Tradition, tradition!

(a re-post... sorry it’s late)

Notes from a Torah class by Rabbi Posner of Boston on Parshas Shlach. So, please forgive the choppiness.

It all starts with Jews sending the spies, who come back with the unfortunate report. When Hashem tells them they would travel in the desert for forty years as a punish… I mean, consequence of their actions, some people suddenly come to their senses. And decide that are ready to do it. Yep, ready to do it. Come on, let’s do it, let’s do it.

And then Moshe Rabbeinu says: “Don’t go, for Hashem is not with you.” And, as one might expect, they still go (into a battle) and get killed. So, what’s going on? OK, here come the notes:

Hinenu: we are ready (like Hineini). We are ready to go and to fight. What changed?

• Every Jew is inherently a believer in G-d
• When Moshe Rabbeinu screamed at them, they realized they were being foolish, and restored the connection
• But, MR said: don’t go, because G-d is not amongst you.
• Amalek came down and killed them.
• What did these people do wrong? It seems they did what Hashem wanted them to do…
• Moshe Rabbeinu told them not to go…
• You can do all teshuva in the world you want, but you still need MR and Aaron go with you
• You cannot divorce the soul of Torah from Torah itself
• You can talk about the beauty of customs and traditions – but if you change it, it is not going to last
• Needs to be steadfast connection to bris Hashem
• Who asked you to make decisions? You can’t make decisions either when you’re a spy or later, when you decide to attack on your own…
• If MR tells you: don’t go on, then it will not be successful.
• The power of tradition…
• What does it say, how do we know?

Within structure of Halacha itself – things that are permissible!!! Why not? It’s not the way it’s ever been done. It’s not the way that Jews have been doing it.

But, Chabad is the biggest rebellion ever. It’s not the way it’s been done; it’s not the way to do it.
Rabbi P. in Young Israel. In weekday shull. An old man giving a class. Rabbi P. saying Tehillim. The man was talking about the Blessing for the Sun. He was saying it’s really not such a big deal. People do it, but they don’t celebrate it. Don’t make a whole event out of it. Some people take regular things and blow things out of proportion about them. Like Chabad putting tefillin on in the street. Tefillin has always been a regular quiet thing – and suddenly you make a big deal out of it?!

In the year of 2009 of common era, someone should say this! Are you joking? Do you realize what happens here in the shull: groups of kids from Reform, Conservative families come learn about Shmura Matza in your shull (because Chabad brings them). Bridges between secular and religious worlds.

The world today is completely different world – majority of Jews have never and will never put on tefillin, until someone does it with them.

The mindset that existed in 1950s – this has never been done. Sending shluchim to places that have nothing to support them religiously: this has never happened in the history of Jews. Jews are very community-oriented. If you are a frum Jew, you need a minyan, and you need all that the community provides. How did Jews do it?

They never have.

The answer: If you walk by a lake, you don’t jump in it in your suit. But if your brother is drowning, of course you would jump in – so, you will wet your suit a little, nu…

So, yeah, there is a concept of doing things traditionally: daven in a shull, not in the middle of a street. But sometimes you need to make a change. The question is: why do you need to make a change? Why make a change?

When Jews tried to conquer EY for the heck of it, without Hashem’s and MR’s protection, it was not successful. They died. Just like families of Reform and Conservative Jews. They implemented changes for themselves, not for Hashem. You can’t have personal motivation – I think it’s a good idea, I think I want to do it.

So, when the Rebbe became a leader of the generation, he explained that when a Lubavitcher puts on tefillin with someone else, he doesn’t do it as his own thing but under guidance of the Moshe Rabbeinu of the generation.

Ad kan.

Will to the congregation, or Tradition, tradition! (part 7)

I have been thinking today about the concept of authority in Judaism (both authority of a Rebbe and authority of a posek) and remembered this post, in which I quoted from a book by David Hartman, where he proposes a new order of Orthodox Judaism, in which halachic and hashkafic decisions will no longer be bound by the authority of community and authority of tradition, but instead will be determined by human reason alone. You can follow the link to the post to read the summary of the chapter and the excerpt delineating this “new order”, but this is the key part:

A whole new way of life emerges when we maintain that community does not define the contents of truth. Once tradition need to justify itself in the court of universal reason, it can no longer demand obedience to itself as the highest virtue nor can it regard such obedience as the way to spiritual excellence. [...] Arguments from authority [that] presuppose acceptance of the authority which derives in turn from a loyalty to the community which legitimates that authority [shall be abandoned].

