Sea of Torah

But Zion said, “LORD has forsaken me, and Lord has forgotten me.”

“Can a woman forget her nursing child and have no compassion on the son of her womb? Even these may forget, but I will not forget you. Behold, I have inscribed you on the palms; your walls are continually before Me. Your children hurry; your destroyers and devastators will depart from you."
Yeshayahu 49:14-17


These words are read in public as words of comfort on the second Shabbat after Tisha Be-Av (Haftara of Ekev). On a day like today, with Jerusalem crying after a terrorist rammed his bulldozer into two public buses and several cars on Jaffa Street, killing four and wounding three dozen, we need such words of comfort.

 
However, Yeshayahu (Isaiah) is not only a prophet of consolation; he is, originally, a prophet of rebuke. Indeed, this passage can also be read as a rebuke; instead of rendering the last two words as "will depart from you," they can be translated as "have come out of you"—in other words, Jerusalem's destroyers come from within. That interpretation changes the whole tenor of this passage: accused of forgetting Jerusalem, God responds that His city is always on His mind. It is Jerusalem's own children who wreak havoc upon it. In fact, today's terrorist carried a "blue card" as a resident of East Jerusalem; he was not a citizen of the State of Israel, but he was a citizen of Israel's capital, giving him freedom of movement. What really sends a chill down the spine is the alternative reading of the beginning of the verse, from the Dead Sea Scrolls—"your builders" instead of "your children."

 
We do not yet have the full background of this attack, but what we do know is eerily familiar after the similar incident at Yeshivat Merkaz HaRav earlier this year—an Arab worker from East Jerusalem attacks a vulnerable and highly symbolic site in Jerusalem, and only the quick actions of security forces who happen to be on the scene stop his murderous rampage by shooting him dead.

 
Our primary response must be to pray for and help the victims, while pursuing any accomplices of the terrorist. Nevertheless, once again, we are forced to ask the question: how long will we pretend that Jerusalem is a united city? For all the great investments in Yehuda and Shomeron (the West Bank), the number of Jews there is about a quarter of a million; meanwhile, in our capital, we have a quarter-million non-citizen Arabs. Is this a reality that we can maintain? Will we end up with the ludicrous situation of standing agreements with Hamas, Hizbullah and Fatah, while there are still Arabs in East Jerusalem trying to murder their neighbors?


What is the solution? In the second-to-last verse, God describes how He sees Jerusalem always: "Your walls are continually before Me." Jerusalem has always been a city of walls, but do we really want that wall to seal us our "destroyers and devastators" in with us? 

 



Then Barak said to her, "If you will go with me, then I will go; but if you will not go with me, I will not go."

She said, "I will surely go with you; nevertheless, the honor shall not be yours on the journey that you are about to take…"
                                                                                                (Shofetim 4:8-9)

 

These verses have been echoing through my mind for a week now. That's how long we've officially known that Illinois Senator Barack Obama will be the Democratic nominee for President of the United States, but the speculation was swirling even before that: who will be his vice-presidential choice? Granted, we all know that running mates don't really balance tickets the way they used to. Nevertheless, they tell you a lot about the people who choose them.

 

That brings us to the original Barak, the son of Avino'am, who is recruited by the prophetess and judge Devora to lead the battle against the Canaanite general Sisera and his army in Chapter 4 of Shofetim (Judges). Barak refuses to go alone, and the story ends with his singing back-up to the famous Song of Devora (5:1); even his military victory is overshadowed by the heroism of Ya'el, a nomadic woman who personally kills Sisera (4:17-22).

 

What is so wrong with Barak's invitation? As God's spokeswoman, why shouldn't Devora be present at the battle? The key seems to lie in the nature of Israel's fractured polity at the time. As the Song tells it (vv. 14-18), some tribes are part of the fight, while others avoid it. This is particularly striking when we consider that this is the only battle in the Book of Shofetim against the Canaanites, the group of nations that all Israel was supposed to vanquish upon entering the land. These Canaanites have no trouble coming together against a common threat (v. 18), but the Jews do. Many of them have forgotten their common God, and even His prophetess cannot call them to battle. Devora is not a uniting figure. Only Barak, whose experience and renown are limited, who comes from a tribe which has never played a powerful role in Israel, can bring the people together with an inspiring call to arms. When he demands that Devora accompany him, Barak dilutes the power of his mission.

