Listen to yesterday's class on Masekhet Megilah 19b, on the topic of "Hearing the Megilah from a Deaf Person, with a Hearing Aide or a Microphone," here.
Follow along with the source sheets here.
Wednesday, October 17, 2018
Hearing the Megilah from a Deaf Person, with a Hearing Aide or a Microphone
Listen to yesterday's class on Masekhet Megilah 19b, on the topic of "Hearing the Megilah from a Deaf Person, with a Hearing Aide or a Microphone," here.
Follow along with the source sheets here.
Friday, October 12, 2018
Parashat Noah: The Sound of Silence
The Sound of Silence
Thoughts on Noah 2018
Click here to view as PDF
Setting out to
restart humanity after the flood, Noah encountered an unfamiliar world. The
world he had previously known was created by God’s words and continuously sustained
by His direct speech to mankind. But Noah no longer heard that voice. And as he
searched for direction in an empty land, God’s explicit advice – which had once
guided his every decision – was gone.
And Noah, a man of the soil,
was the first to plant a vineyard. And he drank of the wine and became drunk,
and exposed himself within his tent.
(Bereshit
9:20-1)
In his sad state of
confusion, Noah drank himself to self-exposure. The lack of clarity which
defined his new situation – a reality so familiar to us all – was unbearable
for him.
David Gelernter
commented on our own difficulty at discerning God’s true will in a world marked
by His silence. He wrote:
That still, small voice you hear: is it the
genuine voice of God, or merely the human stirrings of your all-too-human mind?
The image you have arrived at: is it a sign (like the burning bush) of God’s
presence? Or only a strange dream?[1]
Indeed, most of our
spiritual struggles stem from that perplexing “silence” of the world we
inhabit. Our lives are overcome by stress and anxiety on a continuous search
upon roads that are not clearly marked. They resemble Noah’s challenge after
the flood. How can we succeed?
In the opening
passage to his Mishneh Torah, HaRambam famously described the
fundamental missvah of “yediat HaShem” – knowledge of God. In
contrast to the opinion of other Jewish theologians who stressed “emunah
be-HaShem” – belief in God, HaRambam never mentions that concept.[2]
The classical explanation for his omission is that HaRambam found emunah
to be superficial and incomplete. He posited that the simple acceptance of God
forms a much weaker connection than actual knowledge of Him. Some scholars have
argued, however, for an alternate definition of emunah. They render it
inseparable from knowledge in our connection to Him. Referring to a person as ne-eman
– from the same root as emunah, for example, implies not a blind
faith in the individual but rather a strength of connection – a reliability.[3]
Emunah, then, is an integral component of our relationship with God.
Although the foundations of that bond are built upon knowledge, their stability
draws from emunah. During those all-too-familiar “Noah moments” of
silence and vulnerability in our lives, we must turn to emunah in order
to sustain the strong base of knowledge that we have built.
Our spiritual
ambitions in this life of silence, however, must stretch beyond the realm of
mere prevention. Philosopher Erling Kagge articulated the depth inherent in the
silence of our relationships. He wrote: “Without the tenderness that can follow
peace and quiet, it is difficult to sense the nuances in a loving relationship,
to understand one another.”[4]
Indeed, speech is often used as a defense mechanism to avoid the various truths
of a relationship. It is the piercing “sound of silence” that exposes all that
really exists between one and another. It strengthens our general consciousness
and draws out levels of perception and understanding that are often overlooked
in a world of constant speech.
I distinctly remember
the time that I visited an elderly talmid hakham at his home in the
Bronx where he was sitting shivah for his wife. Stepping into his modest
living room, I was immediately overcome by the quiet that pervaded. I found my
seat amongst the many guests in the room and stared awkwardly at the man in
utter silence for a full half hour. As I left the home, however, I realized
that by simply observing the facial expressions and demeanor of the mourner I
had learned more about his wife’s impact upon his life than any words may have
expressed.
Faced by the
daunting challenge of silence after the flood, Noah’s feelings of insecurity
drove him to the embarrassing state of drunkenness. That same world of quiet
which he encountered, however, is the one we continue to inhabit. Drawing
strength from emunah during our most difficult moments, those enigmatic
“sounds of silence” in our relationship with God are the ironic bearers of potential
growth.
