A conversation I had with a wise old man and a thank you to all my friends

I had a really interesting encounter with an elderly man last week at Bushey shul. As I was sitting there, minding my own business, he started talking to me. He told me about his life - how he had been evacuated when he was a boy, how he had served in the RAF, how he had met his wife at a local Jewish youth club and how he had spent several years in the fur business before a chance encounter had led him to become a Taxi driver.

But what was so interesting about this man was the fact that he kept saying to me, with a huge smile on his face, 'I have met so many wonderful people in my life'. When I told him that I was getting married tomorrow he said  that he had been married for 63 years and that life was all about the ups and downs you encounter and those who succeed in it are the ones who have learnt from the obstacles along the way.

And that really inspired me. Did this man say anything groundbreaking? Nope. But this man had lived. He had seen. He, a complete stranger gave me real insight into how I should see my own life. 

One thing I have discovered in the past few years in my own life at least is that many questions of theory are much better answered through experience than through a thought out response. 

Where is God in the world? What is my purpose in life? It seems that rather than attempt a reasoned discussion of these issues I have found them to be far better answered in the relationships I have developed and the life experiences I have had. Maybe that's why I was so moved by speaking to that particular elderly man. 

And I too, the day before my wedding, think to myself: I have met so many wonderful people. I have had such great friends, experiences and companions. Thank you all.

Influence, control and abuse: The thin line between charismatic leadership and cult leadership.

I saw a brilliant show by Derren Brown on Saturday night. Without revealing any details, it was an excellent demonstration of how people can be made to think and do things using the power of subconscious influences. I was very impressed by the way he used his particular talents to help people feel better about their problems.

 But it also showed that whilst we think we make our own choices, there in fact there are a number of factors that we are unaware of affecting our decisions (I have also started reading the book thinking fast and slow by Daniel Kahanaman which addresses the psychology behind this). More significantly, for me at least, it was also a demonstration of how particular individuals can use their personal charisma to exert an enormous influence over you, to the extent that your personality can become subsumed into theirs. That was quite a scary thought.

It also reminded me of something that I  often think about when listening to popular public religious speakers and from my own experiences with charismatic individuals. How much am I being influenced by the show behind the individual's speech? It is almost impossible to disassociate the person, the climate and the feel-good effect from what is actually being said.

 I remember vividly in sixth form coming home one shabbos to announce that I had heard the most incredible D'var Torah by a well known speaker in the community. 'What did he say' My Dad asked. Hmm I thought. Hard to really put into words. So I tried, and I realised that its content could be said in about ten seconds but I made sure to follow these words with 'You just had to be there, you don't understand'.

So what? You might say. Ostensibly, we are not simply drones who respond to content alone. Personality certainly becomes a part of any method of communication. But there is a more sinister element to all this. That is the question of control. Using Derren Brown-esque skills a spellbinding speaker or personality can make us do things that if we detached ourselves from the situation we would not consider. Unfortunately I can attest to personal experience in this regard.

They can make us think thoughts that, in many ways are not our own. And then we can easily lose sight of the difference between who we are and who the person who is our boss, teacher, rabbi, role model is. And in the hands of the wrong people this can lead to an extremely dangerous relationship.   

There was a sad story in the news the other week about the young Conservative party member who committed suicide, seemingly after encountering horrendous bullying from his peers. Clearly, to some, the pursuit of power is a singular one which can disregard the consequences of its actions, taking advantage of someone's willingness to obey your every instruction.

The fact of the matter is that it is often people with the potential for this sort of manipulation often find themselves in positions of leadership. If the organisation in question has a particular agenda it is very easy to create a climate under the complete control of this personality.

It is certainly something to think about when you enter a position of some sort of power particularly in areas which have deep emotional sway over people such as faith. People will see you differently. You might be able to have them under a spell of sorts. You may be able to make them do exactly as you want. And to be conscious of the extent of your standing is to also be aware of the fine line between positive influence, control and even abuse. 

To educate is to channel not to manipulate. This applies even if we are convinced about the rightness of our message, method or agenda; for if we don't respect the dignity of each human being and their ability to make up their own minds about things we run the risk of crushing them, scarily, without even meaning to.

Getting married and why we shouldn't answer questions

The old world is rapidly aging. Please step out of the new one if you can't lend a hand for the times they are-a-changing.

Oh boy they are - I'm getting married in two weeks! As well as that being incredibly exciting the enormity of it all also means that it is quite overwhelming. There is always a challenge in facing a change in our lives that represents something unknown, regardless of how much we look forward to it. If there is one thing that we humans fear, it is the unknown. In fact, the whole of historical study grapples with the question: Why did it change? How did we get from caveman to facebook? Changes always pose the question of how we should respond to our new circumstances in, for example, jobs, relationships and health. It leads to so many questions and so many unknowns.

It is tempting and comforting to think that we can find the answers to deal with change and the future and apply them like bandages over the wounds of uncertainty - 'I'm scared mother make it go away.' And it is this issue that I think of when I consider how religious teachers in the Jewish world approach questions in general.

In popular books and Shiurim there is a glowing confidence that all your questions can be answered if you only know who to ask. What's the problem with the ultra chareidi schools, they ask? They don't let kids ask questions, so they go off the D. Let us establish a model where kids are free to ask questions which we can provide with good answers so that they'll be fine. More than that, they claim that unlike other religions such as Christianity, Judaism encourages questions. This was a frequent slogan in my teenage years and remains a fairly common go-to line in the frum community.

What wasn't added, it must be said, is the line 'until we give you the answers'. Once a teenage mind has been satisfied, it is expected to provide the intellectual backbone to last a lifetime. In many outreach organisations, there is the implicit feeling of 'we are more intelligent than the outside world' and in other religious institutions there is an attitude of, when questions become too difficult, 'Go to the Kiruv guy, he'll sort you out'. The answers themselves are seen to provide a definitive solution to life's theoretical problems.

