Oh, SNAP! This Sukkot: A Call To Action.

These days we often tend to fondly regard Sukkot as one of our quainter holidays: waving the lulav and etrog, building a sukkah and eating meals in it, saying Hallel and processing in the Hoshanot. It’s a little nature-y, a little strange, and mostly just a welcome joyful occasion after the solemnity of the High Holidays.

There’s an older name for Sukkot in the Torah: chag ha-asif. “The gathering-in holiday.” Back in the day, this was our major autumn harvest festival. Around this time, our ancestors would’ve either just finished, or been in the midst of, the second wheat harvest, the millet harvest, the date picking, (not coincidentally) the etrog picking, the fig picking, the pomegranate picking, the olive picking, and the grape harvest-- and those are just the major produce crops of those times. Some of us may vaguely recall something about this, perhaps because a rabbi or a Hebrew school teacher will have noted that we lived in sukkot as we harvested and picked fruit.

But we don’t often think about what harvest meant in our ancestors’ society. It was a time to rejoice because it was a time of plenty, when you had the most food available to you that you would have until the spring harvest (around Shavuot). They would give extra thanks to God because of the bounty that they were gratefully bringing in, and make extra prayers for rain (hence tefillat Geshem on Shmini Atzeret), and sundry other supplications to beg God to rain favor down on the next crop, that they would have been just about to begin planting, or just starting to plant. And with the sudden and more or less temporary surfeit of food, it would have been the season of maximal tzedakah giving.

The nineteenth and twenty-third chapters of Vayikra/Leviticus, and the twenty-fourth chapter of Devarim/Deuteronomy instruct us that if we have fields we are harvesting, or vineyards, or orchards, we leave the corners of the field unharvested, so that the poor can come to get food. Likewise, stalks of grain or fruits dropped by the harvesters must be left for gleaners (poor people who followed the harvesting reapers to pick up stalks they let drop), sheaves forgotten in the fields likewise belong to the poor, and fruit dropped or left unpicked by accident must be left for them. All of these things are in addition to ma’aser ‘oni (tithes that one had to make to national efforts to feed the poor) in different years, and in addition to the contributions residents of a certain area were expected to make to the tamchui, or the food bank/soup kitchen from which poor people were fed (at least on Shabbat and chagim, if not also at other times), and miscellaneous tzedakah they were to give if asked for aid by poor individuals.

It would have been inevitable for our ancestors that this holiday, much like Shavuot, and much like Pesach (when they, in reciting ha lachma ‘anya, the part of the Seder where we say “all who are hungry, come and eat,” would literally have been inviting the poor of their community to come in and share the Seder with them) would have been linked with tzedakah, with feeding the poor.

So you can begin to understand how it seems like a particularly vicious irony that Sukkot is when the US House of Representatives has chosen to cut SNAP (the Supplemental Nutritional Assistance Program, AKA “food stamps”) by $40 billion, while at the same time approving vast subsidies and tax breaks for agribusiness megacorporations.

I will leave it to my estimable Christian minister, pastor, and priest counterparts to deal with the additional irony of Tea Party/Republicans cutting aid to desperately poor and hungry people and enriching and empowering already wealthy and powerful people (to say nothing of now attempting to force defunding of the ACA via threat of government shutdown), apparently while claiming to take such action in the name of a deceased Jewish man who seems to have made a career of agitating for giving more tzedakah, feeding the hungry, and healing the sick.

But for us, the irony is bitter enough in that this is a time we should be focusing on aiding those in need, on feeding those who have no other food, on providing opportunities to those who have no opportunities. And our government, theoretically elected by us, to execute the will of the American People, is-- with appalling relish-- doing precisely the opposite of those things.

Sukkot is supposed to be z’man simchatenu (the season of our happiness), for all the Jewish People-- from the heads of households and landowners to the basest of those held in bond, and even including the non-Jews among us. Now, for some people among us, and all too many among our neighbors in the American culture, this z’man is anything but happy, and, however indirectly it may be, we are partially at fault.

This cannot go on. More and more, as the right wing of our political representation grows ever more radical and fanatical, as the “left wing” grows ever more tepid, centrist, and content to be purchased by corporate “campaign contributions,” this situation is becoming less a political setback to the nation and more a humanitarian crisis.

We are, with little exception, not farmers anymore. Baruch Hashem (thank God), the Jewish People have prospered, done well for ourselves, even come to wield some influence. But we no longer find ourselves in a position to fulfill the mitzvot of pe’ah (leaving corners unharvested), leket (leaving gleanings), shichechah (forgotten sheaves), olelot and peret (unmatured or fallen grapes one had to leave for the poor), and the ma’aser ‘oni (tithes).