So, today I was thinking about the role of a posek. When the whole controversy with Sara Hurwitz was happening, I called my rabbi, and we spoke a bit about the controversy, the role of the rabbi, how American Jewry hijacked the role of a Christian priest and applied it to a rabbi, and other interesting topics. I asked him: what makes someone a posek? Yes, he has to have a smicha. Yes, he has to go through the process of shimush. But what then? “Are you asking me,” said my rabbi, “when does the magic start?” I said: yes. He then replied: the magic starts when a community designates someone an authority in Halacha. This is what makes him a posek. This is what gives him an authority to make chiddushim in Halacha.

Rav Moishe Feinstein basically answered the same when he was asked how he became a posek. He said: someone had asked him a sha’aleh, and he gave a psak.

So, now, let’s think about what this means. Torah is bli gvul. It is infinite. It comes from the essence and will and wisdom (which are not the same thing) of G-d Almighty, who Himself is beyond all thought and comprehension. So, what makes us think that we can know His Will? Nothing. We can’t. “No thought can comprehend Me”, “for My thoughts are not your thoughts”.

We cannot know G-d’s will. That is why the whole liberal talk of “I know what G-d wants from me because it’s in my heart” is nonsense. It’s termites (see the quote at the beginning).

On the other hand, He has made His will known to us — through Moshe Rabbeinu, through His prophets and through His teachers, the authorities in each generation, from whose decisions we are admonished not to deviate either right or left. But why? Why does He make it known to some people, but not to everyone? What’s the algorithm? Where does the magic start?

And here we come upon the famous story with the Rav of Prague, Noideh b’Yehudoh (source):

Prague was once a great Torah center, and when the rov had passed away they sought a fitting replacement. Obviously this man would need to be a Torah giant, and to make sure that he was, the scholars would test every prospective applicant for the job: first the rov had to deliver a high-level Torah lecture and the scholars would try to disprove it — this was no easy task, not that unlike being thrown to lions. Should they be unable to find a hole in his lecture, they would start asking him legal questions that a rov would have to know. If he passed the questions he could be the new rov. However, each applicant that came to the test would eventually fail, so Prague went without a rov for some time. Eventually a young man, R’ Yechezkel Landau, came to be examined. He did very well and the examiners just couldn’t stump him, so finally they started asking him halachic questions that were so complicated that they could practically never happen — and he finally gave them an answer they didn't like.

They began to shout, and brought out books to prove that he was wrong, and therefore unworthy to be rabbi in their city. “Ok,” said the young man, “but first I’d like to explain something to you. You see, a rov is a human being, and humans can err. However, if a rov is honest and dedicated — if he does his utmost best to fulfill his role — then G-d protects him from mistakes. This is so that he shouldn’t mislead his flock. You, however, are asking me questions that are irrelevant — they never happened and they never will happen — therefore, there is no protection in this case, since my flock is not at stake, only my honor is. And for honor there is no special protection from above.” And they took him to be their rov (later known as the Nodah B'Yehuda).

This is an answer to the question of why would Hashem reveal His Will and Wisdom, infinitely removed from our understanding and our level of reality, to a rav. For the sake of the tzibbur.

And that is why the “arguments from authority [that] presuppose acceptance of the authority which derives in turn from a loyalty to the community which legitimates that authority” are important. Hashem’s Divine Providence guides the Jewish Nation. He wants His people to carry out His Will. And that is why He shares it with those whom the communities establish as their leaders and authorities.

