Rabbi Michael Leo Samuel

Picture: Rabbi  Yona Metzger

A question came up recently in my congregation regarding the use of music at a Jewish funeral. The Reform Movement has long permitted the use of music at a Jewish funeral—provided the music does not derive from the Christian liturgy, e.g., Amazing Grace. Most Conservative and all Orthodox synagogues frown upon the use of music at a funeral because they feel it distracts the mourners from mourning. R. Isaac Klein’s book on A Guide to Jewish Practices, says nothing about it, one way or other. However, an argument ex silencio suggests that Rabbi Klein frowned upon this particular practice.

The question is not by any means a new Halachic issue.

About a year ago the Israeli Knesset member Rabbi Hanan Porat died; he was one of the founding members of the Gush Emunim, a religious Zionist organization that is very visible in settling the West Bank. At the rabbi’s funeral, his children sang and played some songs with a guitar that upset Rabbi Yona Metzger, the Chief Rabbi of Israel.  Rabbi Metzger made his opinion known, and is quoted as saying:

• Rabbi Shlomo Amar and I stared at each other and neither one of us knew what was going on –a band, guitars, children singing … One might think that the people came to attend a wedding! But this was a funeral! I have never heard of this kind of ‘mourning’ before–not in Israel, not in Europe, and I am sure not in Yemen. We have never heard of and never saw such a thing like this.[1]

Actually, I applaud the family’s innovative spirit—and I am sure the spirit of their father did not mind either.

The tradition of music in funerals is well attested in biblical, post-biblical texts, Mishnahic and medieval sources.

In biblical sources, the Hebrew term qînâ (qînôt), is an oral poetic music used for times of national calamity and mourning. The best known example of this kind of singing can be seen in the acrostic style of writing found in Lamentations. Indeed, one of the more extraordinary images of God in the Bible is that of a musician and composer. The prophet Jeremiah depicts God as mourning for Moab, “Hence the wail of flutes for Moab is in my heart; for the men of Kir-heres the wail of flutes is in my heart: the wealth they acquired has perished” (Jer. 48:36 NAB).

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus arrives at the ruler’s home and saw the flute players and a crowd making a tumult, he said, “Depart; for the girl is not dead but sleeping ” (Mt 9:23, 24; Mk 5:38, 39). The NT passage suggests that the flute players went to work immediately at the time of death, as well as the time leading to the internment.

Josephus writes that when the news reached Jerusalem of the fall of Jotapata to the Roman armies in 67 C.E., “Most people engaged flute-players to lead their lamentations.” This style of mourning was common throughout the ancient world; Greece, Rome, Phoenicia, Assyria all utilized the flute in times of loss. Roman funeral processions were especially known for being very noisy. Musicians used to lead the way blowing their trumpets, horns and flutes announcing the presence of the corpse.[2]

The wailing of the flute players, the cries of the mourners, the sound of torn garments, was unmistakably common in the cities of ancient Israel. Note that the Jewish mourners had no afterthoughts whether they were emulating the pagan gentiles or not.

In the Mishnah, we also find: רַבִּי יְהוּדָה אוֹמֵר, אֲפִלּוּ עָנִי שֶׁבְּיִשְׂרָאֵל, לֹא יִפְחוֹת מִשְּׁנֵי חֲלִילִים וּמְקוֹנֶנֶת R. Judah says, “Even the poorest man in Israel should not hire fewer than two flutes and one professional wailing woman [for a funeral]” (Ketubbot 4:4). Other Mishnaic sources speak about the use of pipes or flutes as a normal part of the Jewish funerals.[3] The rabbis lifted their prohibitions against women’s voices being heard in public were relaxed for funerary rituals.[4]

Maimonides similarly ruled  almost 1200 years later,”  When a man’s wife dies, he is obligated to bury her and to have eulogies and lamentations performed as is the local custom. Even a poor Jewish man should provide at least two flutes and one woman to lament.“[5]

Why is the music of the flute so special? Maimonides explains that the plaintive melody moves a person to tears at a funeral.[6] The Halachic Codes all acknowledge this custom.[7]

One 14^th century classical work on mourning, Kol Bo al Hilchot Aveilut  admits that during the Talmudic period music was part of the funeral, but rejects its reintroduction because it would be as a result of non-Jewish influence—undoubtedly referring to the Christians, who used music in their mourning rites. Some Halachic authorities had no problem with music being played at a funeral–so long as the musicians happened to be Jewish. It is interesting to note that this custom continued in Egypt during the early 19th century.

A very dear friend of the TBS synagogue died this past week. His name was Kurt Sax, and this Viennese Jew loved the Spanish guitar. In honor of his memory, two of his good friends played a couple selections  that Kurt really loved.  I can personally attest that the music was very  meaningful and moving for the family and their friends.

Was it traditional?

Maybe not by Rabbi Yona Metzger’s standards.

However, I will say Rabbi Metzger is right on one point. If a rabbi chooses to pursue such a path, it is important that he remind the people not to applaud, after all–it is a funeral and not a concert.

However, history has allowed this type of musical innovation. I think Jewish law and tradition needs to be less austere and  become innovative, as it once was before.  If Judaism is to be healthy, we must find a way to make our faith more appealing and less hung up on the external forms of Jewish piety.

In other words, it’s time to allow music to liberate the heart that inspires and experiences prayer—in good times and in bad times. Continue Reading

One of the 20^th century’s greatest Jewish mystics, Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, develops this theme in one of his most famous passages:

After the Flood, God lowered the standards of morality and justice He expected of humanity. We would no longer be culpable for slaughtering animals; we would only be held accountable for harming other human beings. Then our moral sensibilities, which had become cold and insensitive in the confusion of life, could once again warm the heart.  If the original prohibition against meat had remained in force, then, when the desire to eat meat became overpowering, there would be  little distinction between feasting on man, beast, or fowl. The knife, the axe, the guillotine, and the electric pulse would cut them all down, in order to satiate the gluttonous stomach of “cultured” man. This is the advantage of morality when it is connected to its Divine Source: it knows the proper  time for each objective, and on occasion will restrain itself in order to  conserve strength for the future.

