Zachor and Shamor: R' Shimon b. Yochai Part X

[Continued from Intro, I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII, IX ]

We concluded the last installment by suggesting that R’ Shimon’s question and the Old Man’s answer lie within meaning of the ‘Zachor/Shamor’ duality of Shabbat.

‘God has spoken once; but I heard twice’

-Tehillim 62:12

The most well-known and blatant discrepancy between the Decalogue as recorded in Shemot and as recorded in Devarim is the initiation of the passage on Shabbat with the term Zachor in the former and Shamor in the latter. Perplexed by this discrepancy of meanings between the two texts which we expect to be identical in content if not form, Chaza”l suggested that these two words were uttered simultaneously by God, an act incomprehensible to the human ear. God’s statement, when it struck the human mind, refracted into two elements, Shamor and Zachor.

The Shamor/Zachor dichotomy includes a tension characteristic of the sacred in general. On one hand, the sacred is wholly transcendent, sharing nothing at all with the profane. Entering it means entering a different world. With regard to Shabbat, this aspect of sacredness, the cessation of all workaday labor, is encapsulated by the term ‘Shamor’.

At the same time, the sacred has a very important role to play vis-à-vis the profane. By experiencing the sacred, one returns to the profane with an eye toward elevating it, imbuing it with the spirit of the sacred, allowing the sacred to ‘spill over’ into the profane. This elements of Shabbat, encapsulated by Zakhor, represents the way in which Shabbat sustains the week and makes it meaningful.

Shabbat, paradoxically, is therefore both part of the week and completely distinct from it. Would Shabbat be just another day, but with a different set of prescribes activities, or an experience so divorced from the paramount reality that there would be no way to meaningfully carry it back, Shabbat would lose its centrality; only by preserving this paradox does Shabbat keep its power.
What is true of Shabbat extends to other realms of the sacred as well, including sanctified people. Israel, on one hand, is unique and wholly other, belonging to a different order of existence and enjoying a different type of relationship with God than any other nation. At the same time, Israel is charged with a mission vis-à-vis the other nation; there is a message to be spread. Israel is both a nation like other nations and an incomparable ahistorical entity. This duality is captured in the Torah’s designation of Israel as ‘a kingdom of priests and a sacred nation’, remaining wholly other yet fully participating in the unfolding of history.

R’ Shimon began this story rejecting Rome, and ultimately rejecting the temporal world, in favor of matters eternal. The old man running teaches him that it’s possible to live with the paradox of Shamor and Zachor, to remain fully rooted within Chayei Olam, and yet to participate fully within Chayei Sha’ah, and that to forsake either is to deny Israel’s mission. Indeed, those most rooted in Eternity have the most to contribute to temporality; the most transcendent Shabbos can have the greatest impact on the ensuing week.

Thus, to see R’ Shimon’s return to society as a form of ‘calming down’, a necessary moderation which follows a period of intensity, is to miss a crucial element of R’ Shimon’s transformation and, indeed, a crucial element of the Jewish religious experience: full engagement of and participation in the human sphere and communion with God are not mutually exclusive, and, in fact, can become one and the same. Mitzvah is the totality of the manner by which Eternity is trapped in a single moment of human life. R’ Shimon has gone beyond rejection, beyond the place where there’s a choice whether to accept or reject, and has arrived at a place marked by a rootedness in the Eternal on what hand, and a willingness to invest anything that temporal life may present him with the spirit of that Eternity.

Mishenichnas Adar Marbim Be-Alimut?

I just saw a review of a soon-to-be-released book called Reckless Rites . I'm curious to hear more about it, if anyone reads it or knows anything about it.

UPDATE: It appears that Horowitz had an earlier article on the topic which appeared in Poetics Today 15,1 (1994) 9-54 1994 entitled "The rite to be reckless; on the perpetration and interpretation of Purim violence". It is available on JSTOR, if you have a subscription.
Hat tip for the article: Dan.

A Bizarre Statistic

Here’s a bizarre statistic:
Approximately 86,000 people registered to vote in the WZO elections.
Of those, only about 69,000 have actually voted.
If you’re one of the other 17,000, and you thought that registering=voting, lost your paper ballot, or still haven’t voted for whatever reason, you still have until the end of the month. So go to www.azm.org and finish the job.

The Dog's Day Ends

I’ve had the opportunity to hear R’ Aharon Lichtenstein speak on numerous occasions. Once, and only once, did I hear him refer to another human being as a ‘kelev’ – a dog.
For those who know RAL, it’s quite jarring to hear him speak like that. Makes you think that the fellow he’s talking about is a real scumbag.