More on the topic:

Tradition, tradition! (part 2)
Surrounding children with holiness

The fourth approach (or, Tradition, tradition! (Part 6)

I am often accused of stereotyping, labeling, and general bigotry. Well, alright, not so often, from time to time, but in any event, I try to attend to the rebuke (why, incidentally, does the End button never work on Macs?) and correct myself.
     How much more depressing, therefore, when the members of the groups that I practice my bigotry against act to strengthen the basis for it! (My complaint is not dissimilar to that of Douglas Adams recalling the cases when one meets a German lacking sense of humor. Here you were, working on this stereotype that you had held the whole life, and then, when you feel you almost succeeded overcoming it, comes a German with a sense of humor similar to that of a cork. Anyway, this is actually a very serious post, so enough about humor.)
      In any event, over this Shabbos I started reading Maimonides: Torah and Philosophical Quest by David Hartman. The author starts discussing "what options are available to someone who, while living within [religious] tradition, is exposed to different world views" from the society (especially, its intellectual elements) around him. He provides four options:

1. The way of insulation: ignoring that the secular views exist and thus not allowing them to contradict the tradition by submitting one's intellect to the tradition and community. "My thoughts are not your thoughts"; therefore, no contradiction can happen. "Thus has G-d spoken" and no other view can exist.
2. The way of dualism: being a Jew on the street and an intellectual in private; i.e., behaving according to the tradition, but knowing, in the privacy of one's mind, that rationality disagrees with Torah. This, according to the author, is a way of elitism, of aristocracy. Those holding to it sacrifice their intellect to their body, and their body to the community.
3. The way of rejection: unable to sacrifice one's mind, one rejects the community and the tradition (r"l).
4. The way of integration: an attempt to integrate rationality and tradition into one whole.

     It is this last approach that I wish to quote verbatim from the book. Although I may be accused of stereotyping again, I should like to say that this approach -- and the agenda born of it -- is rather stereotypical of the approach I have seen from most members (that I have encountered) of the school of thought within Orthodox Judaism to which the author belongs. For myself, I shall not say that I believe this approach is treif gomur, but I do believe that it is treif v'toiv loi (I wonder how many people will get the pun). I quote, again, verbatim, only omitting certain passages and hyphenating G-d. At first it's all theory, but then the author gets to practice (if you wish to skip the theory -- although I advice against it -- see the label "practice").

On innovation in language

A very interesting podcast by Stephen Fry on pedantry in language vs. freedom to innovate and break rules. If you are a member of the totalitarian regime that takes it name from a certain fruit, you can download it here for free. Otherwise, you can listen to it (or download it) here:




Now, Stephen Fry (and I shall really write more about this later) can be seen as a bit of an authority on the subject because of his own — immediately apparent — superior command of English tongue. His vocabulary, grammar and style are remarkable, and not, at the same time, at the expense of clarity.

Therefore, what he says is all the more interesting: he is against pedantry in language. He confesses he had to break himself out of it, but, nevertheless, he intensely dislikes the people who complain about others being wrong in grammar, usage, punctuation or the like.

Not only because he himself believes it normal — even most wonderful — that the language changes, adopts to new cultures, environments and circumstances, but also because he is irritated that these people worship rules for their own sake, and no evidence points to them enjoying the language.


My thoughts on the talk?

First of all, I liked it very much. And I agree with its spirit. I do think myself that it is wonderful to use the language creatively and “own” it, as it were. At the same time, I personally think it absurd to say that you can ignore the rules, the convention and the tradition completely. Not because I worship these phenomena for their own sake (people who have been in close communication with me know this to be quite opposite from the truth), but because they are good tools which get the job done. Effectively. More effectively than lack of rules.

The famous quote by Picasso goes something like: “It took me twenty years to learn to paint like an artist. It took me a lifetime to learn to paint like a child.” But he had to learn how to paint like an artist first! One has to know the rules in order to know how to break them. There is a world of difference between a pianist who reinvents a work of Bach (within the boundaries of classical tradition — or not) to suit her own style, personality, as well as the thoughts and feelings on the particular work, and me just banging on the piano. In the first case it is a light that was allowed to become expressed in a new vessel. Something wonderful. Something new. A creation ex nihilo. In the second case it is just noise. Nonsense.

