Some Uncommon Questions

Photo a la OneShul.

I'm busy at work in my second semester at NYU in the Education/Jewish studies dual M.A. (yes, I already have one M.A. from the University of Connecticut in Jewish studies, but you can't have too many, right?), and I've discovered that my technological and social media know-how is a huge boon to my experience. In just about every class so far, I've been able to pull on my experiences online to make connections that are ever-so-much-more important when it comes to education, and not just in the Jewish world. Social media skills are what we have to teach students, because at some point, I have no doubt in my mind that such skills will be a prerequisite for just about every job out there.

Along with the growth of social media and online networks, however, come questions. I've been thinking more and more about these questions, and as I prepare for my panel at SXSW Interactive next month, I really would like some kind of insight into whether we have answers or whether we've moved along quickly enough to even be able to consider answering these questions. And these are just a few. Ready?

• Yichud. Basically this word refers to the prohibition of men and women who are not married from being in seclusion or in a private place together. There are a bajillion ifs and buts tied to this law, but that's the basic gist. This means that I wouldn't invite a single man or a friend's husband over to my house for coffee, k? Now, my question is how we apply the laws of yichud in a digital age. Is it okay to text and email with a woman who is not your wife? With your wife knowing? Without your wife knowing? I'd say the former is okay, the latter violates yichud. What about online chatting or messaging through Facebook or Twitter via Direct Message? How do we apply the laws of yichud to Social Media? Should we? Is it being too strict to think that it should be? You have to consider that just as it was "dangerous" for a man and a woman to be secluded privately because g-d knows where it would end up, so, too, have people found that in the digital age, private communication is quite the same thing, just in a different medium. Thoughts?
• Davening. There are great collaborative communities online like OneShul from PunkTorah.org that create an online space for prayer (davening), but can you count in a minyan (a quorum of 10 men needed for prayer) if you're only there digitally?

I guarantee you these are two things that the rabbis of old never would have considered, even on the most distant of horizons. So how do we approach these kinds of things today? My big thing is the idea of the New Community, which exists online, where people in the most remote of locations can find a community and participate Jewishly online. This community comprises a bevy of denominations and boasts synergy in a beautiful and innovative way. The question is: Are we ready for it? I know the Reform community is, but what about the Orthodox community? How do we approach life online via halacha and modern sensibilities? 

Respond at Will, Please.

I am thinking of joining a gym. I have a free gym membership on campus, but the joint is a mess and it's full of ski bunnies and that's not how I roll. It would be worth the price, I think. It's motivation.

I shipped off an application to the Rabbinical Council of America's beth din wing. Yes, I have spoken out against the process in the past because I heard horror stories of women across the internet -- waiting months, sometimes years for rabbis and interviews and hoops. After considering my options, and having various batei din organized, and after careful, hard, difficult, and frustrating consideration, I have decided that the RCA way, while not perfect, is the best route for me at this current juncture. B'ezrat haShem, maybe I'll be converted by the time I go to Israel in late November. Please daven for me! And if you want to read my 11-page-long "Journey to Orthodox Judaism" ... let me know. It's a real crowd-pleaser and tearjerker (maybe?).

I'm feeling incredibly disenchanted about school right now. My head just isn't in it. I've realized that having a "real life" and trying to have a "school life" is a mess. It's even messier when you have three Shabbos meals to prepare, 250-page novels to read over a period of a few days, and paper topics to come up with on the fly. If I hadn't been at my Ulpan this summer, I don't know what I'd do because I'd also be having to worry about Hebrew. I find my mind wandering to lists of "what to buy" and "what to do" rather than "what to read for class." I'm in Suzy Homemaker mode these days, and I can't figure out why. I think my mind is on the conversion, my life in the community, my future and possibly impending life with Tuvia, and everything therein. I know it's possible to double, triple, and quadruple duty everything, but I'm not use to the multi-tasking and responsibility outside of my own personal bubble.

I've been pondering a lot of questions, but I'll just pose one here. It relates to prayer. I know I read in my b'racha book that a b'racha said in the head and not out loud means it is as if the b'racha wasn't even said. I know that this is equally try with the Sh'ma from the Midrash. Does this apply to all prayer? Or just blessings (b'rachot)? In my mind, this is where all of the mumbling in shul comes from, but I know there is a precedent for the lips actively moving (without sound in the case of all davening with the exception of those things that *must* be said aloud, like the sh'ma). Am I crazy here?

I'll leave everything at that for now. I have some interesting things to write about from my Midrash class, but I just don't have the energy to grab the book and my Tanakh and type it all out right now. Stay tuned!

