"Jew Valley is a basin in Lake County, Oregon, in the United States.
Jew Valley was named for a colony of Jewish farmers who settled there in the early 20th century."
(Thanks Wikipedia)
Wait, what? I grew up in Oregon and I never heard of this.
Apparently the colony, founded by 25 families 'including a shochet,' experienced success for a few years before disbanding.
II.
Speaking of utopian Jewish farming communities... there's a new one in the offing:
The "Frum Farm"
I spoke with the family behind it & it seems to be quite a serious endeavor.
III.
Of course, to me one paradigmatic utopian Jewish community that I never got to see (born just slightly too young; nuts!) is Rav Bulman zt"l's kehilla in Migdal haEmek.
Here's one article that mentions it briefly: by Mrs. T. Katz.
IV.
And before that there was Frankfurt.
This is a wonderful, sparkling article about Frankfurt: Hermann Schwab's memoirs
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
Showing posts with label America. Show all posts
16 June 2017
06 January 2016
More Victorian Jewish Miscellany: hats, secession, and Schone Aussicht
Today I searched again and lo! Quite a number of them are on
Wikipedia, in extremely high resolution – yay!
You know in vol. VIII, where a man in the train pokes fun at
a young woman for having her hair covered? – I always wondered, How could he
tell? – because in the pictures of Rav Hirsch's family all the women look (to
my untrained eye) perfectly à la mode in their headdresses, such that a
stranger would have a hard time telling whether a woman was covering her hair
or not – well! here is the answer. You can see in the Oppenheim paintings that
those beautiful frothy bonnets are worn over a sort of under-cap, which was not
the case in the non-Jewish population.
 |
| this young lady is also standing under a tallis, at her chassuna. |
2. Q. What did the rabbanim of the time have to say about the
US Civil War?
A. IIRC somewhere in Rav Hirsch, after slavery ended in the South, he
mentions its end with some relief.
Today I re-found a website that I misplaced years ago,
which has --among a great many other curios -- lectures on the subject from American rabbis. Here, for one thing, is
R' Illowy's lecture on States' Rights, which apparently pleased the
secessionists of New Orleans so much when it was published that they invited
him down to become rabbi of that city.
3. Schopenhauer lived in the same building as Rav Hirsch and
at the same time, but apparently there is no evidence that the two ever met. I
always thought that fascinating, wow, like a particle accelerator gone awry.
Anyway, because Schopenhauer also lived in that (now
vanished) house on Schone Aussicht, it is a famous house and there are loads of pictures and a virtual
tour of it online – here.
31 March 2015
Notes from Bryant Park
We walked through Times Square, where the
sides of the buildings are large screens. Everything in Times Square is moving,
flashing, fast. When the advertisements in Times Square want to call your
undivided attention to their product, therefore, they cannot get your attention
with color, contrast, or speed. The only thing they can do that really stands
out is... to slow down the film and show the product in slow motion.
A fast-paced society can either go faster
and faster until it runs itself into the ground, or decide that speed is
outmoded and the hip thing is to go slowly. Rome just kept expanding and
expanding until it burst. The advertisers of Times Square have made the wiser
choice. I feel like in Times Square I see the future, or the end, or both, of
this civilization.
Mine host for this excursion said we must
walk past the wax museum, because the statue in front of it looks so lifelike
that we would do a double-take.
I did not do a double-take. The difference is
that a real human face is more luminous.
The Chrysler building is beautiful, not
because its design is inherently beautiful – really it's a bit spiky – but
because it is more story than building. That is excellence in
architecture. I want to sit here for a long time and read that building.
M & J Trimmings is proof that G-d loves
humanity.
New York is a generous city, probably one of
the most generous cities in the world. I've always said that I love New Yorkers
because they keep up both sides of the conversation. The city is the same: it
furnishes you with such diversity of experience that you could live here for a
long time before you ever felt the need to become anything. At one point I
found myself walking down the street, not because I was headed anywhere in
particular, but because the sixteen people around me were walking that
direction. With such richness of company, who needs direction? You could easily
forget about going anywhere. Every one of those people is a small world in
himself; and their histories are diverse. The buildings are richly and
beautifully ornamented. You could walk around New York and just admire and
admire and admire all its richness and its people for a long time before it
would occur to you that you need to have your own life, too. Then you would
have this incredible trove of artistic inspiration to draw on.
Even the acanthus on the columns of Bowery
Bank is not flora but people: New York's flowers are its faces.
Observations in the park. Skinny artists
smiling into their mail the smile of the loved. At their feet, obese pigeons.
Young Italianate men in shirtsleeves and
fisherman's caps tossing wooden balls: a scene from a hundred years ago.
As I am making these notes on the passersby
I notice that two of them are also making notes on me.
You can see in the style of many buildings
that this used to be New Amsterdam. It is Amsterdam writ about ten stories
taller.
Grand Central Terminal has a view of
constellations on its ceiling. Mine host says that when this ceiling was finished,
someone pointed out to the designer that the constellations are shown in
mirror-image. “O, yes,” he said, “that was deliberate. It is God's view of the
heavens.”
So you can stand at the bottom of this tall
hall and look down on the world.
Starbuck's. Q. What is the connection
between the noble, self-sacrificing First Mate of the Pequod, and a cup of
coffee?
Ruskin says, and I agree, that wrought-iron
is suited to sculptures of flora, and to nasty fences keeping robbers out.
Wrought-iron fences are not suited to friendly, inviting delineations of space.
The English language is in a fair way to run
out of profanity. Those words that were once unspeakable are now commonplace,
and there are no worse words lined up to replace them.
Q. Why does the large button sculpture in
the Garment District have five holes in it?
In the library, a replica is shown of the
pencils manufactured by Thoreau. They don't look like pencils at all – more
like glorified twigs. How fitting.
I went into the library, not because I had
anything particular to look up, but because I like to browse and admire long
shelves of expertise in every conceivable subject.
It is a long climb before you get to the
reading rooms, as if the star of the place is not books but stair-steps. In the
reading room I saw many people on computers.
“I have a dumb question,” I said to the
librarian. “Where are the books?”
She drew from behind her desk an
illustration – I guess a lot of people ask the question. “There are seven
stories of books under your feet,” she said. They are populated by dwarves. You
look in a card catalog, identify the book you want, and send down your request
by pneumatic tube. The dwarves mine that book for you and send it up. The
stacks extend even under Bryant Park.
(That must be where the trees came from!
They sprouted from all the paper.)
You may not look at the books.
Oh. So, for my purpose of browsing and
wondering, I went to the room of manuscripts.
You have to buzz in. I buzzed.
The Butler of Manuscripts came to the door.
“Yes?”
“Must one have a particular quest in mind to
enter this room, or does general interest suffice?”
“It does not,” said the Butler of
Manuscripts. “This room is for Researchers.”
I cannot wrap my mind around the New York
Central Library. It is the only library I have ever seen where you can do
anything but look at books. It is, I suppose, excellent training in focused
thought and delayed gratification. You have to first identify your Quest, then
the book you want, then wonder and wonder what it is going to be, and know that
human labor brought it to you. No wonder 90% of the young people in the reading
room are on computers.
