rabbijaffe

So, in the slow but now inevitable process of my becoming a baal teshuva there were still many things I was terribly confused about.

Probably the biggest trouble I was having was figuring out where I fit in in the whole crazy Jewish world.

I was basically exposed (at least as far as I knew) to two types of orthodox Jews: Chabad and Modern Orthodox.

My exposure to Chabad led me to understand that these were tremendously outgoing, righteous people who did wonderful things for the Jewish world, who you could find everywhere.

But despite their omnipresence, they seemed somewhat different than everyone else. Perhaps a little too different. And they were obsessed with their deceased leader, who they referred to all the time simply as “The Rebbe”.

I knew that there was something very special about Chabad, but I also somehow knew in my heart of hearts that whatever I was to become, this would not be it.

Then there were the Modern Orthodox.

One of my teachers in later years would define modern orthodox as “those guys wearing bermuda shorts by the end of Shabbat.”

At this point I understood that they were fully committed orthodox Jews who believed in fully incorporating themselves in the modern world around them. That’s why I found so many of them at SUNY Albany in the first place. I assumed that I was becoming one of them… but still something didn’t sit 100% right with me.

I would later find out that this process of choosing your place is a lot simpler for people brought up with this lifestyle. Most people just do what their father does, which was just not an option for me in this scenario.

Now, there was one other group that I had heard about, but was yet to be exposed to. They were called Satmar. For some reason, my Chabad and Modern Orthodox companions didn’t like them. As far as I was concerned they were the phantom “others” who sparked curiosity in me… but that’s a story for another post.

So, I was with a family for Shabbat in downtown Albany, and innocently referred to them as Modern Orthodox. My assumption of their “affiliation” was based on really simple things. They dressed rather normally. They lived as part of the regular community. They didn’t seem to walk the walk or talk the talk of Chabad. Simple process of elimination: They’re not Chabad, they must be Modern Orthodox.

They were offended by the assumption.

What’s worse, when I then asked what they were, they replied that they considered themselves “yeshivish”.

Way to make a young ignoramous pull the hair out of his head!! What heck does “yeshivish” mean!?

This was my first awakening to the notion that if I want to find out who I am, it wasn’t going to be flipping a coin and deciding between two groups. I had a LONG way to go, and this was just the beginning.

Note: It’s thirteen years later, and I’m still not sure if I’ve answered this question yet. But attempting to has certainly been a fun adventure.     

Tonight is a very special night on the Jewish calendar.

Tonight is Shavuot.

There is a Jewish tradition to spend the whole night studying Torah, engrossed in educating oneself all night long in all the many aspects of Jewish knowledge. 

Who do you think spends this night studying Torah?

The elite scholars of the Jewish people? A select few institutions of higher learning in places like Israel and New York?

Yeah, them too.

But this holiday is for EVERY JEW.

Tonight tens, maybe hundreds of thousands of Jews are going to go to synagogues around the world to spend the night learning. Men, women, children, scholars, and not-yet scholars. This holiday is for all of us.

The famed scholar, Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch, said it best when he described Judaism as perhaps the only religion in the world that seeks to render its clergy superfluous. As bizarre as it might seem after well over 1,000 years of Catholic clergy preventing the masses from gaining knowledge, or from just watching the millions of people around us who have no interest in knowing the first thing about their own religions, it was a breath of fresh air to know that Judaism wants every Jew, without exception, to gain all available knowledge about Judaism.

This impressed me so much.

But also intimidated me.

As quickly as I learned that I was being encouraged to learn everything there is to know about Judaism, I learned how little I knew, and the endless sea of how much there was to learn.

Luckily for me, there was a solution to my newfound problem.

Yeshiva.

Yeshivas are institutions of Jewish education where students spend the entire day studying the ancient texts of the Jewish people. I had never heard of such a place, but recoginzed how much I wanted to know, and how little of a chance I had of knowing it if I didn’t find my way to a yeshiva immediately.

This was at the beginning of my second year of college. I was committed in every way to finding my way into a yeshiva in Israel.

How? I didn’t know. When? I also didn’t know. Which one? I didn’t even know where to start.

But I knew that I was ready, and that it had to happen.

The next chapter for me would be finding my way to Israel, and figuring out exactly what type of Jew I wanted to be.

It truly is amazing that in ten chapters so far of my explaining how I took on a completely orthodox Jewish lifestyle, there has been one word very oddly left out so far:

God.

After all, you cannot have a religion without God, can you?