I really do think that understanding why passive voice is to be avoided (pun intended — twice) allows one to use one’s sentences more effectively. And, if one so desires, one can break this rule. But, he must know it first to understand what he is breaking and why. (And the same goes for starting sentences with conjunctions.) As Rabbi Paltiel once said, it is not quite the same for a cow not to know G-d and, lehavdil, for a tzaddik not to know G-d. The former is just a product of mere ignorance. The latter is a case of submission to something that goes beyond the structure and the fabric of reality.

My main point is: Stephen Fry is right. Language needs to be enjoyed. It is more than just a form of communication. It is an art. (Although, even if used only for the means of communication, when done creatively, language can be incredibly forceful.) Having said that, the rules exist for a reason — they are not mere tradition necessarily. They are a means for expressing thoughts more effectively.

And knowing how to balance innovation with tradition is both an art and a science. The way to acquire this skill is through study and practice. Not through ignorance.

A final thought: I think one will find that most great thinkers, movers, creators, shapers and leaders, both in the Jewish and, lehavdil, secular history, used the force and the momentum of the tradition, to which they added a spice of innovation to create the explosions of brilliance for which they are known (and which have become the meat and potatoes of Judaism).  At their times, they were criticized for being troublemakers and innovators. In our times, they are the rock of the tradition and a source of inspiration and guidance. Take anyone, from Rambam or Rabbi Yehuda Ha’Nasi, to Alter Rebbe, to the Rebbe, and see if this formula applies.

This same idea is expressed in the concept of Havaya hu ha’Elokim. G-dly Light must reach this lowly world — and for this purpose, it must be accepted and shaped by a vessel. But, in order to be a recipient for the Light, the vessel must be subservient to the Light’s purpose and message, the knowledge of where it is coming from.

Where does it say that in Halacha?

For yet another time I am re-posting the quote below.

The context (this time) is a statement on one of the blogs that a solution to the “shidduch crisis” is to pull down mechitza — figuratively and literally, except in the cases explicitly mandated by Halacha (i.e., davening). The author of the opinion says, for example, that mehadrin buses in Eretz Yisroel which separate men and women are counter-productive to healthy opportunities for young singles to meet. To my surprised response: “Do you want the singles to meet on a bus?”, the author responded along the lines of: “What’s the problem?” (Note that I am not endorsing the mehadrin buses themselves or the behavior of chareidim on them. That’s a separate issue.)

To me, the answer (of what the problem is) is rather clear from multiple perspectives. I consulted with my rabbis to make sure I am not nuts, and they confirmed that at least in this issue I seem to be within boundaries of reason. I.e., that it is certainly an authentic value in Judaism that tznius goes beyond a skirt length, and that separation between genders goes beyond davening. There are very clear reasons for this that are, moreover, very rational.

My point right now is not to discuss the issue of tznius and solutions to shidduch crisis. I wanted to express my opinion that stripping Judaism to the bare bones of Halacha is, in and of itself, past nisht. (More on the topic here.) Now the excerpt from the post on Circus Tent:

Today in the US we have a whole range of people under 60, American born, whose knowledge of Judaism is based exclusively on books, and those books are the Shulchan Aruch and Gemora. Most of these people had parents who I am sure were fine people but left behind the emotional attachment to echte Yiddishkayt in Europe. Here they belonged to Young Israel synagogues and became very acculturated and lost that special hergesh. In America, Judaism was reduced to learning and doing mitzvos by rote. These people include most MO Jews, the so-called Yeshiva community, and even some “Amerikane Chasidim”.

On the other side we have people whose view of Judaism was shaped by seeing how their parents acted, felt, laughed, cried, talked and walked. These people tended to have a genuine Mesorah. They saw Judaism as more than just book learning, and the book learning included Midrash, Chassidus, Sifrei Mussar, vechulu. This people tend to be Chassidic and a few Misnagdim who come from European homes. And in the background of all of this loomed the Holocaust, not Coney Island! To the first category Rabbonim are “machinove”, automated people who act in a mathematical way, and have no emotions. The second category knows that Judaism is more than the dry letter of the law.

