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I previously posted on the connection between Chanukkah and Succos using the academic approach.
The American Yated this week had a article by David Hoffman, drawing on Chazon L'Moed of R. Aryeh Leib Shapiro, Yerushalaim, 5767, who approached it from a traditional and homiletic perspective. I post some excerpts from the article.
It's worth reading both for the sources that it brings and to appreciate how different the two approaches are when addressing the same topic. Of course, how one puts sources together, how one expresses them, and what one reads in them and into them is different with every preacher. I personally would not have gone where this author has gone.
Posted at 01:48 PM in Talmudic Spirituality | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
A really interesting interview with Mattasiahu from the Forward.
Some excerpts

.......
“I’ve been through all these different phases in Chabad. Chabad has been a bit of a roller coaster for me. It was very pure in the sense that I totally divested myself from all of the confusion that I was living in. I wasn’t getting high, I wasn’t with women — I was waking up every morning and learning Torah all day. And so, in certain senses it was a pure process,” Matisyahu said.
“But there was a lot of alcoholism going on, in my experience, and a lot of borderline —” He interrupted himself. “I definitely lost myself, as well, in the process, in the sense that I somehow stopped thinking for myself. I became completely dependent on other people for my sense of what was right and wrong. I felt incapable of making my own decisions. I was borderline completely losing my mind.” And then, he said, he pulled himself out of Chabad.
It was during this period that he began working with the now Jerusalem-based therapist Ephraim Rosenstein, whom he now considers his personal friend and religious mentor.
“[Rosenstein] was able to help me come to some realizations that were really ground-breaking, and kept me from where I think I would have lost my mind in the state of being I was in at that time,” Matisyahu said. “After that happened, once my therapy came to a certain place, and I’d gotten pretty healthy, I wanted to continue with my spirituality. I guess the therapy to me was sort of getting to know myself as a valid means of spiritual growth. I wanted to take it from a personal to an intellectual kind of thing, so we started learning together. Instead of therapy, I was paying him to discuss ideas, basically.
“I’ve stopped identifying with any group of Judaism. I would now call myself an Orthodox Jew. I try to keep the tenets of halachic Judaism as strongly as possible, but I don’t identify with any one movement.”
He noted that he has not severed ties with the movement completely: “My kids go to a Lubavitch yeshiva and are named after rebbes. I have Lubavitch friends, and we stay with shlichim [emissaries] around the world. I feel I have some in-depth knowledge of Hasidus and Chabad philosophy, and close ties with Lubavitch. But I don’t feel the need to be any one thing.
“In Chabad, there was always the tendency to deify everything, whether it was the rebbes or the learning,” Matisyahu said. “[There was] this sense that you couldn’t ask questions about any of it, that if you didn’t accept it, you weren’t accepting the Torah. It was as if you weren’t religious, and that this was the one path and the true path and that anything outside of it, even if it was a different kind of Hasidim, was certainly looked down upon.” With Rosenstein, he said, Matisyahu relished a different mode of studying, which focused on placing teachings into historical and social contexts and then comparing them with other Hasidus and philosophies of Judaism.
“.......
“I took classic Jewish works and stories and things that are really universal. I found them within Judaism, but any spirituality or religion around the world would identify with the themes,” Matisyahu said. “I tried to take in certain situations, like current events that I felt fall in line with those themes. The lyrics are an outgrowth of the philosophy, but manifest themselves in a more current format.”
One song, “So Hi So Lo,” stems from a famous story of Nachman of Bratslav. “This was his most famous story about two kids who get lost in the wilderness and have to make it through,” he said. “That became the theme, in a lot of ways, for the record and especially for this one song, that theme of being children in the forest.
“It’s central to Judaism — the exile, galut, is compared to being lost in darkness, dream, forest, wilderness. There’s a sense that the people are still traveling through that in their own ways, in terms of spirituality.”
The story took on another dimension on another track, as he became more aware of refugee camps in Sudan and Ghana and of child soldiers in Africa. “I had heard a story about some child soldiers that had escaped from a group and traveled 1,000 miles across the desert to safety,” he said. The song connects the story to another legend of Nachman of Bratslav.
