Baynonim

2005-01-08T22:59:00.000-05:00

:: Blink ::

:: Blink ::

:: Streeetcccchhhhhhhhh ::

We went to a Bat Mitzvah tonight, which is not something our new friends do, not in the neighborhood we live in now, not a Bat Mitzvah like this one anyway. Shteebel people don't do bat mitzvahs, and when they do they are calm. They are sedate. This one, though was anything but. It had ear-poppingly loud hip-hop songs (with Hebrew lyrics); raucous (single-sex) slam dancing; a DJ and dancers (who all wore wigs, and spoke with, you know, that Jewish accent, including -especially - the very matronly head DJ) ; inspirational divrei Torah (delivered by women.) Sushi. Steak.

I won't lie to you: I enjoyed it, (and you'll never meet a man who dislikes eating steak in a room with music and dancing woman.) My wife liked it, too, but she wasn't completely comfortable. "We're not doing this for our oldest daughter," she exclaimed, a little too loudly for my liking.

For the record I agree.

We sat with people who agreed, too. During breaks in the music, we discovered that I was the only person at our table who had ever been to a bat mitzvah before - by which the tablemates meant a bat mitzvah like this one. I was also the only one who knew the rules to "Pepsi / Coca-cola" – a party game that very well might have been played at Sorah Imanu's bat mitzvah.

The rules have changed though. Lots of new wrinkles have been added. The girls knew all the steps. As if driven by instinct. I used to know girls like that...

Oddly, as the night progressed, though, I found myself thinking not of tweenagers, but of single Jewish woman, woman in their thirties, woman who are stilled called “girls” by clueless matrons, woman who haven’t yet found their man, or their place yet on the wide, wide, spectrum that is the Orthodox Jewish community. At some point we all choose our own spot on that spectrum, and implicitly we announce that all the other spots – the Hasidic spot, the modern spot, or whatever – we announce that those other spots aren’t for us, or for our children.

I was married before I thought about these things. I didn't understand the deep deivisions in Orthodoxy, and it never occured to me that I might one day live, and also thrive, in a neighborhood so alien to my upbringing. Now, at thirty-two, my bed is made so to speak. I have the house, I have the kids, I have the community, and for better or for worse, I have my spot on the spectrum.

What do single women do, I wondered? Do they choose their spot on the spectrum, and hope to meet a guy on the same spot? Or do they keep their doors open, saying, I can be happy on any one of a dozen spots, so let's not foreclose any opportunties. I'll worry about it after I meet my man.

That's what I would say, if I was single again. That's essentially what I said until I ended up in my little town, and it's what I've tried to do, with small success, since we got here.

Anyway, as I listened to the throbing songs, I thought about choices and opportunities. What must it be like to be a single adult - a real, fully aware, adult and not a twenty-one year old pishka, rushing to marry the first, sorry, only girl he ever loved? What must it be like to be that adult, an adult who is not married or living in a community, and is therefore able to keep a toe, or more, concurrently, in all those different spots on the rich spectrum of Jewish life?

Is it liberating? Is it terrifying? Is it really possible to do once you have the house and the kids? Lord knows, I am trying....

[Note: Bad form I know, but I am reserving the right to edit my work after publication. This post is not in its final form until this footnote disapears]

2004-11-09T21:19:00.000-05:00

When last we saw Adam Ragil, he was approaching the lecturn at a meeting of the shteeble membership.

Folks, I was nervous. There I was, rising to face the crowd that had just brought a bead of sweat to the brow of one of the great unflappables of all time, our Grand Poobah. (Shteebles have no presidents) ... rising to tell a group of snarling Orthodox Jews that they were wrong about what they thought was a religious issue ...rising to out myself as "different" ...rising to make it clear, once and for all, that I was not with them on this matter.

My argument had a simple theme, and I spoke for less than 3 minutes before the crowd interrupted. Twice I asked for quiet. Twice I demanded to be heard. In the end the Rabbi was asked to interfere, by L, no less. To my embarrassment and disappointment the Rabbi sided with L, and with the mob. I sat down red-faced, unable to escape L's broad Cheshire smile.

Concisely, this was my argument: A shul is like a hospital. We expect higher standards from a hospital. We should expect higher standards from a shul. We can agree, I think, that face-to-face seating will undermine the shul's decorum. If we're sitting across from each other, we'll talk. Also, it's disrespectful to the sanctuary for us to sit with our backs to the front of the shul. If we commit ourselves to higher standards, it will be a wonderful example for ourselves and for our children.

At this point, I was interrupted for the first or second time.

Among the objections from the crowd: We had face-to-face seating in the shuls we grew up in. There's nothing wrong with it. It's not disrespectful. We turned out fine, didn't we? Ddidn't we? A shul without a table is not a shul. The atmosphere will be wrong. The feeling will be wrong. We won't like it. We can't have it. No. No. No.

I demanded silence. We've banished whiskey from the shul, even though there is room to allow it, I said. Our mechitzah is higher and thicker than any other mechitzah in the neighborhood. We've gone the extra mile for kashrus and for tznius. Why aren't we willing to go the extra mile for the sake of decorum, for the sake of teaching our children what it means to respect a shul?

I was interrupted again "Maybe where you grew up in this wasn't allowed. But we don't mind." said a man about my age, and L, my dear friend and arch-antagonist, saw his opening "Let's ask the rabbi," he called in his booming voice. "Is face-to-face seating ossur?"

Until now, the Rabbi had been sitting quietly in the front of the room., his nose in a book. He raised his head at L's invitation. I should interject here that, begining with the girl's event, the Rabbi and I became friendly. Often he shared with me with impatiance with the congregation, and their commitment to style, but not to halacha. I'm sure he saw this as another example. Tables in a shul after all, are about style. Not halacha. But he had been asked the question in terms of halacha, and by training and by temperament, our Rabbi is at first a jurist.

He sighed, and said, "I knew this was what the Grand Poobah had in mind, so I asked around and did some research. The answer is no. There is no reason to think that sitting backwards is prohibited or that it is a sign of disrespect to the Torah."

The crowd erupted. Was it my imagination or did I hear someone say, "So much for the modern guy?" I returned to my seat and passed L, style-concious L, grinning his stupid grin. He and his ilk had won, I suppose. The shul would have tables. The look and feel he wanted would be preserved, but at what expense?

I still think about the night. What, really, was I trying to accomplish? Was I declaring my independence from the group-think of the shteeble? Was I protesting our uncritical acceptance of received wisdom? Our conformity? Our refusal to act where the halacha is silent? Our short-sighted practice of putting style over substance? Did I really think I was going to convince anyone? Or, as my wife, ever the EC suggests, perhaps I was just trying to sabatoge my relationship with the shteeble. I don't know.

I suppose I wrote this post hoping to find the answer.

2004-10-27T15:27:00.000-04:00

Well I was wrong. The Poobahs of the Shteeble weren't pushing expansion; nonetheless, the meeting was heated and angry and I left feeling cheated.

In the shteeble, we sit at tables. Each table seats about 5 men, and we sit facing the front of the room. As you can guess, the tables take up some space. Each one is about 6 inches wide, and made from a good, firm wood. They look nice, and, best of all, they contribute to the illusion that the shteeble is also a house of study.

But we have a problem: the shteeble is full. For the last several weeks men have been standing in the aisles, and, as the neighborhood becomes Christian-rein the membership will certainly swell. A meeting was called to discuss solutions.

The Grand Poobah took the floor, and dropped a nuclear bomb. He proposed eliminating the tables all together, and replacing them with benches. This suggestion was not received with smiles and happy faces.

Here are some highights of the learned discussion that followed:

"How can you have a shul without tables!"
"When we agreed to join this shul, we thought we were getting tables!"
"My father was one of the founders of this shul, and believe me, he would have wanted tables!"
"What are we, all of a sudden? A church?"
"What does the Rabbi say?"
"I can't belong to a shul that doesn't have tables!"

You could tell the GP wasn't expecting to be rebuffed so forcefully. You could actually see his brow begin to quiver, and the beads of sweat begin to form. Chastised, he asked for compromises.

"Let's sit face-to-face!" answered the crowd.

"But if we do that, half of the congregation will be sitting with their backs to the front of the shul," the GP replied.

"We don't care," roared the crowd.

The GP asked for comments.

And so, with the Rabbi's comment regarding whiskey-gate ringing in my ears, ("We can't be too safe") I stood up.

to be continued

2004-10-26T13:31:00.000-04:00

I promised a post on shul politics, I know, I know. I have a story to tell about whiskey, tables and chairs, but the muse is failing me. The words just aren't organizing themselves in my head or on the page.

Here are the basic facts:

The shteeble has become a Whiskey-Free-Zone. Why? Because of that Jewish Action article from last month, of course. The article suggests that distilleries might be mixing the whiskey with wine or other non-kosher blenders"We can't be too safe," announced the Rabbi, and so whiskey is banned from the shteeble until further notice.

Our local drunks are simmering, and also learning: Rav Moshe's views on the subject are being furiously argued and studied in person and via email, even as they make unpleasent remarks about the limits of the Rabbi's authority. So, as the Rabbi might say, " it can't be all bad." He likes it when people study Torah. No doubt, he's pleased to be the stimulus.

Meanwhile, the shteeble is also trying to grow. At best, the shteeble seats 100 men. On a typical weekend, this isn't enough. Not nearly. And as the local non-Jews continue to flee, the problem will become worse and worse. A Membership Meeting has been called, and expansion is on the agenda - or rather it would be, if meetings in shteebles actually had agendas. I'll be attending, but without my checkbook.

There's a connection here between the whiskey and the crowding in the shteeble, I just know it. By tomorrow, I hope to have found it.

2004-10-26T11:10:00.000-04:00

Still evaluating...

The author of the best comment will be announced tomorrow. Meantime, you're welcome to vote.

2004-10-25T13:23:00.000-04:00

He's witty. He's irrevrant. He reads my blog.
Say hello to DovBear.

2004-10-22T10:16:00.000-04:00

A week of politics on baynonim: Part 4 of 4
THE WAR

Go to: Part 1. Go to Part 2. Go to Part 3
Go to: Other things to read if politics bore you to tears.

This swing voter has thrown down the gauntlet. I've asked the blogosphere to tell me why either candidate for president deserves my vote. I'll write about an issue where the president has disapointed me. His supporters are invited to tell me why I am wrong; his detractors are welcome to add to the discussion. Make your arguments in the comment section. At the end of the week, the author of the most impressive comment will have his or her name added to the sidebar, where it will belong to the ages.
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I voted for Bush in 2000, and I was among his loudest supporters immediately after 9/11. Now, I'm flirting with Kerry. When my friends ask me why I've become disillusioned with Bush, I have a two-word answer: The War. There were no weapons of mass destruction, no connection between Iraq and Osama, no happy, liberated villagers greeting us with flowers, no oil revenues to pay for it all. It was all a mistake, a mistake the president steadfastly refuses to admit, which reflects poorly on his character.

A year after the president declared "mission accomplished", our magnificently trained, equipped and motivated young soldiers are pinned down in a hostile environment, stalked by mujihadeen from other Islamic countries sneaking into the chaos of Iraq. It was not bad enough that terrorists were able to find ways to get into the United States and harm us greatly; we have now set ourselves up on their territory -- as targets.

A year later our nation's credibility and treasure - billions of dollars per month! -has been squandered on removing a petty thug who, we've discovered, never had the capacity to do us any real harm, while Osama bin Ladin was allowed to escape into the hills of eastern Afghanstan, where he is surly planning new mayhem. North Korea inches closer to a nuclear weapon, but our capacity for responding to a new threat has been greatly reduced. Our resources were wasted on the wrong enemy. We're cops who went after the pick-pocket, while the mob-boss gathered strength. We no longer have the troops, the money or credibility to face-down North Korea should it beecome necessary, as it almost certainly will.

A year later, the insurgents are not defeated, conditions are not more peaceful, the blanket of fear is spreading, cooperation is fraying, and attacks on U.S. personnel are growing bolder. Doesn't this prove Bush is failing?

Which brings me to Kerry.

The very best line uttered in three debates came from the president when he said,

"And what is he going to say to those people that show up at the summit? Join me in the wrong war at the wrong time at the wrong place? Risk your troops in a war you've called a mistake? Nobody is going to follow somebody who doesn't believe we can succeed and with somebody who says that war where we are is a mistake."

That's an excellent question. Really superb. Mr. Kerry, how do you propose to end the war, and to restore our credibility? In three debates, you offered no plan. Nothing in your woefully undistinguished record suggests that you have the ability to solve this problem, and your comments, as the president suggested, may have made it impossible for you to succeed.

So, what to do? Do I vote to fire the incompetent, unethical war manager, the man who, on the war-front continues to embarrass us, to impoverish us, to deny reality, and to enrich his cronies via shady no-bid contracts? Or should I stay with the president, reasoning that a vote for Kerry, the cipher, tells troops and terrrorists that the United States lacks resolve and can be intimidated?

What to do?

2004-10-21T21:27:00.000-04:00

Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
Hang on kids, hang on. We're almost home.

The blog's foray into real-world politics ends tomorrow. Starting Monday we make ammends. Stay tuned for a full week of shul politics.

2004-10-21T16:06:00.000-04:00

Interlude

My favorite magazine is having a baynonim moment of it's own. TNR sidled up to Bush in the months immidiately following September 11, but now the editors have seen enough.

Here is the money quote:

"The president's war on terrorism, which initially offered a striking contrast to his special interest-driven domestic agenda, has come to resemble it. The common thread is ideological certainty untroubled by empirical evidence, intellectual curiosity, or open debate. The ideology that guides this president's war on terrorism is more appealing than the corporate cronyism that guides his domestic policy. But it has been pursued with the same sectarian, thuggish, and ultimately self-defeating spirit. You cannot lead the world without listening to it. You cannot make the Middle East more democratic while making it more anti-American. You cannot make the United States more secure while using security as a partisan weapon. And you cannot demand accountable government abroad while undermining it at home. And so a president who promised to make America safer by making the Muslim world more free has failed on both counts."

I'm not sold on Kerry, yet, but Bush is running out of time. If there are any Bush-supporters in the Readership, please raise your voices in the comment section.

2004-10-21T11:20:00.000-04:00

A week of politics on baynonim: Part 3
ISRAEL

Go to: Part 1.
Go to Part 2.
Go to: Other things to read if politics bore you to tears.

To review: This week I'm listing some of my reasons for turning against Bush, after voting for him in 2000. If you're a Kerry fan, you may add to the argument in the comment section (Please no "right ons." I haven't yet reconciled myself to Kerry. If you're a Kerry-supporter who can argue cogently on his behalf, please do so.)

On the other hand, if you're a Bush-supporter please use the comment section to tell me why I am wrong. Though the Kerry-admirers have done a very good job arguing for their man over the last two days, I'm still in the middle, and open to good arguments from all sides.

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Now for the red meat: Israel. It is an article of faith among the true believers that Bush is Israel's best friend since... since... has Israel ever had a best friend? None come to mind. Anyway, I don't buy it. Bush is not a firend. His motives are suspect, even creepy, and his actual record on Israel hardly sparkles.

Motivations: Bush, as we all know, is a born again Christain, and the born-againers, unfortunately, have this bizarre eschatological fantasy, in which Israel plays a staring role. Many evangelicals love Israel, but only because in their Biblical end-of-days scenario, the gathering of Jews in the Holy Land is necessary for the Second Coming. Inconveniently for the Jews, the story calls for them to either abandon their beliefs or be exterminated in time for the great rapture.

This raises a question we should ponder: What will born-againers like Bush do if Israel ever takes actions that undermine the biblical justification for its existence? Will the president's support for Israel continue if it becomes clear that Israel is not paving the way for rapture? Ultimately, if you don't love Israel for what it is, you can't be trusted to love it at all. If Bush the born-againer only supports Israel because he is looking forward to the rapture - and the eventual destruction of Judaism - we must disdain his support.

Record: I supported Bush in 2000, in part, because he promised to move the US Embassy to Jerusalem. He hasn't delivered. Bush is also the first US president to call for the creation of a Palestinian state. He opposed Israel's security fence throughout 2003, threatening Israel's loan guarantees, and then suddenly supported it - coincidentally, at the start of the election year. For years, he refused to call Yasser Arafat a terrorist and insisted the Arafat remain the negotiating partner. And like most Americans, I am deeply concerned about Bush and Cheny's close personal relationship with Saudi Arabia.

During the second intafada, many felt that only strong American involvement would help reach a negotiated end to the misery. Bush refused. As president, George W. Bush hasn't even visited Israel. From this president we see only benign neglect, and benign neglect is not an act of friendship. His policy is an irrelevant mess of contradictions that leaves Israel in despair.

Now, will Kerry be any better? I honestly don't know. Like many in Israel, I want the US president to take a strong, and active role in Mideast politics. I want a man like Clinton, someone willing to risk his legacy trying to drag Arafat to the negotiating table, and all but force him to sign a deal. I want the president to use his bully pulpit to bring Israel's enemies into line. Benign neglect is not friendship. When a friend is in trouble, you roll up your sleeves and help. Bush hasn't.

