I love seminary. I love Israel.
I automatically feel obligated to qualify the above statements with an emphatic “thank G-d.” I guess seminary is getting to me. Just kidding. Well, kind of.
The truth is (yes, take that to mean that I’m usually not telling the truth, or am I?) that seminary is kind of getting to me. In a good way, I think. For example, since fourth grade, I’ve been settled on becoming a lawyer when I grow up. (When exactly am I officially considered a grown-up, by the way? When I graduate college? Grad school? When I start paying for my own cell phone bill? When I get married? When my formerly black Bis from 5th grade stops fitting? (It is elasticated, after all.)) In any case, my experience this year of learning Torah full time—or as full time as one can learn Torah when one has other pressing obligations such as lengthy moviemaking sessions, trips to Fro-Yo (truth is that I’ve only gone twice, or have I?), frequent walks to burn off the Fro-Yo, and all-night crochet parties—has compelled me to consider a career in learning and teaching Tanach full time. (I’m thinking at the undergraduate level.) This is not to say that there’s anything wrong with being a lawyer. I may very possibly become one when I grow up, whenever that may be.
If you’re concerned that I’m flipping out (as in “Flipping Out” by Blue Fringe), don’t be. Or if you’re excited that I am flipping out, you may have to be patient and wait a couple more months for seminary to have its full effect. The reason that I recommend exercising some caution is that although I’ve been pretty set on law for the past decade or so, I have experienced a series of similar career-choice uncertainties.
For example, after taking a class in international relations, I considered a career with the CIA or the State Department. I still find a job in international diplomacy kind of tempting, although I would probably have to majorly improve my foreign language skills (ha’Ivrit shellee lo kol kach tova, v’ani lo midaberet shoom lashon acheret milvad anglit). Then, when I took a journalism class, I was almost convinced my calling lay at The New Yorker. However, when my first attempt at being a creative journalist led to a thinly veiled death threat, I basically gave up on that idea. (More about that another time, perhaps.)
All of this uncertainty is pretty liberating. I’m enjoying the freedom of choice that comes along with multiple career options, a freedom I haven’t felt since prepubescence. This choice is contingent, though, on doing well on my LSATs, G-d willing.
Take the poll:
Should DDP follow a career in…
A. Diplomacy
B. Journalism
C. Law
D. Tanach
E. Other
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
A Dvar Torah on Parshas Noach
This one’s for you, Dad—
At the end of Parshas Noach, after describing the Mabul (the great flood) and the Dor HaPalaga (the generation that built the Migdal Bavel—the tower in Babylon), the Torah lists the generations between Noach and Avram, culminating in a short description of Avram’s family. Pasuk 27 of Perek 11 lists Terach’s sons, Avram, Nachor, and Haran, and Haran’s son, Lot. Pasuk 28 describes Haran’s death in Ur Kasdim. Pasuk 29 describes Avram and Nachor’s respective marriages to Sarai and Milkah. Rabbeinu Bechayei (a student of the student of the Ramban) focuses on Pesukim 30 and 31. In pasuk 30, the Torah writes, “Va’ti’he Sarai akarah, ain lah valad”—Sarai was barren, she had no child. In pasuk 31, the Torah describes Terach, Avram, Lot, and Sarai setting off from Ur Kasdim in order to go to Eretz Canaan, but ending up in the land of Charan and settling there. Pasuk 32, the last pasuk of Parshas Noach, describes Terach’s death in Charan. The next Parsha begins with the command of “lech lecha,” Hashem’s command to Avram to go Eretz Canaan.
Rabbeinu Bechayei addresses the following three questions on pesukim 30 and 31:
1. If the Torah writes that Sarai is an “akarah,” barren, then isn’t it redundant to also write “ein lah valad,” that she had no child?
2. How is the piece of information that Sarai is barren relevant to the story line, which is describing the family’s journey to Eretz Canaan? Why does the Torah introduce this detail here?
3. Why are Avram and his family traveling to Eretz Canaan at all, especially if the command of Lech Lecha isn’t even given until the next parsha?
In regard to the first question, Rabbeinu Bechayei explains that the word “akarah” means that Sarai was barren in the same way that some women have difficulty conceiving, but later are able to have children. The second phrase, “ein lah valad,” however, indicates that “ein b’tivah lihiyot lah valad li’olam”—that it wasn’t in her nature to ever have a child, meaning that from a medical perspective she would never be able to conceive.
Rabbeinu Bechayei answers the last two questions as one. Since Sarai was completely barren, she and Avram decided to go to Eretz Canaan in the hope that “oolai b’zchut ha’aretz ha’kdosha yi’banu sham”—perhaps in the merit of the holy land they would have children there. They hoped that the kedusha, the holiness, of Eretz Yisrael would bring about a real nes, a miracle that would defy the rules of teva, nature. The Torah must relay Sarai’s barren state here in order to explain why the family is traveling to Eretz Canaan.
Indeed, Avram and Sarai are correct—being in Eretz Canaan would cause them to be worthy of having a child, despite the constraints of teva. In the very first pasuk of the next parsha, Hashem commands Avram, “lech lecha.” In the following pasuk, Hashem promises Avram that in the land that He will show him, “v’eh’escha l’goy gadol,” I will make you into a great nation. Rashi explains that the word “lecha” means that going to Canaan will be good for Avram. How so? There, Avram will be made into a great nation. Why specifically in Canaan? Rashi explains, "v'kan ee atah zocheh l'banim"—because here, in Charan, you do not merit having children. Rashi’s explanation of “lecha” correlates perfectly with Rabbenu Bechayei’s explanation of why Avram and Sarai are heading to Canaan: to merit having children. Indeed, Hashem’s promise to Avram comes true—Sarai gives birth to Yitzchak in Canaan.
Interestingly, later in Sefer Beraishis, in perek 24, Avram commands his servant to go to his homeland to find a wife for his son Yitzchak. Avram tells his servant that if the woman who he finds to be suitable for Yizchak refuses to come live in Canaan, then the servant should leave her and return. Why? Avram says in pasuk 8, because “rak et bni lo tashev shama”—only my son cannot return there. The pesukim are ambiguous concerning where “there” is. To which country is Avram referring? Ramban explains that “there” is Charan, not Ur Kasdim, Avram’s original homeland. Ibn Ezra, however, explains that the pasuk is not emphasizing wherever “there” is, but rather the pasuk is emphasizing that Yitzchak must remain in Eretz Yisrael (Ibn Ezra calls the land Eretz Yisrael—not Eretz Canaan). The ambiguity of the pesukim regarding the place that the servant is visiting supports Ibn Ezra’s explanation.
I have not found a source for this idea, but perhaps in combining the ideas of Rabbeinu Bechayei—that Avram and Sarai go to Canaan in order to merit having a child, Rashi—that, in Charan, Avram and Sarai do not merit having a child, and Ibn Ezra—that Yitzchak must stay in Eretz Yisrael, it is possible to infer that the reason that Avram is so adamant that Yitzchak not leave Eretz Canaan is that outside of Canaan, Yitzchak does not merit living. His birth was brought about through a miracle that was only possible due to the kedusha, the holiness, of Eretz Yisrael.
So what? These ideas are beautiful, inspiring, but so what?
I think that the “so what” may be that the existence of the Jewish people is a nes, a miracle that is entirely dependent on Eretz Yisrael. If not for Eretz Yisrael and its holiness, Yitzchak our forefather would never have been born, and the Jewish people would never have been brought into existence. As a people, we are historically and eternally bound to the land. Just as the land held potential for great merit for Avram and Sarai, in Israel, we have special zechuyot, opportunities for merit. We have the opportunity to fulfill the mitzvot ha’tluyot ba’aretz, the mitzvot that can only be fulfilled in the land of Israel. We can walk daled amot, four cubits, in the land. At the end of a parsha filled with destruction and dispersion, we learn about the special holiness of Eretz Yisrael
At the end of Parshas Noach, after describing the Mabul (the great flood) and the Dor HaPalaga (the generation that built the Migdal Bavel—the tower in Babylon), the Torah lists the generations between Noach and Avram, culminating in a short description of Avram’s family. Pasuk 27 of Perek 11 lists Terach’s sons, Avram, Nachor, and Haran, and Haran’s son, Lot. Pasuk 28 describes Haran’s death in Ur Kasdim. Pasuk 29 describes Avram and Nachor’s respective marriages to Sarai and Milkah. Rabbeinu Bechayei (a student of the student of the Ramban) focuses on Pesukim 30 and 31. In pasuk 30, the Torah writes, “Va’ti’he Sarai akarah, ain lah valad”—Sarai was barren, she had no child. In pasuk 31, the Torah describes Terach, Avram, Lot, and Sarai setting off from Ur Kasdim in order to go to Eretz Canaan, but ending up in the land of Charan and settling there. Pasuk 32, the last pasuk of Parshas Noach, describes Terach’s death in Charan. The next Parsha begins with the command of “lech lecha,” Hashem’s command to Avram to go Eretz Canaan.