In the future, this suppressed concern for the rights of animals will be restored. A time of moral perfection will come, when “No one will  teach his neighbor or his brother to know God – for all will know Me, small and great alike” (Jeremiah 31:33). In that era of heightened ethical awareness, concern for the welfare of animals will be renewed.

In the interim, the mitzvot of the Torah prepare us for this eventuality.  The Torah alludes to the moral concession involved in eating  meat, and places limits on the killing of animals. If “you desire to eat  meat,” only then may you slaughter and eat (Deut. 12:20). Why mention the “desire to eat meat”. The Torah is hinting: if you are unable to  naturally overcome your desire to eat meat, and the time for moral  interdiction has not yet arrived – i.e., you still grapple with not harming  those even closer to you (fellow human beings) – then you may slaughter and eat animals.  Nonetheless, the Torah limits which animals we are allowed to eat,  only permitting those most suitable to human nature.

According to Maimonides (Guide for the Perplexed  3:48), the animals permitted for food are those most suitable for the human body, and “no doctor will doubt this.” Ramban  disagreed, explaining that the permitted animals are the ones shechitah (ritual slaughtering) restrict the manner of killing animals to the quickest and most humane. With these laws, the Torah impresses upon us that we are dealing with a living creature, not some automaton devoid of life. And after slaughtering, we are commanded to cover the blood, as if to say, “Cover up the blood! Hide your crime!” These restrictions will achieve their effect as they educate the generations over time. The silent protest against animal slaughter will become a deafening outcry, and its path will triumph . . .[1] Continue Reading

Luke Chabner and I composed a Passover Seder Rap. We hope you like it.

 

Table 1

We’re so glad you came to our Seder

We knew you’d come, sooner or later!

Whether by a truck or an elevator,

From China, Alaska & the Equator

 

This is the bread of affliction we eat,

We welcome the stranger from the street

Without you, Seder ain’t complete

We’ve got a tasty dinner, with delicious meat!

 

Table 2

We will soon hide the Afikomen

Whether you’re Conan or just a Kohen

We hope you like our little slogan

We invited our favorite Japanese shogun!

 

We remember the ancient tale of yore

The day after we put blood on the door

Left so fast, our feet were sore

The Red Sea parted, we crossed ashore

 

Table 3

Sit down with Father and Matta

And take out your Maxwell House Hagadah

We can tell by the smile on your Cada,

We know you want a Pesach enchilada-

 

Find the youngest child, ask four questions

We look to the rabbi, to recite the blessins’

As we learn about the Pesach lessons

Before we sit down eat and fressen

 

Table 4

Passover is about leaving really fast!

God took us out of Pharaoh’s grasp

We left Egypt, by coach first class

We celebrate Passover, not a mass

 

Moses’ name is hardly mentioned

God is the hero, deserving of attention

More important than your earthly pension

Everyone left without dissension!

 

Table 5

We drink four cups of wine

East Passover lamb, and not a swine

It’s our history—yours and mine!

So follow Moses, and get in line!

 

We wandered in the desert for 40 years,

A place of bitterness, a place of tears

D’Seder teaches us, banish our fears

We clean out our homes, & throw out the beers

 

Table 6

From Chula Vista to La Costa

We eat lots of flat tasteless matza

More and more, lotsa and lotsas

This ain’t your mother’s Italian pasta

 

We remember herbs that are so bitter

Forget the glamor and all the glitter

Jewish suffering still gives us lots of jitters

Anti-Semites are nasty critters!

 

Table 7

Now let’s all point to the shank bone

We’re here together and not alone!

Kindly turn down your cell phone

Pray that tyrants are soon dethroned!

 

Every person must see himself

Leaving Egypt with Egyptian wealth

We left proudly, not in stealth

Eat your egg, it’s good for your health!

 

Table 8

We will soon eat Gefillte fish

With horseradish on your dish

Stay away from the potato knish

Swallow the horseradish, make a wish!

 

Sephardic Jews love eating lots of rice

But Ashkenazim are afraid of mice

Let me give you some good advice

Make sure you put some spice in your rice

 

Table 9

Take the Afikomen, out of your pocket

Open the door for Elijah the Prophet

He’s comin’ fast with the force of a rocket

Now earthly power can hardly stop it!

Continue Reading

Purim has a “carnivalesque”  quality both in terms of its original narrative, as well as how the holiday is celebrated. Despite its joyous display of festivities and mardi gras, the holiday masks a very serious reality—the precarious nature of Jewish survival.

One of my favorite literary critics, the 20th century Russian literary critic Mikhail Bakhtin, defined the carnivalesque as a literary mode that subverts and liberates the  assumptions of the dominant style or atmosphere through humor, chaos, and paradox.

The carnivalesque vision is utopian in that it exposes the hierarchical distinctions of our social order as arbitrary, relative–a matter of social convention.  Hans Christian Andersen’s famous short story, The Emperor’s New Clothes, illustrates the carnivalesque spirit that ridicules monarchs who believe that their social position makes them inherently superior to the common person is altogether ridiculous–even illusory.

The experience of the carnival–with all the social niceties, hierarchies within a given social order, perceptions of truth, the concepts of reverence or piety and etiquettes–are profaned and overturned by normally suppressed voices and energies. A fool may suddenly appear wise, kings may transform into beggars, worlds of opposites co-mingle as if reality itself has turned upside down upon its head.

Many of Bahktin’s ideas can be seen in the story of how Esther and Mordechai thwarted a genocide that was being planned against the Jewish people.

In the book of Esther, the King’s penchant for partying, immediately displays to the reader a surreal world where the beautiful Queen Vashti is suddenly treated as  though she were a common stripper at a bachelor party.

