The Adept pointed this out in class, for which I thank him. Rabbi Yaakov Weinberg was the Rosh Yeshiva of Ner Yisrael & was involved in Torah UMesorah, Agudath Israel of America and other such programs. In short, he's part of the yeshiva/Haredi world. He authored a book entitled Fundamentals and Faith: Insights Into the Rambam's 13 Principles. It's worthwhile to note his understanding of the Eighth Principle, which regards the divinity of the Torah. See excerpt below.
~
The Inscriber of God's Words
The Ani Ma'amin version of this Principle reads: "I believe with complete faith that the entire Torah which is now in our possession is the same as that which was given to Moshe Rabbeinu, may he rest in peace." This rendition of the eighth Principle expresses the belief that the Torah we have now is the same Torah that was given to Moshe Rabbeinu at Sinai. Although the phrasing chosen by the author of Ani Ma'amin is reminiscent of the actual text of the Rambam, it does not reflect his main concern in this Principle.
The text of this Principle reads:
"We believe that the entire Torah in our possession today was given [to us] by the Almighty through Moshe Rabbeinu, by means of the medium we metaphorically call "speech." No one knows the real nature of this communication except Moshe, to whom it was transmitted. He was like a scribe receiving dictation. He wrote the history, the stories, and the commandments. Therefore he is called [the] 'inscriber'."
Clearly, the thrust of this Principle is the conviction that every letter of the Written and Oral Law transmitted through Moshe Rabbeinu was of Divine origin. Moshe Rabbeinu merely served as a conduit for communicating it, or as a "scribe", as the Rambam himself describes him.
In contrast, it is difficult to understand Ani Ma'amin literally, i.e. that the Torah we now possess is the same Torah given to Moshe Rabbeinu. It is true that as long as the Temple stood and the Torah scroll which Moshe Rabbeinu wrote was kept there, the Jewish People had a standard to which to compare all new Torah scrolls that were written. But we are told (Sofrim 6:4) that after the destruction of the Temple, when Ezra returned to Israel, he found three Torah scrolls which were either considered valid. Even so, there were minor discrepancies among them, which were maintained or discarded depending on whether they appeared in two of the three scrolls. Although the Torah itself instructs Jews to follow the majority in making a decision, one suspects that after many such occurrences, his decisions are not going to produce absolutely accurate reproductions of the original Sinai version. The Talmud, too, says we are no longer experts in the exact spelling of many words. Consequently, the rabbis could not count the exact number of letters in the Torah (Kiddushin 30a). Certainly, these were very minor variances- such as spelling a word with a hei or an alef, or with or without a vav- changes which did not seem to affect the meaning significantly.
The Rambam knew very well that these variations existed when he defined his Principles. The words of Ani Ma'amin and the words of the Rambam, "the entire Torah in our possession today," must not be taken literally, implying that all the letters of the present Torah are the exact letters given to Moshe Rabbeinu. Rather, it should be understood in a general sense that the Torah we learn and live by is for all intents and purposes the same Torah that was given to Moshe Rabbeinu. The real emphasis of this Principle is that this Torah, which includes both the Written and Oral Law, is word for word, letter for letter from the Almighty, and absolutely none of it was edited by Moshe in any way whatsoever. There is not one phrase, not one letter that Moshe added to clarify or explain what was transmitted to him. He had no input of any kind but functioned only as the mouthpiece of the Almighty.
~Fundamentals and Faith by Rabbi Yaakov Weinberg, pages 89-91
*
So no matter your affiliation, you are under no obligation to believe that every single jot, tittle and letter in today's Torah- in the literal sense- is precisely the same as it was when it was given to Moses at Sinai. Which is exciting, because it means you don't have to believe against reason and rationality. Hurrah!
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
This Is The Way It Ends
This is the way it ends
Don't tell me it's meaningless
There'll be no compromise
We fall and we too shall rise
You held me and taught me how
I think I am ready now
If this is the way it ends,
This is the way it's meant to be.
~"This Is The Way It Ends" by Landon Pigg
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Welcome To The Yeshiva University Observer
Some of you are aware that I spent an academic year as editor of the Yeshiva University Observer. Now, Liege Productions brings us a short mini-documentary about that very newspaper featuring Yaelle Frohlich, this year's (2009-2010) editor. Watch, learn and enjoy:
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
House: The Dark Hero
(Disclaimer: This post contains spoilers.)
Tonight's episode of "House" ("Help Me" - Season 6, Episode 21- the season finale) was easily the most epic one yet. It had everything. It had passion, drama, emotion- everything. House and Cuddy are at the scene of a horrendous accident; a crane operator accidentally let go of the controls and smashed a building which contained 100 residents. House's humanity, dark side and the sweetness concealed within him all come to the fore within one hour of television.
Probably one of the best scenes on television- and the saddest speech given by any person:
Tonight's episode of "House" ("Help Me" - Season 6, Episode 21- the season finale) was easily the most epic one yet. It had everything. It had passion, drama, emotion- everything. House and Cuddy are at the scene of a horrendous accident; a crane operator accidentally let go of the controls and smashed a building which contained 100 residents. House's humanity, dark side and the sweetness concealed within him all come to the fore within one hour of television.
Probably one of the best scenes on television- and the saddest speech given by any person:
- Cuddy: [to the Fire Rescue Chief] Give us a minute. I know you’re angry but please, don’t put her life at risk just to get back at me.
House: Really? [sarcastic] Wow. This is all about you now.
Cuddy: You took her side against me right after you heard about my engagement.
House: Yeah, that must be it. It’s not that you’re a pathetic narcissist.
Cuddy: [angry but lying, taking a breath between each word as she spits out the statement] I. Don’t. Love. You. So just accept it and move on with your life instead of making everyone miserable!
House: That’s great. A life-lesson from a middle-aged single mom dating a man-child.
Cuddy: Screw you. I’m sick of making excuses for you. I’m sick of other people having to tiptoe around you and make their own lives worse while they try to keep you from collapsing. I’m done.
House: (pretending to be unhurt, rejoinds) Fantastic. Stay away from my patient.
Cuddy: What are you clinging to, House? You’re gonnna risk her life just to save her leg? That really worked out well for you, didn’t it. What do you have in your life, honestly? Tell me! I’m moving on. Wilson is moving on. And you? You’ve got nothing, House, nothing. I’m going down there and I’m going to convince her to let me cut her leg off. If you have any decency left, you’ll just stay out of it.
[After Cuddy fails to convince the patient to cut off her leg, House speaks instead]
House: Hannah [takes a breath], we have to amputate your leg. [Cuddy’s eyes widen; she looks at House throughout this entire conversation. She is overhearing his confession.]
Hannah: No. You said that there was time.
House: There was. And it’s run out.
Hannah: [shakes head vehemently] No.
House: You asked me how I’d hurt my leg. I had a blood clot and the muscle was dying and I had all these doctors telling me I should amputate and I said no and they did this very risky operation. I almost died.
Hannah: But you saved your leg.
House: [quietly, meaningfully] I wish I hadn’t. They cut out a chunk of muscle about the size of my fist. And they left me this mutilated, useless thing. And I’m in pain every day. It changed me. Made me a harder person. A worse person. And now, now I’m alone. You don’t want to be like me. You’ve got a husband who loves you, you’ve got friends, you’ll start a family. You’ve got a whole life. And this? This is just a leg.
Hannah: [crying] Okay.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Inertia Creeps, Moving Up Slowly
Hijacked by a life that suddenly includes the creation of wedding registries, the writing of thank-you cards, the wording on invitations, the as-yet-postponed search for a wedding gown, people deciding that they must stare at my engagement ring, people then deciding to wear my engagement ring (slightly strange, but hell, that's life), people who can't exchange two words with me without talking about my husband-to-be and the ever-prevalent comments of how small my fingers are (exclamation point, exclamation point), it's important to note the following.
-Davening at Bobov on a Friday night (the one on 48th; I have no clue what the one on 45th is like) is a life-altering experience, particularly the way everyone claps and sings before 'Boi B'shalom' and seems super-happy.
-I now know women who shave their heads and are happy about it.
-Double entendres in conversations (aka throwing in phrases that blend seamlessly into conversation and that have secret meanings for me and a few special other people at the table) is a fantastic art form that I enjoy and do well.
-Biblical Hebrew is murder.
-I love the band Massive Attack.
-Davening at Bobov on a Friday night (the one on 48th; I have no clue what the one on 45th is like) is a life-altering experience, particularly the way everyone claps and sings before 'Boi B'shalom' and seems super-happy.
-I now know women who shave their heads and are happy about it.
-Double entendres in conversations (aka throwing in phrases that blend seamlessly into conversation and that have secret meanings for me and a few special other people at the table) is a fantastic art form that I enjoy and do well.
-Biblical Hebrew is murder.
-I love the band Massive Attack.
-If you're not a Damon & Elena shipper on "The Vampire Diaries," I'll want to know why.
-I cried when I watched this past week's "Private Practice." The little girl beating her arms against Pete in protest of the fact that her father is dead shook me up.
-It's ever-so-slightly Stepford Wife-ish when every single woman is wearing a white kerchief over her wig, a strand of pearls and diamond earrings on Friday night. It's like there's a Shabbat uniform nobody told me about. At the same time, the simple devotion and connection these women feel when they pray to God (eyes closed) is unmatchable.
-The world is a pretty place, especially when it includes Crispix.
-I cried when I watched this past week's "Private Practice." The little girl beating her arms against Pete in protest of the fact that her father is dead shook me up.
-It's ever-so-slightly Stepford Wife-ish when every single woman is wearing a white kerchief over her wig, a strand of pearls and diamond earrings on Friday night. It's like there's a Shabbat uniform nobody told me about. At the same time, the simple devotion and connection these women feel when they pray to God (eyes closed) is unmatchable.
-The world is a pretty place, especially when it includes Crispix.
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
Stand For Something
~Fall for Anything by The Script / (Lyrics)
The most recent episode of Grey's Anatomy, entitled "Hook, Line and Sinner" explored power within relationships and specifically the way in which men treat women. Bailey tore into Alex and explained to Lexie that she needs to start treating herself with self-respect and not handing her power and autonomy over to Alex simply because she is sleeping with him. (Up till then, she had been looking to him for approval, running every decision or call by him.) At the end of the episode, Lexie asserts herself. Everything should be grand, right? Wrong. Because one forceful address telling the man to give her the damn beer doesn't fix a lifetime of learned behavior. Fixing one's behavior takes work. Learning to find approval and validation in yourself as opposed to seeking for it in others takes work. At the very least, learning who you can trust to be a healthy person whose respect you should try for and whose approval you should actually value takes work.
