Shatnez is observed by thousands of people today. It is bizarre to you because you are cocky, you think you are so smart and can pick away at the unsophisticated Bible. If you took time to really study this stuff, I can tell you that Shatnez is one of the deepest and most profound rules in the Torah. But anyways, if one really believes in the Torah and that God gave it, is it so stupid to follow it just because we trust that there is a good reason, even if we don’t understand it?
I’m sure that sounds childish to you, because it is clear from reading your stuff that you look down on religion as being silly and meaningless, but I find it very profound and significant.

What Torah did God give? According to everyone else on this site, the Bible is adapted for whatever the season is. I say we change the rules.

Jewcy Craig, it is very difficult to take you seriously with that picture. But lets ask the only blogger on this site worthy reading, Tamar Fox, one who posts almost everyday on this site, does she believe God gave the Torah? If so, you are off the mark JewcyCraig.

Wow Soccer, I can't believe you're calling me "worthy reading."  But I do think the Torah comes from God (though it's not clear to me what I mean by that, precisely).

 

That said, AJ, I'm a huge fan of your writing at Esquire, but I do find this premise slightly offensive.  I know plenty of people who are really careful about not wearing shatnez--it's not like you discovered it.  As for the question of whether we should follow rules that don't seem to have any rhyme or reason--that's pretty simplistic, too.  If you're living by the terms of the Bible how about starting with the first commandment, "I am the Lord Your God, you shall have no other Gods before me."  If you go ahead and believe that one, it makes sense to check for Shatnez.  

 

I think the real question is, does it ever make sense to follow a bizarre tradition that you've never felt a connection to?  Because of course you follow bizarre traditions all the time.  When it's your birthday, do people bake you a cake and sing and put candles on the cake?  In some places they might think your friends were crazy, baking, singing and lighting things on fire, but because it's part of how you accept birthday celebrations, you're into it.  The same goes for Shatnez.  It may feel bizarre for you, but that's just because until now you've never been around people for whom it was important. 

Well, since I get mentioned in AJ's entry, maybe I can shed some light on this. AJ - I think you're missing an "about" somewhere up there. Watch that cut and paste.

Now, unfortunately, this entry isn't very well contextualized. If you aren't familiar with AJ's project, which Soccer doesn't seem to be, it isn't going to make much sense. Basically, AJ - a completely secular Jew with minimal religious education - tries to live by the rules that he finds in the Bible. This means that he's never seen many of them and that a number of them are going to seem quite odd.
With the exception of limiting himself to the Bible, the premise is not unlike what happens to a Bal-tshuva, a newly religious person who finds her/himself beset with a huge number of new rules to live by, many of which make no apparent sense. The difference is that AJ is not a Bal-tshuva, but a journalist working on a potentially transformative project. If you read the book, you'll find that he's incredibly open-minded about these things, especially for an agnostic who has suddenly plunged into religious life without undergoing a gradual transformation - the kind that most people who become religious experience (epiphanies notwithstanding).

That said, I don't think the birthday party analogy works very well. After all, birthday parties are not mandated by a deity, whereas something like shatnez is. Having his clothes checked for mixed fibers is weird for AJ, just as it would be weird for the vast majority of people for whom this rule is entirely new. For those who are familiar with shatnez, AJ's experience is that of a Biblical neophyte and should be regarded as such. Just because you already know about it shouldn't negate his experience or make yours superior.

Also, Soccer's comment, "If you took time to really study this stuff, I can tell you..." is ridiculous, as if he's not reading it correctly. If he could read it just like you, it would make sense to him, right? On the face of it, shatnez makes no sense. But, parsed by rabbis, it does (or can). The premise of AJ's project is that he's interpreting everything on his own, without the benefit of subsequent commentators. That's one of the things that makes the book so entertaining.

And, for the record, Craig really looks like that. Take him seriously.

Being diagnosed with Clownular Degeneritis at a very young age, I take offense to your quip. Since I can't see what you look like at all, I'm going to have to assume that, unlike me, you don't have to dye your naturally rainbow-colored hair brown. You don't have to use nose putty and concealer to turn your bulbous red, rubber nose into something a little more palatable for grown-ups. Well I do. And it hurts.

