He Who Can...Teaches; a Thought for Parashat Vayak-hel/Pekudei

Betzal'el and Oholiav working on the altar

Everybody knows the old saw, he who can, does; he who can't, teaches.  It's meant as an expression of contempt for the teaching profession.  To many, teachers are seen as losers.  Why else would they labor under so much bureaucracy, and endure so much stress over the behavior of unwilling students, and try to educate the children of uninterested parents, all for a salary considered substandard for the amount of education they have?  In this view, teachers are (as they say here in Israel) 'friers,' chumps, and if they remain in their profession rather than opt for something easier and with better compensation, it must be because they are mediocre people incapable of something better.

We don't value our teachers as we should.  I don't think there is any class of professionals in our society who are as poorly thought of.  (Well, okay...maybe used car salesmen...and politicians!)  Because of this low estimation of teachers, people try to second-guess them and control them to unreasonable degrees.  Thinking teachers to be extraneous, they look for alternative ways to acquire knowledge and skills that don't require attending class and listening to a teacher 'drone on.'  And yet, if a child fails to do well in school, the child's parents and many others, are ready to blame the teachers.  Remember 'No Child Left Behind,' signed into law by George W Bush?  Teachers derisively referred to it as 'No Teacher Left Standing,' because it was premised upon the notion that it is incompetence among teachers, that causes children to fail to learn. 

But this is not G-d's way.  In this week's Torah reading, in the 35th chapter of the book of Exodus,  verses 30 through 34, we find the following pronouncement:

G-d has selected Betzal'el son of Uri son of Chur, of the tribe of Judah, and has filled him with a divine spirit wisdom, understanding, knowledge and a [talent for] all kinds of craftsmanship. [He will thus be able] to devise plans, work in gold silver and copper, cut stones to be set, and do carpentry and other skilled work.  [G-d] also gave to him and Oholiav, son of Achisamakh, of the tribe of Dan, the ability to teach [others].

Betzal'el and Oholiav have been selected to be the chief and deputy architects, respectively, and craftsmen of the Tabernacle and all its furnishings.  But an inseparable part of their commission is to take the skills which they have so mastered, and teach them to others.  They are to supervise the sacred construction, and do the most critical parts themselves, but they are also to raise up the next generation of craftsmen and designers, and parcel out to them parts of the work so that these students can, in turn, practice and hone their own skills.  This is equally important to the actual work the two were to do themselves; as the Torah puts it, both the ability to design and craft, and to teach, are equally G-d-given.

The underlying statement is that teaching is an enterprise, whose importance cannot be minimized.  Just as important as creating sacred objects and sacred space, is the effort to ensure that others will be able to do so in the future.  Of course this text is talking about craftsmanship but the principle carried over to any kind of useful knowledge or skills.  It is important to do, but the talented doer raises himself to an even higher level when he takes the time and energy to teach.

In Jewish thought, to teach someone is such a sacred task that one who teaches a student is considered the equal to that student's parents in importance.  To teach someone is tantamount to giving them life.

Teacher and students in an Orthodox beis midrash(yeshiva study hall) 

I'm not saying that teachers are universally devalued.  There are certainly spheres where they are revered.  An example is the yeshiva world, the world of the Orthodox Jew - especially the Hareidi, or 'ultra-' Orthodox.  There, teachers are highly respected - perhaps too much as the community shows a reluctance to investigate the occasional miscreant who finds his way into a teaching position there.  This has resulted in a number of terrible scandals in that world.  Perhaps in the secular world, the closest thing to reverence toward teachers is in academe.  University professors are afforded a certain respect, above all others in the teaching profession.  But for most of those who labor in the trenches, teaching your children and mine day after day, year after year, there is little respect afforded.  I have seen this to be the case in the USA, the UK, Australia...and now, here in Israel.

And this is not to say that teachers should be put on a pedestal and automatically considered above reproach.  Apart from an occasional misanthrope who finds his way into the teaching profession, there are also teachers who get burned out, and cynical, and yet remain in the classroom.  Or who pepper their teaching with politics, as has been seen repeatedly in the USA especially during election seasons.  And yes, there are a few teachers whose lack of competence calls into question their fitness to function in their profession.  Teachers are important and should be respected and cherished, but that doesn't mean that they should escape reasonable scrutiny as to their fitness.

