Moishele the water carrier's Seder holds the key to Jewish continuity

I can’t get the word out of my head.

TRADITION.

It is what lays at the root of Pesach.  From the menu to the melodies and the chumrot (stringencies) to charoset, so much about the Festival of Freedom comes down to tradition.

How strongly we are anchored to tradition can make all the difference in Jewish identity and continuity.  (This is going to be long, so please bear with me.)

A few months ago, I read an article in the Washington Post entitled “The Foreskin and the Hindsight” written by Jim Sollisch.  Sollisch, a creative director at an ad agency in Cleveland, describes the American Jewish experience using his family’s example.  He describes his own feelings of Jewish identity, how his children experience their Jewishness, and comments on what it means to be an American Jew today.  The American identity is taking over.

I read the article and commented to friends and family: This could the saddest thing I ever read.

Here are some excerpts:

Sollisch is married to a non-Jew.  He describes the bris of his first son - which was conducted in a ritually Jewish way, but it was a little nerve-racking.  So his second son had a hospital circumcision on the third day of his life.

The attending physician played the role of mohel while I muttered the prayers. There was not a bagel in sight.

And that’s how the death of Judaism proceeds, one accommodation at a time. I didn’t feel bad about it. I agreed that this made sense. Compromises always make sense…

Sollisch may not feel bad about it, BUT I DO! 

I am absolutely not judging him or anyone.  For me, though, an appreciation for and dedication to tradition is the lifeblood of Jewish continuity.  It is one thing for Jews to be observing less or for assimilation and intermarriage to be on the rise, but when Jews don’t even feel bad about the weakening of the Jewish part of their identity, I feel like tearing keriah in sadness and mourning.

A few other highlights from the article:

These future grandchildren of mine will not be Jewish.

Some days this knowledge makes me sad. Most days it doesn’t…

Although I am the most secular of Jews, my Jewish identity runs deep…Without my Jewishness, I would be only an American, vague and sort of soulless, like a strip mall or a tract home in a sprawling suburb… 

I am glad Sollisch’s Jewish identity runs deep, but his attitude is one that is destroying the Jewish people on so many levels.

To be a Jew outside of Israel means to be hyphenated.

To be a Jew means to be burdened – I prefer privileged - by Jewish history.

To be a Jew means to be chosen and, yes, sometimes persecuted.

To be a Jew means to know that there is anti-Semitism – even personally.

To be a Jew means not to aspire to be insiders or members of the club if the price of admission is to give up even a small piece of one’s Jewish identity.

Sollisch should not be happy about that.  I know I am not.

We live in complicated times when Jewish identity cannot be taken for granted and the connections to tradition are unravelling.  It’s been that way for over a century.

Still, it is important to speak about, teach about, share stories about, and keep repeating the basic truths of who we are.

We are Jews.

We believe in God, Torah, and the mission of the Jewish people to be a light to the world.

There is plenty of interference with this message in contemporary society.  We should never allow ourselves to stop articulating and reinforcing the basic truths of who we are.

The Pesach Seder must be about more than retelling a story.  It is about reinforcing the core values at the center of our Jewish identity. 

Here is the story of another Jew and his family and the Seder he experienced.  It is one of the classic Chasidic stories which can often (especially in our more cynical times) be dismissed as outdated or silly.  I find great meaning and power in it.  It is the story of Moishele the water carrier’s Seder as told by Reb Shlomo Carlebach.  (Text below from The Night That Unites Haggadah.)

After one Seder with Rebbe Tzvi Elimelech, the Hasidim got together and said, “Rebbe, there is nobody who makes a Seder as holy as yours.”

Rebbe Zvi Elimelech said, “Let me tell you something.  Do you want to know whose Seder reached the highest in heaven?  It was the Seder of Moishele the water carrier.  His Seder was the best in the world.  I’ll have him tell you tomorrow in his own words what he did.”

The next day, after prayers, the Hasidim came to Moishele the water carrier and said, “The Rebbe would like to see you.”  Moishele came to the Rebbe, and he began to cry bitterly.  “I am so sorry.  I don’t know what came over me, Rebbe.  I promise you I will never do it again.”  The Rebbe replied, “Moishele, just tell us what you did.”

The poor water carrier said, “Rebbe, you know I’m so poor and I have so little joy in life.  The only joy I have is that sometimes I get a little drunk.  But everybody knows that on Passover you can’t drink vodka since it’s made from grain.  So I had a great idea.  The night before Passover I would drink all night, and then I would be drunk for the whole holiday.  So that’s what I did!  I drank, and I drank.  And soon I was out cold.”