Can Kerry do the job I want; the job I think is needed? Can he be a real friend to Israel? I don't know. Nothing in his record suggests he can, and his infatuation with the UN is troubling, even disturbing.

What to do? What to do?

Visitors to the blog are cordially invited to express their opinions in the comment section.

2004-10-20T09:46:00.000-04:00

A week of politics on baynonim: Part 2 (Go to: Part 1. Go to: Other things to read if you hate politics.)

If you're a swing voter, like me, you're having trouble choosing between the atrocious president, and the atrocious candidate. Do I want to cast my vote for an undistinguished senator, who has no plan for ending the war, saving social security, or developing the economy? Or shall I vote for an undistinguished president who has mismanaged the war, threatened to destroy social security, and thinks the US economy exists primarily to further enrich his pals?

If you have an answer I'd like to hear it. Here, again, are the rules: Each day, I'll write about a campaign issue. If your candidate has the best solution, you are invited to argue on his behalf in the comment section. Vigorous, angry, forceful statements are welcome, but if, in my view, you needlessly disparage the other guy, I will delete your comment. I want to know why your man rocks, not why the other guy doesn't.

Today's Issue: The ownership society. (Not as boring as it sounds. Read on)

The president likes to talk about creating an ownership society in America. What's that? Largely, it means that individuals will have greater control of their savings, retirement and health-care benefits. According to Cato, "In the ownership society, patients control their own health care, parents control their own children's education, and workers control their retirement savings." This is what the president wants.

There is just one small problem with this high-sounding idea. We've already had an ownership society, and it failed miserably.

Think "Little House on the Prairie." Laura and her family lived in an "ownership society," didn't they? There were no government handouts, no socialized medicine, no social security. Pa was in charge of his own destiny, and had to pay for everything himself. There was no outside assitance in the event that the fates, or his own bad judgment, conspired against him. If the crops failed, the family starved. If Ma got sick, the family had to work extra hours or sell some jewelry to pay the doctor. Lord, only knows what Pa's retirement was like. On the show he never seemed to have any savings. The poor man probably worked until the moment he fell over dead in the fields.

During the middle ages, we also had an "ownership society." Surfs and peasants "controlled their own health care, their own children's education, and their retirement savings" with disastrous results. One sickness, one mistake, one bit of bad luck, one plague of locusts and all was lost. People lived and died according to their own choices. If a person chose poorly, the official government reply was, "tough noogies" or, in crueler times, "happy starving!"

I read the "Grapes of Wrath." That book took place less than 100 years ago, also in an "ownership society." Left to their own devices, the Joad family was victimized by greedy bankers, unscrupulous landowners and cruel sheriffs. The family had no food, no shelter, no prospects, and the government simply shrugged, as thousands of families like them crowded into miserable migrant camps. Simply because the Joads had made the unpardonable mistake of being a farm family in the 1930s, the family suffered terribly.

People are stupid. People are unlucky. People make bad choices. People are gullible. Which is why disaster will follow, as it always has followed, if we remove the safety nets, and let people fend entirely for themselves.

But is this really hat the president wants? It sure sounds like it. If I'm wrong tell me. If I'm right, feel free to pile on.

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If you're keeping score. Baynonim readers, at least as reflected in the comment section, are supporting Kerry. Bush voters are strongly encouraged to raise their voices! The best argument so far, in my humble, arbitrary, but ultimately binding opinion, belongs to The Town Crier. You may reply to him in the comment section of Part 1.

2004-10-19T11:55:00.000-04:00

Politics and another bayonim challenge

Note: I am going to write about politics for a few days. If this causes you displeasure, I apologize, and hope that you will please take this opportunity to enjoy some of my previous posts, posts I am sure you will enjoy. We'll go back to blogging about the Jewish condition next Sunday.
---

I am a swing voter. (Yes, even in politics I am a man in the middle) I voted for Bush in 2000, but I've turned against him. Back in 2000, Bush seemed like a decent enough fellow, and there was something about him that seemed grounded and trustworthy.

Now, four years later, I am alarmed by his administration's attacks on civil liberties, by the poorly planned and poorly executed war, by the gleeful disregard for the environment, and by the the tax cuts, which so nakedly benefit the very few to the detriment of almost everybody else. I'm also particularly repelled by Bush's professed "Christianity," even as his administration repudiates almost every value that the great religions represented.

But I have a problem. Even though I think Bush has been an atrocious president, I can't ignore that Kerry is an atrocious candidate. What does Kerry stand for? His record in the Senate offers no clue. His statements on the campaign trail aren't helpful either. Will Kerry be like Clinton and offer sound fiscal policies, shrink the government and bring Israel and her enemies to the brink of peace? Or will he live up to the very worst GOP caricatures of a namby-pamby, tax and spend liberal? I just don't know.

I don't like Bush. The president has given me dozens of reasons to vote for a replacement, but Kerry hasn't won my support. I'm in the middle.

So, Readership, here is my proposal: Do what the president and his challenger have not done. Convince me.

Over the next few days I'll list my problems with Bush one by one. If you favor Bush, tell me why I'm wrong to worry. If you favor Kerry, tell me your man is better on that particular issue. Argue forcefully. Argue vehemently. Pretend that I live in Ohio, and that my one vote might decide the entire election, and with it the fate of the free world. Take no prisoners. Fight for your man.

For today, we'll start with a wildcard: All visitors to the blog are invited, and strongly encouraged to answer this question: Why does either candidate deserve my vote?

Comments that disparage the other candidate will be deleted. I want to know why your candidate is better, so please don't waste my time telling why the other guy is no damn good. Outstanding comments will be posted on the blog itself, and at the end of the week, the commenter who's done the best job (to be determined arbitrarily) will be listed on the sidebar among the ranks of honored bloggers and contributors who have won baynonin challenges. (If you choose to post anonymously, please use a pseudonym)

2004-10-18T23:29:00.000-04:00

As if further evidence was needed

I hate to change the subject, but this was too funny to ignore. It is proof that drugs and bible study don't mix

Tomorrow: Baynonim Gets Political!

2004-10-17T11:22:00.000-04:00

The idea that the practices and rituals we call minhag constitute an essential part of Judaism which, at all costs must be maintained, is untenable. Even a cursory reading of Jewish history militates against this way of thinking.

This subversive thought came to me on Simchas Torah soon after my brother-in-law told me the Jews, Jewish boys anyway, once had the minhag of burning sukkahs on Shmini Atzeres. You read that correctly. The minhag was to burn sukkahs. The Maharil records it, adding "my father forbade me to do it."

One can only imagine the uproar in the Maharil's neighborhood. "Oh that man," the pious neighbors would have intoned, referring to the Maharil's father. "He is so modern, keeping his son from participating in our venebale custom of sukkah burning."

The custom, of course, no longer belongs to Judaism, yet Judaism survives. In fact, the list of lost minahgum goes on for pages, yet Judaism survives.

The reason for this, I must insist, is that Judaism is larger than the sum of its customs. The customs add color. They warm the heart. They invoke nostalgia. Otherwise, they are meaningless. Say "bonu" is you like, or say "bunee." During Ellul, blow the shofar at the end of davening or in the middle. Shake the lulal like the Rama, or shake it like the Ari. All the matters is that you shake it; the manner of the shaking matters only to the Lilliputians (and yes, I've been guilty of this.)

When I offered this idea to a fellow congregagnt, he gave me a witty reply that neatly summed up the minhag fallacy. He said, "If it was minhag in our shul to sit quietly during davening it would be followed without argument. Unfortunately it is Jewish law, and not minhag, that requires silence, and therefore people talk."

That's it in a nutshell. Minhag, in our day, matters more than law. And to our detriment: As PsychoToddler has observed, the small, insignificant details of custom divide us, when instead, our many more, and many more important simmilarities should be a source of untiy. My neighborhood has two shuls, simply because silly customs prevent the RNs and the OMJs from praying together. Wouldn't it be better for us all, in countless ways, if the two shuls were to merge?

NB: As Yisroel Salant is said to have remarked at the end of one of his famous lectures on morality, "If what I've just said has an impact on even one person, it was worth saying... even if that one person is me."

Attention: Please feel free to comment. I've received too many emails from people who say that "don't feel comfortable" adding their thoughts. Please, get over it. If you have something to say, say it. There is no reason to be silent. If you disagree with me, I want you to tell me why.

2004-10-15T10:37:00.000-04:00

The big pediatrician writes from Israel:

... Saw something in Mea-Shearim today that made me think of you. I was in one of the schools where I saw a mural depicting Matan Torah (the revelation on Har Sinai) Moshe and the Elders are all wearing shtreimels and long black coats. Off to the side, in the corner, are two men without shtrimals. They appear to be wearing knitted kippas. I asked an adminstrator: Who are those men? With a sligh blush, the man answered: Dasan and Aviram!*"

Of course, I think the BP is lying. He does that. If he deigns to send a photo I will post it.

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*Dasan and Aviram were co-conspiritors in Korah's rebellion against Moshe, who are often cited by Scripture and Midrash as Moshe's chief critics.

2004-10-13T15:41:00.000-04:00

And now for my 100th post, (but who besides GoldaLeah has actually read them all?)

That's right true believers and loyal friends, with this entry, baynonim has posted 100 times. After all this blogging about my local prayer houses, I can't think of a better way to celebrate than this. It is a description of a shul that I think I would really like.

Thanks Cara.

2004-10-13T10:23:00.000-04:00

Simchas Torah in the Shteeble: Marvelous Mixing

Regular readers will remember (all together now) that my neighborhood has two places to pray, a shteeble and a shul. The shteeble is a less divided than the shul, but though the shteeble has far fewer factions, the gaps between the different groups are wider, and most obvious on Simchas Torah. (Simchas Torah in the Shul is described here)

The Rabbi owns the shteeble, so during the year the liturgy follows his custom, without exceptions. Differences among the congregants, which exist, are kept invisible and largely ignored. We say yotzros, mumble the haftarah, daven sefard, and of course, the Young Israel tunes, (1) , are not sung, even though only the hard-core hasidim (all 9 or 10 of them) seem to want it this way. The rest of us are, to varying degrees, unsatsified: Most of us don't say yotzros, many of us daven ashkenaz, and a few of us wouldn't mind a little bit more singing. Others wish the davening was more structured, and still others wish it were looser and even less formal. Still, we all hold our nose, so to speak, for the sake of whatever else the shteeble offers us.

On Simchas Torah, everyone gets their chance, and the differences kept undercover throughout the year, become obvious and visible. It's really quite amazing. For example:

* During shachris, the Young Israel ex-pats interrupt the Chazan to lustily sing their songs, and no one minds. (If they tried that during the year, they'd be expelled, probably)

* The Rabbi has a ridiculously long prayer that he says before hakafot, a prayer even the other hard- core Hasidim don't recognize, and no one groans, no one minds. (During the year, most of us leave the sanctuary during yotzros, another ridiculously long prayer said by almost no one on certain holidays.)

* The yeshivish people commandeer the beginning of each hakafah to sing? hum? lament? moshe emes in a singularly mournful tune, and no one minds. (Inovations(2) the Yeshivish people have suggested for the regular services have been roundly rejected)

* The group, noted anthropologist Burry Katz (3) calls black-hatters enjoy an early kiddush, and make their own, early minyan for musaf and no one minds. (Their early(4) maariv minyan was banned, and we lock the kitchen door to keep them from making kiddush during davening during the year.)

The metaphor for all of this marvelous mixing is the way the shteeble performs ha'Aderes v'ha'Emunah, a prayer-poem said or sung after the sixth hakafa. The poem lists various attributes, and the refrain assigns these atributes to God. Traditionally, part of the refrain is a Yiddish question. The leader asks: suzemetz, suzemetz / to who? to who? and the crowd answers in Hebrew l'chayeh olamim / for the sustainer of the world. There are (I think) 7 verses, and traditionally 7 different people are called to read the verse, and to lead the refrain.

I don't know how it started, but in the shteeble we call people who are capable of asking the refrain's question in different languages. The siddur is passed to a guy in a knitted kippa who asks in Hebrew (l'mee, l'mee) to a South African who asks in Afrikaans, to a Frenchman, to a Yemenite, and on and on. Everyone gets a chance. Everyone is represented. Everything we do, no matter that it's different, really is l'chayeh olamim. And for Simchas Torah, at least, all the different groups feel perfectly at home in the shteeble.

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1 - Young Israel tunes are mostly Western European or early-American compositions that are asigned, by tradition, to specific parts of the liturgy. Hasidim, and those who arrived in America after WWII, (along with those who've been influenced by the Hasidim and the latecomers) sing much less of the liturgy, and tend to disdain the Young Israel tunes as "modern," though some of these tunes date, at least, to the 18th century.

2 - The yeshivish people, for example, wanted to start davening earlier so that krias shma would be finished by the halachic deadline. This request was a non-starter, for the hasidic rabbi.

3 - A joke. He's not noted. He's not an anthropologist. He's just a blogger with a chip on his shoulder who often hides brilliant, inarguable points within his long-winded, slanderous rants.

4 - The shteeble ends shabbos at 72 minutes. The black-hatters, I assume, have important movies to watch on Saturday evening, and can't be bothered to wait, so they organized a maariv minyan at 50 minutes. It was banned because it disrupted the shalosh shudas, or the third shabbos meal.

2004-10-12T15:45:00.000-04:00

Confidential to the correspondent who wanted Rabininc advice.

I'm not a Rabbi, but I think you might consider two things:

1 - Read Nathan Englander's, The Gilgul of Park Avenue. It is a short story, that sort of tells your story and makes some important points.

2 - Find a real Rabbi, not a blog Rabbi, and find out what your minimum religious requirements are. Run from shtick. Then, look inside your heart, and determine your maximum religious desires. How observant do you want to be? Finally, balance the two, in a way that puts burdens on yourself, and no one else.

2004-10-11T22:42:00.000-04:00

Last week, before Simchat Torah, I wrote this:

An argument is raging in the shul, by email of course, about how best to celebrate Simchas Torah:

The drinkers want a long kiddush.
The Yekkis want 7-minute hakafos, and they want them timed via stop-watch, by a gabbai authorized to enforce the time limit using pistols, if necessary.
The caterer wants kiddush after davening, not after layning.
The octo and nonagenarians want raisins in the stuffed cabbage.
The women want to dance.
The teetotalers want to ban the booze
The whiskey-snobs want to ban blends.
The old-timers want things the way they always were.
The newcomers couldn't give a hoot.
The YU alums want to liven things up by importing YU boys for the holiday.
The natives are insulted at the suggestion that it isn't lively enough.
The proceduralists want a board meeting, and are shocked (!) shocked (!) that shul policy is being discussed and set via email.

At least the emails are polite.

So what actually happened? No one argued in shul, I am happy to report. Even the Yeckis kept their pistols holstered when the hakofot passed the ten and even 15-minute mark. The drinkers appeased the teetotalers by keeping themselves under control. The alta cockers got their raisins. The woman who wanted to dance went to the social hall, closed the door, lowered the blinds, and, for all I know, slaughtered a goat. Kiddush was after davening, but cake and whiskey was available after layning.

**

Another problem, we avoided was, what I guess could be called, the "battle of the bands."

There are several factions in the shul and each faction has its own anthem. The YU boys, for example, don't consider their hakafot complete without a lathered round of Simcha l'Artzecha. The West Coast crowd, for reasons known only to themselves, favors Emes, Emes she' Ata Rishon. The psudeo-chasidim don't like songs with words. Some of us think Carlebach was a 20th century Mozart, and some of us think he and his songs have no place in a shul. Also, we didn't all go to the same camps or the same youth groups or the same schools. As a result, we don't all know the same songs. Starting a song, therefore, to accompany the hakafa can be difficult; after all, it's no fun when part of the group refuses to sing, or frowns blankly at the song selection.

Nonetheless, it worked out and delicate negotiations were not required. Sure, some of the psudeo-hasidim sat for Carelbach on principle, no one but the YU boys altered the last words of Simcha l'Artzecha to glorify R' Yitzchak Elchonon's school, and only the non-hasidic-Brooklyn ex-pats risked whiplash throwing their kids into the air for Moshe Emes. But there are seven hakfot, and, in all, more than 100 minutes of singing and dancing: Plenty of time for every petty sub-faction to do its own thing, and plenty of time for all of us to sing and dance and celebrate Judaism and Torah together, as one kahal, as one congregation. Which is what happened.

If we could overcome our differences, and respect -no, revel in - our diversity for one day, maybe there’s hope for us yet?

Tomorrow: How was Simchas Torah, around the corner, in the shteeble?

2004-10-10T13:20:00.000-04:00

A follow-up thought to the anti-king screed that appears at the end of this post:

It is difficult--no, impossible--for a twenty-first century man to think about the messiah without noting, like the filthy anarcho-syndicalist peasants in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, that the world no longer stands in need of sacred kingship. "I am Arthur, your king," intones Arthur in that excellent film, to which the peasants cackle: "I thought we were an autonomous collective!"

