.רק חיבור קצר
Jessica and I went to dinner for her birthday tonight at the restaurant across the street, Lina. We had some excellent food, and it wasn't too pricey - so we're delighted to discovery a real quality restaurant literally minutes from our doorstep! Her birthday potluck dinner is tomorrow, and we're excited about hosting friends from HUC and Hebrew University.
It's getting on toward bedtime, so I thought I'd just post this modified article I read on the Jerusalem Post website. It's a fun piece written by an HUC professor about some Hebrew quirks. No offense if you decide not to read. Cheers!
The Glamour of the Grammar: Double or nothing
There's only one word in Hebrew (or maybe two, but really one) in which the same letter appears four times in a row. Can you think of it? The answer is at the end of the column.
Three identical letters in a row is more common, and two is positively mundane. The issue comes up because we just learned that a dagesh marks a double letter in Hebrew, as, for example, in "שבת," which gets but one bet. If a double letter gets written as a single letter with a dagesh, how is is possible to have double letters after all, to say nothing of triple and even quadruple?
The answer is that, by and large, only double letters with no vowel between them are candidates for dagesh. So in the Hebrew word גג ("roof"), the vowel /a/ blocks the dagesh process. (The word גג brings up another puzzle: How many words can be written with only one letter? I've got 24, also at the end of the column.) Of course, nothing is so simple, because it's not always clear what counts as a vowel, so it's not clear what blocks the dagesh process.
Once again, we use the notion of base word, which is to say, the singular masculine third person. When two letters have no vowel between them in a base word, they get written as one letter with a dagesh. That's why "שבת" gets a bet with a dagesh (it's a base word), and why דיבר ("he spoke") also gets a dagesh in the bet, but סובבה ("she spun") gets double bets, with no dagesh.
But the matter is a little more complicated, because some suffixes meld with their base words, and others don't. ישן means "he slept." It's a base word. The derived form "we slept" ends with the suffix -נו ("we"), but it's ישנו, not ישננו, and it's spelled yud-shin-nun-vav, with - you guessed it - a dagesh in the nun, marking the fact that the root has a nun and so does the suffix.
The suffix -ת ("you") works identically, which is why "you went on strike" is אתה שבת (not אתה שבתת). It's as though these suffixes are part of the base word.
By contrast, the possessive suffixes, like -ך ("yours") do not behave like part of the base word, and they do not merge with the letter before them. So "your king" is מלכך, with two kafs.
Prefixes also stay separate, so "in a house" is בבית.
And now to the puzzles. In which word does the same letter appear four times in a row? And which words can be written with only one letter? Turning to the second one first, we find a handful of two-letter words: גג ("roof"), דד (a rare word for "nipple"), וו ("hook," and also the letter vav), זז ("he moved"), הה ("nose ring"), כך ("so"), מם (the letter mem), סס ("moth"), צץ ("he popped up"), רר (a kind of fish), תת (the prefix "under-"), טט ("giving") and a no fewer than four words spelled shin-shin: שש ("six"), שש ("white linen"), שש (a poetic form of שיש, "marble"), and שש ("he rejoiced"). So that's 15 biliteral words.
To get the triliteral words, we need to add a bit a grammar, because while Arabic has a lovely word yayaya ("he wrote the letter ya [yud]"), Hebrew has nothing parallel. There are no simple words that triplicate letters. But we do have the prefixes ש- ("that") and מ- ("from"), as well as the suffixes -ו ("his") and -ם ("theirs"). So we can build ששש ("that six" or "that marble" or "that white linen"); ששש ("that he rejoiced"), though we have to count shin and sin as the same letter; ממם ("from a mem"); ממם ("their mem"), spelled the same way as ממם; and finally the truly bizarre vav-vav-vav, which spells ווו ("his hook").
The quadriliteral word, the most difficult part of the second puzzle, is also the answer to the first puzzle. Mem-mem-mem-mem spells מממם ("from their mem"), and is the only Hebrew word to put four identical letters in a row. But if you thought of וווו ("and his hook") you win half credit. It should be spelled vav-vav-vav-vav, but an arcane rule of Hebrew spelling generally prevents it
The writer teaches at HUC-JIR in New York City.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Electives, classes, and other scheduling topics.
Today was the first day of electives in ulpan. Electives will meet for one hour, three times a week. They are with other students in our level, but not necessarily from our class (I think I'm one of only two people from my class in my elective). The elective I chose is about Hebrew literature, and we will be reading excerpts from novels, poetry, and plays. I am very excited about this - excited to be reading "real" writing, and to be learning from it, excited to be learning about creative expression in Hebrew, an aspect of language that is in some ways entirely different from day to day speech and from factual articles, and excited to have some variety added to the ulpan schedule, to work with a new teacher, and to meet new students. The German girl I made friends with on the first day is in my literature class - her name is Eva and she seems really nice, so I hope I'll get to know her better. She and her friend Tobias (also German, also studying theology) are here all year, and they both live near me, so I hope I'll take the initiative to ask them to do something outside of class.
I'm finding that I am very shy at ulpan. I've spoken to a few people, but it is hard for me to do. Most people live in Kfar HaStudentim (the student village) and have roommates and friends they spend time with outsideof class. I don;t hav this and because of that I feel a little left out. But I have been seeing the same people on the bus every day, so I suppose after a time I might get to know them. Also, once I am in graduate seminars it may get easier.
Yesterday I attended a graduate student orientation. I received the course offering directory and learned a bit about the graduate school - there are something like 270 graduate students at Rothberg International School, half of whom are MA students and half of whom are visiting students (like me!) Visiting students don't have any requirements and can basically take whatever they want. We can take classes from the course offerings, or we can take classes offered through Hebrew University itself - each department publishes a list of classes in that department that are taught in English, and I can take those if I wish, or any class in Hebrew if I am so brave. I plan on taking Hebrew, Intermediate Yiddish, a course about Israeli history or society (I have quite a few to choose from!) and, depending on whether or not it is taught this semester, probably I will also take Yiddish literature in English translation. In the spring there is a translation studies class that I think would be pretty awesome - but I have a long time to decide about the spring! (In fact, I have a whole month still to decide about the fall...)
At the orientation I met a girl in the MA program who is from China. She was a religious studies major in China and she is here to get an MA in communal leadership studies. Afterwards she wants to move to Toronto, where her boyfriend is working. She seems really nice, but her Hebrew is at the beginnners level and her English isn't that great, so it was hard to communicate with her. Maybe I'll see her again as well, during graduate student events. I hope so!
Soon enough I'll also be starting my out of school activities. I've been in contact with the heads of Yung YiDDiSH and the Interfaith Encounter Association, respectively, and have arranged to meet each of them in the relatively near future (YY next week and IEA in early September). I hope to volunteer for YY about twice a week and to go to many of their programs, and I hope to volunteer for IEA once a week, and to join the Hebrew University encounter group. I am very excited about all of these opportunities!
I am settling into a routine here and basic things like taking the bus to class, stopping at the store on the way home to pick up a few things, etc. don't seem as scary anymore. The less intimidating all of this is, the more I think I'm going to like it here.
I'm finding that I am very shy at ulpan. I've spoken to a few people, but it is hard for me to do. Most people live in Kfar HaStudentim (the student village) and have roommates and friends they spend time with outsideof class. I don;t hav this and because of that I feel a little left out. But I have been seeing the same people on the bus every day, so I suppose after a time I might get to know them. Also, once I am in graduate seminars it may get easier.
