עץ חיים היא : A Story About a Lost Friend

“If you reveal your secrets to the wind you should not blame the wind for revealing them to the trees.” (Kahlil Gibran, 1883 - 1931)

In my early years, we lived next door to an elderly couple. I think Mr. K was a retired accountant, but I cannot be entirely sure. Mrs. K baked cookies and exchanged minor pleasantries with the neighborhood yentas. They were a quiet and not overly social couple, but everyone adored them. Mr. K davened in my father’s shteibel and I think his son was a Rov somewhere in Europe, but I have no idea which country. Mrs. K spent a good deal of time reading, and on occasion would exchange recipes and the latest news of her eyniklach with my bubbe. I don’t remember if they were Poylish or Russish, but their children were all hard-core Misnagdim. If the Ks themselves had any philosophical or religious issues with their chasidishe neighbors, they kept it a very well guarded secret.

The outer appearance of the K’s house was exactly like ours in almost every respect. Most homes in that section of Brooklyn look a lot like dominoes stood close enough alongside each other so that if, one was so inclined, one could level the entire block with a gentle nudge. The one noticeable difference was their backyard. Our yard fell under the relentless dominion of my father; a man predisposed to maximizing every inch of available real estate for something purposeful and hopefully, edible as well. I do miss his garden, with the smell of ripened tomatoes, stalks of dill, fresh peas, and a few varieties of flowers sprouting up in between the rows. Despite all the kvetching and yammering I did when having to perform of the heavy labor, as my father’s arthritis was already very painful for him, I still came to miss those times later on in life. I very much enjoy gardening myself, but I lack the natural expertise for which my father, in his small circle of friends, was well known.

The K’s yard, unlike our own, was quite bare; with its sole discerning feature an overgrown scrub tree that miraculously projected itself sunward through a large split in the crumbling pavement behind their garage. As the tree grew and its trunk expanded, it gradually dislodged more and more of the cement around its base. There were huge chucks of broken concrete that appeared to have been placed around that tree by human hands; perhaps in an attempt to protect it from urinating dogs or passing cars. Since I had never given it much thought back then, I never measured its exact height. When perched upon the highest branch to which I could reach, looking out and over our garage and down into the alleyway behind the street was pretty easy. Though not an overall scenic or even useful view, I nonetheless felt a sense of power in being able to survey the neighborhood from above the street level.

The first instances of my interaction with this tree began at approximately four years of age. I honestly cannot say what I did in or around that tree that first time. If I was anything like other kids, which is highly unlikely, I was probably skipping around aimlessly, picking off the lowest of leaves and then releasing them into the passing breeze, carelessly watching them flutter earthward from my fingertips. I recall other occasions, much later on, when I would take a sefer or a drawing pad and squat under that tree and read for what seemed to be hours on end. As I got a little older and my tuchis a bit more sensitive, I placed a plastic milk crate on the ground beneath it. Eventually as I was able to climb higher up into the tree, I found a good sturdy branch, and with feet dangling, I would read, say tehillim, and sometimes ‘zone out’ while staring out into no place in particular. If I was nowhere else to be found, my bubbe always knew to check for me in the tree.

Other than the occasional stray cat, bird, or curious squirrel, the tree was my exclusive lair. I cannot recall one instance where I came home to find another human occupying my tree. It was my sanctuary. The K’s eyniklach, who must have lived some distance away, seldom visited, and when they did appear ex nihilo, never ventured out into the yard. The Ks never bothered to put up a swing set or jungle gym, so the yard’s nonconformity to modern childhood usefulness was evident. I did invite a few of my chaverim to enjoy the shade or engage in some gratuitous climbing exercise, but there were no takers. I began to imagine that HaShem placed the tree in the “midst of the Garden” just for me and even He did not want anyone else using it.

When I say that the tree served as a sanctuary, it is no exaggeration. That was my personal refuge from my father’s sullenness, my bubbe’s nosiness, and my own intellectual boredom. But, most of all, I was there to escape a graying pall of sadness that engulfed our home when my step-mother was diagnosed with terminal yenne-machalah and spent her last several months of life in a cancer ward. The poetry I wrote for her, when weather and time permitted, was conceived under the low hanging, and serrated leaves of that incredible tree. If I could have those daydreams back now, I could write my entire life away, and even if doing little else, never complete even one of those childhood afternoon’s cerebral meanderings.

Wintertime was a little tough for me because the tree shed its leaves and the naked limbs no longer served to shade and comfort as they had all summer. I was somewhat consoled in the knowledge that springtime was coming again soon and soon enough my precious tree would return to its blossoming green splendor. I remember a teacher telling us that “Trees need to rest, too”, so I was not too broken up about a forced wintertime hiatus in our friendship. As it was, I did not go near the tree on Shabbos or Yom Tov anyway, and as I got older I was sometimes just too busy to get anywhere near it. I never, however, forgot about that tree, even in the dead of winter. I thought the tree had to be cold out there without its mantle of leaves.

Mrs. K was always worried I would fall and break something on their property. Mr. K referred to me once as the “shimpanze”, but never shooed me off. I think he was being paid off in fresh tomatoes from my father’s garden, and didn’t want to disrupt his ‘vegetarian’ good fortune of living next to a compulsive urban farmer. Besides, I was never any trouble. Other than leaving a chumash out in the rain once and failing to retrieve some pages that had fallen from my sketchpad, there were no behavioral or disciplinary issues surrounding my occupation of Mr. K’s scrub tree.

One my early talents, other than writing, was watercolor painting. I never took any classes, nor was I even encouraged, as religious kids know, to become an artist. I was just plain good at it. In fact, my father, who never claimed pride in any accomplishment or success I achieved, framed every single one of those crude paintings. It was the only art on our walls. In the center of our dining room wall hung a watercolor portrait of that tree which, in my estimation, was a real work of love. It is unfortunate that the fire, which took not only my father’s health and happiness, also destroyed those paintings. Though I had long since given up any artistic ambitions, it would have been nice to look at that tree again, even if only through the eyes of an eight-year-old aspiring impressionist.

I clearly remember Mr. K’s levaya, Mrs. K saying goodbye to my Bubbe, and their house going up on the market. Everyone wondered who would move in, but we were fairly sure it wouldn’t be empty for long. As children, we have this naïve sense that good things last forever and I, giving no real thought to the possible demise of my beloved tree, went on with daily life as if nothing had changed. I was still able to visit at my leisure and, having never imagined otherwise, assumed that the new owners of the K residence would not mind one bit if I continued hanging out in their back yard.

When my stepmother o’h passed on, the family had already prepared for the worst-case scenario. We all knew she was sick and becoming sicker by the day with no hope of recovery. We knew there were operations, surgeries, and medications. I knew, just by seeing her that her life was slowly leaving her. As a child, I didn’t process what all of that meant as an adult would know it to imply, and because of that, I may have seemed cooler and more distant from her passing than I would otherwise. I may have been in shock. My father suddenly got much older, and the sympathies of neighbors and family that poured out to us confused me and pushed me further into a desire for solitude. It seemed there was nothing that I could rely upon to always be there for me. Nevertheless, my tree was still there; taller and much leafier than last year, and still willing to tolerate my daily sojourn beneath its branches. That, too, was soon to end.

One Erev Shabbos, when I was probably eleven years old, while on my way home from the bakery, I decided to stop by the tree for a few minutes and maybe to have a cookie or two and ‘hang out’ under my tree. I distinctly remember strolling along with an unconscious, carefree sort of gait; the sort that children use when they aren’t hurried by adults or worried over mundane childhood concerns. I stepped through the K’s gate without a thought, expecting to see my beloved tree as always. However, all that remained was perhaps eight inches of stump and a pile of broken cement, having been pulled back from the trunk to allow easy access for the chainsaw. At first, I really thought I had walked into the wrong yard and I looked around to make sure I knew where I was. To the left were my father’s green beans dangling between the spaces of the chain link fence and the smell of dill carried on the summer breeze. My tree was gone. Just like that.

I cannot remember if was angry, shocked, sad, numb, or all of the above and more. I do very specifically recall wondering why anyone would cut down a tree that never hurt anyone or did not seem to obstruct anyone’s path. Did someone need firewood? What kind of mamzer would do that to my tree? I was also curious as to why my father, whom I thought must have known that someone going to murder this tree, did not protest its violent execution by running out and shouting “Wait! Stop! That is my Shloyme’s tree!” I felt hurt, abandoned, and betrayed. The tree had always been there, it seemed, and it never asked anything of me or objected to my presence. I loved the security the tree offered and now it, like other things I loved, proved as temporary and fleeting as those turned out to be. That sudden change of scenery awakened a deeper sense of insecurity; injury added to the stinging insult of being left unawares. I was the only one who cared about that tree and nobody bothered to ask my opinion! The tree no longer existed and, as far as humankind was concerned, apparently neither did I.

