rabbijaffe

OK. When Avraham went to Egypt, the culture of the people was such that people might kill a person so they could snatch their wife. Apparently murder was fairly common, as well as socially acceptable, but adultery was taboo.

Avraham had no choice but to travel to Egypt. And to avoid death, he told his wife to tell people that she was his sister.

And it worked.

Sort of.

She did get snatched. But Avraham didin’t die. And thanks to the miracles of God, things worked out just fine in the end.

Did Avraham make a mistake?

Was this the best way to handle the situation?

For sure things didn’t turn out as bad as they could have, but in my gut this story just doesn’t settle well. Was there really not a better option?

And sure enough, when Avraham goes to the city of Gerar pretty much the exact same story happens again!

At this point it starts to seem a little ridiculous.

Could he not choose a slightly altered lifestyle which did not result in the occasional abduction of his wife?

Still unclear to me.

But in this week’s parsha, Parshat Toldot, my mind just truly draws a blank. It’s one thing if the Torah speaks of a story happening twice to the same person, but to have the story happen yet ANOTHER time, but this time to Avraham’s son Yitzchak, well that’s just starting to sound bizarre.

I want to yell: In two generations of very intelligent people, was no one able to think of a better way of dealing with these issues? In two generations were we not capable of preventing ourselves from angering kings in the different lands to which we travelled?

And I know that there’s nothing less satisfying than hearing a good question followed by a nonchalant: That’s just the way it is.

But:

That’s just the way it is.

Going where we don’t belong. Instinctual reactions. Repeated reactions. Kids doing what their parents do, despite everything they now know and/or thought they might do under the same circumstances.

People rarely change. People rarely update their ways of handling things. And if it worked out once the first time, they’re even more reluctant to alter their modus operandi.

The original leaders of the Jewish people were wonderful individuals.

But they were people.

I will always love how the Torah presents our heroes with all their nuances. They make mistakes. Sometimes they improve. Other times what you see is what you get. They’re reactive on occasion. They have family and personal issues. They laugh. They cry. They feel.

You know, when I was growing up the founding fathers of the United States of America were presented to me as flawless heroes. As I got older, the story kept on getting repeated, but each time a few more details were added as I could “handle it”. And by the time I got to college there were no heroes left. Everyone was bad. Everyone did horrible things. Everyone made despicable decisions along the way.

But isn’t that real hero?

What benefit do I gain from learning about people who are above mistakes and flaws? I could never relate to them. If I cannot relate to them, I can’t compare my life to their life, or my decisions to their decisions.

But the Avot, the forefathers of the Jewish people, are loaded with qualities that I can relate to. Nevertheless their accomplishments have gone farther than any others in the history of the world.

I too can make a difference… and I can be just a regular guy while it happens. 

I’ve often said that television will most certainly have an impact on what people do and think, sometimes very obviously, and sometimes deep, deep in the inner psyche of the viewer.

For example, I believe the television show 24 simultaneously (and perhaps paradoxically) prepared the American public for the concept of an African-American president, as well as convinced many that torture is an extremely effective tool to gain essential and accurate information from people in custody. I would take this to such an extreme level as to say that this show (and others like it) made it that when Americans elected Barack Obama it was just a given that such an accomplishment could happen, and not the historically shockingly incredible event that it truly should have been.

If the show didn’t exist, I’m willing to bet the world would be a very different place right now.

But I digress…

Knowing how intrinsically connected television shows are to public perception makes me a bit on the edgey side when it comes to the character of Ziva David on CBS’s NCIS.

Whereas I love the fact that a Chilean Catholic actress (Cote de Pablo) is portraying an Israeli (very successfully I might add), I am somewhat unnerved by the show’s vilification of Mossad.

Perhaps I’m a little too connected to Israel and the Israeli army to look at the whole picture objectively, but I can’t ignore how much their portrayal reminds me of Ayn Rand’s philosophy which I encountered in my teenage years.

As I remember it, the philosophy places YOU at the center of everything, and you must do everything in your power to accomplish your own goals. So much so that it was entirely fine to stomp on others, even the people closest to you, to accomplish those goals.

In NCIS the director of Mossad is more than willing to incriminate or even murder his own relatives so long as it serves his own needs.

Israel is a country where it is forbidden to put a soldier on the front line without express written permission of both parents if he is either an only child or had a sibling die while serving in the army. Israel is a country that is willing to trade scores of imprisoned terrorists in exchange for one captured Israeli, just so he can once again be in his mother’s embrace.

Not very Ayn Randish.

I’m not saying Israel or its military is perfect, but NCIS’s portrayal is not even bordering on truthful.

