Pluralism and New York and stuff

I’m currently in a hostel which all I can say is it is definitely building my character. It’s not that bad, but 1.) I’m the only American 2.) Somebody took my shampoo.

Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that after my last encounter with that Conservative minyan (see last post), I’ve had many opportunities to go to other places. I went to an egal minyan at Shaare Zedek on Friday morning, and to the Prospect Heights Shul Friday night and Saturday morning. By the way, last Friday was the ~first Orthodox shul I’ve ever been to~ what a milestone.

I have some things to say about it. First of all, it was inside of a thrift store. That was cute. The mechitza was on some kind of clothesline. You guys, the mechitza is not that bad. I sort of liked it. I liked not having weird old men sit behind me. However, obviously, being me, I did happen to notice that 1.) The singing was a little more boisterous on the men’s side. I heard clapping, although I did look over and I’m pretty sure it was just the rabbi. 2.) On Saturday morning, most of the women showed up during musaf, wtf? Cause that’s definitely the most important time to show up? I didn’t get it, because if you’re going to miss any davening you’d think it would be ma’ariv. But anyway, there were like ten to fifteen men and I was the only woman for like fifteen minutes. Whatever. The whole time, I couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be on the men’s side. I ended up deciding that it probably wasn’t so hot over there, because some of those guys were weird. Like, one was way too excited to point out errors in another guy’s Torah reading skills. And anyway, near the end I was starting to feel the burn, it was going on three hours after all, and I just feel like if I was on the men’s side I would start to feel like they were caving in on me. Of course, some of the ladies were weird but it was funny because one lady was singing loudly and she was a bad singer but in an endearing way. So basically, the women did sing but they weren’t clapping and junk. Maybe cause there were less women, oh well.

And also I’ve been slowly but surely deciding that those apologists who say “women don’t need to be in the synagogue cause Judaism isn’t actually based in the synagogue, it’s just become that way” is kind of true. I mean, the last part anyhow (don’t sleep through shaarit, guys). I don’t like the whole synagogue scene that much. I don’t know, it’s like get me out of there. I would probably hate it if I HAD TO hang out with those guys three times a day and three hours on shabbos when I daven better alone anyway. This idea that Judaism /= the synagogue was reinforced by the fact that a lot of my hanging out with my new Orthodox acquaintances last shabbos was done outside of shul. And we actually did Jewish stuff. It was different. I helped someone make dinner for eight people, we actually washed and bentched OUTSIDE of the synagogue and IN SOMEONE’S HOUSE (SCANDALOUS). And I heard a guy walking down the street in Flatbush saying “Like the gemara says…” and the next day I met a lady who said she was part of Storahtelling.

Now, here’s the reason why I’m not so worried right now about any of these shul men/women problems that have been dominating this blog for a long time. I just went to a trad egal minyan (I don’t want to say Conservative, but I think some of them go to JTS) where one girl led the davening and I spotted another girl wearing tzitzis (!).  And anything I didn’t get out of that, I filled in the gaps Friday night at the MO place. And similarly, it’s gradually occurring to me that I’m currently in New York, and I think I underestimated the amount of options that were here. You CAN be that guy who talks about the gemara while walking down the street, and you can be that lady who’s in Storahtelling. I feel like I’m a special snowflake who needs certain things–women friends who wear tzitzis, Jewish theater and Jewish rap, but also women’s yeshiva and Orthodox mechitza davening–and if I’m going to get that anywhere it’s going to be New York.

I know that when you convert you basically have to stay in one place for the duration of it and then for a year of probation, but I feel like New York’s middle name should be pluralism. And not stupid pluralism, which is where I’m  the only diversity where everyone else is Reform and I have to accept them but they’re allowed to think I’m a freak. I think it’d be pretty normal to go to one shul for certain things and another for other things. Unlike what it really, really seemed like in my little Southern town, pluralism (good pluralism, not stupid pluralism) is in.

For example, the day after I got to New York I went to the New Voices journalism conference and I personally thought it was pretty cool cause it was the first time I saw Reform and MO people getting along and actually being friends and stuff (there was one Chabad guy but he came and left). And then I went to shabbos dinner at someone’s house and there was a guy who said “I don’t ride my bike on shabbos” but there were also girls texting, but the real point is when that guy said “I don’t ride my bike on shabbos” there wasn’t a giant onslaught of why that’s so stupid.

Can you tell I’ve been traumatized?

One thing I liked about my time hanging out with them: they talked about halacha occasionally! They talked about who gets the year long kaddish and other various trivia.

So, guess where I went this morning? Do I learn? Really, do I ever learn?

So, I’m in New York right now. I’m in a hostel, and my roommates are: One guy from London and two guys from Wales who came to see the soccer match. So, three guys in your room is nice and all but it doesn’t really make for the best davening experience, especially when one of them is awake and, like, possibly watching you.

So I did the next best thing and started looking for minyans. Obviously, I couldn’t pick an Orthodox one because I didn’t want the stares, but I didn’t really want a Conservative one because they’re usually kind of sparsely populated. With retired people. So, I picked one that said “We are traditional! Yet egalitarian!” No one stared at me, but a guy did turn around and look at me, possibly menacingly. It was probably cause I was new and he was like “What’s this young person doing here?” That happens often. But anyway I came right before barchu I guess but I didn’t say it because I didn’t notice what was happening until the middle of it. So the guy in front of me said something to me, which might have been the page or whatever, but I clearly didn’t have their Sim Shalom, and clearly I had my own agenda.

The leader didn’t have a microphone, but it still sucked for me because even his occasional interruptions distracted my delicate attention span, and I ended up speed-reading it and leaving. It was pretty ridiculous. See, I’m starting to not feel that going to minyan is so great for my life and I have to admit this is one of the few things I might not like if I were a man, cause I can’t daven at someone else’s speed. It’s just too weird.

—

I had to wonder, though, I just had to: What would make someone my age interested enough in this experience to want to join it? Or, more nicely speaking, why would someone my age decide to be Conservative over something else? I mean, do they come and like the service? Do they come and like the minyan?!

I sense that the reasons are the same as they were seventy years ago: “I want something more traditional than Reform, but Orthodoxy is just too much.” I don’t know if any real Conservative commitments (i.e. what Conservatism says Conservatism is) come with many who might choose it, and maybe the “middle of the road” ideology is still winning out. But I had to wonder–if someone my age who was considering Conservatism for that reason were put in a typical weekday minyan every day and told “This is how you’re going to do it now,” how would he feel then? Would he feel so good about Conservatism’s “middle of the road” approach if he saw that in practice, 91% of Conservative congregants are over 40? And are these the very congregants who were the first to actually be raised Conservative as children by second-generation parents? And wasn’t that Conservatism’s heyday? And doesn’t it make sense then that Conservatism would be declining just statistically speaking? And who’s going to want to be that 20-something to fill those gaps, dodging stares at every turn cause you’re such a novelty to them, especially when the “middle class, older American culture” is still there? Not me.

I’m not trying to be mean to Conservatism, I hope you know how interesting this movement is, I’m sure some people are going to start thinking I want to be Conservative just because I talk about it so much. I mean, the drama! The romance! How can you not find it fascinating? Although I don’t think that’s why people would want to be Conservative, either…tant pis…

Is Conservatism moving leftwards?

So I said my final farewell to the Conservative synagogue. I feel like everyone was depressed this morning. I was having a good time though, taking your advice to stop letting them ruin my world. However, it kept getting interrupted by the fact that the rabbi kept trying to lead the davening through a loud, loud microphone.

