Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

THERE ARE MAJOR SPOILERS IN THIS PIECE. DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED HARRY POTTER AND THE DEATHLY HALLOWS.

So. It's happened.

We have a Harry Potter book with true substance, a Harry Potter book that finally allows the boy to become a true hero, someone who must think before giving up his life rather than rushing into hot-headed action.

My main critique of the character has always been that he has shown bravery, not courage. The distinction in my mind is simple: bravery is when one is placed in a certain situation and must simply respond. It is bravery when one is suddenly attacked and must fight back, when you are simply responding to stimuli. Courage, on the other hand, is when you must choose. You know the choices and your options and you choose to do what is right, knowing the cost, knowing exactly what it is you must lose.

It is exactly the choice Harry must make in this book; he must choose to completely and utterly surrender himself. He must choose to die.

It does not work unless you mean it. He has to think and believe and truly be willing to die, and it is only that and that willingness that will ultimately save him (taken from all the great works of literature, by no means an original idea, but nevertheless a profound one.)

This book is filled with beautiful messages. We have Ron, who is initially cowardly but then returns, Snape, whose Patronus haunts and surprises us, and we finally find that even Dumbledore was not quite the man he seemed throughout the rest of the books. We have Luna's transformation into a heroic, astonishing person; we have Neville to some extent fulfilling his part of the prophecy when he kills Nagini. We have so much in this book. It's a truly beautiful book.

There's so much...where do I begin?

First of all, I was right about Snape, down to the very conversation, so I am quite pleased at the moment.

Snape raised his eyebrows and his tone was sardonic as he asked, "Are you intending to let him kill you?

"Certainly not. You must kill me."

There was a long silence, broken only by an odd clicking noise. Fawkes the phoenix was gnawing a bit of cuttlebone.

"Would you like me to do it now?" asked Snape, his voice heavy with irony. "Or would you like a few moments to compose an epitaph?"

"Oh, not quite yet," said Dumbledore, smiling. "I daresay the moment will present itself in due course. Given what has happened tonight," he indicated his withered hand, "we can be sure that it will happen within a year."

"If you don't mind dying," said Snape roughly, "why not let Draco do it?"

"That boy's soul is not yet so damaged," said Dumbledore. "I would not have it ripped apart on my account."

"And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?"

"You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation..."

(page 682-683)

And of course, that conversation in the forest with Hagrid was exactly as I thought it'd be, Snape pleading with Dumbledore and saying that he would rather not kill him.

It's so fitting to hear Harry tell his son, who he has named after Snape, "One of them was a Slytherin and he was probably the bravest man I ever knew" (758).

There's a lot that's beautiful in this book; I'd have to think it over some more. The last passage with Harry and Dumbledore reminds me very much of an extended scene in Green Rider; I love the idea of Snape's being in love with Lily the entire time (so now we know why Harry's green eyes were so important), that Neville has a part to play in striking the final blow, that Luna is so strong and helpful and comforting. I love it all.

Snape's my favorite character, but I have a lot of respect for Neville, Luna and Harry of course. I'm glad that Dumbledore is flawed. His power speech rings true for me. I like him much better now that I know his past.

But the most touching part of the book is Snape's memories in the Penseive and the relationship between Snape and Lily. I can completely understand Severus Snape and oh! He is more than and everything that I wanted him to be.

Beautiful conclusion by J.K. Rowling. I honestly didn't care for most of the action bits, and her book is still overly simplistic for my taste (grand themes of love, hatred, remorse, sacrifice and the like) but I think its message is lovely and it's an incredibly good book for kids all over the world to be reading.

Bravo, J.K. Rowling. You have made the world a much better place simply by writing this last, touching, beautiful book. And you can believe me, I never thought I'd be saying that.

The Ultimate Jewish Newspaper

Calling all opinions. I need all the help I can get here.

If you had the opportunity to create the ultimate Jewish newspaper, taking the best from every Jewish publication out there and adding some spice of your own, what issues would you want covered?

What are the important issues of our day? What are important issues that are discussed on the blogs but don't see as much attention as they perhaps should?

Pick anything from broad topics like economics to education to more specialized or specific issues. I need all your ideas. Every idea is useful. And please state the obvious, because sometimes it isn't obvious to me.

And especially consider what issues you would want presented and articles you would want geared toward an audience of motivated young adults.

Now, please discuss!

Airports

I love airports.

I especially love them now that I fly alone. I happen to find myself in the most ridiculous situations. My friend once told me that I have a "crazy magnet" on my head. It must be so! For everything in the world ends up entertaining me somehow. My life is one long stretch of scattered pieces of insanity. It is delightful and joyful and wonderful. And since it is my desire to entertain you, I bring you The Airport Saga.

I have lovely experiences on airplanes; one of the most pleasant was when I was seated next to a fellow who works for the Chicago Shakespeare Theatre. The whole trip I was wondering how I was going to start a conversation, and finally I thought, "To hell with subtlety" and simply told him outright, "I love the Chicago Shakespeare Theater! It's so cool that you work there!" This led to a very long and complicated conversation in which we discussed the plays I had seen there, the high school I attended, the reason he was flying to New York, the play they would be putting on and so and so forth. It was quite the fun flight.

But definitely the best experience I've had connected with planes:

I am a mess. I was supposed to leave at 2:40; the Super Shuttle unexpectedly arrived at 2:10. I was not done packing and frantically shoved various clothes into compartments (this after literally running from my last final to my dorm) then donning the rest. I am therefore dressed exceedingly strangely. I'm wearing black pants, a black shirt and a black-and-white skirt. Oh, and of course my combat boots (I love my combat boots.) My hair's uncombed and probably oily and greasy; I feel dead, and throwing my fur-lined Shabbos coat on (ignoring the insanely hot weather outside) I force myself to carry the dead weight that is my backpack and head for the super shuttle.

If I had met myself in the airport, I wouldn't have talked to me. I mean, I looked crazy. Who wears fur-lined coats in the middle of the spring? And who has such unkempt hair and such dark bags under her eyes and looks like one of the living dead? But we shall ignore all this.

I get to the airport, esconce myself in one of the chairs, take out a book and read. There's a math guy next to me, a guy wearing a yellow shirt; he's blonde and has a pencil stuck behind his ear. He's doing advanced calculus. I shudder and continue to read my book. After a while he moves to a different seat. Oh, I think, he is afraid to be associated with the crazy person. Feeling oddly resentful, I continue reading.

Our plane is delayed. After a while, blonde math guy comes up to me and asks whether it is our plane that is taking off. I say that I think it is ours. He goes over to talk to the lady in charge who informs us that it's not our plane. I am embarrassed but brazen it out. "Oh," I say sadly, "how deeply depressing." He laughs. We strike up a conversation. Huzzah! He's actually interesting! I receive disapproving looks from the Other Stern Girls. They note that I am talking to a Boy. He is also a Non-Jewish clearly Gentile Boy. In their opinion, this is problematic. I don't really care. I'm bored, he's interesting, and besides, I'll never see him again in my life.

We get into a very interesting discussion regarding our respective universities (he's going to grad school) and find out why we're each going to Chicago. I find out loads of information about him; his name, where he lives, his family, his background (he's from Switzerland! How cool?!) When we get into the Jewish component, he starts quoting books he's read in his history classes; they are quite diverse. We continue talking all the way until we actually board the plane, and then regretfully separate to take our respective seats. He asks me my name, and I tell him it's "Olivia ________." He tells me his name, but I forget it.

I am sitting next to a thirty-something year old woman. She pulls out her portable DVD player and sets out to enjoy the flight. This means she downs three? four? five? bottles of wine during the course of the flight. Each little bottle costs $5 each. I'm a little amazed. While she watches her movie, I read Legends of the Jews. Finally, it is clear that she is a little tipsy. She starts talking to me. She finds out that I'm interested in English. Then she tells me that it's important to "have fun" and not to completely dedicate your life to your studies. She gives herself as an example; she's a successful lawyer for a top company. She looks at Legends of the Jews and says, "I remember when we had to read books like that for college," assuming that it is a coursebook. I don't tell her I'm reading it for fun. I think she'd be deeply concerned.

She gives me her entire philosophy of life and explains her secret for making it through college, "Champagne Thursdays." I give a horrified smile. Yes, she continues very seriously, I should go out with my friends and party every Thursday night in order to de-stress. I wonder how to tactfully explain to her that this is not quite what I am like. I decide to keep silent. I listen to her as she continues to explain her views to me. They are all very interesting and all inconsistent with my own. I smile up at her and act like a good little child.

In the midst of this scenario, she suddenly informs me, "I know you think I'm crazy. I know you're thinking right now how pathetic I am, how f-d up, this thirty-five year old woman giving an eighteen-year old advice. But I'm telling you, I've seen things, I've experienced things. I am trying to help you, to let you benefit from my knowledge."

