Some whithered Levis. Image source: sabbah.biz

By David Werdiger

It’s a common scene in a Shul on Shabbat.  Shortly before the reading of the Torah, the gabbai (that fellow who makes sure all the parts of the shul service that have to be done, are done) walks up to a stranger or guest and asks “Are you a Levi?”

The Jewish nation can be divided into three “classes”: Kohen, Levi and Israel. Of the twelve tribes (the progenitors of which were the sons of patriarch Jacob), the tribe of Levi was designated to work in the Temple, and as teachers. Within the tribe of Levi, the descendants of Aaron (brother of Moses) were designated as Kohanim – priests – and they enjoyed special privileges in return for their service in the Temple.

Today, some these privileges still apply. When we read the Torah, a Kohen is called first, then a Levi, and then one or more Israelites. On holy days (and every day in Israel), the Kohanim bless the congregation and the Levi’im (Hebrew plural, Levites in English) wash the hands of the Kohanim before they perform this ritual. And there’s more.

Assuming that the population growth among Jews did not substantially vary from tribe to tribe, the proportion of Kohanim and Levi’im should stay about the same over the long term. However, this doesn’t seem to be the case. In contemporary times, there seems to be a relative shortage of Levi’im.

When one considers the traditional agricultural tithes of Maaser (given to Levi’im) which is 10% of produce, and Terumah (given to Kohanim), which is about 2% of produce, these proportions are consistent with the tribe of Levi being about one twelfth (8.3%) of the population, and the Kohanim being a small subset of the tribe of Levi. However, modern day figures are entirely inconsistent with these numbers.

From studies done in Jewish cemeteries, Kohanim appear to be around 5% of Jewish males. Given the fact that Kohanim descended from one member of a tribe, that number seems very high. The dispersion of the lost ten tribes might account for an increased proportion of Kohanim in the general Jewish population, but it certainly doesn’t account for the relatively small numbers of Levi’im.

Why might this be so?

One reason might be the so-called “silver medallist syndrome”. The field of social psychology suggests that the emotional response to certain events is driven by people considering “what might have been”. To quote the pioneering psychologist and philosopher William James (back in 1892):

“So we have the paradox of a man shamed to death because he is only the second pugilist or the second oarsman in the world. That he is able to beat the whole population of the globe minus one is nothing; he has ‘pitted’ himself to beat that one; and as long as he doesn’t do that nothing else counts”.

Our objective achievements so often matter less than how they are subjectively construed. This is not unlike what has been described to me as the law of relative misery: a 5% raise can be quite exhilarating until one learns that the person down the hall received an 8% raise.

In the field of sport, the gold medallist has achieved the best possible outcome in the event. But the emotional response of the silver medallist is to consider “what might have been” in terms of missing out on the gold medal – “if only” they had performed a little better, they would have received the gold medal. The bronze medallist, on the other hand, compares their outcome to the lesser one of coming fourth, in which case they would have been part of the pack that received no medal at all. So they end up happier with their performance than the person who, objectively, did better.

In the same way, rather than accepting their objective status as a privileged tribe, the Levi’im may view their status relative to the prestige of being a Kohen (which particularly in post-Temple times, carries far more privileges), even though they have no control over this. Because of their reduced pride in their identity, they may be less likely to convey the details of their lineage to their children, or perhaps their children may be less likely to identify as Levi’im. This would lead to a long term decline in the relative proportion of Levi’im in the Jewish population.

Further, it is interesting to note that unlike the common societal division of upper/middle/lower classes, the relative proportions (in earlier times) of Kohen/Levi/Israel are approximately 2%/8%/90%. These numbers position the Levi’im as less of a middle class with a clear identity of their own, and more of a “second class elite”. This reinforces the notion that they are more likely to view themselves relative to “what might have been”.

Old and rare Jewish books*

By Simon Holloway

I don’t care how popular the iPad becomes, or even the ubiquitous E Ink devices: nothing will ever replace the joy of holding a book. The tactile and olfactory feast that is an ancient tome cannot possibly be exchanged for the cold glare of a lifeless screen. While carrying a library in my backpack might be handy on vacation, I hope that I will always be able to come home to a house filled with books.

At the time of writing this, I am in possession of well over a thousand texts, some of which are very old. The oldest volume that I have is a Hebrew Bible from 1701, but I also own large facsimile editions of the two oldest Hebrew Bibles ever written: the Aleppo Codex (10th century) and the Leningrad Codex (11th century). It is a guilty pleasure of mine to point to my large and densely packed Primary Literature shelf and to tell visiting non-Jews, “these are just the important ones”. To people unaccustomed to the Judaic reverence for printed literature, the sheer number of books that Jews hold dear must seem mind boggling and bizarre.

