The two-minute quarterback

Have you ever seen a football game (NFL or college) that was low scoring, with the teams punting the ball back and forth, but in the last few minutes each team managed to score quickly and repeatedly, making for a very exciting finish? The Patriots-Giants Super Bowl a few years ago was one such game. In my experience, there are many others. Is it just chance that the games end this way so often? Do the teams just choose to stop trying on defense, or is there a better explanation for why this occurs?

I think this is because of the teams' choice of play calls. Each team has a few offensive plays, or sequences of plays, which they developed and which they think are especially effective and unlikely to be anticipated by the defense. If they use these plays at some unimportant point of the game, their effect is wasted. So they are saved for the closing minutes of close games. At this point, both teams run all their special plays, which do tend to be more effective than normal plays. Thus, both teams often manage to score quickly. The defenses are trying just as hard as they have all game, but their task is harder and they tend not to do as well.

One consequence of this theory is to diminish the value of the “two-minute drive quarterback”. Not only is it easier to score at that point with all the special plays at hand, but the choice of plays is likely to have been substantially planned ahead of time. In the middle of the game, when there is no such planning, running an offense may be more difficult, not less.

Yaakov's sister marriage

If Yaakov Avinu kept the entire Torah, how could he have married two sisters, which the Torah forbids?

There are at least three explanations:

1) Hizkuni: When each sister married Yaakov they converted to "Judaism", and a convert is no longer considered to be part of his/her immediate family for these purposes.

2) Ramban: There are two reasons why to keep mitzvot. In general, we do so because God commanded us (the "rationalist" explanation). In the land of Israel (but only there, says the Ramban) we keep mitzvot because they have a special impact on the world (the "mystical" explanation). Before Sinai, God had not commanded anything. So only the second reason applied - and only in Israel. Therefore, Yaakov was free to break the Torah outside Israel, for example, by marrying Rachel. But once he returned to Israel this excuse ceased to apply - and Rachel died soon afterwards, in childbirth.

3) Since Yaakov was not commanded, but saw value in the mitzvot, he chose to keep them as a "chumra". But in Rachel's case, this chumra conflicted with a greater obligation. Rachel had waited seven years with the expectation of marrying Yaakov. To not marry her now would be a betrayal of her trust. Yaakov's "chumra" of not marrying two sisters was overridden by his preexisting obligation to Rachel. From this we learn that one may not take on chumras when they are at someone else's expense.

Some difficulties with this last explanation: 1) The halacha of marrying two sisters was likely instituted for the benefit of the sisters, so they not fight each other. So marrying Rachel now would actually not be in her interest. 2) In that society Rachel's marriage may have been Lavan's concern, not Rachel's, and perhaps Yaakov did not have the standing to insert himself into the other family's considerations.

...Still, the message is good.

Aliyah to India

Aliyah to India

Shem

There is a family of American olim I know called the Mendelsohns (name changed). Long ago they decided they didn't want their kids to ever return to the US, and their kids' names should ensure that that never happens.

Each kid has a normal Hebrew name, but their English name – never used except on their US passport – is absolutely bizarre. For example, one kid is named “Mendelsohn Mendelsohn”. Another can truthfully say that “Danger is my middle name”. A third is named “Just Mendelsohn”. So when people ask his name, and he says “Mendelsohn”, and they respond “No, your full name”, confusion ensues.

I've thought of some more names that they should give their next couple kids, if they have any more. First of all, “Who Mendelsohn”. That way they could reproduce ”Who's on First”.

Second of all, “Name Mendelsohn”. Then people would ask “What's your name”, and he would respond “Name”. And the asker would think that the kid misunderstood the question.

If you like this second idea, though, I shouldn't get the credit. Wasn't one of Noach's sons named “Shem”?

Jerusalem and birkat hamazon

אמר רב יוסף תדע דהטוב והמטיב לאו דאורייתא שהרי פועלים עוקרים אותה

R' Yosef says (Brachot 46a) that the fourth blessing of birkat hamazon, “Hatov vehametiv”, must be rabbinic rather than required by the Torah. His argument is that all-day workers (who must not waste time while “on the clock”) omit this blessing from after their meals, and if the Torah required it, it could not be omitted even in this situation. After this, the gemara brings several other, similar, proofs why “Hatov vehametiv” is rabbinic.

The implication of all this is that all three of the previous blessings are from the Torah. This is hard to understand. In particular, the third blessing is about the rebuilding of Jerusalem. Jerusalem did not become the site of the Temple or national capital until hundreds of years after the Torah was given. For most of the interim period, the city Shiloh played the role we associate with Jerusalem. So how can the Torah require us to recite the blessing this way?

Let us look at the Torah's source for birkat hamazon, and see where each of the three blessings can possibly come from.

“You shall eat, and be sated, and bless Hashem you God for the good land which He has given you.” (Devarim 8:10)

The second blessing is easiest to justify. It is about the land, and we are explicitly told to thank God for the land.

