Build it and they shall come / Parshat Terumah

It is time to clean out my office. There is too much clutter here. How many times, opening a closet or drawer, or simply looking around your home, have you said that? We live a very material existence. Stuff matters to us. Madonna, the Material Girl, explained it for herself this way: “You are attracted to men who have material things because that's what pays the rents and buys you furs. That's the security. That lasts longer than emotions.” 

 Two things jump out at me from that quote: first, rent and furs lie at opposite ends of a spectrum from need to luxury; Madonna says she needs both for security; and second, her claim that stuff outlasts emotion.

The Israelites have just received God’s Torah at Mt. Sinai, an immensely powerful spiritual experience. They immediately turn to constructing the Mishkan, a portable Tabernacle (or, if you prefer, Sanctuary) to hold tight to the Sinai experience and bring God, Whom they encountered at Sinai, with them wherever they go. Torah puts it this way: And let them make me a Sanctuary, that I may dwell in their midst (Exodus 25:8). Both elements of Madonna’s viewpoint are folded into the motivation and building of the Mishkan, but in a manner totally different from the way Madonna sees things.

 First, concerning stuff that is ordinary and stuff that is extraordinary, or the spectrum from need to luxury. Certainly, rent money is in the domain of necessity; no one would call housing a luxury. The Mishkan is constructed of a wide array of materials covering the spectrum from need to luxury. Acacia wood is used to create the structure, but the Mishkan and its accouterments are adorned with gold, silver, tanned ram skins, dolphin skins, lapis lazuli and other semi-precious gems. We might stop and consider that, as the name of our parashah, Terumah, indicates, everything that went into building the Mishkan is a free-will gift, an expression of love, devotion, and gratitude; donations of precious metals, gems, and materials reflect the Israelites’ desire to maintain a close relationship with God. The security Madonna speaks of is, indeed, material, and derives from what is acquired, that is, what is supplied by others. The security afforded the Israelites by the Mishkan is relational and spiritual; as the word korban (“sacrifice”—the root means “near” or “close”) connotes: it draws them close to God. This security comes from giving generously, not receiving.

The second thing that jumps out at me from Madonna’s comment, far more striking than the first, is the claim that stuff “lasts longer than emotions.” The revered Bible scholar, Dr. Umberto Cassuto (1883-1951), explains in A Commentary on the Book of Exodus that the purpose of the Tabernacle is to afford the Israelites the means to bring the Sinai experience with them in their wanderings, an ever-present symbol that evokes God’s presence. (In this regard, Mary Douglas, in her marvelous study of Vayikra, Leviticus as Literature, discusses how the sacred spaces and partitions of the Mishkan map onto Mt. Sinai.) In the equation between Mt. Sinai and the Tabernacle, stuff and emotions are inextricably bound together. Cassuto wrote:

In order to understand the significance and purpose of the Tabernacle, we must realize that the children of Israel, after they had been privileged to witness the Revelation of God on Mount Sinai, were about to journey from there and thus draw away from the site of the theophany. So long as they were encamped in the place, they were conscious of God's nearness; but once they set out on their journey, it seemed to them as though the link had been broken, unless there were in their midst a tangible symbol of God's presence among them. It was the function of the Tabernacle (literally, 'Dwelling') to serve as such a symbol. Not without reason, therefore, does this section come immediately after the section that describes the making of the Covenant at Mount Sinai. The nexus between Israel and the Tabernacle is a perpetual extension of the bond that was forged at Sinai between the people and their God. The children of Israel, dwelling in tribal order at every encampment, are able to see, from every side, the Tabernacle standing in the midst of the camp, and the visible presence of the Sanctuary proves to them that just as the glory of the Lord dwelt on Mount Sinai, so He dwells in their midst wherever they wander in the wilderness. This is the purpose of Scripture (25:8), when it states: 'And let them make Me a Sanctuary, that I may dwell in their midst.' (Umberto Cassuto, A Commentary on the Book of Exodus, p. 319.)

The Israelites build the Mishkan to keep the experience, emotions, and encounter of Sinai alive and to evoke God’s presence continuously—to insure that revelation continues.

R. Isaac Abravanel (1437-1508, Portugal, Italy) asks why God needs a physical home, a question that paves the way to demonstrating that the Mishkan is about emotions and relationship:

Why did [God] command the construction of the Tabernacle, when [God] said, that I may dwell among them, as if God were an object demarcated and limited in space, which is the opposite of the truth?!... After all, God himself spoke these words through the prophet Isaiah: The heavens are My throne, and the earth is my footstool. What kind of house can you build for Me, and what place could be My resting place? (Isaiah 66:1)

Malbim (Meir Leibush b. Yehiel Michel Wisser, 1809-1879, Russia) picks up Abravanel’s thread, explaining that the physical structure of the Mishkan is not an end in itself, but rather a model of the inner, spiritual sanctuary we should strive to construct in our hearts:

Each one of us needs to build for God a Mishkan in the recesses of our hearts, by preparing ourselves to become a Sanctuary for God and a dwelling place for God's glory… thus it should be for all generations: each person should build a Mishkan in the innermost recesses of the heart, and prepare an altar upon which to “offer up,” as it were, all aspects of oneself to God's service.

