Idiomatic Antithesis & Law vs. Spirit

 

Have you ever heard of an idiomatic antithesis?

It is when one obeys the letter of the law but not the spirit. At times, one can obey the literal interpretation of the words or “letter of the law,” but not the intent of those who wrote the law. Conversely, when one obeys the spirit of the law but not the letter, one is doing what the authors of the law intended, though not adhering to the literal wording. This is a bit of a challenge in any legal system. 

Interpretation of the U.S. Constitution has historically been divided on the "Letter v. Spirit" debate. For example, after America’s founding, the Federalist Party argued for a looser interpretation of the Constitution, granting Congress broad powers in keeping with the spirit of some founders. They gave credence to the “spirit of the law” approach. In contrast, the Democratic-Republicans, who favored a limited federal government, argued for the strict interpretation of the Constitution, claiming that the federal government was granted only those powers enumerated in the Constitution and nothing not explicitly stated. They represented the "letter" interpretation. 

Today, Living Constitution scholars advocate a "spirit"-esque interpretative strategy, although one grounded in a spirit that reflects broad powers. Originalist or Textualists advocate a more "letter"-based approach, arguing that the Amendment process of the Constitution necessarily forecloses broader interpretations that can be accomplished simply by passing an amendment. 

It goes without saying that Judaism grapples with this issue as well. 

Rabbi Leibele Eiger of Lublin was the brilliant son of Rabbi Shlomo Eiger and grandson of the famed Rabbi Akiva Eiger. He veered, however, from the path of his fathers and went “off the derech.” He did not leave behind his observance. Even worse, he became a Chasid! This was a time when the ban against Chasidim was very much a reality, and Rabbi Shlomo Eiger, it is said, went so far as to sit shiva for his son.

R. Leibele Eiger was a mohel in Lublin. His practice was to engage in intense meditative practices for many hours before a circumcision, effectively delaying the ceremony until the afternoon. Some residents of his city complained about this, and R. Leibele felt it necessary to receive approval from a prominent rabbinic authority. Therefore, he wrote a letter to his cousin, Rabbi Shimon Sofer (son of the Chatam Sofer and also a grandson of Rabbi Akiva Eiger), asking for his approval. R. Shimon tried to maintain a careful balance between recognizing R. Leibele’s practice as valid while chiding him for his unconventional reasoning. In trying to balance the letter of the law and the spirit, he favored the letter.

This interesting exchange from the summer of 1865 highlights a tension in halakhah – the law versus the spirit. It is clear that Jewish law regulates every aspect of human endeavors. As mitzvot, these rules are commandments, obligations imposed upon us by God. They are, at the same time, our halakhah, our path to inspired and passionate Jewish living. What happens when the two seem to be in opposition?

This is an issue that comes up all the time for rabbis and parents, and it is a question we all wonder about at some point. Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein raises the question: What if we were asked to choose between mechanical normative observance and non-halakhic spiritual dynamism? He answers that “we would, as commanded beings, unhesitatingly, albeit regretfully, opt for the former. But does anyone imagine that the Ribbono shel Olam confront us with such a cruel choice?” Our goal is to combine both – “the conjunction of spiritualized halakhah and disciplined spirituality; the fusion which enables us to realize the poetry and prose of ideal Jewish existence.”

Here are the sentiments of a Jewish parent on the challenge of getting a teen to shul:

“I can't believe the answer is to force them at all costs and we think this will be a long term positive for their religious life. The goal of having long term ritual practice for the sake of it, without it being a positive, and hoping to perpetuate it, generation after generation, does not seem like a very lofty goal. I would rather have them daven at home and have some feeling about it. I would take that trade if it was a choice.”

Pretty tricky, no?

The law is essential; the spirit inspirational. The revelation at Sinai requires of us to navigate both. It is not necessarily easy, but it is our path. In our religious lives, we might follow Jewish laws and customs because we feel like we WANT to, or we might do so because we feel like we HAVE to. However, the ultimate level is when we WANT TO HAVE TO - that is, we appreciate the necessity and beauty of making a commitment. This is the total commitment and responsibility accepted at Sinai. It is unique, complex, wondrous, at times frustrating and maddening – and we wouldn’t want it any other way.