Matisyahu’s music and religious attitudes reflect a new openness to the external world. The performer now listens to Icelandic band Sigur Rós, as well as to reggae star Sizzla. Yet his relationship to popular music now is different from what it was prior to his Crown Heights musical hiatus.
“Before I came into religion, I completely depended on music to be the glue that would bring my experiences together,” he said. “Walking down the street and not listening to music, everything felt disjointed and chaotic. When I was listening to music, it all came together. That was what music was for me. It’s what gave me my inner sense of hope and of unification of my own dreams, of what I wanted to do with my life and of overcoming the whole world.
“After I became religious, I didn’t feel the need for that anymore, the need for music to make that happen,” he said. “If things were chaotic and disjointed, I wanted to feel that, not to use music as a false glue. It was almost like getting high. It felt like I was cheating the reality, conning myself into this place. So I never again returned to listening to music in that same way.”
He struggles, he says, with balancing the secular and religious worlds, trying not to notice, for example, women at his shows who are dressed immodestly, yet not being able to wholly connect to his audience as a result.
“......He is quick to note that he doesn’t condemn people who take a different approach to modesty: “I’m not like, ‘how dare they come to my show like that!’ People are who they are. I put myself out there; they can come dressed how they want and do whatever they want while they’re there. But for myself, it’s kind of funny. I feel some sort of block. Sometimes I want to be totally open, want to take everybody in, make that connection with the audience. If I see a pretty girl, dressed sexy, I’m almost afraid to look at them. I feel like they’re going to think I’m looking at them in a sexual way.
“I wasn’t raised religious — I’m from the whole American culture. When I started putting on a yarmulke, I said, I represent much more. I represent these things, and I cannot be a hypocrite. Normally if you’re religious, you don’t look at women. But in my situation, I’m supposed to be open and loving. And so it stays in the forefront of what I’m dealing with, and how to balance it all.”
In response to my question of what “much more” meant, he said: “I think what I represent to a lot of people is sort of like someone who is a regular guy, a normal guy. A lot of people — young, Jewish, non-Jewish, whatever — are going though similar experiences of trying to figure things out. I think a lot of people see themselves in me, either in a certain genuineness or humility maybe. I don’t see myself as this big star; I see myself as a kid who is still trying to figure it all out and put it together.”
Exemplifying one of his many supreme balancing acts, one of our conversations transpired over cell phone as Matisyahu was driving an RV through the Toronto night, answering my questions with grace over the yells of a hysterical toddler while simultaneously trying to follow the GPS directions to his wife’s grandmother’s house.
Before we hung up, I asked if the GPS was working.
“I guess I’m not as far away as I thought I was,” he responded.
Posted at 04:10 PM in Looking Around | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
"If you asked a Chabad Lubavitch Hassid, they would tell you the shape of the gold seven-branched candelabra that stood in the Second Temple, and which gave its form to the nine-branched Hanukkiah used today, was not rounded, as it appears on the emblem of the State of Israel and on the Arch of Titus.
Based on a drawing by Maimonides 800 years ago, Chabad says the the Temple menorah's branches emerged at 45 degree angles from the central branch, thus giving Chabad Hanukkiahs throughout the world their distinctive triangular shape.
However, that theory is now facing a challenge in the form of a new book published by the Temple Institute in Jerusalem's Old City. The elegantly designed book, titled "A Menorah of Pure Gold," pulls the scholarly rug out from under Chabad's differently shaped candelabra... "
from Haaretz
The Rebbe's sefer on the Menorah.
Posted at 09:39 PM in Talmudic Spirituality | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0)
"They celebrated it for eight days with gladness like Sukkot and recalled how a little while before, during Sukkot, they had been wandering in the mountains and caverns like wild animals. So carrying lulavs [palm branches waved on Sukkot]...they offered hymns of praise [perhaps the Hallel prayer] to God who had brought to pass the purification of His own place" (II Maccabees 10:6-7).
