Torah – Don't Gel Too Soon

Off the Grid – Torah and A Major Light Show

I'll be offline until Sunday celebrating a somewhat (and undeservedly) obscure Jewish holiday called Shavuot.* It celebrates the giving of the Torah on Mt. Sinai – a story I love not only for its religious importance but also because it sounds like such a wild light show.

16. It
came to pass on the third day when it was morning, that there were thunder
claps and lightning flashes, and a thick cloud was upon the mountain, and a
very powerful blast of a shofar, and the entire nation that was in the camp
shuddered.

17.
Moses brought the people out toward God from the
camp, and they stood at the bottom of the mountain.

18.
And the entire Mount Sinai smoked because the
Lord had descended upon it in fire, and its smoke ascended like the smoke of
the kiln, and the entire mountain quaked violently.

You know I'm not a Bible quoter but this is just so great and dramatic – isn't is? Anyway I'll see you Sunday.

*OH and the cheesecake is up there because this is a holiday that is, traditionally, heavy with dairy meals.

THERE WAS A TORAH IN AUSCHWITZ

On Sunday, more than a hundred people stood in the aisles of their gathering place, most of them weeping. It wasn’t a funeral, at least in the usual sense of the word, but it was an event so profoundly moving that few were left untouched. We all stood, in our synagogue, on the final day of Passover, in the presence of a Torah that had been hidden in Auschwitz and has only now been recovered and restored. [First though, it’s important that you know that the Torah is the central road map of Judaism – all traditions and laws, ideals and values, emerge from these five books: Genesis (B’reshit), Exodus (Sh’mot), Leviticus ( Vayyikra), Numbers (Bemidbar) and Deuteronomy (D’varim.)] It’s an amazing story and best told by our rabbi, who is responsible for bringing this moment to us. The story, in his words, appears at the bottom of this post.

Even the most spiritual person – one who easily connects to G-d, needs help sometimes. Praying, feeling any connection at all, takes work and concentration. But this day — this day — we were in the presence of something so remarkable that the sense of holiness was everywhere. I know this sounds way over the top – but stay with me. Here’s what happened:

On Sabbath (Saturday), Monday, Thursday and holidays, we always read from the Torah during services. On Regular Sabbaths and weekdays we make our way through the five books; on holidays we re-read selected excerpts that relate to that particular festival. On this day, closing Passover, we read the prescribed passages, and then, a dear, gentle member of our congregation who is himself a Holocaust survivor took this special Torah, which contained four panels that had been hidden in Auschwitz and began to walk slowly up one aisle and down the other so that everyone who wished to could reach it. As he walked, another congregant – with an exquisite and soulful voice, sang Ani Mamin, the prayer that, witnesses told his family, his own great-grandfather (as had so many other Shoah victims) sang as he marched to his death at the hands of the Nazis. Orthodox services include no musical instruments, just voices, so only this sole, mournful chant swept our friend along as he made his way through the synagogue.

There was no other sound in the room. Silently, each of us moved to the aisle to touch this sacred representation of so much pain and so much faith. Silently, we watched as it passed and made its way to the stand where it would rest as it was unrolled, and read. As its cover was being removed, our rabbi urged us all to "move closer" – leave our seats and, from each side of the mechitza (room divider), gather near. He was right. Imagine looking at, seeing before you, a Torah panel that had been smuggled into Auschwitz and hidden there as long as it was a death camp. It’s such a feeling of reverence, sadness, mourning and privilege that you need to imagine it for yourself; it’s not possible to describe. I will tell you ,though, that almost everyone was either teary-eyed or weeping openly. And so it went as the Torah was read, wrapped, silently marched through the congregation one more time and placed in the Ark until it could be returned to those who gave us the privilege of being in its presence.

This all sounds VERY melodramatic, I know. I myself had often argued that our identity as Jews can’t be built upon the suffering of those murdered six million – that we must feel our faith as a positive force, not only as a continuation that honors their suffering. But not this day. This day we all shared a connection with those who died, many who must have been our ancestors, whose grandchildren would have been at our weddings and bar mitzvahs, who really did belong to us – and who read from the thousands of Torahs that, unlike this one, did not survive the pillage and flames. Every time the Torah is returned to the Ark, the congregation sings a song about it that ends:

It
is a tree of life to those who hold it fast and all who cling to it find
happiness. Its ways are ways of pleasantness, and all its paths are
peace.

