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! 

How Do We Live in Israel?

Several friends have asked for pictures and explanation of our living standards here in Israel.  I'm therefore going to make a series of posts in the blog, of everyday life in Israel.  In this post, I'm going to start with the most intimate aspect of live - or at least, the most intimate I'm willing to share on my blog!  I'm inviting you into our living quarters...

I've mentioned before that Israel is a very 'vertical' country; land is expensive, and the population is dense, and therefore Israelis tend to live in apartment buildings.  Not so overwhelming as before the early 1990's.  After the Oslo Accords, the country experienced a spurt of prosperity that has seen an explosion in numbers of Israelis (1) driving private automobiles, and (2) living in private homes.  But Israelis still overwhelmingly live in apartment buildings, mid rise to high rise.  I supposed that the building where Clara and I live, qualifies as a 'high rise'; it has 15 floors.

Unlike in the USA, where most apartment building are owned completely by one entity, in Israel the apartments are all sold individually as what we call 'condominiums' in the USA.  My Australian friends are, of course familiar with this arrangement, as it is the standard pattern of ownership there. (Although they are not called 'condominiums' there, but simply 'units.')

Here's a view of our building from the outside (building right of center); it is somewhere between 10 and 15 years old and is in a neighborhood of buildings of the same, or newer, vintage.  As you can see, amidst the buildings is a pleasant park for the children.  I jokingly refer to our neighborhood as 'Co-op City'; if you've been to that huge development of apartments in the northwest Bronx, you'll know why!  Truth is, I could just as easily call it 'Parkchester' after another huge complex in the Bronx, of look-alike buildings.  I'm sure there are such complexes in other US cities, but after all I'm a New Yorker - and a Bronxite - through and through.

The neighborhood is pleasant enough.  The only notable problem is parking, which is always a problem in densely-populated vertical neighborhoods.  The builders provided parking lots and garages with, in most cases, one space per unit.  And of course, many families have more than one vehicle - either an extra personal vehicle or a work vehicle - plus visitors need parking spaces.  So in the evening and one the Sabbath, parking on the street becomes very scarce.  I'll deal with the issue of personal conveyances in another post to come.

Our apartment is fairly typical of family-oriented apartments of its age, both in its size and appointments.  It is a 'four room' apartment, which equates to three bedrooms plus the common space.  This is the most common number of rooms; five-room apartments exist but in smaller numbers.  Three-room apartments are also found, especially in buildings optimized for older occupants.  Many of the country's older buildings - circa 1960's through 1980's - provide smaller apartments for young couples just starting out, as well as for new immigrants and others at the lower end of the socioeconomic scale.

Here's a view of our main room, including a glimpse of the balcony.  One of the reasons Clara choose this particular apartment was for the open floor plan:  living, dining, and kitchen in one large room.  Other buildings have the living space more segmented, but this is the most popular arrangement.  Note a standard feature,  tile floors; and a non-standard feature, central heat and air conditioning.

Here's a view of the dining area.  This apartment is furnished, which is not very common.  Since we did not ship furniture and appliances to Israel, we thought it would be good to rent an equipped apartment for the first year, to save us from having to immediately go out and spend thousands of dollars to furnish and equip an apartment or house.  The bookcases and books, the area rugs, the pictures on the wall and the flat-screen TV, are ours.

Here's the kitchen area.  Note that there's no dishwasher.  That's a bit unusual in an apartment of this age and standard.  If you can see the details, you can see that we have some of the standard kitchen additions one would expect in any modern country:  microwave, espresso machine, and blender.  The butcher block-topped cart, which we bought at IKEA and which I mentioned in an earlier post, gives a bit extra counter space.

This is the master bedroom.  It faces east and is of a decent size.  The bed, and the beds in the other two rooms, is queen size.  King size beds - and bedrooms large enough for them - are no so common here.  Again, this is the furniture that belongs to the unit owner; the bed linens and pictures on the walls are ours.

This is the master en suite; the toilet is behind me, so you don't see it.  Next to the toilet is a window.  What I'm trying to show you here, is the typical shower in an Israeli home.  It's not really a 'stall shower,' as there's only a very low sill that separates it from the floor of the rest of the room.  So when you shower, water spills out into the sink area.  After showering, you take a large squeegee and push the water into the drain in the shower area.  It keeps the bathroom floor clean!

This is the second bedroom.  Interestingly enough, this is the only room of the three with a built-in clothes closet.  The other rooms have the freestanding kind.  As you can see, this room is rather small.  It seems dark because the trissim - roll-up blinds - are closed.