A story similar in character, and obviously older in date, is the one alluded to in 2 Maccabees 1:18 et seq., according to which the relighting of the altar-fire by Nehemiah was due to a miracle which occurred on the twenty-fifth of Kislev, and which appears to be given as the reason for the selection of the same date for the rededication of the altar by Judah Maccabeus.
Jospehus is aware of the connection between candle-lighting and Hanukkah but, curiously, appears not to fully understand it. He writes: "And on the twenty-fifth day of the month Kislev, which the Macedonians call Apellaios, they lighted the lights [phôta] that were on the menorah, and offered incense upon the altar, and laid the loaves upon the table, and offered whole burnt offerings upon the new altar.
As it happened, these things took place on the very same day on which, three years before, the divine worship had been reduced to an impure and profane form of worship; for the Temple had remained desolate for three years after being made so by Antiochus...And the desolation of the Temple came about in accordance with the prophecy of Daniel, which had been made four hundred and eight years before; for he had revealed that the Macedonians would destroy it.
And so Judah and his fellow citizens celebrated the festival of the restoration of the sacrifices of the Temple for eight days, and omitted no sort of pleasure, but everyone feasted upon very rich and splendid sacrifices; and they honoured God, and delighted themselves with psalms of praise and the playing of harps. Indeed, they were so very glad at the revival of their customs and, after so long a time, having unexpectedly regained their right to worship, that they made it a law for their posterity that they should keep a festival celebrating the restoration of their Temple worship for eight days. And from that time to this we celebrate this, which we call the Festival of Lights [phôta], because, I imagine, beyond our hopes this right was brought to light [phanênai], and so this name was placed on the festival. (Antiquities 12.7.6-7 316-325) "
Similarly, the "New Testament" is aware of Hanukkah as the Festival of Dedication": "Then came the Festival of Dedication in Jerusalem... (John 10:22–23).
Josephus seems to be aware of the name of the festival as Festival of Lights but not of the custom of lighting the candles. Various explanations have been given for this strange omission. Suffices to say that the academic scholars delineate two historic traditions. One, they claim, is reflected in Al Hanissim and certain midrashim (f.e. Pesikta Rabbati Ch. 6 that explains that there are 8 days of hanukkah corresponding to the 8 Greek spears that were found broken in the Holy of Holies when the Macabbeees entered it). This tradition sees the victory over the Greeks and rededication of the Temple as underlining the festival of Hanukkah. The other tradition, known to us from Rabbinic sources, bases Hanukkah on the miracle of oil.
Let us return to Hanukkah and Sukkot.
Presumably, the Maccabbees chose Succot because of the precedent of both Ezra and Solomon. On both of this occasions, Sukkot was seen as symbolic of the rededication and return.
"King Solomon gathered every person of Israel in the month of Eitanim [Tishrei] on the holiday [Sukkot] in the seventh month …for God had said, 'I have built a House for my eternal residence'" (I Kings 8:2, 12)
Thus, Sukkot came with time to symbolize renewal and rededication.
Comment:
I do not believe that the two traditions were separate and exclusive. Neither can I agree with the claim that the ritual of candle-lighting is of late origin. I recall the comment of Rav Y.D. Soloveitchik who pointed out that there is a phrase in the "Al Hanissim" that indicates that they lit Hanukkah lights. This prayer states" "...and the lit candles in your holy courtyards". Now, the Temple possessed but one courtyard. Therefore the verse must refer to all the holy courtyards of the inhabitants of Jerusalem. In other words, the people of Jerusalem lit Hanukkah candles.
I am somewhat uncomfortable with this proof, for it is not uncommon in Rabbinic liteature to refer to Temple precincts in plural.
"The rabbis taught: It once happened two priests were running, and were on a par. When they came to the top, one outstripped the other by four ells; he took a knife and stuck it into the other one's breast. R. Zadok stood on the staircase of the porch, and said: Brethren of Israel, hear! It is written [Deut. xxi. i]: "If there be found a slain person in the land . . . shall take a heifer." For whom shall we bring the heifer? For the city (al hair), or for the courtyards (azarot)? ( Yoma, 23a)
Here the Azara, a single courtyard, albeit divided in terms of functions and access, is referred to as azarot.