And yet, so many shake their heads. To many of the Christian faithful, Jews have it all wrong. Obsessed with the nuances of the language, we supposedly miss the spirit of the law. Being “religious”, they say, is all about one’s moral character. Do I reveal myself, then, as a bad person if I say that nothing strikes me as more vague and insipid? Sure, I’m not in the practice of defrauding my neighbour or slandering my peers, but what has that got to do with my religion? If the only reason that you don’t kill, rape or steal is because there’s a book that tells you not to do so, then I truly fear for your moral compass.

What makes the Judaic literature so marvellous is not its insistence on the ethical life (although yes, yes, that’s all very fine) but its complexity. Jewish literature is abstruse. It is esoteric. It is not something that can be picked up, one-handed, and casually mined for information while munching on a tuna sandwich. Unlike other examples of literature, it cannot idly be read. It demands to be studied, if its esoteric pronouncements are to be at all understood.

There are those who have suggested that this is the reason underlying the overwhelming Jewish presence on several major chess teams, physics and mathematics faculties, and lists of Nobel laureates. For myself, I find this rationale a little glib, if only because the overwhelming number of such people were not raised on Talmudic analysis and halakhic arbitration. Is the Jewish penchant for this literature another symptom of collective genius, alongside aptitude at chess, physics and maths? As somebody who neither plays chess, understands physics, nor is able to work out the change that he is owed without pulling a face, I am not so sure. What is more, assertions of Jewish intelligence have come from those who hate us so many times that I do not even know if they are necessarily a good thing.

What I do know is that, despite all of its complexity, its self-referentiality and its esotericism, Jewish literature is not the property of academics. It does not belong to the learned, nor to the devout. It is not owned exclusively by anybody: neither scholars, nor rabbis, nor even (we are pleased to discover) men. There is no correct way to understand it. There is not even a correct way to prioritise it. And contrary to what some will tell you, there is no injunction to agree with any of it, accept any of it or believe in any of it. Sure, some of the texts contain such injunctions, but that’s okay: you don’t have to agree with those bits either.

In the current climate of neo-atheism, too many confuse a rejection of traditional belief with a wholesale rejection of the traditional literature that testifies to it. While those who do believe in the truths of the tradition might be secure in their admiration for it, what is to be done with the growing number of disillusioned, disenfranchised Jews, who find neither the answers nor the questions in the books that “we” revere? Should they leave them all behind, in the spirit of the reconstructionists, and start again from scratch? Should they modify them willy-nilly, in the spirit of the reformers, and keep only that to which they don’t object? If they cannot believe in them wholesale, in the spirit of the very orthodox, and force themselves to accept what their minds otherwise cannot, then perhaps they should abandon them altogether and construct their identity from something else?

In our electronic world, where that which doesn’t have the immediate answer to our questions is neither worth downloading nor looking up, more and more Australian Jews are taking the latter path. This is a terrible shame, for as we become less secure with figuring out the answers for ourselves by wrestling with something difficult and abstruse, so our questions are fated to become simpler and simpler until these complex books truly are irrelevant. And no gadget in the world will ever replace the loss.

* Image source: lubavitch.com

Image source: Babble.com

By Liz Paratz

The very first commandment of the Bible is to ‘be fruitful and multiply.’ But unfortunately, subsequent attempts to be ‘fruitful’ resulted in mix-ups with apples and ultimately got Adam and Eve expelled from the Garden of Eden. Not to mention, they were also cursed. Adam was condemned to toil for his food by the sweat of his brow, and Eve with the curse of labouring in pain.

Fast-forward a few thousand years and if we are condemned to ‘bring forth children in sorrow’, why do even the most religious of Jewish women use pain-relief in childbirth? Is it wrong? What do other religions following the Bible say about it?

Why is it so?

As one doctor pointed out to our class during our obstetrics and gynaecology rotation, childbirth (and the desire to have a ‘natural delivery’) is a unique phenomenon.

If someone fractures their leg and is rushed to the Emergency Department, the nurses and doctors don’t (usually) crowd around and encourage the screaming patient, telling them they’re doing great, that they just need to work through their pain, they need to breathe right, but they’re doing just great, and do they want a heat pack or some classical music? Rather, fast and effective pain relief is a key part of the management plan.

On the other hand, the attitude to pain in childbirth is much more complex. The American College of Obstetricians & Gynaecologists recognized this in 2004 with their position statement that, ‘Labour causes severe pain for many women. There is no other circumstance where it is considered acceptable to an individual to experience untreated severe pain, amenable to safe intervention, while under a physician’s care…’

What lies behind this hesitant attitude towards pain relief in childbirth?

Pain Relief in Western Culture

Historically, the question of whether to relieve pain in labouring women or uphold the Curse of Eve was basically an academic one. Even if doctors and midwives had wanted to relieve their patients’ pain, there weren’t really any pain-relieving drugs available.