It is appropriate, then, that the library's
lions are named Patience and Fortitude, since those are what it takes to get a
book in the library.
The reserve of the library is in striking
contrast to the in-your-face generosity of the rest of the city.
Loops says her favorite thing in New York is
the subway, because it is spicy.
Whatever New York is, it is enthusiastically
and uninhibitedly – grimy, ornamented. To a certain degree, what Jerusalem is
in kodesh, New York is in chol.
New York is like Adar: the chaos of it, the
very extremeness of its pratius, points to it not being under the
control of any mortal.
21 August 2012
The Town Mouse and the Suburb Mouse
The Suburb Mouse grew up in a suburb where computers outnumbered civilians. He was accustomed to living among perfect green lawns and perfectly square houses and one car per human and not much in the way of crumbling Victorian woodwork or burly trees shedding leaves which would turn to mud on the sidewalk.
One day, he overheard the Town Mouse muttering the lyrics of
Little boxes on the hillside
Little boxes by the Interstate
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same
There's a pink one
and a green one
and a blue one
and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.
&c.
and requested a translation.
The Town Mouse explained that this was a song about the suburbs, and that the little boxes signified the identical houses plunked down in perfectly straight lines.
"What's wrong with that?" asked the Suburb Mouse.
The Town Mouse, to her surprise, was hard-pressed to come up with an answer. Was there something wrong with building an efficient but uninteresting neighborhood?
"Anyway, the houses in my hometown don't all look alike," said the Suburb Mouse. "There are four different models of houses, and they are painted in five different colors."
The Town Mouse thought he was kidding. He wasn't.
I suppose (concluded the Town Mouse) that ideally, architecture and city planning should be a positive influence on a city and on those who live in it. Imaginative planning can completely alter the character of a city -- Portland's row of Park Blocks is a classic example.
I guess (said the Town Mouse) there are people who find the suburban aesthetic uplifting, or at least reassuring. Personally I find the old, intricate, and be-foliaged more conducive to keeping my head on straight.
Until recently (reflected the Town Mouse) I did not believe that attractive suburbs exist. But I actually found one the other day, when I was driving around Tualatin and wound up on Tookbank street, and then on Withywindle.
One day, he overheard the Town Mouse muttering the lyrics of
Little boxes on the hillside
Little boxes by the Interstate
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same
There's a pink one
and a green one
and a blue one
and a yellow one
And they're all made out of ticky-tacky
And they all look just the same.
&c.
and requested a translation.
The Town Mouse explained that this was a song about the suburbs, and that the little boxes signified the identical houses plunked down in perfectly straight lines.
"What's wrong with that?" asked the Suburb Mouse.
The Town Mouse, to her surprise, was hard-pressed to come up with an answer. Was there something wrong with building an efficient but uninteresting neighborhood?
"Anyway, the houses in my hometown don't all look alike," said the Suburb Mouse. "There are four different models of houses, and they are painted in five different colors."
The Town Mouse thought he was kidding. He wasn't.
I suppose (concluded the Town Mouse) that ideally, architecture and city planning should be a positive influence on a city and on those who live in it. Imaginative planning can completely alter the character of a city -- Portland's row of Park Blocks is a classic example.
I guess (said the Town Mouse) there are people who find the suburban aesthetic uplifting, or at least reassuring. Personally I find the old, intricate, and be-foliaged more conducive to keeping my head on straight.
Until recently (reflected the Town Mouse) I did not believe that attractive suburbs exist. But I actually found one the other day, when I was driving around Tualatin and wound up on Tookbank street, and then on Withywindle.
12 August 2012
Judaism and Charlotte Mason
A lot of people find this blog by Googling "Jewish Charlotte Mason", and I am sorry there is not more here on the subject to welcome them. So I'll take a stab at it, although I am no expert.
If you just want to see it in practice, check out my friend's blog at Al Pi Darko Academy.
If you want the opinion of someone who is an expert, read this nineteenth-century essay.
The post here that gets the hits is Charlotte Mason on Secular Studies. That post is just the tip of the iceberg, though: CM is a complete theory of education.
I'll start with her attitude toward secular studies.
What Charlotte Mason has in common with Torah is the understanding that one's life as a religious individual is a whole into which certain general studies can be incorporated, without resulting in a religious-secular "double life".
Off the top of my head, I would hazard that under rarefied conditions (and there is a spectrum of opinions on just what that means):
-Good science can help you to live sensibly and appreciate the wisdom and love of the Creator.
-Good humanities can also show you what is in a person or what is in the world, can illustrate poignantly and poetically principles of how to live or how not to live.
-It can be helpful for a person to be exposed to beauty, order, and genius.
Where Charlotte Mason and Torah part ways in general studies is on whether the arts and sciences are seen as an end in themselves.
Charlotte Mason's branch of Christianity, so far as I can make out, seems to have adopted the Classical Greco-Romans as its honorary forebears, and so to have inherited the Classical values of beauty, order, and genius for their own sake: of beauty as an end in itself. Thus, in CM it is an independent moral duty to study nature and to acquire discriminating artistic taste.
CMers, do I have this straight?
How Charlotte Mason, and the religion behind her, decided which Classical principles to accept as eternal and which to reject, I cannot make out.
In Judaism, things are valued according to whether they are used to bring G-dliness to the world. Judaism is keen on beauty, order, and genius, but only "in the tents of" truth: in the service of the Torah principles of love, justice, and education. So artistic taste and knowledge of botany are excellent things to have; but if we ever find ourselves back in the Stone Age, we will miss botany and art, but we won't feel less Jewish for lack of them.
What I like about Charlotte Mason, then, is not why she teaches the arts and sciences, only how. I do think her methods are excellent, and a lot closer to Jewish ideas than a lot of educational theory out there. But one can't pluck the religion bits out of a CM education, tack a Judaic Studies curriculum on the CM general studies, and call it Jewish Charlotte Mason. Her reasons for studying secular studies inform her approach to them and her choices of material. If you want Jewish Charlotte Mason, you'll have to look into a truly Jewish approach to secular studies. Personally, I like the one Rav Hirsch spells out in Vol. VII of his Collected Writings, which is here [not to imply that I think this blog lives up to it].
Thus far, general studies.
There are more obvious differences between Charlotte Mason and Judaism when it comes to issues like Bible study and theology.
We have an oral tradition that explains the text and helps us draw life-lessons from it. (As Rav Hirsch puts it, reading the written text without the oral tradition to reading shorthand lecture notes.)
Charlotte Mason was not heir to the Jewish oral tradition; she engages less with the text and when she does draw lessons from it, ten to one they are incompatible with Jewish tradition.
This is just one point in a whole host of differences to be expected given that Charlotte Mason was not Jewish. You will not find "Jewish Charlotte Mason" in her chapters on religious education. Go to the original sources.
What about the area of overlap between general and religious studies, values and the development of good character? How much of that do Charlotte Mason and Judaism have in common?
