"The following is the translation of an excerpt from R. Yaakov Ariel 's letter of approbation to Derekh Ha-Melekh (The Path of the King)..."
Read on at Kol HaRav - Rabbinic Voices: R. Yaakov Ariel's Response to 'Torat Ha-Melekh'
6/23/2011
The Motives of California "Intactivism"
The "intactivist" (anti-circumcision) movement in California is making the news all over the US (strangely, not in Israel yet) by trying to get MGM (male genital mutilation) laws passed in San Francisco and Santa Monica. Their latest propaganda includes a magazine called "Foreskin Man" (which I've been tweeting about for a week already).
Although many (like Shmuely Boteach) have tried to take the "circumcision is healthier" tack, I believe - along with WSJ's Brad Greenberg - that this is misguided. The point is that Jews will not stop circumcising even if you make a law, just as they did not stop in the past when it was forbidden by law. Making such a law is a dangerous endeavor.
Several years ago at UMD, I was interviewed by the student newspaper for an article about an anti-circumcision group on campus. At the time, I took a dual strategy: a. Acknowledge the good that they do (educating non-Jews about the risks of circumcision; educating Jews about the risks of performing circumcision under unsanitary conditions). b. Don't even bother trying to explain why Jews insist on circumcision (if you read the article, you'll see how I executed this strategy). There's nothing to argue about. It is the quintessential marker of Jewish identity (in the Bible, non-Israelites are called "uncircumcised ones" or more properly "foreskins" - a jarring synecdoche if ever there was one). And it continues to be practiced almost uniformly among Jews, even secular, anti-religious, or atheist Jews; even among Jews who truly believe it to be a barbaric ritual. Can I explain that? Not really. On the other hand, it is a reality, which needs no explanation.
With regard to the motives for the current campaign, I view it as a product of a hypersexual culture. Part of what the authors of Foreskin Man portray - ignoring the blatantly anti-Semitic (and anti-Amish, come to think of it; the Monster Mohel has a beard and no mustache) images for the moment - is the sexuality that simply oozes from the "good guys" (whatever the authors think about circumcision, they sure don't seem to have an issue with breast implants). Their names (Kummings, Hastwick, etc.; personally, I'd have named the hero's alter ego Arlo Pullman, especially given the epispasmic practices of the comic's creator) simply ooze sexuality. When they're not fighting to save foreskins, they're hanging out on the beach, wearing next to nothing on their Olympian bodies. In short, the message is that circumcision hinders sexual fulfillment.
Similarly, this blog post by a young Jewish man angry at his mohel because he's too conflicted about hating his parents offers a similar lament: he doesn't enjoy sex and masturbation as much as he otherwise would. He also experiences mild discomfort, chafing, and sometimes gets lint under the folds of his skin, but the structure of his argument suggest that's the main issue is the great sex he's missed out on.
Thus, when coming to evaluate the importance of a flap of skin with some nerve endings, one's table of values comes strongly into play. If sex, and the degree of pleasure experienced during sex (and it is a question of degree; circumcised men do enjoy sex), are at the top of one's priority scale, then something that mitigates that pleasure is simply terrible. If sex is simply not that high up on the scale, then the removal of that skin is, quite frankly, not such a big sacrifice, and when it conflicts with other, more important values, then the skin loses. [After I started writing this, I saw that Chaim Steinmetz makes a similar point].
A similar direction for contextualization is in Ben Chorin's recent series, especially the entries of December 19 and 27.
Although many (like Shmuely Boteach) have tried to take the "circumcision is healthier" tack, I believe - along with WSJ's Brad Greenberg - that this is misguided. The point is that Jews will not stop circumcising even if you make a law, just as they did not stop in the past when it was forbidden by law. Making such a law is a dangerous endeavor.
Several years ago at UMD, I was interviewed by the student newspaper for an article about an anti-circumcision group on campus. At the time, I took a dual strategy: a. Acknowledge the good that they do (educating non-Jews about the risks of circumcision; educating Jews about the risks of performing circumcision under unsanitary conditions). b. Don't even bother trying to explain why Jews insist on circumcision (if you read the article, you'll see how I executed this strategy). There's nothing to argue about. It is the quintessential marker of Jewish identity (in the Bible, non-Israelites are called "uncircumcised ones" or more properly "foreskins" - a jarring synecdoche if ever there was one). And it continues to be practiced almost uniformly among Jews, even secular, anti-religious, or atheist Jews; even among Jews who truly believe it to be a barbaric ritual. Can I explain that? Not really. On the other hand, it is a reality, which needs no explanation.