 

Like pre-monarchial (and, perhaps, modern) Israel, contemporary America is a land divided by tribes, having forgotten what unites them. They do not need a lecture from an icon of one side of the divide; they need someone who comes out of nowhere to say: We have a fight ahead of us, and we need everyone to join. Of course, Devora is an asset, but dragging her to the frontlines obscures the message, which boils down to (5:12): "Arise, Barak, and take your captives."

 

 

It's been a while since I spent "A Few Minutes with Andy Rooney." 60 Minutes isn't a big draw in Israel (a lot of us are still bitter about Bob Simon's Middle East coverage), and we barely get one station on our TV. But now that it's available in podcast form, I have renewed my acquaintance with Andy, Morley… actually, they're the only old-timers left. Little did I expect that a three-minute segment—which, on the face of it, had nothing to do with Israel or the Jewish word—would set me off.

 

However, last night's Rooney Rant wasn't about typewriters, unleaded gas, or these new-fangled cordless phones. No, it was about Memorial Day, and the fact that no one really honors the memory of America's fallen anymore. Opined Andy:

 

"Because I was in the Army during World War II, I have more to remember on Memorial Day than most of you. I had good friends who were killed…  I wish we could dedicate Memorial Day, not to the memory of those who have died at war, but to the idea of saving the lives of the young people who are going to die in the future if we don’t find some new way - some new religion maybe - that takes war out of our lives. That would be a Memorial Day worth celebrating."

 

On the CBS website, this has aroused a lot of comment, including a Jehovah's Witness who ventured that he had that "new religion" Andy was looking for; he was so excited that he posted the same comment ten times, rattling off a long series of biblical quotes, starting with the famous "swords-into-ploughshares" vision of Yeshayahu (Isaiah 2:2-4).  The fuller version is actually in Mikha (Micah 4:1-5), but that's another podcast ("Know Your Navi," Episodes #20 and #36). I'll point out that in both cases, justice is a prerequisite for peace. (Also, the good Witness excised the part about Zion and Jerusalem; I guess Watchtower readers are post-Zionists.)

 

Still, the offensive part about Andy's peace was not his messianic vision, but his historical myopia. It's simply sad that he is so out of touch. A full diatribe about the meaning of Memorial Day, without one mention of the fact that America is currently in two wars, with over 4,000 fatalities and many more whose lives will never be the same? Somehow, Korea & Vietnam don't deserve a mention either. Of course, this was a piece about the personal effect of war, and Andy was in the Big One, but it was spoken to the entire nation, and to ignore the fallen of the past 60 years is unacceptable. He even vaguely refers to "young people who are going to die in the future"—how about young people who are dying the present?

 

Now, this piece was not exactly fresh, but it wasn't ancient history either. It was broadcast originally in 2005, over two years after the invasion of Iraq. Someone at CBS News decided it was time to dust it off and show it again, and why not? It fits into the Western worldview: World War II was the last good war, the last one with heroes in it. Fighting Nazis is something we can all root for; even Indiana Jones used to do that. It's old-fashioned, something we can cast in granite and think about two days a year. But now we live in an enlightened world, one which has a global body to settle disputes, sitting across from a wall inscribed with that hoary passage from "old religion." War is passé; all we need to do is "take [it] out of our lives." A lot of Israeli intellectuals agree, cheering the signing of every empty agreement, breaking out the champagne for every meaningless negotiation, dancing in the streets when more land is ceded for more... what was that formula again?

