David Ortiz's Expletive: A Lesson From Leviticus (Jewish Week)

David Ortiz's Expletive: A Lesson From Leviticus

04/26/13

Rabbi Joshua Hammerman

Special To The Jewish Week

At Fenway Park, with Bostonians celebrating the end of their excruciating, week-long siege, Red Sox slugger David Ortiz wrapped things up in one brief exclamation.  "This is our (bleeping) city!" he cried, and the crowd went wild, while in bars across America, millions of people turned to total strangers and asked, "Did he just SAY that?"

Well, I taped the event and yes he did.

ESPN managed to bleep it out.  But NESN was not so fortunate.  Neither were the radio broadcasts and all the five year old children at Fenway that day; but that probably doesn't matter, because their parents weren't exactly covering their kids' ears.  Everyone was just happy to be happy, and Ortiz' expletive apparently was the most emphatic way to express that.

I admit. I was too busy laughing through my tears to worry about the ballplayer's proclamation, moved as I was by the pregame tribute and the indefatigable nature of my hometown, and relieved that the bombers had been caught.

But now, it's time to question whether we have gone too far, to the point where every (bleeping) conversation is beginning to sound like a Nixon tape.

​Why do we need to swear so (bleeping) much?  Have we lost the ability to converse, to articulate emphasis without resorting to insulting people's sexual behavior, especially in regard to their mothers?

Simon Critchley wrote recently in the New York Times, "We know swear words are literally meaningless... Yet they carry a force that compels us."  Thousands of years ago, Leviticus said essentially the same thing.  In chapter 24, two Israelites are having a fight.  One had an Egyptian father, which may have been the cause of some resentment or friction between the two.  Who knows?  But the end result was that one of them blasphemed, and the punishment was determined to be stoning. 

​On the face of it, the whole thing seems absurd, like the scene right out of Monty Python.  Come to think of it, this WAS a scene from a Monty Python flick.  But the deeper message of this passage, and of the entire book of Leviticus, is that words matter.  Jewish tradition compares the one who gossips to a murderer.  The very next verse, in fact, deals with the laws of murder, making this comparison most explicit, not just for the idle gossiper, but specifically for the one who curses God.

​For what does it mean to curse God's name? If, as we read in Genesis, every human being is created in God's image, that divine part of us that is the essence of our humanity.  To insult God is to debase our own innate godliness, our human capacity for goodness and kindness.  

Sometimes curses can be a creative way of dealing with powerlessness.  We see that in the colorful Yiddish curses that have sprung up.  And Jews have had good reason to shake their fist at the heavens.  When Job's wife implores, "Curse God and die," Job has every reason to do just that - but he refuses to, recognizing that God's blessings and curses are intertwined.  In fact, the very word translated as "curse" in Job 2:9 is "barekh", which also means to bless.  Job refuses to render God one-dimensional, the source only of evil and not of life's blessings too.

That's what cursing does. It turns God into a stereotype.  Once "bleeping" becomes your only way of express passion, you are unable to communicate creatively, to probe the complexity of deeper feelings. 

Swearing takes the bedroom and turns it into the bathroom.  Rather than elevating the mundane experiences of everyday life, as the holiness code of Leviticus implores us to do, swearing does just the opposite.  It takes all that is sacred and holy and tosses it onto Job's ash heap.  All swearing is ultimately a form of blasphemy, a choice not for life but decay and stagnation.  To swear is to succumb to impulse rather than to rise above it.

​I confess.  I swear -- but only rarely.  So when I swear, you know I'm mad.  You can just ask my kids.  Sometimes we all lose control.  But when I encounter supposedly pious Jews with foul mouths, it makes me wonder how far their piety really extends.  If they are so abusive with language, so unable to control themselves from inflicting verbal blows on God, are they really able to control their gossip, their tempers, and even their physical abuse of others?  Can someone who has garbage constantly coming out of his mouth really be vigilant about the kashrut of the things that go into it?  Are people that needy of appearing cool? 

Everything that we hold sacred came into the world through divine speech.  And now we are losing the sanctity of speech. 