However, by the Middle Ages, some (allegedly) pain-relieving herbs had been identified and the debate around the Curse of Eve began. The extremely powerful Church vilified midwives who offered any pain-relieving herbs as witches. They claimed these modern pain-relieving midwives were defying the Bible’s orders – by definition they were therefore servants of Satan. In 1591, King James VI (of King James Bible fame) ordered the Scottish midwife Agnes Sampson to be burnt alive for the sin of offering Euphemia MacLean (also burnt) pain relief during her labour.

About 250 years later, the mid-1850s marked the birth of obstetric anaesthesia. Appropriately, it was a painful and obstructed birth.

The editor of the Edinburgh Medical and Surgical Journal declared that pain was medically necessary during childbirth, and preventing it would pose risks to the mother. In case you were wondering about that claim, the editor graciously explained that, ‘pain is the mother’s safety, and its absence her destruction….it has been ordered that ‘in sorrow shall she bring forth’’. Any doctors who offered anaesthesia to their patients were thus painted as blasphemers ‘playing God’ and defying the natural order.

Another Irish professor of midwifery agreed with the editor’s position, because ‘after all, it was the Almighty who had seen fit to allot pain to natural labour, and most wisely we cannot doubt’.

Despite its ‘sinfulness’, obstetric anaesthesia took off. When Dr James Young Simpson used chloroform in a labour in 1847, the mother was so grateful that she named her baby ‘Anaesthesia’. In the next few years, the successful reputation of anaesthesia grew exponentially. Tragically, its popularity as a baby-name did not follow a similar trend.

In 1853, anaesthesia cracked the A-list when Queen Victoria gave birth to her 8^th child with the assistance of chloroform. Given that she was head of the Church of England, this effectively ended the religious opposition to obstetric anaesthesia.

Pain Relief and Judaism

But if using pain relief in labour were a real sin, then surely Queen Victoria’s use of chloroform shouldn’t have altered the Jewish perspective. If we were meant to be upholding the Curse of Eve, then we should still be shunning pain relief today.

In fact, it appears the Jewish take on ‘the Curse of Eve’ has always been a bit different  – for several reasons.

Reason 1 – Linguistic

In 1849, the editors of Canada’s British American Journal of Medical Science invited the Chief Rabbi of Canada, Rabbi Abraham de Sola, to write an article on the Jewish interpretation of Genesis 3:16.

According to R. de Sola, it was simple. The common English translation ‘in sorrow shall she bring forth’ was incorrect. Drawing upon the linguistic analyses of the deliciously-named medieval Rabbi Kimchi, he pronounced that a better translation would be ‘in toil or labour will she bring forth’.

He based this upon the Bible’s use of the word etzev, rather than a more explicit word for pain such as ke’ev, tzarah, yagon or anachah. By translating the phrase as ‘in toil shall she bring forth’, he then construed the ‘toil’ as referring only to the uterine contractions required to deliver the baby rather than the sensation of acute pain. Basically, uterine contractions required, pain optional.

Where this leaves elective C-sections is debatable, but hopefully Braxton-Hicks can qualify for contractions.

Reason 2 – Interpretative (aka what about Adam’s Curse?)

Some rabbinic authorities also point out that the Curse of Eve does not mean that women must suffer in childbirth, only that in the natural course of events they will suffer if no pain-relieving measures are taken. By contrast, a ‘natural birth’ in the Garden of Eden would apparently have been an entirely painless event.

The story of Adam neatly illustrates this distinction. After all, Adam was equally cursed – cursed with the need to toil for his food by the sweat of his brow. Surely then, the Industrial Revolution should have sparked mass paranoia that the new machines defied the Curse of Adam. This would be a logical parallel to the obstetric anaesthesia debate of the 1850’s.

And today, the descendants of Adam have gone to the non-toiling extreme. Plenty of men work in an office all day and then come home. Perhaps they drop by Safeway to pick up their daily bread. Regardless, at no point in this scenario does even a single drop of sweat form on anyone’s brow.

Most people see nothing particularly wrong with this picture. The accepted interpretation is that, had we stayed in the Garden of Eden, no toil would have been required to gain food at all. Since we have left, the natural course of events is that farming is a labour-intensive activity.

However, we are certainly not forbidden from inventing machines to simplify the labour required, or even synthesizing ridiculously artificial compounds with code-names to replace real food in our diet.

Likewise, women are not forbidden from making things easier with modern drugs – we just recognize that we wouldn’t have required them in the first place if we’d been able to ‘just say no’ to that apple-dealing snake.

Reason 3 – Medical

Under Jewish law, a woman is considered to be in a state of danger while she is in labour, and for 3 days post-partum (hence the recitation of the Birkat ha-Gomel prayer after illness, childbirth or danger, recognizing the peril through which the mother has passed).