Rabbeinu Bechayei addresses the following three questions on pesukim 30 and 31:
1. If the Torah writes that Sarai is an “akarah,” barren, then isn’t it redundant to also write “ein lah valad,” that she had no child?
2. How is the piece of information that Sarai is barren relevant to the story line, which is describing the family’s journey to Eretz Canaan? Why does the Torah introduce this detail here?
3. Why are Avram and his family traveling to Eretz Canaan at all, especially if the command of Lech Lecha isn’t even given until the next parsha?
In regard to the first question, Rabbeinu Bechayei explains that the word “akarah” means that Sarai was barren in the same way that some women have difficulty conceiving, but later are able to have children. The second phrase, “ein lah valad,” however, indicates that “ein b’tivah lihiyot lah valad li’olam”—that it wasn’t in her nature to ever have a child, meaning that from a medical perspective she would never be able to conceive.
Rabbeinu Bechayei answers the last two questions as one. Since Sarai was completely barren, she and Avram decided to go to Eretz Canaan in the hope that “oolai b’zchut ha’aretz ha’kdosha yi’banu sham”—perhaps in the merit of the holy land they would have children there. They hoped that the kedusha, the holiness, of Eretz Yisrael would bring about a real nes, a miracle that would defy the rules of teva, nature. The Torah must relay Sarai’s barren state here in order to explain why the family is traveling to Eretz Canaan.
Indeed, Avram and Sarai are correct—being in Eretz Canaan would cause them to be worthy of having a child, despite the constraints of teva. In the very first pasuk of the next parsha, Hashem commands Avram, “lech lecha.” In the following pasuk, Hashem promises Avram that in the land that He will show him, “v’eh’escha l’goy gadol,” I will make you into a great nation. Rashi explains that the word “lecha” means that going to Canaan will be good for Avram. How so? There, Avram will be made into a great nation. Why specifically in Canaan? Rashi explains, "v'kan ee atah zocheh l'banim"—because here, in Charan, you do not merit having children. Rashi’s explanation of “lecha” correlates perfectly with Rabbenu Bechayei’s explanation of why Avram and Sarai are heading to Canaan: to merit having children. Indeed, Hashem’s promise to Avram comes true—Sarai gives birth to Yitzchak in Canaan.
Interestingly, later in Sefer Beraishis, in perek 24, Avram commands his servant to go to his homeland to find a wife for his son Yitzchak. Avram tells his servant that if the woman who he finds to be suitable for Yizchak refuses to come live in Canaan, then the servant should leave her and return. Why? Avram says in pasuk 8, because “rak et bni lo tashev shama”—only my son cannot return there. The pesukim are ambiguous concerning where “there” is. To which country is Avram referring? Ramban explains that “there” is Charan, not Ur Kasdim, Avram’s original homeland. Ibn Ezra, however, explains that the pasuk is not emphasizing wherever “there” is, but rather the pasuk is emphasizing that Yitzchak must remain in Eretz Yisrael (Ibn Ezra calls the land Eretz Yisrael—not Eretz Canaan). The ambiguity of the pesukim regarding the place that the servant is visiting supports Ibn Ezra’s explanation.
I have not found a source for this idea, but perhaps in combining the ideas of Rabbeinu Bechayei—that Avram and Sarai go to Canaan in order to merit having a child, Rashi—that, in Charan, Avram and Sarai do not merit having a child, and Ibn Ezra—that Yitzchak must stay in Eretz Yisrael, it is possible to infer that the reason that Avram is so adamant that Yitzchak not leave Eretz Canaan is that outside of Canaan, Yitzchak does not merit living. His birth was brought about through a miracle that was only possible due to the kedusha, the holiness, of Eretz Yisrael.
So what? These ideas are beautiful, inspiring, but so what?
I think that the “so what” may be that the existence of the Jewish people is a nes, a miracle that is entirely dependent on Eretz Yisrael. If not for Eretz Yisrael and its holiness, Yitzchak our forefather would never have been born, and the Jewish people would never have been brought into existence. As a people, we are historically and eternally bound to the land. Just as the land held potential for great merit for Avram and Sarai, in Israel, we have special zechuyot, opportunities for merit. We have the opportunity to fulfill the mitzvot ha’tluyot ba’aretz, the mitzvot that can only be fulfilled in the land of Israel. We can walk daled amot, four cubits, in the land. At the end of a parsha filled with destruction and dispersion, we learn about the special holiness of Eretz Yisrael
Sunday, October 14, 2007
On Soft Drinks, Yom Tov, and Canada
It’s kind of interesting writing on a blog entitled “Diet Dr. Pepper” when I haven’t had the extreme pleasure of imbibing this particular beverage in approximately six weeks. In any case, I’m doing unexpectedly well without the drink, a pleasant surprise, which I think can be attributed to a number of causative factors:
1. Since calling the manufacturer (Cadbury Schweppes) in the summer (it’s not the summer anymore; strange, isn’t it?) and inquiring about their international sales operation, I’ve known that DDP is unavailable in Israel. This experience has taught me that knowledge is power, empowering, whatever.
2. I’ve started ingesting an incredible amount of Diet Coke. No, Diet Coke is not as good as DDP. However, it is proving to be a suitable alternative. Just an interesting piece of information (oh l’fachot davar sheh’ani choshevet sheh’he mi’anyenet—that reminds me I’ve started speaking and writing Hebrew at random): Diet Coke in Israel contains calories. Well, really, it contains less than one calorie per cup, but that’s still more than the number of calories in American Diet Coke.
3. I’ve become a more spiritual person who simply does not have the time nor interest to focus on such mundane, physical matters as soft drinks. I’m just kidding. Actually, being in Israel and being relatively (emphasis on the word “relatively”) independent has forced me to focus on my nutritional needs, since I’m now responsible for buying all of my own food, except for lunch.
Besides for drinking an obscene amount of Diet Coke in the past couple of weeks, I’ve also been pretty busy observing 3-day Yomim Tovim, a time-consuming, unpredictably exhausting, but extraordinarily fun experience. My first 3-day Yom Tov (besides for Rosh Hashana, which everyone observes) was spent in Efrat. Simply put: I love Efrat. Go visit, spend a Shabbos, spend a 3-day Yom Tov. Besides for the fact that the people there are warm and generous and interesting to speak with, they also speak Hebrew. So not only did I have the opportunity to spend time with a family in a real house (not just a bunch of seminary girls in a sparsely-furnished dira), but I actually got to speak Hebrew, a hard-to-come-by experience in my heavily American seminary.
Since I haven’t written in a while, I’m feeling kind of partial to lists, so here’s a much-abbreviated account of my Chol HaMoed Sukkos in list form:
1. My friend (let’s call her Jinji; she may guest-blog someday) and I waited for the bus on Motzai Shabbos to get from Efrat back to Yerushalayim. While waiting for the bus, I finally got to pretend to be Canadian, which I’m not. It’s kind of strange, but I have a bunch of friends from Toronto (that part isn’t so strange), and I find their accents kind of interesting. When I was younger, I used to wonder why Canada is its own country rather than being part of the United States. After kind of taking A.P. U.S. History, I kind of understand why Canada is independent (it has something to do with 1812, right?), but I still think it’s kind of funny/cool that Canadians exist. But being Canadian has practical advantages. For example, when someone meets you and starts making fun of the fact that you’re American (this kind of thing happens quite frequently in Israel), a Canadian can be like, “Actually, I’m not American; I’m Canadian. (I didn’t vote for George W. Bush.)” Which brings me back to the bus stop. Jinji and I are waiting for the bus, and a yeshiva guy is also waiting at the stop. Desperate to introduce himself to us (again, not such an infrequent occurrence in Israel), he does. Jinji turns to him and says, “I’m Jinji; I’m from X. This is DDP; she’s from Canada.” So you see, having a Canadian alter ego is not only fun, but also convenient.
