Charedi Men in the Workforce? (gasp) G-d Forbid!

If anything has ever gotten me angry to the bone it's this. Last week, while looking over my local Orthodox newsstand my gaze fell upon the cover of an Orthodox weekly in Hebrew that's published in Israel. The front cover in bold red type read:

The gaon Rabbi Arye Leib Steinman rejected a grant of 100 million dollars for the funding of vocational training for Orthodox men.

I couldn't believe my eyes! The Orthodox in Israel have been yelling bloody murder at the government's plan to cut their financial support as part of a national economic overhaul, and here they reject outright an unprecedented opportunity for young men within the community to provide financial security for their families, which would of course have a massive impact on the economic situation of the entire community, including its Torah study institiutions.

In a report to the "B'sha'ah Tovah" magazine, a group of individuals, headed by a multi-millionaire named Zev Wolfson, are reported to have come up with a grandiose plan to establish vocational training possibilities for young Charedi men. Wolfson, who has made a name for himself raising funds from government and private sources in the U.S., arrived at the home of Rabbi Steinman with an amazing offer. He nonchalantly withdrew an envelope with a signed check of 100 million dollars for the project.

The rabbi surprised all who were there when he sharply remarked, "It is better that Torah students and young men live in poverty rather than wealth. Torah scholars have only emerged from those who have endured lives of deprivation. In all periods where there were difficult tests [of faith], the reality has shown that the poor have withstood those tests from a spiritual vantage point. The wealthy and the prospeous did not withstand those tests, and all their descendants have strayed from the path."

With all due respect to Rabbi Steinman, whose scholarship of Talmud and Jewish law I couldn't dream to gain even a fraction of, that is utter nonsense. Wealthy individuals have always existed within the community with no ill effects on their or their children's spiritual lives. In the U.S. there are thousands of fervently Orthodox who are professionals in various fields, and they adhere strictly to all matters of Jewish law and custom.

The article goes on to say:

The rabbi added that only one who has not merited to study Torah as a "Kolel Yungerman" can be so mistaken as to think that this individual with "shortage of means" is poor, and he would therefore seek to change his standard of living. But the young "Kolel Yungerleit" themselves will tell you that they're living in the Garden of Eden and do not feel poor at all.

Well, I've got news for the good rabbi. I was in Kolel for a number of years, and although the learning was good, life was no Garden of Eden. Far from it. With a growing family and rising expenses, the financial worries hung over me like a cloud until I decided I could take it no longer and went out into the world.

I wasn't alone. Countless young men will tell you that they study in Kolel only because they have no choice. They are not cut out for the rigors of Talmud study. They find life in poverty unbearable. But they have no choice. A friend of mine who spent years in Kolel would tell me often that he finds absolutely no satisfaction in what he's doing.

"Why don't you go get a job?" I would ask.

"I can't read, write, or speak English. What kind of prospects do I have? Work for a minimum wage job? I might as well just struggle through Kolel."

I've heard the same thing from many others. Many who do go out settle for very low paying jobs. The almost non-existant secular education in many Chasidic yeshivas is a farce. And the products of those institutions suffer bitterly for a long time. Many who do take the initiative to try to get vocational training for computer programming, accounting, paralegal work, etc. find that they can't possibly pass the basic entrance exams.

The rabbis of today who submit the population to lives of poverty are at best short-sighted with no leadership vision. At worst, they are power hungry hypocrites, afraid that higher education levels and economic prosperity would result in their losing control over the masses.

No Comment

It's been almost 24 hours and Enetation's comment system has been down all this time. I feel like I'm blogging into space with no one listening, since without comments I have no idea whether anyone has even taken note of my posts. Hellllllooooooooo!!!!

(BTW, my email address is always available for those who've absolutely, positively got to tell me what they think. :-) )

Blogger and BlogSpot haven't been so great lately, so I've been looking into MovableType to solve all my blogging problems. But that makes me a "serious" blogger, doesn't it? Yikes! The responsibilities that entails... Besides, the prospect of trying to get all those perl scripts running properly, and getting all the modules properly installed is enough to give me the shakes.

