If I Were a Rabbi~
My very ancient argument with the crazy old man at my old Conservative synagogue runs deep, you know. I often think about how to balance inclusiveness with not perpetuating a “beginner’s Judaism.” I know this is the ultimate problem as far as Conservatism is concerned, but it ought to be everyone’ problem. I briefly considered going to Conservative rabbinical school (actually, lol @ that; by “briefly” I mean “constantly since summer 2010 and still occasionally entertain thoughts of it”)…but it’s weird to me to think about the ideological inculculation that would inevitably happen at any rabbinical school. I mean, I know about quality control, but I also know now that Conservatism only became an actual “movement” with “fans” in the 1940′s. And really, get yo’ factions out of my religion. There is pettiness when factions happen.
But I digress. Let’s say I became a rabbi. Let’s say I made it through. And then, let’s say that I could do whatever I wanted. I know what my movement would tell me, but let’s say I was rebellious, which obviously would never happen because I am obviously a Tov Soul (I hate that I know about this). Anyway, assuming I wasn’t kicked out after a day, I would first make some aesthetic changes. I would give newcomers a piece of paper saying page numbers and such instead of halting everything to say page numbers. I’d want the newcomers to know that even though we care about their comprehension, we are not an education program. Ideally, I’d direct them to a beginner’s minyan which if it were my shul we’d have one of those if I had to do it myself. Ideally, before the main service so they could utilize their knowledge.
Next, I’d move the bimah or whatever to the mid-front of the room and face the front. I know that no one would actually want to sit in front of said structure, but I would try to make it not a big deal that no one was in front of them. Or, even, better, I would do what my rabbi did once when it was just me and this other guy one morning, he just hung out in a regular seat for twenty minutes and took it from there. It was really great cause it eliminated the “spectatorship” aspect. I would try to minimize the idea that the congregation absolutely must be in the same place at all times. That is one thing I would really try to get rid of, which the page numbers thing would help with too.
Speaking of adjustments, I would probably separate men and women, but really only for practical purposes. I don’t want lovers making out in the audience (which I’ve sat next to). I don’t want back-rubbing (which I’ve sat behind). I don’t want couples talking about their bills and kids and junk. And honestly, I’m never going to get over all the times some old man came and sat directly behind me when there were a million other empty seats. I just don’t want to deal. And I don’t fundamentally think that mixed seating is the only way to give women rights, I feel like some people think this. But regarding that, there would still be the problem of having separate seating in a shul which I would explicitly make sure was variant-friendly. And naturally I know that the ~male gaze~ problem in such a shul isn’t exactly going to be eliminated with separate seating, if you know what I mean. Personally, I would be distracted in an all-women’s section. I like the trichitza idea. Allegedly, this was used in ancient times (I should really cite my source on that one). I suspect that it would be less weird without an actual structure, but who knows. I’ve never actually experienced mechitzas, so I don’t really know their deal that well. I’m not sure if having a mechitza is really halacha or just blown out of proportion. I mean, I’m a rabbi, I should know this.
My basic thing would be trying to make people feel like they can belong in a traditional setting without having to have the politics. What I mean is, I would want people to know that separate seating doesn’t “mean” women don’t have “rights.” Furthermore, I would make sure people know the processes that went into making certain ritual decisions. For example, I don’t have an ideological problem with women leading services, and I would also encourage lay-leadership. So when people sign up to do a certain thing, we would go through their ideas and everything before they actually led services. So with that in mind, I would make it clear that while anyone is welcome to lead lesser parts of the service, I would ask that those who wanted to lead straight-up Shaharit be upstanding and be qualified to lead devarim shebikdusha, which for women would mean that they’ve committed themselves to minyan. Ideally, that would encourage people to come more often, cause if it were me I would consider Shaharit a more fun thing to lead than, like, kiddush or something. Which anyone could do, by the way. I would also make sure this hypothetical beginner’s minyan emphasized the difference between the important and less important parts of Shaharit, and make it sound like it would really be like an honor to lead Shaharit, so therefore they better learn some stuff so they can lead it.
Hebrew. I would not have transliteration. I would probably use the Koren siddur. No, actually, I would tell people to bring their own if there is an eruv, and if there’s not, perhaps I would have a nice mélange so people can have their crap Sim Shalom or whatever. The service would be entirely in Hebrew and wouldn’t include Readings For American Soldiers or responsive readings or anything, well I know that Readings For American Soldiers has become popular lately but I’m just not into it. I would hope that no one noticed. It’s important not to disrupt an accumulated atmosphere by suddenly being all “God sits in judgment over the world. ALL RESPOND: HE SITS IN JUDGMENT.” And it just so happens that I just start getting into it when something like that happens. It’s just another way to keep the congregation focused on the leader and on keeping up rather than their own experience.
So yeah, I’ve been writing this for a day now and I can’t think of anything else. Anything else?
Conservative Judaism–Didn’t hear it from me
Here is a paper I just wrote for my course celebrating the completion of Conservative Judaism by Marshall Sklare. The page numbers come from the 1972 Schocken edition. So anyway, this is a good book because it makes me feel validated. The basic ideas are that Conservative Judaism developed without an ideology, and its structure didn’t really encourage one. Also, it was always institutionalized i.e. “country club.” Enjoy.
A lot of what Marshall Sklare has to say is surprisingly relevant today. I thought it was interesting that he claims the Conservative movement developed as a method to keep “ethnic solidarity” (247) in a country where Orthodoxy was starting to look like an old person’s home (263-4) good for the lower classes and recent immigrants. The idea wasn’t “revolt” or a change in “content,” but Conservatism was rather really just a consequence of “disaffection” (114). From the beginning, the movement had problems defining itself, and its adherents defined their association primarily by the fact that they did less than Orthodoxy or less than “their rabbis would like them to” (203-7). It was overwhelmingly cited by laity as a difference in practice, not ideology (211-2), evidence still for Conservatism’s lack of cohesive vision. (Later, when the denominations start to look more similar and class distinctions diminished in the third settlement and onwards, ideology would become a more important consideration, since “class or status distinctions” could no longer be used [216].)
