Renegade Rebbetzin

She lives

2008-04-22T18:03:00.005-04:00

Hello. Here I am. Where have I been? Nowhere, really. I mean, nowhere else but here. So why haven't I checked in? Why haven't I let everyone know that I'm not dead and everything's fine, but that I just absolutely could not tear myself away from the various aspects of Real Life that beckoned? Well, see, I would have let everyone know this, but I absolutely could not tear myself away from the various aspects of Real Life that beckoned. Updating everyone would have required (a) time (b) presence of mind and (c) proximity to Internet access. Often I'd have one or two, but not all three at once. So, no soup for you.

However, at the present moment there are (shudder) people in my house, and I have decided to hide from them, and I found myself hiding in the room where my computer is, feeling bored and antsy and overtired from Pesach stuff. So I sat down and stared at my computer, and suddenly it hit me: "Hey!! I can, like, post right now! There's actually nothing stopping me!!" So, first ensuring that I remembered my RenReb login and password (I did), and then ensuring that indeed, nothing was, at that moment, stopping me (it wasn't), I dusted off my blogger.com keys, logged on in, and here I am, having stolen a few moments before Real Life beckons again.

So. People keep asking if RenReb is officially retired. Nah, I reply. Not really. At least, not permanently. You know why? Because. Because nothing is permanent, that's why, except perhaps the earth, but maybe not even that. And who knows what the future will bring? At the moment I don't know if life will ever allow me to re-enter the blogosphere in any meaningful capacity, but if there's one thing old age has taught me, it's never to say never, and never to even say ever. You don't burn bridges and you don't close doors, because you may, one day, come to regret it. So, I leave the RenReb.com door open (or rather, my COS leaves the RenReb.com door open, because I asked nicely), lest I should ever be able to walk through it again. And mind you, my non-retirement hasn't come about because I have nothing more to say. Au contraire. I'm sure there are those who wish I were all out of things to say, but I don't know if that's physically possible. Life and the world and the state of all things continue to bear down and cause me to piece together all sorts of frantic and hysterical capital letters that simply ache to burst out and make themselves heard, but it just isn't happening, at least not right now. And baruch Hashem, it's all good. I don't want anybody to worry and I don't want anybody to fret. Everything is fine, maybe even better than fine. Just busy, and distracting. But nobody's been hurt and there's no crisis brewing, and you people are the greatest for caring and for thinking about me.

Anyhoo, here's a couple of things, in case anybody wants to know:

My family did not come for Pesach this year. Ah well. But at least I'm sort of used to it by now. And this year I went out on a major limb and actually delegated a bunch of the cooking to various Others, and some of what they came up with actually didn't suck. So we'll see if this becomes a yearly occurence or not.
I don't know how far or wide the news traveled of a horrible tragedy that hit the rabbinic, Jewish, and general worlds the Shabbos before Pesach, but allow me to say this: Oh. My. God. I mean, really. The rabbinic community is still reeling from this, and probably will be for some time. Think about it. A house fire? On a Friday night? On Shabbos Hagadol? What does it all mean?? Because we sort of feel like it has to mean something. In any case, it's just awful beyond words, and we pray for the family and wish them strength in their recovery.
Phil told me a few months ago that, while I may not fully realize it, I must know that I am -- quote -- "an appendage of [my] husband." Yes, that's right. Phil actually used those words. And what's more, Phil didn't seem to have any sense or awareness that this might be, like, an insulting or demeaning thing to say. Heeheehee. This sort of cracked me up, all the more so because I used that very word myself once upon a time, here. But I'm fairly certain Phil did not know that, which makes the whole thing even funnier.

Oh, look at that. Real Life just beckoned again, in fact just walked through the door, apparently of the opinion that there are things I'm supposed to be doing. Ok then.

So, like I said. This is not goodbye. It's never goodbye. It is, however, my fondest wishes and best regards, offered in the sincere hope that I'll find my way back soon. Thank you again for your inquiries and concerns, and my best wishes for a fulfilling an enjoyable and nearly weightless Passover.

Until next time, all.

My goat has been gotten

2007-10-14T15:00:00.000-04:00

As you may or may not have noticed, my general approach to the world tends at most times to be to attempt to ignore most stuff about most stuff. This usually works pretty well for me, and I'm fairly certain my blood pressure is a lot better than most people's as a result. To my regret, however, there are times at which too many people happen to be discussing something in too many contexts for me to remain unaware of it. Global warming, for example. Genocides taking place in various areas of the world, for another example. Ahmacockyjad, for another example. And now, this.

I think I'm going to scream, and for a very simple reason. The letter is very good, very accurate, and very timely (unfortunately). However, the author of this letter, by addressing the letter "to the teachers and principals of the Modern Orthodox school system", has, in my perception, apparently bought into the problem labeled "Thing #3" in this post.

I am willing to bet that in the vast majority of cases, the kids on the program described in the letter come from homes that are not carefully structured around a core of Torah and mitzvot. I don't mean that they don't make kiddush on Shabbos or that the Pesach hotels they go to aren't kosher. I mean, that there is most likely not a constant, active, vibrant sense of religious focus and identity in their homes. I mean that the parents likely don't display, either in words or in deeds, the sort of reverence for halacha that is likely to instill a similar reverence in their children. Etc.

Pay attention, people. Parents are the most important things in the world. IN THE WORLD. Home life is everything. Everything. And yes, I know there are plenty of exceptions; yes, I know that kids from the most actively spiritual homes ever can still chuck it all once they're out; and yes, I know that kids from the least spiritual homes ever can still become the most committed and serious Jews in the world. But those are the exceptions, my friends. The exceptions.

A yeshiva/day school education is a supplement to the formation of a child's Jewish identity and commitment. A very, very important and critical supplement, but a supplement. If we want our youth to grow up respecting and following halacha and feeling a serious sense of Orthodox Jewish identity and pride, we must focus on our home lives first. Because I promise you. In the vast majority of cases, texts and history and all the hashkafah classes in the world will be meaningless if their messages and importance are not enforced, and reinforced, and modeled - constantly, seriously, and actively - in the child's home.

Humph. This sort of thing really gets my goat.

So, teachers and principals in the modern Orthodox school system - yes, do all the stuff the author of the letter describes. It all sounds good to me. But you are not the problem, or at least, not the whole problem. So please. Do not blame yourselves, and don't let anyone else blame you, if your absolute best efforts don't end up being the magic bullet people think they should be. Because there is no magic bullet, and you can't be expected to make a cup overflow when its bottom is covered with holes.

Things on my mind during Yom Kippur

2007-09-23T10:53:00.000-04:00

So, North Korea is sending nuclear stuff to Syria. Swell.

So, Ahmecockyjad is still - well - still. Swell.

So, I missed my husband's sermon again. Swell.

So, here I am, fasting. WHICH I HATE. Swell.

So, we're about to have TWO MORE three-day Yom Tovs. TOTALLY EARTH-SHATTERINGLY SWELL.

So in response, my mind conjured up some "at leasts."

At least Israel found out, and took care of it. This time.

At least - um - well, he's mortal, isn't he? So he won't last forever, will he?

At least everyone's talking about how good it was.

At least I have this opportunity to do tshuva and reflect on God.

At least I live in a time and place wherein we can embrace our holidays openly, freely, and without fear. Oh, and at least I have a shtickle family coming.

The "at leasts" helped, a little bit. But I'm still so depressed about the state of the world. I don't know how long we can keep up this struggle against enemies who are far more numerous, more determined, and more filled with hate than we are filled with anything that could possibly combat hate. I know I davened hard for Hashem to protect us, to guide our leaders, and above all, to heal the world. But I don't know how much good it will do.

Sorry to be such a ray of sunshine, folks. Talk to me when it's all over in a few weeks and I might be a little more pleasant.

Off to defrost a few chickens and help put up the sukkah. Don't wait up.

ברוך דיין האמת

2007-09-19T19:33:00.000-04:00

I interrupt this Yom Kippur preparation to bring heartbreaking news. See this, and please post your condolences and support. I have long been a fan of Shifra's, and I can't imagine the pain she must be in. So go do what you can, readers, and spread the love. May we be זוכה to hear and to have only good news in the coming year.

Hope it was a good one

2007-09-15T22:51:00.000-04:00

Good evening. First of all, I'm going to throw up. Click here.

Ok, all together now:

HOOOOOOOGGGHHHHAAAAHHH

Ok then.

So last year, right before Rosh Hashanah, I posted this. I should have posted something similar on Wednesday - in fact I meant to - but heheh, no time for such things when there are apples to peel and honey dishes to fill and linens to change and a husband to not disturb so he can finish composing his sermons. Which I missed. Again. On both days. Gosh darn it. I hear they were pretty good and stuff, but why should I believe it? Like anyone's going to tell me if they were bad?