Shabbes! (My Foot)

It's 3:30 AM and I'm falling asleep on the keyboard, but coming across this story about more Charedi violence on Bar Ilan street in Jerusalem has jolted me awake. Frankly, I find it disgusting, as I'm sure plenty other Charedim do. But what disgusts me even more is the inablity of Charedi rabbis and leaders to come out strongly and unequivocally against this sort of behavior. As a Charedi, I know that this is something the rabbis can stop. The community can make it clear to these hooligans that it won't be tolerated. By their not doing so they are tacitly approving these acts. Jewish motorists driving in Orthodox neighborhoods may anguish some sincere soul somewhere, but I am positive that these demonstrators don't give a crap about Shabbos desecrations. In fact, by throwing stones they're violating the Sabbath themselves!

Lost and Found

Chasidic Jews have a segula, a talisman, for every conceivable predicament, misfortune, or ailment. For a woman in labor, taking along to the hospital a Noam Elimelech--a book on Chasidism authored by a saintly Chasidic Rebbe about two hundred years ago--is bound to make labor more bearable. For extra protection, there's a book called Reziel Hamalach, a mostly incomprehensible book of Jewish mysticism supposedly writtten by the angel Reziel, which is to be laid beneath the childbearing woman's feet. If those two book don't help, nothing will, or so the Chasidim claim.

For thirty days after a baby is born there's a fear that the devil might try to harm the infant or his or her mother. Actually, Chasidim can tell you countless tales of such stories actually happening. To protect against this frightening possibility, the room where mother and baby sleep for the first thirty days is hung with signs and posters containing strange Hebrew and Aramaic words and proclamamtions, along with various names of G-d and the names of some angels. They include for extra measure some scary warnings to any devil who would entertain the notion of harming any of the room's occupants.

Then there are the segulas for the Lost and Found department. When a Chasid loses something, the first thing he does is recite Amar Reb Binyamin. It is a midrashic passage that goes something like this: Rabbi Binyamin said: All are blind until the Holy One Blessed Be He opens their eyes. As the verse says, "And G-d opened her eyes and she saw." Chasidim claim that it's tried and true. Lose something, say Amar Reb Binyamin, and presto! The lost item appears. But even the most ardent reciters of Amar Reb Binyamin sometimes find they need stronger powers. So there's a fallback to a more expensive proposition. If all else fails, donate money to the Reb Meir Ba'al Haness pushke (charity box). Reb Meir Ba'al Haness was a miracle worker in the Tana'ic period (which was about two thousand years ago, for those of you who were asleep during Jewish history class.) His claim to fame was his advice that whenever one find oneself in a predicament, just say, "G-d of Meir answer me," and salvation will apear. So pushkes, especially those for institutions in the Holy Land, often have the words, "In the merit of Reb Meir Ba'al Haness," written on them. And for generations Jews have turned to the "Reb Meir Baal Haness Pushke" to help them get by a difficult situation.

For me these notions have always seemed ridiculously absurd. Silly superstitions that belong to a more primitive age. So when I lose something, instead of mumbling Amar Reb Binyamin, I try just a little bit harder to find it.

Yesterday I was sitting in my office ready to order lunch when I realized my wallet wasn't in my pocket. I couldn't believe it wasn't there. I knew I had it earlier that day, so I couldn't have left it at home. I looked around my desk space and checked my other pockets. Nothing. Exasperated, I mentioned it to one of my Hasidic co-workers.

"Say Amar Reb Binyamin," he suggested.

"Yeah," I said noncommittally, not wanting to get into a philosophical discussions about superstitions. I just needed my wallet.

"Give tzedaka to Reb Meir Ba'al Haness."

"Mm hmm," I said, wishing for some suggestion more substantial. Half absent-mindedly I asked, "How much do you think I should give?"

"I don't know. Depends how much you've got to lose, " he shrugged.

So I guess it's sort of an investment. If the return is big enough it pays to spend more. Perhaps G-d figures if you want a big fat wallet back, he can make you dish out more dough; if it's just a few lousy bucks he'll give it back for some spare change. Well, I had a bunch of credit cards, my driver's license, insurance card, AAA membership card, and about a hundred dollars. So I figured five dollars should be about enough if this trick should ever work. But still I resisted the temptation.

In the afternoon I went around to every store I went to that day, thinking maybe I left my wallet on a store counter when I paid. No luck. The first store I tried was the grocer where I had grabbed a ready made sandwich that morning. The Chasidic owner at the counter said he didn't see any wallet.

"Did you say Amar Reb Binyamin?" he asked.

"No," I said meekly.

"Well, say it. You'll see, it'll turn up."

The same scene happened whereever I went. No one had my wallet, but suggested that I say Amar Reb Binyamin, give a few dollars to Reb Meir Baal Haness, or both.