On one hand, this makes no real logical sense, but on the other hand, it’s blatantly obvious. God seemed to have very little to do with my experience up to this point, and to some extent continues to be just a background player in my life, so to speak. You can sit in a yeshiva (center for Torah study) for thirty years and never mention God once.

On some levels this is very sad. On another level, this is what happens when your system is based primarily on the actions on humans, and not on their beliefs.

In other words, according to my personal understanding of the Jewish religion it would be preferable to live your life with tremendous moral behavior and minimal mention of anything spititual, then to contemplate God all the time, but behave atrociously. We know, even if we don’t say it at every moment, that God is our ultimate goal. But the rest is up to us.

But I digress.

One problem I had in entering into a full fledged religious lifestyle was a fear of blind faith. How could someone who was brought up in an open-minded, intellectually honest household embrace a system where you needed to believe, regardless of whether or not evidence supported your belief?

In my Survey of Jewish Civilization class at SUNY Albany, we read a book whose theme has stuck with me my entire adult life.

As A Driven Leaf is a work of historical fiction based on a character from Talmudic times named Elisha ben Abuye. He was famed for being brought up in a strictly religious household, instructed by all of the world’s greatest sages. Despite all of this, he would eventually toss away everything. After witnessing an event that he could not reconcile with his belief system, he decided to cast off his beliefs, and plunged himself into a world of philosophical inquiry to try and discover an intellectual explanation for the world and everything within.

He would eventually plunge into objectively heinous behaviors, justifying his every action as being necessary components to his ultimate mission.

After years of searching he would come to a conclusion that would land him in eternal depression.

There is no such intellectual and philosophical “beginning”.

All knowledge and understanding stems back at some point to one or more beliefs. In other words: You can be a master of all the mathematical knowledge in the world. It’s still all meaningless unless you BELIEVE that one is one.

This book helped me to put aside certain latent objections I might have had toward the concept of religion in general. No matter what I did, some aspect, big or small, would be connected to blind faith. Religion is not the home of blind faith. It’s just another example.

Once again, my teacher had inadvertently opened doors to me that I never knew were there.

Do not get me wrong. Intellectual and philosophical inquiry have always been a tremendous part of my Jewish practices, and I think they’re a fundamental part of my religion in general. But they are supplements of faith, not replacements. 

A brief, but extremely necessary break from my ongoing story:

Two posts ago I mentioned a class I took with a Professor Jerome Eckstein. Today I decided to try and track Dr. Eckstein down so we could potentially catch up.

I am still in shock and awe at my discovery that Dr. Jerome Eckstein left this world exactly twelve days before I mentioned him on my blog.

I would like to say a few words about a man who had a tremendous influence on my life, and for whom I will never forget.

Dr. Eckstein inspired me with his desire to allow and foster truth seeking amongst all his students. Despite being a no-longer-believer, he would gladly refer people to any resource, religious or not, to assist others in their own personal journeys. He had no interest in imposing his beliefs on students. His only interest was that those he cared about were making honest, sincere inquiries. This fine quality is as rare as it is admirable.

Perhaps Dr. Eckstein’s greatest impact on me was his aggressive assertion that his students needed to THINK. It doesn’t sound like much. But the fact of the matter is most teachers would be very satisfied if their students memorized info and spat it back, and dazzled readers with organized blah-blah in their papers. There was no fudging it with Dr. Eckstein. If you did not think, you did not survive.

Twelve years ago I was asked to speak at Dr. Eckstein’s retirement dinner, which I helped organize and run. And for the past twelve years I did next to nothing to keep in touch with him, or honor him for all he did for me.

Professor Eckstein, I know you did not believe in an after life, but I’m sure that if you’re experiencing one, we’d certainly have a lot to laugh about… and more importantly, I’d have an opportunity to beg forgiveness for how little I’ve done to keep in touch.

Dr. Eckstein, I hope you are rewarded hansomely in Heaven for all you’ve done for me and so many others. May your memory be an eternal blessing.  

I think it is fair to say that the chances of my getting involved in traditional Judaism increased exponentially due to the wonderful experiences I had every time I stepped foot in one of the three orthodox services in the region.

I’ve already spoken a whole lot about my experiences at Shabbos House, the Chabad House at SUNY Albany. I should mention that in recent years I tracked down a student who spent several sessions with me explaining exactly how to do all the Hebrew prayers. When to bow, when to stand or sit, when to take steps forwards or backwards. He helped me unravel the seemingly incomprehensible. It took me years, but I finally tracked him down to show him the gratitude that I still feel every day.

But he’s not the only one for whom I need to express gratitude.