Does anyone else find it difficult to read our Jewish prayers, with their call for the resotration of the Davidic line, without remembering that some two and a half centuries ago the French decided to consign the divine right of kings to the guillotine?

(Our king will be different you say? Ok, so the messiah's first task is to convice mankind of this fact. It won't be easy: mankind's track record with kings and princes does not inspire trust. And anyway, why are you so certain that our king will be so much better? Haven't you read the Book of Kings? After Solomon, it was all downhill, wasn't it?)

****

Some thoughts on Simchas Torah later in the week. I hope you're still with me.

2004-10-06T11:01:00.000-04:00

Before we say good-by to Sukkos, there is one more custom I'd like to discuss, a custom that may shed some light on how customs develop.

The mainstream practice: Halel, on all seven days of the holiday, is recited with the lulav in our right hand, and the esrog in our left hand. When the lulav is waved (or shaken) the lulav and esrog are held together with both hands.

The Chabad practice: Lubovitch hasidim recite halel with only the lulav in their hands. The esrog remains in its box until the time comes to wave (or shake) the lulav. Only then is the esrog taken. After the waving (or shaking) the esrog is returned to its box. Halel continues with only the lulav in hand.

Warning: When you hear how the chabad practice began, some of you will nod your heads, and say, "of course." Others of you will immediately load you email applications and begin composing viscous letters, in which you'll insist that the Rebba had nevuah, and that the Chabad custom is followed by the celestial angles and possibly even God Himself up in the heavenly abode where all of the former Chabad Rabbis take turns leading the service. Nonetheless, I plow ahead.

The origin of the Chabad practice: Towards the end of his life, Rabbi Yosef Yitzchok Schneersohn (known to Chabadniks as the "previous rebbe" or der frierdiker Rebbe) suffered a stroke, leaving him too weak to hold the lulav and esrog for the entire halel. So, he left the esrog in its box until it was needed, during the waving, and held the lulav alone for the rest of the halel. His hasidim saw this and, hasidim being hasidim, they copied their Rabbi. (Source: Two lubovitchers from my neighborhood who confirmed this independently on the second day of Yom Tov, 2004. Because both of their fathers knew the frierdiker Rebbe, and can remember when chabadniks followed the mainstream custom, these men have some credibility.)

Surprised? Don't be. It's my hunch that many of our customs can be traced to a story like this. There is always an alpha-male, and humanity, which always follows the alpha-male, advances when the alpha-male is good and wise. Until very recently, mankind didn't trust itself to challenge or question the alpha-male.

This, incidently, is why I have always though it an oversimplification to say that hasidim live the way Jews used to live. The truth is the Hasidim live the way all people, Jews and non-Jews, used to live. Until very recently, most of humanity was relativly isolated, in small groups, or tribes or clans, with each tribe, group or clan, completely under the sway of its respective chief. German principlaities, European fiefdoms, Indian tribes - even the kingdoms described in Tanach - were small, isolated, monolithic, and controlled by the leader. The people, largely, were too timid, too ignorant, too hungry and, yes, too stupid to do anything about it. All that's changed, of course, and for many, many reasons.

Some argue that blind devotion to the leader is essential to Judaism. If so, we have a problem. In our day, blind devotion (except, ironically, among the Hasidim and among the Arabs) is impossible. The Enlightenment has done its work. Mankind has learned to trust itself, and there's no going back. We've retired the kings, and not because we've grown corrupt, but because we're more intelligent, better organized, better fed, and because society is no longer monolithic. Installing a king, to whom blind obediance is owed, would mean undoing all of this first.

In our imagination, the moshiach manages this amazing trick. We believe that when he arrives, all competing customs and practices will, somehow be swept away, and that the Moshiac will lead a unified, monlithic Judaism. He'll be a rebba, a king, a Rosh Yeshiva and a mora d'asra. I think this hope must be re-examined. I'm not challenging the idea of moshiach, only the idea we, at this late date, will happily give up our customs in deference to him, and follow him blindly off into the sunset.

From the perspective of politics and human psychology, I don't see how that will work. We're all too entrenched, too stuborn, too bold. Before Judaism, as a collective, follows anyone, something's got to give

Perhaps the war of gog and magog will be over minhag.

2004-10-05T15:15:00.000-04:00

Tradition?? Tradition!!

Psychotoddler, the blogger and musician, tells us (in a post that answers one of my own) that after his Rabbi made a general request, he (PT) agreed to change his custom for shaking the lulav. At least in shul.
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Annotation: Until relatively recently, all European Jews followed the Rama and had one lulav shaking custom. At the end of the 18th century this changed when some European Jews joined the Hasidic movement and embraced the customs of the Ari, a 16th century Israeli. In our day, descendants of Rama followers and descendants of Ari followers often live in the same towns and daven in the same shuls, creating all sorts of comical problems. If it all sounds like the Lilliputian battles about how to best crack an egg, you're probably right. With no Hitlers to menace us, this keeps us busy.
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Why did the Rabbi ask PT to change his custom? Because he (the rabbi) thought "that it looks really bad to have a few guys swimming upstream, and really detracts from the beauty of the service." With respect, I disagree:

1 - The Arba Minim represent the diversity in Judaism. The esrog is the Jew with tamm and rayach... and so on. Why would you stage-manage the lulav service for the purpose of denying or hiding that diversity?

2 - The Rabbi argued that it's "more beautiful" when everyone does the same thing. But one could just as easily make the opposite argument. Perhaps it is "more beautiful" when we honor the customs of our parents? Maybe, it is "more beautiful" when we acknowledge that Judaism is a rich tapestry of customs and practices?

3 - PT and I agree: At the end of the week, it doesn't really matter how you shook the lulav. Though in my dark moods I worry that customs I hold dear are being used to challenge the authenticity of my Judaism, I know customs aren't law. Still, doesn't PT's Rabbi make the opposite case? When he asks his congregants to perform the ritual the way that he does isn't he saying that it matters?

What do they do in your shul, Adam?

In the shtebble, the 15 or 20 ashkenaz men shake the lulav according to the teachings of the Rama. The Rabbi, an Ari follower who always leads the hallel, even waits for us to finish before he goes onto the next verse

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Annotation: This is key because, along with the difference in _how_ the lulalv is shaken, there is a difference as to _when_ the shaking occurs: Ari-followers shake the lulav twice before a paragraph of the hallel. Rama-followers shake it four times, once after each verse of that paragraph. If an Ari-follower is leading the service and doesn't wait, the Rama-followers can't shake without rushing.
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On the first day of Sukkot, I suppressed a smile when an amazing image, an image that would have been impossible in another shul entered my field of vision: Simultaneously, I saw an Ari-follower and a Rama-follower teaching their sons how to shake the lulav. The Rema taught his son to shake front - right - back - left - up - down. The Ari-follower taught his son... little help, please? I confess: I don't know exactly what they do, just that it is different. In any event, each kid learned his own custom, at the same time, in the same place, and I think that's neat.

Compared to PT's shul, I like our way better: No one has to change, and we teach our kids to acknowledge and to respect diversity.

2004-10-04T20:34:00.000-04:00

The old man last seen here received just deserts on the second day of Sukkos. It was rainy, and a few of us were wearing baseball caps to keep our heads dry on the walk back from shul. The old man spotted a teen in a Yankee cap, and growled, "Can't you wear a hat that says you support Torah?"

The teen pointed to the grump's dripping Borsalino and said, "When you were my age, all a hat like that meant was that you were a gangster or a hoodlum. Times change, I guess. May the good Lord grant you years enough to see the day when a Yankee cap also represents Torah."

The grump was speechless, the teen triumphant. The rest of us grinned and chuckled.

2004-10-03T13:58:00.000-04:00

Show me a man, past the age of thirty, who can read this poem without getting a lump in his throat and I'll show you a lump of clay.

All the Generations Before Me
-by Yehuda Amichai

All the generations before me
donated me, bit by bit, so that I‘d be
erected all at once
here in Jerusalem, like a house of prayer
or charitable institution.
It binds. My name’s
my donors’ name.
It binds.

I’m approaching the age
of my father’s death. My last
wills patched with many patches.
I have to change my life and death
daily to fulfill all the prophesies
prophesied for me.
So they’re not lies.
It binds.

I’ve passed forty.
There are jobs I cannot get
because of this. Were I in Auschwitz
they would not have sent me out to work,
but gassed me straight away.
It binds.

Note: In the original Hebrew "it binds" is zeh michayaiv which seems to me to carry the sense of "it creates obligations."

My great-grandfather, the first of my ancestors about whom stories are told, came to America in 1910. Slonim, a midium-sized city to the east of Warsaw and south of Vilnius, was his birthplace. My great-grandfather was a conscript who served the czar in Manchuria during the Russo-Japanese war and was imprisoned in a Japanese POW camp. Many men in his position gave up the faith of their fathers, and dropped the burdon they had inherited from their fathers. My great-grandfather did not.

After the war, my great-grandfather married, had a son, then left wife and child behind to seek his fortune in America. They joined him almost 5 years later, when it was clear no fortune would be found. A second son was born, then a third, and my great-grandfather found a job as sexton in a small country shul.

This family was an exception. In that time, in that place, many men and women forgot Judaism. Many of their children intermarried. Many of their grandchildren declined to identify as Jews. Most of their great-grandchildren are not Jews. My great-grandfather's three sons died shomrei mitzvos, all of them fathers of large observant families.

The middle son, my grandfather, went to yeshiva, received ordination and took a pulpit. The Judaism he taught my father was the Judaism he taught his community, a Judaism I imagine he received from his father and learned from his illustrious teachers, men who could trace their intellectual heritage to Slobobka, Vlozhin and beyond. This was a Judaism of tolerance, of moderation. It didn't compromise, but it didn't flaunt itself. It was a modest Judasim, a temperate Judaism, a meticulously accurate Judaism with nothing showy or ostentatious about it. Influenced, as I suppose it was, by the great cities of Vilnius and Warsaw, this Judaism was firm, and solid, and it had nothing to prove. On matters of halacha, the Rema, the Mishna Brurah and Rav Moshe Fienstein were the great lights in our sky. When I grew up I saw some of its values, or hashkofa, in the teachings of Samson Rephael Hirsch. My father calls himself a misnaged, and he says it proudly.

In my time and place this style of Judaism has fallen out of favor. In the world of the Yeshiva torah im derech eretz is not their watchword. Brooklyn Judaism which, like Boro Park music, is not bounded by geography, is not modest nor temperate. I am raising my son in a sea of black, surrounded by chandeleirs and breakfronts filled with silver, among Jews whose parents and grandparents landed on these shores long after my great-grandfather was comfortably installed in the small country shul.

Their Judaism has a different taste, the taste of the backwoods. It's more ecstatic with a greater focus on the unthinking and the superstitious--miracles, acts of physical transport such as singing and dancing. Their sun is the Ari, their moon is any of the Hasidic masters. Samson Rephael Hirsch who wrote in German, and who was translated into English, and not Hebrew or Yiddish is ignored or unknown. Misnaged is a dirty word.

My son will reach adulthood in this time and place, in the vicinity of these Jews. I recognize he'll be influenced by this other style of Judaism, still I wonder: Am I bound to raise him in the traditions of my forfathers, to consecrate him to the memory of the exceptional man who withstood both czar and America, who clung to this tradition, to this Judaism in the POW camp and on the gold-paved streets? Or should I be satisfied (dayenu) that he will grow up Jewish and observant? Are taste and style essential to Judaism? Will something important, to my line if not to my faith, be lost if my son and I can't see eye-to-eye about religion when he is a man, raising his own children? Do I owe my son his history, his tradition? Do I owe my decendants the style of Judaism of my fathers?

It binds. It binds.

2004-09-29T09:52:00.000-04:00

(continued from the previous post or How Could I have Forgotten this One?)

-----
WACHNACHT: The term for the night preceding the day of circumcision, spent in feasting and the recitation of hymns and prayers by the mohel, sandik, and members of the family. The ostensible object of the watch is to ward off the "evil spirit" and to drive away the "devils," especially Lilith, who is supposed to be inimical to the child about to enter into the covenant of Abraham.
-----

I was close to thirty when I first encountered this one. It includes (1) gathering all the neighborhood children to say Shema next to the infant's crib (2) festooning the crib with red ribbons, reb flowers and red string, and (3) putting the knife the mohel plans to use the next morning under the infant's mattress or pillow.

The point? Well, the reason I was given (by a heavyset Brooklyn matron who simply couldn't believe she was speaking to a person who had been raised in such ignorance) totally jibes with the Jewish Encycolpedia entry cited above. We're worried about poltergeists and have created a ritual to combat them.

Evil spirits, devils, and yes, even that old spook Lillith, are alive and well in the Jewish imagination of some communities.

2004-09-28T14:19:00.000-04:00

So what about that list? (continued from the previous post)

I've been promising to list the Jewish rituals I first encountered after reaching adulthood.

By way of introduction, let me say that discovering these rituals was not pleasant. You see, I went to a good Jewish day-school, where I paid attention and studied hard. My grandfather, zl, was a pulpit Rabbi, ordained by one of the best rabbinical seminaries in North America (mayvin yavin.) His father, zl, was the sexton at a small American shul. My father is observant and religious.

I entered adulthood, the fourth male in this line, thinking I had a good understanding of what it means to practice Orthodoxy and I don't think it was ignorance informed by pride: I had been raised Jewishly and educated Jewishly. So imagine, if you can, my surprise when I cam upon whole communities of Jews performing rituals I wasn't taught. It was a blow to my religious self-esteem. In some ways, perhaps I felt like those ancient Jews I described in the previous post. My Judaism hadn't aquired the new practices.

I've grown up a bit since then, I hope. I've had the chance to do some research and to put these practices in their proper context. Still, it's sometimes a struggle to remember that these extra rituals are cultural and matters of style. It's a struggle sometimes not to snap at people who imagine that these practices are essentail when, in my estimation, they are not. It's your midos, your learning and your attention to the details of halalcha, that matter, of course. Not the mishigas. So with all that in mind, here they are: The Religious Rituals I First Encountered After Reaching Adulthood

1- Did you know that (according to some, but by no means all) a woman who has had a baby is not permitted to be seen in public until she hears kedusha or barchu? She has to hide in private until a minyan (ten men) can be convened so that she can complete the obligation. This was news to me, so when a well-meaning man at MMC attempted to accomodate this ritual by arranging a prayer group outside my wife's hospital room after the birth of my second child, I thought he was nuts, which, I suppose is fair: He thought I was indifferent to religion.

2 - It was Erev Yom Kippur, and I was talking to L. "What time are you leaving work," he asked. "I don't know," I told him, "maybe at 2:30"

"Two-thirty!?!" he exclaimed, "how will you eat twice, if you leave at 2:30?" Excuse me, eat twice?

3 - I always knew that some Jews beleive in demons, though I, following the Ramban and the Rambam, do not. However, I was surprised to learn, at the ripe old age of 30, that the demons other Jews believe in are less intelligent than your average loaf of bread. To wit: It's fobidden to seal or otherwise cover a window. Why? Because demons, it is supposed, use windows to enter and exit your house. If you block the window, the demon won't find a new route and quietly get on with his travels. No, instead the demon will revenge himself by wracking havoc upon your house and home. They aren't bright, these demons, and they don't like to be inconvinienced. It's all right there in the writings of Rabbi Yehuda HaChassid. Therefore, most Jews I know don't mess with their windows when they expand or otherwise rework their houses, and everyone has a story about a sister or a cousin or a neighbor who sealed a window, and was the prompt recipient of untold troubles. (It's much more reasuring if it's the demons and not our deeds causing the pain.)

4 - Shabbos ends 50 minutes after sunset, or so I was taught. There is no shame ending things on time. (Those are the few drops of Yeki blood in my vein making themselves heard) Later I found Jews who keep shabbos for an additional 22 minutes. Small beer, I know, and, now that I live among them, I don't mind extending shabbos. In the begining, though, I imagined these 72-minutes Jews were smugly judging me and my shabbos inferior because I stopped at 50. Often, I would wonder how they would feel if they suddenly landed in a neighborhood where shabbos was kept for 90 or 120 minutes after sunset. It would chaff and snide comments like, "what's your hurry?" would be no balm. I'm reconciled to this practice, finally, though grand rebbes who extend their third meal deep into Saturday night and Sunday morning are, for me, best avoided.
I could go on. In time, I am sure I will, but I think you get the idea. I hope you don't think less of me.

2004-09-28T10:24:00.000-04:00

Chadesh Yomaynu K'kedem / Renew our Days as of Old or bring me back to some of that old time religion.

Ever wonder what it would be like to live as a Jew in antiquity? Sure, there were real troubles around like pagans and parasites, but religiously-speaking it had to have been a breeze.