Disrespecting teachers is not the way to ensure our future, to take young minds and excite them about all kinds of knowledge.  Teachers are not friers, but rather purveyors of a sacred trust.  Let us learn to respect them for the centrality of that trust to the betterment of society.  Let us encourage those possessing a particular wisdom, understanding, knowledge and talent to do, but also to take time to teach.  Shabbat shalom.   

Shabbat - Yeah, it's a Big Deal! A Thought for Parashat Ki Tissa

To someone without a clear understanding of the basis of Jewish faith, it would be easy to read all the Torah's pronouncements of the importance of observing Shabbat and wonder:  Why is it such a Big Deal?  The repeated proclamations that the one who fails to observe Shabbat, deserves to die, are surely hints of the wrath of a G-d most concerned with judgement at the expense of mercy.  Or are they?

Sometimes, the Torah's elliptical language masks other possibilities.  Such as in this week's Torah portion.  In the 31st chapter of Exodus:  we read:  (verse 14)  You shall keep the Sabbath for it is holy to you.  One who desecrates it mot yumat - מות יומת.  As all who do creative work on it, venich'reta - ונכרתה his soul from the bosom of his people.  

The traditionalist's translation of the phrase 'mot yumat' is 'will be put to death,' as in saying that such a Divine punishment will be forthcoming if one disobeys this dictum.  And likewise, the traditionalist translates 'karet,' the noun form of the verbal 'venich'reta' as 'being cut off' as in from life in the physical sense.  But there is a different way to translate the Hebrew, and using this alternative translation results in a far different picture of G-d's intent.

In the Torah, when a verb is doubled in the form that 'mot yumat' displays, the connotation is 'he will surely...' whatever the action of the verb is.  Therefore, 'mot yumat' can - and I believe, should - be read as 'he will surely die.'

If this is correct, then what is Hashem trying to tell us?  Only that it is the Sabbath that keeps us alive.  And everybody who has observed the Sabbath in its fullness, even only once, knows this truth.

Most of us live busy lives - far too busy!  In the weekly grind to make a living, not to mention raise children and maintain relationships with family and friends, we can easily wear ourselves out.  This is why, after a particularly busy and difficult week, one may find oneself wanting only to sleep in, laze around the house, and perhaps do something passive like watch a movie or a sports contest from one's couch.  If this describes you at times, then you instinctively know that you cannot survive on go-go-go all the time.  Even our recreational pursuits at times seem stressful - anybody ever obsessed over improving their golf or tennis swing? - and we sometimes feel the need to cast aside those things that we've chosen as our recreational activities.

The Sabbath served that purpose, but of course, its focus is more spiritual than spending the weekend watching football.  The best recreation involves connecting with that which is larger than us.  That's why the Sabbath-observant, and anybody who has tried such observance, knows of the restorative effect of spending part of the day in active prayer and study, and the rest of the day in just avoiding the things one does the rest of the week.  Doing so, refreshes us to face the next week.

As to the second caution, that one's engaging in work - as defined in the Torah - on the Sabbath, resulting in one's being 'cut off' from the bosom of one's people; that can also be read two ways.  In the more common reading, where the words are assumed to be coming from the Supremely Judgmental G-d, one hears this, too, as punishment.  That is to say, one who deliberately spends the Sabbath doing ordinary work, doesn't deserve to be a part of the People Israel.  Now one might believe this, but the words of the Torah can also be read in a much softer tone.  Imagine that the preponderance of Jews are assiduously observing Shabbat in all its fullness. (I know, what a concept!)  Well if so, the few who are not, are necessarily cut off from the bosom of their people.  As a physical reality.  If the people Israel is 'busy' making the Sabbath special and you are engaged in everyday activities and you are not, then when are you going to be able to mix with your fellow Jews?  When you engage in your weekday ritual of eating in the local deli?  Or when you go to buy bagels on Sunday morning, before settling down at the kitchen table with the New York Times like 'all other authentic Jews?'

(Obviously, these are images taken from life in the Jewish diaspora; to those who have caught on and ask me, but aren't you now living in Israel, I can only say that yes, there is a different and far more comples reality here, which I promise to address in a future installment of my blog.)