I called the bus company of the bus I had taken to work in the morning. I though it might have fallen out on the seat. But, no. No wallets had been reported found. Try back tomorrow, the woman on the phone said. Maybe something will have shown up. No mention about Amar Reb Binyamin here, so that was refreshing.

I started to think maybe I should try the Amar Reb Binyamin. It couldn't hurt. It's just a few words. But then I thought to myself, I'm an intelligent person. I don't do those things. I don't believe in superstitious incantations, however harmless.

But I was beginning to get anxious. I couldn't waste time. If I didn't find it soon I would have to cancel my credit cards. I came into work today with a heavy feeling. Coming up the stairs to my office I decided that I won't resist any longer. I mumbled the Amar Reb Binyamin, afraid to even say it out loud lest I start laughing at myself mockingly. This ordeal was starting to get the better of me, and I thought that if I'm getting superstitious, I might as well go all the way and do the money thing. Five dollars to Reb Meir wouldn't really be so bad if it would actually work, I thought to myself, not actually believing that I was allowing myself to do this.

I walked into my office and turned on my computer while sitting down at my desk. I opened a drawer to get some papers out, and lo and behold there was my wallet! I blinked. It was laying right there in front of me. I was sure I had checked there yesterday. Was I actually blind, until I recited that miracle passage? Or perhaps Reb Meir Ba'al Haness considered my five dollar donation worthy enough of a miracle, and he put it there? I'll never know. But with my wallet safely tucked back in my pocket, and everything in it just the way it was, I find I am back to my rational old self. If this was supposed to make me a believer, it didn't work. I'd have to see Reb Meir Ba'al Haness in the flesh with my own eyes for that to happen.

Bible Stories

My eldest daughter was reading the fun pages in The Jewish Press a couple of weeks ago when she came across a "Match the Pairs" game. There were two columns of biblical names, each name with its pair in the other column. She reads English pretty well for a Chasidic kid--probably the best in her class, most of whom never read English language newspapers, that's for sure--but names like Jacob, Esau, and David were totally unfamiliar to her, since she knows only Yakov, Eisav, and Doovid. So my assistance was needed for deciphering the names into the more understandable Ashkenazi/Yiddish versions. Soon we came across the names Samson and Delilah, which I explained were Shimshon and Deleeloh, expcting her to show some recognition. Her face was blank.

"Haven't you ever heard of Shimshon?" I asked incredulously.

"No," she said.

"Shimshon! Shimshon Hagibor (Samson the mighty)!" I was sure she must have heard that one.

"Nope. I never heard of him. Who was he?"

Then I realized that Chasidic Yeshivas and girls' schools often omit the Prophets and Writings sections of the Bible from their curricula. The Jewish Enlightenment in Europe, I recalled, tried to emphasize those as important studies of Jewish history and culture, so many Chasidim took the polar opposite approach and kept it out completely. They feared those sections of the Bible would be viewed as mere historical documents instead of the sacred writings they believed them to be.

But still, most children hear at least some of the most captivating Bible stories at one time or another, even if not studied per se. So I couldn't believe that their teachers never told them any of these. I knew they tell plenty of Rebbe stories and Eliyahu Hanavi stories, so why not these?

We continued down the list. Next was Goliath. "Golyas," I translated.

She'd never heard of him either. David, yes. But nothing about the mighty giant he'd slain.

I decided it is my parental duty to tell her these tales of old. But alas, I couldn't remember all the heart-stopping details, so I promised I'll get out my Nach (Prophets and Writings) to refresh my memory, and at the next Shabbos meal I'll regale them with these wonderful stories.

So at the first opportunity I had, I got out the thick one-volume Artscroll Tanach, with its excellent modern English translation, and started reading the Samson and Delilah story. But viewing it now with the somewhat free-thinking mindset I've adopted since the last time I've read it--probably ten years ago--I thought I was reading a completely different story. I remembered Samson as a mighty holy man, but suddenly he seemed all too human. Having been raised a Chasid, I had been trained to instinctively pass over passages that might suggest ordinary humanness, and just accept that those passages don't lend themselves to ordinary, comprehensible interpretations.