Nevertheless, de Pablo is a great actress and should keep up the good work. The show in general… well, every plot they do has been done before, and every character is heavily contrived and overdone, but the show more or less remains entertaining regardless.

I just hope they don’t shape the world’s opinion for the worse…

The post I wanted to write would have been me talking very excitedly about how I feel like the last person in America to not own a cellphone…

I love the notion that I’m never talking to someone face-to-face, when all of a sudden I interrupt because my pocket rang.

I love the notion that I’m never that annoying person who almost drives into someone because they’re too busy blah-blahing to realize there are other humans around.

I love never being that bozo whose phone rings during the meeting with the boss, or at the movies, or at the funeral.

That’s not me!

I love the freedom that accompanies inaccessibility.

I actually do have occasional moments in my life where I really am alone. And it’s all because I don’t own a cellphone.

But unfortunately, that’s not today’s post…

Today at everything short of gunpoint my wonderful spouse has forced me to embrace modernity, and the evil little time and attention sucker will accompany me once again.

I’m nauseous just thinking about it.

Oh, people will shout at me and say, “How can you not have a cellphone!? It’s so dangerous!”

This argument makes me giggle with scorn.

Check out the statistics. 25% of car accidents are caused by cellphone usage!

Dangerous indeed!

I suppose after I skid off the road and flip over three times because I was texting while driving, I will be able to lift up my bloody hand to use my cellphone to call for help.

Hmm.

So please world, try not to call me too much.

If you do, and I don’t answer, please don’t try again.

Maybe I’m praying right now. Or talking to someone else in person. Or I’m driving and don’t need to hear my phone ringing repeatedly. Or (yup, I’m saying it) I JUST DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU RIGHT NOW.

It is my God given right to be left alone sometimes. It is not your God given right to speak to me when you want to, and to bug me incessantly until I pick up.

I gained a cellphone today.

I feel like I lost so much more.

Parshat Chayei Sarah is one of my favorite parshas in the entire Torah.

… But not really.

Let me explain.

The parsha is kind of short. The main story is repeated twice. The character development is relatively bland. And it’s topped off by a dull list of genealogy. In short, it just doesn’t compare with the complexity and excitement of so many other parshas in the Torah.

So why is it one of my favorites?

In this week’s parsha Avraham (Abraham) purchases the land which includes the Meirat HaMachpelah (The Cave of Machpelah), the burial site of six out of seven of the matriarchs and patriarchs of the Jewish people, in the holy city of Chevron (Hebron).

Every time I read this parsha I can’t help but think about all the times I visited Chevron, about the amazing historical sites, and about how when I went to these places I literally stood at the center of some the key locations of the earliest moments of my people’s long and incredible past.

And that’s enough to make this parsha great for me.

… But I’m a teacher.

And my students are by and large not from very observant families.

And this isn’t anywhere close to enough to make this parsha exciting for them.

And I once again find myself asking a question for which I do not yet have an answer:

How do I create in the impressionable young minds of my students a sense of ancient Jewish heroism?

I’m willing to bet if you ask the average kid in my school to name their favorite heroes throughout the history of the world you would hear such deserving names as George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Martin Luther King.

But unfortunately you are far less likely to hear such names as Avraham Avinu, Yosef HaTzadik (Joseph), Moshe Rabbeinu (Moses), and David HaMelech (King David).

The simple mention of these names stimulates my interest. Looking at a picture of a location where they once lived gets me excited. I recognize and appreciate all their accomplishments, and how different my life would be if they hadn’t done the things they did.

But my students don’t.

If I show them a photograph of the place where Avraham is buried, they’ll just see a nice building.

It might as well be in Detroit.

Why am I failing where the average history teacher is succeeding?

Where does the disconnect originate?

How can I create Jewish hero?

I’ve been an avid reader of Men’s Health magazine for many years now. I can say with sad honesty that the Jewish people are not featured very often in said publication. On occasion a person’s Jewish upbringing is mentioned, or the discovery of an Israeli professor gets a shout out, but this month’s edition features a rather unique hop into the Jewish world.

In an article called “Party Cheer, with Beer” (full article) this recipe is given:

Lucky Dreidel
Drink and dessert? L’chaim!

1 oz vodka
2 oz Manischewitz wine
1 splash cider vinegar
4 oz IPA beer (try He’Brew Bittersweet Lenny’s R.I.P.A.)
1 piece of chocolate gelt (those gold-wrapped chocolate coins)

Shake together the vodka, Manischewitz, and cider vinegar. Pour the mixture into a glass with ice, add the beer, and stir.* Garnish with gelt.