It’s been thirty-six years to date since my tree o’h was cut down, limb by limb, and chipped up into mulch. As I recall, this was among the worst acts of senseless, meaningless violence I have ever witnessed. I haven’t been back to the yard on C Street, nor have I really wondered too much what the new owners replaced my tree with, if anything. I suppose there have been quite a few alterations to the landscaping since then. I moved on and forgot about that tree, my good friend, for a while, but every so often I am reminded of those times and the peace I enjoyed under its branches. Things change and we change along with them, but memories good or bad, are not so bad to cherish.

I still miss that tree. I felt very much alive then. I think Maybe there is still some grieving to do. Maybe I just need another tree.

(In writing, I try to offer some lesson in the hope of bringing a closure to a question or inspire readers to think from a new perspective. There are no such noble intentions here. I could go on about ‘not taking things for granted’ and other redundant platitudes; but that would be overstating what is already glaringly obvious to anyone. This was just a story about a disappointed daydreamer, a scrub tree, and the insecurity that came with being unprepared for inevitable changes.)

Kol Tuv

Mounting Your Kill - Literally

November 16th, 2006 at 09:55:36

Lawyer: Sex with dead deer no crime

Duluth News Tribune

Prosecution of a Douglas County case involving alleged sexual contact with a dead deer may hinge on the legal definition of the word “animal.”

Bryan James Hathaway, 20, of Superior faces a misdemeanor charge of sexual gratification with an animal. He is accused of having sex with a dead deer he saw beside Stinson Avenue on Oct. 11.

You have got to be fucking kidding me. A cold, dead deer? And road kill to boot? I have heard of rednecks and country folk bailing from the pick up truck to scrape up a free meal from up off the pavement now and then, but sex with road kill? I guess nothing is out of the realm of possibility for some folks. This guy needs therapy.

I might have even understood this odd event, weird as it is, had this moron actually chased the deer down, killed it, and his act of triumph became somehow transformed into a heat-of-the-moment frenzy of sexual conquest. Think of it as a victory dance of sorts. After all, the guy is only 20 and from a very small town. Who knows what those people do for entertainment?

I guess this gives whole new meaning to ‘mounting’ your kill.

A Letter We All Want to Write (1)

Dear ___________,

It has recently come to my attention that you are one of those nit-wad busy-body pseudo-psychologists out there that habitually project their personal psychosis, phobias, and paranoia onto the lives of others, all the while offering them advice on how to live. Well, fuckwad, here is some advice for you. I suggest you take it if you want to avoid my wrath. I fucking mean it. I am tired of you bothering me with your redundant psychotic bullshit. Stop treating everyone as if they are mirror images of yourself. If I lived in any manner or form that resembled your pathetic excuse for an existence, I would have done humanity a kindness and eaten a bullet long, long ago.

Do not ever again fucking come to me in a bad mood and ask me why I am not unconditionally happy. My refusal to live in the sort of phony, ignorant, stupefied bliss that has become your trademark expression is none of your fucking god-damn business. All you really want to know is from where I got the nerve to be in a different mood than your own. Either you seek my codependence or you desire to live vicariously through my moods to provide an escape from your own miserable non-ending life-drama. Obviously, you imagine your problems to be so catastrophic that no one else’s sadness could be of any importance by comparison. Maybe you really are fucked up way beyond what most of humanity could ever withstand. Either way, I don’t give a flying shit and if there were a god out there from which I could solicit a much needed favor, I would be begging it to make you disappear.

Not that you actually give a fuck, but the greatest issue I face at present is you. You have some kind of fucking audacity to come to me while loaded up on pharmaceutical mood-inhibitors and attempt a lengthy clinical diagnosis of my emotional state based upon how I react to your bullshit. You can take all that new-age-dime-store-pop-psychology shit you picked up from reruns of Dr.Phil, and shove it directly back up into that tightly clenched vice grip of a butthole you lug around behind you all day. The moment I see your chaotic existence resemble anything within the range of normal human behavior, I will then and only then remotely consider the possibility of wanting your opinion on anything.

Now fuck off. Whatever it is you have, I don’t want to catch it.

Responsible Rage?

“If you do not wish to be prone to anger, do not feed the habit. Give it nothing, which may tend to its increase.” (Epictetus, Stoic Philosopher)

I find anger the most straightforward and practical of emotions. Consider the following three points: (1) The capacity to feel anger is natural; built into our biology and important for moderating our physical and emotional levels ;(2) Anger is a signal that something is amiss, though it could be in perception only. Long-term suppression of these signals may be emotionally and socially harmful. Anger may also serve as a survival mechanism, a last ditch attempt at living; (3) Anger warns others to be careful. Anger serves as one of many "cues" that indicate tension and even danger. Anger, like love, is a chemical reaction triggered by our thoughts.

Ahh. If it were only that simple!

Love, Anger, & Process

Many, who normally exhibit great difficulty when it comes to expressing love, find it relatively easy to show anger. Anger could be called ‘emotional masturbation’ because one can always do it alone. One does not require assistance to get mad though, should anyone decide to lecture me on the ‘evils’ of anger, it tends to make me even madder. Love, on the other hand, is a bit more complicated because, although we can thoroughly internalize it, we must integrate our emotional interests with those of others once we decide to use it. In displaying love, we become subject to and limited by any number of preexisting societal norms that govern relationships. Therefore, as a singular experience and in the absence of this complication, anger appears, at first glance, to be about as simple as it gets.

Ask anyone for the ‘meaning of love’ and they will probably be hard-pressed to pinpoint any exact definition. They may offer any number of ways in which love expresses itself, what sort of things they feel, or how a moral code based on fellowship love shapes human conduct and social justice for the better. Many even speak of love in the third person (I just did in the previous sentence), as a personification or transcendent moral absolute. Most people will, however, admit to having no idea what exactly love is, and that confused majority, in spite of this inability, still have nothing but wonderful things to say on love’s behalf. No one who wishes to be declared sane by his peers dares question the moral or ethical value of the Biblical admonition to “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” So much for love. Everyone loves a lover.

Now ask those same individuals to, similarly, define anger. It should come as no surprise that we would find ourselves, once again, mired in innumerable descriptions of how it appears and how it feels without getting to the core of what anger really is. Anger expresses in any number of ways; some subtle and others, well, not so subtle. Love, as an event or ideal, is ‘processed’ in as many variant ways as there are lovers who process that emotion, and the same principle should apply to anger. Everyone I know angers (and loves) in a different way with different effects and for different reasons. Love and anger both share the apparent ability to escape definition. So if they share this fundamental mystery, why did love become the stuff of song and anger a curse to be damned? Notice that few ever personify or animate anger as they do feeling of love.

(The simple answer is that love just plain feels better. After all, who in their right mind dreams about being in anger? Alternately, anger is easier than love because it doesn’t appear carry any particular responsibility to another maintain it, unless you are that sort who becomes consumed or obsessed with that anger.)

Now when I use the term ‘processed’, I mean to say that when we experience love or anger, we filter the information gathered from the event through our own preconceived notions of said emotions. This is a result of both genetics and socialization; in other words, ‘processing’ is how we are trained to think of things. The problems in ‘processing’ occur when we project conclusions that result from our own unique set of descriptions onto the actions of another. I know what makes me mad, and if I witness another not becoming angered over the same event, I begin to wonder if that person is blind, crazy, or both. My ‘processing’ tells me, unconsciously in most cases, that anger over such-and-such is appropriate, but his does not. As an example, I will use my own unique brand of anger to demonstrate how this unconscious ‘processing’ can lead to misunderstandings and disaster. As they say, “Looks can be deceiving.” I have found that emotions, too, when not put into their proper context can be equally perplexing.

The ‘Volcano’

My nickname in school was ‘Volcano’, and though I hated it at first, I came to realize that the moniker was well-earned and a highly accurate description of my emotional self. Leave it to one’s rambunctious classmates to perform the perfect diagnosis! I tend to anger without warning. Predicting when I get angry is like prognosticating the eruption of a yet-to-be-discovered volcano. Even with all types of special instruments, observers, and indicators; no matter how much you watch and wait, it will erupt when it is damned good and ready. There are times one would expect an eruption and it does not occur, and others, whereupon it blindsides humanity with its speed and hot volatility. It is who I am. It isn’t always pretty.

Like our unpredictable volcano, I remain dormant for extended periods and then, for no apparent rhyme or reason, suddenly quake and forcefully erupt. On the plus side, however, as quickly as I may be prone to explode, I am equally able to calm down as if nothing ever occurred. Sometimes, I am fully cognizant of changes to my own biochemistry and act to mitigate the effect of those internal signals. That is how my anger operates. If there is a reason to be angry, I can quickly get right down to the business of solving the problem or, even better, realize that said problem was rooted in my fertile imagination and therefore requires no further emotional or mental effort on my part.. It’s not that I deliberately turn my emotions on and off as with a switch, rather when my tantrum is over, it is finished and I have no desire to be angry any longer. As General Colin Powell once said, “Get mad. Get over it. Move on.”

