in the land of milk and honey

Yom Hashoah: Some Ideas and Thoughts

2011-04-29T17:27:00.007+03:00

The Shoah and our Psychological Legacy (2010)

The best article I read relating to Yom Hashoah came from Yair Lapid who argued that "The Holocaust dismantled everything human beings knew about themselves, and then taught us two unforgettable lessons"

"The first one is that we must survive at any price, that we can't rely on the world to protect us…that we must always prepare for the worst case scenario, because otherwise it will materialize."

The second one is that we must be moral.

What none of our leaders seem able to discuss is the question Lapid termed the biggest challenge of all - what to do when these two lessons contradict each other, when ensuring our existence at all costs means carrying out morally questionable acts

Yom Hashoah raises more questions than answers.

Is the archetypal 'goy' he who stood by as we were slaughtered, or he who put his family's life on the line to save us? Should we enhance our strength, or curb it? Emphasize security or empathy? Become particularists or universalists? Distrust the world, or open our hearts (and doors) to the stranger? And how can we – with our questionable psychological legacy – authentically and honestly engage with these questions and work out the correct balance between them?

Shiur: Theological Significance of the Shoah 2010

In the Shiur, we looked at traditional and modern sources in order to better understand the theological significance of the Holocaust. Covering Fackenheim, Berkovits, Arthur Cohen, Primo Levi, Kalnymous Kalman Shapira and others, we touched on whether the Shoah can be viewed within the classic framework of why bad things happen to good people, whether each generation has its own 'Auschwitz problem', and to what extent the idea of rejecting God is within the Jewish tradition.

We also began to investigate how post Holocaust theologians attempt to recreate new language (Fackenheim's '614th Commandment', Levi's 'Shema', Wiesel's 'new Bereshit' and Cohen's 'Red Sea of evil parting time and space') in order to try and come to terms with an event they see as unique in Jewish history.

In the Presence of Burning Children (2009)

Part of me feels that in the face of unfathomable evil, the only appropriate response is silence; that written words are unable to capture the enormity of what happened…that as Irving Greenberg says, “no statement, theological or otherwise, should be made that is not credible in the presence of burning children."

Yet despite this, I wanted to share an article I wrote in the spring of 2002 regarding different theological responses to the Shoah. It is based on the format of a book called Yosl Rakover Talks to God in which author Zvi Kolitz imagines a moving letter written by Yosl Rakover hours before the Warsaw Ghetto is liquidated by the Nazis. Yet rather than ultimately affirming his faith in his Creator as Yosl does, the article suggests that our understanding of God can not remain the same after such an event.

The article can be accessed here

Remembering Death, Celebrating Life (2008)

The first time I watched 'The Pianist' was in a cinema in Warsaw during the 10 days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur in 2002. The second time I watched the film was last Wednesday night, in my Tel Aviv flat, as the first Hebrew city in nearly two thousand years marked Holocaust Memorial Day.

There’s a lot that needs fixing in this country. The political culture, the education system, the fact that many find it difficult to articulate a vision of what sort of state we want to build here.

Yet every once in a while, as the siren we hear indicates the past rather than a sometimes frightening present, its worthwhile using the silence to remember a time when we didn’t have the strongest army in the region, or a first world economy, or a place to call our own. And be appreciative and proud of a place those 6 million could only dream of.

Holocaust Memorial: Of Trauma and Trust (2008)

Last Saturday night I saw a documentary called Hiding and Seeking which describes the attempt by Menachem Daum to leave his children an ethical legacy in a Shlomo Carlebach ‘love every human because they were all created in God's image' type of style. Overshadowing everyone's relationship in the film is the spectre of the Shoah, which destroyed much of the Menachem and his wife Rivka's parents' families (although Rivka's father spent 28 months hidden in a pit under a haystack in the farmyard of a non-Jewish Polish family, the Muchas). And while the past (unsurprisingly) causes their parents to be suspicious of 'the goyim', what worries Menachem is how the Holocaust has also reinforced his children's' ambivalence towards the secular non-Jewish world and anything outside the four cubits of Jewish law.

In a moving journey to discover more about their past, Menachem takes his sons on a pilgrimage to Poland, ultimately finding the family who hid their ancestors and discovering that wars not only bring out the worst in people but also the best.

We mark the unimaginable evils of the Holocaust on the 27th January, 10 days after the anniversary of the disappearance of Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg who saved thousands of Jews during the war.

Both days reflect the potential of the humanity. Yet we seem to concentrate more on one than the other.

It’s inevitable that the wounds of the past scar us, and the existential fear of many Israelis (including mine) over our future here is legitimate. But 60 years on, maybe we should harness the memory of Wallenberg and the countless other righteous gentiles like the Muchas to inspire us to become open and confident enough to begin the process of learning to trust again, of believing we can take risks.

Because ultimately, perhaps its this that marks the completion of our ongoing Zionist journey from an exilic past into a genuine independent free and sovereign future

Yom Hashoah (2007)

One abiding memory I have of Yom Hashoah is that of walking to the coastal road between Netanya and Tel Aviv and watching the scenes as dozens of cars stopped for the siren.

The day is always sandwiched between two festivals – Pesach, the time of our Freedom from Slavery and Yom Ha’atzmaut, the time of our Freedom from Exile. On Pesach we celebrate what Jewish philosopher Isaiah Berlin termed negative liberty - the absence of obstacles, barriers or constraints. Yom Ha’atzmaut meanwhile reflects our capacity for positive liberty – a platform that gives us the ability to take control of our lives, the idea that after two millennia Jews finally re-entered history to take responsibility for their future

So as Israeli motorists temporarily leave behind their desire to break the ‘how many cars can I overtake in a minute’ record, let’s hope that we can utilize both the negative and positive freedoms that history has presented us with, so that the phrase ‘never again’ will no longer ring hollow in the ears of so many people who deserve better.

Yom Hashoah (2006)

There's so much to say about the Shoah and none of it is really enough... but I’m kind of glad that all visiting foreign dignitaries get taken there.

Because beyond the legitimate questions of whether we are too taken up by our past, and whether by harking on about the Shoah all we do is create negative Jewish identities in our children, the truth is that one can't really understand the way Israel acts without understanding that we lost 6 million of our people so recently - cant appreciate the subconscious fears of Jews that complete genocide by our neighbours is a possibility without visiting a place documenting one of the greatest crimes against humanity carried out by a people that was considered to be one of the most cultured.

Pesach: Ideas and Questions for the Seder

2011-04-14T13:07:00.018+03:00

I wanted to share some ideas, discussion points and questions that people may find useful during Pesach. Each idea includes a short summary in the text.

Rabbi Steven Greenberg explains that "The key to Jewish exegesis is to assume that nothing is obvious...We train children at the Passover Seder to ask why, because tyrants are undone and liberty won with a good question…when we ask good questions, the Torah is given anew on Sinai at that very moment."

In this context, I hope everyone has a Chag Sameach full of much joy and many questions. An extended discussion on each topic can be found by clicking on the relevant links.

The 10 Plagues (Our Liberation, An-Other's Pain)

The Midrash explains that as the Egyptians are drowning in the sea, the angels want to sing praises to God. The Almighty's response – "the works of My hands are drowning, and you seek to sing praises!?" – suggests an aspect of universality (or that we don’t rejoice in our enemy's downfall) which is interesting to explore.

What makes it even more interesting is another similar but different Midrash which uses a similar phrase ("My children are in danger and you seek to sing praises!?") to describe the Israelites, rather than the Egyptians. It touches on the tension between God as universalist and God as particularist.

And it raises the question as to the balance be between our freedom and an-other's suffering

The Shiur (summary, audio and source sheet) on this is here. A blog post on the topic is here.

Bechol Dor VaDor (Liberating Ourselves from Slavery)

The British Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks explains that in order for an individual to truly liberate him or herself from slavery, they must let go of hate (which explains why the Israelites ask their Egyptian neighbors for gold and silver – it was an act that would make it harder to hate the Egyptians).

Yet even though we are physically free, to what extent are we still emotionally traumatized (or enslaved) by the past? In what ways have we succeeded in ridding ourselves of hate and in what ways have we not?

Furthermore, might one Bechol Dor VaDor (seeing ourselves in every generation as leaving Egypt i.e. becoming liberated) be undermined by another Bechol Dor VaDor (remembering that in each generation our enemies rise up against us)?

The Shiur (summary, audio and source sheet) on this is here. A blog post on the topic is here .

The Four Sons and the Israeli-Palestinian Conflict

The Hagaddah speaks of four sons - wise, wicked, simple and one unable to ask. Over the generations, this theme was expanded - four different Jews, four generations, four characteristics present in each one of us. In this context, here is a reading based on different Zionist approaches to the Israeli – Palestinian conflict.

The Redemptionist child, who says that talk about ‘peace’ with the Arabs is dangerous utopianism; The Realist child who believes that peace with the Palestinians may be possible, but not in this generation; The Pragmatist child who argues that unless we achieve a two state solution soon, the window of opportunity for a secure Jewish and democratic state may close; and the Justice child who contends that the Israeli – Palestinian conflict is a tragic struggle of right against right and that Zionism loses its moral legitimacy when it denies national liberation to another people.

The only question remaining is which child is wise and which is simple (naïve)? And which is so blinded by their opinions that they are not even able to question them?

A blog post on the topic is here.

Dayenu (Maintaining Meaning in an Imperfect World)

If the ultimate aim of Shemot is leaving Egypt in order to receive the Torah and enter Israel, how can we genuinely say Dayenu, that 'it would have been enough for us' if only some of these steps would have happened?

While entering Israel may have been part of our people's meta-narrative, there is still importance in understanding and appreciating steps along the long walk to freedom. In fact, as Jonathan Sacks explains, failure to understand historical processes (as reflected in the French and Russian revolutions), or forcing perfection and redemption before its allotted time (what Amos Oz calls 'now-ism') can lead to disaster.

Dayenu thus challenges us to see value in interim steps even if we haven’t achieved full redemption.

The Shiur (summary, audio and source sheet) on this is here.

Chofesh and Cherut (Freedom in a Jewish State)

In A Tale of Love and Darkness, Amos Oz describes two accounts – one by his father and one by his aunt – of their childhoods in pre-war Europe.

"Then he [my father] told me in a whisper… what some hooligans did to him and his brother David in Odessa and what some gentile boys did to him at his Polish school in Vilna, and the girls joined in too, and the next day, when his father, Grandpa Alexander, came to the school to register a complaint, the bullies refused to return the torn trousers but attacked his father, Grandpa, in front of his eyes, forced him down on the paving stones and removed his trousers too in the middle of the playground… "

These accounts touch on the differences between Herzl's Political Zionism and Ahad Haam's Cultural Zionism; between Isaiah Berlin's 'negative and 'positive liberty' (freedom from and freedom to), and between the ideas of Chofesh and Cherut.

A blog post on this topic, which also touches on African refugees, is here.

The Price of Liberation (Moshe and the Tragedy of Leadership)

Although Moshe does not appear in the Hagaddah, he plays a major role in the Jewish people's exodus from slavery. Yet despite showing great leadership and thirst for justice, Moshe is barred from entering the Land of Israel. In fact, it may be those very actions that are considered praiseworthy in one context that lead to his failure to enter the land in another.

One Midrash describes an argument between God and Moshe where the latter's killing of the Egyptian taskmaster counts against him in his request to live forever and enter the Promised Land.

Can any liberation moment succeed without bloodshed? And what sort of price might this take from its leaders?

The Shiur (summary, audio and source sheet) on this is here. A blog on this idea, which also relates to the aftermath of Operation Cast Lead, is here

Escape from Freedom

One small idea to end with… Although I haven’t read Eric Fromm's Escape to Freedom, I sometimes find it difficult to understand why freedom might be something people would prefer not to experience. In this context, I found this article in the New York Times "Born and raised in a North Korean gulag" fascinating.

The story touches on Shin, a North Korean who escaped from one of his country's concentration camps. 'Now in Seoul, [Shin] said he sometimes finds life "more burdensome than the hardest labor in the prison camp, where I only had to do what I was told"…Shin said he sometimes wished he could return to the time before he learned about the greater world, "without knowing that we were in a prison camp, without knowing that there was a place called South Korea."

Conversations on Pesach: Dayenu: Maintaining Meaning in an Imperfect World

2011-04-13T21:13:00.007+03:00

There is a dissonance between the Exodus story in the Hagaddah, which primarily focuses on the Jews leaving Egypt, and the Exodus story in the Torah, which emphasizes the importance of leaving Egypt in order to enter the Promised Land.

The Haggadah's change in tone and downplaying of Israel is most likely in order to maintain the meaning of Pesach as a 'time of our freedom.' After all, if Pesach is about coming to Israel, then how can a 16th Century Polish Jew reading the story in the shadow of a potential pogrom truly celebrate our journey from slavery to liberation without being miserable?

Marking the victory of slaves against totalitarianism meanwhile is inspiring regardless of which generation one finds themselves in.

However, if the ultimate aim of the Exodus was coming to Israel, then how can we say Dayenu, it would have been enough if only we would have left Egypt without getting the Torah or entering the land?

In the Shiur, we discussed how while entering Israel may have been part of our people's meta-narrative, there is still value in understanding and appreciating steps along the long walk to freedom. In fact, as Jonathan Sacks explains, failure to understand historical processes (as reflected in the French and Russian revolutions), or to force perfection and redemption before its allotted time (what Amos Oz calls 'now-ism') can lead to disaster.

Ultimately, the lesson of being satisfied with less than we may believe we deserve, as reflected in the Talmudic Rabbis' command to say grace (bensch) after eating an olive, (and potentially with the Yishuv's acceptance of the Partition Plan in 1947) allows us to find meaning even without all our aspirations being fulfilled.

Click here for the source sheet and for the audio recording.

Conversations on Shemot: Purim and Religious Coercion

2011-03-22T11:10:00.006+02:00

In contrast to those stories that emphasize the romanticism surrounding the Israelites acceptance of the Torah, the Talmud in Shabbat 88a relates that God lifted Mount Sinai above the people and threatened to kill them unless they accepted it (like a shot gun wedding or as the Maharal claims, 'Divine rape').

In this case, questions Rav Acha Bar Yaacov, how can the Law obligate us, seeing as we only accepted it under duress?

The response provided by Rava – that the Jewish people accept the Torah and renew the covenant in the days of Purim (kiymu vekiblu) – is intriguing and raises as many questions as it provides answers. What does this mountain metaphor signify? What is unique about Megillat Esther that it's specifically chosen as a prooftext for why we voluntarily (re)accept the Torah? And what makes an individual today obligated to fulfill Mitzvot?

French philosopher Emannuel Levinas brings a beautiful idea regarding the mountain metaphor, explaining that certain things in life – such as the moral imperative towards the other – are imposed on us, whether we like it or not. According to Levinas, the idea of ‘Torah or death’ means the only alternative to accepting the Torah, to accepting the claim the Other makes on me, is ultimately violence.

Several commentators discuss the uniqueness of Purim.

David Hartman compares the Exodus / Sinai model (first part of the sugya) with the Purim model (second part), explaining that while the former encapsulates the manner in which history impressed itself upon the Israelite community in the past, the latter accords better with the Jewish historical experience in the Talmudic period and into the present. This is why it is chosen as an example of reaccepting the covenant – it reflects real life.

Norman Lamm argues that Purim is mentioned as it reflects a situation that facilitates authentic moral choice of whether to accept the covenant, as such choice only arises when its unclear as to whether God is present or not (for example, when God is so clearly present at Sinai, there isn’t really a choice).

Yitz Greenberg takes this one step further, writing that the Jews' reacceptance at Purim is done with greater knowledge and thus greater maturity than at Sinai, seeing as they (we) now accept the Torah "knowing that destruction can take place, that the sea will not be split for them, that the Divine has self-limited and they have additional responsibilities."

Finally, we discussed Esther Chapter 9 (the source text for kiymu vekiblu, the Jew's renewal of the covenant) and the question of what obligates us to continue to keep Torah. Rather than a top down argument of 'because God said so' (as represented by the mountain metaphor), I wonder whether the Gemara is subtly suggesting that there is another model for obligation – that of a grassroots bottom up process originating not with God or elected leaders, but with the people, who – even before Mordechai commands them how to celebrate the festival – have already begun to create customs themselves.

Click here for the source sheet and audio recording.

Chag Sameach

Discussing Israel in San Francisco: Staying on a very narrow bridge

2011-03-08T22:19:00.007+02:00

San Francisco…The inspiration for Arik Einstein and Scott McKenzie; an unplugged laid-back city of rolling hills, calm water and fantastic wine; where environmental awareness and recycling is all the rage, yet car-pools are defined as only two people, (and even then the lane is mostly empty).

For the past nine days, Eran and I have engaged with dozens of people across the political spectrum within the Jewish community here, in order to better understand the dynamics of the debate surrounding Israel.

Some of our meetings haven’t been easy. Many we spoke to rejected our suggestion that Israel’s legitimacy would be strengthened by ‘widening the pro-Israel tent’ to include any individual willing to take a strong stand against delegitimization of Israel (denying the Jewish people’s right to self determination), even if that person has strong criticism of specific government policies.

Between meetings, I popped into one of the many San Francisco bookstores, treating myself (if that’s the right word in this context) to Avrum Burg’s controversial book – The Holocaust is Over – We must Rise from its Ashes.

Burg’s book isn’t an easy read, brimming as it is with criticism of the Israeli / Zionist establishment – of how nationalism hasn’t been good for the Jews, and how Zionism wrongly replaced the exilic spiritual Jew but with the militaristic Sabra.

Yet despite deep disagreements which much of his thesis, I did identify with some aspects of Burg’s analysis, notably the idea that we remain traumatised by the shadow of the Holocaust, and that this trauma not only negatively affects our ability to trust the international community (we feel that ‘the whole world is against us’), but also creates a paradoxical situation in which citizens of the region’s only superpower continue to feel an existential angst about their future.

In fact, I think the easiest way to understand the opposition towards ‘widening the tent’ on behalf of both the Israeli Government and some within the San Franciscan Jewish community is through Burg's analysis of our fear of Israel's potential destruction.

My most interesting meeting came with Director of Berkeley Hillel, Adam Naftalin Kellman. Berkeley is renowned as a historic center of anti-establishment radicalism, and last year experienced an attempt by the Student Council to pass a motion divesting from Israel. In this context, Adam finds himself between proverbial rocks and hard places – between radical students pushing the narrative of Israel as an apartheid state, self defined progressive Jewish students highly critical of Israeli policies, and ‘whole-hearted Zionists’ promoting the line of ‘support Israel warts and all’.

Amongst this sea, Adam discussed his wish for the students to create a deep, meaningful, significant and mature relationship with Israel, even if that includes criticism of its policies.

However the question he couldn’t answer was how to facilitate such a process without simultaneously strengthening those voices undermining the country’s existence.

I also can’t answer this question, but I believe the issue doesn’t just apply to discussing Israel at Berkeley, but is pertinent to all sensitive, thoughtful, Israel supporters today.

How can we maintain context when engaging with the complexity that is modern day Israel?

How can we encourage nuance on an issue known for facilitating radicalism, or discuss intricacies when others deal in slogans?

How can we criticize without worrying that we are betraying our people, or that our criticism will strengthen the current Tsunami that sometimes undermines the country’s existence?

And how can unease regarding specific Government policies be harnessed towards constructive, rather than destructive ends?

While I'm still struggling with this, the challenge reminded me of part of Obama’s book - ‘Dreams of my Father’ - in which he describes his first trip to Kenya, his father’s birthplace.

“For a span of weeks or months, you could experience the freedom that comes from not feeling watched…

You could read about the criminal on the front page of the daily paper and ponder the corruption of the human heart, without having to think about whether the criminal or lunatic said something about your own fate….

Here the world was black, and so you were just you; you could discover all those things that were unique to your life without living a lie or committing betrayal.”

Reading Obama’s description of his feelings, thoughts and fears, I can’t help wondering what our ‘freedom from being watched’ might look like, where our ‘Kenya’ might be…

Is there a place where we can be liberated from past historical trauma to 'ponder the corruption' of some aspects of the Israeli heart, where we can discover our own feeling towards our homeland...where we can just ‘be ourselves’?

There isn't a clear answer, but this is clear:

That if we fail in this challenge, we won’t just be pushing too many committed yet critical Jews away from Israel all together.

We will also be doing a disservice to our own tradition that values discussion, debate and disagreement.

Conversations on Shemot: What happened at Sinai? (The meaning of Torah Min Hashamayim)

2011-02-13T18:03:00.005+02:00

According to the Biblical text, at Mount Sinai the Jewish people 'encounter' God and receive the Torah, which is considered to be divine, or 'Min Hashamayim,' (from heaven). In fact, the belief of Torah Min Hashamayim is a key doctrine of Judaism, one which often distinguishes traditional theological thought from heresy.

But what does it actually mean?

This week we looked at the debate surrounding what was received at Sinai, a debate which also touches on something much wider – what the margins of legitimate, traditional thought within Judaism are.

Contrary to what is generally taught (atleast when I was growing up in the UK), there is a wide spectrum as to what Torah Min Hashamayim could mean. On the one hand, it could mean anything from 'instruction' (Torah) whose origins are 'divine' (from heaven). On the other, it could include the written and oral law (Torah) that were literally received from heaven. In fact, one Rabbi Isaac even suggests that what a learned student will one day teach before their Rebbe was already given to Moshe on Sinai.

Ultimately the Rabbis disagree as to the meaning of Torah Min Hashamayim (or where the lines of heresy are drawn). The maximalist position demands belief that God gave Moshe the entire Torah, without Moshe adding anything of his own accord. The minimalist position meanwhile 'merely' demands belief in the concept of revelation (or not worshipping idols).

Sometime over the last few hundred years, the Maximalist position (Torah Min Hashamayim as meaning the whole Chumash given by God to Moshe) won out. In fact, it won to such an extent that this position is often mistakenly considered to be the only legitimate traditional opinion on the origins of the Torah, with any other position being classified as heretical.

However, (and dont tell Artscroll) there are several problems with the Maximalist view. In fact, it seems that even many traditional commentators (such as Abbaye or Ibn Ezra) didnt even believe that the entire Torah (Chumash) was given by God to Moshe.

Yet if Torah Min Hashamayim doesn't mean what the Maximalists claim, what could it mean?

Ibn Ezra suggests that the divine aspect of the Torah is reflected in its commandments, rather than its narrative.

Others argue that the meaning of Torah Min Hashamayim should be seen as similar to the blessing Hamotzai Lechem Min Haaretz (who brings out bread from the ground). In other words, even though humans turn wheat into bread, we still consider bread to have come from the ground, similarly, the origins of the Torah are divine, yet humans have an integral part in turning it into something 'edible'.

We ended with one of my favourite ideas, from Abraham Joshua Heschel who reinterprets Rabbi Isaac's comment suggesting that what a learned student will teach in front of their Rebbe was already given at Sinai (above) to mean that revelation at Sinai plants within each of us our ability to cognitively develop and innovate, to come up with new ideas.

Click here for the source sheet and audio recording.

Conversations on Shemot: From God's Strength to God's Silence

2011-02-08T19:02:00.005+02:00

As the Israelites cross the Red Sea and are saved from their enemies, they sing songs of praise to God, praising His might and strength. But what happens when one's subjective perspective of God isn’t that of strength but of silence? What should an individual do when the way in which our tradition describes God’s actions seemingly clashes with our own personal experience?