​I don't blame David Ortiz for this.  He didn't cause the problem  Even the FCC gave Ortiz a pass.  His passionate outburst did reflect how Bostonians felt after finally being released from the grip of the psychological - and real - pressure cooker of a horrible week.   

Studies show that our society hasn't gotten worse, at least since the Swearin' '70s, just that foul language has become less regulated since the days of George Carlin's pre-HBO "Seven Words you Can't Say on Television."   Nothing wrong with more freedom. What's wrong is, once the thrill of breaking one taboo is gone, it's all too easy to go on to the next one.

As our society rightly focuses its attention on our addiction to violence and guns, maybe we should spend a moment reflecting on that instant when that anger first gets out of control.  Long before the pressure cookers and semi automatic guns, long before the bloody video games, there is filthy, unchecked language.  Long before bullets, it is the words that wound. Creation began with words and social disintegration does too.

 ​In the Beginning, there were words -- and none of them began with an F.

David Ortiz's (Bleeping) Expletive: A Lesson from Leviticus

Click here for parsha packet "Is Swearing Kosher?

Last weekend, with Bostonians celebrating the end of their excruciating, week-long siege, Red Sox slugger David Ortiz wrapped things up in one brief exclamation.  "This is our (bleeping) city!" he cried, and the crowd went wild, while in bars across America, millions of people turned to total strangers and asked, "Did he just SAY that?"

Well, I taped the event and, although his accent is not always easy to decipher, yes, he did.

ESPN was on tape delay, so they managed to catch it and bleep it out.  But NESN and the MLB Network were not so fortunate.  Neither were the radio broadcasts and all the five year old children at Fenway that day; but that probably doesn't matter, because their parents weren't exactly covering their kids' ears.  Everyone was just happy to be happy and Ortiz' expletive apparently was the most emphatic way to express that.

I admit.  I was too busy laughing through my tears to worry about the ballplayer's proclamation, moved as I was by the pregame tribute and the indefatigable nature of my hometown, and relieved that the (bleeping) bombers had been caught.

But now, a week later, it's time to question whether we have (bleeping) gone too far, to the point where every (bleeping) conversation is beginning to sound like a Nixon tape.

Why do we (bleeping) need to swear so (bleeping) much?  Have we lost the ability to converse, to articulate emphasis without resorting to insulting people's sexual behavior, especially in regard to their mothers?

Simon Critchley wrote recently in the New York Times, "We know swear words are literally meaningless.... Yet they carry a force that compels us. This is why many of us like to swear a lot. It feels really good to swear and really bad to be sworn at. Swearing always aims at something intimate, something usually hidden, which is why the words are often so explicitly and violently sexual." 

Thousands of years ago, the book of Leviticus said (in this week's Torah portion) essentially the same thing.  In chapter 24, two Israelites are having a fight.  One had an Egyptian father, which may have been the cause of some resentment or friction between the two.  Who knows?  But the end result was that one of them cursed, meaning that he blasphemed God's name, and the punishment was determined to be stoning. 

On the face of it, the whole thing seems absurd, like the scene right out of Monty Python.  Come to think of it, this WAS a scene from a Monty Python flick.  But the deeper message of this passage, and of the entire book of Leviticus, is that words matter.  Jewish tradition compares the one who gossips to a murderer.  The very next verse, in fact, deals with the laws of murder, making this comparison most explicit, not just for the idle gossiper, but specifically for the one who curses God.

For what does it mean to curse God's name? If, as we read in Genesis, every human being is created in God's image, that divine part of us that is the essence of our humanity.  To insult God is to debase our own innate godliness, our human capacity for goodness and kindness. 

Sometimes curses can be a creative way of dealing with powerlessness.  We see that inthe colorful Yiddish curses that have sprung up over the centuries.  And sometimes Jews have had good reason to shake their fist at the heavens.  When Job's wife implores him, "Curse God and die," Job has every reason to do just that - but he refuses to, recognizing that God's blessings and curses are intertwined.  In fact, the very word translated as "curse" in Job 2:9 is "barekh", which also means to bless.  Job refuses to render God one dimensional, the source only of evil and not of life's blessings too.

