
Here’s an excerpt:
600 people reached the top of Mt. Everest in 2012. This blog got about 3,000 views in 2012. If every person who reached the top of Mt. Everest viewed this blog, it would have taken 5 years to get that many views.
It was a news item that made it at least half way across the country. A waiter had identified three female diners as fat girls on their receipt. One of the women noticed, and with the help of social media, sympathy and outrage abounded throughout Stockton, California and beyond. I became aware of the incident fifteen hundred miles east of Stockton. An item that was deemed newsworthy enough to make the news on a Kansas City television station. One of the women appeared on TV claiming to be so mortified by the insult that the emotional scars had reverberated for days afterward. Her anguish was genuine, but worthy of understanding further.
Granted that all diners should be insulated from unflattering descriptions while they are patronizing an establishment that should be dedicated to their pleasure and comfort. Granted that the waiter should have at least been suspended if not fired. Granted that instead of offering a twenty-five percent discount, the manager should have comped the bill immediately. I’m just amazed that insulting a customer garnered so much attention.
Was this the first time that she had been made aware that others notice that she was overweight? Or was it the fact that someone had the temerity to bluntly express what he was thinking?
The truth is that intention matters here. If the waiter was harried and was trying to give a defining quality to the table beyond the table number, and did not think that the offending description would be noticed, then his insensitivity might be understandable. If, he was having a laugh at someone else’s expense, then a plague on his house and anyone else who thought it was funny.
It is a reflection of society that “thin” or even “skinny” is never considered pejorative. “Fat” however, as evidenced by this reaction, has become an expletive, and not merely a description. A person can describe himself as fat, but woe to the one who would use this word to define others. “Blondes”, “Old ladies/guys”, would have never elicited such a reaction, but labeling someone fat is the same as calling someone “crippled”. Fat which is so normative in this society, is, somehow, considered abnormal. While labeling someone as drunk would probably not provoke the same response, calling someone fat is crossing the line, It’s not done, it’s offensive, even if it’s accurate.
The worse problem is the society that would judge a person who is overweight as somehow inferior, as someone who is less than the rest of us. So prevalent is this understanding that calling someone “fat” is accepted as name calling, even when it might have been done without malice, but merely without thinking.
I marvel at the fact that once “Rubenesque” women represented an ideal of beauty, and it was the skinny people who were objects of ridicule. Does anyone remember the Joe Tex song “Skinny legs and all”?
The Talmud is very explicit that we must be vigilant when addressing others, and that we are responsible for ensuring that we do not hurt anyone’s feelings. “If you knew that there had been an execution by hanging in your friend’s family, do not say, ‘Hang this fish on a hook for me’ (Talmud, Bava Metziya 59b) Certainly, if we knew someone was sensitive about her weight, we should avoid the subject altogether, but one has to wonder why something as pervasive as obesity in absolute numbers, has not made a dent in making it more acceptable.
Does anyone think that this societal obsession will be changing anytime soon?
Fat chance.
“One sounds the alarm for every threat to the community, save for excessive rains…“
So says the Mishna in Ta’anit, after which the renowned Honi HaMa’agel taunts God into making it rain exactly in accord with his request. Honi does his job so well that people must evacuate their homes because of the flooding. The people plead for him to shut off the faucet. Honi demurs, and from that refusal, a rabbinic edict follows. Pray for rain to come, but don’t pray for it to stop.
When I was traveling with my family cross country in August, I vividly recall the parched corn fields of Illinois and Missouri. After so many weeks of relentless heat, I wonder if the heartlanders would have welcomed a hurricane that brought the promise of thirty-six hours of blessed rain. Rain that would undoubtedly ravage crops, but fill the “cisterns and reservoirs”. Maybe it takes a drought to see the blessing of wind swept rain that inspires awe but brings darkness to the city.
For some inexplicable reason, the strong winds have yet to extinguish the electric sparks of hearth and home. We lose power so often here that this welcome reprieve seems more than fortuitous. The wind is loud, and constant. My New Zealand wife scoffs at this weather, and declares that in Wellington this would be considered merely a windy day. No worry for flying debris in NZ, everything that wasn’t nailed down blew away years ago.
Torah is like water. It nurtures, and it runs to the low places where it is received by the modest and humble. The wind never stops, but sometimes it needs to remind us that it is here, and that it matters. Torah can make peace, but often brings fury like a hurricane. It is possible to care too much, and only after everything dies down does one reflect on what may have been destroyed. Such is the price of passion.