It comes down to the issue of how we view questions in general. If we see questions as solvable problems then this widespread attitude will generally come unstuck. Because as we grow older and wiser, the problems will re-emerge, sometimes with a vengeance and the air of certainty and security that once convinced us that areas such as faith were in fact mere 'faithfulness' to the obvious comes unstuck. Time and time again, the conviction that we will always know the answers comes be viewed as part of a naive childhood mindset, and if religion is presented in this way, it will be met with the same response. It becomes relegated to the background, implicitly or explicitly, as 'grown-up' life takes priority. 

But if questions are seen as a necessary and important part of the journey of life, the fact that we have difficulty in answering them won't bother us as much. We are supposed to have difficulty in answering them. We are meant to explore, embark on a quest and keep pursuing understanding and depth throughout our lives. Answers, in fact, should not mean case closed but should just sign post us to something else. That doesn't mean that every answer should be equivocal. Certainly, there are times where a confident response is needed. But it shouldn't be presented in such a way that makes it seem like there is nothing more to say. 

Sometimes in life it seems that when challenges arise we must remember to play out one of my favourite few lines from the Lord of the rings documentary between Frodo and Gandalf:

Frodo: I wish the ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened. 
Gandalf: So do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. 

It is also the feeling summarised by one of Dylan's most beautiful songs, Every Grain of Sand: 
I hear the ancient footsteps like the motion of the sea
Sometimes I turn, there’s someone there, other times it’s only me
I am hanging in the balance of the reality of man
Like every sparrow falling, like every grain of sand

The future is both exciting and scary at the same time. It presents us will all sorts of questions which we will need to address and explore, but it can never be 'solved'. In Dylan's song, he embraces the world's beauty even as he goes through his own crisis of faith.

Rather than lulling the next generation into a false sense of religious security that dissipates gradually after the teenage years we should rather reassure that it is through the questions rather than the answers that we become more sensitive, confident and in fact religious human beings. Seatbelts on.

When is it worth starting a fight? A few thoughts on the recent RCA controversy

We don't learn anything from History. That was the first thing I was told in University. We don't get wiser with time but are somehow fated to make the same mistakes endlessly, never being able to explain something until it happens: the collapse of the Berlin Wall, 9/11, the credit crunch, These are things Historians did not predict.

 "Ah but I was so much older then, I'm younger than that now". Obligatory Dylan quote. But this position is slightly modified by the fact that we constantly use history to inform our decisions. E.H Carr mentions that many of those who convened at Versailles had Waterloo in mind when deciding upon reparations, and Chamberlain's infamous appeasement policy was clearly in large part a product of wanting to avoid the horrors of the first world war. The lessons of history weigh heavily in the minds of those entrusted with major decision-making.

And in this sense, history is at the forefront of everyone's mind when thinking about the role of appointing female rabbinic leaders in Judaism. There are two dominant perspectives; the first, clearly in the minds of many contemporary Orthodox rabbis, is the slippery slope leading to Conservative or Reform Judaism. The very concept of a female rabbi takes them on a journey which ends in assimilation, apostasy and the end of the Jewish people. The second is quite the opposite. History is filled with positive innovations. Particularly in the realm of women's educations, many perceived innovations are now accepted as critical to the spiritual wellbeing of the Jewish people. Why, they might say, Copernicus' model of the universe was also an innovation.

Whilst the halakhic considerations are certainly paramount, what you increasingly have are two groups who see a monumental period in history which requires action. This is, like it or not, the definitive issue in the contemporary Jewish Orthodox scene. But there is another issue. How do you present these ideas? Even if you consider a movement to be potentially heretical what is the point saying something in a way that can only create discord?

The age of the internet has created  the greatest revolution in the spread of knowledge since the invention of the printing press. This deeply affects the way people respond to authority, particularly in religion. Whilst a signed letter of condemnation may have been powerful when people could view it under certain limited conditions, for example in print. But today when anything is said or released, instantly the whole of cyberworld goes crazy and points that are raised with the voice of authority are mercilessly attacked, sometimes harshly and sometimes constructively, in split seconds. Since the days of the Herem being rendered obsolete as a means of social control, condemnations from figures of authority have become less influential. In today's world they almost always attract derision.

Who is the wise person? One who sees the newborn. It is true that history cannot predict specific events. But it should be able to create a deeper understanding of the way the universe and humanity work. The bad feelings from fights take a long time to go away, as things get personal and unpleasant. As well as the technical rights and wrongs of a situation, leaders should try and take full account of responses, reactions and consequences when making decisions. 

Like Pieterson, there is a time and place to publish a book, particularly when you want to get back into the Test team.          

Why we need to embrace the irrelevant, pointless and ridiculous

Now I wish I could write you a melody so plain
That could hold you dear lady from going insane
That could ease you and cool you and cease the pain
Of your useless and pointless knowledge.
Bob Dylan, Tombstone Blues.

One of my rabbis in secondary school likes to berate me about the fact that I am unable to remember the Gemarah I learned in yeshivah but will never forget the birthdays of messrs. Bergkamp, Henry etc. I didn't bother pointing out that my knowledge of cricket batting averages is far more developed than footballers birthdays but I presume it would have incurred the same treatment. Whilst the comparison is perhaps an unfair one it is true that knowledge of irrelevant facts and figures has always been a passion of mine.  

It is quite interesting to observe what people consider 'relevant'. In certain schools of Jewish learning, particularly in the Lithuanian school of Talmudic study, everything in the Talmud is relevant as it is its own end. Although learning is not really about coming out with a particular body of knowledge but embracing the process by which the knowledge is acquired, its all-encompassing importance makes it worth memorising.

In other areas, relevance has much to do with ultimate financial success. In terms of learning foreign languages, for example, the following scenario will often occur: person a. 'Hi, I've decided to learn Italian' person b. 'What's the point? Learn Chinese, that's where the economic future lies' etc. Relevant = useful + productive.  

But my problem with all this is as soon as something is relevant, necessary or important to know it becomes boring and brain draining. Memorising hurts and ultimately locks you into a particular pattern of thought which becomes tedious and sterile very quickly. Once we have to do something it loses its appeal. Reminds me of the idea of why the person who performs mitzvoth when commanded is superior to the one who does them voluntarily.

