Can Our Hands Bring Purity to the Polluted? (A reflection on my first time praying with the Women of the Wall)

Prologue

I feel that I’m beginning to understand that abstract Jewish idea of transmitting tohorah (purity) or tume’ah (impurity) to a vessel.

Tume’ah is transmitted when a deceased body is in the presence of of a living person, or when a menstruating woman comes in physical contact with another body, or when a nasty reptile crawls into some jug you own.

I might struggle to find spiritual meaning in cases like these, but I’m beginning to understand why someone might actually want a religion where tohorah and tume’ah can be transmitted.

This morning, I strongly considered that the Western Wall might have no inherent kedushah (holiness). Perhaps in the glory days of the Temple, that Wall was witness to millions of sacred rituals, all of which sought out deeper connections between the tangible universe we see and the Divine we seek. The Wall once housed myriads of acts so pure that kedushah permeated the Temple beyond the human imagination.

Today, I stood at the Kotel (the Western Wall), but I hardly sensed kedushah. The Wall felt more like the backdrop to a battlefield for religious warriors. And I hate to say that I felt like one of them.

The Stage

When I arrived towards the far-right edge of the Men’s section, right near the mehitzah that separates the women from the men, I was at first relieved to see a few armed men in uniform, attentively overseeing the actions of the Y-chromosome folks.

I walked up to one of these soldiers and asked him if he was there because of Women of the Wall (who meet monthly for prayer). I hoped he’d say, “Yes” (but in Hebrew–this conversation was in Hebrew). Instead he said something vague about him just being there, and he then asked unconvincingly if there’s something he can help me with. I said, “No,” and I thanked him for doing this work that I see as so important and holy; Women of the Wall needs their support (these women get a lot of flack from outspoken radicals). I don’t remember the soldier’s exact answer to my gratitude, but it ranged somewhere between “Alright” and no response at all.

Time marched along, and women began to trickle into the women’s section. The Women of the Wall began to pray together. Very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very quietly. I had no idea where they were because it was so quiet. All I could tell was–if I would look through the mehitzah (which I did a few times, just to check that everything’s alright)–women were gathering together in prayer.

Act One

In response to the inaudible meditations of the Women of the Wall came one white-bearded, long-bearded, well-aged man with a thick Mizrahi (“Eastern”/Judeo-Arab) accent. This particular fellow began to shout very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very loudly. He was in the back–close to those men in uniform, and right next to a full minyan of men praying on their own in the back-right corner of the men’s section.

“Infidels!” “Pigs!” “This is forbidden by the Torah and the Talmud and the Shulhan Arukh!” Those are just some of the things that emerged from his mouth. He probably took 5-10 minutes to shut up. He persisted in shouting inaccurate yet insinuating comments about Women of the Wall.

At a certain point, this man was so loud that I came up to him and informed him that his shouting made it hard for me to pray with any amount of intention (“I’m sorry. I’m trying to pray.”). Hardly digesting my words, he informed me that I was an infidel pig violating Torah, Talmud, Shulhan Arukh, yada yada yada yada yada. I calmly said again to him, “I’m sorry. I’m trying to pray.” He continued shouting.

I turned to one soldier and asked if it was actually legal for someone to disturb people’s sacred prayer service in a place of such sacred history. The soldier barely looked at me and said that this was, of course, perfectly legal.

So I resumed praying through this shouting (occasionally reminding the shouting man very quietly, “I’m sorry. I’m trying to pray.”).

After some of this (quiet) back and (loud) forth, a soldier shouted to me, “Is this guy disturbing you?”

So, I said, “Yes.”

“Well, he’s not disturbing me.”

Of course he wasn’t disturbing the soldiers standing at the side, bareheaded, chatting with each other through their cigarette smoke. I gave up on believing that these soldiers were going to be especially helpful to the cause of Women of the Wall this morning.

After the shouting man gradually subsided, a man dressed in all black–shoes, pants, suit, and hat–suddenly had an idea! Sing the final paragraph of the Amidah really, really loudly (this guy was not actually reciting the Amidah prior to this; he clearly likes to be loud; and I’d say it was strategic). He began to sing with his full heart (good and bad qualities present), “Sim shalom” (“Grant peace”), and a chorus of scattered men from the Y chromosome section joined in, happily drowning out the barely audible voices of the Women of the Wall.