Tu B'Shvat & MLK Day: Taking the Long View

Today is Tu B’Shvat, the Jewish New Year for trees. Today is also Martin Luther King Jr. Day, marking Rev. King’s birthday.

For some, these days have tremendous meaning and significance. For others, one or both of these days might pass with little or no notice or commemoration. I think both of these days teach all of us the importance of taking the long view.

Tu B’Shvat is most relevant to the agricultural laws of fruit trees. In recent years, it has become closely associated with our connection to the fruit of Israel and planting trees. The Talmud (Ta’anit 23a) tells a classic tale about trees and taking the long view.

“For his entire life, Honi HaMe’aggel was distressed over the meaning of the verse: ‘A song of Ascents: When the Lord brought back those who returned to Zion, we were like those who dream.’ (Psalms 126:1) He said to himself: Is there really a person who can sleep and dream for seventy years? How is it possible to compare the seventy-year exile in Babylonia to a dream?

One day, Honi was walking along the road when he saw a certain man planting a carob tree. Ḥoni said to him: This tree, after how many years will it bear fruit? The man said to him: It will not produce fruit until seventy years have passed. Ḥoni said to him: Is it obvious to you that you will live seventy years, that you expect to benefit from this tree? He said to him: That man himself found a world full of carob trees. Just as my ancestors planted for me, I too am planting for my descendants.

Ḥoni sat and ate bread. Sleep overcame him and he slept. A cliff formed around him, and he disappeared from sight and slept for seventy years. When he awoke, he saw a certain man gathering carobs from that tree. Ḥoni said to him: Are you the one who planted this tree? The man said to him: I am his son’s son. Ḥoni said to him: I can learn from this that I have slept for seventy years…”

Sound a little like Rip Van Winkle?

While the story has many lessons, one thing is clear: We need to take the long view. We should not expect instant gratification or an immediate return on our investment or efforts.

The same is true for the justice for which Martin Luther King, Jr. dreamed, fought, and died. He said, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” This is also a very Jewish concept. The Torah teaches (Devarim 16:20): “Tzedek tzedek tirdofe - Justice, justice shall you pursue.”

There are many causes calling for justice. It may be the issue of bigotry or racial or socioeconomic inequality or antisemitism. The Torah literally says we chase justice. It is a race. Running isn’t always easy. It is strenuous and tough. As the saying goes, “No pain, no gain.” There will be no justice unless WE run after it. It’s OK if it is hard or sometimes hurts. In a 1965 speech at Temple Israel in Hollywood, CA, Dr. King said, “We must always maintain a kind of divine discontent.”  

There is justice to pursue everywhere. We need to be on the lookout for what is wrong and what we can do to make it right. The Torah doesn’t tell us to catch justice; we are commanded to pursue it and seek it even if we cannot achieve it. 

Martin Luther King Day is a timely reminder for each of us to open our eyes, our minds, and our hearts, put on our justice shoes, and get in the race for justice. Tu B’Shvat is a timely reminder that it may take years, but we do what we can even if we won’t live to see the race won. Today is a day to reinforce the need for tolerance, patience, and respecting differences. Some of us may spend very little time with those who are different, but all of us can work to improve and expand our acceptance of difference.

May Rev. Dr. King’s legacy continue to inspire, and may we learn from the trees the patience we will need in realizing the dream of justice.

The Long Shorter Way

“Ki karov hu ­– It was too close.” (Shemot 13:17)

The Jews could not take a shortcut. When Pharaoh let the people go, God did not lead them through the land of the Philistines, although it was nearer; lest they see war, change their minds, and wish to return to Egypt.

There’s something about shortcuts. They’re attractive. Who wouldn’t want to accomplish a challenge – personal, physical, financial – in the easiest way possible? Nevertheless, as the Jews experience their first moment of freedom, God instructs them to take the long way.

If something matters, it cannot be attained easily or quickly. The optimal path is the long shorter way.

The Talmud (Eruvin 53b) recounts a teaching of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananiah:

“Once a child got the better of me. I was traveling, and I met with a child at a crossroads. I asked him, 'which way to the city?' and he answered: 'This way is short and long, and this way is long and short.'

"I took the 'short and long' way. I soon reached the city but found my approach obstructed by gardens and orchards. So I retraced my steps and said to the child: 'My son, did you not tell me that this is the short way?' Answered the child: 'Did I not tell you that it is also long?'"

