The Wandering Blog

I don't have much (if anything) to say expressly about Balak, this week's Torah portion. The only sort of thought-invoking bit of commentary in Etz Chayim is in regards to Balak's urging for the curse on the Israelites and Balaams persistent relaying of G-d's message that you cannot curse those who are blessed.

The text cites the Baal Shem Tov, who said "A Jew is never alone. G-d is always with every Jew." Then there is Abraham Joshua Heschel (not cited here, but all the same), who said "The Jew is never alone in the face of G-d; the Torah is always with him." Is G-d with us? Torah with us? Neither? Either? Both? Are they one in the same?

I was watching this episode of "Whose Wedding Is It Anyway?" on Style last night, and I was taken by one of the stories. It was a couple who had hastened their wedding vows after they'd started dating. Why? Well, she was diagnosed with an incredibly rare form of leukemia (.5-two people diagnosed each year worldwide) and given three-five years to live. She surpassed the time frame and six years after the diagnosis met the man. His story was that he'd been in a horrible car accident on an exit ramp on the freeway and had walked away. Less than a week later, because of a concussion and emotional trauma from the other accident, he rammed his car into the back of a city truck, completely decimating his vehicle and causing his near death. Then they met, realizing that they both were sort of knocking on heaven's door, fell in love, and got engaged. I don't consider it a miracle or necessarily a gift from G-d that either of them are bright, shining people who are giving back with a cancer scholarship and countless philanthropic activities -- they are the epitome of the perfect romance. However, I have to think that perhaps the everyday presence of G-d maintains some balance, some equilibrium. Then again, I don't even know if these two people were religious -- let alone Jewish (not that that matters).

If you Google "A Jew is never alone" ... you receive (at present) 76 entries (though only about 20 *really* show up). Many are variations on the Baal Shem Tov's famous words. Then there's random expressions of the Jew and his loneliness: "The Yarmulke is a constant reminder that a Jew is never alone. He walks with G-d. It is a feeling of assurance and comfort" (Jlaw.com).

It would seem that the Jew is never alone -- be it G-d or the yarmulke as a reminder of G-d or the mitzvot and laws of G-d in Torah. I imagine it is whether we accept or deny this as such. Does the denial of the constant presence make those moments in which we pray hard and fast for the protection of a sick relative or lover that much more effective and strong -- in OUR eyes? I often look at the religious Jew, he who is constantly swimming in Torah and wonder if -- when there are moments of desperation -- he feels as effective and firm and hopeful in his prayers as he who perhaps only calls on G-d in moments of crises. The constant presence may dull the effectiveness (in our minds, that is), nu? On the other hand, acknowledging the constant presence might allow us to take G-d for granted, to not appreciate the peace of mind.

Okay, so I lied. I had plenty to say about this tiny little quip of the Baal Shem Tov. I just didn't anticipate it.

I have quite a bit to say about the book I'm reading, Women and Jewish Law by Rachel Biale, but I'll save that for a little later this week or early next week. I have to say, though, that it's one of the most well-written Talmud-heavy texts I've read in a long time. Often I find such books hard to keep down, but Biale is BRILLIANT in her presentation of the texts. That is, she offers the Talmud text, then piece by piece explains in plain text (but not dumbing down) what exactly the sages were saying, then examines the evolution, importance, contradictions, and actual application of the laws. In the long run, I think this might help me if I decide to pursue/examine Rashi's daughters (or the women of Rashi's time/area in general) and the extent of his sentiments/interpretations of certain laws, including womens' study of the major texts.

Until then, shalom my friends. Stay cool in summer's heated breeze!

Welcome back, Chavi.

Ian has started school, and that gives me two nights out of the week to devote to Torah. Because of my sad dedication to Fox's "Hell's Kitchen," that knocks Monday night out. So Wednesday is now Torah Thyme (his slogan, not mine!). In the past three months I've neglected to read 3 or 4 of the parshah, which has given me this gigantic guilt complex. I loathe going to shul on Friday and not being previously knowledgeable on the topic at hand. I prefer to be prepared!