This day – we all heard these words in such a different way, understanding what these few pages must have meant to those who had hidden them for so long.

I can’t tell, if you weren’t there – if it’s possible to understand the experience — at least at the hands of my limited skills as a writer. But I wanted you to know about it — that it’s possible still to find such a moment of clarity and understanding. That even someone like me, so reluctant to place meaning in things — even articles representing faith like prayer books or even Torahs, can be shaken to the bone in the presence of something that bears witness both to the pain of our ancestors and, so powerfully, to the power of the faith we share with them.

Here’s our Rabbi’s story of the history of this Torah (I’ve included links to clarify a couple words):

The Torah is a Tree of Life The Last Day of Pesach, 5768
Shmuel Herzfeld, Ohev Sholom, the National Synagogue, Washington DC

This past Sunday, as we prepared to recite Yizkor*, we first gave honor to a
special Torah that was visiting with our congregation.

Here is the story of the Torah and how we came to have it with us on this
one occasion.

Two days before Pesach I stopped in the Silver Spring Jewish Book Store to
buy some gifts for Pesach, when I saw this Torah which said on the mantle,
“Rescued from Auschwitz.”

The owner of the store is a sofer and a rabbi and a very good friend by the
name of Menachem Youlis. Rabbi Youlis told me that the Torah was being given to
the Central Synagogue in New York City on Wednesday April 30. The Torah was
being donated to them by Alice and David Rubenstein and had been lovingly
restored by Rabbi Youlis through his Save a Torah Foundation.

I was overwhelmed by being in the presence of this Torah. I couldn’t stop
thinking about it. Here was living proof that our Torah is eternal. The Nazis
tried to destroy us physically but they could not destroy the Torah.

The next week I mentioned the beauty of this Torah to my friends, Secretary
William Cohen and his wife Janet Langhart Cohen and they graciously offered to
ask David Rubenstein to lend us the Torah so that we could read it in our shul
before it went to New York. David Rubenstein generously agreed.

And so we had the honor of reading from the Torah in our synagogue on the
last day of Pesach.

Before Yizkor I told the congregation the story of this Torah.

The Torah was recently found in the city of Oswiecim which is where the
death camp of Auschwitz was located.

I had learned about this city and its Jewish life from my rebbe, Rabbi Avi
Weiss. He knew this town well because his father lived there till he was 16.
It is likely that Rabbi Weiss’ father had actually heard this Torah being
read.

There was a tradition amongst the survivors of Oswiecim that two days
before the Nazis came to burn down the synagogue of Oswiecim the Torahs of the
synagogue were taken and buried in separate metal boxes in the Jewish cemetery.
The Nazis took a perverse pleasure in destroying Sifrei Torah in terrible ways
that purposefully desecrated the Torah.

Many had tried to find these Torahs and indeed, the spot where the
synagogue stood was excavated but no Sifrei Torah were ever found.

So Rabbi Menachem Youlis thought that perhaps the tradition told over the
years was correct. Maybe there really was a Torah buried in the cemetery.

He traveled to Oswiecim to check the cemetery but he did not find even one
Torah.

When he returned home he was despondent. But then his son told him, “Maybe
the cemetery was bigger back then…” Lo and behold the original cemetery was
built over and today it is just twenty-five percent of the size that it once
was.

So Rabbi Youlis took his metal detector and started searching the original
cemetery by looking under the homes where the cemetery originally was.

Lo and behold, he found a metal box. He opened up the metal box and found
a Torah scroll.

There was only one problem…the Torah scroll was missing four panels.
Without these four panels, the Torah scroll could not be kosher…. Where could
these panels be?

He took out an ad in the local paper and asked if anyone had panels of a
Torah from before the war.

The next day he received a call from a Priest who said he had four panels.

The panels were an exact match in pagination, style and content. Obviously
they were originally from the Torah he had found buried in the cemetery.

Rabbi Youlis learned that the Priest was born a Jew—named Zeev—and was sent
to Auschwitz. Before the Torah had been buried in the Oswiecim cemetery these
four panels had been removed and smuggled through Auscwitz by four different
people.