Here I must confess that my Vol. 4 of Charlotte Mason is lent to a rebbetzin down the hill so that I can ask her this question.
[I have to tell you, just because I find it amusing, that the form of this volume is peculiarly reminiscent of medieval Jewish texts on the same subject: the preface says, more or less, I searched for a treatise on character traits, but could not find one; I therefore presumed to write one; I shall list the character traits, together with the means of acquiring them, the obstacles to acquiring them, and the means by which these obstacles may be overcome....]
I did ask one teacher of mine what we think of Charlotte Mason's value of loyalty: Miss Mason opines that it is immoral to shop in other neighborhoods that offer lower prices, that one should be loyal to the shopkeepers nearest one's house, so long as the price is fair.
This teacher answered that in Judaism there is a value of chesed, lovingkindness, according to which one should allow one's neighborhood shopkeeper the peace of mind that comes with having a regular, familiar customer; and that chesed must be balanced with the value of being financially responsible; but that the kind of loyalty Charlotte Mason demands, independent of its effects, is not a separate Jewish value.
Two Jews, three opinions; the next teacher I asked was not so sure. So I am not going to pull apart Charlotte Mason's Ourselves for you and attempt to identify what is a Torah-sourced idea and what is not. A good address for this sort of thing is Mussar Truffles.
In sum: my feeling is that Charlotte Mason (and, from what I've seen of it, the Classical Education movement) is a great resource for how to teach general studies, but not why, and only sometimes which. They are definitely not helpful in figuring out how or why to teach kodesh. And my jury is still out on her treatise on character traits... but it's not really necessary to go there: we have a mesora on those; do Mesilas Yesharim instead, with something (or someone) like Rav Leuchter dot com to unfold it for you.
If you just want to see it in practice, check out my friend's blog at Al Pi Darko Academy.
If you want the opinion of someone who is an expert, read this nineteenth-century essay.
The post here that gets the hits is Charlotte Mason on Secular Studies. That post is just the tip of the iceberg, though: CM is a complete theory of education.
I'll start with her attitude toward secular studies.
What Charlotte Mason has in common with Torah is the understanding that one's life as a religious individual is a whole into which certain general studies can be incorporated, without resulting in a religious-secular "double life".
Off the top of my head, I would hazard that under rarefied conditions (and there is a spectrum of opinions on just what that means):
-Good science can help you to live sensibly and appreciate the wisdom and love of the Creator.
-Good humanities can also show you what is in a person or what is in the world, can illustrate poignantly and poetically principles of how to live or how not to live.
-It can be helpful for a person to be exposed to beauty, order, and genius.
Where Charlotte Mason and Torah part ways in general studies is on whether the arts and sciences are seen as an end in themselves.
Charlotte Mason's branch of Christianity, so far as I can make out, seems to have adopted the Classical Greco-Romans as its honorary forebears, and so to have inherited the Classical values of beauty, order, and genius for their own sake: of beauty as an end in itself. Thus, in CM it is an independent moral duty to study nature and to acquire discriminating artistic taste.
CMers, do I have this straight?
How Charlotte Mason, and the religion behind her, decided which Classical principles to accept as eternal and which to reject, I cannot make out.
In Judaism, things are valued according to whether they are used to bring G-dliness to the world. Judaism is keen on beauty, order, and genius, but only "in the tents of" truth: in the service of the Torah principles of love, justice, and education. So artistic taste and knowledge of botany are excellent things to have; but if we ever find ourselves back in the Stone Age, we will miss botany and art, but we won't feel less Jewish for lack of them.
What I like about Charlotte Mason, then, is not why she teaches the arts and sciences, only how. I do think her methods are excellent, and a lot closer to Jewish ideas than a lot of educational theory out there. But one can't pluck the religion bits out of a CM education, tack a Judaic Studies curriculum on the CM general studies, and call it Jewish Charlotte Mason. Her reasons for studying secular studies inform her approach to them and her choices of material. If you want Jewish Charlotte Mason, you'll have to look into a truly Jewish approach to secular studies. Personally, I like the one Rav Hirsch spells out in Vol. VII of his Collected Writings, which is here [not to imply that I think this blog lives up to it].
Thus far, general studies.
There are more obvious differences between Charlotte Mason and Judaism when it comes to issues like Bible study and theology.
We have an oral tradition that explains the text and helps us draw life-lessons from it. (As Rav Hirsch puts it, reading the written text without the oral tradition to reading shorthand lecture notes.)
Charlotte Mason was not heir to the Jewish oral tradition; she engages less with the text and when she does draw lessons from it, ten to one they are incompatible with Jewish tradition.
This is just one point in a whole host of differences to be expected given that Charlotte Mason was not Jewish. You will not find "Jewish Charlotte Mason" in her chapters on religious education. Go to the original sources.
What about the area of overlap between general and religious studies, values and the development of good character? How much of that do Charlotte Mason and Judaism have in common?
Here I must confess that my Vol. 4 of Charlotte Mason is lent to a rebbetzin down the hill so that I can ask her this question.
[I have to tell you, just because I find it amusing, that the form of this volume is peculiarly reminiscent of medieval Jewish texts on the same subject: the preface says, more or less, I searched for a treatise on character traits, but could not find one; I therefore presumed to write one; I shall list the character traits, together with the means of acquiring them, the obstacles to acquiring them, and the means by which these obstacles may be overcome....]
I did ask one teacher of mine what we think of Charlotte Mason's value of loyalty: Miss Mason opines that it is immoral to shop in other neighborhoods that offer lower prices, that one should be loyal to the shopkeepers nearest one's house, so long as the price is fair.
This teacher answered that in Judaism there is a value of chesed, lovingkindness, according to which one should allow one's neighborhood shopkeeper the peace of mind that comes with having a regular, familiar customer; and that chesed must be balanced with the value of being financially responsible; but that the kind of loyalty Charlotte Mason demands, independent of its effects, is not a separate Jewish value.
Two Jews, three opinions; the next teacher I asked was not so sure. So I am not going to pull apart Charlotte Mason's Ourselves for you and attempt to identify what is a Torah-sourced idea and what is not. A good address for this sort of thing is Mussar Truffles.
In sum: my feeling is that Charlotte Mason (and, from what I've seen of it, the Classical Education movement) is a great resource for how to teach general studies, but not why, and only sometimes which. They are definitely not helpful in figuring out how or why to teach kodesh. And my jury is still out on her treatise on character traits... but it's not really necessary to go there: we have a mesora on those; do Mesilas Yesharim instead, with something (or someone) like Rav Leuchter dot com to unfold it for you.
15 July 2012
Grumbles of a Reluctant Driver
In Jerusalem, everything you need regularly (like groceries or a post office) is available in a wee storefront a couple of blocks from your door. Everything you need semi-regularly is available within walking distance. And should you need to cross town, the bus picks you up practically in front of your door and drops you off practically at the door of wherever you're going. It does this despite Jerusalem being a city that fans out in organic tangles on three sides of the Old City.
