Posts Tagged ‘Teachers Contributions’


The five Megillot are read, each at its time, over the course of the year. For the most part, it is easy to understand the connection between the Megilla in question and the time it is read. Eicha, naturally, is read on the 9th of Av, the date of the destruction of the Temple; Esther is read on Purim , the holiday that commemorates the events described in that Megilla. Perhaps somewhat less obviously, Shir HaShirim is read on Pesach. Pesach commemorates the exodus from Egypt, and according to the interpretations of Chazal, Shir HaShirim describes metaphorically the history of the Jewish people and its relationship to God (see Rashi, for example, on Shir HaShirim). In the early summer, on Shavuot, we read Rut, which describes events that occurred at that time of the year (during the barley harvest). In addition, Rut the Moabite takes on a life of Judaism and commitment to Torah, her own personal acceptance of the Torah, which parallels the Jewish people’s collective acceptance of Torah on Shavuot.

The reading of Kohelet on Sukkot, however, seems to be a bit out of place. Sukkot is the ultimate holiday of happiness. ושמחת בחגך… והיית אך שמח (and you shall rejoice on your holiday… and you shall be particularly happy) is a verse stated about Sukkot (Vayikra 16:15). Kohelet, on the other hand, is one of the most depressing, least encouraging works of Tanach. It focuses on the inevitability of death, the temporality of all worldly things, and the lack of ultimate value in any human endeavor. The end of the Megilla seems to find some comfort in a life of fear of God, but this seems to be only partial comfort to those who take the message of the body of the book seriously. Is Kohelet read on Sukkot only because it is the “only one left,” the last Megilla after the other four have been “taken?”

I do not have a complete answer to that question. I am not sure that I can explain the dissonance between the happiness of Sukkot and the despair of Kohelet. But I would like to point out a way in which Kohelet matches another theme of Sukkot. According to the Mishna, during Sukkot a person is to make his sukkah permanent and his house temporary (Sukkah 2:9) . The home which symbolizes permanence and solidity gets treated as something temporary and time-bound. The booth, temporary and time-bound, becomes something permanent and consistent. Similarly, when we left the established civilization of Egypt we were protected in God’s temporary dwellings in the transience of a desert existence (Vayikra 23:43). That is to say, on Sukkot we reflect on the temporality of the things we consider most permanent, by treating the temporary as permanent and vice versa. I suspect that we read Kohelet on Sukkot because we are to focus on the idea that we should not expect concrete walls and elaborate insurance policies to protect us from the temporality of life and inevitability of death. If there is ultimate meaning to be found, it is in the fear of God and the fulfillment of his commandments, for in fact the walls of our houses are really no more permanent than the walls of our Sukkot.

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Last Updated on Thursday, 1 October 2009 04:36

One of the great frustrations of anyone who observes the Jewish calendar are the conflicts that emerge when dealing with the secular rhythms of American life. The audible sigh of relief that the Chagim fall on weekends can be heard in many quarters.

It is curious that Jewish holidays are never on time. They are always early, or late. I’ve never heard it said that Rosh Hashana is on time this year. Nevertheless, the Jewish new year is in sync with the academic calendar. Both begin the year at around the same time.

School starts usually in Elul, just when we are preparing ourselves for the New Year. It is the only time the academic and Jewish calendars coincide. I don’t count Chanuka and xmas only because it was xmas that enhanced the importance of Chanuka. Certainly, there was nothing inherent in Chanuka that would make one take a break from school.

A major theme of Rosh Hashana is that not only our community, but the entire world is being judged at this time. It is a season of new beginnings for the entire world community. Elul is a time to change patterns of behavior that have proven to be destructive just as the school year affords those opportunities. This type of personal work is much easier when the general culture is also beginning a new term. Let everyone see themselves as preparing for the first day of a brand new term.

It’s a new semester folks, and change is possible.

This article was originally posted on scorchintorah.blogspot.com

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Last Updated on Monday, 24 August 2009 04:27

Last Thursday, I was among over 80 attendees from many countries listening to Rabbi Brovender on webyeshiva.org. He elucidated a couple of kinot (liturgical poems of lamentation) and gave the following insight. When the Prophet Jeremiah in the fifth chapter of Lamentations, asks that God should “Remember what we once had”, what is the Prophet assuming? That God can forget? What does it mean for God to remember, and what does that teach us about Jewish memory?

Going back to Noach, memory is also invoked. It says after the flood that “God remembered Noach”. It wasn’t like there were that many people around for Noach to get lost in the shuffle. So, what does memory mean in a Divine context. Rabbi Brovender then said, when the Prophet enjoins God to remember what we once had, he doesn’t imply that God has forgotten. He is asking God to activate the dynamic of what once was that has presently been put on hold.

Similarly, in one of the kinot when it says that “God didn’t remember the covenant with Avraham”, it’s not that God forgot, but rather that the process has been halted, and he petitions that the process be renewed.

As Faulkner once said: Not only is the past important, it’s not even past.

The class was given in memory of my teacher and Rabbi Brovender’s colleague and friend Rabbi Jay Miller. I think Rabbi Miller would have liked it.