Passion, Fire, and Self-Respect: Part II

I posted a few days ago about my frustration and dare I say disgust with a weekend spent in a certain community -- from the way people talked their way at full volume through the davening to the jungle-like attack on the kiddush table after services. And a lot of you agreed that it's a problem. To be honest, the latter is of less importance in the long run, and people's manners are something I can't exactly change. It can be attributed to how we're raised, what our parents tell us is right and wrong, our own perception of decency and self-respect, and having respect for those around us. People, I'm sad to say, lack a general filter for right and wrong when it comes to manners nowadays, and I find this pervasive among the Orthodox Jewish community. I'm not saying people live in filth and are out-and-out rude -- there are exceptions to every rule and assumption -- but overall, I'm frequently blown away. Now, maybe I'm partial but I can think of two communities (including for the most part my own) where this isn't such a problem.

But the talking during davening? This exists everywhere. Everywhere except maybe a few select shuls where if you talk, you're really, seriously chastised with an unverbal, eye-piercing excommunication from the sacred space.

Interestingly (one of those "wow" moments), the readings for the weekend in my "Praying With Fire: A 5-Minute Lesson-A-Day" addressed the very issue that I was experiencing. Maybe it aroused more anger in me, maybe it brought the situation fully into perspective. I joked about taking the book with me, and shouting to the people what exactly our sages have said on this very issue of talking during davening. But I didn't. Instead? I'm going to share it with you here, and maybe I can alter how some of us (we're all imperfect; even me!) carry ourselves in shul, while davening.

"The harm done by disturbing others (by talking during prayer) is so substantial that the Shulchan Aruch rules that to avoid disturbing others, a person saying Shemoneh Esrei should not raise his voice in prayer (Siman 101, Se'if 2). ... If this is the halacha regarding voices raised in tefillah, one can surmise that there would be no tolerance for disturbances created by voices raised in casual conversation."

The text goes on to discuss various rabbis who cited the cause for certain  massacres being because the community didn't respect the shul, they spoke during davening, bringing harm upon the community. I think this is a little harsh (at one point it is suggested that the reason the Sephardi community was saved from the Holocaust is because of their strict rules NOT to speak during davening), but interesting to ponder at any rate.

The Zohar identifies a person who speaks about worldly matters in synagogue as a "kofer b'ikar," -- a heretic (Parashas Terumah 131a), and the Roke'ach adds that one who speaks during prayer is guilty of "masig g'vul" or stealing the sanctity of the synagogue (Hilchos Teshuvah, Siman 26). One text goes so far as to say that he who speaks in shul is "chillul Hashem" -- desecrating the name of HaShem.

And this text was made for me: "The impact of talking during prayer is sometimes perceived more keenly by newcomers to Judaism (that's me!), who have not become desensitized to it. They cannot reconcile the great divide between what prayer truly is and how it is sometimes treated." Now, I see the divide, I'm just really annoyed. The author goes on to discuss that if this is the impression to a new comer or ba'al teshuvah, imagine how the children feel. If they see it, they can't discern what is normal and what is not, and thus talking during services is the "norm" -- it perpetuates the myth that this is in fact okay.


In essence, by talking during davening, you're negating the mitzvah of davening by committing the sin of nullifying the prayers! It's a horrible cycle. Why don't people see that? On Shabbat, for example, a person is 13 blessings short of the required 100. Throughout Shabbat, we fulfill the commandment by eating various foods and delicacies, but if we fall short, we compensate by listening to the blessings said over reading of the Torah and the Haftarah and responding Amen. But if we're talking during all this, we probably fall short, and where's that leave us?

Let us talk to G-d quietly, in devotion that is personal. After all, "there is too much ugly noise in our world today." Why bring more?

Shemonei Esrei: Deconstructed!

Every time I'm davening, I stumble over this bit in the Shemonei Esrei that, translated by Artscroll reads

Rebuilding Jerusalem

And to Jerusalem, Your city, may you return in compassion, and may You rest within it, as You have spoken. May you rebuild it soon in our days as an eternal structure, and may You speedily establish the throne of David within it. Blessed are You, HaShem, the Builder of Jerusalem. 

My beef with the text comes with the bolded words there. The Hebrew looks like this:

The text makes sense to me in that it calls for a rebuilding (uvnei) of Jerusalem, but I find the wording on the throne of David difficult. Jerusalem, after all, was destroyed a few times over, with the Temple -- the first and the second -- being destroyed. In my mind, the rebuilding of Jerusalem is largely in reference to the reestablishment of a Temple, a central place of worship for Jews. But the throne of David, established at one point in Israel, needs not be established but merely to be re-established. It's confusing to me that verb associated with Jerusalem is rebuild, but the verb associated with the throne of David is an original, an establishing.

The verb translated as establish, tachin (להכין), literally means "to prepare, make ready." My favorite Hebrew-English/English-Hebrew online dictionary uses the verbs לייסד, להקים; לבסס for "to establish." (Note: These probably are strictly modern Hebrew verbs, not sure about the Biblical Hebrew. Boneh is pretty standard for building, to build, builder, etc. in the Hebrew Bible. Someone with more knowledge of the varying verbs relating to building or esetablishing or constructing in the Tanakh.)