So I am sitting here growling through the Driver Manual (sic) wondering what a fishtailing car is and thinking about how bizarre is this Amerika where everyone has to burn gas in order to drink milk.
When airplane terrorism became a concern, Americans reassured each other, "Don't worry, you're more likely to die in a car accident." The Driver Manual itself warns you to keep an eye out on the road for people with road rage or otherwise engaged in idiotic behavior. Why don't we make people walk through security every morning, or at least hand them a cupcake, before they get into a car? Is there any driver who has been driving for, say, 30 years, without getting into an accident?
Let's say you're driving along. And you find that the chap ahead of you is driving at the speed limit, unlike you. So you think, "you know, that car" - you do not think of the driver as a person - "is going too slowly; I think I'll swerve into oncoming traffic."
This is called "passing" and it is considered normal.
Just telling you how it looks to a newbie studying for her license. Y'all are crazy.
I'll stop complaining now and go back to memorizing how many hundreds of feet it takes to stop a car from the time the brake is applied.
According to the Driver Manual, it takes a different amount of time depending on whether you are driving in English or Spanish.
So I am sitting here growling through the Driver Manual (sic) wondering what a fishtailing car is and thinking about how bizarre is this Amerika where everyone has to burn gas in order to drink milk.
When airplane terrorism became a concern, Americans reassured each other, "Don't worry, you're more likely to die in a car accident." The Driver Manual itself warns you to keep an eye out on the road for people with road rage or otherwise engaged in idiotic behavior. Why don't we make people walk through security every morning, or at least hand them a cupcake, before they get into a car? Is there any driver who has been driving for, say, 30 years, without getting into an accident?
Let's say you're driving along. And you find that the chap ahead of you is driving at the speed limit, unlike you. So you think, "you know, that car" - you do not think of the driver as a person - "is going too slowly; I think I'll swerve into oncoming traffic."
This is called "passing" and it is considered normal.
Just telling you how it looks to a newbie studying for her license. Y'all are crazy.
I'll stop complaining now and go back to memorizing how many hundreds of feet it takes to stop a car from the time the brake is applied.
According to the Driver Manual, it takes a different amount of time depending on whether you are driving in English or Spanish.
George Washington's Shoes
I always imagined that the nation's capitol would have a pronounced character, something akin to that of Colonial Williamsburg, with a pinch of Athens, some hubris, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility. It is, after all, the government heart of one of the largest and strongest nations on earth.
![]()
When I got there, it seemed to me that Washington, D.C. is not really a city on its own: if you take the average of the rest of the country, you end up with Washington. (To be fair, I was in the tourist area.) One brochure I glanced at made reference to a strong African-American heritage of the city; probably that is what gives it character. But I had not left time to see anything but Georgetown and the Mall.
I mentioned the strange nature of tourist-area Washington to my father-in-law, who attributes it to careful city planning.
In other words, Washington is a suburb at heart.
I take this to mean either that the heart of America is a suburb, or that the Mall is just where all the Federal buildings are parked and the heart of America is really somewhere else.
![]()
Walking from there by way of the Mall, I stopped into the first Smithsonian that crossed my path, the hall of US History. The Smithsonian is not a museum that tells a story; it is a collection of artifacts. I saw George Washington's clothes and camp kit, and Capt. Clark's compass; and, what is quite striking and awful, the great wooden wheel used for the Civil War draft.
My toddler, who is a real people person, was getting antsy with all these things; so I took her to see the famous statue of George Washington as a Greek hero. She pointed excitedly to the part of the statue at her eye level and exclaimed, "Shoes!"
Yes, dear, George Washington is wearing shoes.
![]()
When my toddler looks at George Washington, she is excited to see shoes; my thoughts are more sophisticated, but they don't come up to those of a scholar of US history.
It would be a pity to go through life looking at George Washington and seeing only a pair of shoes.
Each in his own way, we allow ourselves to do this. We don't know what we're missing. How many people go through life thinking Judaism is about guilt and gefilte fish?
When I got there, it seemed to me that Washington, D.C. is not really a city on its own: if you take the average of the rest of the country, you end up with Washington. (To be fair, I was in the tourist area.) One brochure I glanced at made reference to a strong African-American heritage of the city; probably that is what gives it character. But I had not left time to see anything but Georgetown and the Mall.
I mentioned the strange nature of tourist-area Washington to my father-in-law, who attributes it to careful city planning.
In other words, Washington is a suburb at heart.
I take this to mean either that the heart of America is a suburb, or that the Mall is just where all the Federal buildings are parked and the heart of America is really somewhere else.
 |
My first stop was the Old Stone House, which is a nice place to stop into on the way to somewhere else - it is so tiny, and sparse on explanation, that it did not make me as deliriously happy as other Little Old Houses of my acquaintance. But it is a sweet little pre-colonial house, with a nice little garden in which to stroll around and pretend to be pre-colonial. The rest of the neighborhood, Georgetown, has shed most of its old-fashioned character.
Walking from there by way of the Mall, I stopped into the first Smithsonian that crossed my path, the hall of US History. The Smithsonian is not a museum that tells a story; it is a collection of artifacts. I saw George Washington's clothes and camp kit, and Capt. Clark's compass; and, what is quite striking and awful, the great wooden wheel used for the Civil War draft.
My toddler, who is a real people person, was getting antsy with all these things; so I took her to see the famous statue of George Washington as a Greek hero. She pointed excitedly to the part of the statue at her eye level and exclaimed, "Shoes!"
Yes, dear, George Washington is wearing shoes.
When my toddler looks at George Washington, she is excited to see shoes; my thoughts are more sophisticated, but they don't come up to those of a scholar of US history.
It would be a pity to go through life looking at George Washington and seeing only a pair of shoes.
Each in his own way, we allow ourselves to do this. We don't know what we're missing. How many people go through life thinking Judaism is about guilt and gefilte fish?
09 July 2012
Duckpond
The approach to Duckpond is beautiful: green fields with white fences, real farm country. And then the mansions appeared, followed by rows of what are popularly called McMansions, each on its perfect green lawn, all made out of brick, with shutters.
The people in these houses were unpretentious, down-to-earth, and exceptionally nice, but we had been staying in large, new houses since we landed in America and honestly, the endless newness and expanse of space was beginning to make me homesick. It made me bizarrely happy to visit a family living in Duckpond in a tumbledown little farmhouse with well-trodden wooden floors and shelves for preserves in the basement.
Duckpond is a quiet but nice town, with rabbits and wild tiger-lilies and fireflies. You East Coasters don't realize how blessed you are to have fireflies. And deer! My daughter and I stood transfixed by a deer standing fairly near to us, watching us as we watched it.
"There's a deer!" I exclaimed to a passerby.
"Yeah, they're cute, aren't they," she observed, without stopping.
"We saw a deer!" I exclaimed to our hostess.
"Deer are suburban rats," she explained.
Well, they eat our yard in Portland, too; but I do find them enchanting.
What I found most striking about the observant Jewish community of Duckpond is not what a close-knit community it is, or that all its members, no matter their background and personality, are committed to spiritual growth, but that when I asked them what they like about the Duckpond community, every one of them described these attributes of the community in near-identical terms. That's unusual.