 

The problem is that the fight against totalitarianism is still being fought. The ideology has morphed from fascism to Communism to fundamentalism, but it's still claiming lives around the world, especially in our little corner of the world. The war against it cannot be fought solely on a battlefield, but if we start our ploughshare production before the other side has laid aside its swords, if we put peace before justice, we'll end up with neither. Andy, take it from a citizen of a country that still has a draft, that adds to its running list of casualties every year: memorial days aren't the exclusive property of the Greatest Generation. The sacrifices that democracy's defenders have made and continue to make are worth celebrating right now.

  "It wasn't in a skanky way…  I mean I had a blanket on.  And I thought, 'This looks pretty, and really natural.'  I think it's really artsy."

That was Miley “Hannah Montana” Cyrus’s original view of her provocative photo shoot with Annie Leibovitz for Vanity Fair.  Eventually, she backtracked and issued an apology, but the damage had already been done—not so much to the 15-year-old Disney star’s career, but to her image she presents for her tween fans.

So who’s to blame?  Young teenagers are not known for deliberation, but by the same token Annie Leibovitz is not known for wholesome, Norman Rockwell images.  You don’t go to Vanity Fair as an upscale Sears Portrait Studio.  

Should we blame Disney?  As a symbol of corporate America, it’s an easy target, and we do not yet have an explanation for why Donald Duck has three nephews who frolic in his house while they are all without pants.  Nevertheless, it’s hard to criticize the House of Mouse for not exercising more control over its trademarks when they happen to share a likeness with actual human beings.

So where do we turn?  It’s perhaps more than a coincidence that this scandal has broken during the week that we read the Torah portion of Kedoshim (Vayikra 19-20).  Kedoshim is famous for its many moral teachings, such as loving one’s neighbor and forgoing revenge, but perhaps its most notable feature is the one verse (19:29) in the Torah which begins: “Do not desecrate.”  Avoiding the desecration (chillul) of God’s name and holy things is a concept which arises often in the Torah, but this verse is the only time that this idea is not attached with a conjunction to the previous verse, offered as an explanation or justification for another prohibition.  In fact, the verse doesn’t mention God at all; in its entirety, it reads, “Do not desecrate your daughter by whoring her, lest the land whore and the land be filled with lewdness.”  The Torah is declaring quite clearly that there is a trust which as sacred as God’s name: the duty of a parent, particularly, a father.  When that is abandoned, the result can move quite quickly from the breakdown of one family to a societal epidemic.

That is the scariest part of all this.  Those of us who remember the presidency of the first George Bush recall Billy Ray Cyrus as a late-night joke, the one-hit wonder of “Achy Breaky Heart.”  He re-emerged from obscurity on his daughter’s coattails, co-starring in her TV show, singing duets with her.  Still, he deserved the benefit of the doubt; some kids really do want to perform, and perhaps he needed to stick so close to look out for her.  But is anyone really looking out for her?  Or has Billy Ray simply found out that jailbait sells?  

We may think that this Britney Spears-Lindsay Lohan phenomenon is a 21st-century phenomenon, but the fact is that it’s as old as the Torah itself.  For every father willing to sell, there’s a land full of lechers willing to buy.  The only way to break the cycle is to make the choice which is neither artsy nor pretty: to treasure holiness above hotness. Even the non-skanky kind.

“…from sorrow into gladness and from mourning into a holiday”—that’s the famous line from Ester (9:22), but last night it was the reverse. On Rosh Chodesh Adar Sheni 5768, our gladness turned to sorrow and our holiday into mourning with the horrific news of the massacre at Yeshivat Merkaz HaRav. 8 young students, all but one of whom were teenagers, were mercilessly gunned down by an Arab from East Jerusalem who had worked as a driver for the yeshiva. He fired 600 bullets in 4 minutes, and he would have killed more had neighborhood residents not shot him dead. The images are unspeakable, and they leave us wondering, questioning, demanding: how could it happen? Isn’t this the “lucky” month?