Actually, come to think of it, some of our congregants probably would tell me if they were bad. Also come to think of it, my husband is a genius and the best speaker ever, so there's actually no way they were bad. Ok then.

So before I get to the topic I promised you (modern Othodoxy's abject terror of the Evil Right Wing), I thought I'd provide some fun little anecdotes regarding the word "rebbetzin." Been collecting these for a while, so here they are.

Anecdote #1
So I was talking to someone who happens to know I'm the RenReb, and this person was talking about my blog personality, and for some reason that I have yet to figure out, this person kept referring to my blog personality as "the Rebbetzin Rebbetzin," instead of, you know, "the Renegade Rebbetzin." This makes me wonder: Was this some sort of masked Freudian-type message? And if so, what was the message?

Anecdote #2
So I was visiting a shul wherein the wife of the rabbi is a generation and a half older than I, and as such she has been married to a pulpit rabbi for a few decades longer. Now, I happen to greatly admire this woman. She isn't quite like the dinner rebbetzin (not in the mood to hunt down links, do a search on my blog for "dinner rebbetzin" and you'll find out who she is), but she's definitely wise and inspiring and a lovely person to be around, and certainly I aspire to be at least a little bit more like her than I currently am.

So I was visiting her shul, and I happened to be standing near her, and a dude from her shul came over to us and said "Rebbetzin?" Immediately, we both turned our heads. Then the following exchange took place:

Me: Oh, look at that. I hear "rebbetzin," and I assume people are talking to me.

Elder rebbetzin (in an undertone, eyebrows raised): Careful - it's a disease!

[pause]

Well. Certainly not what I was expecting her to say. Which makes me wonder: Has this rebbetzin ever been accused of being RenReb?

Anecdote #3 (WARNING: this anecdote involves me being naked)
So I got myself a new doctor, by which I mean a new internist, and I went to my first appointment. So as instructed, I removed my clothing and put on one of the crisp paper gowns, and the nurse or whomever came in and took my weight and my height and asked me some random stuff, and then I hung out for a bit, and then the doc arrived and started asking me a bunch of questions of his own, and I answered them all whilst continuing to sit nakedly under my gown.

So he finished with the history and he had his back to me and was putting away the chart and getting ready for whatever was to come next, and while doing so he made small talk, as follows:

Doc: So you live right around here, right?

RenReb: Yes, for ## years now.

Doc: Oh, where before that?

RenReb: [CENSORED]

Doc: So what brought you to this area?

RenReb: My husband got a job here.

Doc: What sort of work does he do?

RenReb (sighing internally, bracing myself for whatever reaction is to follow): He's a rabbi, over at [CENSORED].

Doc (turns around; mouth drops open briefly; then, a huge smile forms): Really! Wow, no kidding! A rebbetzin, right here in front of me!

(Incidentally, his sudden and unexpected use of the word "rebbetzin" answered one thing I was wondering, which was whether or not he's Jewish, since he does have a Jewish last name)

So here's a word to the wise, folks. There's a time and a place for everything. If, for whatever reason, you feel an urge to use the word "rebbetzin" when addressing a person who is married to a rabbi - well, that's fine and all; however, if the rebbetzin you are addressing happens, for whatever reason, to be buck naked at the time - even under a paper robe - well, perhaps that isn't the best moment to use the word. I don't know, it just sort of removed the whole feeling of "it's-fine-that-this-man-is-going-to-see-me-naked-because-he's-a-doctor-and-this-is-a-medical-situation". Know what I mean?

Anecdote #4
So I saw a thing recently that advertised some sort of upcoming event wherein there were going to be a lot of speakers. Each speaker's name was listed, along with their profession. You know, like this (NOTE: I am making these up):

Joe Goldstein
Principal, Jewish Academy of America

Rachel Cohen
Educator and Lecturer, Jewish Hills, Montana

Herschel Krustofski
Clown, The Simpsons

And so forth. So one of them said the following (this name is ALSO made up):

Rebbetzin Sophie Friedberg
Rebbetzin, Congregation Jewish Souls of Jewville, Kentucky

Ah. So apparently, "rebbetzin" is Mrs. Friedberg's job title, or at least, it was all the conference organizers felt the prospective attendees needed to be told about her in order to be attracted (or not) to hearing her speak.

So this made me wonder, as I observed my reaction, which was a combination of huffiness and wistfulness: Does seeing the word "rebbetzin" used in this manner make me think to myself "My, I sure do wish people would stop making assumptions about people just because they're married to rabbis"? Or, does it make me think to myself "Nobody would ever use 'rebbetzin' as my job description, and that's because I'm not worthy of it"?

Or, does it make me think both of those things?

Hmm. Curiouser and curiouser.

Ok, that's all for now. Please use the rest of this week wisely, and have an easy couple of fasts (hey, have I ever mentioned that I HATE FASTING?), and if I don't check in before Friday, have a גמר חתימה טובה.

Ye of little faith, plus the Jewish education bee in RenReb's bonnet

2007-08-26T16:36:00.000-04:00

"Left the building?" I HAVE NOT. If the time ever comes in which I decide to leave the blogosphere forever and for real, as opposed to just for a few months at a time, I will certainly say so in no uncertain terms. Ok? Really, people. Where has your faith gone??

Hey, isn't "ye of little faith" a quote from the Christian Bible? Oops.

So, on the topic of things I can't ever say out loud, I have some bees in my bonnet (surprise). Want to hear what they are?

Bee #1: Idiots and Jewish education.

I am so. Sick. And. Tired. Of the following things (and of many others):

Thing #1: People who piss and moan endlessly about the cost of yeshiva tuition, and yet expect the school(s) in question to provide their children with the sun, the moon, and most of the planets.

Attention parents: Computers are not free. Internet access is not free. State-of-the-art sports facilities are not free. Utilities and building maintenance are very, very far from free. And the staff of your school does not work for free.

Point being: If you want the sun, the moon, and the planets, you have to be willing to pay for them. And planets are expensive.

Thing #2: People who piss and moan endlessly about the cost of yeshiva tuition, and yet complain about the quality of the teachers hired. A bit of wisdom, folks: If you pay peanuts, you get monkeys.
Thing #3: Parents who take no active interest whatsoever in nurturing their children's Jewish identity; no active interest whatsoever in the Jewish content of the children's education; provide zero spiritual sustenance in their homes; set horrible examples as halakhic role models; and then blame the child's school and the child's shul and everyone in the child's life except themselves when the child tosses Orthodox Judaism out the window. I'm sorry, but what did they think was going to happen? If you want to grow something, you have to plant it, tend it, and care for it, actively, constantly, and with dedication and determination, every day of every week of every year. You cannot just stick a seed outside and expect the wind and the rain to perform your particular brand of magic for you. Schools and shuls and friends are absolutely critical, but nothing is more important than parents. Nothing. Your child's Jewish identity and commitment are YOUR responsibility before anyone else's. Put in the effort, and pay active and proper attention, or don't complain about the results.

[Gratuitous and slightly related (but mostly just fun):

But now, my dears, we think you might
Be wondering—is it really right
That every single bit of blame
And all the scolding and the shame
Should fall upon Veruca Salt?
Is she the only one at fault?
For though she's spoiled, and dreadfully so,
A girl can't spoil herself, you know.
-Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
(the book) (duh)

And of course, this:

Who do you blame when your kid is a brat,
Pampered and spoiled like a Siamese cat?
Blaming the kids is a lie and a shame.
You know exactly who's to blame:
The mother and the father.
-Willlie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory
(you know, the real movie, with Gene Wilder)]

Incidentally, I am well aware that there are no guarantees in life. I have absolutely seen children of the most religiously active, hands-on, involved parents in the world nevertheless leave the Orthodox Jewish path. Of course there are no foolproof formulas (formulae?) for ensuring that your children will grow into the sort of adults you envision. I'm just saying, I am sick and tired of parents doing next to nothing to actively, and powerfully, contribute to their children's Jewish identities, but instead expect the Establishment to do the job for them. It just doesn't work that way, people. And if it does, it's because you got lucky. But if it doesn't, you can't pin the blame on everybody in the world except yourselves.

Thing #4: Parents who piss and moan about the cost of yeshiva tuition, AND have the audacity to ask for scholarships, while they routinely pour more money than the cost of educating their children into things like Pesach hotels and obscenely extravagant bar and bat mitzvah celebrations. These cases are so commonplace it's simply astounding. I really can't wrap my mind around what these parents are thinking. It quite simply defies all logic.