With regard to the motives for the current campaign, I view it as a product of a hypersexual culture. Part of what the authors of Foreskin Man portray - ignoring the blatantly anti-Semitic (and anti-Amish, come to think of it; the Monster Mohel has a beard and no mustache) images for the moment - is the sexuality that simply oozes from the "good guys" (whatever the authors think about circumcision, they sure don't seem to have an issue with breast implants). Their names (Kummings, Hastwick, etc.; personally, I'd have named the hero's alter ego Arlo Pullman, especially given the epispasmic practices of the comic's creator) simply ooze sexuality. When they're not fighting to save foreskins, they're hanging out on the beach, wearing next to nothing on their Olympian bodies. In short, the message is that circumcision hinders sexual fulfillment.
Similarly, this blog post by a young Jewish man angry at his mohel because he's too conflicted about hating his parents offers a similar lament: he doesn't enjoy sex and masturbation as much as he otherwise would. He also experiences mild discomfort, chafing, and sometimes gets lint under the folds of his skin, but the structure of his argument suggest that's the main issue is the great sex he's missed out on.
Thus, when coming to evaluate the importance of a flap of skin with some nerve endings, one's table of values comes strongly into play. If sex, and the degree of pleasure experienced during sex (and it is a question of degree; circumcised men do enjoy sex), are at the top of one's priority scale, then something that mitigates that pleasure is simply terrible. If sex is simply not that high up on the scale, then the removal of that skin is, quite frankly, not such a big sacrifice, and when it conflicts with other, more important values, then the skin loses. [After I started writing this, I saw that Chaim Steinmetz makes a similar point].
A similar direction for contextualization is in Ben Chorin's recent series, especially the entries of December 19 and 27.
6/16/2011
Yizkor
I'm flabbergasted that Ha'aretz can, with a straight face, argue based on "tradition" that we should keep it the way it was, and not the emendations of R. Goren in a "thrall of messianic fervor." If only the secular establishment had so much respect for tradition while they were pissing on it (pardon my French, but I see this as jarringly ironic).
This really goes back to the issue that Ha'aretz, as well as some other media and the High Court, are really the last bastions of secular Ashkenazi culture. As I noted on Lag B'Omer, secular Israeli civic religion is slowly eroding, and Judaism is making space for more civic observance. I find this to be a heartwarming trend. On the specific issue of Yizkor, see Menachem Mendel's excellent piece.
One of the great writers of early secular Zionism, Haim Hazaz, concluded his "The Sermon" with the line: "When a man can no longer be a Jew, he becomes a Zionist" (in this context, "Jew" meant the religious and passive Jew of the exile, and "Zionist" meant secular kibbutznik). Apparently the opposite also holds true, at least on the broader scale: When a man can no longer be a Zionist, he becomes a Jew.
This really goes back to the issue that Ha'aretz, as well as some other media and the High Court, are really the last bastions of secular Ashkenazi culture. As I noted on Lag B'Omer, secular Israeli civic religion is slowly eroding, and Judaism is making space for more civic observance. I find this to be a heartwarming trend. On the specific issue of Yizkor, see Menachem Mendel's excellent piece.
One of the great writers of early secular Zionism, Haim Hazaz, concluded his "The Sermon" with the line: "When a man can no longer be a Jew, he becomes a Zionist" (in this context, "Jew" meant the religious and passive Jew of the exile, and "Zionist" meant secular kibbutznik). Apparently the opposite also holds true, at least on the broader scale: When a man can no longer be a Zionist, he becomes a Jew.
Some Notes in Brief
- MK R. Haim Amsalem's visit to Modiin has been rescheduled for this Monday. Here's a link to the event flier for more information.
- Looks like I'll be attending at least part of the Israeli Presidential Conference. I'm going on a blogger pass. I'll probably cover some detail via Twitter (@adderabbi), but mainly want to meditate on what it means for Israel. We'll see if I can come up with anything interesting.
- I'll be in the US (MD-DC area) for about a month this summer. I may have a few Scholar-in-Residence opportunities lined up, but am on the lookout for more.
- I've hope to post in the next few days on the circumcision controversy in California and on the Yizkor controversy in Israel.
