Masechet Cyperspace 3: Communicating in Shorthand

What is the language that we use to communicate online?

See This article on Online Etiquette as a good source for the basics, covering e-mail and other online do’s and don’ts and giving basic terminology (like what constitutes “flaming”). It begins by telling us:

Learning how to behave on the Internet may seem like second nature—just point, click, and download. But with millions more surfers crowding into cyberspace each day, it's critical to know and practice Web etiquette (commonly referred to as 'Netiquette) to keep the data flowing smoothly. Adhering to a few Internet "dos" and "don'ts" can help ensure a frustration-free experience for yourself and others.

Many novices to the Internet have no idea what some of the acronyms are. They seem alien and indicative of a culture where people are in too much of a hurry to spell out what they really mean in good-old, plain English . That may be true, but it is still good to know the lingo. For a complete, head-spinning list, head on over to THE CANONICAL ABBREVIATION/ACRONYM LIST at http://www.astro.umd.edu/~marshall/abbrev.html.

What do Jewish sources say about such shorthand? Well, anyone who has ever sat in on a Talmud class knows that rabbinic literature is overflowing with acronyms and technical jargon that only insiders would be able to decipher. In Hebrew they are called “Roshei Teivot.” Some interesting background, including a reprint of an article from the 18th century can be found at http://englishhebraica.blogspot.com/2007/01/something-about-hebrew-abbreviations.html. The best collection of Hebrew acronyms that I’ve found on the web is at http://www.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~orjgs/Abrrev.pdf

It’s not only about complex expressions that become abbreviated. People do too! Every rabbi worth his salt, in fact, becomes an acronym, from Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo Yitchaki, a French scholar born in 1040) to the Rambam (Rabbi Moshe ben Maimon, one of the first codifiers of Jewish law, born in Spain in 1135, lived most of his life in Egypt, and died there in 1185). As of yet, alas, no one has immortalized my initials in such a manner.

Modern Jewish communal life is also filled with its own “Alphabet Soup,” and many outsiders feel alienated in conversations that go from the JCC to the USCJ to the URJ to the UJA to the UJC to the UJ…whatever! The Jewish Outreach Institute (JOI)’s blog correctly points out that “it is always important that as insiders we define our codes and languages for those who are on the outside. Simply speaking and writing the full names of places encourages inclusiveness and reduces frustration. This is Big Tent Judaism’s Principle #6: “Identify and lower the barriers to participation.” Translating acronyms is an easy way to promote inclusiveness and welcome everyone into the broader Jewish community.”

The aptly titled blog "On the Fringe" put it best:

“By failing to explain, you prevent the less learned from learning, and hence, you violate the rabbinic interpretation… of the statement from Torah she-bi-chtav (the Written Law/Five Books of Moses/first five books of the Bible), "lifnei iver lo titen michshol, in front of a blind [rabbinic interpretation: ignorant] person, do not put a stumbling block" (Parshat Kedoshim, Leviticus, chapter 19, verse 11).”

By throwing all this secret jargon at people, we turn them off and turn them away, and thereby place a “stumbling block” before them, screaming out, “You are an idiot! You are not wanted.”

The Internet, like the Torah, belongs to everyone. Each is a grand experiment in embracing the Other, in opening eternal gates and dissolving boundaries. No need to build exclusivist, artificial ones as we journey along that path.

Love, Passover, Spring and the Song of Songs

On the Shabbat of Passover it is traditional to read the Song of Songs. There is no greater love poem in the entire bible. This recent interview in "Zeke," "Love and the Bible"with professor Ilan Stavans, author of “Love and Language,” lends some fascinating perspective on the subject:

“The Song of Songs continues to puzzle biblical exegetes and lay readers precisely because of the risqué tenor of its content and its celebration of eroticism when compared to other sections of the Bible. Also, it chants to individuality (physical and personal pleasure) in a way that disturbs the rest of the narrative. Had the manuscript of the Tanakh , unpublished, made it to the desk of a New York editor, it would surely have undergone dramatic changes and, I have no doubt in my mind, the Song of Songs would have been extricated, which is too bad because what makes the Bible endurable is its polyphony—its inconsistencies, if you wish. As I suggest in Love and Language , the Song of Songs is closer to the Kama Sutra than to the books of Job and Ecclesiastes, not to say any portion of the Five Books of Moses . Needless to say, it is one of my favorite portions of the narrative. Its views on love might be discordant, belonging to another age and sensibility, but they are ours…”

See also Rabbi Shefa Gold's commentary, "Commandments of Shir ha-Shirim". She writes:

“Rabbi Akiva said that "Had the Torah not been given, we could live our lives by the Song of Songs." For the last couple years I have immersed myself in this holy text - learning its language, receiving its passion, and entering into the reality it describes. I have lived with the question, "What would it mean to live my life by the Song of Songs?" Listening for its instruction for my life, opening to its wisdom, I feel in some sense commanded by its voice. The Song of Songs is about relationship. It is about the giving and receiving of Love. Though the Song of Songs describes a very human relationship, it is understood to illuminate all relationship, most importantly the relationship with God, that Mystery that shines forth from within and beyond this world. When Love flows freely between us and that Great Mystery, the whole world is watered and nourished.”

The challenge to us is to live our lives eternally open to this divine, loving flow. Gold posits her own “ten commandments” – a Decalogue born not at Sinai (that’s where we are headed, on Shavuot in six weeks), but instead born of the passage between the walls of water lining the Red Sea, the romance between God and Israel celebrated this week. The Song is about a single moment, that first spark of Spring when it is clear that nature has turned on the switch and love is flowing everywhere. The mayflies herald that moment here, sometimes in an annoying way to us humans, but in an unmistakable celebratory dance. We can feel it everywhere this week. My dogs suddenly are racing around the house, simply in order to run their fastest around the house – only to stop from time to time to sniff the new grass (which, regrettably, they start to graze on, with the natural consequences for their stomachs and our kitchen floor).

As Gold says in her 6th commandment:

6. Thou shalt be in conversation with Nature and through that conversation explore the Mystery of Love and Death.

God speaks to us through the wonders and beauty and mysteries of Nature, but we must learn how to listen. We are commanded to go out ...

" To see the new green by the brook,
To see if the vines had blossomed
And the pomegranates had bloomed,"

And not only must we listen and watch and wonder, but we must know our own wildness, experience all the passion of being a holy animal. We are commanded to...

"be like a gazelle, a wild stag
On the jagged mountains."

As we get to know the cycles and rhythms of the Natural world and begin living those rhythms of moon and tide, seed and harvest, the power and intimacy of Love can transform us. As our conversation with Nature deepens, we begin to notice that everything dies and in every death, the seeds of new birth are hidden. With the Lovers of Shir HaShirim we cry,

"For Love is as strong as Death
Its passion is as harsh as the grave,
Its sparks become a raging fire,
A Divine Flame."


So let’s go out into that magical, wondrous world of ours, global warming and all – our first outdoor service of the season is tonight!

Frank Rosner, z'l

This is a day that none of us ever believed would come. Sure we KNEW it would come – but we never believed it would come. Yes, the two things that are inevitable were death and taxes – and tomorrow is tax day, so Frank needed to affirm the first part. HE never claimed to be immortal – we just wanted him to be. He never vied for the title of Mr. Beth El – we just wanted him to be.

His self effacing selflessness, his kindness, his strength, his smile, his humor and yes, his stubbornness.... He got a little more impatient in his later years, but he remained ever indefatigable. What people don’t always recall is that Frank for a long time was really rather the introvert. He was one who preferred to be in the background to sit and listen… and the back of the room was where he ended up – the back of the chapel or the back of the sanctuary… yet amazingly, the back suddenly became the place where the real important things were happening – it became the center of the action. Frank didn’t chase down the spotlight – it followed him – because he knew the most important thing of all – how to touch people.