Moreover, with Catholic Israel substituting for traditional rabbinics, the laity started to feel that clarifying Conservative ideology would force them to “give up” authority to the rabbi (225). I think this has parallels to the idea now to “always question.” With this sort of idea always in mind, why defer to a rabbi? Therefore, the traditionalist approach taken at the Seminary could never actually be put into place practically. Also, if the Conservative ideology were to actually be implemented, it would mean giving sanction to all the violations of law that the laity had been committing from the beginning (227-9), for “even the most radical answer was more strict than current practice” (236). This led to two classes of Conservative Jews, the laity on the left (sometimes referred to the Leftists, who sound quite similar to Reconstructionist), and the rabbis and Seminary faculty on the right. That should sound familiar. To combat the dissonance, a new form of responsa came to form in the 1940′s after the consistent failure of traditional methods of halachic answer. The major/minor opinion format was non-binding, and was left to the local rabbis to commit or not commit to (237). The rabbis, meanwhile, were feeling misplaced, and Sklare suggests the Seminary as the place where their aspirations could be played out (188). Knowing that no one was paying attention anyway, they could argue over ideology with “no true ideological content” and “act out their traditional role without threatening” their congregants (241). The rabbis effectively lost their authority over their congregants (184), who began to think of the law as a “body of folkways” rather than something requiring rabbinic elucidation (69).
I think all this may have been started by the fact that Conservatism never committed to an ideology, as it was founded by laymen (120), and even then the only objective was to make Orthodoxy more “American.” This, then, leads to the idea that the main idea of Conservatism is simply a blend of “Jewish culture” and “an older American middle-class culture” (280). Even its biggest achievement in thought, the “science of Judaism” (which seems synonymous with “historical Judaism”), was merely a method, not a real philosophy (180). Then, since the ideology was devised so much later, it seemed “highly contrived” and could “hardly serve as a guide to present-day dilemmas” (238). Therefore, the congregants have “broken with halacha” (271) and all encouragements toward greater observance from the movement fail, with observance constantly declining (270-3).
I wonder why suddenly it became so important to keep Conservatism alive when its “suprasocial” or religious goals were failing. It was becoming larger in number to the detriment of these goals. Regarding observance of mitzvot, Conservatism has been an “abysmal failure” (270), even while succeeding in “such social achievements asmonumental synagogue buildings and prosperous congregations” (268). Sklare mentions this as a kind of battle between religion and institution, which is most evident in the Conservative movement, for whatever reason.
Early proponents of the movement would laud the “synagogue center” aspect of Conservatism, saying things like “the mother is in the Sisterhood, the father is in the Men’s Club, and the sister or brother in the Young People’s League” (150). This way of viewing Judaism is somewhat frightening to me, for it really does limit it to a (very pervasive) institution. “Spiritual values are focused on one institution instead of permeating all structures” (147), and everything being contained in one place discourages even more the apparently un-American idea of having a religion that belongs in the home as well as the synagogue (or the synagogue center, as it were). Conservatism stressed this aspect because it seemed to thrive on “ethnic survivalism” (134), as opposed to Reform, which claimed “reason,” and Orthodoxy, which claimed “revelation.”
In keeping with the theme of an “institutionalized Judaism,” other similarities between Conservatism then and now is the common “ambivalence toward the 20′s-30′s” age group for they “provide little support to the synagogue” (142-4) and its insistence on gimmicks such as “special Shabbats,” which is aptly described as a “deceptive uplift” (109). Most revealing is the idea that “for the[dues-paying] congregant, the rabbi is his rabbi,” as opposed to those who are unaffiliated (176). This seems to solidify the idea that the institution is Judaism; and the idea that it’s very important for Conservative leaders to gather the unaffiliated into a faltering Conservative movement could only be the product of a mindset that greatly emphasizes the importance of the institution. It’s interesting because the original donors of the Seminary didn’t want a split between Conservatism and Orthodoxy (193), a split which widened greatly sometime between Conservative leaders saying “Conservatism is 20th century Orthodoxy,” or “Orthodoxy is a home for the aged,” or “Conservatism adopted the best of Orthodoxy,” and Orthodox leaders’ non-cooperation with Conservative decisions, beginning in the 1960′s-70′s and continuing to today (263-4).
This book also knocks down the idea that the denominations are the result of well thought out and cohesive processes, and it validates my suspicion that Conservatism best represents (and was created to imitate) “middle-class culture,” evident by the fact that they have “trouble enlisting those who are antagonistic to the type of American culture on which the movement is based” (279-81). If this was its selling point, and if its goal of preventing the “complete alienation of the East European Jew” is complete (252), why does Conservatism continue to struggle on? What is its new task? I think that, if “Americanized” aspects such as English in services were once considered innovations, they are now considered concessions. I have never heard a Conservative Jew laud English in services as being modern, but I have often heard that it is so kind to allow these concessions for the “less knowledgable” (or less observant). Conservatism was seen as “religious observance without rejecting the less observant,” but in practice I think it is detrimental in the long run to structure an entire movement on the “big tent” idea. It seems similar to the idea of “special Shabbats,” something that may bring in more people, but lowers the quality. (I also happen to think that if a group takes their services seriously rather than relying on “gimmicks” and/or “anything goes” pluralism, self-respect will win more adherents in the long term.)
Just checkin’ in
So, with regard to my last post, I’ve taken it upon myself to become more educated in these sociological and historical issues. So like, if you say something like “Orthodoxy wasn’t always this strict,” I want to be able to evaluate that claim with accurate information. And frankly, you should feel pretty special because one of the main reasons I’m doing this independent study this semester is to be accurate in what I’m saying on this blog.
Cause I can’t handle this whole “But my congregation isn’t like that” stuff anymore.
But more importantly, for some perverse reason I’ve taken this whole “Better convert to the right denomination” thing to a new level. I’ve been told that it would be easier to do what I want to do with a Conservative conversion, instead of being chained to an Orthodox synagogue. Also that I’d still be able to do the same amount of things (i.e. as a woman) with either conversion. But when faced with these reasonable considerations, I have to go deeper. I have to examine their histories. I have to examine their ugly buried secrets.