Are you already worn out from the orgy of eating and endless praying that is Tishrei? Well, Jews of the year zero had none of that. They weren't afflicted with three-day yom-tovs; heck, aside from Rosh Hashana there weren't even any two day yom tovs. Your Rosh Hashana service was watching an animal get slaughtered, and listening to some blasts on the horn. Your Yom Kippur service was a pageant acted by the chief priest. Both smashing entertainment, I'm sure, in the age before television. Don't forget: neither service was mandatory. Even Sabbath services were optional. Back in the day, God only asked for a visit on the the three pilgrimage festivals, and all that meant was a you got to stand in the good, fresh air with your buddies, while somewhere up front another animal bit it. I bet you could even talk to your buddies all you wanted, with no gabbai to shush you as the bulls and rams were slaughtered.

There were no hats, no shtreimels, no kreplach, no kugel, no liturgy, no hakafos, no piyutim, no hosofos, no chazonus, no nigunim, no tables, no pews - none of the detritus that just accumulates and accumulates as Judaism marches through time. There was no mishigas. There were hardly any minhagim. It was simple. It was easy. Wasn't it?

The Jews who merited the Temple were the best Jews of all, I might argue, and most all the details of our modern religious life (and by modern I suppose I mean anything initiated after about 200 CE) would have to them seemed bizarre. Even the Jews who lived after the destruction, in the period just after the rules were changed and liturgy replaced sacrifice, would not recognize us. Ponder that, if you will.

2004-09-27T11:55:00.000-04:00

Monday Morning Round-Up

Some blogosphere detritus worth recommending:

(1) Ayshes Chayil is all lies:

The Chosson's friends may then sing "Aishes Chayil" for the kallah. Even though she's officially been married for just a few hours, she's still managed to seek out wool and linen, bring sustenance from afar, give food to her household and a ration to her maids, consider a field and buy it, plant a vineyard from the fruit of her handiwork, strengthen her arms, support a spindle with her palms, get over her fear of snow, clothe her house in scarlet wool, make bedspreads and garments, deliver a belt to a peddler, and have children who rose up and praised her. That's pretty impressive. Meanwhile, her chosson has managed to split his pants.

Hat tip Jew Cards

(2) A new J-blog, with a fresh, new voice

The measure of a first-rate intellect is its ability to hold two contradictory ideas at the same time. With that in mind, say hello to the Renegade Rebbetzin.

Hat tip: Miriam Blghd.

(3) The apple doesn't fall far from the tree

Foster Boy's sister is the daughter of MoChassid, and a very good writer in her own right.

(4) Yom Kippur out West

Read about the Western Jew'sday.

Tomorrow: the baynonim list of 'Jewish Customs That I Reached Adulthood Without Ever Hearing About' (A high-five, and a sidebar listing, to the person who suggests a less awkward title for this list.)

2004-09-26T13:22:00.000-04:00

What Time Did You Finish? (Yom Kippur edition)

Ok, people, time to answer the question on every set of Jewish lips. What time did you finish yesterday?

In the shteeble we took our first break at about 10 am for the selling of indulgences, I mean aliyos. That took 30 minutes. At 12:30 we had a one hour recess, so that the Rabbi and the chazon could go to the mikva(1)

After musaf, at 4:30 or so, we stopped for another 45 minutes, giving us about 2 hours and 15 minutes of break-time.

How about you?
-------------------------
(1) I suppose it's important to get to the mikva, but it's also important to start musaf before the middle of the 7th daylight hour. We didn't make it. Starting musaf on time is so important, the Rema and the Mechaber urge congregations to skip parts of Shachris if it appears this deadline will be missed. Neither authority says anything about going to the mikva, so I don't know if they'd have advised the rabbi and chazon to skip the dip to allow us to start musaf on time. Anyone know?

2004-09-24T13:45:00.000-04:00

It is erev Yom Kippur and L is having two meals. Two meals? Yes, apparently it's his tradition, one before mincha, another afterwards. The first milk, the second meat, but with washing and bentching and the stuffing of faces at both feasts.

The baynonim family is eating once, after mincha, as we do every year. Is L's double meal a widespread custom? Should it be added to my ever expanding list of Jewish Customs I Reached Adulthood Without Ever Hearing About? (watch for it next week, and a high-five to the person who suggests a less awkward title for the list.)

2004-09-23T20:57:00.000-04:00

Jordan makes a good contribution to this post below. He says the halacha doesn't require us to stand for an open aron. He's right. I knew that. I should have pointed that out myself.

I guess I am observing that the shul and the shteeble respect the Torah differently. The shul stands for an open aron, and wouldn't dream of sitting with their backs to the arc. The shteeble stays seated when the aron is open if the Torah won't be moved, and sometimes their backs even face the aron; instead they show their respect for the Torah, in part, through their clothing. (I don't mean simply that they dress acording to the law; I mean that they insists on hats, or white shirts, and, in some cases, fur hats and frock coats.)

Of course the shul thinks the seating habits in the shteeble are disrespectful, and the shteeble thinks the clothing people wear to shul is a disgrace, but that's a problem I can't solve with a blog. Unfortunately.

2004-09-23T09:25:00.000-04:00

What time did you finish? (Rosh Hashana)

What time did you finish? What time did you finish? That is the question on every Jew's lips on the days following Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur.

In the shteeble they were done at 2:30 pm. In the shul at 1 pm. And both sides were feeling mighty proud of themselves (I was out of town, with my parents.)

From L: The Rav (who was the chazan for musaf) poured out his heart, and really brought us together. How could they have finished at 1? They really must have rushed

From the big pediatrician: We had a nice tight service at the shul, with plenty of time to say everything properly, but no dragging. Lots of singing. Our hired chazan chose excellent tunes, and kept us all singing. How did they finish at 2:30? They really must have dragged it out.

I'm baynonim, so let's deconstruct this.

The shul had a 5 hour service, with no break and a brief 10 minute speech. They started at 8 am and, aside for ten ten-minute sermon, went straight through until 1 pm.

The shteeble also started at 8 but took a 30 minute snack-break before shofar blowing. Also, the shteeble davens sefard, meaning there were 3 sets of shofar blasts during the silent musaf amidah. This takes longer, because the person blowing the shofar waits until it seems that most everyone is ready. I've been to the shteeble for Rosh Hashana and the silent musaf amidah is a good 30 minutes longer. Also, the shteeble sells aliyos before torah reading. This takes, perhaps, 20 minutes. So factor in the delays and the actual shteeble service wasn't much longer than the service at the shul. Maybe 15 minutes longer, if that.

As for the hired chazan vs using the rav debate? I think it's simple.

Hasidim, traditionally, believe their Rabbi is an intercessor, so of couse they want their Rabbi to pray the important prayers on their behalf. To the Hasidim, it doesn't matter if their Rabbi can sing or not; they just want the best lawyer at the bar on the Days of Awe. ( Though the shteeble has only a handful of Hasidim, the Rabbi is Hasidic, and as the Rav he expects to take the amud. Because it's his shul, the people have no choice but to let him.)

Non-hasidim don't need an intercessor, but they need to be inspired so that their own prayers are a powerful as possible. A hired chazzan is something of a cheerleader. It's up to him to arouse the crowd, to invigorate the service, to keep the people alert and involved and praying with all their might.

Sounds like both the shul and the shteeble got what they wanted - and needed - this year.

NB: An argumnet for hired chazans. For the most part, the hired chazans sing the "set" pieces (haMelech, Aleinu, Kol Nidrei) with the familair, traditional tunes. The amature prayer leaders I've heard in the shteeble sometimes introduce unwelcome varieties. Even their Kol Nidrei is different. Professionalism and good training has its place. Hat tip HM for the article.

2004-09-23T08:00:00.000-04:00

Who can explain?

When the aron kodesh (holy arc) is opened for a prayer-poem on the Days of Awe during services in the shul, everyone stands up.

But when the arc is opened for a prayer-poem in the shteeble some people stand, but most people remain seated. I know that sick people are excused from standing, but these sitters look healthy to me. Are all the sick people in town praying at the shteeble?

As MoChassid, blogger par excellence, might say: What's pshat?

2004-09-22T14:48:00.000-04:00

Something new for the Miss-orah?

On the first night of Rosh Hashana we eat foods that have symbolic significance. Mostly they are puns that remind us to ask God for certain favors, or serve to remind us of blessings we might request in our prayers the next day. For example, tamar is Hebrew (and tamri is Aramaic) for date. In Hebrew the word puns with consume, thus we eat dates and remember to ask God to consume our enemies. An incomplete list is here. (scroll down.)

This year, the father-in-law had a new idea. He brought out celery and raisens, put them together and said, "May it be God's will that we all receive a raise in salary!"

2004-09-22T03:45:00.000-04:00

Housekeeping Interlude

"Simon" has brought to light new and important information about The boy whistled, and the gates of heaven swung open. His contribution is in the comments. 9/22/04

2004-09-21T23:11:00.000-04:00

Also? I refuse to call Madonna "Esther."

I can relate to Madonna, as I am also an Italian Catholic who secretly wishes he was Jewish. But you don't see me forcing a red, friendship bracelt on my henpecked British husband, do you?

Don't you sort of wish she'd just go back to insulting the Catholics?

2004-09-21T20:12:00.000-04:00

L wants to know when he can expect his next appearance on the blog.

I'm touched. I didn't know L was a reader.

"Just do something silly or hypocritical and I'll be sure to post it," I promised.

At that, he laughed. What a good friend.

2004-09-21T16:26:00.000-04:00

The boy whistled, and the gates of heaven swung open.

You've heard this story, if you went to any sort of Jewish school. It's the one about the congregation that was itching to start praying one Yom Kippur eve, but couldn't because the Rabbi had seen the Gates of Heaven and they were closed. A small shepherd boy went to the front of the shul, pounded on the table, and from the depths of his soul, he whistled. The congregation was impressed by the boy's act of devotion and so, apparently was God. "The Gates of Heaven are open," announced the rabbi, and the Yom Kippur prayers commenced.
(Note: Please read the comments. "Simon" has brought to light new and important information about this story. 9/22/04)

I hate this story on many levels. It's offensive to logic, to the tradition and to common sense. On one level, though, I like this story very much.

First the gripes:

1 There has not been a Rabbi since Moses, who could see the Gates of Heaven, and tell us when God's favor was withheld. The Rabbi in the story is lying. He has some other reason for putting off the prayers, or maybe he's demented or drunk. In any event, he's not being honest with the congregation and his dishonesty is leading the congregation to sin, because...

2 Prayer services aren't delayed. We're required to pray at set times. There's nothing in the rule book about putting off the services in the unpresedented event God decides to hang a "Be Back Soon" sign up on the pearly gates.

3 Gates of Heaven, in fact, is a Christian conceit. Jewish heaven isn't some upper class community with stern walls to keep out the riff-raff. Nowhere in our books is it ever described thusly. in the Jewish imagination heaven is a study hall, not a private resort. Perhaps when the story was first told, God was called angry, or absent. That's a mistake, but at least it's a familiar Jewish mistake. Despite the efforts of the Rishonim, Jews persist in assigning emotions to God. (See the Yad, Sefer Maadah, where the Rambam makes it clear as an unmuddied lake that god has no emotions like anger, and he's not the sort to take a vacation.)

4 Acts of devotion, like whistling, mean nothing to God. He doesn't want whistling. He doesn't want acrobatics. He's no fan of fire eating. He wants us to follow the laws, to the best of our abilities, and that is pretty much it. (Being "a good person" covers a great many of the laws, but not all of them) If it's time to pray, he wants us to pray. If the gates of heaven (or whatever) were actually closed, the congregation should have been praying. If God appears to be ignoring us, the answer is always prayer. Not whistling. Prayer.

5 Whistling, is not a form of prayer. If it was, the Anshei Keneset HaGedolah would have prescribed it. They did not. Instead, they gave us all those words to say. Tiresome, I know. If you find it boring, by all means stay home. In fact, stay home and whistle if you like. But, please, no pretending that whistling is a suitable substitute. It isn't.

Ok, now let me tell you what's good about the story.

This morning one of of our vendors, a middle-aged Jewish lady, called me. We never discuss Judaism, never even acknowldge that both of us are Jewish. I always imagined she was reform, or reconsturctionist, or indifferent. Today she wished me a happy new year, and after a few seconds conversation about shul and brisket and other things Jewish I realized that she's probably Conservative, and that she takes certain rituals very seriously. She heard shofar on Thursday and Friday. She'll fast next week. She eats matzo on the first night of Passover. She's not perfect - none of us are - but she does more, cares more, than I thought.

The point? We have no idea who is holy, and who is not. Our eyes and ears can detect physical flaws and physical merits. They are not wired to detect holiness or its absence. People who anounce their holiness, through their clothing, for example, are sometimes like the pig, an animal which announces he is kosher by showing us split hoofs, though he is, in fact, quite treif .

We exist, to an extent, on the merits of others. This is why we pray communally, and speak communally in our prayers. But whose merits? No one knows. It could be the rabbi at the front of the room who's holy enough to see that the gates are closed (snort) Or it could be the dirty, shepherd boy. Being able to whistle is not meritorious, so the shepherd boy in your shul, in your neighborhood, is not a whistler. He's learning in secret, or he's taking care of the sick, or he's giving charity, or he puts the honor of his fellow man, above his own, or he's superbly meticulous about Shabbos. You'll never find him, but he's there. It's impossible to know who is good and who is not, and this story, for all its flaws, is urging us to remember that we are men, and our perceptions are imperfect.

2004-09-20T16:32:00.000-04:00

It's easy to check the origins of a line of poetry or prose. Are you wondering who said "Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense?" (Hint: It wasn't me) A trip to the library, or a few clicks on Google and the answer is yours.

Don't you wish you could do the same thing with music? Who composed the haunting tune our Rosh Hashana chazan used for Unisana Tokef? Was the melody he used for L'kel Orach Din an old tune from Europe, or was it that latest Dedi offering? Was the composer a famous rabbi or was he a famous cantor? Is this a mideival song, or a dressed up peasent tune? Did the Rama know it? Did the Rambam?

Is there an easy way to find out? Can I hum a few bars into a search engine and get the answers?

2004-09-20T15:26:00.000-04:00

This week, the Lord of Hosts sits in judgment, so why not baynonim?

What follows is a list of pet peeves, complaints I know are small, though they irritate me like an eyeful of sand. I've recorded them during this season of forgiveness and introspection, hoping that writing them down might free me to begin the new year serenely and with too high a spirit to be further encumbered with this old nonsense.

1 - Selling aliyos: Why is the shul transformed to a shuk on the holiest day of the year? Why are the services interrupted to let a huckster take the amud to cajole us into reaching for our wallets to purchase honor? The first time I saw this carnival, my father-in-law called it "taking care of business" and he's right. The modern shul is a business; it must sell something to survive. But must we do the selling in the sanctuary on Yom Kippur? It always reminds me of Jesus driving out the moneylenders and who wants to be reminded of Jesus on Yom Kippur?

I've brought this complaint to the shul powers. They respond: we need the money. Isn't that a prostitute's argument? Does money answer everything? And what's next? Will we allow the local pizza place to put an ad on the paroches? The Rabbi is a broad man. Quite a large ad indeed could be made to fit across his back. Inapprorpaite? I agree. But so is selling aliyos.

2 - Starting kiddush before davening is over: Kiddush is a sacrement in the shteeble. Food begins to appear the moment the moment the chazan finishes kedusha, though if the Rabbi is strong it might wait until after chazeres hashatz. At the signal, the young boys throw down their siddurim, rush to the kitchen, and return with plates of fish and cake, and bottles of soda and single malt. Meanwhile the chazzan is struggling through a communal prayer like kaddish or the last part of shemona esray. I suppose we adults are supposed to sit quietly as the food is distributed, without breaking our concentration, but of course this is impossible. The end of davening is always a disaster. Why is this tolerated? And why is it tolerated by people who look down on people who leave shul for kiddush during maftir?

3 - Throwing candy at an open torah: I grew up in a shul where the custom was to wait until the end of the haftarah before pelting the groom or bar mitzvah boy with bags of candy. By this point, the torah is wrapped and to the side. You can hit the celebrant, without worrying about hitting the Torah. In the shteeble, the candy is thrown immidtaley after the groom or bar mitzvah boy has had his aliya. The Torah is still open and on the table, which absolutely drives me wild.

Am I becoming a grumpy old man? Possibly, though I have years to go before I'm even middle aged. Perhaps now that I've transcribed these complaints, they'll belong to the ether, and not to me. Kesiva v'chasim tova.

2004-09-16T08:41:00.000-04:00

I seem to be in a Yom Kippur state of mind.

The Yom Kippur service is like gas; it expands to fill the space allotted. To wit:

On Yom Kippur 2004, the stars will come out (per Rabbenu Taam*) in my neighborhood at about 8:00 pm. If 2004 is like last year and every year before it, we'll start services on Yom Kipppur morning at 8 am, break for about 25 minutes at around 11 to sell the aliyos**, break again for about 90 minutes at around 3 pm, and then, from around 4:30pm, go straight on till shofar.

In other words, we'll be actively davening (or listening to kriah or maftir) for about 10 hours.

Was it any different in the old country? Let's look at one European city at random.