Frank sold insurance – but here he was really selling eternal life insurance – helping us all to find meaning by finding community – he was the glue that held our community together – and at times he was thrifty – but the glue was always top quality – and without him, we will now all have to find a way, each of us, to replace just a little bit of what he brought us.

He would be telling me to stop speaking right now – I never took it seriously because he said that to all the rabbis. And we’re not going to let him off that easy. Frank Rosner was 95 years young – a hero to generations, beth el trustee for life –and now, we might add, even after death, he will still be pointing to his watch somewhere in up there, whenever a meeting goes off track.

We all loved Frank – and all of us for different reasons. I loved him from the first night that I met him, on a warm night in the spring of 1987, when Mara and I had scheduled to come down and have a tour of our house. Frank was the tour guide, not only of the house but of the entire temple building as well. He gave us the complete, and I mean complete tour. I was especially interested in the boiler room. Only at the end, after a good solid couple of hours, did it become clear to us that Frank had literally just gotten up from Shiva for his beloved Rose to come out that night and help us.

From that point on he was a rock of all the support and encouragement for me and my family – and he fixed the toilets too. He loved Mara’s brownies and her latkes and never failed to mention it.

He never missed a birthday party for one of my kids – not one - and for them while they were young he was the closest thing they had to a living grandfather.

Frank and I had a series of signals, a whimsical language that enabled us to communicate from opposite sides of the room. ... When we walked around with the Torah, we had a ritual of touching each other with the ends of our tallises. For me it was a show of respect, that he was a living Torah for me, the living embodiment of tradition, Jewish values and love. I have no idea what it meant for him. It was a special thing that was uniquely ours.

But my story was hardly unique. Everyone felt that they were special to Frank, especially children. Many people commented to me about that. Incidentally, I thank you for all the anecdotes and comments that you’ve sent me, all of which have been sent on to Eileen and Joyce.

Now Frank wasn’t always Mr. Nice Guy in the back of the sanctuary. An entire generation was terrified of him in the days when he was instructed to maintain decorum at all costs. But once he was freed to let his sweeter side through he became known as that warm man with the hugs and smiles. He loved children. Ask any number of them about the cat in his pocket.

One congregant mentioned - "When I was joggling my daughters' memory's earlier today about "Which one is Frank?" (my daughters being 9 and 13), I said, "You know, the nice man whoalways greeted you with a "Hello, pretty girls. It sure is good to see you today." "Oh yeah," they chorused, "We know Frank. He is so nice." What better legacy than to be remembered fondly for being nice, by two children, and to carry-on in their memory as the complimenting, friendly man from their youthful days at the synagogue."

Another person wrote, If there is such a thing as "judging one's life," in Frank's case the yardstick would be how many lives he touched and how well he was loved, and there's not a tape measure long enough for Frank! What more is there than that? Some people really should live forever...

Frank had a thing for the women – when he was kissed he would say “Yummy” as if every one were the best he’s ever had. He had trouble accepting the new roles women had in Jewish life, but he was actually rather liberated in his own way – Rose would not have had it any other way.
He was earthy, he was real – he was…well.. frank … his humor reflected that frankness.

The Talmud states, “A person’s character can be judged by the way s/he handles three things drink, money and anger. And some add: by the way he jokes also.” (Eruvin 65b)."

He was not a born jokester – it was an acquired taste. He had his tryouts all those years when he was giving out those bar mitzvah gifts on the bima – always telling the parents to take a deep breath. Then, when I began to end the morning minyan with a philosophical thought for the day, Frank got the bright idea that maybe people preferred a smile for the day. Let’s just say that the smile won – even when that smile caused some of us to cringe – the smile won. Even on Tisha B’Av, he had a smile. Hey, even on Yom Kippur last year – he had a joke – a good one too, which I have now on my iTunes.

I don’t know if Frank would have appreciated that remark. He wasn’t a big fan of technology or change. Considering I was the rabbi brought in to make changes, I got to find that out in several different ways. Right after Ethan’s first birthday, my family joined the TBE discussion group on its first retreat. Frank came along and little did he know what he was in for.

We had services…outdoors. This was the man who was used to standing in the back by the door – and there was no door – we were OUTdoors… so what did he do? While we prayed, he went inside.

And then, maybe 10 years ago, Gail Trell had the wonderful idea that perhaps we should reconfigure the pews upstairs in the chapel – put them at an angle so that the room would be slightly rounded and people would be looking at each other. Frank didn’t like that. After a few weeks, the experiment was abandoned.

A few days later, I walked in and noticed that the pews had been bolted down to the floor.

He fought change tooth and nail, but he was always still able to thrive when taken out of his element.

He got used to outdoor services eventually, and all the other changes that have been implemented here – like being a bit more tolerant of children in the sanctuary – and Frank was, above all, a trooper. When we took him to Israel on our 1994 family tour, there was frank, swimming with the fishes in the red sea and crawling through the flour caves in 100 degree heat. The photo I have of Frank coming out of those caves is an all time classic.

We all know how important this temple was to Frank. But his family came first. And we all know that Joyce and Lew and Eileen were for him such a source of pride and love, just as Rose was during their wonderful marriage. We all know that , and we know how many sacrifices they had to make because their father made so many sacrifices for others. Because he could never say no.

And he loved to teach kids right from wrong – he cared enough to instruct them – that they be independent, just like the way he taught Eileen and Joyce to ice skate on local lakes, to roller skate and to ride bicycles.

He felt that people shouldn't have to ask for help. You should just give it. That is how he lived his life.

Eileen mentioned that when she was a child, she thought all fathers were able to paint, and build and do electrical work and nearly any job around the house. Whatever needed doing was something he could do and would do. He probably attended more shiva minyans and funerals than any other non clergy member because he felt people needed people.

And Eileen and Joyce have both followed him into this life of service. It will go down in the annals that Frank was never TBE president, he was its mayor. But his last vote on the board was the one that would place Eileen in line to be our next president. He discouraged her to the hilt – partly out of a father’s love, and partly because he was just being Frank – contrarian to the end – and partly because the meeting was edging past 9 o clock.

But there is something fitting in her decision to follow in his leadership path and take it one step beyond, as he too reaches for that which is beyond.

And finally, a note about Frank’s list, like Schindler's, is a legacy that will long outlive him. Ever since he initiated the morning minyan along with Rabbi Goldman, forty years ago, he wrote down each day who attended. That first book of names, the book of life, as it is called, was donated to the Jewish historical society. His last book, assisted so wonderfully by Peter Weissman and sometimes Eileen, that book is still a work in progress.

Before minyan each morning, Frank would sound the shofar - with no one present. It might have been his way of reminding himself of the power of one voice, his voice, and of the blessed gift that is each breath. From my office I could hear it, every day, and for me it was a reminder of the unnuanced, piercing commitment that he always showed for Beth El and for Judaism, and our need to hear that call to come to daily prayer, to keep the minyan strong.

May his soul be bound up in the bond of life.

What is YaK N HaZ?

What is YaK N’HaZ?

No, it has nothing to do with sharing a chuckle on the bima with the cantor; but it has lots to do with the beginning of this year’s first Seder. As we see often in our prayer books and in the Haggadah (check out the Ten Plagues), the rabbis loved utilizing acrostics and mnemonics, or whatever you want to call them, as memory-aids. Since Judaism has always looked for God “in the details,” and since the Seder means “order,” ways had to be devised to assist people in memorizing the correct order of detailed procedures.