Yesterday I attended a graduate student orientation. I received the course offering directory and learned a bit about the graduate school - there are something like 270 graduate students at Rothberg International School, half of whom are MA students and half of whom are visiting students (like me!) Visiting students don't have any requirements and can basically take whatever they want. We can take classes from the course offerings, or we can take classes offered through Hebrew University itself - each department publishes a list of classes in that department that are taught in English, and I can take those if I wish, or any class in Hebrew if I am so brave. I plan on taking Hebrew, Intermediate Yiddish, a course about Israeli history or society (I have quite a few to choose from!) and, depending on whether or not it is taught this semester, probably I will also take Yiddish literature in English translation. In the spring there is a translation studies class that I think would be pretty awesome - but I have a long time to decide about the spring! (In fact, I have a whole month still to decide about the fall...)
At the orientation I met a girl in the MA program who is from China. She was a religious studies major in China and she is here to get an MA in communal leadership studies. Afterwards she wants to move to Toronto, where her boyfriend is working. She seems really nice, but her Hebrew is at the beginnners level and her English isn't that great, so it was hard to communicate with her. Maybe I'll see her again as well, during graduate student events. I hope so!
Soon enough I'll also be starting my out of school activities. I've been in contact with the heads of Yung YiDDiSH and the Interfaith Encounter Association, respectively, and have arranged to meet each of them in the relatively near future (YY next week and IEA in early September). I hope to volunteer for YY about twice a week and to go to many of their programs, and I hope to volunteer for IEA once a week, and to join the Hebrew University encounter group. I am very excited about all of these opportunities!
I am settling into a routine here and basic things like taking the bus to class, stopping at the store on the way home to pick up a few things, etc. don't seem as scary anymore. The less intimidating all of this is, the more I think I'm going to like it here.
Monday, August 11, 2008
Hebrew.
.עברית
I love the Hebrew language. I love the root system, the puns, the grammatical forms, the history of the letters ... not to mention the extraordinary depths of Hebrew texts. I've loved Hebrew for a long time, and I started exploring it beyond the Hebrew School curriculum in high school. I can't imagine studying Torah in anything but Hebrew, and I'm very excited to be in Israel to improve my grasp of the language.
So that's how I feel. For me, Hebrew is an indispensable part of my ability to learn and understand the vast majority of the traditional teachings of Judaism. But a question that came up today in a side conversation (though this was by no means the first time it's been raised) is how important is Hebrew to a modern American Reform rabbi? Specifically, the question was framed in the following way:
The first two principles of the Year in Israel Program are:
1. Knowledge of modern Hebrew, at a level of competence, is necessary if professional leaders of the North American Jewish Community are to establish and maintain significant ties between the institutions and communities they lead and the land and people of Israel. Just as we expect leaders of the State of Israel to be able to dialogue with North American Jewry in English, we should expect the professional leaders of the North American communities to be able to dialogue with Israelis in Hebrew.
2. Competence in the Hebrew language of the classical texts of Judaism is the prerequisite to serious study of those texts and the ability to make those texts accessible to the communities that the students will eventually serve.
If that's so, then why do we have Hebrew only four days a week instead of the usual five? The most obvious answer is that this year, HUC has started a new initiative to familiarize students with biblical history in the place where much of that history was rooted. The biblical history course, then, requires that time be taken out of Hebrew studies.
Okay then, the questioner continues, then why accept students whose Hebrew is not proficient enough? This person I was talking to notices that the Hebrew of many of our classmates is not excellent and it's unlikely that even the strongest of us will be fluent before we head back home. Perhaps it would be better to defer those students who don't have very strong Hebrew until they can improve their fluency.
There are two good arguments against this policy. The first is that it's difficult for some students to learn Hebrew well during the course of their everyday (even University) lives, and there are certainly individuals who would make great rabbis who haven't had the opportunity to study Hebrew in depth. Additionally, changing the Hebrew requirement might not only discourage students from applying, but it would certainly decrease the number of students in our class (and, theoretically, future classes as well). Would the numbers game actually work out this way?
Of course, there's something to be said for sticking to principle. If the URJ actively believes that fluency in Hebrew is required of American Reform rabbis, then by all means, they should require it. But I believe that even that statement requires scrutiny.
Yes, of course, I think it's important to know Hebrew. I think it's necessary for rabbis to be comfortable looking at Torah texts in Hebrew and to have a familiarity with the Hebrew writings of our ancestors. And of course, I think it's necessary that rabbis know what the prayers mean. But what of Talmud? Of modern Hebrew/Israeli literature? I don't think that knowledge of those two areas are essential to being a Reform rabbi in America. Yes, of course they're wonderful and should be cultivated, but they're not necessary. When does Rabbi Cohen in Roanoke use Hebrew? Only at Shabbat services and Torah study as far as I know.
Now, Jessica had a good point to add on this topic. She says that any rabbi should know enough about "Judaism" to be able to give an answer or at least a resource to any person who has a Judaic question. Even if they don't know Yiddish, they should know enough about Yiddish to give an appropriate recommendation. I think that since so much of Jewish intellectual activity has been recorded in Hebrew, a fair facility with the language would be required for this level of comfort in making educated recommendations - but the rabbi wouldn't have to make the recommendation in Hebrew. :-)
So, while I'm going to try to learn as much Hebrew as I possibly can and while I hope that my class mates will thrive and explore Hebrew with enthusiasm, I think I'll also understand when one of them says that Hebrew just isn't that important to them or is very difficult or they don't get as far as they'd like. Living for a year in Israel, with Hebrew class almost every day (including a double-portion on biblical grammar days) will, I believe, give sufficient background to me and my fellow classmates. And we have four years (and a lifetime of study) to make up for any deficiency in education that we discover.
I love the Hebrew language. I love the root system, the puns, the grammatical forms, the history of the letters ... not to mention the extraordinary depths of Hebrew texts. I've loved Hebrew for a long time, and I started exploring it beyond the Hebrew School curriculum in high school. I can't imagine studying Torah in anything but Hebrew, and I'm very excited to be in Israel to improve my grasp of the language.
So that's how I feel. For me, Hebrew is an indispensable part of my ability to learn and understand the vast majority of the traditional teachings of Judaism. But a question that came up today in a side conversation (though this was by no means the first time it's been raised) is how important is Hebrew to a modern American Reform rabbi? Specifically, the question was framed in the following way:
The first two principles of the Year in Israel Program are:
1. Knowledge of modern Hebrew, at a level of competence, is necessary if professional leaders of the North American Jewish Community are to establish and maintain significant ties between the institutions and communities they lead and the land and people of Israel. Just as we expect leaders of the State of Israel to be able to dialogue with North American Jewry in English, we should expect the professional leaders of the North American communities to be able to dialogue with Israelis in Hebrew.
2. Competence in the Hebrew language of the classical texts of Judaism is the prerequisite to serious study of those texts and the ability to make those texts accessible to the communities that the students will eventually serve.
If that's so, then why do we have Hebrew only four days a week instead of the usual five? The most obvious answer is that this year, HUC has started a new initiative to familiarize students with biblical history in the place where much of that history was rooted. The biblical history course, then, requires that time be taken out of Hebrew studies.
Okay then, the questioner continues, then why accept students whose Hebrew is not proficient enough? This person I was talking to notices that the Hebrew of many of our classmates is not excellent and it's unlikely that even the strongest of us will be fluent before we head back home. Perhaps it would be better to defer those students who don't have very strong Hebrew until they can improve their fluency.
There are two good arguments against this policy. The first is that it's difficult for some students to learn Hebrew well during the course of their everyday (even University) lives, and there are certainly individuals who would make great rabbis who haven't had the opportunity to study Hebrew in depth. Additionally, changing the Hebrew requirement might not only discourage students from applying, but it would certainly decrease the number of students in our class (and, theoretically, future classes as well). Would the numbers game actually work out this way?
Of course, there's something to be said for sticking to principle. If the URJ actively believes that fluency in Hebrew is required of American Reform rabbis, then by all means, they should require it. But I believe that even that statement requires scrutiny.