2. The Old City: over Chol HaMoed, I visited the Old City three times. Once for Birkas Cohanim, once to meet friends and to visit the Burnt House Museum, and once to daven Vasikin at the Kotel on Hoshana Raba. Birkas Cohanim on Sukkos is beyond description. Standing at the Kotel with thousands of other Jews caused me to think about what the aliyah l’regel must have been like, how many more people, how much more special.
3. My school took us to the Biblical Zoo. I like zoos; I like Tanach. I liked the Biblical Zoo.
4. My friends and I decided to go to one of those famous Geulah/Meah Shearim Simchas Beis HaSho’evas. We never did find a Simchas Beis HaSho’eva, although we did follow the signs, including the ones that enjoined us to stay on the right side of the street due to the heavy foot traffic during Chol HaMoed. There were even security guards hired for the sole purpose of keeping men and women on the correct sidewalks. “Nashim b’tzad yemin. Anashim b’tzad smol. Nashim b’tzad yemin. Anashim b’tzad smol.” It has a catchy tune.
5. On Tuesday of Chol HaMoed, my roommate, Jinji, and I took a trip to the north of Israel. We visited the grottoes of Rosh HaNikra, the medieval Crusader castle in Acco, and a mosaic-covered shul in Acco. Jinji will be guest-blogging about the trip soon, bli neder, which promises to be an amusing read. Just a small preview: “I ain’t doing no kvarim, Ta.”
Shemini Atzeres, Simchas Torah, and Shabbos were an interesting experience in a heavily Anglo-Saxon, affluent community. Never before had I seen carpet (or marble or sterling silver) in Israel.
In the midst of all of these Yomim Tovim, I also managed to attend two weddings, both of which enabled me to see some very special people who I haven’t seen in a long time.
Oh, by the way, I’m attending school here.
1. Since calling the manufacturer (Cadbury Schweppes) in the summer (it’s not the summer anymore; strange, isn’t it?) and inquiring about their international sales operation, I’ve known that DDP is unavailable in Israel. This experience has taught me that knowledge is power, empowering, whatever.
2. I’ve started ingesting an incredible amount of Diet Coke. No, Diet Coke is not as good as DDP. However, it is proving to be a suitable alternative. Just an interesting piece of information (oh l’fachot davar sheh’ani choshevet sheh’he mi’anyenet—that reminds me I’ve started speaking and writing Hebrew at random): Diet Coke in Israel contains calories. Well, really, it contains less than one calorie per cup, but that’s still more than the number of calories in American Diet Coke.
3. I’ve become a more spiritual person who simply does not have the time nor interest to focus on such mundane, physical matters as soft drinks. I’m just kidding. Actually, being in Israel and being relatively (emphasis on the word “relatively”) independent has forced me to focus on my nutritional needs, since I’m now responsible for buying all of my own food, except for lunch.
Besides for drinking an obscene amount of Diet Coke in the past couple of weeks, I’ve also been pretty busy observing 3-day Yomim Tovim, a time-consuming, unpredictably exhausting, but extraordinarily fun experience. My first 3-day Yom Tov (besides for Rosh Hashana, which everyone observes) was spent in Efrat. Simply put: I love Efrat. Go visit, spend a Shabbos, spend a 3-day Yom Tov. Besides for the fact that the people there are warm and generous and interesting to speak with, they also speak Hebrew. So not only did I have the opportunity to spend time with a family in a real house (not just a bunch of seminary girls in a sparsely-furnished dira), but I actually got to speak Hebrew, a hard-to-come-by experience in my heavily American seminary.
Since I haven’t written in a while, I’m feeling kind of partial to lists, so here’s a much-abbreviated account of my Chol HaMoed Sukkos in list form:
1. My friend (let’s call her Jinji; she may guest-blog someday) and I waited for the bus on Motzai Shabbos to get from Efrat back to Yerushalayim. While waiting for the bus, I finally got to pretend to be Canadian, which I’m not. It’s kind of strange, but I have a bunch of friends from Toronto (that part isn’t so strange), and I find their accents kind of interesting. When I was younger, I used to wonder why Canada is its own country rather than being part of the United States. After kind of taking A.P. U.S. History, I kind of understand why Canada is independent (it has something to do with 1812, right?), but I still think it’s kind of funny/cool that Canadians exist. But being Canadian has practical advantages. For example, when someone meets you and starts making fun of the fact that you’re American (this kind of thing happens quite frequently in Israel), a Canadian can be like, “Actually, I’m not American; I’m Canadian. (I didn’t vote for George W. Bush.)” Which brings me back to the bus stop. Jinji and I are waiting for the bus, and a yeshiva guy is also waiting at the stop. Desperate to introduce himself to us (again, not such an infrequent occurrence in Israel), he does. Jinji turns to him and says, “I’m Jinji; I’m from X. This is DDP; she’s from Canada.” So you see, having a Canadian alter ego is not only fun, but also convenient.
2. The Old City: over Chol HaMoed, I visited the Old City three times. Once for Birkas Cohanim, once to meet friends and to visit the Burnt House Museum, and once to daven Vasikin at the Kotel on Hoshana Raba. Birkas Cohanim on Sukkos is beyond description. Standing at the Kotel with thousands of other Jews caused me to think about what the aliyah l’regel must have been like, how many more people, how much more special.
3. My school took us to the Biblical Zoo. I like zoos; I like Tanach. I liked the Biblical Zoo.
4. My friends and I decided to go to one of those famous Geulah/Meah Shearim Simchas Beis HaSho’evas. We never did find a Simchas Beis HaSho’eva, although we did follow the signs, including the ones that enjoined us to stay on the right side of the street due to the heavy foot traffic during Chol HaMoed. There were even security guards hired for the sole purpose of keeping men and women on the correct sidewalks. “Nashim b’tzad yemin. Anashim b’tzad smol. Nashim b’tzad yemin. Anashim b’tzad smol.” It has a catchy tune.
5. On Tuesday of Chol HaMoed, my roommate, Jinji, and I took a trip to the north of Israel. We visited the grottoes of Rosh HaNikra, the medieval Crusader castle in Acco, and a mosaic-covered shul in Acco. Jinji will be guest-blogging about the trip soon, bli neder, which promises to be an amusing read. Just a small preview: “I ain’t doing no kvarim, Ta.”
Shemini Atzeres, Simchas Torah, and Shabbos were an interesting experience in a heavily Anglo-Saxon, affluent community. Never before had I seen carpet (or marble or sterling silver) in Israel.
In the midst of all of these Yomim Tovim, I also managed to attend two weddings, both of which enabled me to see some very special people who I haven’t seen in a long time.
Oh, by the way, I’m attending school here.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Shavua Tov
Whoa. So much has happened in the past week.
I've heard that the beginning is a good place to start, so here's the beginning:
Last Tuesday, I went on a tiyul with two friends to the Jerusalem Archaeology Park. Beginning in the late 1800s, I believe, archaeologists began digging up the area around Har HaBayit and the Kotel. After 1967, Israeli archaeologists put great efforts into uncovering the layers of history surrounding Har HaBayit. As a result of archaeologists' efforts over the past hundred years or so, you can now visit Bayit Sheini-era mikvaot, storefronts, and ruins, all located along the Western Wall (just a bit south of the Kotel Plaza). A couple of hundred feet away, on the southern side of Har HaBayit, you can walk through a Byzantine-era home (the mosaic floors are in perfect condition) and explore the former grounds of an Ummayad palace. Robinson's Arch and Chulda's gate, two of the former entrances to the Beit HaMikdash are must-sees as well. (I realize that I sound like a tour guide.) Near the end of our time in the park, I witnessed a pretty eery sight. I noticed dogs running through the excavations on the southern side of Har HaBayit; the image reminded me so much of the story of Rabbi Akiva and the foxes roaming Har HaBayit.
Rosh Hashana was an intense experience. I spent the chag in Beitar. Shachris began at 6:30 A.M. and ended at around 2:00 P.M. At the Yom Tov and Shabbos seudot, my hosts only discussed divrei Torah. It was a different sort of Yom Tov for me, which I think is a good thing since the Aseret Yimei Teshuva are a time to try to be a better person. My Rosh Hashana's atmosphere was definitely conducive to achieving that goal.