Witness Protection?

Now all this self-awareness of my own anger and how it plays out is all fine and good until, or course, there are witnesses to the cataclysm who do not ‘process’ the event in the same manner that I do. A possible misinterpretation of the event would lead onlookers to believe something about my angered state and its effects that, in my mind, are preposterous assumptions about my own emotional person. If a person who tends to remain angrier for longer periods watches me get angry, he will assume, even after the fireworks cease, that I am still furious, because he is ‘processing’ my anger through his own and perhaps drawing some very incorrect conclusions.

Now you may be thinking that I shouldn’t give a damn what anybody else thinks about my anger. I disagree. If this person misinterprets my anger, in either volatility or duration, then the resolution for the problem or the relationship between that observer and I becomes altered by this misperception. Rather than approaching me and discussing the issue sooner, the observer might choose to assume that I am still angry and thus avoid closure. Similarly, if the observer believes that I am angrier than I really am, he or she may wrongly assume that I am unjustified in my anger and never seek resolution. As it turns out, my perception of his perception is vital, not only in terms of understanding the reality of the event, but as to how those participants or observers will be affected. It all comes down to ‘processing’. We are all participants and observers simultaneously.

This recognition is most useful when it comes to managing my own anger. I know ahead of time that there are those who interpret my actions differently than I intend them to be understood. To resolve this problem, I tell those around me more about my angry states and what goes on inside me when mad. I also inform them as to how to deal with it and sometimes diffuse it. That level of communication means that there is no more guesswork involved in handling my outbursts. People then know how long, how far, and how fast it will go. The goal of such communication is to allow others and myself around me the freedom to be the emotional people they wish to be at any given time without having to worry that others will misread their actions. It is not just about being able to admit to being angry, but that one can be ‘safely’ angry, knowing that the consequences of misinterpretation will not cause the individual to dangerously suppress his or her emotions. In turn, they share with me their emotional ‘modus operandi’, and everyone is better off when operating out in the open.

In truth, anger, like love, comes with a reflexive responsibility on both the part of the one who is angry and those who observe his fit. Anger, as it turns out, if to be handled responsibly, becomes a shared event and thus diffused somewhat among the safety of other’s understanding. Like love, we must express it and bear witness to it responsibly; with open eyes and clear understanding.

“Anybody can become angry, that is easy; but to be angry with the right person, and to the right degree, and at the right time, and for the right purpose, and in the right way, that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.” (Aristotle, 384 BC - 322 BC)

“Do not teach your children never to be angry; teach them how to be angry.” (Lyman Abbott)

Kol Tuv

Moralism, Maimonides, & Marijuana

Mishna Torah, Hilchos Dayos, Chapter 2:6

וכן הכעס, דעה רעה היא עד למאוד; וראוי לאדם שיתרחק ממנה עד הקצה האחר, וילמד עצמו שלא יכעוס, ואפילו על דבר שראו לכעוס עליו. ואם רצה להטיל אימה על בניו ובני ביתו, או על הציבור אם היה פרנס, ורצה לכעוס עליהם, כדי שיחזרו למוטב--יראה עצמו בפניהם שהוא כועס כדי לייסרם, ותהיה דעתו מיושבת בינו לבין עצמו, כאדם שהוא מידמה איש בשעת כעסו, והוא אינו כועס.

And similarly with anger; a horrible trait to the extreme. It is proper for a person to distance himself from it in the utmost; teaching oneself never to anger even over matters where anger seems justified. However, if one seeks to instill fear in his children or other members of his household (i.e. wife), or upon members of his community (if he is a leader), and he wishes to use anger to motivate them for a positive end, he may feign such anger providing he remains calm within.

Maimonides' Manipulations

This passage from the Mishneh Torah seems innocuous enough. Maimonides, while listing the rules for character and personal discipline, ranks anger, along with pride, as one of the worst negative traits possible. In this, the Rabbis are in agreement with catholic Doctrine that anger is truly a deadly 'sin'. The Rabbis go so far as to equate anger with idol worship; the rationale being that anger is a denial of Providence and thus one imitates the non-believer by becoming angry. First of all, such a comparison seems a bit exaggerated. I do not see why one could not acknowledge and respond emotionally, albeit angrily, at the same time. I may know that certain circumstances are the Will of HaShem and, in the same breath, be quite upset that such events occur. I do not see a contradiction.

Secondly, why not just say that anger is a denial of Providence? Why call it akin to 'idol worship'? Don't idol worshippers also believe that their deities also determine events and circumstance? Most religions do accept Providence as a basic tenet. So why would the rabbis compare anger, as a denial of Providence, with another faith that accepts Providence as well? It makes no sense. The Rabbis could have easily said "Anger is a tacit denial of HaShem's Providence" and be done with it. We would all understand it clearly. Instead, they exaggerated to make a point and end up confusing anyone who gives it the least bit of thought.

This obsession with anger, that it should be avoided at all costs and comparable to idol worship, is surprising considered that there is no specific Torah or Rabbinic command against becoming angry. In fact, we have instances in Torah, where certain persons i.e. Pinchas became filled with righteous indignation and anger and were rewarded for it. Now the Torah does not say that Pinchas became angry, but one would assume that if he took up his spear and murdered two people in front of everyone that he must have been rather irate about something. To asume that every act of vengeance, justice, or religoius zeal was performed with a cold, unmoving heart is just plain stupid. One would have to assume that our forefathers were emotionless automotons.

Perhaps this is why Maimonides retreats a bit from his moral absolutism and speaks of a practical application for anger when needed for a specific moral purpose. Apparently, the most evil character flaw ever isn't really all that bad when wielded properly. According to Maimonides, anger is useful for scaring the 'Holy Bejeeezus' out of family and friends to get them to comply with Torah. As some parents would say "It is time to put the fear of God into that child." Maimonides doesn't want to ban anger, he simply wishes to limit it's use to those who think themselves worthy. What a hypocrite!

Now Maimonides allows this purposeful sort of anger with one small condition; it must be feigned. The one who shows the anger must not actually be angry! Can you say "Academy Award'? I see more than few problems with this idea. Follow along here.

First of all, we just finished reading how unbelievably nasty anger is and how we must run like hell away from it. We can assume that since this little tidbit of information was widely published and likely to have been read, so that people would know well ahead of time that this display of anger was an act and not respond accordingly, thus defeating the whole purpose of getting mad. In addition, if we thought the one who appeared angry wasn't really angry, then we could assume that our apparent lack of Torah observance, the reason he says that he is angry, doesn't really make him angry at all. The one who is feigning this anger doesn't appear to care at all. We all know he is faking it. if he weren't then he'd be really angry, which he isn't permitted to become.

Secondly, this provision sends a very mixed message to listeners. It first adminishes them to avoid anger like the plague, but then to feign that very same anger for some 'holy' use. Not to be over-picky here, but if anger is akin to idol worship (thus a denial of Providence), then how would acting like an idol worshipper further any holy causes? Could one influence people to keep Kosher by eating pork? Committing a 'sin' to further a holy cause makes not one lick of sense to me.

Apparently, Maimonides is counting on all of us being complete numbskulls and not catching on this little subterfuge. Perhaps unsuspecting wives and naive children would buy into this game, but rational adults either would not accept it or not need it altogether. Maimonides would not have sounded so patently ridiculous had he first stated the exception and then offered a general rule for any other instance. He was, however, bound by the Rabbinic principle of overstatement and hyperbole; the same sort of absolute moralism that lead the Rabbis to project images of idol worship onto normal human emotions. Essentially, what Maimonides says is that he is allowed to anger, but you are not.

Lastly, isn't feigning anything i.e. love, like, hate, or even anger just a little bit dishonest? There are direct commands to "Be honest with weights and measures" and against "Bearing false witness" in a court of law. There are also Rabbinic laws governing fraud by subterfuge and false advertising even to Gentiles! Honestly in word and deed is a common theme throught Jewish Law. Yet, like or case here with anger, telling or promoting outright falsehoods is also not so absolute as the Rabbis would first have us believe.

Maimonides acquiesces in that his original moral stance is too absolute to withstand reality, but he fails to consider that those who feel the wrath of holy indignation, feigned as it is, will be a little skeptical next time they are told not to become angry themselves. This reminds me of the drug enforcement spokesperson who railed against the 'sin' of mind altering substances, yet freely dosed himself with 'legal' stimulants such as alcohol and Prozac.