This week's Torah portion is Chukkat (חקת), and includes the dreaded moment when G-d tells Moses and Aaron that they won't enter the land, following the water/rock fiasco. I found a couple of interesting points and commentaries in Etz Chayim this week, including what could be construed as an allusion or validation of Christ in Christianity. But first, I have to mention an article I read in "Reform Judaism," the URJ's publication, regarding kashrut and an interesting take on the text.

In the summer issue, in "The Civilized Diet" -- a conversation with Rabbi Simeon Maslin -- the origins of kashrut are discussed and the text is addressed in a most interesting way. According to Rabbi Maslin, the instances of the law to "not boil a kid in its mother's milk" appear in relation to pagan sacrificial rituals, suggesting that such acts were forbidden to Israel so as to avoid practicing pagan rituals. He points out that the three times it appears in Torah, not once does it appear within the exhaustive list of dietary laws in Leviticus 11. The article is mostly dedicated to the idea of eco-Kosher, or "keeping with the spirit and intent of Torah." Eating, as it were, is an act that should receive much more attention than it does (i.e. appreciate and understand what you are eating prior to consuming it, appreciate the animal that died and where it derived). But his point about the appearance of this key component of kashrut is particularly interesting. He says he appreciates that many avoid mixing milk and meat as a respect for thousands of years of history or the idea of avoiding the food of persecution (pork, for example, because it was an identifier of Jews during the Inquisition), but for him the milk/meat "law has nothing to do with the prohibition against eating." There are a few thoughts here. In fact, Maimonides also suggested that in biblical times there were pagan cult rituals which involved the cooking of a kid in its mother's milk (Guide of the Perplexed, III-48).

On to Chukkat! I have just a few things I'd like to mention and a few questions I'd like to pose.

+ There are plenty, PLENTY of citations of ways to become unclean in the Torah. One, cited in this parshah, is dealing with corpses. Torah cites that one is unclean for seven days upon touch a corpse, but what I wonder is whether ... and perhaps this is a stupid question ... the number of days one remains unclean varies by the number of corpses one touches ...?

+ In Num 20:1-13 is the explanation of using the ashes of a brown (red) cow to atone for sins. The comments listed in Etz Chayim says something interesting: "Just as the ashes of the brown cow atone for sin, the death of a righteous person does the same (BT MK 28a)." The first thing I thought of when I read that was the concept of Christ and the basis for Christianity. I think it's interesting that the Talmud says such a thing about the death of a righteous person being akin to atoning for sin ... am I crazy here? Or could this be a valid citation for a Christian theologian to say "See! See! The Talmud says so!!! Jews for Jesus!"

+ I had another query, but then I Googled it and "Judaism 101" (JewFaq.org) had the answer! I think it's quite interesting, and I hadn't a clue. Num. 20:29 has a notation that although the mourning period of losing a parent is 12 months, Kaddish is only recited for 11 months. I thought this was a *little* strange, but alas! Here's the explanation from the Web site:

According to Jewish tradition, the soul must spend some time purifying itself before it can enter the World to Come. The maximum time required for purification is 12 months, for the most evil person. To recite Kaddish for 12 months would imply that the parent was the type who needed 12 months of purification! To avoid this implication, the Sages decreed that a son should recite Kaddish for only eleven months.

Brilliant! Thanks Judaism 101!

+ I have to make a note about this appearance of "Oi!" in this parshah. I don't know if I've missed it before, but this is the first time I've seen it in Torah. In Num. 21:29, there's sort of a "woe unto you" spiel that says: "Woe unto you, O Moab!" and in Hebrew is אוי לך מואב! or "Oi-l'cha Moab!" Beautiful, nu?

And that's it for this week. I'm trying to get better about my studies, so here's to hoping for more regular posting, more Torah thought, and more Judaism, darn't! On that note, Ian and I are officially becoming members of Temple Sholom here in Chicago. It's the first time in my life I've paid "dues" to be a part of a religious organization (in Lincoln my monthly bulletin duties and the fact that I was a poor student got me by for temple dues). In the coming months, hopefully I'll be able to plan on participating in many of the synagogue's committees, activities, and perhaps what I'm most excited about -- Adult Education courses! Hoorah!

Here's to the weekend, and a relaxing Shabbos to my friends and readers!