But that still didn’t get me down. I also entertained myself by reading some of the Hertz commentary on Leviticus, and its traditionalism surprised me. “The Failures of Biblical Criticism” was the topic for a good three pages. If I’m not mistaken, Hertz was kind of a Conservative ideological leader, so it’d be safe to say that at the time of writing that sort of idea was popular. He wrote about the obviousness of Mosaic authorship, complete with bibliographical references. So that was then.

And as for now…have you heard? There’s a (relatively) new Conservative chumash called Etz Chaim. Its basis is on Biblical criticism, Exodus as myth, Priestly sources, and things like that. Namely, what all reasonable people should believe anyhow (i.e. “Etz Chaim: What you all really believe anyway, stop lyin’”). I’ve looked at it, and it definitely seems like a Wellhausen fan club. What changed? Something changed. The JEDP theory didn’t get any better, indeed by 2002 there was time for even more criticisms to be published against it. The JEDP theory didn’t get true. Conservative views changed.

According to the Jewish Week article (linked above), now (read: “finally”) the Torah can become “engaging.” I heard that from my Recon rabbi almost every time I talked to him. The article says:

“The fact is, the Conservative movement, and most of non-Orthodox Jewry, lives in a constant state of cognitive dissonance about the authority of our holy writings. And the new Chumash doesn’t release us from that ambivalence.”

The implication is–as I gather from living with and talking to non-Orthodox Jews–not only that Orthodoxy is complacent and living in a delusion, but that this “cognitive dissonance” is a good and freeing phenomenon. I was also a big advocate of “the Struggle” (you always hear about “the Struggle!!”). But, although it sounds good–certainly scholarship is a weighty tenet of Conservatism–what is it, really? What are you struggling with? And what is it doing to Conservative practice? By the looks of it, Conservatism is slowly but surely going the way of Reconstructionism. I know that many, probably most, Conservative Jews accept critical sources over traditional ones whenever they conflict. But I wonder if it is really so healthy for the movement to encourage this view without also addressing what this does to the “halachic” label of the movement. I also wonder if it is really so healthy to unequivocally welcome this “cognitive dissonance” over very basic concepts such as whether entire books of the Torah are post-exilic or not. I’m not saying it should be prohibited to question, but there has to be a baseline somewhere. I still wonder what really, concretely, would make the Torah worth following if it’s a post-exilic “cultural document written for various self-serving motives.”

Nonetheless, I think this is the train that has left the station. I definitely think Conservatism is becoming less traditional, not only in practice but in ideology. When Conservative Jews consider themselves “chained to ambivalence,” the rational conclusion ought to be to go the way of Recon and take up Kaplan’s Conservatism full-time. This ideological development might be essential (it’s practically unavoidable), given how far they’re already shifted in practice. It makes sense; the movement can’t live on “pluralism” forever.

Never mind whether I agree with it; what does this mean for Conservative practice? Can it still claim to be a halachic movement?

I’m getting kind of tired of this blog

I’m getting kind of tired of this blog. I feel like there are more important things going on than what I’m writing, and furthermore the things I feel like writing about aren’t really within the scope and/or theme here, so basically in case you didn’t notice I end up writing about Conservative Judaism so it keeps looking like that’s all I ever think about.

I don’t know. What do you guys think? Do you read this anymore or what?

I didn’t let you down, you let me down first!: Wherein I almost re-integrate into the Conservative synagogue but give up instead

The Conservative synagogue is giving me bad vibes. I’m back home after a year of school, and it’s weird because I’m only now realizing how stressed this place made me, even though I thought I liked it. Obviously, I enjoyed torturing myself. Or maybe I just thought it wouldn’t get any better. I’m making the attempt to re-integrate, but I feel like now that I have had a glimpse of the alternative, I can’t do it anymore. They are doing a couple of good things though: They are building a shabbos accommodation room in the basement, and the rabbi wants to have a “Talmud class” next year (more like a survey course, I think). I’m pretty proud of them for that. Nonetheless, I was actually slightly surprised to find that I couldn’t handle it. I had planned to come in weekday mornings and hang out in the library reading The Laws of Brachos, and it would be like old times, but I feel like I’m trying to put a square peg in a round hole.

Thursday morning, for instance, I was in the library reading The Laws of Brachos, and some lady walked in with an expression like she thought I was a killer with a gun. “Hello? Who are you?” I was like, “Oh did you need this room” and she was like “No, I’m just trying to figure out why you’re in here.” I said, “I’m just hanging out.” Silence. “I came for the books.” “Ohh.” I was clearly reading. No one ever goes in that library but me, the rabbi, and the preschool. So I could see how it might be a shock. Still, I’m getting a little tired of being the only one who actually reads the books.

But that’s just one example. I’m getting this weird faux-religious vibe that I also got last year when I used to go, only back then I didn’t know any better and thought it was real. Accordingly, I acted a lot more traditional than almost anyone else (except a couple of regulars), and it’s no wonder now that people thought I was weird and avoided me. If I’d acted more aloof and devil-may-care about my attendance and observance, I might have been received better. Even last Monday, when a guy asked me what I was doing this summer, when I said “I’m going to yeshiva,” he seemed quite taken aback and asked no more questions. I say “faux-religious” cause all the trappings are still there. I’m sure they use real mezuzah scrolls (unlike some places I know), and they have ladies’ hair doilies and shavuos yizkor and the rabbi says things like “baruch hashem” and “I’ll be late to class, I have to daven mincha,” and the whole thing. Like, it looks really real and you could easily think here was a religious place.

But then you start to look at things and you realize: No one really cares. I’m sure people like it when the rabbi says “I’ll be late, I have to daven mincha,” because it means that everything is still in order. But then you notice that no one else in that room is davening mincha. And then you remember that time the rabbi said off-the-record that “probably more than 3/4 of our congregants don’t keep kosher in their homes,” i.e. the people who will suffer through the full-length “community seder” but have “abbreviated” ones at home. To me, it’s still very much apparent that Conservatism only happens “inside the synagogue.”

The behavior of Conservative Jews resembles that of the Orthodox while they are in the synagogue, but in daily life they act more like Reform Jews. -Emil L. Fackenheim, 1960

And yet, the pervasive sense of “only some of us belong here” is still evident. They’re friendly and everything–I mean, seriously they haven’t kicked out the blatant Jews for Jesus lady even though she’s been there for a year. (Actually, there are two of them now.) But, for example, I know when I read that “We are having shavuos services outside this year, get the family together and hear the ten commandments!”, I know that’s not meant for me (or any single people, I generally presume in these cases). So I’m not going to go. There are paid dinners I don’t go to, and paid speakers I don’t listen to. I know it all creates a sense of belonging, but the question is: Belonging to what? The synagogue? And what is the synagogue, really?

For the [dues-paying] congregant, the rabbi is his rabbi. -Marshall Sklare, Conservative Judaism 1972

It’s like the abbreviated seder. It’s like they’re going through the motions but don’t really believe in it. People say things like “When I get home I’m just going to watch the game/go shopping” when it’s clearly shabbos. It’s like shabbos ends when they leave the synagogue. I just remember feeling not judgmental or angry, but disappointed (cause if it’s over for everyone else, I just go home and it’s over for me too). They can also be really mean to the Orthodox. Last Monday, the rabbi mentioned that he took a trip to Boro Park recently to meet his Orthodox Torah partner, and he said that was the first time he saw his son frightened; i.e. when he saw their big hats and peyos etc. So then someone said, “Yeah, when you want to punish him now, just tell him he’ll have to dress like that when he grows up!” Jabs like that. Someone told me that they say things like that because they probably have Haredi family and have had bad experiences or whatever, but good God way to immaturely take out your anger.