Enter Spinoza

One of the greatest contributions to modern philosophy is the 'immoralism' of Spinoza, and his rejection of all moral absolutes as religious minded and arbitrary assumptions. According to Spinoza, moral absolutes place unnatural claims upon perfectly natural occurences in an attrempt to remove them from the normative process of cause and effect. This leads to three problems. First, actions become taboo irrespective of their actual effects and second, and perhaps even more dangerous, the effects (or influence) of said actions become overexaggerated. Under absolute moralism, an act need not have any actual correlation to a particular negative effect to be considered 'evil'. By example, religious Jews believe that masturbation leads to poverty. (You try and figure that one out.)

The third issue centers around the arbitrary nature of moral absolutes. Huh? What part of 'moral' and 'absolute' don't I understand? The part I fail to get is the one where the rubber meets the road sort of speak; where like in the case of anger, we begin to make exceptions to these absolutes based upon some exigent circumstances. Call me pedantic, but if you already have exceptions, then your rules were never as absolute as first imagined. The inevitable collision between reality and idealism crushes our moralism to bits and exposes it for the farse it is.

Moralism Is Immoral

Spinoza asserts that morals are arbitrary in that one always can find an excuse not be moral if another overriding ‘moral’ principle takes precedence at any given time. Morality is man made. It is a statement of ‘right versus wrong’ made in man’s head, and that same head can easily choose to violate or alter the morality at his choosing. This, in fact, is what the Maimonides does. If anger is a moral no-no, and thus absolute, then no excuse, religious or otherwise, should change it, and the Maimonides is mistaken to assume anger will accomplish any meaningful ends even if used for the ‘right’ reason, because the essence of that moral value is also an absolute.

As another example, we can go back to our drug enforcement officer. His job is to arrest and prosecute those who, by legislation, are not permitted to use, own, or distribute cannbis under any circumstances. The moral absolute, that no one should use cannibis, blinds the public to the obvious medicinal benefits and causes the moralists to tell outright lies about the effects of cannibis use. We have a perfect example of moral absolutism actually breaking down our moral code! After all, which is worse, smoking marijuana or lying? The moralist, as it turns out, doesn't care about any morals or absolutes that impinge on his ability to enforce another absolute. I can almost imagine our dear friend Maimonides feigning anger in order to stop me from feeling real anger!

Spinoza rightly chooses to swap out the moral language of ‘right versus wrong’ for the more natural and somewhat neutral ‘good and bad’. For most people this means exactly the same thing, as they equate right with good and conversely, wrong with bad. Nothing, to Spinoza, could be more wrong and bad than making this assumption. Good and bad are not moral absolutes but natural consequences of our actions mired in the natural processes of cause and effect. For Spinoza to feign anger to accomplish a particular result is no contradiction at all; he never claimed anger, though a negative emotion, to be an absolute evil. For the naturalist, anger is merely another emotion; a cause that leads to certain effects, and can be ‘good and bad’ at the same time. For the moralist, who lays claim to transcendent principles, causes and effects may exist, but those have no bearing on the morality. This is essentially what is contradictory within Maimonides statement. He wishes to play the moral absolutist on one hand and then the naturalist on the other. Maimonides, in spite of his rant against it, recognized the practical ‘good’ in anger through its effects on others. (Now if Maimonides were only so consistent in his assessment of other emotional states.)

By moving to a language 'good and bad' we take it upon ourselves to gain, as Spinoza calls it, the 'adequate idea' of a thing. This means that all things are morally neutral, of the same essential substance, and become 'good' or 'bad' only in the sense of their effects; dependant upon how their particular nature interacts with our own at any given point. Good and bad are not intrinsic properties of the objects nor do arbitrary assumptions a bad thing make.

An example offered by Spinoza is the story of Adam and that lucious apple. God simply commanded Adam not to eat of the tree. He gave Adam no reason and no rationale. He merely said "Of the tree in the Garden, you should not eat." Now Adam must have thought long and hard about this one commandment, so long in fact, that he began to imagine things about this command that simply were not true. For example, he told Eve, who was not present for the original commanding, not to even touch the fruit. Adam somehow turned a simple command into a moral crusade and therefore lied to Eve to preserve that moralism. When she touched the fruit and didn't die, as Adam had told her, he became caught in his own moral emptiness, and a complete moral breakdown soon followed whereby Adam ate the very fruit he was told not to.

Had Adam deemed the fruit of that tree to be not immoral or evil, but as a literal, physical poison and thus bad only in relation to him, then no amount of persuasion on the part of serpents, wives, or gods could have ever induced Adam to bite into that apple. No matter what silliness Adam's conjured in his mind, that fantasy could not change the fruit from being poisonous to healthy. Moralism distorts our perceptions of reality.

We all have to face the music sometime. Why not now?

Kol Tuv

But Have They Really Heard Us?

(As much as I am trying to avoid getting into politics on this blog, it is inevitable that the subject will come up again, and I will do my best to keep it short.)

On November 7^th, the voting public of America soundly rejected the GOP, both retaining challenges to Democratic incumbents and by winning hotly contested races across the nation. This same phenomena occurred in many gubernatorial races as well. Congratulations to the Democratic Party. Let’s hope the Democrats do not, once again, forget who gave them this renewed opportunity to govern the nation.

I have two observations to offer. House Speaker-to-be Pelosi, cute as a ‘button’ as she is, was the first of the Democratic leadership to disappoint me in victory. In her speech to the DSCC, she announced that she hopes to work in tandem with the GOP in a ‘bipartisan’ manner. This is asinine! Where has Rep. Pelosi been for 12 years of Republican stone-walling, obstruction, and outright derision of the Democratic membership?

Someone should remind Rep. Pelosi of an important fact. This new groundswell of voters did not rush out en masse so that those liberal and progressives we send to Washington D.C. could start making deals with the ‘devils’ we wanted out of our government completely. The GOP has offered America nothing but corruption and war, and last thing any of us should want is compromise with them. The new Democratic leadership should bring them the Karma that they offered to their own political opponents; no quarter offered and none taken. To turn the ship aright, one must not bargain with those who ruthlessly tried to scuttle her.

Secondly, but along the same lines, I would hope that the ‘Old Guard’ recognizes the amount of talent, energy, and innovation that has been brought by the newly-elected members and, most importantly, refrain from abusing their seniority to strangle them into submission. I would hope that the fresh momentum of this new talent does not become relegated to a ‘minority within a majority’ status. These newly elected members of Congress were chosen by ‘we the people’ because of their ideas, their magnetism, and their courage to stand up and stand out for change. They deserve to be in the forefront of those possible changes.

Voters called for a change in American politics, and it was more than just a switch from (R) to (D). This election is for a substantive change in how things are done all the way around; up to and including the parlimentary ‘nonsense’, lobbying, and inter-party wrangling for power and seniority. Different means different; not more of the same with a just a fresh coat of blue paint.

I hope that someone somewhere in the D.C. Democratic establishment gets the hint. I am doubtful. We, the people, have shouted. But have they really heard us?

SL

Dear Believer

Affirm as you might in ardent fervor
Upon the command of one All-Seeing
Please assuage my doubts
As to the exact whereabouts
Of this Omni-Present Almighty being

Seeking everlasting reward in afterlife's bliss
Lips whispering meek supplications
But superstitious pretense
Makes not one lick of sense
While He hides from His own creations

To an invisible taskmaster solemnly sworn
Devoted to cause and holy conviction
Yet the nature of that friend
Upon whom you depend
Remains to me merely a lackluster fiction

Abandon all hope for my eternal salvation
For by Reason shall I continue in living
Should sound judgment lapse
Only then sadly perhaps
Will I ever require another's forgiving

SL

I Will Be Back Soon

Savored moments of content
As to not endure evening spent
Embroiled in thought languishing a-mind
Perhaps a simpler course to find

Yet soon enough this hiatus ceased
As torrents of expression come unleased
Dragged and drowned in current's rage
Forced again this pen to page!

Silence is but a waiting tide
Of anticipation that lurks inside
O Soul who beckons from across the dam!
Bathe Me! Take Me! as I am

SL

K'ev Rosh (HaShanah): Remembering the Cycles

“In the seventh month, on the first day of that month, you will observe a holy occasion. All business and mundane labor should not be performed. It is to be a Day of Trumpeting for you.” (Numbers 29: 1)

“It is an active command of the Torah to hear the Shofar on Rosh HaShanah as it states “….a Day of Trumpeting for YOU.” The horn used, whether it be for Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur is to be a curved sheep’s horn, and any horn not of this specific type is unfit. Even though the Torah does not specify which type of horn is to be used for Rosh Hashanah, it does say in regards to the Jubilee (Leviticus 25:9) “And you shall blow a shofar…..a shofar shall be blown.” Tradition tells us that the horn for both occasions is to be a male sheep’s horn.” (Mishneh Torah, Laws of the Shofar 1:1)

“This month shall be for you the first of the months; first it is to you of the months of the year.” (Exodus 12:2)

Clearly one can see that Exodus 12:2 is referring to the Hebrew month of Nisan and not the month of Tishrei since the following verses (3-20) relate specifically to the weeks preceding Passover and the Pascal offering. Since Jewish months did not have actual names until the Babylonian Exile, prior to that time they were called by their biblically designated ordinal numbers i.e. first month, second month, etc., and there wasn’t any way possible to confuse one month with another. Unless, of course, one wishes to overcomplicate matters.

