By Schwartzie, a contributor to my blog 

I remember the day in ninth grade when my rebbe was faced with the awkward task of explaining the concept of anal sex.  "Ah, boys," he told us, "lets say you have some thieves, and they want to rob a house. Biah she'lo c'darka, or, relations that occur not in the normal way, is an important concept when considering the finer points of the acquisition of a woman through intercourse- you know, the transaction.

"Now normally," he continued, "the thieves would go in the front door and in that case they would have access to all the rooms in the house. But if the thieves had occasion to use the back door of the house- for whatever reason- they would only have access to several rooms.  Would you say that the house was partially robbed, or is it considered a complete robbing?"

Indeed, is it considered a complete robbing? I don't remember the maskana, but I can tell you one thing- the lock on that back door is certainly a little harder to crack than the one on the front door.

Explaining this sort of thing, I suppose, is one of the hazards of teaching the mesechta on marriage to a bunch of heretofore sheltered yeshiva boys, some of whom had never heard the particulars of how sexual intercourse is supposed to go (my cousin Yaakov told me when I was seven and he was ten and my parents being reformed hippies and avid Doctor Spock readers had no qualms about filling me in on the details- which, by the way, scared the shit out of me. "What if it gets stuck?" I remember crying as I imagined some sort of zipper between a girl's legs).

I always wondered what my rebbe, obviously a talmid chacham, was thinking when he chose to teach us the most explicit of all the mesechtos of the gemara (though I hear that Gittin is pretty heavy, too. Go figure). "A woman can be acquired in three ways," the mishna says, "through money, a written document, or sexual intercourse." And contrary to popular belief, Chazal are no prudes.

Continue reading...

So your Rabbi was arrested for stealing millions of dollars or selling kidneys on eBay. Shul may never be the same without his sermons preaching about the evils of money, but that doesn't mean he won't still be religious - prison may actually be more religious than the free world, and here's why.

Why is prison so frum?

No women: It seems that the goal of ultra-Orthodox Jews has been to remove women from the scene for some time, slowly making crazy decrees from banning denim, the color red and arm-swinging to preventing women from leaving the home, pursuing post baby-making education and learning Torah. Seems like prison without the yetzer harahs temptation of women is all fine and dandy.

Food: We all know religious Jews aren't the healthiest of the bunch and now they can enjoy a life of crappy food. Besides, I'm sure half the food in prison looks like cholent.

Shabbos Goyim: Imagine a world in which the lights were turned off, the food was made and the doors were opened on shabbos by goyim without a peep from you. Now imagine that your whole world was reshus hayachid and you could carry all you wanted on Shabbos. Prison is like having your very own Shabbos goy.

Shabbos Riots: Its perfectly normal for a prison riot to break out so if you feel that your fellow irreligious Jew down the block (literally) is going to be forced to play sports and carry on Shabbos, starting a riot seems like the thing to do anyway - frummies who riot will feel right at home in prison.

No internet: I can only imagine that prisons now have internet, but fear not my frummy friends. It is a public place and they block all the good sites you so truly love to search in Arab-owned internet cafes.

Television: You mean I can watch TV and I don't have to hide it behind the mirror in my bedroom? I wonder if a kid would get kicked out of a yeshiva if they knew his father was watching TV in prison?

Smoking: Frummies and especially hocker types (the guys who wind up in prison) love to smoke.

Mikvah: So the shower may not be the same, but at least they will be used to large hairy men taking them from behind.

Why prison may not be so frum:

Metal toilet seats may need to be kashered

Can you imagine an inmate demanding a challah knife?

Use of the word Shvigger (Yiddish for mother in law) in conversation may be a sakanah

Are you allowed to daven in the same room as a toilet bowl?

And so we come to the end of a week of blogging. I hope those of you who have been reading along with me have enjoyed the ride. I've enjoyed being here. And I've liked having the chance to introduce Jewcy readers to my new book and to talk a bit about myself as a writer and as a rabbi. It was Goethe who wrote that all writing constitutes crumbs of that author's "great confession." I suppose that that's true, but exactly what I mean by that has evolved over the years. When I first started writing fiction, for example, I found the possibility of using my characters' lives as opportunities for revisiting bits and pieces of my own life almost irresistible. The question I was asked the most often ("Which of the characters in your novel is really you?"), I'd answer with a shrug and then try to change the topic. The answer, the real answer sounded so self-important, so self-referential so as almost to border on the solipsistic that I could hardly imagine myself answering honestly. But the truth is that they were all me... especially in my first two novels.  I've published four novels so far - and I'm at work on a fifth - but I finally got things into perspective. In my last two novels, only one of the characters has really been me: Michael Prager in The Sword of Goliath and Saul Jacobson in Heads You Lose. My insight in this last little while has been that Goethe's truth, widely and easily applied to fiction, also applies to non-fiction.

My new Aviv Press book, The Boy on the Door on the Ox, is a good example. On the one hand, it's not "about" me. It's not "about" anyone. It's about being a rabbi, about studying Mishnah, about what I've managed to learn over all these years of devoting myself day and night to the study of the text. It's about Jewish law and Jewish values. It's about a lot of things. But I now realize it really also is about me. Each of the stories I tell - finding stories in the Mishnah where most have found only brief, one- or two-sentence illustrative examples of legal principle has become my specialty - brings into existence a personality that, in some overt or covert way, mirrors who I am, who I have made myself into.  Like all great literature, rabbinic literature has the capacity to serve as a mirror any reader can hold up and peer into, and in which anyone can find him or herself ably reflected: if the light is strong enough, if you can look deeply into the glass without flinching or turning away, if you can bring yourself to stare deeply into your own eyes. No one sees it that way. Works that have analyzed rabbinic literature, and especially the Mishnah, as literary works are very few and far between. None of them has found fiction where I have, I don't believe. And, as a result, no one, I also don't believe, has found the merit, the power, or the potential to inspire in the portraits I wrote my book to bring to the attention of the reading public.

It's an odd book in many ways. Even I think that! But it's also been a true labor of love, a sincere effort to bring together all the lanes I have serially travelled on my own spiritual journey-the path of fiction and of poetry, the path of the lifelong student of Mishnah, the path of a working congregational rabbi, the path of the husband and father and son, the path of self-discovery through prayerful, ruminative introspection and to make of them one wide highway that others so inclined can travel along with me. That, after all, is what it means to write a book: not just to fill up page after page with words, but to invite others into one's private universe of discourse, to admit others to the seraglio, to the archive, to the vault that is...my life, my memories, my perception of the world around me, my sense of who and what I am in this world, and what I am doing and hope to do. Like I said the other day, the sign of great books is the way that they start out as a sheaf of pages, but then morph into a road, then a gate, then a door...and how they beckon readers along, inviting them to share the journey, to follow the path, to open the gate, to knock on the door...and then, together with the author (or the author's ghost) to step over the threshold into another's private universe, into the beating heart of another human being. It is in this sense that literature is transformational, why it matters...to me, and to so many, even after a lifetime spent reading.

And so I bid you all farewell. My fifteen minutes are up! I step back now to allow some other author the opportunity to step forward and introduce himself to the reading public. I hope all my readers here find their way to my new book, The Boy on the Door on the Ox. I hope it satisfies, that it beckons, that it suggests ably why I think it matters, why I devoted all that time to trying to get it write, to set it down, to make it sing. Whether I was successful...that's another story. I suppose I'll find out soon enough! But the point was not merely to bring out another book. It was, with this one possibly more than any other of my books, to invite others into my universe, into my sphere of being, into my space. Why I find that an appealing prospect...well, that's a different question, one I'll have to think about carefully before answering. If any of my readers here do read the book and you'd like to comment directly to me, feel free! (You can reach me through my synagogue's website: www.srjc.org.)  I'll look forward to hearing from you!

Martin Samuel Cohen, author of The Boy on the Door on the Ox, spent the past week guest blogging on Jewcy. This is his parting post. Want more? Buy the book!

Martin Samuel Cohen, author of The Boy on the Door on the Ox, will spend this week guest blogging as one of Jewcy's Lit Klatsch bloggers.  In his book, Cohen, a student of rabbinics, explores the Mishnah using its own characters as spiritual guides to make the text more relevant to readers.

Hello... hello... is this mic on? (Taps microphone, smiles shyly - or tries to, steps back, clears throat, steps forward, surreptitiously wipes sweat from brow, clears throat again, smiles again.) Okay, so I don't know much about how to do this. But what I do know about, I know a lot about. I've been a student of rabbinics - the great sea of talmudic and extra-talmudic literature that the ability to swim along well in is supposed to be the defining feature of the intellectual life of anyone who calls him or herself a rabbi. I've been studying this stuff my whole adult life, which is way more than half of it. And, except when drowsy or in a poor mood, I still feel far more energized than paralyzed by my studies, which I continue to keep up: a daily chapter of Rambam (always) and a daily chapter of Mishnah (almost always), plus whatever I'm working on with an eye towards making it into...something: a book, an article, an essay, a sermon, a lecture, a class... something!