While many in today's Orthodox world would champion text and tradition over personal subjective feelings, a fascinating text from the Gemara in Yoma (69b) suggests two alternative models.

One approach, championed by the prophets, prioritises subjective feelings towards God over what the text / tradition says. For example, living as he did at the time the temple is destroyed, Jeremiah doesn't experience God's might, even though Moshe had previously described Him as mighty. He therefore refuses to lie to God and leaves out the word mighty when referring to Him. As Amos Oz writes, such a position of angrily engaging with God is an inherent part of the Jewish tradition, and is sometimes even more intimate than those who blindly accept tradition, those who Oz describes as like "museum curators who polish the glass of locked cases."

A second approach, championed by the Men of the Great Assembly (who merited returning from exile and re-establishing the temple), seeks to maintain traditional texts by reinterpreting them in a way that maintains their meaning in light of new circumstances. For example, they saw it as important to maintain those (traditional) words that Moshe used to describe God, such as 'mighty'. In order to maintain the word's relevance, they reinterpreted it from referring to God's strength to referring to His patient restraint.

Hopefully these models, as well as an additional one represented by Rabbi Yishmael, can provide ways for each of us to find our own authentic way to worship God.

Click here for the source sheet and audio recording.

Conversations on Shemot: 'The Works of My Hands are Drowning' Is God Particularist or Universalist?

2011-02-01T16:25:00.004+02:00

Similar to cases in our more recent history where Jewish children were turned into soap, several Midrashim describing slavery in Egypt refer to Israelite children being turned into bricks. Yet despite such terrible experiences, we are told not to rejoice in the downfall of our enemies. In fact, the commentators argue that we only say half Hallel on the last days of Pesach (rather than full like on other festivals) because the Egyptians drowned.

Having discussed these ideas, we focused on two 'same same, but different' Midrashim - one in which God expresses sadness for the death of the Egyptians in the sea ('the works of my hands are drowning and you [the angels] sing praises to Me?') and the other in which God cares little for the 'hated enemy' and instead focuses on the Israelites ('my children are in danger at the sea and you [the angels] sing praises to Me?') - questioning which version is a more authentic 'Jewish idea.'

We concluded with a third midrash from Sefer HaAggadah (Book of Legends) that brings a beautiful synthesis of the above points and negates two oft-heard political arguments making their way around the dinner tables of Jerusalem, Tel Aviv and London.

The first position claims that because the Jewish people suffered greatly, we deserve freedom / independence, and don't need to be overly bothered by suffering on the other side.

The other position contends that if during a nation's search for freedom it inflicts pain or suffering on another, that nation's cause is inherently morally undermined.

I believe that the Midrash's conclusion - that the pain caused by our search for freedom may have been justified, but that doesn't take away from our need to sympathize with those who sufferred is a very powerful contemporary message.

Click here for source sheet and audio recording.

Conversations on Shemot: Revelation, the Golden Calf & the Talmudic Tale of Passion, Pagans & Procreation

2011-01-26T16:13:00.005+02:00

How could the Jewish people worship a golden calf a mere forty days after the powerful experience of revelation?

This week we looked at different commentators on the story of the Golden Calf. Whereas Rashi feels the Israelites were guilty of serious idolatry, Yehuda HaLevi argues that the people didn't intend to commit idolatry but imagined they were striving to worship the true God.

We then looked at one of my favorite Sugyot - an enigmatic passage from Yoma 69b in which the Jewish people succeed in capturing the inclination for avoda zara (idolatry). The Gemara relates that this inclination comes out from the Holy of Holies, and has such an alluring voice that – similar to Ulysses in the story of the Sirens – it needs to blocked out in order for people not be driven into oblivion.

Continuing in their requests from heaven, the Jewish people then capture the yetzer / inclination for forbidden sexuality, only to find that without it, the world stops functioning (the Gemara explains that with the yetzer in captivity, there was not one egg to be found in the whole country). Because 'heaven doesn’t do halves' the Jews ultimately release it, but not before blinding it, which diminishes its power very slightly.

We looked at a series of issues:

The origins of idolatry and why it comes from the Holy of Holies;

What the yetzer actually is (my favorite explanation being creative energy or the libido)

The potential advantages and disadvantages of putting difficult, potentially painful challenges (modernity, relationships) in a lead box rather than dealing with them head on (with mention of Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind);

Why heaven doesn’t do halves;

What we potentially lost when the yetzer for idolatry all but disappeared (the Or HaChayim argues that we lost passion in serving God. Rabbi Tzadok HaCohen of Lublin claims that we lost prophecy)

How the story signals a transition from the primacy of prophecy and passion, to the primacy of sages and reason.

In returning to the question of why so soon after revelation the Jewish people worship idols. Some say that it shows how solitary religious experiences don't affect faith, as true belief and practice need to be built up over time.

However, maybe its not coincidental that these stories come so soon after one another. Maybe the aspect of deeply encountering God (at Sinai) inherently possesses the seeds that can lead people to committing avoda zara / idolatry / strange worship (with the Golden Calf).

The question we didn’t manage to answer was whether they made the right decision in 'muting' these urges, or whether we'd have been better off in a world with greater dangers but with a greater ability to experience.

Click here for source sheet.

Click here for audio recording (in Tel Aviv and in Jerusalem)

Conversations on Shemot: The Long Walk to Freedom

2011-01-18T14:54:00.002+02:00

We know the story well – the Israelites were in such a hurry to leave slavery in Egypt, their dough didn’t even have time to rise and become 'leavened'. Yet there was one thing they DID have time to do before they left…ask the Egyptians for gold and silver.

Putting aside the fact this sounds like the beginning of an anti-Semitic joke, this week we looked at this specific issue, in order to try and understand what it means for us today.

British Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks explains that a people driven by hate cannot be fully free. While there is no way of giving back the years spent in servitude, providing a slave with gifts (as is commanded in Devarim) is a way of ensuring that the parting is done with goodwill and some symbolic compensation. According to Sacks, these gifts "allow the former slave to reach emotional closure; to feel that a new chapter is beginning; to leave without anger and a sense of humiliation."

While this is well and good, is it possible that despite Jews having our own sovereign state and the strongest army and economy in the region, we continue to be frightened, continue to view the world with suspicion, continue to hate?

Is it possible we have not fully liberated ourselves from the bonds of slavery?

Might one Bechol Dor VaDor we read in the Haggdah – the one that calls for reach individual to free himself from Egypt – clash with another Bechol Dor VaDor – the one that reminds us that in every generation enemies rise up against us?

Click here for the source sheet and the audio recording

Conversations on Shemot: The Tragedy of Leadership

2011-01-16T12:07:00.004+02:00

The birth of Moshe, the greatest prophet in Judaism, is in many ways an anti-myth. While the stories surrounding the births of Romulus and Oedipus relate to them being biological children of royalty or gods who survive against the odds and are brought up by humble adopted parents before finding out their true identity, Moshe is the biological child of slaves who is brought up by royalty.

As Jonathan Sacks suggests, it seems that it's not power that matters in the Biblical world, but the fight for justice and freedom. In addition, a child of slaves can be greater than a prince.

We then looked at the early life of Moshe, how he fights for justice on three different occasions. However, we also discussed whether there may be a tragic side to this fight for justice. One Midrash – Petirat Moshe – describes an argument between God and Moshe where the latter's killing of the Egyptian taskmaster counts against him in his request to live forever and enter the Promised Land.

The Midrash seems to suggest that there are certain actions which may be necessary, even essential, but that have negative consequences for the individual involved. Moshe is praised for killing the Egyptian and protecting the weak, but that doesn’t mean he leaves the event unaffected.

What might this idea mean for us – both in our personal lives and in the difficult position we find ourselves in within Israel?

Click here for the souce sheet and the audio recording (right click and save target to download)

Limmud Conference and Mash Ups

2010-12-31T00:07:00.010+02:00

In his book, The Age of the Unthinkable, Joshua Cooper Ramo explains that we live in an age of ‘mash-ups’, one of unexpected combinations of things, whether that be Islamic terrorism and jet airplanes, or hedge funds and home mortgages.

I thought back to Ramo’s mash-up phrase yesterday evening, as I sat listening to ‘Pharoah’s daughter’ in concert on the last night of the Limmud UK conference.

Because what way better to describe the phenomenon if not by Chasidic melodies being sung in Yiddish, Hebrew and English by a woman playing the oud, backed up by acoustic guitar and beatboxing, or sessions discussing Sukkot and Halloween, or Rabbi Akiva and Omar from the TV show ‘The Wire’,

While slightly less 'mashed up', the sessions I presented at Limmud focused on delegitimization of Israel, the political process with the Palestinians, leadership and identifying adaptive challenges, and the theological significance of the Shoah.

They were well received, and I was pleased with how they went.

But maybe for next year I should learn how to play the oud and beatbox...

Sessions:

Delegitimization: A Crisis in Israel’s National Security Doctrine (two sessions: presentation part 1, part 2 and audio recording)
2011: The Year of a Palestinian State? (presentation and audio recording)
Theories of Leadership: Identifying and Closing Trends (presentation and audio recording)
The Theological Significance of the Shoah (source sheet and audio recording)

10th Tevet and the Theological Significance of the Shoah

2010-12-22T07:19:00.009+02:00

Last Friday was Asara BeTevet, the Fast of the 10th Tevet, which marks the beginning of the Babylonian siege of Jerusalem that ultimately led to the destruction of the first temple. Following the establishment of Israel, an argument ensued between those who wanted to fix the date as also representing a "general kaddish day" for victims of the Holocaust and those who claimed that the Holocaust deserved its own unique day of memorial (which is where Yom Hashoah comes in).

The disagreement is not solely a question of semantics. Instead, it touches on whether the Holocaust is simply one in a long list of tragedies to have befallen the Jewish people throughout the ages or whether it constitutes a unique historical and theological event.

In the Shiur, we looked at traditional and modern sources in order to better understand this issue. Covering Fackenheim, Berkovits, Arthur Cohen, Primo Levi, Kalnymous Kalman Shapira and others, we touched on whether the Shoah can be viewed within the classic framework of why bad things happen to good people, whether each generation has its own 'Auschwitz problem', and to what extent the idea of rejecting God is within the Jewish tradition.

We also began to investigate how post Holocaust theologians attempt to recreate new language (Fackenheim's '614th Commandment', Levi's 'Shema', Wiesel's 'new Bereshit' and Cohen's 'Red Sea of evil parting time and space') in order to try and come to terms with an event they see as unique in Jewish history.

Click here for the source sheet, here for the audio recording (right click to save and download.)

Chanukah 5771: Wars, Lights and the Merging of Religion and State

2010-12-06T00:39:00.006+02:00

While emphasizing different aspects of a festival to maintain its relevance has been a mainstay of Jewish tradition for over two thousand years, Chanukah has seemingly had more facelifts than Cher.

Chanukah’s initial origins lie in the Maccabean military victory over the Seleucid Empire which returned Jewish sovereignty to the land of Israel for approximately a century.

Later, when Jewish experience was primarily characterised by exile and powerlessness, this military aspect was downplayed in favour of the miracle of the oil, which inspired people to maintain hope for a brighter future even during the darkest of times.

For hundreds of years, Chanukah was primarily about this ‘spiritual’ miracle. Yet the onset of Zionism began a search for a new Jewish prototype - one closer to the fearless bronzed and broad shouldered poet-worker-revolutionary of Amos Oz’s Tale of Love and Darkness than the concealing and cowering Jew of Bialik’s City of Slaughter. Desperate to find such warrior Jews in the annals of our history, early Zionist thinkers returned the Maccabees to the role of military heroes and redefined the festival as that of celebrating the courageous battle against the odds to restore Israel’s political sovereignty.

Contemporary opinions of Chanukah continue to be mixed. Some see it as an environmental holiday which promotes conserving energy sources and reducing our burning of oil while others focus on the importance of opposing ‘Hellenist’ thought (which, based on one’s political opinions, could be anything from supporting the peace process to sending one’s children to the army). Donniel Hartman meanwhile, understands the challenge of Chanukah as sustaining different features of one's complex modern identity at a time in which we live in both the metaphorical Jerusalem and Athens.

Yet a recent work trip focusing on the question of conversion in Israel, coupled with several comments by apparently well respected Rabbis, raise another potentially relevant contemporary meaning of Chanukah.

Despite their military prowess, the Talmudic Rabbis are ambivalent towards the Maccabean dynasty, due to the fact that in addition to serving as priests, the Maccabees also took the kingship for themselves, thus unifying political and religious power in one group.

Judaism is against such a combination, believing that a separation of powers (traditionally between the king and prophet but later between the king and priests) was the best way to check absolute power and maintain authentic service of God. As Irving Greenberg writes, “Some moral and religious compromises are inescapable in the process of government. But when religion and state are totally identified, compromises turn into corruption because there is no independent channel of criticism and renewal. Religious concerns would inevitably be mixed up with pure political interests of the ruling group, to the detriment of both religion and government.”

So as people continue to discuss whether the Maccabees are closer to religious fundamentalists, French revolutionaries, modern day IDF soldiers, or proud Jews fighting a battle against an aggressive secular McWorld, and as the official Rabbinic establishment does more to spread disillusionment with religion and God than perhaps any other body, it’s worth remembering how our tradition critiques the merging of religion and state, believing that it ultimately leads to corruption of both.

Bayamim HaHem Bazman Hazeh – In those days, at this time…

Previous Chanukah Posts

2010: Chanukah: Between Athens and Jerusalem (Shiur)

2008: Chanukah and the Kassams

2008: The Strong always in the Hands of the Weak

2007: Between Judaism, Hellenism and Peace

Conversion, Mamzerut, and the Relationship between Religion and State

2010-12-05T01:10:00.004+02:00

Last week, as part of our monthly Jewish-Zionist training component, the analysts at Reut left the confines of our ‘tank’ and travelled to Jerusalem to learn more about the issue of conversion in this wonderful country.

While these training days are generally refreshing, we returned physically and emotionally exhausted. The gap between being legally Jewish under the law of return (one Jewish grandparent) and halachically Jewish under the Rabbinate (Jewish mother) has led to a situation in which over 300,000 Israelis approaching marriageable age are unable to marry in their own country.

While this existential time bomb continues to tick meanwhile, the official Rabbinate focuses on narrow readings of law rather than the unity of the Jewish people, the national religious community is too meek to step up to the plate, and the secular majority has failed to design a relevant, convincing alternative definition of what it means to become Jewish in the 21st Century.

The week before our trip, the Jerusalem Post ran an article about a couple whose child is considered a Mamzer (offspring of an adulterous relationship) due to her being born within 300 days of the mother's divorce from her previous husband. Despite the fact the mother separated from her husband ten months before conceiving with her new partner, an archaic Israeli law from 1965 (the Bastard Clause) means this child is blacklisted and will have serious problems marrying when she grows up.

The official state position on both these issues is particularly upsetting as several Halachic ways to resolve the problems exist. The Rabbis of old actively neutralized the problem of Mamzerut, sometimes even ruling that pregnancy can last twelve months rather than nine (a legal fiction that made the newborn the first husband’s child and thus ‘kosher’). Similarly, there are several Halachic ways to resolve (or at least alleviate) the issue of conversion, if only there was the political and Rabbinic will.

The problems of the current implementation of Halacha reminded me of two articles written by Yeshayahu Leibowitz a few years after the State's establishment.

Better known for his fiery 'right wing' comments about worshipping God or his 'left wing' statements on the IDF and the future of the territories, Leibowitz's position regarding Halacha in a sovereign state is essential reading.

In the first, written in 1952, he argues that the Torah needs to be extracted from the artificial exilic greenhouse environment in which it was cultivated for hundreds of years in order to become capable of being lived by the total community of a modern state.

In his second, written seven years later, Leibowitz argues that ‘releasing religion from its integration in the political-secular system is the most effective way to strengthen religious consciousness and its influence on the public.’

And as our trip wore on, and we continued to argue over how the State - our state - could desert hundreds of thousands of its own citizens (who it decided to bring here in the first place), I began to imagine the journey Leibowitz may have undergone – from an initial belief in Halacha’s potential for relevancy in a new sovereign reality, to ensuing disappointment and call for its complete separation from state institutions.

And it made me feel that Leibowitz’s positions are the only choices remaining for us today.

Halacha can either renew itself by digging deep within its core values and becoming relevant and compassionate for a time and place in which Jews have full responsibility for all aspects of society. (Leibowitz 1952).

Alternatively, if Halacha (or those who deign to speak in its name) proves incapable of this, if the state’s official religious leaders continue to insist on interpreting the myriad of Jewish sources in the strictest, narrowest possible way, if they continue to insist on making things harder rather than easier, it will lead to the ultimate separation between religion and state (Leibowitz 1959)

It’s one or the other, relevance or disappearance. And if those preferring the former don’t raise their voices soon, we will ultimately have to settle for the latter.

Vayeshev / Chanukah: Between Athens and Jerusalem

2010-12-01T13:42:00.004+02:00

This week we looked at three stores from Parshat Vayeshev which reflect one core difference between Athens and Jerusalem, and provide provide a contemporary message for Chanukah.

In each one of these stories, clothes are used to deceive. Yaacov mistakenly thinks Joseph's bloodied coat means he is dead. Yehudah mistakenly considers Tamar a prostitute. Potiphar's wife uses Yosef's garment as false proof to convince her husband that Yosef has been disloyal.

Unlike Greek culture which focuses on sight (statues, painting, architecture, sculpture, sport etc), Jonathan Sacks argues that Judaism focuses on sound. In fact, this idea - that we experience more fully using our ears rather than eyes - is also reflected in Malcolm Gladwell's book Blink, in which he explains how putting up screens for orchestra auditions immediately led to a change of hiring practices. As Gladwell explains, "Clearly what was happening before was that, in ways no one quite realized, the act of seeing a given musician play was impairing the listener's ability to actually hear what a musician was playing."

We concluded with a beautiful story in which God teaches Eliyahu that He is not be found in the extremes (fire, earthquake, wind) but rather in a Kol Demama Daka, a short, still voice (the sound of silence). The exchange provides another example of how we find God through listening rather than seeing.

Click here for the source sheet and the audio recording (Tel Aviv Shiur) (Jerusalem Shiur)

Chanukah Sameach

Vayishlach: Yaacov's Journey to Yisrael

2010-11-24T12:00:00.004+02:00

About to face his brother for the first time since he 'stole' the blessings twenty years earlier, Yaacov finds himself alone and wrestling with a stranger. Even while he ultimately receives a blessing and a new name (Yisrael), he doesn’t leave the encounter unscathed. This week we focused on this struggle, and looked at its contemporary relevance for us, the children of Yisrael

Two major stories in Yaacov's life – gaining the birthright from Esav and obtaining the blessings from his father - involve him having to 'become' Esav (by making red soup, or by dressing up in Esav's clothes ). This feeling - of being unable to distinguish between what Eric Fromm calls 'having' and 'being' - accompanies Yaacov all of his life until the fateful night at the river Jabok where he battles with his self conscious and replays the fateful question 'what is your name'.

This time, rather than responding 'I am Esav', Yaacov responds with his correct name, and 'in a symbolic rectification and reversal of his previous denial of self identification, Jacob has replayed the moment that encapsulated his relinquishing of his moral autonomy' (Shmuel Klitsner, Wrestling Jacob)

He is now able to receive a new name - one of wrestling with God and with man. Similarly, we, as descendents of Yisrael, have a duty to be prepared to wrestle with both man and God (or His texts) if the situation demands it.

Click here for the source sheet, here for the audio recording (right click to download)

Vayetze: Of Dreams, Ladders and Vows

2010-11-15T21:54:00.006+02:00

Parshat Vayetze begins with a dream of a ladder and Yaacov's first revelatory experience with God and continues with our forefather's oath/request for seemingly mundane issues - bread to eat and clothes to wear.

Traditional commentators describe the angels ascending the ladder as different nations, each one signifying a different exile of the Jewish people. One more contemporary explanation is brought by Elie Wiesel who writes that "in his dream, Yaacov saw a ladder whose top reached into heaven. It still exists. There are those who have seen it, somewhere in Poland, at the side of an out-of-the-way railroad station. And an entire people were climbing, climbing towards the clouds on fire. Such was the nature of the dread, our ancestor Yaacov must have felt” .

Yaacov's mundane oath meanwhile is turned by the Midrash into something more meaningful. Requests for bread, clothes and other physical things are turned into requests to be protected from lashon harah, gilui arayot, murder and idolatry.

However, ironically, it is those very things (lashon hara etc) that end up happening to Yaacov's family.

We ended with a comment from Yeshayahu Leibowitz who argues that those negative things that happen to Yaacov are due to him obtaining the blessings in a crooked way. Even though it was his destiny to receive them, Leibowitz writes, the way in which he acquired them has significant consequences.

How might this idea - that even if we deserve something it still matters how we achieve it - be relevant to us on a personal or national level?

Click here for the source sheet and the audio recording.

Toldot: Of Blessings and Blindness

2010-11-09T16:03:00.004+02:00

The key part of Toldot revolves around Yitzchak's blindness which makes him unable to distinguish between his two sons and which ultimately facilitates his blessing of both Yaacov and Esav (and Yaacov again).

The Rabbis provide several reasons for this blindness, the most noteworthy being that it forms part of the traumatic aftermath of the Akeida (by the way, blindness due to trauma isn’t solely a Rabbinic thought. In her book, the Beginnings of Desire, Aviva Zornberg relates that female survivors of the Khmer Rouge massacres in Cambodia later went blind in old age).

The discussion ended over a long passage from Israeli educator Shai Zarchi who compares Yitzchak's blindness with that of his father's, Avraham, who is forced to blind / numb himself to the love of his son in order to carry out God's command at the Akeida.

Zarchi argues that Avraham and Yitzchak represent two different generations and ends with the question of whether we today can find our own synthesis between these different (yet necessary) blindness's.

Click here for an old post I wrote on Zarchi and the Akeida.

Click here for the audio recording and the source sheet (scribd and powerpoint)

Chayei Sarah: After these things (Kierkegaard and the Akeida)

2010-11-02T09:16:00.013+02:00

The Akeida may have ended without Yitzchak being physically sacrificed, but the story is followed by 'after these things' Avraham's brother having many children, Sarah dying, Yitzchak dissapearing from the narrative. Neither Avraham and his son, nor Avraham and God speak to eachother 'after these things'

This week - Chayeh Sarah - we tried to tease out how the relationships between the main protagonists in the story - Avraham, Isaac, God, Sarah - changes following the Akeida.

In this context, we read four 'modern midrashim' by Danish 19th century theologian Soren Kierkegaard who describes Avraham as appraoaching the Akeida with fear and trembling, torn between the Divine command to sacrifice his son, and the moral command to refrain. He also touches on how the event effects the faith of Avraham and Isaac in God as well as their interpersonal relationship.

His four stories reveal a side to the Akeida hinted at by the text itself and some traditional commentaries, yet also touches on layers beyond them.

Other thinkers on the text included Bereshit Rabbah, Yeshayahu Leibowitz, Aviva Zornberg, Elie Wiesel and Israeli poet Tet Carmi.

Click here for the source sheet and the audio recording.