So now I’m reading Conservative Judaism by Marshall Sklare, and it is a very revealing sociological perspective on Conservative Judaism in the 1950′s. Incriminating quotes to be forthcoming.
But also, keeping with the whole “being objective” thing, this won’t be just an extended hagiography of Orthodoxy either. Actually, ironically, Orthodoxy has helped me better spot sexism in everyday society, since they both use basically the same language (“Women are better equipped to ________,” “Women’s lib destroyed society,” “Women are incomplete without a husband,” and so on.) Also the claim that “Western values are antithetical to Judaism” should be evaluated.
“Orthodoxy Doesn’t Own Judaism”: open discussion post
Belief. I used to always argue with one of my friends about belief. She was adamant about her theory that the only thing that separated Orthodoxy from non-Orthodoxy was that Orthodoxy “made” people “believe” in an entire set of, well, beliefs, and that this is really just a “Catholic” idea. She said that Judaism is about “deed not creed,” as they say, and that adding “belief” into the equation is something “modern” Orthodoxy did, presumably in imitation of “Catholics.” And she had a total party the time Jeffrey Gurock came to our class and told us the only thing that separates Orthodoxy from non-Orthodoxy was–guess!–a belief.
And I always agreed with her about the “deed not creed” thing, which always got me in a bind. But I’m re-evaluating that. I don’t think Judaism is “deed only,” because that would make it no different from any secular philosophy. More than that, there has to be at least one thing that answers the question “Why are we doing this, again?” You have to “believe” in the answer to that question to do all the things Judaism tells you to do. To be observant, you have to “believe” that there is some reason you’re doing all the weird things that common sense doesn’t necessarily explain.
The simple answer would be that believing in Torah miSinai would be the best possible impetus, but frankly I believe you could just as well believe that “the mitzvot are folkways” and still have that impetus. It’d be a social one rather than a commanded one, but a social catalyst can still be powerful. I think the idea is, though, that only the commandedness traditionally associated with Torah miSinai is strong enough to survive through any subjective feelings. And then, the idea is, that’s the only way you can really be trusted to stick to the program. So it’s not really the fact of believing, it’s that it’s supposed to be the only way you’ll actually do the rules and not just when it’s convenient (this is my theory). It’s kind of how some gay people won’t go out with bisexuals, because the fact that bisexuals could just switch and get married and fit into straightland puts them in a whole different world.
(You thought this blog was PC?)
“Orthodoxy Doesn’t Own Judaism.” So, when I say the above paragraph, you say this. You also say that Orthodoxy isn’t the same as “original Judaism” or even “traditional Judaism,” because there was never actually an “original Judaism,” and I’m just picking the Americanized Orthodox mesora over an equally valid Reform one. I will not deny, America did happen. And all three waves of immigrants reacted accordingly. So no group imported Judaism to America as a lossless file. Still, what did they import? The first wave was the Sephardim, and I guess we’re just ignoring them. They were really classy and kind of insular. The second wave was the German Jews, who were just starting to Reform, but America was the place where that could really take off. Germany was becoming more nationalistic, and it seemed that if only Jews could become more dignified they could really be acceptable citizens. Not all German Jews were to become Reform, of course. Some stayed traditional and some went off the derech. The third was the Eastern European Jews, who had too many impediments to hope to be accepted into middle-class society, and unlike the German Jews, their religion (and their minhag) just kind of was their nationality.
So, OK. Back to the question. When I think of Eastern European Judaism, I think of the Hasidic dynasties. I don’t actually think Eastern Europe was a place for vibrancy and change. I don’t know much about history, but I do think that Eastern Europe had its own “flavor.” I don’t necessarily think that just cause Eastern Europe didn’t have space in their synagogues for women means that JUDAISM doesn’t have space in its synagogue for women, for example.
I think the real question is, What was German Jewry doing before it started reforming? Surely, it wasn’t rebelling against Eastern European Jewry in Germany, so what was it against? That thing was a Judaism that didn’t have mixed seating, organs, vernacular, or long sermons. How do I know? Because those are all the things the reformers consciously had to add.
I think the statement that “Orthodoxy doesn’t own Judaism” implies that Orthodoxy didn’t come first, right? What came before Reform, then? What did it look like? Or alternatively, what are you saying historically when you say “Orthodoxy doesn’t own Judaism”?
“Can’t you show me nothing but surrender”
My life. This school. My life. Did you guys know that I’m really kind of neurotic? Maybe I should say reactionary. I mean, I know I’m 21, but all the other kids here seem like they really have their, um, briefcases together. I’m skippin’ classes. I’m skippin’ homework. I threaten to transfer every time something happens that I don’t like, such as daily asthma attacks (this town is in a swamp) or grade deflation (they say this is a “suicide school”…kinda true). And I think I’m about to have a breakup talk with that person I mentioned in an earlier post. But that’s cool. Cause I don’t even know what I want in my life. I’m not good at social graces…or school, apparently. (And I was definitely into school until now…I wanted to be a teacher for a long time…until now…) But now I don’t really know what to concentrate on anymore. And I don’t even have a master plan or anything so I can never be like “Oh well, thus-and-so didn’t work out, but that’s OK, cause I’ll always have __________!”
The rabbi (some rabbi?) was talking about this the other day, about how you should have something that has meaning that’s not contingent on other stuff, and since he was in a school setting obviously he didn’t explicitly say what that was, but I have to admit something. I don’t see the use in finding “meaning” in “God” or “transcendent morals” or what have you, because you can believe that, but then what? You still don’t have an actual goal in life. I’d be much easier to “believe” in math, for instance, then you’d really have it made, you could plan to be a math teacher and those are totally in demand so hey wow! your future is now bright. Not so with “God” or “Jewish Studies major.”
But believing that “this is all for a purpose/reason/the Good” isn’t very helpful at all, because then you’re just like a pawn in a scheme you never signed up for. And then you have no control over your life. All the actual pragmatic things in my life are shattering.
I should transfer to UVA. Surely that will solve my problems.