Vashti’s transformation as a well-respected woman to someone who is banished from the kingdom is contrasted by an equally far-fetched scenario–Esther’s ascent to the royal throne. No sooner does Esther become queen, a deadly threat  emerges that threatens the people of Esther–Haman.

Haman’s rise to power is mysterious and rapid. No sooner had the Jews started to feel comfortable in their new Persian home, then suddenly–they are about to be annihilated by a foe who hates them for merely being religiously different.

As with Vashti and Esther, Haman’s ending is equally unpredictable as it is topsy-turvy. The man who obviously aspires to become King, ends up getting hung or impaled because of his hubris. Normalcy returns to the kingdom and the Jews live to see another day–and then some.

Even God undergoes a carnivalesque transformation in Esther. Far from being the revealed Deity of the Exodus, God is invisible throughout the Esther narrative. Yet, it is when God is most hidden, His Presence can still be felt through the downfall of the Jews’ archetypal enemy–Haman. Continue Reading

Of all the different types of Jewish literary expression, “Purim Torah” is a unique and remarkable genre. It is rabbinic satire at its best that centers on the festivities, customs, and traditions of Purim. Individuals writing Purim Torah display remarkable wit in weaving Talmudic logic in fabricating conclusions that border somewhere between the ridiculous and sublime.

A couple of years ago, I received a delightful section of a fabricated Talmud–replete with all the Aramaic expressions one would expect to find in a Talmudic debate. The selection contains a discussion written in Aramaic and Medieval Hebrew involving President Obama, Al Gore having a debate about global warming. Even the commentaries of Rashi and Tosfot that explained the make-believe text looked pretty authentic. The name of the tractate is Mesechect Obama Metzia (a pun on the Talmudic tractate Bava Metzia). The article proved to be quite novel and ingenious.

Here is another example of “Purim Torah” that almost sounds like a Rod Serling story from the Twilight Zone. The story is well-known. Haman’s plot to destroy the Jews of the Persian Empire ended in disaster for Haman and his family. Queen Esther and Ahashverus have a conversation.

• And the king said to Esther the queen: The Jews have slain and destroyed five hundred men in Shushan the capital, and the ten sons of Haman…Now whatever your petition, it shall be granted; whatever your request further, it shall be done. Then said Esther: If it please the king, let it be granted to the Jews that are in Shushan to do tomorrow also as this day, and  have the bodies of Haman’s ten sons hanged in public display on the gallows.” (Esther 9:12-14)

One might ask: Esther’s request seems somewhat strange. The ten sons of Haman had already been killed, why did the King bother hanging them? The simple approach suggests she made this request so that everyone would know the consequences that would befall them,  just in case anyone else might attempt to harm the Jews. However, rabbinic commentaries offer a different spin. Commenting on the word “tomorrow” in Esther’s request, the ancient rabbis comment, “There is a tomorrow that is now, and a tomorrow which is later” (Tanchuma Bo 13 and Rashi on Exodus 13:14).

From this interpretation, some 20th century rabbis claim that  the hanging of Haman’s ten sons is not an isolated episode in history. Esther unconsciously prophesied a time when the Jewish people would reenact the hanging of Haman’s ten sons! While this sounds preposterous, there is something to this story that you may not know.

And now you are going to hear–the rest of the story …

Rabbi Moshe Katz writes about one of the most remarkable “Torah Codes” of all time. The subject of the Torah Codes (a.k.a. Bible Codes) is widely debated and any student who understands textual criticism realizes the dubious validity of the Torah Codes as an interpretive enterprise. Advocates of the Torah Codes  (Hebrew: צפנים בתנ”ך‎) allege that the Torah contains set of secret messages encoded within the text Hebrew Bible and describing prophesies. This hidden code has been described as a technique by which specific letters from the text can be selected to reveal an otherwise obscured message. Torah Code expositors essentially view the Torah as a gigantic anagram. The subject has been popularized in modern times by Michael Drosnin’s book The Bible Code. However, this particular Bible Code in the book of Esther is too striking to ignore. If nothing else, the author presents an incredible synchronicity [1]

• During World War II, the Nazis in Germany tried to wipe the Jewish race from the face of the earth. Six million Jews were killed by the Germans. After the end of the war, the surviving Nazi leaders were tried at Nuremberg for this and other war crimes. These trials began on November 20, 1945, for 22 German Nazi leaders. On October 1, 1946, twelve of the German defendants were sentenced to death by hanging for their part in the atrocities committed against the Jews and others. One of those convicted was Martin Bormann, who was sentenced in absentia. A second was Hermann Goering, who committed suicide in his cell just hours before the executions by taking cyanide poison. The remaining ten Germans were hanged to death on October 16, 1946.

• The Massorah prescribes that the names of the ten sons of Haman be written in a perpendicular column on the right-hand side of the page, with the vav, i.e., and, on the left-hand side. This is probably derived from the tradition that the ten sons were hanged on a tall gallows, one above the other. . . . (The Five Megilloth, p. 179) However, there may be another reason why these names are listed one above the other. As you can see by looking at the list of names, four letters (the tav in the first name, the shin and tav in the seventh name, and the zayin in the tenth name) appear smaller than the other letters. Starting at the top of the passage, I’ve highlighted three of these four small letters in red. In the Hebrew language, letters can also represent numbers. Tav has a numerical value of 400, shin a numerical value of 300, and zayin a numerical value of 7. The tav, shin, and zayin, totaled from top to bottom, represent the number 707. . . [2]

 

