Miscellaneous

Shira Pransky Memorial Video

It is interesting to note that Medieval classics like the Rokeach, Shiblei HaLeket, Kolbo and Abudarham are works that are referenced more than they are learned. Only when one wants to explore a topic are these books revealed in greater detail. I was asked to give a class on the Siddur to which I reluctantly agreed. My hesitation came from feeling that this once a week class would require much thought and preparation for a topic I regarded as less than exciting. Boy, was I wrong!

Every week I’ve been exposed to these early Medieval Halachic authorities who instead of writing codes, wrote what amounts to brief essays on Kaddish, Pesukei D’zimra, and Baruch. The Talmud has pithy aphorisms in random places that give insight into the meaning of many of these prayers, but these writers extend what have become popular quotations with questions that rarely occur to those who routinely and somewhat mindlessly utter their prayers each day. I count myself among them. Prayer is a time for declaration, not analysis, but analysis of prayer is an appropriate enterprise for learning–I, like many, never got around to doing it.

Last night I lifted a couple of paragraphs from Rav David Abudarham’s classic 14th Century work on liturgy. He wrote this book with the following purpose in mind:

“the customs connected with prayer have become varied from one country to another, and most of the people do not understand the words of the prayers, nor do they know the correct ritual procedures and the reasons for them.”

He poses the following question: Why is it that most Brachot begin by addressing God in the second person and end by referring to Him in the third person. We begin with Baruch Ata (Blessed are You) and we end by saying Borei Peri Hagafen (the one who created the fruit of the vine). Why doesn’t it say, “that You created the vine.

He explains that this is reflective of how we experience God which is primarily through His actions. Because we believe all things come from Him and no other entity, because we believe this, we demonstrate this by addressing God as an intimate. We cannot, however, presume to know God’s essence, so that when we attribute what He has made, we switch to the third person. For aspects of God are both present and hidden. This is also reflected in human beings. Our actions are revealed, but the essence of our heart remains hidden within us. Whereas our deeds are connected to God only through mitzvot, our hearts, our thoughts have the potential to be continuously connected to the Holy One.

He also clears up the issue of what it means to say Baruch Atah. We are not blessing God–How would that make sense anyway? We are acknowledging that God is the source of all blessing. Baruch Atah means “You are the source of blessing”, and then the rest of the Bracha makes sense…”King of the universe, who created the fruit of the vine.”

Sometimes one has to be pushed to learn something that he should have known a long time ago.

In our prayers and our conception, we speak and think of the recently completed holiday of Shavuot as זמן מתן תורתנו, the time of the giving of our Torah. This misidentification highlights a paradox that should heighten our appreciation of the tragedies of the Three Weeks, the period between the 17th of Tammuz and the 9th of Av.

Shavuot is not, in fact, זמן מתן תורתנו, at least not according to our current practice of Jewish law. In a long discussion starting on פ”ז., 87a, in Massechet Shabbat, the Talmud presents a debate between R. Yose and Rabanan as to whether the Torah was given on the 6th of Sivan (the first day of Shavuot) or the 7th. Based on the rule that יחיד ורבים חלכה כרבים, when an individual and a group have a debate the halacha follows the group, we would ordinarily rule according to Rabanan, which would then put the giving of the Torah on what we celebrate as the first day of Shavuot.

That debate, however, also has ramifications for our practice of the laws of Nidda commonly translated as Family Purity. There, common practice follows the opinion of R. Yose, which would mean that the Giving of the Torah happened on the seventh of Sivan, a day after Shavuot. Hundreds of years of rabbinic discussion of this issue has yielded many solutions to how to reconcile the two, but further problems make clear that the Torah did not originally think of Shavuot as a Giving of the Torah holiday.
For example, the Torah dates Shavuot as forty-nine days after the offering of the Omer. Since by Torah law the calendar was supposed to be set by eyewitness testimony, those forty-nine days could end on either the 5th, 6th, or 7th of Sivan, only one of which is the anniversary of Matan Torah, the Giving of the Torah.