My reading of the second caution in this verse, then, reads this 'being cut off' from the people as an inevitable and logical result, not as a Divine punishment.  So, why do so many - Jews and non-Jews alike - read these two pronouncements as warnings of punishment, rather than simple circumstance?

I think the answer is that, in an essentially lawless world, the idea of an uncompromising lawgiver and -enforcer has a definite attraction.  That, and centuries of anti-Judaism propaganda which sought to differentiate the very demanding and judgmental G-d of Judaism with the more forgiving and merciful G-d of Christianity and, at times, other faiths.  Although this contrast is absurd if the various faiths worship and serve the same G-d as most affirm, it has somehow stuck over the ages.

Perhaps it is time to lay it to rest.  Each religious tradition has its own unique spiritual path to G-d.  To differentiate the character of the G-d of Judaism with that of, for example, the G-d of Christianity, is unnecessary and inauthentic.  G-d is G-d, and the Jew - yes, even the Jew! - can and should read the Torah's words as emanating from the mind of a G-d of Mercy whose desire is to help us to attain a meaningful life, not to punish us for our failings.  Shabbat shalom!

   

On to Hebron!

Last week I was in Jerusalem.  I have a guest from the USA, who wanted to see Ma'arat Hamach'pelah, the Cave of the Patriarchs, in Hebron.  Although I've traveled extensively from one end of the land to the other over the years, I'd never been to Hebron for several reasons.  For one thing, back when I was a student and toured with my classmates as part of our Israel year at Hebrew Union College, we were never taken over the Green Line for ideological as well as for safety reasons.  Over the years, I have crossed the Green Line - the line separating Israel proper from the territories conquered in the 1967 war - on a number of occasions but always thought the trip to Hebron was particularly dangerous, not to mention supportive of an ideology I don't hold, so I never went.  But since my guest wanted to see it I looked into the matter and found that, right now, it isn't especially problematic and that there are weekly tours conducted through two different organizations.  One, Abraham Tours, advertises a day trip where both the Jewish and Palestinian perspectives are presented.  Although this one sounded most interesting to me, there was a caveat that those with Israeli passports are not permitted.  I don't yet carry an Israeli passport, but I ruled that one out on principle.  If it is important to present both sides of the Hebron dispute, why would one explude Israelis from the presentation?  For that reason alone, I booked with the other one, the Hebron Fund, which only gives the Jewish perspective.

The day started with a morning stop of 20 minutes at Rachel's Tomb, just outside of Bethlehem, to pray.  I'd never stopped at Rachel's Tomb, although I've ridden past before in tour busses.  When I did, it looked as it does in the picture to the left.  That was before Intifada II, the Palestinian Reign of Terror that began in the year 2000.  In fact, the spring of 2000, the last time I led an interfaith tour to Israel, was the last time I passed the tomb on the Jerusalem-Bethlehem road.

Today, this is what Rachel's Tomb looks like from the outside.  The wall on the left protects pilgrims approaching the tomb, while the wall on the right protects the building enclosing the tomb itself.  Much criticism comes to Israel because of the security walls she has erected to protect her citizens from terror since the start of Intifada II.  I'd seen sections of the wall before, while driving down the Trans-Israel Highway (Highway 6) which for a number of KM runs along the Green Line.  But this was the first time that I'd been up close to part of the wall.  It makes the Jewish visitor feel as if he's in a prison, while one would think the local Arab inhabitants are looking in.

Speaking of walls, here is part of the security wall that protects those travelling on the Jerusalem to Hebron highway from snipers, missiles, and anything else launched in anger.  I believe this section is just past the tunnel that goes under the Arab town of Jeit Jala. (It's a file photo; my own pictures didn't come out so clearly.)  To those intent on calling the Israeli presence in the West Bank, 'apartheid,' I want to mention that the traffic on this highway was a mix of Israeli and Palestinian-tagged vehicles.  Although the barriers protect the highway from violence reigning down from the hills on either side, the resulting safe corridor is for everybody's use when things are quiet.