When the first night of Passover this year is a Saturday night (a rare occurrence, which happened just 11 times in the 20th century), there are a number of blessings to be recited right off the bat:

1) The Kiddush over wine (boray pri ha-gafen)
2) The additional blessing over the festival (recited typically as part of the Kiddush)
3) The Havdalah prayer, ending Shabbat, including the blessings over the fire of the Havdalah candle and the Havdalah blessing itself.
4) The Shehechianu blessing, always recited at the beginning of festivals and to mark other special occasions.

After much discussion, the Talmud opts for the exact order detailed above. It’s interesting to note how the lines are somewhat blurred between the ending of Shabbat and the beginning of Passover. So we have 1) wine (Yayin), 2) Kiddush, 3) candle (Ner), 4) Havdalah, and 5) the seasonal blessing (Z’man). Put it all together and you have YaK N’HaZ.

Now here is where it goes from simply interesting to downright fascinating. The Haggadah, more than any other document, reflects both the amazing continuity and equally remarkable diversity of Jewish expression over the ages. There are over 4,000 known versions, including a number of illuminated manuscripts from the middle ages that depict YaK N’Haz in an intriguing manner. In the 1560 Mantua Haggadah (found in the Israel Museum), the Prague Haggadah (1526), and the Rylands Spanish Haggadah (mid 14th century), among others, YaK N’HaZ is depicted in illustrations showing a hunter with a hound chasing a rabbit.

Come again?

This, ladies and gentlemen, is a pictorial mnemonic, an instant reminder to our European ancestors as to what the verbal mnemonic was all about. Why? Because the German phrase “Jag den Haz” closely resembles YaK N’HaZ, and “Jag den Haz” means “hunt the hare.”

So when our kids start clamoring to watch the Rugrats Passover special or to sing one of those crazy newfangled Seder songs like “Haggadah Wash That Man Right Out of My Hair,” think of those hunted hares in medieval Germany. And recall that the word Haggadah means “telling,” and the essence of the Seder, is that the ancient story be retold in ways that will resonate for this generation. Your Seder will not be exactly the same as your grandparents’, or as your neighbor’s down the street. But it will be representative of this generation – yet tied intimately to ancient traditions and an equally ancient story.

So if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go share some “Yucks with the Haz” up on the bima.

What does my dog have to do with the laws of Passover? (And who's inspecting the toilet paper?)

What does my dog have to do with the Laws of Passover?

Believe it or not, lots! It is axiomatic in the laws of Passover that food that is for human consumption needs to be Kosher for Pesach. But the laws of this holiday go even farther than normal Kosher laws. We also can’t gain benefit from “hametz.” Even things that are inedible for us can still be unusable on this holiday. Things like dish soap for instance, which can’t be eaten but may contain hametz products – are they OK? One standard used is that if something is Nifsal mayachilat kelev,” it can be used on Pesach. “Nifsal” means “inappropriate” or “unusable” or “unfit.” “Mayachilat kelev” means “for a dog to eat.” So the phrase could mean, “Something you wouldn’t even feed to your dog.”

So things that are unfit even for a dog to eat do not require special Passover kashrut certification. That includes dish soap, in many opinions, cosmetics, pure alcohol, as well as burnt bread. That’s why we burn the hametz – to render it so disgusting that even Fido would turn his nose at it.

Passover observance can really bring us to absurdities. Check out this blog from Israel: http://aliyahblog.com/2006/03/11/kosher-toilet-paper/

Upon exiting the W.C., one of our guests this Shabbat said “You guys are so frum - even your toilet paper is kosher!”

I went in to check, and indeed, marked on every package of our Shabbat toiler paper/tissues was a stamp that said “Kosher for Pesach leMehadrin, Badatz”. Basically, our toilet paper is under the strictest rabbinical supervision.

Now, since it did not say Dairy or Meat, I think that I can safely assume that our toilet paper can be considered Pareve, and can be used with both dairy and meat meals. And with Pesach fast approaching, we will not have to sell our surplus toilet paper to the local non-Jew.

However, being that the toilet paper is Kosher for Passover, this raises some other very important questions:

Is the toilet paper only for people who eat Kitniyot? Or can Ashkenazim like us use it as well?
Does the toilet paper contain Gebruchts?

If? we have an open package of toilet paper before Pesach, are we allowed to use it on Pesach? If not, how do we kasher it? Is boiling it good enough? Or will we have to use a blow torch?
Any assistance in answering these questions will be much appreciated.

To which these replies were received:

Yaakov Says: March 12th, 2006 at 9:01
Well, since this isn’t shmurah toilet paper, we didn’t plan on using it on the Seder night anyway, so I didn’t think that the month thing would apply. However, it is also worthy of investigation.

Ron Katz Says: March 29th, 2006 at 23:23
When people found out that ‘gniza’ (paper from sifrei Torah, tfillin etc) was part of the old paper used in some Israeli recycling plants to make toilet paper, they called for supervision. So kosher toilet paper does make sense (kosher in the sense: fit for use by a religious jew). Kosher for pesach is a standard thing that badatz puts on all products that have no problem being used on Pesach.

cheski Says: March 30th, 2006 at 9:37
Why is there a problem with toilet paper? Especially after it is used, it is not ‘raui l’achilat kelev’ anymore?

Yaakov Says: March 30th, 2006 at 14:46
I don’t know…I have seen some dogs do some pretty disgusting things…

You’ll be happy to know that I have personally inspected every roll of toilet paper used at TBE! (Before…not after!)

If you are really interested in the concept of “what is so disgusting a dog won’t eat it,” a detailed (and I mean detailed) explanation can be found at http://www.koltorah.org/ravj/14-28_Cosmetics_and_Toiletries_for_Pesach_1.htm. In one instance, he gets into the interesting question of toothpaste. Would your dog eat toothpaste? See http://www.koltorah.org/ravj/14-30_Cosmetics_and_Toiletries_for_Pesach_3.htm

The toothpaste that we use today has a pleasant taste (but is inedible), but it commonly contains glycerin (which might be manufactured from a forbidden animal) and might have Chametz ingredients. Common practice in the observant community is to be lenient and use “regular” toothpaste, though some are strict and use only toothpaste with entirely Kosher ingredients. In fact, I recall that in December 1992 when visiting the home of Rav Moshe Stern (the Debritziner Rav and the author of Teshuvot Be’er Moshe) to observe a Get, that the toothpaste in his home was one with a Kosher certification.

A charming anecdote that occurred in Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik’s Shiur (lesson) at Yeshiva University in the 1970’s (reported by Rav Yosef Adler and many others) is often cited in support of the common practice to be lenient. The Rav stated in Shiur that toothpaste is not Ra’ui Liachilat Kelev (unfit for canine consumption) and thus one is permitted to consume it on Pesach even if it contains Chametz. The next day in Shiur a student raised his hand and explained that he conducted an “experiment” the night before. He related that he placed toothpaste in his dog’s feeding bowl to see if his dog would eat it – and indeed, the dog ate the toothpaste!! Rav Soloveitchik simply responded, “Your dog is crazy.” This story illustrates the ruling that we cited last week from Rav Soloveitchik that the standards of edibility are not determined by aberrant behavior.

Well, I know that one of my dogs IS crazy and would probably eat toothpaste – though it is noteworthy that we have dog toothpaste for the canines – they prefer poultry flavor.

Which brings us to the issue of actual pet food. In rabbinic times, the Pre Purina age, there was no such thing – table scraps and garbage were all the rage. Now, there are kosher for Passover, certified pet foods (I wonder which rabbi does the taste test!) Keep in mind a couple of things. First of all, table scraps are OK, of course. Secondly, anything all-meat needs no certification (dogs don’t have to keep Kosher in the usual sense). And finally, pets are automatically considered Sephardi – in other words, they can consume the kitniyot (legumes, rice, corn, soybeans, etc.) that Ashkenazi Jews don’t traditionally eat on Passover (though I’ve indicated at other times that such a practice is not necessary). So my dogs, for instance, eat a food that has rice in it, along with meat, their food does not need Passover certification. To which I say, thank God!