It was at this point that a friend and I turned to each other (there were only three men actively supporting Women of the Wall in the men’s sections). “If they’re allowed to shout,” he said. “So are we.” I agreed. I suggested that we should loudly sing the prayers the Women of the Wall were singing. Let those honest, earnest voices be heard.

To do so, I figured I’d check and see what the Women of the Wall were up to in the service. I got up on a chair to look over the mehitzah and check in. A soldier yelled at me to get down from the chair. It was not okay for me to stand on a chair to help support a minority group; however, it was alright for other men and women to look over the mehitzah by standing on chairs, and it was alright for men and women to talk to each other through the holes of the mehitzah. Of course though, I am an infidel pig violating Torah, Talmud, Shulhan Arukh, yada yada yada yada yada.

So, I put my ear up against the mehitzah to listen to what the Women of the Wall were up to. In response, a soldier asked me to step away from the “fence” (the word-choice of which sounded awfully similar to some Fence dividing Palestinian and Israeli territories).

Thank God for being sneaky. After moving away, I decided instead to tilt my head awkwardly so I could hear better (without putting my ear against the mehitzah), and I finally could hear what the women were singing.

So, with only two other men on my side (kinda literally), I sang as loudly and clearly as I could (well… as loudly and clearly as I can when running on fewer than 5 hours of sleep).

Singing with them was fun. It was spiritually uplifting, and I felt like I was doing the right thing. In a court of men largely apathetic or aggressively opposed to these women’s modes of religious expression, I could sing in the Presence of God, before the remains of the ancient Temple.

Earlier in history, the grounds around this very Wall housed priestly servants conscientious of maintaining tohorah in the Temple; it was all part of the grand plan to ensure the Temple’s kedushah. No impure vessels in this sacred structure. Only the best.

So, I have to wonder about Jewish men who throw rocks at women in prayer, sons of Israel who toss chairs at daughters of Israel, hypocrites who declare that the pious are “pigs.” Are they actually maintaining kedushah by violently guaranteeing some sense of tohorah here? How can they keep things sacred when sin’at chinnam (baseless hatred) in such a hillul hashem (a desecration of God’s name)? Strict Jewish law is one thing, but the finest of Jewish living cannot be expressed through misogyny, hasty judgment, inflexibility, and so much more that only brings pain to God’s universe. Such actions transmit no tohorah. Sin’at chinnam stains every Jewish body with nasty, gross tume’ah. When the feet of those engaging in sin’at chinnam stand on the grounds of the Temple, I lament the foolishness of false pietists who think their tume’ah is tohorah.

This morning, I had no interest in touching the Wall. What was there for me to touch? A brick? Desecrated by the hands of those who did not want me there? I believe that God is everywhere, and I know that God is in the Wall, I had no interest in seeking God through that Wall at that time.

There are a lot of pure places in the world. There are so many other ways to access kedushah. It was time to move on.

Act Two

After the psalms of Hallel were sung in honor of the new Jewish month, Women of the Wall’s women and men marched to Robinson’s Arch: the partially remaining Southern Wall. At this reserved space, women loudly read Torah, led prayers, guided each other through the service, and opened up their souls.

Robinson’s Arch has no mehitzah. Men and women may stand together in prayer, but I chose to leave these women their space at the Southern Wall. I stood in the back. This was not about me. This was about them. This was about a population muted by their kin, suddenly given the private space to stand at one with their present community, with their sacred history, and with the sweet, eternal quietude of God.

The Southern Wall has nobody shouting about infidels or pigs or violations. This is a structure under which sincere prayer happens: where shalom (peace) is granted in peace to a small, but select few Jews who choose the Western Wall’s modest cousin.

Although the women today chose to pray off to the side and away from the Wall itself at Robinson’s Arch, accessing that Wall is easy for whoever so desires.