 I think that part of the problem is that as human beings we have a basic need to make our own distinctive and creative mark on this earth, which can apply to things as simple as the ideas we communicate with other people. When something is relevant and expected, our uniqueness feels challenged. When I arrived at university, I sought to follow a structure and memorise it, to pursue the relevance to attain that employability standard of a mid-2:1. But then it got boring. Everyone did the same thing. This wasn't mine and didn't feel distinctive in any sense so I realised I needed to change my whole attitude towards studying and learning in the broadest sense of the word. 

So I  began to embrace the irrelevant and ridiculous. Because the irrelevant was fun  and suited me perfectly. It also removed the burden of having to do things just because they were useful. I heard a brilliant Shiur from rabbi Dweck the other day which included the point that many are reluctant to broaden their scope of knowledge for fear of challenging the 'working definitions' that we use on a daily basis in our adult lives. New ideas will automatically be incorporated into a pre-existing framework that we are comfortable with. To pursue truth and deep understanding we have to be like children, approaching new ideas with innocence and a degree of naivete. 

As kids we don't care why we are interested in what we are interested in, we just are. Childhood contains the seeds of what makes us truly us and when we forget for a few moments what we have to do/be and embrace that ridiculousness within it reminds us what makes us unique as individuals. A bit more of this can only be a good thing.  

Shabbat U.K. - Agreeing to disagree as the key to Unity

A couple of years ago, I remember hearing an interesting anecdote about the late R. Soloveitchik: When Chabad were promoting a Shabbat campaign in the 70s advertising the beauty of the day through pictures of the pristine white table cloth and crispy challah, he would react in irritation that Shabbat is not about nice tablecloths and fluff and that such advertising gave an overly sentimental and inaccurate portrayal of the Sabbath day.

Truth be told, those of us who are not such halakhic purists can admit that sometimes shabbos is mainly about the sitting back, relaxing and eating something someone's grandma might have been the best at cooking. What I found really excellent about the whole Shabbat UK idea is that it managed to do something striking in getting people to agree and disagree about the same topic in order to create great unity.

For example, for some, Shabbat UK was about a potential to reach out to Jews and to make them more involved religiously. A perfect opportunity for Kiruv. For others who would never approve of the aims of outreach organisations, it had different, more communal implications and was more about getting people together in the community regardless of observance. In fact, if you were to sit down 50 randomly selected people and get them to honestly discuss the 'point' of the day you could get 50 different answers. But the point was that the Shabbat concept provided something for everyone along with fertile ground for disagreement. Both those elements, in my opinion, are crucial to creating vibrancy and unity within a community.

In most areas, I really enjoy disagreement. It provides an excellent platform for creativity and the development of my own ideas. I spend most of my life doing essay-related things, and from experience it is very difficult to write anything until I find something juicy to argue against or grapple with. So too in communal activities. Disagreement is often very productive as long as you can find the maturity to agree to disagree. This is why I am such a fun of the Shabbat U.K model. It revolves around the near-universal love of Shabbos (although I did see some strange complaints about an Ashkenazi run conspiracy which should be referred to as Shabbos U.K rather than Shabbat but can't please everyone) albeit for very different reasons. 

I love the song 'America' by Simon and Garfunkel. One of my favourite lines in it is 'Cathy I'm lost I said though I knew she was sleeping.' It perfectly sums up feelings of alienation and loneliness. Being Jewish from a sociological perspective has always had much to do with belonging to something greater than yourself. Yet sadly alienation remains a common theme across the religious spectrum, particularly amongst the youth. I suggest that this model is an excellent one to follow as a means of addressing that: 1. Find a common ground, however broad, 2. Get people in the same physical space and 3. embrace the broigus. It's great fun.     
Shabbat Shalom











Please follow this link it is important for one and all to read and answers many questions about the universe: http://www.espncricinfo.com/blogs/content/story/934488.html

Competing visions of the Messiah in the modern state of Israel.

No, it's not what it looks like. I'm not claiming Cook is the messiah. Just a moment is needed to savour that innings. Breath. Ok, back.( I wrote this sentence a week ago when it was still fresh)

One of the subjects I touched upon in my Undergraduate thesis is the ambiguity of the messianic vision in Jewish thought and how at the time of Shabbatai Tzvi many different versions of the messiah could be envisaged that could claim equal authority. 

These have been troubling times in the past few weeks. It is clear that everyone wants the terrible attacks to stop immediately and we pray for the speedy recovery of those wounded by these terrible attacks. But I would like to throw out a few ways to consider approaching peace, particularly with regard to Jews and their neighbours. And funnily enough this has much to do with how we envisage the concept of messianism and redemption.

One way, for example, is to see persecution as the inevitable condition of Jewishness and exile and therefore pray for the eventual triumph of the Jewish people over our enemies in the form of the coming of the messiah. Everyone wants these terrible events to stop of course, but some have presented it as an inevitable conflict which can only be truly resolved in the messianic future and for the meantime the solution is to pray for respite from our enemies. Is there an inevitable us vs them element in all this? 

This idea is arguably supported by the Kabbalistic and Hasidic depiction of our forefathers and the events of their lives. The stories in Bereshit are deeper truths concerning human nature and history. The forefathers each represent a different characteristic, and this week's portion is about Avraham who embodied Hesed, or lovingkindness. Similarly, the struggles between different characters such as Ya'akov and Eisav, as well as Yishma'el and Yitzhak are understood in broader, cosmic terms. Do we regard the events in Israel as part of a broader, intrinsic, particularist dynamic of Jewish history?

Or is the messianic vision one of coexistence and the ambition more universal? Do we pray that swords are turned into ploughshares, try to achieve this with proactive effort and belief, refuse to accept the inevitability of conflict however naive that seems and not actively worry about how the final end will come? Could it be considered an ideal that, for example, a two-state solution is realised and harmony achieved at the expense of what appears to be a more proactively messianic and specifically Jewish vision of the future? Should our national role be to try and unite the world as one in peace?

The particularistic vs universalistic visions are ones  that different Jewish thinkers have favoured at different points in history and is a fluctuating dynamic that I too experience at different points in my life. Especially in situations so close to the heart my thoughts range from: 'Naive lefties with no sense of reality' to 'Right wing bigots with the sophistication of a five year old.' 