Take care to buy pet products before Passover begins, when the restrictions on hametz are also more lenient (see my Guide for the Perplexed for more on that)

The Aish website has a nice explanation of all this at http://www.aish.com/passlaw/passlawdefault/Pet_Food_for_Passover.asp

But if you are still wondering, head on over to http://www.kosherpets.com/ - you can switch over to an entire line of kosher pet foods! Soon you dog will be waiting three hours before Milkbones!

Happy Pesach to all our four legged friends. Now excuse me. I’ve got to go finish inspecting the toilet paper!

Masechet Cyberspace #2 - forwarding blind copy e-mail

One question that constantly arises is, when is it appropriate to forward a third party e-mail without the permission of the original sender?

There are several different ways that forwarded e-mail can cross into the territory of Lashon ha-ra (evil speech / gossip). It’s obvious that negative gossip would be problematic, as would tale bearing (passing along comments that the speaker did not intend others to hear) but even when the forwarded item is complimentary, this constitutes what is called Avak Lashon ha-ra (literally, the “dust” of evil speech).

The Jewish Ethicist weighs in on this topic – take a look at it below and let me know what you think…

Is it unethical to send a "bcc" of an e-mail? I'm worried that this could be deceptive.

A. While the ethics and etiquette of e-mail are still evolving, the basic principles of thoughtful behavior are always applicable.

For the e-mail uninitiated, "bcc" stands for "blind carbon copy." Once upon a time, copies of correspondence were made by putting two or three sheets of paper in the typewriter with a sheet or two of carbon paper sandwiched in between. Usually the original stated "cc to" indicating that carbon copies were being sent to other individuals; occasionally a "blind" carbon copy was made and the recipient was not informed. Today our e-mail programs do the same thing by sending a copy of an electronic letter to the "bcc" recipient without the knowledge of the original recipient.

There are many reasons we might want to keep the additional recipient hidden, some of them good and others not so good.

A not-so-good reason for this is when you conceal the other recipient because you know the addressee would not want the message known. The message you send generally reveals some private information about the recipient and the nature of your relationship, and if recipients want this information kept private their wishes should be respected. If you feel you have a very good reason to disclose the information, then at the very least the recipients should be informed that the content is known, by making the copy a "cc" instead of a "bcc".

The problem is far worse when the message you send contains a copy of the letter you originally received -- the usual case in the world of e-mail. Letters you receive should generally be kept in the strictest confidence, and Jewish law protects them in a variety of ways. Revealing the content of a letter may be considered a form of gossip; in addition, the ancient decree of Rabbenu Gershom prohibits reading someone else's mail without their permission. (This should remind us that forwarding e-mails can also be problematic.)

However, there are some valid reasons to take advantage of the bcc feature. One good reason to keep someone hidden is to protect his own privacy. Using the "cc" line not only reveals that the letter was sent to others, it also discloses their identity as well as their e-mail address. This can be ethically problematic, as demonstrated by the following true story:

Not long ago there was a very unfortunate incident in which an individual who ran a small-scale meeting service (shadchan) wanted to send a message to all of her clients. She wrote a message and put each one on the "cc" list. Being a neophyte in the new-fangled world of e-mail, she probably didn't realize that this would disclose the identities of her customers. Many felt significant embarrassment at having it widely known that they were using this person's services. Using the bcc would have saved his customers from this discomfort and the business from suffering significant ill will.

In other cases, people don't mind having their identities revealed but they don't want to go the extra step and have their e-mail addresses publicized, since this can lead to unwanted mail, which may be annoying, offensive, or even threatening.

Another possibility is that the "cc" is being sent to an innocuous individual, but the recipient doesn't know that the recipient of the copy is trustworthy. Sending an ordinary "cc" may cause the recipient unnecessary worry that confidence has been breached. For example, on some sites queries sent to the Jewish Ethicist are first received by the host site, which then forwards them to me. When I reply to the questioner, I often send a copy of my answer to the representative of the host site. (This is a courtesy because these representatives are often extremely curious to know how I will respond.) This doesn't breach any confidence, because that person has already seen the letter. But if the letter had a cc, the recipient would be understandably concerned, because he or she probably doesn't know that the other recipient is already in the loop. So I generally use a bcc for these replies.

In these three cases, it is definitely appropriate to use a "bcc" rather than a "cc". But we may still encounter the problem mentioned above: the recipient may be misled into thinking the communication is private. There are two solutions to this problem:

1. Mention in the body of the letter that a copy is being sent to another individual. Perhaps in the future I will add to my replies the line, "I'm sending a copy of this reply to the editor of the host website."

2. Avoid shortcuts. Instead of sending the exact copy of the letter with a bcc, prepare a sanitized copy that eliminates any problematic details, and send it as a separate e-mail to someone who needs to know about the correspondence but doesn't need to know the identity of the correspondent.

There are many reasons that your recipient might not want details of your correspondence to be known. Perhaps the personal details revealed by your letter are unflattering; perhaps they are confidential. Even positive information can have negative consequences if it is too widely known. The book of Proverbs tells us, "When someone blesses his friend in a loud voice early in the morning, it is considered like a curse" (Proverbs 27:14).

Therefore, careful thought is needed before routinely forwarding e-mail or sending copies. At the very least the recipient should be informed about the disclosure, except in the cases we mentioned where the message isn't really private or when this disclosure could cause unjustified worry. Even in these cases we can often find better solutions than the bcc, which should be used sparingly.

Masechet Cyberspace

This new, interactive feature of the Shabbat-O-Gram (http://www.tbe.org/site/sog/080404.htm#Masechet) and this blog explores the new ethical frontier that is the Internet. As I’ve explored recently in articles, sermons and a panel discussion, cyberculture presents a long list new challenges to our timeless values of privacy and sacred communication. What I would like to do here is to begin to compile a new Talmudic tractate of sorts (the Talmudic word for tractate, masechet, is also the word for “web”), a guide to how one should behave online – Jewishly. This guide will remain a work in progress because new situations are constantly arising. So please send me your questions, ethical dilemmas or suggestions, and I’ll display them here.

One question that constantly arises is, when is it appropriate to forward a third party e-mail without the permission of the original sender?

In the 11th century, Rabbenu Gershom issued a ban of excommunication to those who opened other people’s mail. (see http://www.jewishencyclopedia.com/view.jsp?artid=172&letter=G&search=Gershom). By extension, one would assume that in all cases it would be forbidden to open an e-mail addressed to another.

But what if the e-mail was addressed to you – is it now your property? Do you now have the right to do with it what you want? If not, under what circumstances do you have that right? One would assume that if the intent is simply to embarrass the original sender or to use it against him, that would not be appropriate. But if the sender was intending to cause harm to another, is it then OK to warn the other? Maybe so, but must that warning require the forwarding of the original e-mail?

The situation is complicated even more when the posting is not in an e-mail, but on, say a Facebook wall, or other arena that may not be completely public (restricted to friends of the poster), but is certainly not in the category of unopened private mail.

The question, then, is “What would Gershom say?” More to the point, what would the Torah say? And, what is the right way to behave?

Your comments are most welcome...