Parents: Nobody is getting rich off your tuition dollars. Trust me (unless your school is being run by corrupt fools, which, regrettably, some are). Stop being freaking crybabies and accept that everything costs money; good things cost more money; and excellent things cost the most money.

In addition to that, there is no such thing as perfection. The world is imperfect. People are imperfect. Therefore the institutions that people establish and run are also imperfect. That's the way it is. I promise you that no matter how much your school charges in tuition, they are still going to occasionally, or perhaps more than occasionally, screw up. Running yourself ragged and forfeiting life's pleasures to pay these gigantic tuition sums sucks, but it does not entitle you to expect perfection from your child's school. There is no such thing as perfection. End of story.

Incidentally: the tuition problem is horrendous. Horrendous. You won't hear me saying it isn't. But much of the pissing and moaning that takes place is quite simply offensive and out of line. People need to realign their priorities and establish some perspective, and think of something to do besides complain. Not everybody's priorities are messed up, of course. But a heck of a lot of people's are.

By the way, I think I'll take this opportunity to toss out a plea. If there are any very wealthy people out there reading this post (hey, you never know), please consider ~~giving all of your money to me~~ establishing some sort of scholarship fund or teachers' salaries fund or something similar at a yeshiva in your area. Yes, I know, you've probably thought about this before, but think about it again. I know it isn't as straightforward as it sounds, but please do it anyway. And if the yeshiva in your area happens to be run by corrupt fools, then find another yeshiva that isn't (yes, there are some), and do it for that yeshiva. Or better yet, use your influence (if you have any) to try to get rid of the corrupt fools and fix up your local yeshiva. We need the super-duper wealthy people out there (and I'm told that there are a few in the Orthodox Jewish world) to help the tuition crisis. Not the lack-of-tennis-court crisis, or the lack-of-astronomy-lab crisis, but the tuition crisis. This is a problem that only money can truly solve, and I'm begging the people with money to put their heads together and work on creative solutions.

Begging.

Ok then. I think that exhausts the Jewish education portion of the bees in my bonnet. I can hear some of the buzzing subsiding already. So, let's review the lessons we've learned today at RenReb.com:

Stuff costs money
You get what you pay for
Priorities, people, priorities
Solidly committed Jews aren't spontaneously generated, and are unlikely to be molded completely by outside forces
No amount of money can buy perfection, because perfection does not exist
If you have lots of money, please a) pay your kids' tuition, and b) think about how you might help the crisis at large. This is everyone's problem, people. Everyone's. This problem even belongs to people who don't have kids or whose kids have finished school. Every last member of the Jewish nation needs vibrant and successful schools that are staffed by talented professionals. So please. For God's sake (literally), help make it so.

This brings me to the second bee in my bonnet. That bee being: Modern Orthodoxy's abject terror of the Evil Right Wing. In deference to a friend who shall remain nameless, I shall not create a monstrously long post by writing on that topic now, but instead I shall wait a bit. Stay tuned to RenReb.com for further details.

Oh yeah, and it's Elul, or so I've heard. So don't forget to like, do tshuva and stuff.

Three links to three things

2007-07-11T22:04:00.001-04:00

Ugh, ugh, and more ugh. Bad, bad stuff about the bad, bad world, courtesy of my best friend Orthomom.

Yes, I know there's actual bad stuff happening around the world that may make low-rise underwear for toddlers seem like sort of small potatoes, but still. This culture makes me sick. Sick sick sick sick SICK. We must fight it, boys and girls. We must join forces and fight.

Also - no fair. I totally wanted to win the Webads clock. I even have the funky Webads thingie on my sidebar now, see? I DESERVED that clock. *pout* Better luck next time.

On the happier front, look at all of this stuff. Here are my multitudinous reactions:

WAAAAAAAAAAAAH no fair I want to move to Israel too WAAAAAAAAAH
*tears of joy and inspiration*
You know, I've never had the desire to kiss the pavement at Ben Gurion airport. Never. Not even once. Get me outside though, and whoa-mama. There's no keeping my lips from the ground. And especially from the orange trees, though luckily I haven't been arrested for that yet.
WAAAAAAAAH no fair I want to move to Israel too WAAAAAAAAH

(uh-oh, I'm whining again - recently there's been some accusations on the J-blogosphere that I tend to whine - oops)

Um - ok. [insert big goofy grin]

Better?

Jewish music, or not

2007-07-09T20:41:00.000-04:00

Look what I just found:

http://www.jewishbroadcast.com/index.php

How cool is that? You can sit at your computer listening to Jewish music while you work, or while you pretend to work, or while you blog, or while you surf for pictures of naked people (don't surf for pictures of naked people, please), or while you surf through ebay trying to find a replacement part for your 1973 refrigerator, or while you gaze at random clothing websites and wonder if you will ever adjust to the sudden widespread consumer availability of long (LONG!) skirts.

[My prediction: no, you will probably not adjust, or at least, you will not adjust until such time as aforementioned long skirts are no longer fashionable and go back to being impossible to find, the result of which will be that you are forced to either wear your skirts with the waistband around your thighs (not a problem if tunic-length tops are still in style), or do what you've always really wanted to do anyway, which of course is revert to toga-style desert-wear, after the style of our foremothers, which, in my opinion, is probably what God really intended.]

Of course, if you happen to detest Jewish music (for shame!), you can scream in terror at the thought of doing any of the above, and you can instead program your browser to self-destruct before being directed to that link. However, if you, like me, happen to find at least some Jewish music uplifting and/or inspiring and/or moving and/or plain old pleasant to listen to, go ahead and click. It's nice and free and everything. Though you will have to endure occasional commercials for the site where they SELL the Jewish music, but hey. That's business.

By the way - if I happen to be the last person in the world to find out about this, and everyone else has already known and had it bookmarked for the last 600 years, do me a favor and don't tell me. Ok? I like to feel that I'm improving lives all over the world by providing people with new and exciting and useful information. So humor me, please. Go with it. You never heard of this before, and you never would have without ME. The RenReb is soooo cutting-edge (mod, too).

[Hey - "The Cutting Edge." Anyone ever see that sappy early 90's movie? Don't bother. It stank. Though I didn't know that the first time I saw it. I had to rent it as an (older) adult when I was feeling nostalgic, and THEN discover that it stank, and wonder if it stank the first time I saw it too, but I was too ~~stupid~~ young and innocent to realize it.]

Ok - so go on now, everyone, ask your question. I know you're dying to. Don't be shy.

Ok, I'll ask it for you.

"Hey, RenReb - it's the Three Weeks! What are you thinking?? Just because YOU might sit in your car during Sefirah listening to TWO music stations at the same time doesn't mean you should be offering your reading audience new ways to listen to music during the THREE WEEKS!"

You raise a good point. So, please bear in mind as you read this post that the RenReb does not condone the non-adherence to religious customs. Especially those religious customs that are quite so widespread, entrenched, and historically significant. And especially those religious customs that might - might - possibly be effective in reminding us that we are not supposed to be living this way; that we have lost something vital and critical to who we are; and that our lives and our souls are not complete, and will never be complete so long as we continue on this path.

So - if you do not listen to music during the Three Weeks, then please don't click on that link until such time as the Three Weeks are over, and we can all start planning for the Fun That Is Elul And Tishrei. Personally, I'm still hoping that this year, when the Three Weeks are over, we'll all be back in Jerusalem, listening to a whole other breed of music. You know, the way God intended.

Ok. I'm off. They're playing Beatachon, and it's one of the songs I really like.

Happy 4th

2007-07-04T18:02:00.000-04:00

You know what I think? I think the US Declaration of Independence is one of the greatest documents ever written, like, EVER. That's what I think. So, everyone, join me in this cheer:

King George III is a loser!! Down with monarchy!! Down with colonization!! Down with abuses!! Go Declaration!! Go founding fathers!! Go liberty!! Go life!! Go pursuit of happiness!! Go USA!!!

People who don't appreciate the United States tick me off. People who cheat the government tick me off. People who lie to get out of jury duty tick me off. People who evade their taxes tick me off. Welfare crooks tick me off. People who pretend they're poor when they're not so they can get money and benefits they don't deserve tick me off.

Hey, people who do all that stuff - pay attention:

This country is a miracle and a blessing, and it deserves our gratitude, our love, and our support. And if you lie and steal from it instead, you are a cockyhead as well as a crook. No kugel for you.

And now, one more time:

Give me a U!! Give me an S!! Give me an A!! What have we got??

USA!!

Ok then.

So in other news, my best friend RWAC put up a post a few weeks ago that I'm ashamed not to have seen, like, that day (I don't read blogs, see). It's about.... [drumroll]... being a rebbetzin. Click here.

