Slowing Down

My guitar teacher Seth is teaching me to play the songs I'm learning on my guitar  

v e r y   s l  o   w    l     y.  

It's pretty striking; you go super slow, and then when you go normal speed you're all solid and apace.  

My friend RF is the most productive person I know.  CL points out that she never ever moves quickly; she walks, gathers her things slowly, takes her time to tie her shoes, and she is the most productive person I know.

My friend Rabbi JK teachers her students that in order to learn Talmud effectively you have to slow down.  

I don't like slow.  Slow is boring, and time consuming.  I know it's important.  So fine, I'll go slowly.  I'll play Blackbird with my metronome at 90, and I'll take my time getting out my metro-card, and I'll take my dissertation one day at a time, all because I know that it'll allow me to reach my goals, large or small, more effectively than if I rushed.  But let it be known:

Going slowly is SO ANNOYING!  

Well, most of the time.

Walks in the park - slow is pretty nice.

Confidence and Humility

My friend DAS gave a sermon / led a discussion in shul about humility and confidence.  He began with a text from Vayiqra Rabbah (5th century Palestine) that describes Moses's humility:

At the burning bush, Moses felt unworthy and hid his face and said that someone else should go.  And God said, "No.  It's you.  If you don't do it, no one will."

At the Sea, Moses stood off to the side.  And God said, "No.  It's you.  If you don't do it, no one will."

At Mt. Sinai, Moses stood off to the side.  And God said, "No.  It's you.  If you don't do it, no one will."

And finally, the midrash reaches our parshah: At the Tent of Meeting, when it was time for God to deliver the instructions for all the sacrifices and rituals, Moses stood off to the side.  And God said, "Moses, how long will you humble yourself, while the moment is waiting only for you!"  

Of course, God loves Moses's humility.  So do the rabbis, who talk constantly about the importance of humility.  But God - and they - are exasperated by excessive humility.  He thinks so lowly of himself that he is in danger of neglecting tasks that only he can do.  

DAS read another text, this one from an 11th century Spanish text, חובות הלבבות (Duties of the Heart), which said we should acknowledge and be thankful for the talents that God gave us, and that far from being a mark of arrogance, this will actually increase our humility.

It's a fine line, but a terribly important one to work out for ourselves.  Confidence - and gratitude - can so easily lead to arrogance.  And excessive humility can so easily lead to inaction and indeed a whole range of problems, quite wisely pointed out by DAS's congregants.  There is no erring on one side or another.  We must delineate the line.  We must keep our eyes on the line.

DAS is an incredible model of doing that, and I am lucky to know him.  

But that's actually not the main thing I wanted to write.  I wanted to write about something J said to me right afterwards.  DAS ended our learning in shul by having everyone close their eyes (somehow, he managed to do this in a totally un-corny way - another great talent of his), and to think of something in our lives that we're too humble about - something that we need to increase our confidence about, so that we can appreciate and use that gift, and of something in our lives that we're arrogant about.  While we closed our eyes and thought of those things, we sang (though I just listened) the melody of b'shem hashem, which was very soothing and nice.

Afterwards, J turned to me and said, "You know, it's funny; my thing that I was too humble about and my thing that I was too arrogant about were the same thing."  And I said, "You know, mine started out different, but then as kept thinking about other things, also for me - they were the same thing."  And I guessed that that was probably the case for a lot of people.  

It's quite striking, and I'm not sure really why that happens, but it was unmistakeable for me, and apparently for J.

Anyway, I don't really have a closing thought.  But there ya' have it.

שבוע טוב

Comments

How come no one comments on my blog?  

One friend told me she's too shy.... this from a woman who herself spills her guts on her own blog!

Others have no clue how to post. 

Maybe others don't realize that I'd like comments.

Well here I am to respond to all three.

1) If you're shy, that it silly.  Just be anonymous.  (But don't be anonymous; at least make up a name.)

2) At the bottom of each post, it says in light blue "0 comments" or however many there are.  If you click on that, then you can comment.  You can identify yourself as anonymous, or a name with no link, or a blogger name, or whatever else.  Clicking on that "0 comments" (or however many) link will also allow you to read other people's comments.

3) I like comments.  I like to hear what the people have to say!

Now, I foresee an onslaught of comments on this post.  But there isn't much to respond to this post, I think.  This is a meta-post really.  (Well, of course, you could comment on how impressed you are with my neologism.)    But that is not my point.   My point is for real posts.  You understand.