We have material needs just to survive. Most of us, however, possess far in excess of what we need to live. If, in the larger scheme of things, our focus is on stuff qua stuff—materialism for its own sake—we miss the opportunity to elevate our relationships, our spirits, our lives, to a level of greater meaning and purpose.

Talmud reminds us that blessing and meaning are beyond the material; they reside in the realm of meaning:

Blessing is not found in something that has been weighed, nor in something that has been measured, nor in something that has been counted, but only in something hidden from the eye. (T. Baba Metzia 42a)

I managed to clean up my office, but much remains that you might consider clutter: gifts from students and congregants, souvenirs from family trips, photos of my kids, and a few art projects they made in elementary school. While little of this has great monetary value, to me they are priceless because they hold meaning and evoke memories. Yet even were I to lose them, the emotions would last.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

Self-defense, stand-your-ground, and excessive force / Parshat Mishpatim

When I was very young and growing up in New England, my father jokingly told me that every winter, it snows one more inch than the previous year. My mind went straight to imagining the wondrous winters of my adulthood when the snow would be so deep that people would need to dig tunnels—from house to house and through town—to get around. (I don’t recall thinking about the lighting and oxygen problems entailed in this fantasyland.)

Parshat Mishpatim doesn’t mention snow, but it does mention tunneling. Amidst a compendium of mitzvot in the domain of civil law, and following one specifically concerning theft, we find this:

If the thief is seized while tunneling, and he is beaten to death, there is no bloodguilt in his case. If the sun has risen on him, there is bloodguilt in that case. (Exodus 22:1-2)

If the thief tunnels into my home at night, and I encounter him and kill  him, I have not committed murder; if, however, in the light of day I can discern that has come to steal, but not to kill anyone, were I to kill him, I would be guilty of murder.

Talmud explains the Torah’s temporal distinction. Mishnah Sanhedrin 8:6 tells us:

[A thief] who tunnels his way in is judged on account of its [probable] outcome: If he broke through and broke a jug, should there be bloodguilt for him, he must pay [for the jug he broke], but if there is no bloodguilt for him, he is not liable.

Brief as this two-sentence mishnah is, there’s a lot packed into it, so let’s take it bit-by-bit.

The Rabbis understand that it is difficult to judge another’s motives: A thief who enters at night—let’s call him Shimon—knows that he is likely to encounter the person who lives in the house. We may presume that Shimon is prepared to kill the inhabitant—let’s call him Reuven—if encountered, because Shimon knows that Reuven might well try to kill him if caught by surprise at night. In the dark of night, Reuven cannot identify Shimon or discern his intentions. The householder feels he is faced with a threat to both life and limb, and might kill the intruder to protect himself and his family. If, under these circumstances, Reuven kills Shimon, Mishnah tells us that Reuven bears no “bloodguilt”—that is to say, he has not committed a din nefesh, a capital crime punishable by death.

If, however, Shimon tunnels his way in during the light of day, he is likely trying to avoid encountering the residents. Moreover, Reuven can see that Shimon is merely a thief. Ibn Ezra explains that when the Torah says “if the sun has risen on him” it means: if the matter is as clear and obvious as the light of the sun that Shimon did not come with intent to kill (only with intent to burglarize). Under these circumstances, the house holder (Reuven) may not kill the intruder (Shimon).

What if Shimon breaks a ceramic jug? Must he repay Reuven? If Shimon comes during the day, when Reuven is not permitted to kill Shimon to protect his home, Shimon must pay restitution, as we might well expect. If, however, Shimon broke the jug when he tunneled in at night, thereby effectively forfeiting his life since Reuven is permitted to kill him, he is exempt from repayment, because one who is executed is not required to also pay damages, according to M. Baba Kamma 3:10.

I mentioned that Mishnah seems to base itself on an understanding of human nature that Gemara (Sanhedrin 72a) spells out clearly:

Raba said: What is the reason for the law of breaking in? Because it is certain that no man is inactive where his property is concerned; therefore this one [the thief] must have reasoned to himself, “If I go there, [the owner] will oppose me and prevent me; and if he does I will kill him.”

It is here that Talmud establishes the halakhic right to kill in self-defense, declaring:

Hence Torah decreed, If he come to kill you, forestall by slaying him.

Following the castle doctrine, which designates one’s home as a place one has a right to use force (and sometimes deadly force) to protect from intruders, forty-six states have adopted “stand-your-ground,” or “line in the sand,” or “no duty to retreat” laws. Many of these laws not only afford legal permission to kill someone who enters your premises, including in broad daylight, but also confer immunity to both criminal charges and civil law suits. However, stand-your-ground laws often apply to daytime events, and generally permit one who feels threatened but has an option to run away to stand his ground and use deadly force instead. This is deeply troubling, given how easy it is to claim after the fact that one felt mortally threatened. Florida stands poised to expand its current stand-your-ground law by permitting those who consider themselves under threat to fire a warning shot with a gun in order to ward off their assailant. While one might argue that firing a warning shot could mitigate the situation and prevent the firing of a fatal shot, there is good reason to be concerned that this legislation—indeed all legislation of this sort—encourages people to shoot off their guns long before they consider any other option.

Roman rhetorician Lucius Seneca the Elder (54 B.C.E. ‑ 39 C.E.) famously said, “A sword never kills anybody; it is a tool in the killer’s hand.” 