And not only that, but apparently RWAC uses these Blogger labels, which I don't (who needs to learn new skills at this stage in life?), and he has a whole label category called "rebbetzins", and apparently he's written a few posts about being a rebbetzin, and you can read them all by clicking here. Although be forewarned: Mrs. RWAC apparently cleans for Pesach, like, really, really early. So if you don't like people who clean early for Pesach, stay away from that post.

So here are a few things RWAC says about being a rebbetzin. We'll see if any of these apply to me.

"To be a Rebbetzin you have to be absolutely, positively, deranged." [Survey says: DING DING DING]
"You must have a generosity gland that runs in twenty-four hour overdrive." [Survey says: NOT]
"You must have the patience of not just one saint, but several thousand of them." [Survey says: HAHAHAHAHA] [yeah, right!]
"And you must lack any sense of self-preservation." [Survey says: Sense of... what??]

Ok then. Two out of four ain't bad. Or, two out of four ARE bad, and those just happen to be the ones that apply to me. Well.

In other news, here's what as far as I know is the latest on the silly little lawsuit that's been filed against my best friend Orthomom. I don't understand 90% of it, but I'm pretty sure she hasn't been chucked into prison yet. If there's been an update since then, feel free to point it out.

So you know what the best part about being a rebbetzin is (the best part I can think of right now, I mean)? The best part is these really, really, really, really, reeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllly loooooooooooooooooooooooong Shabboses, wherein the day just draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaags, and you are boooooooooooooooooooooooooooored and craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanky and you have nothing to dooooooooooooooooooooooo and your husband is busy because, well, in direct violation of one of the most central commandments of God's Holy Word, Shabbos is your husband's major busy workday (ironic, no?). Feh. Not my favorite time of year.

So the shul dinner was within the last few weeks, and for a change, I got, well, not drunk, exactly, but shall we say, slightly buzzed. Heheh. I knew I'd never make it through otherwise, see, because the chosen honorees have a tendency to speak for approximately six hours apiece when given the opportunity. And I. Cannot. Stand. Long. Speeches. So I got buzzed and proceeded to, well, act buzzed. Spiritual Philette was not impressed, and in fact since then, her husband has been treating me with cold-shouldered contempt. Or at least in my perception, he is. Perhaps I'm treating myself with cold-shouldered contempt and projecting it onto him? Hmm.

So the funny thing was, when I told a friend of mine that I got drunk at the shul dinner, the friend replied "So? I get drunk at my shul dinner every year." So I waited for a moment to see if the friend would, you know, intuit why their case and mine are not necessarily comparable, and when no such intuition came, I said "Um - you're not the rebbetzin." At which point my friend doubled over laughing. Yes. That's better. Thank you very much.

Oh, so here's another late bit of news, like from (heehee) April 4. [duck in embarassment]

On April 4th, see, my best friend Margalit, on one of her many blogs, nominated ME - me!! - for a - wait for it - Thinking Blogger Award. Click here to read the post. Now mind you, I was supposed to put this badge in my sidebar and nominate five others, but (here's a shock) I never did. I also never told anyone to vote for me for the three (three :) ) JIBs I was nominated for, and I never put any of THOSE badges in my sidebar either, I mean from previous years when I was actually a finalist for one or two of them. Don't know why I never bother/ed with any of those things; probably because I don't/didn't have time.

Anyhoo, so Margalit said some really, really nice things about me in that post, and it was very humbling to read, and I was and am honored that she did so and that she nominated me for anything, so I thought she deserved a mention and a public thank-you, even if it is, um, three months late. Heheh.

Also, my best friend Jameel is apparently celebrating a family simcha, so - mazal tov to Jameel and the Muqatans. Not to brag or anything, but I was personally invited by Jameel himself to guest post on his blog while he was busy with the festivities. Of course, so were about 50 or so other people, who, if you go there, you will see actually did take him up on the offer. Which I would have also, if I could have thought of anything worthwhile to say.

Ok, I think that's all for now. I'm in the midst of a post on a touchy subject so maybe that will get finished some time.

So, happy 4th of July, don't cheat on those taxes, and above all, let freedom ring!!

USA!! USA!!

2007-06-19T00:54:00.000-04:00

Yow. Remind me to never again go a week without checking my comments. The content of the comment I just deleted was raving lunacy of the first degree. I'm talking, like, babbling drunken incoherence. Bizarre. I feel for the psychopath who posted that. I really do. I hope he or she manages to find some peace in life, because as Will Smith said in the timeless classic Men In Black: Damn.

Regrettably, that's all for now. Good night.

RenReb + tattoo = Yiddish + chocolate

2007-05-30T23:42:00.000-04:00

So apparently I've been given a new Yiddish nickname (not saying where or by whom) (sorry), one which I truly enjoy. Want to hear it? "Rebbetzin Yenta Veibel." I like it. I think it has a nice ring to it. In fact, I've made an appointment to have it tattooed across my back, I'm thinking with a nice fleur-de-lis, maybe intertwined with a keyboard logo, set against a background of the sun rising over a cholent pot. What do you think?

So here's part of a comment that appeared to my last post re why I get hostile towards people who ask me how I like the "Rebbetzin Aspect":

To answer seriously would be a violation of etiquette and everyone's privacy and boundaries. Answering lightly, in keeping with the kiddush-social-level of the query, is to do an injustice to the topic. It's a no-win situation for the small-talk-victim.
-clkl

Yes. Thank you. I think that's about right.

By the way - it wasn't a friend who asked me this; I don't (usually) feel hostility towards people I'm actually friendly with when they ask me personal questions (I may refuse to answer, but that's another matter). This, however, was not a friend; it was a casual acquaintance who I had not seen in a long time, and her treatment of the topic just happened to rub me the wrong way, I imagine for the reasons described above. So thanks for helping me figure that out, Clkl.

So on this same topic, this dude by the name of Holy Hyrax posted the following (I believe this same individual also puts in frequent appearances over at the blogs of my best friends Ezzie and Jameel):

Im learning a very valuable lesson from your blog. Basically, when ever I see a rebbetzin of any shul, just politely say hi, and walk away quickly lest I spark some inner maddness pierced in her eyes, yet forcibly subdued that she is able to respond with a friendly hello, all because I may have asked an innocent question.

Feh *pout*

Actually, the truth is, this phenomenon - I mean, the phenomenon of being irritated, for no discernible reason, by a seemingly innocent question - is not, in fact, unique to rebbetzins. No, sir. If I'm not mistaken, this could happen with anyone. For example, I once asked a med student if he had any idea yet what he wanted to focus on, and BOY did he bite my unsuspecting little head off. Obviously, it was a sensitive topic to him, for reasons I have no idea of and certainly had no way of knowing in advance. In fact, we never know what issues and baggage people bring with them to conversations, and we have no way of knowing which well-intentioned, innocent-sounding statement by us might end up being the equivalent, to them, of asking my husband on Rosh Chodesh Elul if he has his High Holiday sermons written yet (i.e., A MONTH IN ADVANCE) (not bloody likely). In other words: a sensitive topic, likely to result in my husband looking for sermon inspiration by cursing the person's name and spending the next several weeks throwing darts at their picture (hopefully, he'd ask them for forgiveness before Yom Kippur).

So, while I accept the gentle indication that my bitterness towards casual acquaintances who ask me about the Rebbetzin Aspect might be unreasonable, I also retain my right, as an imperfect human being, to occasionally be unreasonable. Unreasonable behavior is part of what makes us (or me, at least) imperfect human beings, and our imperfection is, after all, part of God's plan. This way, I have something (else) to work on and to strive for, and hopefully, with God's help I'll get there some day.

So that's that (for now) about the Rebbetzin Aspect.

So here's another comment to my previous post, this one about my having mocked gematrias. Incidentally, it so happens that I felt guilty as soon as I published the post, and I thought I might want to post again to clarify and explain; luckily, you all chimed in and did the work for me, which makes my life just that much easier.

