This is a good cause, I think: Stuff for the Poor

Our Temple is doing a used shoe drive for Stuff for the Poor. I approve of their noble (if poorly written) mission, but their model seems, well, strange.

As I understand it, they collect used shoes and other items, and sell these items to resellers for a profit. They use the money to provide education and other services for the poor in Tanzania, and the reseller has a supply of inexpensive shoes to sell at low-cost to those same poor people, many of whom have no shoes.

Sound plan, right? Helps 'em coming and going. So why does it seem so strange? It feels like I'm missing some subtle insidious plot hidden in what sounds like a helpful charitable organization.

Standing In the Middle

Leon posted this gem last month; I highly recommend reading it. Short, sweet, and insightful, about what happens when Information Technology theory meets rabbinic thought.

The Giving Tree: Morality Play or Good Literature?

I posted a comment on Geek in Heels's blog post about The Giving Tree a while back, and it wound up being such a long comment that I decided to repost it here (actually, I meant to post it when I wrote it, back in July, but the "save" and "publish" buttons are so close together...). I like what she wrote about the book, so giving her some link-love doesn't hurt either:

Wow.

One of the marks of good literature is how many different strong emotions and how much discussion about it's underlying "meaning" it can generate. Based on this thread, and others like it, I would almost require my kids to read this, because I want them to be exposed to good literature. And I would encourage them to think about it, understand it, and decide what the message is for themselves.

I don't like this string in our consciousness that the "message" of all media must be revealed and understood before we allow our children to encounter it. Few things stand up well, especially in a post-modern, deconstructionist society. Disney films? The Bible? Grimm Fairy Tales? No. None of these things are "appropriate" for children when you look at the message they really contain. And more importantly, when you look at the social control they were originally developed to implement. Especially from the "abusive relationship" perspective. Job? Abraham? Snow White? Toy Story? Not role models for kids.

But they're good stories, good literature, and part of being a "well-read" child. Would you want your kid to be the only one amongst their childhood friends that never read this book? Do you want to set up that embarrassment for them?

Moviebob had a similar post today about the "message" of the Twilight movies. He makes the point, and I agree, that his dislike of the series's message is completely separate from his critique of the series as a work of art. I kept thinking, as I read this, of Narnia and Lord of the Rings, both of which have also been decried for their thinly veiled religious message and societal views, but are still beloved because they are good books. I would protest "The Giving Tree" if it was poorly written, but it's not. It moved me to tears as a kid, and even then I recognized how rare and important that is in children literature.

Two other thematic thoughts come to mind. First, I wonder how much the perceived message changed as our cultural views on environmentalism shifted. When this book was written, trees were there to give wood to build houses and fruit to eat. This boy didn't seem a monster, because that was the correct relationship between people and trees. I wonder now if there's an underlying environmentalism that makes it seem more monstrous: he destroys a living thing for his own selfish needs? What a villain!

Second, the important discussion about the book seems to be, from both a relationship/generosity and environmental perspective, at what point did the giving become "too much"? Fruit? Fine. Climbing? Fine. Some branches? Fine. But giving too much was problematic if for no other reason than it hurt the tree's ability to give in the future. The idea that you can sheer a sheep many times, but only fleece it once. Take some apples and some branches, then leave and come back next year to take more. Give yourself, and the tree, time to recover and grow in the meantime. Furthermore, what does it mean that this tree only gives to its friends and not strangers that are in need?

It wasn't until I came back as an adult and reread it that I started to think about the "themes" and "abusive relationships". The message I got as a child was that giving did not truly diminish the giver. It made the relationship stronger, the tree did not "die", and even at the end when the tree though it had given everything, it still was able to give and help a friend. That's not "abusive unconditional love"; that's generosity. That's giving what you have and do not need to a friend or loved one that does need it.

Response I'm imagining to that: "But the tree needs its leaves! It needs its branches! Those are vital parts of its anatomy!"

Response to my imagined responders: Are you a registered organ donor? If not, why not? More specific analogy: would you donate a kidney or part of your liver to someone that needed it? To a stranger? To a friend? To a relative?

