Chocolate Chip Pizza

Even though our Beit Midrash publishes a weekly dvar torah bulletin, which we make as interest-grabbing as we can with a range of special features, nonetheless, I am against learning Torah, reading parshah sheets and otherwise engaging in study during davening. During the breaks between aliyot, perhaps [for what is kriat haTorah if not communal Torah study], but not during davening.

This is not about halachic issues related to learning Torah during the repetition of the amidah; my point is spiritual, not technical, and it's about the entirety of davening, from Modeh Ani to Adon Olam.

The other day, I found the following metaphor to explain this to my children:

Imagine that you are a chef, and you prepare dough for pizza, and you slather on tomato sauce.

Then you decide that it would be wonderful to have chocolate chip cookies, and so you add chocolate chips.

Then, reverting to pizza-making mode, you put on cheese, but then you add the vanilla needed for cookies, and you mix it all together.

Then you cut it into small balls and put it on trays in the oven.

The result: Chocolate Chip Pizza. And while I love pizza, and I love chocolate chip cookies, I'm not having any chocolate chip pizza.

The same is true during davening. Davening to HaShem is great. Learning Torah is great. But mixing them together is self-destructive; the davening lacks emotional commitment, and the learning lacks focus and concentration. Neither is successful; the result is trash, a waste of time and resources.

I admit that I will look to learn something if the chazan is dragging on for so long that I cannot focus on davening anyway. Absent that, though, learning plus davening equals Chocolate Chip Pizza, and I'm not interested.

Cardboard Leining

Please note: I am not writing this about any particular leining or baal keriah I have ever heard. That's not an empty disclaimer; it's serious.

People who listen to kriat haTorah [the public reading of the Torah in the synagogue] value different elements:

Some listen for ivra, the proper pronunciation and accenting of letters and words.
Others listen for accurate and pleasant musical renditions of the notes.
Some look for a pace and an enunciation that will allow them to hear each word clearly.
And still others listen for a pattern of emphasis that indicates an understanding of the words being read.

For me, the most important aesthetic [as opposed to halachic] element of leining is Passion.

I am disappointed when I hear "Cardboard Leining", when the words are pronounced and sung properly, according to halachah, but without heart. Torah should be exciting, emotional!

I want to hear a baal keriah who reads the words in a way that shows the emotion behind them – the anger, the joy, the fear, the humour of a particular passage.

This is not confined to the "story" parts of the chumash, either; many of the Torah's laws can also be read with emotion. Think, for example, of Shemot 28:29, "And Aharon will carry the names of the children of Israel upon his choshen hamishpat breastplate when he enters the sanctuary, as a memorial before Gd." Or Shemot 29:45-46, "And I will dwell among the Children of Israel, and I will be their Gd. And they will know that I am HaShem their Gd, who took them out of Egypt to dwell in midst; I am HaShem their Gd."

Perhaps if we had a more emotive leining, the Torah reading would be less of an opportunity for people to read articles or step outside.

Rabbi Yehoshua Neuwirth zt"l

I've been too busy to blog this week, but I just learned of the passing of HaRav Yehoshua Neuwirth zt"l. I am heartbroken.

To many people, Rav Neuwirth is known simply for his Shemiras Shabbos k'Hilchasah, a well-designed, well-written, well-footnoted guide to the laws of Shabbos. The work's style has spawned many imitators in other areas of Jewish law, although its clarity, attention to detail, and no-nonsense approach to offering leniencies as well as stringencies has rarely been matched.

Personally, I send many medical halachah questions to authorities in Israel, who in turn consulted closely with Rav Neuwirth. He answered with care, with sensitivity, and with clear guidance. Now, I have lost someone I did not know directly, but who was the indirect source of so much for me.

נפלה עטרת ראשנו.

Korach, Tzaraat, and Life Without a Mission

A thought on Parshat Korach and tzaraat, from this week's Toronto Torah:

After Korach's rebellion is put down, Aharon instructs his son, Elazar, to create a memorial for the incinerated followers of this misguided revolt. As the Torah describes it, the purpose is "so that no outsider, who is not of the seed of Aharon, will draw near to bring incense before G-d, and there shall not be like Korach and his group, as G-d spoke, via the hand of Moshe, to him." (Bamidbar17:5)

The Sages were troubled by the references to G-d speaking and the hand of Moshe; these difficulties led the Talmud to state:

Rav said: One who perpetuates division violates a prohibition, as it is written, "And there shall not be like Korach and his group."

Rav Ashi said: Such a person deserves tzaraat. Here it says, "Via the hand of Moshe," and Shemot 4:6 says, "And G-d said to him, 'Bring your hand into your bosom [and he brought his hand into his bosom, and he withdrew it, and behold, it displayed tzaraat, like snow].'"

According to Rambam (Sefer haMitzvot, Shoresh 8 and Lo Taaseh 45), the Talmud is not saying that the biblical declaration, "there shall not be like Korach and his group," is intended as a formal prohibition against strife. Rather, it is a warning that those who challenge the validity of the authorized kohanim, as Korach did, will experience the tzaraat which Moshe experienced when he refused his Divine mission. (Shemot 3-4) Moshe rejected his own status as the Divine agent, and Korach rejected Aharon's status as the Divine agent. One who rejects the Divine agent, as Korach and Moshe did, will suffer tzaraat. Rambam also notes an additional incident of tzaraat, which supports this warning; see Divrei haYamim II 26, in which Uziahu, King of Yehudah sought to usurp the role of the kohanim and was punished with tzaraat.