Yes, of course, I think it's important to know Hebrew. I think it's necessary for rabbis to be comfortable looking at Torah texts in Hebrew and to have a familiarity with the Hebrew writings of our ancestors. And of course, I think it's necessary that rabbis know what the prayers mean. But what of Talmud? Of modern Hebrew/Israeli literature? I don't think that knowledge of those two areas are essential to being a Reform rabbi in America. Yes, of course they're wonderful and should be cultivated, but they're not necessary. When does Rabbi Cohen in Roanoke use Hebrew? Only at Shabbat services and Torah study as far as I know.
Now, Jessica had a good point to add on this topic. She says that any rabbi should know enough about "Judaism" to be able to give an answer or at least a resource to any person who has a Judaic question. Even if they don't know Yiddish, they should know enough about Yiddish to give an appropriate recommendation. I think that since so much of Jewish intellectual activity has been recorded in Hebrew, a fair facility with the language would be required for this level of comfort in making educated recommendations - but the rabbi wouldn't have to make the recommendation in Hebrew. :-)
So, while I'm going to try to learn as much Hebrew as I possibly can and while I hope that my class mates will thrive and explore Hebrew with enthusiasm, I think I'll also understand when one of them says that Hebrew just isn't that important to them or is very difficult or they don't get as far as they'd like. Living for a year in Israel, with Hebrew class almost every day (including a double-portion on biblical grammar days) will, I believe, give sufficient background to me and my fellow classmates. And we have four years (and a lifetime of study) to make up for any deficiency in education that we discover.
Sunday, August 10, 2008
If I forget thee oh Jerusalem
Last night, at sun down, Tisha b'Av began. Tisha b'Av is traditionally a day of fasting and mourning to commemorate a host of tragic events that are said to have occurred on this day, including the destruction of the first and second Temples in Jerusalem, as well as the beginning of the deportation of Jews from the Warsaw ghetto, the expulsion of the Jews from Spain and from England, and the defeat of Bar Kochba. This year was only the second year that I have really commemorated Tisha b'Av at all, and I am still not sure how I feel about th holiday and the way that I might want to approach it in the future.
Last year, I commemorated Tisha b'Av by attending a Reconstructionist congregation's commemoration in Amherst, Massachussetts. We sat on the floor (a traditional mourning practice) in a circle, and read together Eicha (the Book of Lamentations). Lamentations is a powerful, horrifying account of the destruction of the Second Temple in which people are starving, bereft of their dignity and their very lives, and social turmoil erupts such that the whole people is in a state of crisis. The people of Israel have lost their sovreignty, the priests have lost their power to interact with G-d, and, most disturbing, the people have no food and are fainting, are dying. A woman cooks her own dead child so that she can have something to eat.
Before last year, Tisha b'Av was a holiday I simply did not commemorate at all - a holiday I overlooked. It happens in the summer, when kids are out of Sunday School, families are on vacation, etc. and it is easy to forget all about it on long summer weeks when you are not keeping track of anything other than how much sunscreen you need to wear. So last summer, when I decided to try to understand this strange holiday I'd heard of but didn't know anything about, I was not prepared for the horror and deep sadness I was to feel - the sense of loss, fear, and because of the personal nature of the narrative of Lamentations, the sense of personal connection I would gain to the text.
I wasn't sure what to expect from this year's commemoration. Truth be told I'd forgotten that Tisha b'Av would even fall while I was in Jerusalem, and had certainly not thought of the implications of commemorating the destruction of the Second Temple in the very city where it once stood, never mind the implications of mourning th loss of Israel's sovreignty in a the sovreign state of modern Israel.
Although Sunday will ordinarily be a school day for me, today I had no class because of Tisha b'Av. Last night, Daniel and I went to HUC for an evening service and then went to the Western Wall, and today I joined him at HUC for a lecture on the meaning of Tisha b'Av in Israel, followed by a text study and an afternoon service. This afternoon we walked around a bit, did some shopping, and returned home to read Lamentations together and then to reflect a bit about the holiday (Daniel is sitting next to me writing in the blog at the same time that I am ). We are both fasting today, and will break the fast tonight at HUC.
I am unsure how to approach this reflective excercise as there are so many things I've thought about today and want to share. I guess I want to start with the question of why we need Tisha B'Av and what it does or does not accomplish. Why do we need to impose mourning on ourselves? I struggle quite a bit with this question. When there is no reason for me to be sad, it is sort of arbitrary as nothing has happened to me personally so there is no reason to mourn, why should I go through the actions of mourning and induce a greif I would not otherwise feel? Is this healthy? Does it make sense?
I think perhaps an answer to this question has to do with the difference between the personal and the communal. In my own personal experience I have no reason to mourn. But I am more than my own person. As a member of the Jewish people I am part of a collective and communal experience and memory. Collective memory is not intuitive, it is learned. It is induced. It is something that you actually have to work at, I think. So that it may not be natural for me to be sad today, but if I plug myself in to the sadness of the community then it is a different kind of sadness that may not feel natural, may in fact feel a bit like play-acting, but is nevertheless real...maybe
And maybe we need institutionalized days for grief, as people. Maybe Tisha B'Av is a vehicle to allow us to feel grief so that we can feel greater joy on holidays that express joy. Or it is a vehicle for us to reflect on and express fears and concerns that we otherwise try not to think about. If I thought about death and destruction every day all day long, it would be hard for me to live in a meaningful way. But on the other hand if I never set aside time to think about death and destruction, my life would similarly not be meaningful, as I wouldn't recognize it's value and the limits of my own mortality. Tisha B'av allows us to think for a moment about not only personal mortality, but national mortality - about what makes nations fall and whole peoples experience destruction. It is imperative that nations and peoples think about their own mortality in order that they better understand their imperative to be good for as long as they are privileged to have sovreignty or to be in existance.
I am no theologan and no rabbinical student. I am writing as a Jew who is trying to understand the commemoration and whether it feels like it belongs to her, and how. These comments may not be all that sophisticated, but they are the concerns of someone who has been refraining from food and drinking little water all day because she wants to connect to something - to G-d, to Jewish history and peoplehood, perhaps to herself as well. To bring forth and summon her own dark and sad places and examine them in the light of this August day and acknowledge that destruction, anguish, and sadness exist also, and give them their due.
Last night at the Western Wall there were throngs of people from all walks of Jewish life crowding the Western Wall plaza, greeting one another in joy at the reunion as well as sadness for the occasion. The picture to the left of this text was taken from a website about Tisha B'Av at the Western Wall - we didn't take any pictures but this will give you a sense of what it was like. I pushed
my way into the women's section where I found rows of women sitting quietly on the ground, reading out of prayerbooks. A few were standing, and toward the front the women were standing shoulder to shoulder, trying to get close to the wall. Few people spoke and they kept their voices low so as not to distract the men. Some prayed ferverently and many held small children or pushed strollers full of babies. As I understand it (and I'm not surprised) this subdued quietnes was vastly different from Daniel's experience on the other side of the mechitsa, and I hope that he is writing about that so that you can learn about what that's like, too. To me, the somberness of the women's withdrawn and self-reflective prayer fit the mood of the holiday well. Refraining from speech and singing seems to go along with refraining from food, to me, as an activity that inspires sadness, that creates (artifically?) a sense of mourning. And certainly sitting the floor, near women who shook their tsedakah boxes and asked for money in lowered voices, added to the gloom of the holiday. Regardless of the appropriatness of sadness to Tisha B'Av though, I nevertheless struggle with its relevance for me.