[1] David Gelernter, Judaism: A
Way of Being (Grand Rapids, MI, 2009) pg. 164.
[2] Hilkhot Yesodei HaTorah 1:1.
[3] See R. Moshe Shapiro z”l’s
discussion of this concept in Re’eh Ne-eman (Jerusalem, IS, 2009), pg.
19-27. See, as well, R. Avraham Baum’s Et La’asot to Derekh HaShem
(Jerusalem, IS), pg. 32-4.
[4] Erling Kagge, Silence In the
Age of Noise (New York, NY, 2017), pg. 120.
Tuesday, October 9, 2018
Monday, October 8, 2018
Noah: The Real & The Ideal
The Real & The Ideal
Thoughts on Noah 2016
Click here to view as PDF
God blessed Noah and his
sons shortly after they emerged from the ark, instructing them to “Be fruitful
and multiply” (9:1). The initial words of this blessing are eerily reminiscent
of the identical statement issued by God to Adam and Hava immediately following
their creation (1:28). The story of Noah similarly concludes with a “Table of
Nations” (10:1-32), which is again reminiscent of the genealogical list that
follows the creation story (5:1-32). The vision of a “new creation,” crafted in
the image of an initially failed one, thus emerges at the end of Parashat
Noah.[1]
Carefully
examining the subsequent words of God’s respective blessings in each of these
instances, however, reveals that the two “creations” are not quite as similar
as perhaps expected. Consider the blessing to Adam and Hava: “Be fruitful and
multiply and fill the earth and conquer it, and hold sway over the fish of the
sea and the fowl of the heavens and every beast that crawls upon the earth”
(1:28), and that to Noah and his sons: “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the
earth. And the dread and fear of you shall be upon all the beasts of the field
and all the fowl of the heavens, in all that crawls on the ground and in all
the fish of the sea. In your hand they are given” (9:1-2). Whereas the “initial
creation” described man’s future conquest and dominion of the
world and its creatures, the “second creation” envisioned his intimidation of
them.
The
blessing to Adam and Hava continued: “Look, I have given you every seed-bearing
plant on the face of all the earth and every tree that has fruit bearing seed,
yours they will be for food. And to all the beasts of the earth and to all the
fowl of the heavens and to all that crawls on the earth, which has the breath
of life within it, the green plants for food” (1:29-30). Consider, again, the
contrast to Noah and his sons: “All stirring things that are alive, yours shall
be for food, like the green plants, I have given all to you” (9:3). Whereas
Adam and Hava joined the animal kingdom in their permitted consumption of the
land for nutrition, Noah and his sons were permitted consumption of the
animals for their sustenance.
Why
did God change His blessing and mission to man from the “first” to “second”
creation?
Noticing
this shift from the vegetarianism of Adam in Gan Eden to the permitted
consumption of animal meat of Noah after the flood, several medieval scholars
developed the notion of vegetarianism as a moral ideal. Their conception of
this ideal lay not in a concern of the welfare of animals, but in the potential
development of negative character traits (such as meanness and cruelty) latent
in their slaughter and consumption.[2]
R. Avraham Yitzhak Kook similarly viewed vegetarianism as an ideal, yet
cautioned against the adoption of vegetarianism as a norm of human conduct
prior to the coming of Mashiah. While the heightened moral awareness of
the messianic era will effectively return mankind to its original state in Gan
Eden and appropriately restore a vegetarian norm, Rav Kook argued against its
standard implementation during any prior period.[3]
We
might thus distinguish between the Torah’s depiction of the ideal in the
“initial creation,” and its recognition of and concession to reality in
the “second creation.” In the related words of Leon R. Kass: “The new world
order takes human beings as they are, not as they might be.”[4]
An ideal world commissions man with its peaceful conquest and dominion; a
realistic one acknowledges and accepts his intimidating force over nature.
Let
us now consider the final statements of God in His blessing to Noah: “And from
humankind, from every man’s brother, I will require human life. He who sheds
human blood by humans his blood shall be shed, for in the image of God He made
humankind” (9:5-6). God herein suggested a system of retributive justice: one
who causes another’s death shall be put to death. Why was this concept only introduced
now? Why weren’t Adam and Hava similarly warned and instructed following their
creation?