The person who loves you best will never force you to do anything. He won't order you, rule you, or try to take your power or autonomy away from you. He will want you to make your own choices. This may even include situations where you make bad choices. He might respectfully disagree with you or offer his opinion should you ask for it, but he will also respect your right to make a decision and to learn something the hard way. Any person who forces you, rules you, treats you disrespectfully, orders you around or ensures that you always know his opinion so that you live in fear of it- is not a person you want in your life. Such behavior is unhealthy and tears you down. It eats away at your self-esteem, self-respect, courage, ability and strength. The person who loves you best wants you to be an independent entity. He doesn't want you to melt into him or otherwise become him. He doesn't see you as an extension of himself. You are a unique, special, gifted and talented person and you are loved and respected for all of your gifts and qualities. He too has his gifts. And together you can use them productively. But any person who sees you in terms of the creature he can possess, control, order around, rule, force or whose opinion he can mold, shift or cause you to live in fear of is not a healthy person. And you can spend all your life trying to shape-shift to please him and you will never succeed. Because the more he claims to love you when you change for him, the worse you secretly feel, in an unacknowledged place deep inside your heart. That unacknowledged place doesn't stay hidden forever.
Mutual respect. Mutual respect and understanding of the flaws and the strengths, the weaknesses and the shining aspects, the desire to help your partner grow and allow them to learn, sometimes through trial and error- these are the things to look for in people.
So stand for something. Stand for you. Stand for that person who deserves to be loved, cherished and desired, not bullied, lied to or controlled. Stand up for that lady, replete with flaws as she may be, because it's up to you to grow and to change- and not up to anyone else to make you do it. Work at it. Work hard. It's not easy. We are raised in a society that advocates our giving up our power to those who are religious enough, handsome enough, rich enough or influential enough to threaten to impact our lives. We are raised to believe that we must give up our selves in the name of love. What society fails to mention is that if we give up our self, there is nothing left to love. We've melted into wisps scattered by the wind.
So, pretty lady, think twice before you try to earn his approval, love, desire or recognition by changing who you really are. The loss is greater than the gain. Your soul is at stake and it is more important than all the many handsome boys who whisper sweet murder in your ear. Hold out for the friends who respect you and the men who admire you. You don't need to live your life in a cage. I don't think this is an easy thing to do. In fact, I think you can wage a life's battle struggling to be enough for yourself, to stand alone rather than fitting yourself to his cage. It seems easier to be behind bars. At least you're protected and you're not alone, plus he validates you sometimes- doesn't he? Yes, he does. And what about all the other times that he poisons you so that you don't trust your own judgement? So that you base your life around his words and edicts? Where he locks the door of the cage and seals it with such a sweet, sweet kiss? Pretty lady, be wary of escape from freedom- you will lose your life in the process. Slowly and steadily and quietly, over many years, and you will deny it is happening because you are frightened to admit that you chose wrongly. But is it worth the price? I don't believe it is. There is a way to extricate you, somehow, some way, because God never wanted you to be a prisoner of any human, and especially not of the man who should love you. And because I know God sometimes saves people. I have witnessed it personally.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Love Song for the Broken-Hearted
Dear God,
I'm so full of feelings; they are flooding my mind. And so I would like to speak to you. I have an image in my mind and it's me but it's not me. It's an image of a girl and she's kneeling and there's a sweetness to her face and she is wearing a black Russian veil, the netting framing her face very beautifully. And she is very pale and her lips are very red and there is an expression on her face of complete serenity. Even her lips have a certain sort of plumpness and ripeness and a bow-shape that makes them curve into a heart of grace. I don't know this girl but she exists somewhere within me and this sweet, trusting girl who I have somehow placed in the shadow of a cathedral or some other house of worship is kneeling because she is praying, and she is praying because she is thanking You.
I am overcome with wonder when I consider the number of people, wholly unbeknownst to me, who have been praying for me and wishing for my joy. Undoubtedly, all of their prayers and efforts had something to do with my present happiness, and thus I am grateful to them and to You for hearing them. I confess that I have doubted you this past year, not in terms of Your existence, but rather in terms of Your plan for me. It seemed cruel and unkind and otherwise unfair. But You listened when I spoke and when I told you this had to be the last time and you made it the last time, which must mean that You agree with me that I had had enough and now was a good time to begin again.
On the one hand, I am very happy for me, but on the other hand, I am thinking of all the other people out there in the world who haven't been granted their happiness yet. I am lucky. I am truly, deeply lucky and I know I am lucky and it fills me with gratitude. There are many other girls who would like to be married and yet who are not, girls who must watch as the parade and procession of people who are younger than them churns on. And then they doubt themselves, all those beautiful girls, and they wonder: What is wrong with me? I'm no different than her- why has her happiness been granted and mine has not been? Why must it be that I am unloved or unlovable, that people would prefer her to me, that her experience is easier than mine? Why am I in pain still?
I do not mean to suggest that these pure and precious people are not happy on the account of those whom they love. I am sure that they are. But I know myself, because I have felt it, of how one can feel happy for someone and yet sad, deeply and extraordinarily sad, on account of oneself. All the doubts and worries and sadnesses parade through your mind and you wonder why the lives of others are so simple and perfect and yours is not. Of course, we cannot see into the lives of others, and if we could, it is possible we would learn this is not the case. But the fact remains, and it is a fact I know well, that all of us struggle in different ways. One struggle may be more visible on the surface, but that does not make it more meaningful.
The only thing I can do, God, is turn to you. I can request that you extend to the many people in the world who are hoping and grieving, their hearts filled with sadness and desire, the happiness that You have granted me. I wish that I could take it and cut it into bite-sized cubes, grind it up into stardust and sunshine and sprinkle it out over the heads of everyone, anointing them with my joy. I wish I could somehow find ways to make the lives of those who long fulfilled and joyous and joyful. I wish futilely, somewhat like Elkana, that I could be enough for my wife Chana. But it is not in my power to grant these wishes. They are given only to You.
Everyone needs something different in their lives. Some people truly need their life-partners. Others need academic success, financial success, emotional health, public recognition or fame, parental love or a helping hand. It is my desire that You gift everyone who longs and desires purely and who strives to work on themselves, as I believe we all do, with that which they need. I have been so fortunate as to have received it from you; it would be my greatest desire for You to bestow it upon others.
May the happiness, contentment, serenity and joy that I see inscribed on the face of that girl in my mind's eye, kneeling in the shadow of a church, be offered to those who need it. Pour the light of your countenance down over them and shine down on them, so that they too may be healed and lifted up. Journeying is painful; struggling is hard. For all your creations who cry mercy, please grant it. Please heed them and help them and allow them to be made whole, even as You have shown compassion toward me, and made me whole.
For I cannot be wholly happy so long as they are not, even as You cannot take joy in Your world when you watch your creations act in suicidal self-destructive ways. Alas, there is nothing you can do as to that, for you have granted us free will. But I believe that You can aid those who do trust in you and long for you and who desire to be complete, so please take mercy on them, for I know how they feel and I know it is a very dark feeling. I do not, of course, speak for all. There are many entirely happy, totally gladdened hearts and souls that walk the earth, no matter the societal conventions they may or may not follow. Of them I do not speak. I am speaking for the broken-hearted, the ones who cry out in silence. I remember that day in the bathroom in Arie Crown. I remember that phone call on the bus to NCSY Spring Convention. I remember my desperate attempt to snatch at fading joy and I remember the blinding, searing, totally incomprehensible pain in which you burned and purified me. And just because I have been so lucky as to have been permitted out of the furnace does not give me leave to rejoice totally, for there are many who are still burning and it is for them I ask your mercy- for they are reflections of me, too. As Esmeralda says, "I thought we all were Children of God."
Thank you, God, for hearing me out and for listening.
Love from your daughter,
Chana
I'm so full of feelings; they are flooding my mind. And so I would like to speak to you. I have an image in my mind and it's me but it's not me. It's an image of a girl and she's kneeling and there's a sweetness to her face and she is wearing a black Russian veil, the netting framing her face very beautifully. And she is very pale and her lips are very red and there is an expression on her face of complete serenity. Even her lips have a certain sort of plumpness and ripeness and a bow-shape that makes them curve into a heart of grace. I don't know this girl but she exists somewhere within me and this sweet, trusting girl who I have somehow placed in the shadow of a cathedral or some other house of worship is kneeling because she is praying, and she is praying because she is thanking You.
I am overcome with wonder when I consider the number of people, wholly unbeknownst to me, who have been praying for me and wishing for my joy. Undoubtedly, all of their prayers and efforts had something to do with my present happiness, and thus I am grateful to them and to You for hearing them. I confess that I have doubted you this past year, not in terms of Your existence, but rather in terms of Your plan for me. It seemed cruel and unkind and otherwise unfair. But You listened when I spoke and when I told you this had to be the last time and you made it the last time, which must mean that You agree with me that I had had enough and now was a good time to begin again.
On the one hand, I am very happy for me, but on the other hand, I am thinking of all the other people out there in the world who haven't been granted their happiness yet. I am lucky. I am truly, deeply lucky and I know I am lucky and it fills me with gratitude. There are many other girls who would like to be married and yet who are not, girls who must watch as the parade and procession of people who are younger than them churns on. And then they doubt themselves, all those beautiful girls, and they wonder: What is wrong with me? I'm no different than her- why has her happiness been granted and mine has not been? Why must it be that I am unloved or unlovable, that people would prefer her to me, that her experience is easier than mine? Why am I in pain still?
I do not mean to suggest that these pure and precious people are not happy on the account of those whom they love. I am sure that they are. But I know myself, because I have felt it, of how one can feel happy for someone and yet sad, deeply and extraordinarily sad, on account of oneself. All the doubts and worries and sadnesses parade through your mind and you wonder why the lives of others are so simple and perfect and yours is not. Of course, we cannot see into the lives of others, and if we could, it is possible we would learn this is not the case. But the fact remains, and it is a fact I know well, that all of us struggle in different ways. One struggle may be more visible on the surface, but that does not make it more meaningful.
The only thing I can do, God, is turn to you. I can request that you extend to the many people in the world who are hoping and grieving, their hearts filled with sadness and desire, the happiness that You have granted me. I wish that I could take it and cut it into bite-sized cubes, grind it up into stardust and sunshine and sprinkle it out over the heads of everyone, anointing them with my joy. I wish I could somehow find ways to make the lives of those who long fulfilled and joyous and joyful. I wish futilely, somewhat like Elkana, that I could be enough for my wife Chana. But it is not in my power to grant these wishes. They are given only to You.
Everyone needs something different in their lives. Some people truly need their life-partners. Others need academic success, financial success, emotional health, public recognition or fame, parental love or a helping hand. It is my desire that You gift everyone who longs and desires purely and who strives to work on themselves, as I believe we all do, with that which they need. I have been so fortunate as to have received it from you; it would be my greatest desire for You to bestow it upon others.
May the happiness, contentment, serenity and joy that I see inscribed on the face of that girl in my mind's eye, kneeling in the shadow of a church, be offered to those who need it. Pour the light of your countenance down over them and shine down on them, so that they too may be healed and lifted up. Journeying is painful; struggling is hard. For all your creations who cry mercy, please grant it. Please heed them and help them and allow them to be made whole, even as You have shown compassion toward me, and made me whole.