I’d still want to transfer to Brooklyn College if they didn’t LOSE ALL MY DOCUMENTS ALREADY. Like, you hear about it but you think it won’t happen to you. It’s not even about being in an Orthodox community right now so much as getting away from the asthma and grade deflation and small school-ness, that’s all. Even though the Jewish communities would be bigger both at UVA and CUNY, I happen to know that I am too neurotic to actually end up not hating all of those people. I just know. I mean, cause, frankly I really, really…dislike…our Hillel and our AEPi and everyone in them. What if the Jewish community at this hypothetical school isn’t my scene either? Then I’ll be all alone and bitter again.
I need a cat.
See, this is why it’s good I’m not trying to actually transfer for the “community.”
When you realize your whole life was a lie
I know that I’ve been saying stuff like “Judaism’s losing the game,” “It’s going downhill,” and “It’s sucking.” Like I saw it coming a mile away, but now the failure is so entrenched in my life that it’s almost not even worth mentioning. Like it’s not even a surprise anymore. Sometimes I wonder if I can (or even want to! or even should try to!) do it anymore. I know I’m naive, but it’s a whole different ball game now that I’m not just assuming I can just pretend to be straight and fake it til I make it (see last post if you are confused by this statement).
Before, I thought this wouldn’t be too hard because who wants to go out with this? But then it just started getting a little too real when I started—no kidding, out of nowhere—kind o’ seeing someone. And, obviously, I couldn’t help but feel that suddenly saying Modeh Ani and Asher Yatzar for the morning and then going off to my sinful relationship seems a little, oh, dissonant. And look guys, I’m 21. Which one do you think I’m going to pay more attention to when the two clash?
I’m still tryin’. I still say Modeh Ani. I just don’t really believe that God is actually enjoying my chit-chat with him much these days. He’s like the straight friend who sticks around until you start talking a little too much about your new (sinful) relationship. He’s like “Bro, I’m out. You got this.” Judaism just seems quaint and uninteresting now. God is deus absconditus, and I’m not really sure he’s still on my side. The Torah and rabbinic wisdom now seem impertinent. And the Jewish community…really just doesn’t “get it.” I mean, I don’t love this development, but I feel like it’s inevitable. It kind of feels that now I’ve got “real-life problems,” religion just isn’t fitting into my life. It’s not just Judaism itself, mind you.
I briefly considered going to the Catholic church here in the burg (which is often what I consider first when I’m having religious problems), but then I thought…would that really be much better than going to Jewish shul when I’m feeling the discord? They’re both pretty focused on insiderness. I considered reading in my siddur to feel better, but I knew it’d just be rote. I considered going to Catholic church, but I knew once communion started I’d just feel like That Jew. It’s interesting to me to have a religion that claims to 1.) Be true, but 2.) Only accept people after a training period, if at all. All I wanted to do that day was come in from the metaphorical cold and feel better about my relationship with God at a time when it was totally strained, if not totally severed. Why can’t I just come in? Why do I have to be an insider, pay dues, be trained, etc.?
I don’t necessarily disagree with insider-type religions (we all know I don’t like one-size-fits-all religions)…I just wanted something I couldn’t have that day. I had, you know, no place to go. I even more briefly considered going to some other church, but I knew that all the nearby churches would be Protestant and therefore have a much bigger emphasis on Jesus, and that just wasn’t going to make me feel better at all.
They say that Judaism is focused on the real world, but where is it for me now?
The reason I said “They only accept people after a training period…if at all” is because one of my online friends said that Orthodoxy not only probably wouldn’t convert me, they straight up wouldn’t want me, damaged goods, in their community. I told her that’s dumb because how can they reject me and then criticize me for just plain old going to Conservative instead? She said that wouldn’t be a concern anyway because they wouldn’t consider me Jewish. That is to say, I just wouldn’t be worth another thought to them.
This was always something I vaguely suspected, but I thought my convictions could carry me through. But seriously, all the “I’m gay and Orthodox” books and articles are by people who were born and raised Orthodox and really want to stay in that community because they have friends and family there etc. And me? What did I think I was doing? Also, what sane gay person actually converts to Orthodoxy? It’s worse for women, I know, because men can go away to yeshiva and junk and can prolong the whole process. But women “want” to get married. (Note ironic quotes.)
But it sucks because despite the total rejection of gay converts for freak old-fashioned reasons like “They won’t be marriageable…quantity exceeds quality, after all!”…I still think Orthodoxy is the choice, ideologically speaking. Or maybe a bit of dignified pre-1950 Orthodoxy where you could believe in Sinai but a bit of change too. But although I know I literally can’t convert to Orthodoxy—whether I want to do it or not—I really don’t know whether I want to try Conservatism or just give up trying. What I mean to say is, this whole ordeal has been exhausting.
And really, how long can you hope to keep doing the mitzvot when you feel like an outcast of Judaism? It sounds dumb, but why should I try to convert knowing that I’d be “sinning” according to Talmud etc. when I could just as easily not convert and do whatever I want? When children won’t ever be issued from this gay womb? Most of all, when I feel so utterly distant now from Jewish everything?
Here’s the thing, you guys.
I’ve been avoiding this post because I know the danger in posting updates every time I think of a new thing, which is that I sound totally indecisive and “hypocritical,” because you guys get to see all the complicated crap that actually goes into making a decision, and it makes it look like I’m changing my mind a lot when really what you’re seeing is just the inner workings of this whole journey. Also, you people have beat me down a little so now I’m afraid to say stuff lest you be like “I TOLD YOU SO!” But I started this blog as a personal venture, not really trying to make a political statement or anything. And you’ll find out soon why I’ve been avoiding this particular post.