You'd think that the obvious question (what exactly do you get from all that studying?) would have an equally obvious answer. I suppose, even, that it does have an obvious answer (you get to know a lot of things you wouldn't know otherwise), but - and this is the point of my new book, The Boy on the Door on the Ox, published two weeks ago by Aviv Press - there are also all other sorts of answers, some only tangentially related to the "real" subject of whatever it is you're studying at the moment.  The Mishnah - the oldest extant Jewish law code, the basis for the Talmud, the foundation document of all subsequent rabbinic law - is a good example. It's "about" a lot of things... about civil and criminal law, about the commandments, about the festivals, about societal institutions of various sorts, about the ancient Temple, about the laws of impurity and purity... but it's also supposed to be about Jewish spirituality, about the path a devoted student of its six huge volumes can follow not towards knowing more and more details about ancient tort law, but towards spiritual fulfillment, towards wholeness, towards not only knowing of God, but towards the actual redemptive moment that beckons the faithful, always slightly out of reach, at the confluence of faith, observance and hope.  So the first part is the easy part: to learn the things that the Mishnah is "about", you have to read, to study, to master commentaries, etc. But the other part, the part about using, say, the Mishnah, as your personal path forwards towards your personal Jerusalem--that's the part that it's way less obvious how to manage. And that's what my book is about.

I've always like the last of the Mishnah's six great sections best of all, the part that deals with the laws of purity and impurity. Why that is... who knows? Maybe it's because the sixth section, called Seder Tohorot, depicts a world that reminds me of the one I actually do live in. It's a world of broken things, of uncontrollable forces, of only sometimes governable outside factors. More to the point, it's a world intersected by the three great axes of death, illness and putrefaction... and in which the will towards degeneracy, decrepitude, and despair can only occasionally be warded off in advance, thus effectively dealt with by not being dealt with at all. It's a world in which people are forever battling against forces they can't quite see, malign influences generally masquerading as the most banal, ordinary appurtenances of daily life. It reminds me of the real world... and to a far greater extent than the other parts of the Mishnah. 

This week, while I'm posting these notes for you to read, I want to introduce you to the specific way that I've found to read Mishnah as a spiritual document, as a kind of guide book for people interested in using the literary heritage of ancient Judaism not as a library to read books in, but as a path to journey forward on.  Herman Melville (in Redburn, a vastly underrated novel) wrote that all great novels are essentially guide books. I think that's right... and that its true of great literary works in general as well.  If you read along with me this week, I'll show you what I've done... and, I hope, make you want to read the book and to see how this all works in far greater detail.

I also have some other books that might interest readers: my edition of the Psalms, called Our Haven and Our Strength, my edition of the prayer book called Siddur Tzur Yisrael, my book on grief, loss, and restoration called Sefer Zot Nechamati (the words mean "This Is My Consolation"), and my novels and books of essays. Just lately, I've been putting the finishing touches on a new novel set in ancient times, tentatively called Jerusalem Ghosts, all about the murder of a Levite and introducing just the kind of sleuth I'd like (a lot) to be remembered one day for having introduced to the reading public. Stay tuned!

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Martin Samuel Cohen, author of The Boy on the Door on the Ox, is guest blogging on Jewcy, and he'll be here all week.  Stay tuned.

My fellow American Jews,

I am a member of Rabbis for Obama, along with 550 colleagues from all movements of Judaism. In this sacred season of repentance, I would like to share my reflections on some powerful messages from our tradition and their implications for the fateful choices we face.

Arise from your slumber and rouse yourselves from your lethargy..." (Maimonides)

In hearing the blast of the Shofar, we have an opportunity to wake up to the grave challenges our nation faces, and to forge a path based on our Jewish values of tzedek (justice), hesed (loving-kindness), and shalom (peace).

I believe that Senator Obama offers us a chance to build bridges across the divides of race, religion, class and country of origin. In this moment of economic turmoil and suffering, he calls on us to move beyond self-interest to extend opportunity across our society to "lift up the fallen" through lifelong education, accessible healthcare, and through involvement in community service. He urges us to reinforce the civil rights and liberties upon which our safety, and that of all of the vulnerable people in our society, depends.

I hope we will hear in the call of the Shofar an invitation to this path toward a repaired society and nation, as Senator Obama said in his historic Rosh Hashanah conference call with 900 Orthodox, Reform, Reconstructionist and Conservative rabbis, "[this is]... a time to recommit to the serious work of Tikkun Olam, of mending the world."

"For the sin we have committed...in impurity of lips" (Machzor).

Among the sins we will recount in our Yom Kippur confessional prayers is this one: "for the sin we have committed against you in impurity of lips (b'tumat sfataim)."

Far too often, I hear good Jewish people repeating slurs and calumnies without the slightest basis in truth. My 9 year-old son came home from his Jewish day school saying, "Barack Obama hates Israel." (The facts: Senator Obama's Senate voting record is rated 100% on Israel by AIPAC, and he has a long and deep partnership with the Jewish community. He has repeatedly stated that "Israel's security is sacrosanct," and that Iran must absolutely not be allowed to threaten Israel with nuclear weapons). I have heard older Jews say that they "know" that Senator Obama is a Muslim (There's nothing wrong with being a Muslim, but, for the record, Senator Obama is a committed Christian.)

Our tradition teaches us that lashon ha-ra, evil speech, kills three: the one who speaks, the one who listens, and the one about whom the untruths are told. We Jews of all people know the toxic effect of slurs based in racism, ignorance or xenophobia. As we turn in repentance, I hope we will start by refusing to listen to or repeating distorted claims about Senator Obama or any other candidate, and by asking people repeating them to refrain from this disgraceful behavior. No matter how insecure we feel, we must redouble our efforts to make critical decisions on facts, not fear.

"Hope in the Eternal, be strong and God will give your heart courage, hope in the Eternal" (Psalm 27).

The penitential Psalm, which we recite each time we pray during these days of repentance, calls us to ground our existence in hope. In this uncertain time, it is easy to succumb to fear, and to narrow our vision, or even to abandon our most fundamental values.

I hope you will heed Senator Obama's call, not only to hope for, but to realize, the hope for a society of liberty, opportunity, mutual responsibility and justice. With hope grounded in faith, and with a leader of vision and substance, wisdom and humility, our country can live up to its shining promise.

G'mar hatimah tovah, may we all be inscribed a year of sustenance, goodness and peace.

Rabbi Dayle A. Friedman
Vice-Chair, Rabbis for Obama

Getting kosher food in prison has been a pain in the ass for a while now. There’s the child-molester who wanted a yarmulke and some matzah ball soup in Georgia, and the former Neo-Nazi and statutory rapist in Missouri who was jonesin’ for some kugel. The obvious take home message here is that if you can’t do time in a facility that won’t provide you with kosher food, then you really shouldn’t do the crime. That said, both the child-molester and the statutory rapist won lawsuits suing for kosher food in prison. And in California, after a different child-molester took the state to court for not providing him with kosher meals in 2003, the state promised to make good faith efforts to get kosher food available to all California inmates by 2006.
Kosher Prison Food: yummier than Halal?
This article in the Forward explains some of the unexpected results of what’s called the Jewish Kosher Diet Plan.

As a direct result of the lawsuit, the California Department of Corrections and Rehabilitation has been scrambling in recent years, in conjunction with the Northern and Southern California boards of rabbis, to install a Jewish chaplain at every prison in order to oversee the preparation of kosher food.

…

The work extends far beyond merely vetting jailhouse kosher cuisine. According to one longtime Jewish chaplain, his niche is as close as a rabbi can come to performing missionary work.

“We work with the underbelly of society, the spiritually void, the morally empty,” said Rabbi Lon Moskowitz, the Jewish chaplain at California Men’s Colony in San Luis Obispo. “It’s important to have chaplains so we can facilitate the Jewish Kosher Diet Plan statewide, but it’s a requirement so that the spiritual needs of incarcerated Jews are met.”

That’s all well and good, but to meet someone’s spiritual needs you need to get him to walk in the door, and it’s the kosher meat, more often than not, that does that job:

When the kosher diet plan was first introduced two years ago, [Rabbi Mendel] Slavin said, non-Jewish inmates began attending his services and claiming to be Jewish in order to get on the meal plan. “With the kosher diet, it became fashionable to be Jewish,” he said. He had worked to explain to the non-Jews that eating kosher was not a privilege, but rather a requirement for those who truly were observant Jews.

 

Isn’t it funny that kosher food is getting prisoners to explore their spiritual lives, and at the same time kosher food is getting a lot of Hasidic rabbis and businessmen in trouble as their shady meatpacking plant is turned inside out?

Zeek Contributing Editor (and Velveteen Rabbi) Rachel Barenblat asked Rabbis Camille Angel (Reform), Lynn Gottlieb (Renewal), Fred Guttman (Reform), and Meyer Schiller (Orthodox/Hasidic) to discuss the impact of the Israeli state and its politics on their rabbinate.