Encouraging News:New Poll Shows Americans Support Israel

According to a major new poll by Public Opinion Strategies and Greenberg Quinlan Rosner Research commissioned by The Israel Project:

http://elections.jta.org/2008/03/31/who-loves-israel-most/

* 80 percent agree that now is the time to toughen sanctions to compel Iran to stop developing nuclear weapons;
* More Americans than ever believe the U.S. should take Israel’s side in the conflict;
* Fully 76 percent of U.S. likely voters consider Israel a vital ally of the U.S.;
* Fully 89 percent believe Palestinian leaders must end the culture of hate that encourages children to become suicide bombers;

The full results of the poll are found below and here. They are fascinating. The support for Israel is wide and deep and cuts across party lines. (See below for more evidence of this, the Congressional resolution on Jews from Arab lands). But in looking closely at the raw results, what struck me most were these two questions:



54. And, do you happen to have a friend, family member or co-worker who is Jewish?

45% YES, FRIEND
12% YES, FAMILY MEMBER
17% YES, CO-WORKER
54% TOTAL YES

44% NO

3% DON’T KNOW/REFUSED



(IF Q87:1-3, THEN ASKED:)
55. And, have any of your Jewish contacts spoken to you about Israel this year?

18% YES
82% NO


Let’s look at that for a second: The poll results, reflecting American demographic trends, show 3% of their sample as being Jewish. Yet fully 12% of the sample said that they have a Jewish family member. This points to the growing impact of dual faith households.

But even more shocking, from a northeastern perspective, is that nearly half of all Americans do not know anyone well who is Jewish – no friends, family or co-workers. And of those who have Jewish contacts, fewer than one in five of those contacts have spoken about Israel.

So, without Jews advocating for Israel – nearly half of all Americans not knowing any Jews… STILL the support for Israel is zooming skyward.

So much for the power of the Jewish Lobby!

Two Jews, One Opinion

The Stamford Advocate 04/03/2002

A story is told of a Jewish congregation where half the people stood up for that seminal prayer known as the Shema, while the other half sat. The two sides bickered endlessly about what was the proper practice, until the rabbi finally appointed a committee to investigate the matter. The committee went to a nearby nursing home to interview a 98-year-old resident, the oldest surviving member of the congregation. Each side made its claim to liturgical correctness, but in each case the old man said "No, that's not the original tradition." Then the rabbi lost patience and exclaimed, "I don't care what the original tradition was. Do you know what goes on in services every week? The people who are standing yell at the people who are sitting and the people who are sitting yell at the people who are standing."

"That was the tradition," the old man said.

In the wake of the Passover massacre and other acts of terrorism against Israeli civilians, it is time for Jews around the world to express an unprecedented degree of unity. Jews have long taken pride in their cultural proclivity for argumentation. Since Talmudic times, it seems, the standard quip has been, "Two Jews, three opinions." But the current crisis requires a falling-into-line that will seem to many dangerous and unnatural.

Awkwardly, with not a little trepidation but with an even greater fear of the alternative, I raise the new banner: Two Jews, One Opinion.

I say this as long-time dove and critic of Ariel Sharon. I cheered the Handshake on the South Lawn and bristled at the folly that was the War in Lebanon. I've labored effortlessly for equality for Israeli Arabs and I cried when Yasser Arafat paid a condolence call to Leah Rabin. But now I see the need to set aside parochial concerns and the dreams of yesteryear. I am ready to throw unquestioning support to Israel's unity government and await my marching orders.

I am not proposing that all Jews become mindless automata. Fat chance of that happening anyway. Jews are innately too wary of absolutism to place unlimited trust in human beings. Even the ultra-Orthodox do not follow their sages as blindly as one might think. Just before Passover, a story was circulating in Israel among religious Israelis that in the ultra-Orthodox enclave of B'nai Brak, at the home of a revered rabbi, a toilet seat broke. When the rabbi's wife was seen at the local hardware store purchasing a new seat, large numbers of his disciples assumed that their mentor was promoting a new, stricter way of removing all traces of leaven from the home. Instantly, toilet seat sales boomed in B'nai Brak.

Whether this actually happened is secondary to the idea that religious Israelis were joking about it. For while traditional Judaism does advocate unyielding obedience to the Torah, it never promotes blind submission to the will of another human being. For Jews, the mind is an impossible thing to waste.

In fact, Judaism and Jews are at a severe disadvantage in this war. A faith that espouses reason and reveres the sanctity of life must confront a cult of suicide that glorifies martyrdom. A tradition that encourages conscientious objectors to flee the battlefield must deal with those who are bringing the battlefield to every cafe in Tel Aviv and pizzeria in Jerusalem. A people that has spent decades ripping apart its own leaders, most especially the one currently occupying the Prime Minister's office, must face a nation that has blindly followed its larger-than-life patriarch into this most foolish cataclysm.

I am not a tribal Jew. I am a Jew with a universal vision of peace, with a desire to share with the world the highest values of my faith. I long to have my passport stamped in a neighborly Palestinian state and to sip Turkish coffee with Arab friends in Jericho and Ramallah. But right now, I recognize that Judaism's message will be rendered irrelevant if I am incapable of first responding to the blood of my brother screaming from the earth. For this is what Jewish tradition would call an Obligatory War, a war of survival, the one exception to the rule that encourages conscientious objectors. For the Jew right now, there is no alternative but to become completely engaged on behalf of Israel.

In the book of Numbers, two and a half of the twelve tribes were given the right to settle outside the land of Israel, under the condition that they extend complete support to the fledging nation. I am from among that privileged group, living in prosperity far from the carnage. But last week as my family in Connecticut comfortably prepared to reenact the departure from Egypt, innocent Jewish blood was being spattered all over the collapsing door posts of a Netanya hotel. God may have passed over that atrocity, but I will not. Neither will I allow the Jewish people again to become the world's paschal lamb. I am now a foot soldier in this needless war that Arafat has wrought, and I will voluntarily exercise my God-given right to shut up. There is a time to argue and debate and a time to simply do what needs to be done.

And so, Mr. Sharon, tell me what I must do.

The Problem With Pedestal Rabbis (Jewish Week)

The Jewish Week, 9/00

We ve been hearing a lot about rabbis lately, and most of it not good. Allegations of abuse of rabbinic power and betrayal of trust are hardly new, here or in Israel. In fact, many Israelis, weaned on the galling defiance of Aryeh Deri and the unmitigated chutzpah of Ovadia Yosef, are having a hard time comprehending how an overtly religious person like Joseph Lieberman can be both observant and uncorrupted.

But it s not just over there. Now Publishers Weekly reports that HarperCollins has paid author and former PBS religion reporter Arthur Magida "a significant six figures" for a book based on a trial that won t even be happening until next spring. Why? Because the defendant, Fred Neulander, is believed to be the first rabbi ever to be charged with murder, according to the Publishers Weekly report. Neulander is accused of murdering his wife in suburban Philadelphia. Magida states that the book will pose the question, "What happens when we deify men and women in the pulpit and are betrayed?"

What happens, evidently, is a boffo book advance, with film rights to follow.

Adding insult to injury, a new study of American Jewry authored by Bethamie Horowitz shows that only 5 percent of American Jews see their rabbis as a positive influence in their lives, while 10 percent say rabbis have negatively influenced them.

The remainder of those surveyed didn t mention rabbis as an influence at all, positive or negative. For rabbis, that it is a striking indictment. It means we are 85 percent irrelevant. That statistic screams out for some major rethinking of the rabbi s place in modern Jewish life.

Personally, if my work is to be irrelevant to 85 percent of American Jewry, there is no reason for me to be missing my kids school plays and Little League games. If I am to be an invisible rabbi, I might as well be a good father.

The very week the Horowitz survey was released, I received three calls from people new to my area wishing to find out about my congregation. Each caller complained about how bad experiences with a rabbi turned him or her off to synagogue life umpteen years ago. I m used to hearing that. But what stunned me most was the depth of their gratitude for my merely returning their call.