Basically, this shouldn’t surprise anyone, but I’m reconsidering Orthodoxy. Not because of anything “doctrinal,” as my friend the Catholic priest here says. And not because their stuff on women, because I still feel like I could get past that. I feel like most people who convert to Orthodoxy do it because they “like the emphasis on the family” or whatever, which I’m not really into (being made in the 90′s). But that “emphasis,” for whatever reason, leads to a certain something called straight privilege. Straight privilege, for those who don’t know, is when people see no problem in saying “Sorry, you have to stay inside and be celibate while we’re out having fun and actually doing what God wants us to do. Cause you’re a sinner.” It’s when straight people argue until their faces turn blue about “whether gays really mean it or are just rebelling, whether it’s genetic or a choice, whether we should ignore them or just ignore their errant gayness,” when straight people really have no idea what it’s like not to be straight…but they talk anyway. “Well, Torah says no homo, so we can talk about it all we want!” Laws are being made! Statements are being signed! And everyone has an opinion.
Imagine having a bunch of old men with their own agendas, knowing nothing about your life, but still making all kinds of statements about it and “not believing in it” and you just have to deal with it. Yeah, I’m gay, world; and I’m sick of people saying stuff like they know how I feel. They don’t. Fuck it, I won’t even give them a “benefit of the doubt,” no matter how well-intended, no matter how “liberal,” they have no idea. They see things from a privileged, unaffected, straight perspective. It’s so easy to say “Well, you’ve just got to live with it, sorry, you don’t get what we get,” when it’s not you that you’re talking about.
When it’s 2012 and people are still being harassed and/or committing suicide for being gay, it’s a bunch of crap for some rabbis to be publicly signing stuff and telling people whom they don’t even know that they are “just being rebellious,” “giving into sinful and frivolous urges,” or that they should “just pretend their partner is their roommate,” and hope for the best. While, of course, acknowledging that their life is a big, flamboyant sin. I’m tired of trying to and hearing people try to intellectualize that argument.
I love my gay and trans friends, and they are all fucking beautiful. I wouldn’t stand for this hateful nonsense from the secular world, and I don’t feel like listening to how straight relationships are the only correct ones in the Orthodox world, either. I wish I didn’t have to hear anyone tell them they have to be embarrassed about who they are, or that their lives will never be whole.
I thought for a long time I could just “get over myself” and either be celibate or marry a man, but I’m not going to. And I don’t want to.
So then if Orthodoxy doesn’t want me, then I don’t want Orthodoxy.
Why I Don’t Like Soloveitchik
So, I know you’re not supposed to say anything bad about Soloveitchik, but we can’t even pretend this blog isn’t controversial at times. So, full steam ahead.
I don’t really like him that much. There are a few diverse ways in which I don’t like him.
First, I don’t like the book The Lonely Man of Faith. It lacks philosophical argument, and it reads like word vomit. It’s like he’s just explaining the synopsis on the back of the book…by repeating it over and over. We are lonely. Man is conflicted. I knew this already; tell me something new, you know? Further, he even says in a footnote that Maimonides was the one to come up with this idea (among others), so the book doesn’t even have originality going for it. I just…don’t get it.
Next, I don’t like what he says about women’s tefillah groups. He says they are halachically permissible, but we shouldn’t do it because they rip apart the fabric of Judaism or something. They’re inauthentic. You have to consider public policy, and more importantly most women don’t have the proper MOTIVATION to have proper tefillah groups. It is so “obvious” that women are mostly doing it for the wrong reason, too, precisely because women’s tefillah groups look so much like a “REAL” Torah reading, and halachic or not, women need to know that what they are doing isn’t REAL. Fine; it’s not his fault that “motive” is such a stupidly huge factor. But I don’t like that a while later, he regretted saying that they were halachically permissible and retracted everything he ever said about it “lest people get the wrong idea and think he was actually for women’s groups,” susbstituting instead that they are highly recommended against. That’s a bunch of crap.
Finally, I found out that he was indeed the guy who told the lady she couldn’t wear a tallit with tzitzit because she felt too spiritual when wearing the tallit for a month without tzitzit…thereby proving that she too was wearing it “for the wrong reasons.” This is horrid reasoning to me. The kind of logic found in The Lonely Man of Faith, actually. Can you really conclude she was doing it “for the wrong reasons”? How the hell do you know? Are you a psychologist now too? You’re sure not a philosopher. And how dare I ask would you quantify the “right reasons”? I don’t think you’d ever be satisfied, would you? If you don’t like it, it’s the women’s fault for not liking your horribly monolithic power structure (aka “normative Judaism”), and they’re “misrepresenting Torah” (aka implying that the world doesn’t revolve around men). Yeah, that must be it.
Academic Philosophy vs. Empowered Judaism
I’m reading a great book called Life on the Fringes by Haviva Ner-David. Blu Greenberg used to be my #1 Jewish feminist hero, but how far she’s willing to go pales in comparison to Ner-David. She doesn’t even stop to take “how much she enjoyed watching her father do such-and-such in childhood,” or the fact that she never questioned the ritual division in childhood, to mean that she shouldn’t question it now. She doesn’t just say, “Here are the reasons women should do X, though I am content to wait for change;” she goes to Meah Shearim to buy her tzitzit. But both of them have a quality I admire: they know Orthodox Judaism is male-centric, but they are committed to it anyway. (I think, instead of just leaving it, that is a great way of saying that Orthodoxy =/= maleness.)
It sort of reminds me of the problems women philosophers face, which is what I would have went into if all this religion stuff hadn’t happened. I knew about the smokers and women not being taken seriously and the deals done behind closed (men’s room) doors. I lightly protested, but at the same time I was well aware that aligning myself with the womyn’s struggle™ would only hurt my chances at philosophy. I considered it a triumphant moment when I decided I was uninterested in ethics, aesthetics, or the always-derided “Continental method.” Those were lady areas. Indeed, my favorite philosophy professor and I often shared our disdain for Women’s Studies and “feminist philosophy.”
So I know about things being male-centric, and about working within and around them. The only difference is that to “fit in” as a philosopher, women must act in the confident, irreverent, self-assured way male philosophers do (even while knowing that as a woman, nothing is really “assured”). But in Orthodox Judaism, the “correct role” for a woman is already carved out—and it looks nothing like a philosopher’s.