Anyway, let's also ask Tamar whether her decision is the be-all, end-all of Judaic theology. But I should remind you, I didn't say God didn't give the Torah ... I asked what Torah did God give? According to the people in THIS thread (BZ, Phyl, Strauss, Joey, and probably others) God didn't give the Torah that everyone these days is using.

And - I didn't want to use this, but I feel I have to ... Are you really going to put religious stock in a person nicknamed "The Oyster"??

...Sorry, low-blow Tamar. ;-)

 

Hey all,

I love that birthday party analogy. Weirdly, I used it myself last week. (Though I went with the birthday hat instead of the candles).

And I plead guilty -- the post is a bit simplistic without context. And during my year I grapple a lot with the meaning and importance of chukim. So I don't want to come off as too flip. But I was just trying to keep it short, because, you know, it's blogging. Here's a bit more of that chapter. And remember -- this is the beginning of my journey, just day five out of the entire year, so I return to the topic with more depth later. 

Also: Hi Eddy! Love the photo. 

Day five. I’ve made a list of the Top Five Most Perplexing Rules in the Bible. I plan to tackle all five this year, but I figured I’d start with one that requires neither violence nor pilgrimages. Namely: The ban on wearing clothes made of mixed fibers. It’s such an odd proscription, I figured there was zero chance anyone else in America was trying to follow it.

Of course, I was flat wrong.

My friend Eddy Portnoy – who teaches history at the Jewish Theological Seminary -- told me he recently spotted a flyer in Washington Heights advertising a shatnez tester. Shatnez, he informed me, is the Hebrew word for mixed fibers. A tester will come to your home and inspect your shirts, pants, sweaters and suits to make sure you have no hidden mixed fibers.

So today, I dial the number, and a man named Mr. Berkowitz agrees to make a house call. Mr. Berkowitz arrives right on time. He has a gray beard that descends below his collar, large glasses, and a black tie tucked into the top of his pants, which rest a good six inches above his navel. His yarmulke is slightly askew.

Mr. Berkowitz clicks open his black American Tourister rolling suitcase. Inside, his tools: a microscope, an old canister with the faded label “vegetable flakes”, and various instruments that look like my mother’s sewing kit after a genetic mutation. He spreads them out on my living room table. Mr. Berkowitz reminds me of an Orthodox CSI. God’s wardrobe detective.

He gives me a shatnez primer. Shatnez is not just any mixed fiber. Poly-cotton blends and lycra-spandex blends—those are fine. The problem is mixing wool and linen. That’s the forbidden combination, according to Deuteronomy 22:11 (the Bible’s only other verse that talks about mixed fibers).

“How do you tell when something is shatnez?” I ask.
Well, you can’t trust the clothing labels, says Mr. Berkowitz. They’re often inaccurate. “You have to look at the fibers yourself. All the fibers look different under the microscope,” he says.

He draws me a diagram: linen looks like a piece of bamboo. Wool is like a bunch of stacked cups. Cotton resembles twisted streamers. And polyester is smooth, like straw. 

I bring out a pile of sweaters, and he goes to work. He snips some fibers off a black V-neck sweater and puts them under the microscope.
“See if you can tell,” he says.
I squint into the microscope.
“It’s polyester,” I say.
“No. Look. The stacked cups? It’s wool.”

He seems disappointed. Clearly I’m not a shatnez inspector protégé. Mr. Berkowitz is kind, gentle, but persistently frazzled. And I wasn’t helping matters.

Mr. Berkowitz makes some notes on a sheet that looks like a hospital chart. The sweater is kosher, he tells me. So is the next one I bring out.
“Look,” he says, motioning to the microscope.
“Wool?” I say.
“No. Cotton.”
Damn! 

I bring out my wedding suit. This could be trouble, he says: wool suits often have linen hiding somewhere in them, especially Italian suits, which this was.

Mr. Berkowitz gets out a tool that resembles a fondue fork and begins digging into various parts of my suit – the collar, the pockets, the sleeves – with something approaching ferocity. This suit is the only suit I own, and it cost me about a third of my salary. I’m a little alarmed. I’m glad Julie’s not here to see this.

