Abraham and the Federal Witness Protection Program

When I taught the Abram stories of Bereishit in High School a few years back, my students and I developed this theory that we called the ‘Federal Witness Protection Program’, which basically highlighted a series of changes that Abram and Sarai undergo:

• They are forced to relocate


• Their names are changed


• Sarai’s lineage is obscured (Chazal and most commentators agree that she is the Yiskah of the end of Noach, but as Sarai, we are never told who her father is)


• They aren’t told initially where they will be relocated


• Abraham’s father’s death is recorded prematurely (if you do the math, Terach didn’t die until 2 years before Sarah did), as if to emphasize his irrelevance to Abraham’s story after the relocation


• Sarai’s barrenness is emphasized – they have no future, as of yet


• The Torah emphasizes the break that they will undergo – ‘go forth from your land, your birthplace, your father’s house…’, which underscores the complete break with his past


• The Torah (in the brit bein Ha-betarim) relates to Abraham’s journey from Ur as a ‘salvation’ – “I am God Who rescued you from Ur Kasdim” (and see Ramban at the end of Noach).


• Eventually, Abram breaks contact with the only relative that accompanies him, his nephew Lot, and he is forced to break, on some level, with both of his older sons

Thus, we see a man who is forced to remain very, very alone. He has jettisoned his past, and his future is never really guaranteed until the very, very end of the story. He is a stranger in several strange lands, never really settling in a single place, again until the very, very end. What are we to make of this description?

There are several striking midrashim that seem to address this theme. One attempts to explain why Abraham was called ‘Ivri’, and suggests an image of the entire world standing on one riverbank, and the lonely Abraham standing on the other side, ‘be-ever ha-nahar’. Rivers, in chazal, will often denote barriers, obstacles few are willing to attempt overcoming. It’s much easier to ‘go with the flow’. Abraham alone on the outer bank suggests that there is an unbridgeable divide between Abraham and the rest of humanity (being God’s chosen can do that to a guy). The moment God chose him, he ceased to be a part of any community of men, any family, any nationality, any history. A brand new story starts at that moment.

The second midrash relates to when God ‘took Abram out’ to look at the stars. Rashi relates a midrash to the effect that Abram must look beyond his ‘stars’ – his fate that had been determined by that combination of factors that the ancient world knew as ‘the stars’ and recognize that he has a brand new identity which has not yet been determined in any way. Abram’s fate was determined, but he is now Abraham, a brand new entity (which identifies him as the progenitor of something brand new) unencumbered by fate. He may begin his own nation with its own new story, which is still being written.

The Prehistory of Abraham

We introduced to Abram at the end of Parashat Noach, but we don’t learn a whole lot about him. There’s a bit of ambiguity as to where Abraham was from (see Ramban and Ibn Ezra ad loc), but it’s clear that he migrated from Lower to Upper Mesopotamia (Ur Kasdim to Aram Naharayim) as a member of his father’s family, having planned to reach Canaan, but not quite making it. We’re given a basic description of Abraham’s lineage and immediate family, or, more precisely, we’re given a description of Terach’s family, of which Abram is a member. Then, all of a sudden, Abram is chosen by God to become a great nation and become the focus of the brachot to ‘be fruitful and multiply’ at the beginning of Lech-Lecha.

The midrashim attempt to fill in the gaps of the Abram story, and there’s a wealth of material describing his activity in Mesopotamia, which serve as a great sugya in themselves. However, they can’t obscure the essential fact that the Torah itself gives us nothing of Abram’s achievements prior to his selection by God. His election is completely out of the blue.
The midrashim then address the most basic and obvious question – why did God choose Abram? The various Midrashic answers, and interpretations of those answers, are a broader topic (and will probably be the subject of another post). However, these Midrashim tend to obscure the jarring fact that the Torah gives us NO REASON for Abram’s selection!! Thus, there is a second question that must arise when studying these sections: why doesn’t the Torah tell us outright why Abram was selected?

The easiest and most intuitive answer to this question is that, for the Torah, the REASON for Abram’s election is of relatively little importance next to the FACT of his election. To put it in a contemporary context, le-havdil, books can and have been written about George W. Bush’s election as President of the USA. Nevertheless, endless discussion of the 2000 elections cannot change the unalterable fact that George W. Bush is President of the United States, for better or worse. Similarly, when addressing God’s choice to enter into a covenant with a man, the realness of that covenant, its over-arching importance to the life of that man and his posterity, the utter transformation of the man who enters that relationship, completely overwhelms considerations of his ‘previous life’, of the process by which he became a ‘candidate’ for this election. Abram’s story, even if it begins when he was three years old, really only begins when God taps him on the shoulder (and remember that until that point it wasn’t Abram’s story, it was Terach’s story).