Today, Tzom Gedalya. After an abbreviated schedule of classes, a couple of friends and I visited Yad VaShem. (You know the quote in Maus, where Art Spiegelman quotes someone famous who said that putting an idea to words detracts from the idea, but Art comments that the person bothered to say that very idea?) Regardless of whether I paraphrased that idea correctly at all or not and regardless of whether it was intelligible, I'm trying to say that Yad VaShem goes beyond description. Description wouldn't do the place justice. All I can say is that three hours is not enough time to properly visit the museum, so I hope to go back sometime soon.
And now. I'm sitting outside, under some palm trees and across from a bed of rose bushes, typing. That's right. We've got Wifi.
I've heard that the beginning is a good place to start, so here's the beginning:
Last Tuesday, I went on a tiyul with two friends to the Jerusalem Archaeology Park. Beginning in the late 1800s, I believe, archaeologists began digging up the area around Har HaBayit and the Kotel. After 1967, Israeli archaeologists put great efforts into uncovering the layers of history surrounding Har HaBayit. As a result of archaeologists' efforts over the past hundred years or so, you can now visit Bayit Sheini-era mikvaot, storefronts, and ruins, all located along the Western Wall (just a bit south of the Kotel Plaza). A couple of hundred feet away, on the southern side of Har HaBayit, you can walk through a Byzantine-era home (the mosaic floors are in perfect condition) and explore the former grounds of an Ummayad palace. Robinson's Arch and Chulda's gate, two of the former entrances to the Beit HaMikdash are must-sees as well. (I realize that I sound like a tour guide.) Near the end of our time in the park, I witnessed a pretty eery sight. I noticed dogs running through the excavations on the southern side of Har HaBayit; the image reminded me so much of the story of Rabbi Akiva and the foxes roaming Har HaBayit.
Rosh Hashana was an intense experience. I spent the chag in Beitar. Shachris began at 6:30 A.M. and ended at around 2:00 P.M. At the Yom Tov and Shabbos seudot, my hosts only discussed divrei Torah. It was a different sort of Yom Tov for me, which I think is a good thing since the Aseret Yimei Teshuva are a time to try to be a better person. My Rosh Hashana's atmosphere was definitely conducive to achieving that goal.
Today, Tzom Gedalya. After an abbreviated schedule of classes, a couple of friends and I visited Yad VaShem. (You know the quote in Maus, where Art Spiegelman quotes someone famous who said that putting an idea to words detracts from the idea, but Art comments that the person bothered to say that very idea?) Regardless of whether I paraphrased that idea correctly at all or not and regardless of whether it was intelligible, I'm trying to say that Yad VaShem goes beyond description. Description wouldn't do the place justice. All I can say is that three hours is not enough time to properly visit the museum, so I hope to go back sometime soon.
And now. I'm sitting outside, under some palm trees and across from a bed of rose bushes, typing. That's right. We've got Wifi.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Philadelphia Cream Cheese
Thank G-d, I'm having an all-around great time in Israel.
I'm even adapting well to the paucity of Diet Dr. Pepper in this country; I've taken up drinking Diet Coke by the liter instead. It's not the same, but it will suffice.
The one thing, however, that I've been trying to find here that I just can't seem to locate is American-style cream cheese. You know, the normal stuff you put on a lightly toasted whole wheat poppy seed bagel. Yeah, that stuff. Strangely, this country sells many, many varieties of cheese, but not regular, old-fashioned cream cheese. Israeli cheese even comes with the exact percentage of fat contained within printed on the package. Talk about full disclosure. But for an industry that has shomen-content down to the percentage, the Israeli dairy industry does not seem to produce cream cheese. So I was pleasantly surprised today when I opened up the fridge and found a package of Philadelphia cream cheese, tied in silver ribbon, laying on my shelf.
I have really sweet dira-mates. Thanks guys.
I'm even adapting well to the paucity of Diet Dr. Pepper in this country; I've taken up drinking Diet Coke by the liter instead. It's not the same, but it will suffice.
The one thing, however, that I've been trying to find here that I just can't seem to locate is American-style cream cheese. You know, the normal stuff you put on a lightly toasted whole wheat poppy seed bagel. Yeah, that stuff. Strangely, this country sells many, many varieties of cheese, but not regular, old-fashioned cream cheese. Israeli cheese even comes with the exact percentage of fat contained within printed on the package. Talk about full disclosure. But for an industry that has shomen-content down to the percentage, the Israeli dairy industry does not seem to produce cream cheese. So I was pleasantly surprised today when I opened up the fridge and found a package of Philadelphia cream cheese, tied in silver ribbon, laying on my shelf.
I have really sweet dira-mates. Thanks guys.
Monday, September 3, 2007
I Think I'm Falling in Love with Israel
Okay, so I've been here in Yerushalayim for just about a week and three hours now, and it's been quite an experience.
When I first arrived in Yerushalayim (after a rather lengthy delay in JFK), I had one of those simple yet profound realizations. I so badly wanted to visit the Kotel--merely a remnant in the place where a magnificent Beit HaMikdash should be--and I thought to myself, How awesome would it be to take a sheirut from Ben Gurion to the Beit HaMikdash. Halevai.
I forgot, or perhaps I never realized, how beautiful the city of Yerushalayim is. The hills, the valleys, the panoramic views, the brilliant sunshine--and that's just Bayit Vegan. I've got a great davening spot under a lime tree in a small courtyard outside my dira. Talk about a makom kavuah.
Thank G-d, the learning is great. Lots of Tanach, a good bit of Halacha, and a sprinkle of some Machshava. Maybe even a drop of Torah Sheh'bi'al Peh.
I love the street signs proclaiming the names of Rishonim. I love struggling with Ivrit and Israeli money. I love the cashiers who play Jewish geography ("Where are you from?" "Random Midwest city." "Oh, I have a friend there." "Yeah, it's a great place."). I love the fact that sketchy looking men walk around with giant gold Magen Davids, instead of crosses, around their necks.
I think I'm fallig in love with Israel.
When I first arrived in Yerushalayim (after a rather lengthy delay in JFK), I had one of those simple yet profound realizations. I so badly wanted to visit the Kotel--merely a remnant in the place where a magnificent Beit HaMikdash should be--and I thought to myself, How awesome would it be to take a sheirut from Ben Gurion to the Beit HaMikdash. Halevai.
I forgot, or perhaps I never realized, how beautiful the city of Yerushalayim is. The hills, the valleys, the panoramic views, the brilliant sunshine--and that's just Bayit Vegan. I've got a great davening spot under a lime tree in a small courtyard outside my dira. Talk about a makom kavuah.
Thank G-d, the learning is great. Lots of Tanach, a good bit of Halacha, and a sprinkle of some Machshava. Maybe even a drop of Torah Sheh'bi'al Peh.
I love the street signs proclaiming the names of Rishonim. I love struggling with Ivrit and Israeli money. I love the cashiers who play Jewish geography ("Where are you from?" "Random Midwest city." "Oh, I have a friend there." "Yeah, it's a great place."). I love the fact that sketchy looking men walk around with giant gold Magen Davids, instead of crosses, around their necks.
I think I'm fallig in love with Israel.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
On Tying Up Loose Ends
I was recently reading a novel that is narrated from the perspective of the protagonist. The book is kind of like a diary, so the narrator rambles on about anything she's thinking about. In the course of advancing the plot, she explains that you, the reader, must expect what is coming next. Since she mentioned a random person earlier on, she says that you must know that the character will show up again. She paraphrases the following quote from Chekhov, in which he discusses good writing: "If there is a gun hanging on the wall in the first act, it must fire in the last."
But must it? Should it? Do readers actually want every loose end to be tied up by the end of the book?
My seventh grade English teacher always said that literature is meant to reflect reality (I'm not sure if that's true. Thoughts?). In reality, is every little thing crucial? Is every acquaintance of mine going to resurface years from now in some very important capacity? Somehow, I don't think so.
I know that I'm supposed to learn from every person I meet and from every experience I have--they are important--but from a literary perspective, should every character and detail that is introduced hold some larger significance?
I don't think that it should, because it's just not realistic if each and every one does. Personally, I appreciate authenticity in novels.
What do you think?
(This question makes me think of Harry Potter. I've always appreciated how minor characters (such as Cedric Diggory and Kreacher) and details (Harry's green eyes) are later very important. I'm wondering, though, if J.K.R. introduces characters and details which truly are unimportant. Can you think of any?)
But must it? Should it? Do readers actually want every loose end to be tied up by the end of the book?