But basically, I wonder if this need for belonging at all costs, or “ethnic survivalism” as Sklare calls it, is causing this divide just as much as ideology is. It can be pretty black and white. You’re either a member or you’re not. I guess it’s working in the sense that it’s like a community (as long as you’re the right demographic/know the right people), but they’re not bound together around anything positive. It’s just vapid. They’re bound together around kugel cook offs, having their children in the preschool, hating the Haredim, and convincing themselves with their “baruch hashem” and their outside shavuos services that this is legitimate.

Conversion Tips ‘n’ Tricks Aggregate

I just realized, re-reading some of my older posts, that I’ve come a lot farther than I thought. And it’s weird, because two years have gone by and I’m technically no closer to converting. It’s disheartening, but at the same time I know that I did learn some things that will hopefully make me look like not a beginner.

I did write a “You Know You’re Over Conversion When…” post in August, and I think it was pretty timely, and had such sage observations as “When you’re angry with God but it’s time to daven, you don’t get an existential crisis, you just angry daven” and “You’ve stopped wondering whether it would be ‘good for you’ to join Sisterhood.”

But we all know that could never be enough. So here’s some advice for anyone who might be reading this and is having their own conversion journey. It might be bad advice. It might even be good advice. YMMV.

1.) Anything I say about conversion might not even resonate with you. I don’t like all these “And at two months, you should feel this, and at one year you should feel this” lists, and even more so I don’t like this out-of-nowhere idea that “Once you feel like you’re not ready, only then will your rabbi know you’re ready!” People will try to get in your thoughts. Get them out.

2.) I was so serious in the beginning! Don’t be so serious! It’s like when you’re a kid and you take your mistakes so seriously, but then you look back and you’re like “Oh I was such a cute little cocoa puff! Why was I so hard on myself?”

3.) Your life might go through stages. Or themes, if you will. It may make you wonder what your core personality actually is anymore. For example, first I was like “Everyone must like me!” then I was like “F you people; I’ll do what I want!” and currently I feel like a yeshiva bochur on the inside; I have internalized Matisyahu. Also, at first I was pretty adamant about being Conservative, but then I decided I didn’t like Conservative, then I decided I wanted to be non-denominational, and currently I’m Against Injustice. A couple of things that changed my life recently are 1.) The Orthodox kiruv on our campus, 2.) The documentary Trembling Before G-d, which for some sick ironic reason made me want to be frum even more, probably because of how those people stayed even though they had adversities, but it also made me want to be against injustice even more, cause those people tried so hard. You also might make “My Life Changed” lists such as this.

4.) Your experience will be radically different depending on what denomination you’re trying to go through. If you’re looking for ease, go for whichever place offers a class. Those are so easy. The two I’ve been to were Reform and Recon, though, and Reform is explicitly into converting people, which is weird to me. Anyway, if you feel like Conservative and Orthodox people are wary of you, it’s probably true. They don’t really have classes. This is probably politically incorrect, but this documentary made me think of it. Those people gave me weird “They still seem Christian” vibes. I think there are two groups of converts; those who are really going to struggle and never quite fit in, and those who will eventually fit in. I’m sure you, my readers, are the latter group. But I’ve seen quite a few potential converts who couldn’t handle it. So, that’s probably what they’re expecting of you, too. I don’t really know if I have vibes or not yet. (If I have Christian vibes, I’ll just die.) Don’t let them tell you who you are. You know if you can make it.

5.) You should learn Hebrew. There’s no question. So many doors will open; everything will make so much more sense in life. I know you might not think you “need” it. It’s like when my sister was five she used to think she wouldn’t have to learn how to read. But you must! Last year, I was really into speed davening without pausing to think about what the words meant. But now that I know a bit more it makes it much more meaningful. You might not believe this, but if you learn Hebrew, the English translations will pale so much in comparison. How can I say this enough? LEARN HEBREW.

6.) There will be easter eggs! For me, this was realizing I could understand (a lot of) what I was saying in the siddur, which happened this morning, and it was amazing. Just like that, suddenly I was like “Wow I recognize that, it’s hifil.” Did I mention you should learn Hebrew?

7.) On a sad note, you might have to deal with people who seem to want nothing but your demise. This could be fellow congregants who want to suck you into their toxic gossip, it could be a rabbi who doesn’t like you, it could be a congregant who makes sure you never dare to think you’re “one of them” yet, it could be someone who laughs at your observance, or someone who has no reservations disparaging your preferred denomination right in front of you etc. Everyone will have an opinion. Don’t let them get you down.

8.) The second year of holidays are much easier. It was so disorienting the first year; it was very weird to think of the holiday year as an endless cycle, each holiday meant to represent something totally different, and it was just too bizarre. I was used to my mom going “I cannot bear to have Christmas without a tree!” and dragging the thing out of the basement, and that only lasts one day! It was just too weird to have all these crazy eight day long holidays, with things like “customs” involved. (My family’s holiday custom, by the way, is to drive past people’s houses at night and look in their windows. It’s a cherished tradition.) But now that I’ve been through Passover already, for example, it wasn’t as bad. And I didn’t feel like such a nerd learning as I go. But I wasn’t used to holidays being such a big part of life. There’s always a holiday. But anyway, the second time around was a lot less stressful for me because I knew what to expect, I guess.

9.) If you’re getting tired of certain platitudes (usually accompanying descriptions of the holidays), like “We’re standing again at Sinai” or “On Tisha B’Av, we should also think about our impact on the environment,” stuff anyone could think up, and you’re getting frustrated with its lack of originality, well, you’re not alone there. Don’t worry, there is a lot more to things than that.

10.) I know it’s easy to get caught up in other people’s opinions and the politics and appearances, but don’t forget why you’re doing this. Also, God is there for you even when no one else is. He is on your side. He wants you to succeed.

Intermarriage: An open letter to Orthodox and Conservative rabbis

An open letter to Orthodox and Conservative rabbis:

You say you’re against intermarriage, you know there’s a 50% intermarriage rate, and you know some kids who come out of those marriages aren’t going to be halachically Jewish–maybe 30-40%. So, about 15-20% of all Jewish marriages will result in non-Jewish children. You say you’re against intermarriage, but what are you going to do about it?

I’m one of those kids. I got lost in the system. To be told by someone that you’re Jewish one day and to be told you’re not the next, well it’s pretty disconcerting, if you can imagine. And as much as I’d like to believe the former, I’ve decided to convert. I’m tired of wondering in which contexts I can call myself Jewish, and in which contexts other people would be offended if I did. I’m tired of wondering whether the words of the Torah were meant for me or not. I’m tired of having it implied that the God of my fathers doesn’t want my davening. I’m tired of thinking that’s actually true. I’ve been trying to convert since I was nineteen, but I keep running up against you.

I like to think I’m doing the right thing, you know. Next to all the halachically Jewish kids my age, for whom you are happy if they just light some candles on Shabbat or something, I’m gladly taking on a whole lot more. I don’t know about them, but I have the extra burden of knowing I’m the only one in my family left to keep it going. I’m here. I’m ready. Heck, I’m even completely willing. And yet–I get no compassion. You don’t even notice. In the halachic world of categories and laws, I have no category. I fell through the cracks. Do you care what happens to me? Am I a part of klal yisrael? If so, what do I do about it?