For I cannot be wholly happy so long as they are not, even as You cannot take joy in Your world when you watch your creations act in suicidal self-destructive ways. Alas, there is nothing you can do as to that, for you have granted us free will. But I believe that You can aid those who do trust in you and long for you and who desire to be complete, so please take mercy on them, for I know how they feel and I know it is a very dark feeling. I do not, of course, speak for all. There are many entirely happy, totally gladdened hearts and souls that walk the earth, no matter the societal conventions they may or may not follow. Of them I do not speak. I am speaking for the broken-hearted, the ones who cry out in silence. I remember that day in the bathroom in Arie Crown. I remember that phone call on the bus to NCSY Spring Convention. I remember my desperate attempt to snatch at fading joy and I remember the blinding, searing, totally incomprehensible pain in which you burned and purified me. And just because I have been so lucky as to have been permitted out of the furnace does not give me leave to rejoice totally, for there are many who are still burning and it is for them I ask your mercy- for they are reflections of me, too. As Esmeralda says, "I thought we all were Children of God."
Thank you, God, for hearing me out and for listening.
Love from your daughter,
Chana
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
L'Chaim
If you are a friend of mine and would like details on the New York L'Chaim, please email me and I'll give you the date, time and location. Thanks!
The Hasid and the Fairy Queen
Four years ago, a kind and thoughtful blogger wrote a flattering review of my efforts on this blog. He linked my site to his. I was seventeen. Little did I know that the stage had just been set for my impending happiness. For in 2009, a singularly interesting person happened upon that kind and thoughtful blogger's webpage and found that rather overly complimentary post about me. Curious, he clicked to my blog, and intrigued, he began to read.
He read for a while without writing to me, fascinated to find that despite the differences in our respective backgrounds- mine, that of a Chicagoan Jewess who upheld the ideals of Yeshiva University, that institution which is known for its staunch belief in Zionism and Torah U'Madda, and his, that of a Hasid raised in Boro Park who was instructed in Fear of God and the primacy of Torah learning, our value systems and beliefs appeared to be on common ground. Externally, we probably couldn't be more different, but in terms of the people we were inside- well, there there was no distinction.
One day he wrote to me, and as I have done with many others before, I decided to meet him. He was fascinating. Born into a community that prides itself upon being insular, he had ventured beyond it while remaining true to its ideals. A Hasid, in his view, should be joyous, spiritually involved with God, truth-seeking and otherwise open to different ways to serve Him. And he was all these things. The mixture between curiosity, exploration and pride in his particular heritage made him unique. It would have been easy to simply determine that the lifestyle he had been given was flawed and therefore decide to do away with it completely. But he wears his hat and jacket/langeh rekel with pride, takes pleasure in explaining his background and its philosophical reasoning to others and works on himself without falling prey to simply excoriating all those who differ from him.
Which leads us to April 26, 2010, the day upon which our beloved protagonist asked me to marry him.
He did it brilliantly. I've always been Belle, as the longtime readers of this blog can attest, and he is very aware of it. There is a pivotal scene in the Disney rendition of "Beauty and the Beast" where the Beast has determined that he desires to give something precious to Belle. Cogsworth and Lumiere suggest flowers and chocolates but the Beast finally determines to offer Belle his library- a place which will fascinate and fulfill her. This is the scene in question:
After scouring New York for various places that would suit me or wherein he could propose, his efforts were rewarded. He decided to recreate that scene from "Beauty and the Beast", renting out the breathtaking and grand Astor Hall in the New York Public Library, replete with medieval gothic candelabras and otherwise elegant ambience. The physical beauty of the hall is reminiscent of the style in which fairytales appear, and the fact that it is a library makes the parallel to "Beauty and the Beast" all the more prominent.
(Here's a picture of Astor Hall taken from the New York Public Library website:
Aside from ensuring that the ambience and decor were in accord with my Fairy Queen nature, he also knew that my favorite flowers in the world are roses. So he hunted down the most beautiful, gorgeous, deep dark red longstemmed roses and when he led me inside (after telling me to close my eyes, in keeping with the scene), I opened up a box which revealed them:
And thus it was that in the midst of this spacious, grand, elegant, breathtaking hall, lit by candelabras and inlaid with beautiful patterns, my true love proposed to me. He spoke of many beautiful things, then asked me to marry him and offered me the ring (which is exquisite). And I said yes. And I was happy and there were pictures and then we danced off to Abigael's and inhaled a sumptuous meal with various delicacies in the style of "Be My Guest." And made lots of phone calls.
This entire situation fills me with a sense of appreciation that borders upon wonder. Consider how many things had to fall into place so that everything could work out just so to ensure that I would meet him. My love story was set into motion when I was 17, totally unbeknownst to me, through the kindness of a person who decided to write something sweet about me. He certainly did not know the impact his words could have. It is also amazing that the people I met during the course of my time at Stern and Revel were those who enabled me to understand, appreciate and properly comprehend the various fantastic qualities that my fiancé possesses. There are many more details which I choose not to discuss in this forum, but suffice it to say that the hand of God is evident in this match, as it is impossible for myself and my future husband to have existed under any but the most perfectly orchestrated play constructed by God.
It is similar to the life story of a diamond ring. A diamond may originate as a piece of carbon, and only through many trials and ordeals is it formed into its sparkling essence, heated in the fiery furnace until it radiates light. Yet a diamond alone is of no value. A diamond must exist within a setting, within the ring that gives it form and shape. Without its setting, a diamond is beautiful, but feels lonely; the setting, while also possessing a lovely form, feels purposeless. When they unite, they abandon loneliness in pursuit of a happy togetherness and achieve their purpose. And perhaps it is precisely because of this that it is that symbol of regard which one generally bestows upon one's future wife.
So I would like to take a moment to acknowledge the incredible and awesome power of God, who arranged details in ways I could never have envisioned, and also thank the many people who were a part of this, whether their roles were small or large. To those who have influenced me in various ways and whom I have loved, you are wonderful friends and mentors and I have gained much from you. You have enabled me to be the person who could marry someone as remarkable and unusual as my future husband is. And to he who found it within himself to write some words of praise and create a gateway, I think you should be aware that God clearly sees that you are a very special person, for it is only special people whom God uses as gateways and vessels. It's akin to the prophets, in fact. And for those who encouraged me to see past the externals that blinded me, I also offer thanks.
It is a rare and lovely day when one can see clearly their moment in the tapestry that God has been weaving, and such moments afford a mental clarity and beauty that offers inspiration and hope, which is our gift to all of you. I feel blessed and lucky and am well aware that there are many others who still wish to find their happiness or desire to achieve success. May God bless you as He has blessed me; it is my wish that you too find your moment in the tapestry.
With wishes for the continued health, success, personal growth, happiness, fulfillment and felicity for all of you, we remain,
The Hasid and the Fairy Queen
He read for a while without writing to me, fascinated to find that despite the differences in our respective backgrounds- mine, that of a Chicagoan Jewess who upheld the ideals of Yeshiva University, that institution which is known for its staunch belief in Zionism and Torah U'Madda, and his, that of a Hasid raised in Boro Park who was instructed in Fear of God and the primacy of Torah learning, our value systems and beliefs appeared to be on common ground. Externally, we probably couldn't be more different, but in terms of the people we were inside- well, there there was no distinction.
One day he wrote to me, and as I have done with many others before, I decided to meet him. He was fascinating. Born into a community that prides itself upon being insular, he had ventured beyond it while remaining true to its ideals. A Hasid, in his view, should be joyous, spiritually involved with God, truth-seeking and otherwise open to different ways to serve Him. And he was all these things. The mixture between curiosity, exploration and pride in his particular heritage made him unique. It would have been easy to simply determine that the lifestyle he had been given was flawed and therefore decide to do away with it completely. But he wears his hat and jacket/langeh rekel with pride, takes pleasure in explaining his background and its philosophical reasoning to others and works on himself without falling prey to simply excoriating all those who differ from him.
Which leads us to April 26, 2010, the day upon which our beloved protagonist asked me to marry him.
He did it brilliantly. I've always been Belle, as the longtime readers of this blog can attest, and he is very aware of it. There is a pivotal scene in the Disney rendition of "Beauty and the Beast" where the Beast has determined that he desires to give something precious to Belle. Cogsworth and Lumiere suggest flowers and chocolates but the Beast finally determines to offer Belle his library- a place which will fascinate and fulfill her. This is the scene in question:
After scouring New York for various places that would suit me or wherein he could propose, his efforts were rewarded. He decided to recreate that scene from "Beauty and the Beast", renting out the breathtaking and grand Astor Hall in the New York Public Library, replete with medieval gothic candelabras and otherwise elegant ambience. The physical beauty of the hall is reminiscent of the style in which fairytales appear, and the fact that it is a library makes the parallel to "Beauty and the Beast" all the more prominent.
(Here's a picture of Astor Hall taken from the New York Public Library website:
Aside from ensuring that the ambience and decor were in accord with my Fairy Queen nature, he also knew that my favorite flowers in the world are roses. So he hunted down the most beautiful, gorgeous, deep dark red longstemmed roses and when he led me inside (after telling me to close my eyes, in keeping with the scene), I opened up a box which revealed them:
And thus it was that in the midst of this spacious, grand, elegant, breathtaking hall, lit by candelabras and inlaid with beautiful patterns, my true love proposed to me. He spoke of many beautiful things, then asked me to marry him and offered me the ring (which is exquisite). And I said yes. And I was happy and there were pictures and then we danced off to Abigael's and inhaled a sumptuous meal with various delicacies in the style of "Be My Guest." And made lots of phone calls.
This entire situation fills me with a sense of appreciation that borders upon wonder. Consider how many things had to fall into place so that everything could work out just so to ensure that I would meet him. My love story was set into motion when I was 17, totally unbeknownst to me, through the kindness of a person who decided to write something sweet about me. He certainly did not know the impact his words could have. It is also amazing that the people I met during the course of my time at Stern and Revel were those who enabled me to understand, appreciate and properly comprehend the various fantastic qualities that my fiancé possesses. There are many more details which I choose not to discuss in this forum, but suffice it to say that the hand of God is evident in this match, as it is impossible for myself and my future husband to have existed under any but the most perfectly orchestrated play constructed by God.
It is similar to the life story of a diamond ring. A diamond may originate as a piece of carbon, and only through many trials and ordeals is it formed into its sparkling essence, heated in the fiery furnace until it radiates light. Yet a diamond alone is of no value. A diamond must exist within a setting, within the ring that gives it form and shape. Without its setting, a diamond is beautiful, but feels lonely; the setting, while also possessing a lovely form, feels purposeless. When they unite, they abandon loneliness in pursuit of a happy togetherness and achieve their purpose. And perhaps it is precisely because of this that it is that symbol of regard which one generally bestows upon one's future wife.