I think we have to restore the balance to our duties to the poor and hungry by not merely giving more regular tzedakah as we are able, but to committing ourselves, one and all, to political action, to social justice, to agitation for change. Regardless of your party affiliation, this treatment of the poorest, most vulnerable and needy among us cannot be tolerated. This is no longer merely a matter of budget lines and economic theories: this has become a matter of pikuach nefesh (saving lives). And regardless of other political beliefs, we must act maximally, aggressively, quickly, to help those who need it.

Julie and I have signed petitions, sent letters, and donated to causes. We will make phone calls. We will add our voices to the outcry in whatever other ways we can. That is our foremost tzedakah this Sukkot, and we urge you to do the same.

The holidays are said to be signs for us. For remembering the covenant, the Exodus, the Creation. Let’s also make this Sukkot a sign for us to remember our duties to our fellow human beings in dire need, our duties to aid in creating a more just society, to making future years, future chagei ha-asif truly z’manei simchatenu (seasons of our happiness). 

-Ami

Baruch Hashem: Let's Get It On

As Julie and I were talking this evening, it occurred to us that there is no brachah (blessing) for sex. Neither before nor afterward. Or in any case, if there is such a brachah, neither of us ever encountered it (I know they sure didn't teach us that one for the brachah bee we held at the frum day school I attended, though in retrospect I would've loved to see those rabbis try to teach that).

Which is strange. Because everything has brachot. Eating. Drinking. Seeing different people. Seeing natural phenomena of every variety. Scents. Rituals. Lifecycle events. Learning Torah. Even going to the bathroom has a brachah (a great one, too). Why not sex? Sex is awesome. It's crazy that something that awesome has no brachah attached to it-- the whole point of brachot is to remind ourselves every experience we have is something we should thank God for, since He made this amazing universe. Why should sex be different?

And on further reflection, sex really needs a brachah-- much more so, than, say, thunder and lightning. Nobody takes thunder and lightning lightly (if you'll forgive the expression): it's a stark reminder of the power of nature, and we know Who's responsible for it. I'm not saying we shouldn't bentsch (say the blessing) sheko'cho u'gevurato malei olam ("...Whose power and might fill the world") the next rainstorm, but that if something so seemingly superfluous gets a brachah (and, again, a good one), why not sex, which people are constantly taking lightly?! A brachah over sex could really help people refocus their kavanah (intention), and remember that sex is more than just fun with moving parts.

Plus, even for those old married folks like us, who may not necessarily be taking sex as lightly as some swingin' singles out there, a sex brachah would still be nice: it would help us be reminded of what a miracle and joy it is that we found a partner we can enjoy not just ritual and lifecycle occasions with, but the same delights that caused the creation of the Song of Songs (although usually with a little less sheep and goat imagery).

And, let's not forget, sex and spirituality are not mutually exclusive. Sex is intimacy, no matter how you look at it. And any intimacy is a chance for people to glimpse in one another the spark of the divine. That's just got to deserve a brachah.

I suppose one could say asher yatzar, since sex is a physical act of release. But that just seems so...clinical. And I guess one could say shehecheyanu, but that's really supposed to be for infrequent occasions, first times, or things one has not experienced in a long time. I don't think I'd want to hold out long enough for shehecheyanu to be applicable. Besides, it's over-used: shehecheyanu is kind of the shehakol (the brachah recited over food or drink for which one does not know the proper brachah, or which do not fit other brachot) of experiential brachot. Some of the sheva brachot (the brachot recited for marriage) seem likely candidates, content-wise, but I rebel at the idea of appropriating them, since they are so locked into their context. Besides, there could be halachic issues for single people reciting one or more of them before sex, since it could appear then that the sex is bi'ah l'shem kiddushin (sex for the purposes of effecting marriage), and that could cause problems. I think new brachot, just for sex, are needed.

So I'm throwing this project out there to the Jewish world. Brachot for sex.

Just to be fair, I have drafted my own suggestions. These are just a first draft, nothing more. And, yes, before anyone points it out to me, I am aware that the second part is hetero-oriented. I could try to come up with another one for gay sex, but I feel like maybe some nice GLBT rabbi might want to take a crack at it, and might well be better at it than I, since they'll have a better idea of what it's like to thank God for gay sex than I would. I know some might suggest uniform, orientation-free formulations so all say the same brachot, but I just don't think it's necessary: I don't think there's anything wrong with people saying different brachot for very different experiences. After all, we say a different brachah for smelling a fragrant spice, a fragrant herb, or a fragrant tree. And I think different kinds of sex are way more different than variations in fragrant scents.