• In Esther 9:7-9, we find a list of the ten sons of Haman who were killed by the Jews. Below is the Hebrew text of these verses as it appears in the Tanakh. Remember, Hebrew reads from right to left. The three letters together form taf-shin-zayin, the Jewish year 5707 (1946 C.E.), the year that the ten Nazi criminals were executed. Of the 23 Nazi war criminals on trial in Nuremberg, 11 were in fact sentenced to execution by hanging. Two hours before the sentence was due to be carried out, Goering committed suicide–so that only 10 descendents of Amalek were hung, thus fulfilling the request of Esther: “let Haman’s ten sons be hanged.” Furthermore, since the trial was conducted by a military tribunal, the sentence handed down should have been death by firing squad, or by electric chair as practiced in the U.S.A. However, the court specifically prescribed hanging, exactly as in Esther’s original request: “let Haman’s ten sons be hanged.”Though doubts may linger about the connection between the Book of Esther and the Nazi war criminals, the condemned Julius Streicher certainly had none….[as The New York Herald Tribune of October 16, 1946 reported after he ascended to the gallows] “With burning hatred in his eyes, Streicher looked down at the witnesses and shouted: “Purim Fest 1946!”…  If these “coincidences” are not enough, examine the calendar for that month. The date of the execution (October 16, 1946) fell on the Jewish festival of “Hoshana Rabba” (21 Tishrei), a day when God’s verdicts are sealed. This was the very day they were hanged, as we have said, all is hinted at in the Torah! [3]

We’ll add one more detail Moshe Katz left out: The Book of Esther recorded that the ten had been hanged on a tree. The Hebrew word for tree is eytz, which is also “wood” in English. The hangman at Nuremberg was named John C. Woods, an American army officer. (After the executions Woods burned the hoods and ropes even though he had been offered $2,500 for them as souvenirs. John Wood’s revulsion for pecuniary gain also corresponds to another passage found in the book of Esther, “The Jews of Shushan mustered again on the fourteenth day of Adar and slew three hundred men in Shushan. But they did not lay hands on the spoil” (Esther 9:15).

Could Rabbi Moshe Katz’s exposition qualify as “Purim Torah” according to the criteria we mentioned above? Maybe. Nevertheless, connection between the death of Haman’s sons and the ten Nazis, combined with Streicher’s realization that he and his fellow murderers were reliving the conclusion of the ancient Purim story. However, this time it was, as Streicher said,  “Purim Fest 1946.” This unexpected synchronicity ought to give us pause to think that history sometimes follows a trajectory of archetypal patterns. Actually, one would be hard-pressed to find a better example of Purim Torah than the story of the ten Nazis and its alleged connection to the ten sons of Haman.[4] Continue Reading

For Jewish Values Online:

Are Haredim changing the face of Traditional Judaism? Is the divide between the ultra-Orthodox and other denominations (Modern Orthodox, Conservative and Reform) too great to promote a better understanding and respect between each other?

As we give pause to the memory of Martin Luther King and his profound ethical message concerning the evils of racial intolerance, it behooves us to ask ourselves: Have we, as a religious community, fully embraced the principles that cost this great man his life? Most American Jews have taken valuable steps in combating racism in our great country. However, some of us have yet to take a meaningful first step.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe spent many years preaching about the importance of ahavat Yisrael—on how, “we should love our fellow Jews.” However, the Rebbe and his Hasidic followers were careful never to admit that this great commandment does not apply to Ethiopian Jews. Since the famous rescue of the Ethiopian Jews (Beta Israel) in the 1980s, Chabad schools have adopted a policy that openly discriminates against Ethiopian Jews—despite the fact they have undergone Orthodox conversions in Israel and have been accepted in many Haredi yeshivas!!

Ethiopian parents often hear from Chabad principals, “We don’t take in Ethiopian children. We don’t think you match our lifestyle and we’re not sure about your Jewishness either.” This is exactly what five young girls of Ethiopian descent heard when they arrived with their parents at the “Or Chaya” school in Petah Tikva. By the way, Or Chaya is a Chabad school. Moshe Ashgara, the father of another girl, experienced the same treatment. “My daughter is a diligent student. Why won’t they take her?” That is a good question and the Principal of Or Chaya was unavailable for questioning.

The answer is simple: Chabad endorses racial discrimination against people it does not feel are “real Jews.” The late Lubavitcher Rebbe expressed doubts over the Jewish origins of Ethiopian immigrants to Israel and instructed that they be excluded from Chabad institutions—regardless whether they went through the most rigorous conversions.

Mind you, they have no problem accepting Jews from Ashkenazi and Sephardi backgrounds, not to mention, Jewish immigrants from the former Soviet Union. But not a single Ethiopian Jew is enrolled in the educational network. This policy applies not only to the Israeli secondary schools—it applies to every Chabad Heder and yeshiva all over the world.

Menachem Brod, spokesman for Chabad, confirms that Ethiopian children are not accepted in the Hasidic movement’s institutions. “This is an instruction from the Lubavitcher Rebbe and also a ruling by our rabbis,” he said. He also reiterated that the “Ethiopians are not being singled out, since Chabad policy applies to anyone whose Jewishness is in question.”[1]

When the Ethiopian Jews began their immigration from Ethiopia, the Chief Rabbinate obliged all immigrants to undergo giyur lehumra (pro forma conversion) because of doubts raised about their Jewishness by Ashkenazi ultra-Orthodox rabbis. However, in 1984 the rabbinate adopted as its official policy the well-known halakhic ruling that Rabbi Ovadia Yosef – the spiritual leader of Shas – issued a decade earlier, which held that there was no doubt about the Jewishness of the Falasha, the Beta Israel (Ethiopian Jews ). From this point on, instead of the demand to undergo conversion, members of Beta Israel wishing to marry had to undergo a “clarification of Jewishness.”

