Moving over

BS"D

It's time to admit defeat for Emunah Shlemah (the blog, not the project of self discovery!). Due largely to my own technical incompetence, I am abandoning this blog for the easier and more intuitive livejournal, which I update regularly. Sorry to any faithful readers. From now on my only blog presence will be at http://eitanhalevy.livejournal.com/. I look forward to hearing your comments there.
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B'ahavat Yisrael,
-Eitan

Love and Hatred on Purim

So, this post is more of a question. Given recent events in Bat Ayin (where I live), specifically the brutal murder of Erez Levanon (HY"D), I have been struggling with the issue of hate. We are clearly not supposed to love everybody. We are, in fact, enjoined to hate enemies of the Jewish people in general, and Amalek in particular. Nonetheless, where is the line? Are we capable of deciding who is worthy of hatred these days? If not, is it possible to love those who wish to annihilate you? Those who take pleasure in killing a Jew just for being a Jew living in Eretz Yisrael? Even if it is possible, is it desirable? Is it right to love them? My personal answers, at least at the moment, would lean in the negative.

Twice over my two day Purim (first day in Bat Ayin, second day in Jerusalem), there were hippy-love-fest style toasts made to the effect of 'loving everybody, [pointedly] including Arabs.' Both times I made it clear that I would not drink to that. With this sort of universalist 'love' what does the term even mean? I certainly don't love them in any emotional sense, even those who are perfectly wonderful people who have no problem with me or Am Yisrael, I am, at best, indifferent to them as individuals. As a group, they are an enemy nation of sorts, a group of people bent on the destruction of Am Yisrael in Eretz Yisrael. Should I make a point of mentioning how I have nothing against individuals just because there are individuals worthy of not-being-hated even though I hold a bitter hatred in my heart for the group more generally and what they represent in the world?

Waddaya say people? If this post doesn't wake up the peanut gallery, nothing will.

When in doubt...

Sorry this post comes after a long hiatus. There should be more posts, more often, on this site in the future. (bli neder ☺)

The Rambam holds (perek 9, halachah 12 (ט: יב) in Hilchot Tuma’at Mait) that the halachic principle of ‘safek d’oraitah l’chumrah’ is, itself, d’rabanan. To break that down for the non yeshivish-speaking audience. “Safek d’oraitah l’chumrah” means, if the halachic reality in a case is doubtful, and the law concerned is from the Torah (as opposed to created by the Rabbis, which would be a lower level of authority), the court must rule to the strict side, erring on the side of caution. For instance, if I don’t know if a piece of meat is kosher or not, and it has exactly a 50/50 chance of going either way, then I rule it NOT-kosher, and it is %100 forbidden to eat it. However, the Rambam holds that this principle itself (a given in halachic discourse) is not itself from the Torah. That according to the Torah itself, in a case of doubt, one should rule leniently, but that the Rabbis made a ‘fence around the law’ that we must rule strictly in these cases.

This has an important implications for one’s theological world-view. If the Torah says to be lenient in these cases, as Rambam believes, then the essential attitude of the Torah is that ‘everything is permitted unless you are SURE it’s not.’ If, as according to every other Rishon (halachic writer at the same level of authority as the Rambam) the Torah says to be strict in these cases of doubt, then the essential attitude of the Torah is that everything is suspect unless we can prove it’s OK.

To be sure, there is little practical difference for us. Religious Jews are bound to follow the rulings of the Rabbis whether they are directly from the Torah, or on their own authority. However, when one looks out at the world, what does G!d, ideally, want us to see? A wonderland where everything is permitted unless proven otherwise, or a world full of possible pitfalls that we must be extremely careful not to fall prey to?
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WARNING: The following is less ‘Torah related’ and more personal rant.

On another note, I have been thinking lately about something a teacher of mine at Aish Ha-Torah once said, that there are essentially two types of people (according to this particular division), those to try to match the information presented to them, and those who try to challenge or contradict that information. For instance, if someone states an opinion in a conversation, is your first instinct to understand why they are right, and to continue the conversation in a pleasant, non-confrontational manner, or do you search for the cracks in their arguments and either argue with them or demand they fill in the blanks?