Nevertheless, the two reasons for Hanukkah are not exclusive. It might be that the first predominated in the Land of Israel and other one was more popular in Babylonia. As is known, Hanukkah is not mentioned in the Mishna and there Yerushalmi. On the other hand, the rituals of Hanukkah were clearly observed already among the Tannaim as indicated by the many beraitot the we find in the sugya of Hanukkah in the 2nd chapter of Tractate Shabbat. I would venture to say that both traditions were operative for at least a hundred years before the destruction fo the Temple and that the Eretz Israel versus Babylonia divide can be traced alrady to that period. What I mean is that the expalnation for the ritual differed, but not that the ritual itself was not known.
The rabbis taught: The law of 'Hanukah demands that every man should light one lamp for himself and his household. Those who seek to fulfil it well have a lamp lit for every member of the household. Those who seek to fulfil the law in the best possible manner should light according to Beth Shamai the first night eight flames, and every following night one flameless. And according to Beth Hillel the reverse--the first night one lamp, and be increased by one on each succeeding night. Said Rabba b. b. Hana in the name of R. Johanan: "There were two sages in Zidon; one did according to the decision of Shamai's school, and gave the reason that the 'Hanukah lamp is to be lit in the same manner as the sacrifices of the feast were offered, and the other according to the school of Hillel, with the reason that holy actions should show increase and not reduction.
Hillel who came from Babylonia was expressing the view of Hanukkah as commemorating the miracle of the oil. Bet Shammai, on the other hand, drew on the tradition of Hanukkah as a type of the dedication typified by Sukkot and referred directly to the sacrificial order of that holiday.
Posted at 09:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Posted at 01:17 AM in Humor, with a point | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBack (0)
Menachem Mendel posted an interesting excerpt from Wellhausen, the father of Biblical criticism
"I became a theologian because the scientific treatment of the Bible interested me; only gradually did I come to understand that a professor of theology also has the practical task of preparing the students for service in the Protestant Church, and that I am not adequate to this practical task, but that instead despite all caution on my own part I make my hearers unfit for their office. Since then my theological professorship has been weighing heavily on my conscience."
I think that this teaches us a great deal. It is rare that a Rav or mechanech or other keli kodesh, whatever his personal beliefs may be, serves a negative role in terms of hashkafa (all the stories of maskilim infiltrating chadorim in Europe notwidstanding). If he loses his faith, he resigns, or becomes an unorthodox rabbinic functionary ( I can, of course, think of some exceptions, but they are rare). On the other hand, "academic" scholars, many of whom have come from similar backgrounds and received the same education, write and publish some very bad and injurious material. Why is this so?
I think that the loss of practical orientation and dissapearance of personal responsibility for shaping rabbinic students, actual living breathing human beings with souls, is one of the major reasons that academic Talmud scholarship was able to range so far from the traditional sphere. I's far easier to publish papers than to tear down the faith of a real person - face to face. Even a scholar who lost his faith wishes that he had retained it and does not want to play a negative role in someone else's spiritual life. Academics, on the other hand, do not sense the same responsibility and therefore often write and publish irresponsibly.
Posted at 11:39 AM in Wissenschaft vom Judentum | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)
This is an excerpt of a Wiki article.
Mary Schweidler was the daughter of the Reverend Schweidler. Schweidler was purported to be a 17th century pastor of Coserow, in the Island of Usedom, famous for his fire and brimstone sermons. Meinhold was urged by his church leaders to publish The Amber Witch as an instructional tool.
When it first appeared almost all of the German critics believed it to have been an authentic historical document. It is only in a later edition that the author admitted it to be entirely a work of imagination.