Thus the principle of Pikuah Nefesh applies and, if medically necessary, any required drugs must be given. There are delivery scenarios that may meet these criteria, and Judaism is unequivocal that in such circumstances there is no question that pain relief must be administered.

Enough Reasons Already?

In the wider world, the threatening words of Genesis triggered moments of panic that modern medicine was defying God. However, the Jewish interpretation of the ‘Curse of Eve’ and its significance for modern medicine has traditionally been quite divergent from the Western mainstream.

From the beginning of anaesthesia, Judaism appears to have been open to new technology, and reassuringly inclusive of pain relief as part of delivery. Ultimately, if analgesia in childbirth facilitates having babies, then surely that is the most desired endpoint. After all, multiplication was and is the original name of the game – even if each generation doesn’t do it quite the same.

A flag with the capacity to unite the homophobic and the anti-Semitic in rejectionism

By Yaakov Gorr

Parsha Korach is a great reminder that Judaism is known for its great debates and great debaters – not only debates between Moshe and Korach but debates between Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Ishmael, Rabbi Hillel and Shammai, Noam Chomsky and Alan Dershowitz, Emma Goldman and Bella Abzug.  We aren’t like the Catholics – there’s no infallible leader for us. On the contrary, Judaism has flourished because of contests, verbal battles and political controversy.

So I have to say that I was disappointed by the recent meeting (3 June, Monash Caulfield) “A Pluralist Panel on Homosexuality and Judaism” organised by Hineni (Melbourne) and the Monash Jewish Students Society.  A well-attended event to be sure, and Kol haK’vod to the event organisers for organising what was apparently the first  public discussion in the Melbourne Jewish community on anything to do with homosexuality. However, you’d expect that even in a toned-down and respectful discussion, panellists of differing backgrounds would have a machloket (debate).

It is about disputes such as these, where each side (we’re Jews, an argument can have at least twice as many sides as it has disputants) is striving for the “sake of heaven,” that Pirkei Avot says that both sides of the argument will endure forever, because both the one and the other side of the argument are the words of the Living G-d (Elu V’Elu Divrei Elokim Chayim). But in this panel, the argument had only one side; perhaps this was because the haredi community reject pluralist thought and declined (I am told) an invitation to have a representative on the panel.

Former Deputy Principal of Bialik College, Michael Cohen, with Hineni’s Yardena Prawer, moderated the protagonists, who included Rabbi Shamir Caplan (Orthodox), Rabbi Ehud Bandel (Conservative), Rabbi Fred Morgan (Progressive), and Aleph’s Michael Barnett, who spoke of his personal experiences.
Michael Cohen noted that Reconstructionist Judaism has ordained gay and lesbian rabbis since 1985, and in 2007 it elected its first openly gay president in Rabbi Toba Spitzer. The Liberal tradition has ordained gay and lesbian rabbis since 1990 and allowed same-sex unions since 2000, while the Conservative tradition accepted both in 2006.

All three streams of Jewish thought represented by the Rabbis on the panel seemed to agree that gay Jewish women and men were equal within the community and their sexuality needed to be taken into account and not ignored.  The three rabbis seemed to concur that Judaism outlaws only one male-to-male sex act, that of anal sex. None condemned relationships that did not include that act. R’ Morgan went further  - I heard his message as being more supportive of same-sex relationships, which were loving and supportive, than of heterosexual relationships which did not produce children.

R’ Morgan’s position seems similar to that of Baroness Neuberger, the president of Liberal Judaism, who supported amendment to the UK Equality Act, passed by the House of Lords in March 2010. “Liberal Judaism has always stressed the importance of a loving, monogamous relationship, whether it is a same-sex or opposite-sex”. Liberal Judaism believes that any such relationship deserves “kiddushin”, the ‘sanctification’ that is part of the Jewish legal relationship between two members of a couple.

Perhaps even more radical is lesbian Rabbi Ariel Friedlander’s position on the pasuk,  ”lying with a man as if with a woman” is an “abomination” (Lev. 18:22). R’ Friedlander’s view appears to be that if we interpret that pasuk literally, it is not relevant to exclusively gay men given that they don’t have sex with women at all. R’ Friedlander however takes a very free position on torah interpretation: “[The Torah provides...]  the legal code of our Jewish ancestors. It was the rules, [but]… it was written for primitive people, who were often nomads. We just don’t live like that anymore. The job of the Rabbi is to reinterpret those ancient texts so that they are still relevant to our lives and faith. … How can you identify with something that was made for nomads in the desert?”