The Bible relates: [Samson] went up and told his father and mother, and said, "I have seen a woman in Timnath, of the daughters of the Philistines. Now, take her for me as a wife." Many readers may not know this, but in the world of Chasidim, for a young man to say, "I have seen a pretty girl whom I would like to marry," he would be considered a worthless bum. Plain and simple. Young men just don't "notice" pretty girls. And if they do they don't say anything about it. And if a young man were to say, "I'd like to marry the non-Jewish, Philistine girl from the next town," his parents could quite likely have a heart attack. So Chasidim just skim over these sections by muttering, "We don't really understand what really went on there." Of course, today I know that what Samson did was perfectly fine even for a holy man.

But my problems with Samson's holiness did get stronger as I kept reading. The Bible gives us a couple of anecdotes to illustrate Samson's great strength and military prowess. He slays a lion with his bare hands, kills one thousand Phillistines with the jawbone of a donkey, and tears out the doors of the Gaza city gates and carries it on his head, doorposts and all, up a mountain. Astonishing feats. But through it all, there's a great deal of bloodshed, some of it quite disturbing. Samson lost a wager, the Bible tells us, and he had to pay "thirty sheets and thirty changes of clothing." Apparently, this was quite a sum and Samson didn't quite have the cash on hand, so to speak. So he found a simple solution. "He went down to Ashkelon and struck down thirty men. He took their garments and gave the changes of clothing to the winners." Brave? Yes. Strong? Yes. Holy man? I'm not quite sure. I don't think killing thirty men for their clothes is the model I want for my kids.

The story gets further complicated when Samson hangs out one night in Gaza with a local whore. Then he goes on to marry a Phillistine woman. I then realize that Samson was not the greatest man Jews had ever known. But the story is still in the annals of ancient Jewish history, and therefore deserves retelling to my kids. I don't tell them he was holy. I tell them he was not the greatest person morally or religiously. But he was an important leader of the Jews who made some mistakes and died a hero's death. I do leave out the part about the prostitute. They have time to read about that when they need to retell it to their kids.

Katle Kanye Speaks Up

I'm trying to bring the debate about my Shabbos dilemma to a close--since the topic has already been exhausted in the comments. But I came across fellow rebel Katle Kanye's hilarious take on the discussion, and I couldn't resist mentioning it. For those of you who can read Yiddish, you have to check it out. Beware, though, it requires an insider's understanding of the Chasidic and the Charedi world. Since most of you don't read that gloriously folksy language, I'll translate just a little part where he touches on the issue of Chasidic behavior that I've just been discussing (Be aware that it is impossible to truly convey the exceptional talent of this biting satirist, but it's the best I could do) :

Is this the greatest sin of which the Charedim can be accused? I can think of many greater ones. Without wanting to provoke the heavenly prosecutors, I think that being woken up on a plane to complete the 'minyan' for 'Mincha' is surely much wose. And forget about the real big tzadikim who need to wash 'nagel vasser' at their seating place, so as to, G-d forbid, avoid violating the Magen Avraham's capital sin of striding four cubits without hand washing after awakening. It's pikuach nefesh, after all. A matter of life and death. It is true we like to examine our neighbor's tzitzis, and we take after our father in heaven that when we want to want to endow virtue on someone we suggest a few commandments. That's why when we give someone charity we don't say thank you but "you shall merit more mitzvos". But HR didn't throw stones at passerby, and didn't even block traffic on his street. Neither did he schlep Amnon Yitzchok as Guest of Honor. In all he only requested that in his vitual private domain he should be granted this favor. And we have a rule, "All that the host tells you to do you shall do." So what's the big deal?

Criticism, Fair and Otherwise

I have a good friend who is also a rather rebellious Chasid--one of the few who know about this blog. He often slips into these diatribes against Chasidim. He gets especially irked about their coarse and impolite behavior. He considers himself refined and cultured--which is true to an extent, and takes great pains to make a good impression and show himself as a Chasid who is attuned to the mores and values of cultured society.

But to my own surprise (and his), I often find myself defending Chasidim against his criticisms. It's not that I don't consider the Chasidim's often-impolite, sometimes outright rude, behavior inoffensive. I do, and very strongly so. But for some reason, when I hear criticism from someone other than myself, I instinctively put on my defense cap and try to see Chasidim in a more charitable light.

Almost all the accusations he has against Chasidim, I have at one time or another held myself. But suddenly I see it as if through a different lense, and I don't view it as harshly. Chasidim are inconsiderate, he may say. They travel on planes and make a commotion with gathering a minyan for prayers. They make a mess trying to wash their hands at the tiny cup fountains, ending up spilling more water on the floor than down the drain. They get in the way of the stewards and stewardesses, insisting, spitefully it seems, that they must daven right when the crew is trying to move through the aisles serving meals.