So I would like to take a moment to acknowledge the incredible and awesome power of God, who arranged details in ways I could never have envisioned, and also thank the many people who were a part of this, whether their roles were small or large. To those who have influenced me in various ways and whom I have loved, you are wonderful friends and mentors and I have gained much from you. You have enabled me to be the person who could marry someone as remarkable and unusual as my future husband is. And to he who found it within himself to write some words of praise and create a gateway, I think you should be aware that God clearly sees that you are a very special person, for it is only special people whom God uses as gateways and vessels. It's akin to the prophets, in fact. And for those who encouraged me to see past the externals that blinded me, I also offer thanks.
It is a rare and lovely day when one can see clearly their moment in the tapestry that God has been weaving, and such moments afford a mental clarity and beauty that offers inspiration and hope, which is our gift to all of you. I feel blessed and lucky and am well aware that there are many others who still wish to find their happiness or desire to achieve success. May God bless you as He has blessed me; it is my wish that you too find your moment in the tapestry.
With wishes for the continued health, success, personal growth, happiness, fulfillment and felicity for all of you, we remain,
The Hasid and the Fairy Queen
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The Man in the Light-House
A poem- in honor of my friend Joseph, who likes my little compositions
The dark is wrenching; it tears the heart asunder.
It sings a song replete with present thunder.
Fatalities impress themselves upon a bruised mind;
a faint tang remaining, like discarded lemon rind.
The blood sings in my lips; it's salty and still dry;
The question is whether I fall or whether I touch the sky.
She was a girl in a glass room; she lived there all her life.
She was afraid to feel, for it's known the world is rife
with images of bloodshed and murder in a pearl;
the diadem on your head was earned by a mere churl.
She reached out and touched the lightning; it bit her fingers off;
she blazed in the world so brightly, though she seemed a simple toff.
One day the door swung open; the glass was fraught with blood,
the remainders of an ugly time when God had brought The Flood.
She recoiled in horror; she sunk into distress
and begged Him to bring her to her eternal rest.
God listened to her prayers but her request He did not heed;
she died a thousand times every time that she would plead.
Suddenly a moonbeam, cool and sweet upon the head,
A vision or a symbol of something golden on her bed.
The light danced her awake; tendrils wrapped around her arm;
They promised she was safe; indeed, she would come to no harm.
Hypnotized, she walked, through the quicksand and the bog
A tightrope-artist in disguise, crossing fallen logs.
And then she saw the Light House and the man within;
he looked out through the telescope and she felt eyes on her skin.
She looked up and was blinded; the glow could paralyze her;
he outshone all the others, mother, sister, father, brother.
Confused and touched, she climbed the stairs and waited for her fate.
Destiny came walking and it was not too late.
"Hello," he said to greet her; "hello," she said in turn.
He danced her out of darkness and ensured that she would learn
all of her true value; the beauty kept remote
to ensure those unworthy would have no cause to gloat.
"You sparkle," he informed her; "you sparkle" she said back.
And suddenly a pang of found appeared in place of lack.
He walked her through the House of Light,
lit up her eternal night.
saved her from the melancholy
that had assured her all was folly.
He gave her the keys to his domain
and assured her she would reign.
She was the Queen; he was the King;
they sealed it with his signet ring.
The ships come trembling into port
only to leave with new cohorts;
the Man in the Light House saves them all,
and his noble Queen leaves them in thrall.
They danced tonight; I saw their voices
joined with a necklace of gemstone choices.
Rubies sparked and emeralds shone,
but nothing glowed like they alone.
God was smiling as they sashayed;
no one rains on His parade.
Moses descended from the mountain;
light poured off his face in a fountain.
Originally illuminated in the reflected glitter
of a sacred burning bush unfettered.
This glow was saved and bestowed upon
the Glass-Room girl and her new husband.
The Man in the Light House stays at his post
while she's preparing wine-glazed roast;
cutting onions in prom dresses
are the beginning of many lessons.
God ravished their hearts and made them His,
then gave them eternal bliss.
So let's be happy for the pretty couple
and their singularly entertaining light-house double;
even as they shine, so does the place
that expresses the radiance of their face.
The dark is wrenching; it tears the heart asunder.
It sings a song replete with present thunder.
Fatalities impress themselves upon a bruised mind;
a faint tang remaining, like discarded lemon rind.
The blood sings in my lips; it's salty and still dry;
The question is whether I fall or whether I touch the sky.
She was a girl in a glass room; she lived there all her life.
She was afraid to feel, for it's known the world is rife
with images of bloodshed and murder in a pearl;
the diadem on your head was earned by a mere churl.
She reached out and touched the lightning; it bit her fingers off;
she blazed in the world so brightly, though she seemed a simple toff.
One day the door swung open; the glass was fraught with blood,
the remainders of an ugly time when God had brought The Flood.
She recoiled in horror; she sunk into distress
and begged Him to bring her to her eternal rest.
God listened to her prayers but her request He did not heed;
she died a thousand times every time that she would plead.
Suddenly a moonbeam, cool and sweet upon the head,
A vision or a symbol of something golden on her bed.
The light danced her awake; tendrils wrapped around her arm;
They promised she was safe; indeed, she would come to no harm.
Hypnotized, she walked, through the quicksand and the bog
A tightrope-artist in disguise, crossing fallen logs.
And then she saw the Light House and the man within;
he looked out through the telescope and she felt eyes on her skin.
She looked up and was blinded; the glow could paralyze her;
he outshone all the others, mother, sister, father, brother.
Confused and touched, she climbed the stairs and waited for her fate.
Destiny came walking and it was not too late.
"Hello," he said to greet her; "hello," she said in turn.
He danced her out of darkness and ensured that she would learn
all of her true value; the beauty kept remote
to ensure those unworthy would have no cause to gloat.
"You sparkle," he informed her; "you sparkle" she said back.
And suddenly a pang of found appeared in place of lack.
He walked her through the House of Light,
lit up her eternal night.
saved her from the melancholy
that had assured her all was folly.
He gave her the keys to his domain
and assured her she would reign.
She was the Queen; he was the King;
they sealed it with his signet ring.
The ships come trembling into port
only to leave with new cohorts;
the Man in the Light House saves them all,
and his noble Queen leaves them in thrall.
They danced tonight; I saw their voices
joined with a necklace of gemstone choices.
Rubies sparked and emeralds shone,
but nothing glowed like they alone.
God was smiling as they sashayed;
no one rains on His parade.
Moses descended from the mountain;
light poured off his face in a fountain.
Originally illuminated in the reflected glitter
of a sacred burning bush unfettered.
This glow was saved and bestowed upon
the Glass-Room girl and her new husband.
The Man in the Light House stays at his post
while she's preparing wine-glazed roast;
cutting onions in prom dresses
are the beginning of many lessons.
God ravished their hearts and made them His,
then gave them eternal bliss.
So let's be happy for the pretty couple
and their singularly entertaining light-house double;
even as they shine, so does the place
that expresses the radiance of their face.
Friday, April 23, 2010
Happy Chana
Sometimes you wake up in the morning and feel like you are going to have a perfect day.
You feel safe, warm, happy and content.
You feel glad.
You feel excited.
In short, you feel like God loves you today.
It's the best feeling ever.
You feel safe, warm, happy and content.
You feel glad.
You feel excited.
In short, you feel like God loves you today.
It's the best feeling ever.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Hello, Darkness, My Old Friend
She pushes herself away from me slightly away but she keeps her arms around me. She looks down at the ground and at the blackness near her feet. She looks up. Clear water blue into pale green. She smiles, barely smiles, not a happy smile but a smile of regret. Of sadness. A smile of mistake and of misunderstanding. She speaks.
I'm sorry.
Why?
I got scared.
Why were you scared?
I was scared you were leaving me.
I'm not going to do that.
I was scared after I told you those things about me that you didn't want to see me anymore. Then I thought somebody on your Unit told you something else.
Those things don't bother me. Nothing I hear is going to bother me.
I thought they did, and when you didn't show up, I thought I knew for sure.
The only thing you need to know for sure is that I'm not leaving.
She smiles. This time it's a real smile.
Ever?
Yes. Ever.
You're sure?
I am.
I don't want to be alone anymore, James.
You won't be.
I cried all day.
Don't cry again. Just think of the word ever.
She smiles brighter, wider, a smile more full of what she is, which is beautiful. Inside and out. The smile. Her. Beautiful. She leans forward and she steps to her toes and she closes her eyes and she kisses me. Long and sweet and slow. I could keep kissing her forever.
We separate. I tell her we should go. Not back, but farther away into the darkness. We start walking, hand in hand, slow steps, there's no hurry. The Woods are alive at night. Twigs crackling, leaves rustling, branches swaying. Moon sitting, clouds drifting. Shadows dancing and threatening and disappearing. Small animals fighting and chattering and foraging for food. Small animals hiding. The living wood.
As we walk we talk. Lilly needs to talk about her feelings about her worries about her fears. I let her. I encourage her. I listen to her. Though the stains of tears have been wiped away from the softness of her cheek, the cause of her tears remains alive and full not faded not yet. She talks softly and easily and without hesitation. She talks about feelings of being left in the past. By her Father and by the Boy in Chicago and by everyone she has ever cared about in her entire life. They left her and they never called and they never sent a letter, never showed her that they loved her, never came back. Not once. Not ever.
She tells about the desertion. How each time it broke her heart. How with each break it becomes harder to heal. How with each time she healed, it became harder to love again. How each time hope faded into desolation. Into loneliness and despair. Into self-hatred and self-loathing. At the beginning there was hope. It faded. At the end there was nothing.
She talks about me in relation to her life. She is seeking freedom. That is all she wants, all she desires, all she hopes to achieve. Freedom. Not just from chemicals but from the cycle of loving and losing, risking and failing, returning to that which she abhors each time returning. She thought she had lost me earlier today. With that she thought she began to lose herself. To feel doors closing on the Prison of self-destruction. She wanted to fight it but she can't fight it all. Not chemicals and her past and the prospect of a dim, solitary, isolated future. She started to need. Need the crack. Need the pills. Need something to kill the pain. She thought about leaving and she almost left. She imagined herself walking out. She was going to to go the Bus Station in Minneapolis and panhandle money for a ticket back to Chicago. Panhandle or worse. When she got to Chicago she was going to go see her Grandmother and say good-bye. Good-bye to the only Person who ever cared about her. Good-bye. There are other ways to achieve freedom. Good-bye.
~A Million Little Pieces by James Frey, pages 312-313
I'm sorry.
Why?
I got scared.
Why were you scared?
I was scared you were leaving me.
I'm not going to do that.
I was scared after I told you those things about me that you didn't want to see me anymore. Then I thought somebody on your Unit told you something else.
Those things don't bother me. Nothing I hear is going to bother me.
I thought they did, and when you didn't show up, I thought I knew for sure.