So here goes:

לפני שמתחילים:

ברוך אתה ה' אלוהינו מלך העולם אשר ברא את האדם ונטע בו יצר לחפס רעים אהובים.

Before sex (this one should be short, or no one will take the time to say it):
You are blessed, Hashem, sovereign of the universe, who created humanity, and implanted within them a desire to seek out loving companions.

אחרי שגומרים:

ברוך אתה ה' אלוהינו מלך העולם אשר ברא את האדם בחכמה ובחמלה במינים שונים, ונתן בהם אהבה ותאבה, לחפס ולמצוא כל אחד בשני את צלם יוצרם וטעם גן עדן ופרדס. ברוך אתה ה' יוצר האדם לשמחה.

After sex (yes, sex should have a brachah acharonah. But let's not even get into a brachah me'ein shalosh for sex...):

You are blessed, Hashem, sovereign of the universe, who, with wisdom and mercy, created humanity in different genders, and put into them love and desirous appetites, that they seek and find within one another the image of God and a taste of Eden and Paradise. You are blessed, Hashem, who makes people for joyfulness.

Nu? It's a start.

-Ami

Don’t be shocked. Don’t be surprised. Be aware.

In the wake of the George Zimmerman verdict the day before yesterday, and the Melissa Alexander verdict (who received 20 years for firing a warning shot, in her own home, to try and warn off her abusive estranged husband who was violating his restraining order), my Facebook and Twitter feeds and email inbox exploded with expressions of shock and outrage from many of my (mostly white and Jewish) acquaintances.

And I confess, I am shocked. Not at the verdicts. At my acquaintances.

I understand anger at the verdicts: both were manifestly miscarriages of justice, products of a broken system. But shock? Outcries of surprise that these things could happen? Really?

I want to ask these people where they’ve been living, because if they’re surprised that these things happened in America, they clearly haven’t been living here. Ever.

Injustices like these verdicts don’t happen in a vacuum. They don’t spring forth, sudden incursions from some obscure hell of malicious occurrences. They are inevitabilities in a society where the powerful and wealthy upper classes of one skin color and gender persistently curb, restrain, oppress, harass, and subjugate the lower classes, the other skin colors, and the opposite gender.

I question the shock and outrage on anyone’s Facebook status or email or tweet or anything else if they aren’t consistently-- if not daily-- posting or tweeting their shock and outrage over things like:

• Egregious disparities in the funding of education for minority and low-income areas and students.

• An unconscionably high prison population disproportionately made up of people of color.

• The under-funding and under-maintaining of hospitals and public health care in low-income areas.

• The media bias on reporting crimes against white people vigorously, and ignoring crimes against people of color unless they can be sensationalized for some other reason.

• The double-edged sword of affirmative action, wherein students of color who so seek to improve their chances of bettering themselves through education are then questioned by all and sundry as to their intellectual or professional qualifications.

• The consistent defunding and underfunding of social services geared toward providing aid to low-income citizens, who are disproportionately people of color-- from food assistance to housing assistance to employment assistance.

• Extreme toleration of corporations abusing low-income labor-- which is disproportionately made up of people of color, immigrants, and women.

• Toleration of suppression of organized labor, which disproportionately affects the poor and the lower middle classes, who are disproportionately of color.

• Draconian mandatory minimums for crimes which unfairly target low-income and minority demographics, often selectively enforced either as a result of cronyism or simply the result of inadequate public defender or free legal aid services. This is especially true of drug-related offenses, for which white, upper middle-class or wealthy defendants more often get reduced sentences and opportunities for addiction counseling and rehabilitation, and poor defendants of color more often get harsh prison sentences.

• Disproportionate lack of people of color and women in high levels of government and of corporate administration.

• Tolerance of financial crises created by wealthy institutions dominated by white men, which disproportionately affect poor people, especially people of color.

 

If these things and a giant panoply of others like them aren’t on your daily radar, and discussion of them doesn’t constitute part of your regular set of publicly vocalized sociopolitical opinions, then your posted outrage over the occasional more dramatic injustice that the media is willing to cover rings a little hollow.

I’m not suggesting that we shouldn’t comment on what’s going on, or condemn it, unless we fit an incredibly vigorous profile of activism-- that just isn’t a reasonable expectation for most people’s lives. But don’t be shocked. Don’t be surprised. Be aware.