One of the interns at Daniel's program who led the service last night spoke a bit about the significance of the holiday to him as someone who has made aliyah. He spoke of how in the past Tisha B'Av was about a hopeless, weak people searching for a superhero who would take all of their problems away, and how it might seem irrelevant in an Israel in which sovreignty has been renewed through the hard work of actual people, rather than super-people. But he said he continued to find significance in the holiday because of a rabbinic belief that the destruction of the Second Temple occurred because of senseless hatred. He says that Tisha B'Av is a reminder to him that Israel has a long way to go to reach its goals of being a moral Jewish society, and that it is also a reminder that Israel is not indistructable and senseless hatred is a serious threat still today. (Correct me if I'm wrong Daniel, would you agree that this is what he said?)
I'm not sure I'm comfortable with his characterization of non-Zionist Jews as weak and relying upon some superhero figure to save the day, and I don't think I'm comfortable with his characterization of Zionism as a movement of men acting as superheros, either. But at least I appreciate that he has come to an interpretation that is meaningful to the here and now, that makes sense to him in his own interpretation of modern history and what it is to be a Jew today, when the best that I can come up with, really, is that all tragedies (inc. the destruction of the Second Temple) should be mourned, and that a day of mourning is a healthy pause in a life of celebration. Niether of these answers do I find fulfilling.
Traditionally, Tisha b'Av is commemorated as that tragic day that marks the beginning of golus, an exile of Jews from the land of Israel, physically, and also a spiritual exile of Jews away from G-d. Not only do I find it hard to relate to because we are no longer exiled from Israel - here I am, journaling in Jerusalem, but I also find it hard to relate to because frankly, I love being "in golus" - I love living in America and don't feel that I am living there out of some kind of restriction but out of my own desire to be there. On the other hand, I often tend to think of prayers about Jerusalem and Israel in a figurative way. When I pray facing the Western Wall, when I say the word Israel in a prayer, when I hope we'll be in Jerusalem next year for Pesach, it is not this Israel, this Jerusalem, this Western Wall, that I am praying about. It is something else entirely, I think. It is a prayer for a Jerusalem, an Israel, a Western Wall that is perfect, that is spiritual, that is good, that doesn't really exist but maybe someday could or someday has. It is a fiction, really, that I take part in. A fiction that Jews believed in for thousands of years, that Israel was a holier place than any other, that if Jews returned there they would be better and purer. Perhaps for me, the Israel of prayers and heaven are equivalent places, and the Israel of the Middle East, while it may be the historical place to which those prayers refer, is not at all what I am praying about. Does this make sense? I'm not sure it does and I'm sorry for rambling and for being so confusing. But I guess what I'm trying to say is that regardless of the current political, physical reality that the state of Israel exists, and even despite my own being in Jerusalem, at the Western Wall, on Tisha B'Av, when I am praying and fasting and hoping on Tisha B'Av I am still hoping for the end of some kind of golus from some kind of Israel - some kind of redemption to a higher, better plane, a world of more goodness, more meaning, and more light.
This year, like last year, I am haunted by the image of the destruction of the Second Temple. And this year in particular I am thinking about the feelings expressed in Lamentations that G-d has not abandoned the Jewish people but has become their enemy. What a terrifying notion. Daniel's teacher today said that this is traditionally considered to be better than abandonment - that G-d's anger is better than G-d's indifference. This is an idea that I can understand, but after reading the anguish of the book of Lamentations, I'm not sure that it is one that I accept. Lamentations describes such horrible things - the beautiful faces of the priests, once so pure and white and soft, are blackened and charred from the destruction - and then goes on to attribute this go G-d, G-dself. Not to the Romans, not to historical or political circumstances, but to the divine being that the People of Israel refers to as their parent.
It is just about time to break the fast and so I must bring this incoherence to an end, but allow me one last word which is to say that I am troubled by so many things about this holiday but perhaps the meaning in the fast has been for me, this year, in the knowledge that I am in a relationship with G-d, whatever G-d is, and with the Jewish community (whatever it is) and I fast to take an action to maintain that connection - I fill myself with G-d, try to understand what it means for G-d to have an active role in the world, and for that active role to be destruction, and I mourn for that possibility, because who knows, that is certainly a possibility. But I break the fast because I believe that while G-d may be something with the power for evil, I cannot go on unless I believe that G-d is at least probably something with, above all, the power for good.
I hope you've had meaningful Tisha B-Avs, too, and I'm sorry to have bored you with mine...
OK, I'm going to eat now, catch ya later!
Last year, I commemorated Tisha b'Av by attending a Reconstructionist congregation's commemoration in Amherst, Massachussetts. We sat on the floor (a traditional mourning practice) in a circle, and read together Eicha (the Book of Lamentations). Lamentations is a powerful, horrifying account of the destruction of the Second Temple in which people are starving, bereft of their dignity and their very lives, and social turmoil erupts such that the whole people is in a state of crisis. The people of Israel have lost their sovreignty, the priests have lost their power to interact with G-d, and, most disturbing, the people have no food and are fainting, are dying. A woman cooks her own dead child so that she can have something to eat.
Before last year, Tisha b'Av was a holiday I simply did not commemorate at all - a holiday I overlooked. It happens in the summer, when kids are out of Sunday School, families are on vacation, etc. and it is easy to forget all about it on long summer weeks when you are not keeping track of anything other than how much sunscreen you need to wear. So last summer, when I decided to try to understand this strange holiday I'd heard of but didn't know anything about, I was not prepared for the horror and deep sadness I was to feel - the sense of loss, fear, and because of the personal nature of the narrative of Lamentations, the sense of personal connection I would gain to the text.
I wasn't sure what to expect from this year's commemoration. Truth be told I'd forgotten that Tisha b'Av would even fall while I was in Jerusalem, and had certainly not thought of the implications of commemorating the destruction of the Second Temple in the very city where it once stood, never mind the implications of mourning th loss of Israel's sovreignty in a the sovreign state of modern Israel.
Although Sunday will ordinarily be a school day for me, today I had no class because of Tisha b'Av. Last night, Daniel and I went to HUC for an evening service and then went to the Western Wall, and today I joined him at HUC for a lecture on the meaning of Tisha b'Av in Israel, followed by a text study and an afternoon service. This afternoon we walked around a bit, did some shopping, and returned home to read Lamentations together and then to reflect a bit about the holiday (Daniel is sitting next to me writing in the blog at the same time that I am ). We are both fasting today, and will break the fast tonight at HUC.
I am unsure how to approach this reflective excercise as there are so many things I've thought about today and want to share. I guess I want to start with the question of why we need Tisha B'Av and what it does or does not accomplish. Why do we need to impose mourning on ourselves? I struggle quite a bit with this question. When there is no reason for me to be sad, it is sort of arbitrary as nothing has happened to me personally so there is no reason to mourn, why should I go through the actions of mourning and induce a greif I would not otherwise feel? Is this healthy? Does it make sense?
I think perhaps an answer to this question has to do with the difference between the personal and the communal. In my own personal experience I have no reason to mourn. But I am more than my own person. As a member of the Jewish people I am part of a collective and communal experience and memory. Collective memory is not intuitive, it is learned. It is induced. It is something that you actually have to work at, I think. So that it may not be natural for me to be sad today, but if I plug myself in to the sadness of the community then it is a different kind of sadness that may not feel natural, may in fact feel a bit like play-acting, but is nevertheless real...maybe
And maybe we need institutionalized days for grief, as people. Maybe Tisha B'Av is a vehicle to allow us to feel grief so that we can feel greater joy on holidays that express joy. Or it is a vehicle for us to reflect on and express fears and concerns that we otherwise try not to think about. If I thought about death and destruction every day all day long, it would be hard for me to live in a meaningful way. But on the other hand if I never set aside time to think about death and destruction, my life would similarly not be meaningful, as I wouldn't recognize it's value and the limits of my own mortality. Tisha B'av allows us to think for a moment about not only personal mortality, but national mortality - about what makes nations fall and whole peoples experience destruction. It is imperative that nations and peoples think about their own mortality in order that they better understand their imperative to be good for as long as they are privileged to have sovreignty or to be in existance.