Commenting
on the sixth command that “You shall not murder,” the Zohar noted the
unique ta’amim (cantorial signs) of the Torah reading, and exegetically
suggested that the word “lo – you shall not” be conceptually separated
from the subsequent word, “tirsah – murder.” The Zohar thus comments, “Had the ta’am not
separated (between the two words) there would have been no remedy for the world,
for it would have been forbidden to put any soul to death – even one who
transgressed the Torah…”[5]
Though the Torah in many instances explicitly sanctions penalty by death for
various transgressions, this passage is perhaps hinting at an ideal existence
wherein causing another’s death would not exist under any circumstances. It is
an existence which must remain an abstract ideal, as the realistic existence of
civility in this world is dependent upon man’s fear of punishment for his
actions.[6]
The
death punishment for causing the death of another was thus inappropriate for
the “ideal vision” of the initial creation. It was instead introduced after the
creation and existence of the “real world” that followed the flood.
This
difference between Adam and Noah is perhaps hinted at by Rashi in two separate midrashic
statements that he mentioned in his commentary to the Torah. Defining the
rationale for Noah’s name, Rashi (5:29) cited from the Midrash: “Until
Noah appeared they did not have implements for plowing, and he devised such
implements for them.” Noah’s practical invention of the plow stands in stark
distinction to Adam’s method for growth of crops, as explained by Rashi: “When
Adam came and realized that they [the rain] are a necessity for the world, he
prayed for them and they came down and the trees and types of vegetation
sprouted.”[7]
Whereas Adam’s “ideal existence” sprouted seeds by means of prayer to God,
Noah’s “practical existence” necessitated the invention and usage of the plow.
The
Torah’s depiction of an “ideal creation” which could not be sustained remains
an aspiration. Similar to the prophets’ description of the days of Mashiah,
the initial creation reminds us of “what it ought to be like,” and sets an
appropriate goal for accomplishment. Steven Schwartzschild thus commented on yemot
ha-Mashiah: “When men ask themselves how to behave or, indeed, what the standards
are to be of their proper behavior, the Messianic end defines the means by
which that end can and is to be attained.”[8]
His comments ring equally true regarding our apprehension of the initial
creation era.
Though
our existence in this world is dictated by the realistic norms created in the
aftermath of the flood, we must nonetheless aspire for the realization of the ideals
reflected in the history of Gan Eden and the future of yemot ha-mashiah.
[1] See, e.g. Nahum M. Sarna,
Understanding Genesis (New York, 1966), pg. 56. This vision is further
sharpened by the recent scholarly demonstration of a consistent parallelism
between the flood narrative in Noah and that of creation in Bereshit.
See R. Yitzchak Etshalom’s Between the Lines of the Bible vol. I
(Jerusalem 2015), pg. 60-62, and R. David Forhman’s videos at:
www.alephbeta.org/course/view/noah-the-flood-and-the-rainbow.
[2] See Abarbanel to
Bereshit 9:3 and Yeshaya 11:7, and Sefer ha-Ikarim Part III, ch. 15.
[3] R. Avraham Yitzhak Kook, Hazon
ha-Zimhonut ve-ha-Shalom (Jerusalem, 2008). See, as well, the thorough
treatment of this topic in R. J. David Bleich’s Contemporary Halakhic
Problems vol. III (New York, 1989), “Vegetarianism and Judaism,” pg.
237-250.
[4] Leon R. Kass, The
Beginning of Wisdom (Chicago, 2003), pg. 174.
[5] Zohar vol. II,
93b, cited in R. Menahem M. Kasher’s Torah Shelemah vol. 14 (Jerusalem,
1992), pg. 103.
[6] This source and its
explanation was brought to my attention by R. David Eliach.
[7] Commentary to 2:5, based
on Hullin 60b.
[8] Steven Schwartzschild, The
Pursuit of the Ideal (New York, 1990), ed. Menachem Kellner, pg. 218.