But like I said at the beginning, the moral underpinnings are not why I like this book; I liked it because it's a good book, well written, that I could read and enjoy as a child and still remember as an adult. There are plenty of things I read as a child that I couldn't remember now if my life depended on it, but this book stuck. Because it is a good book. The morality is part of what made it good, but because it added depth, not because of the "lesson".

Jumping on the Pew bandwagon

As a blogger who focuses on religion (I hesitate to name myself a religion blogger), I believe I am obligated to link to the new Pew survey that found most Americans are about as well educated on religion as they are on mitochondrial RNA.

"On average, Americans correctly answer 16 of the 32 religious knowledge questions on the survey. Atheists and agnostics average 20.9 correct answers. Jews and Mormons do about as well, averaging 20.5 and 20.3 correct answers, respectively. Protestants as a whole average 16 correct answers; Catholics as a whole, 14.7. Atheists and agnostics, Jews and Mormons perform better than other groups on the survey even after controlling for different levels of education"

Sadly, not surprising. I have often suspected that for people to hold the religious beliefs they do, follow certain religious leaders, etc. they can't really know much about what their religion really teaches. The most disturbing finding to me was that most Christians (ie, the majority of Americans) are woefully ignorant "on questions about the role of religion in public life, including what the U.S. Constitution says about religion." Again, not a surprise, sadly, given the number of times I've had to explain why having the Ten Commandments on the wall behind a federal judge might be a problem.

I suspect it's not a coincidence that the two most knowledgable religious groups in the survey are two of the most ostracized in this country (I didn't see where Muslims fit in). It's easy to be ignorant of your religion when you've never had to fight for it, defend your practices to bosses that want to refuse time off, teach your first grade teacher what Hannukah is about, explain to her why you don't want to say a prayer to Jesus after reciting the pledge of allegiance, or call a bunch of parents to explain that the field trip has been canceled because a bunch of skinheads vandalized the temple's bus. It's easy to let religion into your politics when you're just going to hide in the majority anyway.

Blog Against Theocracy

Missed the deadlines for this year's Blog Against Theocracy; it's a hard event for me because I have trouble finding something new to say on the idea (namely, it's a bad idea for religion to run government when even people in the same religion can't agree on what they believe).

Still, if I had written a blog for it, I probably would have said something like this.


Go on, check it out; I'll wait.

Back? Good. Yeah, I liked it too.

Just started a new book on the origins, rewrites, and changes in the Torah throughout its life; so far it's taken me an hour to get to the first page, so this might last me a while. Point is, we're just guessing when it comes to most of this stuff. We can apply our own best judgment, common sense, and current social norms, but when it comes to the original texts - what the founders of our religions actually said and believed (allegedly) - we're stuck.

And that's fine for religion, where it's a matter of personal belief and what you do with your family, that's fine. But for government, when it comes to making important decisions about other people's lives, religion needs to be so far out of the picture that it's in a different museum.

Eco-Kosher and the URJ

[Editor's Note: I originally wrote this post almost a month ago, and just realized it never actually got published.]

I focus on issues of sustainability and eco-awareness so much at work that it's easy to forget other industries also consider environmental issues, so it was very interesting to see this post at Reform Judaism Magazine. The topic under discussion: should we adopt dietary restrictions to Save the Environment?

In general, I agree more with Rabbi Barry Schwartz, representing the "Yes" position. That is to say, I agree with his line of reasoning and priorities; not sure if we should make it religious law.

Rabbi Cliff Librach argues "No", and I was a little disappointed by his arguments. It starts strongly, citing the Talmudic principle that “One should not impose a restriction on the community unless the majority can abide by it” (Baba Kamma 79b and parallels). A good teaching, one I feel the religious community often forgets, or does not correctly apply (True, it wasn't impossible for me to walk to temple when I lived in Michigan, but 3 miles through knee-deep snow does not tend to put me in a "religious" frame of mind). Although I'm not sure it applies here. I don't know the original proposal they're debating, but the article seems to focus mainly on eliminating/reducing beef consumption more than strict vegetarianism. It's a long road to walk to show it's "impossible" for people to cut back on beef. Unplesant, maybe, but that's a different question.

From there his arguments get worse. In short, it feels like a lot of the political commentary I see; a well-reasoned argument and a bloviating, overemotional, logic-lite response. He cries "Political Correctness" on Rabbi Schwartz and the UN ("Like much of the work of the United Nations...is a case of misplaced (and hysterical) political correctness.") He uses "facts", such as:

"As more than half of all American agricultural land is unsuitable for growing crops, the grazing of cattle and other animals doubles the production of food products from the available land."