Well, in this case the scumbag is going to jail. Enjoy the Wiener Schnitzel scraps, you SOB.

An Old Man Running: R' Shimon b. Yochai Part IX

Continued from Intro, I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII, VIII

[I couldn’t let Parshat Yitro get too far away without explaining this next installment of this ongoing series, which includes a discussion of the relationship between Shamor and Zachor.But it turns out that I won't even get that far in this installment.]

On the eve of the Sabbath before sunset they saw an old man holding two bundles of myrtle and running at twilight. What are these for?' they asked him. 'They are in honour of the Sabbath,' he replied. 'But one should suffice you'? — One is for 'Zachor (Commemorate)' and one for 'Shamor (Observe – these two terms appear in the Decalogue of Shemot and Devarim, and are understood as the two major categories of Shabbat observance).' Said he to his son, 'See how precious the commandments are to Israel.' Thereupon their minds were appeased.

On the Eve of Shabbat, it becomes difficult to distinguish between the holy and the mundane. It is the moment when the sacred and profane meet, where the ordinary meets the extraordinary.

At that moment, R’ Shimon sees an old man running. What a strange sight, the sun sinking beneath the horizon as an old man sprints – to where exactly? – while holding two myrtle branches. One is insufficient; two captures both elements of Shabbat. And this appeases our heroes. Who is this old man? Why is he running? Why is it so important that he carry two myrtles, not one? The strangeness of this scene hides the fact that it contains the central symbol and climax of the entire narrative.

Old men don’t typically run very well. They tend to be infirm, plodding, and generally slow. There are exceptions to the rule, though. Psalms 92:15, for example, speaks of the righteous, who will ‘remain fruitful in old age; cleansed and fresh they will be’. Not to sound trite, but Mark Twain’s famous line about the Jew comes to mind here:

The Jew saw them all, beat them all, and is now what he always was, exhibiting no decadence, no infirmities of age, no weakening of his parts, no slowing of his energies, no dulling of his alert and aggressive mind. All things are mortal, but the Jew; all other forces pass, but he remains.

-Mark Twain, "Concerning the Jews," Harper's Magazine, 1897

Indeed, what is Israel if not an old man running? Who else is so ancient yet exhibits such vigor? Is this old man not Yisrael Saba, ‘Old Man Israel’, the personification of ‘the Jew’?

And isn’t Israel’s mission to prepare the world for Shabbat? Doesn’t the Jew remain perennially in that twilight, between the sacred and the profane, already caressed by the embrace and moved by the vision of eternal Sabbath, yet tethered to the world, pulling it along with him toward that sacred time? And isn’t running, at its core, a rebellion against time itself, an attempt to make time stand still, to capture an eternity within a temporal moment (see Pachad Yitzchak on Pesach, #1)? Doesn’t the Jew bear that message as well, that eternity is already here?

Myrtle branches, a fragrant plant, move us in that direction as well. The sense of smell, in the vision of Chaza”l, is understood and the most sublime and spiritual of the senses. It takes us back to the primordial moment when God made man by blowing into his nostrils. ‘Breath’ and ‘Spirit’ are interchangeable in so many languages (all three Hebrew terms for ‘soul’ – Nefesh, Ru’ach, and Neshama – have connotations of ‘breathing’, the Latin-derives ‘spirit’ means ‘breath’, as in ‘respiration’, and the Germanic ‘ghost’ and ‘gust’ carry the same dual connotation). The nose, the sense of smell, by which God invested of Himself in man, remains a point of contact between the ordinary and the extraordinary. It, too, lives in the twilight between Shabbat and the week. Indeed, the sense of smell remains the way that Shabbat is carried over into the week.

R’ Shimon sees this Jew, and remains perplexed. Why does he need two myrtle branches? Is not one sufficient? If this scene represents the eternal Jew and his mission, then R’ Shimon, having just spent years connecting specifically with that which is most timeless, who is unencumbered by any of the shackles of temporality, who couldn’t countenance any investment in temporal ‘chayei sha’ah’, is asking about more than superfluous scented twigs.

R’ Shimon’s question and the Old Man’s answer lie within meaning of the ‘Zachor/Shamor’ duality of Shabbat.

How Anonymous, Exactly?

Out of sheer curiosity, do most of my readers know who I am? You can respond by voting in the sidebar poll. I know that many of you know who I am, because you know me, or because you saw when someone here or elsewhere temporarily ‘outed’ me, or otherwise figured it out. I still plan to keep this blog anonymous, just in case I ever apply for a job at ArtScroll or Sha’alvim for Women, among others, and so that my blogging-life and my professional-life remain distinct. I remain curious, though, how many of you out there know who I am and how many don’t.