On Seder night, Moishele’s wife came to wake him for the Seder.  She said to him, “Moishele, it’s really not fair.  Everyone is having a Seder.  How about us?  We have little children, and they are waiting for their father to start the Seder!”  Moishele said, “My dear wife, I wish I could suddenly be not drunk, but I can’t.  Please let me sleep a little more.”

By now, Mosihele regretted drinking so much before Pesach.  “Oy, how I regretted it!  I would have done anything not to be drunk, but I couldn’t do anything about it.  Every fifteen minutes, my wife came in and said, ‘Moishele, please! The children are waiting for the Seder!’  But I couldn’t move.  Finally, I said to my sweet wife, ‘Please wake me up in an hour, and then we can start the Seder.’

“My wife came back in an hour.  Then she came in another half hour. Then she came in and said, ‘The night is almost over! Please, we must have a Seder for our children!’

“I was so broken.  Here are my precious children, and I am such a lousy father.  I am not even giving them a Seder on Pesach night!  So I said to my wife, ‘Please call in the children.’

“She called in the children.  I asked them to all come and sit next to me on the bed.  And this is what I said:

           

I want you to know, children, that I am so sorry that I drank.  I will never do it again!  Now, I know that it is Seder night.  I know that we didn’t eat the matzah or the marror together as a family.  But, at least, even though I am drunk, let me tell you the story of Passover.

Children, I want you to know that God created the world in seven days.  I want you to know that there was Adam and Eve, and they didn’t listen to God so they were thrown out of the garden.  There was a flood, there was the tower of Babel.  But then came Abraham and Sarah, and they began fixing the world again.  Then Isaac and Rebecca, and Jacob and Rachel and Leah, and their twelve holy sons.

But then came the evil Pharaoh who made us into slaves.  And tonight, God took us out of Egypt.  So I want you to swear to me right now that you will always know that the same God that took us out of Egypt is still alive.  It’s the same God.  Our ancestors were slaves for two hundred and ten years in Egypt.  They were crying, their lives were so full of pain.  It was unbearable.  They prayed to the one and only God, and the Master of the World heard their prayers. 

Please remember, my dear children, that whenever a Jew cries to God, God always hears our prayers and takes us out of our troubles.  Children, swear to me tonight that you will never forget that there is one God who listens to our prayers.  Children, make sure you never stop praying.

Moishele turned to the Rebbe and said, “Rebbe, I am so sorry.  I couldn’t say anything more because I was still drunk.  I turned over and fell back to sleep.”

The holy Rebbe Tzvi Elimelech was crying.  The tears rolled down his face.  He turned to his Hasidim and said, “Did you hear that?  I wish that once in my life I would have the privilege to give over belief in God to my children the way Moishele the water carrier gave it over to his children on Seder night.

Mamash, a gevalt!

Now, I know there are lots of questions about this story and that, obviously, Moishele is no model father nor was the Seder halakhic.

But this is the message I will tell my children, my family, my guests, and myself at the Seder.  God created the world.  He took us out of Egypt.  We are Jews and have a responsibility to stay Jewish.

It’s not everything, but it is a powerful start.  If this resonates, the future will be bright.

The complexity of the Jewish experience should not deter us.  It should not lead us to hope for a time when we or our children will have non-hyphenated identities and be insiders and members of the club.  We already have such identities and are members of the club. 

On Pesach, we remember that God took us out of Egypt to become a holy nation.

It’s that simple.  We're Jews.  Tradition!

The Torah of Voting

  

Yes, I am a registered Democrat.

(I’ll let you guess who I voted for.)

The 2016 Presidential election feels more real with New York’s primary today.

I prefer not to say too much.  I’ll only note that, throughout the campaign, various candidates in both parties (some more than others) have said things that really disturb me greatly and go against my Jewish and American values. 

As we stand on the cusp of the Jewish Festival of Freedom, it is appropriate to reflect on the religious significance of voting.  Spoiler alert: I think it is a mitzvah to vote and be engaged in the political process.