Problem with that is it assumes grain and cattle use land in a 1:1 ratio. That is not the case, especially when you consider that raising cattle still means growing grain to feed to the cattle. If we all ate only grass-fed beef that grazed only marginal land it might be different, but that still suggests a new "guideline" telling Reform Jews to look for that product.

More on the impact of beef, from the 2006 LEAD report:

- Livestock production accounts for 70% of all agriculture land and 30% of the land surface on the planet.
- 70% of previous forested land in the Amazon is occupied by pastures
-Livestock is responsible for 18% of greenhouse gas emissions (higher than transportation)
- Livestock accounts for over 8% of global human water use
- In the US alone, livestock is responsible for an estimated 55% of erosion and sediment, 33% of pesticide use, and 50% of antibiotic use

So what's my feeling? I'm always hesitant to implement new laws, or add additional strictures and requirements to existing ones. The fact that I agree with the principles at stake (or "at steak") don't change that. Still, I think this is a good dietary restriction to adopt, one much more reasonable and palatable than many previous restrictions. It fits with the Jewish tradition of Tikkun Olam, healing the world. Furthermore, it is less "Because God Said So" and more reason-based than things like shatnez or  the modern reinterpretations of forbidding electricity on Shabbat.

Creating new law based on existing principles to address current needs is the way this is supposed to work. Many times that process is used to create policies that fly in the face of current knowledge or societal development (contraception, evolution, etc.); restricting beef consumption, by contrast, fits with the best scientific research and modern social trends.

Would it be difficult? Yes. I started keeping Kosher about....I guess 7 years ago now. Avoiding pork was a major difficulty for the first few years - it's amazing how many places bacon gets added - and it's still a reoccurring frustration. Giving up beef would take out another entire section of the menu, including several popular, traditional Jewish foods. But we don't do the right thing because it's easy; we do it because it's right. Religion doesn't need to tell us to do the things we already want to do; religion exists to help us learn why, and how, we do the difficult things. Giving money to charity is not easy, emotionally, or natural; it's a learned behavior, which means someone had to teach it. Helping strangers is not easy, nor is visiting the sick or loving your neighbor. Judaism teaches us to do those things.

(To my atheist/agnostic friends: Yes, there are other ways to learn these things, some of which teach them better than religion does. But religion also teaches these things, and should not stand idly by on matters such as this just because it's a lesson that can be learned elsewhere; that's ethically irresponsible.)

I'll put my money where my mouth is on this, somewhat literally. I'll start by giving up beef for a month; I'll let you know how it goes, and we'll see how I feel about it then.

What's your position on this?

[Update: Having made it almost through the entire month-long project, I can tell you this: it's rough. I slipped up a couple of times when I was tired and hungry and at restaurants that had limited menus, but stuck to it fairly consistently in general. I can see this getting easier with time, as my cravings decrease for the Orange Beef at the Chinese place near my apartment and I find acceptable hamburger substitutes, but it definitely will be a burden for anyone trying to make the change as an adult. Especially if they have preexisting dietary restrictions.

I still think it's a good and worthy idea. After my trial, I would come down on the side of "reduced consumption of" rather than "complete elimination of". Only problem is, that's a little difficult to regulate because it requires definition of terms like "reduced". Not impossible, but difficult. Some of the best suggestions I've seen involve weekly meat-free days, whether it's a static "No Meat On Fridays", or a floating "Pick One (or more) Day Each Week". It could also go the other way, where only 1 or 2 days a week are designated for meat-consumption. I don't know of any places offhand where this kind of floating "pick one" exists in Judaism, but I'm sure there are Talmudic regulations saying "No more than 5 days out of 7" or such. If you can point to a specific example, please let me know.]

Just Two Generations

The title for this blog should properly be sung to the tune of The Temptations' "Just My Imagination".

I was reading some obscure presidential history...trivia, really. At the risk of spoiling the end (go read it; I'll wait.....ready? Ok.), I got chills from this line:

Their grandfather, as a child, made regular weekend visits to hang out with Thomas Jefferson. Their grandfather was born before the Bill of Rights was added to the Constitution.