 Recently I've taken to reading the Parasha without any commentary and waiting for something to hit me that resonates with contemporary situations. In particular, Avraham Avinu is an excellent case study for approaching the conflicting emotions that we encounter in response to immensely difficult daily challenges.  

Academia, Ecclesiastes and responding to Tragedy.

I attended a seminar last week where the main topic of discussion was whether to make PHDs more relevant to the business/corporate world. Funny, I thought; the word 'relevant' 'corporate' and 'Academia' are never used in the same sentence. Why on earth would we want the precious world of pure knowledge to be tarnished by such philistine aspirations? The world is changing, we were told, and perhaps the PHD thesis should adapt accordingly? Pathetic, I thought. The 20/20 generation has even infiltrated my ivory tower, I despaired.

Then, on Shabbos, I had the pleasure of reading my favourite Megillah Kohelet or Ecclesiastes. Most vorts focus on the last few lines of the whole thing and the fact that despite its melancholy tone it really encourages a happiness which is focused on meaning rather than indulgence. Ok, fair enough. But you can't just skip to the end where Harry kills Voldemort, there are many many pages in between. It is not only the futility of wealth that King Solomon decries, it is also, at times, wisdom. The wise person and the ignorant have the same ultimate fate. 'For the wise, like the fool, will not be long remembered; the days have already come when both have been forgotten. Like the fool, the wise too must die!'  (Ecclesiastes 2:16).

Then, tragically, this week has seen terrible terrorist attacks in Israel and once again the Jewish world is gripped with uncertainty, fear and worry. My petty theoretical concerns again faded before the cry of those in pain. 

Yes, this all sounds rather morbid but it once again shows the discrepancy between thought and action in this world. Theory is never enough, ideas alone can never suffice to justify our existence in this world, and evil and misery can never be adequately explained philosophically. Perhaps this explains why Jewish mystics were unwilling to keep the Kabbalah theoretical.

If I were to link the three areas that have dominated my week I would structure them as follows. In Academia, like in any discipline, the powers that be are not satisfied with the apparent lack of direction or purpose. The expansion of knowledge is wonderful but if no-one benefits what on earth is the point of it all?  Reading Kohelet I am always left with the feeling that the way to answer the questions of purposelessness and evil is not to address them intellectually but rather through action: to do good, spread kindness and justice and accept the limitations of the human mind.

This was then compounded by the tragic newsreels that have dominated our screens this week. Life is short, precious and must be used to better the lot humanity in whatever way best suited to us. This need lingers in all areas of life, even in the writing of a Thesis. 

I am grateful that one of the outcomes of my summer's leadership trip was a commitment to a giving circle where each month we choose a charity to donate to together. This month we chose Onefamily as a means of raising money for the Henkin family who tragically lost their parents last week. I have attached the link for those interested.

http://onefamilyuk.org/donate/

Man's search for meaning in the four species

'Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth. None of them along the line know what any of it is worth'. (Dylan, 'All along the Watchtower'). 

The relationship between wealth and spiritual existence is one explored in last week's Torah portion and is a theme that is frequently raised around Sukkot. On the one hand, the Torah is particular to warn that the excesses of wealth can easily lead to religious laxity. On the other hand, as Maimonides writes (Hilkhot Teshuvah 9:1) worldly pleasures are required to enable the individual to focus on the deeper areas of life. In fact, the common association of spirituality being a product of the mind and feeling alone is misleading for this very reason. Without the peace of mind provided by worldly joys, loftier ambitions are far harder to focus upon. The meaning we associate with religious events usually depends on our own personal situation and this applies equally to our relationship with specific mitzvoth and festivals. 

The taking of the Arbah Minim, or four species, is a classic example of this. When contemplating the prospect of schlepping a Lulav around Glasgow next week I was struck by the concept of what 'meaning' actually 'means' in the context of shaking the Lulav. I remember the question in school: 'Why do you carry around a lemon and a leek?'.

Usually, the buzzword for exploring the commandments is 'depth'. But a deeper understanding of the Mitzvah depends on the vantage point from which it is approached. What constitutes depth can depend on the individual, the surroundings or perhaps simply the moment in the life of the individual. 

When a mitzvah is considered primarily as a divine duty, its significance lies in its details. The halakhot of lulav and etrog take primacy. In an environment which is undisturbed by outside intrusions, this element takes on the greatest significance. Details and particulars are the most important element of fulfilling this duty, and in a world created for the sake of God's will alone this is the greatest depth possible. ( See Rav Soloveitchik's halakhic man for the classic analysis of what I would consider the Yeshivah mindset).

Outside of this environment, however, the primary significance of the mitzvah is found within its ability to reconnect you with God. As you will find in many sermons at shul, the mitzvah is conceived of primarily in terms of its ethical or deeper spiritual significance. Depending on the crowd, the lulav is presented symbolically, either in terms of material prosperity used for purposeful intent, the unity of the Jewish people or a wondrous metaphysical tool in the divine sphere. 

This form of inspiration can act as a jump-start to a life which feels in need of a  boost. 'Depth' here means a spiritual examination of the details of the mitzvah and its appeal to the more emotive side of human nature. In accordance with the Hasidic model, mitzvoth are understood in terms of God's love for His creatures, a point of contact between finite man and the infinite God.

But there is a third way of understanding depth and it has little to do with details but rather has broader, more general implications. This depth is often found in simplicity rather than complication and can often be dismissed as childlike, particularly by the intellectually inclined. This, I suggest, appeals when we just don't care or engage with the above. Because hey, sometimes 'depth' is wearying, tiresome and not remotely meaningful. I am talking about aesthetics, community, memory and action. 
To quote Eliezer Berkowitz in God Man and History , p.107 (107 Modox points right there):
 'Meaning is realised in this world by the interpenetration of mind and matter. Matter must be informed by mind, and mind must be rendered potent by matter'. Action alone without any other thought has very powerful implications that are not always appreciated. In taking the four species in shul we are coming together as a community, retaining the consistency and commitment towards a purposeful existence and enjoying the atmosphere, singing and the splendour of the sight of the lulav and the etrog, which after all, is referred to in the Torah as a Pri etz hadar (The fruit of a beautiful tree). 