In Jeremiah 29:6-7, we read:

קְחוּ נָשִׁים וְהוֹלִידוּ בָּנִים וּבָנוֹת וּקְחוּ לִבְנֵיכֶם נָשִׁים וְאֶת בְּנוֹתֵיכֶם תְּנוּ לַאֲנָשִׁים וְתֵלַדְנָה בָּנִים וּבָנוֹת וּרְבוּ שָׁם וְאַל תִּמְעָטוּ: וְדִרְשׁוּ אֶת שְׁלוֹם הָעִיר אֲשֶׁר הִגְלֵיתִי אֶתְכֶם שָׁמָּה וְהִתְפַּלְלוּ בַעֲדָהּ אֶל יְקֹוָק כִּי בִשְׁלוֹמָהּ יִהְיֶה לָכֶם שָׁלוֹם:

Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons and give your daughters to men, and they shall have sons and daughters; and you shall become greater there, and not smaller.  Seek the peace of the city to which you have been exiled, and pray on its behalf to God, for through its peace you shall have peace.

Already during the Babylonian exile, we are instructed that the path to success involves support for the government.  If our country of residence thrives, so do the Jews living there.

Throughout much of the Jewish experience, we had little reason to think favorably of those in power.  America was the game-changer.  While Jews had more opportunities and greater freedom with the onset of the Enlightenment, the United States provided more religious freedom and a fuller engagement with civic responsibility than ever before.  And the rabbis took notice.

Rabbi Moshe Feinstein famously praised the American system of government on several occasions.  In 1984, he signed a letter encouraging Jews to vote.  

The rights guaranteed by the United States Constitution and the Bill of Rights have allowed us the freedom to practice our religion in safety…A fundamental principle in Judaism is Hakarat HaTov (gratitude)…Therefore it is incumbent upon each Jewish citizen to participate in the democratic system which guards the freedoms we enjoy.

These are not sentiments that would ever have been expressed in other stops along the exile.

How should we vote?

Jews should vote for the candidate who is best for the country.  This includes all sorts of variable – including Israel and the needs of the Jewish community.  Which candidate is best?  That is a longer discussion.

I do think, however, that all citizens need to seriously consider who is best.  It is not an arbitrary decision.  I think we need to own our votes.

Rabbi Menashe Klein, a prominent halakhic decisor, was asked about voting.  He said that the voter does not bear responsibility for the actions of his candidate.  One should choose the candidate that he views as most favorable among those running.  He recalled that in prewar Hungary everyone would vote.  In America, everyone should vote and try to choose the best candidate even if it seems that none are all that promising.

I agree with Rabbi Klein that we should always vote.  I think, however, that we should take some responsibility for our candidates.  We should vote for the person whose views and values most align with our own.  We may not be able to influence their views, but when we pull that lever or scan that ballot or punch those chads (remember those?), we should view it as a sacred responsibility.

That’s freedom.

So why do we need to study about this anyway?

It is a refrain that teachers and parents hear often: “So why do we need to study about this anyway?”  (Can you hear their whiny voices and the emphasis on ANYWAY?)

I wonder about some of the subjects myself sometimes (especially when helping my children with their math homework), but we all know that knowledge is critical.

I always ask my students, “Does someone need to study Talmud to be a good Jew?”  The answer, of course, is no.  Studying Talmud, though, makes one a better informed Jew.

This lesson is reinforced by the Talmud’s statement concerning the tzara’at that could appear on the walls of the home.

The Talmud (Sanhedrin 71a) teaches:

בית המנוגע לא היה ולא עתיד להיות ולמה נכתב דרוש וקבל שכר

A home with tzara’at never happened and never will happen.  Why is it written in the Torah?  Study about it and receive reward.

According to the Talmud, there is no practical application or real-word occurrence of this situation.  It is there to get us thinking.  And this thinking will be rewarding.

What is the purpose of such an affliction?  What lesson can we learn?

One explanation in the Talmud (Yoma 11b) is that tzara’at of the home is a punishment for an improper attitude towards one’s possessions.  If a person is stingy with what s/he has and does not share, the tzara’at of the home will be a reminder that, ultimately, God owns everything.

Rabbi David Silverberg, a teacher at Yeshivat Har Etzion in Israel, points out that the lesson of the tzara’at of the home is a reminder to appreciate what we have and what we can do to help others with what we have.  When the house has tzara’at, it must be emptied of all possessions.  This process of seeing everything removed allows the owner to evaluate exactly what s/he has, to realize how much s/he has, and to be grateful.

The tzara’at of the home reminds us to use what we have – our possessions, our talents, our presence – in ways that allow us to fulfill our mission of being better people and better Jews.