Midrash Bono

The Gemara in Pesachim (88a) relates how each of our Patriarchs related to God’s Place:

Said Rabbi Elazar: What does Isaiah mean when he says, "And many peoples will go and say, 'Come let us go up to the Mountain of G-d to the HOUSE of the G-d of Jacob!'" ? Why the G-d of Jacob and not the G-d of Abraham and Isaac? The answer is: Not like Abraham, who saw it as a Mountain ("as it is said this day, On the Mountain HaVaYaH is seen" -- Genesis 22:14). And not like Isaac, for whom it was a Field ("And Isaac went out to meditate in the Field" -- Genesis 24:63). But like Jacob, who called it a House: "And he called the name of that place Beth El, the House of G-d" (Genesis 28:19).

The Gemara is describing three fundamentally different ways of relating to and ‘finding’ God: Abraham had to scale a mountain, to go where no man had gone before. Isaac inherited it, it was part of his property, but he still needed to invest in it in order to make it productive. Jacob was able to expect a certain degree of familiarity and comfort, but also structure (this is one potential read of the Gemara).

It was interesting, listening to my CD of U2’s ‘The Joshua Tree’ in the car this morning (I needed a change from S&G), I noticed the following in the lyrics to ‘Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For”:

I have climbed the highest mountains
I have run through the fields
Only to be with you
Only to be with you

I have run I have crawled
I have scaled these city walls
Only to be with you
But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for
But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for

Are Bono and the chevre suggesting that those ancient paradigms for approaching God are insufficient? It’s clear that this song has religious overtones (“I believe in the Kingdom Come /Then all the colors will bleed into one /But yes I'm still running. /You broke the bonds /You loosened the chains /You carried the cross /And my shame”), and according to Wikipedia, is about finding spirituality. I doubt, though, that Bono learned this particular Gemara, but it still seems to enrich my understanding of this Gemara. Perhaps there's something universal about 'mountains, fields, and walls' to the language of spirituality. And perhaps Bono does have something to contribute to our spiritual vocabulary.

It's situations like this that can convince one either that goyishe music should be avoided like chazer or that it truly has what to contribute to our religious world. I, for one, believe that Bono can be the spice in R' Ashi's cholent. Either way, it's incredible music.

Feminist Halakhic Dilemmas

I’ve always found it useful to use dilemmas to generate discussion on particular issues. When discussing theory, it’s very easy to stake out an ideological position. When faced with a practical dilemma, though, the complexity of the situation makes ideological positions much harder to maintain, especially when there are clearly a number of values that conflict. The Gemara often uses this method for fleshing out the practical implications of issues. I tried a similar method, with some success, here. So here are some dilemmas related to women’s issues in general, focusing on Simchat Torah. Some of these dilemmas I’ve actually had, and I will note it when it arises.

1) An Orthodox Rabbi is installed at an Orthodox synagogue where the women have a tefillah group/ layn on Simchat Torah / dance with the Torah on ST, or otherwise practice something which, though technically muttar, is not something the Rabbi would a priori approve. Should the Rabbi try to put a stop to it? Should he give an ultimatum of a certain number of years (like Orthodox Rabbis in mechitza-less shuls in the 50s and 60s)? Should he express his disapproval but allow it to continue? Should he keep his mouth shut? Should he quit?

(at UMD, which is a bit different from a normal shul, I kept my mouth shut if the practice was muttar or if I knew there was no chance of stopping it)

2) A group of women approach the Rabbi about using one of the shul’s sifrei Torah to dance with in a discreet location on Simchat Torah. The Rabbi agrees to let them use it. When word gets out, an element within the shul threatens to break-away unless the Rabbi rescinds his decision. What is the Rabbi to do? Kowtow to the threats of that element? Stand firm, come what may?