This is Kiryat Arba, a self-contained Jewish town of some 8,000 mostly religious inhabitants, located outside Hebron.  Although its residents live behind barbed wire fences and protected by the Israeli army, one doesn't have such a feeling of being closed in due to the place's size and its beautiful landscaping.  To me it felt no different than any other Israeli town of its size, like a sleepy suburb with schools, children's parks, and shopping areas interspersed with tracts of apartment buildings.

Map of Hebron, the light blue being 'The 20%' which
juts deep into the Palestinian city

It is inside Hebron where most of the tension is found.  There, one finds several small Jewish enclaves in the Arab city.  And there, one finds the biggest arguments both for and against the Jewish presence in the West Bank.  The argument for is that the Cave of the Patriarchs belongs to the Jewish heartland perhaps more than any other site, and the settlement of Jews in proximity to the Cave was continuous in history until the Arab riots of 1929.  The argument against is that the city of Hebron with a population of over 200,000 is the second largest Palestinian city after Gaza City, and the largest in the Palestinian homeland known as the West Bank.  How can the Palestinians form a viable state without complete sovereignty in this important city?  As with so many things in the 'Twice-promised Land,' both arguments are on their face logical and reasonable, and of course therein lies the problem!  

A street in 'The 20%.' All the houses on both

sides of the street are Arab houses and the

two women walking are, of course, Arabs who

appear to be living quite peacefully under

Israeli security administration.  Behind me, at

the top of the street is the Jewish enclave

around the ancient Jewish cemetery.

You may remember the Oslo Accords in 1993, which granted the Palestinians a nucleus of a hoped-for future state.  Under Oslo, Israel ceded everyday control to the Palestinians in the Gaza Strip, and in Jericho to give them at least a foothold in the West Bank.  In the follow-on Oslo II (1995) and Wye River Memorandum (1998), the Israelis ceded control to the Palestinians in wider swaths of territory.  The latter sought to solve the problem of Hebron thusly:  it split off 20 percent of Hebron to a special area where Jews were allowed to live, and where the Israeli army and police controlled the security.  That didn't mean that Arabs were not also allowed to inhabit it as well, and they did in numbers considerably larger than the number of Jews in 'The 20%.'  The problem is that, after the start of Intifada II in 2000, the Jews could not live safely in the face of anti-Jewish violence which was hearkened back to 1929.  Faced with the choice of once again evacuating the Jews of Hebron or upping the ante, Israel chose the latter and built extensive security features to protect the less than 1,000 Jews of 'The 20%' and as a result, put barriers in the way of the everyday lives of the city's Arabs.

This has unfortunately resulted in large numbers of the Arab residents of 'The 20%' quitting the area, as witnessed by the profusion of empty houses and closed-down shops in the area.  But given that the city seems to be fairly quiet recently, there has been an effort by the Palestinian Authority to convince as many as possible of these residents and shopkeepers to return.  Without them, the area looks something like a war zone.  One would have to be heartless to not see the tragedy in this, and hope that the Arabs can be enticed back AND that they would live in peace with their Jewish neighbors.

In the meantime, Hebron's Jews have worked hard to make their dwelling places feel more like neighborhoods, and lessen the feel of living under siege.  In particular, the Avraham Avinu (Abraham, our Father) neighborhood has been the recipient of much of these efforts.  Because Avraham Avinu was the site of the main Jewish enclave before 1929, repopulating it with Jews and turning it into a Jewish city-within-a-city has been an ideologically important endeavor.  I was somewhat surprised, and amused to find that Avraham Avinu today is also an enclave of Chabad-Lubavich.  Ubiquitous in the Jewish world, Chabad cannot seem to be escaped!

Inside the Avraham Avinu neighborhood is the Avraham Avinu synagogue, which was active until 1929 and was resurrected by those reclaiming the neighborhood.  Prayers are held in the shul every day.  Although we stopped in to see it long after the time for the morning prayer and before the Minchah prayer, we did take a few minutes to dance and sing to Hashem in joy as long as we there there.  I mean, why waste a perfectly good opportunity??!

This Torah scroll was rescued from the fire of the 1929 riots and returned to the synagogue when it was re-opened.  It is used every week.  For such an old scroll, its parchment is in remarkably good condition and its writing is clear and easy to read.  As an important sacred object, it is obviously lovingly cared for.