The first blessing is about food. We are not told explicitly to bless about food. But the context of birkat hamazon is surely relevant. If we thank God for the land, but only after eating, then why is the land important to us? Clearly, it is important in that it provides us with food. And thus, we have a separate blessing which thanks God for food. Could this thanks not have been included in the “land” blessing? It could, and (according to some opinions) the bracha me'ein shalosh we say after eating cake is exactly such a “combined” blessing. But for birkat hamazon, the accepted text has the topics separated into multiple blessings.

Now to the third blessing. Where in Devarim 8:10 is there any hint of Jerusalem?

I think the answer is in the last few words of the verse, “which He has given you”. The second blessing thanks God for the land, the third blessing thanks God for our control of it. Only when we control the land can we enjoy its produce; if we are exiled or oppressed, we are not benefiting from it. Jerusalem is simply the current symbol of that control. Once God “has mercy on Israel... Jerusalem... Zion... the kingdom of the house of David... the Temple” (to quote the blessing), then we will be returned from exile, living peacefully with the land of Israel under our control.

The “kingdom of the house of David”, which seems to be the most peripheral item on the list I just quoted, may actually be the most important. According to the Shulchan Aruch, if you forget the phrase “kingdom of the house of David”, your entire birkat hamazon is invalid. Similarly, the Yemenite text of birkat hamazon has a very different third blessing from ours, which puts even more emphasis on the “kingdom of the house of David” than we do. I think we can explain this emphasis by saying that the blessing's basic theme is our control over the land, and if we leave this out the purpose of the blessing is not accomplished.

Now, for almost 2000 years we did not have control over the land of Israel. So, technically speaking, it was impossible to thank God for control. Instead, we have offered a prayer that control be returned to us. We still say this today, partly because changing established texts is difficult and fraught with danger, partly because our control of the land is still very incomplete.

Of course, we are forced to say that the third blessing did not always mention rebuilding Jerusalem. When the Temple was standing, it must have said something like “We thank you for preserving the kingdom of David in the holy city of Jerusalem”. Before the Temple was built, it must have said something similar about Shiloh. The exact wording would change from generation to generation. But the Biblically mandated idea – recognition that the land has been delivered into our control as a Divine gift – remains the same.

On a different note: Taking a broad look at birkat hamazon, we see the following rough pattern. In the three blessings we thank God for our food, for the farm which provided the food, and for the political circumstances which allow us to benefit from that farm. This list begins with the immediate and personal, and proceeds to the universal and abstract. In some ways, it reminds one of Maslow's hierarchy of needs, in which the lower needs must be satisfied before the higher ones.

Colorful names

Lavan, father-in-law of Yaakov, has quite an unusual name. Who, after all, names their kid after a color? One interpretation says that whenever Lavan wanted to trick someone, he would pretend to be “pure and white” in character, and having gained their confidence, would then proceed to rob them.

But interestingly enough, Lavan is not the only person in Breishit named after a color. The other person is none other than Yaakov's brother. Born with the name Esav, he later acquired the name “Edom”. One day Esav came in from the field hungry, found Yaakov cooking red lentils, and begged Yaakov to “give me some of that red, red stuff”. Yaakov agreed only in exchange for Esav's birthright. From then on Esav was called “Edom”, meaning “red”. One might assume that rather than being a compliment, this was a way of mocking Esav for his shortsighted desperateness in agreeing to the exchange. In any case, the name stuck and the nation descended from him is named Edom.

So Esav's “colorful” name is a result of his being tricked by Yaakov. My theory is that Lavan got his name the same way.

When the Torah describes how Lavan tried to trick Yaakov, it includes what looks like an amusing pun. “That day [Lavan] removed the streaked and spotted he-goats, and all the speckled and spotted she-goats, every one that had white [“lavan”] in it, and all the dark ones among the sheep...” (30:35) Lavan agreed to give Yaakov the white-spotted goats in his flock, but he secretly removed and hid those goats to deprive Yaakov of his wages. But Yaakov had the last word in this story. He got the completely black goats to breed, and white-spotted goats were among their offspring. Then he used certain procedures to help his goats reproduce more than Lavan's. Eventually his white-spotted goats (and dark sheep) outnumbered the pure-colored ones. Yaakov outmaneuvered Lavan, and Lavan grew poor and frustrated, while Yaakov returned home wealthy and with a large family.

It is through the coloring of these goats and sheep that Lavan tried to trick Yaakov. But through the same coloring, Yaakov managed to not only protect but also enrich himself greatly. Perhaps, in memory of this, Lavan received the name “white”. He was born with a different name – one not recorded in the Torah. But he received his new and more “colorful” name, in memory of what he tried to do to Yaakov, and how Yaakov turned the tables on him. As with Edom, Lavan's misbegotten plans are preserved forever in the additional name that his contemporaries gave him.