לילה טוב

Law.... yawn.

Turns out, I am not interested in law.

I really thought I was.  Maybe I genuinely was for some time.  But the more I listen to lectures (or participate in seminars) about rabbinic law and legal theory and how it all works, the more I realize, it turns out, I'm just not interested.  

I think it's that I'm interested in culture in general, and law is definitely a part of that, but I get bored once you separate out all of the other interesting things - literature, poetry, philosophy, humor, creativity.... and just talk about law (as though there's this separable entity called "Law.")  That's why studying Talmud is great; law and everything else are all bound up with one another.  Which matches reality.  (Also Ronald Dworkin is great to read, but mainly the stuff about interpretation, which is so much broader than just law.)

I suppose it's inevitable and likely profitable to separate out law from culture at large and study it.  In fact, I know it is.  But I realize I don't want to be part of that.  (Dad - don't worry; by this point, I wasn't going to law school eventually anyway.)  And it's not going to be a direction I take my scholarship.  

Now I just wonder why this is the case.  Dunno.  Will mull it over.  (Aaron - you're on!)

Shabbat Shalom

PS - I got new books in the mail today!  For free!  From a friend shedding some of his old books.  Shilat's "Al Harishonim," Krochmal's Yerushalayim haBenuya, Epstein and Melamed's Mekhilta d'Rashbi, and Mikra'ot Gedolot - Chamesh Megilot.  So excited!

I Love Knowledge

I do. I just do.

When people ask, "Why do you study this or that?" I used to have a million answers about the practical usefulness of knowing the things I come to know by studying. They are still true, those million answers. But the real answer is coming into very clear relief: I just love knowledge. I love acquiring it, I love knowing that it's out there, and I love having it in my head (or my foot, for that matter; I don't care where it gets stored really). And I know I am not alone in this love. The very word "philosophy" means love of wisdom. Maybe that's not the same as knowledge, but close enough.

And I don't understand why anyone wouldn't love knowledge. It's an end unto itself; it's just great. Yes there are practical, spiritual, psychological and whatever other kind of consequences of having it that justify its pursuit, but Knowledge needs none of those supports to hold it up in all of its noble glory.

So why are so many people worried in graduate school about why they're pursuing this or that field of knowledge? Why the hell NOT pursue it???

Am I nuts? Is this like Hillary's thing about Everest?

Maybe that's it. Maybe some of us are just wired to want to gobble up knowledge and just hug it and kiss it and pass it around for everyone's enjoyment, (better doing that to knowledge than to... well, whatever), and maybe some of us are just wired to want to climb mountains. I for one am glad that I am in the former group.

(Re the latter group, I HIGHLY recommend Jon Krakauer's book, Into Thin Air.)

UPDATE: Ok, I posted that yesterday after a lunch with other graduate students.  Then, over dinner, I participated in a discussion/seminar with the dean of University of Chicago Divinity School, Richard Rosengarten, who completely vindicated everything I just wrote!  Of course, he did it in a way more sophisticated way, having been thinking about it for several decades longer than I have, which made it even more gratifying.

He said many things, but one thing I thought was particularly helpful to me was this: 

While knowledge is Good in and of itself, we have to constantly remind people of its fruits, because they simply won't accept it otherwise.  But we had better believe that knowledge is Good in and of itself, because those fruits are often not going to be very apparent in our day to day (and sometimes even year to year!) lives as scholars.  Despite the utility of scholarly pursuits, we need not - nay, should not - be utilitarian in our relationship to them.

He seemed more at peace than I (again, he is several decades my senior) with the reality of people's need for fruit or utility or justification or whatever we might call it.  I am frustrated with it.  And especially with Jews who can't just accept that knowledge of Torah is good, even if it's not "relevant" or "practical" or what have you.  Knowledge is "a tree of life to those who embrace it!" Proverbs 3:18.  We sing it every week in shul!  Asking whether that learning you just did made you grow (as a person, as a Jew, whatever) is just infuriating.  If you learned something, you grew; plain and simple.  

Then he said this most encouraging thing to us PhD students whose endeavors are so often under-appreciated by a society that doesn't acknowledge how deeply valuable is the life of the mind: "Don't let anyone say that you're hiding your light under a bushel because you're doing this."  

Thank you Dr. Rosengarten! 

The Tragic Plight of Idioms in Translation

Oh translators.  

Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Bava Metzia, 35b.  A complicated story to explain without annoying legal background, but in the end, a certain guy could get more money in restitution for his dead cow if, rather then accept the oath of, let's say, George, he went and dealt with, let's say, Harry.  The guy is depicted saying to George: 

"דל אנת ודל שבועתך" - which ends up being translated into English by Soncino as "Take yourself off with your oath," and into Hebrew by Steinsaltz as "הוצא את עצמך והוצא את שבועתך" (take out yourself and take out your oath).  

Really of course, what the dude is saying is: "Screw you and your little oath, George!  I'm going to Harry!"  

Of course, no one's going to translate the Talmud as saying "screw you."  I get why not.  But really - the Talmud is waaaay more colorful than translators allow it to be.  

And so I say, woe to the translators of idioms.  Woe to the translators of Talmud.  Hoorah for dramatic readings!

And have a very nice day.

Purim Jokes

Jen Cohen is the coolest!   This was the best Purim joke I have seen in ages (since Ehud and Ethan's trivia game a few years back, which of course cannot be beaten):

Jen's cantorial internship

Purim

It strikes me that not everyone is as comfortable as I am with the idea that the Bible contains a joke book.  I'm speaking of course of the Book of Esther.  

Achashverosh has a 180 day drinking party; he decides it would be a good idea to have his gorgeous wife Vashti prance around in front of his drunken friends; and since she doesn't, he takes the advice of a nut-job advisor who says this gorgeous wife should be kicked out; he can't so much as open a can of tuna fish without his advisors; all the women that come for his beauty contest spend 6 months in this oil and six month in that oil (do you have any idea what that would do to your fingertips???); Haman ends up in several Three's Company scenes; Achashverosh keeps giving people permission to slaughter each other, and then is shocked when people die; there are some 10 drinking parties throughout the book.... it goes on and on.  It's funny, and ludicrous, and satirical, and great.

My friend Rabbi S points out, "Just because it's satirical, that doesn't mean it's not sophisticated."  Of course he's right.  There are some brilliant allusions.  My favorite is the fact that this book, which takes place during the Babylonian exile after the destruction of the First Temple, employs language that is only otherwise used with reference to the Temple - the fabrics, the utensils.... it's all an amazing flip: What if all of that glory and majesty were put in the context of silliness and drunken upside down kingdoms devoid of God's (explicit) presence.   I'm not really sure if there's anything very poignant about it, but it's kind of like a really good roast I think.  Which is enjoyable, and cathartic.  And the six months in this oil and six months in that oil - Rabbi S says that's got something to do with Ezekiel or something, and yes, that's cool too.

And there are even dead serious parts, or at least straight-forwardly meaningful parts.  Like when the Jews (as told in the Book of Esther itself!) mark this day of salvation from certain death by a holiday on which they (and we too today) give treats to friends and gifts to the poor (and parties too, of course).  That is beautiful.  And one of the most important lines in the Bible - if you ask the Talmud - appears at the end: "קיימו וקבלו היהודים - the Jews established and accepted it," which the rabbis take to refer to the free-will acceptance of the Torah by the Jews (as opposed to the not-s0-open-ended choice given to them in Exodus).  And that Mordechai is described as "דובר שלום לכל עמו - one who speaks peace to all his nation" - that is a great reason to love a guy.

So comedy and poignancy, partying and beauty, are not mutually exclusive.  The framework for a story that begins and ends and is filled in between with drinking parties is, I believe inescapably, a fun and funny book.  

Now, why I love that fact: 

GOD WANTS US TO BE HAPPY AND HAVE FUN!  (For those who don't know me, I'm not really saying I know what God wants.  Or what God is.  Or that God has human emotions like wanting.  It's a metaphor to me, and one I like very much.  Anyway, as I was saying, God wants us to have a party!)  It would be crazy to spend every day just goofing around and laughing non-stop.  Productivity and progress require a good amount of seriousness and focus.  But once a year, for a day or two, we jump full on into this most sacred part of life: senseless, relentless, selfless joy.  It's not the kind of joy that comes from looking into your newborn's eyes, or from the performance of God's commandments on a daily basis.  It's the crazy joy that feels so good precisely because it's so superficial and light.  Your whole serious life is suspended, and you get to be light.  

