Christian “Bar Mitzvahs”: The Gift of the Jews?

Nice article in the NY Times magazine today about “Christian Bar Mitzvahs” (Yes, the correct plural would be benei mitzvah).   The writer (who is a Christian) is duly worried about encroachment on Jewish heritage, and she seemed genuinely surprised to find rabbis who take a more tolerant approach to the borrowing.  And there is part of me that wants to go along with the relaxed attitude.  One could point out that if this is life-cycle theft, then they have stolen an improbable one.   In our codes we find laws for circumcisions, weddings, divorces, and burials but there is no set of laws on how to conduct a bar mitzvah.  And what many people think is the special “bar mitzvah ceremony” is something we do every week.  Even the speeches.  There is stuff that we don’t do that shows up in bar mitzvahs, and these things usually have little to do with Judaism.   If non-Jews want to honor each other with the “traditional” puberty candle-lighting ceremony, in no sense whatsoever can they be said to be violating our sacred airspace.

As I said, I want to be relaxed.  But all in all, I can’t help but think that it would be better if people had a strong conception of their own belief systems rather than a diffuse understanding of several.  Christianity and Judaism each make strong claims about the nature of creation and humanity which are less impressive when they are bent into accommodation.  I recognize that syncretism happens and that sometimes it is for the good.  But it is not automatically good and whether it is good or bad depends on the environment.  I think that one of the lessons of the last half century is that religion is less useful when the particulars are boiled away. (Who would you want to have your back in a bar-fight, a Mormon missionary or a trans-denominational theology student?).  In an increasingly secular society, borderless religion is weak religion.

And part of my resistance to syncretism is personal.  Given 15 million Jews and 5 billion of everyone else, there is not going to be much of us after the mix-and-match.  The party that is going to be syncretized out of existence will be us.  Someone might say that this is the case which proves me wrong, if Christians are doing bar mitzvahs than it must be Jews who are beating the drum.  But I think that this apparent strength is illusory.

Even among Jews there is confusion whether bar mitzvah is a status or a procedure, or better, whether one has a bar mitzvah or becomes bar mitzvah.  The traditional understanding is that it is a status – benei mitzah is just another term for an adult which everyone becomes if they live long enough.  We celebrate a child becoming bar mitzvah to mark the increased responsibilities and prerogatives which come to all Jewish adults.  It’s an occasion worthy of celebration, but the occasion itself is peripheral:  one becomes a Jewish adult without the ceremony or the party.  This is not widely known in some Jewish circles, as evident in the popularization of “adult bar mitzvah” classes, where even people who are already bar mitzvah want to have a bar mitzvah. This is a reflection of how we elevate the fleeting occasion over durable status.

The transformation of bar mitzvah into an ecumenical puberty-onset initiation ceremony will only cement this tendency.  The entire attraction to Christians and others of the bar mitzvah is on the procedure end:  Non-Jews are not speaking of becoming bar mitzvah (that would make them Jews), they are speaking of having bar mitzvahs.  A rite of passage is by definition something one only does once, not once a week.  But, as I said above, for us every week is the expectation.  Learning and teaching Torah are things Jews are supposed to be doing all the time.  If we define bar mitzvah as trial by ordeal, as a one-off superhuman effort in the name of building character, we should not be surprised that the status that is supposed to be the cause of celebration is not embraced.  But when done right, the remarkable thing is just how unremarkable it is, being the inevitable result of socialization into a community which loves God and Torah.

So I do have trouble being projecting insouciance about the whole affair.  Maybe it won’t be so bad, maybe it will fizzle out.  Part of me hopes that if “bar mitzvah” ceremonies really catch on among non-Jews, it will lead to some introspection within our community about what is important and what isn’t.  That would be a gift back to the Jews.

Chag Sameach.

 

Matzah and Danger

One of my favorite classes in undergrad was a comparative literature course on the “Whodunit”.  This would seem to be destined to be one of the examples cataloged by skeptics as to why university is waste of time, but it was in fact a wonderful introduction to Borges, Derrida and Eco.  Besides the signs and semiotics, the course challenged us to read everything typologically and to see that the protagonists of the mystery genre are really all the same and rooted in a primordial literary archetype which we called “the problem solver”.  Gregory House does not land far from Holmes, who does not land far from Oedipus.