So here it is, copied and pasted:

just to give a more balanced perspective on teh gematria issue - MOST gematrias are just fun and cute ways to remember things or challenge people who enjoy numbers. There are certain gematrias that do have some meaning. It is hard to believe that when the gemara bases a din d'oraysa (nezirus being 30 days) on a gematria, that it is totally meaningless. Granted, the Rambam downplays it and says that the real source must have been some sort of kabala, but other rishonim disagree and take the gemara at face value. People of the stature of the Ba'al Haturim and the Steipler Gaon did not think it beneath their intelligence to publish gematrios. The gemara uses it in a number of places and for most mainstream orthodox Jews that means it is not something to poke fun at. If you read the Noda B'yehuda's introduction to his Tzlach on shas he explains with a beautiful mashal how foolish it is for people to mock what they percieve as foolish in the Talmud. Read books like the Juggler and the King and see how much wisdom can be hidden in "foolish" stories. Maybe a little more reverance is called for?
-talmid

WAAAAH I'm a bad, bad Jew. I felt very icky after reading this. I like what Talmid said and I probably couldn't agree more. But before I could post again about what was behind the mockery, some person by the name of DovBear spoke up, and said the following in response to Talmid (hideous spelling in the original, as usual) (actually, it wasn't that bad this time):

Every word here is true (And kudos to Talmud for mentioning that the mishna in nazir is "downplayed" by the Rambam)
However, it is also true that gematriot are abused and misused (the chalev one quoted here is a fine example of a gematriah of doubtful significance.)
Though its true that the Bal HaTurim and others published gematriot, it doesn't follow from this that gematriot must never be mocked. Nor does it follow that the BT thought they carried any divine significance. Perhaps he published gematriot for the same reason that Benjamin Franklin published puns?
Tlmid is right: Reverence has its place, certainly.
But, irreverance does, too.

Ok then. I gave you that comment mostly as food for thought. That is, I have absolutely no idea what any of our great sages who utilized gematriot had in mind when they used them; perhaps they took them as seriously as I take my God-given imperative to refrain from certain activities on the seventh day, and perhaps they didn't. Could be they're cracking up laughing at me right now and saying "HEY!! RENREB!! Gematrias are idiotic!! We were just having fun!!" Or, it could be they're shaking their non-bodily heads at me and saying "RenReb, you have NO IDEA how serious gematrias are, and we're looking forward to setting you straight about that (and many other things) just before sending you down to burn." Or it could be neither of those things. I have no way of knowing, and as such I should certainly exhibit some restraint in mocking stuff that was stated in a Torah context by individuals of their stature. And usually (I think? in my real life, at least), I do exhibit restraint, but I suppose on the blog I tend to let loose a little bit, and every so often I lose sight of myself. So thanks to those of you who helped to set me straight.

So - I do not think all gematrias, or the idea of the validity of gematrias as tools for uncovering - I don't know what, but something - are silly, and I should not have indicated that I do. And I certainly hope I never lose sight of myself to the point of really and truly mocking any aspect of our time-honored tradition. And when I say really and truly mocking, I mean mocking from the bottom of my heart, the way I might mock my husband's tendency to try to tell me that Barack Obama isn't good-looking. (He-llo!! He's adorable! Maybe not as adorable as your friend Dylan the priest, but come on!) If I ever lost sight of myself to that extent, well, that would not be a good thing. Gentle mocking may not be good either, but really and truly mocking would be worse, and would, I think, indicate that I am becoming someone I do not wish to be. I do hope that such a thing never comes to pass.

So the point is, I think the overuse and abuse of gematrias is silly and ill-founded. But I do not wish to mock or invalidate the idea that the numerical values of various words have some hidden significance that we are meant to uncover. I am certainly nobody to suggest such a thing, and I stand humbly at the feet of giants throughout the ages who have used Hebrew words to do exactly that.

[Hey - when I was in high school I knew someone who used to sit in class calculating the gematrias of the full Hebrew names of everyone she knew, and comparing them to each other to see if she could figure out any pre-ordained couples. To the best of my knowledge, none of the matches she made via this method ever went anywhere. But I'm sure the meanings of mine and my husband's names are identical in some language or other, so who the heck knows?]

Time for bed, I think. Laundry can wait. Good night.

Pentecost is so "mod"

2007-05-28T12:00:00.000-04:00

(started this post soon after Shavuot was over)

"Pentecost"? "The Feast of Weeks"? "The Time of the Giving of the Torah"?? Why is this holiday (Shavuot, I'm talking about) so difficult to render into English? Not that any of that sounds stupider than "Tabernacles", but to me, at least, Sukkot seems simpler to explain.

So I answered the phone the other night (that was my first mistake), and it was Phil (who else ever calls this house?). Here's how the beginning of the conversation went:

RenReb: Hello?

Phil: Hello, [my name]?

RenReb: Yes?

Phil (drawing in an audible gasp): Oh my God! Oh, I'm SO sorry!

RenReb: Um... who is this?

Phil: Oh! OH!! Oh, I'm sorry, it's Phil!! Oh, Rebbetzin, I'm so sorry - I don't know why I said that!

RenReb (thinking: Said what??): Phil, it's ok! What do you mean?

Phil: I should have said "Hello Rebbetzin!!" Oh, I can't believe myself! I'm SO sorry!

*sigh*

In other news, I think I might finally be getting the hang of this clothing thing. My evidence for this is what Sadie said to me on the second day of Yom Tov. See, on the second day of Yom Tov, all sorts of people come out of the woodwork, or out of their cars, which they park a few blocks away and then walk to shul so they can fool themselves into thinking we don't know they drove (as if we care??), so they can come to shul and say Yizkor, a special prayer in memory of the deceased. Many of them don't come to shul at any other time; hence my referring to them by the highly original and never-before-heard appellative "the Yizkor crowd."

Now personally, I love the Yizkor crowd. I adore the Yizkor crowd. I adore them even when they show up before Yizkor and steal my seat. Of course, it breaks my heart that Yizkor is very often all the Yizkor crowd knows of Judaism, and that very likely their own families don't even know that much, and therefore will probably not be saying Yizkor for them. But I digress.

(hey - check this out - Blogger automatically saves drafts now - just like gmail - my, this thing just keeps getting better and better)

So, like I was saying, Sadie, proud member of both the Sisterhood and the Yizkor crowd, was in shul on the second day of Yom Tov, and unlike many of her compatriots, she opted to remain in shul when Yizkor was over, and even stuck around for the cheescake and crackers at the kiddush. And when we were exchanging our kissy-kissy greetings, what did she say to me? She said the following:

"Rebbetzin, look at what you're wearing! You look so mod!"

Mod??? MOD?!?! The word sounded vaguely familiar, though I was pretty sure I'd never heard it in a shul setting, and certainly never from Sadie. Now usually, when Sadie uses a word I don't understand, it tends to be a word from the Old Country. As in, "Oy, Rebbetzin, look at you! What a ferbissena punim!"

But even I could tell that this was a New Word, not an Old Word, and I was fairly certain (though stranger things have happened) that it was a compliment, not an insult. So I said thank you, and smiled and everything, and then after Yom Tov I went to check out precisely what it means. And I discovered that according to this, my very favorite educational resource outside Sesame Street and Wikipedia, "mod" has 29 different meanings, most of them related to the 1960's, and many of them involving motor scooters. So I'm guessing Sadie was trying to tell me I looked like a motor scooter - perhaps one of these, which is the 12th Google Image result for "mod". Or perhaps she was trying to say I looked like someone from the movie Quadrophenia (whatever that is??) (see definition #4). Or perhaps that I looked like a computer case (see definition #6) - most likely this one, which is the 8th Google Image result for "mod".

So in any case, I think it was meant as a compliment, and compliments - from Sadie especially - are always appreciated.

So, everybody, check me out!! I am so mod!! I am, like, the most mod rebbetzin that ever was!!

(Hey - that's funny - at first I wrote "moddest" instead of "most mod," and then I realized that it said, you know, "modest" - only it was spelled wrong - now that's food for thought, isn't it? "Most mod" = "moddest" = "modest?" Maybe that's what Sadie was saying? That I looked modest? Because, you know, I did....)

*
*

So you know what sucks about Yizkor? What sucks about Yizkor is seeing TK's family saying it. Yeah. That SUCKS. And it's that time of year again, like when the yahrtzeit is approaching. *shudder* Ugh. Such pain, and it's so unavoidable. Because TK is still gone, and TK will always be gone, and the circumstances of TK's illness and TK's death will never be different, and I hate that TK is gone and I hate that I get to leave for Yizkor while TK's parents - parents! - have to stay, and I hate that horrible and painful things happen, and I hate that there's nothing I can do about it, and I hate - I hate - that I can escape other people's pain and they can't. Yes, that may sound a bit, ah, I don't know - Jewish mother-like? And I know it's silly, but still. I see TK's mother and I feel this horrible pain. But then I get to go home and forget about it until the next time I see her. But she can't. She can't go home. She can't walk away from herself, or from the gaping hole in her heart. It's so unfair, and sometimes I feel guilty for being blessed. That's all.

*
*

So I saw someone recently who I hadn't seen in a long time. "Hi, how are you, what are you up to these days, how are your kids, blah blah blah," and then, the inevitable, grave and important-sounding: "And... how are you liking the... Rebbetzin Aspect?"