My seventh grade English teacher always said that literature is meant to reflect reality (I'm not sure if that's true. Thoughts?). In reality, is every little thing crucial? Is every acquaintance of mine going to resurface years from now in some very important capacity? Somehow, I don't think so.
I know that I'm supposed to learn from every person I meet and from every experience I have--they are important--but from a literary perspective, should every character and detail that is introduced hold some larger significance?
I don't think that it should, because it's just not realistic if each and every one does. Personally, I appreciate authenticity in novels.
What do you think?
(This question makes me think of Harry Potter. I've always appreciated how minor characters (such as Cedric Diggory and Kreacher) and details (Harry's green eyes) are later very important. I'm wondering, though, if J.K.R. introduces characters and details which truly are unimportant. Can you think of any?)
Seinfeld
You got to love Seinfeld.
Back when Seinfeld was originally airing on television, I was too young to appreciate it. I don't think that I ever even watched an episode, besides for the series finale since it was such a big deal. But recently I've become acquainted with Seinfeld, and I love it.
I love it so much, I almost died watching it. For real. Thank G-d, I survived. But it was a close call. The story itself is almost out of a Seinfeld episode.
***One afternoon, I'm watching an episode with my family. Since I'm hungry, I'm eating a pear (a pear? I know. It's a random fruit, but I can't stand apples). Long story short, there's a really funny line, and I burst out laughing. Since I'm also eating at the time, a piece of pear gets lodged in my throat, making it difficult/impossible for me to breathe. Luckily, my mom does the Heimlich Maneuver, and I survive, thank G-d.***
I'm thinking about Seinfeld today, because a conversation from a rerun that was on today was reminiscent of a conversation I had with two of my nine-year-old campers. On the show, Kramer thinks of a number between one and ten, and another character guesses that he's thinking of the number of six. He's actually thinking of the number five, but is astounded that the other character's guess is so close. At camp, one nine-year-old (the same one from the hair and sisters stories) tells me that her friend is telepathic, because if you think of a number between one and ten, she'll guess it. The other kid demonstrates her talent, and then they ask me to try too. So I join in, and lo and behold, I'm also pretty good at guessing numbers between one and ten. The first nine-year-old turns to me with a look of wonderment and says, "You're telepathic, too!" Then we try guessing numbers between one and 100, and neither of us are any good at it. Surprise, surprise.
Back when Seinfeld was originally airing on television, I was too young to appreciate it. I don't think that I ever even watched an episode, besides for the series finale since it was such a big deal. But recently I've become acquainted with Seinfeld, and I love it.
I love it so much, I almost died watching it. For real. Thank G-d, I survived. But it was a close call. The story itself is almost out of a Seinfeld episode.
***One afternoon, I'm watching an episode with my family. Since I'm hungry, I'm eating a pear (a pear? I know. It's a random fruit, but I can't stand apples). Long story short, there's a really funny line, and I burst out laughing. Since I'm also eating at the time, a piece of pear gets lodged in my throat, making it difficult/impossible for me to breathe. Luckily, my mom does the Heimlich Maneuver, and I survive, thank G-d.***
I'm thinking about Seinfeld today, because a conversation from a rerun that was on today was reminiscent of a conversation I had with two of my nine-year-old campers. On the show, Kramer thinks of a number between one and ten, and another character guesses that he's thinking of the number of six. He's actually thinking of the number five, but is astounded that the other character's guess is so close. At camp, one nine-year-old (the same one from the hair and sisters stories) tells me that her friend is telepathic, because if you think of a number between one and ten, she'll guess it. The other kid demonstrates her talent, and then they ask me to try too. So I join in, and lo and behold, I'm also pretty good at guessing numbers between one and ten. The first nine-year-old turns to me with a look of wonderment and says, "You're telepathic, too!" Then we try guessing numbers between one and 100, and neither of us are any good at it. Surprise, surprise.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
7 Days and Counting
I'm supposed to be getting ready for my upcoming trip to Israel. Every person I see asks me the same questions: "Are you excited?" and "Are you getting ready?" The answers seem pretty obvious to me. Who wouldn't be excited about spending a year learning in Israel, and who, with only a week to go, isn't getting ready? But the truth is that although I'm excited for the year ahead, I'm also nervous. Yes, I'm nervous. And although I only have a week until takeoff, I'm not really ready. Some of my friends already have duffels packed. The most I've done is unpack my suitcases from last semester (I finally did that last Tuesday. Pathetic, I know, but I'm a procrastinator.)
Although almost everyone I know has gone through the same experience, it's still a new experience for me, and I'm a bit nervous. Excited, but unsure of what my year will be like.
And as far as getting ready goes, I figure that Israelis live in Israel all year round, and they somehow survive without coming to the U.S. every couple months to restock on toiletries. So why can't I? Which reminds me--do I need to bring my own pillows?
Although almost everyone I know has gone through the same experience, it's still a new experience for me, and I'm a bit nervous. Excited, but unsure of what my year will be like.
And as far as getting ready goes, I figure that Israelis live in Israel all year round, and they somehow survive without coming to the U.S. every couple months to restock on toiletries. So why can't I? Which reminds me--do I need to bring my own pillows?
Sunday, August 12, 2007
My Throat Hurts
As soon as I finish work, I get sick.
I have a really annoying ear infection that is also manifesting itself as a sore (read: itchy and burning) throat. For some reason, some of my real-world friends think that it's all in my head. They're right. It is--it's in my ears and throat, and it really hurts. So, as you may have deduced, I'm looking for sympathy.
I have a really annoying ear infection that is also manifesting itself as a sore (read: itchy and burning) throat. For some reason, some of my real-world friends think that it's all in my head. They're right. It is--it's in my ears and throat, and it really hurts. So, as you may have deduced, I'm looking for sympathy.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Question
What does learning l'shma mean to you ? What do you think that the concept of learning l'shma is? What do you think its parameters are?
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Campers Say the Funniest/Strangest Things--Part II
Since B. Asked--
The same kid in the "Does he have sisters?" exchange comes up to me today at lunch and says very matter-of-factly, "I have a question for you, but I need a yes or no answer. No 'maybe' or 'I don't know' answers. Yes or no."
So I say, "I'll try, but I can't promise that I'll have a good answer for you. I just may not know."
"Alright. I need to know if I'll look good with side bangs."
I laugh, because people who know me know that I know nothing about hair, so I answer, "I'm sorry, but I really don't know."
Anyway, after some more discussion, she goes into a long explanation of why she suspects that she would look good with a side sweep (something having to do with having a slightly off-center--but not side!--part). When we all have to start bentching, I cut her off and ask that we continue our discussion later.
The weird thing is that the more I interact with this particular kid, the more she reminds me of myself as a child. I was one of those kids who hated day camp. I wrote hate notes to my counselors--really they were just letters explaining how they could do their jobs better. I was never one of the kids mentioned in the weekly camp newsletter. But a plus to being a day camp outcast is that now as a day camp counselor I'm naturally attentive (or at least I try to be) to kids' feelings--at the very least, I try to make sure that every kid in my classes is mentioned in the newsletter.
In any case, I'm really starting to appreciate this kid's personality.
The same kid in the "Does he have sisters?" exchange comes up to me today at lunch and says very matter-of-factly, "I have a question for you, but I need a yes or no answer. No 'maybe' or 'I don't know' answers. Yes or no."
So I say, "I'll try, but I can't promise that I'll have a good answer for you. I just may not know."
"Alright. I need to know if I'll look good with side bangs."
I laugh, because people who know me know that I know nothing about hair, so I answer, "I'm sorry, but I really don't know."
Anyway, after some more discussion, she goes into a long explanation of why she suspects that she would look good with a side sweep (something having to do with having a slightly off-center--but not side!--part). When we all have to start bentching, I cut her off and ask that we continue our discussion later.
The weird thing is that the more I interact with this particular kid, the more she reminds me of myself as a child. I was one of those kids who hated day camp. I wrote hate notes to my counselors--really they were just letters explaining how they could do their jobs better. I was never one of the kids mentioned in the weekly camp newsletter. But a plus to being a day camp outcast is that now as a day camp counselor I'm naturally attentive (or at least I try to be) to kids' feelings--at the very least, I try to make sure that every kid in my classes is mentioned in the newsletter.