Some Really Bad Rabbinic Humor

Warren, the sole commenter on yesterday’s post on Humor and Religion, suggests that Rabbis aren’t necessarily un-funny, just that they don’t know their limitations or their audiences. I’d like to counter with some examples of things that I’ve come up with that I believe are absolutely hilarious, but are usually either not understood or provoke much groaning. Here goes:

• A friend (also a Rabbi) wants to open a Mexican restaurant in Jerusalem and call it ‘Ir Tzion Tamales’. I’d like to run its delivery service, whose claim-to-fame would be ‘schlepping yiddishe nachos’


• Continuing on the food theme, I’d open a restaurant in Efrat call ‘Uchla D’Efrat’ (if you haven’t learned Gemara Beitzah, you won’t get it), a combination café/ Beit Midrash called ‘Hafuch!’, and a combination pub/ Beit Midrash called ‘LagerHeads’.


• I think there should be a male beauty pageant in the Gush, with the winner crowned ‘Etzion Gever’.


• I want to start a comic-book series with heroes who include:
• Halakhic Man – who is impervious to any heat not generated directly by fire, and can construct and impenetrable barrier with sticks placed approximately 9 inches apart from each other.
• Neo-Orthodox- who flies around destroying the illusory nature of this world, demonstrating that there’s an entirely alternate version or reality accessible to those willing to set themselves free; of course, he’s persecuted by the powers that be.
• Tom Pagum- who, despite his disgusting appearance, steps in at key moments to save the day. He’s a misunderstood hero, and thus prefers to remain unnoticed.

Ok, Warren, still think it’s just about trying too hard to be a comedian?

Some Gedolim Musings

• I just found out via email that I’ve won Chardal’s little trivia quiz. And it wasn’t because I’ve read Ramchal’s religious poetry, but because I knew that he penned a sequel to Tehillim (aside from his sequel to the Zohar). The degree of his hubris is very much underappreciated, as is the degree and variety of his genius. His literary output, for a man who died before his 40th birthday, is mind boggling.


• In a similar vein, there is really a small group of Jewish writers throughout the centuries, that when I see the sheer volume of what they accomplished, and the small amount of time in which they accomplished it, that I am in complete awe (that’s not to say that I think I can duplicate what others have done; it’s just that I can see how they are humanly possible. What those on this list did, I simply can’t wrap my mind around how a single human being composed works of such breadth and depth in such a short period of time). Others on the list include:


• Rashi
• Rambam
• Ramban
• Rashba
• Beit Yosef
• Rama
  
• Scha”ch


• There are others who seemed to have made a major impact in a brief period of time, but left very little of their own writings. The common denominator between them is that they are the exceptions to the Lichtenstonian observation that “Our Johnsons don’t have Boswells”. They include (with their respective Boswells in parenthesis):
• R’ Isaac Luria, the Ari z”l (R’ Hayyim Vital)
• R’ Israel Balsam, the Ba’al Shem Tov, or Besht (R’ Dovber, the Maggid of Mezeritch)
• R’ Nachman of Bratzlav (R’ Nathan of Nemirov)

On Humor and Religion

[A few weeks ago, I mentioned that I was looking for some ideas for a discussion on religion and humor for a panel discussion. The focus was on how we use humor in our professional/ religious lives. This is more or less the text I was working from in my speech.]

I see myself within a Rabbinic tradition when it comes to humor: we make jokes all the time, and the jokes aren’t very funny. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of funny Jews; some of the funniest people in the world are Jews. They just tend to avoid the Rabbinate.

The issue I’ve been asked to address is how I make humor and religion co-exist. To be honest, I have never in my life felt any tension between religion and humor, even irreverent humor. In fact, I find that the question itself betrays an attitude that, in a religious context, the only way for humor to have value is if it can somehow be used in a more productive context, employed and sublimated for a ‘higher’ purpose.

I can’t really answer the question because there’s no question. Humor doesn’t have to be in the service of something ‘bigger’, like religion. Rather, humor is intrinsically valuable. There are a number of instances that I can think of where a Rabbi, ancient or Modern, cracks a joke simply for the sake of cracking a joke. Gratuitous humor. The Torah (Bible) contains much humor. Humor and laughter are valuable in and of themselves. Nevertheless, like everything else, its value is maximized when in balance and proportion.

So the first way that I use humor in my professional life, then, would be as a role model, to show that humor and laughter are good. I use humor because I’m a human being, and happen to be in a position where fellow human beings look up to me. So, at the core, my use of humor is really no different than anyone else’s use of humor.