The first of Tishrei is now considered as the primary Jewish New year. So how do the rabbis explain this contradiction with Exodus 12:2 which obviously refers to Nisan? The rabbis claim that in reality there are two new years, one that signifies our collective beginning as a nation and the other, the New Year we all know and love, is the annual day of personal and communal Judgment where we stand before God and await his verdict. This explanation is wholly unacceptable because the Torah doesn’t even hint to such an explanation for the ‘day of trumpeting’. If someone wishes to derive an interpretation from another interpretation that’s fine, but at least the original interpretation should have some Biblical source to support it. In this case, the rabbis are way off base and thus have turned Rosh Hashanah into a liturgical and psychological disaster.

The Torah in Numbers 29 makes no mention of repentance, sin, or overtures of regret for wrongs committed. Yet, for some reason, we Jews, prior to Rosh HaShanah, subject ourselves to endless sessions of self-effacement and apology, pleading for this merciful god not to kill us or horribly curse us for even the most minor infractions of Jewish Law. The entire month of Elul, a full 30 days prior Rosh HaShanah, becomes a marathonic dirge of penitent supplications and solicitations to the Almighty, culminating in the recitation of Selichos, a torturous early-morning prayer cycle authored by someone with a lot of time on his hands and not much imagination. Orthodox Jewish men rise earlier than usual to spend hours reciting page after page of “I’m a piece of crap and not worthy of Your kindness. You are the Merciful One. Please don’t fuck me over. I promise I’ll change my ways.”

Maimonides (see above) explains that we know the horn for Rosh Hashanah is to be a shofar (curved sheep’s horn) because the same terminology of ‘blowing’ (teruah) is found in relation to the Jubilee Year, where a shofar is specifically mentioned. The theme of repentance fits with this notion. A horn that is bent represents a bent knee or bent spirit, in line with the assumed theme of judgment and repentance. Nonetheless, the Torah in Numbers 29 doesn’t appear to offer any obvious reason why the Israelites were to have a special day set aside each and every year to hear the shofar blown, so the Rabbis, eager to inundate us with their ‘superior logic and morality’ had to create some new ones. To do so they had to ignore some realities of the day.

Even if one was to accept this interpretation, one would also have to assume that the Torah, while referencing a Jubilee year (Lev. 25:9) would also mention something of repentance or supplication in order to support the rabbis theme of repentance, yet it fails to mention either. The Jubilee Year is a time of ‘release’ and marks a period when debts are forgiven, the soil and people are given additional time to rest, harvests are for everyone equally, and real estate values are assessed by the Jubilee date. There remains no mention whatsoever of repentance or divine judgment, even though the actual shofar blowing of the Jubilee year was to occur on Yom Kippur!

Maybe the Rabbis are part right, but not in way that they might imagine. The ‘new year’ and the Jubilee are connected in a very practical sense. The Jubilee was a grand and awesome event, since much of ancient Israel’s commerce was affected and dependent upon it. Land deals were revoked or recovered, farming was absolutely forbidden, and indentured servants were freed without question. It was accompanied by a time of economic uncertainty and turmoil for both the average guy and the long-term investor. Imagine being told that in year ‘50’, all of your business deals, deeds, and loans were going to be annulled and that the free household help you enjoyed for the last umpteen years was being cut loose. That’s a huge lifestyle change and it required a powerful faith to put aside worldly concerns and observe it.

This may answer why there was a ‘Day of Blowing’ and why it was so important. Holidays are national occasions. Why was it so important that all Jews make themselves available on the 1^st day of the 7^th month to hear the Shofar? It was a yearly reminder of the Jubilee and the Cycle of Land Rest (Deut.16:1). After all, most ancient peoples didn’t have calendars, palm pilots, or day planners to remind them of these events and without someone to keep track and announce their imminent arrival, holidays and remembrances would be missed by a day or two or maybe even altogether. Horn blowing was another means of public service announcement, and specific horns were used for specific purposes depending on what sort of event was being announced. Ancient people knew the difference between the sounds of a straight horn, a curved horn, and a bronze or golden horn. To further support this theory, the shofar was blown everywhere, not just in Jerusalem, and everyone was obligated to mark the event by hearing it wherever they happened to reside. Every Israelite, be they slave, master, man, woman, or king had to know from which date his dealings were time-stamped as a mental preparation for the coming Jubilee.

This is the real reason why the Shofar is blown on Rosh Hashanah and perhaps why we call it a ‘new year’ even though it isn’t the New Year at all. In agrarian societies, where manual labor, real estate, and investment capital were a vital necessity, the life-blood of the culture revolved around harvest times, where the return on one’s investments finally paid off. Farmers and merchants could borrow against the actual harvest return rather than the anticipated return of a springtime transaction; the harvest being a better and more tangible indicator of financial stability and success. Rosh HaShanah, the first of Tishrei, becomes the beginning of the ‘business’ year and we are reminded by the Shofar that our business dealings are subject to the cycles of rest and motion encapsulated within the commands of Rest Years and the Jubilee.

This would also explain why the shofar must come from domesticated male sheep; horns of wild goats are not permitted, since they bear no relation to the theme of the day. Domesticated sheep horn is also almost always curved, so the rabbinic wrangling over bent knees and spirits is just plain nonsense. The people used what they had readily available. Domesticated sheep were all over the place so everyone would have access to a shofar or at least to someone who had access. It’s just that simple. The important thing for Moses was to have everyone do it at the same time. No point handing out wristwatches if they aren’t going to be synchronized. This is another example of rabbis overcomplicating relatively simple issues and making the rest of us suffer needlessly in the process.

No, I don’t think the shofar’s shrill sound, enchanting as it may be to many, is that of the ‘Jewish soul crying out for God.’ It is, however, a stark reminder that our efforts to achieve prosperity and security in this world remain inexorably bound with the cycles of Nature. As Moses said when offering his blessings to the Jews (Deut. 32:1) “Listen skies and I shall announce! And let the earth hear the speaking of my mouth!” Moses invoked physical skies and the material earth to bear active witness upon the Israelite destiny. The nation’s adherence and recognition of these cycles were vital to their prosperity and survival.

(The word ‘shofar’ is commonly translated as ‘horn of a male sheep’, but maybe that translation is based solely on the common rabbinic understanding of shofar and Rosh HaShanah, being that nobody ever bothers to argue the point anymore.)

In any case, hob a gutt und a gebenshte yohr.

Kol Tuv

Torah: Walk or Fly?

I think one of the greatest problems with Orthodoxy is its inability to state the plain truth and just read the Torah without obscuring it with commentaries, suggestions, numerology, and exegesis that have no bearing whatsoever on the story being told. In fact, the plain Torah is chock full of riveting, full-bodied accounts of personal heroism and sacrifice that the Rabbis overlook completely or deliberately disguise in their quest to appear more learned; driven to outdo the previous commenter by creating a newer set of explanations even more convoluted than the last. If it weren’t so sad and misguided, it would almost be comical.

My father, though devout, was not a Torah scholar. It is probably he who is to blame for my unique outlook on Torah and how I interpret the various personalities and events that grace its long columns of precise calligraphic beauty. My father insisted that Torah ‘says what it means and means what it says’, adding that too much exegesis just plain confuses the hell out of the issue. The Rabbis tell us that the Torah is like an onion, and as you begin peeling off layers, there are new layers to be found beneath. My father commented once to me privately “That is the biggest onion I’ve ever seen!” He also wondered why it is we keep peeling the onions and never cooking them; the implication being whether or not the practical and profound details of the simple explanation have been lost in the rush to discover those ‘deeper’ meanings. I fully agree.

Torah scholars love to make things more complicated than they really ought to be. The Rabbi’s Sabbath sermon is replete with quotes from Talmud, other famous Rabbis, or stories of a famous rabbinic contemporary. The rabbi of the synagogue will perform all sorts theological acrobatics; performing syncretisms without end and reconciling all apparent contradictions with a few sprinkles of Hasidic lore to boot. It’s nothing short of magic unless, of course, you know how this slight of hand operates. These complicated sermons are nothing more than smoke and mirrors to make one believe there is a problem to be solved when, in fact, there never really was. I would watch those around me sit in awe of the speaker and would wonder if they even knew which Torah portion was being read.