"No," I immediately lie. "No, it's fine; I don't think you're crazy." And I don't, not really. But I do find the entire situation highly amusing.

I hope that I can say goodbye to the guy I was talking to but when I look for him, he's gone. Ah well. I get off the flight and hunt down my luggage, then find my father, excitedly informing him of recent events, especially the new philosophy of life at my disposal. My father is amused.

A couple days later...
I see that someone new has asked me to be their friend on Facebook. Who is this? Who would this be?

I check it out and literally die laughing. It is my friend the Blonde Math Guy. He remembered my name. He remembered my impossibly long last name. And he decided to "friend" me.

Immensely flattering, that. Especially considering how completely nuts I must have seemed at the time. And the incredibly strange way I was dressed.

So I am friends with the Blonde Math Guy and we have many entertaining IM conversations. He's going to grad school at Columbia, so the betting is that I see him again. How excellent, no?

So folks. Next time you go to the airport, remember the possibilities.

Perplexed

Hello readers.

I'm looking at my poll results (the one where you so kindly voted) and according to poll #2, only 24 of you know me.

If that is so, how is it that 45 of you voted in answer to my question "If you know me, do I know you read my blog?"

I am mystified. Perhaps you can explain?

Tisha B'Av

Tisha B'Av is difficult for me.

It is not difficult in the way that it is supposed to be difficult. It is not that I am so overwhelmed by pain and grief that I sit in a kind of stupor, truly unhappy and saddened by our lot.

It is simply physically difficult. You are fasting, hungry and tired; you are crouched down on a cold floor trying to find a somewhat comfortable position in which to lean against a brick wall, which is impossible, this means that you stand up and squirm and sit down again on your stool or low chair and long for it to be chatzos so you can sit properly.

You try to pay attention to the kinnos but that, too, is difficult, because they are long and repetitive and many of them are simply lists of all the terrible things that have happened to us. Also, at least in my shul, they have speakers who talk about the kinnos before we actually get around to saying them. This means that I have to sit in this incredibly uncomfortable position, listen to a speech, try to keep up with everyone as they race through the Hebrew and simultaneously concentrate on the words, then begin this entire proccess all over again. It is not right of me and I admit that it is my own flaw, but after a time I simply wonder "How much longer?" and page through the machzor wondering how many more kinnos there are to say and how much longer davening will go on for. Because by that point, all I want is to be done, at which point I can go home and nurse my headache and perhaps go to sleep because I am feeling too sick to move.

It is not Tisha B'Av night that is difficult for me. Tisha B'Av night is filled with power. Megillas Eicha is haunting and beautiful. No, it is only the day.

So I have realized that it is best for me to admit that it is utterly impossible for me to concentrate upon every single kinnah and to feel pain based upon them. I simply cannot connect to the majority of them. I have realized over the years that there are particular kinnos to which I connect, but I have never really thought about why or even considered that there might be some common thread to them. This year, I was afforded an insight about myself by Yitz, who explained that I am a "story person." I had never really thought of it that way. It is true. I am a "story person." I understand the world through stories. And now, looking back on it, I am able to understand why these kinnot resonate with me, why I feel connected to them and why they move me to tears.

These are the Kinnot that truly move me:

21. The martyrdom of the ten great Torah sages

23. The brother and sister who were each sold as slaves, reunited because their masters desired to breed them together in order to create beautiful children, who spent the night weeping and bemoaning their fate and who died upon recognizing each other in the morning

34. The tale of Zecharia, cruelly murdered, and the boiling blood that will not be appeased

And then Eilee Tzion.

The similarity in kinnos 21, 23 and 34 is that they all tell stories. They are not simply lists, lengthy descriptions of the terrible events that have befallen us, events that I cannot even comprehend. These instead focus upon particular characters, particular individuals. These kinnos discuss stories that happened to particular people. I am most connected to the pain of an individual. It is difficult for me to imagine or understand the pain of an entire community, the suffering of the collective. But the pain of the individual stands out to me and haunts me; it is that pain that forces me to feel connected, that pain that I can understand.

Those kinnot are particularly beautiful. They are descriptive but they are also character-driven. We are horrified by the princess who finds a particular sage to be handsome and therefore requests that he be spared, only for the executioner to flay off his skin (granted, that is not in this version of the kinnah, but we know the story.) We are deeply disturbed by the intensely graphic but intensely visual (and I am a very visual person) images of death. We can imagine the terrible irony of the brother and sister placed within the same room, each weeping bitterly about their fate, only to discover that they have been reunited when dawn breaks and light touches their faces. And then, how horrible to discover that they had the whole night to have spoken and consoled one another, but instead they had taken refuge in their private griefs! They could not bear this and fell upon each others' necks, weeping, only to die.

And Zecharia! That bubbling blood that will not be appeased, that desires vengeance and nothing but vengeance, so similar in nature to the idea of Abel's blood calling out to God! I have always been fascinated by the idea of Nevuzaraddan testing the blood to identify it and finding that the Jews have lied to him, that it is human blood, not the blood of an animal, and then sacrificing them until finally he (and note the irony of this!) tells Zacharia to be satisfied. He, the butcher, he, the murderer, declares that there must be a limit! And this is much more powerful than it would have been had it been a Jew who declared the same...

These images are all brilliantly developed and very real; I can envision them totally, when I close my eyes, I am there. I can see myself at that arena, watching as these men are cruelly butchered; I am within that darkened room when the first brilliant rays of light fall upon the siblings' faces; I see Nevuzaraddan laying up corpse after corpse until finally he, yes he of all people, tells God that it is enough; "is it your intention to annihilate the remainder of the captivity?"

The plight of the individual presses upon me because I can identify with the individual, and from there I can extrapolate and apply that pain to the entire community. But I cannot connect with a simple list or flowery language, with mere categorization; none of this touches me. For me, the meaning of Tisha B'Av is bound up in the stories, these stories that are painted in jewel-colors and seared onto my mind.

As for Eilee Tzion...Eilee Tzion is an entirely different matter. The very melody haunts me. The melody is haunting, eerie and awesome at once. I cannot hear Eilee Tzion without crying; it hurts to listen to that song. For me, the song means pain.

"Wail, O Zion and her cities
like a woman suffering from birth travail,
and like a maiden girded in sackcloth
[lamenting] for the husband of her youth..."

Can you see that? I can. I see the woman screaming out in pain, the young maiden wearily walking through the streets, garbed in sackcloth, her eyes dull and glazed with the pain of loss and the inability to understand.

For me, Eilee Tzion is a true lament; it is the lament of all laments. The song is pain; it is pain that is sanctified and made holy, pain offered to God in order to force him to answer. The melody is beautiful in a very dark way. I don't think I can truly explain to you how it affects me, but it does; it is perhaps the most powerful part of the day for me.

So. What can I say? I am not a very good Jew. If I were, I would be able to connect to all the kinnos and I wouldn't get tired and I wouldn't concentrate upon the fact that I am hungry and these lists are neverending and the floor is very uncomfortable and I don't want to have to listen to another speech. But I do. So I serve as I can, and for me, that means paying particular attention and focusing upon the particular prayers that move me and cause me to feel. I think this is the best approach for me at this point in time. Perhaps one day I will even be able to find meanings in the other poems, but it is difficult for me...

Loneliness as Cause

What it comes down to, really, is that we're all rather lonely.

Everything we do emanates from this.

storybooks

Everyone plays pretend.

Song Lyrics

There are some songs that are really meaningful because the lyrics apply to you- to your life.

These are the songs where the rythym doesn't matter and the beat's not what's most important. It's the lyrics that speak to you- and everything else just helps.I would be very interested in knowing some of your meaningful song lyrics (and please remember to give the name of the artist and the song. They can be as popular or un-popular as you wish. They can be lyrics from 50 years ago, as far as I'm concerned.)

And if you would explain WHY these particular lyrics stand out to you, I'd appreciate that as well.

(At the moment, I'm in love with Ben Folds' Best Imitation of Myself and Dashboard Confessional's The Places You Have Come to Fear the Most. There are many more, of course, but those are important.)

On Passion

The following conversation is from the fantastic, beautiful movie Ever After.

Danielle: Is something wrong?

Henry: [turns to face her] In all my years of study, not one tutor ever demonstrated the passion you have shown me in the last two days. You have more conviction in one memory than I have... in my entire being.

[laughs slightly, walks away, Danielle follows]

Danielle: Your Highness, if there is anything I have said or done...

Henry: Please... don't. It's not you.

[...]

Henry: I'm afraid, mademoiselle, you are a walking contradiction... ..and I find that rather fascinating.

Danielle: Me?

Prince: Yes, you. You spout the ideals of a Utopian society, yet you live the life of a courtier.

Danielle: You own all the land there is, yet you take no pride in working it. Is that not also a contradiction?

Prince: First I'm arrogant, and now I have no pride. However do I manage that?

Danielle: You have everything, and still the world holds no joy. Yet you make fun of those who would see it for its possibilities.