From a US History standpoint, it's always shocking to remember that these issues we think of as "buried in our past" are actually so recent we can reach them in three generations. We talk about the Civil Rights movement like it's a ling time gone, but how can it be old news when there are people still living whose grandparents were slaves? For that matter, ginandtacos's example shows we're really only three generations away from the founding of this country.

Puts things into perspective, doesn't it? We're the nation equivalent of a 26 year-old recent college graduate at their first big job.

Then I put this into a Jewish perspective. We had a guest speaker at temple this past Friday. I did not agree with much of what he said (can you hear my blood boil from there?), more on that later, but he pulled several of the traditional lines about Judaism in America. Such as, "We've never faced persecution here", and "We have a great tradition in this country"; things of that nature.

Ignoring that the first point is just plain wrong, you hear this general line of reasoning fairly often. Granted, compared to how the rest of the world treats Jews, the US is a paradise for us. I mean, I can count the number of religion-based death threats I received in Junior High on one hand (three); that's unheard of in most of the world! But we act like this has been going on for a long time, and ginandtacos's article, in many ways, gives that idea the lie.

The first documented Jewish presence in America dates back to the 1650's, but the bulk of Jewish immigration happened in the late 1800's. More occurred post-WWII. Most of us don't have to go back very far at all to find our family's entrance to the country; probably just two generations, even without the huge families and long lifespans ginandtacos points out.

To me, that's a sobering thought. Partially because it means that my parents were here, and my grandparents, but to my great-grandparents this country was an alien land; not a place of tradition (מקום של מנחג - I show off in Hebrew!), but the strange land in which they were strangers.

But also partially because that's just long enough to forget. I have no memories of my great-grandparents; I know a few of them lived long enough to meet me, but to me they're essentially just names and photos. Which means every living member of my family grew up here. They - no; we - have only really known acceptance - with some small friction, perhaps. As far as we know, this land has always been a good place for the Jews.

But I've been reading a lot of history lately.

About cycles of nations.

And about other places that were paradises for Jews.

My parents and my grandparents.

Just two generations.

Oy Hanukkah, Oy Hanukkah.

I wish there was something new to say about the whole "Winter Holiday" season of joy and stress, but it's all really well-tread territory. My struggle with Christmas growing up was hardly unique; different, yes, but only in details. The core story is one most Jewish kids would recognize. And, I'm sure, quite a few non-Christians of any stripe.

I saw this story on the God Blog today. To sum up: the Obama administration briefly considered not displaying a Christmas creche; the "community of social secretaries" - seriously - found out about this, and "emitted a collective gasp". This gasp was apparently a strong enough statement of public outcry that the White House will, you'll be glad to know, be displaying the creche.

I know there's a lot of gray area about what can be show without denoting religious bias, and frankly I guess I don't care too much about this one - slightly tacky - decoration. It was really the end of the article that got me.

Let me give another hat tip here to my friend Eric Metaxas, who, as a former editor of The Record at Yale University, knows a few things about satire, politics and culture. He is also the author of “Everything You Always Wanted to Know About God (but were afraid to ask)” and a bunch of other books. In his commentary at the Fox News website, Metaxas noted:

If President Obama wanted to fuel the fears of every serious Christian in America and actually prove that he is every bad thing they’ve ever heard about him on every crazy Web site, the idea of symbolically taking Jesus out of the White House at Christmas would be just the ticket! Let’s face it: “Brand Obama” dodged a bullet by not going forward with this terrible idea, but only barely dodged it. After all, the facts of the story are right there in The New York Times for all to see.

Amen. A highly symbolic close call, for Obama and other Democrats who want to stay in touch with ordinary American who frequent mainstream church pews.

I don't know what it was about this passage, but it left me feeling...betrayed. Or maybe it's more accurate to say "sold out". Like Team Obama said, "We know this might bother you, buddy, but we're going to do it anyway because it could gain us a few points in the polls". I know that's the core of politics...this one just felt personal.