The people in these houses were unpretentious, down-to-earth, and exceptionally nice, but we had been staying in large, new houses since we landed in America and honestly, the endless newness and expanse of space was beginning to make me homesick. It made me bizarrely happy to visit a family living in Duckpond in a tumbledown little farmhouse with well-trodden wooden floors and shelves for preserves in the basement.
Duckpond is a quiet but nice town, with rabbits and wild tiger-lilies and fireflies. You East Coasters don't realize how blessed you are to have fireflies. And deer! My daughter and I stood transfixed by a deer standing fairly near to us, watching us as we watched it.
"There's a deer!" I exclaimed to a passerby.
"Yeah, they're cute, aren't they," she observed, without stopping.
"We saw a deer!" I exclaimed to our hostess.
"Deer are suburban rats," she explained.
Well, they eat our yard in Portland, too; but I do find them enchanting.
What I found most striking about the observant Jewish community of Duckpond is not what a close-knit community it is, or that all its members, no matter their background and personality, are committed to spiritual growth, but that when I asked them what they like about the Duckpond community, every one of them described these attributes of the community in near-identical terms. That's unusual.
Quoth the Marines
I always thought of the Marines as harsh people who like to bellow and beat each other up.
But over Shabbos we heard two Marines discussing the Corps, and they gave it a cast of nobility. They told stories of Marines pooling their resources to help each other out in peacetime and giving their lives to protect each other in combat, and of the pride of belonging to the Corps, which is a bit like a family; and of how they can always pick another Marine out of a crowd by the way he carries himself... all of which was very interesting to the Jewish educators at the table, who listened to all this for its literal meaning but also as an analogy.
These Marines also observed that when recruits bash each other in the halls, it is not because they disagree with each others' statements, but because they want to test each others' sincerity -- you may say this now, but what I want to know is, when I beat you up for saying it, will you stand?
A question I never thought of in quite that way.
A question I never thought of in quite that way.
Will you stand?
03 July 2012
Amerika
In the weeks before we began traveling, I began to see certain details through American eyes.
You see that hareidi man, in a black suit, white shirt, and black fedora, walking down the street with an open book, alternately singing aloud from it in Hebrew and mumbling in Aramaic? That apparition is my husband. He is trying to finish reading the weekly Torah portion, with commentary and Aramaic translation, before we get to our friends' house for the Shabbos meal. And this does not usually strike me as that unusual... until I am about to travel to America, when I remember: people don't read aloud while walking down the street in America, do they?
Since landing, I have remembered that in America, I have to ask people how are you. It is not because I expect an answer - they seldom provide one - it is to make them feel loved.
In Israel, this show of affection is unnecessary: you know I love you, and I show it by not taking your time to ask how are you, when you probably have better things to do than answer; instead, we exchange blessings (-"Good morning!" -"Good morning to the entire world!") - and attend to the matter at hand.
There is an improv artist who makes it her practice to walk around New York City distributing roses to strangers.
My friend and I tried to figure out why we both feel intuitively that this idea, which is lovely for New York, would not fly in Jerusalem.
I think it is because in Jerusalem, you can't just drop a rose into someone's life and skip away. In New York your connection with passing strangers is superficial enough that a rose is a lovely surprise. In Jerusalem a rose is cute, but it pales in comparison with the rest of your relationship, whether or not you have ever met before.
Since landing, I have remembered that in America, I have to ask people how are you. It is not because I expect an answer - they seldom provide one - it is to make them feel loved.
In Israel, this show of affection is unnecessary: you know I love you, and I show it by not taking your time to ask how are you, when you probably have better things to do than answer; instead, we exchange blessings (-"Good morning!" -"Good morning to the entire world!") - and attend to the matter at hand.
There is an improv artist who makes it her practice to walk around New York City distributing roses to strangers.
My friend and I tried to figure out why we both feel intuitively that this idea, which is lovely for New York, would not fly in Jerusalem.
I think it is because in Jerusalem, you can't just drop a rose into someone's life and skip away. In New York your connection with passing strangers is superficial enough that a rose is a lovely surprise. In Jerusalem a rose is cute, but it pales in comparison with the rest of your relationship, whether or not you have ever met before.
02 July 2012
Lakewood
Here are all the people of my own Jerusalem neighborhood: the yeshiva men and their wives and the double strollers full of kinderlach, walking to and from yeshiva and the grocery store and the schools.
But this population is juxtaposed with the idiom of America: the avreichim and their families live in houses with SHUTTERS! on LAWNS with LAWNMOWERS and the time and inclination to mow them! And they drive!
Lakewood is Disneyland: a fairy-tale country, the stuff of my American childhood but not of the world I have come to know as a grown-up, populated by grown-ups acting as if the magical scenery is real.
I wonder how long I could live there before coming to believe that it is.
But this population is juxtaposed with the idiom of America: the avreichim and their families live in houses with SHUTTERS! on LAWNS with LAWNMOWERS and the time and inclination to mow them! And they drive!
Lakewood is Disneyland: a fairy-tale country, the stuff of my American childhood but not of the world I have come to know as a grown-up, populated by grown-ups acting as if the magical scenery is real.
I wonder how long I could live there before coming to believe that it is.
03 June 2012
Novhardok, Keep Portland Weird!, and Not Caring About Public Opinion
I'm going to go off on a tangent and tell you another Novhardok story, one that is common knowledge in these parts, just because this is basic Jewish history that everyone should know I love Novhardok.
If you're doing the right thing, it doesn't matter what other people think of you - but how do you practice not caring about public opinion?
The students of the Novhardok yeshiva used to practice by going into a store and asking for a product not sold there - e.g., they would enter a pharmacy, and ask to buy a hammer.
As the joke goes, if you try this in America, the pharmacist will ask you, "What size?" but in the specialized shops of pre-war Europe (Rav Elya Pruzhiner's family shop, for example, sold only yeast and salt) it was a truly ludicrous request.
How can this story be true? I asked one day, a few years after I heard it. Isn't it problematic to give the clerk the impression that Torah students are crazy?
"It is true," answered the rav at whom I threw the question. "I knew the daughter of an old Novhardoker, and she said that when her father came to America, he would try to pay for his groceries with Monopoly money. And when the clerk would say, 'Sir, you cannot pay with this,' he would assume a confused air, and ask, 'Why not?'"
...
I was enthusiastically describing the unusual individualism of P-town's alternative culture (Keep Portland Weird!) to an elderly rebbetzin of Jerusalem, and she exclaimed, "That's not good! There's no normal to keep people on their toes."
Which is the flip side of not caring about public opinion.
Dostoevsky said, 'Where there is no God, everything is permitted', but where there is no objective definition of Good and also no normal, what, save fear of the government, is to prevent the selfish from committing any crime they want?
Keep Portland Weird and Idealistic!
Evidently you have to care even in a Torah society: the Netziv once chided his nephew for not caring whether the post office staff would laugh at him for including extra information in an address, saying that a person immune to public opinion has lost a useful motivation to behave properly (and to tell the truth, and so is disqualified from testifying in court).