Maybe there’s not much many of us can do about it-- sign some petitions, give to some causes, try to be unprejudiced in our daily lives-- but let’s not fool ourselves about the society we live in. Even if we can’t do much on a daily basis, we can at least walk around with open eyes, and teach our children to do the same. We can at least not pretend that our society is just, and that intolerance in America is something we read about in history books, or that only happens in far-flung rural areas.

Most of us aren’t full-time activists or even part-time movers and shakers for social change-- myself absolutely included. And I’m not necessarily suggesting we should be. But true change requires more than activism and fundraising and political lobbying. True change requires a shift in the worldview of the majority of Americans. And like any problem, the solution begins by accepting the truth of the problem. American society is unjust. That doesn’t mean that there aren’t more unjust societies out there-- there are. But their existence doesn’t obviate the injustice in America. And if we do nothing else, let’s at least admit that that’s the truth, and not be surprised when we see it in action.

-Ami

Havdalah and Distinctions

I know Julie and I haven't posted in forever. It turns out that having a baby is time consuming: who knew?

One of our congregants asked me to clarify havdalah for her. Specifically, she was concerned about blessing God for separating the Jewish People from other nations. She often has guests in her home who are not halachically Jewish, and is concerned that in making this brachah, she is invoking a ritualized contempt or discrimination that her guests may understandably find offensive.

While leaving aside for the moment the very real issues and concerns with the situation of individuals not halachically Jewish, I tried as best I could to address her concerns by reframing and clarifying the meaning of havdalot not as “separation,” (though technically that is a fair translation) since I think that has more negative resonance in English than the word havdalah has in Hebrew (especially in America, where “separate” in social reference often connotes Jim Crow, a very negative form of separating people from one another), but as “making a distinction.”

Distinction is not a hierarchy: it is a vertical differentiation, not a horizontal differentiation. It need not (and, I think, does not) imply a valuative judgment, merely an acknowledgement of difference.

ויאמר אלקים יהי רקיע בתוך המים ויהי מבדיל בין מים למים
Gen. 1:6. And God said, “Let there be a vault between the waters: let there be a distinction (mavdil) between water and water.”

This is the language of havdalah: taking something and noting differences. There is water above the vault of the heavens (i.e., clouds and rain) and there is water below the vault of the heavens (i.e., lakes, rivers, and seas). It’s all water. None of it is any better or worse. But some happens to be over here, and some happens to be over there. Without either, the world would be the less. But we note their differences and rejoice in them in different ways: we make different brachot for seeing lakes and rivers than for the sea, and both different from that we make over seeing rain. But all get a brachah said over them, because we rejoice in water. In just the same way, a distinction is made between the People Israel and the other Peoples of the world. We’re all Peoples. Without any of us, the world would be the less. But we rejoice in our differences, since we all have our different places and different functions. Our purpose is to be Jews, and we rejoice in it. If we were Irish, or Hawaiian, or Maori, or whatever, our purpose would be to be Irish or Hawaiian or Maori, or whatever, and we would quite rightly rejoice in that. And it would be just as true that our people would be special, unique, and different from all others.

We find this idea far, far back in our tradition.

הלוא כבני כשיים אתם לי בני ישראל נאם ה' הלוא את ישראל העליתי מארץ מצרים ופלשתיים מכפתור וארם מקיר
Amos 9:7. “Are you not like the Kushites to me, O Israel?” Says Hashem. “Did I not bring up Israel from the Land of Egypt, and the Philistines from Kaftor, and the Arameans from Kir?”

We are God’s People...in our own, unique way. Other Peoples are also God’s Peoples...in their own, unique ways. And the examples God gives in Amos are Peoples we weren’t even friendly with: reminding us forcefully that even the Peoples we don’t always like are still God’s Peoples. “Special” and “unique” are not the same as “better.”

To value one’s own self and heritage does not, by definition, require the denigration of others and their heritage. The idea that it does is both unfounded and antiquated. That some in our tradition may have chosen to turn the idea of havdalot (distinctions) in such a fashion absolutely does not mean it must mean that, or even that that is the most accurate meaning. So, yes, we do speak of our distinction from the other nations of the world; and they could speak of their distinction from us, or from one another. Not because we’re Jews and we rock but they’re non-Jews and they bite. Nobody has to bite. We can all rock, in our own ways. We’re just different from one another: a rich glory of variety, which is what we should expect, given that we are all creations of the Infinite.

In the same vein, at this congregant's request, I also translated Havdalah for her afresh. Maybe it will be useful for others, also, so I include it here in this link.

-Ami