Nothing would make me happier than having you tell me you’d like to see me convert because it’s my responsibility as a part of the Jewish people. Instead, it’s as if you hope I don’t mention it too much. It’s as if you simply cannot tolerate the subject, so instead you always come up with the same line: “You are Jewish if your mother is Jewish.” And the conversation ends. And I feel terrible. And you don’t notice. Your hands are tied, you say. Just be patient, you say.

My request isn’t that radical. I’m not asking that you accept patrilineal descent. Hey, I’m with you: my childhood was a perfect case study of the mixed messages kids get from an intermarriage, and therefore I’m against it because intermarriage caused this.

I’m only asking two things, and I think they’re pretty reasonable: Make it easier for people like me to convert, and stop reacting with such horror when you hear the term. It’s not a “death sentence” for continuity unless you make it one. Look, I’m on your side. I want to do this the right way. Why make it so difficult? There’s a lot of people like me out there, and I bet the number is growing. Ignoring it isn’t going to help you, me, or us. Telling me that I’m 100% a gentile and you couldn’t care less one way or the other whether I convert or not is pretty hurtful, you know. I know it’s easy to say it anyway, especially now that it’s an “issue.”

I want to know something. What do you suggest I do? What would be ideal? Do you want me to be Reform? Convert to Christianity, maybe? Would that be convenient for you? Do you really think keeping the children of 15-20% of married Jews alienated from Judaism is going to be a good thing? I didn’t choose the religion of my parents, but I am choosing what I do next. I love Judaism, I’ve never had another religion, I don’t want it to die in my family, and I don’t believe you really do either. So, can you help me out here?

Sincerely,

A Patrilineal Conversion Candidate

God is (Like) a Socialist

I try to get nearer, 
But as it gets clearer 
There’s something appears in the way, 
It’s a plank in me eye

-Kate Bush, “Suspended in Gaffa”

I’m still thinking about the whole “You’re here for a reason!” concept. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I was rejected from Stern and JTS and came here to W&M instead. Of course, it was nowhere near my first choice, but to appease myself, I and others said “Maybe there’s a reason you’re going to W&M!” (Worse: “Maybe the reason is that you need to learn a lesson to be patient!”) And this rhetoric started to get to me. I tried to figure out what it was. And I really started convincing myself that it was because I had to come in and save W&M’s Jewish students from a certain destruction!

Indeed, I wrote about this a lot more than I thought I did:

When someone asks why I won’t eat that pastry or that slab of meat, I tell them it’s because it’s not kosher…not that I ate earlier or that I don’t like that style of meat or whatever. I like to assume doing this “honesty” thing has the added benefit of making people think about how if I can do it, they can do it—all in a nonintrusive way—but maybe it’s backfiring. [April 17, 2011]

I hope I came to this school for a reason.  I don’t yet know what that might be.  I’d like to think that I’ll bring the Joy of Observance to these people, but somehow I doubt that anyone will be receptive to my archaic and outdated ways.  I guess I’ll have to take on the rhetoric of Modern Orthodox kiruv experts; that doing mitzvot is a good and pragmatically useful “choice.”  Fine; I’m up for that.  I think I have to be. [Sept. 11, 2011]

Wow, my first experience trying to engage Jews who vehemently don’t want my engagement – probably the first of many. I mean, look at me, I’m ready to alienate our only Hillel, to invite pro-Israel speakers onto our anti-Israel campus, to waste any favor I might have had with Hillel by running around with my radical ideas, or even doing my own events entirely outside of Hillel. It’s because we have 200 Jews and only ten of them are doing anything about it. I can’t stand it. I would do anything. Hillel is bored, jaded and doesn’t care that they don’t care. I may need to overthrow it. [Sept. 25, 2011]

It’s admirable. I’m not saying it’s not admirable. But I think I overestimated myself. I think a lot of people probably would like to change their environment for the better by “living by example” or helping others and things like that…but you’re not supposed to think about it. You’re not supposed to come into a place thinking from the get-go that you’re going to lift them out of spiritual desolation. That’s weird.

It’s a good thing I failed at that goal because it was a bad goal. What kind of 20-year-old is “meant” to save a dying community, like in a movie? But that’s the best thing I could think of at the time. But really, I had it all wrong! Who says my “purpose” here wasn’t to save $3500 so I could move to New York? Cause that’s what ended up happening instead. Moreover, I have to admit that at some point being here, at the very least, I realized I absolutely couldn’t stay here, and I think that should count for something, cause it was a pretty painful lesson as it was. It wasn’t something you can learn just like that, and then check it off your list when you’re done. I knew coming in that it would suck, but I thought I could do it anyway, and now I know that it’s living a lie.

Or maybe I didn’t learn all that. After all, I was ready to stay until I heard the school in New York accepted me last month, and I was still waffling even just two weeks ago. The point is, no matter what you think you’re doing you’re probably doing something entirely different. So it’s no use trying to think of the “reason” you’re doing anything. Cause you’re probably wrong.

I don’t know if the “you’re here for a  reason” idea is the consequence or the reason, but it all seems so fatalistic. “Socialist” was what I called it in my mind at about 3 AM while I was trying to go to sleep. When I was a tot, I thought that socialism was basically sort of like 1984 where the government would assess your strengths for you and then tell you what your career would be, and you just did that. I guess socialism is kind of fatalistic. You’re given what you need, right, everything is paid for you, and in turn you are compliant and let it happen. In the religious sense, you can be sure that everyone is equal and has an equally important role in life, but the downside is that if you happen to think your role isn’t working out, you can’t really work your way out of it, cause there are untouchable forces at work, and they know what’s best for you and everyone…and who are you?

Like sometimes I wonder how I got myself into this, like it’s so insane. In the past three years, I went from being an atheist theater major in art school who wanted to be a playwright and mixed media performance artist, to a Jewish studies major who just passionately argued with someone about whether Christianity is idolatry. I feel like that theater major in me is still there, of course it is, but I imagine the community I’m about to join, and I wonder: Why me? How did I get here? How did this become my thing I “need to do”? Surely, a reasonable projection coming out of where I was when I was eighteen would never include converting to Orthodox Judaism (not to mention actually believing in it! I would have died).

And I know I can’t do anything about it.

And yet, I suppose it’s rather exhilarating to watch yourself going down a road you would have never, never imagined for yourself. Let’s just say that this is “what God wants,” hypothetically. Nothing I do will be able to change it. I can think I’ll never fit in all I want, but for some reason I know I have to keep going. It’s like watching yourself from above at times, although you are entirely in control of your actions, you can’t help but wonder where you got all the momentum. I suppose that could be freeing in a sense.

And yet, remember the downside? If you’re not the one guiding yourself into this role or “purpose,” you don’t really know at any given moment what you’re supposed to be doing, or what’s supposed to come next. So you turn to the unknown forces. And you plead with God. But he doesn’t answer because there’s nothing you can really do here, he knows what he’s doing for you, and therefore you don’t have to, and you’re at once both lost and not lost, but to your everyday life all you’re seeing is that you don’t know where to go next. And that’s a little frightening, I think.

So I don’t think I was “meant to come to W&M” for some lofty purpose anymore. And while I still don’t really know whether this totally random year of my life had any “purpose” to it, I also know that I can never really know. But everyone can’t help but wonder. And it’s just such a bizarre feeling to think that you are on a path but have no idea how to follow it. It’s like you’re blindly following someone through the jungle; someone who refuses to talk to you.