He often complains that Chasidim lack fine social graces; they don't hold doors open for the person behind them; they don't usually use nice words like "please" and "excuse me"; when gathering in public for whatever reason, they show no visible regard for the people around them.

But as much as I can't stand that sort of behavior, criticism of it makes me feel uncomfortable. To hear it from the criticizers, Chasidim seem to be the embodiment of the anti-Semitic caricature of the Jew as loud, pushy, arrogant, and unrefined. I can't help but see those accusations, whatever truth there may be to them, as mean-spirited and, perhaps, hateful. I think the fact that I myself, being a clearly identifiable Chasid, have so often been the object of sneers and mockery, has made me resist taking the sneerer's place. So many times have I come across people with an unmistakenly hostile attitude, with the only possible reason being that I was an identifiable Orthodox Jew, that I can never truly identify with one who criticizes meanly.

But at times even I cannot resist being intensely repulsed by certain behaviors, and those I criticize with no qualms. Unfortunately, the Chasidic communities are filled with corrupt leaders and so-called activists. Many of these are self-appointed to communal positions because of personal wealth or pedigree, and often hold the masses in their vise-like grip, by being in control of social services and communal institutions. Government officials find it convenient to deal with these figures as liaisons to the Charedi community, naively thinking that these men have only the interests of their bretheren in mind, but that is not always the case. Moneys meant for needy are often pocketed by those in charge, or it is prioritized to go to cronies and relatives, and only then if there's any left does it go to those truly in need.

So how could people allow it, you ask? How come no one cries out against it? Can't these people be prosecuted for illegal activity? The answer is one word: "moser". A moser is one who informs on his fellow Jews to the authorities. Every schoolchild knows the famous halachic passage: A moser may be put to death even on Yom Kippur. Of course, it is understood more figuratively that literally, and few people nowadays fear being put to death for that sin. But it does reveal the social stigma attached to bringing a fellow Jew to a secular court of law. So the "activists" get rich, the poor remain pious by not telling, and the politicians haven't a clue or don't care to. And life goes on in the blissful world of Chasidim.

Religion and Libertarianism

Reader Yoshev al Hageder comments on my previous post:

this is one of the most unacceptable things in the Chareidi (very orthodox) way of life. What the hell is that YOUR business if I keep Shabbat or not? This is also a sign of hypocrisy, are you selling out all your shares every friday? Do you buy only shares from companies that do not let their Jewish workers work on Shabbat? No! Ha? This will cause you loss...

What I didn't really go into--but is probably my real reason for not putting up a message like that--is that I find that sort of preaching distasteful. Being something of a libertarian, I agree that people should be the ultimate decision makers in everything they do. No other person should dictate to anyone else how he or she should live his or her life. But, of course, each person is free to choose to follow a moral or religious code that appeals to them. That is exercising his or her free will. So now the question arises, what if your religious belief requires that you be careful of actions that may cause someone else to violate one of your principles? I believe that as long as you don't impose your beliefs on other unwilling parties, it is perfectly acceptable to request in a non-aggressive manner that others respect your beliefs when using something you created. The person can then choose to heed your request, or not. In any case, you will have fulfilled your religious requirement.

Having said that, I personally don't like even a minimal amount of sermonizing. My own observance is not at all so exacting for me to preach to others. So I chose to take the no-posting-on-friday road. Arguably, the whole issue may lack consistency, as Yoshev points out. But for his part, by criticizing a simple harmless act, he is himself trying to impose on others his values and modes of behavior. So much for consistency.

Shabbos Dilemmas

Have you ever come across one of those English language Torah tapes of speeches or lectures, or Orthodox children's tapes in English? Many of those have a little message saying, "Please do not play this cassette on the Sabbath or Jewish holidays." Well, I started thinking I may need one of those messages. Now that I've got this blog, every Saturday night when I go online and find new comments and emails from readers I feel a tinge of guilt. I can see many of those comments had to have been posted on the Sabbath. I try to tell myself that it's not my business what others do. But then a little voice in my head tells me that if my blog is available on the Sabbath for people to read, I may be indirectly responsible for another Jew's desecration of the Sabbath. I think there may even be some Halachik discussion about situations like these.