This is the third bedroom.  Legally this is not a bedroom at all, but a ma'amad, or shelter room.  Since the SCUD attacks during Operation Desert Storm, every new dwelling unit in Israel must have a reinforced room where the occupants can shelter with a few seconds' notice.  The shelter room has double-thickness walls, heavier shutters, and its window and door are sealed with gaskets to keep gas from intruding.  Note also the heavy duty filter on the air conditioning intake to this room.  Although the ma'amad is not legally a bedroom, everybody uses them as either an occasional bedroom - for guests or for children who have gone on to the army - or as a work room.  We were warned that WiFi signals often don't penetrate the ma'amad, but ours seems to be okay in that regard.

As I said, the shelter room is positioned so that anyone in the house can step into the shelter within a few seconds.  Of course, that assumes that one hears the alarm!  Since I've been here, we've had two alarms when missiles were launched in this direction from the Gaza Strip, which is only about 10 kilometers south of Ashqelon.  The problem is that in both instances, we slept through the alarms...

This is the other bathroom, looking inward from the utility space and towards the second bedroom.  It is a full bath, with a tub-shower.  The exposed electrical cable above the door is for a radiant heater, the typical way of heating a bathroom in the winter.  The master en suite has one, but the owner never installed one in this bathroom.  I also might as well mention that our water heater is electric and must be turned on 15-20 minutes before one wishes to bathe or shower.  Solar hot water, with an electric back-up, is more common in Israel but for some reason our building does not have the solar panels incorporated in its design.

Here's the clothes washer and dryer, in the utility space adjoining the bathroom.  Note that their size (8 KG capacity) is similar to what we call 'apartment sized' washers and dryers in the USA.  But these are the largest size appliances typically available to the consumer in Israel.  Of course, anybody who has lived in Eurpoe recognizes this as the 'standard' sized washer and dryer for a private home.

Finally, the views from our apartment.  We live on the next-to-highest floor, so the views are magnificent.  The top picture is the view from our balcony, looking west towards the Mediterranean Sea.  The picture to the left is southeast, from our bedroom window.  You can see the neighborhood park, then the small neighborhood shopping center and finally, an area of private homes further to the east.

Since many of my readers are curious about the cost of living here, I'll tell you that our monthly rent is NIS 4,300, the equivalent of about US $1,160.  On top of that, we are responsible for another 200 or so shekels monthly (just over US $50) for va'ad habayit, what in the USA is commonly called 'condo association' and in Australia is called 'body corporate.'  Although housing costs in Israel are traditionally high compared to the USA, this compares favorably to what one would pay for such quarters in an American city.  And in some major cities in the USA, one would pay far more.  Of course, location, location, and location are the three largest determinants of cost of housing in Israel also; for a similar apartment in the Tel Aviv area or in Jerusalem, one would expect to pay far more.

We are living in this apartment with a one-year lease.  It is our intent to buy a home towards the end of the lease.  I hope you've enjoyed this little glimpse and explanation of our living conditions here in Israel.  In subsequent weeks, I'll offer glimpes into other aspects of living in Israel.  If you'd like to read about something in particular, please don't hesitate to ask!  

   




   

On Constitutions and Commandments: a Thought for Parashat Mishpatim

Last week's Torah portion included Aseret Hadib'rot, the Ten Commandments as they're commonly called.  There's no question that the Ten Comandments, which appear twice in the Torah - in Exodus 20 and in Deuteronomy 5 - could be considered the cornerstone of the G-d's expressed will for humanity.  But just as the US Constitution does not represent the totality of legislation that governs life in the USA, the Ten Commandments only set out the broad principles that govern the life of G-d's people.

In this week's reading, Mishpatim (Exodus 21-24), we begin to see more specifics.  The word mishpatim means, 'judgments'; these are the judgments that, stemming from the broad principles in the Ten Commandments, are to enable to people Israel to live in a functional society under G-d's sovereignty.

The Relationship of the Ten Commandments to the rest of the Torah's legislation - the traditional reckoning is that there are a total of 613 Commandments in the Torah - is sort of like that of the US Constitution to the huge body of law that governs everyday life in the country.  The Constitution provides the broad principles, and other federal and state statutes provide the specifics.  But all subsequent law must pass the test of not contradicting the Constitution.  And the US Supreme Court's sole purpose is to hear arguments that assert that test hasn't been met in any given case.

The analogy might not be exact, but it's close enough.  The sixth of the Ten Commandments, Exodus 20:13, prohibits murder.  In this week's reading, Exodus 21:12-14 we see a differentiation between unintentionally killing someone, which today we refer to as 'manslaughter,' and intentional killing which we call murder.  In a case of the former, the perpetrator could save his life by entering one of the cities of refuge.  For the latter, there was no escaping a death sentence.