Most problematic, though, is that the Torah itself never connects these two events, a shocking lacuna if the Giving of the Torah was in any way central to the experience of Shavuot. As the phrase in Hebrew goes, עיקר חסר מן הספר, the essential point is missing; if מעמד הר סיני, Standing at Sinai, was part of the fabric of Shavuot, the Torah should have at least alerted us. Whether or not the date was the same, the Torah does not seem to care.

Instead, the Torah speaks of Shavuot as a holiday of שתי הלחם, of the giving of two loaves of bread, a celebration of the offering of new produce in the Temple for that year. We can leave the full exposition of that idea for just before next Shavuot, but it reminds us that the loss of the Temple rendered the holiday itself almost incomprehensible.

That is one example of what we too often fail to realize, but to which the Three Weeks call for us to resensitize ourselves, the extent to which the loss of the Temple has altered the religion God actually gave us. Shavuot serves as one good example, where a holiday focused on renewing our relationship with the Temple has instead been turned into a holiday of renewal in our relationship to Torah. This fits well with the Talmudic dictum that מיום שחרב בית המקדש אין לו לקב”ה בעולמו אלא ד’ אמות של הלכה בלבד, from the day the Temple was destroyed, God only has in this world the four ells of halacha. Accurate as that statement is (and well as it represents what occurred with the holiday of Shavuot), we too often neglect the beginning of the statement—מיום שחרב בית המקדש, from the day the Temple was destroyed. The Talmud implies not only the truth of our current reality but also that the pre-Destruction reality differed, and the reality we long to return to will differ as well.

Some aspects of that pre-Destruction reality worth considering, since it is the first set of those that might soon return in full force, is the set of halachot that come into play only when the Yovel is in force. For that to happen, we would need a majority of world Jewry to be living in Israel, which is demographically likely in the next half-century. According to most authorities, that would also require שבטים במקומם, the various tribes inhabiting their proper sections of the Land of Israel.

With that occurrence, Shemitta would once again apply on a Torah level (removing any question of a היתר מכירה, a sale of the Land for the year, for example), and the possibility of accepting גרי תושב, resident aliens, would return, significantly altering our relationships with non-Jews in the Land of Israel (at least if we operate with halachic categories). In addition, buying and selling real estate in the Land of Israel as well as lending money in general would change.

All that might come to fruition in the near and natural future, without the coming of Mashiach or the rebuilding of the Temple.

Those two events—which we say we long for—would include a return of סמיכה, the original ordination that gives the Sanhedrin broad legislative and judicial powers, including the right to absolutely determine halacha for the entire Jewish people (in contrast to today, where every community follows its particular rabbi) and to administer the death penalty when necessary.

The return of the Temple would bring with it animal sacrifice, which includes the Paschal sacrifice, the Yom Kippur service of the High Priest, and the libation celebrations of the holiday of Sukkot. All of these, almost alien to our imaginations, are part of what we are supposed to mourn during the Three Weeks. Just as we can no longer fully imagine Shavuot in the way the Torah meant it, I fear we can no longer fully imagine these other important aspects of the religion the way God gave it to us. And that itself seems cause enough to mourn.

This is a beautiful story I heard not once, but many times from my heilige Rebbe Reb Shlomo Carlebach, tzl. Maybe you know it already, but that’s okay because some stories are meant to be told and heard over and over.

Once a chasid came to the Holy Reb Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev and asked him for help with a passport so that he wouldn’t need to go to the authorities to get it. The Rebbe went into his room for a few moments and came out with a blank piece of paper. The chasid was a little freaked out but the Rebbe assured him it would be fine. It takes so much emuna to walk up to the border and hand the guard a blank piece of paper. But that is exactly what the chasid did. Baruch Hashem, all went well – the guard looked at the “passport” and treated him like a king and helped him throughout his journey. The chasid came home and all was well.