You have to not care about public opinion... but you also have to care. It's probably one of those things that should be swung either way and eventually allowed to settle somewhere in the middle.
Anyway, wouldn't you just love to gather up all the self-conscious teenagers of the world, hand them a wad of Monopoly money, and send them shopping? Such a powerful lesson.
If you're doing the right thing, it doesn't matter what other people think of you - but how do you practice not caring about public opinion?
The students of the Novhardok yeshiva used to practice by going into a store and asking for a product not sold there - e.g., they would enter a pharmacy, and ask to buy a hammer.
As the joke goes, if you try this in America, the pharmacist will ask you, "What size?" but in the specialized shops of pre-war Europe (Rav Elya Pruzhiner's family shop, for example, sold only yeast and salt) it was a truly ludicrous request.
How can this story be true? I asked one day, a few years after I heard it. Isn't it problematic to give the clerk the impression that Torah students are crazy?
"It is true," answered the rav at whom I threw the question. "I knew the daughter of an old Novhardoker, and she said that when her father came to America, he would try to pay for his groceries with Monopoly money. And when the clerk would say, 'Sir, you cannot pay with this,' he would assume a confused air, and ask, 'Why not?'"
...
.jpg) |
| I do not own this image |
I was enthusiastically describing the unusual individualism of P-town's alternative culture (Keep Portland Weird!) to an elderly rebbetzin of Jerusalem, and she exclaimed, "That's not good! There's no normal to keep people on their toes."
Which is the flip side of not caring about public opinion.
Dostoevsky said, 'Where there is no God, everything is permitted', but where there is no objective definition of Good and also no normal, what, save fear of the government, is to prevent the selfish from committing any crime they want?
Keep Portland Weird and Idealistic!
Evidently you have to care even in a Torah society: the Netziv once chided his nephew for not caring whether the post office staff would laugh at him for including extra information in an address, saying that a person immune to public opinion has lost a useful motivation to behave properly (and to tell the truth, and so is disqualified from testifying in court).
You have to not care about public opinion... but you also have to care. It's probably one of those things that should be swung either way and eventually allowed to settle somewhere in the middle.
Anyway, wouldn't you just love to gather up all the self-conscious teenagers of the world, hand them a wad of Monopoly money, and send them shopping? Such a powerful lesson.
25 March 2012
Levaya
A few days ago, Rav Scheinberg was niftar.
Rav Scheinberg was an American boy. He grew up playing stickball on the Lower East Side.
Then the legendary Rav Herman sent him off to yeshiva in New Haven, and he became one of the preeminent Torah sages of the generation.
He also became Rav Herman's son-in-law.
Rav Scheinberg
He made a seudas hodaah (thanksgiving meal) on the day that he was able to hear that "his" baseball team had won the World Series without getting excited.
I have never learnt his sefarim -- I know him mostly as an awesome presence in Mattersdorf, where on Friday nights all his neighbors (and seminary girls staying in the neighborhood) troop up to his apartment for a blessing.
("Doesn't it bother him to have to spend his time giving people blessings?" we asked our teacher. "He did the same thing to the Chofetz Chaim," answered Rabbi A.)
When people rattled off the names of the major rabbis in Jerusalem, it was always special to hear the name of Rav Scheinberg -- whom I met, who spoke to us in English.
I heard later that 150,000 people attended the funeral.
Rav Scheinberg was an American boy. He grew up playing stickball on the Lower East Side.
Then the legendary Rav Herman sent him off to yeshiva in New Haven, and he became one of the preeminent Torah sages of the generation.
He also became Rav Herman's son-in-law.
Rav Scheinberg
He made a seudas hodaah (thanksgiving meal) on the day that he was able to hear that "his" baseball team had won the World Series without getting excited.
I have never learnt his sefarim -- I know him mostly as an awesome presence in Mattersdorf, where on Friday nights all his neighbors (and seminary girls staying in the neighborhood) troop up to his apartment for a blessing.
("Doesn't it bother him to have to spend his time giving people blessings?" we asked our teacher. "He did the same thing to the Chofetz Chaim," answered Rabbi A.)
When people rattled off the names of the major rabbis in Jerusalem, it was always special to hear the name of Rav Scheinberg -- whom I met, who spoke to us in English.
I heard later that 150,000 people attended the funeral.
How tragic that he has left us.
Book Review: Last Child in the Woods
When I am in Israel, I imagine America to be a green place full of music, art, and forest.
Then I get there and remember that America is a paved place full of billboards, factoids, and vast shopping malls. I think Jerusalem is actually greener than pretty much any part of America.
Oh, well.
America does have nice public libraries. I checked out a book of which I had heard much: Last Child in the Woods, by Richard Louv.
I expected Last Child in the Woods to read like a New Yorker article, a thought-provoking treatise on why children no longer spend much time knocking about in the wilderness, and how to fix that. It turned out to contain more worry (campers in such-and-such a camp are not permitted to climb trees, can you believe it) and less analysis than I expected. The author does hint to some of the underlying questions -- What defines interacting with nature? what is the philosophical difference between building a treehouse and building a house? -- but instead of identifying and answering such questions, he gets stuck in dilemmas - e.g., he takes it as a given that treehouse-building is good for us; but he worries along with the government that in certain areas treehouses pose a fire hazard.
He also cites many statistics which may demonstrate correlation, but if they do demonstrate causation, he does not explain how. (Does using the Internet make people depressed, as he says? I could hear that. Or do depressed and lonely people turn to the Internet? Or is the culture responsible for Internet also responsible for depression?) I wound up skimming a lot of the book.
I did find fascinating his account of the planning of nature-saturated towns - in Scandinavia, naturally - in which nature is the given and the houses are arranged to fit into it, rather than the other way round. Why are the Swedes so much better at this sort of thing?
Then I get there and remember that America is a paved place full of billboards, factoids, and vast shopping malls. I think Jerusalem is actually greener than pretty much any part of America.
Oh, well.
America does have nice public libraries. I checked out a book of which I had heard much: Last Child in the Woods, by Richard Louv.
I expected Last Child in the Woods to read like a New Yorker article, a thought-provoking treatise on why children no longer spend much time knocking about in the wilderness, and how to fix that. It turned out to contain more worry (campers in such-and-such a camp are not permitted to climb trees, can you believe it) and less analysis than I expected. The author does hint to some of the underlying questions -- What defines interacting with nature? what is the philosophical difference between building a treehouse and building a house? -- but instead of identifying and answering such questions, he gets stuck in dilemmas - e.g., he takes it as a given that treehouse-building is good for us; but he worries along with the government that in certain areas treehouses pose a fire hazard.
He also cites many statistics which may demonstrate correlation, but if they do demonstrate causation, he does not explain how. (Does using the Internet make people depressed, as he says? I could hear that. Or do depressed and lonely people turn to the Internet? Or is the culture responsible for Internet also responsible for depression?) I wound up skimming a lot of the book.