In the absence of a true machloket in the panel, I’ll quote the departed Rebbe Ronald Lubofski z”l, “The core of the philosophy, the religious philosophy, the political philosophy of being Jewish, is in the written word… Some would reduce it to the Ten Commandments etc. and that excludes the notion of homosexuality, and as a consequence it’s a contradiction in terms. You simply cannot consider the two ideals as being compatible…. You’re talking here of fundamentals of life, you’re not dealing here with a sporting organisation where people make a choice to do this or to do that. These are individuals who do not produce families, these are individuals who perform sexually in a way which is aberrant, to say the least, with regard to Judaism. It is something which runs counter to the fundamentals of Judaism, that is the family unit.” (ABC Radio National Religion Report 19/05/99 ).
Sadly the real debate is yet to be had, that with R’ Lubofski’s followers on the one side and R’ Friendlander’s on the other. At the centre ought not be the mere interpretation of the text, but whether our faith ought to have traditional family life at its centre. I myself have difficulty in identifying with an approach which “seeks to reinterpret those ancient texts so that they are still relevant to our lives and faith”. I thought that the job was to reinterpret our lives and faith so that they are still congruent with those ancient texts.

Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, founder of the Chabad/Lubavitch movement, had a favourite saying, “One should live with the times”. His intent was not that Judaism should be adapted to fit the times. Quite the contrary, he meant that people should study and seek a pertinent message from weekly Torah reading.

This coming Shabbat, coinciding with the Limmud Oz festival, we will read the Torah portion of Korach. It is named for Moshe’s cousin and the leader of a rebellion against the rule of Moses and Aaron immediately following the episode of the spies and the resultant decree that the Jews spend forty years in the desert.

Korach set about challenging Moshe with a question about the laws of mezuzah. He asked, “Does a house filled with holy books require a mezuzah on the door?” Logic would dictate that if one scroll on the doorpost is sufficient to fulfil the obligation of mezuzah, surely a house full of holy books would not need something on the doorpost as well. The question behind the question was actually this: God had declared all of the Jews as holy, so why must one (Aaron the High Priest) be considered “more holy” than everyone else?

He expected Moshe to reply that the house would not require a mezuzah, which would support his view that there be no special role of High Priest that was “more holy” than everyone else. However, Moshe responded that a mezuzah is still required. At this point, Korach claimed that because the answer went against logic, Moshe must have made it up himself (so I guess he had a punt each way on the response). From there, the dispute escalated, and in the end, Korach and his followers were swallowed up by the earth.

Korach was a fascinating individual. The Midrash and Talmud say he was very smart, and had a valid claim against the establishment. It also states that he (as his name implies) was bald. What significance does this have to the whole episode?

The argument between Korach and Moshe is considered the prototypical rivalry. Ethics of the Fathers contrasts this to the Hillel and Shamai, who were adversarial scholars of the Mishnaic time, and whose opposition continued to their respective schools. But what is really the difference? What makes one dispute good, and another bad?

Like many biblical episodes, we can take a far deeper look into the story and see that a “cosmic event” was actually taking place. An event with that links back to the days of creation, and the key Kabbalistic structures and attributes.

To delve further into this absorbing episode, and bounce around between sources from the Torah, Midrash, Talmud, Zohar, and whatever else David can dig up, please come along to Limmud Oz this Sunday at the special time of 7:30pm (St Kilda supporters may find this more stimulating than watching their team struggle at Subiaco against Fremantle). David is also part of a panel session called “Jew Media” on Monday at 1:15pm, and disavows any knowledge of how the title for the session came about.

In the absense of halacha, what is the nature of rabbinic authority?

By Rabbi Meir Rabi

For background on soft matzah see this and this.

I wonder what constitutes a “controversy” or a “controversial pesak”?
Is it the tumult raised by parties who are not impartial?
By those who may have something to gain or lose?
By those who have a loud voice?
By those have better connections?

Within our framework, a “controversial pesak” is a halachic ruling, a pesak that appears to contravene what is accepted as the norm. Take for example soft matzah. Many were surprised to discover that matzah could be soft. In their minds, if it is not hard it is not matzah. Does that make it a “controversial pesak”?

Many were under the impression that matzah has been hard and thin for many centuries, even millennia. I use the past tense, “were under the impression” because I believe that as a consequence of the soft matzah tumult, many have now discovered things about matzah that they never knew or questioned. They now know that soft matzah is authentic matzah, that hard thin matzah is no more than 250 years old, and that there is no foundation in halachah to suggest that matzah should be hard. On the contrary, every aspect of halachah indicates that matzah is and should be soft.

Does the original mistaken assumption, that matzah is hard, make the introduction of soft matzah controversial? Perhaps it does in a societal sense; yes, the community was surprised (and delighted) by this “innovation”. However, in a halachic framework, there is no way at all that it can be considered controversial. Which halachah was tampered with? Which halachic opinion was taken up that until now had been the “other” opinion or custom?