The building at the site of the Cave of the Patriarchs was erected by Herod 'the Great' and its vintage is about the same as the walls of Jerusalem that he also built.  Given that, it is in remarkably good condition!  Herod is not thought of as a particularly heroic figure in Jewish history, but one thing is for sure:  he built for keeps!  The building, and the cave it surrounds, is a site considered holy to Jews, Christians, and Muslims - all the 'Abrahamic' faiths.  Unfortunately, the building has a troubled history both from the 1929 riots and from the more recent massacre of Muslim worshippers in 1994 by Bernard Goldstein, a physician who was a part of the 'Kach' (Kahane Chai) party.

Here I am standing in front of the Cave.  I offer this photo as evidence that I stood in a place where the UN Security Council think I do not belong.  Although as I said above, I realize that there are two sides to the Hebron question - and I would have preferred to hear the other side as well except for their exclusion - I feel much more sympathetic towards the Jewish position now, than I did in the past.  Of course, that's exactly the reaction the tour is calculated to produce!  Although besides my guest and me all the members of our small group were Hareidi Orthodox Jews, the tour is clearly aimed at secular (which really means 'non-Orthodox') Israelis who are really paying for the Jewish 'occupation' of Hebron with the service of their sons and daughters in the IDF to keep the Jewish residents safe.  As the father of an Israeli soldier who is slated to serve his next security deployment in Gush Etzion, not inside Hebron but nearby on the way from Jerusalem, I'm exactly who they want to reach.  I wish that my son and his comrades did not have to serve in such places, and I will pray for their safety every day, but now I have a better understanding of why the Jews are there.  

     

Priestly Vestments and Black Hats: a Thought for Parashat Tetzaveh

Every Jew - and every non-Jew! - has a preconceived notion of what a Rabbi should look like and how he should be dressed.  Tall, short, thin, fat it doesn't matter, but definitely not obviously athletic.  With a long, untrimmed beard, flecked with gray.  In a dark suit and a hat with a brim.  Female?  Negative, nor clean-shaven, nor with longish hair, nor dressed in street clothes and definitely not bare-headed!  I have learned over the years, that Jews don't want their Rabbis to look just like them; they respond better to a Rabbi who fits this stereotype.  Of course, this stereotype only describes a limited number of Rabbis; not only progressive, but even many Orthodox Rabbis are neither bearded nor wear dark suits.  And outside of Orthodox Judaism, there are certainly many Rabbis with two X chromosomes!  But the stereotype persists in the minds of many.  Now that I'm no longer employed as a Rabbi, I don't even tend to introduce myself as a Rabbi, and when asked my occupation I'm likely to tell a questioner whom I know only superficially that I'm a retired military officer - which is, of course, true.  I just don't want to be bothered to discuss, or have to react to, this stereotype of what people expect a Rabbi to look like.

Of course, before we had Rabbis we had Priests; in the People Israel's 40 years' sojourn of preparation for their inheriting the Land of Israel, the tribe of Levi was set apart for holy functions, and Moses' brother and his sons further set aside for the Priesthood.  Although today's Rabbis are not the equivalent of the Priests in antiquity, there is an ovelapping of functions;  each institution in its time, set aside certain Jews to perform specific roles, but the dovetail is that both serve as visible reminders of G-d's presence.

In this week's Torah reading, Moses is instructed concerning the crafting of the various vestments of the Priests:  ephod, breastplate, robe, and other parts of the overall ensemble.  The instructions are quite detailed and exact; no general guidelines for the Priests to use as a point of departure and then have their vestments made to their liking!  This was to be a uniform with no variation.

In the ensemble, both the ephod - an outer garment, sort of like an apron - and the breastplate are designed to display the identification of the 12 sons of Jacob - that is, the 12 Tribes.  There's an important symbolism in this.  While the Priests are set aside for a specific, holy function and represent in and of themselves a visible sign of the Holy, their adornments show their identification with the entirety of the People Israel.  That way, when the typical Jew-in-the-street looked upon the Priest, he saw a visual statement that what the Priests did was not just for himself but for the entire nation.