Rabbi Moshe Feinstein wrote to his son-in-law, Rabbi Moshe Tendler concerning the Ethiopian Jews:

• As you mentioned, they should not be brought to the Land of Israel, unless they have undergone a conversion, in order to not increase the concern for assimilation [i.e., intermarriage with Jews who do not have a doubt regarding their Jewish status and also a weakening of the faith of Ethiopian Jews themselves]. But if they have legally converted, and as I have heard they are doing, we shall consider them like all Jews, and one must assist them and support them for all needs of livelihood, both physically and spiritually. And I suffered great anguish because I have heard there are those in Israel who are not drawing them close in spiritual matters and are causing, G-d forbid, that they might be lost from Judaism. And it seems to me these people are behaving so only because the color of the Falashas’ skin is black. It is obvious that one must draw them close, not only because they are no worse than the rest of the Jews – and because there is no distinction in practical application of the law because they are black – but also because one can say perhaps they are gerim [converts], and are therefore included in the mitzva “and you shall love the convert.”[2]

For the record, the Lubavitcher Rebbe never endorsed the rescue of Ethiopian Jews in their most critical time of their history.  Every other major Halachic scholar accepted the Ethiopian Jews as Jews, but many did insist upon a pro-forma conversion in the event of marriage.[3] This is all the more amazing when one considers that the Lubavitcher Rebbe always stressed the importance of saving lives superseded even the laws of the Shabbat!

Last week,  Channel 2 in Jerusalem exposed an agreement signed by residents of an apartment complex in Kiryat Malachi that forbade the sale or rental of apartments to Ethiopian Jews – even if the potential renter was an exemplary Israeli citizen, and their decision was extensively backed by a Chabad neighbor who wrote an essay defending the racism. Such behavior embarrasses Jews everywhere, and our enemies use these stories to tarnish Israel’s reputation to the world.

If the Haredim in Israel are willing to accept the Ethiopian Jews, one must wonder: Why won’t the Chabad also accept the Beta Israel? Why should the Chabad institutions receive a free pass to continue their racial discrimination? In fairness to the Chabad public, it is doubtful whether most of their supporters are even aware of this problem. However, the organization leaders may want to rethink the Rebbe’s position because it goes against the vast majority of Haredi rabbis, who have for the most part, openly embraced the Ethiopians in Israel. Clearly, Rabbi Schnersohn has been overruled by the vast majority of Torah scholars of his time, and it is foolish to continue a policy that is so morally offensive, not to mention—contrary to Halacha.

About 2,000 people gathered on Tuesday to demonstrate against racism in Kiryat Malakhi, after members of the Ethiopian immigrant community there said that local homeowners’ committees refuse to rent them apartments. They were joined by hundreds of people who came from around the country to support them.

What a shanda!

A pig with lipstick is still a pig, and racism–even–with a smiley face is still racism.

The Israeli government is outraged about this shabby treatment of Israel’s beloved Ethiopian Jewish community and promises to strike hard at the racist policies that are harming the Jewish people of Israel. President Shimon Peres expressed our sentiments with eloquence, “The racists should be ashamed of their actions and their words,” Peres said on Thursday. “When we established the state, our dream was that Ethiopian Jews would immigrate to Israel, along with Libyan Jews, Russian Jews and Jews from all over the world.”

 

Notes:

[1] “Chabad School Refuses to Accept Ethiopian Students,” Chabad News on September 08 2011, http://www.crownheights.info/index.php?itemid=37556.

[2] Cited in Igrot Moshe Vol. 9 (I have personally ordered the book, and I promise to cite the response when I receive it in the mail.

[3] R. Eliezer Yehudah Waldenberg, Ziz [i.e, Tzitz] Eli’ezer, 10:25,ch. 3, sec. 10; Tzitz Eli’ezer, X, no,. 25, chap. 3, sec. 19.

One of the most colorful figures of the 18^th century, who almost single-handedly raised the moral of the Jewish people, was a man named R. Yisrael ben Eliezer, a.k.a., the famous “Baal Shem Tov,” (literally, the “Master of the Good Name.” When one looks back in history, the Baal Shem Tov taught a very important message that many of his movement’s descendents have seemed to forgotten.

• Ahavat HaShem—a love for God; in the theology of the Baal Shem Tov, the bond between a Jew and God Almighty is grounded in the heart of the Divine. More than that, the precept of love is the basis of the entire Torah.
• Harmony and peace with one’s neighbors is essential for having a healthy relationship with God.
• Worship God with a joyfulness of heart enables one to achieve of mystical state of bliss with God called “devukut” (cleaving).
• There is no room for asceticism in  the spiritual life of a Jew.

Baal Shem Tov felt very strongly, “A small hole in the body, constituted a large hole in the soul.” The care of the soul must never come at the expense of the body, since it too is a manifestation of God, and must not be considered as hostile or oppositional to Him.

Naturally, many of his ideas did not endear himself to the more austere Kabbalistic or Talmudic schools, which felt that the study of Torah was the greatest pursuit for the average Jew. Not so for the Baal Shem Tov—the inner life of the person was just as important, but the inner life of the individual could not ignore the welfare of his fellow human beings.

Following an old tradition going back to R. Isaac Luria, one of the most famous Kabbalists of the late medieval period, all prayer must begin with the precept, “Behold, I am taking upon myself the precept to fulfill: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Baal Shem Tov made this Lurianic prescription the foundation of Jewish prayer. Prayer has minimal meaning unless one takes into consideration the personal needs of his fellow Jew.

The early followers realized the importance of these lessons and for the most part, did whatever they could do to buoy the spirits of their depressed brethren. Teachers like Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev (1740-1810), always acted like a mighty advocate for the Jewish people. There are many stories attributed to him, where he always gave the most defiant Jewish sinner, the benefit of the doubt. A typical story that is often told relates how he once noticed a wagon driver who was greasing his wheels while reciting his morning prayers, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak lifted his eyes to Heaven and cried: “Master of the Universe! Behold the piety of Your children! Even as they go about their daily affairs, they do not cease to pray to You!”

However, that was then . . .

Today’s Hassidic factions[1] that make up a large portion of Israel’s Haredi movement and their religious leaders have evolved into something radically different from what the movement’s founders once envisioned.

Their animus toward the non-Haredi world is disturbing—even shocking—to say the least. When hooligans refer to a Modern Orthodox seven year old girl a “harlot,” we have a problem of epic proportions.