There is a good and bad side to both, I think. I could easily fit into the culture of academic philosophy in many ways, but at the same time there are inherent prejudices I can’t control, like committees not accepting papers submitted by women for their own contrived reasons. I couldn’t easily fit into the culture of Orthodox Judaism, at least given what I know of the “women’s role” (i.e. I can’t just “relax” and “let men do their thing” as far as ritual is concerned. I also can’t not argue with the so-called revered rabbis. I’m proud to say I learned that from philosophy). Still, it seems easier in some respect, because the bias against women is entirely forthright and obvious, and I’m glad to say that opposition to the patriarchy does have its support. This is almost completely missing from academic philosophy, given that the attempts to resolve discrimination against women has at best shown itself in establishing “quotas” for women, and other useless attempts to fix such a deeply entrenched system of boy’s club syndrome in philosophy.
By definition, I don’t think you can tackle the problem in philosophy from the inside. If you’re a woman, once you’re inside, there’s not really much incentive to fight back, unless you’re already labelled a “feminist philosopher.” I know that I, and probably most male philosophers, didn’t consider such to be real philosophy. (I’m still a little elitist about what is “real philosophy,” if you must know.) So if you’re a woman interested in, say, phenomenology, it’s an insult to be told you ought to be in ethics or something instead. You’re really not going to get ahead insisting that your female style of communication and your vocal opposition to sexist humor is something the others are just going to have to get used to. You will lose.
But you can tackle Orthodox Judaism, and it has to be from the inside. You can start a faction. You can oppose. You can win. Of course, it’d be much easier for me to follow in Haviva Ner-David’s footsteps if I didn’t have to do that pesky conversion nonsense first, so I have to stay in line for a least a while, which annoys me. Still, reading that alongside Empowered Judaism by Elie Kaunfer is a dangerous cocktail. He is a Conservative rabbi, but Kehilat Hadar is definitely not a Conservative synagogue. He writes about the life and decisions of the minyan, and I was pleased to learn that statistically, independent minyanim skew “traditional egalitarian,” not Renewal. This book was different. It wasn’t about how we can only “reinvigorate” Judaism by adding more “innovative” rituals and guitars, it had sections on why the leaders of KH decided on rows over circles, for instance, and their wise decision on how to include imahot. The idea, he writes, is to bring back tradition, not to overhaul it. Basically, he had me at: “We wanted to decouple the de facto union in American Judaism between full women’s participation and a scaled-down service.” This is all I’ve wanted all along. (And it’s still completely entrenched in modern thought. I don’t know why male-centric is equivalent with frum.)
He writes that half of indie minyan participants consider themselves “unaffiliated,” which I gladly would if I could as well. But the point is that a full service can exist outside of Orthodox synagogues, and that is a good start. Still, I read in Ner-David’s book that when she tried such a minyan (although of course it was a couple of decades ago), she knew that the participants were less than strict about their observance. I wonder if it’s different now, though I fear it’s not. The goal for me, of course, would be for participants to attend a traditional, egalitarian service, and go home and be traditionally observant. I know that’s not the goal of these minyanim, though, since they (seem to?) pride themselves on their diverse community.
I’m torn between being tired of the old “Modern Orthodoxy/trad-egal will soon be/is already Conservative/not Torah” arguments, and being tired of people actually proving them right. Why can’t we do this?
I’ve had it.
I’m taking a leave of absence from my school, even if Brooklyn College doesn’t accept me for the fall, because I seriously need to get out of here and figure out my life already. I can’t keep making posts like this one or this one from the safe haven of suburban Virginia, and the reaction to posts like those are making me realize that everything I have to say given my utter lack of experience is going to be basically worthless testimony. I have to find out already if I still even want to live in an Orthodox community after actually living in one, and not from the safety of my bedroom. It’s for my sanity (and I literally have huddled in my bed many times, totally depressed about this desperate situation). If I “wasn’t meant to be Orthodox after all,” I have to know now.
EDIT: If I hate it I’m moving to Portland.
My life
(I originally posted this elsewhere, hence the casual tone.)
So I found a couple of things since I moved to W&M.
First, when I came here I was really into halacha and stuff and I really hated that I had to live with people who were ONLY in to the “cultural aspects” and were literally just secular Jews or whatever who only came to Hillel stuff because they were catered. I hated those people so much. But now I’m finding that I’m not observant hardly at all anymore, no matter how much I try to bring it back it’s not going well. So I’m really (despite myself) seeing what it’s like to be a “cultural Jew” or whatever for the first time ever. It’s odd and I don’t know if this is a good thing or not…
But before I came here I wasn’t into Zionism or Israel or Hebrew or whatever, and now I’m listening to Diwon’s Sabra Sessions mixtape while sitting next to a book on “Contemporary Halakhic Problems” after just learning some Modern Hebrew. I’m so obviously not into the synagogue or reading the parsha these days, but I’m still into Judaism. And I never thought that was possible until I moved here. I don’t know if it’s good or bad (and I WISH I still could figure this out while still being observant but eh) but perhaps it’s a good lesson I guess…because before, I was pretty terrified that if I ever got to be less religious or whatever then Judaism would also fade away.
Even though I hate thinking of things in my life as “lessons.”
Not good to be figuring this out while you’re trying to convert to Orthodoxy, but hopefully it will get better if I move to Brooklyn.
I also learned that I’m getting really annoyed with the halachic process. The Reform rabbi here just gave me two books of responsa “to compare” between the Reform and Orthodox responsa processes, and I’m really annoyed at the Orthodox one. (The Reform one was from the 1920′s, so I mostly thought of that as an educational experience.) But it was stupid because one of the Orthodox questions was whether women can count in the minyan (1985). And the whole thing was about how the Conservative position was wrong, which is OK because the Conservative position has its flaws. BUT the thing I hated was how nonchalantly the author was all like “The precedent for ‘ten men’ can be found in the spies.” No. The precedence for ten PEOPLE was found in the spies. But he just said it like no one was going to question. And probably no one WOULD question, so long as they liked his answer.
Also he argued that women can’t count because they don’t have the obligation to public prayer, but that’s circular. If they did, then they would. And anyway, men DON’T have an OBLIGATION. It’s only “strongly preferred.” The idea of obligation started in the 1500′s, and it didn’t come from Shulhan Aruch, it came from Mordechai Yaffe.