I was kiruved and I liked it

I just finished a 10-week online program called Jerusalem Online University, which is hard to explain but here’s a visual:

That was on “The Torah Doesn’t Have a Lot of Errors Compared to Other Stuff” day. There were a lot of “logical proofs” like that. One was that since a Torah scroll can last up to 600 years or something like that, it only takes 12 in a row so errors can’t get in, and there were only nine discrepancies in one study, etc. How Sinai happened cause there were a lot of witnesses, and no one else has made the same claim of a national revelation, and so on.

I was skeptical at first, but I did it much for the same reason I had a bat mitzvah–”Nothing better to do!” I’m not sure I was their target audience, but don’t get me wrong I was pretty thrilled that I was accepted into this thing from the beginning. The only qualification was “One Jewish parent” and I was 1.) Shocked, because I thought it was sponsored by Aish and they’re pretty strict, and 2.) Joyous, because someone cares about my soul yay.

So, at first, if you’ll notice the kids on the chat on the right of the screen can get a little rowdy, and they were annoying me, and I kind of felt like a mom because my first thought was “Hey this program might be lame but maybe it will make one of these bros want to be frum,” and obviously I wasn’t thinking about myself because as far as I was concerned I didn’t need their kiruv.

But after a while I got kind of into it, and maybe not because of what he was saying so much as the fact that someone was actually doing this for us college students. Since what I’m used to is all efforts going toward getting families to buy synagogue memberships, I thought it was nice that they spent so much time and effort trying to get us interested. I wondered for a long time, and I’m still wondering actually, what they *really* want from us. I’m sure they expect the retention rate to be pretty low, and yet they’re giving us $200 to be in this ten-week program, and all we had to do was write weekly journals about what we learned. It’s so altruistic. It blows my whole mind.

I know skeptics would probably say something like, “They do want something; they want you to be like them! Ultra-Orthodox! They say that other forms of Judaism are invalid!” From my brief experience at least, they’d be happy if you were just more observant, even if you were label-less. Obviously, I’m sure they would really like it if you decided to be Orthodox, but if I may speak for them right now I’d suggest that’s because non-Orthodox branches don’t really demand as much out of their congregants relatively speaking, and on the contrary they want you to have the “whole package.” (My theory.)

I don’t think I realized I was getting into it until we were sent a survey after it was over. One of the questions was “How did you feel about Judaism before this?” and another was “How do you feel about it now?” I think the answers were something like: a.) A good source of tradition b.) a few interesting rituals c.) good moral guideposts d.) an entire way of life. I wish I could actually remember c.) because I ended up picking C. It was a lot like D but less intense. So then for the “How do you feel now?” I picked D. I thought about it, and although I was obviously way too into Judaism to be their actual target audience when I started at the beginning of this semester, I guess it did help me a little in unexpected ways.

First, it was nice to know that so many people were working together to make this program for the sole purpose of making kids like Judaism. There was even an option in the survey of “Further correspondence,” which I signed up for cause I’m entirely enthralled at this point. The very fact that so many people cared made me feel kind of inspired. (I know, you’re tearing up.) Next, I guess I had been thinking of Judaism as “good moral guideposts” or whatever. Obviously, I knew it was a system and I advocated for its being a system, but even so I know it took me a long time to think of it as “not just halacha,” and even longer to think of it as an integral life method, like Answer D said. I mean, I knew it was an integral life method, but being pounded with info on “How the world could have scientifically been made in six days” and how “the Jews were really chosen” made it get pretty real. Basically, it was nice to know that there are people straight up living this and believing it 24/7, which I haven’t really seen of course besides the Orthodox rabbi here and my Conservative rabbi back home.

A lot of it was dedicated more to “This is great” rather than “This is what you do,” or more importantly, “This is why it will be good for you personally.” A lot of the Judaism 101 stuff that I know either focuses on 1.) What the holidays are symbolically about, which he did talk about some, but in a more stimulating way (i.e. I heard “You have to go up the down escalator!” about four times to explain how Passover is about self-change…rather than what Judaism 101 usually talks about, which is stuff like “What you put on the seder plate”), OR 2.) How practicing Judaism will make you more ethical/healthier/a better person etc. JOU kind of strayed from that, and indeed he said during one of the courses that “Your job is to follow the Torah and repair the world with your hands tied behind your back! You have to be a light unto the nations by following the Torah! And you don’t have to go out and assimilate, the world will come to you!”

I liked that message because it didn’t beat around the bush, which I think a lot of Judaism 101 curricula do, by saying that you have to be ethical and Judaism just happens to help you do that, how convenient! But that method makes it sound like your job is to “repair the world…and if Torah gets in the way, you know what to pick. The Torah’s great, but it was written by people who were trying, just like we are.” JOU wasn’t heavy on “how it’s useful” stuff like that so much as it was on “Isn’t Judaism great? You can believe in Torah and still be a rational person!” I don’t know how to explain it, but it was “Isn’t Judaism great?” after being so used to hearing “Isn’t Judaism good?”

Anyway, I’m still not really entirely sure what they want me to do now, but hey. I would suggest that a good next step might be not leaving people alone in the wilderness after all this, which can be a problem with Birthright for example, where you have no outlet for the aftermath of the experience. I know the JOU people are really into large get-togethers, which appeal to the AEPi bros but probably no one else, and occasionally it seems like the whole program was made for the AEPi bros (there was even an optional AEPi trip offered during, like, Week 7). But they’re currently having optional informal weekly online courses, which is nice. If I were them, I’d be like “yo you’re trying to convert here’s some help and/or moral support,’ but maybe I’m just being idealistic. (I’m still waiting for some rabbi or something to be like “Oh, you’re converting what a good thing” instead of the “Oh, you’re converting, don’t ask me to help you” vibe I usually get.)

Therefore, I was kiruved and I don’t know what to do with it!

I Don’t Know Why But I’m Tired of My Life

Do you ever get that thing where you might listen to a song that you used to listen to during a certain period in your life, and then it brings you back? But then, and only then, are you really and utterly aware of how bad that time was? This happens to me often. And I think this is going to happen with last semester (and perhaps early this semester). This is no good.

For example, last semester I would really just listen to Y-Love and DeScribe and stuff on repeat, and now I can’t listen to them without thinking of how horrible last semester was. I’m not sure I knew how bad my life was at the time. But I felt trapped! Utterly trapped! And it’s too bad too, because I would still like them. And it’s even worse because I used to listen to them before last semester, and those were good times, only now when I listen to them again I’m going to always think of last semester, the bad times. Why is it always this way? It’s very annoying.

I remember mentioning at one point last semester that I felt like I was living my life online, and that all my Judaism was basically online. I was resigned to this idea, but now I’m a little horrified. I spent a lot of time online, and it got to the point where I felt that if I somehow erased my online presence I too would disappear. And that was pretty sad. Moreover, I was around people who constantly argued with me and it made me really tense…worse, we argued about Judaism, which gave it a terrible flavor. Last semester had a really bad flavor.

So this semester, at least nearing the end of it, I’ve pretty much checked out at this point. Seventeen days left. I’ve abandoned my friends, shall I mention effortlessly, and I’ve deleted every post I’ve ever made on Facebook, and I’m trying to eradicate the mindset that led to my feeling so trapped in the first place last semester. Must start anew. I knew something was wrong last semester–I came in following the letter of the law, and the semester threw me up with nothing to show for it, except eating treif again and realizing that what I was currently trying just wasn’t the way. It was a difficult road to the end of this year, to say the least. Especially since nothing I could have done would have helped. Time heals. It’s like when someone’s drunk, and the correct answer to how you can sober up a drunk person is “Nothing. Just give them some water and wait it out.” You just have to wait it out.