I am no theologan and no rabbinical student. I am writing as a Jew who is trying to understand the commemoration and whether it feels like it belongs to her, and how. These comments may not be all that sophisticated, but they are the concerns of someone who has been refraining from food and drinking little water all day because she wants to connect to something - to G-d, to Jewish history and peoplehood, perhaps to herself as well. To bring forth and summon her own dark and sad places and examine them in the light of this August day and acknowledge that destruction, anguish, and sadness exist also, and give them their due.
Last night at the Western Wall there were throngs of people from all walks of Jewish life crowding the Western Wall plaza, greeting one another in joy at the reunion as well as sadness for the occasion. The picture to the left of this text was taken from a website about Tisha B'Av at the Western Wall - we didn't take any pictures but this will give you a sense of what it was like. I pushed
my way into the women's section where I found rows of women sitting quietly on the ground, reading out of prayerbooks. A few were standing, and toward the front the women were standing shoulder to shoulder, trying to get close to the wall. Few people spoke and they kept their voices low so as not to distract the men. Some prayed ferverently and many held small children or pushed strollers full of babies. As I understand it (and I'm not surprised) this subdued quietnes was vastly different from Daniel's experience on the other side of the mechitsa, and I hope that he is writing about that so that you can learn about what that's like, too. To me, the somberness of the women's withdrawn and self-reflective prayer fit the mood of the holiday well. Refraining from speech and singing seems to go along with refraining from food, to me, as an activity that inspires sadness, that creates (artifically?) a sense of mourning. And certainly sitting the floor, near women who shook their tsedakah boxes and asked for money in lowered voices, added to the gloom of the holiday. Regardless of the appropriatness of sadness to Tisha B'Av though, I nevertheless struggle with its relevance for me.One of the interns at Daniel's program who led the service last night spoke a bit about the significance of the holiday to him as someone who has made aliyah. He spoke of how in the past Tisha B'Av was about a hopeless, weak people searching for a superhero who would take all of their problems away, and how it might seem irrelevant in an Israel in which sovreignty has been renewed through the hard work of actual people, rather than super-people. But he said he continued to find significance in the holiday because of a rabbinic belief that the destruction of the Second Temple occurred because of senseless hatred. He says that Tisha B'Av is a reminder to him that Israel has a long way to go to reach its goals of being a moral Jewish society, and that it is also a reminder that Israel is not indistructable and senseless hatred is a serious threat still today. (Correct me if I'm wrong Daniel, would you agree that this is what he said?)
I'm not sure I'm comfortable with his characterization of non-Zionist Jews as weak and relying upon some superhero figure to save the day, and I don't think I'm comfortable with his characterization of Zionism as a movement of men acting as superheros, either. But at least I appreciate that he has come to an interpretation that is meaningful to the here and now, that makes sense to him in his own interpretation of modern history and what it is to be a Jew today, when the best that I can come up with, really, is that all tragedies (inc. the destruction of the Second Temple) should be mourned, and that a day of mourning is a healthy pause in a life of celebration. Niether of these answers do I find fulfilling.
Traditionally, Tisha b'Av is commemorated as that tragic day that marks the beginning of golus, an exile of Jews from the land of Israel, physically, and also a spiritual exile of Jews away from G-d. Not only do I find it hard to relate to because we are no longer exiled from Israel - here I am, journaling in Jerusalem, but I also find it hard to relate to because frankly, I love being "in golus" - I love living in America and don't feel that I am living there out of some kind of restriction but out of my own desire to be there. On the other hand, I often tend to think of prayers about Jerusalem and Israel in a figurative way. When I pray facing the Western Wall, when I say the word Israel in a prayer, when I hope we'll be in Jerusalem next year for Pesach, it is not this Israel, this Jerusalem, this Western Wall, that I am praying about. It is something else entirely, I think. It is a prayer for a Jerusalem, an Israel, a Western Wall that is perfect, that is spiritual, that is good, that doesn't really exist but maybe someday could or someday has. It is a fiction, really, that I take part in. A fiction that Jews believed in for thousands of years, that Israel was a holier place than any other, that if Jews returned there they would be better and purer. Perhaps for me, the Israel of prayers and heaven are equivalent places, and the Israel of the Middle East, while it may be the historical place to which those prayers refer, is not at all what I am praying about. Does this make sense? I'm not sure it does and I'm sorry for rambling and for being so confusing. But I guess what I'm trying to say is that regardless of the current political, physical reality that the state of Israel exists, and even despite my own being in Jerusalem, at the Western Wall, on Tisha B'Av, when I am praying and fasting and hoping on Tisha B'Av I am still hoping for the end of some kind of golus from some kind of Israel - some kind of redemption to a higher, better plane, a world of more goodness, more meaning, and more light.
This year, like last year, I am haunted by the image of the destruction of the Second Temple. And this year in particular I am thinking about the feelings expressed in Lamentations that G-d has not abandoned the Jewish people but has become their enemy. What a terrifying notion. Daniel's teacher today said that this is traditionally considered to be better than abandonment - that G-d's anger is better than G-d's indifference. This is an idea that I can understand, but after reading the anguish of the book of Lamentations, I'm not sure that it is one that I accept. Lamentations describes such horrible things - the beautiful faces of the priests, once so pure and white and soft, are blackened and charred from the destruction - and then goes on to attribute this go G-d, G-dself. Not to the Romans, not to historical or political circumstances, but to the divine being that the People of Israel refers to as their parent.
It is just about time to break the fast and so I must bring this incoherence to an end, but allow me one last word which is to say that I am troubled by so many things about this holiday but perhaps the meaning in the fast has been for me, this year, in the knowledge that I am in a relationship with G-d, whatever G-d is, and with the Jewish community (whatever it is) and I fast to take an action to maintain that connection - I fill myself with G-d, try to understand what it means for G-d to have an active role in the world, and for that active role to be destruction, and I mourn for that possibility, because who knows, that is certainly a possibility. But I break the fast because I believe that while G-d may be something with the power for evil, I cannot go on unless I believe that G-d is at least probably something with, above all, the power for good.
I hope you've had meaningful Tisha B-Avs, too, and I'm sorry to have bored you with mine...
OK, I'm going to eat now, catch ya later!
Tisha B'Av.
.תשע באב
Last night, Tisha B'Av started. I've never commemorated this day before this year, so what I've been learning so far (which has been a lot) has all been new. In brief, Tisha B'Av (literally, the ninth day of the month of Av) commemorates certain catastrophes in Jewish history. Classically, Tisha B'Av recounts the following five events:
1. The return of the spies from the land of Israel with disparaging news
2. The destruction of the First Temple in 586 BCE
3. The destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE
4. The defeat of the Bar Kochba Revolt as marked by the fall of Betar in 135 CE
5. The leveling of Jerusalem in 136 CE
Additionally, tradition holds that the following events also occurred on this date:
6. Expulsion from England in 1290
7. Expulsion from Spain in 1492
8. Liquidation of the Warsaw Ghetto in 1942
9. Disengagement from Gaza in 2005
Basically, Tisha B'Av is a mourning day in the calendar that's set aside to commemorate these historical tragedies (or perceived tragedies). The day is traditionally a strict fast day in addition to being a day of mourning. This year, I decided to observe the traditional fast to see if I would find significance. What follows are an account of what we've done with the HUC community to mark Tisha B'Av and my thoughts on the day.
Tisha B'Av started at the end of Shabbat yesterday. (Interesting fact: The Jewish calendar is "rigged" so that Tisha B'Av cannot ever coincide with the Sabbath (and Yom Kippur cannot ever abut a Sabbath).) Jessica and I joined the HUC students in a creative service planned and led by three of our summer interns. During the service, we supplemented the regular evening service with a version of the reading of the book of Lamentations; we had five experiences (including a traditional chanting) correlating to the five chapters of the book. I thought the service was quite good, and it helped highlight some issues of what Tisha B'Av means to us today.