Many, many years later in 1935, a Munkatcher chasid went to the Rebbe of Munkatch, the Rebbe Chaim Eleazar Shapira, and asked him for a special passport to help him as he had to go to Nazi Germany. The chasid asked him for a passport like the one the holy Reb Levi Yitschak had given his chasid.
The Munkatcher went into his room and was there for three hours. He came out with his face red from crying. He also handed his chasid a blank piece of paper but the paper was wet with tears. The Rebbe said that really our generation is not on the level of this kind of passport so promise me that you will never tell anyone about it as long as I live.

The chasid came to the Nazi border and the guard asked for his passport. The chasid gave him the blank piece of paper. The guard began exclaiming that it was a great honor to have him come to his country and gave him a letter to the police of each town so they will take care of you and protect you. He received a car and a driver and they paid for his hotel rooms and baruch Hashem, he too arrived home safely.

The Munkatcher Rebbe died the following year. Three years later the chasid became very sick and he realized his time for this world was about up. He called his family close to him and told them the secret of his holy Munkatcher passport and he asked that the passport be in his hand when they bury him.
Reb Shlomo told us that every Gemara starts on page two – page one is blank – Hashem gives us a Munkatcher passport so we can learn Torah. And when you are at the Holy Kotel and you realize that, “tachlis”, there is not much to really see there but you begin to daven from your heart the gates of Heaven open - it is because Hashem is giving you a holy Munkatcher passport.

May we all give each other “Munkatcher passports” – may we all open the gates for each other, may we all open the gates and let our walls down and no longer ever feel separate from Hashem, from our children, from our spouses, from our nation and from ourselves!!

Jews throughout their history have had to contend with kidnappings and ransoms. It was so prevalent that legislation had already appeared in the Talmud.

The Sages ascertained that being held captive was a fate literally worse than death:

Rava said to Rabba Bar Mari, “Where does this notion that redeeming the captive is considered so special that the sages called it an exceptionally great mitzva appear? As it is written: “And when they will say to you, “Where shall we go?” You will say to them, “So says the LORD, those to die will die, those to go by the sword, will go by the sword, those by famine will be by famine and those who will be taken captive will be taken captive.” (Yirmiahu 15:2, 42:11) And Rabbi Yochanan said, “[In this verse] the afflictions become increasingly more severe. [For example] The sword is considered more severe than death.” [and therefore being held captive is worse than famine] (Bava Batra 8b)

Nevertheless, the Sages cautioned that one should not “over pay” for redeeming captives because of Tikun HaOlam i.e. one would encourage the practice of kidnapping which would be detrimental to the entire community. The Mishna states:

One never redeems captives for more than they are worth, because of our concern for Tikkun HaOlam. One also does not help captives escape because of our concern for Tikkun HaOlam. (Gittin 45a)

Using this principle, the primary goal of a policy should be to deter piracy while the goal of redeeming the individual captive is secondary. It is clear that paying ransom encourages piracy, but keeps captives alive, while killing pirates may have a detrimental impact on the survival of captives. Both caving in or military action have downsides. A third option was offered in an op. ed piece in The New York Times:

In 1995, for example, the water supply for Mogadishu, the capital, was shut off by the United Nations humanitarian agencies until a hostage who worked for another aid organization was released. On the first day of the shutoff, the women who collected water from public distribution points yelled at the kidnappers; on the second day they stoned them; on the third day they shot at them; on the fourth day, the hostage was released.

Here in option three, collective punishment makes the captors so unpopular they are forced to release their captives. This reminds me of the O. Henry short story, “The Ransom of Red Chief” where the captive was so obnoxious the kidnappers decided the enterprise wasn’t worth it.

One question, what do you think would have happened if Israel had turned off the water of Gaza after Gilad Shalit was captured? The Sages may have approved, but what would the response of the hypocritical U.N. have been? Not a hard call.