Thus it seems to me that the text in the Shemonei Esrei is actually calling for Jerusalem to be rebuilt as in the glory days and for the city to be prepared and made ready for the throne of David once again thrive (i.e. be re-established). At any rate, it makes me feel a lot better about reading it every time I daven. It has always seemed awkward to me that it would be "establish." 

Then again, I tend to pick apart words and phrases much more than is necessary. I'm guessing this hasn't bothered anyone else, right?

Because You Want to Hear the REAL Chaviva.

Disclaimer: I usually edit my videos, put in little slides with quirky commentary, but I wasn't up for it, so it's just a long video of me discussing my new siddurim, prayer, bensching, davening, and more. Pardon my pronunciations, my general tomfoolery and all else that follows!

Chavi is BACK!

Brace yourselves, folks. Chavi is BACK in business. The first semester of my graduate career is officially over, and I'm praying for all As on my first, official, graduate school report card. But in truth, I'm done thinking about academics for the next month, I think. We all know this is a lie, as the moment I have a free second, I'm going to be starting in on "The Essential Talmud " by Adin Steinsaltz in preparation for my Talmud course next semester.

This week, though, has been one of highs and lows. Ups and downs. Emotional extremes.

The highs? The significant other (known henceforth as Tuvia) gave me some early Chanukah gifts -- a much-needed toaster oven, a much-needed HP printer/scanner/copier, and most beautifully, a glittering, shiny Star of David necklace. I started packing for my Birthright trip, with the knowledge that this time next week I'll be basking in the sun of Israel, davening in the land of my ancestors, exploring the land.

The lows? I realized that my knowledge of New Testament studies is nil. I found myself frustrated studying for my Bible exam because of my inability to comprehend the unresolved (academically and theologically) issue of Jesus as G-d (Jesus can suffer, G-d can't, but Jesus is still G-d -- note: not the SON of G-d, just G-d, a common misunderstanding of our Christian brethren).

The lowest of the lows? I found out, around 5 p.m. yesterday while stressing about my Bible exam, that my father has lymphoma. They don't know just yet whether it's Hodgkins or non-Hodgkins. They don't know what stage it's in. They, of course, being my parents. Until they meet with the oncologist, we don't really know anything.

My brain was frazzled this morning. I couldn't get my toaster to work. I spent 10 minutes trying to fix it. I realized later, after throwing my bagel frustratedly into the trash, that I'd unplugged the power strip with the toaster and microwave instead of the refrigerator plug, which had been my original intention. I got all the way to class and then realized I'd left my term paper (which I needed to hand in) back in my room and had to schlep back to get it before the test. This morning was a head explosion, can't focus, struggling to breathe kind of morning.

The best way for me to describe my current emotional state is stunned. Not upset or sad or depressed, just stunned. I don't know if that makes sense, but it makes me feel bad that I'm not bawling my eyes out every five seconds. Although, when I informed my professor of the news, I nearly started crying, which would have been a travesty, as it was moments before I started the exam. The thing is, when I was little, I freaked out about death. I spent some amount of time crying at night, unable to sleep, devastated at the idea of death and everything just stopping. And then I had a realization and I realized that it was so insignificant -- life was important, this life, this existence. Ever since then, I've been unable to get really depressed about death. I haven't been able to overwhelm myself with loss. My grandfather died in April, and I was stunned more than upset. My great uncle died maybe 12 years ago, and I wrote a poem about how happy his memory was for me (he used to always steal my nose). And now? I'm just stunned. Empty, stunned shock. Maybe I don't know what to think.

But the important thing is? I'm back. After Shabbos, I'll be writing about, well, Shabbos. I've been doing the Shomer Shabbos thing, and tonight Tuvia and I are heading to to a modern Orthodox shul. We'll see how it goes. But tonight, I'll be thinking of my father. And if it isn't too much to ask, I would hope y'all could donate some of your prayers tonight to my father. He has no Hebrew name, he's not Jewish, but he is my father.

I'm back, baby. I'm back!

Torah on Board!

I spotted this story over on Tzipiyah.com and had to share. It's a very, very snazzy little newsbite about a Torah scroll dedication aboard the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv commuter train in Israel!

 

A specially commissioned Torah scroll was dedicated on Sunday for use aboard a commuter train by a traveling prayer quorum (minyan) on the Jerusalem-Tel Aviv line. ...

Between 20 and 40 people pray in the train's Mesilat Yesharim Minyan [prayer group] each morning after it leaves the Beit Shemesh station. The last carriage on the early morning train is unofficially reserved as the temporary "synagogue," drawing both men and women, as well as Israel Railways crew members. The regular participants are a mixture of native Israelis and immigrants from North America and Europe who work in Tel Aviv in banking, law, computers, medicine, education and business, but who choose to live in the religious communities in Jerusalem or Beit Shemesh. ...

Darren Shaw made Aliyah from London in August 2006 ... hired a scribe to write an unusually small Torah, which is just 30 centimeters [about 12 inches] high. Fellow traveler Ariel Abraham, originally from Elizabeth, New Jersey, has converted a suitcase on wheels into a portable Holy Ark.