Zeek: Thank you all for joining us. The central issue I want to look at is how we relate to Israel as American Jews, in American communities and congregations and schools. The first question I want to throw out is, do any of you have experiences working in a community where your own relationship with Israel isn't mirrored by those you're working with?

Schiller: I teach in a Modern Orthodox high school. The mood there is decidedly in line with the Israeli right, and has been since '67 war. My own perspective, favoring a two-state solution, is not that of the community in which I teach. The community in which I live, the Haredi community, is largely indifferent to these issues except to the degree that they share deep fear of Palestinians and of the gentile world in general.

The right of Orthodoxy and the Modern Orthodox share a certain fear and demonization of the Other. It's difficult to offer a different perspective than that of the comunities in which I live. I try, but by the time I come in contact with students, attitudes are already set. It's very difficult to move people from a sense of victimhood, from a sense that there's one side to the conflict and the failure of the world to recognize that is an indication of the world's persistent antisemitism.

Zeek: Do you think there's a sense in which your own background, coming originally from a secular family and choosing Orthodoxy as a pre-teen, has an impact on how you approach this?

Schiller: Absolutely. Because I went to public school; my parents shared a sense that the non-Jews amongst whom we lived were people like ourselves in many ways! It's always been difficult for me to make my peace with those who don't view the world that way.

There are inklings of an alternative perspective within Orthodoxy. I think the German Orthodox experience of the nineteenth century was different. There are individuals in Israel like Eliyahu MacLean who are active in reconciliation efforts. There are echoes within Orthodoxy, but it is lonely.

Gottlieb: Camille [Rabbi Angel] and I were both laughing, not because this is funny but because this is so difficult; we share with Rabbi Schiller across the spectrum how difficult it is to help people overcome their fear of Palestinians. Which of course is necessary for us to build the kind of peace we hope for.

Angel: My experience is in some ways similar to Rabbi Schiller's, although from the other side. I'm in the Bay Area in San Francisco; this is the first time in my life I've been surrounded by so many Jews who developed a Jewish identity post-'67. By and large they're from secular backgrounds; they've felt marginalized by the mainstream for all sorts of reasons, and are deeply suspicious of mainstream ideas--and being pro-Israel is largely a mainstream idea.

When I went to Israel as a high school student, I believed -- hook, line, and sinker! -- that Israel was defending itself appropriately in every way. I have a cousin by marriage who told me that Israel committed human rights atrocities, and I thought she was from Mars!

Over the years I've been here, I've worked to bring people to Israel in order to begin to get a clearer idea of what Israel is. In turn, our visits have involved me going on trips into the occupied territories, being with Israelis and Palestinians who can help me to see how deeply complicated and pained both sides are.

Guttman: I'm pretty much a centrist on Israel and Israeli politics, and my community for the most part shares my perspectives. I do try to help our congregation learn to love Israel; the land, the people and the country. Naturally there are those to the right and left of me.

I also try to help our congregation understand the existential difference between being here and being there. I may have feelings about what the government of Israel should do on a particular issue, but the ultimate responsibility for the implementation of those policies will fall upon the people of Israel and not their supporters in the United States. Having served extensively in the IDF and in the West Bank when I lived in Israel, I can fully appreciate the difference between living here and living there.

Zeek: Rabbi Guttman, you've used the phrase "administered territories." Say more about that?

Guttman: That's the nom de jure that the Israeli government uses, that these are "administered" territories. This has been the term used since shortly following the Six Day War. "Liberated" would have implied no intention to ever give these territories back. "Occupied" might imply the intention to give all of the territories back. However, the interpretation of Resolution 242 by the governments of the United States and Israel for the past forty years has been that in return for peace and security, Israel will return territories occupied in 1967.

The feeling then, and now, as reflected in the Geneva Accords, is that there will need to be some sort of territorial adjustments made to the 1967 borders. The word "administered" implies that Israel is controlling these territories until an agreement for peace (God willing!) can be reached. The recent events in Gaza sadly seem to make such an agreement more unlikely in the near future.

Angel: "Occupied Territories" is a term I use now that I wouldn't have used before. I also use "Disputed Territories." It depends on the audience. I want my congregation to try and understand multiple perspectives, just as they have helped me to broaden mine.

Gottlieb: I want to offer some strategies for coping with this. I've been involved in Palestinian-Jewish reconciliation since 1966, when I met Atallah Mansour, the first Palestinian journalist for Ha'aretz. He told me the story of the Naqba, their term for their experience of 1948, and I realized there were at least two competing narratives. And how tragic the situation was and is.

Guttman: But the conflict didn't commence in 1948 with what the Palestinians call the Naqba. Jews were already being murdered in Palestine half a century earlier. Most Israelis believe that the Palestinians have the right to an independent state of their own. Unfortunately, that view is not shared mutually by the Palestinians, who have yet to recognize our legitimate rights (remember, I hold dual citizenship!)

The Jewish belief that the land was given to us by God from the Nile to the Euphrates is not mainstream. But it is mainstream in the Arab world to believe that Jews have no right to their own state in the Middle East. The Palestinians have been offered a partition of the land so many times and have always turned it down. Understanding the Palestinian narrative requires us to recognize that there is, among many in the Arab and the Palestinian world, no room for Israel on the world map.

Gottlieb: My strategy has been to be in partnership with Palestinians, so we have a mutual opportunity to meet. And of course I've worked with those who, like me, are interested in peaceful resolutions. Lately I've tried to focus attention on those who, like Yehuda Stolov of Interfaith Encounter, are working with Palestinians in partnership and mutuality to build institutions in civil society. We need to figure out how to... nurture young men and women to form the connections that are needed to move toward the future.

Whether it's "administrative oversight" or "occupation," anyone who's... watched olive trees by the thousands be pulled up from the earth, sat for hours at a checkpoint, or seen tanks in the streets -- you realize that no matter what you call it, Palestinians are feeling very helpless as they witness the loss of land and livelihood. As of 2007, 50% of the West Bank was off limits to Palestinians. This is part of the reality of life on the ground that is necessary for people to understand.

Zeek: It's interesting to me that you mention nurturing young men and women to form the connections that are needed to move forward, especially given what Rabbi Schiller was saying about working with teenaged boys at YUHS. Do you have thoughts on how to bring this to American teens in a way that they'll be able to hear?

Schiller: My experience has been that if you focus on conflict elsewhere, Northern Ireland or the Balkans, and you present the histories of the rival peoples there, it's a good starting point. They don't have as much at stake; they can see that there are places in the world where territory is disputed, similar to Israel and Palestine.

I like to start from a perspective of: one's heart has to become a different kind of heart. It has to be a heart in which love and charity are essential ingredients of one's whole human and religious perspective. Going from there: okay, now we know this is how God wants us to be. Fair, compassionate and just. Now what do we do when we move that into the reality of the situation?

Gottlieb: I like to work with theatre games. When you bring people into a theatrical conflict, you can then apply that to different situations. You get a more firsthand experience, you see what works and what doesn't work in conflict transformation.

For me, building understanding in the American Jewish Community has set me on the road to the Muslim community. I've been involved in the Muslim-Jewish Peace Walk, which I co-created with Abdul Rauf Campos Marquetti. It's based on a model of bringing people together in pilgrimage to each others' holy sites. We nurture relationships around which people can build coalitions of shared concerns, which inevitably involve the safety of their youth and the health of their communities.

Zeek: I'm going to pull us in a different direction for a moment. How do you navigate the need to direct time and energy toward Israel, with the need to direct time and energy toward what's happening in our Diaspora communities? Is that a tension any of you want to speak to?

Guttman: It's not necessarily an "either/or" type of situation. I view Israel as an incredible educational resource for adults and teens. In our congregation, we make a concerted effort to raise the necessary funds to help our teens go to Israel. The percentage of our students who have visited Israel before high school graduation has been as high as 70%. This is very important to us because recent studies of college-age youth show a marked decrease in their feelings of connection to Israel.

But our Jewish communal leadership hasn't come to terms fully with two basic facts. The first is that Israel is no longer a third world country and therefore less of our philanthropic dollars need to go there. More of these dollars should go to the JDC and should stay here in the United States. Second, our Jewish communal leadership has yet to fully comprehend how underfunded Jewish education in the United States is and how devastating the consequences for such underfunding can be in the next twenty years for the American Jewish community and for the support of Israel from the United States.

Zeek: Has support for Israel always been a strong part of your congregation, or is that something you've stewarded during your time there?

Guttman: Support for Israel has always been there, but has increased during my time. This is especially true of teen trips to Israel, which were kind of non existent prior to my arrival thirteen years ago. But, these trips could not have been done without the support of lay leadership, generous donors and the Greensboro Jewish Federation.

Angel: When I first came to my congregation there was a veil of silence that the leadership and the congregation had consciously and unconsciously colluded in establishing, so that Israel was just not talked-about. The Israeli flag had been taken out of the sanctuary, Hatikva had been taken out of the siddur. There was no reference to Israel in the curriculum for our school; no one talked about Israel from the bimah in divrei Torah.