My instinct tends to be to challenge what people around me say, and it is only with effort that I hold my tongue much of the time, when confrontation is just not worth the energy (which is often, as arguing with someone about their personal opinions is almost always completely pointless; arguing over facts only slightly less so…) and I let it go. But when I’m tired, or in a foul mood, I tend to pick people apart. I don’t let anyone get away with the little slips, and stupid things that we all—including myself—say all the time. I know how annoying this is, and that’s why I try not to do it most of the time. On the other hand, it does equip me to catch some of the more egregiously stupid sayings which get tossed out without a second thought, when everyone else in the room lets it slide…

I’ve been wondering if this is a good middah (character trait) or a bad middah. In the end, I suppose it’s like anything else, too much or too little is destructive, and the reasonable middle can be quite positive. Does anybody else out there struggle with this particular issue?

Words Vs. Songs

בס"ד ,יום ג' חנוכה, כז כסלו תשסז

I wil be trying to keep up here with more, shorter posts, more often BE"H. Stay tuned. In the mean-time, here's a morsel.

A lot of singing goes on at the Yeshivah I attend. It’s an awesome experience to wake up in the morning with a bunch of guys who are so inspired in their devotion to Hashem that song bursts forth in praise of their creator. That being said, I believe there is a problem with singing and being joyful to the exclusion of focusing on the words, which I occasionally feel going on, especially when a tune is chosen that doesn’t fit the words (and hence the words have to be smushed into the tune, often losing the proper sentence breaks, etc.). A friend of mine was trying to argue that since Tehillim were written as songs, they should ALWAYS be sung, and that in fact since the letters themselves are arranged in a certain, holy way by King David, even saying them without knowing what they mean is better than just saying the words—and understanding them—without singing.

As far as I’m concerned this is almost a form of idolatry. For one, we don’t have access to a tradition of tunes from David ha-Melech, so the only part of Tehillim which goes all the way back is the words, not the tunes we use. Second, to be joyful and sing out the words is well and good, but if you don’t know what the words mean or if you have an incorrect understanding of them, what are you being joyful about other than satisfying your own desires, even though they may be pointed heavenward? That may be well and good, or maybe not, but it’s definitely not ideal. In perek 10 of Hilchot Teshuvah, Rambam discusses how loving Hashem is dependent on correct knowledge of Hashem. You may well truly love your conception of Hashem, but if that conception is flawed, you are in love with a fiction, or worse, with an idol you have constructed of your own imagination. It’s analogous to when people say they are/were in love with the ‘idea’ of a person. They didn’t really love the person for who they were, but rather an idealized fiction resembling them. Similarly, if you are joyful about a jumble of Hebrew letters you don’t understand (or are not understanding at that time), you are not being joyful about the Psalm you are reading, you are joyful about the music, about the dancing, about whatever you are constructing in your mind to be joyful about, but not necessarily about praising G!D, and definitely not about the prayer in question.

TOLDOT: a Dvar-Torah in Progress...

This is unpolished, un-edited, but hopefully it makes sense. Enjoy! I look forward to your feedback! ☺
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When describing Yaakov Avinu, the Torah refers to him as איש תם,, (ish-tam), that is a 'simple person.' Rashi explains the word תם(tam) to mean ‘wholesome,’ and one who does not engage in trickery or deceipt. Then Yaakov goes on to be quite the trickster! He tricks Esav into selling his birthright to him, and then steals the brachah (blessing) out from under his nose by literally disguising himself in front of blind father and pretending to be his brother. Later, when working for Lavan, there is complex trickery involving sheep breeding and sneaking off in the middle of the night. How do we square all this with the description of Yaakov as איש תם?

Simply put, it would seem that the Torah is teaching us that one can be one thing, even if many of the defining actions of one’s life are counter to that one thing. For instance, an honest person may tell white lies (‘yes honey, that dress looks GREAT on you’), or, perhaps more ominously, a man of peace may declare war. One has to know what his essence is, and how to move through the world with that knowledge, to know that even if one is forced to do an act which one finds distasteful, it does not necessarily sully his character.

For someone who has studied classical Western thought (the Greeks), particularly Plato, this appears as one manifestation of the dialectic between being and becoming, a constant tension between existence and creation, stagnation and motion, which all of us are engaged in all the time. We are constantly defining our reality while, at the same time, we are moving through and changing that reality.