Prince: How do you do it?

Danielle: What?

Prince: Live each day with this kind of passion? Don't you find it exhausting?

Danielle: Only when I'm around you. Why do you like to irritate me so?

Prince: Why do you rise to the occasion?

~

He asks how she can live each day with that kind of passion.

And I often wonder: how can he not?

Nietzsche on Martyrs

I love Confrontation but have always found it suprising that Rabbi Soloveitchik states, "We certainly have not been authorized by our history, sanctified by the martyrdom of millions, to even hint to another faith community that we are mentally ready to revise historical attitudes, to trade favors, pertaining to fundamental matters of faith, and to reconcile "some" differences."

Why use martyrdom as an argument? It is an essentially flawed argument. One can argue about the emotional impact this has on us, but to use it practically is difficult.

As Nietzsche explains (I have chosen to bold the most important phrases):

The deaths of martyrs, incidentally, have been a great misfortune in history: they seduced. The inference of all idiots, women and the people included, that there must be something to a cause for which someone goes to his death (or even, like early Christianity, generates death-seeking epidemics)- this inference has immeasurably thwarted examination, the spirit of examination, and caution. The martyrs have harmed truth.

Even today it takes only the crudity of a persecution to give an otherwise completely indifferent sectarianism an honorable name. How? Does it change the value of a thing if someone gives his life for it? An error that becomes honorable is an error which is that much more seductive. Do you believe, my dear theologians, that we would give you an occasion to become martyrs for a lie? One refutes a matter by laying it respectfully on ice- this is how one also refutes theologians. This precisely was the world-historical stupidity of all persecutors, that they gave the opposing cause the appearance of being honorable- that they gave it the fascination of martyrdom as a gift. Even today woman lies on her knees before an error because she has been told that somebody died on the cross for it. Is the cross an argument?

~ from The Antichrist

So long as this is the fourth rather than sole reason in Confrontation, it can pass, but to argue that one must remain an Orthodox Jew because there are those who died for this religion seems foolish. To do that is to open the door to anyone to believe anything, so long as someone died for it.

Hello Readership

Hello readers and lurkers!

I'm rather curious about you and hope you will be amenable to answering my questions in these polls (and perhaps elaborating in the comments.) Thanks!

(Also, if you voted on this the first time, your votes are still here, so please don't re-vote. As of now, there are 2 votes.)

The Ba'al Shem Tov

The Ba'al Shem Tov fascinates me. I have loved him since I was little. This magical man who worked miracles and helped others, who was good and kind and humble, who taught the little children before he became great, who understood simple people and respected them; this is the man who I have loved and respected for the longest time. Everything I read about the Ba'al Shem Tov inspires me; what I love best about him is the fact that he believes that the simple people can actually be considered as effective and as good as the learned scholar, that indeed, sometimes their pure and poignant prayers break down the gates of Heaven when those offered up by wiser men fail. I love the idea that honesty and one's intentions are what matters to God, that the purity of a prayer offered by a simple and unlearned person can outrank the holiest thoughts offered by a scholar.

The Ba'al Shem Tov is always able to see the good in people. Chassidut in general is an incredibly uplifting philosophy of life. It focuses on joy, on positivity, on everything that people do well. It offers the ultimate defense to God. No matter what people do, the Besht is always able to look at their actions from a positive angle. How can I not love reading these stories? They make me happy! Everything in them focuses on the good!

Here, then, are some beautiful Baal Shem Tov stories from Tales of the Baal Shem Tov by Rabbi Yisroel Yaakov Klapholz.

Squeezing the Heavens (Volume 2, page 116)

There was once a draught in the times of the Baal Shem Tov. A fast day was proclaimed and special prayers were said in the synagogue. The Besht noticed one unlearned man among the worshippers who placed particular emphasis in the Kerias Shema upon the words, "And God will restrain (otzar) the heavens and there will be no rain," weeping and bawling as he recited them.

When the Baal Shem Tov later asked him what his thoughts were as he exclaimed this verse so fervently, the simple man answered:

"I was beseeching God that he squeeze the heavens (otzar- as in atziras anovim- the squeezing of grapes) so that no rain remains above and all will fall upon the earth."

It was through this very man's prayers and concentration, explained the Baal Shem Tov, that the people's supplication was answered, for the blessed rains fell soon afterwards.

The Creator who divines a person's innermost thoughts, desires the service of the heart and was gratified by this simple man's intent, although confused, which had sprung from the depths of his soul.

(B'er Moshe)

Isn't that beautiful?!

And another story:

The Chirping Youth (Volume 2, page 123)

It was Yom Kippur in the Baal Shem Tov's kehilla. A tense atmosphere could be felt, especially in the holy Baal Shem Tov's attitude, for he had discerned an unfavourable sentence written in heaven for his people.

Pouring out his heart to God, he begged that they be shown divine mercy. The tefilo of 'neilo' he especially prolonged in the hope of interceding in their behalf. His talmidim felt the tension and they too burst into bitter tears and were joined by all the worshippers in the synagogue in a heart-rending service.

A young villager was present in the congregation. He was a simple, illiterate shepherd who, not knowing how to pray, would follow the chazon's every move, moving his lips in rhythm with his voice.

When he now felt the intensity of the "neilo" prayers he too was broken-hearted. He helplessly began to utter the sounds that were familiar to him, sounds of cattle and wild animals. The worshippers around him became alarmed and tried to silence him. Several men even got angry with him, and yet others tried to have him evicted from the synagogue. But he held his own, stubbornly insisting:

"I pray to the God of Israel with the only prayers I know!"

It was the shammos who finally came to the youth's rescue and restored decorum to the synagogue, telling everyone to continue with his own prayers.

When neilo was over the congregation could sense that the crisis had passed for the Baal Shem Tov's face now beamed joyfully and he began to express his relief in song.

That evening, at the meal, the Baal Shem Tov told his followers that he had incurred heavenly wrath by sending people to live in distant villages where they were exposed to the gentiles and their evil ways. Indeed, his messengers had found the state of the villagers spiritually poor and now he and his community were in grave danger.

"At that moment," recounted the Besht, "the youth's voice reached heaven. His lowing and chirping rose straight upwards and when these sounds were accompanied with the words 'Ribono Shel Olam, have mercy!' they penetrated until the heavenly throne. They caused such satisfaction and pleasure above that the criticism against me and my flock disappeared and our sins were forgiven."

(Toras Hachassidus)

And then, something very close to my heart, the Ba'al Shem Tov defends the poor villagers against the fire and brimstone mussar speech of a visiting maggid.

When the time came for the maggid's sermon, all the townspeople assembled in the Beis Medrosh. The maggid went up to the pulpit and began with the words, "There are seven kinds of punishment," translating it into a Yiddish which everyone could understand. The entire congregation burst into tears. The maggid spoke in a dry angry tone, reproving all those who were not God fearing, threatening them with hunger. The crops of the fields, the fruits and the vegetables, would all wither, he warned, after which the Lord would punish their families.

The audience let out a remorseful wailing. Men and women, old and young, wept with bitter tears. The maggid continued saying that God was liable to punish them with blood, too; at first their chldren and then the parents, leaving orphans and widows, as he had done, Heaven spare us, during the terrible years of 5408-09. When they heard these harsh words a pained cry escaped from all those assembled. Many of them fainted and the panic mounted by the minute.

The Baal Shem Tov entered the Beis Medrosh in the midst of this commotion. Seeing the weeping and self recrimination, he inquired what the maggid had told them and was deeply touched by the pain of the townspeople. He stood by one of the tables, turned to the maggid and spoke in a loud clear voice.

"Rabbi, it is stated in the Midrash that Hakodesh Boruch Hu told Moshe Rabbenu to reprove Him, as it were. Who are you then to say harsh words to these townspeople who serve their Creator so faithfully! You should instead reprove Hakodosh Borch Hu, as it were, for not having shown mercy upon His children. And now, that he had indeed shown them Divine compassion by sending them the blessed rains, let them continue to worship him faithfully!"

"Amen!" shouted the entire congregation.

Kaddish Derabonon was said after the Drosho and the congregation began saying the Psalms of Shir Hamaalos with joyous fervor.

(Likutei Diburim)

(Volume 2, pages 12-13)

That's the story I really love, where he defends the people and points out their goodness and even has the ability to reprove God, as it were, for having withheld the rains! That's fantastic!

How uplifting, how beautiful all of this is! Unfortunately, there are so many people who have been erroneously taught that the only people one can truly respect are the extremely learned scholars who exist on some incredibly high level that bears no relation to reality. But that's not so! The people whom one should respect are those who serve with devotion, love and honesty, those who are sincere and genuine and who serve God to the fullest capacity of which they are capable. Each person has different abilities and capabilities; each person serves God differently! The scholar serves God with his holy intentions and thoughts and the texts that he understands and those who do not know as much also serve him in their own way, whether it be through giving of their time and money to important causes or reciting Tehillim or otherwise connecting with Him.