It also might trigger memories of previous years and positive associations. In fact, vague associations sometimes act as the subtle nudge we need. Like I mentioned with Yom Kippur, overly thinking the concept of 'depth' can be detrimental to the experience of the occasion.      

In an excellent book I finished recently, The Crisis of the European Mind 1685-1715 (Paul Hazard, 1961), the author comments that many of the rationalists who had begun to crusade against organised religion in the late 17th Century 
'had never paused to enquire whether these people had nourished in their hearts a religious fire that nothing could extinguish. They had simplified the problem, as they thought, and deemed that they had said the last word when they brought in such terms as "prejudice" and "superstition"'. 

Often we think that in order for religion to be meaningful we must justify our experience of it in terms of an intellectual rigour but perhaps it is more useful to think about it in terms of of an inextinguishable fire requiring different forms of stoking at different points in life. 
Something to think about,
Chag Sameach.  

Yom Kippur and hitting the wall: Time to stop thinking so much?

Online ranting differs from online writing in that it is less coherent, more rambling, more heartfelt and often more offensive. I think a good resolution for this year is to write fewer rants, write more frequently and shorten the length of the posts on this blog. (Naturally, excluding this one):

If you ever have the chance to leaf through Andrew Flintoff's career statistics on statsguru you will notice nothing remarkable. In fact, statistically Flintoff seems to be only slightly better than the traditional stereotype of an English all-rounder, 'can't bat, can't bowl'. But anyone who watched the Ashes series of 2005 or some of his great spells of bowling will know that he had the ability to transform a game like few others in the modern game. Statistics only tell part of the story. The hard data of facts seems a million miles away from lived memory.  

Perhaps with Freddie in mind, one of the pioneering figures in the early Hasidic movement, R. Jacob Joseph of Poloyne, made the following observation about the difference between personal interaction with a human being and book knowledge: "The book is composed of words on a page. He who teaches the words and lives the words, who teaches the words by the way he lives the words, makes the book come alive.” The human individual has a complex inner world that can never be fully expressed in the written word. These two worlds, the world of theoretical knowledge and learning and the world of human experience are ones that we constantly try to reconcile without ever quite managing to do successfully. Most idealism is marked by partial frustration. It is a theme that I am particularly mindful of this time of year.

The ten days of repentance are days to reflect on ideals, aspirations and regrets. We listen to talks about the essence of repentance and self-improvement. Yom Kippur approaches, a day of deep introspection containing moments where we experience true spirituality, attempting to cross the abyss that separates us from God. 

But then we hit the wall. How do I take the utopian vision in my mind and transfer it to practical reality? How do I convert it into a significant contribution towards the future of my religious life, human society, the Jewish people, my family and loved ones? The circle keeps on going: The experience fades and we are often left doubting the purpose of such exalted emotion altogether, in the words of Bruce Springsteen, we are left to question 'Is a dream a lie that don't come true or is it something worse?' And those lofty thoughts in my mind, like words on the page, close, dormant for another year.

It is true that commitments to small improvements can have significant consequences. I can make a list of things to change like every year and reflect on personal failures. But it seems that the problem is that these commitments of a personal ethical, moral or religious nature never seem enough in those moments of deep experience. The world flashes before us - the divides, the rifts, the battles and the pain. For a moment we stand above them all with the ability to cure these evils. The gap between dreams and reality narrows for a moment. 

Then the eureka lightning flashes take place that make you think that you are on to something truly unique, convincing you 
'Into thinking you’re the one
That can do what’s never been done
That can win what’s never been won
Meantime life outside goes on
All around you' (Dylan, It's alright Ma).

Then the wall reappears and you are somehow incapable of properly explaining the ideas or realising your visions. Yom Kippur comes along again, the same posts are posted online, but what can break the wall? Are we destined to roll our eyes at some point during our lifetimes and drawl in a Beatles impersonation 'Yeah you know, we all wanna change the world'.

But this year I take comfort from a few things I have thought about over the past year:

One is learning to embrace limitations: Over-planning, over-thinking and over-analysing is overrated. Every theory, model and plan is regularly put to shame by the most elementary of experiences. How do I look back at my own personal educational development? I don't think about the books I've read or the marks I've received:  
When I think of primary school, for example, what stands out is the powerful attachment to the land of Israel that I received from a year three teacher. When I think of being a teenager, yes I studied a lot but what stands out is the experience of solidarity and Achdut on Summer and Winter camps, both as a Chanich (student) and as a Madrich (leader). My most positive memories of Yeshivah are those of quiet serenity in the Beit ha midrash. 

The impact of the individuals behind these experiences was that they facilitated rather than created, often in discreet ways. Changes happen in unexpected ways and there is often no way of really planning them.

A few months ago on a trip to Israel with the Montefiore Leaders programme this feeling was put in sharp relief by a visit the nature museum in Jerusalem which had been converted into a theatrical display. Without ruining the details for those who would like to pay the museum a visit (open once a week at night, highly recommended), the experience highlighted the gulf between knowledge learnt, lessons internalised and the actual realities of friendship, companionship and love, particularly in addressing the hardest questions in life such as suffering.

Often the very best we possibly can do in a capacity of responsibility is to create a particular environment which enables the 'flock' to find themselves. Thinking, planning and dreaming can only take you so far and will meet a wall somewhere along the way. The mind will always take us places far beyond our reach, and our experiences will teach us things that our minds couldn't have conceived of alone.  

This was Maimonides' problem. If I was to summarise every critique that has been levelled at Maimonides with regard to his system of thought, particularly from the mystics, it would simply be that his rationalism did not accurately reflect the religious experience of the Jewish people. Many saw Maimonides' philosophy as detrimental to the religious life of the layperson as people are creatures of sentiment.

But Maimonides himself concludes the Guide of the Perplexed by suggesting that wisdom alone cannot suffice in the pursuit of God. It is not enough to know the God of the heavens, He must also appear down here on earth watching over us. It is not enough to know the theories behind righteousness but rather our actions must express justice, kindness and goodness. The mind, theories and resolutions can only take us so far.

Education is much more than a curriculum, personal development is much more than a list of boxes to improve upon and changes must be measured by more than data. So we act. So we do. And our actions stimulate our experiences and our thoughts and they try and work in harmony. 