Thoughts on Chayei Sarah

[Avraham] spoke with them, saying: “If you are willing that I bury my dead from before me, hear me, and approach for me Ephron the son of Tzohar, that he may give me his cave of Machpelah, which is in the end of his field. For the full price let him give it to me, in your midst, for a burial site.” Now Ephron dwelt/sat among the children of Heth, and Ephron the Hittite answered Abraham in the hearing of the children of Heth, of all that entered the gate of his city, saying: “No, my lord, hear me. The field I give to you, and the cave that is in it, I give to you; before the eyes of my people I give it to you; bury your dead.” (23:8-11)

There is one hard-to-understand phrase here: ועפרון יושב בתוך בני חת - “Now Ephron dwelt/sat among the children of Heth”. What does this mean and why is it mentioned?

One possibility is just to say that Ephron was already physically present and available to discuss the transaction. That's a very boring explanation but I can't rule it out. However, I also have a more interesting explanation. It relies on the following quote, regarding the prophet Elisha.

[The Shunamite woman] said unto her husband: "Look now, I have seen that this is a holy man of God, who passes by us continually. Let us make a little chamber in the attic; and let us set for him there a bed, table, stool, and candlestick; and whenever he comes to us, he will go there.” One day he came there, and he went to the upper chamber and lay there... [Then he asked the woman]: “Look, you have taken all this care for us; what is to be done for thee? Should you be mentioned to the king, or to the captain of the host?” And she answered: “I dwell among my people.” He said: “What then can be done for her?” Gehazi answered: “Indeed she has no son, and her husband is old.” (Melachim Bet 4:9-14)

At which point Elisha arranges for the woman to miraculously have a kid. But before that happened, Elisha offered to get the king and higher officials to help the woman out. She refused, with the explanation: “I dwell among my people.” Apparently this means that any special favors would make the people around her suspicious and jealous, and she valued her community more than whatever perks the king could give her.

Returning to the parsha. When it says that “Ephron dwelt/sat among the children of Heth”, perhaps this means the same thing as the Shunamite's “I dwell among my people”. Ephron would have loved to take the large payment which Avraham just offered him. But his community insisted on Avraham being able to bury for free, and Ephron felt he could not go against this. Thus, Ephron offered Avraham the land as a gift. When Avraham continued to insist on paying, Ephron was able to take the money. But still, to keep up the impression that he didn't care about the money, he continued talking as if he were giving a gift: “Land worth 400 silver shekels, what is it between us?”

Ephron was not necessarily a sleazy Middle Eastern bazaar salesman, professing generosity while manipulating the customer into paying an exorbitant price. It's also possible that he preferred to be honest, but social pressure from his countrymen forced him to present himself as more generous than he actually was.

Four beautiful women

תנו רבנן: ארבע נשים יפיפיות היו בעולם: שרה <ואביגיל רחב> [רחב ואביגיל] ואסתר. ולמאן דאמר אסתר ירקרוקת היתה, מפיק אסתר ומעייל ושתי

The rabbis teach: There have been four super-beautiful women in the world: Sarah, Avigayil, Rahav, and Esther. According to the opinion that Esther was sallow, [the list] would exclude Esther and include Vashti.
(Megillah 15a)

As you can see from the Hebrew, there is a difference of opinion as to how this teaching should be worded. The list of women, as it appears in normal gemaras, goes as following:

Sarah, Avigayil, Rahav, Esther.

But on the side of the page is a note saying צ"ל רחב אביגיל – "It should say Rahav, Avigayil”. Thus the order becomes:

Sarah, Rahav, Avigayil, Esther.

Usually this kind of “it should say” correction appears when there is a relatively obvious and inconsequential error (let us say “typo”) in our printed gemara. Out of respect for the text (and humility regarding the certainty of our conclusions) we do not actually correct the typo. But we add the correction note so people know how to learn the gemara correctly, and don't puzzle for hours over a cryptic phrase that wasn't intended to have a deep meaning.

In our case, though, it's not obvious what the error is. In this list of names, how do we know, and why does it matter what order the names are in?

Let us try to understand the case by first looking at the “corrected” list. Here, the order is Sarah, Rahav, Avigayil, Esther. That corresponds to the chronological order in which the four women lived. In the “uncorrected” list, the names are out of chronological order. Evidently, whoever wrote the “correction” assumed that the list must be chronological, and reordered it accordingly.

In my mind, that is a rather reasonable assumption. (After all, the list is already mostly chronological, and one would hardly expect the names to be ordered randomly.) But there's another possibility.

After listing the four women, the gemara mentions that according to some opinions, Esther was actually rather ugly. If so, then what happens to our list of four beautiful women? The number four is preserved by replacing Esther with Vashti. Then, the “uncorrected” list becomes:

Sarah, Avigayil, Rahav, Vashti.

That list is not in chronological order – but it does make perfect sense without any correction. The first two women in the list are Jewish, and the last two are not.