Chayei Sarah: Rabin, Ben Gurion and the Question of Sovereignty

2010-10-31T18:55:00.005+02:00

"And an ongoing dispute arose between the shepherds of Abram and the shepherds of Lot. And the Canaanite and the Perizzite then dwelt in the land. (Bereshit 13:7)

"An ongoing dispute arose" - Lot's shepherds sent their flocks to graze in the fields of others. When Abram's shepherds rebuked them for this thievery, Lot's shepherds responded, "The Land has been given to Abram, whose sole heir is Lot; thus, we are only taking what is rightfully ours." Yet the Torah comments: "While the Canaanites and Perizites were still resident in the Land".
(Rashi / Bereshit Raba 41:6)

Like many other North London Jews, the night of Rabin’s murder found me at a fireworks party. My first response was to assume the shooter was Arab and that Rabin was only injured (two assumptions that temporarily reduced the cognitive dissonance of the event). It was only hours later that I realized the horrifying truth. That an elected Prime Minister – someone present at every major juncture of the state’s history – had been murdered by a Jew believing he spoke in God's name, someone who, like me, wore a knitted kippah.

Last week, to mark his anniversary, my colleagues at Reut discussed Rabin's legacy and style of leadership. We held the discussion in the context of Harvard Kennedy School Professor Ron Heifetz’s theory of leadership, on which Reut’s own thinking is based.

Rabin was an impressive leader in many ways, and was arguably ahead of his time in realizing Israel had to separate from the Palestinians for its own national interest. However, the fact he was assassinated is actually testament to a major failure – his inability to bring the country with him.

In fact, Rabin failed to properly manage what Heifetz terms the ‘Holding Environment’, an environment that balances the stress levels, or 'temperature,' of those required to adapt their values and priorities in light of a new policy.

According to Heifetz, if stress levels are too low, no one is forced to adapt. If stress levels are too high meanwhile, things spiral out of control.

Unfortunately, Rabin failed to employ several measure that may have theoretically ‘lowered the temperature’ amongst those in Israel finding it hardest to come to terms with his plans to divide the land.

He could have slowed down the peace process, or promised to bring any agreement to a popular referendum.

Additionally, rather than calling them ‘propellers,’ Rabin could have shown greater sensitivity to the beliefs of those who viewed the West Bank as part of their religious heritage.

Ultimately, the failure of all sides to keep the level of stress at a level Heifetz calls 'tolerable' had tragic consequences.

- - - - -

The same weekend that thousands gathered in Rabin square to mark the 15th anniversary of his assassination, thousands of others flocked to Hebron to mark the ‘anniversary’ of Avraham buying the Cave of Machpelah (and to indirectly support continued Jewish presence in the city).

Visiting Hebron has become popular with many in the Anglo Olim community. But this year, some friends of mine attended an alternative Shabbaton in Sde Boker, Ben Gurion’s final resting place.

While my Shabbat was spent in neither place, I did take time to think about what Hebron and Sde Boker represent, and how they signify contrasting responses to one key question integral to our future, an issue too little discussed by those on both the right and the left - do we distinguish between territory we feel belongs to us, and territory we want to exert sovereignty over?

Those in Hebron and their supporters say no. Because the Jewish people have a religious and historical connection to the city, the State of Israel needs to apply sovereignty there. This position is similar to Lot, who contended that because his (uncle’s) family had been promised the land, he could allow his sheep to graze wherever they wanted.

In other words, connection equals sovereignty.

Ironically, despite being on the other side of the political map, Rabin also made no distinction. For him, absence of sovereignty meant absence of connection, and anyone who disagreed could could 'continue to turn like a propeller.'

David Ben Gurion and Avraham Avinu took a different position.

Ben Gurion's acceptance of the 1947 UN Partition Plan didn’t contradict his belief that all the land ‘belonged’ to the Jewish people. He just didn’t believe that ownership needed to be translated into political sovereignty.

Avraham was the same. He too understood the importance of distinguishing between theoretical ‘ownership’ (which he and his progeny had acquired due to God’s promise) and current control or ‘sovereignty’ (which needn’t necessarily be implemented).

Neither believed that there had to be a connection between what is ours and what we control.

- - - - -

Fifteen years on from the fireworks of that fateful night, the schisms in our society haven’t healed and we are still failing to maintain a tolerable range of stress in discussing the country's future.

Yet perhaps one component in the healing process is to draw a line that both right and left too often fail to portray.

Perhaps, following in the footsteps of our Jewish and Zionist founding forefathers, we should emphasize that not everything we feel belongs to us has to be 'grazed' on.

And that not every territory we may ultimately decide to withdraw from means disengaging from our emotional, historical or religious attachment to it.

Jerusalem Shiur: Avraham and the Birah Doleket

2010-10-27T10:06:00.006+02:00

What happens the moment immediately before God speaks to Avraham for the first time, and tells him to leave his land. What is it that Avraham sees or does that convinces God to enter into dialogue with him? Does it provide us with any clues as to how we can encounter the divine in our own lives?

The Midrash in Bereshit Rabbah brings an analogy of a man who sees a Birah (castle or palace) Doleket, and curiously wonders who the person responsible for it is. Following this question, the owner of the building makes himself known to the man.

The key to understanding the meaning of the story revolves around the word Doleket. Does it mean illuminated or in flames (or something else entirely)? And how do the different options related to different theological or philosophical ways of encountering transcendence?

The discussion included ideas from Rambam, Jonathan Sacks (Judaism does not begin with an answer, but a question, not harmony but dissonance), Dean Hamer (the God gene), Richard Rubenstein (God is dead) and Abraham Joshua Heschel (God in search of man)

Click here for the source sheet, here for the audio recording.

Vayera: Sdom, Akeida and the Breaking of Paradigms

2010-10-25T22:56:00.004+02:00

Avraham takes two very different forms in Parshat Vayera. On the one hand, he brings his subjective moral intuition into a discusison with God about destroying the city of Sdom. On the other, he seemingly submits silently to carrying out the command to sacrifice his son at the Akeida.

Contemporary theologians disagree as to the significance of these stories. Whereas Yeshayahu Leibowitz and Joseph Soloveitchik see the Akeida (and therefore restraint and obedience) as the ultimate expression of religious worship, David Hartman sees the model of Sdom (assertiveness, and autonomy) as the proper paradigm for understanding our ideal relationship with God.

Finally, we looked at a position from Jerome Gellman that suggests that rather than strengtheing the idea of paradigms, the stories of the Akeida and Sdom actually come to break them.

Click here for the audio recording and the source sheet.

Lech Lecha: Between Self Identification and Self Worship

2010-10-18T22:02:00.009+02:00

Despite his being the father of Judaism (and monotheism), the Torah tells us very little about Avraham's background. This week we focused on different ideas that seek to explain Avraham's origins and what made him 'merit' encountering God's voice.

We looked at three main ideas. One revolves around a Birah Doleket, a castle / mansion which - depending on how one translates it - could be lit up or in flames. A second view comes from the Rambam, who describes Avraham as a type of Socrates who autodidactically finds God at the age of 40. The third story is that of Avraham in his father's idol shop.

All of these readings provide an opportunity to consider how we should read sacred texts, and how we can maintain the balance between reading text through our subjective, personal ideology on the one hand, and being authentically true to what it actually 'says' on the other.

Rather than being created in the image of God, is it possible that sometimes we create God (or the text, or Avraham) in our own image?

What is the line between self-identification and self worship?

Click here for the source sheet, here for the audio recording.

Noach: Babel and Totalitarianism

2010-10-11T22:01:00.009+02:00

Despite being only 9 verses long, the story of the Tower of Babel plays a significant role in reflecting the dangers inherent in building human societies.

Using the Netziv, Jonathan Sacks, Isaiah Berlin and Malcolm Gladwell as guides, we discussed whether the builders of the tower actually do anything wrong, whether God's actions in dispersing them are proportionate and what the story can teach us about two key issues of the 21st century - ensuing the proper balance between the individual and the collective; and safely moving between the competing poles of tribalism and universalism.

A variety of sources suggest that the problem with the Tower was not its rebellion against God but rather the uniformity of the society, and the problematic nature that such uniformity produces (whether that be murder of those who are different or simply the stultifying of the creative energy found in diversity).

Click here for the source sheet. Click here for the audio recording.

(Click here for the full video of Malcolm Gladwell discussing spaghetti source and how diversity is connected to happiness)

Bereshit: Cain, Abel and the Origins of Fratricide

2010-10-04T22:46:00.007+02:00

The story of Cain and Abel is the first recorded murder in the Torah. But the text itself is surprisingly vague about the circumstances surrounding it.This week we studied different perspectives on the story, which reflect how the Rabbis understood violence and the responsibility for preventing it. Hundreds of years before Marx, Spinoza and Freud, the Midrash presents an interesting angle of what leads to murder. It also provides some radical positions on whose responsibility it is to prevent it.

Click here for the audio recording. Click here for the source sheet.

Yom Kippur and Bereshit: Teshuva, Creation and the Search for Absolute Truth

2010-09-25T22:56:00.006+02:00

This week, I presented a Shiur in Tel Aviv and Jerusalem on the subject of Teshuva, Creation and the Search for Absolute Truth. It including discussing the creation story in the first chapter of Bereshit, the end of Sefer Yona and the thought of Isaiah Berlin.

Click here for the audio recording. Click here for the source sheet.

Negotiations: A New Type of Talk

2010-09-15T09:28:00.004+02:00

This opinion piece written by me appeared today in YNET. It is based on some of Reut's thinking about the structure of the negotiations between Israel and the Palestinians.

Much ink has been spilled on the direct talks between the government of Israel and the Palestinian Authority and their chances of success.

Ironically, agreement between the sides regarding re-starting direct negotiations for the first time in 18 months seems to have been followed by disagreement over almost everything else, including over which subjects the sides will negotiate. While the Palestinians reportedly want to begin by discussing permanent borders, Israel insists on focusing on security arrangements and its recognition as a Jewish state.

In fact, while the issues to be discussed are highly significant, what is more noteworthy is the way those issues are grouped together in clusters for the negotiation teams. As the typology of issues predetermines the division of labor among negotiation working groups, and because each group usually performs a ‘give and take' in order to create an internal 'package,' the way in which these negotiation issues are divided has a systemic impact on the deal reached.

The current division of negotiation issues includes borders, security, refugees, Jerusalem, water, and economic arrangements. The 'Jerusalem cluster' covers questions of sovereignty over the Temple Mount and security and municipal cooperation between the sides in the capital. The 'Territory cluster' includes questions over borders, settlements, and Palestinian safe passage between Gaza and the West Bank.

The 'Security cluster' meanwhile includes issues such as the border regime, Israeli use of Palestinian airspace, demilitarization and early warning stations. The 'Economic cluster' negotiates topics such as trade and taxation or damages to the Palestinian state for Israeli occupation. Water rights, or plans for a desalinization plant are included within the 'Water cluster'. Finally, the 'Refugee Cluster' examines legal, civil and declaratory aspects of the Palestinian refugees.

However, this typology of issues is not geared around creating stable state-to-state relations between Israel and the future Palestinian state. In fact it is drawn from the same model as that used by the Lausanne Conciliation Commission following the 1948 War between Israel and the Arab states.

Yet the 1949 Lausanne talks didn't envisage the establishment of a Palestinian state. They were primarily dealing with an Israeli-Arab conflict, not an Israeli-Palestinian one. And unlike today, they had no need to take into account the asymmetry between the two sides.

Therefore, the current typology is structurally irrelevant for today's issues between Israel and the Palestinians.

A more relevant negotiations agenda typology would be designed around the clusters of those issues that are likely to shape Israel's relations with a future Palestinian state. Such an approach may also make it easier to actually reach and implement a deal.

Rather than borders, security, refugees, Jerusalem, water and economic arrangements, Israel might consider a new division of 'intrusive issues', 'conventional issues', 'personal security issues', and 'historic issues.’

This re-division would change which group discusses each issue. Rather than being divided into different clusters, as per the current division, municipal arrangements in Jerusalem, or maintenance and operation of water sources would be negotiated in the cluster of 'Conventional Issues.' Arrangements on movement and access within Jerusalem or the Holy Basin, or agreements for movement through the entry and exit points between Israel and the Palestinian state would be dealt with in the 'Personal Security Issues' cluster.

Additionally, the question of final borders, refugees, sovereignty over the Temple Mount, and damages for the occupation would all be discussed in one group, that of 'Historic Issues'.

Finally, the question of a safe passage between the West Bank and Israel, or Palestinian access to the Israeli port at Haifa – issues that 'intrude' into Israeli sovereignty, could be discussed together with Israeli requests to 'intrude' into Palestinian sovereignty, namely control over Palestinian airspace or demilitarization.

By regrouping issues in this way, the existing tendency to “close agreements” within each working group can be better leveraged. This, in turn, will help achieve a different systemic outcome. For example, linkage between different issues – such as the Palestinian demand for a safe passage and the Israeli demand for control over Palestinian airspace – can be used to create a balance of interests that may lend itself to greater stability. Alternatively, compromises by one side over Jerusalem or borders may be linked to compromise by the other side over refugees.

Israelis and Palestinians disagree deeply on issues that touch the core of their national-religious-historical identity, and changing the typology of negotiation issues won't suddenly solve them. However, it would make it easier for the negotiating teams to achieve a stable two-state reality that offers both peoples a better future.

Rosh Hashana, Teshuva and the Akeida: The one about the professor, anthropologist, Hasidic Rebbe and several Jewish philosophers

2010-09-05T00:05:00.007+03:00

For several years now, I’ve felt uncomfortable with the reading of the Akeida story on Rosh Hashana.

Its not that I haven’t heard the traditional explanations – that Avraham’s pure commitment towards God then, should serve as merit for us now.

It’s not that I don’t see the importance of making ultimate sacrifices for values I believe in. I do (at least in theory).

It’s just that as I sit in Shul, trying to reflect on the world, religion and where I fit in, the story disturbs me…in a very deep way.

And I’m often unsure how to nurture that feeling, how to turn it into something constructive.

At Reut, we’re heavily influenced by the writing of Harvard Kennedy School Professor Ron Heifetz and his thoughts on leadership. His major work, Leadership without Easy Answers describes two types of challenges, one technical, one adaptive. Technical challenges are those problems in which knowledge of a solution already exists, and the responsibility for ‘fixing’ it lies with a figure of authority – like someone’s car breaking down and them going to a mechanic.

An adaptive challenge meanwhile requires what Heifetz calls ‘adaptive work’, a change in basic priorities, values and behaviour by the relevant individual, community or society, rather than by the authority figure. Examples include having to make fundamental changes in one’s life in light of moving country or falling ill.

Another book in the Reut ‘Canon,’ Collapse, is written by anthropologist Jared Diamond and brings historical examples to demonstrate the main sources for the collapse of societies. From studying the Maya in Mexico to the Norse in Greenland and many others in between, Diamond argues that the primary reason for societal extinction is their inability to adapt to a changing reality.

Yet Diamond’s real innovation is perhaps his most worrying; that it’s often those very values that historically maintained and strengthened a society that – when reality changes and the behaviour doesn’t – ends up bringing its demise.

For the Norse struggling against freezing temperatures in Greenland, their ‘value’ was their Christian culture which initially strengthened them against difficulties, but ultimately – when it caused them to isolate themselves from the Innuit and their hunting methods – ended in mass starvation and disaster.

Those more politically inclined may wish to consider whether the settlement movement is currently playing the same role for Zionism…

Yet as we approach Rosh Hashana, the interesting aspect of Messrs. Heifetz and Diamond is that the required process they describe is exactly what the Rabbis call Teshuva.

Because what is Teshuva if not Heifetz’s adaptive work – working out which priorities, values or behaviour’s we should maintain in the coming year, and which we should change?

What is Teshuva if not identifying which of cultural DNA to conserve and which to discard?

However, what makes this behavioural DNA sorting even harder is the fact we can’t rely on the choices we made last year to guide us today. As Diamond shows, sometimes it’s those very values that proved so useful in the past that are now the very problem which need to be changed.

We’re left with a blank canvas, with few anchors to guide us.

And surprisingly, it’s the story of the Akeida which provides an outline to this canvas.

Much ink has been spilled discussing the story’s relevance. Amongst other things, it stands at the center of a theological disagreement as to the best way of worshipping God. Some modern thinkers, like Soloveitchik and Leibowitz promote the story and Avraham’s apparent submission to God’s unknowable majestic will as the ultimate paradigm of religious service.

Others like David Hartman suggest that a better religious paradigm is reflected in the tale of Sdom, in which Avraham brings his ‘intuitive sense of justice’ into discussion with God. For Hartman and those like him, moral autonomy isn’t an expression of hubris, but is integral to religious consciousness.

In short, some argue that worshipping God entails subsuming our morality and rationality.

Others claim it requires emphasizing it.

But despite their differences, Soloveitchik, Leibowitz and Hartman are united on one thing – our ability to create paradigms that can model how we should behave vis-à-vis God.

But what if instead of representing a paradigm, the Akeida comes to break paradigmatic thinking altogether?

One of the most interesting commentaries on the story comes from a Hasidic Rebbe known as the Izbicer. The Izbicer understands Avraham’s test as having to deal with his uncertainty as to whether he is being commanded to kill Yitzchak, or to simply symbolically place him on the altar.

His struggle is therefore how to act without clarity, in the face of ambiguity.

Yet the concept that really puts the Hasidic cat among the Halachic pigeons is what the Izbicer calls ‘Sinning at God’s Behest’ – the idea that sometimes, when God enlightens a person directly, he is permitted to act even against the rules of the Torah.

This isn’t something we should all try at home. But the concept itself should open us to the possibility of sometimes having to act differently – even contrary – to what we’ve previously been taught; that we need to be prepared to depart from what we ourselves once thought was sacred truth.

Avraham at the Akeida goes through this exact same process.

He receives a command and then has the command changed.

He has a sacrifice, and then suddenly has no sacrifice, then just as suddenly has a different sacrifice again in the form of the ram that he releases from the thicket in which it was entangled.

In other words – the question emanating from the land of Moriah (and which should continue in synagogues today) revolves around whether we are able to conceive of ourselves as having been mistaken, of having misunderstood or having failed to comprehend all aspects of the context in which we live and act.

Do we cling desperately to our values, beliefs and traditions come what may? Or are we open to hearing the small, still, Divine voice from within ourselves?

That, for me, is the ultimate question.

And its one worth emphasizing on Rosh Hashanah, when we should all be involved in the painful process of sorting out which values further our life goals and which ones need to be left behind.

Shana Tova

Previous Rosh Hashanah Posts

Rosh Hashanah 5770: The Duality of Being Human
Rosh Hashanah 5769: Values in a Changing World
Rosh Hashanah 5768: A Message against Despair
Rosh Hashanah 5767: Wanna Live like Common People

Freakonomics and the Rebellious Son

2010-08-15T18:19:00.003+03:00

They shall say unto the elders “Our son is stubborn and rebellious, he does not listen to our voice, he is a glutton and a drunkard.” And all the men of his city shall stone him that he die… (Devarim 21:18–21)

There are certain issues currently on the country's social agenda, such as conversion or the case of foreign workers, in which the official Rabbinic establishment is arguably stricter than the plain text of the book they claim to represent.

But it's not always been this way. On one particular issue – the story of the rebellious son that appears in this week's parasha – the opposite is true. Despite the text suggesting adolescent delinquents be capitally punished, the Rabbis of the Talmud – guided by a moral vision of what the text should mean – offered different interpretations to make it more palatable.

Firstly they suggest mitigating circumstances for the law, explaining that such a child – who at a young age is already stealing ('a glutton and a drunkard') – is on a slippery slope that ultimately leads to murder. Better to kill him now – the Rabbis initially argue – while he is relatively innocent, than to be forced to kill him later, when he is guilty.

The Rabbis then go one step further, radically re-reading the entire text in order to make it totally irrelevant in practice.

I wrote about this latter radical Rabbinic re-reading last year. But as the story comes round again, its worth focusing on the first approach, which seemingly contradicts any possibility of Teshuva (changing one's ways), or deterministically judges an individual's future based on his current behavior.

Surprisingly, this logic isn’t a far cry from Stephen Dubner and Steven Levitt's argument in Freakonomics that the sharp decline in the rate of crime across America can be traced back to the legalization of abortion.

They controversially claim that: "As far as crime is concerned, it turns out that not all children are born equal…studies have shown that a child born into an adverse family environment is far more likely than other children to become a criminal. And the millions of women most likely to have an abortion in the wake of Roe v. Wade – poor, unmarried, and teenage mothers for whom illegal abortions had been too expensive or too hard to get – were often models of adversity. They were the very women whose children, if born, would have been much more likely than average to become criminals. But because of Roe v. Wade, these children weren't being born."

In other words, unwanted children are more likely to become troubled adolescents, prone to crime and drug use.

Legalized abortion led to less ‘un-wantedness’, and as a result, approximately twenty years later, legalized abortion has led to less crime.

Dubner and Levitt don’t say that all poor unwanted kids end up as criminals. What they do say is that kids who in addition to being poor and unwanted, also fall into bad company, are pretty likely to become murderers.

Not everyone agrees with this. But the Talmudic Rabbis seem to. They explain the identity of this rebellious son by contextualizing the story with the two stories immediately preceding it.

The first (verses 12-14) explains that a Jewish soldier can marry a non-Jewish woman (eshet yefat toar) captured in war, but only after she has been given a month to mourn (and been forced to 'uglify' herself by shaving her hair and growing her nails long).

The second (verses 15-17) warns that if a man is married to two women (one who he loves, the other who he hates) he can't favor the child of the loved one when it comes to inheritance.

The Rabbis read all these stories as one – that anyone who takes a captive woman during wartime will end up hating her and their child and will ultimately have a rebellious son.

The rebellious son is thus a product of a dysfunctional relationship forged (most likely) from lust in the heat of battle rather than from love. He is hated by his father, and his mother suffers trauma from being torn from her previous life.

He is the ultimate unwanted child, who – by stealing wine and meat – has already entered the criminal world at a young age.

As I previously wrote, I'm inspired by the ultimate conclusion of the Rabbis, who used their moral intuition to effectively neutralize what they saw as an ethically problematic law.

But, I can't help being intrigued by the similarity between Talmudic logic written 1500 years ago and a modern best-selling book that melds pop culture with economics.

Regardless of whether one agrees with their controversial claim.

Israel's Strategic Vulnerability and the First Law of Petro-Politics

2010-08-04T10:12:00.009+03:00

The land you are entering is not like the land of Egypt, where you planted seeds and irrigated it by food as in a vegetable garden. The land…is a land of mountains and valleys that drinks rain from heaven.

(Devarim 11: 10-12)

Similar to that joke about God's sense of humor being apparent by Him leading the Jews through the desert for 40 years before bringing them to the only place in the region without oil, the above verses from last week's Torah portion touch on the irony of Israel's geography and its contemporary meaning.

We may have stunning scenery, but in contrast to its neighbors, Israel isn’t a place full of natural resources. As the British Chief Rabbi writes, "Israel is by its very nature a vulnerable place, a strategic location at the meeting point of three continents, always at the mercy of surrounding empires but never the basis of an empire itself."

Our fate, it seems, is always to be outnumbered, vulnerable and under threat.

Those living in the country need no reminders of this. On Sunday a grad rocket fell on Ashkelon. On Tuesday, rockets were fired at Eilat. Yesterday meanwhile, Israeli soldiers were attacked on the northern border.

But maybe this situation is actually our strength.

Maybe its davka our lack of natural resources that has caused Israelis to rely on their own courage and ingenuity. In their very readable book Start-Up Nation, Dan Senor and Saul Singer describe this exact process – how Israel's adversity-driven culture has facilitated its creative energetic spark.