GAG. ME.

Stop asking me that, people. It makes me want to slug you in the teeth. I want to slug the assumption right out of you that there even IS a "rebbetzin aspect" (I mean, maybe - just maybe! - I just happen to be married to a person who works in a profession? Why does there have to be an "aspect" with a title of its own?); I want to slug the assumption right out of you that the "rebbetzin aspect", whatever you think it is, is something I may or may not "like"; and perhaps most of all, I want to slug the assumption out of you that this is not only a topic for discussion, but a topic for a discussion that I want to have with you.

Feh. One day I'm going to figure out why that question, and others like it, fills me with such hostility. For some reason it irks me, both as a rebbetzin and as, well, I don't know what. But I'll get to the bottom of this. You'll see. And you people will be among the first few (dozen?) to know when I do.

*
*

So we had dairy food on Shavuot, of course, because as everyone knows, having dairy on Shavuot is one of the verbatim commandments uttered by God to Moses on Sinai. This is evidenced by the numerical value of the Hebrew word for "milk" being 40, which is - wait for it - the precise number of days that Moses was up on the mountain receiving the Torah. (hat tip)

Oh, wait; that doesn't mean it was one of the commandments uttered to Moses on Sinai. My mistake. No; it's simply meant to teach us, of course, that if we ever have doubts as to what sorts of food we should eat, all we have to do is check out the numerical value of a Hebrew word for a type of food, and then see if there's an event connected to a number of days equal to that numerical value, and that way, we know when it is that we are supposed to eat that type of food. I don't know about you, but I am SO relieved someone figured out the whole dairy/Shavuot thing, because I, for one, not only love cheesecake, but I would SO hate to be guilty of serving food to my unsuspecting family and shul members whose numerical value was equal to something associated with a different number of days. *shudder* I can't imagine the torment those poor souls would receive in hell, and it would be all my fault.

[We interrupt this post to relate the following conversation between myself and the rabbi.

RenReb: I'm writing a post that mocks gematrias.

Rabbi: Why?

RenReb: Um... because I think they're funny?

Rabbi: Oh. Me too.

RenReb: Oh. Ok. So am I going to hell?

Rabbi: For what?

RenReb: For mocking gematrias!

Rabbi: No.

RenReb: Phew.

Carry on.]

So - the numerical value of "milk" is 40 . The precise number - precise number!! - of days Moses spent on the mountain. I know. Is that eerie, or what? I get goose bumps every time I think of it. And of course, the numerical value of "goose bumps" is equal to "blog", so pretty much every time I blog, you can bet it's because I got goose bumps that day. Or because I saw a bumpy goose that day. Or because I ran over a goose that day with my car. In any case - and this seems to have been lost on most people, but luckily, not on me - 40, as we know, is also the number of days the rain lasted during Noah's flood, which is why no Jew should eat dairy without also pouring water on themselves. And 40 is also the number of years the Jewish people spent wandering in the desert, but thankfully, that's years, not days, so the next time you find yourself in the desert, don't feel guilty if you decide to eat meat.

Hmm.

You know, the original point of my telling you this, besides giving myself the opportunity to be irreverent and later feel guilty about it, was because of a conversation I had with Phillie (my kid) when we were washing the dairy dishes after one of the meals. It was going to be a whole funny thing about how a lot of stringencies people keep with their dishes are really totally unnecessary, and that a lot of stuff we refuse to do for fear of treifing up our dishes (= rendering them not kosher) is actually completely mutar (permissible) and wouldn't treif up a thing. But suddenly I'm not in the mood anymore (sorry), partially because my kids are home from school today and as such I'm tearing my hair out, and partially because I have to be somewhere soon and I haven't showered since - well - never mind. Maybe some other time?

So, happy Memorial Day, and always remember - I am the most mod - but not necessarily the moddest - rebbetzin that ever was. I know, because this is the third Google Image result for "mod", and here's a secret - the woman in that picture is me.

Then again, maybe I won't

2007-05-14T23:12:00.000-04:00

Maybe I won't post again yesterday, that is. I think my statement that I would was over-optimistic. ("I have no reason to be over-optimistic... but somehow when you smile I can brave bad weather...")

You know what this world is? Sick. Disgusting and sick. Remind me never to watch CSI: Miami again. Or anything else, for that matter. This country is obsessed with violent crime. Obsessed. I don't get it. If it isn't the show you're watching, it's the commercials for other shows. The more demented and despicable the crime, the more unimaginable the horror, the better these ratings apparently get. I know because it's sweeps month, so they're all apparently putting their best foot forward. HA. So now we know what brings CSI: Miami viewers back: violent murders of beautiful young women, preferably in front of their children, if they have any, and if not, then after major sexual assault; kidnapping of two year-olds; and accidental deaths of four year-olds at the hands of their six year-old siblings. All in one episode, too. *shudder* I feel physcally ill. And for once, Horatio didn't make it better. Even he can't make up for all that. (throw in Jack and Russell, however, and I might be willing to stomach it) Ugh. Remind me to marry a rabbi or something, so I can be sure not to have a TV in my house.

So I'm not counting with a bracha anymore. Missed it somewhere in the 30's. Oh well. Beats last year.

[pause]

Oh wait, I'm sorry, were you expecting a real post? Hahahaha!!! No, no, no, no, no, nooooo. Not tonight, darlings. I mean, I'm sure I have all sorts of witty and insightful things to mull over and spill forth - no, really, I'm sure I do - but that is soooo not happening right now. Maybe once the summer starts and I don't have 57 fundraising dinners to go to every night? Maybe. Maybe not. But there has been so much concern floating around, I felt like you all deserved a few paragraphs of pointless rambling. So here you have it. The RenReb aims to please.

Have a good one. If we don't see each other before Shavuot, well, enjoy the cheescake, and if you like, check out my Shavuot stuff from last year. Nothing special, but there it is.

Laylah tov.

And.... hello!

2007-05-13T10:45:00.000-04:00

RWAC (my dear, dear RWAC), RWAC commenters, and everyone else:

Baruch Hashem, I am fine. Your worry on my behalf has me so touched that I'm struggling to come up with appropriate words to express my reaction, both to your hysterical, laugh-out-loud "where the hell is RenReb" post, and to your apology; however, coming up with appropriate words when I'm uncaffeinated and starving to death as I wait for my slow-as-molasses children to finish preparing my "special" Mother's Day breakfast is proving to be a unique sort of challenge. As in, all I can possibly think to write at this moment is this: "You want me to blog, tell my kids to step on it and BRING ME MY COCKYHEADED COFFEE ALREADY."

Anyway, thank God, there is no reason behind my lack of blogging other than the absence of a 62-hour day (I mean for me, and me alone - having a 62-hour day wouldn't help unless the rest of the world was still on 24 hours) (hey, speaking of 24, the season finally picked up, didn't it? I'm missing Curtis less and less).

Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for your words and your thoughts and your expressions of all sorts of stuff, and I promise (bli neder) to be back with some thoughts of my own, ASAP, in fact, I hope later today. And for my part, I'm very, very sorry to have worried anybody. 'Twas never my intention.

(COFFEE!!!! GIVE ME MY COFFEE!!!!!)

More soon. :)

RenReb loves Israel

2007-04-24T11:15:00.000-04:00

Gosh darn it. I meant to post yesterday for Yom HaZikaron and I wasn't able to. If I had, though, I would have said mushy emotional stuff about our soldiers and our state and I would have directed you to my best friend Jameel's blog, in particular this post. So - it's not too late, and it's never a bad time to mourn and revere our brave and beloved heroes. So go check out the post.

Next:

Thank you so much for the comments to my previous post. Interesting, thought-provoking, and just shy of bickering. Keep it coming (except the almost-bickering - we don't need any of that, especially not here).

Want to hear something wild and crazy that you never saw coming? Ok - here it is. I don't have time to write a post today! Hahaha! Surprise!! So instead, I'll recycle previous posts that are Israel- and Yom HaAtzmaut-related. Here we go:

The following takes place between 12:00 AM and 1:00 AM.

Oops - that's not what I meant. I meant, the following was originally posted here, on Tu B'Shvat many (or two?) years ago. (By the way - if you go to that post, and if you read the comments, and you see that a certain individual announced that he "doubted" me, and then on his blog said he'd bet I didn't know the words to the song in question, allow me to assure you all that I DID know the words, and that I DO know the words, and that that individual can go jump in a lake.)