A defining characteristic of “the problem solver” and what our instructor said in an impossible to mimic French accent was “convergence” – the detective usually has much in common with the perpetrator.  There is an element of criminality in the “problem solver” which prevents him from identifying completely with authority, he is rather always triangulated between the law and the law-breaker.  There is an essential element of danger.

There is this same “convergence” and dynamic of danger in the relationship between matzah and chametz.  The constituents of matzah are deceptively simple consisting of flour and water.  (Though as we shall see among the main challenges to making matzah by hand are determining what flour and what water are eligible.)  The first question is what sort of grain we may use.  The Shulchan Aruch (Orach Chayim 453) lists the types of grain suitable for matzah:

אלו דברים שיוצאים בהם ידי חובת מצה, בחטים ובשעורים ובכסמין ובשבלת שועל ובשפון אבל לא בארז ושאר מיני קטניות, וגם אינם באים לידי חמוץ ומותר לעשות מהם תבשיל

These are things with which one fulfills the obligation of matzah: wheat, barley, spelt, rye, and oats. But not with rice or other kitniyot, these do not become chametz and one may make other dishes with them.

The first thing to note is that although matzah can be made from any of the five grains listed, in practice we only make matzah from wheat.  This is because wheat has a hard shell and is considered to be more resistant to water that may fall on it when we don’t want it to.

The second thing is that those who are used to the Ashkenazi traditions proscribing kitniyot may be taken aback at the Shulchan Aruch’s comfort with the use of rice and legumes during Pesach.  And indeed Shulchan Aruch reflects Sephardi perspectives which (following rabbinic tradition) don’t have some of the strictures which evolved in northern Europe.  But if one assumes that rice is permitted on Pesach, why can’t we use it to make matzah?

The rule is that nothing that can’t become chametz may be used to make matzah.  The ingredients of matzah and chametz are identical – what makes a matzah a matzah is the care taken to bake the mixture of flour and water before it ferments and becomes chametz.  This convergence between matzah and chametz is a requirement – and therefore if our understanding is that rice cannot become chametz no matter how careless we are then it can never grow up to be a matzah.   No danger, no matzah.  (This is one of the reasons that some packages of egg matzah say “not for use on Passover”.  Flour and egg have no chance to become chametz as long as one is very careful to avoid contact with water.)

This aspect of danger is why when you begin talking about making your own matzah for Passover, friends and concerned non-friends start to back away.  This can’t be taken as a wholly unreasonable reaction.  When everything has been kashered and cleaned, a bowl of flour and a cup of water are the ingredients for a bomb.  It isn’t just easier so much as it is quite a bit safer to farm out the making of matzah to experts who can be counted on to defuse a sticky situation.  And while I was given some encouragement when I starting several months ago to prepare ( by studying the laws of matzah and gathering what resources there are on how to make kosher for Passover matzah by hand), mostly people told me not to do it. Their advice was well-intentioned and pretty sensible given some of the obstacles.

But as I studied, the project became less a quest for better tasting matzah (though I still hope that the matzah tastes good) but a mission about what Judaism is about:  We should be able to do difficult, even dangerous things as adults.  Our parents took this for granted.  Torah is the same way.  There are different ideas about who is worthy to study Torah, but I don’t think any school holds that there is any Torah without danger, and that when used inappropriately Torah can do more harm than good.  It is likened to medicine that when taken with care can bring great healing, but when used carelessly is a deadly poison.  The care and discernment we have to bring.  A full life is not without risk, and it is the care that is required to make the matzot – knowing that if we do it wrong we are in trouble – that brings elevation to the bread which is the foundation of the festival.  We should not farm this out.

I’m a bit behind on where I hoped to be blogging-wise, so this not going to be the “how we will make matzah” blog I set out to do but more of a “how we made matzah” blog.  I still have a lot to write, next I hope to cover the preparation of flour for matzah.

Leviticus: These and these are the words of the Living God

Every year when we roll around to Leviticus I’m tempted to read Jacob Milgrom’s magisterial Anchor Bible commentaries but I skeptical that I will ever have time to pull it off.  This year I found a one-volume summary by Milgrom (Leviticus:  A Continental Commentary) and I decided to download it to my Kindle.  I’m only through the introduction and already in sort of stunned amazement at the depth and power of the work.