Standing even further from the Wall than the central crowd, I witnessed a friend of mine walk over to the Wall. Her head bowed a bit low and her hand held up against the Southern Wall, she stood there humbly: with utter kedushah, with utter tohorah. I had never seen a more beautiful expression of humanity’s capacity to become One with its history.

The faint positioning of herself against the wall–one sole woman leaning against a vast emptiness of a Wall–reminded me that the prophet Elijah did not find the Divine voice in the chaos, but Elijah heard God in a still, small voice. Today, God’s voice was mum at the Kotel. But God’s voice resonated through the whisper of one woman against a wall. She stood there at one with God, with Torah, with Israel, with Jewry, with history, with the Wall, and with herself.

This was the quiet voice of God, and I heard it loud and clear.

Epilogue

Jewish law often worries that women will transmit impurity. The Southern Wall, touched by the hand of a woman who had earlier in the day bravely led dozens in Hallel in the chaos of the Western Wall, was the purest thing I had ever seen. Through the gentle touch of her hand against a rugged wall, one young woman transmitted purity–tohorah far greater than anything I saw at the Kotel.

This morning, my eyes witnessed hundreds of men with hateful tume’ah that polluted the most intact of Jewish history’s most supposedly sacred vessels. Yet, those same frustrated eyes of mine found shalom in discovering that one woman can transmit the greatest of tohorah to one of Jewish history’s most forgotten yet most sacred vessels.

I hope that one day I will live in a Jerusalem where 1,000 men can bestow a kedushah upon the famous Western Wall at least equal to the tohorah a single hopeful hand transmitted today at the forgotten Southern Wall.

May we all use such pure hands to transmit tohorah and kedushah throughout our universe–whether in known places or unknown places. But, if you tell me that those actions will turn me into a pig or an infidel or a violator of Jewish law, then let me tell you something: yes, you will be disturbing me, but I will have no interest in moving away from that fence.

You can’t stop me. I’m trying to pray.

A Letter To Whoever Stole My Wallet

Dear Whoever Stole My Wallet In This Foreign Country,

I figured that this must be the end for me: no driver’s license, no medical insurance, no credit cards, no debit cards, none of that $300+ that was in my wallet when you took it.

I was at my apartment when I noticed the absence of that which you snatched from me.

The first thing I did was give up my dinner plans. I was supposed to bring some wine. Not tonight.

I retraced my steps to see if maybe I dropped it. Still, no wallet.

I called some friends I had spoken to earlier in the day. They offered me food for the night.

After we ate, I prayed a messianic hope: that all people in need of food will get the food they require. I didn’t pray that because I believed it is possible. I prayed that because I wished it were possible.

My friends asked how they could help me. Could they lend me money? Could they give me food?

My family called from overseas. They canceled my cards and ordered new ones. Those are gradually on their way over here.

I have enough food for the next few days, and, though I have no money, I have a roof over my head.

But most importantly, I have loving and caring family and friends.

Honestly, aside from you, all of the strangers I’ve met here have been very friendly. But, that’s not fair for me to say.

I didn’t meet you.

Maybe you are homeless. With $300 you can probably buy 100 decent sandwiches. Maybe you’ll give one good meal to 100 starving children here.

But, then again, what can you do with my driver’s license and my health insurance card? I mean, really.

It’s tough for me to judge anyone, and perhaps this too is a messianic prayer: I pray that whatever you’re doing with my wallet is far greater than anything I could have done with it. I hope that you are feeding the hungry, paying an expensive yet necessary medical bill, rescuing animals, or doing some other fantastic thing. But, for this, I pray because I believe it is possible.

You can take my cards, you can take my license, and you can take my cash. But you’re not much of a thief.

You can take all of those things away from me, but you can never take away optimism, you can never take away prayer, and you can never take away the love and care of friends and family.

Maybe you made me broke. But you did not break me.

I still stand with the strong support of countless people in my life whose concern for me remind me on a daily basis how very rich I am just to be alive.

With much love for good people in a wonderful universe,

Jonah Rank

P.S. My name is my Gmail address. Let me know if you want to return my wallet yet.