I did find fascinating his account of the planning of nature-saturated towns - in Scandinavia, naturally - in which nature is the given and the houses are arranged to fit into it, rather than the other way round. Why are the Swedes so much better at this sort of thing?
04 March 2012
Culture Shock
Visiting America is like having the top fall off a salt-shaker as you shake it: you can only stare and say, "Wow, that's a lot..."
America is a lot. A lot of foliage, a lot of denim, a lot of noise and art.
Israel is condensed. A wide land, but of condensed character. It has one miniature mountain, one miniature river, one miniature lake, one miniature ocean, one miniature capitol city -- and a high concentration of spiritual energy & holiness. No one I know in Israel ever has spare time, and most do not drive.
So whenever I come to America, where the day unfolds slowly, and much of it is spent in the car getting from here to there beneath the boughs of ornamental plum trees, which are content to grow without producing fruit, and the people I meet jest loosely, and banter loosely, and the houses (containing loose acquaintances) are loosely spaced by loosely growing willows that don't really care about what happens around them -- unlike the keen and insistent landscapes of Israel -- it is disorienting. Why, the rooms of the average apartment or house are so far from each other that it is possible to have different music playing in two of them simultaneously.
Not positive or negative -- just makes for a very different life.
America is a lot. A lot of foliage, a lot of denim, a lot of noise and art.
Israel is condensed. A wide land, but of condensed character. It has one miniature mountain, one miniature river, one miniature lake, one miniature ocean, one miniature capitol city -- and a high concentration of spiritual energy & holiness. No one I know in Israel ever has spare time, and most do not drive.
So whenever I come to America, where the day unfolds slowly, and much of it is spent in the car getting from here to there beneath the boughs of ornamental plum trees, which are content to grow without producing fruit, and the people I meet jest loosely, and banter loosely, and the houses (containing loose acquaintances) are loosely spaced by loosely growing willows that don't really care about what happens around them -- unlike the keen and insistent landscapes of Israel -- it is disorienting. Why, the rooms of the average apartment or house are so far from each other that it is possible to have different music playing in two of them simultaneously.
Not positive or negative -- just makes for a very different life.
28 February 2012
Ramat Beit Shemesh
I spent Shabbos in Ramat Beit Shemesh. I think it's considered a suburb of Jerusalem, though it's a good hour away by bus, through some lovely (and uncommonly diverse) woods.
You know how when you drive down the highway in America and see a mall, you wonder whether anyone actually lives behind it, or if it is just a mall in the middle of nowhere? I discovered a few years ago that there are suburbs behind such malls: block after block of square houses on square green lawns, all of the same vintage. The houses look like children's drawings of houses: triangular roofs, a door between two downstairs windows. Thus far, the American suburb.
Ramat Beit Shemesh does not look like an American suburb: it is row after winding row of short, red-roofed apartment buildings sheathed in limestone. The streets are all named after rivers and it is an apt analogy: they are really like dark rivers flowing through a limestone landscape. There are trees and shrubs - enough to make the place look alive - but no lawns.
Ramat Beit Shemesh is surrounded by green hills (at least at this time of year) with olive trees, shrubs, and the ruins of ancient terraces tumbling down their sides. At least two of these hills are already slated to become Ramat Beit Shemesh C -- before you mourn the development, you have to understand that practically every hill in Israel is covered with shrubs, olive trees, and the ruins of ancient terraces; and remember that the development comes about because the cute little babies in Jerusalem grow up and get married, mazel tov, mazel tov. Taking a walk around RBS on a weekday will bring you to wilderness where you can pick up shards of ancient pottery.
We visited a few young couples and it is surprising to me how seeing that a young lady is in the command of an apartment with high ceilings makes me think of her as more mature than her counterparts back in my neighborhood with low ceilings... until I stop to realize that it is the ceilings conveying this impression. There is something magic about high ceilings. I think my sense of aesthetics froze a hundred years ago, when books were wide & short, and rooms (and their windows) were narrow & tall; since then in popular culture the two have swapped shapes.
What really surprised me in Ramat Beit Shemesh is the quiet: on a Shabbos afternoon in Jerusalem the streets are empty of cars but packed full of children jumping rope and playing tag. In Ramat Beit Shemesh I saw a few tag games, but nothing like Jerusalem. Perhaps I was just out at the wrong time, or perhaps there are not that many seven-year-olds in RBS.
On the whole, Ramat Beit Shemesh reminded me of this insight: One of my teachers was once approached by a gentleman who had spent several years working on an intensive and grand project. Now that the man's project was finished, he was ready to move on to another impressive project -- and none was forthcoming. He felt the lull keenly. "I don't know what to do next," he said. "Life for the past few years has been one thrill after another. Now that I have finally reached my goal, I am bored."
"When life gets boring, make yourself interesting," my teacher told him. You can work on a grand scale, doing astounding things that affect or at least impress the public. And sometimes what is necessary is to become a deeper person -- which is a different kind of thrill.
Ramat Beit Shemesh, unlike a large city, cannot really be said to offer interest of its own: it is new, it is tidy, it is hospitable and welcome; but it is hardly a tourist attraction. I don't think it will last longer than a month as a substitute for living an interesting life. If you live in Ramat Beit Shemesh, you must make yourself interesting.
The people that we visited in Ramat Beit Shemesh have done that: they are all very nice, very thoughtful, very mature (and it's not just the high ceilings).
A nice Shabbos.
You know how when you drive down the highway in America and see a mall, you wonder whether anyone actually lives behind it, or if it is just a mall in the middle of nowhere? I discovered a few years ago that there are suburbs behind such malls: block after block of square houses on square green lawns, all of the same vintage. The houses look like children's drawings of houses: triangular roofs, a door between two downstairs windows. Thus far, the American suburb.
Ramat Beit Shemesh does not look like an American suburb: it is row after winding row of short, red-roofed apartment buildings sheathed in limestone. The streets are all named after rivers and it is an apt analogy: they are really like dark rivers flowing through a limestone landscape. There are trees and shrubs - enough to make the place look alive - but no lawns.
Ramat Beit Shemesh is surrounded by green hills (at least at this time of year) with olive trees, shrubs, and the ruins of ancient terraces tumbling down their sides. At least two of these hills are already slated to become Ramat Beit Shemesh C -- before you mourn the development, you have to understand that practically every hill in Israel is covered with shrubs, olive trees, and the ruins of ancient terraces; and remember that the development comes about because the cute little babies in Jerusalem grow up and get married, mazel tov, mazel tov. Taking a walk around RBS on a weekday will bring you to wilderness where you can pick up shards of ancient pottery.
We visited a few young couples and it is surprising to me how seeing that a young lady is in the command of an apartment with high ceilings makes me think of her as more mature than her counterparts back in my neighborhood with low ceilings... until I stop to realize that it is the ceilings conveying this impression. There is something magic about high ceilings. I think my sense of aesthetics froze a hundred years ago, when books were wide & short, and rooms (and their windows) were narrow & tall; since then in popular culture the two have swapped shapes.