I was a Torah reader for many years and the man who taught me how to read was a very skilled grammarian. His love for the art was evident in his mastery of the language and its usage. Though I could not possibly ever match his expertise, I did develop an appreciation for power of the simple word. This, coupled with my father’s blue collar approach to Torah, paved the way for the reading of Torah to become a living experience. The word itself contains all the passion and realism to convey a profound and full message. I would stay up all Friday night preparing for the Saturday morning; usually reviewing the Torah portion a dozen times or more, while reflecting each time on the simple beauty of the story being told. Read a good piece of literature aloud to yourself a dozen times or more and see how it comes alive on its own, bringing you along almost unwillingly into the drama. There is a magic present in that experience.

All this reminds me of a fairly rotten analogy comparing Torah learning to the various modes of travel. Two Torah students were debating the benefits of two schools of religious discipline designed to create lasting spiritual and behavioral changes in the individual. For the sake of brevity I will call them (A) and (B). School (A) takes an esoteric or mystical approach to behavior and School (B) uses a somewhat more practical and emotionally-charged methodology. In this analogy, the student of School (B) complains that when he studies the curriculum of School (A), he doesn’t feel spiritually or psychologically satisfied. The student of (A), in defense of his preferred teaching, tries to tries to convince his counterpart that the teachings of School (A) are much better than (B) with the following analogy:

“The learning of school (A) is like flying in an airplane and that of school (B) is like riding in an automobile. In a jet, one doesn’t feel as if they are traveling 500 mph, but one is. You also reach your destination much faster than if you were merely driving.”

Now, I have heard some stupid rationale in my day, but this one took the cake. How about we take this analogy a step further? First of all, in an airplane, you aren’t in control of where the plane is going. In an airplane, if it crashes, expect to die horribly. The landing, analogous to coming back to reality, is always the most dangerous part. Lastly, while flying, you can’t see anything that going on below on the ground below which, as fate would have it, is your final destination. The Student of (A) will tell nonetheless you not to worry because there is a Rabbi piloting the plane and everything will be alright. You just have to take his word for it. No one really knows what goes on in the cockpit.

I remain the sort of fellow, although raised in the philosophy of School (A), who believes one has to crawl before walking and walk before running with episodes of stumbling, falling, and crying along the way. The Ethics of the Fathers (5:25) clearly states that there is a hierarchy of understanding that flows in a particular progression of intellectual and physical development. Our common experience agrees, and the understanding of Torah doesn’t operate any differently. In fact, I honestly wonder if flying or driving is really necessary at all if one doesn’t force the need. Maybe it comes from that little ‘homebody’ inside me, but what’s the big rush to reach some far off destination? Isn’t ‘home’ the real destination anyhow? So, if I never leave home, then it follows that I would already be at my ‘destination’ without requiring myself to board a jetliner.

So again, why the rush to fly? What particular benefit do we imagine will be gained by traveling faster? The Chinese say that a happy man never leaves his village because his happiness prevents the sort of curiosity that leads men to wander off in search of happiness elsewhere. His realizes his grass is sufficiently green and each day he walks barefoot across it. He also finds inspiration walking the old familiar alleys and sidewalks. I think Torah is the same as that wonderful patch of lawn and the beaten path to a familiar place. It is totally unrecognizable from 35,000 feet above the Earth and yet, it becomes an intimate and sensational event each time you find yourself standing right smack in the middle of it; your toes and heels digging into the sod and the tops of the blades tickling your ankles. That’s why Torah is to be kept simple. It reflects the uncomplicated nature of a whole being having a seemingly simple but comprehensive sensory experience. You don’t get that kind of joy when flying, even in first class.

Call me prejudiced, but I happen to prefer walking to any other mode of conveyance. If it were possible I would not drive at all, but arrange my circumstances so that I could walk to anywhere I needed to be, and any destination within five miles is easily walk-able. The beauty of walking is that one can actually see and feel the world up close while moving with it. The rain, the sun, the wind, the noise, and the smells and sights all create a new experience each time they occur. Walking is up close and personal. When I walk, I can hear couples arguing or making love as I pass by their homes. I find interesting objects along the curbside or notice new framing on an old house. I can greet other passersby and maybe even stop to chat for a minute. If I were driving or flying, these experiences would be unknown to me. I would know it was raining. I would assume there were people getting wet and complaining to each other about the weather, but I’d never feel the rain of the day on my own face. It would remain for me an abstraction.

One other way that the innate richness of Torah is destroyed comes through the moralistic ranting and the hero-creation of the ‘frequent fliers’. For some reason, the ‘learned ones’ among us feel that they have to interject a high-browed moral lesson onto each event in Torah in order to prove that the characters depicted were undoubtedly behaving in a perfectly righteous and holy manner, even when it becomes required for them to ‘flip the script’ out of the realm common experience to support their wild hypotheses. The story was meaningful long before they got a hold of it, and I can’t see how creating saints and sinners out of common men makes the story any more believable or relevant to normal folks like us.

One should walk through the Torah and not fly over it. There are people to meet and things to touch inside of it; things that will forever alter your ideas about yourself and the world around you as they come up off the parchment into your understanding. This is truly ‘walking the walk’. As the Torah says in Deut. (6:7) “……talking…..sitting…..moving around…..laying down….getting up.” It’s within the familiarity of home and common every-day doings that Torah is found.

In walking this walk, we can climb to the highest branches of the tree of Knowledge and survey the Garden of Eden with Adam the First. We can make idle conversation with Abraham and comfort the bereaved Judah on the loss of his wife and two sons. We can pass by Sodom and pocket a few pieces of ash and crumbled stone. We can be the first to set our own feet in the waters of the Red Sea, or stand in the middle of the Sinai desert, feeling both helpless and awed by the expanse of its emptiness. Coincidentally, every one of these events our fore-bearers experienced while walking.

Let’s have a stroll. Shall we?

Kol Tuv

Holding My Tongue

In an American social climate growing more and more hostile to anything outside ultra-conservative or fundamentalist forms of religion, introducing oneself as an atheist (or even as a liberal) can be quite problematic. It’s not as if I go out of my way to advertise my atheism. Even though I am well beyond outspoken in print, I do occasionally choose to remain silent on the subject of religion should it come up in business meetings, at the gym, or at gatherings among those who haven’t yet suffered through a lecture on my philosophical outlook on everything. Even the closest of my friends can’t bear more than one or two ‘pontifications’ a year, and I try my best to accommodate them.

Overall, I’ve noticed that believers tolerate other believers of different faiths (and agnostics) better than they do non-believers. As long as there is a belief in some sort of monotheistic deity, be it a moralistic god or otherwise, one won’t encounter too much nervous tension. One could assume, in our day and age that, were one to profess belief in the gods of Mt. Olympus, he or she would receive some funny looks and maybe a few laughs, but never with the sort of negative reaction which atheism seems to engender in even those who are not hardcore religionists. Back in ancient Rome, speaking ill of the gods was not met with resounding approval either. The gods have may changed since then, but humanity obviously hasn’t.

So why does my non-belief in this eternal, transcendent, all-powerful being make others so uncomfortable? There are two explanations. First, there is the assumption that my non-belief is also a rejection of any moral or ethical standard that the believer mistakenly claims as synonymous with his or her god and religious doctrine. How many times have we heard it said that “America is a Christian country based upon Biblical principles”? It goes without saying that the Islamic world feels much the same in that regard. So when I state that “I am an atheist”, it means much more to them than a mere disregard of their particular deity or religious doctrine. It becomes an attack on what they perceive as a national credo, and I appear to them as one who seeks to undermine their entire way of life. The fact that nothing could be further from the truth means little, however, since one who is willing to believe the unbelievable is equally capable of denying the believable when he so chooses.

The second reason is closely linked to the first and although they are not mutually inclusive, they sure seem pretty damned close to it. First, consider the emotional attachment one develops in regard to ingrained and cherished ideals. One doesn’t build their whole life and hope around something without becoming emotionally involved. Then, mix in the reality of human beings as creatures of habit and routine. Once we factor in the pain caused by an attack on any of those ideas or behavior patterns, it becomes apparent why some would be so offended by my non-belief. It would be great if rationality always prevailed, but I’ve learned to expect that this just isn’t so. The affronted party will likely remain civil to my face, which is great, but even from afar, it is preferable that nobody engages in hearsay or negative conjecture on my behalf. Who needs that kind of karma?

Therefore, in order to avoid the initial uneasiness and fallout of an oft-disliked opinion, I simply say “I am still exploring my spiritual and intellectual options.” The listener generally smiles and replies “Well, it is good that you are searching. So many people don’t even make the effort.” I feel just a little dishonest in holding my tongue, but it’s always easier to take a compliment than to start an argument or forego the possibility of forming a lasting connection with someone you have just met. Besides, they will have plenty of time to know me better after I create that first ‘good’ impression and earn their willing attention. As my friends would attest “Shlomo is a really nice guy, but he has some crazy ideas.” If all people hear is the ‘crazy’ part, I’ll never get to show the ‘nice’ side, and there will be no opportunity to dispel their misunderstanding of my atheism. You can always argue with a friend and remain friends, but you have to make friends in order have someone with whom to argue safely.