Oy.
The thing that annoys me is that he kept pulling out random impertinent sources like that proved his point or something, like bring up a “big name” will always win. Which so doesn’t fly in philosophy, but apparently it’s OK in halacha. I just got the feeling that I was merely reading the codified opinions of a bunch of old men who at the end of the day are more interested in ego stroking than with emulating the sages.
You know what though? Judaism is more than halacha, because it’s more than a bunch of old men in their ivory tower.
The Ordination of Women: A Reform view from 1922
She admits people criticize her for her miniskirts -1971 NYT article
The first woman ordained by the HUC was in 1972, but still in 1922 the question was raised. I was actually consistently surprised by the relatively traditionalist sense of the discussion, since usually when I read Reform responsa I’m expecting “Whatever it is, we take the lenient position.” But alas, here is a discussion before the ultimate rejection of ordination in 1922. It opens with an essay by Jacob Z. Lauterbach, on how ordaining women would be a break from tradition. Further, the role that women are “rightly” called to—mothering and “home-making”—would necessarily be compromised by the rabbinical role, and in such an arrangement she could not be a very good role model, since the “family life of the rabbi would not be very wholesome.”
I was also surprised to see another argument against it being that women can’t serve as judges or discharge men from certain obligations. More surprising was the fact that, before realizing Lauterbach held an “Orthodox” position, some of the Reform rabbis on the discussion panel took his arguments to task, while others rejected them outright.
The rabbis agreed in general that the question of ordination was that of “practicality” and “consistency”—practical because new avenues were opening up in Reform synagogue life, such as more youth programming, and consistent because hitherto equality between men and women had been important in Reform thought, viz. Einhorn. The question of “equality,” of course, wasn’t being debated (it being already agreed upon).
Two of the greatest highlights in 1922 were probably the idea that 1.) Being a rabbi would interfere with being a “home-maker,” but 2.) Still, women could lend a lot to these “new positions” opening up in youth education and other, less erudite matters.
Rabbi Raunch. He is the first, after the contributions of five, to raise the idea that Lauterbach’s essay “failed to touch on what Reform Judaism has to say on the subject.” This struck me because of the separatist attitude of the rabbis, which may or may not have been because maybe the Conservative movement wasn’t exactly taking off at that point, and it really was us v. them at the time. In effect, it’s as if the panel recognizes the validity of Lauterbach’s argument from tradition, but ultimately—after grappling with it for a while—reject it in the spirit of antinomianism (or, more accurately, the “repudiation of the authority of the Talmud and Shulhan Aruch”).
Rabbi Joseph L. Baron adds that they “broke from tradition long ago when we granted women an equal standing with men in all our religious functions.” He also mentions that they broke with authority when they decided that a “rabbi need not be an authority on the questions of kashrut.” This all-or-nothing stance is representative of the Classical Reform that existed then. Since the UAHC at the time served as an umbrella for basically all congregations except the nominally Orthodox ones, they felt free to do this. Why then, was Lauterbach’s essay chosen to lead the conversation? He only served to list the traditional prohibitions, but interestingly enough the Reform panel was split between engagement with these positions and outright rejection of them. This split was also characteristic of the Cleveland Conference in 1855, which also happened to hear a great range of positions. So I wonder whether in the 1920′s, despite the presence of a sweeping platform, Reform was still defining its position.
“Catholic Israel” is referenced a lot, which would indicate a concern for “not creating a schism” in Reform, which should sound familiar to anyone dealing with current Modern Orthodox politics regarding the ordination of women. (I thought that was interesting.)
Rabbi Joseph Leiser has a twofold position. First, he says, being in the rabbinate as a woman is no more detrimentally demanding than being a lawyer or doctor as a woman. Again, he brings up the position that the role of the Reform rabbi has changed from the traditional role still undertaken by Orthodox rabbis. Therefore, the primary requirement of women need not be “legal expertise.” Rather, the “variety of activities” in the synagogue need a “number of workers;” that is to say, the role of the rabbi has changed and only now is it opportune for women to fill it. Indeed, he says explicitly that “a Jewish woman is the logical adjunct to young people’s societies and organizations, and no symagogue is complete without these new features.”
He goes on to say, however, that the pulpit is a place where “man is by nature and temperament best qualified,” and “viewing the rabbi in the light of a prophet and the man of vision, he—more than woman—responds to this unusual endowment”! “Men are prone to be idealists.” “They are quick to see visions.” On the other hand, “women are conservative, and seldom are impelled to stand forth and proclaim these eternal convictions.” They are “trimming their sails to whatever winds blow on the seven seas of thought”! This particular position might appear friendly (to 1920′s tastes, at least) except for the fact that he’s not really talking about the rabbinate at all, but a kind of adjunct teacher position.
Rabbi Neumark brings up a counter-argument against the fact that women can’t discharge men from the mitzvah to learn Torah (and thus can’t be public readers). He says: “There are certain categories of men, such as are deformed and afflicted with certain bodily defects, who could not act as readers, but could be rabbis for decisions in ritual matters and questions of law.” I wonder how the discussion would change if we were discussing women as halachic advisors rather than women as ordained pulpit rabbis.
He then admits that Reform Judaism now lets women read for the Torah anyway, so this question is of no consequence. This kind of reflection continues throughout the discussion—considering the “Orthodox” position and then either rejecting it or revealing that Reform Judaism has already rejected it. I wonder whether at this time Reform was still striving to set itself apart from the Orthodox element, for the back-and-forth is rather illuminating here. It seems to go against the idea that “Reform developed up and against Orthodoxy, not in response to it,” in fact.
He says that women cannot write seforim not because they cannot be readers as Lauterbach states, but because of the exemption from tefillin (I agree). “The above reason is given in Soferim I.13, but there, woman is not debarred from writing a Torah Scroll.”
He also says that the prohibition from women serving as judges is “not found in the baraita[...]but in a discussion between two Amoraim” in “Tanya literature.”
He makes a stimulating point in saying that ordaining women formally would put an end to the “anarchy” of women not receiving proper education. “Women are already doing most of the work that the ordained woman rabbi is expected to do,” he writes, “but they do it without preparation and without authority.”