Books! Books!

I became a member of the Seminary Co-Op, which entitles me to 10 percent off all purchases. It isn't much, but it's something. I promptly purchased two books: "Women and Jewish Law" and "Salonica," which I had wanted since last summer when I saw it at Kramerbooks in Washington. Here's to new books!

On a side note: The past three nights I have slept, solidly and soundly, throughout the night. This is abnormal (for those of you who know me), because getting even four good hours of sleep a night is rare for me. Amen for the sleep, though I think it might be related to either the antibiotics or allergy pills I'm taking. If that's the case, though, I suppose I should welcome it ... nu?

Jedwabne, where they killed their neighbors.

I finished Jan Gross's "Neighbors" this morning on the ride in and then while in the office. It's an incredibly quick read and doesn't strike me as harrowing as the short version that appeared in a magazine, which is what I read while taking an Ethnic Conflict course in college. What is striking, though, is the bounty of testimony from individuals about what went on and the words written in pleas for clemency by those who perpetrated the murder of (the estimated) 1,600 Jews of Jedwabne in Poland. It was not the Germans who committed the killing and torture, but the neighbors of the Jews, their Polish neighbors and -- at one time -- friends. The tragedy of the event, though, is that so few survived to tell the story and because of the tense nature of Jewish/Polish relations (even to this day), few speak about it or cite the truth of the incident as opposed to citing myths or false explanations/excuses for the death of nearly all of the hamlet's Jews.

As I finished up the book, I began to wonder about the Polish/Russian relationship, as so many of the excuses cited regard the Russians as the faulters, mostly because the Jews "supported" the Russians and the Polish were at complete odds with the Russians during the occupation. It was a question of the lesser of two evils, but part of me wonders whether the Polish still hold resentment against the Russians for the pain and anguish during the war. But this is for another time.

A few websites worth examining if you know nothing or are curious about the Jedwabne massacre, or the others like it in Poland during the occupation:

-- Articles about the controversy surrounding Gross's book and the massacre here. The controversy surrounding the book comes largely from deniers and unbelievers.
-- The Jedwabne memory book online is here.
-- And of course, there's always good ole Wikipedia clickin' here.

Next on the list is a book, "Solinca," about the disappeared Jews of Greece. I'm not on a Holocaust kick by any means, but the vanished presence of Jews in the tiny and great places in the world is fascinating. What's more so, is the idea of neighbors breaking down the doors of those they shared water wells and dreams with, only to strike them down because of ages-old myths and legends, jealousy, spite or for the sake of conformity. Explain that to me, neighbor.

To be or not to be ... a rabbi?

Ian and I went to shul last night, not sure what to expect as it was the "going away" service for one of the rabbis, who is moving to a temple up in Skokie that is much, MUCH smaller and where she will be the only rabbi. Our shul has three rabbis (the leaving rabbi is being replaced by another female rabbi), a cantor, and about a bajillion members. It's location south of Evanston and north of downtown is convenient, if only we didn't live so far away. But we're joining and I'm sort of ... well ... glad the rabbi is leaving. Does that make me horrible? I blogged about her before here, and I don't know what to expect from the new rabbi, but I'm eager to see if she's a little more accessible. The service wasn't overly long, but included what the shul likes to call "Friday Night Live." We also weren't sure what to expect with this, but it turned out to be pretty sweet. There was a mini "band" that included a violinist, bongo drummer, clarinet player and pianist. The songs had a klezmer/middle eastern flare and it made the service incredibly lively. It also was held in the sanctuary, which I find much, much more inviting than the chapel, but that's me. The rabbi gave a speech about Shalom/Sholom and its various meanings ... and my conclusion afterward was that "every rabbi needs an editor."

But I think I have a negative predisposition for female rabbis.