Have people come to expect so little of their rabbis that they are actually shocked when one displays simple human decency and warmth? Or is it that we still expect too much? Have we set up our leaders for a fall by placing them on pedestals, allowing them to tower so high above being simply human that when the fall occurs, as is inevitable, it is often devastating? Speaking as a rabbi, there is a clear danger in our being so eager to place rabbis on pedestels: we rabbis begin to believe all our press clippings and forget the reasons we got into the rabbinate in the first place. And when we fail, our followers often blindly defend us because they still need to revere us, and we begin to believe that an admission of fallibility will compromise our ability to lead.

It's time to smash the pedestal rabbinate like so many of Terach s idols. Whereas human rabbis make mistakes, take responsibility for them, and move on, pedestal rabbis make mistakes, deny them, hope that others will not notice, and inevitably succumb to them. Pedestal rabbis are the ones most likely to become 85 percent irrelevant in the end because relevance requires relationship, and human beings relate best to other human beings. Only to the degree that I can be human can I lead others on the human quest.

We rabbis are seeking ways to humanize the role without compromising the respect due the position. A few weeks ago I ran an informal survey of colleagues on my on-line rabbinic chat group and found that most prefer to be called "rabbi" by congregants rather than by their first names. I tend to agree. If our important work is to be taken seriously, then let s not infantilize it. Even Mister Rogers gets to be called by his last name. Imagine if the Baal Shem Tov had been called "Rabbi Izzy." Would his disciples of have taken him seriously?

Actually, yes, because it was the power of his message that made the Baal Shem Tov great, not his name (which means, ironically, "Master of the good name."). And for all those rabbis of the Talmud, like Akiba, who were revered by their first names, and all those medieval rabbis with the cool nicknames, like the Rambam and the Ran, these pet names were indicators of the great respect and affection earned through close relationships rather than pedestal-sitting.

It's clear that if we are to navigate our way through this crisis in confidence and re-establish the rightful place of the rabbi in Jewish life, we have to both safeguard the integrity of the role and reaffirm the frailty of the human being who fills it. And that begins when the rabbi steps down from pulpit of the soul and laughs, cries, errs and does teshuvah together with the rest of us. In the end, it doesn t really matter how the rabbi is addressed. What matters is only that the rabbi is addressed, one soul to another, two flawed human beings in dialogue.

The Peter Panning of America (New York Times)

New York Times -- 1988 

 Perhaps THE defining characteristic of the baby boomer is his inexhaustible attachment to his own childhood. Our need to return seems insatiable. Adults rush home from their jobs and flock to films like "Back to the Future" and "Big," where little boys court their mothers and the aging process is magically reversed. 

 Just recently I have rediscovered another genre of film that has added a new dimension to my own retrospections: the home movie. Home movies of the '50s and '60s, left in dusty basements for many years, are now gaining a technological resuscitation through the magic of the V.C.R. I excavated mine, transferred them to videotape, turned on the television, and images that would take a psychiatrist years to draw out of dim memory were suddenly flashing before me like today's news: "Hammerman born; film at 11." 

 I see a baby being carried from the obstetrics ward, apparently asleep. How small and frail he looks, how barely alive. Minutes pass before I realize that the infant was - is - me. George Santayana wrote, "The fact of having been born is a bad augury for immortality," and now I see why, for I am gazing through the looking glass at a time when my existence was a novelty to my parents and the world. 

 The next instant reveals my father tossing burgers at the grill; he smiles, unaware that a heart attack will cut short his life at age 60. I view this bucolic family scene as would Emily in Thornton Wilder's "Our Town," yearning to return to the fray and rewrite the script. "Don't eat that, Dad! Stay away from the cholesterol! Talk to me! Let's toss the ball. Let's make the most of what time we have left." I wish to freeze-frame the moment forever, but that is beyond even the capacities of my V.C.R. 

The next moment I see my mother - no, my grandmother - also now dead, and she holds me up to the camera. An older version of me stands alongside. Having learned how to decipher the genetic code of this film, I know that the man must be my uncle. As for the baby - me - I squirm uncomfortably in my grandmother's arms. Funny, in all the photo albums I'm smiling. Movies are far more subtle, more frightening, than any stills. 

My mother appears, as young then as my wife is now. She speaks to the baby. I although I hear none of the dialogue in these silent flicks, it is clear that in her mind I am only a child. Could any legitimate baby boomer not be left wondering how much that relationship has changed? 

 I see the sacred places of my youth, places to which I thought I'd never return: the snowman on my front lawn, the piano in the living room, the swing set in my backyard. The resurrected people, relatives and friends, stare into the camera. And I, the captivated viewer, newly mindful of how precious and fleeting life is, wonder if that is what they are trying to tell me. 

 No wonder my contemporaries and I obsess about our wonder years, the first generation possessing the power to act on that obsession. We are inexhaustibly attached to childhood precisely because we've never had to leave it. We can go home again, thanks to the unwitting collaboration of amateur and professional film makers. 

In the "Back to the Future" series, Steven Spielberg created the town in which we all could have lived; in "Big," Tom Hanks masterfully recreated the child we all could have been. And our trusty home movie fills in all the gaps. We can thrill at our own first step, laugh at our messier feedings and stare in wonder at our birth -- as our own children watch alongside. 

 The home movie and Hollywood film share one inherent weakness: the reel always runs out. Just when the film has resurrected a father's living glance, filling for an instant an aching vacuum in a grown-up child's soul, the scene shifts cruelly to the Grand Canyon or Disneyland, and we must fast-forward past twenty minutes of Mickey Mouse, only to discover in our fright that Mickey Mouse is where it ends. The screen goes blank, the child-that-was fades to black, and we are instantly propelled back to adulthood again. 

That is, until the next showing.

Surfing for God

A Review of Give Me That On-line Religion"
(This article originally appeared on JBooks.com)

"Give Me That On-line Religion" by Brenda E. Brasher. Jossey Bass. 208pp. $24.95
If there is one commonly accepted truth about the emerging cyber-culture, it is that the only constant is change. Only a couple of years ago, when I was in the midst of writing my own book about spirituality and the Internet, people were just beginning to realize that cyberspace connected us to one another in ways analogous to offline religious experiences.

Now that fact is accepted as a given, what with the proliferation of major religious Web sites like Beliefnet and the nearly universal access to the Internet that suddenly spans all the generations. When I toured with my book, I was astonished at how many seniors turned out for my lectures, and at how cyber-savvy they had become.

So we've reached a new stage in our exploration of religion in cyberspace, one of redefinition and advocacy. This is the underlying premise of Brenda Basher's most recent contribution to the growing genre of books dealing with online spirituality, entitled, "Give Me That Online Religion." Basher, an assistant professor of religion at Mount Union College in Ohio, draws upon her vast understanding of a variety of world religions and the role of religion in society in exploring the topic from a variety of perspectives.

She makes two main points: 1) that religion is a necessary and valuable contributor to a civil society, or as she calls it, "a rich incomparable meaning resource -- necessary ballast to individual identity," and 2) that religious expression must be fostered, cultivated and protected online.

She looks at how traditional religions, including Judaism, have been enhanced. She notes that previous technological innovations were catalysts for change -- television, for instance, led to the slow ascendancy of image over word, and to religious services designed to look like media events. Now, we are moving toward what she calls an "electronic souk of the soul," where developing forms of hypertext surfing are becoming a religious experience unto themselves.

We are learning to broaden our spiritual horizons. Where television opened the door to seeing carefully staged presentations of other cultures, "cyberspace puts us in direct one-on-one contact with our neighbors around the world." Millions of people are only a mouse click away, she adds, "and they are all our neighbors." This poses some moral dilemmas (such as whether cyber sex constitutes adultery) that Basher explores in detail.