Now let us return to the “uncorrected” list involving Esther:

Sarah, Avigayil, Rahav, Esther.

Perhaps, the list was intentionally ordered this way. In and of itself, the list has no logical order. But whoever wrote it also wrote the part about Vashti. They knew that later on they'd substitute Vashti for Esther in the list, so they wrote it with the Jewish/non-Jewish listing of women in mind.

Anger and incomplete understanding

"Anger and unkindness arise when people's understanding is limited. The deeper their understanding the more their anger disappears, and kindness, love and peace spread."
Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, Likutei Eitzot.

In the comments to this post, I posted the following explanation to R' Nachman's insight:

Many issues are complex. People who cannot handle the complexity will choose a simpler explanation which is absolutely correct with regards to one aspect of the issue, but incorrect with regard to other aspects.* Imagine that two people chose different understandings of an issue, each of which is correct with regard to a different aspect of the issue. Each person will refuse to accept the other's criticism of their understanding, because that would mean giving up their understanding across the board - and they KNOW, correctly, that they shouldn't do that. So each person is forced to ignore rather than consider the other's arguments. Which leads to frustration, and from there to "Anger and unkindness".

The two incomplete understandings may both be intellectual. Or, as is common in debates about religion, one is philosophical and the other emotional or intuitive. Either way, the dynamic of the debate is the same.

*A good example is politics, where liberals and conservatives are both right SOMETIMES, but (partly due to incomplete information) nobody in the world fully understands the entire issue.

Teacher industrial complex

No longer will one person teach his fellow and brother saying "Know Hashem". For they all will know me, from their smallest to greatest, says Hashem. For I will forgive their iniquity, and their sin I will no longer remember. (Yirmiyahu 31:33)

Given the obvious benefit to everyone of doing teshuva, it is surprising that so few people manage to do it. There is only one possible explanation for this fact. Clearly, there must be powerful forces in society have an interest in our not doing teshuva.

The above verse from Yirmiyahu makes clear why. There are more than 100,000 teachers in Israel, and a similar number teaching Jews in the rest of the world. The verse makes clear that when the mashiach comes, and we all due teshuva, teaching will no longer take place.

Obviously, this represents a severe threat to the job prospects of all those teachers. The stated goal of teachers, particularly in religious schools, is that students emerge with the knowledge and ethical commitments that will allow them to fill positive and productive roles in society. This goal is broadly accepted, and few people would dare to publicly question it.

But one cannot discount the powerful incentive, in terms of job security, for teachers to encourage precisely the opposite characteristics in their students. In addition, teachers are uniquely and worryingly positioned to have influence, whether positive or negative, over their students. While certainly many teachers have pure intentions, it is inevitable that many others do not.

The effects of these teachers' negative influence cannot be known with certainty, but are undoubtedly vast. It is certainly difficult to confront entrenched interests with so much power, but perhaps the following steps can help in taking back our society. First, we need an immediate moratorium on the hiring of new teachers and building of new schools. Also, a watchdog organization must be set up to monitor contacts between teachers and the gambling, weapons, and pornography industries, all of which have a shared financial interest in the misbehaviour of our children.

Only thus can the effects of the teacher-industrial complex, unseen yet with such a hegemonic influence on our society, be countered.

Tower of Babel

An interesting article about languages.

For the record

Shortly after acquiring my first ever digital camera last fall, I brought it with me on a hike (to the southwest part of the Carmel). I had the usual reasons for taking a camera with me. But I did not envision what the camera would take away from me.

Quickly I found myself doing pretty much nothing but snapping photographs. Instead of appreciating the sights around me, I was treating them in a purely functional manner. As I walked along, I constantly evaluated whether or not what I saw was worth recording. The pictures I ended up with were great. But I missed out on all the other reasons for hiking: the calmness of a landscape undistracted by modern development; the in-your-face beauty of forests, springs, and wildlife; the anticipation of never knowing which unique archaeological site or strange flower awaited me around the next bend. I returned from the hike with plenty of JPGs, but not nearly enough memories.

Of course I am not the first person to act this way. It is said that some tourists spend so much time and effort on taking pictures, that they never get around to actually experiencing the place they are in. They succeed in using their surroundings, as photo opportunities, at the expense of enjoying them. I had heard of this attitude, but it was a surprise how naturally I started doing the same thing.

My experience with the camera reminded me of the novel "The Famished Road", by Nigerian writer Ben Okri, which I had read in college a few years previously. One of the novel's main characters (Jeremiah) owns a camera and, in addition to taking family pictures and the like, he photographs riots and other events to support the poor in their fight for political standing. But the camera's usefulness soon turns into an unhealthy dependence. Rather than rely directly on their perceptions, people prefer to consult the photographic record for their facts, and are helpless when it is taken away from them.