As each person who had a panel was about to die they passed along the
panels. Eventually the four panels made it into the hands of Zeev who guarded
them as a Priest for over 60 years.

Rabbi Youlis lovingly restored the Torah and made it kosher once again. He
added these four panels to the entire Torah. The four panels were all selected
for a good reason:

The first panel contained the Ten Commandments from the book of Exodus.
The Ten Commandments contain with it the word Zachor—the obligation to always
remember.

The second panel spoke about the curses that will befall the Jewish people
on the day the God hides His face from us. These curses came true during the
dark days of the Holocaust. But we know that since these curses came true, the
blessings that Hashem promises us will also come true.

The third panel contained the section from Parshat Pinchas that spoke about
korbanot—sacrifices, burnt offerings—that were offered to God.

The last panel contained the Shema from Deuteronomy. In that same panel
was also found the Ten Commandments from Deuteronomy.

The Ten Commandments from Exodus say, Zakhor et hashabbat, remember
the Shabbat.

Explain the rabbis, Zakhor ve-shamor bedibbur echad neemru, at the
same time that remember was said, so was the word shamor, to guard.

At the same time that we have an obligation to remember the past we also
have an obligation to guard the memory of the korbanot of the shoah—the
victims of the Holocaust.

When Rabbi Youlis looked at this Torah he noticed that the word
shamor (in Deuteronomy) was missing the letter, vav. The Torah
had been originally written without this letter included in it. The vav,
has a numerical value of 6, but it also represents the six million. Rabbi
Youlis added the vav to the Torah and thereby made it kosher. By adding
the vav to this Torah he also symbolically made an eternal memorial to
the memory of all those who perished from the town of Oswiecim and in
Auschwitz.

Now that the Torah is kosher it will be guarded and watched by the Central
Synagogue, where it will be read from every Yom Kippur. And every other year it
will be taken by 10,000 students as they march through Auschwitz on March of the
Living. And every time it is used the six million will be guarded (shamor) and
remembered (zachor).

*That’s a memorial prayer for loved ones recited on several holidays each year.

A PLACE FOR EVERY JEWISH GIRL

This weekend was a special one at our synagogue: our semi-annual "Makom shabbaton." Makom means place, and the program, initiated by someone I greatly admire and sponsored in part by a local Jewish women’s foundation, works to help young girls find a place in the complicated world of Orthodox Judaism. Clearly, given the divided seating and prohibitions on certain kinds of participation, it’s a difficult undertaking, but the concept, and execution, of this project are exemplary.

Today girls in the third, fourth and fifth grade stood before the entire congregation and delivered commentary on the Torah reading for this morning, which was Va-Yiggash, the story of the reconciliation between Joseph and the brothers who sold him into slavery. It’s complicated stuff, but with the help of their spectacular teacher, they made wonderful sense of it. Why didn’t Joseph tell his dad he was OK for all those 20+ years? Why did he hide a cup in his little brother’s bag of grain, and "frame" him as a thief? Why, in big brother Judah’s pleas to Joseph for mercy, did he mention their father 14 times? In the mini-sermons given today those questions, and more, were answered.

I wish you could have seen these little girls (really, 9-12 years old) stand in front of a huge sanctuary and speak in clear, confident voices, retelling bits of the story, citing commentators and making their points. It was thrilling.

There’s lots more to do for both girls and grown women in the Orthodox world, but days like today, and the growth of groups like the Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance encourage optimism. Of course here I am, only four years into life as a somewhat – more and more – Orthodox woman -and already ready to join the revolution. [What else is new? ]

The women (and men) who are part of this movement are smart religious activists and it’s an inspiring community indeed. What happened today is emblematic of their commitment to bringing more and more equity to the lives of religious Jewish women and in the process they are building a remarkable constituency and setting an amazing example for women (and men )from six to sixty and beyond.

JERUSALEM DIARY 2.0 – DAY TWO (CORRECTED): THE SOTAH, THE HEBREW AND THE MEANDERINGS OF THE DAY

Isn’t this funny? We passed it walking home from dinner tonight and I just thought I’d share it. We’ve had quite a day, one that I’ve already written about once and then, somehow, allowed the post to be devoured by the ethers of the Internet. I’m going to try again but far more briefly as it’s getting late.