Haim talked about Tisha B'Av in relation to the state of Israel. The primary brunt of the day is focused on the destruction of Jerusalem ... but Jerusalem stands with Jewish protection today, so why mourn its loss? However, with the power to protect itself comes the responsibility of also protecting others. Haim suggests that Israel is not living up to its potential and obligation as a "light unto the nations" and that significant moral reform is necessary in the Jewish state. Perhaps we will continue to mourn until we can be the example we strive to be.
Additionally, Dan suggests that the "senseless hatred" (שנאת חינם) that is considered in the Talmud to be the cause of the destruction of the Second Temple still exists in Jerusalem today and therefore, we still have Tisha B'Av-related work to do even if we're not trying to restore a Third Temple. The fact that some Reform Jews stereotype, prejudge, and condemn some orthodox-looking Jews and vice versa is evidence of the "senseless hatred" that needs to be overcome before we can abandon this period of national mourning.
After the service, Rabbi Wilfond (Gingy) led the majority of us to the Kotel and led us in some brief text studies along the way. We arrived at the Kotel at around 10:40, and it was packed. The mechitza (the wall between the men's and women's sides) was extended into the courtyard to make sure that men and women wouldn't be lamenting side-by-side. As I walked through the men's section, I saw several groups of orthodox(?) Jews sitting in circles and reading from Lamentations, rocking with the power of the text. Sometimes, individuals (including children) were reading the text on their own, and some people had their heads buried in their arms, sobbing against the Western Wall. Of course, beggars abounded but for once, no one asked me to wrap tefillin ... that's not something traditionally done on Tisha B'Av until the day is almost over. It was bizarre seeing so many people sitting down at the Wall and reading from the same text (not necessarily praying), and I definitely felt voyeuristic as my entire goal was to observe rather than to participate. Still, it was a worthy experience as going to the Kotel is apparently a huge part of Tisha B'Av around here. As we were leaving the Old City (11:15-11:45), we passed streams of hundreds and hundreds of people all heading to the Western Wall. It was unbelievable. I had no idea of the magnitude of this day which goes largely unmentioned in Reform communities in the States.
This morning, after a Tisha B'Av-related Hebrew class, we had a lecture on the reactions of different religious groups in Israel to Tisha B'Av, a text study on some original sources on the day and its mourning and fasting practices, and a standard (Reform) Tisha B'Av afternoon service. Jessica and I went shopping for a few items this afternoon, and though there were several closed stores, more was open than I expected. Apparently, in Israel, Tisha B'Av is not a nationally-recognized day off. To compensate for those who wish to take off, many Israeli employers provide "choice days," which can be taken at any time during the year; many Israelis use one of these days on Tisha B'Av.
After shopping, Jessica and I read through the book of Lamentations to see what the big deal is. It's really a powerful text. I won't go into some of the worst details here because they're really horrific. Suffice to say, the destruction of Jerusalem as recounted by Jeremiah was a tragic and unbelievably difficult experience for the Jewish people to endure.
Now, my thoughts on the matter.
I don't mourn the loss of Jerusalem or the loss of the Second Temple. I don't mourn the failure of the Bar Kochba revolt. And even as I admit the tragic nature of these events in their time, I don't think I could ever be moved to sobbing about them. They are natural parts of the development of modern Judaism, and we have grown from them into a spiritually stronger, more morally driven people (in my opinion). In other words, we've gotten over it.
Jim, one of my fellow classmates, made an astute comment during our text study today. Mourning is a process that one goes through when one is exceedingly sad in order to bear and overcome the sadness. On Tisha B'Av, it seems that we are encouraged to induce mourning in order to become sad. It'd be one thing if I were sad already about these tragedies, but I'm not. So why should I recognize Tisha B'Av as a day of mourning when I don't need to overcome my sadness.
Of course, I grant that some communities and individuals may indeed feel that sadness over loss and therefore look to Tisha B'Av as a necessary release of that anger and frustration. (Better to read in Lamentations "Persecute and destroy [my enemies] in anger from under the heavens of the LORD" than to actually seek any physical retribution.) For these individuals and communities, I can recognize the value of the commemorative day. For me, though, the value is harder to come by.
On the one hand, Tisha B'Av seems like it should most naturally reflect the tragedy of the Holocaust. To my reckoning, the Holocaust is a catastrophe to modern Judaism as much as, if not more than, the destruction of the Temples and the expulsion from Spain were to their respective communities. We have a visceral need to wrestle with the Holocaust, to release our grief and seek understanding. And we have a day for that. Historically, some argued against the establishment of Holocaust Memorial Day (in 1951 in Israel), citing Tisha B'Av as the appropriate day of mourning for the Shoah. And, in fact, many Haredim don't celebrate Yom Hashoah since it's a creation of the modern national state (and not a true "religious festival").
But for me, Yom Hashoah is a very real, very powerful day of memorial and testament to the events of the Holocaust, and I fully intend to continue to commemorate it. So, what do I do with Tisha B'Av? I'm not in mourning, I don't want a Third Temple, and I don't feel that it's healthy to dwell on these events of destruction in the past.
Perhaps for me, Tisha B'Av is a memorial day like the American Memorial Day. That is, on Memorial Day, I honor the deaths of soldiers from America's past, but I don't have a visceral connection to it. If I were closer to people who served in the military, I'm sure it'd be different; likewise, if I were closer to the traditions of the Western Wall, I might feel more association with Tisha B'Av. I understand that it's important to mark the tragedies of Jewish history, and I definitely don't think that we need a whole day for every single one of them (because there are a lot). But, there's a lot that can be gained to, once a year, thinking especially about, say, the expulsion from England or the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. I do think that that's meaningful, and I value the Jewish calendar's flexibility in providing that to me.
So, as a modern Reform Jew, I don't feel the connection to Tisha B'Av that I believe many of my Orthodox fellows feel. Nevertheless, I respect the place that the day has in our tradition, and I will continue to explore my relationship to it. Will I fast in the upcoming years? As of now, my answer is no ... but I'm fully open to the possibility that my perspective will change. One of the reasons I've taken so much time with this post is so that I may come back and read it next year to see how my views have changed. And, of course, I invite the comments of any readers who have insights on this issue. Again, I'm only thinking about this topic for the first time, so any other perspectives are highly welcome.
And ultimately, I hope that the issues that Haim and Dan raise can be taken seriously in the near future so that we can overcome the "senseless hatred" that is the cause of so much destruction and maybe one day do away with the need for a national day of mourning altogether.
Last night, Tisha B'Av started. I've never commemorated this day before this year, so what I've been learning so far (which has been a lot) has all been new. In brief, Tisha B'Av (literally, the ninth day of the month of Av) commemorates certain catastrophes in Jewish history. Classically, Tisha B'Av recounts the following five events:
1. The return of the spies from the land of Israel with disparaging news
2. The destruction of the First Temple in 586 BCE
3. The destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE
4. The defeat of the Bar Kochba Revolt as marked by the fall of Betar in 135 CE
5. The leveling of Jerusalem in 136 CE
Additionally, tradition holds that the following events also occurred on this date:
6. Expulsion from England in 1290
7. Expulsion from Spain in 1492
8. Liquidation of the Warsaw Ghetto in 1942
9. Disengagement from Gaza in 2005
Basically, Tisha B'Av is a mourning day in the calendar that's set aside to commemorate these historical tragedies (or perceived tragedies). The day is traditionally a strict fast day in addition to being a day of mourning. This year, I decided to observe the traditional fast to see if I would find significance. What follows are an account of what we've done with the HUC community to mark Tisha B'Av and my thoughts on the day.
