Bibliogestions: Summer 2013

Quick takes:

- I just finished Samuel Heilman's 30-year-old memoir about doing his early sociology fieldwork among Orthodox Jews in Jerusalem. I rather enjoyed this short meditation-- verging on a Misnagdic approach to 71 1/2 Mystics-- on the frustrations of a rationalist modern Jew trying to integrate himself into the world of Talmud study-- to stop observing others long enough to let the process of studying touch and change himself. Heilman passes between various study circles in Mea Shearim, dabbling among the Breslovers for a few chapters, all the while struggling and doubting his own bona fides as an Orthodox Jew if he cannot truly engage in what he sees as the quintessential Jewish act. What I found most refreshing was the relative ease and fluency in which Heilman was able to enter the worlds of the Jerusalem Haredim. I'm not sure whether this was due to Heilman's Hebrew skills, his cultural knowledge, or the differences in social context in the mid-80s versus today, but it was a refreshing and warm portrait of a community that today is more than often painted in shrill caricatures (including, according to some of his critics, by Heilman himself!). And, while the details are obviously different, I saw quite a bit of my own spiritual search in Heilman's, and found some of his insights and experiences quite fascinating. It was also entertaining to note how more culturally fluent I've become in the last 10-plus years.

- It turns out Mitnagdim did more than just stay in their study houses. Arieh Morgenstern uses institutional records among the Yeshivish community in Israel to chart decades of proto-Zionist work an immigration beginning in the early 1800s. While a bit dry, I found Morgenstern's work well worth the effort, as it helps provide valuable context for the early Yeshivish population in Israel (and Europe). Morgenstern shows that beyond Torah study, many Mitnagic leaders and laymen were also involved in messianism, political activism (and infighting), and settling Israel before Herzl and "modern" Zionism came onto the scene. I originally found Morgenstern's book through a few articles about the Hurva synagogue, which is closely tied with the history of Lithuanian Jews in Israel. Even if the book is a bit much for you, I highly recommend the articles.

- On a similar note, I recently finished David Assaf's book on the seamier side of Hasidic history. Like Morgenstern's book, the fact that it took me about 3 years to read the whole thing took a little bit away from its impact, but on the whole I found it quite readable, engaging, and refreshing in terms of looking at Hasidic figures and culture from a scholarly lens, rather than a specific polemical or hagiographic perspective. Assaf got a lot of attention (and a fair amount of criticism) when his book first came out (particularly the Hebrew edition) as being just a series of sensational attacks on Hasidism, but my take on it was that the focus was more on trying to uncover, if not "the truth" behind specific personalities and events, then at least to trace the history of the accounts and stories about them (particularly useful is his contrast of Hasidic sources, maskilic sources, and historical records, when available, to try to get to the bottom of various stories). For instance, what happened to the Seer of Lublin in 1814 when he fell out the window of his house? What caused the fall? Hasidic stories have represented it as a miraculous but aborted attempt to bring the messiah. Contemporary maskilic works suggested he was drunk. There is even a possibility it may have been a suicide attempt. Which one is true? Ultimately, Assaf isn't sure, but it's an interesting journey along the way.

As a family historian who is often most intrigued by the scandalous stories, I recognize and understand the urge and tendency to try to protect the memories of one's ancestors, ideological or biological. Similarly, I think there can be a danger in giving too much validation to the desire to snoop through other people's dirty laundry in the name of "truth" (something today's culture is all too willing to perpetuate). That said, I think that Assaf's work is worthwhile, and of particular value as a corrective to the "Artscrollization" of Jewish history which presents every European Jew before the Holocaust as pious, Orthodox, and uniformly uninterested (to say nothing of untroubled) in modernity. In the hagiographic view, it is as if pre-Holocaust Jews were living outside of time. Learning about the lives of various rebbes as well as their children who actually engaged with (and struggled with) modernism does not diminish my respect for them or their ideas, but rather makes them more approachable, understandable and real. Towards the end of the book, Assaf quotes a fellow historian who notes that from the mid-19th century onward, there was a noted phenomenon among the children of rabbinical dynasties investigating "other paths" (ranging all the way from religious Zionism to socialism to communism). As the other historian puts it, "The sons and daughtes of the zaddikim were the first to sense that their fathers' paths had no future..." One interesting aspect of this, though, is that in essentially all the hasidic dynasties, the oldest son, as the heir, continued the role of rebbe, but oftentimes their younger siblings, not having specifically prescribed roles within the community or succession structure, were more or less "free" to pursue other religious and political directions. Whether this was uniformly true or not, it's a fascinating point that merits further study and offers much food for thought. Readers don't have to agree with everything Assaf writes to find his book useful and interesting, if only as greater context for Jewish history of the period.