First, here’s my daily security photo – from outside the coffee shop where we had breakfast. And yes, this young man is patrolling THE MALL with a machine gun.

After that well-guarded breakfast we went to our first class of this trip at Pardes, a wonderful educational entity that’s tough to describe and even tougher not to love. Our teacher today, as she was last year, was Tovah Leah Nachmani (she’s on the left.) She’s an inspired and inspiring teacher and we had a blast discussing the laws of the Sotah (a woman accused of adultery) and, according to the Book of Numbers (Bamidbar), what should happen to her. You can read it here – beginning with verse 11. It’s fairly horrifying on first (or second or third) reading but this time we ended up with an unusual perspective.

Tovah sent us out with our Chevruta (study partner – mine was my husband) to try to figure out what the commentators were asking themselves as they wrote about this passage -and how they answered. As we did so, a strange perspective emerged. SEE DAY THREE POST FOR IMPORTANT CORRECTION TO THIS: Basically,it seems that asking a woman accused of adultery to stand before God to be judged (the only time God concerned Himself in this way with the laws of men), to drink water mixed with dirt from the Temple floor and the ashes of the burned paper accusing her, and then to wait to see if her belly swelled up or not (yes was a sign of guilt) seems to subjecte her to something both terrifying and humiliating. But once past that, even if she was guilty, there was no physical punishment, only a mandated divorce – and her lover was also punished. SEE DAY THREE POST FOR IMPORTANT CORRECTION TO THIS

There’s more to it though: if his possibly adulterous wife stands before God to be judged, no husband however outraged is going to play God and punish her himself -by killing her ashe could in so many other cultures or even by beating her. The ordeal in fact protects her from worse. In addition, it’s clear to all that the preservation of the family was so important that only God could adjudicate when it was so jeopardized.

There’s lots more to it but it’s really late. Suffice it to say that it was exciting to learn how much more lay behind this disturbing ritual. Even so, it’s all of a piece. )Our hair is dangerous, our voices are dangerous, even the potential for adulterous behavior is dangerous. WE are dangerous. And it’s not, mostly, for what we might do but for what we might cause to be done that is the big issue. Granted, the Sotah has to have been formally warned in advance by her husband that she shouldn’t hang around alone with a specific man he suspects of having designs on her – and she can only be tried if she has done just that, but even so, these rules don’t apply equally to husbands.

One of the most valuable things I’ve learned in the couple of years since I began studying this stuff, however, is that you can’t read it only from the perspective of the present. The culture of the times is a critical variable in the mission and outcome of divine commandments and their enforcement. And of what we can allow ourselves to learn as we read.

Enough already. We also had an amazing walk around the city, bought me an orange hat and had a three hour Hebrew lesson. But that’s for another day. Goodnight for now… and, as I learned today – erev tov.

BLAME IT ON THE ROLLING STONES

Here I am, working in my office with the TV on for company. It’s behind me on a filing cabinet so mostly I’m really listening. And I hear "Christmas, Christmas time is here, time for joy and time for cheer…" It’s Alvin and the Chipmunks – the sped-up voices singing every December since I was in junior high – and they’re singing now because they accompany the opening credits of ALMOST FAMOUS — Cameron Crowe’s wonderful film about an aspiring rock journalist who wrote for ROLLING STONE, and it has emerged on TBS.

Immediately I’m transported back to the "community room" of Thomas Jefferson High School on Route 51, 6 miles south of Pittsburgh. Sock hops. Standing along the wall waiting for someone to ask you to dance. Crying in the girls’ room when they didn’t. Driving around for hours in Barbara Morton’s dad’s convertible listening to our "Daddio of the Raddio" Porky Chedwick.

Beyond it all, the transporting power of the music. It’s actually kind of weird; this week I was in a Torah class studying ancient rules about when men are, or are not, permitted to listen to a woman’s voice. The rules are very different for the singing voice than for the speaking voice. Yeah – both of them are a bit peculiar but it is fascinating that as long as people (mostly men) have been thinking about these things. they’ve been aware of the power of music to distract, seduce, inspire and arouse.

However disturbing it may be to learn that our long-ago sisters, in all cultures, not just Jewish ones, were isolated because of the perceived dangers of what might arise between women and men if relationships were allowed to emerge, they weren’t wrong about the underlying power of the music.