One of my favorite stories in the Talmud (Bavli Taanit 22a):

Rabbi B'rokah was in the market in a town called Bei Lefet, and Elijah the Prophet is hanging out with him there.  As they are walking, Rabbi B'rokah asks Elijah, "Is there anyone here in this market who is assured a place in the world to come."  Elijah replies, "Nope."  But then as they're walking along, Elijah says, "No wait - that guy over there.  He's assured a place in the world to come."  Eager to find out on what merit the man has acquired such a distinction, Rabbi B'rokah approaches him and says, "Excuse me, sir, but can you tell me what you do?"  It turns out he is a Jew who poses as a Gentile jailor, and protects the Jews who are imprisoned.  Quite a noble pursuit - risking one's life to protect one's people.  Rabbi B'rokah returns to Elijah and as they continue walking along, Elijah says, "Those two guys over there - they're also assured a place in the world to come."  Eager again to find out what noble pursuit distinguishes these two men such that they stand to receive the greatest reward imaginable, Rabbi B'rokah approaches them and asks what they do.  They reply: "We are comedians, jesters.  We go around cheering up sad people."  That, according to the Talmud, is one of the noblest pursuits there is.  

The Bible is a collection of books that have a wide variety of personalities.  The five megilot (Ecclesiastes, Esther, Ruth, Song of Songs, and Lamentations) are a particularly great group.  Angst and depression, joy and lightness, devotion and commitment, erotic love, and traumatic pain are all part of the biblical tradition, a tradition adopted as the starting point for understanding human experience.  If we cannot embrace this one - lightness, partying, fun, and satire - we are in dire straights.  

Oh man, now I wish I'd taken a picture of myself in my Purim costume to post here.  I was the color red.  It was great.  But I didn't have red shoes, so I wore black shoes, and when I said to my 5 year old friend Noam, "I'm all in red!  Head to toe!"  He looked me  up and down, and when he got to my feet he said with utmost seriousness, "No."  

PS - Menachem Mendel has a post here about Esther in the Dead Sea Scrolls.

Doubt

I never really relate to problems of doubt people have with faith.  People doubt the existence of the thing they have - or wish to have - faith in.  I have never been plagued by that, perhaps because I don't particularly desire to have faith in things I don't think exist.  Since the goal for me isn't faith, doubt's not really a problem.

Which is only a negative when people talk about how uplifting and inspiring it is to overcome doubt, accepting it as part of one's faith.  It's a very pretty concept, and I have heard many a lovely sermon on the topic.  But it never spoke to me.  I almost - almost - longed for doubt that I could struggle with.  That's how beautiful they make it sound.

Today I realized that there is another form of doubt that I do in fact relate to, and am currently finding uplifting and inspiring.  It's not doubt about whether or not God exists; it's doubt about where one's relationship with God is going, and how one really feels about God.

It's like a romantic relationship in that way.  In the beginning, there's no telling where this path will lead, what emotions will develop, and what joy - or pain - the relationship will bring.  But we engage; despite our doubt about how good, or how strong, or how right it is or will be, we accept the relationship for what it is so far, and we decide that, for now, it is worth the investment - in time, energy, vulnerability, and whatever else.  

The glaring difference is that in a relationship, if it turns sour, we can just end it.  Human relationship are essentially experimental.  But with God, there's no bowing out.

Unless there is.  What if our relationships with God were truly open-ended.  When the relationship is bad, we needn't simply accept it.  We might pull back a little bit.  (God has promised to always take us back!) Or we might try harder to make it work - out of choice, and love.  And when the relationship is good, we can know that we have chosen this, and we have cultivated it, so that we can truly own it and enjoy it. 

That is what I was thinking about today. 

"The Best of Both Worlds"

That is a bad slogan.

Towards the end of my last semester at Barnard College, I sat in Butler Library for hours upon hours reading Aristotle.  Most of the rest of my time was spent in the beit midrash with whatever masekhet of Bavli I was learning that semester, and working on my senior thesis at the Jewish Theological Seminary.  The slogan of the Double Degree Program between Barnard and JTS is: "the best of both worlds."  But all I could think of that semester was: It's just one world.  The thrill of studying Aristotle was the same - in degree as well as in kind - as the thrill of learning Gemara.  The library and the beit midrash were separate physical spaces, but they were the same place.  Whether through the prism of Aristotle's philosophy or Hazal's dialectics, sitting there with those books was like basking in ziv haShekhina.  Maybe the slogan of the Double Degree Program should be: "Come to our school(s) and bask in the glorious light of the Divine."  

Ok, I see how that might not work for everyone.  Fine, leave it as it.  But don't say I didn't protest (at least to the ether).