(There are rare occasions when I am asked to discuss religion, science, and philosophy with someone who has already been forewarned about what they are getting themselves into. Some people just love a challenge. My response always comes in the form of a question asked of anyone who has ever sought out confrontation for any reason. “Do you really want to do this?” I leave it up to them. I know how to walk away from a fight. Hell, I’ll run if I have to! I like peace better than war anyhow.)

Why push it? Isn’t that what friends are for?

Kol Tuv

From Judaism to Atheism: Maybe?

Naturalism is a philosophical movement which affirms the natural universe the whole of reality and is understood only through scientific investigation, often referred to as methodological naturalism. While denying the existence of supernatural or transcendent entities, or the questioning of the ultimate nature of reality, naturalism affirms that cause-and-effect relationships, as in physics and chemistry, are sufficient to account for all phenomena.

Materialism is the doctrine that all existence is resolvable into matter or into an attribute or effect of matter. According to this doctrine, matter is the ultimate reality, and the phenomenon of consciousness is explained by physiochemical changes in the nervous system. Materialism and naturalism go hand in hand.

Skepticism is the refusal to accept certain kinds of claims without first subjecting them to a systematic investigation or rational inquiry. For many skeptics, this process is akin to the scientific method. This type of skeptic generally accepts those assertions that are in likely to be true based upon a testable hypotheses and critical thinking.

Atheism is basically a lack of belief in a deity or deities of any sort. Although some atheists tend toward skepticism or other secular philosophies such as humanism, naturalism and materialism, there is no single system of philosophy which all atheists share, nor does atheism have institutionalized rituals or behaviors.

I endeavored to define each ‘ism’ as succinctly and yet, comprehensively as possible to set the stage for understanding this article. There are a few of you whose eyes have already glossed over and you’re getting angry at me for not getting right to the point. These brief definitions are important for understanding where it is my ‘atheism’ comes from and why I feel so strongly about it. The metamorphosis from belief into non-belief is not, as some would have it, merely a matter of emotional or social dysfunction, though such things do occur internally in those who are faced with conflicting outlooks and must, as their social needs require, perform a psychological balancing act to live in both worlds simultaneously.

Why Us?

It occurred to me that more Jews turn toward Atheism than those of other religions. From Spinoza, to Freud, to Einstein, and many others in between and since, Jews have been at the forefront of non-theistic thinking in modern Western culture. I wondered why this was and thought maybe it is because so much of what makes an atheist is already latent within Jewish learning and culture. Is that possible that elements from within my own religious education led me to atheism? My personal correspondences with other disaffected Jews also confirms this hypothesis, as none of them (among the dozens that I have contacted) have taken on other faiths or even less stringent forms of Jewish practice. All have embraced either atheism or some variant of agnosticism. This was definitely something that needed further exploration.

The answer I came up with isn’t definitive or universal by any standard. I cannot speak for all renegade Jews-turned-atheist, nor would I attempt to speak on behalf of anyone but myself. My goal here is seek out that ‘something’ in Judaism that could lead to atheism and rejection of Judaism in the process. This is, at worst, an uneducated guess which proves to be way off base or, at best, an introspective analysis into my own particular view of Jewish learning. I believe it will be instructive in either case. Those of you living with these same inner conflicts and questions will understand and hopefully garner some insight from this article.

When the Love of Being Right Goes Wrong

As a rule, most human beings love to be right, but when we Jews decide we are right about something no one hammers home the point better than we do. It isn’t enough to know that we are right amongst ourselves. Oh no. We Jews are fully prepared to take all the time and effort required to make sure the world hears every syllable explaining and justifying our correctness. If you argue with a Jew, the first words out of his mouth will be “As a matter of fact…” attesting with precise logic and devout passion to the veracity of anything we assert as truth. We are the ‘Kings of Disputation’ and throughout our history in Exile we have been subject, time and time again, to debates and argumentation with Epicureans, Christians, Moslems, the Enlightenment, and, last but not least, even amongst ourselves. Why do you think we make such good lawyers?

This steady stream of attacks from without and within Judaism, philosophical and physical, on traditional believers has created an insular and defensive mentality among the Orthodox. Let’s be honest here. We are a culture that is built, shaped, and influenced by our persecutors and retractors as much as it is by our own internal genius and religious ingenuity. One cannot exist as a hated minority for all that time and not come away without a victim mentality. This mentality reinforces, or maybe even is what created our argumentative nature and the often hyperbolic, reflexive defense mechanism that our culture displays. Without military power or demographic numbers to save us, all that was left for us to do was argue our way out of the predicament. The flip side of providing this positive argument for one’s position is by exploiting the weaknesses of the other opinion. Overall, this method has met with limited success.

This ‘Jewish’ skepticism means that every time we hear about Jesus doing a miracle, or the Pope blessing a couple to conceive, or any other supernatural claim, we immediately have two thoughts. First, it’s impossible, and second, if it did happen, there must be a perfectly rational explanation for it that has nothing to do with Jesus or the Holy Father. Our skepticism directed at the claims of other religious doctrines leads us to arguments based in naturalism and materialism. We have now, and so far unknowingly, united the three basic elements needed to create an Atheist into our method of disputation, but we haven’t asked the same questions of ourselves, because it requires more emotional input and sense of loss to question one’s own beliefs that it does to destroy the faith and hopes of 1000s of others. You couldn’t possibly take their loss personally.

So what happens when a Jew, trained in Talmudic logic and the various forms of argumentation and now having this ingrained skepticism toward any threatening or seemingly anti-Jewish ideal, suddenly doesn’t know how to shut that skepticism off? What if all the arguments that one utilizes to debunk Christianity or Islam suddenly become thrown into reverse, critiquing one’s one faith and heritage by the same rules? This is where the problem begins. I cannot simply claim that Judaism’s miracles are rational and true and yet, in the same breath, claim that Christianity’s claims must be false because they are physically impossible or highly improbable. I cannot, in good conscience, debunk the myth of Santa Claus while, in the same breath, seek to defend the belief that Elijah the Prophet shows up at every Jewish home on the night of Passover. Each idea is equally preposterous for the very same reason; it is physically impossible. We invariably end up, through asking others to be ‘intellectually honest’ to prove our point to them, at same later time, facing ourselves in the same ‘intellectual’ mirror and wonder if we are being equally honest about ourselves and what we believe as truth.

(I wonder if this is the ultimate reason why Maimonides opposed philosophical inquiry, or why, during the Middle Ages, the Rabbis generally forbid formal disputations with Christian scholars. In debunking an opponents idea, the same logic could be used, circumstances reversed, to debunk one’s own, and therefore one had to very careful as to who was going to be doing the debating. It’s not that the Christian would trip one up in an argument, but that one would become so sure of his own debating skills that one would begin to argue with everything, friend and foe alike, based on that technique. )

The Truth Isn’t Cold or Hard

As much as I’d like to think this whole process is completely cold and rational, it obviously isn’t. The feeling of power that can accompany being ‘right’ about any issue can be very addicting. Sometimes this gets out of hand, but even then isn’t necessarily a bad thing until we separate our intellectual and emotional faculties and that is where we go horribly wrong. We assume that when we are thinking that we are somehow no longer feeling, and we end up, unknowingly, becoming attached to our thinking in way that puts us into a position of holding an enormous emotional investment in our opinions. Do you know how hard it is to admit that you are wrong? Or that the position you have arduously defended for many years is as equally misguided as those you debunked, if not even more? Few of us ever realize the deep emotional attachment we have to ideas we assume are ‘cold hard facts’, and are dead wrong about. We throw ‘intellectual honesty’ in the face of every opponent but no ‘emotional honesty’ in the way of our own introspection.

At some point, some of us actually make that leap into that intellectual-emotional self-inquiry. We use the very same tools we have been taught to use on others to inflict maximum damage on our own Jewish beliefs and religion in general. We begin to ask the same questions of ourselves that we demanded of others and by the same methods and arguments. Yet, we are no longer debating strangers from whom we emotionally disassociate ourselves. We are arguing with our own core beliefs and the fight hits home with a vengeance. For those of you who have never felt the emptiness of being wrong, completely wrong, and having to alter your entire thinking based upon that realization, I cannot put adequately into words how gut-wrenching that experience feels. It is nothing short of heart-break. I really believed that the Judaism I was raised in could withstand all the scrutiny that I was fervently using to admonish the rest of humanity, but it could not.