Link Love: A Bisele Shmues

Recently found Tevel's blog A Bisele Shmues via a comment on a post at Shira's blog, On the Fringe - Al Tzitzit. Started reading through his posts, and found this lovely one about tying tzitzit:

So last night I was replacing several frayed tzitzit, and a flat-out lovely thing occurred. While I sat in the family room tying, my kids came in, sat down, and proceeded to read. Their reading is not uncommon, but this quiet moment in the middle of a hectic life, that's uncommon. So there I was, tying my tzitzit, focusing on the task, and what occurred? Quiet family time together, all anchored around a mitzvah.

I was just explaining to a friend at dinner that the core of Judaism revolves around the family, and, properly done, always leads back to a richer familial experience. Then I logged on and saw this post. Thanks for backing me up Tevel!

As a bit of an aside, but not really, I love reading Shira's and Tevel's blogs because I feel like they are on the same path I am, but coming from different starting points and headed to different destinations. Their writing has been very inspirational for me; I hope that one day my readers gain as much from my blog as I do from theirs.

Natural vs. Artificial

From Abstruse Goose (keep scrolling; it's a long one):

I absolutely agree; the point of differentiation is fairly weak. A hand-woven blanket is no less natural than honey; both are made by naturally occurring organisms using materials gathered from their environment. I'm not very well read on the honey-making process, so I don't even know which is more complex. The only real difference I can see is humans make intermediate objects; we make machines that build other machines that make the blankets. I guess if we find bees building wax golems we'll have to reevaluate.

On my way to D.C.; take care of the 'net until I get back.

Cracked.com gives us 8 Online Fads You Didn't Know Were Invented Decades Ago.

Last night my girlfriend and I were discussing the cyclical nature of social trends. Today I get this. Neat!

This is a vital point to remember when doing anything with religion: all these "new", "modern", "never been seen before" problems we get excited about probably did in fact exist somewhere else years ago. They were resolved successfully, we're still here, get over it. Means whatever radical new idea is upsetting you today was probably the mainstream a few generations back, and the people doing things "your way" were the impetuous upstarts.

In case you're wondering, my personal favorite is #8, the primordeal emoticons.

Five Reasons Vampires Aren't Jews

As part of the Jewish Journal thumbing its nose (biting its thumb?) at the new Twilight movie (deservedly) Rabbi Wolpe details five important differences between Jews and vampires.

Their day begins at night, they show a certain aversion to the sign of the cross and they dress in black. Of course, I am talking about Jews.

But add some invidious stereotypes — bloodsucking and a predatory nature, and you get vampires. So, are vampires Jewish?

Of course not. He explains why, insightfully and entertainingly, before concluding, "Vampires are not Jews. Maybe we can allow one powerful, popular trend to be about someone else for a change?"

I greatly enjoyed this essay, especially as a horror and folklore aficionado who enjoys tracing monster legends back to the real-life fears that spawned them, but find one line particularly troubling:

Judaism believes in death. Yes, it believes in immortal life, but death comes first. The entirety of Jewish ritual is crafted to emphasize that all creatures — all of them — ultimately, unequivocally die.

The ENTIRETY of Jewish ritual? I get and agree with the belief in mortality, in fact I frequently accuse modern Judaism of being too death-centric, a religion stuck in mourning, but ALL ritual?

I sincerely hope not. I doubt that his claim is accurate; it's possible he spoke metaphorically there. Weddings, childbirth, b'nei mitzvot...all of these are life-based. Many of our holidays originate in death and tragedy, but the celebration is that we're still alive!

Granted, there is the mirror argument-by-definition; celebrating life must also celebrate death, even if indirectly, because death is the line that defines life. We celebrate at Hannukah and Purim because we survived; we are still alive. Weddings are celebrations precisely because our time together in this life is so brief. New children are welcomed because they add new sparks to the fire of life, providing heat and light against the cold and dark of death. From that perspective, yes, all of Jewish ritual is about death.

I always looked at it the other way around. As a child I did see Jewish ritual as death obsessed. There are laws about mourning? We are required to behave a certain way and grieve for a certain amount of time? How morbid! And the prayers in every service, reminding us of the dead? As I grew and studied, though, I realized that these laws actually encourage us to focus on the living. By strictly defining when, where, and how to mourn, it tells us the rest of our time is dedicated to life.

Someone important to you dies? Take the next 30 days, go feel really miserable. Trust me; you'll need it. After that, spend a few more months feeling slightly miserable, and the rest of the year feeling just generally sad. Then, each year after that, pick one day to go get really stinking sad about their absence. Then get up, dust yourself off, and get on with life.