That idea comes from a famous statement of Rav Yehuda, son of Rav Shemu’el bar Shilat, quoting Rav: “Just as ‘we reduce our joy when Av begins’ (Mishna, Ta’anit 4:6), so too we increase our joy when Adar begins.” Based on this, Rav Pappa advises one who has a court case with a non-Jew to avoid Av and to schedule it for Adar, “as its fortune is healthy (bari mazaleih)” (Ta’anit 29a-b). We all know this famous line about rejoicing in Adar, but it actually does not appear in the major halakhic works of the Rambam, Tur or Shulchan Arukh—although the ruling about Av (e.g., Orach Chayyim 551:1) does! How can that be? Aren’t they two sides of the same coin?




Another Adar-related statement of Rav Yehuda, son of Rav Shemu’el bar Shilat, quoting Rav, may shed some light on this. In Megilla (5a), he rules that when Purim falls out on Shabbat (as in Jerusalem this year), the reading of Ester on Thursday night and Friday morning is considered “on time,” allowing even an individual to recite the blessings before and after; we rule against this, that in the case of an “early reading,” the blessings can be recited only if ten people participate (Orach Chayyim 690:18, Mishna Berura 66). This law is also puzzling, until we recall what “the day before” was like for the Jews: it was a day of battle. The Jews had to take up arms against their mortal enemies, fighting throughout the Persian empire on the 13th of Adar, and in Shushan on the 14th as well (Ester 9:16-18). When we try to extend the Purim spirit, we encounter the very real tension and apprehension that our ancestors experienced, which we now commemorate with a fast day, Ta’anit Ester. This may be why we reject both rulings of Rav Yehuda: starting Purim early means forgetting some of the trepidation which preceded it.




These are sobering thoughts, but we may perhaps find some comfort in them. In the days of Mordekhai and Ester, the Jews spent the beginning of Adar praying, fasting and preparing themselves for battle. They faced a world filled with enemies and knew that their foes could not wait to kill and pillage. Nevertheless, because they maintained their faith and put their lives on the line to defend their families and property, Adar became a month of victory and joy. We hope and pray that this will recur in our generation.

While Rabbi Alan Haber rightly points out that egalitarian minyanim may sometimes circumvent the halakhic process, I think his criticism steps over the line. Jewish legal authorities are certainly "duty-bound to objectively and honestly assess the sources," but halakhic literature (shutim) never analyzes sources in a vacuum. From a woman trying to establish her husband's death, to medieval merchants with warehouses full of beer as Passover approaches, to modern farmers confronted by the sabbatical year, rendering a halakhic ruling requires taking into account the emotional, economic, and political situation of the petitioner.

Moreover, Rabbi Haber questions rulings that have no precedent or rely on a minority opinion. That being the case, how does he justify teaching Talmud to young women at his seminary? Does that ruling emerge from an impassive evaluation of the relevant sources in Tractates Sota and Kiddushin, following precedent and majority view, or does it factor in the mores of modern society?

Unfortunately, contemporary Orthodoxy has become preoccupied with excluding those with slightly more permissive or restrictive views. If an admittedly flawed halakhic process produces a ruling which ultimately draws on genuine sources, should those who follow that ruling be effectively excommunicated?

Last week, archaeologists excavating 2,500-year-old ruins at the City of David unearthed another great find from the early Second Temple era: a coin with the family name “Temekh” on it. This family is described, in the seventh chapter of Nehemiah (Nechemya), as one of the the families that went into Babylonian exile with the Judeans, returning under the auspices of the Cyrus Proclamation.

What's particularly interesting is that this coin portrays lunar worship, certainly not the most Jewish of themes. However, when we take into account that Scriptures identifies Temekh as a family of Netinim, a group whose origins lie in Canaanites who converted under false pretenses (Yehoshua 9), it begins to make sense. The allure of idolatry was strong when the Israelites where the only nation serving an unseen God. However, it takes a certain amount of gall to argue that religious Jews are still worshiping idols today.