Learning – and living – this lesson is most certainly rewarding.

(Another reason to “Bring back tzara’at!)

Beezus, Ramona, and Mishnah Yomit

Beverly Cleary is turning 100.  (Her birthday is April 12.)

The noted children’s author has sold 85 million copies of her books about Ramona, Henry Huggins, Ralph S. Mouse, and other beloved figures.  Nicholas Kristof wrote a very nice article about her in the New York Times.

Cleary was born in Yamhill, Oregon, a small town with a population of about 1,000.  She says that when she goes back to Yamhill, everything seems the same as ever - except that now the kids aren’t playing in the streets but are inside watching television.

Kristof writes:

There’s something to that. On any given day, American children ages 8 to 12 consume almost six hours of entertainment, such as television, video games and social media, according to polling by Common Sense Media. Aside from schoolwork, 57 percent of those kids typically don’t read at all.

We measure child poverty by household income, but a better metric might be how often a child hears stories read aloud. To honor Cleary’s birthday, school organizations are calling on kids and parents to “drop everything and read.”

I like that initiative.  We should be much more willing to drop everything and read – and learn and study.

We are rapidly approaching our annual retelling of a most important story.  As we recount the birth of the Jewish nation and the immortal words, “Let My people go!” we should update the mission to include the imperative, “Let our people know!”

At the recent AIPAC Policy Conference, Atlantic journalist Jeffrey Goldberg raised the growing problem of young people being less connected to Israel than their parents.  He said that addressing this issue will require more than pro-Israel advocacy and hasbara.  It will require Jewish literacy.

He is right. How can we expect young Jews to feel a special connection to the Jewish state if they have never studied the texts that describe the importance of Israel?

We need to let our people know!  We need to strengthen our own connection to study and acquire Jewish knowledge.

There is a long tradition that Jews are expected to know. Almost 2,000 years ago, Josephus wrote: “Should anyone of our nation be asked about our laws, he will repeat them as readily as his own name. The result of our thorough education in our laws from the very dawn of intelligence is that they are, as it were, engraved on our souls.”

Halevai!

Things may have changed since the time of Josephus, but Jews are expected to have some knowledge. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes:

Can you be an educated Jew without at least a basic familiarity with Tanakh and Talmud, the classic Torah commentaries, the poetry of Judah Halevi, the philosophy of Maimonides, and the history of the Jewish people? Jews in Eastern Europe used to say, “To be an apikores (heretic) is understandable, but to be an am ha’aretz (ignoramus) is unforgiveable”.

David Suissa, editor of the Los Angeles Jewish Journal had a great line in an article entitled “Dumbing Down Judaism.”  He said our very creative and innovative efforts at transmitting Judaism are “nurturing a generation of Jewish noshers who only want to lick the icing off the Jewish cake.” This leads to the creation of Jewish consumers and not thinkers.

Let’s stop noshing!

Let’s not only focus on the experience; let’s encourage more learning of the source material.  We need to study “it” and not just about “it.”  Let’s hit the books!  We may not master all the texts we need to, but we can commit to something. Regular text study strengthens the bonds we create with Judaism. This will not only educate but help ensure a strong connection to Judaism.

Where can we start?  I would like to propose you join me in studying Mishnah Yomit.  Sign up here!

Developed by Rabbi Yonah Shtenzel, who was born in Poland and moved to Tel Aviv in 1935, participants in Mishnah Yomit study just two mishnayot a day, and, in just 6 years, learn all 4,192 Mishnayot.  This study cycle provides a realistic way for every person to become familiar with the concepts in the Mishnah and have the accomplishment of finishing the six orders of Mishnayot.

Think about it. In just minutes a day, people will engage the text that is the basis for Talmud and Jewish law.  And, in just 6 years, achieve a significant Torah learning milestone.  It’s very easy. Too easy.  You can have it emailed to you by the OU or you can listen to it online.

We are blessed to, thank God, live at a time with such robust Jewish life.  We should be proud of all we do Jewishly and all that we support and make possible.  At the same time, we should never stop thinking about how to sustain our Jewish connection and that of our children and grandchildren.

Leon Wieseltier, writer, author, and critic, is a big believer in Jewish literacy – especially Hebrew language.  He writes:

We cannot teach our children what to believe; or rather, we can try to teach them what to believe, but we can never be certain of the success of our effort.  They will believe what they wish to believe…

If we cannot make sure that we will be followed by believing Jews, we certainly can be sure that we will be followed by competent Jews.  Indeed, competence leaves a Jew favorably disposed to conviction.  A competent Jew is not destroyed by his questions, because he can look for the answers himself. He, or she, has the tools.