Here's the Israel content from that old Tu B'Shvat post:

-----------------------

Well, it is the special Rosh Hashanah for the trees, and today I find myself going about my business with that deep empty pit in my stomach, the special hollowness that symbolizes my aching desperation to be in Israel, now now right now. I don't want to sit here like an idiot eating dates from California and telling my kids that this is a special fruit that grows in Israel, but these happen not to have grown in Israel, so we'll just pretend they did. How pathetic. I want to see the dates growing, in my own backyard. Or better yet, I want to go to the yishuv I went to for Shabbos during my Israel year 14,727 years ago, where the people I was staying with grew figs in their backyard, and after Shabbos they went outside and picked some, and we took trumah and maaser - with the bracha and everything, if I'm not mistaken - and then we opened them up to see if there were bugs inside (there weren't), and then we ate them, and they were pure heaven. I mean it. It was like nothing you've ever had before (unless, of course, you've had fresh figs from Israel right off the tree before). Eating those figs, I could just feel my tastebuds saying, "Thank you, God. Thank you for these trees, this land, this fruit, this Jewish state. Yes!! Yes!! These figs are SO GOOD!!!" And I wondered whether Joshua and his armies ate figs like these, and I wonder today whether they had tears streaming down their faces as they ate them, like I do right now.

Anyway, go to Israel and eat figs. if you didn't know what was special about the land before, well, you will. Also the rugelach. And... well... God.

-----------------------

Aah... that was a good post. For me, I mean. I don't know what all of you think of it. But it was a good post for me, because it's a good trip down memory lane, and a nice sort of Israel-related thing. Also a nice Tu B'Shvat thing, but it isn't Tu B'Shvat today, so whatever.

Next:

The following was originally posted here, in a discussion of things I think about every year on Purim during Megillah reading, and in particular when I hear the the following portion of 4:13-14:

אל תדמי בנפשך להמלט בית המלך מכל היהודים, כי אם החרש תחרישי בעת הזאת, רוח והצלה יעמד ליהודים ממקום אחר.... ומי יודע אם לעת הזאת הגעת למלכות

In English, these lines read, roughly, as follows (loose translation):

"Don't let it enter your thoughts to use the king's palace to escape from the rest of the Jews [read: to escape your Jewish identity]. Because if you remain silent at this time, relief and salvation will arise for the Jews from another place.... And who knows whether it's for just this purpose [i.e., to save the Jewish people] that you became queen?"

So here's what I wrote in that post about one of the things I think about when I hear those verses:

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The Jews in Israel, and the Jews outside of Israel. I think about both groups, because in those pesukim, Mordechai warns Esther not to think she can use the "beit haMelech" - the king's house, where she lived - to escape her Jewish identity, and hence her responsibility to her people. I think about Israel and non-Israel at the words "beit haMelech," and I wonder, which is the "beit haMelech" today? Are we, say, in America, "escaping" by living in the king's palace, in all the ways America can be said to be a king's palace? Are we escaping our collective responsibility to the Jewish people by living and working outside Israel? [yes] Or, is Israel the "beit haMelech" (yes, I know it is in many obvious ways, but just follow my thought process here), and Jews who, say, leave American Jewry behind to settle in Israel are escaping their responsibilities to American Jewry by going to live in the king's palace? (please, Jameel, keep your shirt on) (by which I mean, calm down - breathe, breathe, and please don't hurt me) I can sort of see it both ways. I mean, on the one hand, duh, every Jew belongs in Israel and we should all pick up our lazy heinies and get there, now. And on the other hand, I think of some extremely, extremely talented individuals I once knew who made aliyah, and how devastated I was on behalf of American Jewry when they did so. I mean, sure, they were obviously going to do great things, but they could have done great (even greater?) things here, too. And I couldn't help but feel that perhaps they had a responsibility, once they were doing great things, to do them for the community that raised and educated them. I mean, please - it's not as if American Jewry - Modern Orthodoxy in particular, which is how these people identify - isn't in (desperate) need of talented leadership. And I just couldn't help feeling like they were abandoning a group to whom they owed something, and that that wasn't completely fair (breathe, Jameel, breathe). Or maybe I was just jealous. I don't know. I'm definitely a die-hard aliyah-promoting Zionist at heart, but there are times when I can see it both ways. And I think of it every year when I hear the words "beit haMelech." (Breathe!)

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Aaaah. Another classic. I'm fond of that post in its entirety, as a matter of fact, because it contains sentimental material. In any case, ignore what I said there about possibly not making aliyah. Just ignore it, and make aliyah. Ok?

OK - now we get to possibly my favorite Israel-related stuff that I've ever posted on this blog. Here we go (originally posted here):

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So here's some of my favorite Israel-related stuff in the Torah.

First, the obvious - Deuteronomy 11:12:

"ארץ אשר ה' אלקיך דרש אותה, תמיד עיני ה' אלקיך בה, מרשית השנה ועד אחרית השנה"

"It is a land that the Lord your god seeks out; the eyes of the Lord your god are always upon it, from the beginning of the year until the end of the year."

The context of this is a comparison between the land of Egypt, which the Jewish people had escaped some years before, and the land of Israel, which they were getting ready to enter. The land of Israel is not like Egypt, Moses explains. In Egypt (and I'm explaining the verses here, not relating them literally, because they're somewhat poetic), one could rely, predictably, upon the yearly overflow of the Nile River, which would swell at its proper time and nourish the Egyptian crops, providing sustenance for the people. The land the Jewish people are about to enter, however, is entirely dependent upon rainfall, which is, unlike the Nile, thoroughly unpredictable. The Nile overflows to irrigate the land every year on schedule, whereas rain might come when it's needed, and might not. A stressful thought, I would imagine, for a generation that itself grew up in the desert and had witnessed various miracles providing them with water, and whose parents had grown up in Egypt, relying upon the Nile. Suddenly they're going to settle down, without Moses leading them and without God escorting them, and they're going to have to look to the sky every day and wonder if they'll get the water they need for themselves and their crops, or not.

So how can the Jewish people be assured of the rain they would need once they entered the new land? By listening to God, and by following God's commandments. Moses explains, in the next several verses, that if the Jewish people listen to God's commandments, to love God and serve God "with all your hearts and all your souls," then the rain will come. And if the people stray and serve other gods, then the rain won't come, and the people will all (eventually) drop dead.

So here's what's so powerful about this, at least to me, I mean besides the beautiful, beautiful language of the Torah throughout that portion of Deuteronomy (it's worth learning Hebrew just for those few chapters), and besides the stunning image of the crowds of people gathered around Moses, listening to his words of encouragement and inspiration just when they're about to embark on this tremendous mission.

Moses explains in these verses how life in the Promised Land is, by definition, designed in such a way as to require humanity's constant interaction with God. There is no force of nature operating on schedule; if we want our rain to fall, if we want to harvest our crops and keep ourselves alive, we have no choice but to be constantly focused on God and God's word (look at me keeping this gender-neutral - this is all Shanna's fault, she's corrupted me). Living in a land where our only means of survival is visibly and tangibly dependent upon God, we are more likely to remain focused upon God and on our responsibility to love and to serve God, with all our hearts and all our souls. And what's more - in this particular land, it's going to be that much easier to do, because God is constantly watching.

I don't know. I just really love that. I realize it's not the most profound thing in the world, and of course I also realize that Israel is not the only place in the world that depends on rainfall (and I also realize that this perhaps does not apply to those living in the Jordan Valley, at least not back then, when there was still a river to speak of), but I personally feel it's profound in its simplicity. First of all, that our dependence upon God will help ensure that we don't forget God, and that we continue to worship Him (oops - sorry, Shanna, I guess you'll have to try harder). I like that because it's just so human. It's wonderful to say things like "Our love and service of God should be based on real feeling that comes from the heart, and not just on our desire for God to do things for us," but how many of us can really attain that level of devotion? How many people are capable of thoroughly divorcing their conception of God from anything related to our physical needs and the physical world? I know I'm sure as heck not capable of that, at least not on a regular basis. And these lines in the Torah tell me that's ok, and that in fact, God does not necessarily even ask it of me. God knows that we're earthly beings who find it much easier to think about our next meal than to think about the Divine, and these verses tell me that that's okay, and that we can use our physical needs as our primary tool with which to reach out to God, and that we may do so with God's blessing.

I can't help it, I just really love the reminder that our relationship to God is supposed to be an active, and constant, force in our lives, and that our awareness of it and of Him is literally, literally, meant to be as pervasive and ever-present as our need to eat. And that's what I like so much about the line I quoted in Hebrew up there, besides the gorgeously poetic way in which it's crafted. I love the words, and I love the simplicity of the imagery - a simple image of God "watching" our land, with His "eyes", and doing it always - "תמיד" - from the beginning of the year until the end. It reminds me of a lot of stuff, and when I'm lucky, I'm able to use that imagery to try to remind myself of the constancy of God's presence in my own life, and the way that presence is meant to permeate every moment of my being.