The laws of mourning don't turn our focus to death; that happens naturally. The rituals turn us back towards life.

And at any rate, compared to most - if not all - the world's other major religions, our death and afterlife focus is so small as to be negligible.

The animals must survive!

Great review of 2012 over on Flames Rising, a site I just recently discovered. I particularly like this line:

It seems to be the grand irony that animals MUST not suffer and die in movies, even as billions of people perish all around them.

It reminded me of one of my earlier posts where I asked what it says about a society that spends billions caring for pets while letting children starve. "Flames" picks up on this same trend in disaster movies; billions of deaths don't bother us as long as the dog survives.

In a way, it all goes back to Noah, and I wonder if the story of his ark paves the way for this double standard of carnage. In the story, Noah, and the readers, accepts as given that humanity is toast. God has decided on the flood, and it's going to happen. As a result, our full attention turns to saving what little can be saved; Noah knows he'll have his hands full with the animals and his family, so he writes off the rest of humanity and leaves them to the water.

Disaster movies bring that same sense of acceptance, and, in fact, reinforce the lesson to the audience. Characters that try to save everyone get killed by the unstoppable disaster du jour. Usually they die as heroic martyrs, but they still die. Of course, those who selfishly think only of themselves also die. The trick is to be selfish but not too selfish; be just selfish enough, and remember your pet. Horror movies, on the other hand, teach us never to go back for the cat, but that's a different story.

Is that the problem we face? Are we trying to find that line between being generous and being too generous, or do we really care more about the cute animals dear to us than the humans we don't know? I'll optimistically assume it's the first one. That gives me a chance to help people draw their line somewhere farther away from home than the doghouse.

Identity vs. Identification

From Wendy Grinberg at RJ.org:

The term identity refers to how the individual sees him or herself. Ari encouraged us to move towards thinking about identification, that is, a process by which individuals act out what they think and feel, through institutions, interactions and intersections of culture.

His challenge to us was that while these Jews express a high identity, they express a low identification. Meaning, the problem isn't with the demand, but with the supply.

Not sure I agree with her conclusions, but it's an interesting way of viewing the problem. If there is a generation of young Jews that have strong Jewish identity, how do we encourage identification with Jewish organizations?

Did God Create The Earth?

No, says Professor Ellen van Wolde.

She said she eventually concluded the Hebrew verb "bara", which is used in the first sentence of the book of Genesis, does not mean "to create" but to "spatially separate".

The first sentence should now read "in the beginning God separated the Heaven and the Earth"

No alternate theory on where the earth did come from. An interesting, exceedingly fine distinction. Practical impact? None at all. God still created man, after all, and very few commandments or rituals - apart from the occasional words in a prayer - are based on God as creator of the earth. Actual impact? Probably huge. Can't wait for the Religious Community's response. Google search results for "blasphemy" this coming week should be interesting.

Does this actually threaten anything in religion? Is God less important, meaningful, powerful, or authoritative if Prof. van Wolde is correct? I think not. What is interesting to me is how does this change the dialog between religion and science?

Thoughts?

The Illusion of Free Choice

I like this one; I'll let you figure out why it goes here:

Keeping It Covered

Another great post from Leon: "You Can Leave Your Hat On". He describes his struggles with wearing a kippah in public. My hat's off to him (sorry) because I only made it a week when I tried. The constant "Nice hat!" remarks wore me down quickly. Ironically, this was at a job where I was supposed to model religious commitment for children and their families.

Now I work in an environment where it would be accepted, even welcomed. I'm spending a lot more time in Temple, especially during the run-up to the Holy Days. I've spent several Friday nights at local assisted living facilities, leading services for the residents. But I find I'm more concerned about the message inherent in starting to wear a kippah than I am about actually wearing it.

Why am I concerned? As Leon points out, it's not an actual commandment. As such, the perceived obligation to keep our heads covered represents what is, to me, a stringent type of "Tradition As Law", in which the views of a particular rabbi (or group of rabbis) become as binding as the word of God. There is a specific mentality that takes tradition, turns it into law, applies it universally, and condemns - explicitly or implicitly - everyone that does not fall in line. Given the tendency for extreme religious observance to gradually become the norm, I feel almost obligated to resist just to maintain the middle ground.