This year, Yom Kippur in Krakow ends (per Rabbenu Tam) at 7:43. Rav Moshe writes than many in 19 th century Europe had the custom of considering the day as having ended at 90 minutes after sunset, which is 18 minutes later than Rabbenu Tam. If we presume this custom was kept, this year, Yom Kippur in Krakow would end at 8:01

Can we assume that the good people of 19th centruy Poland started their prayers before 8 am? I think we can, with some confidence say, yes. Anecdotal evidence suggests they were praying at 6 am, if not earlier, though they could not have said the Amida before (sunrise) hanetz, which is at about 7am

So did the Krakow services expand to fill an unthinkable 14 hours? Did they break for an hour or two like we do, and pray for 12 hours? Or did their prayers take the same 10 hours as ours, meaning the men and women of the blessed old country enjoyed a delicious 4 hour break?

* One day soon perhaps will discuss how Rabbenu Taam and the Geonim could possibly disagree on something as empirical as the appearence of stars.
** Perhaps we'll also discuss the approriateness of turning the shul into a shuk on the holiest day of the year.

2004-09-15T11:12:00.000-04:00

Bullies for Bush?

Note: I am not pro-Kerry. I'm not pro-Bush. My politics aren't relevant to the blog. I just share stories that catch my eye.

2004-09-14T11:48:00.000-04:00

What color shirt do you wear to shul?

If you are one of my RNs, you probably don't understand the question. For the RNs, shabbos shirts come in one color, and one color only: White.

The OMJs, on the other hand, permit themselves some variety. White is prevalent, of course, but blue is common. I've also seen grey and beige and even pink or green.

And the local Chasidim? This may surprise you, but there is some color in the Hasidic wardrobe. They don't wear ties, and their shirts are always white, but the long coats and shtreimels come in different colors. I've seen red shtreimels. I've seen blue coats, and I've seen black coats with blue (or green!) velvet trim. And the coats, themselves, come in all sorts of patterns.

Some questions:
1 - Why does a proper RN insist on a black hat, when a proper hasid might wear a red or brown shtreimel?
2 - Why do both RNs and hasidim disdain colored shirts? What's frightning them?
3 - Why do the hasidim who disdain colored shirts, often wear brightly colored coats?

And what do I wear to shul on shabbos? A white shirt usually, but occasionally I'll wear a blue shirt to mincha just to mix things up a little.

2004-09-13T14:35:00.000-04:00

I've updated this post

2004-09-13T11:59:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, one of the rolly-polly characters in the shul said the shteeble was, in his opinion, "too Jewy." I smiled and nodded my head, and did nothing to challenge his opinion.

Last night, F, one of the boys from the shteeble called the shul "modernish" and the Beast Within was unleashed. I went on for five whole minutes, pointing out that much of what he considered "modern" were in fact, long-standing Ashkenazic customs.

Why did I defend the shul, and not the shteeble? Perhaps bad history bothers me more than ordinary insults.

2004-09-13T10:54:00.000-04:00

In the shteeble we sit at tables, as in a library or study hall. (The photo isn't our shteeble, but it will help you visulize the seating arrangment. In our shteeble, the tables are narrower and everything is tighter and more crowded.)

The argument with F began when I suggested removing the tables to reduce some of the crowding. Without tables, we'd have room for more chairs and for our legs. F said that without the tables, "it wouldn't be a shul anymore." I objected that plenty of perfectly good shuls have no tables, he said those shuls were all "modernish" and we were off to the races.

F likes having the tables, he said, because he doesn't like holding his siddur. It's more comfortable to put it on the table, along with his chumash and talis bag. F also like having the tables because they suggest that he is praying in a study hall. Never mind, that F, himself, rarely studies. He just likes having the tables. They make him feel good.

In this way, he's like the city-slicker who owns a pick-up truck, or the suburban fellow who wants an SUV with four wheel drive and tremedous hauling capabilities, though he lives in the Sun Belt, on a cule-de-sac and never hauls anything heavier than his gorceries. (In fact F is an SUV-owning suburbanite who lives on a flat, fequently-plowed street, and never carries anything heavier than his golf clubs. )

It's the triumph of style over substance.

NB: The mishna brurah says that it's preferable to daven in a shul, and not in a study hall (the exception being a study hall where you, yourself, study regulalry.) The style today is to pray in a room (like our shteeble) that has been decorated in the manner of a study hall, with rows of bookshelves and tables, though they aren't often used. City people drive SUVs, loaded with features no urban-dweller needs, for similar reasons, I suspect.

NBB: Above, I very much wanted to write "never carries anything heavier than his wife."

2004-09-13T09:44:00.000-04:00

I don't mean to pick, but...

Attention radio personalities, television reporters, and all other well-meaning NY gentiles, including the charming people with whom I work: The "o" in Yom Kippur is a long "o" as in "tome," not a short "o" as in "bomb."

2004-09-10T16:07:00.000-04:00

A Moment for Some Market Research

My last two posts have been about shul politics. I haven't exhausted the topic - I'm hard at work, in fact, on a post about Democracy in the Shteeble - but I sense this subject doesn't really interest you.

Am I wrong? Would you like me to continue documenting the development of a Board of Trustees in our shteeble? Would you like to hear about the cunning plots and the sinister schemes as my RNs vie for power and influence? Or would you perfer I went back to wedding pictures?

Tell me, and I'll oblige. I belong to the people. You can cast your vote to the right. Or, in the comments, tell me the sort of post you like best.

Thanks

2004-09-10T15:15:00.000-04:00

Today, I'm again inspired by a post that appeared at the daily diatribe.

I've been to many shteebles and many agudah-style shuls, and though many of them are wonderful places to daven, not one was a good place for children.

My own RNs love their children, of course, but insist that children don't belong in shul. Though the shul tolerates not one, but two candymen, "a shul is not a baby sitting service" is their refrain.

As a result, perhaps, our kids are given nothing to do, and nowhere to sit. They're often in the corridors, or in the yards playing. Rarely, if ever, are they davening. Usually their behavior is disruptive.

I grew up in a shul that took a different approach. It provided activities that tought us how to daven and how to respect a shul. We learned how to daven for the amud, how to lain, and how to read a haftarah. Some might call it babysitting. I call it chinuch. Whatever you call it though, isn't it better than leaving the kids at home (where they learn nothing) or to their own devices in the yards and corridors (where they learn nothing and disturb?)

Why do the shteebles abdicate their responsibility to their kids? Why do we permit our kids to run wild? Why isn't chinuch a priority?

I've never been able to wrap my head around this dereliction. I've never understood why, for example, children are permitted at school to pray with a minyan geared specifically for them, but in shul they are expected to join the adult minyan or stay home. Why is a boy's minyan verboten in the shteeble?

If a board is ever installed, perhaps I'll ask them. If you know the answer, please tell me, and help me to anticipate the board's reply.

Note to Cookie: (added Monday 13 September)

I think your reply simplifies things.

Sure, it's fine (maybe, see below) for Mothers and Daughters to stay home together and snuggle on the couch, but what about the boys? Should they be home snuggling, too? When should boys begin coming to shul? And when they begin attending shul, what should they do there? Wouldn't it be best for them to daven together the way they daven in school, in a minyan geared specifically for them? Why are boys who are too old to stay home forced to choose among (a) sitting uncomfortably in the main minyan (b) staying home, which, at a certain age, is not approriate for boys or (c) hanging out in the hallways? Why won't a shteeble offer (d) a boys minyan, where the davaning and the drasha have been designed specifically for boys ages 7-11?

Also, woman (even women with small children) have an obligation to daven. They do not have an obligation to daven on time, or to daven with a minyan (of men), but if they can daven on time or with a minyan (of men) it's a kiyum ie: something desirable, but extra. Boys are encouraged and taught to perform kiyumin. Why not girls?

2004-09-09T09:22:00.000-04:00

A shteeble is not a great public institution like the Temple in Jerusalem. It isn't owned by the people and managed for the people. It's permitted to show a profit. A shteeble, as I said yesterday, is a pizza store. Instead of pies the Rabbi sells honor, with the best customers getting their names on golden plaques.

Honor in the shteeble is not cheap. The right to read maftir Yona - just once - can, in some wealthy places, go for 5 figures. The right to have your name on the wall in very large letters might cost more than 100,00. Even an aliya commands a price. (In our neighborhood, maftir Yona, the greatest privlage of them all, was auctioned last year for $4600. )

All of this money belongs to the Rabbi. No one disputes this. It is his salary and fee for the use of the building. In our neighborhood, this was never contested. Our trouble began when the Rabbi and his most trusted advisors, the small, informal circle he trusts, asked for more. By fiat. they decided to renovate and enlarge the room we use for services. A meeting was called, and with neither vote nor discussion the project was announced and donations were solicited. The old room was small and the people were crowded so they gave genrously. There were no contracts and no conversations. Just the signing of checks.

The Rabbi imagining the donations were a gift used part of the windfall to improve his own home. The people thought their donations were to be set aside for one thing and one thing only, the improvement of their shul. When they discovered that the house had also been improved they were infuriated. A rumor began. "The Rabbi can't make a living here," the people told themselves, "He wants to raise his children among other chasidim. He's going to move and sell his house and with it, the shul that we built with out own money."

They asked the Rabbi to sign a document promising that he would stay. The Rabbi refused. The tried to assert an ownership claim on the room we use for services. This was rebuffed. Left with no recourse, the people simmered. They complained about the Rabbi, about his customs and his accent and about the foreign elements he introduced to the service. They said things good people should not say.

Nonetheless, the people did not for a moment consider going to another shul. Despite their worries and their grumbling and their growing unhappiness they did not deign to enter the nearby Modern Shul; besides the expanded shteeble has been built with their money. Abandon our donations? Never! Pray with the near-infidels who won't wear hats? Never! Open a new shul? We can't! We've already paid for this one. So, instead they simmered and stewed and the rumors metastasized and spread.

The Rabbi could not leave and he could not stay silent. He answered the grumbles and complaints by establishing a board and putting the shteeble's finances into the hands of the board. Will this work? Of course not. The board are puppets. Quislings. They have no power, and no authority. They speak for no one, and exist only to do the Rabbi's bidding. This is no secret.

But has the Rabbi done anything wrong? As usual, I can argue both sides. I recognize the Rabbi's obligation to the people, but I also recognize his rights of ownership. He can do what he wants. He has his rights. But he also has brains, and smart people don't always exercise their rights.

Can the rabbi’s rights be reconciled with is obligations? Must they be reconciled?

At bottom, I believe problem is cultural, not ethical. The people and the rabbi had different expectations, and because the two sides did not communicate, trouble came to the door.

More tomorrow; and please, some feedback would be welcome. Your questions will be answered-AR

2004-09-07T18:16:00.000-04:00

Must... find.... time.... to... blog.

Boy, was it busy today. Not to blow my own horn (honk, honk) but I don't think I've missed blogging on a regular weekday since I began writing regularly, back on erev Tisha b'Av. The streak is intact, but barely.

The big news in our neighborhood, as hinted last week, is this: The shteeble is establishing a Board of Directors. This is something new under the sun. Shteebles don't have boards, not when the shteeble is right inside the Rabbi's house, as in our case. When the Rabbi owns the building he makes all the decisions, and keeps all the money. The model is something like a small business, with honor and seats being the primary products, except a Rabbi usually gets more respect than a shopkeeper.

Have you ever seen Do the Right Thing? The riot starts when Buggin' Out is offended that Sal has only photos of Italians in the wall of his pizzeria. He wonders why there isn't a black face up there. Sal tells him to open his own store and put up anyone he wants. One answer to Sal is that he's kept in business by the black people who buy his pizza. An answer to that is that we see no black-owned businesses on the street, and if it were not for Sal the residents would have no place to buy pizza. And around and around we go.

Our situation is not dissimilar. The Rabbi, for example, wants to say yotzros; the people, mostly, do not. The Rabbi wants to read from the Torah and the Megillah and serve as chazzan on holidays and special shabbatos; the people, mostly, dislike his voice and the way his Hasidic accents distorts the sound and sometimes the meaning of Hebrew words.

The people say, we pay the bills. The Rabbi says keep your money and go elsewhere. The people say we have no where else to go. (This, to be precise, is a lie. There is a nearby shul, and other places to pray in the next neighborhood. But none of those places daven sefard, and for these people Modern Orthodox shul is impossible.)

Some of the Rabbis close supporters think a board can make the peace. I doubt it. For us, complaining is sport. But we shall see.

2004-09-03T10:21:00.000-04:00

Another day another wedding picture.

For the anthropologists in the audience, we present this photo of a Jewish groom who appears to be keeping at least three of the more unusual wedding customs. Aside from the kittel and candles, which, of course are present, this groom is wearing an overcoat, the overcoat is half on, and his shoelaces are untied.

I confess. My first reaction was: Look at the clown! Who let him out of the dressing room with his clothing half-on?

But L, my native guide, tells me that some grooms approach the chuppah partially undressed to suggest that they are incomplete people until they are married. L says this is a big inyun, but L also says that kugel on shabbos is a big inyun. In fact I once saw him fish a piece of kugel out of the garbage ("It was on top!") when he arrived at a kiddish after all the kugel had already been consumed. “I couldn’t go through a kiddish without kugel,” he said. “It’s a big inyun.”

So his big inyun might not be ours.

L did not have an explanation for the overcoat, and he delivered one of his perfected Withering Looks of Disdain when I suggested that the overcoat custom might have begun when some wedding host forgot to pay his heating bill. L did concede that a half-dressed bride would jazz up the proceedings, but he did not know, if brides perform the same ritual.

I think it is only a matter of time.

2004-09-02T23:40:00.000-04:00

They are outside, and the sun is shining. Why do they need candles?

MoChassid promised an explanation. This is his reminder.

Next Week on Baynonim: The shteeble decides to install a Board of Directors.

2004-09-02T23:00:00.000-04:00

I don't mean to pick, but... (updated 9/8/04)

Does the Jerusalem Post* need a history lesson? In a post yesterday the Hasidic Musician quoted this passage from the JP: "In his interpretations of biblical commandments, the 17th-century Polish rabbi known as the Chafetz Chaim had harsh warnings against entertaining hateful feelings."

Uh, no. The Chofetz Chaim was late 19th and early 20th century. Not 17th.

The Hasidic Musician's post, of course, scores. A grand slam. Jews shouldn't be glorifying revenge and violence, and songs that glorify revenge and violence shouldn't be packaged and sold like the latest Brittny hit for the kids to groove on.

It's unseemly. It's ugly. Worst of all, its brainless.

Jews are so much better than that.

*Correction: in the original post I criticized the Hasidic Musician, not the JP. I mistakenly thought that he was the one who got the dates wrong. I was wrong. The mistake was actually in the Jp article he cited.

2004-09-02T14:26:00.000-04:00

Great. Now Luke Ford is a GOP tool.

I'm referring to a link posted without comment or explanation on Protocols, that leads to a list of weapons John Kerry supposedly voted to kill during his twenty years in the Senate.

Here is the truth of the matter: Kerry did not vote to kill these weapons because none of these weapons ever came up for a vote, either on the Senate floor or in any of Kerry's committees.

Shouldn't Luke do a little research before he picks up a link? True, if Luke were to exercise discretion, it would be almost impossible for Shmarya to get his links on Protocols and I'd be deprived of my daily chuckle. But how can Luke continue to rail against sloppy Jewish journalism, if he is going to reprint lies like the one about Kerry?

At the end of the day, I don't care who gets your vote. Just don't let an obvious lie cloud your thinking and influence your choice.

2004-09-02T13:27:00.000-04:00

Not my best work, but I think the stream of questions at the end deserve some consideration....

I confess: The idea for this entry came from a comment on Barry Katz's daily diatribe. I'd gladly give the poster credit, but he called himself Anonymous. Also, he doesn't sound like a very nice person

Do you find that when people say they've gone back to Judaism, they almost always mean the Judaism practiced by Hasidim? The strange and diverse tapestry that is my neighborhood includes a few Baal Teshuvahs, or returnees to the faith. Aside from the two or three BT women who've married OMJs, all of them have taken on some hasidic customs. A few are fully Lubovitch. Others practice upshurin, or refrain from g'broks on Pesach. Others daven sefard. All of them send their kids to Chunyucki Chaim yeshivos, or Frummah Freidah schools for girls.

I've asked the BTs about this, and, more or less, they all say the same thing: They didn't think the more modern expressions of Judaism were sufficiently scrupulous, and they didn't see enough evidence of pure devotion in the way the modern Jews lived their lives. To them, the Hasidic approach is the authentic approach, and the more they can do to imitate it, the better Jews they will be.

This bothers me on a few levels. First, the leniencies that hasidic Jews enjoy are well known. Does this suggest that Hasidic Jews are unscrupulous? Of course not. All it means is that their rabbis have read the law differently. Like the Hasidim, modern jews have their own Rabbis; relying on the lenienicies of their own Rabbis is no less legitimate. So why is one group thought to be "unscrupulous" and not the other?