 

Lucius Seneca the Elder (54 B.C.E. - 39 C.E.)

The NRA reformulated Seneca’s words into its well-known slogan, “Guns don’t kill people; people do.” This is no more than a slick attempt to argue that a proliferation of guns has no bearing on our ever-increasing rates of gun violence. In claiming that guns are only proximate causes of death, not primary causes, it utterly fails to take into account human nature. But a gun in hand, and legal permission—indeed encouragement—to shoot at the first hint of danger handily unravels the disingenuous claim of this slogan, and threatens us all.

While Jewish law permits killing in self-defense, the use of excessive force is neither countenanced nor justified. Talmud (B. Sanhedrin 74a) makes this point unequivocally clear:

If one was pursuing his fellow to slay him, and [the one pursued] could have been saved by maiming a limb but did not thus save himself [killing him instead], he is executed on his account.

We hardly need encouragement or sanction to commit gun violence. Mass shootings (such as the Westroads Mall in Omaha, Nebraska, or the movie theater in Aurora, Colorado), school shootings (such as Virginia Tech and Sandy Spring), and individual cases most of us never hear about continue to exact an enormous toll on life. The CDC reports that gun violence claims more than 30,000 lives annually in the United States, and another 60,000 are wounded. Every segment of society is at risk. From Seneca to the NRA, the claim that access to a lethal weapon, and widening permission to use it is not a game-changer is fallacious and perilous. Is this the world we want to live in? Is this the society we want to bequeath to our children?

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

Whose Torah is it anyway? / Parshat Yitro

Whose Torah is it anyway? Parshat Yitro describes the Revelation at Mt. Sinai, beginning with Aseret ha-Dibrot (the Ten Commandments). When the Ten Commandments are displayed in the public square, you can be sure hackles will be raised, and protests will follow. For Jews, there is the additional concern that many people claim Hebrew Scripture as theirs and interpret it outside the framework of Judaism, in another religious setting. In fact, the version of the Ten Commandments usually erected in public places in this country is not as Jews understand them to be. Is this a problem?

With Parshat Yitro, we reach the climax of the Exodus story.

Having journeyed from Rephidim, they entered the wilderness of Sinai and encamped in the wilderness. Israel encamped there in front of the mountain, and Moses went up to God. The Lord called to him from the mountain, saying, “Thus shall you say to the house of Jacob and declare to the children of Israel: ‘You have seen what I did to the Egyptians, how I bore you on eagles’ wings and brought you to Me. Now then, if you will obey Me faithfully and keep My covenant, you shall be My treasured possession among all the peoples.’” (Exodus 19:2-5)

The people spend three days preparing themselves to encounter God. Amidst thunder, lightning, and smoke, trumpets blaring, the mountain smoking and trembling, God speaks. Parshat Yitro enumerates the Ten Commandments (they are re-iterated in Deuteronomy chapter 5 in parshat V’etchanan) and closes with God’s instruction to build an earthen altar and offer there a sacrifice.

We might think that God intends Torah to be the exclusive property of the Jewish People. A famous midrash, oft quoted, contends that God sought to give it away to other peoples and only settled on Israel because they were the only ones who would accept it:

When God who is everywhere revealed himself to give the Torah to Israel, he revealed himself not only to Israel but to all the other nations as well.

At first God went to the children of Esau. He asked them: “Will you accept the Torah?” They said right to his face: “What is written in it?” He said: “You shall not murder.” They replied: “Master of the universe, this goes against our grain. Our father, whose hands are the hands of Esau (Genesis 27:22), led us to rely only on the sword, because his father told him, ‘By your sword shall you live’ (Genesis 27:40). We cannot accept the Torah.”

Then God went to the children of Ammon and Moab and asked them: “Will you accept the Torah?” They said right to his face: “What is written in it?” He said: “You shall not commit adultery.” They replied: “Master of the universe, our very origin is in adultery, for Scripture says, Thus were both the daughters of Lot with child by their father (Genesis 19:13). We cannot accept the Torah.”

Then God went to the children of Ishmael. He asked them: “Will you accept the Torah?” They said right to his face: “What is written in it?” He said: “You shall not steal.” They replied: “Master of the universe, it is our very nature to live off only what is stolen and what is acquired through assault. Of our forebear Ishmael, it is written, and he shall be a wild ass of a man: his hand shall be against every man, and every man’s hand against him (Genesis 16:12). We cannot accept the Torah.”

There was not a single nation among the nations to whom God did not go, speak, and, as it were, knock on its door, asking whether it would be willing to accept the Torah. At long last God came to Israel. They said, We will do and hearken (Exodus 24:7). Of God’s successive attempts to give the Torah, it is written,

The Lord came from Sinai;

He shone upon them from Seir;

He appeared from Mount Paran,

And approached from Ribebot-kodesh,

Lightning flashing at them from his right. (Deuteronomy 33:2)

(Sifre Deuteronomy 343)

Given that everyone else rejected Torah, and only Israel accepted it, does it belong to Israel alone?

Midrash Tanna debe Eliyyahu offers a stunning commentary on the Giving of Torah. It begins with part of the verse from Psalm 19:5.