My father is one of the funniest people and greatest joke-tellers that I’ve ever met. He’s captivating. What’s always struck me, though, is that he always seems to have a joke to characterize whatever lesson he’s trying to articulate. I’ve tried to incorporate that into my ‘repertoire’ as well. For example, I often study and talk with students who are engaged to be married, and amongst other things we discuss sexuality in the Torah’s vision of things. One aspect that I think is central to the topic is that of ‘hesed’ or lovingkindness, pure giving, other-focused. Having sex always needs to be a gift, an opportunity to bring pleasure to your beloved, and not just an opportunity for personal gratification. I illustrate this with a joke (and first define the word ‘mitzvah’, which means ‘commandment’ or ‘good deed’):

The elderly Mr. Goldberg had a dream. In this dream, he is standing before a heavenly tribunal, being judged for his life on Earth. His record was stellar, completely unblemished. After going through his whole life, the ministering angel turns to him and says, “Mr. Goldberg, your record is so pristine that you can actually commit one grave sin and still get a seat in the front row. You’re time is up in one week; have a blast!”It just so happened that in the same South Florida complex as Mr. Goldberg lived Mrs. Schwartz, a woman whose life had been made very difficult by a husband who had been debilitated for some years. Caring for him took up much of her time and energy, and her life, as a result, became sad and difficult.Mr. Goldberg had noticed her occasionally give him the eye, so when he awoke from his dream, he already had an idea where he wanted to spend his one sin. One of their friendly conversations became a flirting match, and before you knew it, they were back in her apartment, making passionate love.When Mr. Goldberg was ready to head home, Mrs. Schwartz stopped him and said, “I just want you to know, that you did SUCH a MITZVAH!”

The joke I just told brings me to another use of humor in a religious context – the use of an inside joke. Speak to an entire group, but say something which will only reach – and amuse – a very limited segment of the audience.
Story about the ecumenical conference (somewhat like, but in many ways unlike, the one we’re participating in now). The participants, a Rabbi, a Priest, and a Minister, each spoke about mutual coexistence. At the closing session, the Rabbi noticed that the Priest and Minister had both taken subtle jabs at Judaism. When it was his turn to wrap up, he said, “really there’s nothing I can say that my colleagues haven’t already said, so I will conclude with a word from Scripture: ‘Shefoch Chamatcha Al Ha-Goyim’, ‘Love Thy Neighbor’. Amen”. Of course, the joke is that the verse quoted literally means ‘Pour Out Thy Wrath Upon the Nations’ (and concludes “who know You not”).

As a Rabbi, people tend to expect certain things from you. They expect you to have answers, to have a prepackaged speech for every occasion. I use humor to try to mix it up a bit, keep people off guard, or come out of left field. An example that some of you may remember: about a year ago, a media outlet ran an article on an active anti-circumcision group. So they called me for my opinion. So here I’m supposed to give a blurb, a sound bite, that may or may not be quoted correctly, would sound awfully trite and cliché, and attempt to describe a tradition that has been going on for millennia, and is something that still enjoys the consensus of the Jewish people. So I went a different route instead. When the reporter asked me why Jews circumcise their sons, I told him, that Jewish women like taking ten percent off of everything.

That quote did its job – it grabbed enough attention that it actually ‘stole the show’ away from the anti-circumcision activists, but it got a very mixed response. There were some who thought that I was being misogynist, stereotyping Jewish women, etc. I wrote a letter to the editor clarifying that I am in fact, against bigotry and negative stereotypes. However, the reaction of most was students that I encountered was extreme delight. One commenter was impressed that people in any position and of any faith can have a sense of humor.

This story brings me to my final point about how I use humor; humor helps me, and helps me help others, to find that balance between taking things too seriously and taking things too lightly. Part of the human condition is the tension between grandeur and smallness, being purposeful and arbitrary, dignified and depraved. Humor helps us not take ourselves too seriously, to not be led to the illusion that we’re indispensable or absolute. Yet, through humor we transcend ourselves, see beyond ourselves. The ability to mock one’s self is really a sign of maturity. It reminds me of another joke, which I’ll tell the way I heard it:
Q: how many feminists does it take to change a light bulb?
A: THAT’S NOT FUNNY!
(You can substitute any group that you believe takes itself a bit too seriously.)
Humor is a great tool to achieve the right balance between a sense of esteem and confidence and mission, and overemphasized gravitas on the other. Looking at the events of the past few weeks, I really believe that this is a lesson that many can benefit from.