Second, well, here I have to quote the commenter I mentioned above. He said:

Why don't you consider going back to the Judaism of the Geonim or the Spanish rishonim. Sure it's not as much fun as wearing black, and singing songs around the tish... sure in order to live like a Spanish rishon you need to actually know a few things about talmud, and science and the outside world... and sure, to be like a Spanish rishon you have to give up the mysticsm mumbo jumbo and the superstions... but still give it a shot, buddy. Unlike haisdut, they represent authentic, genuine unadulterated Judaism. So try it, you might like it.

Important disclaimer: I don't agree that the Hasidim aren't genuine. I don't think their Judaism is "adulterated." I wouldn't attribute all of their unique customs to superstition. I recognize that many Hasidim have a deep and exacting knowledge of Talmud. I think the tone is disgusting.

Still... Still... Still... It put some interesting questions into my mind. Here they are, in no particular order:

When people go back to Judaism, why is it almost always 18th and 19th century Judaism? When people call YU the bastion of "modern" Judaism, why don't they see that YU, in fact, can trace it's heritage to 13th century Spain? If "authentic Judaism" is really code for "old" Judaism, why aren't the Spanish rishonim widely imitated? Why are their books (Kad haKemach is one; the moreh nevuchim, is another) in much narrower circulation than works of Hasidic masters such as the Tanya and the Shem mee Shmuel?

And if the answer is,"The Rishonim are too hard to understand; we prefer Achronim" why do we, largely ignore Shimshon Rephael Hirsch, an achron who, in Horeb and the 19 Letters, announced that his goal was the revitalization of the Spaniards? Where are his discoverers? Where are his immitators?

To put it succinctly, if Judaism values the old-fashioned ways above everything else, why are the Jews of medieval Spain in such disfavor?

2004-09-01T22:22:00.000-04:00

Was chatting with an RN recently about his background.

I grew up in a Young Israel, he said, but hurried to add, it was a frum Young Israel.

The mind reels. What is a non-frum Young Israel? What was he trying to tell me?

Lables. They obscure more than they reveal. Worse, once the label has been assigned thinking ends.

2004-08-31T09:58:00.000-04:00

Went to the big soccer game with the big pediatrician. He's a fan. I am not. Still, experiencing foreign cultures is broadening. Or boring, which also begins with "B."

The game wasn't awful. The second half was exciting, in fact, and not because I knew we were almost on our way to dinner. Soccer gets a bum rap. It isn't boring at all. There is plenty of action, and because play never stops, there are also plenty of faked injuries. It's the only way a player can catch his breath. The referees, however, are on to the scam, so unless the player is bleeding or uncounsious they keep the game going and let the player writhe on the grass, screaming for last rites.

The trip taught me a few things, shared below in the hopes of broadening, not boring, you.

1 - The Italians don't sing many soccer songs.

2 - Though the English sing a great many different soccer songs, none contain more than one word.

3 - Chanting "Liverpool" 6 or 9 million times leads to a fierce migrane. Also, the word begins to sound mighty strange. You start to wonder: is it billiards or swimming, and what do either have in common with liver?

4 - You can't keep the soccer ball if it is kicked into the seating area. Bulky security people enforce this rule with extreme prejudice.

4 - Girl soccer fans are more attractive than girl baseball fans. I confess: I thought we'd find a stadium full of gardners and housekeepers. Not so.

Of course, this is yet another unfortunate example of stereotyping, the very evil a trip to a soccer game can help to defeat.

2004-08-27T16:39:00.000-04:00

We have a few chasidim in our neighborhood. For the most part, they are good people -as good as any of us, anyway - and I enjoy talking to them.

Last night, S, a hard-core hasid of some kind or another, told me that he allows no variation of his weekly shabbos meals. Friday night is always chicken soup, roasted chicken, tzimmes, kugel and compote. Saturday afternoon is always liver, egg salad, chicken, kugel and cholent.

Is this gastronomic rigidity typical of all Hasidim? S swears it is. He says all Hasidim eat the same food on shabbos. Moreover, he swears that both the meal and that rigidity in general are authentically Jewish. But how can that be so?

First, many of these dishes could not have been prepared in ancient Israel or Babylon. Potatoes, for example, are a New World vegetable. Does this mean that before Columbus returned to Europe with his boatload of potatoes, Jews, deprived of cholent and kugel, were unable to enjoy an authentic shabbos meal?

Second, if Judaism was as rigid as S imagines, Hasidut itself could not exist. The prayer nusach of Europe was ashkenaz. The dominant halachic authority of Europe was the RAMA. Both were thrown overboard by the original Hasidim.

If minhagim were really as binding, if they were truly as powerful, as modern Hasidim imagine, wouldn't their own movement have died in its cradle? I wonder if Hasidim have pondered this irony?

When I next speak to S, I'll be sure to ask.

2004-08-26T09:19:00.000-04:00

That was fast ... stupid Google.

Pleased (snort) to announce the second Baynonim Challenge goes to Urijah. If he can admit to using Google, I suppose I can admit to stealing the question (but I really thought changing the city name would render Google useless. Oh well.) The priceless emoluments and fabulous parting gifts are in the mail.

2004-08-26T08:28:00.000-04:00

Today's (Jew hating, anti-Israel, leftist) New York Times carried two long and gushing stories about the Israeli medalist. They even put his picture on the front page, and, in the sports section, the story was above the fold. In other words, the Times judged this little windsurfing event to be the day's top sports story, putting it ahead of Rulan Gardner's retirement, and the volleyball team's gold medal.

I'm a little torn here. What bothers me more? The way this American paper fawns over an Israeli athlete? Or the way American Jews will ignore it, and continue to judge the Times their enemy?

Or, to reshape the question: What did I find more pleasing? The extensive attention the paper of record gave to a Jew's achievement? Or, the fact that the old, (and not very well-thought out) Jewish complaint against the Times was, in some small way, weakened?

2004-08-25T22:35:00.000-04:00

Olympic Interlude

Israel won a gold medal at the Olympics this week.

I heard about it here, thanks to Sarah. The full story is here. The really embaressing overreaction can be found here at Only Simchas.

Per Ha'aretz, the medalist's father said: "It's very, very hard to believe that he succeeded in doing this,"

Now there's a Jewish father, who sounds like a Jewish mother!

2004-08-25T14:05:00.000-04:00

Mischievous Thought Interlude

Perhaps the Jewish blogosphere could raise the funds necessary to name a building on the campus of Dominican University in honor of Nachmanides, the Ramban.

As students of Jewish history will recall, the Ramban demolished a panel of Dominican friars at a disputation (1) held in Barcelona before the court of King James I of Aragon. The Ramban's own account of the encounter is recorded in Sefer Havikvach, which was translated by Dr. Charles Chavel. Another translation appears here.

The debate ended when, in the Ramban's account, the king said "Let the dispute be suspended. For I have never seen a man whose case is wrong (2) argue it as well as you have done."

I thought the grounds of Dominican University, a school committed to upholding the ideals of those same friars, might be an appropriate place to remember the Ramban's superb achievement.

Who agrees?

* * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

(1) There were hundreds of these diputations in the middle ages.. Usually, the friars would force Jewish congregations to listen to hours of preaching before permitting a Rabbi to respond. Often, the Rabbi was warned that he must not insult Catholisim, which made a proper response all but impossible. The Ramban's disputation is noteworthy because the king himself granted the Ramban freedom to speak his mind.

(2) According to Chavel "whose case is wrong", might also mean "who is not a lawyer"

2004-08-25T12:11:00.000-04:00

Here we go with another Baynonim challenge

For those keeping track, this is the second challenge. As usual, the winner will be chosen on a completely arbitrary basis, and will be given a reward commensurate with the achievement.

In Des Moines it is: 8 2 2 1 9
In Haifa it is: 7 1 2 1 8

What are we talking about here?

2004-08-24T11:27:00.000-04:00

Don't call me zaydee!

There's an old guy in our shul, who's a little crotchety. Ok, he's a world-class grump. Never smiles. Mutters complaints. You know the type. But sometimes, the grump makes an interesting point.

We, old-timers of the neighborhood, have learned to steer clear of the old man. Yesterday, at maariv, a newcomer went on the fool's errand of trying to cheer him up.

"How are you?" asked the newbie.

"Terrible."

"How are your grandchildren?"

"They'll be here next week."

"Oh, how nice." said the newbie, "I'm sure they're looking forward to spending time with their zaydee."

"What did you call me?" snarled the old man.

"Um... zaydee?" the puzzled newbie replied.

Why would you call me that?! Every day, you pray three times for the zaydees to be destroyed!"

"um... I do? Wha?," said the newbie, wondering if, perhaps, he'd been speaking with a mental patient.

"Don't you daven? V'lamalshinim al tehi tikva," recited the old man as he stood up, and went towards the door,"... v'ha'ZAYDIM mehara sekar u'sishaber, u'simager v'sachniah b'mihayra v'yomenu!" (1)

Lesson learned. I doubt the well meaning newcomer will bother the grump again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

(1) The old man is punning the word Zayd. In yiddish, Zaydee is a grandfather. In Hebrew, Zaydim are wanton sinners. As he ended the conversation, the old man recited a passage from the Amidah, or Shmoneh Esray, the prayer recited (with some variations) morning, afternoon and evening every day. This passage asks God to destroy the enemies of the Jewish people, and to humble wanton sinners.

2004-08-23T09:56:00.000-04:00

I don't usually enjoy weddings. As the families march to the chupah, I always think Look at them: a new beginning. A clean slate. How sweet before my thoughts spiral into sour areas. I begin to remember that my own life is no clean slate, with a beginning that belongs to the ever-fading past.

No misunderstandings, please: I'm happily married, and in my early thirties. I do not want a do-over, not at all. All the major decisions were, bh, the right call. Still, it's hard to look at people about to begin their lives, without some jealousy. It's normal to envy people about to begin something new and exciting and wonderful. So much opportunity in front of them...

In Hebrew, a new couple is the zug hatori, the fresh pair. Doesn't that say it all?

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I had some other thoughts last night, aside from these self-pitying reflections. I may not have chosen to share them, but so many other bloggers have recently registered complaints about weddings, so I feel almost compelled to to pile on. Here, then, is the baynonim list of wedding picques.

Candles: Why do the parents of the bride and groom carry them down the aisle at many weddings? The ceremony is usually conducted indoors, and, anyway, electricity has been invented. Is there a religious reason for this practice? MoChassid, says yes, but I am waiting for the details. So far as I know, there is none. The caterer uses modern methods to prepare the food. The band certainly uses electricity. Too much of it, in fact. So why is the quaint custom of carrying candles kept alive?

Overcoats look very strange on a groom when the weather gets warm. Were shtetle weddings always held in the dead of winter? What is the source for this unusual practice?

Kittels My grandfather, zl, said little, but when he opened his mouth he was always right. He insisted that the custom of wearing a kittel, goes hand-in-hand with ashes: a groom who chooses to wear a kittel (and not all of them do; it isn't required) must put ashes on his forehead. Otherwise, he's just showing off. I've never checked the sources, but I trust Grandpa. We see the kittels. Where are the ashes?

Incompetent caterers: At one wedding, the bride set off the burglar alarm when she ventured near the aron kadosh during her 7 circuits; at another a phone in the next room rang ceaselessly during the ceremony; at a third, accumulated snow caved-in the skylight above the chupa. The zug hatori got soaked. Details, people.

Singers who won't coordinate: A friend of the couple, usually, is chosen to sing the two boruch habas and, perhaps, an im eshkochach too Does the singer/friend ever meet with the band beforehand to discuss pacing and keys? Does he even let the band know the tune he'll use? No. Of course not. He just gets up and starts to sing; after a few chords the band picks it up and fills in a few weak background notes. How hard would it be to do it right? How hard could it be to make it look as if this wedding element was given some thought?

Mindnumbing conformity Every wedding looks the same. Same music. Same flowers. Same flourishes. Same shtick. It doesn't have to be this way. A wedding is one religious forum - perhaps the only religious forum - where your own creativity is welcome. No dictate requires you to make a wedding that looks, smells, sounds and tastes like every other wedding. You could, for example, ask friends to hold the chupa. You could have a toast, or play klezmer music. Nothing forces you to enter to, "Introducing for the very first time..." It's your wedding; there's no obligation to throw a copycat bash.The non-Jews know this. Their weddings are personalized with themes, and favors and so on. They choose the music with care and precision. Why can't we do the same? If this suggestion horrifies you, please recall that the white dress and the procession down the aisle aren't inherently Jewish; both ideas were borrowed. Other elements, like the circuits and the glass-breaking, not to mention the candle and the overcoat, were invented. So why has the borrowing stopped? Why has the inventing ended? Note: Fried salami and hotdogs at the shmorg do not count, though I do get a chuckle at Jews in formal wear (be it beckesha or tux) snorting franks.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

At the wedding I attended last night, I carried these dispiriting thoughts for only a few minutes. Then the band began to play, and we rose to welcome two more who had been wed k'daas moshe v'yisroel. The bad thoughts vanished, and I lost myself in the vertiginous mass of celebrating Jews.

2004-08-20T09:55:00.000-04:00

Continued from yesterday

Two stubborn men, each defending their own culture, and me in the middle: A baynonim moment if ever there was one.

To my right: the GT, the shteeble's gabbai tzeddaka, or administrator of the charity accounts a man whose ample stomach is surpassed only by his enormous heart. "I can't tell you the man's name." he says, "It's not proper. It's not discreet. And anyway, the highest form of charity is between two people who don't know each other."

To my left: the shul president, a good lawyer and a good friend, "I have a fiduciary responsibility to our members and to the institution,"he says,"Our building expansion depends on cooperation from the County and The State. I won't put that at risk. I can't involve the shul unless I'm given personal knowledge of the facts."

And in the middle: me. To the GT I say: "If you take the shul president into your confidence, we can raise much more money for our neighbor." To the president I say:"If you accept the GTs word, together we can do a wonderful act of kindness."

No dice.

Both men are sympathetic. Both men are apologetic. But both men are stubborn.

And perhaps something larger is at stake

"This is how Jews do things." says the GT as he rings off, "Informally. Discreetly. Privately. Its worked for 2000 years."

"There's a big picture here." concludes the shul president, as our conversation ends. "The shul's reputation. The expansion project. The trust of the membership. I can't jeopardize those things. I have an obligation to the shul. What if the GT himself has been deceived? Why won't the GT just tell me the man's name? I am an officer of the court. I'll be discreet. I just need to know the facts."

The last thing I say to both men is: "Ask your rabbi, please, and let me know." If I don't hear from them within the week, I'll circulate the GT's email under my own name. It won't be as well received as an official message from the shul, carrying the president's signature, but at least its something.

Readers, what is your view? Is either man on the side of angels? Or do we say a pox on them both?

FIN

2004-08-19T11:40:00.000-04:00

Continued from yesterday

OMJs treasure order. It's cultural. For example:

1 - In the shteeble you can be sitting at your table thinking your thoughts, and dreaming your dreams when - surprise! - you're suddenly called up for maftir. There's no warning, not even a perfunctory, "Heads up, you're about to get maftir." The shul, on the other hand, telephones on Monday to offer the honor, and again, on Friday, to confirm.

2 - In shul, the people wait until davening is done before hauling out the kugle and single malt. In the shteeble, people look to fres the moment the mussaf kedusha ends. In some shteebles the food is actually served the moment the mussaf kedusha ends.

3 - The cultural differences stretch to baseball. When I play with the shul guys, we have a set batting order, and though no one yells about errors, you're still expected to know the fundamentals. The shteeble guys just bat whenever they feel like it, and believe that fundamentals are for the anal-retentive.

Still, I could not believe the shul would insist on playing by the book when a neighbor is in trouble. I was determined to see for myself.

I call on the shul president, and tell him about the GT's email. "Would you be willing to send it out under your own name," I ask.

"Well, the bylaws won't allow for appeals," he says. (This is true. There is not even a yizkor appeal.) "But if you want, you could distribute the email as a private citizen."

"I could," I answer, "but the shul's endorsement would give it some weight."

The shul president is a good man, and a good lawyer. He smiles. "We can't endorse this solicitation without speaking to the beneficiary first. Ask him to come to us. We'll see what we can do."

"I can't ask him to speak to you. I don't know who it is myself."

"Oh." He smiles again. "So how can you endorse him yourself? Are you willing to put your name on the line if it turns out to be an exaggeration, or worse, a fraud?"

Good point. So, now it is back to the GT, for some facts. And yes, I am beginning to feel like a ping-pong ball.

(To be continued)

2004-08-18T20:50:00.000-04:00

Protocols interlude

If you're visiting because of the link Luke Ford has kindly provided, welcome. We're in the middle of a story, today on baynonim. The story began on August 16. I suggest you scroll down and read it first, so you can get the story's flow.

Some of the posts people like can be found here, and here. If you like arguments, weigh in here. This post tells you what baynonim is all about.

Occasionally, we run challenges. The blogger Velvel took the first one, and has been ceaselessly promoted, ever since.

Thanks very much for visiting. Feel free to comment, and come again soon.

Regular readers: Our story continues tomorrow.

2004-08-18T09:58:00.000-04:00

continued from yesterday

The big pediatrician stands 5"6 and weighs perhaps 150 pounds. We call him the big pediatrician because he's so important. Sometimes, we even do the little hand motion and intone our voices like Mel Brooks: The beeeg peediah-trish-an, accent on the trish, trill on the "tr."