But what the verses in Devarim particularly reminded me of is a concept coined by Tom Friedman, called the First Law of Petro-politics.

Friedman's Petro-politics law very simple – the greater a country's natural resources, the lower its levels of civil freedoms. As Friedman puts it “as the pace of freedom declines, the price of oil goes up; as the price of oil goes down, the pace of freedom increases.”

It seems counterintuitive. Countries should benefit from having natural resources. But many suffer from what the Economist calls the 'Curse of Oil' or the 'paradox of plenty.' Friedman explains that high oil prices often create tyrannical and backward regimes, precisely because their leaders (think Iran, Venezuela or Russia) extract oil rather than constructing a society which extracts entrepreneurship and creativity from its people.

Those states like Israel, who dont have oil wells to drill, are forced to drill their own people's intellect and imagination. (as an aside, Friedman notes that the first Arab Gulf state to hold a free and fair election, in which women could run and vote, was Bahrain, which happens to be the first Arab Gulf state expected to run out of oil.)

So as our weekly portions continues to describe the Jewish people's journey towards the promised land, and as current events continue to remind us of our geo-strategic reality, lets remember that certain aspects of our 'vulnerability' should be celebrated.

Lets just hope that the recently discovered gas fields off Israel's coast don’t change any of this.

Jerusalem Shiur: Tisha Be'Av & the Anvetanut of Zecharia Ben Avkulus

2010-07-22T13:37:00.004+03:00

Rabbi Yochanan explains that the Temple was destroyed and the Jewish people exiled due to what he terms the Anvetanut or Rabbi Zecahria Ben Avkulus.

But what is Anvetanut, and what sort of person is Zecharia Ben Avkulus?

Is he too 'right wing' or too 'left wing'?

Too moderate or too conservative?

And what can the story teach us about dealing with contemporary issues?

Click here for the audio recording. Click here for the source sheet.

Tisha Be'Av: Empires on the Edge of Chaos?

2010-07-18T13:21:00.004+03:00

A few years ago, Israeli academic Amnon Rubinstein wrote 'The Sea above us,' a fictional tale in which Tel Aviv, Israel’s first Hebrew metropolis, lies under water.

In an interview with Ari Shavit, the author explained the idea behind his novel, describing his deep ‘existential anxiety that our country is hanging by a thread, that one day it may simply cease to be.’

I haven’t read the book, but I admire Rubenstein and share his anxiety about the future. And his scenario raises the question as to whether we can imagine a future period in which – whether due to economic brain drain, civil war or a mushroom cloud above the Kirya – Israeli society and the state as we know it simply collapses.

Such macabre thoughts are often tucked away deep within the folds of our multi-faceted Zionist consciousness.

But they’re particularly relevant on Tisha Be'Av, the day marking a series of tragedies, including the loss of sovereignty from a land to which we have only recently returned.

When I was younger, I learned the 'reasons' behind our exile – the cardinal sins of murder, adultery and idolatry; the baseless hatred that brought the Romans to Jerusalem’s gates. Hindsight being twenty-twenty and all that, I often look back at the period, armed with narrative fallacies which ‘explain’ why it all went wrong, and wonder whether the majority of people at the time realized that they were heading towards an abyss, and why they didn’t do more to prevent it.

But what if it’s not that simple, if the seeds of collapse aren’t as apparent before the event as they are after?

What if predicting collapse isn’t as easy as historians retroactively make out?

And what might that mean for us today?

In an article entitled Complexity and Collapse, Empires on the Edge of Chaos, historian Niall Ferguson suggests an innovative way of understanding why once successful empires ultimately collapse. Ferguson argues that empires are complex adaptive systems, made up of a huge number of interacting components which constantly operate on 'the edge of chaos', somewhere between order and disorder.

While such systems appear to function quite stably for some time, Ferguson explains that they resemble a termite hill more than an Egyptian pyramid and a single grain of sand can act as an ‘amplifier affect’ that triggers the collapse of the whole pile.

According to Ferguson it is this that explains the surprisingly fast decline of empires throughout the ages – anything from the Roman to the British, the Romanov to the Soviet.

In other words, despite seemingly being stable for centuries, these carefully balanced systems were always on the edge of chaos, and were tipped by a small trigger, making them 'go critical' and setting off a 'phase transition' from a benign equilibrium to a crisis.

Countless debates surround almost every aspect of Israel and its character.

But one thing is undeniable. It’s a complex system.

And so far we’ve successfully been able to adapt. We’ve survived wars and spawned start ups. We absorbed immigrants and advanced scientific discoveries. The country continues to seemingly prosper despite the bloated budget, the unworkable political system, the worrying demographic trends (both domestically and vis-à-vis the Palestinians), and the rocket threats from the North, South and East.

But when all is said and done, maybe we’re simply a termite hill, justified in feeling, as David Grossman eloquently puts it, an inner feeling of absolute fragility, like we are at the edge of an abyss or like a mountain climber fighting fatigue, in the words of Nobel Prize winner Yisrael Aumann.

Maybe our society is like a juggler on a tight rope trying to keep several balls in the air simultaneously.

If a butterfly flapping its wings in Brazil can cause a hurricane in Texas, if the assassination of an Archduke can start a process that toppled three empires spanning hundreds of years, then what might any of our countless potential ‘amplifier affects’ do to us?

How long can we expect to continue walking the tightrope of existence without dropping one, or all of the balls?

And as Tisha Be’Av approaches, it’s worth wondering how strong the thread holding us here actually is.

Older posts on Tisha Be'Av

2008: On Sacrifice and Loss

2007: The Fear of Collapse

2006: War, Fasts and Proportionality

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: Rabbinic 'Meekness' and the Destruction of the Temple

2010-07-07T10:20:00.004+03:00

Why is the Second Temple ultimately destroyed? And how can we prevent further national disasters?

In this week's Shiur, we focused on the story describing the Roman siege of Jerusalem and the city's ultimate destruction. Despite the usual suspects who hold responsibility for the tragedy - the Romans, Bar Kamtza or the Jewish zealots who burned down the storehouses as Jerusalem was under siege - Rabbi Yochanan chooses to pin the blame on one of the Rabbis – Zecharia Ben Avkulus and his 'anvetanut', generally translated as 'meekness'.

Through studying the story in the Gemara in context, as well as looking at some recent articles on Zecharia Ben Avkulus, its possible to suggest an understanding of what 'anvetanut' could mean and its contemporary relevance for us today.

Click here for the audio recording. Click here for the source sheet.

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: Torah From Heaven (part 2)

2010-07-01T15:01:00.003+03:00

Following on from last week's look at what Torah Min Hashamayim could mean, this week's shiur focused on certain problems regarding the Maximalist understanding of Torah Min Hashamayim (that all of the Torah was dictated by God to Moshe), and looked at other sources that suggest viewing the concept of Torah from Heaven in a different way.

Click here for the audio recording. Click here for the source sheet.

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: Torah from Heaven and the Concept of Revelation

2010-06-23T11:41:00.006+03:00

The concept of Torah Min Hashamayim, that the Torah is from Heaven, is a central component of Jewish thought and constitutes one of the theological differences between different denominations in Judaism.

Despite this, there are serious disagreements as to what the concept actually means.

This week, we studied sources that suggest different meanings for what the concept could mean, as well as the discussion over what one needs to believe (or not deny) in order to be considered within the boundaries of legitimate Jewish thought.

Click here for the audio recording.

Click here for the source sheet.

Jerusalem Shiur: Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?

2010-06-17T16:06:00.003+03:00

What do the Torah, Talmud & modern Jewish thought have to tell us about the question of evil?

What is the connection between how an individual acts, and what happens to them?

And how involved is God in the bad things that happen in the world?

Click here for the audio recording. Click here for the source sheet.

The Israeli-Palestinian Political Process at York

2010-06-01T09:10:00.005+03:00

At the beginning of June, I travelled from London to York University on behalf of the Reut Institute to give a talk about the Israeli-Palestinian political process.

Click here for the talk followed by a question and answer session.

Click here for the powerpoint presentation

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: Encountering God - Avraham and the Birah Doleket

2010-05-26T10:59:00.007+03:00

What happens the moment before God speaks to Avraham for the first time?

What is it that Avraham sees or does that convinces God to enter into dialogue with him, to create a covenant between them?

Does it provide us with any clues as to how we can encounter the divine in our own lives?

This week we studied a Midrash about Avraham that suggests different ways in which people can hear God's voice. The Shiur included guest appearances from Jewish philosopher Maimonides, English poet Wordsworth, Talmudic heretic Elisha Ben Abuya and author of ‘The God gene’.

Click here for the source sheet.
Click here for the audio recording.

Jerusalem Shiur & Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: Between Lag BaOmer & Shavuot

2010-05-12T16:21:00.004+03:00

Both Lag Ba'Omer and Shavuot provide ideas on how we should (and should not) learn Torah.

In preparation for the festival, this week looked at some famous stories from the Gemara in order to explore questions revolving around the authority of the Rabbis to radically re-read text, how we should transfer tradition from one generation to the other, and maintaining the balance between arguing for truth on the one hand, and becoming cruel and ambivalent towards others on the other.

Click here for the source sheet.

Click here for the audio recording of the Jerusalem Shiur (90 mins)

Click here for the audio recording of the Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah Shiur (60 mins).

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: The Theological Significance of the Holocaust

2010-05-05T18:52:00.007+03:00

The final week of the mini-series on reward and punishment looked at the question of the Shoah .

It began by studying the disagreement as to whether the Shoah constituted a unique event. Following this, we looked at the views of different theologians – from those who view it as punishment for sins (such as the Satmar Rebbe) to those who claim it portends the Death of God (such as Richard Rubenstein), as well as lots of positions in between (Eliezer Berkovits, Emil Fackenheim, Elie Wiesel and Irving Greenberg.)

Click here for an audio recording.

Click here for the source sheet.

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: Responding to Tragedy

2010-04-28T12:18:00.006+03:00

Having spent the last 2 weeks looking at why bad things happen to good people, this week we focused on our response to suffering and tragedy (the what now).

Through studying and discussing a wide range of positions – from Job, to saintly Rabbi Akiva, arch-Talmudic heretic Elisha Ben Abuya, Hasidic master Levi of Berditchev and Auschwitz survivor and psychologist Victor Frankl – we tried to better understand the tapestry of opinion that makes up the Jewish tradition.

Click here for the audio recording.

Click here for the source sheet.

Comments welcome

Jerusalem Shiur: When Reality and Tradition Clash

2010-04-15T13:39:00.004+03:00

Click here for the audio recording. Click here for the source sheet.

I would rather tell you a story. It’s about a man who stumbles in his prayers. Day after day, every time he is about to say אהבה רבה אהבתנו [with a great love You have loved us] he must stop. He Must.

Every word turns into an obstacle. He feels a shadow enveloping his gaze and weighing on his breath. He feels pain and the pain makes him sad, profoundly sad, and his sadness overwhelms him with memories and nostalgic images and tunes, bringing him back a vanished world, his childhood, and the fervently innocent prayers of that childhood. His pain increases and, for a moment, he feels trapped. No matter what he would do, what he would say, it would be a lie, a betrayal…the existing prayers are inadequate, or to use a modern cliché, irrelevant.

How is one to proclaim and extol divine justice, divine mercy in the century after Majdanek and Treblinka? אהבה רבה and Aushwitz? חמלה גדולה ויתרה [much pity and compassion] and Belsen?

How can one say these words without turning them into lies, into blasphemy?

How can we pronounce words that have been denied before our own eyes?

A thousand communities uprooted and עמך אהבת [You loved Your people] ?

One million Jewish children massacred, some of them thrown into the flames alive and אתה בחרתנו מכל העמים? [You chose us from amongst all the peoples] (Elie Wiesel)

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: The Question of Evil in the World

2010-04-15T13:32:00.002+03:00

This week, we continued to discuss what Jewish sources have to say about reward and punishment, the question of evil, and the role of God in the world.

Click here for the audio recording. Click here for the source sheet.

Lessons from the Shoah and our Psychological Legacy

2010-04-13T15:05:00.003+03:00

We spent part of our morning yesterday at Reut standing in silence for the victims and discussing personal stories.

Of those who saw the danger early and left.

Of those who stayed yet survived against the odds.

Of those who stayed and didn’t.

And of the type of psychological legacy they've left us. After all, most of us come from families who were either paranoid enough to leave Europe before the unspeakable horrors of the war, or traumatized enough by living through them.

There is a famous story that in 2003 Israeli pilots (descendents of Holocaust survivors) flew F15 fighter jets over Auschwitz in commemoration of the victims.

Less well known is the response of the Auschwitz museum which criticized the plan arguing the site was "a place of silence and concentration" and that the demonstration of military might was an "entirely inappropriate way to commemorate the victims."

In many ways, that disagreement reflects different lessons that can be taken from the Shoah.

For many in Israel, Holocausts happen when people are weak. To prevent their recurrence we must ensure our strength (thus the F15s).

For many in Europe, Holocausts happens when countries are too strong (and nationalistic). In order to prevent their recurrence, we must curb our strength (and sovereignty).

Another story I thought about yesterday involves the family of former MK and head of the Jewish Agency Avram Burg. Having lived in Hebron for seven generations, half of them were brutally murdered in the Arab riots of 1929. The other half were saved by their Arab landlord.

Ever since, the family has argued over who is the 'genuine' Arab – the one who killed his family or the one who saved them.

Meanwhile, the best article I read relating to Yom Hashoah came from Yair Lapid, son of survivor and former MK Tommy Lapid. Discussing the day, Lapid junior argued that "The Holocaust dismantled everything human beings knew about themselves, and then taught us two unforgettable lessons"

"The first one is that we must survive at any price, that we can't rely on the world to protect us…that we must always prepare for the worst case scenario, because otherwise it will materialize."

"The second one is that we must be moral."

Interestingly enough, the national commemoration service at Yad Vashem reflected both ideas.

The survivors spoke about the importance of treating humans with respect.

The politicians – Bibi, Barak and Peres to a man - discussed the Iranian threat.

What none of our leaders seemed able to discuss was the question Lapid termed the biggest challenge of all - what to do when these two lessons contradict each other, when ensuring our existence at all costs means carrying out morally questionable acts.

Yom Hashoah thus raises more questions than answers.

Is the archetypal 'goy' he who stood by as we were slaughtered, or he who put his family's life on the line to save us?

Should we enhance our strength, or curb it?

Emphasize security or empathy?

Become particularists or universalists?

Distrust the world, or open our hearts (and doors) to the stranger?

And how can we – with our questionable psychological legacy – authentically and honestly engage with these questions and work out the correct balance between them?

Pesach Thoughts: Our Freedom, An-Other's Pain

2010-04-04T11:06:00.009+03:00

On the holiday when we went out from slavery to freedom, we have to know how to safeguard that freedom, and not allow anyone else to dictate how much and where to build (MK Tzipi Hovotely, during Pesach rally in Hebron)

My children are drowning, and you want to sing praise? (God to Angels, Sefer HaAgadda)

Remember always that beneath every cry of freedom on Pesach lurks an Egyptian cry that does not find its place. (D'yo Ilu Yamey blog)

Last week's 20,000 strong rally in Hebron reminded me of an argument I had a few months back with a friend.

She had planned a trip to the divided city for the weekend of Parshat Chayei Sarah, the ‘anniversary’ of Avraham’s purchase of the Cave of Machpelah.

I had felt uncomfortable with it.

She had argued that all Jews have a right to go, that we have a religious and historical connection to Hebron, and that the heightened weekend curfew over the Palestinian inhabitants was a ‘proportionate price’ for them to pay.

I had countered that not everything which is right in theory should be acted upon in practice, and that we should always remain sensitive to how our actions affect others.

Exhausted by several days of arguments, we ultimately agreed to disagree.

Another disagreement - although far less emotional - takes place annually around our Seder table regarding whether we should dip or pour out our wine while discussing the 10 plagues.

Apparently such controversies originated in disputes between Hasidim and Mitnagdim, but I never really paid much attention. Guided more by my davka-nik streak than my Hasidic stock, I decided to join my father in pouring.

At work, the Reut team just brought out a paper about the Delegitimization of Israel’s existence in the international arena. All in all, the document received pretty good media coverage and led to various meetings with government officials. Those less content with our analysis were those marginal groups - primarily centered in academia, campuses, and civil society in general - who view Israel as a colonial racist implant which practices apartheid.

(I guess we shouldn’t have expected anything else. Delegitimizers rarely see their own actions as problematic.)

Meanwhile, in preparation for my weekly Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah Shiur, I found a Midrash I’ve been mulling over ever since.

The text relates a discussion in the heavenly court as to whether to drown the Egyptians in the sea. At stake is whether God should prioritize His characteristic of justice (by drowning them) or mercy (by sparing them). The coup de grace condemning the Egyptians comes when God is brought a brick from Egypt that an Israelite child had been immured in.

While the image is disturbing, it deftly sums up the subjugation the Israelites suffered (if in recent times, our children were turned into soap, in Egypt they were turned into bricks).

If the Midrash ended there we could satisfy ourselves with the importance of destroying our enemy.

But it doesn’t.

Instead, the text describes God criticizing the angels who want to mark the Israelite’s escape by singing His praises. ‘My children are drowning’ God tells them, ‘and you want to sing?’

Strangely enough, while I had learned both parts of the text before, I had never realized that they were part of the same story.

There are two main views I often hear in discussions about Israel-Palestine. The first – primarily prevalent at the Friday night dinners I frequent and indicative of the argument over visiting Hebron – says that because we have a right to independence, we need not be overly bothered by the suffering of the other (we suffered more than them anyway).

The second – now prevalent on the campuses I used to frequent – says that if one’s independence comes at the price of another’s pain, it is inherently illegitimate.

I believe the Midrash suggests something different.

Sometimes pure justice and pure mercy clash.

Sometimes (perhaps always), a people’s battle for independence causes pain and suffering to the ‘other’.

That doesn’t make their freedom ‘born in sin’ or undermine its legitimacy.

It doesn’t mean we should apologize for our national aspirations, for our state, for the dream of becoming an Am Chofshi Be’Artzenu.

But nor does it mean that just because we suffered greatly, we can ignore the suffering of the other side.

It doesn’t mean we can forget the cost of our independence, or let our justified cry of freedom completely drown out the cry of the Egyptian, the ‘other.’

The least we can do is to make that cry more, rather than less heard.

If not by dipping or pouring our wine, then at least by thinking about it more often.

Chag Sameach

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: Totalitarianism, Individual Freedom & Religious Meaning in an Imperfect World

2010-03-24T13:24:00.002+02:00

In my Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah class in Yakar, we discussed some ideas about Pesach and the meaning of freedom.

Click here for the audio recording. Click here for the source sheet

Conversion, Refusing Orders and Expanding Halacha

2010-01-11T10:08:00.008+02:00

Yeshiva head: My duty is to tell troops to refuse orders
Barak: Hesder Arrangement with Har Bracha is Over
Neeman Slammed for Desiring Jewish law
Supreme Court rules Against Jewish School

It may have been a far cry from sex, drugs and rock and roll, but some of the best days of my youth were spent at summer camp. Bnei Akiva may not have trumped the street-cred tables, but it energized and educated, created life long friends, and inspired generations of youth in idealism and love of Israel.

It seems strange to think back to it – the bog tents (these were the days before portaloos); the standing on benches singing our hearts out; the demanding of the camp song ‘(which we wanted ‘now’); and the unashamed chanting of our motto ‘The Land of Israel, the People of Israel, according to the Torah of Israel.’

I recently thought back to part of that phrase ‘the Land of Israel according to the Torah of Israel’ in the context of the controversy surrounding the statements made by

Rav Eliezer Melamed of the Har Bracha Hesder Yeshiva, who called for religious soldiers to refuse to evacuate outposts and settlements as it contradicts Jewish law.

Other rabbis from the moderate nationalist camp (yes, one does exist) were more or less ambivalent – torn between wanting to criticise Melamed without simultaneously turning him into a martyr. But I was particularly struck by a statement from Rav Yoel Bin-Nun, who argued against what he termed Melamed’s ‘politicization of Halacha’, or in other words, expanding the area of issues in the public sphere about which Halacha has an opinion on.

Interestingly, the Har Bracha story comes only weeks after Finance Minister Yaacov Neeman expressed his wish for Halacha to become an integral part of the law of the State of Israel.

Last week meanwhile, my Tel Aviv Shiur group was treated to one final session by Maayan before her and Einav (temporarily) move to Hong Kong. The topic at hand was conversion (particularly relevant in light of the recent JFS case) but it was conversion with a twist.

Our discussion focussed on the analysis by Eliezer Berkovits who argued that the issue isn’t simply about applying the written Halachic principle (which in the case of Conversion means accepting all the Mitzvot, and immersion in a Mikva) but of considering other less tangible - but no less important - Halachic principles as well, such as the importance of national unity, the love of the Jewish people and the dignity of each individual.

What interested me was that despite coming from completely different standpoints, Melamed, Neeman and Berkovits are in some way all promoting the expansion of our understanding of Halacha.

But whereas the former want to expand Halacha’s role in discussing (currently ‘secular’) issues in the public sphere, Berkovits wants to use values currently in the public sphere (like human dignity and justice) to expand our understanding of the principles of Halacha.

And it got me thinking that perhaps the problem of the Har Bracha case is not the so called ‘politicization of Halacha’ but the politicization of a particular brand of it;

A narrow, nationalist stream which focuses on the written word rather than the spirit behind it;

One which trumps the value of land over that of democracy.

One which views individual human rights as an alien concept to the body of Judaism.

One which focuses on the importance of destroying one’s enemy in wartime rather than protecting civilians and being concerned over spilling innocent blood.

And perhaps it’s this brand of Halacha, rather than Halacha per se which is the problem...

The nostalgia for the days of my (misspent?) youth will probably continue for a while, although I probably would still proudly proclaim the ideal of living one’s life according to ‘Torat Yisrael.’

I just wish that those who propagate a more inclusive, creative, engaging, tolerant, non-xenophobic understanding of our religious texts would win the ongoing battle over how to interpret them.

Gays, Top Trumps and Whether God Hates Shrimp

2010-01-03T11:03:00.007+02:00

For those cool kids (like me) who spent their primary school days playing Top Trumps, ‘abomination’ probably means a sea-green hulk like monster with tight speedos, weighing in at 980lbs, and possessing superpowers of 98. For everyone else meanwhile (and believe me you missed out), the word probably conjures up actions beyond the moral pale, abominable behaviour which can never be countenanced.

I thought back to that hulk like monster while reading about the recent Yeshiva University forum discussing Being Gay In The Orthodox World and the harsh response to it. The discussion itself involved four participants who described heart wrenching stories – of earnestly seeking a wholesome life with wife and kids but being held back by their genetic make up; of desperately seeking acceptance from friends and family; of struggling to maintain their relationship with God and the religion they love.

The response meanwhile (unsympathetic as it was perhaps predictable) focussed on the aspect of homosexuality as a toevah, an abomination.

The ‘gay debate’ will probably be around for a while yet. But putting aside the first part of the infamous verse in Vayikra (the ‘lying with a man’ bit), I wonder whether our understanding of the second part, (the pronouncement of the act as a ‘toeva’) might have been overly influenced by Top Trumps.

We first encountered the term ‘toeva’ last week when Joseph refers to the problem of being a shepherd in Egypt. We later read about it regarding the prohibition of eating certain sea creatures (which is where the website http://www.godhatesshrimp.com/ comes in).