Every time I stepped foot in one of the two local orthodox synagogues in Albany I was immeditately surrounded by people who wished to greet a new face. I was overwhelmed with invitations to go to different people’s homes for Shabbat meals. Basically, in these locations a new face was treated like an accidentally stumbled up buried treasure. They made me feel fantastic. And they inspired me to treat others the way they treated me.

I very much wish I could say that I was describing every synagogue in America. I’m definitely not. But I am describing the potential and ideal of every synagogue in America.

I’d be a very happy person if I could let every synagogue goer in the world know exactly how these experiences made me feel and what impact they had upon me. No one is ever inspired by being ignored when they arrive at a new place, and fewer when they are kicked out of someone else’s seat.

We should all seek to recreate the magic I experienced.

At this stage I was started to become philosophically inclined with living an observant Jewish lifestyle… but in practice I was still doing just about everything the same.

I was essentially a reform Jew fascinated by “orthodoxy”, who was surrounded all the time by orthodox kids who did curious and interesting rituals.

The most curious of all their practices was their Sabbath/Shabbat observance.

As far as I had understood everything from my summer camp days, Jews observed Shabbat weekly by dressing up nicely, making Kiddush, and having a nice meal together as a group.

It was optional, sporadic, and, for the most part, appeared like a slightly enhanced version of a regular old weekday.

But the way these kids around me on campus practiced Shabbat, it was like a whole different world, something I had never seen before. One day each week they basically removed themselves from the world around them. Their pockets were empty. Their computers and TVs were turned off. As far as they were concerned, SUNY Albany did not exist for that one day each week.

It looked like a very liberating concept, but I was nowhere near ready to embrace such practices for myself. I had more than a full load of classes. I was busy beyond belief, with no burden of familial obligation hanging above me. So I remained a curious observer…

And then I read something that would forever change my outlook, as well as my life routine.

I was taking a course at SUNY Albany with a professor named Jerome Eckstein. Despite the fact that he was very much a self-proclaimed atheist with a bit of a chip on his shoulder about God and Judaism, we had a phenomenal relationship and he became somewhat of a mentor to me.

The class was called American Jewish Philosophy. We were reading a book with an excessively long title by a man named Mordechai Kaplan. Now, for the sake of a full intellectual understanding, you should know that Mordechai Kaplan was by no means an orthodox Jew. He was the founder of a movement of Judaism called Reconstructionism, which for all intents and purposes rejects any notion of a supernatural God. Nevertheless, influences on my life have always come from so many unusual and interesting places.

Kaplan made a point which sounded like this:

The week can be compared to the life of an artist, who is constantly and wildly wielding his brush on the easel. He paints and paints, every moment increasing the beauty of what used to be emptiness.

Logic would dictate that the more he creates, the more beautiful the creation will become.

But it’s simply not true.

On occasion the artist must step away from the painting. He must look at the whole thing from a distance. He must contemplate the best way to continue. This pondering, albeit not a part of the actual painting process, is fundamental to shooting toward a goal of perfection. Without contemplation, there is only mediocrity.

This is like our lives in general. The week is an endless series of creation. We are non-stop just doing.

Shabbat is our moment to step aside from everything we’re used to. To step aside from life and look at everything we do and have done. Shabbat is a time for contemplation of our very existence. We might not create during that time, but all of creations during the other six days are enhanced. It’s an essential part of the process of self-discovery and self-actualization that all humanity could benefit from.

I decided to give it a try.

My life was instantly better. I quickly forgot how I ever didn’t observe Shabbat. It started to become as clear as day to me that just like a day needs to end to end with a night of sleep, a week needs to end with Shabbat.

And thirteen years later I still feel the same way, and continue my observance with the same pleasure.

And I was and am happy.

But don’t think for a moment that my calling this article ‘Black Sabbath’ was me just trying to be cute.

Something was different from that point on. It could be argued that the moment I started fully observing the Sabbath I was no longer a “Reform Jew”.

I didn’t quite understand or appreciate this at the time. After all, I had gained knowledge about Shabbat. And I chose to observe it. Hadn’t I made a “Choice Through Knowledge”?

I quickly discovered how much of a misnomer this phrase truly was. Many of my reform friends started relating to me differently. Some stopped talking to me entirely. I was now considered an outsider of sorts to their exclusive club. True, I had made a choice through knowledge. But apparently I had made the wrong choice. Choice Through Knowledge? More like: Somebody else’s choice, made through either lack of knowledge, or despite any knowledge acquired.

It seemed like it was time for me to make a choice through knowledge to leave the Reform Movement. But clearly that wasn’t my choice either.