So Yom Kippur comes. We think. We dream. We aspire. We regret. It provides a framework which can then be filled by our actions and deeds, but not necessarily a manual or blueprint. It shouldn't be a source of guilt. It will be our actions that have the greatest impact on those around us and most valued in service of God and overthinking can easily lead to stagnation and worry. It is easy to 'take me disappearing in the smokescreen of my mind in the foggy ruins of time' (Dylan, Mr Tamborine man). As Maimonides writes, the act of a mitzvah stimulates greater understanding of it and understanding of it is in itself a call to action. Knowledge, experience and action are interwoven and when we hit the wall then maybe it's just time to stop thinking so much? 

G'mar ve chatima Tova.





      

'Rationalist Judaism', imagining the past and the decline of passion in contemporary religious life

This picture makes me very unhappy. The 'event' which may or may not have taken place at Lords thankfully took place on an otherwise extremely joyous weekend for me. Yet I can still admire Mr. Johnson's passion and desire to win...(that's a lie!)...but I still do. ( The relevance of this randomer-than-usual intro will hopefully be explained somewhat later. Stay tuned) 

Self-righteousness is fun but very irritating. And I would know. There are few greater feelings than listening to someone's long-winded rant and replying with a smug footnote: "Read x and y then get back to me" (when you are entitled to an opinion). But it also won't win you many friends. Whilst attempting to write my final dissertation on the relationship between Maimonides and mysticism, I keep coming across this phenomenon whereby contemporary authors write in their prefaces that they wish to revive Maimonidean rationalism in a Jewish climate which has long-forgotten it. This is also evident from several facebook groups, usually representing the happy-go-lucky world of intellectual  Modern Orthodoxy. Many narratives seem to proceed as follows: Silly Chareidim and their irrational beliefs, come and listen to our sensible discussions, cerebral rationality and intellectual honesty and ability to grapple with problems in an intellectually honest way and be intellectually honest. And by the way, we are intellectually honest, (lalalalalala). As you can tell from my tone, it irritates me somewhat.

A story will be posted about chareidi attitudes towards women: How absurd! Everyone comments. An article appears about chareidi backwardness and lack of self-sufficiency: How preposterous! They all cry. Gosh, why can't they all see the light like we do? A book was recently published gloriously chronicling examples of ultra-Orthodox censorship over the years. I do not claim that it was made for insidious reasons but you've got to admit, it is perfectly marketed to an audience which will lap this stuff up. These attitudes are sometimes linked with an attempt to reintegrate Judaism with the world of Maimonidean rationalism, as if by employing their form of scepticism they are emulating our great rabbinic predecessor. And ironically for a someone who loves nothing more than a long cynical rant along the lines of David Mitchell, my problem is that it is all so darned negative.

Believe me, I think it is a wonderful thing that the internet now provides outlets for those seeking broader perspectives on the world and religious life to find meaning in different areas. However, I have noticed even within the past five years or so a marked shift in attitudes brought about, it seems, by access to social media. There is, it seems, no reason to think about much anymore. Anything provocative or controversial that is presented as fact or the way things have always been can be quickly verified/falsified/disputed based on a quick google search. Access to information couldn't be easier. So it is much easier to challenge popular misconceptions and it is now rare to find anyone who doesn't find the idea of Artscroll history mildly entertaining. But I feel that all this ease of access to information also creates a lack of curiosity and desire to search for things as well as a slightly bewildering excitement every time something new and juicy is found. But we need to take a step back to think about what we are actually reading. 

As twenty twenty cricket and twitter make all too clear, labels and headlines are fun and convenient. Categorisation, furthermore, is crucial for making sense of the world. The age of reason bred an obsession with putting things into boxes and assuming that everything could be known with empirical accuracy, given enough time. This applied not only to scientific discoveries but also to grouping people together.
I would argue that this has classically been applied to Maimonides and a group of other medieval Jewish thinkers. They were 'Rationalists' who studied philosophy and the sciences available to them. In general, they were keen to avoid miraculous explanations and tried to align their religious truths with the power of the mind.
 This mindset is particularly appealing to the modern intellectual Orthodox Jew, repelled by certain practises which they are convinced lie within the realms of superstition. Hence, 'Rationalist Judaism'. Good label. Good slogan.   

 Cue smugness and the feeling that going to University, reading a few books and participating in blog discussions with like-minded people gives you a free ticket to lord it over the ignorant rabble largely identified with the chareidi/modern chareidi/yeshivish world. Intelligentsia against the proles.

But one of the core elements of medieval rationalism is conspicuously absent: the focus on a deep and passionate love of God. Reinventing the past isn't within the copyright domain of chareidi hagiographers, it is something that we do all the time to try and understand our present, to some degree or another. And it seems that it is this element of deep-felt religious passion, so key to the medieval mindset, and so pivotal to their rationalism, which has been mysteriously ignored by our modern facebookers looking for the quick-quotes-quill access to sources provided by our wonderful web.

So let us pop into our time machine to medieval Andalusia, with the Rambam sitting in one room, presumably conversing with contemporary New York 'rationalists' right? 

Firstly, the concept of rationalism has had vastly different connotations in different contexts. Many medieval rabbis, from R. Sa'adia Gaon in the ninth century to Hasdai Crescas in the 15th  emphasised that knowledge of God could and should be achieved through the use of the intellect, and that understanding of Science and philosophical proofs could lead the individual to knowledge of God. But it was bound to the notion that a. God could be known in this way and b. without it, love and understanding of Him would be lacking. Miracles were largely looked down upon because they were seen to undermine God, not glorify Him.

Yet to the modern mind the world rationalism has connotations that are based on the enlightenment precedent of religion within the bounds of reason alone. From the 18th Century onwards, few have maintained the idea that proofs can tell us about anything beyond empirical reality. Today the world rationalism brings to mind someone like Richard Dawkins. In fact, the twentieth century seems to have undermined the idea that anything can be known with such a sense of certainty.