So I thought of putting up a message that would be a rough equivalent to what you see on those lecture cassettes. But somehow nothing made sense to me. I thought of, "Please do not visit this page on the Sabbath." But then I thought, what good is it? Even if the visitor decides to leave the site, they'll just continue browsing other sites. So if anything it would have to be something like "If you reached this page on the Sabbath, please quickly take your hands off your keyboard (or mouse) and do not touch your computer until sundown tonight." Nah. Too preachy. Not my style. Besides, what are the chances someone's actually going to heed that message?

So then I thought, maybe I should put up some kind of discussion about what the Sabbath is all about, why it should be kept, and how to honor it best. But then I started thinking about the halachik permissibility of teaching Torah and Judaism in a manner that in itself is technically prohibited, since the reader will be using the computer on the Sabbath to learn about the Sabbath.

So I just gave up. I just won't post any messages on Fridays, and I hope anyone wishing to comment on past posts will have done so before Shabbos.

Update: It should be noted that according to Judaism non-Jews are not obligated to observe the Sabbath. They may therefore read this blog and comment away to their hearts content, while we Jews have our Shabbos afternoon nap. :-)

Da'as Torah in YU?

Avraham Bronstein wrote a fascinating piece for Jewsweek about Richard Joel, the new YU president, and the search for finding a suitable personality to carry on the banner of Torah U'maddah. But what is most striking is the opposition of many in RIETS to accept a non-rabbinic figure. I thought the YU crowd didn't subscribe to the Da'as Torah philosophy. If so, what is the problem with a purely administrative position being filled by a layman? Furthermore, it seems like even Joel himself and his supporters agree that the ideal candidate would be someone with rabbinic credentials, and the current appointment is only for lack of suitable candidates. Could it be that modern orthodoxy in its heart believes that, for important issues relating to the entire community and to the vibrancy of Orthodoxy, you need a person steeped in Jewish learning to make even non-Halachik desicions? Sounds like Da'as Torah to me.

Stillborn Peace

Yesterday's targeted assasination attempt on Abdel Aziz Rantisi gave me a shudder. Oh, I'm sure he deserved to die. I trust Israeli intelligence when they say he was coordinating attacks on Israelis. But I couldn't believe that the sputters of peace that had started to give me hope would die so quickly. The first thought I had was, the cycle starts again. Hamas will almost certainly respond with devastating attacks, and the faint rays of hope that had begun to shine from Sharm-El-Sheik would disappear. Alas, today's bombing attack in Jerusalem proves I was right. As much as Rantisi deserves it, I don't think it was worth it. I know many argue that Hamas will never stop, but I was willing to give this process a chance which, just maybe, would have resulted in an agreement that would at least remove the international support and sympathy for their struggle.

Laws and Rituals

The Shavuos holiday has come and gone, and I'm still here thinking about what it means to me. Unlike most Chasidim, I didn't stay up all night learning. By two o'clock I just couldn't anymore. Also unlike most Chasidim, I didn't say Tikkun, the standard collection of beginnings and ends of all parts of the Bible and the Oral law, which is recited by many on this night. It's an interesting trick; say the beginng and end verses of each chapter and consider it as if you said the whole thing. Doesn't make much sense to me, besides, it takes around three hours and I have zero patience for seemingly meaningless mumbling.

So I decided to just learn instead. I chose to study the laws of Yom Tov in the Talmud. It's been a while since I've really delved into a blatt gemoroh, a page of Talmud, analyzing each passage, phrase, and word for its precise meaning, and then going on to study the commentaries beginning with those of the earliest medieval scholars--the Tosafists, Rif, Ran, and Rambam--and ending with its practical application as codified in the Shulchan Aruch and Mishna Berurah. It can be exhausting, but it is also one of the most intensely rewarding experiences.

But I also have a confession to make. I couldn't help being bothered by the seeming irrelevance of it all. Many would consider me an apikoros, a heretic, for saying this. But I cannot deny my feelings. I find it hard to believe that the minutiae of Jewish law are that important to G-d. It seems so glaringly obvious that the laws have evolved to such an extent that a Jew from ancient Israel who would travel forward in time would not recognize them. I cannot and would not deny belief in the Torah or the Oral Law. But the way it is practiced today, has made it impossible to believe that this was G-d's intention.