Last time I wrote about how various historical groups rose up against the mainstream beliefs and practices of the Jewish people, and somehow or other this seemed to remove from them the mystical power, if you will, of the Jewish people to survive everything, and to last forever.

Some other groups that rose up against the center were the Sadducees, the Jewish Christians, and the Karaites.

The Sadducees (Tzedukim, in Hebrew) fought long and hard against what might be called the rabbinic camp of the Jewish people. The rabbis believed that the Torah was given to the Jewish people by God, and He simultaneously (and orally ONLY) handed us the interpretations as well. The Sadducees, perhaps because they sought power, perhaps because they deeply held by their beliefs, vehemently opposed this oral Torah, and caused tremendous suffering to the others.

They lost the argument.

They no longer exist.

They are gone from history forever.

But the centrist camp, and its oral Torah, lived on and continue to do so.

And I, a reform Jew, sat in class, silently cheering on the victors.

And some Jews came up with another crazy idea. We’re done! No more waiting for the messiah. He’s here.

And his name is Jesus.

This group was small, and never became large. Most Jews felt the candidate was, well, underqualified. And efforts to convince Jews that the messiah had landed failed so abysmally, Paul had to go take to the fields and turn it into a whole new religion altogether.

The Jewish Christians came and went.

And the Karaites came into the world, with beliefs not all too dissimilar from that of the Sadducees. The saga continues. The Karaites caused a whole heap of trouble, and now are so insignificant as to be almost unnoticable.

All these many groups stood up against the Judaism that traced back to the earliest, earliest practices of the Jewish people. Something seems to always keep the Jewish nation alive. It would seem that whatever divine power watches over and protects the Jews in every generation, most certainly does not extend this gift to Jews who pull away from Jewish tradition.

And then there was me.

I sat in class rooting for the home team time and time again.

If they didn’t win, it would be a shame, right?

I cheered on as I watched the Hellenists and Sadducees disappear forever from history. I was on my seat jumping as the Samaritans and Karaites took an eternal background role. And I held my head up with pride when Jewish Christianity ceased to exist as having any part of the Jewish people.

Enter modernity.

When we learned about the reform and conservative movements, one of which I was still an active and proud member, I couldn’t shake these thoughts:

Am I a part of just another example of a temporary fringe group?

Am I just a mistake waiting to disappear forever?

I broke away, albeit unintentionally, from the mainstream. Do I lack divine protection? Am I going to disappear as quickly as I came?

I couldn’t shake these thoughts.

They became a part of me.

They helped in coloring so many of my future decisions.

How else could I possibly interpret history?

I took a class my freshman  year at SUNY Alabny called “Survey of Jewish Civilization”.

Like many classes I took in college, I took it because I was interested in learning the subject, and sat amongst dozens of students who were alreay familiar with the subject and took it for the easy ‘A’.

But I digress…

I made a discovery during this class, and I really have no idea how to interpret it any other way.

Something magical becomes beyond apparent when you see all of Jewish history laid out in front of you.

Agree with me or not, something is ridiculously special about the longevity of the Jewish people. We can be battered and bashed and tortured generation after generation, but somehow or other we always manage to hang on, even if by a thread, and in a relatively short period of time we end up on top again.

Well, it sounds nice. But is it really true?

The fact is: Yes… and no.

There seems to be some Divine assistance that keeps the Jews alive throughout the ages. Nevertheless, it doesn’t seem to work for all Jews. Some distinct groups seem to disappear, never to be heard from again.

Let’s look at a few throughout the history of the world, namely the Shomronim, the Hellenists, the Sadducees, the Jewish Christians, and the Karaites

The Shomronim (Samaritans):

They popped into the Jewish world, deposited in the land of Israel by the Assyrians to replace the Jewish population. They claimed to be the real Jews, caused the acual Jews a ton of problems, and within the next 600 years were left tiny and insignificant, and remain so to this day. This is despite the fact that at one point they were a tremendously formidable presence.

They came, caused a ruckus… and are now forgotten.  

The mainstream Jew prevailed. Remained. And remains.  

The Hellenists:

Mass amounts of Jews felt that Judaism was outdated, and welcomed the possibility of filling their lives up with Greek culture. They were called Hellenists. They embraced a lifestyle of swine, idolatry, and promiscuity, only to eventually have it thrust upon them forcefully.

In the final equasion the mainstream Jews rose to the center of the stage, aggressively pushed the Greeks out of Israel, ended the phenomenon called Hellenism, and rendered it a word for the history books.