Of course, the goal is to educate everyone so that everyone is able to achieve a higher understanding of God and serve him in a more thorough way, but it suddenly occurred to me that I might extrapolate from the Besht's teachings. Now, the Besht described how beloved the service of the simple, illiterate and unlearned Jew is to God. In our generation, we do not have illiterate and unlearned Jews. But we certainly have people who have not been taught well and have not been educated appropriately, or those who have been taught but who have a skewed understanding of halakha and religion. But if they are sincere in the way they serve God, if they believe what they have been taught, however flawed it might be, and act out of good intentions, God is the one who will know what they really mean and what they really wish to do, and will understand appropriately.

So! I think I see a way not to judge people, which is wonderful. If you have been taught a certain way and that is all you know, how can I possibly expect you to act differently? And how can I expect you to step outside the box within which you've been raised, and how can I expect you to question things? I can't, of course! What remains to be seen is whether what you have been taught is valid or simply something distorted; if it is valid, well and good, and if it is distorted, you do not know it is distorted and in your confusion, you mean well, and so God will understand. The only question is whether man will understand. And perhaps he can! Perhaps I can, too!

Understand a person's intentions and you will understand him. Understand a person, and you will see what you have in common with him rather than what keeps you apart. And perhaps you will even find a way to show him what it is that he should do differently so as not to hurt you, and others like you. And you will accomplish this through kindness, not through anger. See as they do, live through their eyes, look at the world as they do, and you will suddenly be struck by a blinding flash of insight- of course! This makes sense! And if this is how they see it, this is what I need to do! You have to show people things in a way they understand. But in order to do this, you need to understand them first.

If the Ba'al Shem Tov was able to so love the unlearned, illiterate Jew who yearned to serve God in whatever way he could, surely I can love the person who I see as a poorly educated Jew who too yearns to serve God, albeit perhaps in misguided fashion?

Of course! Why does it take me so long to see these things? Why, because it's easier not to look at it this way and simply to condemn. But condemning accomplishes nothing, whereas understanding can save the whole world.

Oh, hurrah for the Besht! And hurrah for the way he saw people! And hurrah for sudden insights in the middle of the night (amazing that everyone tries to tell me this and I don't comprehend, but suddenly I can grasp it on my own!)

Hurrah for the whole world!

Religion as Fire

BEYOND KAVANAH (pages 316-317)

What we feel primarily is our inability to feel adequately. Human inadequacy is not an inference of humility; it is the truth of existence. A mitsvah is neither a substitute for thought nor an expression of kavanah. A mitsvah is an act in which we go beyond the scope of our thought and intention. He who plants a tree rises beyond the level of his own intention. He who does a mitsvah plants a tree in the divine garden of eternity.

With a sacred deed goes a cry of the soul, inarticulate at times, that is more expressive of what we witness, of what we sense than words.

A pious man is usually pictured as a sort of bookworm, a person who thrives among the pages of ancient tomes, and to whom life with its longing, sadness, and tensions is but a footnote in a scholarly commentary on the Bible. The truth is that a religious man is like a salamander, that legendary animal that originates from a fire of myrtlewood kept burning for seven years.

Religion is born of fire, of a flame, in which the dross of the mind and soul is melted away. Religion can only thrive on fire. “The Lord spoke unto Moses…This they shall give…half a shekel for an offering to the Lord” (Exodus 30: 13). Said Rabbi Meir: “The Lord showed unto Moses a coin of fire, saying: This is what they shall give.” A life of religion is an altar. “Fire shall be kept burning upon the altar continually; it shall not go out” (Leviticus 6:6).

Man cannot live without acts of exaltation, without moments of trembling and revering, without being transported by grandeur. For weeks and months he may be confined to the routine of sensible interests, until an hour arrives when all his habits burst under the strain. Common sense may sign a decree that life be kept under the lock of average conceptions, but much in our lives is made to be burned up in a holy flame or it will rot in monstrous deeds, in evil thoughts. To satisfy his need for exaltation, man will plunge into rage, wage wars; he will set the city of Rome afire.

When superimposed as a yoke, as a dogma, as a fear, religion tends to violate rather than to nurture the spirit of man. Religion must be an altar upon which the fire of the soul may be kindled in holiness.

~From God in Search of Man by Abraham Joshua Heschel

Favorite Quotes

I have many favorite quotes, whether they be passages from books, movies or those that stand alone. I have chosen to list some of them (this is definitely not a complete list. A complete list would go on for pages and pages and include whole books.)

From Dangerous Liaisons

"I am grateful, of course, but that would have been at most insultingly simple. One does not applaud the tenor for clearing his throat."

"Illusions, of course, are by their nature sweet."

"I’ll tell you why not. Because when one woman strikes at the heart of another, she seldom misses, and the wound is invariably fatal."

"You loved that woman, Vicomte. What’s more, you still do, quite desperately. If you hadn’t been so ashamed of it, how could you have treated her so viciously..? You couldn’t bear even the vague possibility of being laughed at. And this has proved something I’ve always suspected- that vanity and happiness are incompatible."

From A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man

What did it avail to pray when he knew that his soul lusted after its own destruction? A certain pride, a certain awe, withheld him from offering to God even one prayer at night though he knew it was in God's power to take away his life while he slept and hurl his soul hellward ere he could beg for mercy. His pride in his own sin, his loveless awe of God, told him that his offence was too grievous to be atoned for in whole or in part by a false homage to the Allseeing and Allknowing.

From Lawrence of Arabia

Auda: You love him.
Ali: No, I fear him.
Auda: Why do you weep?
Ali: If I fear him and love him, how must he fear himself who hates himself?

From American Gods

"You got to understand the god thing. It's not magic. It's about being you, but the you that people believe in. It's about being the concentrated, magnified, essence of you. It's about becoming thunder, or the power of a running horse, or wisdom. You take all the belief and become bigger, cooler, more than human. You crystallize." He paused. "And then one day they forget about you, and they don't believe in you, and they don't sacrifice, and they don't care, and the next thing you know you're running a three-card monte game on the corner of Broadway and Forty-third."

From Little Gidding

Ash on an old man's sleeve
Is all the ash the burnt roses leave.
Dust in the air suspended
Marks the place where a story ended.
Dust inbreathed was a house-
The walls, the wainscot and the mouse,
The death of hope and despair,
This is the death of air.

From Fool's Fate

"Would you have more than this?" The Fool's voice was less than a whisper. I discerned a challenge in his words, but could not understand it.

"Yes, please. Try," I bade him.

Beside me at the table, I was aware of the Fool making some small movement but my vision was unfocused on the room and I had no warning of his intentions until his hand settled on my wrist. His fingertips unerringly found their own faded gray fingerprints, left on my flesh so many years ago. His touch was gentle, but the sensation was an arrow in my heart. I physically spasmed, a speared fish, and then froze. The Fool ran through my veins, hot as liquor, cold as ice. For a flashing instant, we shared physical awareness. The intensity of it went beyond any joining I'd ever experienced. It was more intimate than a kiss and deeper than a knife thrust, beyond a Skill-link and beyond sexual coupling, even beyond my Wit-bond with Nighteyes. It was not a sharing, it was a becoming. Neither pain nor pleasure could encompass it. Worse, I felt myself turning and opening to it, as if it were my lover's mouth upon mine, yet I did not know if I would devour or be devoured. In another heartbeat, we would be one another, know one another more perfectly than two separate beings ever should.

[...]

Just as I opened my eyes, the Fool's thought uncurled in my mind like a leaf opening to sunlight.

And I set no limits on that love.

"It's too much," I said brokenly. "No one can give that much. No one."

From The Lord of the Rings

So I thought too, once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: someone has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them.

Control

He heads for the kitchen again; searches the refrigerator for the TV dinners, bought for him for Wednesdays. Fried chicken. Peas and carrots. mashed potatoes. Apple slices. He turns on the oven. "Take the dinner out of the cardboard envelope, tear back foil to expose chicken, cook 35-40 minutes." Obey all rules and do as directed, punishment may be lessened.

Don't doubt that there will be punishment.

Punishment? Of course, for losing control. Always. One of life's unwritten laws.

~Ordinary People, 183

I feel like I need to be in control.

Of what, you ask me? Of everything. Of everything that is in my power. I need to make sure that events unfold a certain way, that everything is done to my specifications. I know that if I do not do something, it will not get done properly. I must do everything myself. I cannot delegate. Delegating to others leaves you open to the possibility that you will be screwed over; people will not live up to your expectations. So you do not delegate. You do things yourself. You can trust yourself and even if it takes far more time, effort or energy, you know what the final product will be. Chance is not a factor. The chance that someone you trust will not come through. The chance that you might get a poor grade. Never.

Control. Above all things, control.