Last night a visiting Rav at the Yeshivah was giving a talk about sureness, about us finding a balance between a willingness to question and a knowledge of what we know to be true. For me this appeared to be yet another manifestation of the same question. In the end, it’s an epistemological (knowledge) question, how does one ‘know’ anything? And a step beyond that, how can one be ‘sure’ of anything when our knowledge is so dependent? Plato solved this question with his theory of the higher spheres of existence, where ‘things’ exist in their perfect ‘idea’ forms, and that we are somehow inherently capable of tapping in to that reality. A similar idea exists in Judaism, in that one knows all the Torah (the definition of Truth and Reality) before one is born, and forgets it upon birth. Thereby a Jew learning Torah is like someone who has forgotten being led through clues which remind him of his forgotten knowledge. And the transmission issue is solved by revelation. The being which defines reality told us in [so to speak] his own words what reality is and what is expected of us.

But even then, how do we know our application of that knowledge is correct? How can we be sure? Personally, I try to strike a balance. I am as sure of certain things as a person can honestly be, which is to say, I know nothing of any importance about which I have NO doubt. Nonetheless, movement through this world requires one to temporarily discard that 1% of doubt, and act. But one needs to continue to go back and forth between surety and doubt, between an ultimate reality and openness to potential cracks in that reality. My knowledge of Torah and Hashem is one of these matters, and the further down I go into specifics the larger my doubt margin grows, from a .001% doubt of Hashem’s existence, to a 3% doubt (making up statistics is can be fun!) about how to wash my hands [ritually] before eating bread, and other things I am less sure about, which I would not claim ‘sureness’ about at all. It’s easy to be open to hearing counter-arguments about non-dependent realities. If someone convinces me that I am washing my hands the wrong way, I just change and do it correctly. But what do we do with arguments which challenge our core assumptions, the basis upon which we build our entire lives? Am I really open to challenges about G!d’s existence? When I’m at my best, I’m not afraid. I know I can handle any intellectual challenger, and feel that I stand on firm ground. But when not at my best I get defensive, I pull out of the conversation or use rhetorical tactics to end the argument in my favor without really engaging the issues raised. Ironically, my response depends more upon myself than on the arguments raised.

In essence, my response depends on which side of the dialectic I am currently on. Am I SURE or CHALLENGING, am I being or becoming, doing or contemplating? I believe that a healthy way of moving in the world demands a constant tension between these two states.

Means V. Ends, Truth V. Kindness, Shammai V. Hillel

בס"ד/BS"D, י במר חשון תשס"ז

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the ideal Vs. reality. Last month in Yeshivah we were studying Ketubot (the Gemarra tract dealing with marriage contracts and such), which went into a long aside about what one sings before the bride at a wedding. In comes one of the famous House of Hillel V. House of Shammai rumbles. Shammai says that you sing “Just as she is.” In other words, if she’s pretty, you sing about how pretty she is. If she’s horribly ugly, you sing about something else good about her (“she’s got a nice personality…”). But in any case you don’t lie. Hillel says that you say she’s beautiful and graceful, no matter what.

This seems like a small issue, but really exemplifies a larger difference in worldview. The Torah says to ‘Distance yourself from lies,’ and in Shammai’s world, nothing gets in the way of that. If the ‘means’ necessary to avoid lying include hurting some poor bride’s feelings, then so be it. Hillel sees the problem, and weighs the issues. In the end, he decides the general principle of treating our fellow human beings well trumps the more precise halachah of not telling a lie. Hillel sees that the means are not always as good as the ends, and so he moderates his commitment to some of the ends in favor of others. Shammai refuses to bend to the exigencies of the situation.

This is a reflection of the situation we find ourselves in ever since creation. In creating the world G!d planted “fruit-trees that will make fruit,” but the earth ‘sinned’ (according to the midrash) and brought forth “trees which make fruit.” In Hebrew the two words ‘fruit-tree’ can be read as one compound word, meaning that the tree itself was supposed to be fruit. The original intention was to create a world where means could have the same qualities as ends. Just like a fruit is sweet, nourishing, etc., the tree that produces it would be sweet, nourishing, etc. Thus, in the Gemara mentioned above, ideally we could have the best of both worlds, where we could tell the truth completely and without compromise, and this would not hurt anyone’s feelings, or cause any problems.