“Is it shatnez?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer for a minute. He’s too busy with the microscope. His beard is squashed around the eyepiece.

“I have a strong suspicion this is linen,” he says. The alleged culprit is some canvas that was hiding under the suit’s collar

Mr. Berkowitz spins the fabric with his fingers.

“I’m sending it to the laboratory to make sure, but I am almost convinced it is linen.” He tells me I’ll have to put my only suit into storage, or get it de-linened by a tailor.

Mr. Berkowitz seems suddenly unfrazzled. He is relieved.
“It’s joyous,” he says. “If I save someone from breaking a commandment, it gives me a little high.” He does a fist-pump. “I never took drugs, but I imagine this is what it feels like.”

His joy is infectious. I feel momentarily happy too. But then return to my baseline bewilderment.

“It’s really that important not to wear linen and wool?” I ask.
“Absolutely.”
“Are some commandments in the Bible more important than others?”
“All equal,” he says. Then pauses. “Well, I can’t say that. Not murdering is at a very high level. So is adultery and not worshiping idols.”

He seems torn. On the one hand, all the rules are from the same place. The Orthodox Jews follow a list of 613 rules originally compiled by the great medieval rabbi Maimonides from the first five books of the Bible. On the other hand, Mr. Berkowitz also has to admit that homicide is worse than wearing an unkosher blazer. 

Before Mr. Berkowitz leaves, I ask him the obvious, staring-us-in-the-face question: Why? Why would God care if we wore mixed fibers?

The answer is: We don’t know.

There are theories. Some say it was to train the ancient Hebrews to keep things separate so they’d be less inclined to intermarry. Some say it’s an allusion to Cain and Abel’s sacrifice --- Cain offered flax to God and Abel offered sheep. Some say that the heathens used to wear the combination, and the Hebrews were trying to distinguish themselves from the pagans in any way they could.

Bottom line, though: We don’t know.

“This is a law that God gave us. We have to trust him. He’s all-powerful. We’re like children. Sometimes parents have laws children don’t understand. Like when you tell a child not to touch fire, he doesn’t understand why, but it is good for him.”

In Judaism, the Biblical laws that come without explanation –and there are many -- are called “Chukim.” This is such a law. The point is, you can never know what is important in the long term. God might have a different measuring scale than us. In fact, some say it’s more crucial to follow the inexplicable ones, because it shows you’re committed, that you have great faith.

The notion of obeying laws that have no rational explanation is a jarring one. For most of my life, I’ve been working under the paradigm that my behavior should, ideally, have a logical basis. But if you live Biblically, this is not true. I have to adjust my brain to this.

 

 

Craig,

Are you really questioning what Torah God gave the Jews? That seems pretty easy--the Torah that is in the aron kodesh of every Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, and Reconstructionist shul/synagogue/temple. Why else keep it in such a fancy container? Now, if you really are asking how to intepret the Torah, well there are at least 70 answers for that...

Soccer,

Probably make that tens of thousands, at least. There are shatnez testers in many major US cities. I know men in Chicago and Baltimore who work almost full time as testers.

Jonathan

I guess I'm confused. So, when BZ says:

For those of us who know anything about the last 2500 years of Jewish history, this is no problem at all, since Judaism has evolved continuously from the biblical period to the rabbinic period to the present.

(If we're just observing biblical Judaism, then not only are there no women rabbis, there are no men rabbis either!)

Is (s)he not saying that the Bible has been manipulated from the Biblical period to the Rabbinic to the Present? Only the interpretation has been manipulated? Being that the Torah has been around for millenia, and touched by countless hands in the process, and translated forward and backwards, I find it difficult to believe that it's the Original Word. Even if it's all in ancient Hebrew and nothing else in those fancy containers (It probably is. I really don't know anything about that).

But again, either way, what does it matter? I guess no one's been able to satisfactorily explain to me (without using a 'Because it always needed to be this way for Judaism to survive' reasoning) why we have a right to interpret the Bible [multiple ways].