That's what cursing does. It turns God into a stereotype. In rendering God one dimensional, it renders all language one dimensional.  Once "bleeping" becomes your only way of express emphasis and passion, you are unable to communicate creatively, to probe the complexity of deeper feelings.  It all comes back to the bleeping expletive.

Swearing takes the bedroom and turns it into the bathroom.  Rather than elevating the mundane experiences of everyday life, as the holiness code of Leviticus implores us to do - in what we eat, who we love, how we treat our neighbors and how we talk - swearing does just the opposite.  It takes all that is sacred and holy and tosses it onto Job's ash heap: our food, our physical expressions of love, our body parts, our holy anger - even God's divine self.  All swearing is ultimately a form of blasphemy. it is a choice not of life but of decay and stagnation.  To swear is to succumb to impulse rather than rising above it.

  

I confess.  I swear - but only rarely.  So when I swear, you KNOW I'm mad.  You can just ask my kids.  Sometimes we all lose control.  But when I encounter supposedly pious Jews with foul mouths, it makes me wonder how far their piety really extends.  If they are so abusive with language, so unable to control themselves from inflicting verbal blows on God, are they really able to control their gossip, their tempers, and even their physical abuse of others?  Can someone who has garbage constantly coming out of his mouth really be vigilant about the kashrut of the things that go into it?  Are people that needy of appearing cool?  Is (bleeping) swearing the only password into society these days?

The universe, the commandments, everything that we hold sacred came into the world through divine speech.  And now we are losing the sanctity of speech. 

I don't blame David Ortiz for this.  He didn't cause the problem. (In fact, to be blunt, it was Yankee fans who started it, with all those indignant chants about Boston, which I bet they regret now!)  Even the FCC gave Ortiz a pass on that one.  His passionate outburst did indeed reflect how Bostonians felt after finally being released from the grip of the psychological - and real - pressure cooker.  But it is sad that there wasn't another way to say "This is OUR CITY!"

Studies show that our society hasn't gotten worse, at least since the Swearin' '70s, just that foul language has become less regulated since the days of George Carlin's pre-HBO "Seven Words you Can't Say on Television."   Nothing wrong with more freedom. What's wrong is, once the thrill of breaking one taboo is gone, it's all too easy to go on to the next one.

As our society rightly focuses its attention on our addiction to violence and in particular to guns, and on the danger of super-empowered angry young men armed with violent language and Ak-47s, maybe we should spend a moment reflecting on that instant when that anger first gets out of control.  Long before the pressure cookers and semi automatic guns, long before the bloody video games, there is filthy, unchecked language. Long before bullets, it is the words that wound. Creation began with words and social disintegration does too.

In the beginning, there was the Word.  And it didn't begin with an F.

“The Hunger Games” and the Ritualized Abuse of Children

I've recently become an admirer of "The Hunger Games" phenomenon and went to see the local premier of the film last night – really, early this morning.  In a macabre sense, the release of a film depicting the senseless, ritualized murder of children was timed perfectly for a week where the senseless murder and abuse of children has been a most disturbing reality, in Toulouse, France, among Kony’s oppressed legions of Africa and, allegedly, in Sanford, Florida. This is also the week when Jews begin reading the book of Leviticus, which focuses our attention on that now-defunct ritualized killing known as the animal sacrifice system.  

In “After Auschwitz,” Richard Rubenstein writes: “Sacrifice is the drama of man’s hatred of God and his ultimate submission to him … Men achieve catharsis by symbolically acting out that hatred through ritual violence against the sacrificial victim, without being consciously aware of what they’re doing … In sacrifice, we overcome God, and, at the very same moment, we submit and recognize His inevitable victory….With dramatic force … the terrible lesson is born in on the community that it has only the choice of controlled, regulated violence or irrational and uncontrolled violence.”  He says sacrifices allow us to channel our natural drives toward violence, hatred and subsequent guilt into an organized, contained ritual.