He placed them in a tent for the sun… (Psalm 19:5)

A parable: There was a mortal king who kept precious stones and pearls of purest ray in his palace, and the people of the kingdom offered to buy them for a goodly sum. The king told them: I will let you buy them; not, however, to be hidden away for the exclusive use of one people, but open to all the peoples of the world. Likewise, when the Holy One, may God’s great name be blessed forever and ever, gave the Torah to Israel, God meant it to be left open for all the peoples of the world, as it is said, I have not given it in secret (Isaiah 45:19). (Tanna debe Eliyyahu, chapter 2)

Torah is not to be hidden away in arks and study houses, but brought into the bright sunlight and shared with others. Its wisdom is God’s gift (or, if you prefer, the Jewish People’s gift) to the world. Doing so, of course, opens it to other interpretations, and sometimes they make us uncomfortable. But truth to tell, there is just as much diversity of opinion concern the meaning of Scripture within the Jewish community, and we have learned to see that as machloket l’shem shamayim, argument for the sake of heaven.

Mekhilta de-Rabbi Yishmael goes even further, suggesting that Torah is, in a sense, hefker (ownerless property and hence available to all):

Had the Torah been given in the Land of Israel, the Israelites would have told the rest of the nations that they have no portion in the Torah. Now that the Revelation was given in an open, ownerless, public space which is accessible to every human being, let anyone who wishes to accept it come and take it. (Mekhilta, Bachodesh)

Rather than fighting the interpretations of others, we would do well to join their conversation and share our wisdom with them.

Last month, two people in Cartersville, Georgia got into a heated debate about the proper interpretation of the Ten Commandments that turned into a slugfest when Carolyn Unfricht slammed Daniel Camarda’s face with her Bible. Camarda responded by throwing Unfricht across the room. Police report that both were “highly intoxicated”—apparently not high on “The Word.” In addition to giving them Scripture, perhaps we should teach them the principle of machloket l’shem shamayim, an argument for the sake of heaven.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

Steroidal Kvetching / Parshat B'Shallach

Zig Ziglar, author, salesman and motivational speaker said, “Statistics suggest that when customers complain, business owners and managers ought to get excited about it. The complaining customer represents a huge opportunity for more business.” The Israelites complained plenty, and gave God lots of business—or perhaps we should say that for 40 years in the Wilderness they gave God the business. It begins the moment they leave Egypt.

Imagine you are present to experience the greatest miracle of all-time. Coming from one hundred generations of slavery, you have left Egypt, venturing out into the Wilderness of Freedom, led by God’s servant, Moses. You see Pharaoh in your rear view mirror and hear your comrades whine: “Was it for want of graves in Egypt that you brought us to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us, taking us out of Egypt? Is this not the very thing we told you in Egypt, saying, ‘Let us be, and we will serve the Egyptians, for it is better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness?” (Exodus 14:11-12) Then the waters part—a wall of water on the left and a wall of water on the right—so you and everyone with you can pass through on dry ground, unencumbered, and escape Pharaoh’s charioteers. Even here people are grumbling and complaining. You hear Reuven say to Shimon: “In Egypt we had clay, and now in the sea again clay. In Egypt we had mortar and bricks, and now in the sea again mortar and bricks.” (Shemot Rabbah 24:1)

Once on the far side of the Sea, the waters close in on the Egyptian army. A watery womb, an impassible Sea, protects you. A watery tomb for the Egyptians. Moses leads you three days into the Wilderness of Shur to Marah. The water has a bitter aftertaste. And the people grumbled against Moses, saying, “What shall we drink?” (Exodus 15:24). 

Some weeks later, between Elim and Sinai, in the Wilderness [of Sin], the whole Israelite community grumbled against Moses and Aaron. The Israelites said to them, “If only we had died by the hand of the Lord in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the fleshpots, when we ate our fill of bread! For you have brought us out into this wilderness to starve this whole congregation to death.” (Exodus 16:2-3) In short order, manna and quail rained down, nourishing the body, but apparently not the soul, because by the time everyone encamps in Rephidim and finds there is not enough water, they blame Moses. “Give us water to drink,” they said; and Moses replied to them, “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you try the Lord?” But the people thirsted there for water; and the people grumbled against Moses and said, “Why did you bring us up from Egypt, to kill us and our childen and livestock with thirst?” (Exodus 17:2-3)

No sooner are they freed from Egypt than the Israelites embark on a 40-year career in complaining. The grumbling and grousing, blaming and bellyaching, whining and whinging continue and continue and continue. Steroidal kvetching. For forty years. That’s a lifetime of complaining.

What do you complain about? Come on, we all do it. You’re not alone. Think of one thing you complained about—either aloud or to yourself—in the past three days. Whom did you blame for your unhappiness? Where did you focus your attention and energy?

The Israelites focus on complaining rather than gratitude. They blame rather than reframe. They invest energy criticizing instead of creating. Some years ago, a funny piece entitled “Zen Judaism” made the rounds on the internet. Among other things, it said, “The Tao has no expectations.  The Tao demands nothing of others. The Tao does not speak.  The Tao does not blame.  The Tao does not take sides. The Tao is not Jewish.”

But there are alternatives to complaining which come from the heart of our tradition and which make us, and those around us, far happier.