We might add to the list of those who experienced tzaraat for rebellion against G-d's authorized agents: Miriam and Aharon. Miriam and Aharon spoke against Moshe's unique status and closeness to G-d – granted that he was not a kohen, but he was still the agent of G-d – and they experienced tzaraat. (Bamidbar 12, Shabbat 97a)

These associations between Moshe, Korach, Uziahu and Miriam do identify stories with common denominators, but why is tzaraat an appropriate punishment for rebellion against authorized kohanim?

It may be contended that the Divine charge to the kohen is an extension of that first mission given to mankind in the Garden of Eden, with the words, "And G-d commanded the man." (Bereishit 2:16) As Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik explained (The Emergence of Ethical Man, pg. 5), "G-d takes man-animal into His confidence, addresses him and reveals to him His moral will." From that point on, the meaning in Man's life lies in freely channelling his spirit into that which is Divinely declared to be right. This is the goal and purpose of human life.

Tzaraat, on the other hand, is a shadow of death; it is dying without dying, the body's vigour replaced by the snowy pallor associated with a corpse. The individual who experiences tzaraat is separated from the society of Man, cast out of the camp and condemned to declare, "Impure! Impure!" to warn off human traffic. (Vayikra 13:45-46) This individual is removed from the society of G-d, too, banned from entry into holy places or contact with sanctified property. (ibid. 13:46; Bamidbar 5:2) This individual acts as a mourner, his clothing torn and his hair unshaven, bereft and grieving. (Vayikra 13:45)

Perhaps tzaraat, this form of living death and bereavement, is an ideal consequence for a person who rejects the authorized representative of G-d – for rejection of G-d's ability to appoint someone as His agent is also rejection of that first, "And G-d commanded the man," and that purpose for which we live. Such a person is doomed to a meaningless, mission-less, pallid life, a living death, a perpetual mourner set apart from the community of Man and the community of G-d. [Perhaps this is also why Korach does not actually suffer tzaraat. Korach does not rebel against G-d's ability to select His agents; rather, he insists that G-d never selected Aharon at all.]

We might think that we would not have made Korach's mistake, but we often fall into the trap of rejecting our own selection, living lives of self-satisfaction instead of mission-satisfaction. This begins as we structure our lives – our homes, our careers, our hobbies - in the way we find most appealing. The self-centred approach can come to dominate our identities to the point that the mission is gone, and what remains is a pallid, corpse-like, tzaraat-marked existence. The imperative, "there shall not be like Korach and his group," demands more of us – to embrace the Divine command, to embrace our status as its agents, and so to embark upon lives of mission and purpose.

The New Bentcher is Here!

As I discussed in my post here, my Rebbetzin and I decided to compose a new bentcher (birkon, if you prefer) in honour of our son's Bar Mitzvah, almost a year ago.

Our goals with that bentcher included:

* Presenting the Hebrew text in the poetic form it was intended to have, instead of the paragraphs which make appreciation of its beauty difficult;

* To offer a legible text;

* To improve on the existing English translations, and offer commentary on the songs as well as birkat hamazon;

* To present background on some of the practices of the Shabbat table.


We published that edition at the time, and received some helpful feedback.

Over the past several months, in honour of my daughter's Bat Mitzvah this week, we made some changes to that addition. We added components like al hamichyah and Havdalah, and added many songs. We also edited some of the commentary and translations we had used in the original edition.

The experience, again, was an enlightening one; I hope you will enjoy the result, the second edition of Z'morta T'hei, which is now available for free download, in pdf, here. It is meant to be printed on paper which is 7 inches tall, and 6.7 inches wide. Please send feedback!

Family Photo

This old family photo resurfaced recently; it is believed to come from the retirement party of my great-uncle, Professor Naftali (Harry) Tur-Sinai, from Hebrew University.

The professor is not actually in this photo. Instead, we have Israel's President Zalman Shazar (2nd from left, back to the camera) and Prime Minister David Ben Gurion (center). Further to the right, turning to the camera, is my paternal grandfather.

On the left, partially obscured, is a cousin of my father, and on the right side, half in the picture, is my cousin Jacques Torczyner, about whom I wrote here upon his passing this past March.

As I've noted on this blog a few times, reflected glory shouldn't mean a whole lot. But it does teach us that we are part of a continuum, and I see great value in that.

Ivrit b'Ivrit (Hebrew immersion) for teaching Talmud

From time to time, I hear parents and teachers debating the value of teaching elementary school and high school students their Judaic studies in an Ivrit b'Ivrit program - meaning, Hebrew immersion.

The argument I generally hear in favor is that language immersion is a great way to learn the language, and the material being taught is meant to be learned in Hebrew.

The argument I generally hear against is that language acquisition skills vary from child to child, and that a normal-sized class cannot be kept to a pace that will work well for all of them. This results, potentially, in poor learning of both the language and the Judaic studies material.

I am not a classroom educator, and so I have no opinion on the general subject. However, the other day I was asked to comment on teaching Talmud with Hebrew immersion, and I must admit that I'm not sure why this is even a question. Gemara is hard, and certainly for elementary and high school students. Why make things still harder, by using it as an opportunity to teach Hebrew as well? Won't they just learn both subjects poorly?

Or, as I once heard a school president ask, "Would you teach kids Calculus in Greek?"

Of course, the answer is to make aliyah, so that Hebrew won't be foreign, and then Ivrit b'Ivrit will be just fine for our kids...