Control gives me power. Control means that I am in charge. People cannot force me to react in a certain way. People are unable to antagonize me. People, in fact, need have no impact upon me at all if I choose not to let them. I can block them out. I can control my own thoughts, feelings and emotions. And I can protect myself. I don't have to react just because you ask me to do so. I can choose.

The problem is the reason for this control. This control is my way of saying I understand everything. Yes, this all makes sense, I nod; I'm in control. This is up to me. This is my decision. And if this does not work out as it should, this is my fault. Someone to blame, even if it is myself, gives me comfort.

I will show you how far I take the idea of control. I will deliberately commit sins. They don't have to be major sins, more likely they are sins of omission. And why? Because if I am punished for something, I want to feel like it is my fault. I chose this punishment. I deserve it. And I know I deserve it, because I did it to myself. God is not at fault here. I don't have to deal with the fact that I don't understand why God would do something unkind to me. That's because I do understand. I have given him an excuse. Whatever you do to me, God, it is justified. It is my fault. I caused it.

The idea of there not being someone to blame terrifies me. The idea that it's nobody's fault. That we don't all fit into boxes. That God can do something to me and I will have absolutely no understanding as to the reason why. I don't even want to think that way. Which is why, for me, it is preferable to do anything in order to mantain control. Except that I understand this is problematic. Ordinary People does it best, but there are others and other books where I see this.

"You don't understand," he says. "It has to be somebody's fault. Or what was the whole goddamn point of it?"

"The point of it," Berger says, "is that it happened."

"No! That's not it! That is too simple-" (224)

But why? Why's that too simple? It's not too simple. It's the truth. It doesn't all have to be my fault. It doesn't have to be anybody's fault. And if things don't go as they should, punishment does not necessarily ensue.

I know why I want to be in control. It's because too often, I have been in situations where I had no control. In elementary school, I was bullied by a girl who had the ability to reduce me to tears. No matter how I tried to stand up to her or to ignore her, she was able to use me as she liked. And I would cry in front of her and hate myself for crying and swear I wouldn't ever do it again. But I did. And I was angry with myself for losing control like that, for being too sensitive, for being unable to fight back. I was angry with myself for showing my feelings. I knew that I shouldn't, that this was a weakness and a vulnerability that I must learn to conceal. But I didn't know how to go about it.

Then came high school. My former bully was replaced by a much bigger bully: the administration. The powers-that-be. The teachers became the enemy. Did they do it purposely? Perhaps not. It depended on the situation. But again, I was forced to stay behind for one-on-one conferences with teachers who terrified me. Teachers who yelled at me or who used very soft sibilant tones, questioning and suspicious tones with me, insinuating that I had done something very wrong. And again, they were able to reduce me to tears. And this demonstrated their power over me. They had all the power and I had none. And again I hated myself for letting them win, for showing them how they had gotten to me. For having no control. Pitiful weakling. You have to toughen up. You have to hide your feelings.

But I can't. I don't know how. I don't know how to lie. I don't know how to laugh at what you say and shrug it off when I'm dying on the inside. I don't know how to wear that mask and pretend what you say doesn't hurt me. I don't know how to ignore you. I don't know how to mock you or respond sarcastically or otherwise fend you off in order to protect myself. And the reason why is because I really don't think you mean it. I feel like if I just explained it to you, showed you how you're hurting me, proved to you why you are wrong, you would stop. If I just had the right words to tell you.

Because I honestly believe you're good. The bullies, the scary teachers, the ones who make me cry. I honestly think that if I was just able to find the right words to show you how you're wrong, you would stop. But that requires showing you that I'm hurt, not laughing or lying or pretending.

Sometimes I tell myself that you're ugly, that you're somehow deeply flawed or cruel or evil. But that's not the truth. The truth is that I think you are good and that's what scares me and disturbs me, that good people like you can do this to me and ignore me when I try to show you that it's wrong. That you really don't care that you've made me cry for the fourth day in a row, that you're terrifying me by yelling at me in front of the entire class.

So I need to be in control. I need to be able to block people out, to fend off people's words, to be able to act rather than react, to be able to choose how to respond to stimuli.

The problem with this is that I can't have both. If I want to be honest, I need to be in touch with my feelings and the way I naturally respond to situations. If I want to protect myself, then I have to be false. I can't switch emotions on and off as I so choose. The fact is, I feel things. This is not a choice. This is how I am.

So I crave control. But who am I kidding? I'm not in control. Not when it comes to what's important. That teacher who is busy telling the whole class that "you're not roses, you're dandelions?" I have to fight that. I have to tell him that we're all roses and it is cruel and unkind to claim that we are dandelions. But when I start this and he responds, my voice will immediately go all shaky with passion and anger because he's laughing and this isn't funny; this is something I take very seriously, and how can he sit there and laugh as though this were amusing? How is putting down an entire group of people amusing? Telling us that we're simply the dandelion spores that drift upon the wind, all of us alike, dotting the grass, rather than the gorgeous and beautiful unique rose? Yes, I take that seriously. You have no right. To tell me that. And put me down.

Now, what would be more effective? Of course it would be more effective to argue from logic rather than passion. To control one's emotions and one's voice, to seem unruffled, cool, calm, completely unperturbed. But I can't do it. I really can't do it. Because it's lying. It's not how I really feel or how I really am; at that moment in time I am so deeply disturbed that it comes across in everything I do or say, my voice, my actions, my very look shows this. And I don't think I should have to pretend. Even if it is more effective.

This is how it is for me:

He lifts his head, holding himself tight. Control. Control is all. He tries to clamp his throat shut over it, to stifle the sound, but he cannot and he begins to sob, a high, helpless coughing sound. There is no control any more, everything is lost, and his body heaves, drowning. His head is on his arms again, the smell of old wood in his nostrils, the warmth of his own breath against his face. (222)

I try. I try to keep my composure, to keep control. Try not to get upset, certainly not to show I am upset. My voice betrays me. My voice becomes shaky and I can feel that I am blushing, that I am red with anger. And he laughs. Oh, he laughs at me. My teacher laughs. Or screams, alternatively. How to respond to this? What to do? I have to say this, to protest this. It's not just for me, though part of it definitely is. But it's for everyone else in that class who feels the same way I do and can't say it. And I know you're there.

I have no control over how they make me feel, and that is the ultimate shame and the ultimate humiliation. That I can't act in a detached manner. I'm not able to choose when and when not to feel, unless I completely block something out, completely remove myself from a situation. And the reason for that is also in Ordinary People:

"I can't help it," he says. "It hurts too much to be around you." (182)

Yes, sometimes it does. It hurts too much to actually understand and take in a situation, so I remove myself from it. I block it off. This is my method of control. I can't deal with this every single day. I would get sick. So I don't.

There is a flip side to this. The flip side is the way I understand joy. Anything joyous, anything wonderful, I feel with an intensity that others usually do not understand. I am very alive. I revel in those moments. Those are mine. Those make up for everything else. That joy suffuses me in the same way that pain can consume me.

I know that I need to stop fighting this. I have to achieve a kind of balance. A way where I am somewhat in control so that other people do not dictate the way in which I behave, and I do not merely react to them but am able to choose how to respond. At the same time, I do not know how to go about it. How to draw this line. And I also need to admit that I can't control everything. I can't control God. I can't control the actions of others. In fact, I can't always control my own feelings and thoughts, though that is where I can really work on this. I have more control over myself than over the people around me. The only thing I can do is work on how I respond to situations. Everything else is beyond me, much as I don't want it to be.

I also need to ease off on this sense of trying to understand everything and simplify it, of punishment and guilt. I have some kind of equation in my head; if I do things right, everything will be okay. Do things wrong and this is your fault. You will be punished. And if you're not punished, punish yourself somehow. Nothing overly dramatic, no razor blades or binging or fasting. But deny yourself something you want. Put yourself in a position where your parents will punish you, do this deliberately (don't let them know you're doing it.) It will make you feel better. As though you have some control over the situation. I did it wrong. It's my fault. I've been punished. Okay, my equation works.

But what if there is no equation? What if there is no reason I can understand, what if it's really completely beyond me? What if it's nobody's fault? What if something happened because it happened? What if things just are?

What if the world just is?

Why is this such a scary concept for me?

I think it is because I prefer something understandable and simple. I prefer to think action a leads to result b which leads to consequence c. This means that my choices determine what is to follow. And sometimes that does work. But more often, it doesn't.

I don't like the idea that I can't understand everything. That I can't know everything. That my intellect is fallible.

But okay. Let's try this.

Chana, you don't understand everything. You're not able to. This isn't something that's wrong with you. It's simply something that is. Now enjoy that. That not everything has to be on you. You don't have to take care of everything, fix everything. This is not all your personal burden or problem. Some of this just is. And it's scary that you can't control everything. But isn't it also freeing? You have the freedom to accept that some things are beyond you.