When I first started my journey to Judaism, I was put in touch with the rabbi of the local reform synagogue, of which became my home, which I miss so dearly. The rabbi was a woman, and we sat down for coffee after I got up the nerve to make a meeting. The thing is, I'd read just about every conversion book on the planet and had gotten the spiel about being turned away, but I wasn't worried about that. What I was worried about was feeling warm and welcome. What I didn't feel immediately was just that -- warm and welcome. The people at the temple were the most inviting individuals I'd ever met, but the rabbi didn't seem to match that. I couldn't find that connection, and the coldness left a sour taste in my mouth ... so when she left and the current rabbi arrived, I felt so blessed. I was his first convert and our connection was immediate. Since then, I think I've had a predisposition to dislike female rabbis. The most interesting bit about this is that the rabbi I converted through used to -- and continues to -- joke about me going to rabbinical school. It's something I've thought of many, many times, but I always come back to my sentiments.

I know that it's more than just having a cold female rabbi, there's other issues there. I'm just still trying to figure out precisely what they are. In some ways I'm sure it's connected to my exploration of the roles of men and women in the synagogue, and I blogged on some of that in my entry about the mechitzah here. I think theologically I'm more on a conservative end. I ebb and flow, though. But I know that it has something to do with why I have hangups about female rabbis. There's a lot at work there, and I suppose I should spend some time figuring out what the heck it is.

Luckily, I've discovered the campus bookstore and it'll be a lot easier to do that now :) Maybe I'll start with Pamela Nadell's "Women Who Would Be Rabbis: A History of Women’s Ordination 1889-1985," though I might start with Ilana Bluberg's "Houses of Study: A Jewish Woman among Books." The avenues are endless ...

Cheers.

A few notes before I scoot out of work for home.

A grave in Southern Ukraine has been discovered. G-d knows this will carry on for years and years, and probably for even longer in Africa among Sudan and Rwanda ...

KIEV, Ukraine - A mass grave holding the remains of thousands of Jews killed by the Nazis has been found in southern Ukraine near the site of what was once a concentration camp, a Jewish community representative said Tuesday.

The grave was found by chance last month when workers were preparing to lay gas pipelines in the village of Gvozdavka-1, near Odessa, said Roman Shvartsman, a spokesman for the regional Jewish community.

The Nazis established two ghettos during World War II near the village and brought Jews there from what is now Moldova as well as Ukrainian regions, Shvartsman said. In November 1941, they set up a concentration camp and killed about 5,000 Jews, he said.

The second is more humorous and I'm going to buy one in about two seconds. Come on, who wouldn't want to own one of these?

Interesting. Very very intersting.

Now this is interactive art: http://wafaabilal.com/

Thunder and lightning.

So I have a problem. It could be worse, of course. I could be addicted to meth or speed or Doritos, but it's something less costly and more, well, intellectual.

I am addicted to buying books.

Now, I'm not up into the hundreds and hundreds like my friend Kat (cheers to packing 800 books, doll), but it's a lot. Or maybe it feels like a lot because when I go to the Borders in the Loop to the Judaic studies section I can find only a few books that I don't own (and they're mostly the ones on Kaballah/Jewish mysticism). But this overwhelming feeling has ended, as Kat introduced me to the Seminary Co-Op here at the University of Chicago. It is ... beautiful. There is a Jewish studies section, plenty of books and dictionaries on Hebrew, and more texts and Chumash in the religious studies section.

Simply put, it is a paradise where NPR is always on and the chairs are ready to be filled. I imagine days during the summer where the office grows old and I can wander on over and sit down with something new, just to tease myself.

So Kat and I went yesterday and I saw 20, 30, maybe 100 books I want. This is dangerous, of course, as there are more important things for my hard-earned (ha ha) money, such as credit card bills and student loan payments, not to mention the day to day needs. But books. My G-d, books. My own slice of heaven.

For the 20 percent off sale (thanks, Kat), I purchased a Hebrew-English dictionary (more than 18,000 words!) that is a little more handy for toting around than the one I got a few months ago (that is falling apart, btw). I also picked up a book in the Teach Yourself series. I'm a child of Seow's biblical Hebrew text, but I thought I'd branch out and see what the TY series has to offer (and it turns out they have just about every language on the planet, including Urdu and Zulu).

And finally, I picked up "Neighbors" by Jan Gross. I read a portion of it while in an Ethnic Conflict (aka the Genocide) class in college. That was the same class that my obsession and dissection of Ulysses S. Grant and his Orders No. 11 grew out of. "Neighbors" is a pretty must horrific story that, after reading, is hard to reconcile. It's merely a morsel of the never-to-be reconciled history of the Polish/Jewish people.