One Day of Yom Tov: A Pre-Rabbinic Teshuvah (Answer)

I’ve still got a few years left before I become a rabbi, but I received the following message:

You are my favorite not-quite-a-rabbi-rabbi, and I need an opinion.

Is there any justification for not observing second day chag that can be based in anything substantial, other than, “I don’t want to”?

It is putting me in a very difficult position, school-wise, and my instinct is to suck it up and deal with it, but I wanted to check just in case there is some way to create some wiggle room. (Really, I just need to write/use my computer that day. It wouldn’t involve working at an occupation or doing anything with money…)

So, there are two questions here:

1) May one write and/or use a computer on the second day of Yom Tov?
2) May one observe only one day of Yom Tov?

My short answers are: Yes, and Yes.

Let’s deal with that second question, the more complicated one. You’ll see we don’t need to talk too much about the first one after the second question’s been answered. (But I’m happy to talk about the first one separately!)

Short Answer about One-Day Tov:

There is a lot of justification for observing only one day of chag:

1) The original law in the written Torah calls for only one day;
2) Certain exilic Jewish communities in the Talmudic era observed only one day;
3) Modern technology and mathematics know how to calculate what day is the singular “right” day of chag now;
4) Conservative rabbis approved of there being only one day of Yom Tov observed out of Israel several decades ago; and
5) It is easily arguable that it is counter to Jewish living when our spiritual observances in fact burden our spirits rather than elevate them.

For all of these reasons, it is permissible for a Jew to observe only day of Yom Tov.

Long Answer about One-Day Yom Tov:

So, just to expand on these thoughts:

1) The original law in the written Torah calls for only one day.

From the Torah alone, there is no reason to celebrate two days of Yom Tov.

The primary reason for observing two days of Yom Tov outside the Land of Israel is as follows: the beginning and end of Yom Tov used to be “announced” by messengers. The stories say: people used to light flames at mountain tops to inform the next community over that Yom Tov was coming. Once you leave the Land of Israel, it takes a while for news like this to travel. By the time you’d find out about Yom Tov in Babylonia, perhaps the Land of Israel had already begun Yom Tov the previous day?

This was a relatively slow process for spreading news. So, in the Talmudic era, it became the norm that Yom Tov would be observed for two days rather than waiting for the exact calendrical calculations and announcements from the Land of Israel. If you observed two days, you’re bound to get it right!

(We’ll come back soon to the problem modernity has with this.)

2) Certain exilic Jewish communities in the Talmudic era observed only one day.

Yes! The Talmud records such stories, and, according to Rashi, this whole second-day business only happened when there actually were problems with the messengers (mentioned above). As slow as they were, they were relatively on time. (We’re not going to talk here about Jewish Standard Time, which runs a lot later than all local time zones.) The second day of Yom Tov in the Talmudic era, according to Rashi, was in fact, the exception to the rule.

3) Modern technology and mathematics know how to calculate what day is the singular “right” day of chag now.

Do you know what’s a faster way of spreading news than old Jewish guys starting fires on mountains? Pretty much anything Steve Jobs was ever behind. Or Bill Gates. Or even Al Gore.

In short, modern technology can tell us the exact instant (okay, plus loading time) what time Yom Tov begins in Israel.

And, taking a step back: that’s not how we calculate today, is it? Every Jewish community on Earth today calculates the beginning of Shabbat and the beginning of Yom Tov by what we can see in our local skies. We have no need to rely on the time in Israel when it comes to our own Yom Tov, so let’s just rely on our own calculations and celebrate!

4) Conservative rabbis approved of there being only one day of Yom Tov observed out of Israel several decades ago.

They surely did!

Why don’t Conservative synagogues today observe only one day of Yom Tov then? The answer is: some actually do. To give an example that was local to me when growing up: Temple Beth Sholom of Smithtown, NY does. And they’re not alone.

I can say comfortably that I’ve worked in at least one synagogue that has had conversations about whether or not they would benefit from building stronger community if they shifted their communal practice to only one day of Yom Tov. In communities with few Jews, it is hard to gather Jews for two days’ worth of services! If these communities want the full warmth of their devoted shul-goers, they could easily benefit from observing only day of Yom Tov.