Parashat Bereshit: Freedom
Freedom
Thoughts on Bereshit 2016
Click here to view as PDF
R. Yehoshua ben Levi said…No one is truly free, except if he
engages in Torah study. (Avot 6:2)
If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, in a state of
civilization, it expects what never was and never will be. (Thomas
Jefferson)
* * * *
President Barack Obama recently commented on
the pace of the current progress in technology, noting, “In the seven-and-a-half
years of my presidency, self-driving cars have gone from sci-fi fantasy to an
emerging reality with the potential to transform the way we live.”[1]
Indeed, a blue paper released by Morgan Stanley predicted that everyone in the
United States will have a self-driving car by 2026.[2]
This impending reality has caused many to seriously consider the various
benefits and losses that it may bring to our society.
Among the many encouraging predictions for
self-driving cars is their ability to open the roads to an elderly population
currently incapable of self-mobilizing, to eliminate the dangers of
drunk-driving, to limit environmental pollution, and increase our time for
productive activity by cutting down on traffic.
At the same time, however, many fear the loss
of certain freedoms classically afforded by our “lives on the road.” Consider,
for example, the close association of the age when a teenager transitions into
a stage of independence with the attainment of his or her driver’s license.
Cars represent our ability to go wherever we want, whenever we want, and
however we want.
Indeed, the rehearsal transcripts from Henry
Ford II’s propaganda film Freedom of the American Road said it best:
“Our ability to travel around this country in our own cars, anywhere we want,
is a special kind of freedom, a unique freedom people have here in America, not
quite like travel anywhere else in the world.” Ford further remarked, at the
onset of the film, “We Americans always have liked plenty of elbowroom –
freedom to come and go as we please in this big country of ours.”[3]
Several sociology pundits therefore fear
that the rise of self-driving cars will bring an acute loss of the various
freedoms represented by our “control of the steering wheel.”
Reminded of the several negative aspects of
self-driven car transportation – the traffic jams, the fatal accidents and the
pollution – author Robert Moor recently noted the irony that just as cars “came
into their own as icons of freedom, driving began to feel less freeing.” He
further elaborated, “The country’s new, deadening infrastructure of suburbs and
highways made it very difficult to live comfortably without a car, and also
considerably less fun to live with one.”[4]
* * * *
Reflecting upon Moor’s astute analysis, I was
reminded of a recent conversation that I had with a student, on the topic of
Gan Eden. We were discussing the serpent’s famous explanation of the “benefits”
of eating from etz ha-da’at: “For God knows that on the day you eat of
it your eyes will be opened and you will become as gods knowing good and evil”
(Bereshit 3:5), and I cited the explanation of the late Jewish philosopher
Michael Wyschogrod z”l, that “knowers of good and evil” means beings who
make autonomous judgments of good and evil based on their own criteria of right
and wrong. Hava’s ability to see that the tree “was good” (Bereshit 3:6) marked
the first time that anyone other than God made a value judgment. Wyschogrod
explained that eating from the tree did not cause them to become
“knowers,” but rather represented their becoming autonomous “knowers.”[5]
I detected a similar thought in HaRambam’s Hilkhot
Teshvuah (5:1), where he wrote that man’s freedom of choice is rooted in
God’s statement following Adam’s eating from etz ha-da’at: “Now that the
human has become like one of us, knowing good and evil…” HaRambam’s reading of
that source seems to suggest that man’s autonomy lay at the core of eating from
that tree.
The student was markedly annoyed by this
explanation. He argued that it skews a proper understanding of life by
idealizing one of obligation and compulsion and shunning the pursuit of
freedom. He asked how it could be that our intuitive concept of freedom as an
ideal could run counter to the ultimate will of the Torah.
I suggested that the story of Gan Eden and
the sin of eating from the etz ha-da’at is specifically aimed at
challenging our conceptions of an ideal freedom. Consider the immediate effects
of eating from the tree: “And the eyes of the two were opened, and they knew
they were naked, and they sewed fig leaves and made themselves loincloths”
(Bereshit 3:7). Indeed, the subsequent dialogue between God and Adam (v. 8-11)
further highlights the immediate association between their eating from the tree
and cognizance of their nakedness. Explaining this “revelation,” HaRambam (Moreh
Nevukhim I:2) distinguished between “rational knowledge” (muskalot)
and “accepted conventions” (mefursamot). While one may describe a public
show of nakedness as “bad,” he cannot describe the notion of the earth being
flat as “bad,” but rather as “false.” By eating from the tree Adam and Hava
effectively discarded their ability to decide in a purely rational way – in the
realm of “true” and “false,” and were now dependent upon the thoughts and
beliefs of others – in the realm of “good” and “bad.”
