Saturday, December 20, 2008

Hanukkah And Christmas: Does Proximity Make for Affinity?

I came across the following passage last week that I felt was worth sharing. It comes from Unlocking the Torah Text by Shmuel Goldin, a book on the weekly Torah portions from Bereshit [Genesis], and it was a concluding comment on the story of Jacob wresting with the angel:

Hanukkah, the holiday that most clearly celebrates the Jewish nation’s ongoing historical victory against the forces of assimilation, has become, in our day, the most assimilated Jewish festival.

Hanukkah-Christmas clubs, seasonal parties, public religious displays and more all conspire to create, in the minds of many, an equality between two vastly different religious events. In many households, Hanukkah becomes a “Jewish Christmas” as, throughout the community, the spirit of the “Judeo-Christian ethic” fills the air. Theological harmony is assumed where no such harmony exists.

Monumental chasms separate Jewish philosophy from Christian philosophy. We disagree on such basic issues as the concept of sanctity and its relationship to the physical world, the ability of man to interface with God directly, the notion of original sin, and more. If we fail to recognize and be sensitive to these differences, if we fail to teach our children about these differences, then we run the real risk of assimilating, God forbid, into a culture not our own.

The image of our forefather Yaakov [Jacob] struggling through the darkness of night with the “angel of Esav [Esau]” is presented to us each year at the time of the year when that image is most necessary. If we are to survive as a people, we cannot allow artificial harmony to blind us. We must certainly strive for respectful, harmonious coexistence and cooperation with our non-Jewish neighbors, we should certainly acknowledge and appreciate the specific values and goals that we share, but not at the expense of losing our uniqueness.

How do you react to this passage? Has Hanukkah lost its distinct meaning due to its proximity to Christmas? Have we allowed our desire for harmony to go too far? Do we make too much of Hanukkah as a result? What should we do, as a community, and as individuals?

Your comments are welcome.

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Divine espousal - וְאֵרַשְׂתִּיךְ לִי

On any given morning, as one wraps the straps of the tefillin around one’s fingers, the following verses, drawn from the second chapter of Hosea, are recited:

וְאֵרַשְׂתִּיךְ לִי לְעוֹלָם
וְאֵרַשְׂתִּיךְ לִי בְּצֶדֶק וּבְמִשְׁפָּט וּבְחֶסֶד וּבְרַחֲמִים
וְאֵרַשְׂתִּיךְ לִי בֶּאֱמוּנָה וְיָדַעַתְּ אֶת־ה
I will espouse you forever;
I will espouse you with righteousness and justice, kindness and mercy;
I will espouse you with faithfulness,
and you will know God. (vv. 21-22)

If the point of the prophet is that God will reconcile with Israel and espouse her once again after her faithlessness, what is the function of all these nouns?

I have said these words daily for years, and I have thought about them time and again, both in the context of my practice and in study. What I have discovered over time is that these verses are tightly constructed to provide the necessary elements for developing an intimate relationship, not only between a Jew and God, but also between loving partners.

The first element is time. A relationship does not come with an expiration date; it does not spoil like milk in a bottle, and it does not need to be renewed like a driver’s license. A relationship is eternal and continual; it takes time to develop and requires commitment and work, and it builds upon experience, some good, but also some which is not good. The commitment of eternity demands that we not just look at the good, but that we work through that which is not - I don’t use the term “bad” here because with the right care and nurturing, even the bad can be turned into a positive, growing experience.

Next comes two couplets: צדק - righteousness and משפט - justice, חסד - kindness and רחמים - mercy. (The Hebrew words for each are not as easy to convey in English, and thus the translations are approximate.) On a cursory level, the members of each couplet seem redundant. Taken as a pair, צדק and משפט speak to the need for fairness, limits, and rules, but there is a difference. צדק is concerned with maintaining a fair balance and rectifying wrongs. משפט focuses on the actual rules with which the partners in a relationship must abide. צדק is the abstract, a mindset that enables the concrete משפט to function.