*sigh*

OK, so that was the obvious Israel-related line from the Torah, that if we want to think about the specialness of the land, well, that line is totally there for us. God is watching the land, never takes His eyes off it, all year long. Can't get more special than that.

So here's the other Israel-related pasuk (verse) I like to think of (or that I don't like to think of, but that I sometimes think of in spite of myself and my guilty conscience). It's Numbers 32:6, and it's Moshe's response to the tribes of Reuben and Gad, who have expressed a desire to stay on the eastern side of the Jordan River instead of entering the land.

Here we go:

?ויאמר משה לבני גד ולבני ראובן: האחיכם יבאו למלחמה, ואתם תשבו פה

"And Moses said to the sons of Gad and the sons of Reuben: Will your brothers go to war, and you will stay here?"

Hmm.

The Jews are getting ready to enter the land. They've just been wandering for 40 years, for the express purpose of getting to this particular land, which has been chosen for them by God. And a group of Jews decides at that moment that the economic opportunities outside the land are better suited to their needs. And so they ask not to go. They ask to live outside the land.

And Moshe Rabbeinu responds by asking if they are just going to sit "here" - outside the land - while their brethren go to war, while their own flesh and blood fight in order to live there.

Yeah. Like I said. Hmm.

So anyhoo, those are two of my favorite - or at least my most frequently thought about - Israel-related pesukim in the Torah. The specialness of the land itself; the nature and the constancy of our interaction with God, and the role the land plays in that relationship; and the collective responsibility of the Jewish people not to sit idly by while their fellow Jews put their lives on the line.

So, happy belated Yom HaAtzmaut.

(Postscript: The Torah, follwed by the book of Joshua, goes on to describe how the tribes of Reuben and Gad, and ultimately a portion of the tribe of Menasseh as well, were indeed given territories outside the land of Israel proper, and were allowed to settle and make their livings there. But only after they first headed off the conquering army themselves, and made sure the rest of the nation was settled safely and securely into their homes. Then, and only then, were they permitted to make their permanent homes outside the land of Israel. Like I said: Hmm.)

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So there you have it, folks. And come to think of it, assembling all that stuff probably took almost as long as it would have to just write a new post, but why expend creative energy reinventing the wheel when I've got a few wheels already?

So - that's that for the trips down RenReb-Israel-posts memory lane. Have a great day, wear blue and white, wave those flags high, enjoy the falafel, and never forget:

!!!שעשה נסים לאבותינו, בימים ההם, בזמן הזה

....שהחינו וקימנו והגינו לזמן הזה

Etc.

RenReb hates the Holocaust

2007-04-16T22:00:00.000-04:00

Guess what? I'm still counting with a bracha, nah nah nah nah nah!!

Ah, those bygone days when I used to make it to the very end.... you know, those days wherein nothing, but nothing was as important to me as fulfilling as many religious imperatives as I could possibly find, as many as could be fulfilled on a minute-by-minute basis.... those days wherein nothing could have caused me to forget to count the Omer, short of perhaps a full frontal lobotomy, and probably not even that. *Sigh* איך נפלו גבורים. If only we could stay 18 years old forever.

*pause*

Ok, so here's what I'd like to know today. Ready?

At what age is it appropriate/necessary to start teaching children about the Holocaust?

I'm very conflicted about this, and I'll tell you why. Because I'm a mother, that's why. My instinct, see, is to protect my kids from things that will scare and upset them, as opposed to deliberately exposing them to things that will scare and upset them. And the Holocaust scares and upsets them, as, I imagine, it does to us all.

Every year I go through this. I hate that they learn about it in school on Yom Hashoah. I hate for them to be exposed to things that scare them and shred their innocence and undermine their sense of comfort with the world. I hate for them to encounter things that I can't explain, things that I can't make better. I hate for them to be exposed to things that are thoroughly unsensible; things that fly in the face of the morality and instruction we've tried to impart; things that cause them to feel afraid and uncertain, rather than safe and unthreatened; and over and above anything else, I hate for them to be exposed to things that cause them pain.

This is part of parenting, see. None of us wants our children to feel any pain, and we do everything we can to protect them from it. But not this. For some reason when it comes to teaching the Holocaust, allowing children to feel pain seems to become a value and an end in itself. It isn't enough that they're taught that six million Jews, including children like themselves, were murdered for no apparent reason. That isn't enough. They also have to be provided with details. They have to be told about the selections, and the punishments, and the various forms of "sport" the maniacs engaged in. They have to be told about the starvation, and the torture, and the humiliation, and the Zyklon B. They have to be told about children like themselves who were taken away from their parents, and about frail and elderly people like their own grandparents who were beaten and tortured and killed. Over the years I have heard so many teachers, so many Jewish communal professionals, use phrases like "help our children grasp the enormity of the Shoah". Bringing our children - children! - as close as possible to the experience of the most unspeakable horror the world has ever known is somehow a value, a religious obligation that must be honored and fulfilled.

So what I want to know is, why. Ever since I've had children of my own, my perspective on this has been uncomfortable and confused. Why does a child need to know these things? Why do children need to see photographs and videos of atrocities happening to innocent people, people who are just like them? What value does this serve? What happens as a result of this, except that the kids could become traumatized, and develop images in their minds of similar things happening to themselves, to their families, to people they know? Why is it necessary to put them through this?? Why?? WHY??

Full disclosure, before I go any further (get the checklists ready): My family was completely untouched by the Holocaust, at least as far as we know. I imagine there were distant cousins or something - how could there not be? - but my immediate ancestors made it out of Europe well before the war. So I admit that I have no way of knowing whether my feelings about this would be any different if my parents/grandparents were survivors, and if they had stories of their own to tell. Would I feel differently? Would I want my kids to know their stories at very young ages, at ages when they haven't really been introduced yet to the notions of unimaginable suffering and inexplicable evil? I wonder. If there are any relatives of survivors (or actual survivors, for that matter) who might be reading this, please weigh in. I very much want to hear your perspective.

I'm not a fool, by the way. I do know - though I may not like it, but I still know - that it's of course critical to educate people about bigotry and hatred. I know the world is not, in fact, the way we present it to our children when they're very young, and I know it would be a tragic mistake to allow mankind to believe that it is that way. I know full well that so long as there is evil in the world (and won't there always be?), we must be equipped to fight that evil, and that the only way to do that is through knowledge and power. Knowledge is power, or so I've heard. "Never again," and education is the key.

Hence, my question. How young is too young? As a parent, I find myself truly baffled by this, because allowing my kids to know even the first thing about the Holocaust flies in the face of every parental instinct I have. How dare you tell my child these stories. How dare you frighten my child. How dare you give my child nightmares. How dare you allow my child to believe there are things I can't protect them from. How dare you. How dare you.

You should have seen me the first time one of my kids came home on Yom Hashoah talking about the Holocaust. I almost hit the roof. "I can't believe they taught the class this! Those kids are too young!" My husband told me I was being ridiculous. "They have to learn it some time." And I suppose that's true. But when is "some time"? When do they stop being too young? When does it become my obligation as a mother to present them with the notions of evil and unfairness that I've been trying to shield them from since they were born?

I hate it. I hate it all. I hate the fact that the world can be a horrendous, unpredictable, bad, bad place. I hate that my kids EVER have to know that. I hate that my kids EVER have to find out that unspeakable things can happen to even the most wonderful and most innocent people, and that there's such a thing as being taken from your parents' protection and tortured and killed in monstrous ways. What I want is for them to feel safe and unthreatened and peaceful about things, forever. I don't want them to be shocked and afraid and have nightmares and have their notions of justice and goodness totally turned upside down. What's so important about learning about evil, anyway? Can't my kids just feel innocent and content and happy forever? Where's the crime in that?

Feh.

So - like I said. I have my own opinions as to the approximate ages and maturity levels kids should reach before they find out about the Holocaust, and what levels of knowledge are appropriate for what age groups, and so forth, but I'm collecting opinions from other people. So go for it. And don't get me wrong. My husband and I don't lie to our kids. We never try to teach them that evil doesn't exist, or that bad things don't happen to good people. We have our (hopefully) age-appropriate ways of addressing these matters in a way that teaches them what they need to know, and still provides them with the comfort level necessary for their particular stage in life. Baruch Hashem, they seem to be doing pretty well with it so far, and I think we have some good stuff going. I guess it's just that when it comes to the Holocaust, I need a bit of persuading. I suppose the reason I never want them to know is because I don't ever want it to be true.

Yeah. So, post away, all. Post away.