*Stir while rotating the spoon with your fingers, so that its back is always against the inside of the glass. Do this for 30 seconds. That will create more movement in the liquid, allowing flavors to mix better. Go ahead, have the chocolate. Your memory improves after you eat milk chocolate, according to a 2007 study in Appetite.

I said in my previous ‘Jews in the Media’ post how amused and surprisingly happy I was when I heard a song about partying toss in Jewish phrases. The joy continues.

I for one am going to try this drink this Channukah.

Thank you Men’s Health. I don’t think today you’ve made me a better Jew…

… but a happy, less thirsty one!

Those of us involved daily in education know things don’t happen like they always do in the movies.

Picture it:

The kids are all misbehaving.

Then the teacher does something. Says the right word. Smiles the right way. Beats up the right hooligan.

And from this point onward everyone hangs on their every word, treating them like the parent they always wished they had.

Sounds great.

But it’s just the movies.

Real moments of inspiration are rare. And they don’t come without hard work.

And they also seldom come when you expect them.

I recently met a parent who told me one of his son’s most precious and inspirational moments this year occurred during my class.

I beamed with pride.

I started flashing to all the brilliant things I had said, delving deep into the magic of my own profundity to try and discover what I had done that had touched this child so.

And daddy told me…

During class I had the students do a small art project. Their son was in the center of the room, so when I put down the supplies, I put them on his desk.

Their son, who was new to the school and had yet to meet many of the other students, was all of a sudden surrounded by the entire class.

He felt so wonderful and special being the instant center of attention.

And all I had to do was… nothing at all.

The greatest inspiration I provided came completely and totally by accident…

* * *

At first this idea bothered me.

I try so hard each and every day to have an impact on my students’ lives.

Why can’t it be that I touch their hearts when I’m trying to, rather than when I arbitrarily throw some construction paper on a student’s desk?

But after some time, this no longer bugged me.

I became very contented by this thought:

Here I am on the front lines every day of my life, trying my hardest to make the greatest impact possible on the children I interact with.

If I’m not there, no one is.

Inspiration is possible because I try and make it possible.

Sometimes I succeed when I want to.

Sometimes I fail no matter what I do.

Other times I succeed when I least expect it.

But if I wasn’t there, it would never happen.

I’m trying, and that’s what matters.

A thought has been perplexing me about this week’s parsha.

Quick recap:

Sodom and Gomorrah were towns infamous for their sick and repulsive behavior. Yet when Hashem told Avraham (Abraham) that He was going to destroy the towns, Avraham went out of his way to stick out his neck and argue on behalf of these cities so that perhaps God might spare them.

OK, sticking up for the potentially innocent is generally considered high-quality behavior, as is taking great risks for the sake of helping others.

But here’s what confuses me:

When God told Avraham to sacrifice his son Yitzchak (Isaac), Avraham proceeded to carry out his orders with no protest. Not only was Yitzchak 100% innocent, but unlike Sodom and Gomorrah for which Avraham lacked a connection, Yitzchak was his own flesh and blood.

What makes matters worse for me is Avraham goes down in history as being a great person for his actions in both scenarios.

And to make things even more troubling, we have the story of Shaul HaMelech (King Saul). Early in his career as a monarch he was given the directive to kill the entire people of Amalek, the quintessential nemesis of the Jewish people.

He did not complete his duties, expressing misplaced compassion for the king of Amalek, a depraved murderer.

This same King Saul would later on massacre an entire town of innocent kohanim (priests) on suspicion that they were harboring a fugitive. This would have likely been an overreaction even if he was correct. However, in this case not only were they only unknowingly harboring this fugitive, but the fugitive in question was entirely innocent of all that he was being accused.

Two isolated incidents reflecting a severe mental imbalance? Perhaps.

But traditional sources tell us this is more of an example of cause and effect.

When one displays an overwhelming amount of compassion for someone or something clearly undeserving of said compassion, it produces a tumult through every bit of you, messing up your mental capabilities so much that you gain an inability to make clear and intelligent decisions.

The decision to be compassionate to a murderer was irrational, and so was the decision to slaughter innocent priests. One action caused the brain to be able to perform the next action.

So what about Avraham?

Is there a parallel?

Was his decision to argue on behalf of the worthless, wicked folk of Sodom and Gomorrah misplaced compassion that would confuse Avraham so tremendously that he couldn’t even argue on behalf of his own innocent son?

