The I is in Israel

I spent six weeks in Israel the summer of 2009. It was one of the most amazing and definitive experiences of my life and served as the perfect bridge from homeschool and Hebrew school to college. One of our writing assignments near the end was to write about what it means to be Jewish. A lot of people despised it, many of us knew it was coming, and I just sat in the computer lab until it was finished.

No matter, as a prelude to the assignment, we were asked to walk around an area of Tel Aviv where we were visiting for the day and see what people living in Israel considered Jewish. We went up and down the streets in small groups. We walked to a cafe. We walked past soldiers. We sat down with some modern Orthodox Jews. It was exciting, yet nerve-wracking approaching strangers in a strange land (alright, it wasn’t that strange, but I’m naturally quiet, so it was surely an exercise in extroversion!). And then, with our classes, we sat down. And then they dumped it on us.

The essay doesn’t stand as my best example of writing (in rereading it, I feel it lacks an air of sophistication about its coherence and structure), but it reflected my evolving views on Judaism and being Jewish at the time, and for that, it did what was intended of it. I hadn’t ever had the intention of sharing it at the time, at least with none other than our teacher, and since length wasn’t it issue, it ended up becoming a fair bit longer than the bit I posted yesterday. So, without further ado, I present to you the essay I called “Recon.”

(Short for “reconfirmation,” of course.)

A Family Theme

This morning was the second “Shababa” at the religious school where I teach. It’s a new experiment this year, having “Shabbat school” one weekend every month or so instead of having school on Sunday. So far I’ve enjoyed them; they’re different, but unique and a pleasant experience for the teachers and students alike.

Today I had the honor of giving the d’var Torah, which in Hebrew means “words on the Torah.” It’s comparable to a sermon, except it’s not preaching, it’s teaching. See, Jews don’t proselytize–we perseverate. And with all our perseverative studying, it’s only natural to share it with others (studying the Torah is itself a commandment).

In any case, though short and sweet and written with a younger audience in mind, I thought I may as well share the drash here for anyone who may wish to read it.

Hammer Time!

A long, long, long long long time ago (approximately 2176 years to be precise), there was a man named Judah HaMaccabee. Judah the Hammer. How quaint, you know? He led the Maccabean revolt against the Syrian-Greeks and with his small army, a miracle occurred and this band of Jews became victorious over their oppressors. The Temple was salvaged, cleansed, purified, rededicated–in fact, that’s how Chanukah gets its name! “Chanukah” literally means “dedication.” Thus the holiday began. Long before presents. Long before vague attempts to Chrismastize the holiday. Long before commercialization could even be considered to occur.

Something special happened then. Something inconceivable in today’s world.

It’s Out of This World

Long week. I know time cannot be properly perceived from three-dimensional perspective, but I didn’t think it could feel so long. Or be so exhausting. However, I was treated to a delightful morning today, able to attend services bright and early, bathed in the brisk winds of a coast-crossing hurricane. It really was lovely weather save for the humid heat. And the melodies, the Torah reading, the discussions during kiddush. It really was a good way to start the day.

2.16 Rabbi Yehoshua taught:

The begrudging eye, the evil impulse,
and hatred of one’s fellow human beings
will ruin a person’s life.

I don’t know every word, that’s a trend, but I can make sense of quite a few. And with an understanding of the Hebrew, this isn’t at all as simple as it first appears. Reading the English, I was about to say, We’ve discussed this all before, but peering into the Hebrew, I see a whole new world unraveling.

Think Fast

There’s a popular joke that asks, Why do fast days go so slowly? The answer’s perhaps too simple, so everyone just laughs, no matter how many times they’ve heard it. Telling it has become as customary as the fast itself.

Tonight began Tisha B’av, the Ninth of Av. It’s a somber holiday, more an observance than a holiday really, for it commemorates disasters, not miracles. The return of the spies that condemned an entire generation to the desert till death. The destruction of the Temples in 586 B.C.E. and 70 C.E. The fall of Betar, the last stronghold of the Bar Kochba rebellion. The day when Jerusalem was plowed over and made uninhabitable.

Common catastrophes? Not quite. These disasters were crippling to the Jewish people, breakers-of-faith and sickening events even two thousand years later. We mourn. We member. We mustn’t forget.

Cleavage

It’s not necessarily what you think it is.