The first alternative is gratitude, a favorite topic of the Rabbis. In any situation, even when something is unsatisfying, disappointing, or downright wrong, there is always something to appreciate. Gratitude should have been a no-brainer for the Israelites: they were free, God parted the Reed Sea for them, they were in the Wilderness of Sinai rather than the tar pits of Egypt.
 

The second, an alternative to blaming, is reframing. The blame game is futile and toxic. It is one-sided, protecting us from seeing any other perspective or our own responsibility in a situation. Radiolab broadcast a fascinating program appropriately enough entitled “Blame” recently that calls into question the legitimacy of blaming, and points out that it often comes at the expense of compassion and forgiveness. Reframing allows us to move from our soapbox of blame and see things from another angle. Everything looks different from another viewpoint.

The third alternative to complaining is creating, changing, and repairing. When we divert out energy from kvetching to constructive change, the negative energy of anger and disappoint dissipates and is replaced by the positive energy of vision and hope. Maya Angelou said, “If you don’t like something, change it. If you can’t change it, change your attitude.”

So, what was the complaint you recalled a moment ago? No doubt there is a grain or more of legitimacy in your complaint. But think about this: What in that situation do you have to be grateful for? If you are blaming someone for the situation, are you able to see things from their perspective, or another angle? And are you able to muster compassion and forgiveness if they are called for? What change is needed to rectify the problem that occasioned your complaint? How will you go about forging that change and whom can you reach out to for assistance and support?

One last thing: Consider that complaining is a symptom of desire. George Bernard Shaw ironically observed, “As long as there is want, I have reason for living. Satisfaction is death.” This is not an invitation to compete for the kvetch-of-the-year award, but the desire for life is wonderful.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

The weight of a fool's wrath / Parshat Bo

A stone is heavy and sand is weighty, but a fool’s wrath is heavier than both.

 (Proverbs 27:3)

You probably think I’m going to apply that verse to Pharaoh. I certainly could. In the aftermath of the plague of hail, in the opening of parshat Bo, God hardens Pharaoh’s heart (Exodus 10:1). His courtiers want to let the Hebrews go, and the next plague of locusts not only reinforces that desire but prompts Pharaoh to admit his guilt and ask for forgiveness, but the moment the plague of locusts subsides, God stiffens Pharaoh’s heart (Exodus 10:20) and he reneges. The plague of darkness comes next and following this one, too, God stiffens Pharaoh’s heart (Exodus 10:27) and he refuses to allow the Hebrews to leave Egypt. Torah next announces the coming tenth plague, the worst by far, and yet again God stiffens Pharaoh’s heart (Exodus 11:10). Might we invoke that verse from Proverbs and intone: A stone is heavy and sand is weighty, but a fool’s wrath is heavier than both?

Pharaoh’s hardened heart has an assist: God stiffens it. Pharaoh has a vested interested in the slaves: they build his storehouses, integral to his robust economy and crucial to maintaining his power. And while Torah tells us that Pharaoh’s anger is reinforced or facilitated by God, his wrath is initially inspired by vicious hatred. His attempt at the genocidal extermination of the Hebrews, recounted in Exodus, chapter 1—however ill considered from the perspective of economics and power—leaves no room for doubt on that score. Pharaoh will decimate and bankrupt his country: this fool’s wrath is heavier than both stone and sand and, we might add, brick.

But what are we to say of people who hate without investment or involvement, and against all reason and proportion? To say they are misguided is an understatement.  They are fools driven by wrath inspired, propelled and fueled by hatred. I speak of the American Studies Association, which voted on December 16 to endorse an academic boycott of Israel. The ASA describes itself as “the nation’s oldest and largest association devoted to the interdisciplinary study of American culture and history.” Why is a group of university professors dedicated to the academic study of American history focused so intently on the Israel-Palestinian situation, to the exclusion of all other hot spots around the world? Why is this the only conflict on the globe that ignites flames of anger in their hearts? Out of the dozens of conflicts in the world outside the domain of their academic raison d’etre, why does Israel alone receive their exclusive, undivided attention and animus?

A clue is seen in the bullying techniques employed by the ASA leadership to insure passage of the now infamous anti-Israel resolution. Jonathan Marks, professor of politics at Ursinus College, in an article he published in the Wall Street Journal entitled “A Vote Against Israel and Academic Freedom” (December 16, 2013) tells us:

Make no mistake: Supporting the U.S. boycott campaign is not merely a way of criticizing Israel or expressing solidarity with Palestinians. The campaign calls for boycotting "Palestinian/Arab-Israeli collaborative research projects or events." In other words, it actively discourages opportunities for cooperation and mutual understanding. And while the campaign does not condone a blacklist of Israeli academics, it does warn that "all academic exchanges with Israeli academics do have the effect of normalizing Israel and its politics of occupation and apartheid."

After describing how the leadership of the ASA went to great lengths to squelch the airing of any other than an anti-Israel viewpoint Marks writes:

The ASA's Facebook administrators made the concession to welcome posts from "all sides" hours after the online magazine InsideHigherEd, widely read among academics, published a blistering piece by Henry Reichman of the American Association of University Professors decrying the "one-sided and disingenuous presentations sadly offered on ASA's website." The same day, InsideHigherEd reported on another letter, signed by the eight former association presidents, exposing how the "membership vote [was] being undertaken with only one side of a complex question presented."