It’s weird, because in small increments, I always seem to find so many brick walls and roadblocks, but when I look at the past two years from afar, I see that my journey here to this point in life telling you all this has been almost effortless. It’s as if no matter what problems I had, I was still being pushed through the sludge to get to where I need to be. For example, when I started school here I had no idea what I was in for, and as the year progressed I thought it was impossible that I was “here for a reason.” I’m still wary of that phrase. Everything went wrong last semester–I hated Hillel, I only made a few Jewish friends and they ended up annoying me to the point I wished I’d never met them, and anything good that happened I think I saw through a filter of “Well, how is this going to help me convert, etc.” I was quite goal-oriented, but my soul had been sucked out.

And yet, looking back on the year, look how easy it’s been made for me! I didn’t get elected to Hillel, which makes it easier to leave (I would have had to resign mid-year), my school gave me $4,000 extra in financial aid, I paid off my old school loans, I met an Orthodox rabbi, who helped me with life, I saw myself at my highest and lowest, I was accepted to Brooklyn College, I sat in my Hebrew teacher’s sukkah and went to her seder, I learned how to explain why I’m leaning Orthodox, and all this within the year. I put things in perspective, which wasn’t the goal of course, but now I think I’m realizing that my goals were smothering me. I think, at least I hope, I’ll come out of this year with a better sense of purpose. Or something.

I don’t know what kind of vibe this year is going to have when I think back to it. This semester is the semester of Matisyahu, Nick Cave, Kate Bush, and Sleater-Kinney. On repeat. So, who knows. Hopefully this was a good and useful semester, because I don’t want to ruin them too, they’re my favorites.

Moshiach: a Mosaic

1.) Do we really want moshiach now?

Sometimes I wonder why anyone would want moshiach now. You’d have to give up everything, even if you just bought something cool or had interesting plans. Then I wonder, how interesting would it be? There wouldn’t be any “sin,” I suppose, so no one would be doing anything like getting married or doing business. I don’t know what’s supposed to happen during the end times or anything, but I do know about the Third Temple and that’s about it.

So, OK. Everyone would be making sacrifices, shlamim only of course, but even so you’d have to relearn all the laws of the slaughtering and then you’d have to wonder if you’d have all the stuff replenished that were only around during Temple times, like the red heifer. And then people could be nazirs again, so that could be cool, but then again there wouldn’t be any sin to atone for so you couldn’t be a nazir anyway I guess. But you’d also have to relearn everything that was invented in lieu of the Temple. Like, oh I don’t know, you wouldn’t count the omer anymore cause you’d have real omers.

Yeah. Then what? Would we go about our day normally after that? Or would it be like in Christianity where you’d just be hanging out forever, which actually does sound pretty boring? And what if you were on meds or something? What if you were on Seroquel or something? Would you just be you on meds but without having to buy them? Or what? Would people still be having babies? Will there be stores? Where will I buy my toilet paper?

2.) My view of moshiach

I don’t really know how to put together all the things: heaven, moshiach, full-body resurrection, etc. So I came up with my own thing. I can make it whatever I want because I never believed in the afterlife so I’m not that committed to it. So, I like to think that there will be some kind of gradual shift that no one will notice but then suddenly you’ll wake up and be like “What is this” and then the scientists do research and stuff and realize that throughout the years we’ve had some kind of brain evolution leading to a greater depth of perception regarding all senses. I don’t know what this has to do with morality. I’m kind of wary of saying that we will never achieve absolute moral greatness, at least without my evolutionary shift and all. But anyway, so there’s that, then someone will come up and be a great chief rabbi of Jerusalem and  convince everyone to get along.

Well, actually, this is why I don’t think that realistically there would be one person who is moshiach. Obviously, if he was really that great, I think that history shows us that people try to deify others quite readily and no one person in their right mind would encourage that, I think. And obviously, no one’s going to be like “I am moshiach.” That’s a surefire way of knowing that person’s not the moshiach, though.

I like to think it would be more than “an age of brotherhood,” or whatever, like the Reform say, because that’s just like saying “we want peace, we want peace now,” and you can say that without referring to the moshiach. I like to think they will build the Third Temple, because, not that I’m trying to start a war or anything, but they built a mosque on top of it? WTF who does that?

I’m all about animal sacrifices. Well, maybe not, cause that contradicts my agreement with Maimonides that the animal sacrifices were for another time, another place. So even if you do have the Temple and do meal offerings and stuff, you still won’t be doing all the mitzvot of the Torah, and I thought that’s what rebuilding the Temple was meant for. Oh, well. Let’s just build it and stand in it.

Oh gawd the tourists. I forgot about that. Never mind.

3.) Other people’s views of moshiach

I only know about the really boring “universal age of brotherhood” version, obviously I know there’s the regular version, but I sense that the universal brotherhood version is more popular. It sounds more viable intellectually, you know? But like I said, how much more viable is it that we will all stop fighting one day than it is that we will build the Third Temple? Or that one day I will be able to stop buying toilet paper? All of these things are kind of unlikely. The end times isn’t an intellectual conjecture, just like how can the afterlife be an intellectual conjecture?

I’m not saying that there won’t be a universal age of goodwill, cause what kind of moshiach wouldn’t have even that? But I don’t think that any one theory is better than the other just because it sounds more reasonable, I guess. So I’ll keep the Temple references and at the same time listen to dvar torahs and stuff about how the messianic age is symbolic. It’s all good to me.

4.) My theory about ultra orthodox view of moshiach

My theory is that those who have a really concrete and immediate sense of the messianic age can be pretty drastic. Christians express this urgency by sending money to Israel. Some Orthodox Jews, I think, express it by making one’s role in society very crucial to the framework of their worldview. Because there’s a lot at stake and you shouldn’t mess up the delicate inner workings. My theory is that this is one of the things behind a lot of the rigidity in the gender roles. Like, “Why should we change for feminism? If feminism ends up being wrong, we just changed something and ruined the chances for moshiach!” Just a theory.

Old People

Nineteen days left, world. Nineteen omers. Although being back at home won’t be so hot either, at least I will have the option of considering whether to go back to our Conservative synagogue. Here, the Reconstructionist one simply isn’t an option. I’m pretty excited. But then again, someone told me what the people there are allegedly holding a massive grudge against me for having had that Reform bat mitzvah last August. She also said that the rabbi is also holding a grudge, and it’s making me wonder that if he really did have this grudge why did he say “You think I’m offended? I’m not offended,” when I told him? He should just be straightforward.

Well anyway, now I’m afraid to come back. I knew they could be like that; I wouldn’t be surprised if she was right. All the more so, ironically, because it doesn’t really make sense. Lots of them are also members at the Reform temple as well. Many of them go back and forth. And besides, why these allegiances? Isn’t that what I’ve always been against? I’m not really sure what the big deal is, especially since I’m not a member of either. I am transient. And believe me, I have been treated as such!