Of course, we poskin (halachically hold as correct for us to do) Hillel’s opinion. We are living in a damaged world and our job is to move in it not as we would move through a perfected world, but as me must IN ORDER TO perfect the world.

Personally I tend to have a dual answer. I think more like Shammai. “Truth is truth, and that is un-bendable,” but when confronted with real situations I tend to melt into the Hillel position. If I am to judge myself favorably, I would say this is a positive trait: that I view the world in it’s ideal form, but am also able to see the current realities and respond to them in a dynamic way when necessary. If I do not judge myself favorably, I should say that I am a hippocrite.

HERE ENDS THE MAIN BODY OF THE POST. :-)
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WARNING: TANGENT APPROACHING! Brace yerselves, all ye who enter here...

I’ve been having an ongoing, [usually] friendly argument about vegetarianism with a number of vegans and/or vegetarians here at the yeshivah. I’m all for eating meat, and they’re against it. I don’t know how much our arguments are connected to our actual actions, or to what extent we are all merely justifying what we do, but in any case the arguments made are relevant here. It’s been pointed out to me multiple times that the perfected world, in the Garden of Eden and even afterwards until the flood, people didn’t eat meat. It is a symptom of the world’s brokenness that eating meat is even an option, an even remotely conceivable act. Therefore, argue the vegetarians, we should bring the world one step closer to perfection by not eating meat.

My response, in connection with the discussion here, would be that we are not living in a perfected world where we can fully fulfill all that we would wish to do, and in fact, not all positive things we would like to do will have the desired effect. It is granted to us to eat meat, and in several places it has the weight of an obligation (on Shabbat and Yom-Tovim). In an ideal world, the end of living a fulfilling life and everything being raised up to a godly level in human life would happen without the need to kill lower animals such as cows and chickens, but in the world as it is, the requirements of the system are as clear as the necessity of complimenting the young bride, regardless of veracity. Some part of us, which wants to be true to the ultimate, uncompromising reality, may want to say we should not eat meat, but the part of us which lives in this world, and which has compassion for our frail human brethren and recognizes the exigencies of the current situation, must allow the natural order AS IT IS to be fulfilled. I would argue that, given the extensive usage of and discussion of our usage of meat in the Torah (written and oral) it is clear that it’s PROPER usage is part of the tikkun (fixing) we are supposed to be doing on the world. Since eating meat is supposed to be part of the tikkun we are doing, we should advocate that it be done in a way which serves as a tikkun (i.e. treating the animals better, having proper intent when we eat them that we are taking a life for our own, etc.), not that it be halted entirely.

As usual, questions, comments, challenges and approbations are appreciated, and I will attempt to respond (BE"H) in a timely manner.
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B'ahavat Yisrael,
-Eitan

Being Sick on Chol ha-Moed

בס"ד/BS"D

(Sorry if this post poses more questions than answers. That’s pretty much my MO.)

I was sick this week. Just a sinus infection. Nothing really. But nonetheless, this minor ailment was totally debilitating and resulted in me spending most of Chol ha-Moed (the intermediate ‘non-holy’ days of the festival of Sukkot) in my caravan. I forget which philosopher said this--one of the German, ‘H’, ones I’m pretty sure--that we live life in two modes, the active and the contemplative. We don’t really reflect on what we’re doing in the active mode, and we aren’t really doing much when we’re reflecting and processing. We go through a time of moving through the world, acting, gathering experiences, and a time of processing all that data, sifting meaning and value out of our experiences, shaping them into a narrative that we can live with. It seems to me that being sick is the epitome of the latter state. We are literally forced to sit and contemplate, and refrain from active ‘doing’ in the world.

So what was I thinking about? Mostly what’s happening in my life: girlfriend, family, studies. But occasionally, when I was just lucid and inspired enough my thoughts would drift to issues of theological import, at least as pertaining to myself. Why did Hashem decide I should be sick this week? Is this a form of kaparah (atonement)? And if so, why did he wait until AFTER Yom ha-Kippurim to exact retribution? Perhaps because I’ve stepped down from the level of spiritual instensity and commitment I was holding by during Elul (the month leading up to Rosh ha-Shannah), which is really the state I should be in all the time? Maybe Hashem held the illness back a few weeks just so I could do the avodah (service) I was doing during that time, and just let it catch up with me now?