The only thing you need to know for sure is that I'm not leaving.
She smiles. This time it's a real smile.
Ever?
Yes. Ever.
You're sure?
I am.
I don't want to be alone anymore, James.
You won't be.
I cried all day.
Don't cry again. Just think of the word ever.
She smiles brighter, wider, a smile more full of what she is, which is beautiful. Inside and out. The smile. Her. Beautiful. She leans forward and she steps to her toes and she closes her eyes and she kisses me. Long and sweet and slow. I could keep kissing her forever.
We separate. I tell her we should go. Not back, but farther away into the darkness. We start walking, hand in hand, slow steps, there's no hurry. The Woods are alive at night. Twigs crackling, leaves rustling, branches swaying. Moon sitting, clouds drifting. Shadows dancing and threatening and disappearing. Small animals fighting and chattering and foraging for food. Small animals hiding. The living wood.
As we walk we talk. Lilly needs to talk about her feelings about her worries about her fears. I let her. I encourage her. I listen to her. Though the stains of tears have been wiped away from the softness of her cheek, the cause of her tears remains alive and full not faded not yet. She talks softly and easily and without hesitation. She talks about feelings of being left in the past. By her Father and by the Boy in Chicago and by everyone she has ever cared about in her entire life. They left her and they never called and they never sent a letter, never showed her that they loved her, never came back. Not once. Not ever.
She tells about the desertion. How each time it broke her heart. How with each break it becomes harder to heal. How with each time she healed, it became harder to love again. How each time hope faded into desolation. Into loneliness and despair. Into self-hatred and self-loathing. At the beginning there was hope. It faded. At the end there was nothing.
She talks about me in relation to her life. She is seeking freedom. That is all she wants, all she desires, all she hopes to achieve. Freedom. Not just from chemicals but from the cycle of loving and losing, risking and failing, returning to that which she abhors each time returning. She thought she had lost me earlier today. With that she thought she began to lose herself. To feel doors closing on the Prison of self-destruction. She wanted to fight it but she can't fight it all. Not chemicals and her past and the prospect of a dim, solitary, isolated future. She started to need. Need the crack. Need the pills. Need something to kill the pain. She thought about leaving and she almost left. She imagined herself walking out. She was going to to go the Bus Station in Minneapolis and panhandle money for a ticket back to Chicago. Panhandle or worse. When she got to Chicago she was going to go see her Grandmother and say good-bye. Good-bye to the only Person who ever cared about her. Good-bye. There are other ways to achieve freedom. Good-bye.
~A Million Little Pieces by James Frey, pages 312-313
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Religion-Induced Emotional Abuse
Those of us who operate within Orthodox religious circles read the newspapers. We know about scandals pertaining to sexual abuse or molestation, physical abuse and degradation, and financial fraud. One area we have not as of yet discussed enough deals with the problem of religion-induced emotional abuse.
Part of the problem is that people have a very fuzzy idea of what emotional abuse is. For instance, can someone be emotionally abusive without intending it? Are people to blame for being emotionally abusive? If someone is emotionally abusive, does that of necessity make them bad? And why doesn't everyone have the same reaction to the same stimuli?
God created a world in which there are many different creatures: animals, fish, vegetation and humans. In the same way that all of these creatures differ from one another even though they may fall into the same category, so too do humans.
For instance, in the same way that a dandelion and a Venus Fly-Trap may differ, even though they are both forms of vegetation, so too may a shark and a school of tuna differ. As such, and due to their roles of predator and prey in various instances, they will react differently to different stimuli. Thus, while a school of tuna may flee rapidly from the jaws of a shark, a shark will feel no fear in the presence of another shark. One's reaction to various stimuli is largely dependant upon one's size, role and place in the food chain.
Human beings are similar. Miriam Adahan penned a fantastic book entitled Awareness: The Key to Acceptance, Forgiveness and Growth. This book is specifically intended for the Orthodox Jewish community and discusses the role that personality type, as evidenced by Enneagram type, plays when it comes to our reactions to different stimuli, among other things. The added bonus is that Adahan offers examples specific to our community. I would highly recommend the book.
Here is an example of how people may differ in reaction to the same stimuli: Suppose that you have planned a party and something goes wrong. Is your immediate reaction to externalize or internalize the blame? Type Ones will externalize it; Type Fours will internalize it. Obviously these reactions can be worked on and overcome or redirected, but I am speaking of one's internal self; the switch to which your emotional, operational and intellectual gears are originally set. Different people will have different modus operandi. This is why two people can be placed in the exact same circumstances and yet one comes out healthy and the other one unhealthy. Due to their specific and individual personality types, they have adapted to their situations differently and have been hurt or healed to different extents.
Now, despite the fact that King Solomon advocates, "Educate the child according to his way," most people do not actually adhere to that. Our educational systems and institutions generally aim toward an ideal model of a child and strive to educate that child. In Orthodox society, Adahan writes, Enneagram Type Fives are the most sought-after commodity.
Well, in that case, it's like being born a baby girl in China. You might not be the victim of gender infanticide, but emotionally speaking, it's possible (especially if you are a Type Two, Three or Four, the Feeling Triad) that you will be the victim of emotional abuse, intended or otherwise. Your parent/ teacher/ advisor/ role model may intend well but his/ her actual actions may be harmful for you, undermine your sense of self and give you the impression that you are not worthy or valuable for who you are. This is in contrast to normal and effective discipline, where parents, teachers or rabbanim are trying to change behaviors but not the actual essence of a person.
Here are the Triads:
The Feeling Triad is comprised of types TWO-THREE-FOUR.
The Doing Triad is comprised of types FIVE-SIX-SEVEN.
The Relating Triad is comprised of types EIGHT-NINE-ONE.
To explain a little about the triads, I'll cite Adahan once more:
Especially in the Chareidi world, many educational systems and schools are geared not toward developing a child's full potential and illuminating his strengths in order to determine how he can best serve God, but rather toward creating a certain mold or cookie-cutter child who fulfills all of that society's ideals. This is the 'Learning Boy' and 'Kollel Wife' archetype. Modern Orthodoxy often has a more diverse and all-encompassing approach to education; the problem in their institutions is that many times the children are receiving mixed messages (they are taught one thing in school and see something entirely different practiced or not practiced at home) or have not been educated appropriately as to why they should value the things they are being taught to value. Thus, Modern Orthodox dayschools may produce individuals who have developed more of their talents, but their talents are not necessarily being used in service of God.
The ideal in an Orthodox society would be to have a school which focuses upon each child's unique talents and abilities, hones and polishes them and nonetheless also focuses upon spiritual values and teaches a child to utilize his talents in service of and in appreciation of God.
Religion-induced emotional abuse begins when one does not value a person for who they are. The representatives of religion then emotionally blackmail, seduce, bribe, flatter or otherwise manipulate the person in order to make them fit a certain type of mold which is 'better,' 'higher' or more worthy. (This problem is exacerbated because there are traditions within Judaism that are meant for certain types of people that are often expanded beyond their focus. For instance, the Musar approach, per R' Chaim of Brisk can certainly heal someone who is already ill but has the potential to make someone healthy ill. The fact that there are sources that support trends or ideas that can be used in inappropriate, ineffective or abusive ways make teaching a position of great power and responsibility.) The victim of religious emotional abuse may react to this in one of two ways. Dependant on his personality type, he may internalize or externalize the comments being made about his entire essence and being. If he internalizes them, he may feel a sense of guilt for not living up to the ideal his teachers desire of him or may feel unworthy, lacking or bad. If he externalizes them, he may feel a sense of anger, rage and frustration with a system that is so blind to the truth. If a person internalizes these feelings, it is more likely that he will stay within Orthodox practice, whereas if a person externalizes them, it is more likely that he will leave Orthodox practice.
Even if the child stays within Orthodoxy and doesn't outwardly demonstrate his unhappiness or discontent, that does not mean he is healthy. For example, if he is part of the Feeling Triad, he may now conflate criticism and the desire to change him as an expression of love, and thus may be more likely to enter into an abusive relationship. If he is part of the Relating Triad, he may copy what he has seen done and use religion as a form of control, dismissing those who do not meet his strict standards. If he is part of the Doing Triad, he may try to distract himself by engaging in pleasure-inducing or exciting behaviors that long-term are harmful to try to replace the emptiness and lack of love he feels.
Religion-induced emotional abuse does not only occur within Orthodox Jewry. Anyone who has read Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man can attest to that. Rather, religion-induced emotional abuse is an all-too-common side-effect of living within a strictly orthodox society. It is unfortunate and wrong. Perhaps if people can be educated about the fact that they are innately different, by nature are geared to react to the same situations differently and can accurately assess their strengths and weaknesses, such situations might be avoided. Parents, Teachers and Rabbanim especially should be educated in this regard. The effects of the emotional abuse we inflict upon our children or youth, even unintentionally, do not disappear. Indeed, they linger and entrench themselves further. Unless a child is willing to do a lot of work in order to try to become a healthy person, it is possible that they will suffer the consequences for the rest of their lives.
Part of the problem is that people have a very fuzzy idea of what emotional abuse is. For instance, can someone be emotionally abusive without intending it? Are people to blame for being emotionally abusive? If someone is emotionally abusive, does that of necessity make them bad? And why doesn't everyone have the same reaction to the same stimuli?
God created a world in which there are many different creatures: animals, fish, vegetation and humans. In the same way that all of these creatures differ from one another even though they may fall into the same category, so too do humans.
For instance, in the same way that a dandelion and a Venus Fly-Trap may differ, even though they are both forms of vegetation, so too may a shark and a school of tuna differ. As such, and due to their roles of predator and prey in various instances, they will react differently to different stimuli. Thus, while a school of tuna may flee rapidly from the jaws of a shark, a shark will feel no fear in the presence of another shark. One's reaction to various stimuli is largely dependant upon one's size, role and place in the food chain.
Human beings are similar. Miriam Adahan penned a fantastic book entitled Awareness: The Key to Acceptance, Forgiveness and Growth. This book is specifically intended for the Orthodox Jewish community and discusses the role that personality type, as evidenced by Enneagram type, plays when it comes to our reactions to different stimuli, among other things. The added bonus is that Adahan offers examples specific to our community. I would highly recommend the book.
Here is an example of how people may differ in reaction to the same stimuli: Suppose that you have planned a party and something goes wrong. Is your immediate reaction to externalize or internalize the blame? Type Ones will externalize it; Type Fours will internalize it. Obviously these reactions can be worked on and overcome or redirected, but I am speaking of one's internal self; the switch to which your emotional, operational and intellectual gears are originally set. Different people will have different modus operandi. This is why two people can be placed in the exact same circumstances and yet one comes out healthy and the other one unhealthy. Due to their specific and individual personality types, they have adapted to their situations differently and have been hurt or healed to different extents.