- Rodger Kamenetz's second book was good, but not quite as filling as his first. While I value Kamenetz's commitment to Jewish exploration and spiritual meaning and found some of his descriptions of various Jewish mystical teachers interesting, in the end it was challenging for me to relate to many of them. Part of this may be that Stalking Elijah also coincides with Kamenetz becoming more ensconced in the Jewish Renewal movement, so most of the voices in this book come from that orientation, as opposed to Jew in the Lotus, which contained a wider range across the spectrum. It was interesting to get a snapshot of the Renewal movement's biggest personalities in the mid-90s, and some of the points raised, such as the challenge of keeping Judaism relevant as well as authentic to Jews hungry for more practice and meaning than what they find in your run-of-the-mill synagogue, are certainly still relevant.

I respect Kamenetz's willingness to dive into some of the deeper ends of the Judaism pool, such as Kabbalah and meditation (which does have historical precedent in Judaism, check out Aryeh Kaplan if you're not convinced), but for me this book epitomizes some of the gaps between various cross-sections of liberal Judaism: broadly speaking, you have many middle-aged Jews who are either not very connected to "traditional" Jewish practice and go through the motions, or you have the ones who are both dissatisfied and mad about it, and so they are willing to go as far as they need to in order to reconnect themselves to the tradition. (A lot of this, IMO, is also a result of living through, or being influenced by the ripples of, the 1960s and the radical experimentation in many areas of American culture.) That's all well and good, but it doesn't quite work for people that are either young enough that they don't have a soulless 1950s Jewish strawman to rebel against, and/or are of a more intellectual bent as opposed to an emotional one. Honestly, out of all the people Kamenetz spoke with, the voices I found most relevant and useful were Rabbis Jonathan Omer-Man, who specializes in meditation and Kabbalah, and Art Green, a Jewish mysticism scholar and former dean of the Reconstructionist Rabbinical College and the non-denominational Hebrew College. In short, personalities that are open to mysticism, but are still intellectually grounded. The inability or unwillingness to fully let go, to need to ground my faith and practice in the intellect, may be a personal failing, but it's how I approach Judaism, and as a result, while Stalking Elijah had some interesting a-ha moments, I don't think it's going to stay with me as long as Jew in the Lotus.

Bibliogestions: Spring 2013

I've taken a long vacation from politics, which is probably from the best. The governments of America and Israel continue to disappoint, terrible things continue to happen in the world, and every time I turn on talk radio on my drive to work, my urge to punch the dial rises. (Mrs. Yid has banned me from playing anything on the AM dial when she's in the car.)

On the other hand, work and personal study/practice have been going well. I blogged about the latest shul-happenings over at TCFS, but I've also been pleased at having been slowly getting through some meaty Judaica books over the last few months. Here are some highlights:

- Shabbetai Zvi was really, really nuts. But also a pretty interesting figure inasmuch as he was able to convince as much as 1/3 of the world's Jewish population that he was the Messiah. John Freely, a Turkish historian of British extraction, though not Jewish, does a great job delving into the medieval background of the time as well as the place. He also capable dissects Zvi's theology and helps chart his legacy among his various branches of followers. I feel like this was great background to prep me for reading about Jacob Frank.

- Yehuda Amital was a true mensch and a great model for our time. Personally traditional in practice, he understood the primacy of ethical behavior and cooperation with people as well as institutions that he didn't always agree with. Perhaps one of the best examples of a principled moderate within the last 50 years, in so many different spheres and contexts: politics, culture, religion, the Holocaust, and more. Amital doesn't shy away from wrestling with harsh truths and sometimes contradictory values, and frequently comes to some sort of decent, if not always perfect, compromise. He's also quite admirable to me in that he tried to avoid creating a cult of personality around himself and emphasized the need for his students-- and by extension, everyone-- to think independently for themselves.