6/07/2011
Israel's New Daylight Savings Law
Interior Minister Eli Yishai has extended Daylight Savings Time into October. This means that Yom Kippur will not fall during DST about 50% of the time. Extending DST into October makes economic sense according to virtually all studies, but many religious people are upset because now Yom Kippur will be "longer".
Of course, Yom Kippur will not be "longer." It's 25 hours any way you slice it. If the issue is that it "feels" longer or contains more waking hours, synagogues now have leeway to start services a bit later (daylight starts later, after all) so people can sleep longer and keep the same number of wakeful fasting hours. And if not? Tough it out. An hour being hungry isn't worth tens of millions of shekels. Furthermore, synagogues that start earlier at the beginning of the winter calendar (because sof z'man kri'at Shema is earlier) will be able to keep their 8:30am start times for a few extra weeks. So there's a net benefit for hours of sleep accrued. Since I try to go to a very early minyan on Yom Kippur so that I can come home and my wife can go to a later minyan, the new schedule actually works out better for me.
Of course, Yom Kippur will not be "longer." It's 25 hours any way you slice it. If the issue is that it "feels" longer or contains more waking hours, synagogues now have leeway to start services a bit later (daylight starts later, after all) so people can sleep longer and keep the same number of wakeful fasting hours. And if not? Tough it out. An hour being hungry isn't worth tens of millions of shekels. Furthermore, synagogues that start earlier at the beginning of the winter calendar (because sof z'man kri'at Shema is earlier) will be able to keep their 8:30am start times for a few extra weeks. So there's a net benefit for hours of sleep accrued. Since I try to go to a very early minyan on Yom Kippur so that I can come home and my wife can go to a later minyan, the new schedule actually works out better for me.
6/03/2011
A Gilded Landsmanschaft
An article of mine was posted today on Ynet and eJewishPhilanthropy, and was excerpted in Haaretz. The occasion for the article is the dedication of Kehillat Shaarei Yonah Menachem this weekend, with much pomp and circumstance (guest speakers will include Natan Sharansky and R. Shlomo Riskin, as well as local politicians).
In the article, I made reference to an idea that I developed before: that Israel should be a "cholent pot" - not a melting pot or salad bowl. In a cholent pot, each ingredient remains distinct like in a salad bowl, but adds and receives flavor, scent, and texture to and from all of the other ingredients. So too, the different elements that constitute Jewish (and dare I say non-Jewish) diversity in Israel all (should) contribute to and also takes something from all the other elements.
In the article, I made reference to an idea that I developed before: that Israel should be a "cholent pot" - not a melting pot or salad bowl. In a cholent pot, each ingredient remains distinct like in a salad bowl, but adds and receives flavor, scent, and texture to and from all of the other ingredients. So too, the different elements that constitute Jewish (and dare I say non-Jewish) diversity in Israel all (should) contribute to and also takes something from all the other elements.
6/02/2011
The Rhetoric of Chumra in Igrot Moshe
This past Saturday night I gave a chabura on "The Rhetoric of Chumra in Igrot Moshe". I looked at several responsa in which R. Moshe Feinstein uses the language of "reluctant leniency" and develop a theory as to what his goals were in using this type of language. In some ways, what R. Moshe is trying to do is the exact opposite of what the Chafetz Chaim is trying to do in the Mishna Berurah.
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5/30/2011
Stalemates and Doubts
Take a look at Gil's post on the idea of using "teiku" on questions of faith. He attempts to show that not only do chareidi rabbis like R. Matisyahu Salomon use it when running up against apparent contradictions and difficulties in the realm of faith, but so did R. Soloveitchik. Therefore, he concludes, critics of R. Salomon are being disingenuous.
Back when the controversy about R. Salomon broke out, there were indeed bloggers who criticized R. Salomon for using the idea of teiku as an ideological cop-out, to avoid dealing with Torah and science issues. In other words, they saw what R. Salomon was doing and judged it to be bad or wrong, arguing that in matters of faith every effort must be made to know and to answer whatever possible.
To that end, R. Gil's excerpt from RYBS (who is himself invoking Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling
) indeed demonstrates that there are instances in which the man of faith must throw up his hands and say "teiku." There are theological questions and contradictions so profound that the true man of faith must accept that some questions will not be answered.
He could have cited the example of R. Yehuda Amital as well. A cornerstone of his post-Holocaust theology was resignation without any attempt at justification. This was the basis for his critique of those - from R. Zvi Yehuda Kook to R. Yoel Teitelbaum - who rationalized the Holocaust within a larger ideological scheme (see, for example, pp. 127-133 of By Faith Alone
).