This article was originally posted on http://scorchintorah.blogspot.com/

The Torah includes three commandments to love. We are to love our neighbor (Vayikra 19:18), love God (Devarim 6:5), and love the convert (Devarim 10:19). Regarding parents, the Torah does not explicitly command love but does obligate honor and reverence (Shemot 20: 11, Vayikra 19:3). How should we understand the absence of a clear directive to love parents? Why, in contrast, does the Torah command loving the convert?

R. Avraham Danzig (Chayei Adam, kellal 69) argues that it is obvious that a person should love his or her parents. First of all, the command to love neighbors includes parents as well. Moreover, the Zohar (parshat Ki Tetze) compares loving parents with loving God. From this perspective the need for such love is self–understood even without an explicit command. Granting the logical cogency of this position, we can still ask why the Torah did not formulate an unambiguous demand.

Rambam offers a different perspective in his letter to Ovadia the convert in which Rambam attempts to console Ovadia after a teacher had insulted the convert. Rambam emphasizes the greatness of someone who joined a persecuted and downtrodden people in the pursuit of truth and idealism. To illustrate the point, Rambam notes that that the Torah commands love of the convert but not love of the prophet or parents. He states that we must listen to the prophet and honor our parents but not necessarily love them (see page 240 of the Shilat edition of Rambam’s letters).

Of course, we should see this letter in context. Rambam wants to bolster Ovadia’s feelings so he does not add that, of course, a person should love parents as well. At the same time, his point is well taken. Accept the logic of Rambam’s presentation returns us to our opening questions.

Let us begin with love for the convert. R. Yitzhak Hutner (Pachad Yitzhak Pesach 8, 29) raises two possible sources for this love. Perhaps the love stems from sympathy for the convert’s plight. Leaving one’s family and culture to join another religion certainly presents significant difficulties. We express love for the convert because we pity him. Conversely, our love may reflect admiration for the convert’s magnificent achievement. Rav Hutner infers this position from Rambam’s parallel between love of God and love of the convert (Hilchot Deot 6:4). We love God for His greatness, not out of sympathetic pity. In analogous fashion, we love the convert for his idealistic heroism.

From either perspective, we might understand why this love does not apply to parents. The pity theme does not apply nor have parents necessarily done anything resembling the dramatic act of conversion. The reasons to especially love the convert do not mandate love of parents. Additionally, one cannot help but wonder whether the Torah takes into consideration the occasional rocky relationship between parents and children. The Torah does not demand constant love for parents but it does require respect and reverence. Even during the rougher times in the relationship, children must relate to their parents respectfully.

As mentioned, a normal and healthy parent child relationship includes mutual love. Perhaps we can conclude by noting a range of reasons to love another. Rav Hutner’s analysis points out how we can love out of sympathy or out of admiration. Love for parents brings a third love to the fore – love that stems from gratitude. Morally decent people must manifest all three types of love.

For discussion of a different angle in the letter to Ovadia, see my earlier blog post: http://blog.webyeshiva.org/machshava/biology-ideology-and-conversion/

On Nov. 29, 2004 the Supreme Court of Israel issued a ruling, indicative of the uneasy balance between Religion and State in the Jewish state. In a majority decision, the judges determined that the plaintiff was free to leave the country, nullifying the State Rabbinical Court’s restraining order prohibiting him from exiting it. The Rabbinical Court did so in order to review the issue of spousal support as long as the plaintiff was married in the eyes of Jewish law, that is until he would give his wife a get—a Jewish writ of divorce. In the words of Justice Ayala Procaccia: “This appeal raises the question of the Israeli Rabbinical Courts’ boundaries of jurisdiction regarding Jewish spouses who have no association by way of citizenship or residency with Israel.” The determination that the Rabbinical Court has no such jurisdiction, has far-reaching implications for Jewish women living outside the boundaries of Israel. Though they may turn to the Jewish state for redress of their grievances, the Rabbinical Courts of Israel are legally prohibited from providing religious remedy. In this particular case, the man and woman had been married civilly and in accordance with halacha—Jewish law. Although there was a civil divorce decree in Monaco in the year 2000, the husband has not given his wife a get. Until he does so, the woman is prohibited from remarrying according to the halacha, since she is still bonded in marriage to the man from whom she is civilly divorced. He insisted on Shalom Bayit—marital reunification, after seven years (!) of separation and a civil divorce in the interim. Note that the “husband” preferred to engage both his “wife” and the Israeli Rabbinical Courts in battle, taking them to the Supreme Court, rather then simply give his “wife” a get.