It is nearly one o’clock in the morning. The gleeful meteorologists celebrate these storms like Purim savoring the nuances of low pressure systems. I gratefully write accompanied by Edison’s miracle with nature’s fury in the background.
I’m at peace. .
For more than twenty years, Anat and her mighty band of “Women at the Wall” have been respectfully exercising their right to worship on Rosh Chodesh. This latest outrage has predictably provoked vocal protests from primarily non-Orthodox diaspora Jews from North America. Let’s face it, the group Anat was leading were tourists.
The Kotel and Jerusalem itself have long been conceded to the Ultra-Orthodox. Secular and even Modern Orthodox Jews have been fleeing Jerusalem for the last decade. Over half of first grade children in Jerusalem are haredi, and the numbers are climbing. The tax base of Jerusalem is less than the development town of Ma’alot because of the hundreds of thousands of Kollel students feeding off the public trough.
What does all this mean? Most secular Israelis who are not openly hostile to religion, consider themselves non, or lightly practicing Orthodox Jews and just as they are not breaking down the doors to enter Conservative or Reform synagogues, they are not going to get their knickers in a twist about the praying rights of women at the Kotel. Add to this, the little known statistic that the vast majority of Israelis have never even visited Jerusalem, and you will understand why this issue has gained so little traction in the past two decades. The only thing thing that concerns the Israeli government about the Kotel is whether the paratroopers can have their swearing in ceremony there. Other than that, it’s considered a place of archaeological curiosity. As long as the tourists are allowed to peruse the antiquities, let the dossim have a free hand.
Back in the eighties when “Who Is a Jew” was the hot button issue, Rabbi Alexander Shindler had come from the States to lobby the Knesset, and held a press conference. At the time, I was studying in a yeshiva by day, and working as a stringer for a wire service by night. I also was an unofficial translator for much of the foreign press corps. (Talk about a schizo existence.) Often, members of the foreign press would ask for background concerning religious issues, since I was usually the only observant person they knew. At one time, I wanted to change my name to be “Religious Sources” since that was how my information was often referenced. A correspondent of a Chicago paper was curious about the issue, and couldn’t understand why it hadn’t been resolved after millennia of discussion. He also wondered what the argument was all about, and if Israel was a primarily secular country, where was the public outrage?
Of course, the answer then was that religious parties were essential for a coalition government, and these were relatively easy concessions for the majority party to make. If, however, there were say sixty or seventy thousand non-Orthodox religious Jews who cared enough to give the Labor party three more seats, then the coalition would no longer need the religious parties but until that happens, don’t expect to see much change.
The same is true in this case. Either a bunch of serious Reform and Conservative Jews are going to have to pack their bags and move to Israel, or one hundred thousand Israelis are going to have to find God in pews without a mechitza. I think we have a better chance of seeing the Messiah come before that dream is realized, but given the current US unemployment stats, I could be mistaken.
The Book of Lamentations traditionally attributed Jeremiah, the paradigmatic Prophet of Doom, poetically mourns the destruction of the Jerusalem, its Temple and the exile of Jews to Babylonia. It begins “How is it that she dwells alone, the city, once great with people, she that was great among the nations, Is become like a widow.”
In a classic micro reading, the Midrash asks: We’ve already been told that the city was great with people, what does “great among the nations” teach us?
It teaches that the people were great in wisdom. Rabbi Huna in the name of Rabbi Yossi said: Whenever a Jerusalemite would travel abroad, they would place him on a throne in order to hear his wisdom.
Once there was an older man who went abroad from Jerusalem. He stayed with friend there until he became ill. He entrusted his friend with the deeds to all his property and asked him to hold them in trust for his son. If his son demonstrated three acts of wisdom, his son would inherit, but if he didn’t do so, the man was instructed not to transfer the deeds to his son. They made a pact hat no one was to tell the son where this man lived. The son arrived in Athens, and knew the man’s name, but nothing else. He saw a man selling bundles of kindling, and asked the man if he would deliver the kindling to this man’s house, and then he followed from behind. The woodsman called out to the man and told him to take his wood. The man answered, “Did I order the wood from you?” The woodsman said ,”No, but the man behind me ordered me to deliver the wood to you.” That counts as one act of wisdom. The man went to greet the son and asked him who he was, and then immediately invited him in for a meal. The man brought his wife, his two sons and his two daughters for a midday meal. The main course was five cornish hens The man told the son to divide up the food among himself and the family. The son politely said that it was not his place to do so, but the man insisted.