Amital would be the first to admit he wasn't perfect, and his principled moderation has its limits. If you believe in certain absolute values, be they territorial maximalism a-la Gush Emunim, or full equality for women and GLBT Jews, for example, Amital poses a bit of a conundrum. There were causes that were important to him that he seems to have subjugated in order to not go too far against the status quo. In some ways, it's easy to look back on his actions with nostalgia and say, "If only we could all be more moderate like him." But at the same time, I recognize that there are absolute values worth fighting for, and sometimes they require the willingness to fight the status quo, and not always try to change it from within. However Amital's ability to be honest about conflicting values and at least try to balance them (while still, in principle and practice, trying to be open to other points of view) makes him a very powerful, inspiring, and IMO, modern figure that more Jews could benefit from learning about and from.

- Elie Wiesel continues to inspire my Jewish imagination. Wiesel isn't for everybody, and sometimes his style can be a little off-putting, but I think I have enough right-to-left brain that I'm basically able to admire his poetics (particularly impressive given it's in translation) while also not letting it distract from the ideas. After having a couple of Wiesel books kicking around for a while I finally got around to finishing them and was quite impressed with the force of personality and imagination of the early Hasidic masters.

It may just be my own biases, but I think Wiesel is at his best when describing the "darker" rebbes who lived in poverty or conflict but who still had wonderful human qualities rather than the fancier rebbes like the Rizhiner, who depending on your POV come across as verging on exploitive and pompous (despite Wiesel's attempts to present their opulence as a "facade", such as the claim that the Rizhiner wore golden shoes but no soles on the bottoms). Simcha Bunim of Pryzucha, the Kotzker, the Seer of Lublin and the Holy Jew are the men that speak most to me, because they do not seem to be hiding the pain of life behind the curtain of joy. They know what true pain is and continue in spite of it (or sometimes don't). I find that far more powerful than other personalities who seem like they basically don't have as much to wrestle with.

For this reason I was particularly interested by another Wiesel book which focused specifically on Hasidic masters and melancholy. In examining Pinhas of Koretz, Naftali of Ropshitz, the Seer of Lublin, and Baruch of Medzebozh, Wiesel shows the other side of the great leaders, the darker, pained, and human sides, and how each of them dealt with these issues, with various degrees of success. I was reading this book while coming to terms with my own mental health issues and history (and exploring medication), and found it to be very resonant.

- Finally, I also read-- and greatly enjoyed-- 9 1/2 Mystics, a book I had heard about for a while but only remembered as being "the one with an anecdote about naked Gershom Scholem." I really enjoyed it, it reminded me a bit of Jew in the Lotus but is far more grounded in Jewish contexts. The author, Herbert Wiener, is both an educated and liberal Jew as well as an intellectual and spiritual seeker, and those qualities, combined with his strong perseverance as well as good luck to have been around and writing in the 1940s-80s, results in a fascinating compendium of interviews with some of the greatest mystical minds of the last century: Weiner helped organize lectures for Scholem, studied with Steinsaltz, chatted with Buber, visited the Belzer court, had several audiences with M.M. Schneerson, and challenged Zvi Yehuda Kook on how close or far he had reinterpreted his father's teachings. Most fascinating from an Orthodox sociology POV is Weiner's experience and reportage of various Jewish groups that have since gone through major developments, such as Rav Ashlag before the Kabbalah Centre boom, Chabad when Schneerson was still alive and kicking, Breslov before they became as visible as they now are (and before the Uman pilgrimage became the new Jewish Woodstock), and of course Zvi Yehuda Kook back when he was still a man and not yet a departed saint.

Not only does Weiner's book contain fascinating insights into what Jewish mysticism - or mysticisms-- is and could be, but, much like Arthur Hertzberg's Jew in America, also does a wonderful job of showing the living history of a religion and culture still being formed, reformed, and endlessly debated. Anyone who's interested in the topic or any of the personalities I mentioned will find it a fun read.