Or as Dr. Berger of Ordinary People would say, "I'd better tell you. I'm not big on control. I prefer things fluid. In motion." (43)

As a side note, isn't it strange how it's hard to be nice to ourselves?

Resignation

I was very troubled by something over Shabbos.

I was recently placed in a social situation with many people whom I have not seen for a long time. There, I was very disturbed by something, but I could not put my finger on what. In fact, I chastised myself for suspecting anything was wrong. Surely I am not so cruel a person that I am unhappy when other people seem pleased and contented? Surely I don't want other people to be unhappy with something simply because I am? Surely I do not want people to suffer?

No! I realized this Shabbos. I know what bothered me so much. It was the dead, dull look in people's eyes. People were resigned. Resigned to their lot, to their fate. They seemed to harbor a belief, "This is the way the world works. We're stuck with it; we have to deal with it. We have no other choice."

People who had once flamed with passion and with the desire to change things had suddenly been transformed. They were silent, quiet, lying to themselves in order to convince themselves that everything's okay.

These people had not forgiven whatever had been done to them; they had merely forgotten it. Or told themselves they had.

And these are not older people who have to deal with the responsibilities of life, who have been beaten down by many years and disappointments. These are not people who have lost hopes or broken dreams or have cause to be completely disillusioned. These are people my age, perhaps a few years older.

So why are they resigned to the way everything is? What happened to the words they spoke, those flaming words and burning eyes and the way they looked and swore they would try to do something, anything, to change the way things are?

This makes me so upset. It's one of the worst things that could happen to a person. To exist but not to live, to feel like one has no ability to impact anything, that one is caught but cannot break free...Resignation is worse than apathy. Apathy is when one does not care. But resignation is when one does care, and has tried, and has been broken. And now they are simply resigned to their lot.

I know what all of you tell me. I know that so many of you think of me as nothing but a naive, foolish, idealistic little girl, whose thoughts will amount to so much dust and ash. I have heard over and over again that nothing I ever do will matter, that it is hopeless, that I might as well stop trying. That I am too small and too inadequate to effect any kind of change.

You have told me that this is the way the world works and I should accept it, suck it up and deal with it.

To do that, for me, would be a kind of death. It would take away all purpose. It would mean there is no point to any kind of existence. It would mean there is no use in trying. To be resigned is not to live. To be resigned at my age is a horror. I cannot understand what has happened here. I cannot understand how someone who is only eighteen can go in for some kind of false contentment, something which she herself knows is a lie! and truly believes this is her only choice.

Perhaps you are right. Perhaps this is the way things are.

But in the words of the immortal Edna St. Vincent Millay, "I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned."

Would That They Were All Prophets: A Personal Interpretation

(For Ezzie Goldish and The Man in the Yellow Hat)

כח וַיַּעַן יְהוֹשֻׁעַ בִּן-נוּן, מְשָׁרֵת מֹשֶׁה מִבְּחֻרָיו--וַיֹּאמַר: אֲדֹנִי מֹשֶׁה, כְּלָאֵם.
28 And Joshua the son of Nun, the minister of Moses from his youth up, answered and said: 'My lord Moses, shut them in.'

כט וַיֹּאמֶר לוֹ מֹשֶׁה, הַמְקַנֵּא אַתָּה לִי; וּמִי יִתֵּן כָּל-עַם יְהוָה, נְבִיאִים--כִּי-יִתֵּן יְהוָה אֶת-רוּחוֹ, עֲלֵיהֶם.
29 And Moses said unto him: 'Art thou jealous for my sake? would that all the LORD'S people were prophets, that the LORD would put His spirit upon them!'

ל וַיֵּאָסֵף מֹשֶׁה, אֶל-הַמַּחֲנֶה--הוּא, וְזִקְנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל.
30 And Moses withdrew into the camp, he and the elders of Israel.

~Numbers 11:28-30

I feel like I finally understand this passage in Tanakh.

Moses wants so much for everyone to be capable of what he has, for everyone to have the ability to prophecize. He wishes that everyone could be prophets. He wants to share the grandeur and glory of God with everyone else.

But have you ever considered what that would really mean? If every single person was a prophet? Each person connected to God, each person giving over his own understanding of the law? Perhaps they wouldn't even be consistent with one another! There are plenty of times in Tanakh where God speaks to two different people during the same time period and gives them conflicting messages or ways of understanding. Imagine the chaos that would ensue if everyone were prophets.

Damn it, but Moshe wants it so much. Can you understand how lonely Moshe must have felt, being the one man able to speak to God in that way, without anyone to understand him, anyone to truly stand beside him? Even the slightest touch of understanding moved him; he was glad, yes, glad, glad in a fierce and terrible way when others attained what had been forced upon him.

The difference between Moshe and I is that what I believe to be an ideal is not an ideal outlined by God. We can all agree that prophecy is an ideal state to reach, man's highest connection with God. When it comes to human ideals, we can debate them and see that perhaps they are not ideals at all.

But leaving that aside: let's take something I believe to be an ideal. I believe in a thinking society of interested, committed individuals, and I believe this can work within a Modern Orthodox structure and educational system. I believe it has worked for me, though God knows there are plenty of people who wouldn't hold me as any kind of example. And I want so much to share everything that moves and motivates me with others, and I imagine the way to do it is by wishing that they could all think and did think and in some ways, were like me.

Of course this is wrong, because creating people as reflections of yourself is never a good thing to do; you must accept that people are different. And this is terribly difficult for me, because I am used to thinking of things as being "better" and "worse," not equal, and I believe and feel that it is far, far better to think than not to think or wear blinders. Though of course we could all argue the extent of thought; perhaps I too am wearing my blinders unlike people who are truly searching. But that is tangential.

Anyway, a couple insights that have been afforded me lately:

1. Chana, you cannot judge everyone by yourself

2. Until you can come up with a workable system that offers a practical solution to the flaws in the current system, you have no right to argue

3. You must accept that people are different (I've been given this example a thousand times, but in an army, there are commanding officers and people taking orders. And I would be very bad at taking orders, because what if I saw a different and presumably better way to go about things? Creative thinking has no place at certain times and in certain venues. And perhaps there are people who really don't and really can't think creatively, much as you Chana don't want to accept that!)

4. People do think differently and/or they think on different levels

5. It is possible, that much as you don't want to admit this, and much as you hate this, and much as you resent this answer because it was given to you as an excuse for everything that ever hurt you, you Chana may not be the norm. And what works for you may in fact only work for the minority of people.

There's more, of course, but that's what I'm turning over in my mind at the moment. And oh, I hate it! I hate it so much when something that seems so good and true for me may not be good and true for others.

Moses wanted everyone to be prophets and everyone to have the ability he had, because he had such a desire to share what he saw and felt and knew of God.

But not everyone can be prophets.
And perhaps it is unfair to expect it of them.

And that, that is what I don't like to realize at all; I hate to think that people can't attain or won't or choose not to take ideas that are so good and healthful and pure- though of course, they may only be this way for me. I assume that every person has the ability and the desire to climb to the highest of heights, to think and create and to be Howard Roark, to be creative man, and I also selfishly assume that this must be done by being intellectually honest and dealing with problems rather than avoiding them.

Maybe I have to accept that people really don't have the ability to deal with problems?

But for me, that's thinking less of people, that's saying that they've given up, that they're choosing not to see because they can't deal with the truth, and I don't want to say that; I think so highly of people- I don't want to think less of them! I don't want to hold anyone and I don't want anyone to hold me to less than the highest standard (whose standard? Good question...)

You know in the movie A Few Good Men where Colonel Jessep says, "You can't handle the truth?"

I have always, always thought that everyone should, can and must be made to be handle the truth, to deal with facts.

But perhaps, even though I hate this, I am wrong, and not everyone can.

Or perhaps I am the one who is really messed up here; I am the one who is making this pursuit of questions and delving into ideas and attempting to be intellectually honest, who believes in exposure to the world and different types and system of thought, who believes that people must live examined lives because the unexamined life is not worth living- into an ideal when it really isn't. Maybe I'm just crazy.

Well then, isn't this pleasant. Either I have to believe that people cannot attain the supposed ideal and standards I set for them or I have to believe that I'm crazy. Unless there are middle sections here that I'm not getting because I am incapable of nuanced thinking.

Oh, this is not the happiest morning for me.

What Comes Naturally

Let me give you a personal example. I am not bragging about myself, but I cannot draw on the experience of someone else. I have to draw on my own experience. I was very envious as a child, very envious. I was envious of my friends, because I was not a bright child. It is true. Some called me stupid. This impression was created because I was intellectually honest. I would declare that I did not understand a topic when I did not truly understand it. I was very envious of another child in the heder, who was reputed to know one hundred pages of the Talmud by heart. In truth he was a faker, "Izak the faker." I was terribly envious of him. I remember my father called me in once and told me that envy is a middah megunah, a deplorable trait, a bad habit. This emotional enemy is known as lo tachmod, "you shall not covet" [Exodus 20:14] and lo titaveh, "you shall not desire" [Deuteronomy 5:18]. These emotions have been forbidden by the Torah.