Or conceivably a worse scenario: Perhaps God’s explicit rejection of misplaced compassion helps foster in people a fear of compassion in general, even when it is highly warranted. Maybe Shaul saw how angry God was at his actions with the king of Amalek, so next time an opportunity arose to be compassionate, he no longer saw compassion as an option. Maybe Avraham saw how eventually God didn’t pay much heed to his repeated attempts to save  the people of Sodom, and felt that purely succumbing to God’s will was the only acceptable decision, hence not arguing at the request to slaughter his own child.

Maybe.

I don’t yet have answers for all my questions, or comfort from my every concern.

All I know is: Something about Parshat Veyeira just doesn’t feel right. Neither the request to slaughter a child, nor the righteous willingness to carry out the decree without protest, leave me with much clarity about what God wants from me.

Nevertheless, this feeling doesn’t shake my faith.  It doesn’t even place a mild dent.

But I most certainly need to look a little deeper.

Shabbat Shalom

There are a ton of stereotypes out there about the Jews. They range from violent and aggressive to passive and wimpy, from filthy rich to just plain old filthy.

Some stereotypes insult, while others flatter.

And some just seem to just come from out of nowhere.

* * *  

So, I’m sitting in my car when this song pops on the radio:

Here you have a catchy hip-hop song with zero connection to anything within the vicinity of Judaism, and they’re semi-randomly tossing in words like “mazal tov” and “l’chaim”. (starts around the 2 minute mark)

The theme of the song is an all-night, out of control, super fun party… something I am not used to the world associating with Judaism.

Depraved, immoral Mossad agents, deceptive diamond dealers, and overly righteous religious fanatics, this stuff wouldn’t surprise me a bit.

Black Eyed Peas shouting “mazal tov”, this caught me off guard.

But I’ll tell you, it caught me off guard in a good way.

You see, I spent much of my life (as I suspect many a Jew does) thinking of my religion and people as a tad dull. It wasn’t until adulthood that I discovered how not only meaningful and fulfilling, not to mention just downright fun, Judaism could really be.

I heard this song and got nostalgic for my college days, singing and dancing (and drinking) at the Chabad House at SUNY Albany. Most of my best college memories came out of that house. And I forsook all the parties in the world to spend as much time as possible in the place where the real fun was happening.

Maybe the Black Eyed Peas know more about the “real Judaism” than the average Jew does.

Thank you for the memories!   

I had a thought this past Shabbat.

Jews will numerous times throughout their lives be asked to explain the holiday Purim.

Not wanting to (or not knowing enough to) explain the whole story of Mordechai, Esther, Haman, and Achashveirosh, many of us resort to the simplest explanation possible: “It’s the Jewish Halloween.”

It’s not an absolutely awful explanation. There are a few parallels here and there. Costumes, candies, and fun fun fun.

But I think there’s something fundamentally wrong with this comparison.

Something that’s wrong with the understanding of the essence of these two holidays.

You see, Halloween is all about taking. Purim is all about giving.

On Halloween people thoughtlessly buy a bag of candy, and kids line the streets in their costumes to go from house to house to receive said candy (and hopefully not fruit).

Going trick-or-treating is the essence of the holiday.

Purim, on the other hand, is about giving meshalach manot, gifts to friends. We spend hours trying to think of creative ways to make our meshalach manot great and unique. We load up our cars with these gifts, get a few kids in the car with us, and go from house to house giving gifts to our closest friends.

The honest truth is, what we receive is somewhat irrelevant. The giving is what matters.

Maybe we might want to add a few more sentences next time we refer to Purim as the Jewish Halloween. 

Just a thought.

The Avraham (Abraham) of this week’s parsha, Parshat Lech Lecha, is unique in so many ways. Possibly the most inspiring part of what makes him special was his ability to turn his life completely around, making so much out of so little, with wondrous amounts of success, and an uncanny ability to not look back.

In fact, the first time we experience Avraham, that’s not even his name. His original name was Avram, and only later do we find that God changed his name to Avraham.

In my opinion one of the hardest things in life is to change who we are, even if we desperately want to, need to, and have all the resources and motivation.

So many obstacles stand in the way of personal change.

Sometimes the difficulties are from within, but often it’s from our friends or our communities.

I picture a man in his mid-thirties who wants to stop binge drinking and wasting his evenings at bars, but knows that the pressure from his old college buddies will be intense and incessant.

Change is hard. But the rewards are abundant. 

When one can find it in themselves to fully change who they are, despite all the many obstacles that might stand in their way, they truly are a new person.

When Avraham received his new “title” it was a message that he had succeeded against all odds, having fully changed his nature, resisting any and all temptations to return to his birth community or the ways of his family.

And we will forever remember the accomplishments of Avraham, while Avram will just disappear.