Authoritativeness versus Accessibility

(Or, Orthodox vs. Open-Source?)

I've been reading an interesting book about major Orthodox publisher Artscroll, whose publications have become ubiquitous throughout the Jewish world. While Artscroll books (which are mostly in English) are quite widespread among the Modern Orthodox community, the author, Jeremy Stolow, has some very interesting statistics indicating their growing "market share" into non-Orthodox populations as well. He even goes so far as to link new Reform and Conservative publications directly to Artscroll's increasing popularity among their congregants:

ArtScroll books are praised as instructive, meaningful, authentic, and even empowering. Its enthusiasts thus claim that an "ArtScroll revolution" has facilitated an unprecedented degree of access to Jewish knowledge and confidence in ritual performance among English-speaking Jews, forming a readership that extends from the erudite to the culturally illiterate and that transcends the traditional markers of institutional affiliation or local custom. At a further remove, ArtScroll has precipitated a reaction among its competitors that one is tempted to describe as an "ArtScrollification" of the Jewish liturgical field as a whole: most notably, with the recent publication of Eitz Chaim (the new Conservative chumash, designed explicitly to "respond" to ArtScroll 's success), and Mishkan Tefillah (the new Reform siddur, which incorporates many design elements, editorial structure, and instructional material found in ArtScroll). 

At first I thought this was just hyperbole, until he cited quotes from those movements' own rabbis admitting that part of the motivation to put out those publications was to counter Artscroll's popularity.

Movement rabbis acknowledge that a main impetus for commissioning the new commentary, titled “Or Hadash” and set to be released April 15, was the growing phenomenon of Conservative worshipers using the popular Orthodox prayer book put out by ArtScroll/Mesorah Publications. The trend certainly irked many Conservative leaders, who concluded that the increasing popularity of ArtScroll was not a function of its ideological bent, but the desire of many Conservative congregants to have a prayer book that offered them more than a flowery translation of the Hebrew text.

...“I’ve been using ArtScroll for about 12 years,” said Steven Rothman, a third-generation Conservative Jew and a member of the ritual committee at Temple Beth Zion-Beth Israel in Philadelphia. “I wanted something with commentary. But the problem with some of their commentary is that it is coming from a strictly Orthodox point of view. I would like to see commentary from a Conservative point of view.” 

Rothman told the Forward that he is excited about the upcoming release of “Or Hadash.” Along with “Etz Hayim,” he said, the prayer book represented a newfound, and long-needed, willingness on the part of Conservative movement leaders to tend to the intellectual and liturgical needs of their followers. “They are finally answering some of the questions about what it means to be a Conservative Jew,” Rothman said. “I’m very pleased that the Conservative movement is opening itself up intellectually to the lay person. That’s not always the way it was before.” 

...“It’s clear that many congregants have been complaining to us for a long time that they have felt a real lack of ability to grab hold of a lot of the prayers,” said Rabbi Jerome Epstein, executive vice president of United Synagogue, the movement’s congregational arm. “Some have felt that the ArtScroll really provided them with information that they needed. But its approach doesn’t represent what we are or what we stand for.”

This, I think, is a key point that many Artscroll triumphalists often overlook. There is no question that some Jews are attracted to Orthodox texts because they see them as an authoritative voice over Conservative or Reform ones. But my impression is that a large number may also simply be reaching out to sources like Artscroll because they are offering information they want and have had a hard time finding elsewhere-- and not necessarily because they're craving an ideological purity that can only be found in Orthodoxy. In the case of Etz Hayim, the willingness to engage with a lay congregant-- to wade into the issues of commentary and interpretation and to lay out exactly what the Conservative approach or approaches are to the text, not only helps inform people about possible interpretations, but also specifically about what the Conservative movement has to say about it.