In life, nothing is simple. It may seem short, but it will turn out to be long. It might seem long, but it’s really the shorter way. If it seems too good to be true, it probably is.

In his Tanya, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi sets down the fundamentals of the Chabad-Chassidic approach to life. He defines his work as follows:

"This book is based on the verse (Devarim 30:14), 'For the Torah is something that is very close to you, in your mouth, in your heart, that you may do it'-- to explain, with the help of God, how it is indeed exceedingly close, in a long and short way."

What is a short way and what is a long way?

Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the late Lubavitcher Rebbe, teaches that faith is a short path. If you have faith, everything falls into place. As the saying goes, “For the believer, there are no questions.” The way of mind is the long path. “It is winding, steep, tedious and long as life itself. It is rife with struggles, setbacks and frustrations. But it is a road that leads, steadily and surely, to the aspired destination.”

Which path do we follow – the long or the short? How do achieve our goals? What is the best path to self-fulfillment, spiritual accomplishment, helping others, and being the best we can? Like the Jews leaving Egypt, the shortcut is appealing but not the way to go. Ultimately it is the path that is long and short that we need to travel.

Feeling Darkness & Finding Light

 

It has been estimated that 11 percent of the U.S. population is afraid of the dark. This is even more common than a fear of heights.

“Darkness impairs our vision, quite literally, and this is inherently uncomfortable,” explains Dr. Alicia H. Clark, Psy.D. “We aren’t afraid so much of the dark as we are afraid of what is in the dark we can’t see.” When it’s dark, we are not sure of what is in front of us or when that darkness will lift to provide some clarity. It is the uncertainty which is frightening. “Uncertainty is a breeding ground for anxiety, and darkness is full of uncertainty,” says Krystal M. Lewis, a clinical psychologist at the National Institute of Mental Health.

I can relate.

A few years ago, I participated in one of the “Dark Workshops” held in the Na Laga’at Center in Jaffa Port. Participants sit in total darkness and, among other experiences, attempt art projects without being able to see at all. I couldn’t even see my hand right in front of my face. I started getting very anxious - literally, physically feeling as if there was a weight on me. It freaked me out a little.

Being in darkness is much more than the absence of light. We’ve seen this before: in plague of Choshech, Darkness.

“V’yameish choshech – A darkness you can feel.” (Shemot 10:21)

What kind of darkness was this? Rashi explains that this darkness was darker than dark. Picture the darkest night you can imagine, the plague was darker than that. He further explains that there was an emotional aspect to the plague of darkness. It was a “darkness of gloom.” The plague was very depressing. There was also a physical component. The subsequent verse states that the Egyptians could not get up. The darkness was so powerful that it kept people immobilized. Darkness, the inability to see what comes next, left the Egyptians so emotionally drained, they were unable to move. (This recalls the “Dementors” of Harry Potter fame, who sucked all the joy and happiness from one’s soul leaving behind a shell of a person.)

The darkness may have covered up something even “darker.” There is a Midrash that the darkness hid the deaths of those wicked Jews who did not believe in the possibility of redemption. They died and were buried under the cover of darkness so that the Egyptians wouldn’t know. (A more positive Midrashic explanation for the darkness is that it allowed the Jews to locate their Egyptian neighbors’ valuables so they could request them.)

No matter how you “look” at it, we can understand the adverse physical, emotional, and spiritual impact of “Darkness” and darkness. In particular, these last two years have provided us with an up-close and personal encounter with a darkness of isolation, separation, and, sometimes, feelings of desperation that have physically harmed us and kept us apart.

And yet…

“U’lechol Bnei Yisrael haya ohr b’moshvotam - Israelites enjoyed light in their dwellings.” (Shemot 10:23)

The plague of Darkness – as bad as it got – can be chased away with just a little light. The plague was, essentially, a punishment for the Egyptians. It was part of a ten-step process to discipline them for enslaving the Jewish nation. Like all the plagues, it was also a demonstration for the Bnei Yisrael then and us today of God’s role in our lives. There can – and will be – darkness. It may manifest itself as the absence of light, anxiety, depression, or worse. At the same time, the darkness makes way for the light that can be found in our dwellings. We may need to search harder and look a little closer, but it shines on.