Even though it is not the main topic of my post, my rabbi points out that the so-called “shidduch crisis” seems to be affecting the groups listed in the first, not the second paragraph (the ones whose mechitza is barely there as it is).

Update: the point of my quoting the above passage is not to compare the two types of communities, but to compare the two approaches to Torah.

Tradition, tradition! (Part 5) — Shtreimels

I guess shtreimels were indeed the hats of Polish nobility:



Of course, when your scenery looks like this —



— there is a reason to wear a warm woolly hat. And wearing it was a sign of nobility, because a hat like this cost a good amount of money. (Above pictures from some 17th century Polish footage.)

On the other hand, in this weather...



...perhaps such clothes would be more appropriate:



I refer you to my earlier post about traditions (see part 2).

(It is well known that the Lubavitcher Rebbeim did not wear a shtreimel outside of Lubavitch. I suppose the climate in Crimea or Carlsbad was much softer...)

Demanding a timeless answer, or Tradition, tradition! (part 4)

In the famous sicho about Purim, the Rebbe asks the famous question: why is the name of G-d not mentioned in the whole of Megillas Ester? He gives an answer (brought down in our tradition) immediately: because Mordechai did not want non-Jews who would translate Megillas Ester in their languages to replace the name of G-d with, lehavdil, names of their deities.

The Rebbe, however, is not satisfied with the answer. He says: this might have been a good reason back in the day, but nowadays it’s not. We, however, have the same Megillas Ester. And it is eternal — both in its message and in minute details. Therefore, there must be a reason applicable even to us today that G-d’s name is not mentioned.

If you want to know the reason, you can learn the sicho in Yiddish or Loshon Koidesh (from what I remember, the reason was that during Purim, G-d’s Essence — which cannot be described by any name — was the main actor) or listen to it here. But what’s interesting to me is that the Rebbe is not satisfied with an answer: “Well, there were circumstances back in the day, which led to this state of affairs, and today we inherited the results, even though the reason for their appearance may not be applicable anymore. We should keep the results out of respect for the tradition.”

He is not satisfied just like all the “modernizers” of Judaism are not satisfied, but his approach is not to shed or “update” these customs, whose superficial reason may lie in the past, but to find and explain the deeper reason for their existence throughout the ages and, especially, today.

See a post I wrote a while ago: “Spiritual timelessness of Judaism” (it’s about Kislev, not Adar, but the message is applicable to the topic of this post). My main point there is that historical circumstances of Jewish customs’ or laws’ appearance are merely vessels which drew down the essence of the customs and the laws: the spiritual energy that is associated with them that allows us to connect (ourselves and the world) to Hashem through them.

Also, see part 2 of the “Tradition, tradition!” series.

[source of the image]

Legacy of Galen, or Tradition, tradition! (Part 3)

I was reading some time ago the biography of Aelius Galenus, aka Claudius Galenus, aka Galen of Pergamum, known to most of people today simply as Galen, the famous doctor and anatomist of Roman Empire. Now, the figure of Galen is near and dear to the hearts of all students of Chassidus Chabad, since anatomy and physiology that can be found in the works of Chassidus (e.g., Tanya — including the famous descriptions of compartments of the heart, one’s seed coming from one’s brain, etc.) is borrowed from Galen.

But that’s not the reason that I am mentioning him today. As one could tell from a series of a few recent posts, I have been pondering for a while about the role of tradition in the life of a human being, a Jew, a Chossid and an amateur philatelist. Some of my thoughts are more positive, some are more negative (positive and negative in what aspect, you ask? good question...), some are more traditional (no pun intended), some are more heretical. After this meta-paragraph, let me present to you the part of Galen’s biography that caught my attention, namely, his legacy (you can skip to the bottom line after the quotes if you so desire):

Speaking of Oral Torah

A conversation with one X-ian:

— In Isaiah 53:2, there is no “Israel” inserted in brackets. It’s just something “Talmudists” made up to get out of the prophecy about [idolatry].
— And in expression F = ma, there is no multiplication sign. It’s just something some physicists made up.

Nor, by the way, is there in V = IR. It’s just something I made up to prove a point.