For many Orthodox minds, rationalism has connotations of reform, scepticism and secularism. Even Maimonides' contemporaries were worried that the legitimacy of his position could lead to widespread apostasy. Not that this is necessarily a problem in itself, or that this is any reason to disregard the importance of the mind in service of God but it is problematic as a slogan because much has changed in the eight hundred years since the Rambam was around. There is a widespread view that intellect is something cerebral, cold and rational and emotion is something passionate but fundamentally irrational. We cannot help but project our conceptions of the present onto the past.

The consequences of adopting this position, in practise, largely seems to mean pointing out the flaws in practises seen as superstitious and mindsets seen as silly and is essentially defensive. This rabbi said do this because of this unfathomable reason, rabbi subsequently mocked by rationalist group and someone mentions what the Rambam must have thought. If there is any passion at all, it is negative. 

And it is this that I feel is one of the main struggles for contemporary Orthodoxy. What do we actually really truly care about? If we look inside the Rambam's writings many will be surprised to see that aside from emphasising the importance of the mind, it is the importance of thought leading to a passionate and in fact lustful relationship with the Almighty that is the hallmark of many sections of his writings. In hilkhot Teshuvah 10:2, for example, he compares the appropriate love of God to an individual lovesick over a woman out of desire for her. 

At the end of Moreh Nevuchim, popularly understood as a work belonging to the realm of 'philosophy', the Rambam distinguishes between love (ohev) and lust (choshek) towards God, and describes in great detail how the ideal state is to be constantly enraptured in this love. This was part of being a 'rationalist'.

Nowhere is this gap in thinking more evident than the very difficult passages where Maimonides explains the reason for commandments, giving them largely historical and practical meanings, seemingly stripping them of all intrinsic significance. Again, particularly to the modern Ashkenazic mind, these reasons remind the individual of Biblical criticism and the historical school of the 19th Century. People often quote these reasons as being the 'only' meaning that Maimonides saw in them. 
But as David Hartman and Isadore Twersky have argued in a manner which I find deeply profound, for Maimonides all things needed to contain wisdom that could be appreciated by all - ki hi chochmatchem uvinatchem le'einei ha Amim. Wisdom in itself was a divine property and the prime reason for explaining Mitzvoth in the eyes of Maimonides was to see the wisdom of the One who gave them, leading the individual to appreciate God Himself. For Maimonides, everything led to love of God. "It was not a kind of latter day humanism or rationalism (religion within the limits of reason alone) …an expression of love, desiring to bring man closer to God via knowledge." (I. Twersky).

It is therefore important to ask ourselves whether the views that we happen to like can truly be found in the past? Should our 'rationalist Judaism' not also incorporate the passionate and lustful love for the divine found in the writings of Maimonides? Would that even be possible?

I suppose my observation is this: Passion is such a fundamental component of being a religious person. Without it, practise becomes sterile, meaningless and passive. Yes, it can get carried away and lead to extremism. But at its core it contains something extremely powerful which enthuses and enlivens its adherents and is essential to its perpetuation. It is not the same as having a token kumsitz every now and again, it is a spirit that enlivens the whole of existence.

 I see two main religious spheres where this mentality exists in contemporary Jewish life, but admittedly in very specific forms: 1. For Talmud Torah, specifically, the act of learning. 2. For Israel. In  the chareidi/yeshivah worldview, for example, what  is essentially promoted as an ideal is an exclusive enthusiasm for learning Torah. Learning B'iyyun (depth), in many ways, is the classic expression of this. In pursuit of depth, context or covering ground becomes somewhat irrelevant as the individual dedicates themselves to a passionate analysis of the text. 

Yes, there may be a million other reasons why the chareidim/modern chareidim/ cute yeshivish people can be criticised as a society, why in practise they may not reflect their ideals, why the mindset is stifling and soul destroying etc. but it remains a community which idealises and emotionally invests in the act of studying the word of God. Talmud Torah is raised to a metaphysical and practical plinth and becomes the ultimate source of sustenance. There is a fire there. There is a deep passion (See Mitch).

Similarly, (mutatis mutandis - yes I said it I said it!) the religious Zionist movement links its very essence with a love of the land of Israel, something that people feel immensely strongly about and can therefore adopt with vibrancy and dynamism. Passion is a deep part of its identity. People who go on Aliyah always try and tell everyone else to join them there. Whilst this can be annoying, it also shows that they care.

But I struggle to see this passion in contemporary Orthodox life or this vibrancy amongst people calling themselves rationalists. I am not talking about enthusiasm for causes, there are plenty of examples of that, but a specifically religious passion that seems very foreign to the modern mind. In a climate where universalism with a particular dislike of religious particularism and a disinterest towards the truth values of religious life is prevalent, ideologies championing integration above all else are going to struggle to maintain Jewish vibrancy.

For example, I may be passionate about human rights and climate change and rightfully view this as a religious impulse but will it enhance the specifically 'Jewish' elements of existence or will they remain forever distinct? Certainly, we can talk about commitment to halakha and observance of laws all day long but if they are constantly being relegated in terms of importance then these words of commitment seem very empty. 
  
The struggle of Orthodoxy in the modern world, it seems to me, is no longer about the attempt to combine competing ideologies. Modernity has been and gone (hehe). It is about retaining any religious spirit at all in a world which is indifferent to it. It isn't about adherence to a particular system or brand. We may imagine that certain individuals in the past stood for slogans like Torah u Madda/ Chochmah etc. as though they were adherents of a political party. But these lines sound very tired these days. Most people outside the Israeli chareidi scene don't need convincing about the need for work or at the very least the practical benefits of a secular education. But where is the fire? What is it that gives us that spark to get up and do something? As key issues are beginning to create more pronounced divides within Orthodoxy I wonder whether it will essentially become a case of one side caring exclusively about universalist values and one side about specifically particularist ones? 

For me, the greatness of Maimonides lies not in his ability to synthesise two worlds together but rather to be impassioned by both and how love of one boosted the other in a manner which saw Truth as the divine stamp. But 'Rationalist Judaism'? Not so much.

To be continued...

City-worker syndrome, Boredom and London's Ten Commandments of Competence.