So here I am with some delicious gems. And in the future? There will be more and more and more. Feeding the addiction is what I can do. Amen.

Like an old shoe.

They say you can never go home. And they lie.

I'm back in Nebraska for the weekend. My college friend Patrick married his Husker sweetheart, Amanda, last night in a short, but kind wedding at St. Paul's in downtown Lincoln. Aside from a lot of Christy-talk, it was a nice ceremony. The song was strange, as it was about the "beauty of Christ's body." Being me, it made me squirm a little in my seat. I guess there's nothing beautiful about a crucified body, in my opinion. Though I imagine it was metaphorical, I don't get that kind of stuff. The reception that followed was small, beautiful and what I'd hope mine could be. It wasn't ritzy (the steak was delicious, though), but had a flare of class. The music options (some Sinatra, and other big band tunes) were astounding, not to mention that the cake was moist as anything I've ever had. The best part? The jellybeans on the tables. Kudos, my man. Kudos. The bride and groom were dashing, and I nearly cried after finishing my dollar dance with Patrick. There's something about seeing a good friend happy, glowing in what they really deserved that makes you want to cry for them. In happiness, of course. Mazel tov, my friends.

The trip has gone quite well so far.

We went to South Street temple on Friday night, and I can't even begin to describe how fulfilling it was. If there's one thing I miss most in my life, the one thing that if I could top it all off right now and be completely happy, it would be to be able to be with my synagogue family again. It's been more than a year since last I went to temple there, but I fell right back in. Rabbi Emanuel welcomed me to read a bit from the siddur (which was so nice, considering it will be eons before I'm asked to read at our new synagogue in Chicago) and there was a baby name ceremony, so myriad people were there. All of the old friends -- Barb, Deb, the Zlotskys, the rabbi and his family, Sara and her husband -- everyone was there. It seems I've missed a lot in the past year. Babies, engagements, catastrophe at the Conservative synagogue in town (which I INTEND on finding all about, of course). I miss my friends there. I miss the Torah studies and conversation. It's so hard to get to the new temple on Saturdays for Torah study, when it takes an hour and a half by transit to make it there. But it was reassuring, reaffirming, and uplifting to be there again. The place where I kindled my faith and found a home and a family among all the world's Israelites. It will always be my home, and each time I come back is a reminder that no matter how lost and far away I feel, I always have somewhere to go back to.

We hit the Starlite Lounge Friday night, where we ran into Johnny and other old Daily Nebraskan chums. I fell in love with the Tom Collins and relished in the hipness of the place I used to go every Thursday for free appetizers and cheaply priced faux martinis. There was Bison Witches yesterday afternoon for lunch, which I was happy that Ian loved. If I could franchise a restaurant, that might be it. We visited Target and went to the wedding, topping the night off with some Runza to fill our stomachs. If you've never had a Runza burger, then you're missing out. It's another restaurant I'd like to franchise -- if only so I could eat the burgers and fries for the rest of my days. Even Ian, a burger/food connoseur and the toughest critic I know, said it was the best fast food burger he'd ever had (topping Inn-N-Out, among others). Today it was Frenchees and the Coffee House, the latter being a staple of the College Years for me.

Either way, every place felt like home. It's quiet, being summertime with classes out. The college kids make up a big chunk of the heart of this city, which is why when many graduate they move on to Omaha -- it keeps that umph that many miss from college around these parts. But it's flat, and the buildings are low. I took Ian out to my "spot" -- Alvo Road at 14th Street -- where you can see every star in the sky, no matter what type of night it is. Big Dipper, Cassiopia, you name it, it's there. It's a gravel road that leads somewhere, though I'm not sure where. I've always just pulled right in, turned off the engine and killed the lights. It's the kind of place where you can just hold your breath and hear all the sounds of the world. There are few places left like that, and definitely none in Chicago.

When they say you can never go home, they lie. I'm back where I used to be and I feel as though I've never left. I settled right in at synagogue and Bison Witches and among the streets of Lincoln. There are new roads, new people, new restaurants and structures, but it's all the same old shoe. It's comforting and I couldn't be happier to be back. So now I know that the myth is a lie, and I couldn't be happier.