The Wall Street Journal issued a terse editorial under the headline “Shame of the Academy.” After noting that the ASA employed “bullying tactics” to push through the resolution, preventing any other viewpoint to be aired until after the vote, evidence of “the political corruption of the American academy,” the editorial continues:

Yet it's still worth pondering what must go through the mind of a professoriate, presumably dedicated to free political speech, that would choose to boycott the most democratic country in the Middle East. The country in which Arabs are treated far better and have far more rights than they do in most Arab lands. And the country that is America's most reliable ally. We can only imagine what these same professors must teach their students about the supposed crimes of America.

JeffreyGoldberg pointed out that the ASA has taught us a lesson in effective scapegoating. Larry Summers, speaking on the “Charlie Rose” program, deplored academic boycotts of any kind and the double standard applied to Israel in this case. He said that singling out Israel for boycott is “anti-Semitic in their effect if not necessarily in their intent.”

A more entertaining way to communicate this message may be seen and heard in Ari Lesser’s youtube video rap “Boycott Israel.” Lesser points out the inherent double-standard of boycotting Israel but not China, Vietnam, Cambodia, Thailand, Burma, India, Pakistan, Syria, Turkmenistan, Russia, the Ukraine, and many other nations whose egregious human rights violations are well known… but don’t concern the brilliant minds and conscience of the American Studies Association.

What we are really talking about is unfiltered wrath, unconsidered hatred. What we’re talking about is demonization, the very same demonization Pharaoh inflicted on the Hebrews three millennia ago, alive and well in the hallowed halls of the ASA.

My friend and colleague, Rabbi Kenneth Cohen, likens the American Studies Association to the Westboro Baptist Church, a group that lives to hate:

Let's be frank. Although the ASA & the ISM [International Solidarity Movement] talk a great deal about peace, they really don't want it and even seem frightened at the prospect. They want war. They want utter defeat for one side. To them Israel— regardless of any accommodations which might be made to the Palestinians—has no legitimacy. In their Manichaean world view, there are good guys and bad ones. The Jews are the bad ones.

The Palestinians and Israel recognize each other. They are negotiating with each other. The process is slow and a final agreement is elusive, to be sure, but to quote Churchill "Jaw-jaw is better than war-war."

President Abbas had said that he opposes boycotts against Israel. But that doesn't stop these zealots (aka "peace activists") from their extremist agenda. They voted to boycott anyway. They know better than President Abbas. Like the Iranians and Al-Qaeda, they are more Palestinian than the Palestinians. Seems like a lot of fanatics think that way.

Throughout history, foolish fanatics steeped in hateful wrath have demonized the Jews. Today, we see it in the heady world of this group of academicians who disguise their hatred of Jews and Judaism by demonizing the Jewish state. The fanaticism and hatred of the Pharaoh of Egypt lives and breathes more than 3,000 years later in the hearts and minds of the American Studies Association. They have brought shame on the academy.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

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Throwing soot in the air / Parshat Va'eira

Many years ago, in a frenetic flurry of preparing to travel to North Carolina for the High Holy Days, I sterilized some baby bottles to take along since I would not be “on tap” at all times. I put the bottles in a pan of water and while waiting for it to reach a boil, I went off to pack clothing. By the time I remembered the bottles, the water had long since boiled off, the bottles were beyond melted, the pot burned, and the kitchen blanketed in a black, sticky, sooty mess. It was awful, truly awful, but it was also fortunate that I didn’t burn the house down. I vividly remember that black, sooty mess. This unhappy episode came to mind while reading about the sixth plague against Egypt—boils—in this week’s parashah, Va-eira:

Then Adonai said to Moses and Aaron, “Each of you take handfuls of soot from the kiln, and let Moses throw it toward the sky in the sight of Pharaoh. It shall become a fine dust all over the land of Egypt, and cause an inflammation breaking out in boils on human and beast through the land of Egypt.” So they took soot of the kiln and appeared before Pharaoh; Moses threw it toward the sky, and it caused an inflammation breaking out in boils on human and beast. (Exodus 9:8-10)

The other nine plagues are initiated either by God, or by Moses or Aaron holding out a staff or extending an arm over Egypt. The plague of boils, however, requires that Moses and Aaron gather soot and throw it up into the air. Not only that, but God specifies that the soot must come from kilns. Why soot? And why must it come specifically from the kilns and not cooking fires or some other source?

Bricks were sun-dried in ancient Egypt, but our ancestors who told and retold the story of Israel’s servitude in, and redemption from, Egypt, knew another process: bricks baked in kilns. 

I’m guessing that they projected their method of brick production back in time onto the Egyptian venue. The image of soot acquired from kilns creates a fascinating and powerful image: To bring the sixth plague, Moses uses the very soot from the very same kilns in which the Hebrew slaves bake bricks to build Pithom and Rameses. This act is a step in the process of Israel’s redemption. The soot that is the direct byproduct of the people’s toil and suffering paves the way to their freedom.

Throwing the soot into the air becomes a symbolic gesture of the Israelites’ growing awareness of God and hence the possibilities for life that lie beyond slavery. For 400 years, Torah tells us, the Hebrew slaves toil under the Egyptian sun before they cry out to God. That is to say: it takes four centuries for them to become aware of God’s presence and hence their own value as human beings. When Moses and Aaron throw the soot in the air, it marks a step in the direction of throwing off slavery: the people are gaining an inner awareness of self, their first step toward freedom.