(I know of a few cases where this happened. One Rabbi – a Ner Israel graduate and well-respected poseik – rescinded his decision, apologizing to the women that he initially had permitted to dance with the Torah. The second Rabbi went ahead with the women’s hakafot, and indeed several families bolted from the shul. In this instance, I happen to agree with the first Rabbi and disagree with the second. Of course, the size and prominence of the competing factions is a major factor, and you can’t please all the people all the time. I’d also add that the first Rabbi is very much not an ideologue, but was responding to his congregants as best he could. The second Rabbi had much more of an agenda.

3) An Israeli woman visiting the United States is asked to participate in a women’s Torah reading for Simchat Torah. She is essentially only observing one day, but is ‘faking it for the cameras’ on the 2^nd day, Simchat Torah, as prescribed by the Shulchan Arukh. She asks her Rabbi whether or not she can layn on the 2^nd day. Note that a man in that situation should NOT layn for a minyan of 2-day observing men (at least that’s the psak I received). The Rabbi is, in general, opposed to women layning, but that’s not the question at hand. Should he advise her not to participate in general? Should he withdraw from the question, since he can’t agree with the questions presumptions? Should he permit her to layn, specifying that if there’s no minyan present it’s not a real kri’ah anyhow, so the 1-day vs. 2-day issue doesn’t really get of the ground? Should he permit without specifying the reason? (I’m operating under the assumption that there would be no reason to forbid her from layning on the 2^nd day specifically, though I’d be interested to hear if someone would advance an argument in favor of making that distinction)

(This actually came up. I asked a shayla from Rav #1 in dilemma #2 and he answered in the following, very tactical way: “A woman doesn’t have the same issues that a man has in layning on a day which for him/her is not Yom Tov”. I relayed that answer back, with greater explanation, even spelling out the implications for women’s kri’ah.

There are some other issues that I faced on campus, both on ST and during the year, that relate to issues of women’s participation in liturgical activity – particularly kaddish and Kiddush. Both great stories, but for another time.

A Video for the Shabbos Table

Well not really, but it's funny.

Simchat Torah and Egalitarianism

One of the central messages of Simchat Torah, if not the central message, is that every Jew has a stake in the Torah. The Gr”a used the verse ‘ve-haya ba-yom ha-hu, hinei Elokeinu zeh’ and the Talmudic drasha of that verse, namely, that in the future all of the righteous will form a circle around God and point toward Him, to explain the idea of hakafot. He explains that hakafot look forward to a time when hierarchies are no longer necessary and we can all participate in a circle, geometrically defined as the set of points in a plane where each point is equidistant from the center. None are closer or further from the center in a circle. Because of this rationale, there are those who insist that during hakafot no person occupies the center of the circle, the space symbolically reserved for God. We demonstrate the everyone’s access to Torah by giving aliyot to everyone, even children. All is symbolic of a time of future redemption, when this vision will come to fruition.
In this sense, Simchat Torah is the Jewish holiday which best lends itself to egalitarian practice. Equal access to Torah is something to be celebrated by all – men, women, and children. The desire by those, especially women, who feel sidelined by the traditional celebration to take a more participatory role can be seen to be very much consistent with the theme of the day. R’ Yehuda Herzl Henkin points to Simchat Torah as an example of where giving aliyot to women might be appropriate even if inappropriate at other times (it stands to reason that if every male already had an aliyah, the issue of kavod ha-tzibbur wouldn’t be of concern, similar to the Mahara”m Mi-Rottenberg’s case of a city entirely of kohanim).
On the other hand, not every Simchat Torah practice is ‘egalitarian’. The honoring of ‘chatanim’ singles out particular worshippers for special celebration. The impulse to extend that singling out to a woman as well actually de-emphasizes the egalitarian nature of the holiday. Abolishing the idea of the chatanim altogether, with all of the pomp and circumstance they have accumulated toward the celebration of a single individual, is probably more consistent with the theme of the day than extending them to include kallot. That’s probably not a realistic option in any community, though.

Book Review – Tzir Kissufim: In the Land of Prayer

[This will be cross-posted on the Lookjed educators' discussion forum; the book is available here; if you order it, please enter 'ADDeRabbi' in the comment section of the order.]

Book Review – Tzir Kissufim: In the Land of Prayer

Edited by Daniel Gutenmacher

Translations by Toby Klein Greenwald

The expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492 inaugurated a period of unparalleled religious ferment which expressed itself in numerous ways, for better or worse. The Gaza disengagement of 2005, we are starting to see, has similarly inspired a wealth of religious responses, and it remains to be seen what the ultimate effects of it will be. It is safe to assume that the introspection it inspired and the fact that it forced an entire movement – the Religious Zionist movement – to endure the shattering of its dreams will continue to generate creative tension for a very long time.