2.13 He posed this question to his disciples:

Look about you and tell me, which is the way in life to which one should cleave?

Rabbi Eliezer said: a generous eye;
Rabbi Yehoshua said: a good colleague;
Rabbi Yose said: a good neighbor;
Rabbi Shimon said: foresight;
Rabbi Elazar said: a generous heart.

Said he to them:

I prefer the answer of Elazar ben Arakh, for his view includes all of yours.

I love reading the Hebrew when I can understand it, and since I’ve begun studying my modern Hebrew textbook again, I’m beginning to understand it a little bit better, too, which is always a good thing. Granted, most of the Pirkei Avot is written in Biblical Hebrew (or Aramaic on occasion, if I’m not mistaken), so there are bound to be slight differences in how I interpret these words, given a few centuries’ worth of language progression. It’s a slight fault, I’ll admit, but it makes it no less fun or educational, does it?

Two for One and One for Five

Or, Observations; or, Character Profiles of the Rabbinical Kind

This week’s lesson is not a lesson at all. This week’s lesson is a list; and not a list like last summer’s three precepts, pillars, or principles, but a list of names: five students, in fact. It teaches nothing, nothing at all. It is merely a forward to next week.

2.10 Rabbi Yoḥanan ben Zakkai had five disciples, namely:

Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, Rabbi Yehoshua ben Ḥananiah, Rabbi Yose Ha-Kohen, Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel, Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh.

Not very much to work with, is it? I pondered for a moment, I could discuss names, but that’d be a topic teaching little and lasting less, so I thought, if the point is to study, why not go until we have something to study? That is, this week, I’m doing TWO teachings! So let’s carry on, shall we?

2.11 This is how he characterized their merits:

Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus: a plastered well that never loses a drop;
Rabbi Yehoshua ben Ḥananiah: happy the one who gave him birth;
Rabbi Yose Ha-Kohen: a saintly person;
Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel: a pious person;
Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh: an ever-flowing fountain.

For This One Moment

Yesterday I got carried away with art. I like art. I like it even more since I added another hundred or so plugins to Paint.net. I knew it would happen when my internet came back, but I hadn’t expected to spend so many hours playing with them all right away. Nor had I imagined we’d be going to the laundromat last night, chasing circles after my niece for an hour or so, and then spend a few more folding before, so exhausted, bed was the only option.

And today, my head feels like one red balloon floating to the moon, quoth Enya. Carry on, I dare say, carry on. This one will be interesting. As I feel half Luna and half drowsy, I don’t see it being any other way.

2.9 Rabbi Yoḥanan ben Zakkai received the tradition from Hillel and Shammai. This was a favorite teaching of his.

If you have studied much Torah, take no special credit for it since you were created for this very purpose.

I like to read the Hebrew with every week’s teaching. I usually just read the words, very rarely gaining much from them, but occasionally I’ll recognize a familiar shoresh (the three-letter root from which words are built, all sharing a common thread of significance) and remember a spark of verb conjugations or noun declensions and be able to fit the Hebrew with the English and know what it means. It makes me smile when I can do this.

It’s the End as We Know It

Should the world end today, there is no God.

It’s not often that I speak specifically of my beliefs (mostly on account of not truly knowing the words to speak of them rightly most of the time), but today warrants it. I considered letting this day pass lightly, not saying anything but perhaps passing a shrug and a snicker, but as I was doing dishes tonight (please review A is for Action) it occurred to me that not speaking is, in the end, being silent.

And as my contemporaries would say, “You can’t make me silent with violence” (Anna Nalick, “Break Me Open”) and “I will not go quietly! I will not be silenced! I will not go quiet! I will not stay silent” (Company of Thieves, “Won’t Go Quietly”). In their footsteps I follow: No threats will stop me. No words will weaken me. I will not stand silent. I will not stand still.

Those saying the world will end. Well, I’ll take that as a threat.

Words and Wonders

1.4.          Yose ben Yoezer, of Tzereidah, and Yose ben Yohanan, of Jerusalem, received the tradition from him.

Yose ben Yoezer of Tzereidah, taught:

Make your home a regular meeting place for the scholars;
Sit eagerly at their feet and drink thirstily of their words.