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Last Updated on Tuesday, 4 August 2009 03:18

It is true that the things that are most common to us are often the things we know the least about. They are part of our natural routine and so we don’t question them. For many, the intricacies of breathing only become understood when that process is interrupted. Otherwise, there are many of us who happily walk around totally unaware of the science behind that which allows us to function.

Our spiritual habits are no different. People say אמן or “Ayyymen” all the time, assuming they both know what they mean and what it means–or maybe mindlessly parroting an accepted mimetic tradition, and knowing neither.

Last night, in the late summer of my years, I learned and then taught about the importance of this one word–not only in liturgy, but in everyday discourse.

The word Amen makes a brief appearance in the Talmud. It is a word with power. Resh Lakish says when said with gusto that it opens the gates of heaven. Ben Azzai cautions with a severe warning that one should never “orphan” an Amen, but it should always be connected to a bracha. Amen means nothing on its own, but becomes powerful only when it is responding to a blessing.

Well, what is it doing? What does it mean? What are we doing when we say it? Most people when they say amen are affirming what has been said to them. But it is more than that. Amen is an acronym for Al Melech Ne’eman אל מלך נאמן (God, the faithful king) and by saying it we affirm that all God’s promises will eventually come to pass.

People often improvise their own wishes in life where people affirm these impromptu blessings with an enthusiastic Amen. They are indeed affirming the words of the speaker, but they are also bearing witness that the One who created the world is in charge of fulfilling these wishes. We, impudent snots that we are, invoke Him even in circumstances where we are implicating Him in promises He has not made. It’s a sort of spiritual activism in which one should engage with some care, for a misplaced Amen the Gemara says, is a dangerous thing.

Amen is testimony. Amen is affirmation. Amen, at its best is done in response to others, so Amen does not only connect us to God, but our relationship with others–it is an opportunity to unify the commandments between people and God and the commandments between human beings in just one word.

No wonder it can open the gates of heavens.

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Last Updated on Thursday, 23 July 2009 10:49

I don’t know the situation in the various places across the world the WebYeshiva reaches, but in the Northeast where I live, it is increasingly common to meet people who classify themselves as Orthodox Jews, but whose views on human sexuality are shockingly at odds with those of the Torah. To call some of that into question, I thought it worth reminding ourselves of a few basic facts.

The attitudes to which I refer have an extreme and a moderate version. The extreme one says that people’s sexuality is their own private matter–as long as it does not hurt anyone else– and is therefore not really any of our business. In this perspective, homosexuality is fine, open marriages into which the parties enter of their own free will are fine, and the only problems with pedophilia and bestiality are the presumed negative effects on the child or animal involved (children are assumed not to be able to give informed consent to such activities).

The moderate version, so common in certain circles as to be almost rampant, recognizes that the Torah does not allow for such an ethic, but makes one or both of two points: First, that we live in societies that do not base their values on Torah law, so we cannot impose our views on others, and, second, that while we may disagree with these choices and see them as wrong, it is not our place to do anything about it, since these actions are private and therefore a matter purely between the participants and God.

For the first, I think it important to note that the Torah does not condone such sexuality—homosexual or adulterous—for Jews or non-Jews (premarital sex is only a problem for Jews, but my impression is that the people whose attitudes I am critiquing would see that as a private matter as well). If so, it seems impossible for a Jew to muster a sanguine attitude when the society around him or her condones conduct Torah law sees as a capital crime. Jews’ definitions of right and wrong are supposed to be shaped by the Torah’s perspective– to the extent that the Torah expresses what it sees as a universal value, applicable equally to all human adults, an observant Jew would be obligated to advocate, in whatever legitimate ways, for the actualization of that value within whatever society that Jew inhabits.

That would be true of all forms of conduct which the Torah prohibits. Sexuality has the added issue of the Torah’s seeing its wrongful expression as damaging not only to the participants, like all sin, but to the society as a whole. In the story at the end of Parshat Balak, the Jews’ copulating with the daughters of Midian was a national crime, not a personal one, and the plague stopped when Pinchas demonstrated the community’s opposition to such acts.

Similarly, the Torah tells us that the Land of Israel spewed out the Canaanite nations for their wrongful sexuality, a sign that these sins affect the whole ecology (the physical environment in addition to the society). Finally, the majority of the sins for which the Torah ascribes karet, excision from the Jewish people, are sexual, meaning that wrongful sexuality impinges on our right to see ourselves as members of the community in good standing.

Living in exile—including those who live in a State of Israel where Western values still reign supreme—we must always ask ourselves which of the values of the surrounding society are consonant with those of the Torah, which might enrich our understanding of what the Torah was trying to tell us, which are in tension with the Torah, and which are contradicted by the Torah.

The Western view of sexuality as a private matter between consenting adults which generally does not hurt others is, to my mind, one of the prime locations today where Jews mistake a value that is diametrically opposed to what the Torah wants for one that is consonant with Torah. We need to remind ourselves, here and elsewhere, that the values and ideal of the world around us are not always ours, that as עובדי ה’, servants of God, we sometimes need to walk a separate and lonely path. The advantage of that path is that it brings us closer to our Creator, and lets us partake in perfecting the world in the Kingdom of Holy One.

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Last Updated on Thursday, 16 July 2009 10:53