Reflections During Leining

The regular baal koreh was absent this week and his replacement, a volunteer from the congregation, was having a hard time getting through the weekly portion. Hardly a pasuk passed without the congregants calling out corrections, some valid, while others—perhaps most—were inconsequential. Especially irritating were the corrections from those close to the bima who considered it their task to hum in advance every gershayim or telisha ketana so that the baal koreh won’t miss it, God forbid. Hardly an expert on where and when it is appropriate to correct the baal koreh, I largely refrained from joining those choruses.

The slow pace of the reading gave me ample time for reflecting on the parsha, and being that the past few weeks we’ve been reading some of the most dramatic stories in the Torah, I had a lot to reflect on. I also happened to have some printouts from Bar Ilan University’s parsha page, which was recommended to me by a friend a while back, and which I’ve made a habit of bringing along to read during spare moments in shul. The essays are short insights on the parsha in a contemporary academic style, which I can usually get through during the time between aliyos (and with some cheating by reading a bit into the start of leining).

One of those essays discussed the differing attempts of Reuven and Yehuda, first, last week, to save Yosef from death and then, this week, to convince Yakov of the need to send Binyamin to Egypt. While Reuven suggests that Yakov kill his two sons if he doesn’t return Binyamin safely, Yehuda takes a more sensible approach, and offers to forfeit his share in the world to come* if harm should befall Binyamin, which, for some reason, does the trick and Yakov grants his consent.

But Reuven’s suggestion was the one that bothered me. It is a bizarre world indeed where the lives of one’s children are offered as collateral. Which reminded me that this whole business of the brothers conspiring to murder Yosef was bizarre enough. I mean, no one likes a tattle-tale, but isn't punishment by death a bit harsh? Even the eventual throwing into a snake pit or the ultimate, more benign act of selling him off to a band of Ishmaelites isn’t something I’d contemplate for my own brother, annoying as he might be at times.

“Unbelievable,” my neighbor muttered and looked at me.

“What is?” I asked, thinking for a moment that he too was reflecting on the hard-to-believe tales.

“The baal koreh. At this pace, we won’t be finishing any time soon.”

I nodded in agreement, and noted that with Chanuka and Rosh Chodesh things were taking long enough as it is.

At the sound of some schmoozing, a gentleman who was standing nearby sidled over to join the discussion or at least listen in, but since the small talk didn’t go very far, he was left standing there awkwardly. It was then that he noticed my Bar Ilan printouts and cocked his head to get a better look. Apparently, he wasn’t very successful in reading much, so he motioned to me with his index finger as if requesting to examine these papers for just a moment.

I tensed up as I handed them to him, mentally reviewing the sources quoted in those sheets, hoping the Bar Ilan scholars didn’t quote any “professors” or used language that would be considered by a Chasid too modern or academic for a treatment of holy texts. I thought about it, and decided that since most were written by Orthodox scholars, I’m on safe ground. The sight of Pinchas Kehati’s commentary on the Mishna up on a nearby shelf, purchased for the official shul library, calmed me further. Only a few seconds passed and the curious worshipper handed me back my parsha sheets, his attention probably caught now by something else.

* * *

The musaf prayer was coming to an end, the last kaddish after An’im Zemiros in its final verses, when my neighbor turned to me and asked, “Nu, did you get Lipa Schmeltzer’s new CD?”

“No, not yet. Is it any good?” I asked, with less than whole-hearted interest. I reached for my Shtreimel and paused to listen to the Kiddush announcements.

“Lipa’s always good,” said my neighbor. “But I hear some rabbonim issued an issur.”

Now the conversation turns interesting. “An issur? What for?”

“They say he uses goyish music.”

Well, I’ve heard that one before. Never bothered me.

In truth, although I admire Lipa for pushing the envelope in the world of Chasidic music, I can’t exactly call myself a fan. But hey, if the rabbonim made it high priority to warn people against it, the least I can do is find out what it’s about. Besides, my kids love him. I made a mental note to purchase the CD as soon as I get the chance.

“I hear it’s really good,” my neighbor continued as he followed me to the coat room. I looked around to see if my seven-year-old was anywhere in sight, while my three-year-old was already pulling his coat off the rack, threatening to topple the whole shebang onto himself.

Coat rack steadied, older kid located, coats, hats, scarves, mittens secured on the bodies, heads, and hands of my little ones, and we’re out.

“I hear he has a very nice jazz piece.” My davening neighbor was right beside me again.

“Really? I’ll have to check it out.” I assumed when he said “jazz”, he meant as in jazzed-up, lively.

I had to run some errands Motzei Shabbos, so I stopped on the way to get the highly anticipated CD. I brought it home and gave it to the kids, but kept an ear out for that jazz tune. And lo and behold, right there on track eight, Lipa got jazz. In terms of musical sophistication it may not be much, but it was wonderful to hear Lipa’s fusion of jazz with genuine Chasidish lyrics. It was vintage Lipa, and I couldn’t help loving it. In spite of the issur. Or perhaps because of it?

* According to Rashi.