Still, at the end of the day I think many liberal Jews, particularly those who, like me, were not born into a specific movement and whose denominational affiliations and identities are more fluid, are less interested in establishing or even explicating specific ideological boundaries than in just getting some good nuts and bolts information, which we can then use to draw our own conclusions.  Personally, my lack of Hebrew skills-- but interest in having access to traditional texts- has meant that I've had to invest a fair amount of effort to find resources that reach my needs. Sometimes Artscroll has filled that niche (I used their Schottenstein Talmud quite often in various Jewish studies classes as a source for midrash), and for that it should be commended and given credit. However my gut is that a lot of liberal Jews who use or have used Artscroll or similar texts (including my Conservative shul's Reconstructionist rabbi) are most interested in what Artscroll can do rather than what it specifically says: Artscroll remains a good, solid resource to help bridge the gap between a desire for information about traditional Jewish theology and practice while still needing explicit instruction. However what that tells me is that the real market is not in polemics or apologetics, but good old information: in a nutshell, it's the open-source mindset.

What is open-source? Generally it refers to the philosophy or approach of having open access to technology, often with the ability to copy, modify or transfer it. The "modification" element is challenging when applied to Judaism (there was a book a few years ago that actually used the term  "open source Judaism," which I find a little problematic by its implications). That said, I think what we're seeing here is definitely connected to the effects that open source has had on popular culture. These days many people, particularly young people, approach information as something that should be open and accessible to anyone that wants to see it-- and this in turn leads to a lowering of hierarchy. Even in non-Orthodox Judaism, the communal values are very much clustered around who has the most information and knowledge. This then leads to a huge gap between those who know a lot and those who don't-- and the ones without a lot of education or knowledge therefore get to a point where either they start to lose interest or opt out, or they find ways of gaining access to the information. That's where open source Jewish texts-- not necessarily "open source Judaism" comes in.

As more movements and independent writers start opening the tradition up and making it accessible to less Jewishly literate Jews, I think ultimately we'll find a larger segment of liberal Jews who, if given the opportunity, are interested in taking Judaism more seriously and grappling with it in a more authentic way-- because they won't be operating from an all or nothing, "Orthodox or secular" binary. Having the ability to access Jewish tradition on your terms, whether it be through the siddur, text study, or other forms, is incredibly empowering as well as challenging. Now that you've read the parsha, what do you think about it? Now that you know what your prayers mean, what do you intend to do with that knowledge? What does a liberal Judaism informed by regular or semi-regular Talmud study look like? When liberal Jews are confronted with the knowledge of what their tradition says, they by necessity are required to start becoming more engaged and more authentic-- not more Orthodox, but more informed. "I don't know" is no longer an excuse.

With the advent of accessible-- but hopefully still authentic-- Jewish texts, we in liberal communities now get to start having some of these conversations. And funnily enough, in a real way a lot of this is thanks to Artscroll- for inspiring or attracting its readers, for irking its competitors, and for inspiring more of us to wrestle with our tradition-- but on our terms and its, not theirs.

Some sad parallels

The Bet Shemesh culture clash that's been occurring off-and-on for the past year has been pretty upsetting to watch and read about. While my usual reaction to such stories is to jump on the Haredi-bashing wagon, at this point, hearing about all the negative interactions between the communities, I'm filled less with disgust and more with pity. It's so tremendously sad that these two groups of Orthodox Jews seem to not have enough common ground to coexist, and it adds to the pessimism many people have about the ultimate direction of Israeli culture as well as Jewish diversity and tolerance.

The Bet Shemesh mess is in particularly sad contrast to the book I just finished, The Jew in the Lotus, which while now rather dated (the events in it took place over a few weeks in 1990, which I never considered "a long time ago" until I did some math), radiates with warmth and love as it describes the various dialogues that occurred (both between Jews and Buddhists as well as between Jews and Jews) during a trip by a Jewish delegation to the Dalai Lama to explain the "secret of surviving Diaspora." The author, Rodger Kamenetz, goes into the visit rather jaded and comes out of it filled with, if not specifically hope for Jewish revival, then at least a great deal of respect and passion for the multiplicities of practice and philosophy within Judaism, represented by the individual participants in the Jewish delegation, who ran the gamut from Yitz and Blu Greenberg to Zalman Schachter-Shalomi. It's tragic to go from reading about different Jews gently disagreeing but still clearly respecting each other to hearing about the latest installment of craziness from Bet Shemesh. Though the school protests seem to have stopped, the war on women (or should I say females, as it includes little girls) seems to be ongoing.