They spat on poor little Naama Margolis because she was not dressed “modestly” enough in their eyes.  Proudly and boldly, this brave little girl said, “I am no longer afraid. My mother is more afraid than I am. I just want the fanatics to leave Beit Shemesh  . . .” Her mother added, “The exclusion of women from the public sphere makes my blood boil. They (Haredim) are trying to take us back to dark eras; this is a grave injustice.” By the way, the Haredim get equally upset if a girl is happens to be three years old.

Ditto!

I wonder: What would the Baal Shem Tov and Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev say, if they were alive today? The answer ought to be pretty obvious . . .

Many years ago, when I studied in Israel, I had some Haredi acquaintances who used to throw rocks at cars driving through Me’ah She’arim in Israel, but today the situation is far worse. We are witnessing virulent misogyny that has no parallel in Jewish history.

Who would imagine that Jews would ever subject Jewish children to such abuse? One must wonder: Why aren’t the Hassidic, Lithuanian, and Sephardic leaders condemning their followers’ violent behavior?

As Israel prepares itself against the greatest existential threat it has yet faced, the explosion of Haredi violence in Israel may do more damage than even a nuclear explosion in Tel Aviv. As we celebrate the holiday of Hanukkah, let us pray that the forces of light will triumph over the forces of religious intolerance and bigotry that are eroding the spirit of the Jewish people in Israel and abroad.

* I decided to completely rewrite and update an earlier post I had composed a couple of years ago.– Enjoy!

=========

Today’s article begins with a personal message I received from a Chabad acquaintance. The actual letter was a copy of a communiqué that originated from the Lubavitch Headquarters; the letter reminds the Hasidim how they ought to conduct themselves on Christmas Eve.

• December 25th is universally celebrated by non-Jews as the birthday of that person[1] upon whom a dominant non-Jewish religion was founded and who had the Halachic status as a Jew who lures other Jews to idol-worship. A spirit of impurity therefore prevails on that day. (Additionally, there was a period when members of that religion used to celebrate this eve by attacking Jews, which led to an enactment against keeping the Yeshivas open during the eve of Dec 25th).

The letter also quoted some comments expressed by the Friediker (Previous) Rebbe of Lubavitch, R. Yosef Yitzchak Schnersohn and his son-in-law, R. Menachem Mendel Schnersohn:

• The Previous Lubavitcher Rebbe adds, “It is our custom to refrain from studying Torah on Nitel Nacht until midnight. The reason, as the Previous Rebbe heard from his father, the Rebbe RaShaB (Rabbi Shalom Dov Baer Schnersohn, a.k.a., the 5th Lubavitcher Rebbe), is so that one will not add spiritual vitality to that person [Jesus], and those who presently follow his views [i.e., Christians everywhere]. The Previous Lubavitcher Rebbe (i.e., Rabbi Yosef Yitzchak Schnersohn, the 6th Rebbe) quotes his father in the popular Hayom Yom (Teves 17), ‘I am not fond of those students who begrudge these eight hours and cannot tear themselves away from Torah study!’”[2]

Many Jews and Christians probably find this custom interesting but very strange–and for good reason!! Actually, even many Haredi Jews find the custom dubious and weird; for them, time is of the essence, and nobody should squander what precious time one has in this world pursuing trivial matters, when one ought to be studying God’s Torah instead! For them, “Nitel” is “bitul,” (a pure waste of time).

• The Origins of Nitel Nacht

The origin of Nitel Nacht in modern rabbinic literature is one of the more fascinating chapters of Jewish history and folklore. To begin with, this is a custom that exists only among Hasidim. Most Haredi communities, like the Lithuanian and Sephardic communities, generally disregard this custom; for them, the study of Torah is of primary importance.[3] R. Moshe Sternbuch correctly observes that the custom was unknown in Lithuania and it is only a custom among the Hasidim. One of the greatest Lithuanian luminaries of the 20^th century, R. Avraham Yeshaya Karelitz, (1878-1953) a.k.a., “Chazon Ish” did not discontinue his practice of studying Torah  “Nitel Nacht,” and said that it was forbidden to waste time from learning on this night and he criticized those who did not learn on that night.[4] Some Hassidic Jews, likewise won’t not study Torah on New Year’s Eve either for the same reason. Some of my old Litvak friends in the Litvisher yeshivas used to tell me that Hasidim will do just about anything not to study Torah! Behind every criticism is often a grain of truth . . . Oy, I think I have the soul of a Litvak!

Of course, the time of Nitel Nacht will vary depending whether one is a Greek Orthodox Christian or not, for they celebrate the holiday on January 6^th.

The earliest references to Nitel Nacht go back to the 17^th century; it was first mentioned by the Moravian scholar, R. Yair Chaim Bachrach (1638-1702).[5] Some scholars think that the famous Maharsha (R. Samuel Eides observed the day by the late 16th century.[6]

• The Meaning of “Nitel”

The etymology of the actual name, “Nitel,” actually comes from the Latin, “Natalis,” or, “Nativity Night.” It is truly ironic that 99% of all the Hassidic Jews follow this observance, haven’t the foggiest idea that Nitel Nacht means “Nativity Night.” It is also possible that Nitel Nacht may be a corruption of the Latin dies natalis, “birthday,” i.e., the “birthday” of Jesus.[7]

• Should Nitel Nacht be observed today?

On the one hand, the custom serves to remind us of an era when Jewish and Christian relations were strained and hostile. I once had a congregant who lived to be 95; she survived the Russian Revolution by hiding under a house, where the sewage was stored. With the sound of demonic  laughter, a Cossack crushed her  baby brother’s skull with his boot, while drinking his vodka. She remained traumatized by her experience–throughout her life. I imagine that the Schnersohn family also witnessed similar events in their lives as well and suffered from the lingering effects of these traumatic memories. No wonder the Jews of Lubavitch felt so nervous around Christmas season! Who could blame them? Remember “Fiddler on the Roof”? Sholom Aleichem merely hinted about this awful social reality. Undoubtedly, the world that created Nitel Nacht was filled with violence, hatred, and intolerance.