This is an exiting lesson, since for the first time, although I still can’t understand all the Hebrew, I can recognize at least the roots of most of the words! It makes me want to put more energy and effort into speaking Hebrew. I enjoy speaking Hebrew, and I often find myself going to say “slichah” when I’m about to say “excuse me” or “todah” when I’m about to say “thank you.”

I had thought I might fill this commentary with a lot of talk about leadership, seeing as how I just returned from the North Carolina Community College Leadership Institute in Raleigh, but I think I’ll save those lessons and thoughts for another day. Today I want to talk about words.

And scholars. What does it mean to make your home a regular meeting place for scholars? On the one hand, it could simply mean that we should invite the wise into our homes (such as turning on the Discovery channel or Nat Geo every now then, or even better—and usually more reliable—changing the channel to PBS every Tuesday for NOVA—now that would be wise!), but I think it could mean something else, at least when studied in the English. (In English, we have metaphor; in Hebrew, we might not, at least not constructed in the same way, I mean.)

So when I now read to make your home a meeting place of scholars, I understand the words to mean the opposite, to make the meeting place of scholars your home. We’re all familiar with the saying “home is where the heart is,” and I believe this lesson, at least in part, is to put your heart so much into studying and learning that home is wherever scholars are—that home is wherever you’re learning. This applies to me a lot these days: In Raleigh I felt right at home while I was at the SLI this past week. At GTCC where I go to school, I feel at home in class and out of class, walking the paths that scholars walk every day of the year.

Does that mean we all have to be hermits and hide with our books? Quite the contrary. It means we have to open our hearts to learning, so that when we’re given the chance to learn, it can be like we’re at home no matter where we are. And should we (for we should) invite scholars into our homes, and hopefully live with wise people if we can, all the better for everyone.

But what about words? I had mentioned they would be the basis of my commentary, had I not? I had! And they are. You’re reading words right now (and I hope you’ll continue), are you not? And I’ve been reading words all my life: On street signs, on commercials, on PowerPoint slides and in textbooks, cook books, and game manuals to boot. But there are some words I still can’t understand, no matter how many times I read them: German words, Spanish words, Russian words, Hebrew words (and the list goes on, believe me—there are even words out there I don’t understand that I don’t even know yet, so forgive me for stopping here). My point, however, is that out of all of these words I don’t know, I do understand some of them, even if only a few of them.

Every student sits at the feet of another metaphorically when he or she is learning from someone. That’s a clear comparison and needs no further discussion. But how does one drink words? Certainly, if I could open my mouth and sip them up like soup, I’d digest them more easily, but words are sounds—vibrations, nothing more solid than light, one could say. To try to swallow one would mean to choke, most likely violently, and that would be no lesson other than to not try to swallow words again. So how can one drink them, safely?

I know for one thing it does not involve putting them in one ear and letting them drain out the other. I can also say that it definitely does not include letting them slide off the skin like pebbles off a rock wall. I can yet say that it’s unlikely to entail mixing them up, turning them around, or even simply hearing them. It involves sincerely listening to them. It involves taking notes, perhaps, or taking care to remember them. It means responding to them, restating them, making certain what was clear to the speaker is now clear to us. It means communicating, not just passively sitting by and getting words tossed in our faces. It means eating them slowly, so as to not cause indigestion, and in moderation, so as to not cause loss of appetite later on.

Drink thirstily. Don’t be thirsty. Don’t be parched. To be parched is to suffer from dryness; but to be thirsty is to need to end that dryness. Yet we wish to drink thirstily, as if we need to quench that need of knowledge, not to actually be thirsty. We can have knowledge, yes, but we should still yearn to learn more. We can sate the body with water, but to sate the soul and to sate the mind we need more. We can thirst for knowledge, but not feel parched of it; we can crave to learn more, but not suffer from not already having some. We can drink to be merry, and we should: We should seek our opportunities to dine on words and then drink them in excess.

Words are wonderful. Words and wonders. It’s what I stand for; it’s what I stand by. This is not so much a lesson then, but a poem, in the end. It’s a restatement to long for knowledge and to make learning your home, to yearn to sustain your mind as much as you sustain your body.

No one sells liquid knowledge, so we should drink whatever of it is offered to us, no matter from whom it is given. However, we should pay careful attention to all that we ingest, lest we be poisoned by the words of the foolish or selfish, and extol those words that we drink of the scholars, of the wise, who teach us for our sakes and most certainly not for theirs.