Reading about Bet Shemesh, and especially watching the videos focusing on the Haredi crowds who would congregate near the Orot school, made me think of a similar flashpoint ten years ago in the Ardoyne area of Belfast, where Protestant crowds blockaded a Catholic girls' school and harassed the students trying to get in or come out. This led to a twice-daily running of the gauntlet by the girls and their parents, often with police acting as buffers, just to get them in to school. If you watch some of the videos, the hatred and hostility-- directed towards children-- is pretty disturbing.

That for me is what Bet Shemesh really comes down to. It's one thing to have ideological disputes. It's even ok to have very heated arguments. But when you decide that you have no common ground, no common language, no starting-place for discussion and need to take to the street-- and particularly when, as at Holy Cross, you are targeting, and effectively abusing, young children, there is a serious problem, a problem with leadership, as well as culture.

This isn't to say that there may not be two sides to the Bet Shemesh issue, as there were in Ardoyne. But there need to be some basic lines drawn when it comes to what is legitimate discourse and what isn't. Harassing children most definitely isn't, and I hope, hope, hope, that in ten years' time when Na'ama Margolis is interviewed by Israeli TV, she and her classmates don't show the same signs of PTSD as the Holy Cross girls do.

Bibliogestions: Godwrestling

Godwrestling was a bit of a head-trip for me. Part memoir, part midrash, part quasi-history of 60s and 70s social activism and the havurah movement, it's got a lot packed in there. Arthur Waskow is a good writer whose greatest strength-- and at time, challenge-- is his almost naive enthusiasm and passion in applying religious ideals to the contemporary stage. Sometimes this seems to border on the nutty, like when he gets involved in trying to apply the biblical concept of "Jubilee" to the American economy as a way of promoting economic justice. Still, if the worst thing you can say about a liberal rabbi is that they take Judaism too seriously, that can't be too bad.

While the memoir parts were interesting (and some were definitely more topical and relevant to today than others), for me the real draw was more Waskow's perceptive take on Torah characters and midrash. Waskow has a way of articulating, and meditating on, the real human dilemmas that come up in the biblical text, problems that pose genuine problems for modern Jews who want to take Torah seriously but can't check their brains or consciences at the door of the Beit Midrash. I particularly enjoyed his take on the rebels of Genesis-- not the celebrated rebels, like Jacob, but the scorned ones: Cain, Hagar, Ishmael, Esau. When Waskow writes about these characters, people who really suffer and who we do not have happy endings for, you get a real sense that he takes these stories seriously-- that he is troubled by these accounts and that he is unwilling to either ignore them in favor of prettier ones, or create silly apologetics to justify them.

Within this process, I think, lies the real magic of twentieth and twenty-first century Judaism, particularly of the non-Orthodox variety. Waskow and his havurah companions show a model in which people from a whole range of backgrounds can take Judaism seriously, and ask deep, difficult questions about the tradition-- even becoming angry or confrontational with it-- without throwing up their hands and walking away from the whole glorious mess. (One intriguing section documents Waskow's community, Fabrengen, reacting to the cultural shift, among Jews and non-Jews, towards long-term relationships as opposed to marriages. Rather than bemoan it or excuse it, they proceed to examine various relationship frameworks within halacha and how they may be adapted to the present-day, to formalize, if not sanctify, relationships that were previously unknown in Jewish law.)  Considering the "hippy-dippy", anything-goes reputation that Jewish Renewal sometimes has among other denominations, it was refreshing to read such thoughtful-- and sincere-- engagement with Jewish tradition from some of its major thinkers.

While Waskow's work and ideas are thought-provoking and inspiring, they're also instructive in demonstrating some of the weaknesses of the Jewish counter-culture of the time, and to a degree, Jewish Renewal itself. One gets the sense that in their incredible optimism about changing the world, Waskow and his compatriots let their hearts soar beyond where their heads-- or feet-- could keep up. Most of Waskow's circle, including himself, come across as dreamers, not necessarily doers. (The parts of Waskow's narrative that traipse into weird touchy-feely psychological areas don't help.) Principles are great, but it takes an incredible amount of work and dedication to create something that can perpetuate itself. To a degree, a lot of the havurah crowd come off more as self-centered dabblers trying to find themselves than people who have the discipline to make their convictions work in the real world.