Furthermore, in communities with few Jews, it is especially challenging for Jews to say “I can’t go to work for two days” or “I can’t go to school for two days” because this leaves Jews beyond the minority; this leaves Jews extremely disadvantaged: fewer sick days or personal days, behind in work, and–frequently–with nobody else in that same boat. One day is challenging, too, but two days of a lonesome holiday is far worse than one day of a lonesome holiday.

5) It is easily arguable that it is counter to Jewish living when our spiritual observances in fact burden our spirits rather than elevate them.

The word chag is synonymous with the Arabic word haj, which means “pilgrimage.” A chag is not merely a festival or a holiday, it’s a day when–if we are not moving–we are moved. We are elevated. We are removed from our usual state of being and elevated.

Even if we are not singing Shir Hamma’alot, a Song of Going Up to a physical Jerusalem, we, in our hearts, are singing a Shir Hamma’alot of going up to a spiritual Jerusalem on chag.

As far as I can tell, Jerusalem, Yerushalayim, is a contraction of two words: Yerushah, and Shalem. Yerushah, heritage, and Shalem, wholeness. On every chag, we have to be able to elevate ourselves to recognize the wholeness of our Yerushah, or at least to have shalom and to be at peace with our heritage.

So, on a chag, can we allow a churban beit hammikdash–a destruction of the holy Temple? Can we allow a destruction of the physical embodiment of the sacred? That physical Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed, and we can’t do anything about that, but, today, we still celebrate chag! Do we go up to physical Jerusalem? No. We also don’t go to a physical Temple.

But, we do go to a spiritual Yerushalayim and we enter a spiritual Beit Hammikdash–a spiritual embodiment of the sacred–when our ritual practices resonate with our spiritual needs.

So, for the lone observant Jew four towns away from Albequerque, New Mexico, two days of chag might be, not only professional suicide, but spiritual suicide. When religion hurts your life, then the religion’s not working. We learn from the story of the Binding of Isaac that our religious fervor should never hurt us.

One day of from work? Sure, it’s not very easy. But it’s a day to take off because you can truly celebrate. You can truly have a Yom Tov. A good day. It’s a day of Chag.

You can take that pilgrimage up to your spiritual Yerushalayim where you are at one with what you have inherited from hundreds of generations of Jews. In that Yerushalayim, in that pure, peaceful, whole heritage, you can meditate in that Beit Mikdash you have built out of the construct of your Jewish life.

THAT’S a Yom Tov. After such a Good Day, who needs to repeat it the next day? The Torah would never have asked us to try to attain such a high level of spiritual consciousness!

For all of these reasons, it is permissible for a Jew to observe only day of Yom Tov.

Perhaps one of the greatest faults of contemporary Jewish lawmaking on this question has been that we have only permitted one day of Yom Tov. But I would like to advise one day of truly intentional Yom Tov. And, if that means only one day of Yom Tov, then I say go for it!

3 final notes:

1) I am not a rabbi (currently), so I am not a posek–an authoritative Jewish lawmaker. All I am is a rabbinic student and, at best, a rabbinic spiritual adviser.

2) This is not the most comprehensive look at the Halakhic/legal sources regarding the question of two days of Yom Tov. For a more comprehensive (but still not entirely comprehensive) look at the legal sources, feel free to look at http://mahrabu.blogspot.com/2008/12/one-day-only-part-2-conservative.html. He refers to many sources that are worthwhile to look at.

3) Who knows if I will agree to this advice years from now? Or even weeks from now? Or days from now? Nonetheless, these words seem fairly compelling to me for the meantime. And I am convinced that Judaism frequently gives us answers that work for the meantime–not always answers that work forever. Otherwise there’d be no reason to re-interpret a text.

Rethinking and Reaffirimg a Mitzvah: My Second Day Rosh Hashanah Sermon from Gulfport, Mississippi–2011/5772

Hey, look! It’s my…

Rosh Hashanah Day 2 Sermon: Rethinking and Reaffirming a Mitzvah