Additionally, this week's reading differentiates killing which is in self-defense.  In Exodus 22:2-3, the Torah states that killing someone who broke into one's home at night incurs no bloodguilt.  The Rabbis understood that, if someone broke into a house at night, the implies they knew someone would be home and would have been ready to kill them in commission of their robbery.

Just as the US Constitution, elegant as it is, is not sufficient by itself for the maintenance of an orderly and safe society.  So too, the Ten Commandments do not suffice.  They are only the fountainhead, from which all legislative decrees in the Torah, flow.  In this week's Torah portion, following immediately last week's stating of the Ten Commandments, we begin to see this.  Shabbat shalom.

Listen to Your Father-in-law! A thought for Parashat Yitro

I had a reasonably good relationship with my father-in-law, Clara's father, Vito Jerbi z"l.  This, after a somewhat rocky start.  The first time I met Clara's parents, Clara wasn't there; it was Friday evening and she was working as an intensive care nurse.  I'd just arrived in Israel a few days earlier, and she'd arranged for her brothers to pick me up and take me to her parents' home on the moshav.  Of course, the evening began with a rather intense interrogation by Clara's father and brothers!  Afterwards, Vito told Clara that I was okay (just okay!), but my Hebrew was stilted.  Several weeks later when we announced that we were getting married, he was not especially happy.  No, it wasn't my Hebrew - rather that, since I was from abroad, he couldn't investigate my background to make sure I was from a good family.

But eventually I won Vito over, especially after Clara and I produced his 18th and 19th grandchildren.  And over the years I grew to enjoy sitting with him, drink an arak or three, and listen to his stories about life in Libya during and after the Second World War.  I learned quite a bit of history from him.  After Vito passed away 11 years ago, I missed him.

One thing I never did with Vito was ask his advice, and he never offered it.  It wasn't that I didn't think him worthy of consulting, it's just that anything on which I might have consulted him in those days, was far outside his experience.

Moses didn't have the same disconnect between him and his father-in-law.  Yitro - Jethro - in whose camp Moses lived after he fled Egypt, was the leader of his tribe of Midianites.  Moses has been sent back to Egypt by Hashem to free his Israelite people from servitude to Pharaoh, and having received the Divine appointment to lead the people in their exit from Egypt.  So Jethro actually does have something to teach Moses - about leadership principles - and he freely offers his valuable advice when he visits with the Israelites in Sinai and observes his soon-in-law's leadership style.

That style is, to put it bluntly, controlling.  Everybody has encountered a leader in the mold of Moses before his father-in-law's intervention.  He's a micro-manager, making all the decisions himself, judging every dispute between two Israelites, perhaps fearful in his inexperience, or in his awe of his responsibility, to delegate authority.  Jethro sets him straight, advising him to appoint leaders at various lower echelons, and to give them the authority to settle all but the weightiest matters.  Moses himself would reserve those for himself.  That way, in Jethro's words, Moses would avoid killing himself by being so overburdened by others' problems day and night.

Moses surely accepts and follows his father-in-law's advice, for in this week's portion we also see him ascending the mountain to receive the Law.  Without having set up a system of echelons and delegations, he would not have been able to leave the people to have his encounter with Hashem on the mountain.  Of course, in his absence there is a total failure of the leadership structure Moses has set up.  But that's another issue entirely...

On Singing Out with Joy: a Thought for Parashat Beshallach

The synagogue where I worship nowadays, Kehillat Netzach Yisrael in Ashqelon, is Masorti, meaning 'traditional,' which is called Conservative in North America.  The service in a Masorti shul is a bit longer than that in a Reform shul, where the service has undergone more editing over time both for brevity and to reflect an evolving ideology.  One inclusion in the service, that Reform liturgy cut a long time ago, is the recitation of Exodus 15:1-19 in the preliminaries to the Shacharit, or morning prayer.  This chapter is often referred to as 'The Song at the Sea.'  All Jews in the world will be reciting, or hearing this chapter in shul this week, because it is part of this week's portion Beshallach.  But even those who only hear the whole thing this once per year, sre familiar with several of its key verses which are strung together in the prayer known as Mi Chamocha which follows the recitation of the Shema in every evening and morning service, in every 'flavor' of Judaism.

In a traditional service, there are parts that are prayed individually, usually at a very fast speed, which the prayer-leader starts and finishes aloud to let everybody know of the congregation's progress.  There are also parts where the congregation automatically starts to sing in unison, with a great amount of feeling.