An example that I would like to share is Milgrom’s assertion (and I haven’t heard anyone else make it as directly) that the theological diversity of the Rabbis flows from the literary form (in the Higher criticism sense [1]) of the Torah itself and particularly from the book of Leviticus.  We generally think of disputes in the Oral Law as arising either from a corruption of an original pristine tradition or being rooted in the exegetical process from which the Oral Torah is formed, but Milgrom posits that the diversity in the Oral law flows directly from the theological diversity of the Written Torah:

The text itself does not make a truth claim among the traditions, nor does it try to reconcile them blithely.  Instead, the text happily transmits the various, oftentimes conflicting traditions, to the reader.  None proclaimed exclusive access to the divine word.  None labeled the other “false” (as the prophets later labeled their rivals).  To explain their divergences, their students might have answered in words similar to those coined by a later generation of rabbis concerning the different schools of Rabbis Hillel and Shammai:  “Both are the words of the living God.”

Leviticus is a striking example as it consists of two major theological strands which divide the book into two corresponding parts.  The first part is the Priestly strand (chapters 1-18) which holds qedusha or “holiness” to be an attribute of the Mishkan, and the second is the Holiness Code (chapters 19-27) [2] which sees holiness as an possession of the entire people.  Milgrom uses Mary Douglas’ work _Leviticus as Literature_ to show that the contrast is not incidental, but rather that the strands are in chiastic correspondence.  The opposing theological perspectives are not happenstance, but are the structure around which Leviticus is built.  It is a monument of sorts to theological pluralism.

Which makes it all the more puzzling that liberal Jews have wished to throw Leviticus overboard.  Implicit in the branding of liberal Judaism as “Prophetic” Judaism is a turning away from the icky Priestly teaching towards the (allegedly) more wholesome and edifying message of the Prophets.  But as Milgrom points out it is the Prophets who marginalize theological dissent by labeling their rivals “false”.  The prophets of the Hebrew Bible were some of the most strident people who ever lived and who were responsible for institutions such as, well, the holy war, which would seemingly make them odd role models for liberal religious expression.  (Not to mention, though I will mention, that elevating the Prophets as moral exemplars over an allegedly corrupt priesthood and degenerate priestly tradition is as clear of an internalization of Christian thought that one could ask for) [3].  If we want to reassure the world of our liberal bone fides, we should proudly wave the flag of Priestly, and not “Prophetic” Judaism.

But it is Leviticus which we end up apologizing for.  Sometimes weakly.  I read a sermon for this past Shabbat which defended Leviticus in the manner that Schechter did and too many do still:  Leviticus is valuable because it contains “Love your neighbor as yourself” in its middle.  A nice thought to be sure, but the weakness in legitimating a Jewish book by pointing out that one of the great Christian commandments is contained within it should be palpable.  Rather we should focus on the powerful religious ideas that are unique to the Priestly Torah.  Gershon Cohen was fond of saying that it was the audacity of the Rabbis that the Torah and Prophets are contained in the same composition.  In only the beginning of what promises to be a great and moving exposition, Jacob Milgrom reminds that the great audacity of the Rabbis was a legacy of the Written Torah in general and its neglected core in particular.

 [1]  Just the usual disclaimer that to learn from Higher criticism is not to necessary agree with its assumptions.

[2]  There are issues of insertions and the question of whether the Holiness Code edited the Priestly strand or vice versa.  See Israel Knohl _The Sanctuary of Silence_.

[3]  Beyond all of this is the fact that rabbinic Judaism seems to take as axiomatic that prophecy is dead.  But pointing that out would be piling on.

Does One Have to Eat Matzah for the Entire Festival?

A congregant asks:  The Waldbaum’s calendar for March states that Matzahs must be eaten at the Seder but are optional for the rest of the holiday. Is this actually true?

Yes and No.