In any case, I'm really starting to appreciate this kid's personality.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Birthday Party Blues
After spending the last hour driving around, unsuccessfully trying to find my friend's surprise belated birthday party, I decided to return home. (So A., if you're reading this, I'm just letting you know that I tried really hard to get to the party and that I'll be bringing brownie bites to camp on Monday. Although if my baking skills are as poor as my navigational skills, then the brownies may not be so great.) But on the upside, I learned a couple of important things tonight:
1. I need to get a higher glasses prescription.
2. Suburbs need to invest more money in streetlights.
Strangely, I'm invited to another couple of birthday parties this weekend, one of which is for a nine-year-old camper of mine (well, she's turning nine). I've been trying to think of ways to get out of going, because as much as a good kid she is, I would really rather not attend her party, especially since today was my mom's birthday (Happy Birthday, Mom! I'm getting to cleaning my room). Since my family will probably celebrate it tomorrow night, I'll have to miss a potential fancy restaurant visit for a nine-year-old's party. However, choosing not to show up to the party, which happens to be glow-in-the-dark themed, is complicated by the fact that another counselor was invited. So if I don't go, then she has to go by herself, which would be pretty awkward for her. But whether or not I do go, I have to get this kid a present. I don't think that my standard gift of a lottery ticket is going to cut it. Oy. I need help. Halevai, all my problems would be this benign.
1. I need to get a higher glasses prescription.
2. Suburbs need to invest more money in streetlights.
Strangely, I'm invited to another couple of birthday parties this weekend, one of which is for a nine-year-old camper of mine (well, she's turning nine). I've been trying to think of ways to get out of going, because as much as a good kid she is, I would really rather not attend her party, especially since today was my mom's birthday (Happy Birthday, Mom! I'm getting to cleaning my room). Since my family will probably celebrate it tomorrow night, I'll have to miss a potential fancy restaurant visit for a nine-year-old's party. However, choosing not to show up to the party, which happens to be glow-in-the-dark themed, is complicated by the fact that another counselor was invited. So if I don't go, then she has to go by herself, which would be pretty awkward for her. But whether or not I do go, I have to get this kid a present. I don't think that my standard gift of a lottery ticket is going to cut it. Oy. I need help. Halevai, all my problems would be this benign.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Confessions of a Bad Driver
I have to confess--I'm a bad driver. Bad driver, as in the kind that you see on the road and wonder how he/she ever received his/her license. But then you remember the Licenses for Bribes scandal in our fine state, and it all starts to make sense.
Alright, perhaps I'm exagerrating a tad.
Maybe I'm not really that bad of a driver, but I'm definitely not a good one. I've been in my fair share of near accidents (thank G-d, I've never actually been in a collision); I've dinged up the family mini-van a couple of times (the turn at the Baskin-Robbins drive-thru is hard to maneuver in the dark--seriously); I've locked myself out of the car and then repeated the experience, but with the gas still running. Maybe the last incident has more to do with forgetfulness than with bad driving skills, but the idea is that my motor vehicle track record is pretty lousy.
But the thing that I find most challenging about driving (besides for making a left out of the 7-11 parking lot against oncoming traffic) is parallel parking. Before I learned to drive, I heard so many people complain about parallel parking, I figured that all the drama just had to be hype. It's not. I have literally broken a sweat parallel parking.
I live on a residential street, so, theoretically, finding parking shouldn't be too difficult. However, my family's parking situation is complicated by the fact that our house is located within close proximity of a very large shul. Frequently, it's impossible (near impossible for most people; impossible for drivers of my caliber) to find parking when bar mitzvah celebrations and weddings are held at the shul. So I was really surprised when yesterday I succeeded in parallel parking my car directly in front of my house at the same time as a wedding was held around the block. I didn't break a sweat, I didn't bump the enormous Cadillac behind my spot, I didn't hit the curb. Never before have I so gracefully parallel parked.
Yay!
Alright, perhaps I'm exagerrating a tad.
Maybe I'm not really that bad of a driver, but I'm definitely not a good one. I've been in my fair share of near accidents (thank G-d, I've never actually been in a collision); I've dinged up the family mini-van a couple of times (the turn at the Baskin-Robbins drive-thru is hard to maneuver in the dark--seriously); I've locked myself out of the car and then repeated the experience, but with the gas still running. Maybe the last incident has more to do with forgetfulness than with bad driving skills, but the idea is that my motor vehicle track record is pretty lousy.
But the thing that I find most challenging about driving (besides for making a left out of the 7-11 parking lot against oncoming traffic) is parallel parking. Before I learned to drive, I heard so many people complain about parallel parking, I figured that all the drama just had to be hype. It's not. I have literally broken a sweat parallel parking.
I live on a residential street, so, theoretically, finding parking shouldn't be too difficult. However, my family's parking situation is complicated by the fact that our house is located within close proximity of a very large shul. Frequently, it's impossible (near impossible for most people; impossible for drivers of my caliber) to find parking when bar mitzvah celebrations and weddings are held at the shul. So I was really surprised when yesterday I succeeded in parallel parking my car directly in front of my house at the same time as a wedding was held around the block. I didn't break a sweat, I didn't bump the enormous Cadillac behind my spot, I didn't hit the curb. Never before have I so gracefully parallel parked.
Yay!
Friday, July 27, 2007
Campers Say the Funniest/Strangest Things
Working at a kids' camp provides hour upon hour of potential conversation time with eight year-olds. Here are some of the highlights of my past two days at camp.
***
Today, one of my campers asked me while pointing to a man who works at the camp, "Does he have sisters here?"
I replied, "He works here. He's not a camper."
She's like, "I know, but does he have sisters?"
"Maybe. I don't know."
"Well, if he does, he's very lucky, because sisters know everything!"
"Are you the only girl in your family?" I asked.
"Yeah."
Figures.
***
Yesterday, I received a lot of compliments on the earrings I was wearing. One camper came up to me and said, "I like your earrings. Are they Michal Negrin?"
I answered, "No. I bought them years ago."
She's like, "Oh, that's too bad."
***
Today, one of my campers asked me while pointing to a man who works at the camp, "Does he have sisters here?"
I replied, "He works here. He's not a camper."
She's like, "I know, but does he have sisters?"
"Maybe. I don't know."
"Well, if he does, he's very lucky, because sisters know everything!"
"Are you the only girl in your family?" I asked.
"Yeah."
Figures.
***
Yesterday, I received a lot of compliments on the earrings I was wearing. One camper came up to me and said, "I like your earrings. Are they Michal Negrin?"
I answered, "No. I bought them years ago."
She's like, "Oh, that's too bad."
Monday, July 23, 2007
A Great Halacha Sefer
Back in high school, I tried to institute a textual source-based Halacha class. Alas, my efforts failed. Now, I understand why, at the time, we were taught Halacha in a lecture-style class. The point was for us to learn Halacha l'maaseh in the most efficient way possible. Equipping students with as much usable Halachic guidance as possible requires cutting out the lengthy, multi-millennial discourse that produced the "end product."
Now, baruch Hashem, I have the opportunity to devote more time to learning Halacha-- both the practical information that I need to know in order to keep the Torah's precepts to their fullest and the history and actual process by which Halacha is decided. For me, learning the Halachic process has made Halacha more meaningful. Understanding the connection between Har Sinai (Torah Sheh'bichtav) and Halacha l'maaseh (arrived at via Torah Sheh'bi'al Peh) has allowed me to appreciate my own Halacha observance to a much greater degree.
So when I recently started reading Rabbi Getsel Ellinson's three volume work, Woman and the Mitzvot, I felt like I had been transported back to my favorite shiur. R' Ellinson presents the Rabbinic sources on Halachot that specifically regard women, including the relevant Mishnayos and Gemaras (in original Hebrew and/or Aramaic and in English translation) and Rishonim and Achronim's opinions (in English translation only). He also includes his own footnotes, which provide further explanation of the sources. Although I'm not learning Halacha l'maaseh from these seforim, R' Ellinson's inclusion of the differing Halachic opinions provides the reader with a unique experience: to learn the reasons for differing practices in the Orthodox community (and there are real reasons!) as well as to understand the hashkafic and Halachic reasons for one's own practices.
I highly recommend this set of seforim for anyone looking for an excellent resource on Halacha as it pertains to women.
Now, baruch Hashem, I have the opportunity to devote more time to learning Halacha-- both the practical information that I need to know in order to keep the Torah's precepts to their fullest and the history and actual process by which Halacha is decided. For me, learning the Halachic process has made Halacha more meaningful. Understanding the connection between Har Sinai (Torah Sheh'bichtav) and Halacha l'maaseh (arrived at via Torah Sheh'bi'al Peh) has allowed me to appreciate my own Halacha observance to a much greater degree.