What really surprised me in Ramat Beit Shemesh is the quiet: on a Shabbos afternoon in Jerusalem the streets are empty of cars but packed full of children jumping rope and playing tag. In Ramat Beit Shemesh I saw a few tag games, but nothing like Jerusalem. Perhaps I was just out at the wrong time, or perhaps there are not that many seven-year-olds in RBS.
On the whole, Ramat Beit Shemesh reminded me of this insight: One of my teachers was once approached by a gentleman who had spent several years working on an intensive and grand project. Now that the man's project was finished, he was ready to move on to another impressive project -- and none was forthcoming. He felt the lull keenly. "I don't know what to do next," he said. "Life for the past few years has been one thrill after another. Now that I have finally reached my goal, I am bored."
"When life gets boring, make yourself interesting," my teacher told him. You can work on a grand scale, doing astounding things that affect or at least impress the public. And sometimes what is necessary is to become a deeper person -- which is a different kind of thrill.
Ramat Beit Shemesh, unlike a large city, cannot really be said to offer interest of its own: it is new, it is tidy, it is hospitable and welcome; but it is hardly a tourist attraction. I don't think it will last longer than a month as a substitute for living an interesting life. If you live in Ramat Beit Shemesh, you must make yourself interesting.
The people that we visited in Ramat Beit Shemesh have done that: they are all very nice, very thoughtful, very mature (and it's not just the high ceilings).
A nice Shabbos.
05 February 2012
I, I, I, I, I, I, cont.
Ran into this the other day in one of Emerson's letters:
"...forgive the egotism of all this letter. Say they not 'The more love the more egotism'?"
...which (if it is so - I am not convinced) I suppose is because one of the nicest things you can do for a person is to share your thoughts with him.
If I ever close this blog, I suspect it will be because I will suddenly come to a nasty realization that nothing - not even the opportunity to affect several million people - can justify the display of loving egotism where several million people can see it.
"...forgive the egotism of all this letter. Say they not 'The more love the more egotism'?"
...which (if it is so - I am not convinced) I suppose is because one of the nicest things you can do for a person is to share your thoughts with him.
If I ever close this blog, I suspect it will be because I will suddenly come to a nasty realization that nothing - not even the opportunity to affect several million people - can justify the display of loving egotism where several million people can see it.
24 January 2012
Snowy Owls in Town
Bird Watchers Revel in Unusual Spike in Snowy Owl Sightings
I love this image... thousands of white birds leaving to Arctic to swoop down on America.
I love this image... thousands of white birds leaving to Arctic to swoop down on America.
22 January 2012
Another note on Rav Hirsch
Today, 27 Teves, is Rav Hirsch's yahrtzeit. So I will say a bit more.
I.
A rav here once observed that Rav Hirsch is directly or indirectly responsible for the five defining characteristics of Torah life in America:
1. Formal education for girls
2. The publication of Torah materials in the vernacular
3. The independent kehillah model of community structure (austritt)
4. Outreach to Jews
5. Formal "secular" education (needs a better name -- no part of a Jew's life is really "secular")
II.
On a personal note -- I discovered Rav Hirsch when I was twelve, in the footnotes of the Artscroll Chumash. I had been going through the parsha writing down all my questions ("why did he do that? That's not very nice, that's not consistent with human dignity, that's not remotely PC"), and Rav Hirsch caught my attention because he was always the commentator who addressed them -- and gave the most wonderful answers.
I am no longer twelve, I have lived in a few Jewish communities, and still Rav Hirsch is the one who addresses my questions, and gives the most wonderful answers.
And, better yet, gives them in the poetic style of nineteenth-century German literature -- if you are lucky enough to find the older translation.
III.
Rav Hirsch is still available through the Multnomah County Library system... The Nineteen Letters Yikes! I thought they had the whole Chumash. Well, start there.
I.
A rav here once observed that Rav Hirsch is directly or indirectly responsible for the five defining characteristics of Torah life in America:
1. Formal education for girls
2. The publication of Torah materials in the vernacular
3. The independent kehillah model of community structure (austritt)
4. Outreach to Jews
5. Formal "secular" education (needs a better name -- no part of a Jew's life is really "secular")
II.
On a personal note -- I discovered Rav Hirsch when I was twelve, in the footnotes of the Artscroll Chumash. I had been going through the parsha writing down all my questions ("why did he do that? That's not very nice, that's not consistent with human dignity, that's not remotely PC"), and Rav Hirsch caught my attention because he was always the commentator who addressed them -- and gave the most wonderful answers.
I am no longer twelve, I have lived in a few Jewish communities, and still Rav Hirsch is the one who addresses my questions, and gives the most wonderful answers.
And, better yet, gives them in the poetic style of nineteenth-century German literature -- if you are lucky enough to find the older translation.
III.
Rav Hirsch is still available through the Multnomah County Library system... The Nineteen Letters Yikes! I thought they had the whole Chumash. Well, start there.
Adopted Minnesota Man Learns He Is a Prince - part 2
This Is How You Remind Me of What I Really Am, part II.
The first time I came to shul in Oregon - I was about eight years old - a large sign on the foyer wall read,
In the place where the true penitent stands, even the most righteous cannot stand,
which is a quotation from the Talmud.
Admitting to myself that I was neither a true penitent nor most righteous, I looked at the many seats available in shul and wondered anxiously which were for the true penitents and which for the most righteous, and whether I would get into trouble if I stood in the wrong place.
Which is not what the sign meant.
Let's drop the word penitence right here. It makes me itch -- I must be associating it with hairshirts and other peculiarities of the Christian Middle Ages. No.
The Hebrew concept that that sign extolled is teshuva, "return".
To 'do teshuva' is to return from what I'm doing that I would rather not do, to the person I would rather be. We say every morning that "the soul You have placed in me is pure" -- no matter what I have obscured it with.
Teshuva is the first thing I thought of when I read this:
Adopted Minnesota Man Learns He Is a Prince
You think you are an ordinary human being... and then something reminds you, or you make an effort to remember, that you are nobility.
And strive to live up to it.
The first time I came to shul in Oregon - I was about eight years old - a large sign on the foyer wall read,
In the place where the true penitent stands, even the most righteous cannot stand,
which is a quotation from the Talmud.
Admitting to myself that I was neither a true penitent nor most righteous, I looked at the many seats available in shul and wondered anxiously which were for the true penitents and which for the most righteous, and whether I would get into trouble if I stood in the wrong place.
Which is not what the sign meant.
Let's drop the word penitence right here. It makes me itch -- I must be associating it with hairshirts and other peculiarities of the Christian Middle Ages. No.
The Hebrew concept that that sign extolled is teshuva, "return".
To 'do teshuva' is to return from what I'm doing that I would rather not do, to the person I would rather be. We say every morning that "the soul You have placed in me is pure" -- no matter what I have obscured it with.
Teshuva is the first thing I thought of when I read this:
Adopted Minnesota Man Learns He Is a Prince
You think you are an ordinary human being... and then something reminds you, or you make an effort to remember, that you are nobility.
And strive to live up to it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)