As for the second couplet חסד and רחמים are concerned with caring and emotional well being. חסד generally speaks to concrete acts of kindness, the embodiment of רחמים that is the abstract force for care and concern, its emotional underpinnings. As a pair, חסד and רחמים are both needed in a relationship. It isn’t just the acts of kindness or just the caring that matter, but the emotion and love that accompany those acts as they work in concert.

If we look at the way these couplets are laid out, we find the order is reversed: 

צדק
- fairness -abstract משפט - rules -
concrete
X
חסד
- actions - concrete רחמים - caring -
abstract

It appears that there is no prioritization here; all elements are needed in a healthy, growing relationship.

With time, right action and proper nurturing, confidence grows and אמונה, faith in each other becomes more deeply rooted. As we enter into a relationship, we do so with blind faith in the other. But just as a pot needs to simmer for the ingredients to meld into a soup, the same is true in a marriage.

The final element is דעת, generally translated as knowing, but better conveyed as intimate knowledge. My understanding of Genesis 4:1- וְהָאָדָם יָדַע אֶת־חַוָּה אִשְׁתּוֹ, “Adam knew Eve his wife,” is not simply a reference to sexual intimacy, but also emotional intimacy. They had experienced each other in their mastery over the garden, their failure, their duplicity, their shame and their pain. Emotional intimacy is achieved when partners are able to bare themselves and to see the other in their emotional nakedness, their ability to accept each other and themselves in each others’ presence, warts and all, and to find comfort and renewal in that presence.

Hosea begins with the story of the prophet’s marriage to Gomer. Despite her serial infidelity, Hosea loved Gomer. It was in the context of this tumultuous relationship that he prophesied about the reification of the relationship between husband and wife: 
וְהָיָה בַיּוֹם־הַהוּא נְאֻם־ה’ תִּקְרְאִי אִישִׁי וְלֹא־תִקְרְאִי־לִי עוֹד בַּעְלִי
And on that day, declares God, you will call me ishi (my husband=my man) and no longer will you call me ba’ali (my husband=my master). (v.18)
Hosea redefines the marital relationship, not based on economics, status, or subordination, but instead as a mutual covenant; equals, as partners in a loving relationship. Just as a man would refer to his wife as ishti, so a woman would refer to her husband as ishi, and no longer as ba’ali.

It is not happenstance that this chapter is recited shortly before we celebrate Shavu’ot, the festival that celebrates the revelation at Sinai. The marriage metaphor is often used in relation to Shavu’ot and the Sinai encounter; some synagogues place a chuppah on the bima, and some Sephardim have the custom of reading a ketubah before the Torah is read. Shavu’ot celebrates that initial encounter between God and Israel, joining each other lovingly and eternally.

Likewise, this passage makes for a suitable introduction to the book of Bamidbar. The nascent relationship between God and Israel is tested time and again throughout this book. Just as Gomer did to Hosea, Israel tested God through numerous rebellions and infidelities, and yet, God’s love of Israel never failed.

And every morning, we reaffirm that ongoing love between God and Israel as we wrap the straps of tefillin around our fingers like a wedding band, binding us eternally in a loving relationship between us and God.

Perhaps a similar ritual is called for in this day and age, where marriage has become so fragile, to reaffirm the love and commitment needed between spouses.

Friday, April 04, 2008

A Refuge From Technology

Stand still in a shopping mall for a few minutes and observe the passers by. What you are likely to see are people somehow tethered to the invisible: people talking on cellphones, texting, thumbing BlackBerrys, tapping iPhones, or listening to iPods. They are oblivious to their environment and the people around them. They have found the perfect excuse to do as they were taught as children, to avoid strangers.

But it isn’t just strangers that they avoid. You can find small groups of people where each one is talking or texting someone else who isn’t present. If evolution could speed up, humans might soon appear with a short third arm with the sole purpose of supporting an electronic device close to their heads.

I am not a luddite. I am supportive of the development of new technologies and I am engaged in their distribution. I am an avid user of the internet and much of what the consumer digital world has to offer.