Now, despite the fact that King Solomon advocates, "Educate the child according to his way," most people do not actually adhere to that. Our educational systems and institutions generally aim toward an ideal model of a child and strive to educate that child. In Orthodox society, Adahan writes, Enneagram Type Fives are the most sought-after commodity.
- IDEAL FIVES: IDEAL FIVEs have brilliant minds and a depth and breadth of knowledge that astounds others. They are the most mentally alert and the most curious of all the personality types. They are pioneering visionaries, perceptive observers and extremely knowledgeable experts. They are able to share their wisdom with others in order to elevate and enlighten the masses.
They possess the qualities which are most valued by Orthodox society: they are extremely intelligent, love gathering information, love learning for its own sake, are intellectually curious, can live on very little (a minimum of food, sleep, material possessions, human contact, etc), can be oblivious to their physical environment, are excited by highly detailed, complex thought systems, and have such self-discipline that they can study with total concentration for extended periods. Their minds are extremely fertile, constantly producing new ideas. For FIVEs, thinking is in itself a highly pleasurable activity.
~Awareness by Miriam Adahan, page 214
Well, in that case, it's like being born a baby girl in China. You might not be the victim of gender infanticide, but emotionally speaking, it's possible (especially if you are a Type Two, Three or Four, the Feeling Triad) that you will be the victim of emotional abuse, intended or otherwise. Your parent/ teacher/ advisor/ role model may intend well but his/ her actual actions may be harmful for you, undermine your sense of self and give you the impression that you are not worthy or valuable for who you are. This is in contrast to normal and effective discipline, where parents, teachers or rabbanim are trying to change behaviors but not the actual essence of a person.
Here are the Triads:
The Feeling Triad is comprised of types TWO-THREE-FOUR.
The Doing Triad is comprised of types FIVE-SIX-SEVEN.
The Relating Triad is comprised of types EIGHT-NINE-ONE.
To explain a little about the triads, I'll cite Adahan once more:
- The Enneagram consists of nine types within three triads. Each type has a unique power, or "gift," which he needs to share with the world in order to grow spiritually.
The Feeling Triad. TWOs, THREEs and FOURs all share issues involving feelings. If IDEAL, they use their emotions to form loving relationships. If INTERMEDIATE, they want closeness, but are more concerned about their own feelings than the feelings of others. At the UNHEALTHY level, they are out of touch with people. TWOS attempt to force closeness, THREEs are emotionally suppressive in order to accomplish more, and FOURs are preoccupied with their own feelings.
The Doing Triad: FIVEs, SIXes and SEVENs have common issues which involve anxiety about doing. If IDEAL, all three types can make great achievements. If INTERMEDIATE, they still accomplish a great deal, but are handicapped to some extent by anxiety and insecurity. If UNHEALTHY, they are paralyzed by anxiety. FIVEs tend to substitute thinking for doing. SIXes are too conflicted to act, or they act impulsively. SEVENs overdo to escape anxiety.
The Relating Triad: EIGHTs, NINEs and ONEs share issues concerning relating. If IDEAL, they relate to others positively, often becoming leaders in the community and in politics. If INTERMEDIATE, they tend to relate more to things, principles and formulas rather than people. If UNHEALTHY, EIGHTs and ONEs over-control in a punitive fashion, while NINEs under-control and under-function.
~Awareness by Miriam Adahan, page 36
- EYES: Different types have different "eyes," because they focus on different aspects of the world and people.
TWOs see who has a problem and what can be done to solve it.
THREEs focus on outer appearances and are aware of who is accomplishing the most and doing the best.
FOURs are mystical, see the inner spiritual meaning in events and pick up the subtle emotional cues being transmitted on an "extrasensory" level.
FIVEs see the hidden meanings and patterns within the information presented to them.
SIXes focus on loyalty or disloyalty, safety or danger.
SEVENs see the possibilities for fun, excitement and adventure.
EIGHTs see who and what can be controlled or protected, and how to do so.
NINEs focus on the good in events and in people, seeing how best to create harmony, unity and peace.
ONEs focus on cleanliness, structure and strict "piety," noting if people are dressed correctly, if the spelling is correct, if things are clean and orderly, and what needs to be fixed.
~Awareness by Miriam Adahan, page 33
Especially in the Chareidi world, many educational systems and schools are geared not toward developing a child's full potential and illuminating his strengths in order to determine how he can best serve God, but rather toward creating a certain mold or cookie-cutter child who fulfills all of that society's ideals. This is the 'Learning Boy' and 'Kollel Wife' archetype. Modern Orthodoxy often has a more diverse and all-encompassing approach to education; the problem in their institutions is that many times the children are receiving mixed messages (they are taught one thing in school and see something entirely different practiced or not practiced at home) or have not been educated appropriately as to why they should value the things they are being taught to value. Thus, Modern Orthodox dayschools may produce individuals who have developed more of their talents, but their talents are not necessarily being used in service of God.
The ideal in an Orthodox society would be to have a school which focuses upon each child's unique talents and abilities, hones and polishes them and nonetheless also focuses upon spiritual values and teaches a child to utilize his talents in service of and in appreciation of God.
Religion-induced emotional abuse begins when one does not value a person for who they are. The representatives of religion then emotionally blackmail, seduce, bribe, flatter or otherwise manipulate the person in order to make them fit a certain type of mold which is 'better,' 'higher' or more worthy. (This problem is exacerbated because there are traditions within Judaism that are meant for certain types of people that are often expanded beyond their focus. For instance, the Musar approach, per R' Chaim of Brisk can certainly heal someone who is already ill but has the potential to make someone healthy ill. The fact that there are sources that support trends or ideas that can be used in inappropriate, ineffective or abusive ways make teaching a position of great power and responsibility.) The victim of religious emotional abuse may react to this in one of two ways. Dependant on his personality type, he may internalize or externalize the comments being made about his entire essence and being. If he internalizes them, he may feel a sense of guilt for not living up to the ideal his teachers desire of him or may feel unworthy, lacking or bad. If he externalizes them, he may feel a sense of anger, rage and frustration with a system that is so blind to the truth. If a person internalizes these feelings, it is more likely that he will stay within Orthodox practice, whereas if a person externalizes them, it is more likely that he will leave Orthodox practice.
Even if the child stays within Orthodoxy and doesn't outwardly demonstrate his unhappiness or discontent, that does not mean he is healthy. For example, if he is part of the Feeling Triad, he may now conflate criticism and the desire to change him as an expression of love, and thus may be more likely to enter into an abusive relationship. If he is part of the Relating Triad, he may copy what he has seen done and use religion as a form of control, dismissing those who do not meet his strict standards. If he is part of the Doing Triad, he may try to distract himself by engaging in pleasure-inducing or exciting behaviors that long-term are harmful to try to replace the emptiness and lack of love he feels.
Religion-induced emotional abuse does not only occur within Orthodox Jewry. Anyone who has read Joyce's A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man can attest to that. Rather, religion-induced emotional abuse is an all-too-common side-effect of living within a strictly orthodox society. It is unfortunate and wrong. Perhaps if people can be educated about the fact that they are innately different, by nature are geared to react to the same situations differently and can accurately assess their strengths and weaknesses, such situations might be avoided. Parents, Teachers and Rabbanim especially should be educated in this regard. The effects of the emotional abuse we inflict upon our children or youth, even unintentionally, do not disappear. Indeed, they linger and entrench themselves further. Unless a child is willing to do a lot of work in order to try to become a healthy person, it is possible that they will suffer the consequences for the rest of their lives.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Prisoners of My High Sanctity
On the bed, I was a lone, absurd figure in the history of my times, a sleeper in the century of ruthless law, of bombers over suburbs, of artillery barrages destroying the gaily painted walls of kindergartens. In my bed I dreamed of military science classes, imaginary troop movements, and the portraits of boys slain in Vietnam hanging from library walls. In these dreams I satisfied my own sick and overextended need to be my own greatest hero. I had a passion for the undefiled virtuous stand and a need to sacrifice myself for some immaculate cause. I knew this and hated myself for it and could do nothing about it. Ah, Annie Kate, I will marry you and adopt your child because I’m so good. Ah, Bo Maybank, of course I’ll be your friend and accept your soft towels because I’m so kind. Ah, Tom Pearce, of course I will ease your journey through the plebe system because I am so saintly. Ah, Pig, of course I will defend you before the honor court even though you have been dishonorable because I am so noble. Who else would I take as prisoners of my high sanctity before my life was over?
I tried to think of Pig during this time but it was hard. I can seldom judge how I feel about an important event in my life as it happens. There is always a time lapse before I am sure exactly what it is I feel. I did know that my refusal to rise from my bed upset my roommates and alarmed my classmates in R Company. They thought it was my finer sensibilities and my greater love of Pig that put me in the bed, that separated me from the rest of them. I secretly enjoyed my honorary role as chief mourner. They thought well of me because I was not like them, because I was unable to carry on and incapable of blocking the horror of that suicide on the tracks.
“Too sensitive,” they would whisper as they conferred with each other in the alcove. They did not know I was Pig’s avenger and cadreman, not his chief mourner. I would open my eyes and smile at my friends, then return to the business of sleeping. I kept my hatred secret behind that smile as I always did. That smile was the weapon to keep your eyes on. I should have warned my friends never to turn their backs on my smile. But I was not talking in those days. I was looking for something. In daydreams, I saw myself cut down by firing squads in sun-bleached courtyards as I screamed out the word Libertad to the small tyrant who watched from the palace window. I threw myself on hand grenades, and charged into the machine-gun fire aimed by impregnable gunners. But I was not looking for that so I slept some more and could not move very well in those days or participate in the life of the campus, which continued undisturbed as it always had and always would. Nothing could still the coming of reveille, the gathering of platoons, or the striking of flags at retreat.
~The Lords of Discipline by Pat Conroy, pages 444-445
I tried to think of Pig during this time but it was hard. I can seldom judge how I feel about an important event in my life as it happens. There is always a time lapse before I am sure exactly what it is I feel. I did know that my refusal to rise from my bed upset my roommates and alarmed my classmates in R Company. They thought it was my finer sensibilities and my greater love of Pig that put me in the bed, that separated me from the rest of them. I secretly enjoyed my honorary role as chief mourner. They thought well of me because I was not like them, because I was unable to carry on and incapable of blocking the horror of that suicide on the tracks.
“Too sensitive,” they would whisper as they conferred with each other in the alcove. They did not know I was Pig’s avenger and cadreman, not his chief mourner. I would open my eyes and smile at my friends, then return to the business of sleeping. I kept my hatred secret behind that smile as I always did. That smile was the weapon to keep your eyes on. I should have warned my friends never to turn their backs on my smile. But I was not talking in those days. I was looking for something. In daydreams, I saw myself cut down by firing squads in sun-bleached courtyards as I screamed out the word Libertad to the small tyrant who watched from the palace window. I threw myself on hand grenades, and charged into the machine-gun fire aimed by impregnable gunners. But I was not looking for that so I slept some more and could not move very well in those days or participate in the life of the campus, which continued undisturbed as it always had and always would. Nothing could still the coming of reveille, the gathering of platoons, or the striking of flags at retreat.