In some ways, I suppose this echoes my larger bias/issue with Jewish Renewal as a movement: it seems very hard to nail down exactly what it is about, as well as what it actually does as part of implementing its program. It all seems to come down to creating good vibes and participating in some ephemeral "mystic"-ness. Even if some of that may feel appealing, at the end of the day I want a Judaism that touches me intellectually as well as emotionally, and my impression, at least, is that Renewal seems to swing too far over on the pendulum.

Despite my criticisms, I found myself happy for people like Waskow and his friends at Fabrengen. While their movement may not be my cup of tea, I admire their passion for Judaism and desire to engage with it in modern, even controversial, contexts. At its best, when it's working, liberal Judaism can, and in some regards, should, have a radical edge-- though I think it's to Renewal's benefit that it has had a few decades to help its founders mature and develop (and to help them better and  their ideas and create some stable institutions to spread their message).

Whatever faults Waskow may have had at the time, it's clear that he was-- and still does-- take his Judaism seriously. Regardless of whether you agree with him 100% ideologically, in a time of great Jewish alienation, people needed men like him-- and still do.

Bibliogestions: Maimon's Autobiography

I just finished reading the autobiography of Solomon Maimon this past week and while it had some interesting bits, I wouldn't say it left me all that satisfied. This may be due to the fact that reading about a philosopher instead of reading his philosophy may already be a potentially flawed exercise, and that I am not particularly interested in philosophy per se. Despite those misgivings, I was eager to read about Maimon's life if only to get a better sense of what 18th century Jewish Europe was like. Unfortunately Maimon kept butting in, and not really for the better.

The most interesting elements in the book were Maimon describing his family and early life. Since Maimon had such a contrarian personality, reading about rural Jewish life through his very modern and rationalistic lens makes for an interesting historical travelogue-- with an informed but distant guide. (The section on Maimon dabbling with secret Kabbalistic societies, as well as him attempting to explain the Hasidim/Mitnagdim disputes for an outside audience, are pretty entertaining) While Maimon is clearly not neutral about his childhood or community (I've seen quotes from this book offered up on antisemitic websites as "proof" about how corrupt or illogical traditional Jewish life was), I do think it's a useful counterpoint to the nostalgic rose-colored glasses that still seem to get applied to traditional Jewish shtetl life in some circles. Reading Maimon reminded me of something Abbot Yid said years ago about reading Barbara Tuchman: "Until I read A Distant Mirror, I had always thought it would be cool to live in the Middle Ages. Once I found out what it was really like, I was glad I hadn't been there!" Reading about all the struggles, sacrifices, and hardship that Maimon and his friends went through just to say, learn German, or study the natural world, makes me incredibly appreciative that I was not born a few hundred years ago in a traditional Jewish community, where, I have no doubt, I either would have been pretty bored or run out of town. (Also fascinating were the snippets demonstrating just how powerless the people-- Jews, peasants, etc, were against the gentry and nobles of the period. These guys could literally act with impunity-- and did.)

The central dilemma of Maimon's life and the book is that he is a person with rather modern opinions and interests but who is not living in a modern time: he does not have either the intellectual or social freedom to do what he would like, and so his whole life is a series of struggles trying to find the best environment to try to live the way he wants to. Once Maimon decides he can't confine his mind to Talmud study and concludes it's against his principles to lie about his beliefs, he basically removes any possibility of him being able to life peacefully in any religious Jewish community.

One thing that came up for me reading about Maimon's childhood was, again, how the traditional Jewish emphasis on education created a sort of double-edged sword. On the one hand, it encouraged intellectual accomplishment and provided an avenue for precocious or intelligent young men to become socially successful and esteemed. On the other, it was basically crossing its fingers that, once having exposed its youngsters to the world of the mind, that they would be content to remain within the confines of what was acceptable to think, study, or explore. Over and over again, throughout Jewish history, we have cases where some of our best and brightest wind up not being contained by "mere" Judaism, and so they leave in search of something more. It was happening back in Talmudic times with Elisha ben Abuyah, it happened with the Yiddish modernists like Sholom Aleichem and H. Levick, and it happened with Maimon, too. For some people, the intellect can be a Pandora's box.