Jeremiah's camera has great significance in the novel, as it is implicitly compared to the author's pen. A major theme of the novel is the challenge of converting a dynamic oral tradition (of folklore and legends) into a static form (the written novel) while not losing all that is vital and valuable in the process. The photographer Jeremiah failed at this. The author, through the novel's unusual choice of structure, tries to do better.

This challenge was not unique to West Africans like Ben Okri. The Jewish people had to face it too, nearly 2000 years ago when the Oral Torah first began to be written down. It was advantageous, and perhaps inevitable, to convert all that knowledge into a form that could survive the death of any individual. But presumably it was not done earlier because along with the advantages came costs. As the centuries pass and successive layers of commentary build up, it becomes progressively easier to focus on the minutiae of the uppermost layer, rather than on the broad ideas which underlie the entire system.

Returning to my camera: Soon enough I realized what the camera was doing to my hiking experience. With a little effort, I trained myself to keep the camera way in the back of my mind. Now, only if I see something striking do I consider whether it's worth a picture. At other times I try to ignore the camera entirely. I have struck a balance between use of the camera and use of myself. Now I think I get the optimal usage out of both of them.

The same balance can be achieved in regard to Jewish tradition. A person's Torah study often tends to the extreme of being either emotional and inspired, or technical and withdrawn. The same imbalance can carry over into how one lives their life. Ideally, of course, a person will achieve both aspects simultaneously. It is certainly a challenge to unite the Torah's logical and emotional aspects. But if you ever meet someone who has succeeded at it, or to some degree succeed in doing it yourself, you intuitively realize that you could never choose to live your life in any other manner.

The status of animals

The simple meaning of parshat Breishit indicates that before the flood, animals had a much higher status than at present. They had many characteristics and much of the same role that human beings now have.

Evidence for this assertion includes the following facts:

- Animals could speak, for example the snake.
- Animals could listen to speech: “God blessed them, saying: Be fruitful and multiply...” (1:22)
- Animals were potential spouses for mankind: “God formed from the earth every animal of the field and every bird of the sky, and brought them to the man... but the man did not find a helpmate for himself.” (2:19-20)
- Man was not allowed to kill animals for food. (1:29)
- Animals too were not allowed to eat animals, but had to eat plants instead. (1:30)

This depiction is surprising. Our first impulse is to explain away each of the above examples as being metaphorical. But putting them together, it is hard to escape the conclusion that they form, at least, a single and more daring metaphor.

It is equally surprising to see an extremely similar depiction in a different context.

ÅgThe wolf will dwell with the lamb, and the leopard will lie down with the kid; and the calf and lion and cattle together; and a little child will lead them. The cow and the bear will graze; their young ones shall will down together; and the lion will eat straw like the ox. The baby will play on the hole of the asp, and the child will put his hand on the basilisk's den.” (Yeshayahu 11:6-8)

Here we have many of the same elements as at the beginning of Breishit: Animals and humans coexist. All animals are vegetarian. Humans and snakes are friends, not enemies.

As hard as it is for us to understand the role of animals described here, the similarity between Breishit and Yeshayahu cannot be accidental. Apparently, we are being told, when God first created the world animals had a much higher status than they do today. Due to some kind of sin, the world had to be destroyed and remade with a different role for animals. But someday, in the messianic era, the world and animals will return to their original state.

When did the change in animals' role occur? Clearly a big change occurred at the time of the flood. The flood is justified by the judgment that “all flesh had corrupted its way on earth” - all flesh, apparently including animals. While Adam and Eve had a task in the Garden of Eden, Noach had to make the world he lived in, saving the animals in the flood and planting grapes after leaving the ark. Furthermore, right after the flood humans are allowed to eat animals and animals may eat each other. From this point on, animals' lives are no longer holy, and humans now rule over animals by force. Granted, even Adam and Eve were told to “have dominion” (1:28) over the animals. But perhaps this expression has less forceful and hostile connotations than what Noach was told - “Your fear and dread will be upon [all animals]... and they are delivered into your hand.” (9:2)

Besides the flood, there is at least one other event in which animals are punished. The snake's behavior in the Garden of Eden earns it a lower status and more hostile relations with humans. This seems similar to the punishment all animals received in the flood. Perhaps snakes lost their status at this point, and other animals lost their status at some later point prior to the flood. In the messianic era, when all these sins and punishments are repaired, perhaps the last to be repaired will be that of the snake. In this final stage of redemption – the final words of Yeshayahu's description, in which humans and snakes once more coexist peacefully – we will truly have returned to the Garden of Eden.

(Heard from R' Baruch Gigi. Possibly derived from R' Kook's writings on vegetarianism.)

The snake

It is strange that humans in the Garden of Eden are tempted by a snake. The strangest part, of course, is imagining how an animal could approach humans as an apparent equal. (I plan to partly address that question in a future post.) Another interesting question is: why a snake? Why not a different animal?