I began to train myself to overcome it, and I succeeded. Now there is no kinah, no envy, in my heart. I mean, I am bad enough, but there is no envy in my heart. On the contrary, I rejoice in the success of my fellow man. The Torah demands from man a disciplined innner life. On the contrary, we know of constructive cathartic emotions, such as sympathy, love, and gratitude, which should be integrated into one's personality. One has freedom not only to control his physical acts but also to control his emotional life.

~The World of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Volume 2, page 192

There are certain talents, skills or good character traits that come naturally to us.

We do not work on them; we do not need to develop them. They are simply there, given to us, a gift. We are happy to have them and glad of them, but they are not difficult for us to attain. We do not have to struggle to achieve them.

The compliments we receive about these skills do not matter much to us. We are glad that people appreciate our work or who we are, yes, but we cannot take the credit for it. A simple and very nonthreatening example: I am able to type/write fast. I have done nothing in order to develop that skill. I was simply born with the ability. Now, I appreciate the fact that people are glad of this ability of mine, but your compliments do not really touch me, because I have nothing to be proud of. I did not develop or work on this skill; I have always had it; it is something that comes naturally to me.

I'll tell you what truly matters to me, and what I have found matters to everyone- when you receive a compliment about doing something that is difficult for you. When you have to struggle with yourself in order to act in a certain way and you do so despite the fact that this does not come naturally to you, this is not in your nature at all.

The greatest compliment one could ever receive would come from a truthful person whom you respect and admire, whose compliment comes unbidden (you in no way hinted at it or asked for it) and whose standards are very high. And his compliment would be about something that is difficult for you to do, something that is very hard for you. This compliment would mean the world to you and you would treasure it for a very long time.

When I speak in this vein, I refer primarily to character traits. In other areas, I think one should play to one's strengths. It does not make sense for me to pursue a career in mathematics simply because math is difficult for me. But it does make sense for me to work on my character traits and try to develop better ones, even though certain abilities do not come naturally to me and are very difficult for me.

The only problem is when you fake this so well that nobody notices. What now? If you're the kind of person who believes in the currency of compliments, awards and praise and now you've been neglected, how to react? I will give you a personal example.

There are some of you who know I attended Summer@YU. What you do not know is how I behaved there. My sister Dustfinger is the chesed person in my family. She is always available, always ready to help, involved with communal affairs and with the problems of other people. I am not like this at all. It is not in my nature to be concerned about others; I am only concerned with individuals, and exceptional individuals at that. It is difficult for me to expend lots of time and energy concentrating on an entire group of people.

I will tell you a secret. I completely changed my outward personality during that one summer. I decided that nobody knew me there and therefore I had the opportunity to start over, to be exactly as I wanted to be. I was the epitome of the chesed personality. Those of you who know me will be surprised by this. But it is true. Anything and everything that needed to be done, I did. I set the tables all the time, even when it was someone else's task, I volunteered for every duty or activity; I helped people out with various problems and made sure to deliberately brighten their day. I was a kinder, better Chana. It was very hard. Like I said, none of this came naturally to me. I am not naturally considerate, caring or patient. I was all of these things during the space of one summer. I worked very hard at it. I had an excellent summer and I was very proud of myself.

But, being me, I wanted to work for a reward. This is what motivates me, after all, rewards, prizes and compliments. So I'll tell you what I really wanted. I wanted the Camper of the Summer award.

I figured I deserved it, after all. I had been so good. I had done so much.

I didn't get the award.

In fact, the award I got was a joke award, the kind of thing that infuriates me because it suggests that nobody has the faintest idea what I'm about which is why they had to tack on some stupid joke and hope it summed me up. [1]

Now, for those of you who are adults, please try to think of this from the perspective of a high-schooler. It is quite possibly difficult for you. But please understand that an award in my mind was not merely a piece of paper but an award. It was a big deal. The entire reason I had invested so much effort into this summer and into being such a good person was for that award.

So how did I react? I was upset, naturally. In fact, I was crying. And I hated myself for crying and for being jealous of the girl who did get the award and did my best to convince myself that she had deserved it. And I was pretty miserable the rest of that evening even though I did my best to fake my way through it. So I sat on the bus upset with myself, trying to force down this ugly feeling of jealousy and trying to persuade myself that the other girl was much better than I was.

The fact is, of course, that my motives were not pure when it came to being good, and we all know that "he who runs after greatness, greatness will run from him." The other girl was naturally good; she didn't even need to think before helping others, and so of course she deserved the award.

But what I realized later, after benefiting from the words of those wiser from me, was how could they know? How could they know how difficult it was for me to do all the things I had done that summer, how could they know that it is not in my nature to reach out to other people or notice them or otherwise draw them in, to listen patiently to them as they tell over their stories, to volunteer to help out when in truth all I wanted to do was keep to myself? How could they know how hard it was for me not to be selfish, for me to give of my time or energy when I usually guard it so jealously? They only knew me for the space of one summer. For all they knew, that's what I was like all the time.

And I was thinking about all of us and all of you. About people in general.

Sometimes we fake it so well that nobody notices. The things that are so difficult for us, that are so hard for us to do, others assume come naturally to us. They think we're such good people and we're the only ones who know we aren't really.

So this is what I'd like to tell you: don't stop. Don't give up on this. Don't give up and think that nobody notices, nobody cares, nobody recognizes how hard I'm fighting, nobody even sees the slightest difference in the way I act. People usually don't look that hard. It is my fault for not looking that hard and I apologize for not seeing.

And sometimes you are just doing this so well that we can't notice; we don't even realize this is hard for you.

I so admire people who struggle with themselves, who try to subdue their feelings of hatred or anger or jealousy in favor of a more balanced approach. Whoever you are and whatever you're doing, I know how hard it is to fight what is natural to you, your natural response or personality traits, and to try to subdue them in favor of a kinder mode of behavior.

So I'd like to compliment you. I'd like to compliment you on doing something unnatural for you, doing something very difficult for you, keeping your temper when all you want to do is explode, refraining from voicing the nasty comment on the tip of your tongue, standing patiently by and listening to someone talk even though all you want to do is give them a piece of your mind. It is so hard to do that. And it is even harder when no one notices, when no one seems to recognize the effort you're making.

And I want to say thank you. Thank you from all of us, from the many people in the world who benefit from your kindness and thoughtfulness and considerate nature and haven't the faintest idea of how difficult this is for you. Thank you so much.

As Dumbledore tells Harry, "It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."

I was not born a good person.
But I can choose to be a good person.

And that makes all the difference.

[1] On the off chance that you're one of my counselors and reading this post, please understand that I forgave you long ago (if indeed there was anything to forgive you for) and learned quite a lot from this experience. So no worries.

The Importance of Recognition

Quite often a man finds himself in a crowd among strangers. He feels lonely. No one knows him, no one cares for him, no one is concerned with him. It is an existential experience. He begins to doubt his ontological worth. This leads to alienation from the crowd surrounding him. Suddenly someone taps him on the shoulder and says, "Aren't you Mr. So and So? I have heard so much about you." An alien turned into a fellow member of an existential community. What brought about the change? The recognition by someone, the word!

To recognize a person is not just to identify him physically. It is more than that: it is an act of identifying him existentially as a person who has a job to do that only he can do properly. To recognize a person means to affirm that he is irreplaceable. To hurt a person means to tell him that he is expendable, that there is no need for him.

The Halakhah equated the act of publicly embarrassing a person with murder. Why? Because humiliation is tantamount to destroying an existential community and driving the individual into solitude. It is not enough for the charitable person to extend help to the needy. He must do more than that; he must try to restore to the dependant person a sense of dignity and worth. That is why we have developed special sensitivy regarding orphans and widows, since these persons are extremely sensistive and lose their self-confidence at the slightest provocation. The Bible warned us against afflicting an orphan and widow.

~Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, "The Community," Tradition, Vol. 17, No. 2, p. 16.

Folklore, Fairytales & Mysticism within the Context of Judaism and the Bible

I am proud when my own insights and interpretations are later discovered in the rishonim [early authorities] or the early aharonim [later authorities].

My great-grandfather, Reb Yosef Baer of Brisk [1820-1892], always said that when you travel on a main highway you meet other travelers. When you go on a side road you meet nobody. In other words, when your original ideas are correct, you will encounter others who think your way. However, if you do not uncover support for your thesis, it may very well be incorrect.

~The World of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Volume 2, Page 196

I've written about an idea of mine here, here, here, and in the most detail (my favorite post as of yet), here.

My idea is simply this: one cannot possibly understand the Torah or Midrash without being well-versed in fairy tales and folklore. The two are inextricably intertwined. Learning fairytales and folklore only supplements and aids you in comprehending the Torah. Not learning them means that you will not understand the way in which these midrashim have been structured, or how they compare and/or differ from the stories they are based on.