It's similar to the way that, today, there is an expectation that a Rabbi stands out.  Even if the Jew looking upon that Rabbi is himself not bearded - or even not male! - and doesn't wear a dark suit or a head covering, or doesn't attend religious services or study, he or she tends to expect the Rabbi to conform to a very specific image and range of behaviors.  Even without an ephod or breastplate, today's traditional Rabbi serves as a symbol to all Jews no matter how religious or non-religious they are.  Despite the tendency of Rabbis to wear 'normal' clothing, and the fact that many of neither bearded nor male, there are many Jews who continue to harbor and nurture the stereotype, and will not respond well to a Rabbi who doesn't match it either because of tastes or genetics.

In our day, as in ancient times, symbols are important.  Shabbat shalom!
   

On Religious Edifices: a Thought for Parashat Terumah

Religious people are often accused of having an 'Edifice Complex,' meaning that they focus their aspirations and energies more on the infrastructure of religion, than on its essence.  Jews are certainly not immune to this.  Although many smaller synagogues around the world and in Israel are entirely functional, most congregations seem to aspire to build a grand edifice that will presumably instill pride in the hearts of their members...and also presumably, draw in new members.  Both presumptions are, by and large, affirmed by the way people react to these edifices once constructed.

In Israel today, where population growth is a major feature of national life, large Orthodox synagogues as grand and imposing edifices are popping up all over.  There's one just around the corner from where I live, and it's not the only synagogue of its type in the city.

When I refer to the essence of religion, I mean the definition of the great sage, Hillel the Elder.  Asked to explain the essence of Judaism while standing on one foot, he said: "That which is hateful to you, ddo not do to your neighbor.  That is the whole Torah; the rest is commentary." (Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Shabbat 31a)  This is the normative definition of the essence of Judaism; the great sages of some other religious traditions formulated their essence in similar terms, for example Christianity.

On the surface, and assuming that one agrees with this encapsulation of the essence of Judaism, it would seem that the enterprise of building religious edifices is at best extraneous, and at worst a distraction.  But then we have, in this week's Torah portion (Exodus 25:8), a famous dictum:

ועשו לי מקדש ושכנתי בתוכם/Let them build me a sanctuary, so that I can dwell among them

If the essence of Judaism has nothing to do with building edifices - and it doesn't - then why is Hashem telling Moses that His ability to dwell amongst the people Israel requires a sanctuary?  And make no mistake about it, we are talking about a physical sanctuary here; in the seven verses leading up to this proclamation, Hashem has laid out specific instructions as to what materials the Israelites must bring as offerings.  These are all the materials that went into the building of the Tabernacle, the original movable sanctuary.

I have struggled with this verse, because the Judaism I've practiced has always been an iconoclastic sort; I've said on many an occasion that the most moving services I'd attended or led were either in very plain surroundings, in my own home, or au naturel.   Grand or opulent surroundings, in my experience, tend to get in the way of deeply felt worship, at least in my experience.  And the effort to create such spaces - and maintain them - gets in the way of focusing on Hillel's Golden Rule.  Again, at least in my experience.

And yet.  I've attended services in makeshift synagogues located in homes or storefronts, where the shabbiness of the surroundings interfered, at least for me, with my own ability to focus on the worship.  So even if one doesn't think that grandness or opulence is required, at the end of the day, the surroundings do matter.

So there is something in human psychology at the very least, that is addressed in let them build me a sanctuary, so that I can dwell among them.  What we really need to do is to create a sanctuary within our hearts.  But when we make the effort to create a visible, usable sanctuary, that does help the process.

In my religious travels, visiting various congregations not only Jewish but  of other faiths in my quest to understand the nexus between G-d and man, I've observed that congregations respond to surroundings which enhance the worship experience.  For some groups this means an opulence in their sanctuary, while for others this means a functionality that is still handsome in a more utilitarian way.  But the main thing is that these surroundings serve as visual reminders to the enduring traditions of reaching for G-d and seeking His will.

I therefore have accepted the Edifice Complex as being not only understandable, but necessary in the proper context.  We should not be ashamed of the impulse to build visual - and useful - monuments to our desire to live out our faith.  I just hope that the Building Fund won't come knocking on my door too often!  Shabbat shalom!