Yet my critique then, as now, focused on what I believe to be a common misunderstanding of the idea of teiku. Teiku is said not when I don't know something and not even when nobody knows something. It is used when something cannot be known (note that in the RYBS quote he shifts from the real meaning of teiku to the colloquial meaning of teiku just before the end of the quote; I wouldn't put too much linguistic stock in the rhetorical jab at the end).
Resignation in the face of the unknown should never be a long-term solution. It may be prudent in some instances, but it must never become policy. It stunts all discovery and progress. At the same time, recognition that some things-like the reason for the binding of Isaac and the Holocaust-are unknowable is a desirable trait. It means knowing that man can never know the answer, or that there is no answer - not that someone of superior intellect will eventually come and answer it for me.
Back when the controversy about R. Salomon broke out, there were indeed bloggers who criticized R. Salomon for using the idea of teiku as an ideological cop-out, to avoid dealing with Torah and science issues. In other words, they saw what R. Salomon was doing and judged it to be bad or wrong, arguing that in matters of faith every effort must be made to know and to answer whatever possible.
To that end, R. Gil's excerpt from RYBS (who is himself invoking Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling
) indeed demonstrates that there are instances in which the man of faith must throw up his hands and say "teiku." There are theological questions and contradictions so profound that the true man of faith must accept that some questions will not be answered.He could have cited the example of R. Yehuda Amital as well. A cornerstone of his post-Holocaust theology was resignation without any attempt at justification. This was the basis for his critique of those - from R. Zvi Yehuda Kook to R. Yoel Teitelbaum - who rationalized the Holocaust within a larger ideological scheme (see, for example, pp. 127-133 of By Faith Alone
).Yet my critique then, as now, focused on what I believe to be a common misunderstanding of the idea of teiku. Teiku is said not when I don't know something and not even when nobody knows something. It is used when something cannot be known (note that in the RYBS quote he shifts from the real meaning of teiku to the colloquial meaning of teiku just before the end of the quote; I wouldn't put too much linguistic stock in the rhetorical jab at the end).
Resignation in the face of the unknown should never be a long-term solution. It may be prudent in some instances, but it must never become policy. It stunts all discovery and progress. At the same time, recognition that some things-like the reason for the binding of Isaac and the Holocaust-are unknowable is a desirable trait. It means knowing that man can never know the answer, or that there is no answer - not that someone of superior intellect will eventually come and answer it for me.
5/26/2011
Balancing Imperatives: A Response to Rabbi Shmuly
After I completed my studies for rabbinic ordination in 2002, my wife and I decided to move back to the United States - temporarily - to teach Torah. Before leaving, we met and spoke with Rav Aharon Lichtenstein. Among the issues we discussed was whether we would have an imperative to stay in a community if it grew to depend on us. He responded with the story of a relative of his who was a shochet, a ritual slaughterer, in Alabama. At some point this man decided that it would be better for the family to move to a larger community. A member of the local community approached him and said, "if you leave, everybody here will start eating treif." R. Lichtenstein continued, "but he had to make the decision that was right for his family. And indeed, kosher food was no longer available in that city."
My own grandparents faced a similar dilemma. In the late 1940s, my grandfather was hired to officiate (lead services, read the Torah, and deliver sermons) High Holiday services at a synagogue in a small town in Ohio. The one-off gig turned out to be a probeh, an audition, and he was offered the job of full-time rabbi. Although he was inclined to accept, my grandmother insisted that she would not move her family to a city with no decent Jewish education. And so they remained in Baltimore.
These stories were definitely part of the calculus that motivated us to return to Israel after 4 solid years teaching in the US. The decision greatly impacted my professional trajectory and ultimately led me to leave the fields of education and rabbinics. Our move was motivated by lots of factors, not least of which was that we did not want our children to grow up with Israel as a foreign country. I will always be an immigrant or alien here. I wanted that experience to end with me.
But during those 4 years, perhaps because we knew that we would only be in the States for a handful of years, we were able to do things that perhaps we otherwise would not have considered. For two years we lived in College Park, MD - something we never would have considered had we been looking for a place to settle. Living on campus while serving the campus community made all the difference, as the campus became our home and not merely our place of work.
Before moving to Maryland, we lived for two years in Dallas, Texas, where we were also willing to explore untested corners of Jewish education there. On one occasion, we spent a Shabbat at the University of Texas in Austin (hook 'em Horns). In many ways, that experience fueled our desire to accept campus rabbinic positions when the opportunity arose.