A particular manifestation of this ferment is the re-invention of an art that had been almost forgotten by the Jews – that of prayer writing. Personal and liturgical compositions are available from every era, but the sheer volume of those written in response to the Hitnatkut qualify as an explosion of prayer-writing. Dozens of Tisha B’av Kinot for the Disengagement have been penned, and several collections of prayers have been published in Hebrew. Daniel Gutenmacher and Toby Klein Greenwald have now made some of these writings available to the English-speaking public in the form of the book Tzir Kissufim: In the Land of Prayer.

The task that the translator and editor set before themselves is a daunting one. Hebrew is the language of Jewish prayer, and the compositions in this collection, though new, are constantly alluding to elements of Hebrew scripture and liturgy. There are terms that have specific meaning within the context of the Israeli experience which are lost in translation. This is in addition to universal challenges of translating poetry, with its ambiguities, double entendres, rhyme, and meter.

I’m sure the translators themselves would agree that these prayers are far less inspiring in English. Therefore, the value of the translation is similar to its value for any translated siddur – to help the reader understand what he’s saying in the original. The translation is up to this task, though it would have greatly benefited from notes which refer to the scriptural and liturgical allusions and explain the poetic devices employed by the writers.

In addition to the translation, the compositions are divided into thematic sections, each section prefaced by an introduction to the theme and a preview of the contents of the section. They also include photography, art, and prose that are linked to the theme being introduced. These introductions are helpful in that they frame the mood of the upcoming prayers, but are sometimes too conspicuous, such as when the introduction to the section is longer than the section itself (Section VII). The topics range from very general (Section III: To Be Enveloped in Divine Light) to specific (Section VIII: Happiness in the Shadow of Pain: Shabbat). The artwork that is interspersed throughout the volume lends another dimension to the feelings that the writers are trying to capture. This visual medium succeeds so well that it makes one wonder why more religious art is not included in siddurim.

The prayers themselves form the centerpiece of the volume. Many of the prayers in the collection deal directly with the Hitnatkut and its aftermath, some more generally with the ‘situation’ in Israel, and a number address universal religious concerns. The writing of Ruchama Shapira consistently alludes to Biblical events (‘Akedah’ – pp.8-13) and verses (‘Bloodshed, Crisis, and Rebirth’ on pp. 24-29 is loaded with Biblical and Rabbinic references), and transposes them onto the very real experience of the Disengagement, in which she was evicted from her home. Ido Levinger’s prayers, on the other hand, tend to address the universal human concerns about faith(104-5), apathy (78-81), and redemption(58-9), though they can easily be read against the backdrop of the events in Israel. These two writers contributed fourteen of the thirty-five prayers in this collection.

In general those writing from direct experience are more gripping than the writing of those whose experience is second hand. The prayers are also at their best when the writers are not straining too hard to be inspirational (or trying to borrow too heavily from Rav Kook’s elevated writing style), but are trying to sincerely chronicle their own conversations with God. Prayerful simplicity, in the tradition of R’ Nachman of Breslov, is the most successful way that these writers convey their raw feelings, without injecting philosophy, politics, or theology. I found the most moving prayer to be the one entitled ‘The Soldier’s Lekha Dodi’ (98-103) penned by a yeshiva student to relive his personal Kabbalat Shabbat while on guard duty, after a particularly difficult week. Toby Klein Greenwald’s ‘Grandmother’s Prayer’(32-3) is another whose simplicity tears at the reader’s heartstrings.

On the whole, the prayers in this collection display a range of literary power and technical quality. For someone in the market for a good poetry collection, there are much better ones out there. The value of this book is in its presentation of contemporary prayers written by living Jews during events that we have all experienced first, second, or third hand. The writers walk amongst us, are us. Thus, as an introduction to the world of Jewish prayer-writing, to help individuals find their voice in prayer, for educators to initiate their students into the world of prayer-composing, with the hopes that they may recover the personal elements of their own prayer and perhaps even compose their own prayers, this slim volume (159 pages) can be a valuable tool.