I was disappointed, therefore, to find that someone else had already come up with my idea. I had hoped it was original. I then remembered the above quote by Rabbi Soloveitchik and felt a little better. It's a rather odd understanding of originality, what he posits. After all, if you're original, isn't the whole point that no one else has arrived at your idea before? But he interprets originality subjectively. You came up with this by yourself, on your own. No one helped you. It was your insight. And yes, your insight was correct and is corroborated, but it is still yours and you can still feel proud of yourself.

I can't say I completely agree on that definition of originality, but I am always happy when I figure something out for myself.

That having been said, here is the excellent book that lends support to my idea.

This is a little-known book entitled Elijah's Violin and Other Jewish Fairy Tales. Its copyright date is 1945. The only reason I have it is because it was my mother's. Upon reading this book for the first time, a while ago, I realized that this is not a collection of fairy tales so much as a collection of midrashim. These midrashim have been retold in beautiful language and presented as fairy tales but they are actually taken from the aggadata in the Talmud and other sources. The sources are not actually given in the book; instead the compiler simply notes the country of origin.

I had read this book once and remembered it vaguely. Upon doing some research for a different project of mine, I remembered that a particular midrash was referenced in this book. (I am probably the only person to look through fairy tales in order to find tales from the Gemara.) I happened to glance at the introduction to the book and read it through (I had not done so the first time I read the book.) To my delight, I found that Howard Schwartz corroborates everything I have always thought.

Tales of magic and wonder can be found in every phase of Jewish literature, both sacred and secular. Among the post-biblical aggadot (legends) and the maaysiot (tales) of Jewish folklore are to be found a number of stories which can readily be identified as traditional fairy tales. Some of these are the universal type of fairy tale set in an enchanted land and populated with a variety of human and supernatural beings, both good and evil, and are Jewish solely by virtue of their source. But many others, perhaps half of the existing body of Jewish fairy tales, have fused some specific aspects of Jewish life and tradition with the archetypal fairy-tale framework. For the fairy-tale version of the world as a stage on which good and evil struggle is fully compatible with the Jewish view of the essential condition of this world, where faith in God can defeat the evil impulse, known as the Yetzer Hara.

[...]

The pioneering work of Antti Aarne and Stith Thompson in this field, especially in The Types of the Folk-Tale, has demonstrated convincingly the parallel themes and patterns of fairy tales and other kinds of folktales found throughout the world. The fairy tales collected in the following pages from a wide range of Jewish sources and periods substantiate the thesis of Aarne and Thompson. There are even Jewish variants of such well-known fairy tales as "Cinderella," "Rapunzel," and "The Golden Bird," but at the same time they contain many unique qualities as a result of their origin. Especially those fairy tales which concern Jewish legendary figures have brought with them the customs and settings of the milieu from which they have emerged, and are valuable bearers of the Jewish tradition.

The entire introduction is fantastic. Schwartz traces the history of fairy tales and Jewish ones in particular, beginning with the Torah and continuing through the modern day. Many of his points are extremely insightful. He explains that Rabbi Nachman's tales, for example, are in fact"complex allegories frequently linked to myths concerning the Shekhinah and the Messiah" (Schwartz 12). This is absolutely correct. He further explains, however, that these tales need not be "read allegorically to be appreciated. The tales have great power in themselves, for Nachman's figures, events, and images are, at once, so primary and so subtle that they evoke the numinous quality of the inner world" (Schwartz 13). Schwartz also mentions the ways in which these Jewish fairy tales allude to the Torah (something I am fond of doing.) In one example, there is the notion of "the kiss of death" whch is echoed in a talmudic legend which "describes the death of Moses as having come from the Kiss of the Shekhinah" (Schwartz 10). As he writes, "for those familiar with the talmudic legend" the fairy tale's echo is "readily apparent, and enriches the resonance of the tale" (Schwartz 10).

Upon reading through the stories, I was pleased to find that I could go further than Schwartz. He had mentioned the stories that bear a resemblance to Cinderella, Rapunzel and the Golden Bird, but he had not noted that the very story his collection is named after, "Elijah's Violin," is actually a Jewish retelling of "Finist the Falcon!" This amused me. (Those links take you to the full version of each story; they're well-worth reading.)

An excerpt from "The Demon Princess" that all of you will recognize:

Soon afterward other demons began to arrive for the morning services, and before long one of them suddenly cried out: "I smell the smell of one born of woman!" and all of the others shouted in agreement and they soon discovered the man among them. But the shammash spoke up and said: "You must not harm this man, for he is under my protection." And because of the respect they had for that demon, they agreed not to harm him, but they wanted to know how he had reached their kingdom, so remote from all human habitation.

(111)

"Jack and the Beanstalk," anyone? (Though that, too, was presumably stolen from another source.)

You are perhaps wondering why there is a shammash in the kingdom of demons. Schwartz answers this, explaining that "the description of the religious life in the kingdom of the demons, which seems parallel, in every respect, to that of a devout Jew of the Middle Ages [...] is not intended as a mockery, for the Yenne Velt, the world in which demons and other spirits live, was believed to be a mirror image, somewhat distorted, of the world in which we live" (10).

Fairy tales can be read on several different levels. There is the literal fairy tale, a child's guide to life. It is through reading fairy tales that children realize how the world works, that children are introduced to the concept of good and evil and of justice. This is partially the reason that there are many fairy tales with cruel or unhappy endings; it was to give over the understanding that the world is not a fair place, to teach the child this from the moment he enters the world. This is also the reason my father did not read me these fairy tales as a child; he chose instead to focus upon the ones where good is rewarded and evil punished. In "The Goose Girl," for instance, the scheming maidservant is found out and the humble princess rewarded. That tale is particularly fitting because the Queen chooses her own punishment (indeed, this happens in many fairy tales), an idea which is seen in everything from Haman's inadvertantly choosing Mordechai's reward to kings unknowingly pronouncing judgement upon themselves. The latter is the closer match, of course.

Then there is the reason for writing a fairy tale. Sometimes fairy tales are written with specific messages or purposes; they are allegorical presentations of important ideas. R' Nachman's "The Exiled Princess" is about the Shekhina. Other fairy tales, as Schwartz explains, cite R' Adam as an Illusionist who helps his people, the Jews, out of many unfortunate circumstances. "It is not difficult," writes Schwartz, "to recognize in these tales the deep frustrations, impotence and isolation experienced by Jews in the medieval period, and to see how the fantasy mechanisms of the fairy tale operate. For it is out of the people's longing to be independant and secure that such tales emerged..." (11)

From the time I was a child, I was raised on Jewish fairy-tales which were actually retold midrashim. I was not raised on Artscroll books, indeed, upon being finally exposed to them, I remember thinking of them as being very colorless and boring. My favorite Jewish book as a child was The Diamond Tree. I loved this book so much that every Shabbos, when I walked with my father to shul and passed a beautiful tree hung with glittering ornaments and wind chimes, I would exclaim, "The Diamond Tree! The Diamond Tree!" The other book, this one associated with my mother, is the absolutely beautiful work The Uninvited Guest. Both The Diamond Tree and The Uninvited Guest feature dazzling pictures as well; I was as fascinated by the pictures as the stories.

Unfortunately, very few people know about these books because they are not sold in typical bookstores. My mother, being the very literary person that she is, researched everything I read and made sure to read it herself before giving it to me. As a child, my imagination knew no bounds and I was enthralled by Judaism because it was Judaism that brought me the most delightful stories of Og upon the Ark or the witch who turned children into diamonds. All of these stories are actually midrashim or tie in to the Torah.

One of the ways to give over the true beauty of Judaism is through delving into its texts. Jewish midrashim, aggadata and folklore is beautiful and complex. For the imaginative child, this is best accomplished by introducing her to works like The Diamond Tree, The Uninvited Guest, The Little Midrash Says, Tales from the Gemara and upon her growing older, Elijah's Violin, The Midrash Says, Legends of the Jews and the like. There are also the beautiful tales of the Ba'al Shem Tov and other miracle-workers. (The most comprehensive version is the four-volume set Tales of the Baal Shem Tov compiled by Yisroel Ya'akov Klapholz, but it is only put out by Mishor Publishing in Bnei Brak and may be difficult to find.)

Judaism boasts a halakhic, analytical beauty for the rational mind; the halakha and Gemara are a pleasure for the mathematical person. It also boasts a moving, emotional form of beauty in its literature and folklore, and this is what touches the heart of the person who is more focused in humanities. I love that the one religion can encompass so many ways of seeing and learning, that we have room for our homo religiosus and our halakhic man, the man who lives and breathes stories and the other who chooses to refute them in favor of a science that can also be supported within our doctrines. And that both people have the freedom to meet and interact with one another, to sometimes step outside their lines and boundaries and simply wonder aloud, contemplating the world at large and finding it-and each other- to be good.