In a direct challenge to the "modern documentary critics" he writes:
"This I have done with much trouble, and after many ineffectual attempts; but I refrain from pointing out the particular passages which I have supplied, so as not to disturb the historical interest of the greater part of my readers. For modern criticism, which has now attained to a degree of acuteness never before equalled, such a confession would be entirely superfluous, as critics will easily distinguish the passages where Pastor Schweidler speaks from those written by Pastor Meinhold." (From the Introduction to The Amber Witch)
Meinhold observed a strict silence for months; then he abruptly announced that "Maria Scweidler, the Amber-Witch" was a total fabrication and that he had written the whole story. It is interesting to note that Meinhold's confession was at first rejected although he soon proved the story to be indeed a result of his scholarship and quaint imagination.
He had desired to prove to the learned Biblical critics of the date (it was the time of the attacks of Strauss and Bauron the authenticity of certain books of the Scriptures) how untrustworthy was their reasoning, from purely internal evidence, as to the sources of the Canon.
Meinhold did not spare them when they fell into his snare and made merry with the historical knowledge and critical acumen that could not detect the contemporary romancer under the mask of two centuries ago, while they decide so positively as to the authorities of the most ancient writings in the world.
The book was originally written and printed in German. It was translated into English by Lady Duff-Gordon and republished in 1861.In fact, the translation was so well done that she was credited with authorship of the story and the existence of the German original denied. Thus resulting in a double deception.
Posted at 09:52 PM in On Tanach | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
The Maggid of Mezritch taught: Yakov had left behind letters from the Torah which he had not yet exracted from Lavan. This is why Lavan later pursued him - to give him the letters which remained with him. An entire chapter was added to the Torah by these letters.
The "letters of the Torah" which Yakvov left behind were "sparks" of holiness. In fact, Yakov spent twenty years in Lavan's house extracting whatever sparks of holiness he could find there, and when the process was complete, he left. At least he thought it was complete...
In truth, however, Yakov left some sparks behind, so Lavan chased after Yakov to give them to him.
Why did Yakov leave the sparks behind?
Chassidic teachings explain that while most of a person's achievements in life come through his own conscious efforts, there are some "super-conscious" achievements that are so lofty they cannot occurr intentionally. So while we are usually the ones that choose our own paths in, life - to find the sparks which we are destined to elevate - sometimes our sparks pursue us, because they are too sublime to be "extracted" solely by our own endeavors.
Gutnick Chumash, based on LIkkutei Sihcos 15:260)
Comment:
This teaching is too sublime to have my own thoughts appended to it, but I will try nevertheless.
Perhaps this is what Chazal mean when they say that Moschiach will only come "bhesech haddas", when one's attention is diverted ( Sanhedrin 97). For a deeper understanding of this statement, that Redemption arrives from a level which is above knowledge (Daas), see Tanya here).
On a more practical level, this teaches us never to be discouraged. Yes, there are times when we appear not to be accomplishing, when our lives seem to be in vain, just another small life among so many others of little value, of minor significance. We look at out achievements and see... nothing worthy.
Do not despair? Your greatest achievement may be one of which you are completely unaware, one which cannot be seen now, but will only become apparent in due time.
I think of R. Isroel Salanter. By all measures, his life would be considered a failure. A young man of great promise, he spent most of his life in pursuing manifold projects, few of which bore fruit - from translating the Talmud into German to changing the hearts of the common folk. Despairing of changing the climate in Eastern Europe, he spent his later years attemtping to effect a return to Torah among the enlightened elite in Germany and France, as we know, to little avail. He died in Paris alone and with little to show for his years of struggle.
Yet, the little seed that he planed so many years before, the few students that he imbued with the Mussar ideal effected a revolution in the Torah world, a revolution that was not visible or expected in his own lifetime. Besides exchanging an occasional letter with his former students and supporters, R. Isroel did not have substantive involvement with the incipient Mussar movement. Yet, it was precisely this child of his early years that is now remembered as his greatest achievement.
R. Yosef Yozel of Noavarodok said: "You must saw everywhere but pay particular attention to where it sprouts". Similarly, we do not always know where our greatest contributions are made. In this lies great consolation and great hope.
Posted at 11:58 PM in Mussar Thought | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack (0)