~The Lords of Discipline by Pat Conroy, pages 444-445
Thursday, April 08, 2010
Dustfinger Is An Honoree!
My fantastic sister is being honored (for about the fourth time this year, in fact!) and I am super-proud of her.
So huzzah for Dustfinger!
So huzzah for Dustfinger!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Make Way for the Light-Bearers
There's been a lot that's happened this past year that has confused me about my core beliefs. I've raged, been angry, felt deadened, numb, or like I would die of pain at alternate times. At the same time, I've also been deeply glad, deeply appreciative and deeply moved.
What I have realized is that I believe in the good.
I believe in the good. In the light. In fairy tales. Magic charms. Dancing, singing, beauty, music. Passion. Love. Sparkles and glitter and ennervating spirituality. Disco lights at the roller skating rink. Ice skating sleds. Tiaras. I believe in all these things very deeply. What is more, I believe that people are innately good. I believe that darkness obscures the goodness in people and causes them to act in ways that don't become them, ways that are not part of their true nature.
I know that such a belief is thought of as old-fashioned, out-dated, out-moded or naive. But I believe that I have the right to such a belief. Aviva Miretzky died on the basketball court when she was in 8th grade. Tanielle Miller died of meningitis. Chaya Mitchell died of a brain tumor. My grandfather died just a few days before my 14th birthday. This year, my grandmother died. I watched her chest rise and heave in the hospital as I wished her goodbye and a safe journey, not just from me but from all my family members. I have personally witnessed the cruelty of children toward one another. I have seen the ways in which adults, scared and paralyzed by fear, hide behind cowardly lies and accusations. I have watched their eyes slide away because they could not meet mine, and have seen others stare me down, daring me to do something about it. I have seen administrators in a panic, unsure of how to control a wayward child. One of the people I love best in the world was abused by her husband. As for emotional pain, try to conceive of what it means to be a transsexual in an Orthodox Jewish world, and then you'll have a handle on it. I've seen families where the parents scream at one another in front of the children. I've seen other families where they put on a facade. Every kind of suffering, the backdrop to humanity, has appeared in some form to me, as it does to all of us who walk through this life. And despite all this, I believe in the good. Or perhaps, what I truly believe is that those who inflict pain on others are alienated from their true selves.
This is not them. Their true selves are themselves in pain, wracked by guilt, fear, anger or hatred. They act out of cowardice as opposed to bravery. There is something inside them that begs to be discovered. There is a light, that untouched part of them that belongs to God. I may not always see it but I believe it is there. Sometimes it has been covered over so completely that only death may atone. But it exists. It remains.
I have learned a lot about forgiveness this year. There is a somewhat trite saying that you have to forgive in order to be happy yourself. That if you bear a grudge, it eats away at you rather than those you hate. I don't know if that is true for everyone. But I have discovered that as we are in need of forgiveness, as I am in need of forgiveness, so are others. Because people sometimes make mistakes. Sometimes they allow their goodness to be covered up by darkness for a little while. Or as our Sages put it, people do not sin except when a spirit of foolishness enters them. They regret it afterwards, but it is hard to come clean. It is a matter of losing face. Of being embarrassed. Of feeling lower than others. It is hard to do.
But oh, it's so worth it!
I know that I do not always react to others in a befitting manner. Sometimes I do things that I ought not. I say things I should not. Passion rules reason is Wizard's First Rule and it is very true by me. When I am ruled by emotion, I act in ways that I should not. So I apologize. I try to be better. And as I appreciate that I am forgiven, I learn that I can try to forgive as well. That's not an easy process. And it's not always going to work. But it is imperative to try.
Because I believe in the good. I believe people are good. I believe their wickedness is only ever a crust, a shell, a covering, behind which burns an enduring and all-consuming light. I want to find a way to discover the light, reveal it, allow it to shine through. I feel most frustrated when I fail in that task. But the fact remains that I believe. I believe in people. I believe in their goodness. I believe in hope, and that there is hope for everyone. Sometimes I do not think I am the right person to uncover that person's hidden light, but I believe that there is someone in the world who can do it.
I think it is a choice we make, whether to believe in magic or not. And I believe in magic. Despite our past, our history, and the darkness that veils many of us at one time or another, I still believe.
And I am not ashamed.
It is perceived as delusional, unrealistic, impossible, ridiculous and childish to hold to such a belief. The world does not like it. That is fine with me. Because the fact remains that I see the little flames burning in the hearts of all the people in the world, whereas those who doubt see nothing but charred coal, blackened to a crisp, and fail to notice the diamond's gleam.
What I have realized is that I believe in the good.
I believe in the good. In the light. In fairy tales. Magic charms. Dancing, singing, beauty, music. Passion. Love. Sparkles and glitter and ennervating spirituality. Disco lights at the roller skating rink. Ice skating sleds. Tiaras. I believe in all these things very deeply. What is more, I believe that people are innately good. I believe that darkness obscures the goodness in people and causes them to act in ways that don't become them, ways that are not part of their true nature.
I know that such a belief is thought of as old-fashioned, out-dated, out-moded or naive. But I believe that I have the right to such a belief. Aviva Miretzky died on the basketball court when she was in 8th grade. Tanielle Miller died of meningitis. Chaya Mitchell died of a brain tumor. My grandfather died just a few days before my 14th birthday. This year, my grandmother died. I watched her chest rise and heave in the hospital as I wished her goodbye and a safe journey, not just from me but from all my family members. I have personally witnessed the cruelty of children toward one another. I have seen the ways in which adults, scared and paralyzed by fear, hide behind cowardly lies and accusations. I have watched their eyes slide away because they could not meet mine, and have seen others stare me down, daring me to do something about it. I have seen administrators in a panic, unsure of how to control a wayward child. One of the people I love best in the world was abused by her husband. As for emotional pain, try to conceive of what it means to be a transsexual in an Orthodox Jewish world, and then you'll have a handle on it. I've seen families where the parents scream at one another in front of the children. I've seen other families where they put on a facade. Every kind of suffering, the backdrop to humanity, has appeared in some form to me, as it does to all of us who walk through this life. And despite all this, I believe in the good. Or perhaps, what I truly believe is that those who inflict pain on others are alienated from their true selves.
This is not them. Their true selves are themselves in pain, wracked by guilt, fear, anger or hatred. They act out of cowardice as opposed to bravery. There is something inside them that begs to be discovered. There is a light, that untouched part of them that belongs to God. I may not always see it but I believe it is there. Sometimes it has been covered over so completely that only death may atone. But it exists. It remains.
I have learned a lot about forgiveness this year. There is a somewhat trite saying that you have to forgive in order to be happy yourself. That if you bear a grudge, it eats away at you rather than those you hate. I don't know if that is true for everyone. But I have discovered that as we are in need of forgiveness, as I am in need of forgiveness, so are others. Because people sometimes make mistakes. Sometimes they allow their goodness to be covered up by darkness for a little while. Or as our Sages put it, people do not sin except when a spirit of foolishness enters them. They regret it afterwards, but it is hard to come clean. It is a matter of losing face. Of being embarrassed. Of feeling lower than others. It is hard to do.
But oh, it's so worth it!
I know that I do not always react to others in a befitting manner. Sometimes I do things that I ought not. I say things I should not. Passion rules reason is Wizard's First Rule and it is very true by me. When I am ruled by emotion, I act in ways that I should not. So I apologize. I try to be better. And as I appreciate that I am forgiven, I learn that I can try to forgive as well. That's not an easy process. And it's not always going to work. But it is imperative to try.
Because I believe in the good. I believe people are good. I believe their wickedness is only ever a crust, a shell, a covering, behind which burns an enduring and all-consuming light. I want to find a way to discover the light, reveal it, allow it to shine through. I feel most frustrated when I fail in that task. But the fact remains that I believe. I believe in people. I believe in their goodness. I believe in hope, and that there is hope for everyone. Sometimes I do not think I am the right person to uncover that person's hidden light, but I believe that there is someone in the world who can do it.
I think it is a choice we make, whether to believe in magic or not. And I believe in magic. Despite our past, our history, and the darkness that veils many of us at one time or another, I still believe.
And I am not ashamed.
It is perceived as delusional, unrealistic, impossible, ridiculous and childish to hold to such a belief. The world does not like it. That is fine with me. Because the fact remains that I see the little flames burning in the hearts of all the people in the world, whereas those who doubt see nothing but charred coal, blackened to a crisp, and fail to notice the diamond's gleam.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
The Loaf and the Pebble
As we are approaching Pesach, I thought it would be nice to focus upon a beautiful Jewish tradition we possess: namely, of the few defeating the many, and the small defeating the great. Nowhere is this more poetically described than within the context of Tanakh, and specifically, I believe, within the context of the loaf and the pebble motif.
In Esther Rabbah 10: 4, we read of Haman's conversation with the students of Mordechai regarding the Omer:
Since this is so, one might wonder: what precisely do the Loaf & Pebble symbolize?
Any child knows that the Torah is synonymous with bread. This comes from the verse in Proverbs 9:5 where Wisdom declares, "ה לְכוּ, לַחֲמוּ בְלַחֲמִי; וּשְׁתוּ, בְּיַיִן מָסָכְתִּי 'Come, eat of my bread, and drink of the wine which I have mingled." Thus, while the loaf is specifically the Omer offering in this scenario, it can also be understood as symbolically referring to the Torah.
God, of course, is synonymous with stone. See 2 Samuel 22: 2-3:
Now we can understand why it was that the Head Baker had to die when it came to Pharaoh, the Butler, the Baker and interpreting dreams. In Bereishis Rabbah 88, it states that a fly was found in the cup of wine that the butler served Pharaoh, whereas a pebble was found in the loaf of bread that the baker served him. Despite the fact that both of these officials had sinned, it was only the baker who was put to death. Why?
On the more superficial level, the fact is that the pebble in the bread could have actually harmed Pharaoh (he could have choked to death), whereas the fly was merely an annoyance and disrespectful to the king. However, on an exegetical level, this may be the first place that our motif of the loaf and the pebble occurs! When Pharaoh is served, as it were, the Jewish symbols of existence- the loaf and the pebble- he becomes upset and dismayed. He puts to death the man who dared to offer this meal to him. I am not suggesting that he knew what this meal symbolized. Indeed, the fact that he praises and later appoints Joseph demonstrates he did not. Ironically, however, he ends up appointing a Jew who gives out bread (the loaves we spoke of.) When all of Egypt is starving to death, Pharaoh orders them to go to Joseph who will disseminate bread.
This occurrence with the butler foreshadows the Pharaoh we know so well from the Passover story, the one who declares, "Who is Hashem? I know no Hashem." (Of course, I am making the assumption that it is the same Pharaoh, and that he did not actually die.) There is something deliciously ironic about God hardening Pharaoh's heart- like the stone that upset him so much and that symbolizes the Jewish people- if one understands the text this way.