But that was then . . .

Fortunately, this is not the case anymore the case for Jews who live in Western countries. It’s time to leave the ghetto behind us; it’s time to exorcize the hurtred (pardon the neologism) and bitterness we have carried for a long time.

As a rabbi, whenever I see Jews show intolerance and bigotry toward non-Jews–whoever they may be–I get religiously offended. No religion is immune to the dangers of promoting religious prejudice; or as they say, “A pig with lipstick is still a pig.” Prejudice and intolerance should not be quietly accepted as if it is normal–because it’s not!

Yet, today, the religious intolerance seems to emanate more from Haredi Jews!? Aside from their intolerance toward other branches of Judaism and their endorsement of sexism, in Jerusalem, Haredi Jews often spit on the Greek Orthodox clergy of Jerusalem; in addition, a number of Hassidic Jews have the custom of spitting whenever walking by a church. Were this just an isolated case, one individual’s brazen act of spitting would hardly make the news, but it is a daily occurrence that has brought considerable embarrassment to Israel and to Jews all over the world. Others, still, will not even shake hands with a member of the Christian clergy. I actually saw this happen in Rock Island, when the Habad rabbi refused to shake hands with the local Monsignor, who was attending a Yom HaShoah community observance. To the Hassidic  rabbi’s credit,  he did eventually apologize—a year later.

On the other hand, Rabbi Shmuel Boteach of Chabad has just recently written a brand new book, “Kosher Jesus,” where he actually praises Jesus as a 1^st century Jewish teacher! I doubt the late Rebbe would have approved of his followers extolling the greatness of Jesus as a Jewish sage, but some people are attempting to change some of the old world attitudes. If anything, Hassidic followers of Chabad, Satmar, Bratzlav and others must be saying a collective, ‘Oy vei!” as his work goes to print next month. Kudos go to Rabbi Boteach! I doubt the Rebbe would have approved of such a book.

“The Jewish Annotated New Testament” was just released.  This volume is a study edition of the NSRV translation of the New Testament with commentary and essays by Jewish Biblical scholars (including Jewish New Testament scholars) such as Marc Zvi Brettler, Amy-Jill Levine, Daniel Boyarin, and Mark Nanos. The scholars attempt to understand the NT from a respectful Jewish perspective. Such a work would hardly have been possible a few centuries ago. Fortunately, countless numbers of Christian scholars are now studying Talmud and other Judaic texts to better understand the life of Jesus as a Jew.

Yes, the world is changing.

Should Nitel Nacht be observed today? Not unless you wish to offend your Christian neighbors. While there are number of customs that originated during the most depraved times of medieval history, it behooves us to let go of our medieval attitudes.

As modern Jews, it behooves us to cultivate a relationship with our Christian neighbors and friends based on the principle of mutual respect. Jewish leaders often insist that Christianity purge itself of its anti-Semitic attitudes, and this is necessary for the sake of all our sanity. As Jews, we have to do our part in getting rid of our own dysfunctional attitudes. Would it not be wonderful to see Haredi and Hassidic Jews seize the initiative and greet the Christian clergy of Jerusalem with a heartfelt, “Good morning, Fr. So-and-so . . .” A simple greeting would go a long way in bettering our relations. Spitting, on the other hand, will only create more anti-Semitism.

Certain customs really should have been discarded long ago in the dustbin of history. Fortunately, most Jews today have long historically embraced this change in attitude–except for a handful of Hassidic Jews in Brooklyn and in Israel who are still desperately clinging on to the ghosts of Christmas past. Unfortunately, many fundamentalists and radicals of all the Western faiths are still holding on to the negative and hateful caricatures of the Other that continue to be drummed into the minds of young impressionable children at home, church, synagogues, mosques, and schools.

Today, when we have a holiday celebration like Christmas and New Years, people generally have a family get-together, watch some football and enjoy their dinners, exchanging gifts. However, several centuries ago, people used to look for a different kind of entertainment; they would attack Jews on Christmas or Easter. The world was a very different kind of place.  Let us do our part and make sure our children never have to grow up in a religiously intolerant community again. Continue Reading

You must have heard this story about a child named Haim, who attended Heder (religious school). After coming home from class, his Zeyde (grandpa) asks him, “So nu, what did you learn today at Heder?” The child answers, “Well,  the Rebbe told us a story about Moses and all those people crossing the Red Sea that was really great! … So Moses got on his Ipad 2, texted some messages to the Israeli Air Force, the jets soon flew over and bombed the Egyptian army to smithereens!” The Zeyde can hardly believe his ears, “So, is that what they are teaching you in Heder?!”  Haim replies, “Zeyde, if I told you what the Rebbe really taught us, you’d never believe it!”

Jewish historical events often reflect the spin of the narrator. This does not necessarily mean that a story is a fiction. We simply need to understand the context by how a story is narrated. Hanukkah is one of those holidays, much like Passover. Even myth often has a basis in fact, which is often embellished by tradition. The task of a modern scholar is to solve the mystery of how the story came to assume its present form. In this sense, the scholar must be a little bit like Sherlock Holmes (see the new movie, it rocks!!)

The children of the original Hasmoneans who fought the Greeks proved to be a disappointment; most of them became as corrupt as the people their grandparents revolted against. Perhaps the marriage of priestly and political power proved to be too incongruous to balance—much like we see in Israel today. Politics and religion are a lot like meat and milk; each by itself is permitted, but when cooked, they form a forbidden substance.