The obligation to eat matzah for the first night (the first two nights in the diaspora) is special and flows from (happily enough) this week’s special parasha –  HaChodesh – in which we read that we are to eat the Pesach sacrifice over matzah and maror.  It is understood that the requirements to eat matzah and maror stand even in our times when we do not have a Pesach sacrifice.  Therefore we eat the matzah at our sederim after reciting two blessings:  “who brings forth bread from the earth” and “who has commanded us to eat matzah”.

The Torah also says in many places that we should eat matzot for seven days (in one significant case it says six days).  The surface meaning of these verses is active, i.e. they are telling us that we are supposed to be eating matzah every day of the festival.  The classic rabbinic approach however is to read these verses passively:  if we want to eat bread or its moral equivalent during the festival it has to be matzah and can’t be chametz, but there is no requirement to eat matzah.  One could simply refrain from eating “bread”.

Among the later authorities, we find both those who hold that there is no requirement to eat matzah past the first (and in the diaspora second) night and those who hold that we are obliged to eat matzah every day of the festival.  All agree (I think) that the blessing “who has commanded us to eat matzah” is only said at the seder.

Besides the halachic concerns there are the sociological issues.  We are accustomed throughout the year to building our meals around bread.  We wash our hands and make a motzi, and thus exempt ourselves from having to say individual blessings on each dish.  Lechem in the Torah is used figuratively to refer to food because it is literally the foundation of the meal – in antiquity it is the container of the food and the utensil.  Even today, it is hard to negotiate the shawarma without the wrap.  It is hard for me imagine having a festival meal or even eating throughout the intermediate days without matzah as the anchor of the meal.

People who avoid matzah after the seder usually do so for one of three reasons.  The first is a concern that our matzah is really chometz:  because making matzah is so difficult we can’t trust that any of our matzah is not really chometz and therefore refraining from matzah is a religious necessity.  I think this is a strange view of Jewish life, to say that the laws and customs that we are given are all a prelude to why we can’t do anything.  Pesach is a season of joy and redemption, not abstinence.  People also avoid matzah for health reasons, and for those people the passive understanding of the requirement to eat matzah throughout the festival can be relied upon to minimize discomfort.

The third and saddest reason that people minimize the eating of matzah is that they hate the matzah we have.  This is sad but completely understandable because we have made our matzah very scary.  We recite in our sederim the custom that Hillel had of making a wrap (korekh means “bending”) with matzah and the Pesach sacrifice while we are eating matzah that would  shatter into brittle crumbs if you even look at it with the intention of bending.  It is tragic that we have arrived at this place, and it is my hope that in learning to make our own matzah we will also learn to make matzah that people want to eat.

Project Matzah

My letter to congregants for March 2013

Dear Friends

It was a few years ago when a congregant asked me why we don’t make our own matzah.  I didn’t have a ready answer to what is an obvious question and I don’t remember what I said.  Maybe I changed the subject.  But the question has haunted me over the last years so I began research into the possibility of making matzah by hand.

There are several resources for demonstration projects that have religious schools make “fake” matzah (i.e. matzah that is not kosher for Pesach) and there are many matzah factories which offer tours, and maybe give a piece or two of matzah as a memento.  But the question that I was asked wasn’t why we don’t make fake matzah and I was no longer interested in a demonstration project – I wanted to make the Real McCoy.  And so I pressed on and studied the laws of hametz, the chemistry of wheat and the various astronomical theories that inform the customs for gathering appropriate water (really!).  Making real matzah is not uncomplicated, but I’ve convinced myself that it is possible.  And along the way, I’ve discovered that our relationship to matzah is in many ways is a surrogate for our relationship to Judaism.

It’s my hope to share this journey with you in two ways.  The first way is that I hope we will have the opportunity to make matzah for the festival together on March 20th and 21st at the shul.  I can’t guarantee that this will work, and we have to reserve the possibility that we will decide that the matzah we end up making will not be suitable.  It will not be easy, but it is in my opinion doable.  We will learn quite a bit in any case.  The second piece of this is an invitation to join me in the learning and preparing for the making of matzah.  I will share a bit of this in my talks on Shabbat, but most of it I hope to put online in blog form at the address:

http://www.dordeah.org/category/matzah/

Please check in and join us on our journey to making our own matzah.  Wishing everyone a sweet and kosher Pesach!

B’Shalom

Rabbi Bill Siemers