To possibly answer this, let's look at some background information about the sin in the Garden of Eden:

1. Eating from the tree makes humans aware of the their nakedness, and the first baby is born afterwards
2. The tree of “knowledge” may be related to “knowledge in a biblical sense”
3. The “fruit” may allude to “being fruitful and multiplying”
4. The fruit is described as very attractive looking ("a desire to the eyes, and beautiful to perceive"), which is why the woman has trouble keeping herself from eating it.
5. The woman's punishment apparently relates to her desires and their consequences.

It is clear from all this that the sin is very closely related to sexuality.

With that background, let me mention the following idea:

6. In popular culture, the word “snake” is sometimes used as a euphemism for a body part.

As support for this interpretation, note that 1) The woman is tempted by the snake, not the man. 2) The snake begins the story standing (which real snakes can't do) and is punished by no longer being able to stand.

So the image of the snake may be chosen to further develop the role of sexuality in the story. And this not the place to elaborate.

The midrash that the snake wanted to mate with the woman probably flows from these considerations (as well as the fact that the man too tried mating with animals).

In order to uphold my reputation, please forget that I ever said what I just said. But I do think this idea explains some things pretty well. Even if you can't repeat it at the Shabbat table.

Knowing good and evil

Since in light of modern science it's hard to take literally a description of 2 original humans alone in the world, here is how I understand the meaning of the Adam and Eve story.

Animals of a single species are essentially interchangeable with one another. As time passes some die and new ones take their place. But this transformation is of little significance; what matters is the species not individuals, and the species is effectively immortal. Within an animal's body cells continually die and are replaced by new cells; within a species animals die and are replaced by new animals. Both forms of death are insignificant, except from a biologist's perspective.

What is true of animals was also true of early humans, until they developed moral awareness. From the moment on, it was no longer possible to speak of individual humans as interchangeable, like cells in a body. Along with moral awareness comes a unique identity and personality - a soul. When a person dies, there is no identical, interchangeable person to take their place. Someone else takes their physical place, living in the same house, or working in the same profession. But morally speaking, this is a completely different person.

At the moment that he/she was tempted to eat from the Tree of Knowing Good and Evil, the immortal Adam - meaning Adam the species - ceased to be relevant. Adam the individual - and his children, their descendants, and all the other individual humans - became the focus of attention instead. Each of these people has their own unique identity, and each has a finite lifespan. The death introduced into the world by "knowledge of good and evil" was not physical death, but the death of moral identities. And the new sexuality which accompanies the "knowledge" is not the mating urge, which always existed, but rather the new ability to create new and unique moral identities.

Once Adam and Eve were confronted with the choice to obey or disobey, even before they chose wrongly, they had already made the transition from an immortal "species" to morally-aware "individuals". Had they chosen correctly, they would have stayed in the Garden as immortal individuals.

Such a state should not be so hard to imagine. It is well known and accepted that our inner identities - our souls - can themselves be immortal. Indeed we speak of them returning to the Garden of Eden, the place of immortality, after death. That is exactly what Adam and Eve would have achieved immediately had they not sinned.

R' Nachman and R' Soloveitchik

Here is an excerpt from R' Nachman of Breslov's tale "Seven Beggars":

At the far end of the world there is a mountain, on the mountain top is a rock, and a fountain of water gushes from the rock.

This you know: that everything in the world possesses a heart, and the world itself has a great heart. The heart of the world is complete, for it has a face, and hands, and breasts, and toes, and the littlest toe of the world's heart is more worthy than any human heart. So at one end of the earth there is the fountain that flows from the rock on the mountain top, and at the other end is the earth's heart.

And the heart desires the mountain spring; it remains in its place far at the other end of the earth, but it is filled with an unutterable longing, it burns with an endless desire for the distant fountain of water...

Because of its great longing, it sometimes tries to go to the fountain, but if it goes nearer to the foot of the mountain it can no longer see the spring on the top of the mountain, and so it must remain far away, for only from a distance may a mountain peak be seen. And if it were for an instant to lose sight of the spring, the heart would die, and then all the world would die, for the life of the world and everything in it is in the life of its heart.

So the heart remains longing at the other end of the earth, longing for the spring that cannot come toward it, for the spring has no share in Time, but lives on a mountain peak far above the time that is on earth. And the mountain spring could not be of the earth at all, since it has no share in the earth's time but for the earth's heart, which gives the spring its day.

And as the day draws to its close, and time is ended, the heart becomes dark with grief, for when the day is done the mountain spring will be gone from the earth, and then the earth's heart will die of longing, and when the heart is dead all the earth and all the creatures upon the earth will die.

And so, as the day draws to a close, the heart begins to sing farewell to the fountain; it sings its grief in wildly beautiful melody, and the mountain spring sings farewell to the heart, and their songs are filled with love and eternal longing.

But the Truly Godly Man keeps watch over them, and in that last moment before the day is done, and the spring is gone, and the heart is dead, and the world is ended, the good man comes and gives a new day to the heart; then the heart gives the day to the spring, and so they live again.