This analysis, in turn, returns us to a
fundamental issue underlying the story of Gan Eden: the freedom of man.
The current debate regarding the future of self-driving cars is instructive.
Much as Robert Moor revealed an ironic loss of specific freedoms inherent in
the attainment of others, so too does the Torah set forth in the story of Gan
Eden. While Adam and Hava may have discovered an ability to autonomously decide
by eating from etz ha-daat, they concurrently lost their freedom to
decide rationally, and were forced to reckon with the thoughts and beliefs of
others. Alternatively, using the words and terminology of famed social
psychologist Erich Fromm, Adam and Hava’s attained a “freedom from the
sweet bondage of paradise” but were left empty of a “freedom to
self-governance and individual realization.”[6]
God may have in fact hinted at this
paradoxical reality during His initial instructions to Adam:
And God commanded Adam saying, “From every fruit of the garden
you may surely eat. But from the tree of knowledge, good and evil, you shall
not eat, for on the day you eat from it, you are doomed to die.”
(2:16-17)
The statement’s language seems odd. God first
granted Adam the freedom to eat from every fruit of the garden, but at
once forbade him indulgence from the etz ha-da’at. His wording suggested
that the prohibition of eating from etz ha-da’at existed not as an exception
to Adam’s liberty, but as an addition to it. God was thus hinting that true
freedom consists of rational thinking – “eating from all the fruit of the
garden,” which can only exist when accompanied by the restriction of “From the
tree of knowledge…you shall not eat.”
The Hakhamim further sharpened their
conception of the “freedom” inherent in Torah, when they furthermore detailed
the “death” that befalls those who abandon it, in an intriguing Midrash:
And what did God have in mind? This is what He had in mind:
every nation and kingdom that would come and accept the Torah would exist
eternally. As it is written, “The tablets were the work of God and the writing
is the writing of God, carved (harut) on the tablets.” Don’t
read it as harut (“carved”), but rather as herut (“freedom”).
There is no truly free person but he who is not ruled by the Angel of Death.[7]
Bearing in mind the stated punishment for
eating from etz ha-da’at –For on the day you eat from it, you are
doomed to die (2:17) – the Rabbis’ intent becomes clear. Although the
prohibition of eating from the tree and the various missvot ha-Torah may
seem thoroughly restrictive, they are in fact the building blocks and
structure of true freedom.
* * * *
R. Yehoshua ben Levi said…No one is truly
free, except if he engages in Torah study. While study of the Torah
and adherence to its words seemingly engenders anything but “freedom,” R.
Yehoshua ben Levi hinted at the irony inherent in that concept, and encouraged
us to rethink the matter.
[1] “Barack Obama:
Self-driving, yes, but also safe,” Op-Ed for the Pittsburg-Post Gazette,
Sept. 19, 2016, available at:
post-gazette.com/opinion/Op-Ed/2016/09/19/Barack-Obama-Self-driving-yes-but-also-safe/stories/201609200027.
[2] See, e.g., “Everyone Will
Have a Self-Driving Car By 2026, Analyst Says,” The Huffington Post,
Feb. 27, 2014, available at:
huffingtonpost.com/2014/02/27/morgan-stanley-autonomous-cars-prediction_n_4867613.html.
[3] See Cottel Seiler, Republic
of Drivers: A Cultural History of Automobility in America (Chicago, 2008),
pg. 101. And watch the film at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N9FRxORjzDY.
[4] “What Happens to American
Myth When You Take the Driver Out of It?” New York Magazine, Oct. 17,
2016, available at:
http://nymag.com/selectall/2016/10/is-the-self-driving-car-un-american.html.
[5] “Sin and Atonement in
Judaism,” in The Human Condition in the Jewish and Christian Traditions
(New York, 1986), pg. 103-26. Reprinted in Abraham’s Promise (Cambridge,
2004), pg. 53-74.
[6] Erich Fromm, Escape
from Freedom (New York, NY, 1969), pg. 33-34.
[7] Eliyahu Zuta, ch.
4.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)