So when I recently started reading Rabbi Getsel Ellinson's three volume work, Woman and the Mitzvot, I felt like I had been transported back to my favorite shiur. R' Ellinson presents the Rabbinic sources on Halachot that specifically regard women, including the relevant Mishnayos and Gemaras (in original Hebrew and/or Aramaic and in English translation) and Rishonim and Achronim's opinions (in English translation only). He also includes his own footnotes, which provide further explanation of the sources. Although I'm not learning Halacha l'maaseh from these seforim, R' Ellinson's inclusion of the differing Halachic opinions provides the reader with a unique experience: to learn the reasons for differing practices in the Orthodox community (and there are real reasons!) as well as to understand the hashkafic and Halachic reasons for one's own practices.
I highly recommend this set of seforim for anyone looking for an excellent resource on Halacha as it pertains to women.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Achdus?
On the rare occasions that I've visited a play or opera or symphony, I've noticed that I am a member of an ill-represented constituency at these sorts of events: the under-60 set. Tonight, I found myself in a similar situation.
A shul in my city hosted an event devoted to the issue of achdus in the Jewish community. Of the approximately 270,000 Jews who live in the city, about 25 showed up for the pretty well-publicized event. Of the 25 who attended, only three of us hadn't yet hit, or very nearly hit, our 50th birthday. (More on that later.) I understand that people are busy and that, baruch Hashem, there are many important lectures, events, etc. to attend, but I was slightly surprised that so few people came out for this particular event. Are people unconcerned about the issue of unity in a community that, in my opinion, has its fair share of conflicts? Perhaps the small turnout was due to the fact that one of the speakers is the rabbi of a very modern shul and the other is a woman. But does a person's discomfort with hearing thoughts from those he considers different from himself already indicate a problem? Should we be willing to listen to people who are different, especially on the topic of achdus?
How open-minded should we be? I say "we" in the very generic, royal sense--not referring to any specific group of people. I've heard the joke that it's good to be open-minded, but not so open that your brain falls out. How accepting we, as a community, should be was, in fact, part of the topic of discussion.
Achdus amongst different sects of Orthodox Jews. Achdus amongst Orthodox Jews and Conservative, Reconstructionist, Reform, and unaffiliated Jews. Achdus amongst Jews and intermarried Jews. Achdus amongst Jews and homosexual Jews. To what extent and in what ways should we be united? Should there be limits to Jewish unity? How and by whom should those limits be defined?
Tonight, I walked away from the discussion with very little clear in my mind, except one thing--I have to respect each person as an individual, regardless of his/her label, beliefs, or practices. Oh, and one more thing: the yad ha'yamin hamekareves is the tool of choice in relating to others.
But my question is this: what more is there to do as an individual, and what more is there to do as a community, to promote achdus and ahavas chinam?
Especially the underrepresented under-50 set, what do you think?
A shul in my city hosted an event devoted to the issue of achdus in the Jewish community. Of the approximately 270,000 Jews who live in the city, about 25 showed up for the pretty well-publicized event. Of the 25 who attended, only three of us hadn't yet hit, or very nearly hit, our 50th birthday. (More on that later.) I understand that people are busy and that, baruch Hashem, there are many important lectures, events, etc. to attend, but I was slightly surprised that so few people came out for this particular event. Are people unconcerned about the issue of unity in a community that, in my opinion, has its fair share of conflicts? Perhaps the small turnout was due to the fact that one of the speakers is the rabbi of a very modern shul and the other is a woman. But does a person's discomfort with hearing thoughts from those he considers different from himself already indicate a problem? Should we be willing to listen to people who are different, especially on the topic of achdus?
How open-minded should we be? I say "we" in the very generic, royal sense--not referring to any specific group of people. I've heard the joke that it's good to be open-minded, but not so open that your brain falls out. How accepting we, as a community, should be was, in fact, part of the topic of discussion.
Achdus amongst different sects of Orthodox Jews. Achdus amongst Orthodox Jews and Conservative, Reconstructionist, Reform, and unaffiliated Jews. Achdus amongst Jews and intermarried Jews. Achdus amongst Jews and homosexual Jews. To what extent and in what ways should we be united? Should there be limits to Jewish unity? How and by whom should those limits be defined?
Tonight, I walked away from the discussion with very little clear in my mind, except one thing--I have to respect each person as an individual, regardless of his/her label, beliefs, or practices. Oh, and one more thing: the yad ha'yamin hamekareves is the tool of choice in relating to others.
But my question is this: what more is there to do as an individual, and what more is there to do as a community, to promote achdus and ahavas chinam?
Especially the underrepresented under-50 set, what do you think?
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Remembering
I have a tendency to forget things. Things like my lunch (hence the Post-It note stuck to a kitchen cabinet begging me to take my lunch from the fridge), locking up at night, directions (apparently North Ave is south of Belmont. Whoops.) But I forget more important things too. Like the factors that motivated me to choose to attend a specific seminary versus a different one--I'm really not sure of why/how I made that particular decision. Or why I used to be convinced that women should not learn Torah Sheh'bi'al Peh--ever since actually learning Torah Sheh'bi'al Peh and appreciating it, it's been hard for me to remember well the arguments against the practice, arguments that used to have me convinced.
A couple of months ago, while perusing Joan Didion's Slouching Towards Bethlehem, I read an essay on the topic of remembering. In her essay entitled "On Keeping a Notebook," she makes a subtle distinction between keeping a notebook and writing in a journal or diary, a distinction which I'm still kind of hazy on. But the basic point she makes is that her experience of writing in a notebook allows her to revisit her younger self, a person who she regards as separate from her present self; in fact, she imagines that her notebook is "about other people" entirely (Didion 135). Recording fact--describing her actions or thoughts at a particular time--is "an instinct for reality which I sometimes envy but do not possess" (133). Her main goal is to "Remember what is was to be me" (136).
Blogging is kind of like keeping a notebook. Years from now, I hope I can look back on this blog and get a feel for who I was back then, back now. A feel for the liberal, slightly cynical, very hopeful, religious person I am now. I could just keep a notebook, like Didion and like everyone else who kept a notebook before the blogosphere was discovered and like everyone who still keeps a notebook after its advent, but blogging adds another dimension to the experience.
Here's my first conscious attempt on my blog to make sure I remember something: I'm recording my current suspicions regarding Harry Potter Book #7 so that in a week or so from now when I finally learn what happens, I'll know whether I correctly suspected the ending all along. This may seem silly, but hindsight bias is a power to be reckoned with :)
My predictions:
1. Harry will survive the book.
2. Snape is evil.
3. Either Ron, Hermione, or Ginny will die.
4. If, for some reason, Harry does die, his death will be due to his being one of Voldemort's horcruxes, which would make his death necessary to ensure Voldemort's death as well, i.e. Harry is a martyr.
Readers, if you exist, feel free to share your predictions, but if you wish to comment after 7/21/07, please do not post any spoilers.
A couple of months ago, while perusing Joan Didion's Slouching Towards Bethlehem, I read an essay on the topic of remembering. In her essay entitled "On Keeping a Notebook," she makes a subtle distinction between keeping a notebook and writing in a journal or diary, a distinction which I'm still kind of hazy on. But the basic point she makes is that her experience of writing in a notebook allows her to revisit her younger self, a person who she regards as separate from her present self; in fact, she imagines that her notebook is "about other people" entirely (Didion 135). Recording fact--describing her actions or thoughts at a particular time--is "an instinct for reality which I sometimes envy but do not possess" (133). Her main goal is to "Remember what is was to be me" (136).
Blogging is kind of like keeping a notebook. Years from now, I hope I can look back on this blog and get a feel for who I was back then, back now. A feel for the liberal, slightly cynical, very hopeful, religious person I am now. I could just keep a notebook, like Didion and like everyone else who kept a notebook before the blogosphere was discovered and like everyone who still keeps a notebook after its advent, but blogging adds another dimension to the experience.
Here's my first conscious attempt on my blog to make sure I remember something: I'm recording my current suspicions regarding Harry Potter Book #7 so that in a week or so from now when I finally learn what happens, I'll know whether I correctly suspected the ending all along. This may seem silly, but hindsight bias is a power to be reckoned with :)
My predictions:
1. Harry will survive the book.
2. Snape is evil.
3. Either Ron, Hermione, or Ginny will die.
4. If, for some reason, Harry does die, his death will be due to his being one of Voldemort's horcruxes, which would make his death necessary to ensure Voldemort's death as well, i.e. Harry is a martyr.