Part of my work has been to find organic ways to bring Israel back into the full life of everything we do. In the same way that we work to make sure God and Torah are part of the life of the congregation, we're trying to strengthen the pillar of Israel in various dimensions.

Zeek: Has your community been receptive to that?

Angel: Yes, mostly! Now it seems hard to believe there was a time when it was such a lightning rod. Now we're trying to make annual congregational pilgrimages to Israel. We have Israel in the curriculum. We have a whole continuum of dialogue in the life of the congregation. That's healthy.

Of course there was an Exodus of people who wrote in that they were quitting the synagogue because of our Israel politics--on one side or the other. We're too this, or we're too that. Even though now what we aim to be is dynamic.

Gottlieb: I can relate. On both sides. How painful it is to be the messenger of difficult news. I've led delegations to Israel and Palestine and when I've come back people wanted me to speak from the pulpit, and it's a very painful reality to convey.

People are looking for a ready-made solution. As Jews we're used to thinking in long periods of time, but nonetheless there's so much anxiety about the ambiguous and unresolved nature of the situation, especially on the heels of such terrible trauma and tragedy (the Shoah is still very much with us.)

Zeek: You mentioned working with Palestinians who are working toward peace. How has your community responded to that? Have you and your community always been aligned on the need to "live in the ambiguities," or has that posed a challenge? And on a related note, (how) do you think your geographic location shapes your community's response to these issues?

Gottlieb: My community is committed, but it's a burden to bear in relationship to the rest of the Jewish community. Since I've left my congregation, the desire to connect with the rest of the Jewish community has dampened their willingness to reach out to Palestinians who are critical of Israel's policies related to occupation. Geography can impact this situation; communities in more isolated areas feel vulnerable to lack of connection with the rest of the Jewish community.

Every year or so in my community we have what we call Council; we pass the proverbial talking stick or shofar around, and each person speaks about how they're feeling about Israel. We have different feelings, different experiences; we can cultivate this talmudic idea that "these and those are the words of the living God." If we can't do that in our own communities, how are we going to find common ground with the Palestinians?

Zeek: I'm delighted that you mention the talmudic idea that we're a multi-perspective people; that enshrined in our texts is a sense that disagreement can be productive. I'd love to look at how our relationship with our texts shapes this whole set of questions for us.

Schiller: The solution to part of the struggle, the political part, is ultimately in God's hands. As it says in Avos [Pirke Avot], "lo alecha hamlecha ligmor," the work is not upon us to conclude. We have to bear witness, we have to create acts of kindness on the ground. How the political struggle will play itself out, from this vantage point is difficult to see. But it's not just about the political solution; it's about the 101 day-to-day acts of conversation and kindness, which in a mystical sense are adding to the spiritual balance of existence.

In hockey when two players fight, the officials let them fight until they're exhausted and then separate them. It's possible that we are, tragically, not yet at the point in history when these two peoples are exhausted. But if other models are being created through acts of kindness, by moral spiritual warfare, then at the point when the combatants are exhausted there will be an alternative model on the ground. The things we do in relation to Israeli-Palestinian conflict and our own spiritual development can't be divided.

Gottlieb: How we respond to the Palestinians is core to our spiritual development as a people. What we're watching happen to the Palestinian people is partly in our hands because of the balance of power in that relationship. We're called to rise to the occasion. And in order to do that, we have to address healing from cultural trauma and then understand what that means for the Palestinians as well.

Angel: There's a certain willingness, in a large part of my community, to only be learning about the Palestinians' cultural experience. We need to start with an appreciation for Jewish history and the miracle that Israel is. I want us to form an attachment to our Jewish homeland, our Jewish family and origins before working on behalf of the family of humanity.

Gottlieb: I'm into that. In the non-Orthodox world we're often challenged to carve out a space for Jewish cultural identity. I teach in a program called Interfaith Inventions, which brings Jewish, Muslim, Christian, and Native American kids together. They explain their traditions to each other, and we've found that both their self-pride and their self-knowledge increased, as well as their respect for others.

Schiller: Amongst the Orthodox I find a tremendous need to teach that there is a version of Zionism that is not a rightist type of Zionism. I speak to them about the original Brit Shalom, the Ichud movement, Ernst Simon who was an Orthodox Jew in the 1930s and 40s. There is an opportunity to be a Zionist with a humanistic strain. I trace that history for my students, because I'm always afraid they think they're going to forfeit their Zionist credentials if they appear even-handed.

In the Haredi world, it's very important to show sources in Talmud and Shulchan Aruch that embrace a humanistic vision of Judaism. And to deal with sources that seem antithetical to that, which also certainly exist. One must dialogue with those sources, and cite alternate sources, amongst the Orthodox. There's a lot of work to be done within the Torah experience itself, to show people they need not embrace the endless dialectic of victimhood and hate.

Gottlieb: I remember sitting in Kiryat Arba in the home of a man who had settled there with his wife. And I asked, can you show me where it's a mitzvah to live in the Land? He pulled a text out and started quoting from Ramban instead of Rambam. At that moment he realized that, in fact, there were alternative perspectives -- it was like Coyote had entered the room and made him point to the wrong text! By the end of our conversation, talking about the idea that we as children of Abraham should be known for our compassion was a source of opening for him.

If you have an angry heart, you'll end up with an angry Torah. A fearful heart, you'll end up with a fearful Torah. A compassionate heart will lead you to a compassionate Torah.

RB: Maybe that's a good place for us to end. Thank you all.

Rabbi Camille Angel was ordained through the Reform movement in 1995. "One of the most primary influences in my life was my father, who was ordained Reform in 1934 and whose letters I found this year from his travels through Palestine. Unlike many classmates in '34, he was very much a Zionist.

Today I serve Sha'ar Zahav in San Francisco, primarily a congregation that serves GLBT Jews -- though we have an increasing population of straight folks, and a religious school of 160 kids."

Rabbi Lynn Gottlieb is a sixth generation American Jew of German Jewish descent. "My grandfather, Morritz Gottlieb, founded the National Jewish Welfare Board. He was active during the Second World War, and after, in supporting the birth of the state of Israel. My family has pictures of him with Ben Gurion and Aba Eben.

My first year with Temple Beth Or of the Deaf, also kind of an unusual pulpit to begin with, was 1973. I had the unfortunate task of announcing the beginning of the Yom Kippur war in sign language to my congregation. I have a long history with Israel; I was an exchange student there, went to college there, and have gone back numerous times, most lately leading delegations for the Fellowship of Reconciliation."

Rabbi Fred Guttman lived in Israel from 1979–1991. "I served in the Israeli Army as a reserve soldier in a combat artillery brigade and served extensively in the administered territories from 1984–1990. Since 1995 I've served as the senior Rabbi of Temple Emanuel in Greensboro, North Carolina.

I'm an AIPAC activist and I've lobbied extensively in Congress on issues affecting Israel. I've been a member of the UJA/UJC Rabbinic Cabinet since 1993, and I serve on the Commission of Social Action of Reform Judaism, where for two years I was chair of the Israel/Foreign Affairs Task Force. I've also been very involved with the March of the Living."

Rabbi Meyer Schiller teaches Talmud at Yeshiva University High School for boys in Manhattan. "I've been teaching Talmud to Modern Orthodox high school youth for thirty-one years. I've written several books and articles on political and religious matters. I was raised in a secular or perhaps one might say Reform-oriented home in the 1950s, and opted for Orthodoxy in seventh grade.

My ties are in the Hasidic community though I teach in the Modern Orthodox community. I'm very much taken by notions of seeking to create a broad-based humanistic vision for Orthodoxy which would embrace the sufferings of all of mankind and the narratives and experiences of all peoples."

Rabbi Dr. Marvin Hier: #1 Most Influential American RabbiNewsweek came out with its second annual list of Top 50 Influential American rabbis, and this year started a list of the Top 25 Pulpit Rabbis. But alongside the lists, it printed an op-ed by Lisa Miller called "Is Your Rabbi Hot or Not?" that summarizes some of the criticism of the first list, and explains that the list of pulpit rabbis is a way of recognizing not just Madonna’s puppetmaster and the heads of various movements, but also rabbis who are particularly good at inspiring their congregants, nurturing growing communities, and are exceptional leaders.

Miller was right when she speculated that the response to the list would cause storms to rival the ten plagues. Rabbi Jill Jacobs is already on record at Jspot complaining about how few women made it onto the lists (3/50 and 4/25).

Miller and the three guys who put together the list, (Gary Ginsberg, an executive at NewsCorp.; Michael Lynton, chairman and CEO of Sony Pictures, and Jay Sanderson, CEO of JTN Productions) claim their intent is to inspire the public, and help people find rabbis who are doing transformational work. It’s a nice thought, but ranking rabbis is different than ranking local sushi bars. For one thing, it’s telling that there are only 25 Top Pulpit Rabbis, but 50 Influential Rabbis. Pulpit rabbis seem to be inherently less important than rabbis who run major foundations or movements, even though the impact of a pulpit rabbi on your average Jew is much greater than the work of the guy who runs, say, Chabad.