While at some times Maimon is reasonable and clear-headed, he has a tendency to come across as obnoxious, particularly when describing his interpersonal relationships. He can never let anything go, has a terrible time getting along with people, and seems very focused on issues of status and propriety. There are many sections of the book, particularly in the more cultured cities of Western Europe, where he continually gets entangled in various intrigues and feuds among the intellectuals and philosophes. Between his spats with the Jewish community, the intellectuals, and his continuous poverty, it's very easy to feel sorry for Maimon. At the same time, though, it's clear that he is an active agent in mucking up his life (the concept of learning a trade or earning a living never seems to occur to him), and any sympathy quickly dies in light of how he treats his wife and children, whom he essentially abandons in Poland once he decides to undertake the life of a philosopher. If Maimon was living in poverty in Berlin, we can only imagine how difficult things must have been for his wife (an agunah) and kids, whom he does nothing to help support. In the end Maimon comes across as a tragic but also deeply selfish figure.

One thing the book left me contemplating was how lonely Maimon seemed to be (at one point he even comes close to suicide). While people can-- and have, and will-- debate the pros and cons of various movements or sects all day long, it seems that one of their primary purposes, and benefits, is that they offer community to fellow travelers. Reading about Maimon's life in an age before there were heterodox movements in Judaism, before the "cafeteria" was open for business, really helps me appreciate that today the Jewish landscape is much more diverse and varied, and that whatever faults may lie in these modern movements, at least they give people the option to find like-minded friends and support-- something Maimon never really had.

What I've been up to

Apologies for being so AWOL the last couple of months. Here, in no particular order, are some things on my mind:

1- Reg. Peter Beinart: Yes, there is a disconnect between young American Jews (particularly non-Orthos) and Israel. It gets harder to be a Zionist every time Israel does something stupid or overblown or just downright cruel to the Palestinians/Turks/anyone who looks at it cross-eyed.

2- The crazier Israel's conversion/marriage situation gets (Rotem bill, demanding three generations of ketubot, etc), the more number 1 will continue to be true.

3- The Rebbe was a far better-- and fairer-- book than Jonathan Mark gave it credit. Hopefully a more thorough review will be forthcoming.

4- Family tree research continues ever-so-slowly. Recent highlights include getting a copy of my g.g.grandfather's death certificate (and the marriage certificate proving he was a bigamist).

5- Shiksa Girlfriend's latest reading interests have veered towards memoirs of kooky women in kooky religious groups. So far I've given her Mennonite in a Little Black Dress, The Rabbi's Daughter and this terribly-written waste of ink. Any other suggestions from readers? (She's also enjoyed Rashi's Daughters and Tova Mirviss' books in fiction.)

Books I'm Reading:

- Political Assassinations by Jews (Nachman Ben-Yehuda). Great title and very thorough, though slightly plodding.

- Untold Tales of the Hasidim (David Assaf). Alternates between dry and juicy. Sort of like my attempts at cooking steak.

- Poor Cousins (Ande Manners). Nice historical tidbits and decent style, though the constant quotes without sources are driving me crazy.

- 1912: Wilson, Roosevelt, Taft and Debs: The Election that Changed the Country (James Chace). Fascinating background on these four politicians, particularly useful given that the first two seem to be some of Glenn Beck's favorite whipping boys these days.

Books I recently finished (this happens very rarely):

- Napoleon's Privates (Tony Perrott): Funny and informative, though the author seems to assume I attend far more dinner parties than is actually the case.

- Aaronsohn's Maps (Patricia Goldstone): A good introduction. Intrigue like you wouldn't believe.

- Every Spy a Prince (Dan Raviv & Yossi Melman): Particularly timely, given the Mossad Passport brou-ha-ha. Not saying people should be paranoid about Mossad, but damn, these guys really don't screw around. Also useful for developing healthy skepticism of blanket denials from politicians.

That's all for now, time to pack for our trip to SG's homestead.