In this context, using the word “controversial” is just cosmetic, an attempt to dress up soft matzah as something that should be dismissed and rejected. It speaks of a posture that refuses to discuss the halachah, the backbone of our Jewish identity. It points towards those who have no halachic argument to support their opposition and are seeking alternative methods to push an insupportable opinion. It indicates that some people have gotten their nose out of joint.

I will propose an example that is closer to the truth than what we would like to believe. Let us imagine that a question has been asked of a great, highly respected halachic authority. The query proposes a halachically sound idea, an idea that has absolutely no flaw or opposition from the perspective of halachah. The query has no political agenda or consequence.

The answer received is: this is halachically sound but it is not what G-d wants us to do.

How do we understand and live with this response? We may either accept with absolute confidence that this is a great sage’s ruling, it is almost sacred and not to be questioned; or we may feel that this is a ruling that perhaps applies to those who are ardent followers of this rabbi but is in no way binding or even a consideration for others, since it offers absolutely no halachic foundation or persuasion.

A halachic matter that is subject to a dispute amongst the halachic authorities (I refer here to the great poskim of the previous century and further back) which has been resolved in favour of one side which has consequently become the established practice, is generally deemed a binding halachic practice. If the opposite opinion is now promoted by a particular rabbi or beis din; that is a controversial pesak. The suggestion that today Ashkenazim need no longer maintain the custom of not eating kitniyot on Pesach is a controversial ruling.

If one rabbi or one group, follow a path that rejects innovations that diverge from the practices they have followed, and they feel a responsibility to voice their opposition in order to discourage others from adopting this “innovation”, does that make the “innovation” controversial? Certainly not. Again we are discussing a situation that in no way compromises halachic standards. On the contrary, it actually provides a halachically superior product and service, which is more mehudar from many important perspectives.

This is, of course, the situation regarding soft matzah. Plenty of loud insistent statements but absolutely no halachic substance.

Again, I do not oppose those who have a perspective that binds them to a particular political or hashkafic, i.e. philosophical perspective. However, I am concerned when hashkafic, philosophical perspectives are presented as halachic positions.

Not only is this disingenuous, but it substantiates the suspicions that in order to garner more clout, and provide the community what is considered, from a narrow perspective, to be the “correct” philosophical slant, dogmatic and misleading statements may be made.

In these circumstances it is difficult to persuade the public that the people and bodies issuing these statements are driven by pure and honourable intentions. Suspicions that self-serving considerations taint the hearts of those driving these public organisations linger and gain credibility.

Amma. Image source: detroitevolution.com

By Keren Tuch

The air was holy.  People walked the aisles as if levitating in a state of awe.  As the holy Amma appeared on stage and performed her ritualistic puja, the audience – a mix of Indians, curious onlookers and dedicated ashram junkies- were mesmerized by her presence.  She offered words of wisdom and compassion, and an opportunity to escape the rat race through meditation.  Yes, Australia was privy to have the auspices of Amma join our shores last week.

Amma is another Jesus of the 21^st Century – a compassionate beacon of hope to those who are looking for a little more meaningful than the Biggest Loser can provide.  Her rotund figure and genuine smile did indeed radiate a sense of calmness and one could see how she has been dubbed the hugging saint.  A booklet handed out at the ceremony stated that “Amma is revered throughout the world as one of the most outstanding humanitarian and spiritual leaders of our time.”  She has established a charity called Embracing the World which has many humanitarian projects in India and around the world from disaster relief to women’s empowerment and slum renovations.  More than her humanitarian work, she also spiritually embraces anyone who comes across her path, and she claims to have hugged more than 30 million people in the past 39 years.

I listened to her sweet utterances, but I did not receive my hug as I made the judgment call that an extra 2 hours sleep would be more nourishing than a hug from Amma.  Her speech was inspiring, but nothing new.  Our bodies are borrowed, and we spend too much time focusing on it.  Meditation is chicken soup for the soul and are the key to achieving a healthy mind, rather than just something for people who have nothing better to do!  We often give more importance to money than to our loved ones.  These wonderful sentiments seemed to be what honey is for Pooh Bear.  The 500+ people in the audience were seeking this reinforcement, which is hard to attain in our daily lives.

And it got me thinking.  As a product of the Jewish School system I can state the five books of the Torah, recite the morning prayers and list the non-kosher animals.  The Judaism I was taught was a very tangible practical Judaism that has a litany of commandments with a whole book of Rabbinic discussions for every one of those commandments.  One of my many teachers once mentioned it is like an instruction manual for living.  A rule book if you like.  For those that need structure in their lives, Judaism has it all.  But where is the wishy washy esoteric babble that addresses the spiritual questions?  Sure, Judaism can claim Kabbalah, but that’s certainly not the Judaism I was taught.  Ethics of the Fathers may have some gold nuggets to dig out, but it is not our primary source of reference and doesn’t quite address questions of the after life or the soul.