But it also makes me wonder. What was going on at that place that I never noticed? I was there for a year, dutifully, every week. I started to notice some drama near the end there, and it worried me. Because it seemed so petty! And these people were old! It was stuff like, “I know the Reform rabbi doesn’t want me in her temple, don’t tell her I helped you with the tropes,” and “Oh, he’s ignoring you because of what you said about transliteration…or something.” Who needs that? It’s weird to me now how naive I must have been, although I guess I did feel pretty left out of things being 1.) single 2.) under 40, and 3.) transient. I didn’t think so at the time, but it didn’t have that much to do with converting or not converting. I wouldn’t have fit in anyway. I did start to realize what I was dealing with after like seven months, but even in the beginning I knew there were allegiances and divisions etc. You know, like on a reality show.

The fact is that people were literally gossiping and talking about me! back then, and I only knew about some of it because someone told me. Who knows what else went down? Remember that these people are all over forty, and I was nineteen! I mean, I guess I’m pretty flattered I ended up being caught up in all the “the rabbi said this” and “I can’t sit next to so-and-so because of that,” but seriously! Since I didn’t know who hated me for what on any given day, I basically just sat in the back corner.

Maybe it wasn’t all that bad, but still, with all this talk about “the rabbi is still upset about that bat mitzvah” and everything, I don’t really want to go back. Or rather, I don’t want to deal with people’s baggage and stuff. I was going to go to the weekday minyan, but now I really don’t want to. (It’s like their retired person’s club now anyway.)

Ah, why does it have to be such a thing? Why couldn’t I be like that guy with the beard who started coming for a couple of weeks and instantly befriended the rabbi and everyone loved him (“I found out the rabbi’s been befriending Beard, a new guy who started coming. He has a beard. Beard is very interesting due to his being under thirty and possibly being a ba’al teshuva or convert which would be freaking awesome because I love when BTs and converts grow a beard just for kicks. But I’m getting a little jealous if Rabbi Krazee Eyez is befriending him, because this will only confirm my suspicion that he only wants to talk to men”)? Beard never had to deal with old people pettiness, and he just got to leave afterwards! That’s it. I’m going because I have to hear the Torah for the first time in a year and I don’t care if the old people grumble! What’s with them, anyway?

I will that you tell me what “will of the community” means.

Wow you guys, I just checked out of life for the past ten days. The past couple of weeks have been kind of a haze; I’m sure the reason is because now that I know I’m leaving I can’t handle my everyday life, and I do this often. I just made a list and I’ve counted thirteen places I’ve lived, and eleven schools. And now it’s just like “get me out of here.” Nineteen days, world. I’ve done my job here. No reason to leave the house anyway.

So, for at least the past ten days, although it may have been more and I just wasn’t paying attention, I spent most of my time sleeping, skipping class, not doing homework, and watching documentaries about things like “Medicated Kids in America” and “The Suburban Wastelands” for six hours a day at least. Oh, and eating ice cream because it was either that or another block of matzah.

WHO INVENTED THIS HOLIDAY

Anyway, so thusly I haven’t had that many interesting things to say. I have a couple of things, but nothing that needs repeating here. I’m kind of just waiting it out. And it’s making me realize that it’s a good thing I’m not staying here another year, cause look how far down I’ve spiraled already! I am a wreck!

Regarding Conservative Judaism, my independent study is effectively over. I started it because of you people trying to tell me Orthodoxy was “invented” in America, and also because I wanted to know the difference between Conservatism and Orthodoxy, and I wanted to take one last really long look at whether I made the wrong decision in not wanting to affiliate Conservative; and although I have much to show for it I have to say that I’m perhaps even more unclear on what the ideology is, really. Think about it. It’s really vague. Someone asked me last night and I think I gave a pretty good answer. First, I said that Conservative Jews tend to characterize themselves as “Not Orthodox, and not Reform. We’re not them, but we’re also not them, heaven forbid.” So that’s one layer of it. But regarding the ideology, I offered things like “Torah isn’t regarded as an absolute, they follow the will of the community when making decisions.”

“What’s the difference between that and Reconstructionist?”

Then I said something like Recon takes the idea of the will of the community and runs with it. I might be making this up right now. But what I do know now is that Conservative is more like Recon than Orthodoxy, even though I definitely don’t think it started out that way or that they meant for it to end up that way.

I thought, for the longest time, that Conservative, deep down, was about Torah being an absolute, and the only thing making it different from Orthodoxy was, basically, its conclusions on halacha, which they come to using equally valid methodology as halachic decision-makers always had. Well, that idea was shot down with the last book I read (see last post…or just see this quote:  “We can no longer speak of Torah as embodying eternal, absolute, and monolithic truth.” He mentioned Torah being studied at the Seminary as a “cultural document” a lot). I don’t know exactly what positive historical Judaism is, but I suppose it has something to do with the fact that there’s apparently still a really big emphasis on history and context and stuff when they’re making decisions. And then I learned that the way they make decisions changed to the majority/minority format, allegedly to make it more authentic, but really (I learned) it was probably because they gave up on having the people actually follow the rules.

But that’s immaterial. The point is, can’t you see? Every time I try to say “What underlies Conservative rulings is this,” or “The Conservative ideology is this,” I run up against a wall. Surely there has to be one. There wasn’t at first, but now Conservatism is a MOVEMENT, a real THING! I get “pluralism” and “academic freedom,” but those can’t be the only selling points. Conservatism says it follows halacha. It says halacha is essential. Binding, even. But how? How can one call the Talmud or Shulhan Aruch or anything binding when halacha as at the “will of the community”?

Who wants to tell me what makes Conservatism different from Recon?

Conservative Judaism, what else? DECONSTRUCTED, courtesy Neil Gillman

Neil Gillman’s Conservative Judaism confirmed a lot of what I suspected about the movement. In fact, it seemed impossible that he was writing from a pro-Conservative perspective until the very last chapter, in which he suddenly declares that Frankel and Schecter would be glad about where the movement was going (207), which I don’t think is true, especially since earlier he said that even Kaplan, liberal of liberals, would “scoff” at women being ordained as rabbis (82).

In any case, it highlights a definite ideological difference, one that is very elusive and hidden between the lines of Emet v’Emunah somehow. Gillman writes that the “former” Conservatism was riddled with tensions, and only when Kaplan formed his theologies did the tensions become solved (78). That tension had to do with conflicting claims of the importance of history and the importance of pluralism, and also whether history is a means to change or a means to keeping tradition, and finally the tension of competing claims by the Seminary, Conservative rabbis, and laymen. I wonder if Kaplan really did relieve this tension, but he did seem to simplify the mass of elaborate ideological incoherence that was Conservatism in its early days.

I think it’s interesting that the conclusion Gillman chooses is basically that of the layman, or rather that of Reconstructionism. (I don’t really know why Reconstructionism has to be a separate movement after reading this book.) “We can no longer speak of Torah as embodying eternal, absolute, and monolithic truth” (205). According to Gillman, this “empowers” the congregation, gets rid of the top-down approach that was actually “deliberately designed” (203). It “spells the death of any form of religious authoritarianism” (205). Although “religious authoritarianism” is obviously cast as an enemy here, Gillman elsewhere laments the relativization of religion–”if religion does not provide [absolutes], where are they to be found?” (167) The movement “flaunts its pluralism” (168), but also “rejects relativism” (166). Gillman asks: “Once we admit a human component into the shaping of revelation, how is it possible to exclude a modicum of relativism?” (167)

I was worried about Gillman’s choice of words regarding Emet v’Emunah; he says the pluralistic structure of the statement is “empowering” because it allows laypeople to “resolve which position best captures his or her feeling at the time” (168)! And then I realized, this is not a halachic movement. I had thought it was for a long time because its ideology is very hard to discern, and it still claims to uphold halacha. However, “it is the human community…that formulated the contents of [the Torah]…The implication of this position is that a modern community of Jews can introduce changes in halakhah to the extent that is wishes to do so” (158). Belief questions aside (and Emet v’Emunah focuses on practice hardly at all, and speaks more in terms of encouragement rather than principle when it does), if the movement “views Torah as a cultural document that has always responded to changing historical conditions” (157), nothing really is keeping a community from changing even a central law.

