I'm an Academic, You're an Academic ...

Someday, when I write a book, I promise I won't put in snide remarks that reveal my sentiments about great individuals long dead (now, I'm not saying I think St. Augustine was great, but you get my drift). In a text I'm reading for my Bible course, when discussing the Adam/Eve/Eden sin issue, the book's author says ...

The influential Christian theologian, St. Augustine, who was not very good at Greek, read the Latin translation of Romans 5:12 to mean that the sin of Adam was a prototype -- it caused others to sin. Augustine's interpretation gave rise to the doctrine known as "original sin," the view that sin is inherited by all subsequent humans after Adam and Eve. In Paul's original Greek, it seems pretty clear that Paul understood Adam's sin to be an archetype. Death spread to all people because all people sinned. In other words, sin is humanity's first and most persistent copycat crime.

Now, I think the point would have been perfectly valid to leave out the snarky remark. Alternatively, I do enjoy the author's take on the idea of minimalism in explaining the historicity of the Tanakh. Minimalists in biblical scholarship essentially say that the books of Tanakh were edited so late that they can't possibly contain any valid historical information about earlier periods. They tend to reject or explain away any archeological evidence that might happen to prove a historical theory, and the author tells us that the "best evaluation of minimalism as a whole was probably supplied by a British archaeologist who entitled his review of a rather fanciful book on another subject, 'Not a Bad Theory, If Facts Don't Matter.' "

Oh academics and their opinions. It makes me wonder, though, if I really will be able to distance my opinions from the work. I guess that's how we test ourselves in academia? I suppose I should get one of these buttons, though, don't you think?

While I figure out an answer to my questions, check out this week's Haveil Havalim over on Jack's blog! Stay tuned for blog posts on politics, the upcoming holidays, books I'm trying to read, and more. I gotta maintain substance, gall darn't.

A brief-style roundup.

This is what we call "a random post."

• I managed to swing a 100 percent on my first quiz on the Hebrew Aleph-Bet, which I was all sorts of anxious about because I thought I completely nose-dived on the oral portion (professor reads, we write). Slap me silly and call me visual. But I managed to do a brilliant job and I feel better about the future of my Hebrew ventures. Phew! Though, while sitting in the library attempting to take on Chapter 4 in the Hebrew from Scratch text (yes, it's Shabbos and, well, no one is perfect), I felt like I was reading hieroglyphics. So, needless to say, I'm going to devote much of my evening and tomorrow to Hebrew study. 
• It's raining here, though not the torrential downpour and hurricane-style winds they were promising. I'm quite disappointed. 
• I'm poised to record a video blog tonight -- after I close out the library at 10 p.m. -- for those out there in the might-convert or curious-about-conversion audience about the whole issue over what to tell people once you convert. The reason I want to do a video on this is someone was recently asking me what I thought about the situation in relation to their significant other (a convert) wanting to tell her running buddy that she was converting and that if she didn't tell her it might be like lying or something. Anyhow, I shall video blog it. 
• Tomorrow: Blogging on Rabbi Marc D. Angel's "The Search Committee," FINALLY. And I might couple it with a brief bit about another book I've been reading and have (nearly) finished that I think might be worthwhile for the greater audience to read (listen, it talks about the popular legends/myths of the Near East and how they most likely helped shape what we now know as Genesis). 

For now? That's all. Coming to you LIVE from Storrs, Connecticut, where I haven't yet built the ark because the meager rain hasn't deemed it necessary. But don't worry, the animals are poised to hop on board.

Shavua tov!

It's snowing, but I have news!

First thing's first: The University of Connecticut accepted me to their master's program in Judaic studies! SCORE! This is exciting, as it begins the process of waiting to hear from the other three schools to which I applied. I haven't heard about financial aid yet, but I'm just stoked. Those who know me well know that I've been waiting to get back to school since graduating with a degree and taking a job I wasn't really that "into" any longer. Of course, there's a good chance I could fail miserably at grad school, and I'll realize what I really want to be is a journalist. We're blessed with the option to flip and flop and choose our paths all we want. Give me a fork in the road, darn't. SO ... YAHHHH SCHOOL!

Secondly, here's a post I put up over on Jewsbychoice.org today. I guess I'm the Torah-girl in residence of sorts. Anyhow, give it a read, folks.

This week’s Torah portion is T’rumah, which means gift or offering. This is the portion of Exodus where the instructions are given for the Tabernacle (Mishkan) and all Israelites whose hearts so moved them are instructed to round up the supplies for the construction of the structure, a "sanctuary" for G-d. And within this Tabernacle, G-d will dwell among the Israelites.

I wanted to write, just briefly, to take note of that last sentence. The portion says that the purpose of the construction of the Mishkan is so that G-d may dwell among the Israelites, and of course my initial worry about this and the portion as it is composed, is the idea of idolatry. The purpose, perhaps, of the construction of this structure, to be with the Israelites, is so that the feeling of G-d at Sinai can be with the Jews always, as we know that moments and instances of intensity are fleeting. What if we forget that feeling? The Tabernacle, thus, is a physical site to "represent the presence of G-d" in the midst of the community. It is to become a "sacred space." (These quoted words come from my reading of Etz Chayim, the Conservative chumash w/commentary.) My concern, of course, comes from the idea that an object can represent G-d, or at least do so in the eyes of the community. How does a community draw lines? How does a community — a new community like the Israelites — define the sacred space without allowing the sacred space to become that which is worshiped?

We see in many religions that symbols become almost worshiped items — figures of saints or holy places. The cross itself has become a worshiped symbol among Christian believers. I know some might take offense to that idea, but that is my opinion of the object. Many have said to me that Jews wearing the magen David is quite the same thing, taking a symbol and placing it forth as an idol of sorts. Of course, for those who know the story of the star of David, the idea that it is symbolic as an idol is preposterous. It is by no means a necessarily "holy" symbol so much as it is a representative symbol — but most definitely not worshiped.

But for believers — of all faiths — the struggle with the unknown in a place where everything is physical, immediate, and evident is difficult. You can see the computer in front of you, and you know precisely what it is. But for the religious, you do not know of G-d or the afterlife or anything beyond the immediately physical realm. Creating idols and symbols to worship makes sense out of that which we do not understand.

But the sages have said that the importance of sacred space was to remind us that G-d does not exist exclusively in the heavens, "remote from humanity" — or rather, that G-d has not forsaken us. Exodus 25:8, which says the structure is that so G-d may "dwell among them," is meant to serve as this reminder. The Tabernacle as such is not per se a sacred space of G-d’s dwelling, but rather a physical reminder of a non-physical presence.

Of course, on a related note, we know that with the destruction of the temples came Rabbinic Judaism and the permeation of the synagogue as the house of meeting for Jews. The synagogue (or shul or temple) serves as the modern-day Tabernacle with some more social features, perhaps than the former. The synagogue has many holy objects that remind us of the presence of G-d, and perhaps it can be said that the synagogue serves so much as a physical reminder of G-d’s presence, dwelling among us in modern times.

So my question, amid this little Torah spiel, to you all is to express what purpose the synagogue serves for you. To you, is it a place for G-d to "dwell among" us? Is it a house of prayer? Is it merely a structure within which we meet friends and family to represent like ideals? Is it, indeed, a sacred space that exists as a reminder of those feelings from the foot of Sinai?

Be well, friends. It’s time for me to go dig myself out of the snow!