The son gave one hen to the husband and wife. Then he gave one to the two sons, and one to the two daughters. He then kept the remaining two for himself. No one said a word.
That evening, the man brought out a large chicken and asked the son to divide it up among everyone. The son politely refused saying that it was not his place to do so, but the man insisted. The son gave the head of the chicken to the man. He gave the innards to his wife. He gave the legs and thighs to the sons. He gave the wings to the daughters, and he kept the carcass for himself.
The man could not control himself and asked “Why have you divided the food in such an unseemly
way?”
The son answered, “Did I not tell you that this food was not mine to split up, but nevertheless I did it appropriately. The first time, I gave you and your wife one chicken. Together, that numbers three heads. I gave your two sons one chicken and that’s three heads. I then gave your daughters one chicken and that’s three heads. Since there is only one of me I needed two chickens to count as three in order to divide them equally.
Once again you brought out a chicken and asked me to split it up, and I declined, but you still insisted. And once again I did it properly. I gave you the head because you are the head of the household. Your wife got the innards, because that’s where her children came from. Your sons got the legs because they are the pillars of the family. And the daughters got the wings because some day they will marry and fly away from here. I took the carcass which is shaped like a boat because I came to Athens on a boat and on a boat I shall leave once you have given me my inheritance. So give it to me, and I’ll be on my way. And so it was. (Eicha Rabba 1:4)
This is the first of many short narratives that have similar themes. They always end with the Jerusalemite using cleverness to his advantage in a way that the unsuspecting Athenian cannot deny. All the stories are funny, and it is stunning to find them as commentary on the saddest book of the Bible! In fact I know of no other place in Rabbinic literature where such an extensive digression of this kind takes place. Why here, of all places? Why are these the examples of the kind of Jewish acumen that was noted among the gentiles?
Eicha Rabba dates back to the fifth century, a time when the impact of he second exile still resonated deeply. At first these stories look like a manifestation of impotent rage–a way to feel superior when all evidence is to the contrary, but what prompted the editor to tell these stories here? It was the apparent redundancy in the first verse, of reiterating that the city was great. The triumphalism of the midrash is in stark contrast to the bleak mood of Lamentations. This particular expression of Jewish exceptionalism is all too familiar. It is incredible to realize how ancient this self perception is vis-a-vis our non-Jewish neighbors. It is also not altogether unfamiliar to find this typical Jewish one up-man-ship amidst the most tragic of circumstances, but to chalk it off to being just an example of the pathos of Jewish humor might be missing the point.
This is a comment on how little such cleverness matters. There are pitfalls to being exceptional in that there is a tendency to believe in ones own public relations. It inspires jealousy, resentment and sometimes retribution. It may be significant to others, but it should mean very little to ourselves. In the end, the great city and her oh so brilliant inhabitants end up desolate and in servitude. The witty repartee that carried us into exile must have been cold comfort.
All that wisdom has served to make the exile that much more painful. In the end, we have a few funny stories with which to salve our wounds.
Because the Bar Kochba Rebellion (132–136 CE), had such a tragic ending, Jewish civilization retreated into the life of the mind. As in these ancient stories, Jews, by and large, make their mark in using their wits not only in Talmud, but even in ways that the world can appreciate. We who take pride in Jewish professional athletes know that if we wished, we could easily remember all their names, but try and name all the Jewish Nobel Prize winners…
Much to the great relief to many and consternation to some, the Jewish army of the State of Israel has brought us back to being a nation that does not only have to rely on its witty rejoinders for solace. These are the jokes of exile but not of a nation. Nowadays, just when we think that we stand among the nations as equals, the nations of the world remind us that we are tolerated but don’t really belong. The Munich massacre of 1972 was only an assault on Jews, and had nothing to do with the Olympics, and so therefore, there is no reason to devote even a minute to their memory, on this, the fortieth anniversary. This is a private affair, it has nothing to do with the Olympics of 2012.
Even Israel, with her great Jewish army, is finding out that with all the achievements it has made on the world stage, the necessity for a few good jokes has yet to pass. The more things change…
Nothing is more divisive for a shul than when the congregation is split over its rabbinic leadership. Somewhere between farce and Elizabethan (melo)drama accurately characterizes the intensity, the politics, the hubris and the silliness that inevitably emerge as part of what will certainly feel like a never-ending saga.
Lost in the discussion is any interest in what the Halacha might say that would maybe temper the discussion, and guide the way for more orderly, and dare I say, more civil proceedings. Having witnessed, and unfortunately participated, in such a debacle, it at least aroused in me a need to review halachic literature on how one should go about dealing with a situation when the rabbi’s future is in question.