Rather than as abomination, it’s reasonable to translate the term as ‘taboo’ – something problematic in certain cultures, but not morally forbidden (whatever one’s views of shrimp, it’s hardly abominable).

Whether this realization makes any difference to those who zealously crusade against same sex relationships is unclear.

But at the very least it may cause some of us to question whether our shrill response to the issue has more to do with God or with our own personal insecurities.

Different Demonstrations: Israeli Bikers and the Jews of Hebron

2009-11-17T14:36:00.004+02:00

If, as Victor Frankl argues, life revolves around man’s search for meaning, then sitting in traffic on a Sunday morning while Israel’s bikers made their point about insurance prices could easily represent a potentially existential challenge.

Not that I didn’t try to make the 2 hour journey as meaningful as possible.

I shaved.

I did a sit-down Shacharit.

I even read some of my book. (A State Beyond the Pale – Europe’s Problem with Israel)

When I finally reached the office and tried to ascertain who exactly I should be sympathizing with, I came across this video about the demonstration in which the bikers explain their point.

But what really caught my attention was the reasoning that “normally Israelis don’t even acknowledge protests unless they turn really wild, but we are trying to be different” [I guess ‘really wild’ in this context would have been completely blocking the Ayalon rather than leaving one lane free, but that’s simply conjecture]

Last weekend, thousands of people converged on Hebron to mark both the ‘anniversary’ of Avraham buying the Cave of Machpelah to bury his wife and in order to indicate the Jewish people’s historical, religious and national connection to the area that has spanned over two thousand years.

Of course that is only part of the Hebron story.

In addition to being an important part of our historical memory, the area is also home to thousands of Palestinians, and a powder keg of ethnic tensions. The current reality as well as the wisdom of visiting it often lead to political discussions (or arguments) as to whether we should stand firm and maintain our presence there, or pack up and leave in the hope of reducing tensions and strengthening a Jewish and Democratic state.

While I don’t want to weigh in on the debate (at-least on the blog – those who know me realize I’m happy to weigh in on it in person), the weekend and the debate surrounding it got me thinking…

There are primarily two Palestinian narratives. One – Islamic and uncompromising – claims that Israelis only understand force, that the way to secure Palestinian rights is through violent resistance, rockets and suicide bombings…

The other – moderate in rhetoric at-least – argues that Palestinian rights can best be secured through dialogue and negotiations, that violence strategically undermines the cause of ending occupation.

Yet regardless of one’s political opinion, its worth considering the following; That if while an Intifada of bombings in cafés and restaurants ultimately led to Disengagement from Gaza, yet four years of relative West Bank quiet has led to nothing (not even a settlement freeze), what sort of message are we sending to the so called moderates?

And does our behavior not strengthen the conclusion that ‘Israelis don’t even acknowledge protests unless they turn wild’?

Avram: Shaping Heroes in Our Own Image

2009-10-29T14:47:00.001+02:00

There is no greater example of Eric Auerbach’s argument that the Torah text is ‘fraught with background’ (rather than detailed descriptions) than the story of Avram who – seemingly out of nowhere – gets a call from God to leave his land, home and birthplace.

The lack of detail allows the Rabbis to shape their hero in their own image. For one, he becomes the pure believer who, already at the age of three, comes to total belief in the Divine.

For another, Avram is the grand philosopher – a mix between Aristotle and Socrates – whose mind gives him no rest until he finally arrives at monotheism and bravely fights against the rest of society to promote the truth.

Israeli educator Ari Elon has a nice angle on this as well as the connection between ‘breaking idols’ and our relationship with God.

“The monotheists among us see in our Avram the inventor of monotheism.

The rebels among us see in him the father of all young rebels and iconoclasts.

The revolutionaries among us see in him the young man who first conceived the idea of building a new world.

The yeshiva boys among us see in him someone who left the vanities of this world for a life of learning in the legendary Bet Midrash of Shem and Ever.

And the halutzim (Zionist pioneers) among us see in him the first young Zionist who left his parents home, a promising career and a homeland and went to redeem the promised land. “
In addition, Elon, who left the religious fold during his youth, makes a beautiful reference to his favorite childhood story – Avraham’s breaking of the idols – and what it says about our relationship with God.

I break therefore I am a Jew. I leave my homeland and my parents’ home, therefore I am a rooted Jew. Today I am no longer young, but I don’t give up on my obligation to create from within the tradition, and my right to rebel against it from its depths. There is a rich creative life after the death of my childhood God. There is no more complete God than a broken God.

It is a great pleasure to ‘renew the days of old’ and to return to our bookshelves filled with the broken tablets and shattered idols. It is a great pleasure to make puzzles from all these pieces of ourselves, who have been created – thank God – in the broken image of God.”

Original from lech-lecha.com

Marx, Spinoza, Freud and Avraham

2009-10-26T14:48:00.001+02:00

I know I seem to be quoting the British Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks a lot, but this reading of Lech Lecha in which he contrasts the call for Avraham to undertake a spiritual journey with critiques of Marx, Spinoza and Freud on inherent human nature is simply fantastic.

“Marx said that man is a product of social forces, themselves shaped by the interests of the ruling class, the owners of property of which the most significant is land. Therefore G-d said to Abraham, Leave your land.

Spinoza said that man is made by innate instincts and biological drives (nowadays this is called genetic determinism) given by birth. Therefore G-d said to Abraham, Leave the circumstances of your birth.

Freud said that we are the way we are because of the traumas of childhood, the influence of our early years, our relationships and rivalries with our parents, especially our father. Therefore G-d said to Abraham, Leave your father’s house.

G-d commands Abraham: ‘Free yourself of the Marxian determinism of land, the Spinozistic determinism of genetic birthplace, and the Freudian determinism of parental home. All of these will have an influence, but human freedom emanating from our being children of a G-d of love will empower us to transcend these limitations and create a more perfect society.”

Original from lech-lecha.com

The Fall of Babel, the Rise of Europe

2009-10-21T14:50:00.001+02:00

In a land of 2 Jews 3 opinions, one would have thought that Babel would bring nostalgia – the yearning to create a society of one language and the same words.

In a place divided between right and left, religious and secular, rich and poor, maybe we should be sympathetic to the tower generation – an equal society with no disagreement.

In his book on the Rise and Fall of the Great Powers, historian Paul Kennedy raises a simple question. How did Europe – with its scattered and relatively unsophisticated peoples compared to other global empires like China, Russia and Japan – manage to become a commercial and military leader in world affairs?

The answer is surprising, and it may hold the key to why God felt the need to divide the people of Babel.

Kennedy explains that while other empires such as the Ottomans or Chinese suffered from centralization, Europe was politically fragmented, making unified control difficult and de-facto encouraging commercial development and the growth of industries.

While some nations such as Russia and Japan possessed a government monopoly, Europe didn’t, which ultimately created competition and the impetus for constant improvements

In short, rather than being its weakness, Europe’s political fragmentation was it strength.

It was the only geographical area possessing the freedom to inquire, dispute and experiment.

And when push comes to shove, it is these things – despite the hurt and discomfort they often cause – that lead to personal, communal and national growth

original from lech-lecha.com

Seeing is Believing? Where the Chief meets Gladwell

2009-10-15T14:52:00.001+02:00

A while ago, UK Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks gave a lecture in which he argued that while Greek culture is primarily based on site – statues, painting, architecture, sculpture and sport – Judaism is more a culture of the ear.

The Chief isn’t the first to make this distinction. He quotes Eric Auerbach’s essay “Odysseus’s Scar” which explains that while Homer is full of vivid descriptions, the Tanach is not.

No one knows what our heroes looked liked. Instead, we are left with a text “fraught with background” which demands our engagement to fill in the gaps from our own imagination.

To push the argument home, the Chief explained that the Hebrew word for ‘clothes’ (בגד) also means ‘betrayal’. Relying solely on sight can mislead (or blind) us. Instead we need to focus on listening, or hearing (שמע)

I was reminded of this distinction while (re)reading the epilogue of Malcolm Gladwell’s bestselling book Blink – the Power of Thinking without Thinking.

Gladwell describes a story that revolutionized classical music – more women being employed in orchestras.

The cause of this revolution? The simple act of auditions taking place behind a screen rather than in public.

It forced the judges to stop listening with their eyes (which were prejudiced against woman being able to play certain instruments as well as men), and instead listen with their ears and heart.

And the moment this happened, their ears and their heart told them something different about quality of music.

As Gladwell says, there is always a dissonance between what one sees and one hears.

Our job, it would seem, among all the images that flood our everyday existence, is to try and hear the קול דממה דקה among the fire and wind, the short still voice of the divine speaking from somewhere within the ‘noise’.

Original from Lech-Lecha.com

Succot, Theodicy and Finding Meaning in Tragedy

2009-10-11T18:56:00.002+02:00

The question of evil and theodicy has filled books, and I only want this to be a short blog. But in addition to being one of the strangest things we Jews do (and we do a LOT of strange things) the circling of the Bimah for the Hoshanot during Succot reminds me of a discussion that touches on God’s power.

The Gemara in Shabbat 104a relates that “Every day in the festival of Succot they would encircle the altar and recite O Lord deliver us; O Lord let us prosper (אנה ה הושיעה נא אנה ה הצליחה נה). Rabbi Judah said they would recite ‘ אני והו הושיעה נה – I and you; may you deliver us both.”

Does God also need saving? And does a non-omnipotent but all-merciful deity al la Rabbi Akiva and Harold Kushner make it easier to find meaning in tragedy?

Original from Lech-Lecha.com

An Orthodox, Masorti and Reform Rabbi discuss Yom Kippur

2009-09-26T19:06:00.001+03:00

I came across this feature on Yom Kippur in the Jerusalem Post back in 1999. It comprises of articles by an Orthodox (Saul Berman), Conservative (Yosef Kleiner) and Reform (Michael Marmur) Rabbi on Yom Kippur.

Ten years on its still part of my preparation for the Yamim Noraim.

Extracts…

Berman: Observing the fast of Yom Kippur properly means being ready to ask ourselves hard questions about how we usually arrange for our physical comforts, and about whether we acquire and allocate our resources ethically and honestly. Observing Yom Kippur demands that we confront the truth about our intimate relationships, so that holiness and ethical values, not just pleasure, can be furthered in every aspect of our lives.
Kleiner:Let us remember the first question in the Torah. It is God asking the first human being: “Adam, ayeka? (Human being, where are you?) Teshuva, as a response, is an answer to that very first question… “Where are you? Where have your actions taken you? Have you made any progress in taking your share of responsibility toward Creation?” And response demands return – looking back and evaluating. Enquiring and digging into our most profound selves. Returning to our last point of departure, trying to understand whether we have forged ahead or wandered around in a circle – or, indeed, walked backward.

Marmur: My own personal version of preparation for Yom Kippur always begins with a sense of how absurd and limited I am, and how grand I pretend to be…I try to bring to mind the inadequacies and the errors, the times when I was angry instead of smart, and when I was clever instead of genuine.

Enjoy

Original from Lech-Lecha.com

The Duality of Being Human: 2 Pieces of Paper

2009-09-15T19:01:00.002+03:00

A man’s origin is from dust and his destiny is back to dust, at risk of his life he earns his bread; he is likened to a broken shard, like withering grass, a fading flower, a passing shadow, a drifting cloud, a fleeting breath, scattering dust, a transient dream.”(UneTaneh Tokef)

A friend of mine sent me an email last week complaining about Shul on Rosh Hashanah. Yet it wasn’t the length of the prayers (my initial assumption) rather than their content which produced his ire; “they are just so grovelly and pathetic…you’re so big, we’re so small…how many times can we say we’re insignificant?”

Joking (or complaining) aside, I actually think that the Rosh Hashanah prayers touch on an issue at the heart of being human – the duality between being powerful and creative on the one hand, and being weak and vulnerable on the other.

Similar to Rav Soloveitchik’s description of the creation of man in his Lonely Man of Faith, being human involves living in tension.

Humans really are majestic being. Created in God’s image, we build skyscrapers and bridges. We send people into space. We develop technology at exponential rates.

Yet at the same time there remain so many things out of our control. We’re lonely and vulnerable. Our lives can be snuffed out in a second, often in the most random and meaningless ways. We live within Milan Kundrea’s Unbearable Lightness of Being.

Rav Simcha Bunim used to exclaim that each person should walk around with two pieces of paper in their pocket.

One that says ‘the world was created just for me’.

The other which reads ‘I am but dust and ashes’

Its not surprising we prefer to flee from such duality. No one enjoys contemplating their own vulnerability.

But I wonder if for ten days a year, during the days of awe between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur its time to focus on the second piece of paper, the one that we prefer not to read, the one that reminds us of our own mortality…

Because living genuine lives demands nothing less

Original from Lech-lecha.com

Rebellious Children and Re-Reading Text

2009-08-24T18:59:00.001+03:00

“If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son, that will not listen to the voice of his father and the voice of his mother and though they chasten him, will not listen to them, then his father and his mother shall lay hold of him and bring him out unto the elders of his city…

They shall say unto the elders “Our son is stubborn and rebellious, he does not listen to our voice, he is a glutton and a drunkard.” And all the men of his city shall stone him that he die… (Deut. 21:18–21).

I always smile when we read the section on the rebellious son.

I know it’s a tad geeky to have a favourite Torah portion.

But I just can’t help it.

It’s not that I dig infanticide, or support the murder of teenage delinquents as a means to maintain public order.

It’s what the Rabbis did with (or to) the story, rather than the story itself that enthrals me.
First, they limited the case to that of a 12½ year old boy (“son not daughter; son not mature man”)

Next, they insisted the law only applied when a specific type of meat and wine was consumed – excluding the beer festival or any over-indulging at KFC from the prohibition.

Finally, in a pilpulistic twist of grandiose proportions, the Rabbis announced that the command only applied when the child’s mother was similar in appearance, height and voice to his father. (“He does not hearken to our voice – this shows that their voices must be alike”).

[As an aside, I always wondered how any child whose mum looked exactly like their dad could become anything other than rebellious – but maybe that’s because my father has had a thick beard for the last 30 years…]

In short, the Rabbis took a Torah text with a specific command and completely changed its meaning.

They didn’t argue that God knew best, or that human morality was inherently subjective (or Christian).

They didn’t answer those starry eyed liberals that we don’t have a choice – that ‘that’s was the Torah says and who are we to argue?’

When faced with a conflict between text and moral intuition, the Talmudic Rabbis went with the latter.

They understood that an authentic religiosity engages with text rather than unquestioningly subjugating itself to it in the name of serving God;

They realised that leaving our morals at the entrance of the Bet Midrash is not what learning Torah is about, that – to paraphrase the Kotzker – serving the Shulchan Arukh (or dry text) is not always the same as serving God.

But with my smile often comes a frown.

Because surely there is no midrashic re-reading of homosexuality or divorce laws which could possibly stray from the text more palpably than that of the rebellious son.

So why is our generation still stuck with the Shulchan Arukh worshippers?

Original from lech-lecha.com

Moving to Lech Lecha

2009-08-16T14:32:00.000+03:00

After four years of blogging solo, I am transferring the majority of my writing energy to a new blog shared with some friends at http://www.lech-lecha.com/.

I will probably continue to post in the Land of Milk and Honey from time to time.

However its probably best to find me on the Lech Lecha blog here.

Overflowing Streams & the Festival of Love

2009-08-05T17:01:00.010+03:00

Strategically speaking, the best way to have spent Tu Be’Av would probably have been pursuing beautiful white-robed bachelorettes through the moonlit fields of Jerusalem rather than barbequing with a bunch of couples at Maayan and Enav’s Sheva Brachot in Yafo.

But life isn’t always about strategy. And those hand-made burgers were really good.

The truth is that it’s always special to celebrate with friends on joyous occasions. Having first met Maayan in the context of the Tel Aviv bi-weekly Shiur (in which several friends get together to discuss texts, sip wine, and raise heretical thoughts in a safe environment) her and I have become good friends.

And having been asked to say a few words to the happy couple, my mind turned to the connection between her name, the concept of marriage, and the Jewish festival of love we’re currently celebrating.

‘Ethics of the Fathers’ mentions two rising rabbinical stars who couldn’t be more different from each other.

In the red corner stood Eliezer Ben Hyrcanus (let’s call him EBH), referred to as a plastered cistern which didn’t lose a drop.

In the blue corner meanwhile was Elazar Ben Arakh (EBA), described as an overflowing stream (Maayan Hamitgaber in Hebrew).

One source says that if all the sages were on one scale and EBH was on the other, he would outweigh them all.

Another remembers the text slightly differently - that if all the sages including EBH were on one side and EBA on the other, he would outweigh them all.

What seems to be at stake in the discussion is who is the ideal type of student – the arch traditionalist or free thinking intellectual?

Yet regardless of who was better, what is striking is how the ‘Maayan Hamitgaber’ of EBA simply overflows with creative and intellectual energy and enriches everyone he meets.

His advice is constantly sought.

He wows his seniors with his wisdom.

He explains complex texts in ways never before heard.

Yet ultimately, the text tells us, he separates from his friends and forgets his learning.

And the story suggests that while an overflowing stream has many advantages over a plastered cistern, it dissapears unless funneled or collected somewhere.

Without a context of support, or what psychologist Donald Winnicott terms a holding environment, all EBA’s genius goes to waste.

And I began to wonder whether the same is true in relationships.

That we all have so much creative energy; dreams and ambitions; hopes and fears; future ideas and plans.

Yet without someone to share them with, to give us direction, we can’t fulfill ourselves or actualize those dreams.

And that what we need is someone who provides us a framework, who which helps us become the best person we can possibly be.

It’s what EBA was lacking.

It’s what Maayan and Enav have found in each other.

And as we celebrate the Jewish festival of love, it’s a reminder of what we should all be seeking.

Obama, Hasidism and the Search for Authenticity

2009-07-24T18:18:00.010+03:00

I know it’s been a while.

But just because nothing has been written doesn’t mean nothing’s been done.

There was the Maccabiah Games opening ceremony starring 7,000 Jews from around the globe, in which the Prime Minister (in true Zionist style) told everyone that Israel was their home and that they should make Aliyah

There are the Kiddushim and BBQs celebrating a new batch of Olim, which often nudge me into clarifying what this country means to me, and why I’m here.

There are the after-work runs along the beach and sunset dips in the ocean, which I like to refer to as mini Bi-Athlons, although I fear 2km followed by 5 minutes chilling in the sea doesn’t really count.

And there’s also been the ‘Spoken Word’ event organized by Farrah and hosted in the infamous Spinoza 6 apartment.

Spoken word was a new experience for me (isn’t every thing said out loud a ‘spoken word’?)

But it was a real eye opener and hugely enjoyable.

The lineup headlined with the Hebrew Mamita – the sexy oi-veh chutzpah-having non-cheaping, non-conspiracizing, always questioning, hip-hop listening, Torah-scroll reading, all-people loving, pride-filled Jewish girl.

Also featured were the lovely Farrah (torn between her lover New York and mistress Israel), the Puerto Rican, Panamanian, Polish, Russian, Spanish, Lithuanian first generation American Ruby (Pujerican for short) and Yael - too Jewish for the black girls and too black for the Jews.

And what struck me was despite the different topics, they all touched on the underlying question of what being Jewish means.

Or what comprises authenticity in this multi- layered 21st Century reality we live in.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot recently. I’m currently working my way through 2 books – Obama’s ‘Dreams of my Father’ and 'The Quest for Authenticity', which discusses the Przysucha (pronounced Pshishka) Hasidism – a group that focused on personal authenticity above all else.

Abhorring routine and imitation, the Przysucha promoted serving God rather than the Shulchan Aruch, preached genuine self analysis rather than self indulgence;

And it made me wonder about how one achieves genuine authenticity.

With our friends.

In relationships.

With God.

And those things that make it harder – the society we live in, our fear of what people may think of us.

And in this context, an extract from Obama’s book describing his first visit to Kenya, leapt out at me;

For a span of weeks or months, you could experience the freedom that comes from not feeling watched, the freedom of believing that your hair grows as its supposed to grow and that your rump sways the way a rump is supposed to sway.

You could read about the criminal on the front page of the daily paper and ponder the corruption of the human heart, without having to think about whether the criminal or lunatic said something about your own fate.

Here the world was black, and so you were just you; you could discover all those things that were unique to your life without living a lie or committing betrayal.

And his prose reminded me of my early visits to Israel, how amazed and excited I was that among the palm trees of the airport were people like me, a land filled with Jews.

And without meaning to be too old skool Zionist a la Bibi, it made me think whether there’s something about this place that facilitates the search for authenticity.

Not that all Jews should move to Israel – Heaven forbid.

But that it’s a place where one can walk the streets without feeling self conscious about the silly hat we wear on our heads.

Without the fear of having a penny thrown at us;

Where one can read about Benny Sela without worrying how it reflects on us;

Where, to paraphrase Obama, ‘the world is Jewish and so you were just you’

Where, in Isaiah Berlin’s words, Jews don’t have to be more German than the Germans.

A place where we can just be ourselves.

Because when all the ceremonies and barbeques are over, maybe this is what life is really about.

Lag BaOmer: BBQs, Bonfires and Freedom

2009-05-20T16:58:00.008+03:00

It’s been an interesting couple of weeks in Israel. Controversy over the state budget, premonitions of doom ahead of the Bibi – Obama meeting in Washington, and the 33rd (Lag) day of the Omer, which traditionally marks the Bar Kochba rebellion, the death of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai (the Rashbi) and the end of the plague / war that caused the death of 24,000 of Rabbi Akiva’s students.

Lag Ba’Omer is one of those festivals that really emphasizes the difference between Israel and the rest of the Jewish world. There it’s more or less a regular day. Here meanwhile it’s a pyromaniac and carnivore’s heaven, with bonfires and barbeques (literally) filling the Jerusalem skyline (apparently air pollution is five times larger than on any other day).

Yet despite the celebrations, this year I struggled with the significance of the three aspects this day traditionally marks. While I’m perfectly happy to celebrate the end of a plague (especially if I get to eat), the other two components struck me as strange.

Despite being a renowned scholar, Rabbi Shimon’s story is problematic. After fleeing from the Romans (in an episode which always reminds me of this scene from Monty Python’s Life of Brian) and learning in a cave for twelve years, Rashbi was unable to interact with his fellow humans, burning one man to death with his eyes for engaging in the ‘trivial’ matter of farming. A Heavenly voice ultimately demands he returns to his cave and stops ‘destroying God’s world.’

The rebellion meanwhile – inspired by messianic drive which ignored Roman strength and power – ended in disaster, with half a million Jews murdered and the loss of sovereignty for nearly 2000 years.

And while it didnt stop me eating two chickens, four sausages and an entrecote I did wonder whether there was more to Lag Ba'Omer than a zealous mystic and a failed rebellion…

Then I began to think about what these two stories signify – the inability to maintain the difficult balance between rights and realpolitik, between how the world should be and how it currently is.

And about the dangers of ignoring the latter in favor of the former.

And I remembered that Rashbi's story doesn’t end with the farmer’s immolation. It continues with his re-emergence from the cave a year later as a more complete, integrated, communally oriented Rabbi.

The Bar Kochba story meanwhile gets downplayed by the Rabbis of the Talmud, who understood the dangers of unrestrained messianism, of ignoring the geo-strategic situation in the name of nationalism.