Notes from the Peanut Gallery

1) Poor Choice of Words
This review was pretty good (Thanks for posting the link, Gil. Maybe you'll link to a review that I'll have up in a few hours.) There's just one line that absolutely must be taken out of that review:
We get a penetrating analysis of the "Rape of Dinah"

2) Takes on Pictures
The following picture inspires Harry to write about the dangers of religious extremism. It inspires me to think about the wonders of cameras that eliminate red-eye:

First Rashi on Chumash: Do We Understand it Correctly?

Everyone knows the first Rashi on Chumash, right? He begins by quoting R’ Yitzchak in a Medrash, asking why the Torah doesn’t begin with the mitzvah of ‘Ha-chodesh ha-zeh lachem’, about 1/3 the way through Shemot?

Rashi goes on to explain that the purpose of the creation story is to establish God’s ownership over the world, in order to justify our occupation of the land of Israel. God gave it to us. It’s God, so he can give it to whomever he wants and take it away from whomever he wants. At the very least, this is how everyone I’ve ever encountered explains this Rashi, and, at first blush, it would seem to be exactly what Rashi is saying.

However, as I once posted before, and I think bears repeating again and again until this becomes the common understanding of this Rashi. The difference can’t be overstated.

Basically, the key misunderstood line is ‘'le-eit asher yashar be-einav'. It’s commonly understood to mean ‘to whomever he pleases’. In that understanding, God’s will is made to be arbitrary, and if he chooses not to give you prime real estate, that’s just tough luck, because He owns the world and can do with it what he pleases.

However, throughout Chumash and the writings of Chaza”l that which is ‘right in God’s eyes’ is not arbitrary at all. It’s about a system of Godly values, enshrined both in halakhic legislation and in supererogatory practice (lifnim mi-shurat ha-din, which is related to the verse ‘ve-asita yashar ve-hatov be-einei Hashem’), by which we, as people, follow in God’s ways. We will not do what is right and good in our own eyes, as is the common negative refrain of Sefer Shoftim, rather, that which is right and good in God’s eyes.

The implication of God’s creation is not that we must respect God’s ownership of it, but that the incomprehensible motives that God had for creating the world can somehow be called ‘Goodness’ or ‘Kindness’ – Olam Chesed Yibaneh – and the challenge of being human is the challenge of continuing the work that God started but left for us to complete (asher bara Elokim la’asot, et al). This challenge began with Adam, but we see now that it began even before; it was built into creation. It continues through the stories of our Patriarchs, though with the difference that whereas through Abraham the challenge was for all of humanity over all of the world, in the wake of multiple failures God chose one family to achieve those goals in one place, and to serve as the catalyst of universal success. Our Partiarchs, especially Abraham, were guided by that set of Godly values and traits – chessed, tzedek, mishpat – before they were enshrined in the Torah’s legislation. The message – that is made clear in the Netziv’s introduction to Bereishit and as AlanLaz brings in the name of the Netivot Shalom, there’s a basic sense of yashrut which undergirds the Torah, which the Torah seeks to develop and refine, and without which the mitzvot are rendered largely worthless (see the Netziv’s sharp intro if you think that’s an exaggeration). This sense of Yashrut, present in creation itself, it the prerequisite for everything that comes after Parashat Ha-Chodesh. Thus, Bereishit is nicknamed Sefer Ha-Yashar. How can we miss that allision in the first Rashi?

It also means that the covenant that develops throughout Chumash – first between God and Adam, then Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, etc. until it’s contracted as the Torah with all of Israel – is present in the very act of Creation. The goal of creation was to be able to enact a covenant with a people, whereby they would live according to that which is Yashar be-eini Hashem, and would reciprocally merit to live in the land which is constantly under God’s scrutiny (einei Hashem Elokecha bah me-reishit ha-shana ad acharit ha-shana), and where living according to the Covenant is part and parcel of living in the land (see, e.g., the entire book of Devarim). And according to this Rashi, it’s built into creation.

A final comment relates to the type of ‘Zionism’ that this Rashi promotes. The more common read lends itself to a Zionism of entitlement – it’s ours, not yours, so get out. The other read is much more about Zionism as a challenge, something that we must constantly be striving to live up to. I suspect that it also offers a fundamentally different way to relate to indigenous populations. When one is fvrced to admit a degree of uncertainty about his own deserved-ness of the land, it becomes much easier to tolerate the presence and claims of others (see also what I wrote here and here).