I was talking to a group of people about the concept of mindfulness regarding food.  It seems to be a buzz word these days with many dieticians jumping on the bandwagon trying to get people to eat slowly and appreciate the food that they’re eating as a key to not over consuming.  When discussing different ways of being mindful, we acknowledged that the hardest thing to do was the act of remembering.  It was at that moment I understood that the point of all Judaism’s minute laws was to help one to remember the holiness.  The brachot that are said before eating any food requires the individual to be mindful about what they are eating and therefore choose the appropriate blessing.  When it becomes a rule to say a blessing before putting anything in your mouth, in one way it becomes easier to be mindful.  On the other hand, after a while it may soon just become a mere utterance that is recited ritualistically and without any meaning at all.  Whilst prayer should be a time to connect with a higher source; for me, when chanting the prayers repetitively, it has become an action devoid of meaning.

It is human nature to seek meaning in life, and for some it is hard to contemplate that we will return to dust and nothing more.  Whilst Judaism is a religion based on laws and rituals, perhaps we should impress the spirituality within Judaism on those that want to continue their Jewish journey. Why leave spirituality for the new age kabbalists to claim?

I look forward to Pesach every year (I might swallow my words when the day eventually comes for me to host a seder). Aside from kneidlach, charoset and walnut pate (liver for vegetarians), it is the Jewish festival that emphasizes a message of freedom that is still pertinent today, despite occurring some 3000 years ago. We have been telling the story of the enslavement of our people to the Egyptians for thousands of years, and despite our success at being a free people today, there are many groups of people throughout the world for whom freedom is still a dream. The human trafficking industry is rampant today in most countries, and according to a UN official, it is the largest slave trade in history.

The night before Pesach I was chatting with my housemate, who mentioned a heated argument he once participated in on seder night – the premise of which was that in retelling the exodus from Egypt, we ought to commemorate the genocide of the Egyptians’ first born sons.

My initial gut reaction was an indignant and defensive one. Why should we commemorate the ‘genocide’ of the Egyptians?  After all, this night is about retelling our success story. And besides, we didn’t actually kill the Egyptians either. Should we also commemorate the Cambodian genocide while we’re at it? But after a couple of days of eating and thinking and then some more eating, I’ve decided to exchange my emotional hat for a rational one to see if this changes my outlook.

Firstly, I’m a little troubled by the word genocide. Genocide is an emotive word that conjures up images of skeletal frames littering the streets.  What exactly is genocide, and who determines when genocide is committed?  According to the UN Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, genocide is defined as “the deliberate and systematic destruction, in whole or in part, of an ethnic, racial, religious, or national group”. Well, the killing of the first born was deliberate and systematic, and it was a destruction of part of a national group.  However, Article 2 goes on to define the acts which are considered to be genocidal, and uses the phrase “with the intent to destroy”. This is a little more problematic, as the purpose of killing the Egyptian first born was more a strategic blow than a wanton act of destruction. Perhaps one could say the first born were mere casualties of an unspoken war, with God being an ally to the Jews. In any case, whether the term used is ‘genocide’, ‘massacre’ or ‘casualties of war’, the questions still remains, should we acknowledge the killing of the Egyptian first born with more than just a fleeting mention in the haggadah?

In contemporary society, there is a trend to be empathetic about the welfare of others, more so than in previous generations.  Even if the first born were not directly our enemies, I can hardly envisage that they would have been chummy with the Israelites.  But they were innocent civilians with their own narrative and perhaps do deserve recognition of the deaths that occurred. I can only imagine what it would feel like to be a resident of Nagasaki, where the atomic bomb killed thousands of innocent civilians – an act for which the Allies have apologized, and annually commemorate.  Do the Israelites owe an apology to the Egyptians, even if they were not directly responsible for their deaths?

Whilst it may not be an official apology, for thousands of years during the seder, during the recital of the ten plagues, it has been customary to dip one’s finger in the wine and remove a droplet of wine for every plague to lessen the joy that wine brings.  This act is an acknowledgment of the tragedy that befell the Egyptians for each plague, not just the killing of the first born.  We are celebrating our own freedom, yet still actively remembering the price that was paid by our enemies.  Considering this custom has been around for a long time, I’m rather impressed at the level of institutional empathy which would have existed in a context that appears to me to be unprecedented.  Is the finger dipping exercise enough of a commemoration, particularly as most Jews who partake in this activity are unaware of the symbolism behind it?