Tisha B'Av started at the end of Shabbat yesterday. (Interesting fact: The Jewish calendar is "rigged" so that Tisha B'Av cannot ever coincide with the Sabbath (and Yom Kippur cannot ever abut a Sabbath).) Jessica and I joined the HUC students in a creative service planned and led by three of our summer interns. During the service, we supplemented the regular evening service with a version of the reading of the book of Lamentations; we had five experiences (including a traditional chanting) correlating to the five chapters of the book. I thought the service was quite good, and it helped highlight some issues of what Tisha B'Av means to us today.
Haim talked about Tisha B'Av in relation to the state of Israel. The primary brunt of the day is focused on the destruction of Jerusalem ... but Jerusalem stands with Jewish protection today, so why mourn its loss? However, with the power to protect itself comes the responsibility of also protecting others. Haim suggests that Israel is not living up to its potential and obligation as a "light unto the nations" and that significant moral reform is necessary in the Jewish state. Perhaps we will continue to mourn until we can be the example we strive to be.
Additionally, Dan suggests that the "senseless hatred" (שנאת חינם) that is considered in the Talmud to be the cause of the destruction of the Second Temple still exists in Jerusalem today and therefore, we still have Tisha B'Av-related work to do even if we're not trying to restore a Third Temple. The fact that some Reform Jews stereotype, prejudge, and condemn some orthodox-looking Jews and vice versa is evidence of the "senseless hatred" that needs to be overcome before we can abandon this period of national mourning.
After the service, Rabbi Wilfond (Gingy) led the majority of us to the Kotel and led us in some brief text studies along the way. We arrived at the Kotel at around 10:40, and it was packed. The mechitza (the wall between the men's and women's sides) was extended into the courtyard to make sure that men and women wouldn't be lamenting side-by-side. As I walked through the men's section, I saw several groups of orthodox(?) Jews sitting in circles and reading from Lamentations, rocking with the power of the text. Sometimes, individuals (including children) were reading the text on their own, and some people had their heads buried in their arms, sobbing against the Western Wall. Of course, beggars abounded but for once, no one asked me to wrap tefillin ... that's not something traditionally done on Tisha B'Av until the day is almost over. It was bizarre seeing so many people sitting down at the Wall and reading from the same text (not necessarily praying), and I definitely felt voyeuristic as my entire goal was to observe rather than to participate. Still, it was a worthy experience as going to the Kotel is apparently a huge part of Tisha B'Av around here. As we were leaving the Old City (11:15-11:45), we passed streams of hundreds and hundreds of people all heading to the Western Wall. It was unbelievable. I had no idea of the magnitude of this day which goes largely unmentioned in Reform communities in the States.
This morning, after a Tisha B'Av-related Hebrew class, we had a lecture on the reactions of different religious groups in Israel to Tisha B'Av, a text study on some original sources on the day and its mourning and fasting practices, and a standard (Reform) Tisha B'Av afternoon service. Jessica and I went shopping for a few items this afternoon, and though there were several closed stores, more was open than I expected. Apparently, in Israel, Tisha B'Av is not a nationally-recognized day off. To compensate for those who wish to take off, many Israeli employers provide "choice days," which can be taken at any time during the year; many Israelis use one of these days on Tisha B'Av.
After shopping, Jessica and I read through the book of Lamentations to see what the big deal is. It's really a powerful text. I won't go into some of the worst details here because they're really horrific. Suffice to say, the destruction of Jerusalem as recounted by Jeremiah was a tragic and unbelievably difficult experience for the Jewish people to endure.
Now, my thoughts on the matter.
I don't mourn the loss of Jerusalem or the loss of the Second Temple. I don't mourn the failure of the Bar Kochba revolt. And even as I admit the tragic nature of these events in their time, I don't think I could ever be moved to sobbing about them. They are natural parts of the development of modern Judaism, and we have grown from them into a spiritually stronger, more morally driven people (in my opinion). In other words, we've gotten over it.
Jim, one of my fellow classmates, made an astute comment during our text study today. Mourning is a process that one goes through when one is exceedingly sad in order to bear and overcome the sadness. On Tisha B'Av, it seems that we are encouraged to induce mourning in order to become sad. It'd be one thing if I were sad already about these tragedies, but I'm not. So why should I recognize Tisha B'Av as a day of mourning when I don't need to overcome my sadness.
Of course, I grant that some communities and individuals may indeed feel that sadness over loss and therefore look to Tisha B'Av as a necessary release of that anger and frustration. (Better to read in Lamentations "Persecute and destroy [my enemies] in anger from under the heavens of the LORD" than to actually seek any physical retribution.) For these individuals and communities, I can recognize the value of the commemorative day. For me, though, the value is harder to come by.
On the one hand, Tisha B'Av seems like it should most naturally reflect the tragedy of the Holocaust. To my reckoning, the Holocaust is a catastrophe to modern Judaism as much as, if not more than, the destruction of the Temples and the expulsion from Spain were to their respective communities. We have a visceral need to wrestle with the Holocaust, to release our grief and seek understanding. And we have a day for that. Historically, some argued against the establishment of Holocaust Memorial Day (in 1951 in Israel), citing Tisha B'Av as the appropriate day of mourning for the Shoah. And, in fact, many Haredim don't celebrate Yom Hashoah since it's a creation of the modern national state (and not a true "religious festival").
But for me, Yom Hashoah is a very real, very powerful day of memorial and testament to the events of the Holocaust, and I fully intend to continue to commemorate it. So, what do I do with Tisha B'Av? I'm not in mourning, I don't want a Third Temple, and I don't feel that it's healthy to dwell on these events of destruction in the past.
Perhaps for me, Tisha B'Av is a memorial day like the American Memorial Day. That is, on Memorial Day, I honor the deaths of soldiers from America's past, but I don't have a visceral connection to it. If I were closer to people who served in the military, I'm sure it'd be different; likewise, if I were closer to the traditions of the Western Wall, I might feel more association with Tisha B'Av. I understand that it's important to mark the tragedies of Jewish history, and I definitely don't think that we need a whole day for every single one of them (because there are a lot). But, there's a lot that can be gained to, once a year, thinking especially about, say, the expulsion from England or the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising. I do think that that's meaningful, and I value the Jewish calendar's flexibility in providing that to me.
So, as a modern Reform Jew, I don't feel the connection to Tisha B'Av that I believe many of my Orthodox fellows feel. Nevertheless, I respect the place that the day has in our tradition, and I will continue to explore my relationship to it. Will I fast in the upcoming years? As of now, my answer is no ... but I'm fully open to the possibility that my perspective will change. One of the reasons I've taken so much time with this post is so that I may come back and read it next year to see how my views have changed. And, of course, I invite the comments of any readers who have insights on this issue. Again, I'm only thinking about this topic for the first time, so any other perspectives are highly welcome.
And ultimately, I hope that the issues that Haim and Dan raise can be taken seriously in the near future so that we can overcome the "senseless hatred" that is the cause of so much destruction and maybe one day do away with the need for a national day of mourning altogether.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Those crafty Philistines!
.הפלשתים הערמומים האלה
So as is evident by the past several posts, Jessica has finally arrived! I'm extremely happy that she's here, and I'm excited about finally getting truly settled in to our year together. Already, we've done some grocery shopping that has enriched my food selection and are exploring new parts of the city together (not always entirely intentionally!). A side bonus: As the past few days have been busier than usual for me, it's been nice to know that the blog was still being updated daily. Between the two of us, we're going to strive to post an average of one post a day. Let's hope we can stick to that!