Pharaoh thinks that he can destroy the Jews, those people who are symbolized by the loaf and the pebble, as symbolized by his destruction of the butler who dared to serve him this meal. That simple hanging foreshadows everything that he will eventually do to the Jews. However, God ensures that Pharaoh then appoints a Hebrew to give bread to the nations and eventually hardens Pharaoh's heart like stone. Pharaoh too must fall before the Jews, even as the other nations invariably do.
In Esther Rabbah 10: 4, we read of Haman's conversation with the students of Mordechai regarding the Omer:
- The Midrash tells us about an encounter between Mordechai and Haman when Mordechai was teaching his students. Haman inquired as to what they were learning and they responded that they were learning about the Omer. “What is this Omer made of?” he asked. “Is it made of gold? Or silver?” “No," they answered, “not of gold nor silver, not even wheat, but of barley and it costs merely ten small silver coins.” Upon hearing that, Haman replied, “In Hashem’s eyes your ten small silver coins have overpowered the 10,000 kikar of silver which I gave Achashveirosh for the right to destroy you.” (Source)
- יג וַיָּבֹא גִדְעוֹן--וְהִנֵּה-
אִישׁ, מְסַפֵּר לְרֵעֵהוּ חֲלוֹם; וַיֹּאמֶר הִנֵּה חֲלוֹם חָלַמְתִּי, וְהִנֵּה צְלִיל לֶחֶם שְׂעֹרִים מִתְהַפֵּךְ בְּמַחֲנֵה מִדְיָן, וַיָּבֹא עַד-הָאֹהֶל וַיַּכֵּהוּ וַיִּפֹּל וַיַּהַפְכֵהוּ לְמַעְלָה, וְנָפַל הָאֹהֶל. 13
- And when Gideon was come, behold, there was a man telling a dream unto his follow, and saying: 'Behold, I dreamed a dream, and, lo, a cake of barley bread tumbled into the camp of Midian, and came unto the tent, and smote it that it fell, and turned it upside down, that the tent lay flat.'
יד וַיַּעַן רֵעֵהוּ וַיֹּאמֶר, אֵין זֹאת, בִּלְתִּי אִם-חֶרֶב גִּדְעוֹן בֶּן-יוֹאָשׁ, אִישׁ יִשְׂרָאֵל: נָתַן הָאֱלֹהִים בְּיָדוֹ, אֶת-מִדְיָן וְאֶת-כָּל-הַמַּחֲנֶה. {פ} 14 And his fellow answered and said: '
- This is nothing else save the sword of Gideon the son of Joash, a man of Israel: into his hand God hath delivered Midian, and all the host.' {P}
~Judges 7:13-14
- מט וַיִּשְׁלַח דָּוִד אֶת-יָדוֹ אֶל-הַכֶּלִי, וַיִּקַּח מִשָּׁם אֶבֶן וַיְקַלַּע, וַיַּךְ אֶת-הַפְּלִשְׁתִּי, אֶל-מִצְחוֹ; וַתִּטְבַּע הָאֶבֶן בְּמִצְחוֹ, וַיִּפֹּל עַל-פָּנָיו אָרְצָה
And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slung it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead; and the stone sank into his forehead, and he fell upon his face to the earth.
נ וַיֶּחֱזַק דָּוִד מִן-הַפְּלִשְׁתִּי בַּקֶּלַע וּבָאֶבֶן, וַיַּךְ אֶת-הַפְּלִשְׁתִּי וַיְמִתֵהוּ; וְחֶרֶב, אֵין בְּיַד-דָּוִד. 50 So David prevailed over the Philistine with a sling and with a stone, and smote the Philistine, and slew him; but there was no sword in the hand of David.
נא וַיָּרָץ דָּוִד וַיַּעֲמֹד אֶל-הַפְּלִשְׁתִּי וַיִּקַּח אֶת-חַרְבּוֹ וַיִּשְׁלְפָהּ מִתַּעְרָהּ, וַיְמֹתְתֵהוּ, וַיִּכְרָת-בָּהּ, אֶת-רֹאשׁוֹ; וַיִּרְאוּ הַפְּלִשְׁתִּים כִּי-מֵת גִּבּוֹרָם, וַיָּנֻסוּ. 51
And David ran, and stood over the Philistine, and took his sword, and drew it out of the sheath thereof, and slew him, and cut off his head therewith. And when the Philistines saw that their mighty man was dead, they fled.
~I Samuel 17: 49-51
- מד וּבְיוֹמֵיהוֹן דִּי מַלְכַיָּא אִנּוּן, יְקִים אֱלָהּ שְׁמַיָּא מַלְכוּ דִּי לְעָלְמִין לָא תִתְחַבַּל, וּמַלְכוּתָה, לְעַם אָחֳרָן לָא תִשְׁתְּבִק; תַּדִּק וְתָסֵיף כָּל-אִלֵּין מַלְכְוָתָא, וְהִיא תְּקוּם לְעָלְמַיָּא. 44
- And in the days of those kings shall the God of heaven set up a kingdom, which shall never be destroyed; nor shall the kingdom be left to another people; it shall break in pieces and consume all these kingdoms, but it shall stand for ever.
מה כָּל-קֳבֵל דִּי-חֲזַיְתָ דִּי מִטּוּרָא אִתְגְּזֶרֶת אֶבֶן דִּי-לָא בִידַיִן, וְהַדֵּקֶת פַּרְזְלָא נְחָשָׁא חַסְפָּא כַּסְפָּא וְדַהֲבָא--אֱלָהּ רַב הוֹדַע לְמַלְכָּא, מָה דִּי לֶהֱוֵא אַחֲרֵי דְנָה; וְיַצִּיב חֶלְמָא, וּמְהֵימַן פִּשְׁרֵהּ. {פ} 45
Forasmuch as thou sawest that a stone was cut out of the mountain without hands, and that it broke in pieces the iron, the brass, the clay, the silver, and the gold; the great God hath made known to the king what shall come to pass hereafter; and the dream is certain, and the interpretation thereof sure.' {P}
~Daniel 2:44-45
Since this is so, one might wonder: what precisely do the Loaf & Pebble symbolize?
Any child knows that the Torah is synonymous with bread. This comes from the verse in Proverbs 9:5 where Wisdom declares, "ה לְכוּ, לַחֲמוּ בְלַחֲמִי; וּשְׁתוּ, בְּיַיִן מָסָכְתִּי 'Come, eat of my bread, and drink of the wine which I have mingled." Thus, while the loaf is specifically the Omer offering in this scenario, it can also be understood as symbolically referring to the Torah.
God, of course, is synonymous with stone. See 2 Samuel 22: 2-3:
- ב וַיֹּאמַר: יְהוָה
סַלְעִי וּמְצֻדָתִי, {ר} וּמְפַלְטִי-לִי. 2
and he said: The LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer;
ג אֱלֹהֵי צוּרִי, אֶחֱסֶה-בּוֹ; {ס} מָגִנִּי וְקֶרֶן יִשְׁעִי, {ר} מִשְׂגַּבִּי וּמְנוּסִי, {ס} מֹשִׁעִי, מֵחָמָס תֹּשִׁעֵנִי. {ר} 3
The God who is my rock, in Him I take refuge; my shield, and my horn of salvation, my high tower, and my refuge; my saviour, Thou savest me from violence.
Now we can understand why it was that the Head Baker had to die when it came to Pharaoh, the Butler, the Baker and interpreting dreams. In Bereishis Rabbah 88, it states that a fly was found in the cup of wine that the butler served Pharaoh, whereas a pebble was found in the loaf of bread that the baker served him. Despite the fact that both of these officials had sinned, it was only the baker who was put to death. Why?
On the more superficial level, the fact is that the pebble in the bread could have actually harmed Pharaoh (he could have choked to death), whereas the fly was merely an annoyance and disrespectful to the king. However, on an exegetical level, this may be the first place that our motif of the loaf and the pebble occurs! When Pharaoh is served, as it were, the Jewish symbols of existence- the loaf and the pebble- he becomes upset and dismayed. He puts to death the man who dared to offer this meal to him. I am not suggesting that he knew what this meal symbolized. Indeed, the fact that he praises and later appoints Joseph demonstrates he did not. Ironically, however, he ends up appointing a Jew who gives out bread (the loaves we spoke of.) When all of Egypt is starving to death, Pharaoh orders them to go to Joseph who will disseminate bread.
This occurrence with the butler foreshadows the Pharaoh we know so well from the Passover story, the one who declares, "Who is Hashem? I know no Hashem." (Of course, I am making the assumption that it is the same Pharaoh, and that he did not actually die.) There is something deliciously ironic about God hardening Pharaoh's heart- like the stone that upset him so much and that symbolizes the Jewish people- if one understands the text this way.
Pharaoh thinks that he can destroy the Jews, those people who are symbolized by the loaf and the pebble, as symbolized by his destruction of the butler who dared to serve him this meal. That simple hanging foreshadows everything that he will eventually do to the Jews. However, God ensures that Pharaoh then appoints a Hebrew to give bread to the nations and eventually hardens Pharaoh's heart like stone. Pharaoh too must fall before the Jews, even as the other nations invariably do.
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Fallen Angel Seeking Grace
The adage "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me" is a myth. Words are harmful and wound deeply. Many people carry emotional scars from careless and hurtful words that are as real as physical scars. Even when these painful words are uttered by people who love us- our spouses, parents, children, or friends- and are quickly followed by apologies, their effects may continue causing pain for years to come. Words intended to sting, delivered by mean people bent on leaving mayhem in their wake, are potentially even more hurtful and permanent. On the one hand, learning to cope with aggressive individuals, mean words, and hurt feelings is a skill that children need to learn. In fact, many former victims say that being bullied in childhood actually helped them to develop strengths they found advantageous later in life. Research confirms this belief: Several studies have shown that victims, in the long run, fare better than bullies. While many bullies end up in prison, victims learn to cope. However, the parent must effectively distinguish between the normal, day-to-day arguing, "stares," and verbal confrontations that characterize many childhood interactions, and actual bullying. In the case of normal childhood disagreements and arguments, the parents should teach the child how to cope. However, if the child is being bullied, other interventions may be necessary, along with the teaching of coping strategies. For example, telling a child to avoid or "stay out of the way" of a person with whom he/she is having difficulty getting along is a good coping strategy. However, with bullying, saying, "Just stay out of his way" is oversimplifying a difficult situation and doesn't work. Many victims, like me, have discovered that any attempt to stay out of the bully's way just makes the bully more determined to pursue the victim.
~Wounded Innocents and Fallen Angels: Child Abuse and Child Aggression by Gregory K. Moffatt, page 164
~Wounded Innocents and Fallen Angels: Child Abuse and Child Aggression by Gregory K. Moffatt, page 164
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)