Nevertheless, that's exactly what archaeologist Stephen Gabriel Rosenberg writes in the Jerusalem Post (January 23rd), under the headline: “The persistence of idol worship.” His indictment of Orthodoxy for idolatry is attention-grabbing, but his research is a bit wanting. He criticizes "the personality cult" of certain medieval rabbis, ignoring the fact that Rashi is studied alongside the Tosafists, who challenge their grandfather's interpretations regularly; the Rambam is studied alongside the Ra'avad, who often has harsh words for his younger colleague's rulings; and the halakhic masterwork Shulchan Arukh, written by the Sephardic Rav Yosef Karo, contains the critical glosses of the Ashkenazic Rav Moshe Isserles.

Furthermore, he targets the supposedly fetishistic kissing of the Torah scroll and the resistance to touching it, but the latter springs from the scroll's ability to ritually defile one's hands (Mishna, Yadayim 3:5), while the former is the Biblical form of greeting a loved one (see Shemot 4:27, 18:7; et al.). There is no deification here, but an expression of emotion and intimacy.

Jews are a nation of laws, and the Torah is our founding document. Considering the reverence that Americans show for the text and body of their Constitution, which is barely two centuries old, is it wrong for Jews to demonstrate their respect and love for the Torah?

Did the Jewish elite draw a bull's-eye on the wrong Man in Black? Last week, the Jewish Defense League (now with Menorah Man!), pilloried Will Smith for a point he made to the Scottish Daily Record:
"Even Hitler didn't wake up going, 'let me do the most evil thing I can do today.' I think he woke up in the morning and using a twisted, backwards logic, he set out to do what he thought was 'good.' "

On "Rabbi Joe in Jerusalem," I posited an alternative view to the JDL's, that Mr. Smith "may be the foremost political philosopher of our day." Still, all is not peaches and tehina in Hollywood; just consider the following words by Smith's Men in Black co-star, Tommy Lee Jones, as he describes the setting for the battle of David and Goliath:

"There were two armies assembled, the Israelites and the Philistines; they were both on hills, with the Valley of Elah between them. That's a place in Palestine. You know where that is? It doesn't matter."


Actually, it does matter. Granted, it's not really Mr. Jones speaking, but his character, Hank Deerfield, and the words are by Hollywood's First Lord of Subtelty, Paul Haggis. The setting is so important that Haggis named the movie "In the Valley of Elah." It's awards season, and it might be Haggis's year. Again.

It might very well be that no one noticed one throwaway line in this overwrought Iraq War epic, but I think that it shows where the PC police are headed. It used to be that the debate was limited to whether films from the West Bank and Gaza would be labeled "Palestinian Authority" or "Palestine" (the latter, much like Narnia or Middle-Earth, does not, technically, exist). However, the Valley of Elah is not in the West Bank; it's over the Green Line, in Israel "proper." Except that it's not proper for Israelites to be in Israel anymore, apparently, whatever its borders; it's all "Palestine," and any Jew is an interloper.

So let's review: if you report that Hitler believed, in his "twisted" mind, that he was doing the right thing, you're a Nazi; if you rename pre-1967 Israel "Palestine," you're progressive and deserve an Academy Award. Sounds like a dystopia that only Will Smith can save us from! If only the writers weren't still on strike...

"We do not adhere to all these goyish nationalistic ideals of fighting for the motherland.” So opined MK Moshe Gafni of Degel Ha-Torah last week, just in time for Chanukka. I assume the irony was lost on him, but the paragraph we repeat dozens of times over the course of this holiday, Al Ha-nissim, centers around the military victory that God gave us through “the pure... the righteous... those who delve into Your Torah.” In fact, the very name of MK Gafni's faction comes from the organization of the Israelites at Mt. Sinai by “degel,” or banner—as Bamidbar (Numbers) 1:52 delineates “Each man by his camp and each man by his banner, to their armies.” In fact, the Torah repeats thirty-six times in the first two chapters of Bamidbar alone that the Jewish nation is being arranged according to its fighters; a couple of pages later, in Naso (Chapter 7), this order of march is what the princes follow to bring their offerings for the first Chanukka, in the desert.