To me Judaism is about more than just sets of laws on every matter in life. It is more about the belief in a kind, loving, and compassionate G-d who demands of humans to be like him. The strongest testament to what is really important to G-d can be found in the Haftorah reading for Yom Kippur (it's long but I can't resist quoting it--it is so beautiful; read it carefully, it'll change your behavior for at least a day):

Behold on your fast day you seek out personal gain and you extort all your debts. Because you fast for grievance and strife, to strike [each other] with a wicked fist; you do not fast as befits this day, to make your voice heard above. Can such be the fast I choose, a day when man merely afflicts himself? Can it be merely bowing one's head like a bulrush and spreading [a mattress of] sackcloth and ashes? Do you call this a fast and a day of favor to Hashem? Surely, this is the fast I choose: To break open the shackles of wickedness, to undo the bonds of injustice, and to let the oppressed go free, and annul all perversion. Surely you should break your bread for the hungry, and bring the moaning poor to your home; when you see a naked person, clothe him; and do not hide yourself from your kin. Then your light will burst out like the dawn and your healling will speedily sprout; your righteous deed will precede you and the glory of Hashem will gather you in. (Isaiah, 58:3-8. Translation from Artscroll Tanach)

Rituals and laws, the prophet tells us, are not just to be followed by rote. They are there to inspire us and make us better people. The more important deeds are those of kindness and compassion. Laws without understanding the underlying concepts and meaning, are of little interest to G-d. Today's Chasidic rabbis are more concerned with proclaiming women's wigs or dress styles forbidden items that impede the coming of the Messiah, instead of exhorting their flock to refine their character, seek peace and goodwill, and feel for all humanity. New laws are created to protect transgressing other laws, and even newer ones to protect the new ones. The laws of the Torah should be understood as means to an end, not ends in themselves. When all of life becomes one big obsession with adherence to the strictest interpretations and opinions, it is obvious to any reasonable person that we have gone far astray.

Raising Rebels, Part II

My two daughters and I share a secret. No one outside our family knows about it. The secret is that I take them to our local public library every now and then. Why the secrecy? Well, I'm not sure about my childrens' school, but I know that other Chasidic schools in the area forbid the students to visit the library. Violators risk expulsion. Whether my kids' school has that same policy I don't know, so I stick to a "don't ask, don't tell" approach. Apparently, educators fear that exposure to a world of books that have not passed the scrutiny of their censorship carries a risk of corrupting the hearts and minds of these young innocents. I disagree. I believe the standard collection of children's books in most public libraries are quite innocent, and they provide my children with quality reading material. I have yet to find them harmful.

Recently I decided to take our secret one step further. I took them bowling one afternoon. My kids loved it, and I enjoyed spending the time with them, teaching them techniques, laughing, and having fun. I thought about the strangeness of it. What most people would consider a perfectly normal activity, is for many in the Chasidic community wildly inappropriate. They would object to the "goyish" atmosphere, the pop music playing, the availability of alcoholic beverages, and even just the notion of spending one's leisure time playing a sport. These are all characteristics of the moral decadence of today's society, they would say. But again, I disagree. I believe G-d wants us to enjoy the pleasurable things in the world. I believe it is just as important for parents to take time to laugh and play with their kids, as it is to teach them proper values and behavior.

I explained to my children that others may frown on this sort of activity. But I believe it's right, and we should use our minds to distinguish right from wrong, instead of following the masses. They know that if they don't keep it secret, we may have to put an end to it. And if they do tell, well, who knows? Maybe that'll make other people realize there could be worse things and they'll come join us.

Another Quality Frum Blog

I know that many of my readers are from the world of what frum Jews like to call "the not yet frum". (I know, the non-Orthodox hate that label. "Such arrogance. As if I'm ever going to be!") But I couldn't resist telling you about this new frum blog: FrumTalk. He's hip; he's funny; he's open-minded... and he's insightful. Here's a quote:

Something is afoot here, a something that has developed organically, and that has not been dictated from up on high (i.e., not via Daas Torah). The grassroots has apparently come to value the State of Israel. Having long ago dismissed the Bnai-Akiva route to Zionism as watered-down frumkiet and passe nostalgia for a foreign culture of farming and hora dancing, the frum-GenXers have found their own way. The land and milieu of "Chop a Nosh" and "Mendy the Mezonos Maven" has yet produced Zionists.

...the next decade will see a major change in Charedi beliefs and culture, here in the US and in Israel. It will no longer be a steera to be black-hat/Charedi -- and to appreciate, support, and contribute to the Medina. In fact it will be a badge of honor.

I know this will exponentially increase my hate mail, but I can't help feeling pleased that people are starting to think, let alone feel, for themselves, without asking their Rav if it's allowed. A Jew who feels pride in the State of Israel should go ahead and make that "Mi Sheberach L'Chayalei Tzahal" loud and clear. I think Charedim, whose population and institutions benefit plenty from the state, should at least recognize the people they live amongst with some respect. Like participating in the public moments of silence, for starters.