I want to start by recapping the interesting trip the HUC class took yesterday. (Sadly, Jessica was at ulpan and therefore couldn't join us). Our goal was to explore parts of the history of the Philistines, a people most probably descended from the same stock as the Mycenean that expanded to the Middle East around the same time that the ancient Hebrews were entering the fray. We visited Tel Gat, which was one of the five major Philistine cities. Gat was located on the top of a huge hill, and from the summit we could see from the hills of Judea to the lower regions westward. There was hardly any "civilization" where we were standing, so it was actually easier than usual for me to visualize how the land might have looked 3200 years ago. Also evident was the extremely high vantage point that the citizens of Gat would have had, so it was clear why the place was chosen.
Next we went to the British Forest, from which we were able to overlook the valley where the bible recounts the story of David and Goliath (who was from Gat!). Although of course I've heard the tale before, and although I've read the biblical account, hearing the story and following the Hebrew and looking at the geographic region discussed made the story seem so much more real to me. Of course, I believe that the story is legendary, but that doesn't make it any less real, and watching the grass in the land where it is described made me able to actually visualize it happening. This is the first time I've been able to really connect a biblical story to a location in Israel, and I thought it was eye-opening and moving; so I certainly hope it isn't the last!
Then, we went to Ashkelon, which was another major Philistine city. Here, however, we spent most of the time (about one hour) having a blast at the beach. The water was warm, the sand was smooth, and my sunscreen was functional. I had a great time! On the way out, we saw a 3800-year-old arched gateway (mostly intact), which some believe to be the oldest arch in the world. (Note that it used to be believed that the Romans were the first to make use the above-ground arch, but clearly this isn't true as this arch predates the Romans' by about 1500-2000 years.)
Overall, yesterday's 9-hour trip was amazing (and obviously I haven't recounted every detail of it). This is exactly what I had envisioned when we were told that HUC was piloting a new biblical history course that would combine history lectures with trips to the places being discussed. I learned a lot about the Philistines and had the opportunity to walk where they had once walked. I don't know if this is theologically significant to me (not yet, at least), but it was definitely way cool.
So as is evident by the past several posts, Jessica has finally arrived! I'm extremely happy that she's here, and I'm excited about finally getting truly settled in to our year together. Already, we've done some grocery shopping that has enriched my food selection and are exploring new parts of the city together (not always entirely intentionally!). A side bonus: As the past few days have been busier than usual for me, it's been nice to know that the blog was still being updated daily. Between the two of us, we're going to strive to post an average of one post a day. Let's hope we can stick to that!
I want to start by recapping the interesting trip the HUC class took yesterday. (Sadly, Jessica was at ulpan and therefore couldn't join us). Our goal was to explore parts of the history of the Philistines, a people most probably descended from the same stock as the Mycenean that expanded to the Middle East around the same time that the ancient Hebrews were entering the fray. We visited Tel Gat, which was one of the five major Philistine cities. Gat was located on the top of a huge hill, and from the summit we could see from the hills of Judea to the lower regions westward. There was hardly any "civilization" where we were standing, so it was actually easier than usual for me to visualize how the land might have looked 3200 years ago. Also evident was the extremely high vantage point that the citizens of Gat would have had, so it was clear why the place was chosen.
Next we went to the British Forest, from which we were able to overlook the valley where the bible recounts the story of David and Goliath (who was from Gat!). Although of course I've heard the tale before, and although I've read the biblical account, hearing the story and following the Hebrew and looking at the geographic region discussed made the story seem so much more real to me. Of course, I believe that the story is legendary, but that doesn't make it any less real, and watching the grass in the land where it is described made me able to actually visualize it happening. This is the first time I've been able to really connect a biblical story to a location in Israel, and I thought it was eye-opening and moving; so I certainly hope it isn't the last!
Then, we went to Ashkelon, which was another major Philistine city. Here, however, we spent most of the time (about one hour) having a blast at the beach. The water was warm, the sand was smooth, and my sunscreen was functional. I had a great time! On the way out, we saw a 3800-year-old arched gateway (mostly intact), which some believe to be the oldest arch in the world. (Note that it used to be believed that the Romans were the first to make use the above-ground arch, but clearly this isn't true as this arch predates the Romans' by about 1500-2000 years.)
Overall, yesterday's 9-hour trip was amazing (and obviously I haven't recounted every detail of it). This is exactly what I had envisioned when we were told that HUC was piloting a new biblical history course that would combine history lectures with trips to the places being discussed. I learned a lot about the Philistines and had the opportunity to walk where they had once walked. I don't know if this is theologically significant to me (not yet, at least), but it was definitely way cool.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Hitting the Books
Ulpan today was terrific. I feel really comfortable speaking Hebrew there because everyone in my class is at my level. It is all somewhat exhausting becuase even during our breaks we speak Hebrew together as it is the most convenient way to communicate with people from such diverse backgrounds. Today we did all sorts of things in class - reviewed how to conjugate particular verb groups into past, future, and turn them into gerunds, practice masculine and feminine nouns, read two poems and a story, etc. We're working out of two books. One I used last year so there will be some review for me, but I think it is a review that I could use... and the other is completely new.
I didn't find my German friend again today but I did make friends with Paola (from Italy) and Paul (from Holland), as well as Sam (from England, has been living in Israel for five years). Paul sat next to me and we worked together when we were supposed to work in partners - he seems quite nice and hopefully I'll get to talk to him at greater length tomorrow. He is here for the whol year, as is Paola, with whom I spent both of my breaks today. I was super excited about how well we were able to communicate in Hebrew, and I invited her to my birthday party (a potluck dinner at our apartment on Aug 14 - be there or be square!). She seemed excited about that.
I attended a really boring orientation where I realized that it will be a very different experience living off campus than most of my classmates will have on campus, where they will primarily participate in a social life based around campus activities. It will be harder for me to get to these activities and Daniel won't be allowed to participate in all of them, so I don't know if I'll be involved with extra-curriculars or how involved I will be - especially if I'm busy with Yung YiDDiSH, or with the Interfaith Encounter Association. That's OK though - I think my experience, different though it may be, will certainly be just as rich and rewarding, and I'm glad to get tastes of all sorts of different worlds in Jerusalem.
I've decided to try to read only newspapers or books to study for the GRE II in English, and not read English language novels otherwise (this will be a big challenge for me!) Instead, I'm hoping to force myself to read in Hebrew or Yiddish as much as possible this year. To this end, I've been reading articles from the Yiddish Forward, very slowly with the aid of a dictionary, and today I checked a young adult novel in Hebrew out of my school's library and I'll try to struggle through it. Wish me luck.
I didn't find my German friend again today but I did make friends with Paola (from Italy) and Paul (from Holland), as well as Sam (from England, has been living in Israel for five years). Paul sat next to me and we worked together when we were supposed to work in partners - he seems quite nice and hopefully I'll get to talk to him at greater length tomorrow. He is here for the whol year, as is Paola, with whom I spent both of my breaks today. I was super excited about how well we were able to communicate in Hebrew, and I invited her to my birthday party (a potluck dinner at our apartment on Aug 14 - be there or be square!). She seemed excited about that.
I attended a really boring orientation where I realized that it will be a very different experience living off campus than most of my classmates will have on campus, where they will primarily participate in a social life based around campus activities. It will be harder for me to get to these activities and Daniel won't be allowed to participate in all of them, so I don't know if I'll be involved with extra-curriculars or how involved I will be - especially if I'm busy with Yung YiDDiSH, or with the Interfaith Encounter Association. That's OK though - I think my experience, different though it may be, will certainly be just as rich and rewarding, and I'm glad to get tastes of all sorts of different worlds in Jerusalem.
I've decided to try to read only newspapers or books to study for the GRE II in English, and not read English language novels otherwise (this will be a big challenge for me!) Instead, I'm hoping to force myself to read in Hebrew or Yiddish as much as possible this year. To this end, I've been reading articles from the Yiddish Forward, very slowly with the aid of a dictionary, and today I checked a young adult novel in Hebrew out of my school's library and I'll try to struggle through it. Wish me luck.
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