Yes, it's real.

A rabbi (in Israel) decided to annul a conversion -- FIFTEEN years after the fact.

Believe it? You better. Click here.

On B'Midbar (that's wilderness, folks).

The Torah was given to the people of Israel in the ownerless desert. For if it were given in the Land of Israel, the residents of the Land of Israel would say, "It is ours"; and if it were given in some other place, the residents of that place would say, "It is ours." Therefore it was given in the wilderness, so that anyone who wishes to acquire it may acquire it.

(Mechilta D'Rashbi)

I think that just about sums it up. The census taken has some fun traditions to it (such as that the number of Israelites equates to the number of letters in Torah, thus expressing that without one Israelite the mission cannot be accomplished, much like the absence of a letter in a scroll renders the Torah scroll unfit.) I'm finding it harder and harder to focus. Perhaps I need a new venue, or maybe my (not-diagnosed) ADD is getting the best of me.

Shalom, and may you be ever so excited and eager for Shavuot!

A poem.

I'm browsing scholarly journals looking for papers that thrill me or authors that might want to get to know me. In the shuffle, I came across this poem by Jehanne Dubrow. It's about where I got my undergrad, the place I garnered a minor in Judaic studies -- if only they had had a major option. But then again, I suppose this poem says it all. This is excerpted from a 2006 issue of Judaism.

Judaic Studies
University of Nebraska-Lincoln
The department doesn't even fill a floor
but one room at the university,
fluorescents dark behind a frosted door
which answers woodenly to every knock.
No secretary waiting there to call
me puppele, German for little doll,
or feed me raspberry-swirled rugelach,
the sweetness now an eaten memory.
On certain days, Nebraska could be Poland,
the same blond silences of plains, each field
a never-ending corridor of gold.
What happened to the open door? It's sealed,
with every light tumed off, and no one home
except the wind breathing alone, alone.

JEHANNE DUBROW received her MFA in poetry from the University of Maryland, College
Park. She is currently working toward a Ph.D. in creative writing at the University of
Nebraska-Lincoln where she also serves as the senior poetry reader of Prairie Schooner. Her
work has appeared in Poetry, The Hudson Review, Tikkun, Midstream and The New
England Review.

We're taking our time.

I haven't disappeared. I haven't stopped reading Torah or going to synagogue or being who I am.

I have many drafts written that haven't been posted. Many of them become outdated and sit in my blogger account. I had one about the parshah Emor and how if you flip the letters around you get Omer! How appropriate for Emor to be during the Omer. And other things. Important things. Pertinent things.

I find myself reading a lot more. I'm trying to get through Rashi by Maurice Liber. I've been reading a variety of articles and just finished one about the reception of Rashi's take on Adam having "intercourse" with all the beasts before the advent of Eve. I'm poking around at a paper about Maimonides and another about reading R. Gershom. The bonus to working at a university is the free access to billions of journals and texts online :) I'm horribly spoiled!

Ian and I are filling out the papers to join a temple here in Chicago. It will be my first "paid" membership to a synagogue. In Lincoln my membership to B'Nai Jeshurun (South Street Temple) was taken care of because I was (a) a student and (b) did the temple newsletter. It's strange to actually become a card carrying member of a synagogue, especially one that is so incredibly large. The sanctuary is THE most beautiful one I've ever been in. The building is built in the same style as B'Nai Jeshurun, which is a relief. I "grew up" in the byzantine style, which I find the most beautiful and Jewish. The temples that are built in the style of churches put me off, and this is the first place I've ever felt at home. The thing I'm looking most forward to? Volunteering! Adult education! Activities! Community!

So yes, things are starting to come together. Baruch HaShem!

A diversion. Pardon me.

You never know how lonely you can get until the person you love, who you've been living with for just under two months, leaves the state for four days to go two time zones away.

I've known Ian for nearly 3 years (it will be "officially" 3 as of May 14/15 -- I responded to a LiveJournal post of his on the 14th, but he didn't respond to me until the 15th), and I've been (finally) living with him almost two months, though it feels like years. Maybe that's because it's all this kindred spirits finally coming together stuff. You know, that person you always knew you'd be with and that you've always wanted to marry, now just right next to you.