The Shomronim came about, and now no one cares about them. The Hellenists took the Jewish world by storm, and then drowned in the floods of that same storm. And as I learned about these groups I found myself rooting and cheering for the home team. I found myself excited each time a fringe group arose outside the main Jewish camp, and was finally permanently irrelevant.

But it didn’t stop 2,000 years ago.

In my next post I’ll speak of the Sadducees, the Jewish Christians, and the Karaites, and I’ll explain what all this has to do with how I got here, and who I am. 

In my first few weeks of attending this Chabad House, Pinchas, the guy who lived there, said something to me I will never forget.

Pinchas asked me what I was doing at the university.

I told him I was a Judaic Studies major, and was extremely interested in studying Judaism.
Pinchas looked at me and said something that sounded like this:

Yitzchak, Judaism is like an apple.

Sure, you can pick it up and observe massive amounts of details. Every nuance of its shape and color. How shiny it is, how dirty it is, if it has one of those annoying little stickers.

You can even take your observations to the next level.

You can cut open the apple. You can observe the rate at which the inside changes color. You can count how many seeds are inside. You can touch the inside and outside paying close attention to every detail of its texture.

You can do historical research trying to figure out exactly which field and tree the apple came from.

You can bring it to a labratory and find out scores of details about the chemical makeup of that particular apple.

But Yitzchak, you will never -never- understand anything about that apple unless you pick it up and take a bite out of it.

***
Judaism is not something to be studied exclusively.

It’s something to be experienced. Until you do, you know nothing about it.

My Jewish youth group high school experience was absolutely amazing. Despite all the many changes I’ve made in my life, this is something I wil never deny, nor forget.

I have a tremendous amount a gratitude toward Judaism’s Reform  Movement for an endless list of wonderful things: Helping me survive the pains and difficulties of the high school years, giving me confidence to be the unique person I am, infusing within me a love of the Jewish people, and more.

So when I say I felt angry about what essentially felt to me like deception when fundamental knowledge about Judaism had, for all intents and purposes, been witheld from me, I do so with respect, and a heavy heart. After all, I believe such treatment is inherently immoral, and, frankly, reminds me a bit of what caused Catholocism to implode. There’s only so long that the top can hord information before the others want some too. Nevertheless, I believe it is a vital Jewish trait to show gratitude, therefore I am happy to shower thanks on the Reform Movement for the good that it has done for me. After all, if it wasn’t for it, it’s likely I wouldn’t be where I am today.

Now, a word about Judaism on the college campus. When people mention Judaism on the college campus the first word that pops into people’s minds is usually “Hillel”. The problem is, the sentence will usually in one way or the other also contain the word “lame”.

In my opinion, the downfall of Hillel comes from an attempt to please everyone. A noble endeavor, with unlikely results. How do you create substantive Jewish programming that pleases everyone? Easy… so long as you remove “substantive” from the question.

The fact is, the Jewish people are loaded with opinions and ideas they want to express freely. Take away that right, and you have empty programming. Well, college campuses have no shortage of empty programming. The problem is, the other ones are more fun than the Hillel ones. They are made by college students for the wants and needs of college students.

Enter the new world of Kesher, Koach, and Kedma. These are groups (reform, conservative, and orthodox, respectively) meant to attract Jews on campus for more demonination-specific programs. 

Two small problems:

#1: They don’t really attract new students. They attract kids Hillel would have attracted anyway. Basically, the kids now have Hillel and the side group, too.

#2: They are not meant for college kids. They are meant for a continuation of the fun and excitement that the different youth groups successfully captured in high school.

Once agan, I loved my youth group experience in high school. NFTY, USY, NCSY, they’re all great. They’re all fun. They very much appeal to the needs of high school studens.

But college students need to move on. College students need programming on a new level than what they just had for the past four years. If they don’t get that, they won’t be happy, and they’ll seek alternative ways to become happy. 

I had the incredible fortune of “accidentally” wandering into a Chabad House, the only people I truly believe fully understand my previous point. They provide the most amazing, age-appropriate, fulfilling experience for a Jewish college student.

That next week I went back to my normal reform service routine.

I sat in my place angry.

Angry because I felt like someone had lied to me. Angry because we were singing corny tunes, tunes for which I was already quite bored. Angry because I was surrounded by a room of people just trying to relive high school. There was no natural progression to college level activity. And I was DONE with high school.

The following week I decided to brave the Chabad House again.

That was in my freshman year of college, and it was thirteen years ago. I have not been to another reform service since.

The next chapter begins.