Well, exams are over which is always nice and I have time on my hands so instead of publishing another essay I thought that 'tis the season for a good rant. So let's get on to pet peeves. There is a long list of questions which compete for the title of most annoying, including "are you in the Parasha" but I think the one that unquestionably takes the proverbial biscuit is the one-two of "what are you studying" followed by "so nu, what are you going to do with that?" As someone who studied history and now doing an MA in Hebrew and Jewish Studies it is a classic combo that I get quite a lot. The looks of bewilderment followed by concern at my indulgence. 

Some people react as though I had replied that I am planning on wrestling goats in the Himalayas for the rest of my life using Daddy's money to fund my alternative lifestyle. Let's make this clear, most people who ask this are perfectly well-meaning and unaware of the connotations of the question, but for quite a long time when facing the barrage of deliveries coming my way, I tried to duck and dive around the subject of 'the future' like an English batsman facing Mitchell Johnson.

See this to illustrate my point as I am aware that for their sins not everyone understands cricket analogies: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Rg_Oqx0NI4.

Because, you see, there is a nice established framework in our part of the world that I and a select group of about three friends don't fit into. History? "Oh, I liked history in school, what are you going to do with that?" "Jewish Studies? Is that like Yeshivah?" Not really. "Do you want to be a rabbi?" Not particularly. "Oh, so what's the point?" Having realised that much of adult life is spent humouring people I have no problem with these conversations. Perhaps I should be touched that people are so concerned by my future. What bothers me is not so much the questions themselves which are part of social niceties, but rather the assumption that underpins them.

To me, it seems that there is some hidden ten commandments of being a competent human being ( reduced to five for lack of imagination) which go something like this:
1. Thou shalt sacrifice any childish fantasies about 'favourite subjects' for a useful degree, preferably in the financial sector. Ideally don't enjoy it and repeat the phrase 'means to an ends' with regularity. 
2. Thou Shalt intern wherever and whenever possible during the first few years of University with regular references to the 'Big Four' and one of their wonderful acronyms. 
3. Thou shalt wear a suit and walk with deliberation and pace towards your nearest tube station staring fixedly at a specific piece of pavement. 
4. Then, hopefully, having interned and work experienced and planned for a significant period of time thou shalt be presented with the golden ticket to the city, with a plan, bonuses and security. 
5. Thou hadst made it and can be considered a reliable, safe and dateable member of society. Ideally do a bit of learning on the side and thou shalt be rocking the free world. 

Well, you get the gist. The tone of this piece might have got me arrested in America fifty years ago. We get it, I hear you say, you want to live on a hippy commune in a fantasy world but when you enter the real world etc... 

Possibly, but this isn't quite the point I'm trying to make. I am not saying the above is wrong, the above is pointless etc. It is not and it would be shamelessly arrogant of me to suggest that it was. The problem, I repeat, is not with the lifestyle itself, do whatever you want, it is the missionising zeal that its adherents appear to possess. For those of us who are on the humanities side of the fence, it feels that we can either become an accountant, lawyer, banker, in 'property', or some office-based combination of the above. Above all, to thine own function be true. 
Otherwise you are lost, a parasite and in need of guidance.

This is a prevalent attitude which I have encountered in our communities, particularly in London but I suppose it is a fairly natural one to have. It seems that people want you to have a clear plan mapped out at the age of 20 or so which carefully boxes your future into a safe compartment. What's the plan? They ask. What's the end game? What are you going to do with life? I didn't realise people were expected to be such philosophers at the age of 18. To prevent the sardonic tone of this blog descending into crude sarcasm let's give a few reasons why it is so irritating to be interrogated in this way: 

1.  It is arrogant and presumptuous. Stop assuming that you are all-knowing. Do you have a plan that has given you/will lead to the perfect life? Shall I find evidence to the contrary and give you a pub quiz about why your plan didn't cater for that particular hiccup? Similarly, I don't ask you whether you are dying of boredom in your office...

2. The premise is a false one. The whole question presumes an inevitable security associated with a particular lifestyle within the city framework and long working hours dealing with subject matter that can often charitably be described as mind-numbing. I would contest that assumption. We cannot tell the future, that is in God's hands alone so chill out a bit and maybe give me a bit of time?  
3. This is the main one: It is such a BORING way of seeing the world. Dull, unadventurous, conditioned, limited, functional, robotic. Boring. So flipping boring. Argghhh.  

There must be some way out of here said the joker to the thief. "There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief. Businessman, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth. None of them along the line know what any of it is worth. 

Why must ideals be so conditioned? Perhaps I have found a passion in life that I feel is worth pursuing even if it carries with it more risks? Perhaps I don't see retirement as the red sun in the distance? If we all lived life according to the assumption of the questioner our roles would be better performed by robots. Sod humans long live computers.

 Let's whip out all the cliches: The journey as opposed to the destination one-liner is something that resonates so often with me. Let us say, questioner, for the sake of argument, that I have no idea what I am doing in the future.  
 Ok, but perhaps I have greatly enjoyed, benefited and developed as a result of my experiences which haven't been purely driven by pragmatism? Have you considered the possibility that expanding horizons may be an ends in itself? Perhaps I have been able to discover things about myself in a framework that is perhaps more conducive to introspection than the magical world of finance? 
Attitudes like this make me begin to understand the appeal of socialism. Why is job or function the determining factor of personal worth? It is particularly frustrating on a religious level to witness a society which seems to have a binary work/learning value system which is thought to be all encompassing. Things forever determine your value. I would argue that this extends to attitudes towards Torah learning as well. If you appear to learn more you are better. We love to categorise. We love black and white. We love things to be tangible and simple.  

This gets me back to my previous comments on education. My frustration is that this attitude imposes itself on individuals who feel cowed into seeing it as inevitable. They live within the imposed paradigms of society with sullen acceptance but their spirits are crushed and stifled. I want to carry on my subsequent rantings on education in this vein. I remember speaking to a student last year who was passionate about baking and cookery, for example, which his school seemed to think was tantamount to delinquency. Education succeeds or fails in my opinion based on its ability to enthuse the spirit. In a culture which champions results and cash, the spirit, it seems, can only be enthused by breaking away from the drudgery of it all. A great shame, really.   

And though the rules of the road have been lodged,
it's only people's games that you got to dodge
and it's all right Ma, I can make it.