Did I mention he cooks? Not just cooks though. He'll make chicken parmigiana and the most delicious mashed potatoes and perfectly seasoned chicken. Brilliant, he is. And I smile more when he's around. I'm more awake and alive. I'm more excited.

I typically get off work around 5:45 and take the quickest possible route home to get to him. Tonight? I pudded around. Went to the store. Went to Staples. Took the long way to the bus. And here I've been since about 8 p.m. Lame-ola. Time just sits still, I guess. It's how I felt in D.C. Alone and aimless.

Boo to that I say. So I'll wait till Sunday. I guess. Man, I got attached really quick.

Why, Russia, must you be so damn high and mighty?

Just because Estonia's government removes a statue to the Russians who liberated and fought for the greater good, it MUST mean that the Jews of the world are glorifying Nazi SS men.

That is, at least, what a Russian woman historian said on BBC radio this morning.

Ugh.

G-d forbid a country wants to rid itself of the memory of decades of occupation.

Sigh. Again, again.

Not that I'd ever vote Republican, but Tommy Thompson just lost my vote. Why?

"I'm in the private sector and for the first time in my life I'm earning money," Thompson told the Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism. "You know that's sort of part of the Jewish tradition and I do not find anything wrong with that."

He then later decided he needed to clarify with this:
"I just want to clarify something because I didn't (by) any means want to infer or imply anything about Jews and finances and things. What I was referring to, ladies and gentlemen, is the accomplishments of the Jewish religion. You've been outstanding business people and I compliment you for that."

Maybe someone should educate the man on the history of money lending and Jewish finances. Maybe? No, someone should. I mean, the article immediately points out that one of his first actions in politics was to take some hoo-ha trip to Israel in 1988. Big deal.

If your jaw flaps that widely and narrowly, perhaps you should get your face stapled.

A little late on the parashah ... Sh'mini!

Perhaps the most significant aspect of this week's parshah (for me) is the discussion in Etz Chayim regarding kashrut. I'm often asked why I hold on to "archaic" or "outdated" mitzvot like not eating pork or not mixing milk and meat. I have my reasons -- much like everyone else does -- and they vary from person to person. Is it wrong to not just say "Because Torah says so!" ... HELL NO. (My biggest beef with Christianity growing up was that I was discouraged from asking questions. That was also one of my biggest draws to Judaism!)

Before I talk kashrut, I want to mention a few other things in this parshah, which begins with two of Aaron's sons being consumed by flames.

In this portion of the parshah, Aaron raises his hands to G-d and blesses the people before him, which made me wonder if this is where the belief that the 'live long and prosper' hand symbol arose from the priests of Temple Judaism. Leonard Nemoy took the hand symbol (of which I'm sure everyone is familiar) to Star Trek, saying that he remembered making the gesture in shul when he was a lad. I have yet to run across anything in Torah that specifically details the hand signal, but I'm still looking out for it. Curious, nu? Here's a site with some insight: Jewish origins of the Vulcan gesture.

The debate over Nadab's and Abihu's sin (and what it was) is ongoing. Etz Chayim says "Their sin, if any, was a lack of faith, trying to help G-d in a situation in which G-d did not need their help. (Mekh.)" Sages have said the fire was the "fire of ambition" and that the boys were trying to supersede their edlers, while others have said that the brothers were motivated by EXTREME piety. That is, they wanted desperately to be close to G-d and got lost in the effort to attain extreme closeness. Even still, it has been argued that their bodies were not completely consumed and burnt by the fire from G-d, because of phrases later that say the men were carried away by their tunics. Rather, it has been suggested that their souls were completely consumed, resulting in Nadab and Abihu becoming spiritually ruined.

On the same note, within the commentary it says something that I wasn't really aware of, but it regards recent losses (death, of course). Jewish law counsels us AGAINST trying to comfort individuals right after a loss. This goes against nature, considering when someone close to us is hurting we want immediately to help them feel better. But at the same time, there's something strange about doing so ... which makes this little bit of Jewish law pointed.