But there is a limit.

In recent weeks I have seen articles that bring to mind some real concerns about the abuse of such wonderful devices that were hardly known little more than a decade ago. One article bemoaned the loss of boredom, which is an important element in spurring creativity. With ubiquitous sources for occupation and entertainment, who needs to be creative? Another article addressed the communication gap developing between parents and children over text messaging. Families now have to contend with texting at the table during family meals. Some communities are attempting to declare weekly moratoriums on digital communications to encourage people to interact face to face, to enable families to share time together without intrusion.

The simple truth is that we have become a generation of techno-junkies. We have taken these very valuable tools and made them into a source for obsession and addiction. In the process we have made it seem that those who can be remotely accessed are more important to us than those who are in our presence. Tele-communication has become the preferred form of communication over face to face interaction, displacing family and community, and we have become enslaved to devices that we can fit in our pockets, to the point where we treat those we physically encounter with rudeness and total disregard.

The idea of a moratorium brought to mind the ideal of Shabbat. Abraham Joshua Heschel, the 20th century Jewish philosopher and activist, described Shabbat as “a palace in time,” one day out of seven when we can elevate ourselves and our environment by sanctifying that most uncontrollable element in our lives, the passage of time. It struck me, in thinking about how these technologies have taken such a dynamic role in our lives, that we have even less control over our lives now than we did ten years ago. We are never out of reach, and work can follow us when we are on vacation and even when we go into the bathroom.

Heschel’s metaphor may be in need of an upgrade.

I would remind owners of iPods that rechargeable batteries are not immortal. There are things that we can do to prolong the life of a battery, like allowing the battery to drain completely before recharging it at least once monthly. Constant recharging diminishes its capacity over time; allowing it to drain enables the battery to function better and longer. The same is true for a human being. As we allow technology to take over our lives, our senses become increasingly dulled to the world immediately around us, to those who are present in our lives, to our families, our neighbors, and our communities. We need a moment when we can recover from the ravages of time and technology, when we can recapture the essence of being human.

To upgrade Heschel’s metaphor would rob it of its poetic beauty. But just as a palace might be protected by fortifications, time, as well, seems in dire need of buttressing against those elements that continually rob us of it. We need Shabbat now as a fortification in time, as a refuge from the increasingly hurried pace of our lives, for without that refuge, we may never gain sight of a palace.

Tuesday, March 04, 2008

“But is it really bad for the Jews?” - The return of the Latin Mass for Good Friday

When looking inside the cover page of many Hebrew texts published in Europe over the last several centuries, one can find the imprimatur of a censor, often an apostate Jew, who made certain that nothing contained therein was offensive to the Church. Some editions of the Talmud had passages about Jesus and the Apostles removed. While some of these passages are problematic to contemporary sensitivities, they are part of our history, and these passages have found their way back into editions of the Talmud published today. We no longer have to contend with the censorship of the Catholic Church.

In this post-Holocaust era, a form of détente has developed between Jews and the Catholic Church. In the early 1960s, under the pontificates of John XXIII and Paul VI, the Vatican enacted sweeping reforms, among them the repudiation of its own anti-Semitic successionist theology and ushering in a period of dialogue that continues to this day. This is no small matter, as the Vatican has influence over millions of adherents around the globe.

Today, Jews are looking askance at recent promulgations of Pope Benedict XVI permitting parishes to return to the Latin Mass. At the heart of the conflict are passages in the Good Friday liturgy regarding the Jews. Good Friday commemorates the crucifixion of Jesus, and under Christian domination Jews often suffered from public humiliation and pogroms particularly on Good Friday and Easter for their historical role in his death and for our continued rejection of the christ. Prior to 1955, the mass included the following passage:

Let us pray also for the perfidious Jews: that Almighty God may remove the veil from their hearts; so that they too may acknowledge Jesus Christ our Lord. Almighty and eternal God, who dost not exclude from thy mercy even Jewish faithlessness: hear our prayers, which we offer for the blindness of that people; that acknowledging the light of thy Truth, which is Christ, they may be delivered from their darkness. Through the same Lord Jesus Christ, who lives and reigns with thee in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, for ever and ever. Amen. [Italics mine.]