He kenned at once the reason for L's puzzling behavior

"Modern shuls won't answer an appeal like that," he said referring to the email the shteeble's GT had circulated,"L knew you'd go medieval on him for bad-mouthing the shul if he tried to explain that to you."

So instead I went medieval on the BP.

"Are you joking? Are you flat out of your mind? Nobody gives more money to shuls and schools than the OMJs. For starters, they have more money because, most of the time, they have fewer kids, and better jobs..."

The BP cut me off. "All true. But they won't answer an informal email appeal. They'll give to an established organization, or to a collector carrying a certification issued by their rabbi. The GT's sloppy email? That they will ignore."

"But this collection is on behalf of a neighbor," I said.

"Says, you" the BP replied. "First, he doesn't daven in their shul, so he's not their neighbor. Second, only the GT knows who he is. There's no way to prove he's actually a neighbor. The OMJs will worry about those details"

"You're ridiculous. " I answered, "And I am going to prove it."

(to be continued)

2004-08-17T09:09:00.000-04:00

Continued from yesterday.

Having been rebuffed by the GT, I went to L, via blackberry. I typed out the details of my query, and sent it off, fully expecting a quick, and comprehensive response.

But no. Instead, L though I was picking a fight. Typical, I suppose, but unexpected here.

Via blackberry

L: I know exactly where you are going with this and I will not be taken there. Nice try :-)

Me: It's an innocent question. What is wrong with you? Where do you think I am taking you?

L: If it's so innocent why not ask yourself?

Me: I did. The GT went pale. And now you’re acting funny, too. What do the two of you think I am really asking?

L: No way José.

Me: No clue what you’re thinking. Really puzzled here.

L: Too bad

Me: Come on: what strange idea is growing in your paranoid mind?

L: I'm not answering. Ask the big pediatrician. He'll explain.

What is wrong with these people? What have I blundered into? Why can’t they answer a simple question?

Tomorrow: I find out.

2004-08-16T11:40:00.000-04:00

Another email, another story.

Yersterday, an email went around courtesy of the gabbai tzedaka, the administrator of the shteeble's charity accounts. The email asked for donations to help a neighbor who has fallen on hard times.

It was a sad story. Lots of kids. Loss of job. A medical condition. A household emergency, and so on and so forth. It's a measure of the GT's compassion and skill, I suppose, that he aroused my sympathy so completely, without revealing the subject. I prepared a check at once.

Regular readers will remember that our neighborhood has two places to daven, a shul and a shteeble. Later, when I saw the GT at maariv, I suggested sending the solicitation email to the shul members, too.

He blushed.

"I don't think that's a good idea," the GT stammered.

"Why not?"

"Let's not go there," he replied

So rather than going there, I went to L, my native guide and solver of all puzzles. Yes, L is a fake, a phony and a fraud, but that's probably why he has all the answers.

(to be cont.)

2004-08-16T10:20:00.000-04:00

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2004-08-16T09:27:00.000-04:00

I don't mean to pick, but...

Forte pronounced fort is a thing a person does particularly well; forte pronounced for-tay is a musical term meaning "loud."

2004-08-13T18:21:00.000-04:00

Housekeeping Interlude....
On a completely arbitrary basis, the first baynonim challenge, along with other priceless emoluments, goes to Velvel for dreaming up Miss-orah. Sample sentance, "Wachnacht is part of our miss-orah."

Check out the sidebar. It is how we say thank you.

Boys, boys, boys
Re: The scuffle in the comment section of the previous entry

Skeptic, I'm sure MOChassid didn't mean to dismiss the whole collective history of German Jewry, or to pretend that his own version is the only legitimate history. Moreover, if you invited MO to your house for a potato-less cholent, he'd be there with bells on, and he'd lead the zmiros, to boot. Cholent, incidentally, is French for slow and hot (chaud lent.) I'm glad no one thought of boycotting that during our Freedom-Fries phase.

...We welcome a new blog
A great writer and old friend has set up an outpost in the J-blog echo chamber. Stop in and say hey to GoldaLeah at Go West, Young Jew.

2004-08-13T16:34:00.000-04:00

Kugels, friday night dinner, Shabbos concerts, upshurins... what else belongs to this motley collection of Jewish customs we call... we call... um... You know, readers, it would sure be helpful if we had a word for this motley collection of customs.

Meantime, here are a few more examples, sent in by readers:

Wachnacht: For the uninitiated, this consists of putting a knife under an infant boy's pillow on the night before his circumcision. The purpose? Scaring off monsters. Yes, the ritual has other elements aside from the knife: we say shema at cribside, distribute candies, and the baby's father keeps an overnight vigil. Still, per the Jewish Encyclopedia, it's all about the monsters.

This, incidently, is one of several customs that I, a day school/yeshiva graduate who paid attention, first discovered well after my formal education had ended.

Red String: Madanna may think it's mesorah. I'm not altogether convinced.

Shrayim: AKA the Rebbe's leftovers. The Hasidic Rebel tells a very good story about this very strange practice. Scroll to August 4 I've seen it just once, at a hasidic bris. I did not partake. No one booed.

Shul Balconies: This, I was very surprised to learn, is not a recent innovation. Woman were sequestered upstairs as long ago as the 16th century, and perhaps even earlier. (see the first comment) Smaller, house-based prayer meetings are of much more recent origin. Nonethless, the average RN says that the balconies are modern (feh!) and the shteebles are not.

Post Shachris Psalms: Many ashkenazic shuls have begun saying a chapter or two of Psalms after shachris and maariv. This practice is less than three years old. Sfardim say mizmor l'dovid, also a chapter of Psalms, after the Friday night maariv. The ashkenazic practice was introduced in response to 9/11 and several attacks in Israel. Perhaps the sefardic practice was introduced under similar circumstances. Does anyone know?

Also, I'd like to know how the sefardim reacted when this practice was first introduced. We ashkenazim, for the most part, have reacted, by ignoring the practice and walking out before the chazzan is finished. Still, I have faith in the failure of Jewish memory. I fully expect my great-grandchildren will insist the practice of saying two Psalms after shachris originated with the Ari, or maybe Amran Gaon. Kabbalistic reasons are sure to be adduced. With luck, it may even feature prominently in a story starring the Baal Shem Tov. Anyone who tries to ignore it in my great-grandchild's shul will be disgraced.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

I didn't get nearly as many emails as I expected telling about forgotten Jewish practices. (I got none.) I must sit with Oma and grill her about pre-war Vienna. Again, if you know of a Jewish practice (and it could be as simple as cholent with no potatoes) that Jews no longer keep, please email baynonim at hotmail dot com. I'm drawing up a list.

2004-08-12T23:35:00.000-04:00

We gave my son his first hair cut when he was 18 months old. I took him to the Russian barber and sat him up on the wooden plank the barber uses to make small kids seem taller. He didn't squirm. We took some pictures. Afterwards, the barber gave him lollipop, and that was it.

When my neighbor, MM the Lubovitcher, celebrated his own son's first haircut he hired a band, and a balloon magician, and a caterer. The rabbi spoke. The decorations were extravagant. The boy's hair was not cut by a hired stranger, but by the assembled guests. MM, and then his father, made the first snips; afterwards other guests were offered the scissors (and some vodka. This, after all, was a Lubovitch celebration. At the end of the afternoon a professional barber was called in to repair the mess we, vodka-sipping hair stylists, wrought on the poor boy's hair.)

Why did MM deploy all the resources at his disposal for the sake of his son's first haircut? Because MM keeps the custom of upshurin. Why did I take my son to the Russian down the block, and celebrate with a lollipop? Because I do not.

Are you surprised? Have you suddenly begun to doubt baynonim's fidelity to Judaism? Don't feel bad. Many people assume that upshurin is an hoary old custom observed by all Orthodox Jews, the world over. It isn't, though I come face-to-face with this mistake all the time. (I sure could use a word for it, too. See the first baynonim contest.)

2004-08-12T11:43:00.000-04:00

Three fast stories about upshurin:

1 - An RN once suggested that upshurin was equal to women covering their hair as an indicator of Orthodox commitment. "You don't practice upshirin, but your wife covers her hair?" were his exact words.

2 - My local Hasidic Rabbi asked, "When are you making for him pais" and, to my everlasting shame, I didn't have the guts to say, "Well, to tell you the truth, Rabbi, he's had his hair cut already. Twice." Neither did I have the courage to correct his grammar, nor did I think to ask, "Isn't his hair a little too short for you to be asking that questions?" (Don't let my tone mislead you. I hold the man in high regard.)

3 - Soon after my son's third birthday, another RN said, with a disappointed look across her face, "Well, I guess we missed the upshurin." You could tell she was hurt. She sighed and everything. There may even have been hand wringing. I hope their was no gossip about the mean old, snobby baynonim family.

So, please, if any of my own personal RNs are reading the blog, let me say, "hi, please stop." But first, I have two remarks: (1) This blog isn't about you. Really; and (2) You were not snubbed. There was no upshurin and I promise we'll all dance together, please God, at the bar mitzvah.

2004-08-12T10:45:00.000-04:00

Why I don't keep the upshurin custom

I'm not Hasidic, and upshurin is a Hasidic practice. My ancestors from Austria and Germany never heard of it; my ancestors from Lithuania and Poland knew about it, but did not practice it. To paraphrase Ralph Kiner, if they were alive today they'd be rolling in their graves if they knew how widespread this Hasidic practice has become.

Some people, I say with hesitation, argue that even Hasidim themselves should reject upshurim because the custom began as a Muslim practice. I read history, but I am not a historian; I can't and won't evaluate that particular claim (though the argument, briefly outlined, can be found here.) I do know the custom first appeared among the Hasidim less than 200 years ago. That's yesterday, when you consider our Mesorah was revealed 3000 years ago.

Here are a few questions about upshurin.

Why doesn't it have a Hebrew name? Upshurin is Yiddish. I can't think of any other Jewish practice that has no Hebrew name. Can you?

Do boys from families who keep this custom go through their early childhood imagining themselves to be girls? Their hair gets very long; most sport ponytails for the last few months. I know one woman from an upshirin background who swears she thought all the little longhaired kids running around on her playground were girls. She remembers feeling disappointed, she recounts, at age three when -poof!- some of her playmates suddenly became boys, and she remained a female. But that's just one little girl's point of view. I don't know what the boys thought.

Over the last twenty years, more and more Jews who are not of Hasidic extraction have adopted this custom. Several live in my neighborhood. Why is this so popular? I, for one, do not understand the appeal. To me, other Hasidic practices are much more attractive. And though I could speculate irresponsibly on the reasons for upshurin's ever increasing popularity, this, too, is one of the mysteries.

2004-08-11T11:18:00.000-04:00

The posts about kugel and concerts suggest a contest, so here we go:

Introducing: The Very First Baynonim Challenge

In the kugel and concert posts I discussed (1) authentic Jewish practices that have been forgotten and (2) Jewish practices with long histories that are mistakenly considered "modern." Tomorrow, we'll discuss (3) Jewish practices that are thought to be very old when they are, in fact, brand new.

Your challenge, should you choose to accept it: Invent a new word for our community's inability to remember when its own customs originated. Cleverness combined with aptness will be rewarded with a suitable prize - yes! a suitable prize -though the final decision will be completely arbitrary.

(No, not a date with Luke Ford. Something suitable. I promise.)

Submit your suggestion via email (baynonim at hotmail dot com) titling entries "Word Fugitive."

If you have additional examples of this phenomenon, send them, too.

Note: Unless I have express, written permission to use your name (you must write "It is ok for you to use my name") I won't use it. Period. Exception: If you post your entry to the comments, I'll presume you've given me permission to cite you per the name you used to comment. And yes, my not-so-brilliant "Period. Exception" also reminded me of the Spanish Inquisition skit.

2004-08-10T22:42:00.000-04:00

When L heard I went to the shul last shabbos, and not to the shteeble, he had this comment: "How can you stand it there?? It's sooooooo modern. "

Modern? Examples please.

All that singing, he answered. Very American. Very Young Israel.

Oh really? A few moments with The Timetables of Jewish History: A Chronology of the Most Important People and Events in Jewish history. and I had the information I needed.

From page 193:

1623: The Council of the Four Lands(1) limits the number of musical compositions sung in the Sabbath service, evidence of an abundance of creativity on the part of synagogue cantors

In other words, as I explained to L, there was too much singing at Jewish services as far back as 1623. Yet we call this "modern." Meanwhile, newer innovations, like the Prince Albert(2) that L, himself, recently donned as evidence of his fidelity to the ways of his forefathers, are thought of as authenticly, and more legitimately, Jewish.

A long service isn't kugel; no one fetishizes a three-hour morning service. Still, isn't it odd that our generation imagines itself the very first Jews to suffer through shabbos morning concerts?

------------------------------------
(1) From 1580 to 1764, the Council of Four Lands (Va'ad Arba' Aratzot) in Lublin, Poland was the central body of Jewish authority in Poland. 70 delegates from local kehillot met to discuss taxation and other issues important to the Jewish community. The "four lands" were Great Poland, Little Poland, Ruthenia and Lithuania.

(2) A long double-breasted frock coat for men favored by Lubovitch Hasidim

2004-08-10T19:52:00.000-04:00

Houskeeping Interlude

The post on women's prayer groups and Yiddish has been updated.

Scroll down for the update. Drop a note to baynonim at hotmail dot com if you have anything to add.

Also, I finally read Simcha on the subject of women's prayer groups. They aren't halachic, so I recant. If Rav Schachter says it's osur, it is osur.

Some musings:
I was happy to see that neither Simcha nor the Rabbis he cites made a meal of the "motivations" of the women who participate in these groups. Their "motivation" is irrelevant. It's none of our business, for starters, and they deserve the benefit of the doubt.

And even if their private motivations are wrong, doesn't "Mitoch lo lishma, bo lishma" matter? You should always continue to do good actions even if your reasons are bad.

Finally, it does seem to me that some of Rav Schacters objections to women's prayer groups, could be applied to other, fully sanctioned, Jewish practices. I'm not a posek. I'm not trying to make trouble. If Rav Schachter says it's osur, it is osur. But, in my heart of hearts, I am going hmmmm over some of the reasons Simcha cites. I would love to see the Lion of YU (Rav Schachter, not Simcha) apply some of those objections to certain other Jewish practices.

Perhaps I'll get into it one day. But today is not that day.

As for this question, which touches upon my own thread I have a one word answer. Feminism is about choices.

2004-08-09T14:05:00.000-04:00

I don't understand why people fetishize kugel. (1)

I'm not saying anything against kugel. It's fine, like six-dozen other good things to eat. But why does it provoke such mass hysteria? It's just a clot of fat and potatoes. Half the caterers don't even make it properly.

My own AC (2) doesn't even bother. Too much work. Too little pay-off. Besides her own holy ancestors never went near the stuff. They were Austrian Jews, from Vienna, oberlanders that is. Potato dishes were for the country mice, the unterlanders. They were the ones who ate kugel, not her and her neighbors. In fact, until she arrived in America, the AC's grandmother never once saw a cholent with potatoes in it.

As a child, the AC's grandmother ate a regular Friday night dinner that simply wouldn't fly in America. The main course was fish. No chicken. No soup. Just a large stuffed fish, with trimmings. And according to her, all her Jewish neighbors did the same. The so-called "authentic European Friday night meal" of soup, chicken and kugel was unknown to her. (3)

Isn't it a little sad? Today very few religious Jew would serve fish, and fish alone, for Friday night supper. Yet, if my grandmother-in-laws recollections are sound (and I am sure they are) this was an authentically European practice, followed by authentically Jewish families, in at least one European city. American Jewry, with it's kugel, rushes to romaticizes European Jewry, but, in fact, only one small corner of Europe is being remembered. The ways of central and western Europe are gone, and largely forgotten.

One more crime to put on Hitler's account, I suppose.
-----
(1) Examples of kugel being fetishized: (a) The mothers who, on Friday afternoon, bring trays of the stuff to their sons at sleep-away camp. (b) The reaction at any kiddush when kugel is served (c) The RN who pulled a piece of uneaten kugel out of a garbage can at one kiddush saying, "its shabbos" as if that explained it all.
2) Ayshes Chayil, or wife.
3) Also she, like her mother and grandmother before her, is an Oma, not a Bubby. And there are many more examples, examples I'll discuss in future blogs.

2004-08-08T06:16:00.000-04:00

Uplifting Story Interlude

I haven't been feeling myself lately. Down. Depressed. Blue. In the Dumps. The reason, I think, is the whiff of failure. I catch it's moldy scent everywhere. Or almost everywhere, anyway. More than half of the things I've tried lately have failed. More than half.

I was in this unhappy mood when the big pediatrician invited me to accompany him to a ball game. His brother-in-law, a Brit, came, too, for his first look at baseball.

The Brit was full of questions. I played native guide. When the first batter was announced, the Brit asked about the numbers the scoreboard flashed.

That's his batting average, I said.