She broadens the definition to include some cultural phenomena that we might not automatically associate with "old time religion," including virtual shrines to the cult of celebrity (everything from "Star Trek" celebrations to Princess Diana memorials). Basher also explores modern apocalyptic movements like Heaven's Gate, emphasizing again that, despite the dangers, cyberspace must continue to be a place preserved for people to "climb and roam."

This book reads best as a series of disconnected reflections rather than a sustained, integrated argument. But that in itself is a product of our new, hyperlinked zeitgeist, where writing, like praying and believing, is taking on the spontaneous, word-association flavor of Web surfing. The book will certainly find its place in this still tiny genre, a first-generation study at how we are religious online and how, all expectations to the contrary, traditions of the past are not being subsumed by the eternal present of cyber-culture. As we become more and more computer-like in our thought processes and more technologically sophisticated, we are most certainly not leaving religion behind. God is coming along for the ride.

S.O.S.: Saving Our Synagogues

Review essay for JBooks.com, 2003

The concept of synagogue renewal has been around for as long as there have been synagogues. Liturgical reform might well have been invented by Abraham, who decided that his father's idols didn't fit in with his generation's cutting-edge modes of spirituality, so he applied his own "cutting edge" to the idols themselves. The Torah is replete with examples of places of worship being knocked over and altars destroyed. Relatively speaking, today's efforts at synagogue renewal are rather mild.

The contemporary synagogue-renewal effort can easily be traced back to the beginnings of the Havurah movement of the late 1960's. Within a few years, that old/new model of communal intimacy in worship and study infiltrated the large amorphous edifices of post-war suburbia, thanks to visionary rabbis like Harold Schulweis and the enormous popularity of the Jewish Catalog series. It was in the third volume of the Catalog (JPS, 1980) that Lawrence Kushner, Arnold Jacob Wolf and Everett Gendler addressed the issue most directly: "The synagogue is the only institution claiming as its reason for existence the perpetuation of religious Judaism in America. For all but a very few Jews, the synagogue is the sole vehicle for religious life and response...And despite this, few would disagree that most synagogues are irrelevant, boring and probably secular."

In fact, back then, few might have disagreed with that statement, but far fewer would have admitted it openly. That was because a generation of American Jews was not completely lost yet. Twenty years ago, those afflicted with boredom and irrelevance had not yet defected in droves into the arms of then many alternative gods awaiting them and their new-found freedom. Synagogues were boring, but we had no choice but to eat our peas and sit in muffled acquiescence. Few enjoyed the non-participatory music and dusty irrelevant sermons given from distant, stratospheric pulpits, not to mention the rectangular gridiron seating configuration, but there was no compulsion to change things.

No longer. Now we in synagogue life fully understand that our children have choices and that we must compete for their attention. We must provide a nurturing and energizing oasis for their journeys. When I was in rabbinical school twenty years ago, we were told that services didn't need to compete with the cultural offerings at Lincoln Center and Broadway, because they couldn't possibly measure up to those levels of entertainment and pathos. Now, belatedly, we are realizing that what Jewish prayer has to offer can be just as moving, revitalizing and spiritually gratifying as anything else out there. Bold new models have emerged that have proven that we can compete with anyone, and actually attract younger people to venture through the doors.

Coming to shul can be "cool" again.

The Jewish world has come to understand that synagogues are still the best possible place for renewal to occur, so even staunch secularists have come to the rescue. Federations are looking to nurture synagogue life--a once-unthinkable notion. And private foundation dollars are pouring into this effort, creating new think-tank organizations like STAR (Synagogue Transformation and Renewal) and Synagogue 2000.

One of the co-founders of Synagogue 2000 (who might now wish to rename) is Lawrence Hoffman, a professor at Hebrew Union College. Hoffman's recent writings on liturgy and renewal are becoming required reading for clergy, and they have inspired other books on the subject. Three books of note are Hoffman's own The Art of Public Prayer: Not for Clergy Only, Sidney Schwarz's Finding a Spiritual Home: How a New Generation of American Jews Can Transform the Synagogue, (for which Hoffman contributed a glowing endorsement), and Isa Aron's Becoming a Congregation of Learners, which is part of the Synagogue 2000 "Revitalizing Synagogue Life" series and contains a forward by Hoffman. Collectively, these three fine books can help us to understand what are the primary aims of contemporary synagogue reform and how they might differ from those that came before.

One thing is clear. Boredom will no longer be tolerated. Mediocrity is unacceptable, and those synagogues that refuse to ride the new wave will ultimately sink under the weight of their excessive ballast. And in order to overcome the boredom, change tends to be more revolutionary than evolutionary. Whereas the Havurah movement toyed with neo-hasidism but basically hung close to tradition and emphasized community and fellowship most of all, the moderns are far more eclectic and open to spiritual experimentation. B'nai Jeshrun in New York, for example, is one of the four model congregations profiled in Schwarz' book. This is the model "Conservative" congregation, although neither it, nor the models selected from the other movements, remotely resembles what the mainstream of their movements have been doing. B.J.'s selection of music has gone far beyond the basic Eastern European niggunim tunes of its Havurah forbears, to feature an eclectic blend of American, Sephardic and Israeli contemporary melodies.

We find in these books conflicting prescriptions for effective leadership. While the trend is clearly toward democratization (i.e. the empowerment of the congregant and the less-central role of the rabbi--with the role of the cantor in even greater danger), the model institutions presented by Schwarz all have rabbis who have achieved nearly iconic status. Somehow, it seems, we have to find the perfect blend of charisma and passivity among religious leaders, allowing congregations the chance to grow organically without coercion from above. The "shepherd" model of a pastor tending his passion-less mindless flock appears, thankfully and most certainly, to be dead. Dynamic congregations have learned not to depend on the rabbi's healing powers alone, but to take on the responsibility, and the joy, of caring for one another and creating community. The rabbi as visionary is very much alive, with the caveat that the congregation has to be ready to share and develop the vision as a partner.

Hoffman's Not for Clergy book is in fact must reading for clergy, for he exposes clearly some of the subtleties that make the worship experience dysfunctional, and how we can change them. When people say they are unable to pray, or that they don't need to pray, Hoffman tells us, "they are unknowingly scapegoating themselves, mistakenly blaming themselves for a system failure." He goes on to discuss matters ranging from choice of music to the selection and arrangement of sacred space, which have been central to the mission of Synagogue 2000.

Aron looks away from the sanctuary service as a key to revitalizing the synagogue, but applies many of the same goals of massive transformation and shared vision. Most recognize that the post-War Hebrew School model, as practiced for two generations, has essentially failed. Jewish education, like worship, like Judaism itself, no longer can be compartmentalized. When education isn't just confined to the Hebrew School, but makes its way into the boardroom, sanctuary and home, it can imbue the congregation's visioning process with Jewish authenticity as well as spirituality. Aron gives us a number of success stories. Utilizing personal testimonies and citing congregations of excellence, she, like Schwarz, provides needed motivation for other clergy and lay leadership.

After reading the Schwarz book, I bought copies for my entire board and arranged for a field trip to one of the congregations described, knowing that it wasn't enough for me to want change, they needed to want it too. I now wonder if the Aron book might have been of greater use. While less dramatic in presentation, she offers a cogent, step-by-step approach, using her skills as an educator to lead congregations on the path toward transformation. Schwarz is less able to get the average congregation from "here" to "there"--he just gives us a glowing sense of where "there" is. That in itself is valuable, but unless your congregation has a hyper-dynamic rabbi (preferably a venerated founding rabbi) whose vision is automatically accepted by a rousing consensus of lay leaders eager for experimentation, you will have to travel far even to begin the process of transformation described here.