Over the years, the passage underwent several minor changes, until 1970, when the liturgy was edited in accord with the reforms of Vatican II:

Let us pray for the Jewish people, the first to hear the word of God, that they may continue to grow in the love of his name and in faithfulness to his covenant. Almighty and eternal God, long ago you gave your promise to Abraham and his posterity. Listen to your Church as we pray that the people you first made your own may arrive at the fullness of redemption. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.


The differences are striking. Since 1970, Catholics under the dominion of the Vatican accepted the covenant between God and Israel, and they prayed for Jews to grow within that covenant. If anything was left open to question, it was the vague yet subtly stated hope that Jews “may arrive at the fullness of redemption.” The language of this version of the mass remains in effect for the vast majority of Catholics who enjoy the recitation of the liturgy in their own languages, also in accordance with Vatican II.

Not all Catholics took to the liturgical changes of Vatican II. For many, the loss of the Latin mass meant a break in an aesthetically meaningful tradition, while some felt that numerous changes left the church in a state of liturgical anarchy. Some within the church violated its canons and became separated from its umbrella. Under John Paul II and now under Benedict XVI, efforts have been underway to heal the rift. In recent months, the pope issued a letter that expanded on permissions granted by John Paul II, allowing for the recitation of the Latin Mass under some conditions. The liturgy had to follow the Latin version edited in 1962, but earlier this month, the Vatican released a change in the prayer for the Jews:

Let us also pray for the Jews: That our God and Lord may illuminate their hearts, that they acknowledge Jesus Christ is the Savior of all men. Almighty and eternal God, who want that all men be saved and come to the recognition of the truth, propitiously grant that even as the fulness of the peoples enters Thy Church, all Israel be saved. Through Christ Our Lord. Amen.


The proposed change attempts to strike a middle ground, intended to mollify theological conservatives while removing some of the earlier egregious language against the Jews. For Jews, however, as well as for some Catholics, this amounts to a turning back of the clock, a regression from building of bridges between the Catholic Church and the Jewish community. “This is a drastic retreat from the most important theological development of the modern era,” wrote James Carroll, a Catholic, in a Globe Op-Ed.

How are we to look at this development?

On the one hand, it takes considerable hubris for any one faith to make liturgical demands on another. Part of interfaith dialogue is the acceptance of differences between faiths and learning how to deal with those differences in a dignified manner. Some Catholics argue that there are Jewish prayers that they find objectionable, but they raise no alarms. This may be true, but nowhere in Jewish liturgy will you find a singling out of any faith, and most peoples mentioned ceased to exist long before Jewish liturgies crystalized. Jewish liturgy may call for the universal recognition of God, but that is the same God that Christians and Moslems share with Jews, and our faith and tradition withholds salvation from no one because they are not Jewish.

For Jews, Christian theologies and liturgies like this one can strike a raw nerve. It is hard to ignore two millenia of anti-Semitism that was nurtured by such prayers, and it is impossible to forget that in the past century six million Jews were reduced to ashes in the wake of a theology of hate, not to mention the countless others that perished in the Crusades, the Inquisition, and pogroms. Given the theological reforms of Vatican II, we might have expected a little more sensitivity.

In the end, if the Vatican will not otherwise demur from the past forty-two years of theological teachings on Jews and Judaism, how many churchgoers will understand and be adversely influenced when their priest intones:
Oremus et pro Iudaeis: Ut Deus et Dominus noster illuminet corda eorum, ut agnoscant Iesum Christum salvatorem omnium hominum. Omnipotens sempiterne Deus, qui vis ut omnes homines salvi fiant et ad agnitionem veritatis veniant, concede propitius, ut plenitudine gentium in Ecclesiam Tuam intrante omnis Israel salvus fiat. Per Christum Dominum nostrum. Amen.


Not many, I suspect.