My atheism is a direct by-product of my Jewish upbringing. Not in terms of information, mind you, but in how information in general is to be processed. I was taught to ask tough questions; to think and to problem solve. I was trained to debate the point with determination. I was educated in argument and commanded to treat any strange idea or religion with strong skepticism. My problem is that I didn’t know when or how to turn it off. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to.

So here I am.

Kol Tuv

If Pascal Were A Jew

Pascal argues that it is always a better "bet" to believe that a god exists, because the expected value to be gained from believing that such a deity exists is always greater than the expected value resulting from non-belief. With his wager he sought to demonstrate that believing in the existence of a god is more advantageous than not believing, and hoped that this would convert those who rejected previous theological arguments. Pascal is like the card shark down on the corner enticing you into choosing the magic card with the lure of reward should you bet correctly, and the fate of everlasting doubt should you fail to seek out those possible rewards.

Due to its relative simplicity, Pascal’s Wager (or Gambit) still serves as the most popular argument for belief in some sort of deity that rewards or punishes in the hereafter. As I see it, this wager works out great for most Christians, who have little to actually do to fulfill their religious requirements, having shed themselves of the “law” through faith in Jesus. It is fair to ask as to what would the average Christian lose or gain by accepting Christianity on a bet? Surely, his life would change little. Even the most secular society demands respect for parents, fidelity in marriage, and even when it comes to the ‘Seven Deadly Character Flaws’, society already provides the means to overcome or to deter those behaviors, be it through social pressures, education, or the rule of law. If the Christian dies to find there is no god, his life was still meaningful, even in the secular sense, and he has lost little for his gamble.

For the Jew, however, to accept Pascal’s proposition is quite another matter. We Jews, in order to be 100% true to the rules of this wager, must accept all 613 commands of the Torah (though most do not apply and others are situational and never come up), the edicts and additions of the Rabbis, and the entire body of Jewish Law which govern our lives from dusk until dawn, waking to sleep, and even into our dreams. There is no aspect of human life that Judaism doesn’t seek to govern. Judaism, as a religion, is not merely about belief, but concerns itself with practical application; belief itself is considered to be an application of thought and emotion. Belief is essential, but belief without action is meaningless and is not considered Judaism at all. Even the proposed Seven Noahide Laws require an active participation on the part of Gentiles. So were I to accept Pascal’s Wager in Jewish terms, the stakes would be much, much higher than for my Christian neighbor.

The Christian who hedges his bets really loses nothing by doing so. He will, if he follows the best of what his faith demands, remain faithful to his wife, do honest business, and perform acts of charity when needed. He will be kind and respectful of his neighbors. In other words, he would fulfill the definition of good common citizen and had he not announced his faith in public by church attendance, no one would be the wiser as to his true religious leanings. The Jew, however, takes on a whole other set of rules that sets him apart from the rest of society, so much so that he is required to restrict his interactions with the world in order to fulfill the laws of his faith. This comes at what appears to be a much greater sacrifice to the non-believer. Should I accept the rules, and then find out there was no such god to command them, I would have altered my whole existence to the extent of tremendous personal self-sacrifice for what? So I would never taste pork? Have sex with a non-Jewish woman? Take a bus ride on Saturday? Not eat a cheeseburger?

This is why I spin Pascal’s Gambit the other way around. As a Jew betting with Pascal's logic, I would become inundated with rules, regulations, restrictions, etc. that control almost every aspect of my life, be it dietary, literary, or mortuary; since even in my death there are rules to be strictly followed. In terms of how I would have to alter my life and thinking to accommodate the religion, the stakes are just too rich for my blood. The Jewish Pascal wants me to bet on there not only being a god, but a god that wants everything from me in exchange for a ‘possibility.’ I am not the sort of betting man that would sacrifice the freedom and liberty of the secular life without evidence and good reason. To accept what, in my estimation, are meaningless rules and regulations based upon another’s suspicion that there may be a vengeful or rewarding god in the afterlife is a bit more than I am willing to wager. Frankly, I have seen e-mail scams more convincing than Pascal’s Wager.

To me, it appears somewhat analogous to buying a lottery ticket (except that with the ticket there is a definite possibility of a winner). It’s all about hope or fear and what one is willing to give up hoping that the fears don’t ever materialize. For the person to wager a few dollars on the chance of winning millions, it seems quite reasonable. (I do it every week.) This is the extent of the Christian commitment to Pascal’s Wager. As they say “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” For the Jew to play this lottery, however, he must invest all the capital he has available to him, notwithstanding that in the end, his odds aren’t really much better than those who wagered much less.

Had he been an Orthodox Jew, or had Christianity been more demanding of its followers, it is likely that Mr. Pascal never would have taken those odds either.

Kol Tuv

Subverting Democracy Right Here At Home

Ok. Go ahead and call me a pessimist and a cynic. You can’t tell me it’s not without good reason.

I have been diligently following the various election problems and voting troubles across the USA since the 2000 presidential debacle that ‘gifted’ control of our nation to the PNAC. I have been scouring the internet, blogosphere, and even scanning the piss-poor mainstream media reporting for incidences of voter fraud, machine breakdowns, poll worker malfeasance, voter disenfranchisement, and the rampant corruption that exists as a result of HAVA between GOP legislators and the electronic voting machine manufacturers. I am not happy with what I am hearing. In addition, recent court decisions are not favoring an honest and verifiable electoral process. The recent case of CA-50 is a prime example of how lawmakers and judges play their cards wisely to usurp power. The people be damned!

Defenders of the status quo, consisting mostly of the various secretaries of state and paid representatives of voting machine companies, expect the American people to blindly ‘trust’ the elections. “No one would ever dare tamper with the American Democracy!” they argue. Now, someone please tell me why I should assume the system to be honest? Is it because someone’s grandmother was a poll worker at some time, and she was an obviously earnest and upstanding human being? Maybe it seems perfectly reasonable that an oatmeal-cookie-baking grandmother wouldn’t tamper with an election, but what about the politicians or the interests who have so much to gain from the outcome? Do you think the players just pack up their balls and go home quietly when the game is lost? Not a chance. They seek every advantage before, during, and after each contest, up to and including, unfortunately, subverting the process. Think about what is at stake for them.

It is strange to me that so many people would readily admit that almost 100% of those in politics on any level are in some way corrupted yet, when it comes to the very process that gets them into office, these same criminally-minded corporate servants are treated as being beyond any reproach? Are you saying that there is no-way-in-hell that politicians would try to influence and election by resorting to dishonesty, either in advertising or practices? Oh, how naïve some must be! Anyone who still imagines that our elections have always been honest and treated by those seeking power with deepest reverence needs to visit their local library and head straight for the history section. Read a little about the influences of Tammany Hall or the history of Chicago politics.

There is no reason to blindly trust anyone for anything. I have no implicit faith in any form of governance. I want evidence; the sort of evidence as produced by the checks and balances provided through transparency, oversight, and public scrutiny. My vote is to be held as a sacred, sealed, and secret ballot only at the point when I cast it. After that, it doesn’t become subject to the sole jurisdiction and discretion of a bureaucrat or the proprietary intellectual property of a voting machine company. My vote does not become a matter of national security and nor do I fear identity theft should the vote be recounted. That vote is the property of the American people in collective and is to be counted openly for that collective to witness. Voting is not an act of faith. There should be no closed doors and secret meetings when and where the votes are being tallied. If they have nothing to hide, then they shouldn’t mind being watched while they do it. This legislatively required electronic voting process doesn’t make elections more honest, it only makes dishonesty more convenient and further shrouded in the nomenclature of computer lingo and legalese.

The process of counting those votes must never be a clandestine affair limited to the prying eyes and fingers of those who hold a stake in the outcome. The sad reality we face is that candidness in gathering and recounting the vote is becoming a scarce event, often routinely denied or subverted by political operatives, corporate stooges, or judges. This deceit is a shameful statement of how far American politics has divested itself of any moral character or high ground in the debate over freedom and democracy around the world. Our government insists upon open elections overseas while making excuses for not having it here at home.

All we are asking for is verifiable elections. You know; the kind with receipts and open honesty. That seems to be too much to ask from our government these days. They claim it is either too cumbersome, or too expensive, or too late, or too early, or too divisive, or too contentious, etc. ad nauseum. These conflict-of-interest-ridden liars conjure more lame justifications for their political trickery in pursuing an unsupervised and unaccountable election processes than my ex-wife had excuses for avoiding sex. I must admit, however, that at least my ex-wife came up with a good reason now and then.

Qui Bono?

Many thanks to the Brad Friedman, Clint Curtis, Black Box Voting, and many others for keeping the concept of honest and verifiable elections alive! Please visit their sites. Draw your own conclusions, but at least give them a chance to present their cases. I think you will be dismayed and surprised at the same time.