Schwarz admits that the utopias he describes are diametrically opposed to the norm: "Unfortunately," he writes, "the corporate organizational structure of most synagogues is inhospitable, if not antagonistic, to the kind of singular rabbinical leadership that characterizes our four featured synagogues...The rabbi may have some success in changing the tone of religious services and will have relative freedom to speak and teach as they wish, but changing the organizational culture is next to impossible."

I'm not sure I agree that it is next to impossible. I've managed to achieve it in my own congregation, to some degree, but only over the course of many years. Changing the culture is in fact the easy part. The hard part is to get the congregation to want to change. That means chopping off the head of Terach's idol--and Terach, after all, is our father. Terach is the 90-year old macher who sits in the second row every week, or the past-president and department-store owner who wants nothing to change so that he won't be tempted to leave golf course each Saturday, or the Holocaust survivor who has had enough turmoil in his life who does want anymore change.

However, when people can read of success stories such as these via Schwarz, and then through Hoffman (with liturgy) and Aron (with education), they find a road map toward achieving similar success. When the synagogue comes alive, I've found that even Terach wants to come along for the ride to the Promised Land.

Books Discussed in Night Reading

The Art of Public Prayer: Not for Clergy Only by Lawrence Hoffman. Skylight Paths. $17.95
Finding a Spiritual Home: How a New Generation of American Jews Can Transform the Synagogue by Sidney Schwarz. Jossey-Bass. $24.00
Becoming a Congregation of Learners by Isa Aron. Jewish Lights. $19.95

Pokemon's "Swastika" and the Right to Cultural Privacy

Originally Appeared in The Stamford Advocate, 12/19/99

On Veterans Day last month, the day after the Pokemon Movie opened, nine-year-old Paul Springer and his younger sister Ilana came to my office, seeking my advice. They brought with them a Pokemon trading card featuring two of the series’ 150 characters, Golbat and Ditto, alongside what looked like a swastika. They wanted their rabbi’s opinion as to whether engaging in further Pokemon activities was, well, Kosher.

Much was riding on my recommendation. Paul had already given away most of his Pokemon cards and was quite upset, as was his grandfather, a refugee from Poland who had lost many of his family in the Holocaust. As a father, I couldn’t help but consider that my own two children were looking forward to seeing the movie that day. As a rabbi, I couldn’t help but think of how our synagogue’s parking lot had been desecrated with swastikas only two months before. And Buford Furrow’s attack on Jewish children near Los Angeles was also fresh in our minds.

But as a lifelong student of religions and advocate of cultural diversity, I knew something else -- that it wasn’t really a swastika. I pulled a book from the shelf and held up the Pokemon card to a photo of Hitler, with arm extended in his infamous salute and an "authentic" Nazi swastika on his sleeve. As one Hebrew School student later remarked, "the tentacles face the other way." It wasn’t a swastika at all next to the Golbat and Ditto. It was a "manji," a Japanese sign of hope, a symbol whose meaning evokes for the Japanese exactly the opposite of what a swastika connotes to those of us in the West. Doing some quick research on the Internet, I was intrigued by the claim that the Nazis deliberately reversed this emblem, transforming an ancient Asian symbol of life into one of death. I managed to convince Paul and Ilana and myself that a strong letter to Nintendo might be in order, but that it was OK to see the movie.

A few weeks later, Nintendo pulled the card, claiming that it was never intended for distribution in the West and that "what’s appropriate for one culture may not be for another." That claim at first made me bristle at the company’s insensitivity to the Pauls and Ilanas of this world. But then I wondered about the fairness of it all, whether we in the West have a right to bulldoze ancient cultures whose symbols don’t quite suit our sensibilities. Or have we simply reached the point where East has met West, and never the twain shall part? In our new border-less civilization, is there still room for cultural privacy? Or must everything fit neatly into a single, bland package?

In this global village, the wall of separation between church and state still stands tall, but the one separating church from mosque and synagogue is dropping fast. Through the Internet, a Jew whose name isn’t Kissinger can now "visit" Saudi Arabian holy places, and I do, often, then occasionally extending my multicultural hajj to Chartres, the Vatican, or to one of my favorites, the gorgeous Meenakshi Hindu temple in Madurai, Southern India. Usually, I end up at the Western Wall in Jerusalem (called the Kotel in Hebrew), where, through a live camera feed called Kotel Kam, this Conservative male rabbi can zoom his way smack into the women’s section, unbeknownst to the Ultra-Orthodox overseers of this Jewish holy site. I love these on-line expeditions, but wonder if through my temerity I am crossing too many cultural boundaries, compromising the uniqueness of other faiths and denominations, and possibly betraying my own.

As we become more crowded on this shrinking Earth, there still must be a place to respect the belief-space of the other.

If any symbol deserves to be internationally taboo, it is surely the swastika. Nintendo should have been able to see the problem that would arise. But I fear for a world where the symbol police will be out in force, cruising the Web for non-conformity to standards that no one really sets.

Maybe it is time to set some, so that cultural privacy will be respected, and so that those few symbols sullied by universal evil will gain the international censure they deserve. Perhaps our world is small enough now that Buddhists might consider voluntarily giving up or modifying the manji, understanding that they are paying an unfair but necessary price for the crimes of leaders half a world away. Other faiths must also be willing to follow suit. The Catholic Church has certainly done its part, reversing centuries-old positions regarding Jews and Judaism, tenets of faith that had fed anti-Semitism for nearly two millennia. Adherents of all faiths are coming to understand that no one creed possesses a monopoly on truth, and that we all have much to learn from the Other.

Given this increase in dialogue and understanding, new rules of interfaith engagement might prevail. That means not engaging in missionary activity, especially of a deceptive nature. "Jews for Jesus" and other so-called Messianic Jews routinely dupe people with their Christological interpretations of Jewish symbols and rituals like the Passover Seder. This activity demonstrates no respect for the cultural integrity of another faith.

For Jews, the Millennium presents a particular dilemma, since it is based on a Christian calendar calculations. By the Jewish date book, we are in the year 5760, and Y2K is based on the supposed birth date of a popular Jew whom Jews don’t recognize as the Messiah. Yet rather than scorn at the world on Dec. 31, Jews would do better to join others in serious reflection, made even more serious by the fact that New Years Eve and Day happen to coincide with the Sabbath.

So in the end, we all have something new to learn from the manji: for us in the West, to see the joy the serenity it brings to the Buddhist, and to accept it; for our Eastern neighbors, to see the grimace of pain on the face of Paul’s grandfather, and to change it.

Minyan Mastery

So you’ve decided to come to our morning minyan, on weekdays at 7:30 or Sundays at 9. First of all, THANK YOU! You are performing one of the most important “mitzvot” in all of Judaism – you are ‘BEING THERE.’ They say that so much of life is just showing up? Well, in fact, showing up is what it’s all about. The service is fast – about a half hour on most days, 40 minutes on Monday and Thursday, when we read Torah. It’s a great time to collect your thoughts and focus on the day ahead – plus you will almost certainly be giving someone needed comfort and companionship at a most difficult time, someone you might not even know.

If you are feeling a bit intimidated about coming the most important thing to remember is this:

There is no need to be intimidated. Your mere presence is your present!

You don't have to do anything except be there and stand up and sit down as directed, and for that everyone will be grateful! Those who wish to participate further can follow along in the prayer book in Hebrew or in English, open the Ark or have an aliyah, just like on Shabbat morning. But if you prefer, you may remain a passive observer until such time, if any, as you desire to become more involved.

First, some terminology: For an interesting explanation of the word "daven" - read here. Bracha? read here.

But if you are interested in learning more, and becoming a real Minyan master, read here!