That Shabbat, we met a student, a senior named Shawn, who had become observant the previous year. I remember being struck by the fact that his trajectory of increased observance did not result in alienation from his peers. Though there were not many role models in Austin, he had somehow managed to keep his balance while undergoing massive lifestyle changes.
Today I have several things to say to Shawn.
The first is: Mazal Tov on your wedding. Tizku livnot bayit ne'eman Be-Yisra'el.
The second is: Keep making great use of your youth and energy! Continue to be a globetrotting warrior against poverty, injustice, and oppression wherever it may be found!
The third and final is: You are now part of a unit that is larger than yourself - a unit that will hopefully continue to grow. This will help you realize that your decisions affect those around you, and that self-fulfillment is not the only variable feeding those decisions. You are not the first and will not be the last to have to chart a course between choosing what is best for the Jewish people, or even the world, and the needs of those nearest and dearest to you (I recommend this post by R. Michael Broyde, which appeared the same day as your article). Be assured that it is not a zero-sum game, though. You will find that balance, just as you managed to keep your balance as a newly observant student at UT. You will meet the needs of your family even at the ends of the earth, if that is the route you choose. And, believe it or not, even if you wind up here in the Jewish state, you will find ample opportunity for development in conjunction with a diverse array of neighboring societies; to play a leading role in fighting injustice, alleviating poverty, advocating for Israel and Jewish interests, and learning from people of other faiths; and to actualize all of the values of our Jewish tradition.
My own grandparents faced a similar dilemma. In the late 1940s, my grandfather was hired to officiate (lead services, read the Torah, and deliver sermons) High Holiday services at a synagogue in a small town in Ohio. The one-off gig turned out to be a probeh, an audition, and he was offered the job of full-time rabbi. Although he was inclined to accept, my grandmother insisted that she would not move her family to a city with no decent Jewish education. And so they remained in Baltimore.
These stories were definitely part of the calculus that motivated us to return to Israel after 4 solid years teaching in the US. The decision greatly impacted my professional trajectory and ultimately led me to leave the fields of education and rabbinics. Our move was motivated by lots of factors, not least of which was that we did not want our children to grow up with Israel as a foreign country. I will always be an immigrant or alien here. I wanted that experience to end with me.
But during those 4 years, perhaps because we knew that we would only be in the States for a handful of years, we were able to do things that perhaps we otherwise would not have considered. For two years we lived in College Park, MD - something we never would have considered had we been looking for a place to settle. Living on campus while serving the campus community made all the difference, as the campus became our home and not merely our place of work.
Before moving to Maryland, we lived for two years in Dallas, Texas, where we were also willing to explore untested corners of Jewish education there. On one occasion, we spent a Shabbat at the University of Texas in Austin (hook 'em Horns). In many ways, that experience fueled our desire to accept campus rabbinic positions when the opportunity arose.
That Shabbat, we met a student, a senior named Shawn, who had become observant the previous year. I remember being struck by the fact that his trajectory of increased observance did not result in alienation from his peers. Though there were not many role models in Austin, he had somehow managed to keep his balance while undergoing massive lifestyle changes.
Today I have several things to say to Shawn.
The first is: Mazal Tov on your wedding. Tizku livnot bayit ne'eman Be-Yisra'el.
The second is: Keep making great use of your youth and energy! Continue to be a globetrotting warrior against poverty, injustice, and oppression wherever it may be found!
The third and final is: You are now part of a unit that is larger than yourself - a unit that will hopefully continue to grow. This will help you realize that your decisions affect those around you, and that self-fulfillment is not the only variable feeding those decisions. You are not the first and will not be the last to have to chart a course between choosing what is best for the Jewish people, or even the world, and the needs of those nearest and dearest to you (I recommend this post by R. Michael Broyde, which appeared the same day as your article). Be assured that it is not a zero-sum game, though. You will find that balance, just as you managed to keep your balance as a newly observant student at UT. You will meet the needs of your family even at the ends of the earth, if that is the route you choose. And, believe it or not, even if you wind up here in the Jewish state, you will find ample opportunity for development in conjunction with a diverse array of neighboring societies; to play a leading role in fighting injustice, alleviating poverty, advocating for Israel and Jewish interests, and learning from people of other faiths; and to actualize all of the values of our Jewish tradition.
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