And beyond that, what’s the point, really of ranking them? Maybe listing fifty rabbis with great influence in American society would be interesting, but keeping track of who drops from number 23 to 29 is perhaps not a productive way of dealing with a bunch of high maintenance power brokers. And what we certainly do not need in the American Jewish community is more animosity between movements and machers in the major communities.

No Babies: until I'm good and ready. And any rabbi who disagrees can stick it where the sun don't shineThere has been a lot of talk recently about women in the Jewish community feeling bullied into having kids. Here at Jewcy Izzy noted that a lot of the desperation and frustration that comes out of JDate is a result of communal expectations that good Jewish girls will have lots of kids to help populate Israel and stick it to Hitler. Much as I love Israel and hate Hitler, those are not good enough reasons for me to want to bear children. If I have kids, it should be because I feel able and ready to take care of someone else, provide for them, and love them unconditionally. And anyway, it’s not like women make babies all on our own—there are men involved, and it’s ridiculous that they don’t seem to be getting the same pressure as women.

Some of the best analysis of the push towards baby-making in observant Jewish communities is over at JSpot, where Hannah Farber has a post titled “I’m Going to Count to Three, and Then All Rabbis Need To Get Out Of My Uterus.” She writes:

I say: if the rabbis are so committed to making this a communal issue, the rabbis should raise the children. In fact, given their comfortable salaries and high communal status, they have no excuse: they should be adopting and converting children by the dozen. Given the impressive recent developments in medicine that prolong human life, I wouldn’t excuse any rabbi under sixty from performing this mitzvah. Wouldn’t that make a fine statement of commitment to the Jewish future?

And even when men are included in the directives for having kids, I’m still offended when a bunch of rabbis want to tell me how many times I have to grow a person and then push that person out of my vagina.  Did you know the Conservative Movement’s law committee (the Committee on Jewish Law and Standards) recently published a position paper that says any couple capable of raising more than two children, should do so, and Conservative rabbis should all be pushing this on their congregants? The extra children should be called “Mitzvah children” because they’ll ensure a Jewish community well into the future.

Rabbi Jason Miller notes on his blog that he’s heard Rabbi Elliot Dorff tell young people they should get married and start having kids in their early twenties, and they should have more than two kids. (I’ve heard Dorff say we should have a minimum of four kids, so I guess he was being a softy when he spoke to Jason’s class.) All of this when day schools are rising well above $15,000 a year for tuition, not to mention the inevitable college costs, and all of the other expenses of being an observant Jew. And what about those of who hadn’t found our soulmates in our early twenties? In the past year I’ve dated an obnoxious Israeli guy, an incredibly self-righteous administrative assistant at a Jewish political organization, a boring hedge fund manager, and a med student who didn’t have time for me. Should I have just picked one to marry so as not to waste any valuable time on my biological clock? Something tells me that would not have been a good plan.

I love babies, and I bet I’ll have one someday. But if my rabbi mentioned to me that it was high time I got hitched and knocked up, I’m pretty sure I’d stop going to shul.

Not following in Sally Priesand's footsteps: Orthodox women are being ordained, but only as rabbi-educators Last week the Shalom Hartman Institute in Jerusalem announced a new ordination program that would ordain Orthodox women as rabbis. Huzzah! Or not. Hartman isn’t willing to say that it’s accrediting these women to be pulpit rabbis. Instead, the title of rabbi means that “the male and female students will be ordained by some of the institute’s rabbis, and will then be prepared to assume the role of “rabbi-educators” - not pulpit rabbis in North American community day schools.”

The difference between a “rabbi-educator” and a pulpit rabbi isn’t a potato potahto thing. Jewess sums it up: “But [rabbi-educator], as treated by the Hartman Institute program, is more akin to Doctor for a Ph.D. than for an M.D. Just as one wouldn’t trust one’s English professor to take out one’s tonsils, one isn’t meant to trust these rabbi-educators with decisions about Jewish law.”

It’s generally acknowledged that we need as many good Jewish educators as we can get our hands on, and in that case, one has to ask who cares if they’re “rabbi-educators” or rabbis or just smart people? But giving an Orthodox woman the title rabbi and then telling her she can’t make decisions about Jewish law—even though she just got a degree for her knowledge of Jewish law--is a sneaky way of not getting too political.

As this Slate article reminds us, there are already Orthodox women rabbis, and Orthodox women leading Orthodox congregations. They just don’t get a lot of respect, and have to put up with a lot of flack from the Orthodox right. So basically, the Hartman institute is not breaking any new ground. When YU starts ordaining women I’ll kick up my heels and do a little dance (behind a mechitza, of course). In the meantime, a greater number of good Jewish educators (rabbis or not) is worth a l’chaim or two.

Dude looks like a lady: You don't have to cross-dress to study the Torah anymore, yay.

On TV, women dish endless midrashim on the guys in their lives their idiosyncrasies in the bedroom, their chest hair and what to do about it. Me? I’m more a Talmud gal.

What’s a Talmud gal? We’re women who are more interested in using our minds to think than using our minds to speculate. We sit with hard ideas, and crack at them until we can suck the meat from the nut. We have well-trained minds, seasoned from years in the academy and neo-yeshivot where we are welcomed, where Yentls of the 21^st century can show up with blown-out hair and well-moisturized skin. We plunge into the page, tearing at the sugya. We wrestle with Rav, plunge with Papa and shimmy with Shimon.

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From my Chasidic mother-in-law comes this slightly inflammatory, slightly funny mockup of the KosherPhone -- this, mind you, coming from a country where 95% of the entire Jewish population lives within two very specific neighborhoods of two cities. In other words, their image of Orthodox Jews is informed more by "Gray's Anatomy" than by ever seeing an actual Orthodox Jew....then again, I suppose that's true for most of America, too. (Nonetheless: ozzie ozzie ozzie!)

"Chasers" is Oz's equivalent to the Daily Show and the State, rolled into one. For kicks, they dress up like Bin Laden and try to get served in military base cafeterias. If you'd like to skip the uncomfortably inherent anti-Semitism in the beginning ("cost for calling Palestinians: death!") and get straight to the rabbis with strap-ons, skip to about 0:51.

And as you do, remember this: I got this from my mother-in-law.

Every year around this time I go into a minor stage of depression. I think it’s the high holiday liturgy that gets to me—I just feel like I’ve been such a bad person all year, and I get disgusted with myself. Usually I’m able to dig myself out of my morbid anger, but when I was a teenager I was a lot less capable of seeing over the huge grotesque obstacle in my way (my own poor behavior) and for a few years I was clinically depressed.  During the years when I was depressed, I remember that when we got to the vidui part of the service where we knock on our chests and list the things we’ve done wrong all I could think was how I had actually done all of those things. I hadn’t, of course, but somehow hating myself was very important to me.
Depression Sucks: seriously
It’s been a long time since then, but when I think about how much depression effected me it’s really terrifying. I’m thankfully unable to access that kind of self-loathing anymore (though if you want to read more about it, check out this post from one of my favorite blogs. The post is called, “I’m the Guy Who Sucks Plus I Got Depression” which is a reference to an Acheworld comic) but instead I worry about other people who struggle with depression, and as Y-Love reminded me over at Jewschool, being religious or part of a religious community doesn’t save you from the jaws of depression.

I did some digging online, and unfortunately there aren’t a ton of great Jewish resources out there. YU has some lectures posted online about depression, and I listened to one, but it opened with a note on how more religious people don’t get depressed as much because they have such strong faith in God. Maybe on a statistical level that’s true, but I know plenty of depressed frum people. Also the rabbi referred to depressed teenagers as, “everything bagels” (seriously). Ohr Samayach has a kind of dvar Torah posted online about depression, but it’s also pretty simplistic.

MyJewishLearning, RitualWell, and Beliefnet are all silent on this one, probably assuming you’ll just go to a secular source for help. There are some great blogs about Jewish life and depression, though, so I direct you to Haazina Tfilati, which is a Jewish woman's struggles and successes dealing with life, God, and depression. I think her saddest and most important post is this one. There’s also Everlasting Passing Days, which is insightful as well.

So please, during this time of renewal and reflection, look out for other people in your community who might be feeling less than cleansed, and who might be reaching out for help. You can find a detailed list of depression’s symptoms here.

Brilliant Rabbi, brilliant outfitOvadia Yosef is, without doubt, the most highly regarded Sefardi* rabbinical figure in Israel and the de facto kingmaker of the Shas political party. He also used to be the Sefardi chief rabbi of Israel. The prestige of being chief rabbi, which is normally a ten year term, was so thoroughly enjoyable, that he refused to return the clown suit that goes with the privilege and wears it to this day. He still thinks he’s chief rabbi. Or maybe he just plays one on TV.

It seems like Rav Ovadia, in spite of having an allegedly encyclopedic memory and being a posek (interpreter of Jewish law) of great renown, just might be a bit retarded. Just what does it mean for the rabbinate and its followers when rabbis like Yosef barf out gems like,

It is no wonder that soldiers are killed in war; they don’t observe Shabbat, don’t observe the Torah, don’t pray every day, don’t lay phylacteries on a daily basis – so is it any wonder that they are killed? No, it’s not.