Lag Ba’Omer falls sometime in the middle of the long walk to freedom we undertake between Pesach (freedom from slavery) and Shavuot (freedom to realize our potential). And maybe it comes to remind us of the learning steps required for mature freedom –that unwillingness to compromise on what we feel is rightfully ours can be catastrophic, that seeking to mould the world in our image can sometimes destroy it.

And I wonder – faced as we are with an unprecedented economic crisis and an international community unsympathetic to our territorial wishes – whether our elected leaders realize what it takes to preserve our newly acquired freedom.

Yom Hashoah 5769: In the Presence of Burning Children

2009-04-21T11:26:00.004+03:00

I just spent the last hour with my Reut Institute colleagues listening to and sharing stories about our families during the Holocaust; how they survived (or didn’t), how they mustered the strength to rebuilt their lives anew; how these memories (or lack of them) continue to affect us and our identity today.

Part of me feels that in the face of unfathomable evil, the only appropriate response is silence; that written words are unable to capture the enormity of what happened…that as Irving Greenberg says, “no statement, theological or otherwise, should be made that is not credible in the presence of burning children."

Yet despite this, I wanted to share an article I wrote in the spring of 2002 regarding different theological responses to the Shoah. It is based on the format of a book called Yosl Rakover Talks to God in which author Zvi Kolitz imagines a moving letter written by Yosl Rakover hours before the Warsaw Ghetto is liquidated by the Nazis. Yet rather than ultimately affirming his faith in his Creator as Yosl does, the article suggests that our understanding of God can not remain the same after such an event.

The article can be accessed here.

Wishing everyone a meaningful Yom Hashoah.

Pesach Thoughts 5769: Refugees in a Jewish State

2009-04-14T10:33:00.010+03:00

It’s simultaneously strange and uplifting to have lived in a city for years yet still discover new and unexplored places. And while hardly being the Tel Avivian socialite around town, I still felt I had the city pretty much down pat. Yet the Friday before Pesach brought me to Lewinsky Park near the New Central Bus Station in southern Tel Aviv for a ‘refugee seder’ – and forced me to throw yet another illusion out the window.

The seder, organized by Amnesty International and Israel Activisits among others, sought to draw attention to the situation of approximately 17,000 African refugees seeking a safe haven in the Jewish state.

And while I arrived after the music and service had already ended, what struck me was the lack of Israelis in the crowd…and how the park in our first Hebrew city had become transformed into another world, filled with a colourful mix of Eritreans, Sudanese and Thai.

I hadn’t been to the Central Bus Station or the areas surrounding it that much since my year off in Israel a decade ago. To be honest the station is not the most attractive of Tel Aviv’s landmarks – it’s large and disorienting, and ever since I saw the ‘please don’t pee here’ sign in one of the station’s corridors I tried to keep my distance.

But the area also represents something else - the side to our city people don’t (or would rather not) see; the underclass, the stranger in our midst, the other…

Later that evening over dinner, I thought about two extracts from Amos Oz’s beautiful autobiography A Tale of Love and Darkness that are especially pertinent to celebrating the Jewish festival of freedom in our own independent state.

One bears a striking resemblance to Herzl’s Political Zionism (Israel as a safe haven), the second to Ahad Ha’am’s Cultural Zionism (Israel as a spiritual centre);

The first, narrated by Oz’s father, reminds me of Isaiah Berlin’s negative liberty (freedom from); the second, by his aunt, is similar to Berlin’s positive liberty (freedom to realize our fundamental purpose).

One describes the meaning of the Hebrew word Chofesh; the second, the term Cherut.

And both discuss situations that state’s establishment sought to alleviate – the consequences of our lack of homelessness.

Then he [my father] told me in a whisper, without once calling me Your Highness or Your Honour, what some hooligans did to him and his brother David in Odessa and what some gentile boys did to him at his Polish school in Vilna, and the girls joined in too, and the next day, when his father, Grandpa Alexander, came to the school to register a complaint, the bullies refused to return the torn trousers but attacked his father, Grandpa, in front of his eyes, forced him down on the paving stones and removed his trousers too in the middle of the playground, and the girls laughed and made dirty jokes, saying that Jews were all so-and-sos, while the teachers watched and said nothing, or maybe they were laughing too.

And still in a voice of darkness with his hand still losing its way in my hair (because he was not used to stroking my hair) my father told me under my blanket in the early hours of the thirtieth of November 1947, ‘Bullies may well bother you in the street or at school some day. They may do it precisely because you are a bit like me. But from now on, from the moment we have our own state, you will never be bullied just because you are a Jew and because Jews are so-and-sos. Not that. Never again. From tonight that’s finished here. For ever’

- - - - -

"A thousand times it was hammered in to the head of every Jewish child that we must not irritate them, or hold our heads up, and we must only speak to them quietly, with a smile, so they shouldn’t say we were noisy, and we must always speak to them in good correct Polish, so they couldn’t say we were defiling the language, but we must speak in Polish that was too high, so they couldn’t say we had ambitions above our station and Heaven forbid they should say we had stains on our skirts.

In short, we had to try very hard to make a good impression…You who were born here in Israel can never understand how this constant drip drip distorts all your feelings, how it corrodes your human dignity like rust…"

In many ways, freedom is the ability to live one’s life without fear and without emotional or physical filters.

But it also comes with responsibility.

And I wonder – when we sit down with family and friends for Seder to discuss, sing and be merry - how we can ensure we’re fulfilling our responsibility to those who don’t yet have freedom or independence?

That when we claim that everyone is welcome at our table we don’t close our heart to those invisible thousands who found their way to our shores fleeing the same persecution that we experienced so many generations ago...

Because like us, there are strangers living in a land not their own.

And one shouldn’t need to go to Lewinsky Park to notice their plight.

Pesach Thoughts 5769: Freedom in Every Generation

2009-04-06T12:41:00.008+03:00

בכל דור ודור עומדים עלינו לכלותינו

In every generation they arise to destroy us…

בכל דור ודור חייב אדם לראות את עצמו כאילו הוא יצא ממצרים

In every generation a person is obligated to see himself as though he actually left Egypt.

I remember a primary school project in which we had to make our own Hagaddah. I’d never been particularly artistic, but with help from creative parents managed to win the school prize. Looking back, the only section I remember was the page discussing how enemies rise up to destroy us in every generation, and the big wall we drew with different bricks representing different enemies.

It was an all star team of baddies – the Crusaders, the Spanish Inquisition, the Cossacks, the Nazis.

And to add some contemporary meaning to the proceedings – and to remain true to the meaning of the text that we have enemies in every generation - we also added the PLO, the latest in a line of villains to step up to the plate and try their luck with us.

Yet thinking about it now, I wonder if our focus on enemies old and new may undermine our ability to fulfil the second ‘in every generation’ that of personally liberating ourselves from slavery.

- - - - - - -

The British Chief Rabbi Jonathan Sacks questions why before the people of Israel left Egypt they had to ask their neighbours for gold and silver. The whole scenario sounds a bit like an anti – Semitic joke; you hear the one about the stingy Jews? They were in such a rush to leave they didn’t even have time to bake bread…but still found the time to demand cash.

The Chief compares this issue to the case of giving presents to redeemed slaves and explains that it allows the former slave to leave without anger and a sense of humiliation, that it facilitates emotional closure.

Because one who has received gifts finds it hard to hate.

And in order to be truly free, a people need to let go of hate.

- - - - - - -

If in every generation we are commanded to liberate ourselves from slavery, then surely we're also obligated to relieve ourselves of any hate (and fear) towards those who wronged us.

And while there’s no question that for so much of Jewish history the first ‘in every generation’ was very tangible, perhaps celebrating the festival of freedom in Israel – that independent powerful sovereign state of ours - its time to focus more on the 2nd ‘in every generation’ – liberating ourselves from hate, freeing ourselves from fear, ceasing to be traumatised by the past.

This is not to suggest that utopia has arrived, that weekend trips to Teheran beckon and that disbanding the IDF is only a matter of time. But I’ve been around enough Friday night dinner table discussions to understand that our vision of the world is often coloured by Shoah tinted spectacles - that the world is out to get the Jews; that the goyim can’t be trusted, that Ahmadinejad is the new Hitler...

And I wonder whether despite being physically free, we’re still emotionally enslaved or traumatised by the past, whether the first ‘in every generation’ undermines our ability to fully experience the second.

And whether true freedom is remembering the past, but refusing to let it rule us in the present.

Relationships and Rationality (Speech at Sheva Brachot)

2009-03-19T10:27:00.007+02:00

Elad and I met properly in the context of a fortnightly Tel Aviv Shiur that our lovely hostess Susie organized a couple of years ago. That shiur – in which each member of the small group of people would present on a Jewish topic of interest while the others sipped wine and interjected in generally relevant places – is actually still going strong two and a half years later.

In fact, I’m missing it tonight to be here.

So in memory of this relationship grounded in Jewish theology, I’m glad I have the opportunity to share some ideas based on the thought the people we spent many an evening in Susie’s old apartment discussing.

- - - - - -

Martin Buber is a famous Jewish theologian of the past century who is perhaps best known for his ‘I-Thou’ (I – You singular for the less posh) thesis. Its main proposition is that we may address existence or relationships in two ways:

The first he calls ‘I-It’ which is when one relates to an object (or person) functionally, in the context of its output or what it ‘gives’ us. It could be anything from our relationship to a table or a bank clerk (or a spouse). These relationships aren’t necessarily bad, often they are even necessary. But they are a lower form of relationship.

The second type Buber terms ‘I-Thou’ which refers to placing ourselves completely into a relationship, truly being with another person, without masks or pretenses. It’s the genuine sharing of our truest selves without masks or pretenses.

This is what we should all be striving for with the people we genuinely love and care for.

Buber explains that these I-Thou relationships help to bring us into relationship with the ‘Eternal Thou’ i.e. God.

If this reading is correct, then it seems Buber believes that we should use our experience with people to better understand the relationship we’re supposed to create with the Divine.

But I wonder if perhaps things are supposed to be the other way round – that our relationship with God and Torah ultimately helps us to achieve a better relationship with people.

- - - - - -

Last week we read about the red heifer, a law whose logic even King Solomon couldn’t fathom. The ashes of this heifer are used to purify, but they simultaneously make the Cohen performing the action impure.

The law seems completely irrational and non-sensical. In Jewish sources, it’s known as the ultimate chok, a biblical law for which there is no apparent reason.

And it reminds me of a beautiful passage by Abraham Joshua Heschel on rationality (more than any other Jewish thinker, Heschel helps me to pray, and sometimes even helps to believe that my prayers are heard);

He writes that “The search of reason ends at the shore of the known; on the immense expanse beyond it only the sense of the ineffable can glide. It alone knows the route to that which is remote from experience and understanding. Neither of them is amphibious: reason cannot go beyond the shore, and the sense of the ineffable is out of place where we measure, where we weigh.”

- - - - - -

Elad – one of the things I always liked about you in our discussions was that we were both very rational (we were the guys after all). We value intellect and logic; we trust things we can measure. Maybe we even feel that if reason and emotion clash, then reason comes out trumps. But I wonder if at a certain stage, perhaps when it comes to trying to create an ‘I-Thou’ love with another individual we may need to de-emphasize it.

I wonder whether love is ineffable, part of the immense expanse beyond the shore of reason which can’t be weighed or measured.

- - - - - -

And I wonder whether the concept of an illogical or irrational command we simply can’t fathom is highly relevant not just when serving God, but in loving people.

Because some things (like relationships) simply ‘are,’ without being logically measurable or easily classified.

And what’s fantastic about your relationship is that even though 2 years ago no one would have put you two together (on paper), in practice, your relationship just ‘works,’ and everyone who meets you sees how much it works.

And it’s very very wonderful to see…

Mazal Tov

Working at Reut: What I Actually Do All Day

2009-03-17T10:51:00.004+02:00

(I was asked by Global Politics Magazine to write about what its like working for the Reut Institute. The piece was published last week and hopefully explains (better than I am able to do verbally) what I actually do every day.

When I first moved to Israel from my native London three years ago, I was hoping to find a job that would merge two of my main professional interests; academic research and practical political involvement (but without the 'politics'). As it turned out, the Reut Institute proved to be a good match.

Reut was founded in January 2004 by Gidi Grinstein who had previously worked in the Prime Minister's Office during Ehud Barak's premiership (1999-2001) and had been part of the Israeli delegation which experienced the collapse of the Camp David Summit in 2000 with the Palestinians.

Many people involved in the Summit such as Shlomo Ben Ami, Gilead Sher, Dennis Ross and Clayton Swisher used their experiences to write books. Gidi, meanwhile, founded a non-partisan policy group whose purpose was to fill what he understood as the 'systemic gap' plaguing the Israel Government – that those responsible for strategic decisions affecting the country's future have meager tools at their disposal with no agency able to provide them with real-time strategic decision support. He felt that Israel suffers from a structural mismatch:

On the one hand, the complexity and number of challenges - security, economic and social - it faces require it to think and act strategically, substantively and long term. On the other hand, its political system - with unstable coalitions and fragmentation between Parliament and Government - often generates short term, populist and sectarian conduct. The current system frequently leads to situations in which two out of three senior ministers in a given government are the Prime Minister's political rivals. Israel has had 31 different governments since its establishment and has held six elections in the last 12 years. The average term length of each government is two years; for a minister, it is only 12 months.

It is not surprising that this severely limits the State's ability to design and implement long-term policies.

Reut attempts to fill this mismatch by providing an address for decision-makers and helping them to think more 'strategically'. The world view of decision-makers is based on a combination of implicit and explicit assumptions. Yet when reality changes without these assumptions being updated, it creates a 'relevancy gap' (the gap between original assumptions and the divergent reality) which can lead to 'strategic surprises'. Historical examples of such surprises range from the 1973 Yom Kippur war (where despite possessing all the information warning of a surprise joint Egyptian Syrian attack, Israeli leaders were surprised) to Kodak's failure to identify the revolution of the digital camera.

Through Reut's structure and methodology based on tools from an organization called Praxis, we specialize in identifying these potential strategic surprises. Using experts and texts to carry out focused research on the topic and create new knowledge, we then try and help decision-makers close the gap.

In the longer term, Reut aims to train future strategists who will ultimately enter the government or public sector after their time at the institute. An oft-heard phrase is that we hope our staff's email address at their next job will end with 'dot gov' or 'dot org' (rather than a 'dot com').

Although I tell people I work in a 'political think tank' (my one line answer to the question of what I do), the truth is that Reut is very different from traditional research institutions.
Most think tanks operate on the assumption that the central problem is lack of information and so deal with research. Reut, meanwhile, believes that the central problem facing governments lies with the conceptual understanding of the problem. We thus deal with evaluating basic working assumptions.

While other organizations employ 'content' experts (such as an 'Iranian expert' who has spent 30 years studying the issue and is supported by a younger research assistant), Reut utilizes 'process' experts (analysts trained in the methodology of identifying relevancy gaps) while using content experts on an ad hoc basis.

A 'typical' day at Reut is a bit of an oxymoron – it doesn’t really exist.

It generally includes team meetings in which we discuss our current research and try to clarify what issues we should focus on. My policy team (which includes a team leader and three analysts) splits its time between writing about the Palestinian issue, Israel's National Security Strategy and how to turn the Arab sector into an economic engine of growth for the whole country.

The day might also include preparing presentations for decision-makers, meetings with outside experts or grass-roots organizations, attending conferences or updating our new organizational blog http://www.reut-blog.org/ with analysis on relevant topics to our work.

In addition to my role as an analyst, I am also responsible for our website http://www.reut-institute.org/ and part of a team creating Reut's 'Impact Theory' which incorporates insights from books on leadership such as Harvard lecturers Ron Heifetz and Dean Williams and integrating them into our work of helping decision-makers close their relevancy gaps.

Yet none of these things are actually what I enjoy most about Reut. Instead, it’s the training and the people.

The material we have read and discussed over the past two years on business, strategy, leadership, networks, globalization, Web 2.0 and political judgment have hugely enriched my understanding of the type of world we all live in (and in my opinion are just as valuable as a degree in Strategic Thinking).

I also feel blessed to share my professional life with other young and ideologically motivated people from around the world who have chosen to make Israel their home. The intellectual richness and openness in our discussions (during meetings and over lunch) have immeasurably benefited my professional and personal development.

After Gaza: On Violence and Self Defence

2009-01-29T09:52:00.011+02:00

Twenty-one days ago the campaign against Hamas was balanced and right. About a week ago it started slipping and in the last few days it has crossed every line. The IDF may be squeezing Hamas, but it is destroying Israel. Destroying its soul and its image…In a few days the fire will cease and the fog will disperse, revealing the horror. Then we'll discover that we will not be paying the price only in Obama's America…but in the damaged souls of our sons and daughters. (Ari Shavit 16/1)

It happened in those days, when Moses had grown up, that he went out to his brothers, and looked at their burdens. He saw an Egyptian striking a Hebrew, one of his brothers. And he looked this way and that way, and when he saw that there was no man, he killed the Egyptian, and hid him in the sand. (Exodus 2:11-12)

Thus begins the Torah's description of a young Moshe, an archetypal leader. Despite growing up in the luxury of Pharoah's court he identifies with his subjugated people; he protects the weak; he endangers his life to promote justice. Moshe's act of courage is one of the first acts in this revolutionary Biblical drama - of slaves becoming free on their journey to enter the Promised Land.

A story that - throughout the ages - has provided inspiration to the weak and oppressed.

Moshe doesn’t merit entering the Promised Land, dying instead in the Wilderness. But strangely enough, during one of several arguments with God in which he pleads for additional years, the Rabbis creatively bring his earlier heroism back to haunt him.

'You ask me for life?' says God 'but what right do you have? after all you killed that Egyptian'

'You're punishing me killing one Egyptian?' responds Moshe shocked. 'You killed all the innocent Egyptian firstborns – and I should die over killing one?!'

'Are you comparing yourself to me'? God asks incredulously. 'I who give life and take life…You however, what right did you have to take life?'

I think it's fair to say Judaism is ambivalent about violence. On the one hand we have the command to destroy another people – the Amalekites. On the other, we have the Rabbinic downplaying of Biblical strict justice, the fear our Patriarchs felt at potentially spilling innocent blood, the idea that a Court which sentences one person to death in seven years (some say seventy) is a 'bloodthirsty court'.

It's certainly not a pacifistic religion which denies a person the right to defend himself, his family, his people.

But the conversation between God and Moshe seems to suggest something else. That even when violence is right; even when its justified; even when one acts in self-defense. Even then violence and taking life have negative consequences.

Consequences which stopped our greatest monarch from building the Temple.

Consequences which prevented our greatest prophet from entering the Promised Land.

But what about those who have already entered their Promised Land; those who are sometimes forced to fight to defend it...

How will it affect them?

Letter to a School Friend: Engaging with Gaza

2009-01-13T14:48:00.007+02:00

Dear Said

Last week I attended a talk by Israeli author A.B Yehoshua about his most recent book 'Friendly Fire.' The story describes the visit of a woman to her brother in law in Tanzania who seeks to disconnect from anything Jewish and Israeli. A former diplomat who lost his son to friendly fire, Yirmiyahu isn’t even prepared to pick his sister in law up from the airport - after all, there may be other Israelis on the plane.

He doesn’t want to know who the Prime Minister is or light Chanukah candles.

He just wants to take a break from the 'whole messy stew'.

In short he wants to disengage – from the burden of his pain, from the weight of history, and from the responsibility that being Jewish and Israeli poses.

----------------------------------------------

Truth is, I identified with Yirmiyahu. Because for the last fortnight, I've also wanted to disengage - from the 'who's right and who's wrong' debate jumping out every time I open Facebook; from the seemingly eternal never ending argument as to who started; from the binary role play of goodies versus baddies.

It's not because I disagreed with the pro – Israel arguments.

I believe that no other country would tolerate thousands of rockets on its population; that Hamas has little care for Palestinians and operates among civilians; that weakening them is good for Israel and Palestinians (and moderate Arab states) too, that other than national suicide, there's not much Israel can offer that would satisfy Hamas in the long run.

I just preferred to leave the field to others, to shut my eyes off the whole 'Hasbara (PR) thing'; to focus instead on how Israel could be 'smart' rather than 'right', to think about setting achievable war aims and exit strategies rather than proving Hamas fires rockets from mosques.

----------------------------------------------

Said – this was my status before reading Sunday's Facebook message from you. You asked my opinion, and despite the fact I wanted to steer clear, despite the fact I fear we disagree, I realized it was important to respond…

Discussing his about-face over the original Gaza withdrawal, Ariel Sharon once said that 'what one sees from here is different to what one sees from there.' I've spent the last few days reading and seeing what people see from there. The pictures are shocking, the analysis uncomfortable. It has led me to deeply question some of my views.

But now I want to try and explain the view from here. Because regardless of whether one agrees, it's important to hear our narrative, our questions, our fears.

And believe me we have many…

-----------------------------------------

Life in the south of Israel has ground to a halt with the area suffering thousands of rockets over the past 8 years. It affects every aspect of a person's life. I don’t want to dwell on the emotional upshots of living with terror – Israel doesn’t have a monopoly on suffering. And it's not to suggest that I'd rather live in Jabalaya than Sderot – I wouldn’t.

But suffice it to say that when a siren sounds people have 15 seconds to take cover…

It's no way to live – and something needs to be done to prevent it.

And however much I'd love Mahmoud Abbas to ride into Gaza on a white horse and maintain order, our current neighbor to the South is not a moderate Palestinian who wants to negotiate a peaceful resolution – but an Islamist group funded by Iran and wedded to our destruction.

So after we completely withdrew from Gaza in 2005, and after Hamas used the truce to re-arm and then unilaterally ended it by raining rockets down on us for a week (without any response), I think the Government (any Government) had the right to respond militarily to protect its citizens – all 750,000 of them who are now in the line of fire.

In a country that has no word for consensus, you know you're onto something when almost everyone across the political spectrum supports a policy.

Discussion over the conduct of the war is harder. Part of me feels that this is what happens in war; that this is the price for living in a tough neighborhood, that pacifism in the Middle East equals national suicide; that weakening Hamas strengthens chances for peace.

That the world is great at telling Israel what we can't to, but less good at telling us what we can.

Another part of me fears that regardless of the ultimate responsibility for the war (which I believe lies with Hamas), we have innocent blood on our hands.

And above all I have questions…

How fighting Hamas apparently strengthens them, but ignoring their rockets without responding doesn’t weaken them.

How any country can successfully fight non state actors who hide among civilians (and fire from mosques and schools) without hitting those civilians.

What a 'proportionate' response is to a group seeking your destruction with 750,000 of your civilians in its sights.

---------------------------------------

So, similar to Israel in the summer of 2005 and Yirmiyahu in the novel, I wanted to disengage from Gaza, to emotionally turn off, to take a break from the weight and emotional burden of living here with all the complexities it throws up.

And like the rest of this country in 2009, I've realized that we can't completely disengage – neither from the population of Gaza we stopped occupying in 2005 nor from the difficult questions of balancing the maintenance of our safety and security with proper conduct.

So perhaps all we can do is try and work our way through this moral grey area as best we can, explain our narrative to those open minded enough to listen, and pray for the day when our peoples can live in peace.

Chanukah and the Kassams (3 Year Aliya Anniversary)

2008-12-29T20:10:00.005+02:00

A couple of friends of mine are big 'Birthday people'. You know the kind – there's a celebration on the actual day, a party that weekend and a joint party the week after.

While not begrudging anyone extra celebrations, I never really identified. So imagine my surprise when I realized that I have become the same – not a birthday person per se but an 'Aliya anniversary person.'