.340? Not very good, 'eh?

What do you mean? I retorted. If he keeps that up, he'll go to the Hall of Fame.

The Brit gave me a look. The Hall of Fame? On that batting average? He only does his job 34 percent of the time. He fails more than half the time he bats.

He fails more than half the time, I thought. And he's on pace for the Hall of Fame.

Every day, a bas kol.(1)
---

(1) ie a heavenly voice. The Mishna says one goes forth every day with words of encouragement or advice.

2004-08-07T23:40:00.000-04:00

Another Baynonim List

Why I like the shteeble vs Why I like the shul

At the shteeble we finish before 11:30, and often before 11; at the shul we sing all the the old songs, and psuke d'zimra isn't rushed.

At the shteeble, the rav rarely speaks and when he does his words seldom make me feel uncomfortable or introspective; at the shul the rabbi speaks every week but often with power, charisma and polish.

At the shteeble the guys are my age, and often a cholent follows; at the shul there's very little talking and the room in which we daven isn't treated like a restaurant.

At the shteeble the davening often has fervor and joy; at the shul the nusach is ashkenaz.

At the shteeble my kids play with kids who dress like they do and who go to the same sort of schools as they do; at the shul there are structured educational activities for the kids.

2004-08-06T13:24:00.000-04:00

The girl's event is on. And I get to run it.

The Rabbi himself called me with the good news. He said, "Myself, I never had a problem with it, but I wanted to be sure the oylam(1) was comfortable with the idea."

The complainers, about whom I've been blogging all week, appear to be a minority. Like all good minorities, they are loud, but also out of step with the majority. My dislike for them, like my appreciation for the rabbi, is growing. In retrospect, who but a very insecure person would raise such a ruckus about a girl's arts and crafts project? Let's hope they really are a minority.

The girls will gather, in two weeks time, on Sunday, 22 August, for pizza, ice cream and an afternoon of arts and crafts. My responsibilities are limited to ordering the food, which is easy; a local woman will lead the project.

I expect that most of the shul will be pleased when they hear the news. Only a very few will be unhappy, but their daughters can stay home, I suppose. I just hope they don't lose respect for the Rabbi because of his decision.

Perhaps I'll go to the shteeble, and not the shul, this weekend after all.

-----
1 - Congregation

2004-08-06T09:52:00.000-04:00

Updated

What's next a woman's minyan?

An RN who heard me plumping for a girl's event asked me this question today. For real. I hope he didn't miss the incredulity on my face

Then again, someone who imagines that a group of girls playing together leads irreversibly to woman in talitot(1) might not have a talent for spotting details. Then again, too, this is the same clever chap who asked me why I wasn't giving my son an upshurin, "after all," said he,"your wife covers her hair."

I must remember that morons are like mushrooms. Even the best lawns have them.
____________________________

N.B: Officially, this blog has no objection to woman davening together, and will cast no aspersions on their motives. Spiritual crises, like midlife crises, strike us all, and we cope in different ways: Some get tattoos, some buy fast cars, some purchase beckeshas and begin mispronouncing Hebrew (2) and some form davening groups for women. The middle-aged man in the brand-new beckesha is not maligned. No one suggests that he has ulterior motives. Instead, he's congratulated for finding a way to bring himself closer to God. Women who daven together deserve the same courtesy.

That said, women in talitot, swaying like men, creep me out, but still: Zeh ne'ehneh v'zeh lo chash-ser.(3)

Updated, note to self: No more editorial ramblings. They distract from the story line.

(1) I write and say "talitot" because "talaysim" is not good Hebrew, and "talitos" sounds stupid. Updated: Jah tells us it is good yiddish. The Ayshes Chayil says it surely began as an error before becoming accepted.

(2) Yes, yes: Some of us also join shteebles, or in my case, yo-yo indecisively between a shteeble and a shul and blog about it.

(3) This one benefits, this one loses nothing.

From the Comment Bag
Mochassid said: There is nothing wrong with saying talaysim. Unless you're sfardi, you're father said it; your grandfather said it, your greatgrandfather said it..... and, on your substantive point, I totally disagree with your premise that no one loses from women's tefilah groups. And with you analogy which is 180 degrees off. But I don't have time right now.

Can't wait to read about it on MOChassid. :) Note: If anything not halachic occurs at a woman's prayer group I withdraw my official agnosticism on the subject. But if it is halachicly parve, why care?

As for talitot/s vs talaysim... I rather doubt the holy ancestors said "talaysim" -- or "shabbosim" for that matter. They knew hebrew, or if not hebrew, they at least knew the liturgy: "... shabbasos l'mnucha, changim u'zemanim l'soson..."

For the record, not all of my own personal holy ancestors spoke Yiddish. Many did. Not all. Western Europe had Jews, too, Once upon a time, so did Germany. And the city Jews in places like Vienna and Budapest and Prague didn't speak Yiddish either. And what about the holy ancestors own holy ancestors? Rashi, and the Ramban certainly said "talitos." It's right there in their books.

As my entry itself tries to suggest, we all have little affectations (talitot might be mine; objecting to talitot might be yours.) They are just that - affectations, and not charecter flaws, and certainly not betrayals of those who came before us.

Updated 8/9

A reader said: Hi - Interesting blog. In a recent posting you implied that Jews outside Eastern Europe didn't speak Yiddish. FYI, there was a Western dialect of Yiddish, spoken in places like Germany, the Netherlands, etc., in the past (although it became almost or totally extinct at some point). So Yiddish wasn't only an Eastern European thing. Please mention it to your readers. Thanks.

I appreciate your comments, but I can't say I'm familiar with this Western dialect of Yiddish. There's no mention of it here, where Yiddish is described as an Easten European phenomenon from the 13th century onward. Many of my own relatives came from Germany. They spoke no Yiddish. If you can tell me more about this, please write again.

2004-08-05T15:44:00.000-04:00

I've begun to notice an essential difference between the OMJs and RNs. The RNs care more about how things look. The OMJ's worry about how things are.

The flap over the girl's event fuels this theory. I am told the RNs who oppose letting the girls gather object on these grounds: It's not something a shteeble does. Or as one put it: We're not a Young Israel.

I'm trying very hard to understand the RN point of view, but I keep returning to this question: Are we really worried that a new person might somehow fail to notice the tables, the sfard nusach, and the hasidic rabbi at the front of the room. You think he'll miss all of that - but the girl's event he will notice and from that he'll conclude that we're a Young Israel? Is this really keeping you up at night? That some lone random visitor might think that you belong to a Young Israel, and not a shteeble?

But of course it doesn't end there. I can just see the dominos falling in their minds.

Well, the new visitor will tell his friends all about our girl's event, and then the word will spread that we are not a real shteeble, and our sons will be expelled from school, and our daughters will die old maids, and the chulent will be too watery and the kishka will spoil.

You're laughing, but the RNs in the audience are nodding their heads.

Meanwhile, I am stuck wondering why the old RNs are so worried about how things look. Why can't we just do what's right for our kids, and stand on that? I will listen if anyone wants to tell me that it might be bad for the girls to develop a relationship with the shul and with each other by participating in a shul sponsored event. But no one seems to care about the girls. No one is using that argument.

There's a long post building inside me about the self-destructive unfairness of this behavior, but I keep reminding myself that my blog isn't angry essays, rants, diatribes or even whatever ben chorin is attempting. My blog is a comic strip, a collection of short stories. Maybe one day I'll break form and go all George Orwell on you. But not yet.

2004-08-05T12:14:00.000-04:00

Ab fab commentary at Hemishtown this morning, but why am I compared to the Shaygetz?

2004-08-04T12:05:00.000-04:00

The nearest neighbors are OMJ all the way, Israeli in fact. Knitted kippot, Hebrew in the house, the works. So it was no small surprise, at last shabbos lunch, when I discovered their oldest son attended a Chunyuki Chaim yeshiva. This has been the source of more than one mirthful moment, as his parents revealed over the shnitzle and cold-cuts:

1. The boy's name is Netanayle. The teachers insisted on calling him Nesonayle (See 1 for the reason.) Parental intervention was required after the boy came home in tears. The compromise was "Tani."

2. At bar mitzvah this yeshiva requires a hat for davening. On the evidence, the school does not require a minyan for davening. More than once, Tani forgot his hat, and was sent home from school, and thus forced to miss minyan.

3. When he is not in school Tani wears a knitted kippa, like his father. One afternoon, he was spotted by school authorities at Sunday mincha wearing his knitted kippa, and again parentel intervention was needed. "We don't want the school to aquire a bad name," said the principal. "Let me understand this," replied the neighbor,"You're worried your school's repuation will suffer if a student is seen at mincha davening?" (when I heard this story I was reminded of a great riff by Dave Barry. See 2)

4. When the time finally came for Tani to say good-bye to this yeshiva, and go on to Israel for his year of post-high-school study, the yeshiva thought he should go to Mercaz Hatorah or Torah Mee Sinai. The former was disqualified after his mother saw it ("If they tore the place down, it would still be a dump.") the latter was disqualified after his father met the recruiter ("The first words out of his mouth were 'our students get good shiduchim'") The family finally settled on Har Etziyon. The yeshiva was most displeased. "He should go to an American-style yeshiva," they sniffed.

Said my neighbor: I've had quite enough of American-style yeshivot, thank you very much.

-----------------------------

1 - The consonent Tav, which is always pronounced as "t" by Israelis is pronounced "s" when it does not have a dot in the Ashkenazic pronunciation favored at American yeshivot.

2- I can't find it on-line, but it involved Dave getting a parking ticket, while gangsters sped by in their stolen, unregistered cars, laundering money, with one hand on their illigal machine guns, the other on their pit bulls, and piles of cocaine on the passenger seats. Not that he was bitter.

2004-08-04T11:47:00.000-04:00

Baynonim honors Tu B'av

2004-08-03T10:51:00.000-04:00

No reply as yet regarding the girl's event. The Rabbi is "thinking about it."

I won't be a pest. I won't ask the gabbaim for an update more than once per day. I will be optimistic. I should be optimistic. The Rabbi is a good egg, and a torah scholar. In the past, he's proven himself quite resistant to foolish RN demands. When they wanted to move Shachris (Saturday morning prayers) to 9:30, for instance, the Rabbi dug in his heels and won. When they wanted the shteeble to pay for a weekly chulent, he said no, not before we're solvent.

In each case the RN's insisted that proper shteebles had both. In each case the Rabbi argued that proper Jews required neither.

So I have every confidence that it is the RNs, and not the Rabbi, who fear that their shteeble will be damaged if the girls are permitted to assemble under the shteeble's aegis. Superstitions come in all forms.

Still, the Rabbi is a hassid, and hassidim, in general, don’t have the very best track record on matters of Jewish womanhood. For example, the Rabbi's own announcments will congratulate, "Moshe Piddlepop on his son's Bar Mitzvah," and never the Piddlepop family, or Mr. and Mrs. Piddlepop. When there is a chulent, the woman get fed last, sequestered as they are behind the maximum-security mechitza

I'm not so optimistic anymore.

If the Rabbi does say no, I'll go quietly. No peep of protest will be uttered from me. I hate the idea of denying girls opportunities simply because they are girls, but I respect communities, and communities must be true to their own values, Neanderthalic though they may be.

Anyway, it is high time I went back to the shul.

2004-08-03T08:38:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was TU B'av, a fantastic holiday the mishnah calls the most joyous of days. What does it celebrate? Marriage!

Here's a thought to honor the day.

The mishna says: kasheh zivug k'krias yam suf / A successful match is as difficult as splitting the Red Sea.

Difficult, but for whom?

The Jews? All they did was enter the water and -poof!- it split.
For God? He created the word with an utterance. Why would splitting the Sea be difficult for Him?

The answer, I think, is that the Sea Splitting was difficult on the Egyptians. First, they all drowned. Not an easy day at the beach.

Second, the mishna says that the Jews had made it to dry land before the last Egyptian had entered the Sea. Because all the Egyptians died, we can deduce that the stragglers entered the Sea after the water came crashing down on their fellow soldiers. They saw their friends drowning, yet they went charging to their deaths in the churning and frothing Sea.

Kasheh zivug k'krias yam suf / A successful match is as difficult as splitting the Red Sea.

A man sees his friends getting married; nonetheless he jumps right in.

Happy Tu B'av!

2004-08-02T22:41:00.000-04:00

slightly revised again

Very little annoys me more than when an RN who was born on third base denigrates a Jew who is still holding at first. It's even worse when the smug RN gets it backwards, when the RN is so far behind he thinks he is ahead. I'll let you decide which case is described below.

Last week, a few Jews at the Democratic National Convention observed Tisha B'av by sitting on the floor and reading Eicha (and yes, they performed these observances immediately after Bill Clinton's speech, but this blog is not about obvious jokes.) You can read about Tisha B'Av at the convention here.

My friend, the Grinch, deeemed their behavior fantastically inappropriate. He writes:

"What were they doing at the convention on Tisha B'av? And not only did they go to the convention, they held the services there. In my mind, they have desecrated Tisha B'av, and they have desecrated the service.

Two words: Dude, chill.

Let's not argue over whether or not these Jews belonged at the convention on 9 Av. Yes, the Rabbis told us to avoid festive activities on and around the day the Temple burned, (pace Yuter) but the Rabbis created exceptions. We're allowed to work on Tisha B'av if we must, for instance. Do the exceptions apply here? Ask a rav, and, because it relates to Tisha B'av, do the right thing and assume the Jewish convention delegates did, too.

The real point, however, Mr. Grinch, is this: Even if the exceptions don't apply to the Democratic National Convention, even if going to the convention was not in keeping with the spirit of 9 AV, you still can't convince me that it was disgraceful to hold an Eicha service on the convention floor.

Do the sages prohibit reading Eicha in public? No. Did the Convention band back-up the reader with show-tunes? No. Were confetti and balloons falling as the mournful, 3000 year old words of Jeremiah were read? No. Did the Jewish delegates behave in bad faith? Was there anything disrespectful about the service? Was it a mockery? No, no, and no again. They sat on the floor as Jews have for millennium and cried for Zion. So would you please cut them some slack? On the floor of a convention assembled to help decide who, for the next four years, will be the most powerful person on planet Earth, a group of Jews paused to remember Jerusalem, to honor Jewish memory and to pay respects to the Jewish God.

And unlike the RN's, the Jewish delegates, I'm betting, aren't the sort of Jews who were raised to consider Eicha non-negotiable. For them, Eicha at the convention was something extra, something that went beyond what they were taught was necessary.

Aren't these all good reasons to say ata echad v'shimcha echad u'mee k'amcha yisroel / You are one, and your name is one, and who is like your nation Israel?

Disgraceful? A few more "disgraces" of this kind and perhaps the great trumpet will finally sound.

2004-08-01T19:19:00.000-04:00

The RNs are circulating an email. It reads "Attention Mispallalim: We are hosting for the first time ever our annual father-son softball game. It will be taking place..... Should you have for us any suggestions please...."

Suggestions? Why yes, thank you. Here's one: Grammar is g'valdik.

And what about the girls? Citing Abigail Adams ("remember the ladies") I write a light and breezy response requesting a parallel event for our daughters. The high command is not amused.

"The Rav would not be comfortable with a co-ed event," said one. (Is "parallel" a new word?)

"Let the woman run it themselves," said another.

Or as L put it: "You don't cite in a shteeble. You bring down."

2004-08-01T19:00:00.000-04:00

Stay tuned...

The big pediatrician thinks I'm picking on the RNs, and he's right. But before long I'll tire of the shteeble and go back to the shul, and, then friends, the worm will turn.

2004-08-01T18:48:00.000-04:00

...and a few more props to distribute.

Thanks go to Cookie, the Hasidic Musician and the lefty for noticing me and my little blog. I also thank FrumDad for putting me on his sidebar.

2004-07-30T03:20:00.000-04:00

A Shabbos Nachamu Interlude

IS 40
Comfort, comfort my people!
Speak to the heart of Jerusalem, and cry out to her
Gone is her term of punishment.
Gone is the guilt that was hers

Ok, most of that is Safam, not the official Art Scroll translation, but I don't care. I get chills down my spine - actual jolts of electricity - every time I think about this verse. It's fresh snow. Clean laundry. A second chance. And sure we Jews are on our third and our fourth and our fifth chances and sure we've squandered our chances again and again but if the prophets have taught us anything it is this: God isn't a once-bitten twice-shy kind of guy.

That's your Nachamu in a nutshell, baby.

2004-07-29T11:10:00.000-04:00

Ninth grade. Our teacher is furious. On and on, he rages about our bad behavior, our disrepect, our attitude. We deserve to be punished, to receive the full measure of his wrath.

However, he says, I will forgive you, because I, Rabbi Velvel Seigelman, am a pitiful person!

Ah, yeshiva memories. With medication, I can control them.

2004-07-29T10:36:00.000-04:00

Mincha at the Shteeble has been moved and revised. It has a point now. The big pediatrician thinks that "We see the donuts" belongs on a T-shirt. He also thinks I should stop calling him the "big pediatrician." I think he should stick to jabbing kids with needles.