“You cannot treat the Reform rabbinate from the Orthodox point of view[...]They want us either to be Reform or to return to the fold of real, genuine Orthodox Judaism whence we came.”
All in all, I was startled by the attention to precedent that I wouldn’t expect to see in Reform discussion today. Perhaps this is due to the fact that Reform Judaism now has Reform precedent, and no longer needs a Lauterbach to discuss.
Impertinent pt. II: Another post about having great handwriting
My Hebrew handwriting stinks usually, so this is why I was pretty excited to see this interesting little development. You have to admit that my kof in #3 and last lamed in #2 are rocking. Like, I didn’t even see it coming.
I mean look at this ugliness, if you can handle it:
Never again.
This is so impertinent I don’t know what to title it
OK, so this has absolutely nothing to do with anything, but I know you want to know.
I’ve been practicing writing with my left hand and it’s going pretty well. I’m quite proud of myself. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried it, but you should because it’s fun. I’ve been practicing for about a week, and it’s come to a point where my handwriting is better with my left hand, probably because I’m not good enough to write like a drunken doctor yet.
You just have to get a good technique.
Also here is an important message I wrote to my sister a week ago. FYI this is Lycentia from Torin’s Passage, who I reference in this letter. I don’t remember who that head is.
G-d
I just came from a Judaism Basics class at the Reform temple, which was supposed to be about the Minor Holidays, but the rabbi being the rabbi (and sort of a, um, radical liberal), she got a little off topic. She started talking about how the minor holidays “are really just nationalistic,” to keep the people together etc. She said that the amount of fast days were getting out of control, and it was an attempt to be “holier than the last generation.”
Here we go.
She started talking about the generations started trying to be “holier than the last” with the Name, saying it started with the Tetragrammaton but then people started thinking it wasn’t good enough and started using a dash in it, I don’t remember, and then the next generation didn’t want to say Adonai or whatever and started saying Hashem, and then the next generation didn’t like that and started writing ‘ה instead, and she thought that was just crazy because “that doesn’t mean anything!” Then she started talking about how people say Elokim and stuff, “which isn’t a word!” And she really hates when people write G-d because “that’s not really his name anyway, people are just trying to be holier than thou.” She said, a little resentfully, that “all non-Reform recordings” now use Hashem and Elokeinu instead of Adonai.
I saw “Hash-m” the other day. She’d really hate that. I also wonder what she’d think of Matisyahu.
Anyway, I thought a couple of things were interesting. First of all, I hate using Adonai in English sentences. She said that it just means “my lord” or whatever, but I think using it both in liturgical and regular English contexts make it seem like that really is his real name. I like the variety of names for different contexts, because it sort of reinforces the idea that he doesn’t really have one proper name, like John. I also like to think of it as an affectionate name that’s reserved for liturgical contexts. So I like to use Hashem in everyday use, and I write ‘ה.
Also, I do say Elokim in everyday usage because I think of it as his other name. I like Cassuto’s theory (and I suppose it’s someone else’s too) that Hashem is used in the Torah when it’s talking about his relationship with the Israelites or with more intimate occurances, and Eloheinu when talking about his activities with the rest of the nations or with his judgmental etc. less intimate character.
So I’m different from the rabbi wherein I think she might consider Eloheinu as just meaning “our God” and nothing else. Since I think of it in the same way I think of the name Hashem, I also don’t like to say it outside of context, so I say Elokeinu. I don’t really mind that it’s “not really a word,” like the rabbi said, because I think of it as a safeguard. I don’t want to go around saying his real name, since it’s special and only for certain occasions. I don’t want to “cheapen” it, if you will. We all know what I mean when I say it, so what if it’s not a real word. (I could say Voldemort if that would please you.)
I also write G-d. But I don’t write it online. I understand why people write it online, and I also understand why people don’t write it in print. I don’t think of it as “taking the name in vain,” so I agree with the rabbi there that it’s not really his “real” name. But I write it out of respect, and I don’t want it to write on things that might be thrown away. Because, really, this is English and we do use it like it’s his name. So that’s why I don’t write it online (because who the F is going to print out MY posts?), but I secretly admire people who do write it online. I don’t really mind when people don’t write G-d in print, because I know it says someplace in Rambam that it’s not one of the names that count.
Still, I can’t help but think that if I throw something away without my safeguards is like saying “Here’s what I think of YOU, God!” Since I’ve been in school, I have a LOT of papers that say God on them, and I’ve decided it wouldn’t be so wrong to throw them away in their own closed bag, like a Genizah Lite. I do have a folder with the real Name for Genizah though, which is also getting pretty full, considering I’m a Jewish Studies major and take Biblical Hebrew.
So I don’t really think of it as being “holier” than anyone else. I actually never thought of that even once. I just think of it as being respectful. I think it’s interesting though to hear what those who don’t do it think of it. I used to be frightened when I saw “G-d” in a book or whatever; I thought it was extremist and weird. So I get it. But even though I know why others don’t use “G-d” or “Elokeinu” or anything else, I have to admit I appreciate it when people do do it because that means I can throw that paper away or if it’s a song I don’t sing along when they’re saying “Eloheinu” or whatever. It’s just a hassle.
My feelings I think can best be summarized by J. David Bleich’s responsum on the matter:
Religiously motivated forms of conduct practiced by devout Jews over a span of generations are but seldom without a firm basis. Our Sages long ago counseled in this regard, “Even if they are not prophets, they are the sons of prophets.” Those who inveigh in caustic tones against the manner in which their coreligionists spell the name of God not only err in their preconceptions but fail to realize that such time-hallowed customs acquire a meaning and significance of their own. The Jew who inserts a dash in spelling the Divine Name is filled with an all-pervasive sense of the immanence of the Almighty. His action demonstrates that he feels no inhibition in expressing his reverence for the divine in all aspects of his daily life. Whether or not one chooses to adopt this practice, whether one regards it as well-grounded or as ill-founded, the usage “G-d” should, at the very minimum, command a dash of respect.