As one may expect, the general tendency is to favor the standing rabbi unless he has done something so egregious that his moral authority lacks credibility. If he has become merely unpopular, or out of touch, these alone are not automatically considered grounds for dismissal or non renewal of his contract. There are other remedies, compromises if you will, suggested in the literature that try to mollify the community such as bringing on an assistant rabbi, or a co-rabbi that would be more to the liking of the community.
There are other opinions that would side with the community if the vast majority were dissatisfied. In most circumstances, where the community is split, if the rabbi finds such a reality acceptable, and is fulfilling his role responsibly, than he is on pretty firm ground virtually according to everyone. This is usually the backdrop for a breakaway minyan–a time honored tradition in all congregational life.
I was curious to know the textual justification for why the rabbi was afforded these protections–at least by the halacha. What I have found, fascinated me, and for whatever they are worth, I have some insights and comments to make on the sources and how they are understood.
In the Talmudic tractate Brachot 28a, there is the story of an ongoing dispute between Rabban Gamliel, the Nasi, the president of the rabbinic leadership and Rabbi Yehoshua who was known for his brilliance and his propensity to disagree with the president. When it became known that Rabbi Yehoshua had once again contradicted one of Rabban Gamliel’s decisions, Rabban Gamliel publicly humiliated Rabbi Yeshoshua, and this was not the only time he had done so. The rabbis take umbrage and decide to depose Rabban Gamliel and appoint Rabbi Eliezer Ben Azaryah as the new Nasi.
In the meantime, Rabban Gamliel, realizing his future as the Nasi is in jeopardy, apologizes to Rabbi Yehoshua which puts the rabbis in a quandary. Now that Rabban Gamliel has apologized, the grounds for removing him are no longer valid, but once they offered the position to Rabbi Eliezer Ben Azaryah it cannot be rescinded. Why not? Because of a Talmudic principle that asserts “One can cause an ascent in holiness, but cannot be the cause of its decline.”
In all but one other instance, this principle applies to ritual objects. For instance, when selling a Torah, the proceeds could only be used for objects that were equally or more holy. You couldn’t buy a Torah breastplate with the proceeds from the sale of a Torah. You could, however, buy a Torah with the proceeds from the sale of a breastplate. The Torah being considered an “upgrade” from the breastplate.
This principle is learned in two different places in the Torah from verses dealing with the Tabernacle in one place and the fringes of a prayer shawl in another. It is also applied when the High Priest, for reason of unexpected impurity, is unable to perform the rituals on Yom Kippur. An appointed deputy replaces him, but once that has happened the deputy remains in the position of high priest and may not be returned to his previous position.
In the story of Rabban Gamliel and Rabbi Yehoshua, however, the principle is applied to rabbinic roles where character flaws are considered grounds for removing Rabban Gamliel, but barring such blatant behavior and this only after it happened repeatedly, Rabban Gamliel’s position as Nasi would have remained secure.
The interesting move of this story is to make the Rabbinic position on par with that of either the High Priest in the Temple, or somehow on par with the sanctity of sacred objects. The study and teaching of Torah was being promoted as central to Jewish life as were the rituals in the Temple. It is this story that sets the stage for the sanctity of rabbinic authority after the destruction of the Temple. If this had not been established prior to the destruction, one can only wonder what might have transpired.
The story teaches that the feelings, or the dignity of an individual rabbi is not only an offense against him, but the Torah itself. Unlike the Priest, this honor is not a birthright, but is merited by the hard work and recognition of peers that the individual in fact is one who embodies the acumen and qualities of a scholar and thereby deserves to be objectified in the highest sense of the word. He is, for all intents and purposes, the Torah.
This begs the question of whether the modern rabbi nowadays is presumed to have these qualities, or as is often the case is mostly an officiant who primarily is there to serve the pastoral needs and experiences of the community. This is particularly problematic in a modern Orthodox setting where prevailing opinions pay lip service to one quality but truly value the officiant who is perceived to be on the same wavelength as the community.
The conflict arises when said rabbi exemplifies the Torah of Rabbi Yehoshua and Rabban Gamliel but does not fulfill the expectations of what many in the community have come to expect, that being, more the modern rabbi, and less the “Rav”.
Maybe if people looked at what the Talmud and poskim (legal decisors), considered criteria for who was considered to be a “Rav”, then they would come to the conclusion that it is time for them to change and not change what it means to be the “Rav”.