The short story “The Lottery” places these urges in a more modern context, as a community brings random, ritualized death on an innocent in order to placate the gods and channel their own destructive inclinations.

Several years back, I wrote about channeling violent urges toward children in an article describing the circumcision of my son: No parent should be denied this experience, even vicariously, of inflicting upon his child a ritualized blow so intense as to make him both shake and recoil, yet so controlled that no damage is really done, to signify that this will be the worst the child will ever know from his parent's hand. For it is from the father's hand that Abraham's knife dangles, every moment of every day.

So there is something innate in us that seems to crave violence, a drive piqued especially by brutality toward children.  That’s why the Torah, before teaching almost any other lessons, makes it clear that God does not desire child sacrifice.  Abraham learns that lesson when he binds Isaac to the altar and the Torah explicitly distances itself from Molech worship, which involved the killing of children. 

In “The Hunger Games,” God takes the form of a totalitarian government ruling what was once called North America – there is no religion, per se – and the leaders of Panem are sadistic in their normalcy. (See a plot summary here) The level of their evil is so banal, so commonplace, as to barely be noticed.  The people’s spirits have been beaten to a pulp after 73 years of ritualized child murder, or so we are led to believe. This is what the Third Reich would have looked like had it lasted another half century.  Its leaders no longer strike fear – the President is played by Donald Sutherland, not Ralph Fiennes; the fashions are more bizarre than scary.  No one screams in horror at the prospect of children being thrust into a nationally televised killing field.  No one flinches when the kids are tortured with fire, starvation and genetically altered creatures that would have made Mengele proud.  Only the snarls of the killer dogs sound remotely Nazi.

Into this world gone mad lands Katniss, the heroine, whose moral compass was set far from evil’s ground zero, the Capitol.  Put in the most extreme situations, Katniss makes all the right moral choices and never let's that madness change her.  She is forced to kill but never murders.  She risks her life to save others, rising above the “Lord of the Flies” jungle into which she has been thrust. In a world where Jews seem to have become extinct, she is a worthy heir to Judaism's most lofty values.  If there are Jews in Panem, we don’t them crying out against the evil.  Therefore, there are no Jews.

The theater last night was packed mostly with young adults and teens, primarily girls. No surprise, although the books have had much more crossover demographic appeal than the “Twilight” series.  What I liked was how the film’s positive moral message was reflected in the behavior of the crowd.  Some wore Katniss pony tails or t-shirts representing the various districts ruled by the Capitol – but there was none of the weirdness of costumes worn at other cult mega-hits.  There was some cheering and hooting at the beginning and the expected oos and aahs at Katniss’s first kiss.  But for most of the film, there was silence.  The viewers were rapt – dare I say, reverential, as they watched kids killing kids.  When Cato, the most vicious of Katniss’s opponents, met his bloody demise, there were no cheers of the sort you might hear when the Wicked Witch melts or Voldemort is finally overcome.  There is something deeper going on here than a simple victory of good over evil, and the young people present were tapping into that.  I’ve been to jingoistic political events where adults were far less attuned to the banality of bloodlust.  It made me wonder just how much this group saw Katniss as fighting their fight and bleeding their wounds.  Whatever the reason, this room filled with several hundred young people was as quiet as a cathedral at the end. 

There was little reason to cheer.  Katniss is not so much a victor as a survivor.  The evil apparatus remains in place.  The gods of the government will demand the blood of more children next year, as expiation for the sin of rebellion.  The ritualized deaths of the innocent will once again be the price for staying alive.  The controlled, abuse of the young will keep chaos at bay.  The kids seemed to intuit that, to an extent, what they saw on those killing fields of the Capitol goes on around them every day.  Not just in Toulouse or Uganda, but everywhere, everywhere where children become invisible and human life becomes expendable. 

In the end, “The Hunger Games” celebrates the indestructibility of the human spirit and the unquenchable thirst for freedom.  Just in time for Passover.

(See a nice article from Tablet Magazine exploring Jewish connections to the series, and another tying it to Holocaust themes.)