The symbolism seems clear to me. The "heart of the world", and the spring issuing from the mountain, represent the human soul and God. It is not obvious which is which, but my inclination is to identify God with the spring. This is because water symbolizes Torah; Mt. Sinai had a spring issuing from it (Shemot 17:6, 32:20, Devarim 9:21); and the spring "could not be of the earth at all... but for the earth's heart" - that is to say, God is transcendent and absent from the world, except in the human soul, while the human is fundamentally part of the "earth" or physical world.

The soul and God sense each other and try to meet one another. But exactly at the moment of closest approach, the line of sight between "heart" and "spring" (man and God) is blocked. The "heart" and spring sing love songs, but can no longer approach one another. Eventually the day ends: the failure of man and God to meet results in frustration and eventual abandonment of the task. But when all seems lost, another day begins, and God and man's struggles to meet each other begin again from scratch.

The dynamic here is very similar to what R' Soloveitchik describes in his book "Uvikashtem Misham". There, drawing on the metaphor of Shir Hashirim, God is the male lover and humanity the female. God knocks on our door, but we are lying in bed and at first do not have the energy to get up and answer. When we finally get to the door, God has already stopped waiting. We then go out and search the streets for God, who is presumably only a short way off, but without success. Then, it is implied, we return home and the story repeats itself. Both sides passionately desire a meeting, but at no point does the meeting ever occur.

Both of these stories seem overly pessimistic, as the cycle repeats itself without God and humanity ever managing to meet. I can think of two responses to this criticism. First, at least in R' Soloveitchik's metaphor, it is possible that despite all the failures so far, the two sides will someday succeed in meeting. Second, eventual failure is not necessarily a pessimistic conclusion. All human lives are destined to fail, through death. But that eventual failure does not erase the value of efforts performed beforehand. Similarly in our stories, the effort is valuable and "on the record", even if the desired conclusion is not obtained.

When reading a religious parable as complex and poignant as these two are, it's hard to escape the conclusion that the author is describing their personal experience in all its depth and detail. Perhaps no two Jewish leaders have inspired more dissimilar followers than did R' Nachman and R' Soloveitchik. For that reason, it's interesting how the two rabbis' religious experiences were so very similar.

Of course, the explanation may be that the kind of experience R' Nachman identified and tried to steer his followers away from, R' Soloveitchik identified and saw as ideal.

Ibn Ezra on creation

"In my opinion, this paragraph [3rd day of creation] is connected [i.e. overlaps in time] with the previous paragraph [2nd day]. For the rakia [“firmament”/sky] was not made until the earth became dry... behold, on one day they [sky+earth] were created." -Ibn Ezra, Breishit 1:9

By implying here that what was listed on one day of creation was NOT all created on one physical day, Ibn Ezra can be added to the list of commentators who believe the first chapter of Breishit may be interpreted non-literally. This, of course, is important as it allows for compatibility with modern science.

Ibn Ezra's view on this issue is much more significant than that of Rambam or modern commentators, because their conclusions were heavily influenced by knowledge of contemporary scientific theories, while Ibn Ezra's opinion seems to derive solely from textual factors.

Secret sauce

There is a commonly used electronic device called a transistor. Among its parts are a "source" and a "drain".

Funnily enough, at least sixteen different people have received patents in which they described the transistor source as a "sauce" rather than a "source".

After finding one of those patents by accident, I decided to look for another, more famous misspelling. Sure enough, two people have received patents related to "nucular" power plants.

I can imagine making this kind of mistake in an email or blog post. But to make it in your final patent application - and then to have the patent office approve it - is just incredible.

Sukkot note

At dinner on Friday night, this lady guest mentioned how special the sukkah was, being the only mitzvah that a person is "surrounded by" and "inside".

I was tempted, but refrained from replying that there is another such mitzvah: yishuv eretz yisrael.

Later on, the same woman proudly mentioned how great her community was for refusing to sleep in the sukkah, because it was "too holy" for anything as mundane as sleeping.

This time I really should have replied, saying "That may have been true in Eastern Europe. But here in Israel there is holiness everywhere, not just in the sukkah. If holiness was a reason not to sleep then we couldn't sleep anywhere in Israel. So clearly it is not an impediment." And maybe, for good measure, I should have mentioned Shmuel Alef 3:3 where it says that Shmuel was sleeping in the Temple. Since the sukkah is so closely related to the Temple (think "ananei hakavod", "sukkat david hanofalet"), that should have proved the case that sleeping in the sukkah is OK.

But again, partly out of politeness and partly out of lack of confidence in my Hebrew (or both together - it's easier to simply make yourself understood than to do so politely), I refrained from commenting.

It's great to be able to refute people on their terms as well as on objective terms. But it's a little frustrating when such a chance comes up and for whatever reason you don't take it.