The monumental idiocy of such a comment, offered last Saturday night on Ovadia’s kick-ass public access show (video clip here), is simply mindblowing. Not only is it stupid on an astonishing scale, but it’s mean-spirited, vicious and offensive to anyone who,...well, to anyone, I suppose. I wonder what Ovadia has to say about all the dead soldiers who did observe Shabbat and the mitzvot? Nothing, apparently. I wonder if he even knew any soldiers killed in any of Israel's wars. Oh, that's right, he's Haredi. Sorry.

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I have a bunch of friends headed down the aisle in the next year, and they’ve started discussing which rabbi they want to marry them. This is a hot topic, and it always makes me a little crazy when people complain that they just don’t like the rabbi from their home synagogue and they don’t know many other appropriate rabbis. I generally keep it to myself, but here’s the big secret: you don’t need a rabbi to marry you.

A Jewish wedding can be facilitated by pretty much any Jew you want. Have a religious best friend? An elder from the community who you respect? A college roommate? It can really by anyone, because Jewish weddings don’t even really require much facilitation. Getting married according to Jewish law just requires saying some blessings and drinking some wine. Of course it’s great to have someone there to say something meaningful, and to discuss just what marriage means in Judaism, but if your Great Uncle Herb is an amazing public speaker who you know will say something amazing, there’s no reason he can’t be your “rabbi.” I, for instance, decided long ago that if I get married I’d like the ceremony to be officiated by a close family friend who happens to be a doctor. While I’m sure there will be rabbis on the guest list, there won’t be any under the chuppa (unless I marry a rabbi, I guess. But that seems unlikely).
Can't Find a Rockin' Rabbi?: Don't sweat it
You don’t need a rabbi for a Bar or Bat Mitzvah, either. It’s the big secret of the religious world, but even without a ceremony on the bima and a party involving champagnes snowballs and everyone you know dancing to YMCA, you become a bar or bat mitzvah anyway. It’s nice to have someone talk about how awesome your kid is, but there’s no reason that person can’t be his Hebrew teacher, or her best friend’s mother.

Do you need a rabbi at a bris? Nope. You need a Mohel, somebody who knows what he’s doing, but rabbis are strictly optional.

And how about at a funeral? Are rabbis necessary? Not at all. There’s no prescribed service for a Jewish funeral, and though you do need someone to lead prayers, anyone who’s capable of doing so, from a cantor to your sister Leah, is eligible. Eulogies certainly don’t need to be performed by a rabbi, and I find it somewhat strange when they’re performed by a rabbi who clearly had little interaction with the deceased. It makes much more sense to be eulogized by someone you love.

Anyway, my point in all this is that if you don’t like your rabbi, or if you can’t find a rabbi that you like, you really don’t NEED one. Is it a good idea to have a rabbi to consult? I guess so, but I don’t usually have a rabbi-crush the way Laurel does.

Last year there was a long debate on Jewschool about what indie minyans and all the new alternative spiritual Jewish communities are doing with rabbis, since most of them are lay-led and don’t have their own rabbinical staff.

Ultimately, people want rabbis to be teachers, not officiants. I know some amazing rabbis, and I know some lame rabbis, just the way I know some amazing Judaic studies teachers, and some crappy ones. The best kind of rabbi is one who is such a good teacher that you want him or her to teach at your wedding, bar mitzvah, funeral, baby naming or funeral. You want to hear his or her words of wisdom, not because being a member of the clergy is important, but because you seek wisdom, and this person has it. So stop stressing about the annoying rabbi at your parents’ shul and find yourself a rabbi. If she happens to have smicha, that’s great, but not necessary.

A few years ago I dated this guy, and together we were the couple who fought. We bickered endlessly, and alone in his apartment we had huge screaming fits that often involved the slamming of doors, and the long cold silences we gave each other between rounds. I loved him, but somehow loving him largely consisted of meeting up and arguing for hours on end. Politics, religion, race relations, the economy, music, movies, poetry…Whenever we hung out with friends they were always pulling us aside and telling us to either break up or get married already.

Fighting can be scary, and frustrating, and sad. It can also be funny, and cute, and silly. It can be a weapon, or it can heal.
You Gotta Fight For Your Right: To fight
One of my favorite things about Judaism is that unlike Christianity with its turn-the-other-cheek anti-conflict theology, Jewish texts have always valued fights and conflicts. The Midrash is known for taking various statements about war and warfare from the Torah, and explaining them as metaphors for life in the beit midrash. Rarely is an issue presented without the disclaimer that the rabbis disagreed on how the law should be decided. As one of my high school halacha teachers was fond of saying, the right answer is always that there’s a disagreement.

Disagreeing and maintaining respect is difficult, but it’s the basis for much of Jewish law. In fact, presenting a dissenting opinion is considered to be a helpful and good thing, because the discussion is said to increase the understanding and value of the Torah.

One of my favorite examples of this idea comes in Bava Metzia 24a, in the story of Rabbi Yochanan and his student Resh Lakish. When Resh Lakish died (because of an argument he had with Rabbi Yochanan) Rabbi Yochanan was so depressed that the other rabbis sought out a new student to delight him. They chose Rabbi Eleazar ben Pedat, who was known for this exhaustive knowledge of past traditions. For every comment that Rabbi Yochanan brought forth Eleazar ben Pedat was able to find a supporting statement in tradition. What was Rabbi Yochanan’s response?

‘Are you as the son of Lakish?' he complained: 'when I stated a law, the son of Lakish used to raise twenty-four objections, to which I gave twenty-four answers, which consequently led to a fuller comprehension of the law; whilst you say, "A Baraitha has been taught which supports you:" do I not know myself that my dicta are right?' Thus he went on rending his garments and weeping, 'Where are you, O son of Lakish, where are you, O son of Lakish;' and he cried thus until his mind was turned. Thereupon the Rabbis prayed for him, and he died.

See the complete text

Basically, Rabbi Yochanan died because he didn’t have a good person to fight with.

Of course, choosing our battles, and remembering always to respect the humanity of our partners is integral to fighting well. But fighting is a integral part of how Judaism is meant to function. Today, try picking a constructive fight with someone you respect and love. Listen, respond, and remember how much of our tradition is beauty that has come from conflict.

PS- If you know someone in a relationship that is full of conflict but void of respect, or if you suspect mental or physical abuse, contact Shalva.

There’s a fascinating article in the NY Times today about the need for American Imams who really understand what it’s like to be a Muslim American, and are willing to help with more practical issues, instead of just preaching piety all day. Here’s a little excerpt:
Imams in America: A sitcom waiting to happen?

Prayer leaders, or imams, in the United States have long arrived from overseas, forced to negotiate a foreign culture along with their congregation. Older immigrants usually overlook the fact that it is an uneasy fit, particularly since imported sheiks rarely speak English. They welcome a flavor of home.

But as the first generation of American-born Muslims begins graduating from college in significant numbers, with a swelling tide behind them, some congregations are beginning to seek native imams who can talk about religious and social issues that seem relevant to young people, like dating and drugs. On an even more practical level, they want an imam who can advise them on day-to-day American matters like how to set up a 401(k) plan to funnel the charitable donations known as zakat, which Islam mandates.

“The problem is that you have a young generation whose own experience has nothing to do with where its parents came from,” said Hatem Bazian, a lecturer in the Near Eastern studies department at the University of California, Berkeley, who surveys Muslim communities.

But the underlying quandary is that American imams are hard to find, though there are a few nascent training programs. These days, many of the men leading prayers across the United States on any given Friday are volunteers, doctors or engineers who know a bit more about the Koran than everyone else. Scholars point out that one of the great strengths of Islam, particularly the Sunni version, is that there is no official hierarchy.

But this situation is fueling a debate about just how thoroughly an imam has to be schooled in Islamic jurisprudence and other religious matters before running a mosque.

In Sunni Islam, at least, Imams don’t need to be certified or anything. The Imam is often just the most knowledgeable guy around (knowledgeable in terms of Sharia law), and though some of them are guys with credentials, not all of them are. The concept is similar to that of the Jewish mara d’atra, or halachic authority, which can be somebody who got smicha, but can also just be someone who’s spent a lot of time with his or her gemara, and is trusted by the community.

I’m pleased to say that I think contemporary Judaism is doing way better than Islam in terms of keeping clergy relevant and up to date. Most Orthodox synagogues these days are more than happy to offer workshops and programming on everything from how parents should deal with MySpace and Facebook, to suggestions for families dealing with disabilities, to help with addictions. But I’m way ready for the day when Islam is competing with Judaism for who can be the most relevant. We need as much contemporary cultural grace as we can get our hands on, and it certainly seems like it’ll be a good thing for Islam, too.

Here’s my idea: All members of clergy in America need to be issued a copy of The Pop Culture Encyclopedia and Everything Bad Is Good for You. Then they need to spend a month in a middle school before they can write another sermon. Who’s with me?