So where does Gafni get the idea of fighting for the Land of Israel being goyish? Maybe it was from this week's Torah portion, Vayigash, which is the first time we find the term “chayil,” the root of chayal, soldier. After the family of Yoseif (Joseph) comes down to Egypt, Pharaoh is looking for “men of valor,” “anshei chayil” (47:6), and so Yoseif presents to Pharaoh the five of his brothers who appear weakest (ibid. 2). As the Pesiketa Zutrata (cited by Rashi) puts it, Yoseif hides his stronger brothers for their own sake “Perhaps by their excessive might they will do something, and he will appoint them over the troops to go out to war!” This is the first exile for the Jewish nation, and it sets the template: hide your gevura, or the king will send you to the front lines.

That exile mentality is a very hard one to break, as indeed the generation of the Exodus never makes it over the Jordan. Only their children, born in freedom, can understand that they need not fear facing the enemy hordes, as long as they are guided by God's word. Unfortunately, some people today view the IDF as no better than the Czar's army—or Pharaoh's, for that matter. Apparently, fighting for the Holy Land isn't any more important than fighting for Egypt or Russia. That makes me wonder: if someone really believes that, why celebrate Chanukka at all?

November 29th, or as it's known here, "Kaf Tet b'November," is an odd day. The State of Israel, generally speaking, schedules its national holidays according to the Hebrew calendar, not the civil one; nevertheless, this date remains stubbornly lo'azi, foreign.

There is a certain logic to it: after all, it was on this day, sixty years ago, that the other nations (well, 33 to 13, with 10 abstentions) recognized Israel. Sort of. The General Assembly voted to partition the British Mandate into an Arab state and a Jewish one. Arabs (including the ones who became Israeli citizens) view it as Al-Nakba, the Catastrophe; many Israelis aren't thrilled about it, as it meant that we were giving up half of our patrimony (actually, half of the smaller half of the British Mandate of Palestine, since most of it became the Royal Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan). Since then, this partition solution has been restated time and time again, most recently two days ago at the Annapolis Conference, but it has run into a perennial obstacle: the Arabs cannot accept a Jewish state. They might accept two Palestines, but an Israel? Perish the thought.

Our Prime Minister, Ehud Olmert, should know this; he lived on Kaf Tet b'November Street in Jerusalem's Katamon neighborhood. With false modesty, he notes that he has "not changed the face of history" at Annapolis, but does he realize that he's actually reenacting it?

Yesterday, we got a little reminder of our history in Jerusalem. In the City of David, archaeologists found proof that a wall that they had dated to the Hasmonean era, about 150 B.C.E., was actually three centuries older--the very city wall described in detail in the Book of Nechemya (Nehemiah)! What's even cooler is that Chanukka, when we celebrate the Hasmonean victory over the Hellenized Syrians, is less than a week away; it's little known, but the first and only time that the word "chanukka" appears on its own in Scripture is in Nechemya, describing the dedication not of the altar or the Temple, but the wall of Jerusalem: "At the dedication of the wall of Jerusalem, the Levites were sought out wherever they lived and were brought to Jerusalem to make chanukka and joy, with thanksgiving hymns and with the music of cymbals, harps, and lyres" (12:27).

By the way, guess why the wall was built? To repel the attacks of the Samaritans, foreigners who had been brought in while the Jews were in exile (see II Kings 17:24-41). They viewed themselves as the true natives of the land, despite the fact that they were historical newcomers and continued to show their allegiance to their fundamentalist faith by sacrificing their own children in fire.  Sound familiar?

We are a nation that is constantly involved in chanukka, building and rebuilding, civil and religious, trying to hold on against a world that is often indifferent, if not hostile, to our own catastrophes. The only peace plan that can ever work is one that recognizes our tragedies and triumphs. It's not about land; it's about legitimacy. We don't need the Arabs to give it to us; but until they do, all proclamations of peace in our time will be dead letters.