The Hasidic master, Rabbi Menachem Nachum of Chernobyl (c. 1730-1797) wrote in Me’or Einayim:

The secret meaning of the Egyptian exile is that true awareness was in exile; people were unable to attain the awareness required to serve our blessed Creator, that of which Scriptures says, Know your father’s God and serve Him (I Chronicles 28:9). Awareness is the root that brings one to full love and fear of God. Know in faith that the whole earth is filled with God’s glory (Isaiah 6:30), there is no place devoid of God (Zohar III:225a), and that God is the true pleasure of all pleasures and the life of life. Then you will come to realize that within any pleasure, were the flow of divine light and the life-force to disappear from it, that pleasure, like all created things, would return to primal chaos, to the void. This is true of all the worlds, both higher and lower: if one could imagine that God’s vitality might depart from them, they would be as naught.

Liberation from bondage—true freedom—begins and culminates inside us. When we become aware of God (or, if you prefer, the Divine Light, or Divine Flow, or Life-force of the Universe, or Unity of All) we come to recognize our own uniqueness and value, and we come to know ourselves deeply. For the mystics, self-knowledge, knowing ourselves as we truly are deep within, is an encounter with God. It seems that in facing the challenges of life and the inevitable suffering that is part and parcel of life in this world, we have the opportunity to encounter God within (to attune ourselves to the Divine Flow) and engage with the divine. The Chernobler Rebbe also reminds us that if we shut off the valve to the Divine Flow, if we shut ourselves off from awareness and self-knowledge, we “return to primal chaos,” to greater pain and suffering.

The Exodus can be seen as a chapter in our national religious history. But it is also a paradigm for each and every individual who struggles to overcome that which binds and enslaves him or her. If we are honest with ourselves, that is each of us. Until we realize we are in bondage and that liberation is possible, until we come to know ourselves, our value, and our potential, we will remain in bondage, never changing, never growing, never moving toward freedom. The Divine Flow (or again, if you prefer the Divine Light or the Life-force of the Universe, or the Unity of All) is always available. The next move—to throw the soot into the air—is ours.

Nelson Mandela famously wrote, “There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.” (A Long Walk To Freedom, 1994) Perhaps that is why we return to Egypt year after year for a week each spring during Pesach. We find Egypt unchanged, but with increasing self-knowledge we see how altered we are. The primal chaos of Egypt recedes further and further from the reality of our souls. Redemption comes step by step. Can you throw some soot up in the air today?

(Just to finish the story with which I opened: My husband said very little when he saw the kitchen disaster, but his fear about what might have happened was evident on his face. I scrubbed the cabinets and floor, and he repainted the entire kitchen a lovely shade of blue. Then he went out and bought me an electric kettle that turns itself off when the water reaches a boil.)

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

Something to believe in / Parshat Shemot

Before we wax poetic and pious in our vilification of the genocidal Pharaoh of Egypt who orders the deaths of the all the Hebrew baby boys, we might do well to recall that the Bible tells us that God causes, commands, and threatens genocide on numerous occasions. God brings a flood that destroys virtually all life on earth—human and animal:

God said to Noah, “I have decided to put an end to all flesh, for the earth is filled with lawlessness because of them: I am about to destroy them with the earth.” (Genesis 6:13)

God commands the Israelites to wipe out the Canaanites:

You shall destroy all the peoples that the Lord your God delivers to you, showing them no pity… (Deuteronomy 7:16; see also Deuteronomy 20:10-14)

God threatens to destroy the Northern Kingdom of Samaria in the prophet Hosea’s disturbingly graphic description:

Samaria will bear her guilt,

For she has rebelled against her God

They shall fall by the sword

Their infants shall be dashed to death

Their pregnant women ripped open.

(Hosea 14:1)

It is but a small comfort to note that biblical historians assure us that the genocides of Scripture are not historical. That lets both God and the Israelites off the hook, I suppose. But why are these stories here in the Bible? Are they a warning to us? Most likely not, since God initiates genocide on numerous occasions. More likely tales of genocide, imagined and threatened, reflect fear, animus, and fantasies locked deep in the human psyche.

Alas the lock on that chamber of our psyche is easily picked. The past century alone has been rife with real genocides, rivers of blood, oceans of bones. In addition to the Holocaust: the Armenians, Gypsies, Serbs, Cambodians, Rwandans, Kurds, Darfur, and the Hutus.

What is it in us that makes it possible for a person to participate in carrying out genocide? And what can we do? In the aftermath of the Adolf Eichmann trial in Israel, psychologists asked questions about the depth of human depravity and the human capacity for evil. Eichmann claimed he was only following orders. Could it be that an authority figure could coerce someone into committing heinous crimes? Is it that easy?

In the early 1960s, Yale professor of psychology Dr. Stanley Milgram conducted his famous experiments to explore whether people can be induced or coerced into conforming to the orders of an authority figure to harm or kill another human being (please read about them here). If subjects balked at administering electrical shocks to another human being in the name of “teaching” him, the tester would employ a graduated series of scripted verbal prods, in this order:

·      “Please continue.”