This year I've not only 'celebrated' both my Hebrew and English Aliya dates (first night Chanukah and Christmas day respectively).

I also spent the whole week telling everyone its 3 years since I moved here.

Back in December 2005, before my Aliyah, I wrote that if a place can make you cry - make you shout at the TV when a politician you disdain is speaking or produce pride that your country brings its boys home (even when you don't agree with it)… if a place can trigger those emotions - then how can you not live there?

3 years on, despite not waking up every morning with the Zionistic fervor of a swamp drainer, I still believe (as I wrote last year) that Israel remains the front line in shaping the Jewish people's future.

And as long as I can, I want to remain a part of it.

Yet living in a place that can make you cry can often lead to tears and frustrations (more frustrations than tears - I am a guy after all).

There's the rockets in the South which show no sign of abating;

The fear that initial successes in Gaza will be followed by the failures of Lebanon;

The continued, creeping erosion of the two state solution and our Jewish democratic state with it ;

Upcoming elections without the belief that change is possible;

and an increasingly quasi-Messianic minority who the State seemingly can't control.

Yet in the context of this darkness comes Chanukah, the festival of light, the victory of the Maccabees over Hellenists, of Jerusalem over Athens, of one way of life over another.

Their differing conceptions of how the world works is reflected in the story of how humanity gained the knowledge of making fire. Greek mythology tells of Prometheus stealing it from the Gods on Mount Olympus. As a punishment Zeus ties him to a rock and his liver is eaten (daily) by an eagle.

The Jewish myth (or Midrash for those who prefer) of human technological advancement explains that on the 8th day of creation (after Shabbat), God teaches Adam and Eve the secret of making fire.

For one, life is tragic, a constant battle against the will of the gods. For the other, life is about a divine-human partnership; towards bettering the world. It's about Tikva, Hope.

So as we finish lighting candles to brighten up our stormy nights, let's be strengthened by the idea that our Tikva – the one that guided us through the darkness of the past, and the one that continues to inspire Olim to make their home here – Od Lo Avda, is not yet lost.

Chanukah 5769: The Strong always in the Hands of the Weak?

2008-12-24T19:43:00.006+02:00

You in your abundant mercy rose up in their time of trouble, delivered the strong in the hands of the weak, the many in the hands of few, the impure in the hands of the pure, the wicked in the hands of the righteous, and insolent ones in the hands of those occupied with Torah.

This past week I've been struggling with the meaning of the military victory of Chanukah.

On the one hand it seems clear; the few against the many, the strong against the weak, the good against the bad demonstrates that if justice is on our side we need to stand firm and fight.

However minimal our chances might seem, whatever the geo-strategic forecast, we need not compromise on our values, whatever the potential cost.

Because with God's help, we will be victorious.

Yet I'm still uncertain.

Because for every Judah the Maccabee who fought against all odds and successfully freed his people from an occupying empire (Greece), there is a Bar-Kokhba whose revolt against an occupying empire (Rome) ended in defeat and mass slaughter and expulsion.

And apart from the result, is there genuinely any qualitative difference between these two stories?

In addition, are these models really better than that of Yochanan Ben Zakai who, when faced with a Roman siege of Jerusalem, acquiesced to the temple's destruction and requested only the small town of Yavneh and its students?

When all is said and done, who can say when we should fight and when we should compromise?

And if we do fight, who's to know it will lead to a famous victory or a terrible defeat?

Jared Diamond in his book Collapse discusses the case of five small eastern European countries who were faced with the overwhelming might of the Russian / Soviet armies;

The Estonians, Latvians and Lithuanians surrendered their independence in 1939 without a fight (a la ben Zakai);

The Finns fought in 1939-40 and preserved their independence (a la Maccabe's);

The Hungarians meanwhile fought in 1956 and lost their independence (a la Bar Kokhba).

Who are we to say which country was wiser?

And who could have known beforehand that only the Finns would 'win' their gamble?

The Akeida: Of Sacrifices and Paradigms

2008-11-17T09:31:00.000+02:00

For years, the Left has said I'm Right and the Right has said I'm Left. I'm dyslexic to matters of Left and Right," said Israel Beiteinu MK Yisrael Hasson on Thursday, hours after he announced he would join Kadima and run in the faction's upcoming primaries. (The Jerusalem Post 6/11/08)

I don’t remember the first time I started having trouble with the story of the Akeida – when Avraham silently accepts God’s decree to take his one and only son (who he loves) and sacrifice him as a burnt offering. The event and the price paid for it (his wife's death and estrangement from both his son and God) is stranger still when one considers Avraham's previous argument with God over the fate of the city of Sdom.

What I do remember though is actively searching for a commentator arguing that Avraham had failed the test, that instead of agreeing, his job was to refuse; a parshan a la Kant who believed that a commandment which flatly contradicts morality can’t ever be from God, even if it seems that way; Someone who would affirm my intuition that there are certain sacrifices that we should just not have to make…that one’s family comes before all else.

The contrasting stories of Sdom and Akeida are adopted as paradigms for how we should serve God. Those emphasizing Sdom believe that moral autonomy is integral to religious consciousness and call on us to bring our subjective sense of dignity and justice into our relationship with God. Others who see the Akeida as the ultimate reflection of divine worship emphasize self sacrifice – that at its core, religion demands ‘heroic withdrawal’ from what we believe to be good and right in the service of the Divine.

As a modern Jew who values his autonomy and rationality I knew which model I preferred…

Then I read a fantastic article by Israeli educator Shai Zarchi (which I blogged about last year) on the comparisons between Avraham and the founders of the State who all made sacrifices for an ideal they believed in. I came across a beautiful Dvar Torah suggesting that however uncomfortable we may feel with Avraham, many of us, in our own small way, make sacrifices for, or coerce our children into the service of certain values. (Unlike me, my children will not be Israeli citizens by choice [with all the consequences and responsibilities that come with that]).

And while I still preferred the Sdom paradigm, I wondered whether a post ideological society unprepared to make sacrifices could ultimately survive.

Yet perhaps the most powerful idea on this hauntingly frightening story comes from the commentary of the Hasidic Rabbi Mordecai Joseph Leiner of Izbica. For the ‘Izbicer’, the origin of the voice commanding Avraham is unclear and he must therefore look into his deepest self to understand what he should do. In the meantime, his test is to be able to act within the uncertainty of not knowing what the right thing is, to act without clarity in the face of ambiguity.

And I began to think that maybe the story comes to break the idea of a single paradigm; the concept that we can ‘model’ how to act before God in all situations – to always surrender ot stand our ground.

Because the reality we're faced with is more complex than overarching theories of right and left, on being able to rely on ideologies to tell us how to act.

And maybe in the face of such uncertainty the only genuine response is to be 'dyslexic'.

The Tower of Babel: Globalization and its Discontents

2008-11-03T18:59:00.008+02:00

And the whole earth was of one language, and of one speech…. And they had brick for stone, and slime for mortar.

Once upon a time, major developments in technologies and computer software allowed individuals to connect with almost anyone on the face of the earth.

This web-enabled platform for sharing knowledge and work, irrespective of time, distance, geography or even language leveled the playing field and allowed people unprecedented access to information and knowledge.

As people experienced increasing global connectivity and interdependence in the economic, social, technological, cultural, political, and ecological spheres, the world began to integrate and grow smaller at an accelerated pace.

Every individual - created in the image of God - now had the potential to ‘plug and play’, join the global game and fulfill his potential. The genius born in China had as many opportunities as the average guy born in Poughkeepsie.

From Shanghai to Silicon Valley, from Beijing, Bangalore and Bethesda, more people in more places could play in more ways.

The whole world truly was of one language, and one global speech.

Then they said, "Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves…

And the Lord came down to see the city and the tower…and said, "Behold, they are one people, and they have all one language, and this is only the beginning of what they will do. And nothing that they propose to do will now be impossible for them"

The opportunities for this new world were endless:

Furthering the fight against poverty and disease in the developing world;

Promoting children's education, women’s rights and proper working conditions;

Ensuring fewer people lived below the poverty line; that everyone had adequate shelter and access to safe drinking water;

That no one went malnourished or died from preventable diseases.

Yet this world of fantastic opportunities also provided fantastic dangers. As Nassim Taleb noted, Globalization 'creates interlocking fragility' A world in which the big can act small and the small can act big can be used for different purposes. The options are frighteningly endless…

And if rather than alleviating the suffering in the world, society decides to use its technological potential to 'make a name for themselves,' then a time will come when money (or bricks) are more important than people;

Or where the supply chain that facilitates Dell and Wall Mart will also facilitate Al Qaida and dirty bombs.

So the Lord dispersed them from there over the face of all the earth, and they left off building the city.

(Last Year's Blog on the Tower of Babel - On Towers and Totalitarianism)

A Time for Everything under Heaven

2008-10-24T14:25:00.008+02:00

24/10 Jerusalem Post Livni: We've made final offer to Shas
24/10 BBC News UK economy braced for recession
23 /10 BBC News Obama: McCain will 'endanger' US
23/10 Ha’aretz Peres: Saudi plan can bring peace
23/10 AFP Israel okays more Palestinian police
11/9 Jerusalem Post Settlers gear up for evacuation fight

I don’t remember the last time I was both in Shul for, and concentrated during, the book of Kohelet, (Ecclesiastes) which we read on the Shabbat during the festival of Succot.

Without attempting to justify this sacrilege, it’s just so long, and all everyone wants to do is get on with the service (and there is really no need for it to be read out loud);

But this year was different:

I’ve recently become a bit obsessed with the book Collapse, which I’ve written about when discussing the Temple’s destruction on Tisa Be’Av and Teshuva on Rosh Hashana. It charts why societies who had once lived successfully die out arguing that the catalyst for their collapse was often not adapting to a new environment.

My favorite example were the Norse, who moved to Greenland from Norway and continued to raise cattle (even though the environment didn’t support it); They continued to spend money importing religious artifacts from Europe, even at the expense of food. They continued to boycott fish, because that’s what the pagan Inuit’s did.

They ultimately died from starvation…

The book’s conclusion – one Reut shares and bases its methodology on - is that maintaining one’s mindset and behavior when reality diverges creates a ‘relevancy gap.’ And relevancy gaps can lead to strategic surprises.

What worked in Norway, doesn’t necessarily work in Greenland.

A successful strategy in 1967 can be an abject failure in 1973…

What strengthens the state in the 40s, may destroy it 60 years later.

And in this context, what could be wiser than King Solomon’s statement from Kohelet, לכל זמן ועת לכל-חפץ תחת השמים – that to every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven.

Everything has its right (and wrong) time. “There is a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to uproot; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time for silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.”

There is indeed a time for everything…

A time for keeping Mitzvot and a time for ‘sinning at God’s behest’;

A time for child allowances and coalitional politicking, and a time for elections;

A time to strengthen the Palestinian Authority and a time to fight it; a time to build settlements, and a time to evacuate; a time to withdraw from territory, and a time to maintain the status quo;

A time for economic growth, and a time for recession;

A time to vote for ‘change’ and a time to choose experience…

But what happens when our kings are no more, and the heavens are silent?

And us mere mortals are unsure as to what actions the current time requires?

Rosh Hashana 5769: Values in a Changing World

2008-09-25T19:51:00.014+03:00

London was great. It (generally) always is. Not that I think about staying – I don’t. It's just so relaxing (liberating even) to wander around the Heath extension near my parents home, to see friends, to take a break from the intensity of life in Israel.

England always takes a few days to get used to. For starters, there’s the driving on the left (with gears); There's more than one decent radio station to listen to. Weddings are the height of formality.

And then there's the politeness of other drivers (i'm always amazed by how much people wave to one another on the road) It's a reminder of how behavior encouraged (and sometimes necessary) in Israel is often incongruous with England's green and pleasant land - and what works in one place can get you in trouble in another.

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The week before I flew, Britain's Chief Rabbi wrote a weekly column, about the Biblical cities of Refuge; safe havens for an accidental killer who would be protected from the revenge of his victim's next of kin. According to Maimonides such a person is forbidden to leave the city under any circumstance – even to save someone’s life. In fact, even if the entire Jewish people need him, the individual is forbidden to endanger his own life.

The Chief's discussion of the differences between Judaism's prioritization of the individual versus the collective emphasis of Greece and Rome is worth a post in itself. But what most interested me was his suggestion that while this individualism aided the Jews in the Diaspora by preventing assimilation into the majority culture, it may undermine the successful building of a sovereign state (which inevitably entails the individual compromising for the benefit of the group).

In a similar vein, Avram Burg suggested that in the Diaspora, the Jews never trusted the system, and survived by going round it. Yet today, in Israel, when we are the system, people still try to circumvent it. We haven't yet fully internalized that it's ours. And when something is not yours, you never feel the need to fight to make it better.

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An article in Azure meanwhile described the corruption in Israeli society, arguing that in certain respects it "constitutes a natural, almost inevitable outcome of the ethos created by the early Yishuv."

It explained that the ambivalence toward the Law in early Zionism and the creation of the new Jew – the mischievous, rough hewn, anti establishment Sabra with an aversion to authority and inability to 'follow the rules' – had many positive aspects in the State's early years.

Yet 60 years on, this 'unruly, irresponsible and lawless behavior' is seriously undermining Israel's ability to prosper.

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The common denominator of each of these stories is that they involve values that ensure a group's (or individual's in the case of driving in Israel) survival in a certain situation.

Yet when left unrefined, they also undermine it.

And ironically, it's those very same values that initially help, that can ultimately destroy.

Circumventing the system worked in the Diaspora, but leads to 'combinot' when the system is 'us'.

Individualism aided us as a minority, but weakens national solidarity when we set the laws rather than following them.

And an Oleh who doesn’t re-invent himself or his values can become the ultimate freier.

In such a context, the only way to survive is by working out which values need to be kept, and which need to be changed.

And this for me is where the idea of Teshuva comes in…

Because what is Teshuva if not working out what part of ourselves we should aim to keep, and what we should discard? What is the month of Elul for if not reevaluating our lives, our values and our priorities, and seeing if they are still relevant in light of the changes we have gone through?

And what could be more important than ensuring the renewal and survival of our people, our country and ourselves?

Shana Tova LeCulam

Rosh Hashana Post 5768: A Message Against Despair

Rosh Hashana Posts 5767: Wanna Live Like Common People

Tisha Be'Av: On Sacrifice and Loss

2008-08-07T23:49:00.007+03:00

The Talmud in Gittin explains that the temple was destroyed due to the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza. Yet while some points of this story are often discussed – the invitation mix up, the Rabbi’s indifference, the Zealots’ burning of the storehouses and Bar Kamtza’s plot to cause Jerusalem’s downfall by convincing Rome to send a blemished calf - another aspect, that of the Rabbinical debate over whether or not to offer up an unfit sacrifice, is less well known.

The Rabbis initially want to sacrifice the calf but are swayed by Rabbi Zechariah ben Avkulos who argues that people will think a blemished animal can be sacrificed.

Instead, the Rabbis plan to kill Bar Kamtza but again Rabbi Zechariah persuades them, claiming people will think someone who blemishes sacrifices is killed.

Ultimately, the calf is rejected, leading to the siege around and ultimate destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans. And out of all the people to blame - Bar Kamtza, the host, the Rabbis, the zealots, the Talmud points the finger at Rabbi Zechariah concluding that his meekness (ענווה) destroyed the Temple and sent the Jews into exile.

As part of its aim to train future Jewish leaders, the Reut Institute recently initiated a ‘Jewish component’ to every analyst’s training program, which involves discussing Jewish texts every fortnight.

This week, we focused on the figure of Zechariah ben Avkulos.

While some commentators see him as too rigid – a religious conservative unable to look outside the four cubits of Halacha and use ‘Rosh Gadol’ to serve the ‘greater good’, others see him as too moderate – unwilling to kill one person in order to save the nation as a whole.

Both approaches feel that higher values sometimes override official laws.

Yet while for one, the rule to be ignored is Halacha, for the other, it’s democracy.

What I took from our discussion meanwhile is that whichever way one reads the story, something needs to be sacrificed.

It can be the calf, or it can be Bar Kamtza.

Yet if neither is literally or metaphorically burned on the altar, the thing that goes up in flames is the Temple.

Israelis enter the 9th Av continuing to disagree over how to deal with mounting challenges; While Oslo put paid to the Right’s dream of a Greater Land of Israel, and the Intifada destroyed the Left’s vision of utopian peace, the rockets following Disengagement (whose 3rd anniversary we mark the day after Tisha Be’Av) seriously undermine the one notion that remained, that of unilateralism.

We enter the fast commemorating our loss of sovereignty faced with a choice between two competing logics and threats; between the military logic of staying in the West Bank to ensure security, and the political logic of leaving the West Bank to maintain a Jewish majority and weaken the slow slide towards Binationalism or apartheid.

Both arguments make sense, yet neither provides a panacea;

And most tellingly, both entail giving something up, forfeiting something close to us.

So as modern day commentators continue to debate whether Rabbi Zechariah should have been more ‘left’ or ‘right,’ maybe the fast comes to remind us that sometimes the geostrategic environment with which our people is faced forces us to make decisions that entail sacrificing something dear to us.

It may be painful, may be unfair; but it needs to be done;

Because sometimes not deciding at all can lead to an even greater tragedy…

Click here for last year's post on Tisha Be'Av.

On Leadership: Bartlet, Obama & Olmert

2008-08-01T17:18:00.014+03:00

During an emotional speech last Wednesday, Israel’s Prime Minister announced his intention not to run in the party primary scheduled for September.

Despite a strong economy, low unemployment and improved personal security, Olmert remained largely unpopular, tainted by images of corruption and the mishandling of the Lebanon War.

2 weeks ago, Israel hosted another leader, who by January 2008 may well be the most powerful person in the world (not Gordon Brown). Obama is attractive because he offers something new and refreshing, a vision to inspire a mostly ambivalent electorate…a feeling that there is more to politics than soundbites, that individuals can make a difference.

The evening after Obama left was spent in one of the best ways possible – watching old episodes of the West Wing with friends. Out of all my favorite series’ - Heroes, 24, Spooks, Lost - only Sorkin’s West Wing is good enough to watch over and over.

One episode describes how the team forms around Josiah (Jed) Bartlet, played by Martin Sheen. Josh advises a leading democrat, but is frustrated by his lack of courage on policy. Sam slogs away at a law firm organizing insurance for oil tankers.

Both are looking for the 'real deal,' a candidate who stands for something more than just winning.

The die is cast when Bartlet tells a dairy farmer why he voted for a bill increasing the price of milk (check out the clip – its awesome).

'Today, for the first time in history, the largest group of Americans living in poverty are children...1 in 5 and they’re children.. I voted against the bill because I didn’t want to make it harder for people to buy milk.

I stopped some money flowing into your pocket, if that angers you, if you resent me, I completely respect that. But if expect anything different from the President of the United States you should vote for someone else.'

At work, I’m part of a team dealing with Reut’s Strategic ‘Impact,’ based on a book by Harvard Professor Ron Heifetz called Leadership without Easy Answers.

Heifetz distinguishes between two concepts people often see as synonymous - Leadership and Authority. While Authority denotes those elected to positions of power, Leadership is something else.

It’s not about making people feel safe and secure, resolving conflict or being popular; that’s the responsibility of Authority figures.

Leadership, according to Heifetz, is often about causing discomfort, orchestrating conflict. It’s about the very difficult process of facilitating a change in the values, priorities and behavior of a society to be able to deal with new challenges...

All of which is a far cry from what David Grossman describes as our own “terrified, suspicious, sweaty, legalistic, deceptive” leadership.

So as Israel looks to appoint a new leader, is it too much to hope for someone able to cogently articulate a vision about what we stand for, about the future, about why the smart, educated people should stay rather than earn big bucks abroad?

In a country born from ideas and vision as well as blood and tears, do we not deserve leaders prepared to act in the greater good a la Bartlet, or explain the tough choices ahead a la Heifetz?

Is it too much to expect inspiration from the leader of a people whose entire history inspires?

So as discussions over who should replace our current authority figure start afresh, and the media and candidates resume their superficial spin and soundbites, the real question is whether we’ll find someone who believes in more than just winning…and whether the ‘real deal’ is to be found anywhere other than on TV…

The Swap: Not Letting Apathy Kill Us...

2008-07-22T13:53:00.010+03:00

It hasn’t been a great week in Israel. The photos of Ron Arad, a chilling reminder of what can happen when prisoner deals don’t go through; the grieving over coffins; our Lebanese neighbors celebrating the return of their 'hero'.

Commenting on the welcome scenes for Samir Kuntar - who brutally murdered a little girl 29 years ago - Israel's Deputy Foreign Minister Majalli Whbee said it showed to what extent the politics of hatred can rob people of human compassion.

In addition to these national security issues, the ongoing Talansky affair and investigations into the Prime Minister rumble on. The affair and finances it involves touch on the influence wealthy non – Israelis can have on our political life.

The weekend's Jerusalem Post argued that many Israelis oppose the foreign interference of such 'armchair warriors' although it quoted Yossi Beilin as describing it as positive, even though he often completely disagreed with the political position they take.

Referring to Irving Moskowitz, who funded settlements in East Jerusalem in the 1990s, the former Meretz leader said that anything is better than apathy and that despite his belief in the damage Moskowitz caused "I couldn't ignore the fact that he cares. I prefer someone who cares about Israel to someone who doesn't."

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It may sound cruel, but I'm not sure I would have voted for the deal. It's not just the asymmetrical ratio (we've had worse) or the fact this makes it harder to secure the release of Gilad Shalit.

It's not just the dangerous precedent of swapping bodies for live prisoners, the opposition of the security services or the failure of Hizbullah to fulfill their side of the deal on providing information on Ron Arad.

It's also that when Israel strikes deals with non - state groups wedded to terrorism, it completely undermines those more moderate entities committed to achieving their aims through non violent means…

Yet despite all of the reasons for saying no, I can't deny how proud I am to live in a country like Israel – a country that feels, that hurts, that cries, that comes to a standstill over two of its fellow citizens;

And despite my rational disagreement with the decision, I can't deny my emotional resonance with it, or the feelings on seeing the coffins being unloaded by Hizbullah…

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I only wonder whether we can harness this collective identification and sympathy we feel over our 'returning sons' to other areas in society.

Because if we care this much about Udi and Eldad, think how much energy we could spend on caring about the fate of the thousands of the unnamed citizens of Sderot, the hundreds who die every year on the roads, or the victims of domestic violence and sexual abuse that escape the media spotlight.

If the politics of hatred can rob the Lebanese of their human compassion, let's see how far the politics of identification can get Israelis.

Because as Yossi Beilin said, what divides us most is not our political opinions but whether, at the end of the day, we care about the future of this country.

A Bridge of Strings

2008-07-06T19:14:00.011+03:00

A trip to Jerusalem last week provided an opportunity to cast my eyes on the newly completed 118 meter high bridge at the entrance to the city.

Designed by world-famous Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava, reports suggest the jury is still out on the 2,600-ton contraption, dubbed the Bridge of Strings. One onlooker said he thought it was beautiful, but that it didn’t fit with its surroundings. Others variously described it as bearing a resemblance to David's harp, a spider's web and a crooked nail.

Despite costing 250m NIS, the bridge will remain unused for two years due to repeated delays in constructing Jerusalem's light railway. The opening ceremony meanwhile was hit by controversy when the Ultra Orthodox complained about the clothing of the dance troupe of 13 year old girls due to perform.