There is also a statement made by adopting a new observance. What would you assume about a 30-something single guy [it should be noted my girlfriend objects to this description] that suddenly picks up a new, highly visible, religious habit? The "born again" or "baal teshuvah" implications are stronger than I'm comfortable with.

Is "being Jewish" now such a large part of my identity that I want to visibly distinguish myself at all times? Wearing a full-time kippah makes as much a statement at my temple as it does in at the grocery store, the bank, or the airport. I do not object to this marking, although I have equal reluctance to brand myself in general; I avoid wearing sword-shaped pendants despite my interest in fencing, I do not have cat pictures on my desk at work despite being a cat lover, and I do not put BSA logos on my car despite being a Boy Scout. No one of these defines my identity, and I don't want people to think of me as "the Jewish guy".

I also object to allowing ultraobservant "traditionalists" to define what qualifies as a symbol of Jewish identity. If I allow arcane rabbinic interpretations to define the expression of my Jewish identity, how can I object to their interpretations of dietary laws or conversion? I was thinking about this during Rosh Hashana, and was struck by how much the rabbi and cantor were falling over themselves to look Orthodox, even as the service was filmed and projected onto multiple screens, and a piano, violin, and cello accompanied the music.

There is an uncomfortable tension between these two ideas. Granted, Reform does not need to be a total rejection of Orthodoxy, but the "pick & choose" mentality, I think, really weakens Reform Judaism's theological arguments. Yes, a kippah has tradition behind it; it's what our ancestors wore, after all. But argument from tradition is a weak justification. There is a long history of distinctive Jewish clothing, most of them from traditions we'd rather not revisit.

I respect Leon for his courage and perseverance. I respect him even more for his thoughtfulness and consideration in making the decision. This ability to wrestle with God within your own life, to find the personal intersection between tradition and modernity, is to me the best attribute of modern Judaism. The process is more important than the result. It is how he and I remain friends not in spite of our different observances, but because of them.

Daven Like A Pirate Day!

From Leon at The Edible Torah:

"That magical day is upon us again, coming as it does, every year at this time: September 19, also known to some of us as

National Talk Like a Pirate Day
(http://www.talklikeapirate.com/tlapd09.html)

This year, it is coincidental with another, perhaps only slightly less exciting holiday: Rosh Hashanah.

I realize that the two may not appear, at first blush, to be compatible. But with just a bit of creativity and open-mindedness, you can combine these two important moments on the Calendar into a pleasing and harmonious whole..."

My favorite suggestion is "Augmenting the Unetaneh Tohkef with the rarely heard question: “and who by walking the plank?”" Visit his blog for the full list.

"Where The Treasure Is"

Short but insightful post at Never an Original Thought: Where The Treasure Is

Is Depression Good For Thinking?

From the Scientific American blog, Depression's Evolutionary Roots:

Depressed people often think intensely about their problems. These thoughts are called ruminations; they are persistent and depressed people have difficulty thinking about anything else. Numerous studies have also shown that this thinking style is often highly analytical. They dwell on a complex problem, breaking it down into smaller components, which are considered one at a time.

The author suggests that a depressive mindstate is one that is also useful for solving complex problems. In fact, the loss of interest in sex, eating, and social activities could be a method of reducing distractions, further promoting analysis. It got me wondering, could the same thing be true of the "religious mindset"?

Now hear me out.

Religion encourages the removal of many distractions, the awfully named "Sins of the Flesh" (always thought that should refer to cannibalism). It provides structure to the day, reducing the need for thought about daily schedules, what to wear, etc. There's a popular story (probably an urban legend) that Einstein did a similar thing, buying many sets of the identical wardrobe so he didn't have to waste time deciding what to wear.

Religion encourages temperance and moderation, meaning adherents would tend to (hypothetically) avoid issue like alcoholism, obesity, and anorexia, while having mandatory rest & relaxation breaks built into the schedule.

It also encourages a quiet, contemplative, introspective state for prayer and study. This "prayer state", like depression, could potentially be advantageous for analysis of complex problems.

I'm not being entirely serious with this, but it's a fun parallel, and it would be interesting to see someone do research on this.