The theory — at least one — was that listening to a woman’s voice, asking how she is, even, could lead to dangerous interactions. I’m not here right now to discuss this topic, but to observe that as long as man has been making music it has been seen as dangerous and seductive.

Nothing too profound, but it’s Saturday night. What do you want?

UNKINDEST CUT

I’m having a very hard time. For a project, I’ve spent most of Wednesday reading infertility, IVF, adoption and other blogs written by would-be parents who are unable to conceive. This 25-year old photo is of two boys, my sons, conceived in no time. Granted there was a miscarriage in between that hit us very hard, but the blessing of these two little boys came rapidly and without incident.

I’m familiar with this issue – I have so many friends with adopted kids — but the articulateness of these women and the agony of repeated technical failures they describe, is unthinkable. It’s so ironic – years spent in your twenties worrying that you ARE pregnant, then this.

I can’t imagine many experiences more painful — though they existed even in biblical times (remember the pain of Sarah, Hannah and Rachel?) and they’re for a lifetime. "Do you have kids?" is the classic ice-breaker. It just reminds me one more time of the blessings in my life. It’s not that I don’t appreciate my kids every day; as my sons will tell you I’m a bit over the top where they are concerned. And I’m tiresome on that fact that they’re a blessing and a joy.

What I don’t often consider is the fact that we had them so easily – that they are, quite literally, a gift. My heart breaks for my sisters not blessed with this privilege – and I won’t soon forget their pain.

DEEP IN A DREAM: THE RED TENT

While I was in Jerusalem I went several times to Pardes Institute, a remarkable school to study the Bible, Talmud and commentaries. My husband and I love to study while we’re visiting places; it all seems so much more real – and sinks in more, too. We were there during the week that the story of the rape of Dinah is read on Shabbat. It’s pretty profound and provocative and a wonderful teacher named Rabbi Reuven Grodner taught the class. We were transfixed: the story of the vengeful brothers and their far from vengeful father Jacob is troubling to anyone – but particularly to women.

I remembered that The Red Tent was written in Dinah’s voice, so I decided to read it. I had tried once before but it seemed too overwrought and almost overwritten then. Now though, I find myself more interested in the stories in the Torah — the universality of Bible stories and all they represent — so I stuck it in my suitcase — and once we’d studied the Genesis story of Dinah I pulled it out.

It’s really quite an experience — almost a fever, like The Virgin Suicides. The sisterhood and love among women, the pain of childbirth, the rivalry and particularly the remarkable power author Anita Diamant provides to each of the main characters — is thrilling.

There’s a kind of Biblical interpretation called a Midrash and those that I, as a beginner, have read, are all pretty male-oriented. This book is one big women’s perspective/Midrash full of love, passion, pain, loss, love, birth, death, misery, joy and poetry. Much of it does NOT appear in the Bible but that’s true of the old Midrashim as well. I can’t stop thinking about the women of this book, their lives and stories. I came to love them and their stories — so very very different from the ones the conventional Bible stories tell.

THE HARD PARTS

This picture, pulled from an image file because my camera battery died, is of a sign that appears all over the Jerusalem neighborhood called Mea Shearim. The article I linked to here calls it a “living museum” but somehow to me it’s always been oppressive. I go to an Orthodox synagogue and am accustomed to some painful facts about the role of women in Orthodox Judaism but this is different. To me it feels so joyless and heavy – I feel it sitting on my chest. No one smiles. No one will exchange a nod or even a glance as you pass them on the street – not the men who technically aren’t allowed to look at women not their wives, not the women – I’m not sure why — or even the kids. They are as closed off from us as if we were on two sides of a glass.

Sure you can buy things but that’s it. And it seems so strange to me that their stores are tangles of goods — no displays, no efforts to make things attractive – just piles and jumbles. I keep telling myself that it’s because the material world is so irrelevant to them. Their lives – every moment – belong to God. And to many I know that’s laudable. In some ways it is… but — and I’m thinking out loud here — in my view God gave us the rest of the world — why shouldn’t we enjoy it, too?