NOW! For the little morsel I wanted to share. I'm perfectly solid in my reasons for not eating pork, shellfish and beef/dairy combos, among other things. But whenever I can find more satisfaction and law in my decision, I get giddy and it helps the moral effort. Etz Chayim highlights the issue as such: We are commanded not to ingest blood, thus, we should not consume animals and birds of prey that ingest blood, because this puts blood into our food system. Ta da! Brilliant! Additionally, the comments admit that keeping kosher reminds us that there is "a moral difference between eating an apple and a slice of meat." Why? Because one of G-d's creatures had to be slaughtered for the consumption of the meat. Keeping kosher creates a consciousness, which I like.

Okay, that was probably a false buildup, but I thought those two little bits there about kashrut were poignant.

Never again.

Yom HaShoah -- Never again! Never again? (Darfur, Rwanda, ...)

Today is Yom HaShoah. That is, Holocaust Remembrance Day. The world over, are people thinking about it? Remembering? Recalling? Reliving? So few Holocaust survivors remain. And by that, I mean individuals directly impacted by the Nazi horrors. Not Joe Shmo who was enjoying a hot dog in Chicago on State Street while millions were dying in Europe. No. I'm talking the individuals of witness and loss.

Friday at Shabbat services, the sermon was brief, but impactful. The thing is, the rabbi (whom Ian and I weren't particularly fond of -- the shul has three rabbis and we enjoy the other two) related Yom HaShoah to this week's parshah, which includes the death of two of Aaron's sons by fire. The first part of the parshah discusses the "alien fire" that the two sons present on the alter, resulting in their consumption in flames at (most likely) the hands of G-d. Flames, fire and ash. "Shoah" appears in the Tanakh THREE times, and more or less means total destruction or devastation. The rabbi then read a very graphic, touching, horrific portion from Elie Wiesel's "Night." I read the book a few years ago and cried uncontrollably. Thinking about the book or even hearing pieces from it is devastating.

The section she read depicted the hanging of three Jewish prisoners -- one of which was a child. When he was hanged, he remained alive for nearly a half-hour, his weight too small to kill him quickly. He shook and wriggled and the prisoners were made to watch. A prisoner screamed "WHERE IS G-D?!" over and over. Elie Wiesel thought to himself that G-d was there, hanging before them. The rabbi continued on saying "Where was G-d? He was there, suffering alongside us."

But that wasn't enough. It's never enough just to say that, is it? I'd been in a very good mood throughout the evening. Ian and I sat in Argo, traveled North and headed to shul -- I was content. But this sermon shook me, putting me into a state of depression that continues on at this moment. I had two horrible nightmares that night and was depressed all day yesterday. The dissatisfaction from the rabbi saying that G-d was there, suffering ... was just so little, so sad. So unfulfilling. I don't command an answer, a reason, an explanation to the Shoah. It can't be karma, it can't be G-d's will, it can't be that it just happened.

Anyhow, the sadness won't let up. So on this Yom HaShoah, I beg for peace of mind.

Life Lives On

Why is there death in the world? So that evil will not live forever.

Because, since we ate of the Tree of Knowledge, no one walks forward without stumbling, no one climbs without falling, no one does good all his life without causing some damage along the way. Until, at the end, our lives are an absurd muddle of good and evil inextricably bound.

With death, evil dies as well. The failures, the ugly acts and the damage done--all these wither and eventually perish. But the good we have accomplished--and that we truly are -- this lives forever.

--A Daily Dose of Wisdom from the Rebbe

Death to a legend! Oy!

He won my heart with "God Bless You, Dr. Kavorkian." Or was it "Slaughterhouse Five"? Although it could easily have been "Breakfast of Champions" -- my favorite Vonnegut book. I've read so many of his books, and he defeats J.D. Salinger on my list of favorite authors (cliched? maybe). But Vonnegut is the man who made me love reading. I realized then that literature didn't have to be stiff and archaic. It could be meddlesome and hilarious.

So, cheers to you Mr. Vonnegut. I hope negotiations are going well with your entrance into the netherlands. Your memory is emblazoned on my mind -- permanently. Thanks, you old man.