Of course, finding joy in singing out is not unique to Jewish worship.  I have attended many Christian services, of many flavors, over the years; the congregations with the most singing, and the most feeling expressed during the singing, tend to be the churches most full on their weekly day of worship.

In my current shul, The Song at the Sea is one of those places where the pace slows and everybody sings out together.  Following a number of pages that are prayed at Quick Time, everybody seems happy to slow down and savor both the melody and the words.

I don't especially care for the Quick Time portions; I would like to see most - or even all - of the service sung/chanted in unison by the congregation.  Since it is clear that everybody enjoys the parts sung together - as witnessed by the joy in the voices and on the faces when we do sing - why not just sing the entire service?  Yes, it will make the service last a bit longer, maybe an extra quarter-to-half hour.

I've actually tried it on occasion, but the congregations didn't respond especially well.  I would chant even the parts of the service done in English.  But few in the congregation would be willing to make the leap to chanting in English; my guess is that it felt too 'churchy' to them.  But the experience notwithstanding, I dream of being able to worship in a congregation where the servie is sung from start to finish.  I actually know of a handful of such congregations - a couple in New York and at least one here in Israel - but I've never been close enough to be able to attend any of them.

I am lucky to be married to a woman who is wont to break out in song, spontaneously, without warning at almost any time of the day.  It reminds me that our lives should be a song of praise and joy.

Jews, why not allow yourselves to succumb more readily to the joy of singing out?  This week for sure, but any week, any day of the year as well!  Stop being so self-conscious and express your joy!  Shabbat shalom. 

On hardening of Hearts: a Thought for Parashat Bo

Joseph Mallord William Turner, The Tenth Plague of Egypt

G-d takes a certain amount of flak from some readers of the Torah, for a lot of reasons.  A good example of this is found in the passage concerning the Ten Plagues against Egypt, which began in last week's portion and concludes in this week's reading.  In this case the 'flak' is criticism because G-d, in sending Moses to Pharaoh to demand that the latter let the Israelite people go from their servitude, informs Moses that he 'will harden Pharaoh's heart,' making him obstinate to refuse the demand.  That's not fair! goes the usual criticism.  Since it's not just Pharaoh, but all of Egypt that will suffer the effects of the Plagues, why would a Just and Merciful G-d cause Pharaoh to refuse by hardening his heart?

As this week's reading opens, in Chapter Ten of Exodus, we are in the prelude to the Eighth Plague:  that of locusts.  In sending Moses and Aaron to Pharaoh to repeat the demand let my people go and warn him of the consequence - the locusts - that will follow his refusal, Hashem tells Moses that he will harden not only Pharaoh's heart, but also those of his advisers.

But then, after Moses makes his presentation - demanding freedom for the Israelites and threatening the locusts - and Pharaoh predictably refuses, we hear the voices of Pharaoh's advisers offering what sounds like good, honest advice:  they plead with him to let the Israelites go, saying:  עד-מתי יהיה זה לנו למוקש?  שלח את האנשים ויעבדו את ה' אלקיהם הטרם תדע כי עבדה מצרים   How long will this man menace us?  Let these people go and serve their G-d!  Can't you see that Egypt is lost?  While Pharaoh's heart indeed seems to be hardened to the point where he will risk his very kingdom - remember, Seven Plagues have already wreaked much destruction upon Egypt - his counselors advise that he give up the struggle and give in.  The G-d of Moses is clearly more powerful than Pharaoh.

If G-d's 'hardening of hearts' is understood to take away Pharaoh's and his advisers' free will to decide, the text clearly shows that at least in the case of the advisers, that is not what happens.  So G-d's 'hardening of hearts,' clearly means something other than His taking away their ability to make a rational choice.  Indeed, it would seem that Pharaoh's abstinence is of his own making; he is being true to his own personality, to his own way of thinking.  In Pharaoh's obstinence, we hear echoes of the folly that many a despotic ruler has made, ignoring his advisers.  Looked at in this light, we can see that Pharaoh's refusal to let the Israelites go, is not G-d's will imposed on him to teach him and his subject people a lesson.  Rather, it shows that Pharaoh is apt to get into a pissing contest with this Hashem and his representative, the same Moses who grew up in the royal palace as this Pharaoh's step-brother.

Seen in this light, it is unnecessary - and unfair as it were - to judge G-d for causing the suffering of the Egyptians.  It is clear that it is Pharaoh himself - not the G-d of Israel - who causes the Egyptian people to suffer.