Several centuries later, around the time of the Talmud’s redaction (ca. 400 C.E.), the Talmud nonchalantly asks:

• What is the origin of Hanukkah? Our Rabbis taught: On the twenty-fifth of Kislev begins the days of Hanukkah, which are eight, and on which mourning and fasting are forbidden. For when the Greeks entered the Temple, they defiled all the oils therein, and when the Hasmoneans [i.e., the Maccabees] defeated them, they searched and found only one cruse of oil with the seal of the High Priest,  but which contained enough [oil] for one day’s lighting only; yet a miracle happened and they lit [the menorah from that single cruse of oil and it lasted for] for eight days. The following year these [days] were made a Festival including the recitation of the Hallel and thanksgiving.[1]

The rabbis make no reference to the actual book of Maccabees, which the Christian church preserved. It is significant that the narrator of 2 Mac 10:5 does not mention anything about the miracle of the candles burning for eight consecutive nights. Here is what it does say:

• On the anniversary of the day on which the temple had been profaned by the Gentiles, that is, the twenty-fifth of the same month Chislev, the purification of the temple took place. The Jews celebrated joyfully for eight days as on the feast of Booths, remembering how, a little while before, they had spent the feast of Booths living like wild animals in caves on the mountains. Carrying rods entwined with leaves, green branches and palms, they sang hymns of grateful praise to him who had brought about the purification of his own Place. By public edict and decree they prescribed that the whole Jewish nation should celebrate these days every year.  Such was the end of Antiochus surnamed “Epiphanes.”[2]

Another ancient text dating back toward the beginning of the 1^st century, the Megillat Ta’anit, explains a different reason why Hanukkah lasted for eight days:

• Why did the rabbis make Chanukah eight days? Because … the Hasmoneans  entered the Temple and erected the altar and whitewashed it and repaired all of the ritual utensils. They were kept busy for eight days. And why do we light candles? When the Hasmoneans entered the Temple there were eight iron spears in their hands, which they covered with wood and drove into the ground, lighting oil in each and using them as lamps.[3]

According to this version, it ought to be obvious why the Rabbis purposely left the real story out. A single canister of undefiled oil would have become instantly defiled once it was used on the spears, which were ritually contaminated from war.

A second midrashic source, the Pesikta Rabbati, composed around 845 CE, relates the following:

• “Why do we kindle lights on Chanukah? Because when the Hasmoneans sons, the High Priest, defeated the Hellenists, they entered the Temple and found there eight iron spears. They stuck candles on them and lit them . . .”[4]

The story gets much more interesting when we read the Mishnah 10:1 of tractate Sanhedrin:

• Rabbi Akiva says, Even one who reads external books – Kehati explains, “there are the books by heretics, who interpreted the Torah, Prophets, and Writings according to their own opinion, and did not rely on the expositions of the Sages (R. Yitzhak Alfasi).”

In one Talmudic discussion found on page 100b, the “Sifre Minim” is referred to by some of the Amoraim, e.g., R. Yosef, who notes that the forbidden books refer to the writings of Ben Sira, but concludes that certain passages may be read so long as they do not offend the religious sensibilities of the community. Ben Sira’s book is interesting because he appears to reject the belief in the afterlife—a point which would most certainly have earned his book being excluded from the biblical canon, e.g., “When a man dies, he inherits corruption; worms, gnats and maggots” (Ben Sira 10:11).

Some scholars propose, it is also possible that the entire Apocrypha was included among the other “forbidden books,” because the book of Maccabees glorifies the triumph of the Hasmoneans.[5] I would only add that the glorification of the Hasmoneans’s descendants ( the Sadducees) was an anathema to the young Pharisee movement, as personified by R. Akiba and his colleagues. In addition, the absence of the miracle of oil burning eight nights would have undermined rabbinical authority and its “official” version of the Hanukkah story. Besides, much of the Apocrypha extolls Greek wisdom and represents one of the first major attempts to graft the philosophical values of Jerusalem and Athens together–a process that would later get jump-started by Philo of Alexandria, Saadia, Maimonides, Gersonides and other Jewish thinkers in the medieval era.

Simply put, the real story had to be suppressed because of political reasons.

Now, outside of the Talmud, there are some other narratives that explain why the holiday of Hanukka was originally called “lights,” which reads:

• Now Judas celebrated the festival of the restoration of the sacrifices of the temple for eight days; and omitted no sort of pleasures thereon: but he feasted them upon very rich and splendid sacrifices; and he honored God, and delighted them, by hymns and psalms. Nay, they were so very glad at the revival of their customs, when after a long time of intermission, they unexpectedly had regained the freedom of their worship, that they made it a law for their posterity, that they should keep a festival, on account of the restoration of their temple worship, for eight days. And from that time to this we celebrate this festival, and call it Lights. I suppose the reason was, because this liberty beyond our hopes appeared to us; and that thence was the name given to that festival . . .[6]

Note that Josephus actually provides much more than a scant and reluctant mentioning of the holiday’s origins especially when contrasted to the Babylonian Talmud’s version. The theme of light plays an important role as a symbol of perfection, enlightenment, clarity, and perfect being. Interestingly enough, just as Aaron and his sons lit the menorah in the Temple, so too did their descendants—the Hasmoneans (as noted by Ramban, in his commentary on Numbers 8:1-4). In addition, the 25^th word of the Torah is “or,” (light), and its synchronicity helped reinforce the triumph of light over the forces of darkness and hopelessness.

Lastly, there is some conjecture that the suggests the victorious Jews may have witnessed either a large meteorite shower or possibly saw the appearance of a comet at the time the Temple was being cleansed of its ritual impurities, hence the name, “Lights,” which incidentally is also mentioned in the NT John 10:22, where it is explicitly identified as the “Feast of Dedication.”

Incidentally, the Feast of Dedication, i.e., Hanukkah, was also known as the “Tabernacles of the month of Kislev” (2 Macc 1.9).

 

Notes:

[1] BT Talmud 21b.

[2] Cf. 1 Macc 4:36–59; 2 Macc 1:18–2:19; 10:1–8 for a fuller account of what happened.

[3] Megilat Ta’anit ch. 9.

[4] Pesikta Rabbati ch. 2. Continue Reading