Not only is this a common occurrence in the Diaspora, the phenomenon of get –refusal exists in the State of Israel where there is no civil divorce. The halacha, is the determining factor in the civil recognition of marriage or divorce. The civil courts, including the State Family Court, have no jurisdiction by law over matters of personal status. A Jewish person wishing to avail himself of State provided services of marriage and divorce, falls under the authority of the Rabbinical Court. However, even at the point where the Rabbinical Court has ruled that the husband is obligated to divorce his wife, the husband has to give the get. Not the Rabbi. That being the case, the husband can make demands, outrageous or otherwise, which must be met by the wife in order to secure his compliance to divorce. He can even simply refuse to give a get. A Rabbinical Court may have jurisdiction in Israel and far-reaching powers over Israelis, but neither it nor its counterpart in the Diaspora has the power to issue a divorce decree in the husband’s stead.

Thus a woman who has agreed to bind herself to her husband through a religious Jewish ceremony, does not have the power to separate herself freely from that sanctified union. She remains married to her spouse in the eyes of the halacha until he agrees to free her. This woman can be termed a modern-day “aguna”—a chained woman. The tragic situation of get -refusal has become widespread in the past century or so. (It can even rear its head in the reverse situation—a man can also be a victim of get-refusal. Notwithstanding, those circumstances are less common and less devastating.) Modernism and mobility have contributed to the creation of a problem which is a world-wide phenomenon. The strands of democracy and halakha have intertwined, at times strengthening each other, at times limiting. That precarious equilibrium is in danger of being breached.

While we are witness in individual cases of earnest attempts to reach a resolution in the form of a get, the tragedies seem to multiply themselves, crying out for resolution. “Technical unfairness”, in the Diaspora Rabbinical Courts and in Israel alike, of litigants’ failure to appear, months or years of deliberations, postponements of court sessions and the like are only the surface of the problem. What is needed is a deep, sensitive, honest and persistent evaluation by the Rabbinic establishment of this untenable situation, contending with it as a broad phenomenon. Following that must come a variety of solutions—the establishment of principles effecting the resolution of existing cases as well as preventative measures—deeply rooted in the halacha, developed by those men and women most committed to the halacha. Rabbis of all schools of thought, of diverse communities or countries, of various stations, must put aside their differences in a united effort to end this abuse of matrimonial sanctification.

In the Monaco case, the Justices added their pleas to those of Rabbis in France and in Israel, asking the man to free his wife. We have reached a point in Jewish history where pleas alone, no matter how justified or anguished, do not suffice. Even stern rulings of the Rabbinical or Israeli Supreme Courts do not resolve the deep problem. Justice Elyakim Rubinstein (the minority opinion), laid out an overview of proposed solutions from within the halacha —ranging from methods of annulment after the fact, to prenuptial agreements for the prevention of get-refusal. Perhaps that reference will capture the attention of the Rabbinic establishment, worldwide. Unfortunately for the agunah of Monaco, the Supreme Court’s decision to let him go ensured that he would not let her go.

Update: If you are looking for the live Yahrtzeit shiur to be given by Rabbi Pransky at 9 PM Israel time on 17 Shevat/ January 31st, click here.