I grew up going to a minyan that didn’t have a rabbi running the show. While we had several rabbis who were/are members, there wasn’t one person setting standards or making speeches. Since then I’ve been to a number of other shuls and minyans that operate without a rabbi at the top of the letterhead. I’ve also, of course, been to plenty of shuls with rabbis, and I currently attend an Orthodox synagogue with an awesome rabbi.
Would You Go To This Guy: if you marriage was in trouble?
But because when I was growing up I didn’t have a particular rabbi who I went to for pastoral care or answers to halachic questions I rarely think to myself, “Oh, I need to go ask my rabbi about that.” Who IS my rabbi, anyway? How do you choose a rabbi?

For some people their rabbi is simply the rabbi of the synagogue they attend. But what if you like your shul, but the rabbi’s a bore? Or an idiot? Or just kind of lame? Would you still go to him (or her) if you were having problems in your marriage? Would you want that person to marry you, or tutor your kid for her bat mitzvah?

In most Orthodox communities you can ask someone who their rabbi is and they’ll answer right away. They have their guy they go to with any and every question. Once, when I was in Iowa, I was helping to cater for a shabbaton and the rabbi keeping things kosher in the kitchen called his rabbi in New York in the middle of our prep to ask if something might be a problem. And a woman I learned with in Israel told me that her rabbi (who lived in England) had advised her and husband what to name their son (Shammai) but had also told them that wasn’t an appropriate name for them to call him, so he gave them an entirely different name that they use when talking to him. I have to admit that I thought it was ridiculous that she let someone else name her baby, but to this woman the rabbi’s word was law. And she made it clear that if she needed any kind of counseling her first stop would be the rabbi’s office, not a therpist’s.

There’s something comforting about having a person who you can always go to for an answer, but it’s a little scary, too. That’s a lot of trust to put in a person. And going to a rabbi for issues that may be better suited for a mental health professional also worries me. It’s hard not to think that a social worker or psychiatrist is better equipped to deal with your depression or infidelity than a rabbi.

Yesterday the Jewish Ledger published a piece about a new book that deals with a lot of these issues. It’s called Jewish Relational Care A-Z edited by Jack H Bloom, and here’s what the Ledger had to say about it:

The book launched Haworth's Jewish practices press, and is among a smattering of books aimed at the Jewish caregiver in a Jewish context. It is a uniquely blended approach of Jewish tradition, Hebrew text, and Self-Relations, psychotherapy that helps the individual create a relationship among one's many “selves.” Chapters cover the life cycle, and address many types of situations and suffering. A section of “blessings” -- songs, readings, and Bloom's own poems offers the caregiver additional creative tools.

“Jewish Relational Care” attempts a new way to understand Jewish tradition and text. If there's a theme that runs through the book, “it's to give blessing,” Bloom says. “That's what it means to be a rabbi or a Jewish caregiver: to give validation and to bless the painful, hurting parts of people, to bless people where they are, while knowing it's true that they could be more.”

The book sounds great, but I still feel weird about even going to a rabbi with some of this stuff.

So how do you guys choose a rabbi? And when do you set up an appointment to see him or her? When do you feel like you really need a rabbi?

I have to be honest and say I’m surprised and impressed by the way things have turned out with the whole “nappy headed hos” incident. When Michael wrote about it at the Daily Shvitz he predicted that, “This episode will sink before the new wave of grim headlines out of Baghdad.” Guess not.

But why not? Because of money, basically. Yes, Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton pulled out their soapboxes and gave the same old indignant speeches, but in the meantime advertisers realized that by pulling out of the Imus show they’d get credit for being anti-racist, which would translate into revenue. Meanwhile, CBS was left with a huge deficit. According to this piece from NPR, Imus in Morning brought in tens of millions of dollars worth of advertising. With the ad money gone, they had no reason to stick by Imus, and this morning they gave him the ol’ heave-ho.

Now, let’s get some things clear. I think Don Imus is a schmuck, and every time I’ve tried listening to his show I get bored. I am hardly saddened by his downfall, but I am frankly confused by anyone who listened to him to begin with. As Dov Baer points out, Imus has had some pretty nasty things to say about Jews in the past. Once, he called the editors at Simon & Schuster “thieving Jews” and then later apologized by saying the statement was “redundant.” Charming. Nappy?: They look pretty hot to me

But you know what Don Imus was doing this morning? Raising millions of dollars for kids with cancer. Here’s an excerpt from the latest NYT piece on his
demise:

The firing of Mr. Imus came on a surreal day, one that served as a reminder not only of the millions of dollars he has raised for children’s charities over nearly two decades, but of the millions of dollars in future donations that he may have been lost as a result of his ill-considered remarks.

For four and a half hours this morning, he turned his radio program into a live fundraiser for three charities — two benefiting children with cancer, and the other for families that have lost babies to sudden infant death syndrome — an endeavor he has undertaken each of the last 18 years.

Among the guests were children and parents who had been the beneficiaries of his efforts — particularly the Imus Cattle Ranch for Kids with Cancer, a program that the host founded on his New Mexico ranch along with his wife, Deirdre.

“It was an honor to be at your son’s funeral,” he said to one woman, whose cancer-stricken son had been a guest at what is essentially a western-themed camp for sick children.

The whole thing, how ugly it is on every side, reminds me of synagogue politics. The hiring and firing of rabbis and cantors is an ugly business that often has little to do with whether or not the person in question is good at their job, and more to do with money, and which big donor/block of members will leave the shul if the rabbi or cantor doesn’t step down. Invariably the synagogue board doesn’t make its decision until the worst possible moment—often on the eve of the High Holidays—and the rumors and ripples through the community just serve to show how far from spiritual a synagogue can get. I’ve been to shuls where congregants have gotten into actual fistfights on the premises, and where microphones were turned off during Yom Kippur services so that a sermon praising a community member in question wouldn’t be heard. It’s nasty stuff, and it comes precisely at the time when we’re trying to raise ourselves to a higher level.

I wish I could send you to a site where you could make a donation to one of Imus’s charities, but they seem to be under investigation for sketchy spending, so instead, check out Camp Simcha, a camp for kids with life threatening diseases run by Chai Lifeline. Chai Lifeline gets four stars from Charity Navigator, which rates based on efficiency. I just gave twenty bucks. Let’s at least have something good come out of all this.

For a fascinating article about why being called “nappy headed” is worse than being called a “ho,” click here.

Way back in November Laurel wrote about how fun it is to have a rabbi crush. A rabbi crush “is when you wish someone else’s rabbi could be your rabbi. Usually, this state results from exposure to a smart young rabbi with crazy interpretations but totally hardcore rabbi-skills.”
Admit it: You thought Ben Stiller was kind of hot as Rabbi Jake Schram
I was on board with Laurel because I’m always harboring some kind of rabbi crush. Even in high school, when I had crazy married-with-ten-kids rabbis teaching me the book of Joshua, I still kind of had crushes on the rabbis because something about them was so intense. I’m big on intensity.

Anyway, while rabbi crushes are still part of my life, these days things have progressed a little, and I’ve now dated a number of rabbis-in training (and one full-fledged rabbi). I hadn’t really thought about it until one of my friends brought it up recently, but it seems that rabbis and rabbinical students have a tendency to get me all hot and bothered.

I assure you, it’s not that they’re rabbinical students that peaks my interest. I knew most of these guys long before they decided on that choice in life. It’s more that they’re smart and funny and engaged in Jewish life. Also, they’re often kind of tortured by the idea of having to come up with a theology to stick to, which I find weirdly hot. Most of them are awesome at leading services. And I have to say, a guy who can lead a stellar Hallel is a hot commodity where I come from. A good davener is key, my friends.

The obvious problem with this is that in a few years, the choices of synagogues I’ll be able to attend will shrink. Can you imagine walking into services on a Saturday morning, looking up at the bimah, and then thinking to yourself, “God, I really wish I didn’t know that he refers to his penis as ‘The Hellraiser.’” That would suck.

Obviously, this isn’t the only problem you face if you get involved with a rabbi. If it works out, you could end up a rabbi’s wife. A rebbetzin. And that means having to deal with synagogue politics, and having to sit through endless sisterhood meetings, and having to go to shul every single week… Doesn’t sound like much fun.

There are, of course, some really cool rebbetzins. Lynn Harris is married to a rabbi and has some funny things to say about it here and here. There’s a book about it, creatively titled The Rabbi’s Wife. And there’s an interesting blog called Reflections of a Rabbi’s Wife.

I’m not sure how well I’d do in the role of the rebbetzin, but I’ve decided to embrace my rabbi past. After all, it’s not like I’ve gone as far as those guys who made a calendar with pictures of hot priests. I just think tzitzit katan are kind of sexy.

Nussbaum had a dream too. Unfortunately his was often interrupted by heartburn.A sermon recorded in 1965 by MLK to a Jewish congregation in Beverly Hills was broadcast on NPR.