In any case, all I can really say is that I know it is/was for the good (גם זה לטובה), and thank G!d for giving me the ‘medicine’ I surely, for some reason, needed right at this moment. On the other hand, as a Jew, I know that part of the test in challenging our physical strength is in seeing how we respond to that challenge. How tenaciously do we cling to life? Do we take our antibiotics l’shem shamayim (for the sake of Heaven), so that we can get well and get back to doing Torah and Mitzvoth, or so that we can feel good for our own sake?

In any case, I went to the doctor right away, got some anti-biotics, and am now feeling pretty darn good, luckily just in time to dance like a maniac on Simchat Torah, basking in the light and love of He who gave the Torah to His people; rejoicing that we have been given this tree of life to grasp to, dancing with the Torah in arms like a precious Jewel, like a loved one, hugged and kissed and held tight as we circle the room in joyous praise, raising the holy sparks through song and dance.

Chag sameach!

God's Presence, reality, hot and cold

I made this journal a few weeks ago, but was waiting for something juicy to be the first post. I probably should have put a bit more thought into it, edited, etc., etc., but here is the relatively unpolished finished product. Hope the point comes across as clearly as possible. Here goes:

My friend Shimshon asked, in his inimitable blunt style, "What does it mean that G-d loves us?" The conversation wound up with the following question: If Hashem is infinite good and light and loves us, doesn't that mean that he hates us too? How could Hashem, who is infinite, who encompasses all of creation, be all one thing, love/good/whatever, and not the opposite, especially when the world comrpises all those things on both sides? The traditional response is along the lines that Hashem is all good/light/etc., and what we experience as the opposites are really a lack of G-d's presence, not real 'things' with an independent existence. But that doesn't answer the question really, more skirt's the issue than anything. The question still remains, how can Hashem be one and not the other, and the above phenomenological explanation of 'how it is' doesn't help.

I've been thinking lately about the common idea that nothing exists without it's opposite. I'm not sure that's real. Perhaps it's just our applying of our perceptual experiences to metaphysical reality. For instance, we all learn that hot and cold are opposites and that we can't experience one without the other. But 'hot' and 'cold' are not objective realities. They are perceptual designations which change depending on what we were most recently exposed to, how much body fat we have, how sensitive we are, etc. We are really describing motion versus a lack of motion in experiential terms. Try putting one hand in a bowl of hot water (not TOO hot, ouch!) and the other hand in a bowl of cold water, then put them both in a bowl of lukewarm/room-temp water. Is the water in the middle bowl hot or cold?

A more cliche example (probably cliche because it's more obviously true than most) would be light and darkness. Light is a thing which exists. Darkness is not a thing with an independent existence like light, but rather how we experience the lack of light. In the same sense we experience darkness as a 'thing' with a presence, with existential reality, even though it is not, so too we experience badness/evil/hatred in G-d's world. If we hold by the assertion that not only is G-d good, but that G-d is definitionally good, then we must assert that, at least on the level in which Hashem interacts with us He has certain qualities without their opposite, such as goodnes, love for his creations, etc.

But then one has to ask, why add such obfuscation to the mix? Hashem could have made our senses capable of perceiving reality directly. Hashem could have made us aware of the nature of evil. The traditional answer again seems to fail me: that if G-d's light was revealed free will would cease to exist, and we would not be able to 'earn our bread' so to speak, by following Hashem's will, but would rather have no 'real' choice but to follow what is obviously true. But in the age of prophecy and miracles people still went off the derech (off the [true/right/holy] path). Am Yisrael sinned with the golden calf under a mountain which was alit with the flame of G-d's presence! They obviously retained their free will despite clear revelations of G-d in the world. No, we must rather say that the degree of seperation we experience is somehow IDEAL in G-d's creation, and that He chooses to relate to us this way, from this distance, for some reason which we may not be able to understand precisely. Any comments as to why this state of distance, of removal, of perceptual confusion is ideal for our relationship to Hashem (or any other comments on this post, of course), please feel free to comment.

Chag sameach l'kolchem! May we rejoice in G-d's presence during this zman simchatenu (time of our joy), as G-d himself watches over and protects us with the wings of his divine presence in our little shacks!