Orthonomics

A few days ago I started reading The Dignity of Difference by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, Chief Rabbi of the U.K. The book is tremendously insightful, but the following paragraph was for me one of the most noteworthy:

The great rabbis were themselves labourers, businessmen or professionals. They knew that the Jewish community needed an economic as well as a spiritual base. Accordingly, the Talmud lists as one of the duties of a parent, to teach one's child a craft or trade through which he can earn a living.

The greatest of medieval rabbis, Moses Maimonidies, fought against the practice of supporting a leisured class of rabbinic scholars through public charitable funds. 'One who makes up his mind to study Torah and not to work but to live on charity', he wrote, 'profanes the name of God, brings the Torah into contempt, extinguishes the light of religion, brings evil upon himself, and deprives himself of life hereafter.' (emphasis mine). (p. 95)

To me, this is the strongest indictment of the contemporary custom among the ultra-Orthodox to discourage young people from studying for a profession, instead expecting everyone to study only Talmud and Jewish law in Yeshiva and Kolel for as long as possible, while living off charity and social services. Now, don't get me wrong. I believe Torah study should be the highest value, and it should be at the top of one's list of priorities. But financial responsibilities will always be part of life, and if we don't take those responsibilities seriously and give our children the means to earn respectably, it should be no surprise when fraudulent business practices, stealing money from government programs, and living off welfare become synonymous with Chasidic Jews.

Raising Rebels

Avraham, of the Protocols' elders, wondered last week and the week before about what kind of life I want for my children. He asks:

I would only wonder if HR wants his kids to grow up to be just like he's presenting himself on his blog, openminded, but frustrated at his community's mores (not to mention living in fear of exposure), because he feels that the overall lifestyle is better than what he could find anywhere else? Or, maybe, he wouldn't mind watching his kids grow up to reject his more liberal values and settle into the Chareidi lifestyle. I really am very interested.

Avraham touches on one of my greatest dilemmas. How I want my children to grow up is the issue that probably occupies my mind more than any other. But to his main question, whether I feel the community's lifestyle still has some value that keeps me from leaving, the answer is clearly no. It is not the community's values that keep me here, but a fear for the psychologically destabilizing effects on my children that would very likely result from a major lifestyle change.

A few days ago I was looking out my apartment window at my children playing outside. They were playing with their friends; the girls were jumping rope and the boys schlepping scraps of wood for building the structures of their imaginations. They seemed so happy and content. It is very hard to explain the feeling, but at that moment I felt that removing them from this lifestyle would be the most cruel thing to do. To make them leave behind all those who have been integral parts of their lives--cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, schools, friends, and the security they have come to enjoy from growing up in this close-knit Chasidic community--is a responsibility I cannot bear.

Sometimes I think to myself, so what if they'll grow up isolated from the world, knowing only about what it means to be a Chasid? There are thousands like that who feel it is the greatest life on earth. Who says I know better? But the more I think of it, the harder it is to accept the thought of my children having that close-mindedness.

So the alternative is to stay here, and try to educate them in my own way about what I feel is right. I try to impart some of my values to them. I teach them about history, humanity, morals, and I try to show them how to discern the good in Chasidim and where I believe they are misguided. I tell them to study and use their minds to evaluate right from wrong. I try to teach them the importance of tradition, but that traditions can be wrong and one must have courage to reject what is inconsistent with true human values. I want them to understand the underlying principles in Jewish customs and social behavior, instead of following them robotically in ways that are ridiculous today--which is so common among Chasidim.

But more than anything, my greatest effort is to teach them that to be educated in the ways of the world and to be productive members of society is not a shame but the most basic responsibility of a human being. It was not so long ago when I suddenly found myself bearing responsibility for a family, with the babies coming at a steady pace, but having no marketable skills to provide financial security for those dearest to me. At times I would fall into despair, and would become enraged at the cruelty of a society that imposed such responsibily without the means to fulfil it. I resented the expectation to live off Social Services and other government programs. Thankfully, my English language skills, which came to me from a passion for books, eventually helped me find respectable means of providing for my family and allowed me a semblance of financial security, but not without enduring immense hardships first. My greatest nightmare is for my children to go through the same.

I am not so foolish and naive as to think that all these grand ideas will work out easily. But until a viable alternative comes along, it's the best vision I have.