At the end of the day there are at least two sides to every story, but the winners write history.  Seder night is a chance for us to remember our history of servitude and celebrate our right to freedom.  It is appropriate to acknowledge and commemorate the loss of innocent lives, which has been done with the action of finger dipping for thousands of years, but maybe we should also put a little more thought as we’re dipping and not just continue to do it ritualistically. Thanks for the thought Mr. House Mate, and please continue challenging me.

RCV:
The Rabbinical Council of Victoria (RCV) wishes to express grave concerns about a new product called “Laffa Matza” being sold in certain food outlets in Melbourne, which bears a Kosher for Passover symbol and is soft and chewy.

R. Rabi:
The RCV has to date, 25 March 2010, not disclosed its concerns, not in this nor in any other message that I am aware of. Although I have had verbal communications with the RCV they have not in the course of those communications disclosed their concerns.

RCV:
The RCV has also received copies of rulings from two world renowned Halachic and Kashrus authorities in Eretz Yisroel, both of whom strongly question the acceptability of this product for consumption on Pesach.

R. Rabi:
I am aware of one such “ruling”, a leter from Rabbi Wosner. It questions the acceptability of Laffa Style Soft Matza only due to its innovative nature. This letter is actually an endorsement of our Matza, as it expresses no Halachic concern whatsoever other than the perceived break with Tradition. I have yet to be shown or told the contents of any second letter.

RCV:
Considering the stringent laws pertaining to Kashrus on Pesach, which are stricter than the laws of Kashrus during any other time of the year, and considering the strong Halachic concerns issued to date, we strongly advise the community against owning or eating this product at any time during Pesach.

R. Rabi:
Considering that the RCV has great trouble articulating what precisely seems to be the problem, or what seems to be troubling them, I have not the faintest idea of what seems to be troubling the RCV. Furthermore, there are no strong Halachic concerns and not even any weak Halachic concerns expressed in the letter issued in the name of Rabbi Wosner. Rabbi Wosner’s concerns are simply that he is opposed to innovation.

RCV:
Should consumers seek further information regarding this matter we urge them to consult their Rov or Kashrus authority as a matter of priority.

R. Rabi:
Should any consumer discover further coherent information about “this matter”, I would be very grateful to receive such information. Please contact me by email: rabbi AT kosherveyosher.com.au

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More information on soft matzah can be found on Rabbi Rabi’s website, and his comment on David Werdiger’s article.

Image Source: SoftMatza.com

Image source: softmatza.com

By David Werdiger

“This is what Hillel did in the times of the temple: he would wrap the Pascal offering, matzah and maror and eat them all together” (text of the Hagaddah, quoted from Talmud Pesachim 115a)

The matzah most commonly used by Jews the world over is flat and crisp (of course how crisp depends on the brand, country of origin, and in some cases, the forearm strength of the Eastern European women in the area). However, this style of matzah is a relatively recent development in Jewish history. Until at least the times of the Temple, and probably for some time after that, the maztah was soft, like a pita or a laffa.

In more recent times, it is thought that Rabbis were concerned that the soft matzah was not baked sufficiently so as to prevent the flour-water mixture from becoming leavened, so they started baking them thinner, and for longer, so they became hard and crisp. Indeed, the custom among followers of the school of Brisk is to have their matzah so well baked as to be almost burnt, so as to eliminate any possible risk of chametz.

When you consider that the Pascal offering was a young lamb, cooked on a spit, and it was not permitted to break any of its bones, the whole seder is looking more and more like a family barbeque. Picture the lamb roasting on the spit, with people carefully carving off meat onto a plate. As per Hillel’s custom, they would then place a quantity of the lamb slices into their pita-style matzah, and add some bitter maror (shredded horseradish or perhaps harif), and voila! You have perhaps the first documented shawarma!

While it’s good to see that Wikipedia correctly acknowledges the contribution of Hillel in the development of the sandwich, hundreds of years before the Earl of Sandwich; it assumes (incorrectly in my view) that the lamb and maror were placed between two pieces of matzah. However, as mentioned, if the matzah was soft, it would either be placed inside the pocket (if it had one), or more likely the whole thing wrapped up (like a laffa or an esh tanur). Perhaps Hillel requires more credit for his culinary development than he is given?

For all of you who have broken teeth or been covered in crumbs as your korech sandwich demolished in your hands, soft matzah is now available in Australia! According to the web site, the stuff has been a big hit and has already sold out through some retail channels. Information is also provided on the history of soft matzah, and the kashrut of this product, which doesn’t look like traditional matzah for most of us.

It’s quite ironic that a product that might be seen as an innovation, from a “progressive” yet orthodox kashrut supervision agency, is in fact a throwback to how things were many hundreds of years ago!

Chag Sameach!

Disclaimer: the writer is a relative by marriage to the owner of Kosher veYosher, and was not solicited in any way to write this piece, nor consulted the agency.