Due to their pressure, the dancers were forced to change.

I'm surprised no one thought to mention it, but the bridge provides an apt metaphor for the Israeli experience; inefficient bureaucratic planning, unwise budgetary priorities and the spineless caving to the Charedim.

And perhaps more ironically no one can quite decide whether they love it or hate it.

But the Bridge of Strings also represents something deeper about our experience here.

I think Israel is amazing and I am thankful to be living my life on the front line of where Jewish history is being played out, where in the space of such a short time we have achieved so much. Yet despite the pride and happiness surrounding the country's continued success, there is also something hovering below the surface, something deep in the Israeli psyche; the fear that maybe this could all end one day, that our future here is not guaranteed.

If Diaspora Jews fret over whether their grandchildren will be Jewish, here they fret over whether their grandchildren will be at all…

It’s a society which, as writer Amnon Rubenstein states, has deep existential anxiety, that is hanging by a thread. A country that, according to David Grossman, has the "most powerful army in the region, a nuclear capability, yet has an inner feeling of absolute fragility, like we are at the edge of an abyss…"

We are a people whose fear that Israel will not exist anymore hovers above us constantly, even when we try and supress it.

I don’t know whether this anxiety causes us to be more aggressive on the roads, more belligerent to our enemies, or more ambivalent to the suffering of our neighbors.

But I do know that in many ways we are society trying to create normalcy while hanging by a thread, by walking across a bridge of strings.

And even if such bridges are generally stable, who knows if one day we may fall between the cracks into the abyss below.

Between Clark Kent & Superman: Israel's view of Diaspora

2008-06-20T17:39:00.012+03:00

I don’t go to bars that often and am forced to queue outside even less. But the 10 minutes outside Villa Sokolov last Thursday did provide an opportunity to successfully test out a theory that’s been doing the rounds - that putting on your best English accent immediately gets you through the chaotic crowds and into the bar.

I suppose it's based on the assumption that foreigners spend more money and add a certain sophisticated spice to proceedings. I'm surprised the bars haven’t yet noticed their mistake.

It reminded me of another time last March when a friend and I tried to get into the Israel - Estonia football match. Arriving at half time to a half empty stadium with two season tickets but for different gates, we were denied entry… until we switched into our mother tongue.

Suddenly, as fast as Garinim guzzling fans in Ramat Gan could shout ‘sit down,' we were waived into the stands accompanied by smiles and smatterings of pidgin English.

Being a Diaspora Jew hasn’t always provided such a direct route into high rise Israeli society. A major aspect of traditional Zionism was negating the Diaspora experience and its powerlessness. Zionism rejected the ‘concealing and cowering’ Jews of Chaim Bialik's ‘City of Slaughter’ in favor of the suntanned swimming Sabra admiringly mentioned in Amos Oz’s childhood memoirs.

It’s as if Zionism created a kind of binary existence; Israel good, Diaspora bad.

This theme was picked up at last month’s International Writers Festival in Jerusalem that I attended with my parents. Discussing the difference between ‘Jews’ and ‘Israelis’ with Nathan Englander and Jonathan Safran Foer, Israeli writer Etgar Keret humorously echoed Bialik’s poem explaining whenever he eats at ‘Jewish’ restaurants he fears a Cossack will come in and rape his wife!

He also admitted that he left high school knowing every European town in which a pogrom took place but without realizing Kafka was Jewish.

Keret’s comments were made in jest. But they are indicative of a specific mindset – that the Diaspora experience was wholly negative; one pogrom after another leading to the Shoah.

There's no question that many aspects of Diaspora living were not good for the Jews. Keret wondered whether the reason so many creators of comic book superheroes in the late 1930s were Jewish was indicative of the tension in their lives; the nerdy alter ego who ultimately saved the world reflected Jewish frustration of wanting to be heroic while ultimately lacking any political or military power.

Yet it’s also clear that ignoring Jewish society spanning two millennia – from the Babylonian Talmud through Spain's golden age and Poland's pre war intellectuals to the Jewlicious creativity of the Modern US Heebrew Tribe – overlooks central aspects of what it means to be Jewish.

These thoughts didn't go through my head as Dov and I sat on ‘The Villa’ couches watching those who had chosen Israel over ‘Galut’ unsuccessfully try and pick up Israeli girls.

But I did wonder whether it was possible to break the binariness, to simultaneously appreciate the positive and negative aspects of Jewish life both inside and outside Israel; to recognize both Kafka and Kishniev;

And to find something inbetween the Clark Kentesque Jewish nerd early Zionism spurned and the modern day Superman post Zionist Tel Aviv bars embrace.

Shavuot 5768: Creativity, Adaptation and the Nature of Torah

2008-06-12T13:20:00.009+03:00

Shavuot night in Jerusalem is indicative of one of the greatest problems the 21st century poses – too much choice. From workshops, poetry and lectures, in Synagogues, streets and private homes, the Jewish long tail is at its most dynamic on Tikun Leil, when Jews traditionally stay up all night learning to commemorate the giving of the Torah.

Yet as always, accompanying such an array of choice is the FOMO – fear of missing out, or of choosing the wrong lecture.

Two years ago I got overwhelmed by the abundance of choice; after presenting a session to year course kids, I rushed to hear another Shiur (getting lost on the way) only to find myself squashed (and stressed) in the corner of a room unable to hear a thing and within half an hour had dozed off.

The whole scenario still makes me cringe.

Preferring not to make the same mistake again, I was delighted when friends suggested a DIY Tikun Leil – each person preparing a short something to be learned and discussed by everyone.

So following a lovely dinner at Gila’s, the guests spent the midnight hours deliberating over the origins of Shavuot as well as our relationship with God, Halacha and history. One discussion revolved around the connection between the festival and the actual giving of the Torah. Strangely enough, traditional commentators disagree as to the exact day the event supposedly took place while the Pentateuch itself never explicitly links the holiday of Shavuot with the giving of the Torah.

It seems most likely that while the festival originally centred round the harvest, its nature was reconceptualised after the destruction of the temple so as to maintain its relevancy. In the new reality, without a temple to bring first fruits to, Shavuot loses its meaning if that is its raison d'être.

Emphasising the receiving the Torah meanwhile, makes it meaningful for future generations. As Rabbi Joshua Berman commented, this 'refinement' speaks volumes about the Rabbis' flexibility and capacity for adaptation as well as recognition that yesterday’s solutions don’t always adequately address tomorrow's problems.

This Jewish capacity for adaptation was the main reason Tom Friedman gave as to why he is optimistic about Israel's future.

Speaking at last weeks Reut Conference (after I had geekily nabbed him to sign three books I have of his), Friedman argued that despite the problems with peace and political systems, Israel is hard wired for a flat world.

Having successfully moved from Jaffa to Java, we have something that can't be learned – the ability to think out of the box and be creative. It's no coincidence that from start ups to solar power, cars to clean tech, Israelis are leaders in the field.

It's not unreasonable to suggest that this modern success is in some small part based on Judaism's tradition of argumentation, questioning, and openness to a changing reality…a positive slant on the 2 Jews 3 opinions shtick.

And even though today's religious leadership show few signs of living up to the challenge of maintaining relevancy, its refreshing to see how even if its for one night a year, the diversity and latent creativity of Torah study is recreated in a way that offers us a model for 21st century success.

Maybe the Torah (or at least its nature) was 'revealed' on Shavuot after all…

Zionism in a Flat World

2008-05-29T23:33:00.014+03:00

In addition to its laid back atmosphere and proximity to the beach, one of the advantages of living in Tel Aviv is the ability to miss the chaos caused by the visit of the President of the United States who strode into town for his second visit in half a year, taking part in the President's 'Tomorrow Conference' and giving a rousing address at the Knesset.

Bush's speech was followed by PM Olmert discussing his plans for a two state solution. In response, one right wing MK quipped that he wished Olmert would learn about Zionism from Bush. A senior Likud MK meanwhile described Bush as 'manifesting' the Zionist vision.

Of slightly less global importance, but noteworthy nonetheless, was our goodbye party at work for my colleague Yonatan Adiri.

Extremely smart, sharp and capable, Yonatan led a discussion on Thomas Friedman's The World is Flat – which argues that the technological and geo-strategic 'advances' in recent years have leveled the professional playing field, enhanced the role of the individual and started processes in which everyone will be racing to the top (even if you're one in a million, there's still approximately 1,000 Chinese just like you). This week, Friedman is a guest speaker at Reut's Conference on the ISRAEL 15 Vision – how to turn Israel into one of the leading 15 countries in the world in terms of quality of life.

Friedman's flat world offers little security. 'When I was growing up,' he says, 'my parents told me "Finish your dinner. People in China and India are starving." Now I tell my daughters, "Finish your homework. People in China and India are starving for your job."

He concludes that only 'agile' and 'flexible' individuals (as well as communities and countries) can stay relevant in such a world.

In his speech to the Tomorrow Conference, Amos Oz discussed the different aspects of traditional Zionism explaining that "Israel was born not out of one but many dreams, including several conflicting, contradicting and mutually exclusive dreams…

Some wanted to renew the days of old, the biblical country, a replica of kingdom of David;

Others wanted to create a middle class paradise, with central European manners and peace and quiet between 2 and 4 in the afternoon;

Some wished for a replica of Jewish Shtetl in Eastern Europe with all its attributes while others were Marxist Jews who dreamed Stalin would one day visit their Kibbutz and exclaim "bloody Jews! You have done socialism better than we did in Russia" and then die of happiness.

Others meanwhile, saw Zionism through the prism of creating a social democratic welfare state.'

Whether we like it or not, both Olmert's and Bush's speeches - one about rights, the other about reality - come under the umbrella of what has become Zionism.

It's not surprising that few of us are completely satisfied with how the Zionist dream has become a living, breathing reality - the nature of (conflicting) dreams is to remain unachievable in their entirety.

Yet the real challenge of tomorrow is how to turn Zionism's diversity (the competing visions of a cultural center, safe haven or light unto the nations as well as the competing values of land, democracy and civil rights, Jewish law, social justice and ingathering of exiles) into a 'creatively agile' entity that can face Friedman's flat world with confidence, and turn itself into one of the leading 15 countries in the world.

How we do this is another question; but maintaining a rigid definition of 'true Zionism' as being reduced to one aspect is not only doing a disservice to the traditional ideological mosaic but is also likely to undermine our ability to survive in what is becoming a very dangerous constantly changing world.

Yom Hashoah: Remembering Death Celebrating Life

2008-05-04T21:00:00.002+03:00

The first time I watched 'The Pianist' was in a cinema in Warsaw during the 10 days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur in 2002. Together with other students from Leeds Jewish society I was taking part in what has in many ways become our generation's rite of passage – the trip to Poland’s concentration camps.

We did the usual itinerary – trips to the quiet fields of Treblinka, (where I perhaps inappropriately felt that if one didn’t know the place's history, it would make a good picnic spot) the barracks of Majdanek (which are eerily like a film set), and of course Auschwitz, the symbol of humanity's capacity for evil, the place that forever changed our imaginative framework for what depths people are capable of.

Yet rather than focusing on death, we also explored Jewish life before the war. It still amazes me how dynamic the Jewish Polish experience actually was – that in addition to those learning Torah, the country was filled with Jewish poets, writers, artists and philosophers…all integrated into society, four cities the equivalent of today’s New York…and all destroyed in the space of a few years.

There were of course the obvious questions - of how God could let such a thing happen; of how man could let such a thing happen. And the less obvious - of whether I would have survived in the camps, or whether if I was a non Jewish Pole I would have risked my family's life to save a neighbor (is it just me or does everyone imagine these scenarios?)

But the overall feeling was one of pride - that despite it all we're still here, still standing. Like Eli Wiesel’s portrayal of the prototypal biblical ‘survivor’ Isaac, those that came out of the death camps picked themselves up and build new lives, brought children into the world, moved out of Hannah Arendt's 'worldlessness' and re-entered history. Most refused to let fate embitter them. How amazing to be part of such a people.

The second time I watched ‘The Pianist’ was last Wednesday night, in my Tel Aviv flat, as the first Hebrew city in nearly two thousand years marked Holocaust Memorial Day. There’s a lot that needs fixing in this country. The political culture, the education system, the fact that many find it difficult to articulate a vision of what sort of state we want to build here...We haven't yet created a cultural and spiritual utopia a la Achad Ha’am while the daily sirens around Sderot remind us we’re a long way from a Herzelian safe haven. Surrounded by the hustle and bustle of daily life, it's often difficult to make out the wood from the trees, hear the 'still short voice' through the noise of scandals and strikes.

Yet every once in a while, as the siren we hear indicates the past rather than a sometimes frightening present, its worthwhile using the silence to remember a time when we didn’t have the strongest army in the region, or a first world economy, or a place to call our own.

And be appreciative and proud of a place those 6 million could only dream of.

Pesach Thoughts 5768: Four Sons and the Conflict

2008-04-25T10:28:00.009+03:00

The Hagaddah speaks of 4 sons - wise, wicked, simple and one unable to ask. Over the generations, this theme was expanded…four different Jews, four generations, four characteristics present in each one of us.

In this context, here is a reading based on different Zionist approaches to the Israeli – Palestinian conflict.

The ‘Redemptionist Child’ – what does he say? The whole of the historical land of Israel belongs to the Jewish people and talk about ‘peace’ with the Arabs is dangerous utopianism. The world has an implacable hatred towards us and nothing we can do will change that. The international community may show sympathy when we are weak but it can’t stomach the resurgence of Jewish sovereignty and power to its ancestral homeland. Even when we endanger our own soldiers so as not to hurt Palestinian civilians we are accused of carrying out massacres and genocide.

Whether we like to admit it or not, Jews will always be a ‘people that dwells alone’ and concessions in order to gain favour with the Arabs or ‘Goyim’ makes us look spineless and imperils more Jewish lives.

Things may look bleak but redemption is within reach. We need to have faith, be steadfast and unify the people around true Torah values, one of which is settling and taking ownership over all the land of Eretz Yisrael.

The ‘Realist’ Child - what does he say? Peace with the Palestinians may be possible, but not in this generation. At the Palestinians’ core - their public statements, television programs, textbooks - they don’t accept the right of the Jewish people to live in a state of our own.

Each withdrawal is not perceived as a sign of our peaceful intentions but as weakness and capitulation, evidence that we’re no longer willing to fight and struggle for the justice of our cause. We withdrew from Lebanon and Gaza and got rockets in response. How can we consider a similar withdrawal from the West Bank?

We need to cause the Palestinians to internalise the fact that we’re here to stay, that we have roots in this land, that we’re not leaving. We can ultimately achieve peace, but it will take time, and we need to be patient. In the meantime we need to sit tight, and continue to fight. It sounds fatalistic but with the correct education, Israeli society has the capacity to survive the storm.

The ‘Pragmatic’ child – what does he say? I’m not necessarily a fan of the Palestinians, but Israel’s continued control over the West Bank is bad for our national security. ‘Occupation’ causes our friends to desert us, demography erodes the chances for the two state solution and isolated settlements actually make it harder to defend ourselves against terrorism. We think our control strengthens us. Yet ultimately it weakens us.

The forces of religious extremism are on the rise. And unless we resolve our differences with those Palestinians who accept the two state solution, the window of opportunity for a secure Jewish and democratic state may close.

Peace doesn’t mean we’ll eat hummus in Damascus and Ramallah or stop calling up people to Miluim. But in an unstable neighbourhood in unstable times, an agreement that ensures a Jewish majority in approximately 80% of Mandatory Palestine while guaranteeing normalization with the Arab world is worth considering, even if it entails painful concessions.

It is after all, a situation that original Zionist leaders could only dream of.

The ‘Justice’ child – what does he say? The continued occupation over millions of Palestinians is poisoning and corrupting Israeli society, undermining our social fabric and is a betrayal of the core values of Judaism (and Zionism).

The Israeli – Palestinian conflict is a tragic struggle of right against right – with both sides having legitimate claims and grievances on the other. As a people, the Jews deserve the right to self determination, to express our national values and dreams…but so do the Palestinians. While we have religious, historical and cultural connections to this land, so do the Palestinians.

Zionism is the national liberation movement for the Jewish people. But it loses its moral legitimacy when it denies that same thing to another people. We have a responsibility to partition the land and undo the injustice our (justified) presence in our homeland has caused to the Palestinians.

All that remains is for each of us to decide which child is wise and which is simple (naïve)...And which is so blinded by their opinions that they are not even able to question them?

Pesach Thoughts 5768: Of Pesachs Past and Present

2008-04-17T10:39:00.014+03:00

Sometimes I wish things went quicker, that changes happened sooner, that the society people are trying to build here was more caring…that after 60 years Israel still wouldn’t be beset with so many problems that Pesach behooves us to try and alleviate…

But as the leader of one of modern day's great stories of national liberation writes in his autobiography, it’s a Long Walk to Freedom.

There are hiccups on the way, ups and downs, years spent in the desert.

Yet just because we haven’t reached the road's end, doesn’t mean we can't express thanks that we are alive, sustained us, and allowed to see this time, of celebrating Pesach in our own sovereign state.

שהחיינו וקיימנו והגיענו לזמן הזה

p.s. I'm not sure if its good or bad that I still find old posts about Pesach relevant so thought I would allow everyone to judge for themselves.

Chag Sameach

Pesach 2006

Pesach is a festival about freedom – and what freedom means in our day and age. What freedom means when there are people who were forced out of their homes 9 months ago that are still in hotels; or when families who work full time still can’t afford to feed their children, or when young 18 year old Israeli boys are forced to make thousands of people wait in line at roadblocks.

It’s a festival that reminds us of the need to ask questions, to critique, to not take things at face value, a time for not only asking in what way this night is different to others, but in what way our year has been different, in what way we are different from last Pesach, what we have accomplished since then, who we have met, where we have traveled, who we have helped, who we have hurt…

To read the rest click here

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Pesach 2007

The Exodus story has always been reinterpreted to be meaningful…In the 20th Century, Jewish Communists celebrated being liberated from Capitalism, Jewish feminists celebrated liberation from patriarchy and early Zionists marked being free from exile and anti Semitism. Even Martin Luther King used Yetziat Mitzrayim as a paradigm for the African American struggle for equal rights.

21st century Israelis meanwhile need to take a minute to think of those in our own society who remain 'enslaved'…The festival of freedom demands us not to close our eyes to our neighbour, even when they are a different colour, gender, religion or political persuasion to us. And as long as these injustices exist, our Israeli journey isn’t complete.

Yet this morning as I went to burn my pittot in our local park, saw the excitement on the faces of the children in my secular neighbourhood as they threw crumbs into the flames…it reminded me of how far we have come…We haven’t reached the end of our own story of creating a truly egalitarian and equal society living in our Bibilical homeland in peace with our neighbours. But we’re on a journey, and I’m grateful enough to say Dayenu.

To read the rest click here

in the land of milk and honey

Yom Hashoah: Some Ideas and Thoughts

Pesach: Ideas and Questions for the Seder

Conversations on Pesach: Dayenu: Maintaining Meaning in an Imperfect World

Conversations on Shemot: Purim and Religious Coercion

Discussing Israel in San Francisco: Staying on a very narrow bridge

Conversations on Shemot: What happened at Sinai? (The meaning of Torah Min Hashamayim)

Conversations on Shemot: From God's Strength to God's Silence

Conversations on Shemot: 'The Works of My Hands are Drowning' Is God Particularist or Universalist?

Conversations on Shemot: Revelation, the Golden Calf & the Talmudic Tale of Passion, Pagans & Procreation

Conversations on Shemot: The Long Walk to Freedom

Conversations on Shemot: The Tragedy of Leadership

Limmud Conference and Mash Ups

10th Tevet and the Theological Significance of the Shoah

Chanukah 5771: Wars, Lights and the Merging of Religion and State

Conversion, Mamzerut, and the Relationship between Religion and State

Vayeshev / Chanukah: Between Athens and Jerusalem

Vayishlach: Yaacov's Journey to Yisrael

Vayetze: Of Dreams, Ladders and Vows

Toldot: Of Blessings and Blindness

Chayei Sarah: After these things (Kierkegaard and the Akeida)

Chayei Sarah: Rabin, Ben Gurion and the Question of Sovereignty

Jerusalem Shiur: Avraham and the Birah Doleket

Vayera: Sdom, Akeida and the Breaking of Paradigms

Lech Lecha: Between Self Identification and Self Worship

Noach: Babel and Totalitarianism

Bereshit: Cain, Abel and the Origins of Fratricide

Yom Kippur and Bereshit: Teshuva, Creation and the Search for Absolute Truth

Negotiations: A New Type of Talk

Rosh Hashana, Teshuva and the Akeida: The one about the professor, anthropologist, Hasidic Rebbe and several Jewish philosophers

Freakonomics and the Rebellious Son

Israel's Strategic Vulnerability and the First Law of Petro-Politics

Jerusalem Shiur: Tisha Be'Av & the Anvetanut of Zecharia Ben Avkulus

Tisha Be'Av: Empires on the Edge of Chaos?

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: Rabbinic 'Meekness' and the Destruction of the Temple

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: Torah From Heaven (part 2)

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: Torah from Heaven and the Concept of Revelation

Jerusalem Shiur: Why Do Bad Things Happen to Good People?

The Israeli-Palestinian Political Process at York

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: Encountering God - Avraham and the Birah Doleket

Jerusalem Shiur & Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: Between Lag BaOmer & Shavuot

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: The Theological Significance of the Holocaust

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: Responding to Tragedy

Jerusalem Shiur: When Reality and Tradition Clash

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: The Question of Evil in the World

Lessons from the Shoah and our Psychological Legacy

Pesach Thoughts: Our Freedom, An-Other's Pain

Tuesday Tel Aviv Torah: Totalitarianism, Individual Freedom & Religious Meaning in an Imperfect World

Conversion, Refusing Orders and Expanding Halacha

Gays, Top Trumps and Whether God Hates Shrimp

Different Demonstrations: Israeli Bikers and the Jews of Hebron

Avram: Shaping Heroes in Our Own Image

Marx, Spinoza, Freud and Avraham

The Fall of Babel, the Rise of Europe

Seeing is Believing? Where the Chief meets Gladwell

Succot, Theodicy and Finding Meaning in Tragedy

An Orthodox, Masorti and Reform Rabbi discuss Yom Kippur

Recommended Yom Kippur Reading

The Duality of Being Human: 2 Pieces of Paper

Rebellious Children and Re-Reading Text

Moving to Lech Lecha

Overflowing Streams & the Festival of Love

Obama, Hasidism and the Search for Authenticity

Lag BaOmer: BBQs, Bonfires and Freedom

Yom Hashoah 5769: In the Presence of Burning Children

Pesach Thoughts 5769: Refugees in a Jewish State

Pesach Thoughts 5769: Freedom in Every Generation

Relationships and Rationality (Speech at Sheva Brachot)

Working at Reut: What I Actually Do All Day

After Gaza: On Violence and Self Defence

Letter to a School Friend: Engaging with Gaza

Chanukah and the Kassams (3 Year Aliya Anniversary)

Chanukah 5769: The Strong always in the Hands of the Weak?

The Akeida: Of Sacrifices and Paradigms

The Tower of Babel: Globalization and its Discontents

A Time for Everything under Heaven

Rosh Hashana 5769: Values in a Changing World

Tisha Be'Av: On Sacrifice and Loss

On Leadership: Bartlet, Obama & Olmert

The Swap: Not Letting Apathy Kill Us...