I guess I’ll just have to continue to struggle. I never could stand not being able to connect with people. Maybe I just want the connection that I have no right to expect. My husband says that I’m looking at THEIR lives through MY eyes and I have to open my mind to the acceptable differences between us. But they transmit such disapproval and so clearly feel none of the commonality that I want to feel with others who choose to practice Judaism that it’s tough. I’m thinking as I’m typing that it’s my bad – that I have to simply accept without comment the lives of others and stop wanting them to love me. Wow. Maybe that’s the whole thing — that and what I feel about the women and their very constrained lives. More to come on this I suspect.

Spent the rest of the day wandering around Jerusalem. In the morning we took a two hour class on the story of the Rape of Dina in Genesis. Because it was particularly important to me to read, particularly as a woman, it was quite exciting to spend two hours on it and the views of the sages about it. I love the intellectual activity that is part of Jewish study. Questions — then answers… but always more than one — shared observations, shared theories and opinions. To me the idea that Judaism is not a destination but a journey informed by shared study is wonderful and among the best aspects of it. Just the opposite of what seems to be going on in Mea Shearim. Gotta keep thinking… but right now I’m just going to sleep. Signing off from the City of Gold.

PATTI SMITH, CBGB AND AN OBSERVANT LIFE

I’ve never been to CBGB OMFUG. Why do I care about a punk music club whose entrance was always spattered with graffiti and most of whose musical appearances were by people I knew almost nothing about — except Bruce Springsteen [he wrote this with Patti Smith] , Patti Smith [two favorites: People Have the Power, Peaceable Kingdom], Joan Jett [I Love Rock and Roll] and a few others? (I don’t t know the lore all that well – but it always seemed to me that women really got a crack at center stage at CBGB.) I think it was just nice to see it there – waving its fist in the air. It has closed – maybe to reopen, maybe not – and I’m just kind of sad to see it losing its lease to what some have called "the suburbification of Manhattan."

Patti Smith, whom I had the honor to meet at last year’s Media Reform conference in St. Louis, was a real CBGB heroine and I felt, meeting her, a deep connection. We’re the same age. She’s a heartbreakingly honest person who lost her husband way too soon (and wrote People Have the Power partly at his instigation) — a mom and a singular human soul. The music she made was remarkably articulate (she is a poet after all) and inspiring. I’ve linked above to two of my favorites — one of which, People Have the Power, was an anthem of the Vote for Change election tour in 2004.

So what do the final days of a gritty music club where I never went have to do with my life as an observant Jew? Believe it or not – plenty. Both of them were fascinating universes I always observed from the outside and wondered about. Both stood for making one’s own way to truth. That search has taken me, for some reason I’m still grappling with, to the Orthodox Jewish community where I’ve found a home and spirit that brings a new kind of meaning to my life.

At my last big birthday I complained to a friend about my age and her response was "but you’re completely reborn in this new life – you’re not old AT ALL!" In some ways she’s right. I certainly feel that there’s a universe I’m traveling through that’s new, moving, inspiring and mysterious. Sometimes though it’s also a pain. For the past several weeks, from Rosh Hashanah (the New Year) to the end of Simchas Torah (Ending the annual, week-by-week reading of the Torah: the five books of Moses – Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers and Deuteronomy and beginning again) the holidays consumed days of time: in synagogue, inviting guests to meals and going to meals at friends, building and dismantling a sukkah and observing the prohibition on driving and work. Since this year many of these days fell on weekends it meant NO catching up on work on Sundays and no farmer’s market. (two weird examples, I admit.) Since it’s the end of tomato season that last was sad though not critical to the future of the human race or my household. Even so, all these small requirements, which I try to follow since I’ve made this commitment, can consume time and tax serenity and spirituality. I’ve come to love the prohibition on the Sabbath and enjoy the quiet days reading, taking walks, visiting, napping and sharing ideas. But the surrender to and acceptance of all these rules is a peculiar experience and I grapple with it daily. Even so, the quest, like that of the young rebels who put CBGB on the map, is a great adventure – and the learning is exhilarating.

Go listen to People Have the Power whether this post makes sense or not. It will make you happy on a Monday – although that’s easier here today since it’s the third amazingly gorgeous fall day in a row – with leaves turning and leaf smells beginning to fill the air. Which, I just realized, takes us right back to faith and gratitude for the world’s beauty when it shows up.