Readers, if you exist, feel free to share your predictions, but if you wish to comment after 7/21/07, please do not post any spoilers.
Monday, July 16, 2007
A Modern-Day Baal Shem Tov Story
The Baal Shem Tov's kind of on my mind.
Earlier today, I read Chana's post about the Baal Shem Tov. Later, I attended the shloshim of a young woman who lived in my community. She had a brain tumor, which ultimately killed her. At the shloshim, one of the speakers began by recounting a story about the Baal Shem Tov, a story which he was sure the young woman being remembered had never heard. The following is the anecdote as I found it at http://www.meaningfullife.com/personal/pain/A_Matter_of_Perspective.php:
A man once came to Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov with a question: “The Talmud tells us that one is to ‘bless G-d for the bad just as he blesses Him for the good.’ How is this humanly possible? Had our sages said that one must accept without complaint or bitterness whatever is ordained from Heaven - this I can understand. I can even accept that, ultimately, everything is for the good, and that we are to bless and thank G-d also for the seemingly negative developments in our lives. But how can a human being possibly react to what he experiences as bad in exactly the same way he responds to the perceptibly good? How can a person be as grateful for his troubles as he is for his joys?''
The Baal Shem Tov replied: “To find an answer to your question, you must go see my disciple, Reb Zusha of Anipoli. Only he can help you in this matter.”
Reb Zusha received his guest warmly, and invited him to make himself at home. The visitor decided to observe Reb Zusha's conduct before posing his question, and before long concluded that his host truly exemplified the talmudic dictum which so puzzled him. He couldn't think of anyone who suffered more hardship in his life than did Reb Zusha. A frightful pauper, there was never enough to eat in Reb Zusha's home, and his family was beset with all sorts of afflictions and illnesses. Yet the man was forever good-humored and cheerful, and constantly expressing his gratitude to the Almighty for all His kindness.
But what was is his secret? How does he do it? The visitor finally decided to pose his question.
So one day, he said to his host: “I wish to ask you something. In fact, this is the purpose of my visit to you - our Rebbe advised me that you can provide me with the answer.”
“What is your question?” asked Reb Zusha.
The visitor repeated what he had asked of the Baal Shem Tov. “You know,” said Reb Zusha, “come to think of it, you raise a good point. But why did the Rebbe send you to me? How would I know? He should have sent you to someone who has experienced suffering...”
That's the end of the story, or so I thought. It's inspirational and touching in its own right, but then the speaker went on to explain the personal significance of the anecdote. He described how he had visited this young woman when she had been sick, and since he works with kids who have cancer, he asked her if she had any advice or hope to share with people who are faced with adversity. Her response was, "Really, I don't. I've never had a bad day. Even having my brain tumor is an opportunity to grow."
Tehei nishmata tzerura bitzror hachaim.
Earlier today, I read Chana's post about the Baal Shem Tov. Later, I attended the shloshim of a young woman who lived in my community. She had a brain tumor, which ultimately killed her. At the shloshim, one of the speakers began by recounting a story about the Baal Shem Tov, a story which he was sure the young woman being remembered had never heard. The following is the anecdote as I found it at http://www.meaningfullife.com/personal/pain/A_Matter_of_Perspective.php:
A man once came to Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov with a question: “The Talmud tells us that one is to ‘bless G-d for the bad just as he blesses Him for the good.’ How is this humanly possible? Had our sages said that one must accept without complaint or bitterness whatever is ordained from Heaven - this I can understand. I can even accept that, ultimately, everything is for the good, and that we are to bless and thank G-d also for the seemingly negative developments in our lives. But how can a human being possibly react to what he experiences as bad in exactly the same way he responds to the perceptibly good? How can a person be as grateful for his troubles as he is for his joys?''
The Baal Shem Tov replied: “To find an answer to your question, you must go see my disciple, Reb Zusha of Anipoli. Only he can help you in this matter.”
Reb Zusha received his guest warmly, and invited him to make himself at home. The visitor decided to observe Reb Zusha's conduct before posing his question, and before long concluded that his host truly exemplified the talmudic dictum which so puzzled him. He couldn't think of anyone who suffered more hardship in his life than did Reb Zusha. A frightful pauper, there was never enough to eat in Reb Zusha's home, and his family was beset with all sorts of afflictions and illnesses. Yet the man was forever good-humored and cheerful, and constantly expressing his gratitude to the Almighty for all His kindness.
But what was is his secret? How does he do it? The visitor finally decided to pose his question.
So one day, he said to his host: “I wish to ask you something. In fact, this is the purpose of my visit to you - our Rebbe advised me that you can provide me with the answer.”
“What is your question?” asked Reb Zusha.
The visitor repeated what he had asked of the Baal Shem Tov. “You know,” said Reb Zusha, “come to think of it, you raise a good point. But why did the Rebbe send you to me? How would I know? He should have sent you to someone who has experienced suffering...”
That's the end of the story, or so I thought. It's inspirational and touching in its own right, but then the speaker went on to explain the personal significance of the anecdote. He described how he had visited this young woman when she had been sick, and since he works with kids who have cancer, he asked her if she had any advice or hope to share with people who are faced with adversity. Her response was, "Really, I don't. I've never had a bad day. Even having my brain tumor is an opportunity to grow."
Tehei nishmata tzerura bitzror hachaim.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Kol Hatchalot Kashot
All beginnings are difficult, and since this is my first time posting on my first blog, I'm sipping a cold, freshly-opened can of Diet Dr. Pepper, trying to garner some inspiration. Unfortunately, the drink (which faithfully accompanied me through months of day-long paper-writing attempts and 2 A.M. study sessions) isn't providing much help at the moment. But really, who can blame it? It's just a highly-carbonated, deliciously-flavored, superbly-concocted soft drink. It has its limitations.
As you may know, or as you may have deduced, I am a big fan of Diet Dr. Pepper. A couple of weeks ago, I called up the manufacturer (Cadbury Schweppes) to find out if they sell Dr. Pepper in Israel. Since I'm going to be spending ten months in the country, G-d willing, I figured I may as well do some prepatory research. I hadn't remembered seeing the brand for sale my last time in Israel, so I was concerned. I can last a couple of months without the beverage--I think--but I decided to check ahead. To make a long story short, after spending a couple of minutes on hold while a customer service rep investigated the company's international operations, I learned that Cadbury Schweppes does not distribute Dr. Pepper, nor the diet variety, in Israel or the Palestinian Territories. Actually, I'm just guessing that Dr. Pepper is not sold in the Palestinian Territories. If it is, then I have a great excuse to visit Gaza. (Just kidding, Dad.)
If anyone has suggestions for suitable soft drink alternatives that I can purchase in Israel, I would be most appreciative. Since I'm on the topic of suggestions, I've been meaning to ask friends to recommend off-the-beaten-track places to see/things to do while in Israel. I hope to do all of the beaten-track things too, since, amazingly, the beaten track in Israel is pretty unbelievable. In any case, I'm interested in all of your tips.
As you may know, or as you may have deduced, I am a big fan of Diet Dr. Pepper. A couple of weeks ago, I called up the manufacturer (Cadbury Schweppes) to find out if they sell Dr. Pepper in Israel. Since I'm going to be spending ten months in the country, G-d willing, I figured I may as well do some prepatory research. I hadn't remembered seeing the brand for sale my last time in Israel, so I was concerned. I can last a couple of months without the beverage--I think--but I decided to check ahead. To make a long story short, after spending a couple of minutes on hold while a customer service rep investigated the company's international operations, I learned that Cadbury Schweppes does not distribute Dr. Pepper, nor the diet variety, in Israel or the Palestinian Territories. Actually, I'm just guessing that Dr. Pepper is not sold in the Palestinian Territories. If it is, then I have a great excuse to visit Gaza. (Just kidding, Dad.)
If anyone has suggestions for suitable soft drink alternatives that I can purchase in Israel, I would be most appreciative. Since I'm on the topic of suggestions, I've been meaning to ask friends to recommend off-the-beaten-track places to see/things to do while in Israel. I hope to do all of the beaten-track things too, since, amazingly, the beaten track in Israel is pretty unbelievable. In any case, I'm interested in all of your tips.
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