Ignorance, I think, is much more damaging than heresy.

We have so many opportunities to study (like Daf Yomi or the daily study of Kitzur Shulchan Aruch or Chumash).  Let us commit to engage in, at least, one small daily opportunity.  It will strengthen our connection to our past and help ensure our future.

Let our people know!

Bring Back Tzara'at!

How do you translate the word צרעת (tzara’at)?

If you’re like most people – including, surprisingly, my 3^rd grade students, you probably are thinking leprosy.  (I would NOT have expected a 3^rd grader to have heard of leprosy.  It may have been the one with a dermatologist as a parent.)

Well, tzara’at is not leprosy.  (Although my Chumash with the English translation of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch’s German translation and commentary does translate the word as leprosy.  Maybe something was lost in translation)

What is it?

Tzara’at is a spiritual or religious indicator that the person is not speaking properly.  The Torah teaches about a person who finds this strange patch of skin.  S/he shows it to the Kohein.  If it is, indeed, tzara’at, the individual goes into seclusion, a religious “time out,” to contemplate his/her actions.  If the individual successfully addresses the root cause of his/her transgression, the tzara’at will disappear, and it is back to everyday life – after an appropriate sacrificial atonement.

(The Torah actually never states explicitly that speaking lashon ha-ra (negative speech) leads to tzara’at.  It is implied in the story of Miriam speaking ill about Moshe’s wife and then be afflicted with tzara’at.  Tradition puts one and one together, and tzara’at and lashon ha-ra are forever linked at the hip.)

So, we have a spiritual affliction whose goal is to remind people of the need to speak civilly.

We need to bring tzara’at back.

Everywhere we turn we hear outrageous statements being made.  From Israel to the presidential campaign, it seems like civil discourse has gone out the window. 

Maybe if those who spoke in such a way came down with a little tzara’at, they would think twice before saying some of the things they say.  (I am sure that they would be more careful if they got leprosy from their statements.

Take the following examples from within the Jewish community shared in a memo about the need for civility by Jewish Federations of North America (JFNA) CEO Jerry Silverman (thank you UJA-Federation SYNERGY Executive Director Adina Frydman for sharing):

The language is painful to hear, particularly coming from fellow Jews.

Knesset Member Moshe Gafni called Reform Jews "a bunch of clowns who stick a knife in the holy Torah."

MK Yisrael Eichler criticized an Israeli Supreme Court decision allowing non-Orthodox Jews to use public mikvaot, likening it to permitting a “mentally ill person” to “come to the operating room and decide the rules of medicine and force the hospital to have an operation by whatever way works."

Israeli Tourism Minister Yariv Levin called Reform Jews “a dying world” that would assimilate and disappear in another two or three generations.

We’ve seen women who were holding liberal prayer services at the Kotel pelted with rocks and debris, and the police who tried to protect them called “Nazis.”

Sadly, we saw similar, sometimes even harsher, vitriol during the debate over the Iranian nuclear agreement, with some Jews not even wanting to go to their local Shabbat services lest they get into an uncomfortable debate on the accord.

Also in Israel, there has been a lot of press coverage of the IDF soldier who shot and killed a terrorist who had been stopped and was lying on the ground.  The case is under investigation, and the rule of law must and will prevail.  Yet the issue has brought out the worst in some people with some turning against the Defense Minister for supporting the investigation.

I understand people have different views.  There is right and left; Democrat and Republican.  But the decibel level and the tone are getting ugly.

There needs to be a better way to speak to each other than to shout and delegitimize. I understand some of it is politics or for the cameras, but we need to find a way to think before speaking and try to only say what we really mean.

I think the threat of tzara’at might help, but I am not sure we can count on it.

The Midrash Lekach Tov (Tazria 35b) quotes Rabbi Yochanan saying that we won’t find tzara’at today because we no longer have capable judges. 

Now, the Midrash doesn’t put it this way, but I see it as teaching that, already over a thousand years ago, there was a problem of not having the right people to stop the scourge of incivility.

Listening to what is said out there, the problem just gets worse.  At the very least, we must call out those who make false, radical and dangerous statements.

In a time when there is no tzara’at, the people must speak up.