In 1965, a Rabbi named Max Nussbaum asked Martin Luther King Jr. to address his congregation at the Temple Israel in Hollywood.

Nussbaum was not only active in the civil rights movement, but he also made his name as a rabbi in Berlin by using the pulpit to rail against the injustices of Nazi Germany.

King accepted Nussbaum's invitation, and his sermon was recorded onto an old-fashioned, reel-to-reel audiotape. The tape was then forgotten, lost in a pile of the rabbi's other audiotapes and papers.

The rabbi died, and his widow Ruth came upon the reel while sorting through his stuff more than a decade ago. She submitted it to the Temple library, where it sat again.

The Temple has just made the tape of the speech available to the public for the first time since 1965. Ruth Nussbaum, 95, tells the story of the speech.

To listen to the commentary, as well as the full sermon, go here.
My father is rolling his eyes at me as you read this.

Screw Disney Land or as Rabbi Meyer Golden, one half of the new Jewish Theme Park, Menorah Mountain, in Southern California, would say, "Enough with the mouse already. We want a place to celebrate US!"

Golden, a rabbi from L.A., has partnered with fellow rabbi Seymour Sherman to provide some much-needed thrill-seeking kitch amusement to Jewish families.

The Flailing Wall has riders strapped into seats that are raised up the side of the Wailing Wall replica before being submitted to a heart-stopping freefall to the foot of the wall. The Dead Sea Roll is a modern roller coaster that turns upside down and back again as it rockets forward. Riders are routinely seen with hands tightly clasped, praying it will stop. The Rabid Rabbi is a frothy water plunge ride that leaves you drenched and repentant.

Most terrifying of all, however, are a pair of popular rides: The Guilt Trip and The Jewish Mother. Both are variations of rickety roller coasters that have riders screaming their lungs out in fright and begging to get off.

For adults, at noon each day, there’s a musical review, Goys and Dolls, featuring gorgeous schiksas from all over the world, in the Barbra Streisand Performance Hall.

What would male Jewish rabbis do without overbearing mothers and "gorgeous schiksas"? Perhaps spend less time conceiving fukakta ideas and developing them to fruition.

Wondering how to have a more interesting or meaningful Jewish life?  Take this little quiz, and if you can answer YES to all of these questions… you just need a rabbi-crush!   

 

(What’s a rabbi-crush, you ask?  A rabbi-crush is when you wish someone else’s rabbi could be your rabbi.  Usually, this state results from exposure to a smart young rabbi with crazy interpretations but totally hardcore rabbi-skills.  Often they’re cute and frum and you find yourself entertaining notions of giving up bacon for life, wearing long skirts, and raising kids who can speak Hebrew. 

I know it sounds nuts, but this happens to a lot of secular Jews when they meet the “right” rabbi... a smart rabbi who can never be their rabbi because they aren’t observant. 

It’s the thrill of exposing yourself to something wonderful you’ll never get to have (unless you really do become a frumster yourself) But the exposure itself can be life-changing, and you may find, as I did, that while you aren’t willing to lead that particularly restrained kind of life… the more orthodox rabbis can be… well… better for a lot of things. 

Because they fucking love Torah, and they know it inside and out.  Because that love is contagious.

 

But bear in mind, to find your rabbi crush, you have to venture outside your comfort zone.

 

And now the quiz…

 

1. Do you enjoy intellectual and political debates?
2. Are you an adventurous person?
3. When you visit other countries, do you eat the food people offer you?
4. Are you a little bit competitive?
5. Do you enjoy challenging others?

  

So, now that you’ve answered YES to these questions, you need a rabbi-crush. 

 

But you don’t want to run off to a boring Chabad lunch-and-learn (unless you enjoy that kind of thing, in which case don’t let me stop you) because  my experience has taught me that the smarter you are, the less this particular brand of Jewish observance will appeal.  You might even decide Judaism is boring and isolationist.  You might get mad at Faithhacker.

 

Instead you need to find a smart young (maybe even hot) rabbi, someone who will meet you on your own terms, someone in a kippah who won’t judge you. Someone who’ll appreciate your “outside the box” ideas. 

 

The best place to look for your rabbi-crush is Pardes (which is in Israel, but offers classes in a lot of US cities).  People go apeshit for Pardes. 

But often, you’ll also find a rabbi-crush through your local  Kollel (ask around to find the right person… there’s a wide range of people at Kollel, but I met one of the best rabbis I know through Atlanta Kollel)

 

You’ll need to head for a lunch-and-learn or a Shabbat dinner in a strange place, maybe even try out a few before you find the right rabbi.  But I promise you, a few hours with someone who really knows things you don’t… can have a huge effect on your path.  And you might even go back for more!

 

I have my own rabbi-crush, but I don't want to embarass him, so I won't tell you who he is. Even though you'll meet him soon!

 

Meanwhile... why not try it?

 

What are you ...chicken?!

If HUC had a yearbook, I’d be voted “Least likely to end up in a pluralistic environment.” And by pluralistic I mean: “Anything not Reform. Or Reconstructionist-lite.”

So last week, in a staff meeting with Yehuda, Yoni and Yonah, I said: “Just so you know, if anyone was counting, I’d be voted ‘Least likely to end up in an intrafaith environment.’” They laughed.

But it’s true. I’m the great-great-great granddaughter of pure-bred, aristocratic Berlin-born German Jews. When my mother, the Yekke, brought my Russian-Jewish father home, my pork-chop cooking grandmother took one look at him, in his smothers brothers beard, and wire rimmed glasses, raised her eyebrows, and whispered too loudly: “But he’s so Jewish.” A few years later, my father would enroll in Rabbinical School, making the shanda of my parents marriage permanent. But my maternal grandparents would never have said shanda. Yiddish was far too ethnic.

We didn’t speak Yiddish in my house growing up. We didn’t have a kosher kitchen, and our most passionate Jewish observance was ‘classically’ Reform: social action. No Saturday morning services the Rabbi’s family. Instead, we were at protest marches, or making sandwiches for the homeless, or at the farmer’s market, buying organic. Or I was at swim practice, and my sister at choir rehearsal. We were shrimp and cheeseburger eating Midwestern Reform Jews. When discussing very observant Jews, we referred to a family narrative of mythical types named Moishe and Hershl, and sneered a little as we did. We weren’t like that. My father’s anti-Semitism laden Michigan childhood and my mother’s Germanic heritage left their mark. I didn’t attend my first Orthodox service until college, visiting family friends in Buffalo, New York, and was appalled. Everyone was mumbling. Women were relegated to the back of the room, holding babies, gossiping, and adjusting their wigs!! I couldn’t see the Torah through the Mechitza. This was, I knew, not my religion. It was the vestige of something better left behind; chauvinistic and particularistic, and, I honestly believed, not Jewish. Not the way I thought of it, anyway.

Last week, at the Bronfman Center, in between a graduate student wine and cheese reception and a Bollywood party for the undergrads (complete with free henna tattoes and kosher Indian food), Yonah, the Orthodox intern, stopped me on one of the stairways. “Why haven’t you said anything to me yet?” he asked.

“Said anything?” I repeated.
“Yeah,” he said, “About Orthodoxy. About women. About all that stuff we do that you don’t believe in.”
“Well, I…”
“I’ve heard about you, Jordie.” He said, grinning benignly. “I’ve heard about that talk you gave at Harvard about Mechitzas. You think I’m – we’re crazy.”
“I don’t.” I said.
“Yeah,” he said, “It’s OK. I know you do.”
“I’m trying to be respectful…” I fumbled.
“I know.” He said, “But I also know what you think about misogyny and women and traditional Judaism.”
“Really?” I said.
“Yeah.” He said. “And we should talk some time. You don’t know what I think about all of that.”
“We’ll get there.” I answered.
“OK,” he said, “You promise?”
“Sure.” I returned. “Promise.”

I’m the only Rabbinical Student at HUC this year whose Rabbinic supervisor is Orthodox. I’m the only Rabbinical Student – as far as I know – working in a pluralistic environment, where my closest Rabbinic colleagues are one Orthodox Rabbi, one Orthodox Rabbinic Student, and one Conservative Rabbinic student. I’m also one of the few Rabbinical Students at HUC who is Reform with a capital R. Kicking it old school. I don’t keep kosher (though I am ‘eco-kosher’), I’m not shomer Shabbat, I don’t romanticize traditional Judaism, and I have, for a very long time -- had an absolute aversion to anything that I believe is, as my grandmother would have said “too Jewish.”

And so it is with total earnestness that I report that I’ve recently realized that Yehuda, Yoni and Yonah may be one of the best things that has happened to me in Rabbinical School. Because in these past few weeks, they’ve ceased to be caricatures of their respective movements, and their tactful acceptance of me – and my choices – has put to shame all of my ideas about who they are, and what they believe. Moishe and Hershl have become these men, and these men have become my friends, my mentors, and my colleagues. I have a lot to learn.

And I’d write more, but I’m off to Korean BBQ in Flushing with some non-Jewish friends. That means pork. Some things, in any case, never change.