·      “The experiment requires that you continue.”

·      “It is absolutely essential that you continue.”

·      “You have no other choice, you must go on.”

There were numerous iterations of the experiment, some in which the “teacher” saw the person receiving the shock, and even held his hand down on the instrument that delivered the shock. However, the statistic people recall and still talk about is the “baseline” 65% of men (because only men were used in the experiment) who obediently administered the highest dose of electricity: 450 volts.

Prof. Alexander Haslam, currently of the University in Queensland, Australia, and Prof. Stephen Reicher of St. Andrews University in Scotland reject the long-standing interpretation of the experiment. They note in a paper entitled “Contesting the ‘Nature’ of Conformity: What Milgram and Zimbardo’s Studies Really Show” that Milgram’s conclusion,

“ignores copious evidence of resistance even in studies held up as demonstrating that conformity is inevitable…[and] ignores the evidence that those who do heed authority in doing evil do so knowingly not blindly, actively not passively, creatively not automatically. They do so out of belief not by nature, out of choice not by necessity. In short, they should be seen—and judged—as engaged followers not as blind conformists.”

In the final analysis, Haslam and Reicher tell us, tyranny “flourishes because [perpetrators] actively identify with those who promote vicious acts as virtuous. It is this conviction that steels participants to do their dirty work and that makes them work energetically and creatively to ensure its success.”

Heinrich Himmler, head of the Nazi SS, understood this. In his 1943 Posen speech he appeals to the Nazi soldiers’ need to believe in Nazi ideology in order to carry out atrocities:

"Most of you men know what it is like to see 100 corpses side by side, or 500 or 1,000. To have stood fast through this - and except for cases of human weakness - to have stayed decent, that has made us hard. This is an unwritten and never-to-be-written page of glory in our history… We had the moral right, we had the duty towards our people, to destroy this people that wanted to destroy us.”[1]

The Nazis who committed unspeakable brutality were not responding to authority and threats: they believed in what they were doing. Prof. Ben Kiernan of Yale, in Blood and Soil, examines mass violence throughout human history and identifies four ideologies that motivate genocide. While there are differing opinions on the ideologies he identifies and his application of them in all cases, it is important to note that the core impetus and justification is one or more ideology.

Recently, I was describing Milgram’s experiments to my friend Harry at the gym. He didn’t recognize the name Stanley Milgram initially, but before I could say very much, he became excited and cut in to tell me that in the late 60s when he was an undergraduate student at Rutgers University (approximately 20 years old), the psychology department paid him $20 to participate in an experiment. Harry remembers it vividly. He described the set-up; clearly it was a replication of the Milgram experiment, which was run at a number of universities. Harry said that when the tester told him he was to administer an electric shock he responded in disbelief, “Are you kidding?” The man assured him it was okay to do this, and allowed him to feel the first two of ten supposed levels of electrical shock. Harry insisted on experiencing the higher levels himself before he would agree to subject anyone else to it. The tester said he couldn’t. Harry got up to walk around the partition to check it out himself, but the tester stopped him. Harry refused to participate on any other terms. The tester announced, “The experiment is over.” Harry was certainly not cowed by authority but more importantly, at a time when, as he pointed out to me, New Jersey still executed criminals by electric chair, he could not possibly do this to another human being, seen or unseen, known or invisible.

Haslam and Reicher’s interpretation of Milgram’s experiments reveals an aspect of the human psyche it is crucial to understand. People will go to virtually any length for what they believe in. Our conviction and commitment, our willingness to go to any length is both our best and our worst trait. It is this facet of the human psyche that makes great evil, such as genocide, possible. But it is also this trait that energized and sustained Nelson Mandela z”l for 27 years in three different prisons, propelled him to the presidency of South Africa, and gave him the enlightened vision and raw courage to institute a new constitution and create the Truth and Reconciliation Commission.

We all need something to believe in—something bigger than ourselves—and if we don’t find something compelling and worthy, we will find something selfish and banal. Religion at its best (and in its only legitimate formulation) guides us to believe in righteous and worthy principles and endeavors beyond the narrow confines of ourselves, and emboldens us to stretch ourselves in ways we didn’t know we could: to pursue justice, to act with compassion, to respond forcefully when others are abused, and to promote human rights. This is not to say that only religious people can believe in something worthy. Atheists can and do, and more power to those who promote justice, compassion, equity, and human rights. Religion does not have a monopoly on values and wisdom. However, religion offers a wealth of powerful, spiritual, inspiring myths and practices, and a community with which to live them.

In one of Nelson Mandela’s most famous speeches, delivered at the beginning of the Rivonia trial in 1964 at which he was convicted of sabotage and sentence to prison for life, he said:

During my lifetime I have dedicated myself to this struggle of the African people…. I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. It is an ideal which I hope to live for and to achieve. But if needs be, it is an ideal for which I am prepared to die.

We all need something greater than ourselves to believe in, something that makes our world better. This is especially true for our children. We need to raise more children to become Harrys; then we will have more Mandelas.

© Rabbi Amy Scheinerman

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[1] To read the entire speech, go to http://www.yadvashem.org and type “Posen speech” in the search box on the top right of the window. The first response will be a pdf file. It is available on other websites, as well.