For instance, someone could, say, put a piece of bread on a seder plate to protest sexism and other causes. That sort of practice does not make for a halachic movement, for sure. No one would think the Conservative movement would endorse such a thing, and it probably wouldn’t, and if it didn’t write a responsum saying “You can put bread on your seder plate as long as it’s for a good cause,” rabbis couldn’t let their congregants do it. But if you take Gillman’s position to its logical conclusion, what’s stopping any individual community from doing it? (I suppose that to be officially “Conservative,” a congregation would have to be registered with all the necessary institutions, but nonetheless. Legalities notwithstanding, theoretically I don’t see how it would be impossible, especially since if Torah is a cultural document than delineations such as d’oraita and d’rabbanan would be meaningless, and it seems that the prohibition of chametz would enjoy the same stature as a modern minhag.)

This “always responded to changing conditions” rhetoric is central. I happen to think it’s being misused (also, the Oven of Achnai story is way overused). I wouldn’t be surprised if the examples used to support this statement were the same few, and did not parallel today’s situation at all. For instance, I’m sure that the prozbul would be used in any respectable argument, and yet I don’t suppose today’s conditions are so dire as to warrant such changes. Mostly, they are for the sake of convenience. Next, the rabbis in those times were probably not working from the belief that the Torah is a “cultural document” that would be “nice to stick to but not necessary.” That will obviously lead to different conclusions, despite what Gillman says about not being able to box in Jewish beliefs (156).

In fact, I still wonder how a “cultural document” can be binding at all. How can it be compelling? Gillman asks this question throughout without answering it (and how could you?) Next, what constitutes a “community” worthy of implementing changes? For the Seminary, it was likely the scholars. I suppose today it’s the RA teshuvot and so on. (This doesn’t really get rid of the “top-down” approach now, does it?)

I read once that although one should “follow the majority” (another argument used in conjunction with “halacha has always responded historically”), the “majority” doesn’t refer to everyday people, otherwise we’d have to all follow the majority of people who are unobservant. It supposedly refers to Torah scholars who are equal in knowledge (A.Y. Kahan), which is an explanation I like because it means that if a majority of people who happen to be ordained but aren’t worried about halacha tell me I can put bread on my seder plate, or birkat hamazon is overrated or too long, or anything similar, those aren’t necessarily the “Torah scholars” the phrase is mentioning, even they outnumber those who have more halachic knowledge and say that I probably shouldn’t put bread on my seder plate.

I also find that there is still a tension in the Conservative movement in that people believe in the “will of the community” or “Catholic Israel” and all those things, but still believe in “individual autonomy,” so that the official position that the rabbi is mara d’atra of a community, and is free to choose from minority rulings, translates to laymen as “Individuals can choose the minority opinion,” and although I can see how this would be seen as an ideal, I don’t find it a good idea in the long run to entrust laymen with little Jewish education with halachic decisions (especially communal ones), good intentions or otherwise. Maybe I’m just being a “religious authoritarian.”

Still, the driving teshuva (as Gillman mentions on p. 159), among other decisions, become much simpler to understand when viewed through Gillman’s proposed ideological filter, which I am inclined to agree with until convinced otherwise. The only confusing thing now is how Conservative rabbis would still care to use lengthy Talmudic arguments (although their method of how they use Talmud, I’ve noticed since reading this book, focuses on the historical and developmental aspects).

Too Much Jewish

I unveiled my latest plan to transfer to a school in New York to a friend and another fellow Hebrew class member last night. “No! Stay!” “But New York has more stuff!” “Just wait out the year!” “But New York has more Jewish stuff!” “What is it with you and your Jewish obsessions all the time?”

This plan isn’t new. I have two reasons for wanting to transfer. The first is that my asthma got way worse since I moved here. I am taking two different medicines, and I don’t know if they’re working, and frankly I’m frightened about the infamous Zyrtec withdrawal hives. I’m worried that if I’m here any longer, my lungs will permanently seize up and will it be worth it? No it will not.

The second is that, obviously, New York has more Jewish stuff than Williamsburg, VA. I know that although W&M is better academically and rankings-wise, that doesn’t matter very much when you’re not going for the thing the school is strong in; i.e., I’m neither a History nor a Science major. How many times have I heard “Jewish Studies, we actually have that major?” No, we do not. Even our Career Center is confused by me. (On the extreme contrary, the Jewish Studies chair at the other school, when I asked her to evaluate my transfer credits, said “Are they from a school or a yeshiva?”)

Next, I know enough to know that the Union and the Confederate still have their allegiances. It’s like how my sister recently discovered that she got less tips from the Southern customers who expected a Southern accent etc. I think that’s an apt observation. But similarly, I know that a Southern institution isn’t as exciting in the North as it would be in the South. Or rather, exciting in all the wrong ways. “You’re from Virginia?” It’s like a whole different world, apparently. It’s like how when I went to interview at Stern the security guards laughed at my Virginia ID and asked me why I would possibly want to come to New York. When I tell people I go to W&M, they say “Oh, I hear that’s a good school. Is there at least a Hillel?” I am an oddity. My whole family knows we don’t “belong” in the South (apparently this happens to New Englanders sometimes), yet we’ve lived here for twelve years so we hardly “live” in the North, either.

OK, so I told my Hebrew class friends this, and they were unimpressed. They didn’t get that I wanted more from my community and that I so palpably didn’t belong here (even my French teacher said, “Laura, tu veux voyager?” And I was like “Yes.” And she was like “I can tell.”) Even the self-proclaimed “Conservadox” one didn’t get it. Only when I mentioned my potential double pneumonia did they acquiesce. But I thought it was odd that my (“Conservadox”) friend was so concerned that I was so “obsessed with Jewish things,” and I’ve sensed this phenomenon before. All these other kids in Hillel were “raised Jewish” or whatever, so they are naturally more integrated than I am, with their talking about the “chumetz” and the “charoset” and their family traditions and stuff, and their names like “Aryeh” and being in AEPi and broing out with the Ortho rabbi who comes to campus cause he was in AEPi too (and ignoring all the girls in the room to bro out over AEPi). Just cause. Doing any more than that, or deviating from that is, well, it’s just weird.

The kind of Jews who come to W&M are, statistically, empirically, from Conservative suburban families but then come here and don’t feel like Hillel or our synagogue speaks to them (since neither our Hillel nor our synagogue is traditional whatsoever), and just drop out of Jewish life completely. I’ve talked to a few, and other people said that they’ve also talked to people with that kind of background. I guess they’ve lost their momentum.

But that’s really vogue in a way, you know? It’s like the effortless look. It’s definitely not vogue to want to actually MAJOR in your childhood religion. Then I start talking to some of my Jewish friends and I get too excited about my own inside jokes about open pits and stray oxen and stuff that I think other people will get but then it’s awkward because I’m the only one thinking about what to do with that stray ox. And then I just feel like that nerd in math class who actually likes the math. And it gives me a dissonance.