Yom Ke-Purim

If vowelized differently, the holiday name "Yom Kippurim" would spell out "Yom ke-Purim" - "A day like Purim". There is a well-known idea, with this textual basis, that Yom Kippur is a day "like Purim", with the same importance or significance as Purim.

This is hard to take at face value. Yom Kippur is the holiest day of the year, while Purim is a minor rabbinic holiday. How can the two be compared? Moreover, why is Yom Kippur compared to Purim, not Purim to Yom Kippur? Even if the comparison between Yom Kippur and Purim is valid, its order should be reversed!

Here are three possible understandings of the Ke-Purim idea. To me the first is the most meaningful.

1. Release of inhibitions

It seems clear to me that the link between Purim and Yom Kippur is the unique release of inhibitions that can occur on both. Normally, there are many legitimate actions which we do not let ourselves perform, because we worry how other people will react to them. We do not want to embarrass ourselves or get too emotional in public, so we set artificial boundaries to prevent that from happening. On only two days each year do we escape these boundaries - on Purim and on Yom Kippur.

The release of inhibitions on Purim is trivial to achieve - all you have to do is drink a lot. On Yom Kippur, it is much harder. Since this is the last chance to ask forgiveness for our misdeeds, the last opportunity to reform our actions, there is a feeling of urgency and desperation not present at any other time of year. There is a sense of "If not now, when", which can spur you to do to things you never would have contemplated on another date. Sometimes, your religious expression can become as spontaneous and natural as when you are drunk. It is not that the boundaries cease to exist, like on Purim, but that you through your efforts overcome them.

We can see an example of this in Sefer Shmuel, where Hannah prays and Eli accuses her of being drunk. Eli thought Hannah was, in a sense, celebrating Purim. But in fact, she was celebrating Yom Kippur.

This idea also explains why Yom Kippur is compared to Purim and not vice versa. The Yom Kippur experience may be more meaningful than that of Purim. But Purim is the more convenient yardstick by which to measure such experiences.


2. Acceptance of the Torah

On Shavuot, many years ago at Sinai, we accepted the Torah for the first time. On both Yom Kippur and Purim, we re-accepted it. Remember that after the Golden Calf incident, it was on Yom Kippur that Moshe returned with a new set of tablets. This day marks the second, and more permanent, acceptance of the Torah.

Purim marks a third acceptance ("kiyemu vekiblu"), which seems much more similar to the second acceptance than to the first. On Shavuot we accepted the Torah amid incredible miracles, but our acceptance lasted no longer than did the miracles. On both Yom Kippur and Purim there were no such open miracles, yet our acceptance of the Torah was much longer enduring. In this way, the historical significance of Yom Kippur and Purim is very similar.

3. Yonah and Esther

On Yom Kippur we read Sefer Yonah, in which Yonah spends "three days and three nights" in the fish's belly before delivering his message to Nineveh. Here he (presumably) does not eat or drink, and we know that he takes the opportunity to pray to God for his deliverance.

This fish episode resembles part of Megillat Esther, read on Purim. There Esther, too, meets an Eastern monarch after three days of fasting. And while not explicitly mentioned, it is very likely that she spent the three days praying to God, just as Yonah did. And Esther, like Yonah, seems hesitant to carry out her mission before finally agreeing to do so.

The Esther and Yonah stories are unusual in that in both, the story revolves around the behavior of non-Jews. In Yonah, God is principally concerned with the repentance of the Assyrians. Yonah is the instrument of this repentance, but his concern for himself, and possibly for his people (whom Assyria later conquered) are deemed irrelevant. Similarly, in the megillah, it is only the Persians who can make evil decisions, and only the Persians who can rescind them. The Jewish people will be saved somehow or other (רוח והצלה יעמוד ליהודים ממקום אחר), and if this will be accomplished through Esther's plea to Achashverosh, then Esther is just as much an instrument as Yonah was.

We, of course, focus on the "Jewish" angle of Megillat Esther. But the Persians, and not just Achashverosh and Haman, have a quite important moral role throughout the story. The residents of Shushan clearly expressed their feelings about the situation (sympathizing each time with the Jews), and many other Persians chose to either fight the Jews or convert to Judaism. It is not inconceivable that these public attitudes, particularly the pro-Jewish ones of Shushan, influenced Achashverosh's final decision to side with Esther over Haman.

How would the Jews have been saved, had not Esther managed to get the decree nullified? The answer may be that the Persian empire would lose its power to enforce decrees. Perhaps it would have been conquered like Assyria and Babylon before it. Or perhaps civil war might have broken out between the Persians and Medes (two peoples who jointly ruled the empire) or between some of the 127 diverse provinces. Either way, the capital city Shushan could have suffered mightily. As with Nineveh, Shushan through its good behavior may thereby have escaped destruction.

We read Sefer Yonah during Mincha of Yom Kippur, by which time we have had plenty of chances to repent yet our accomplishments in that regard are often meager. Perhaps the purpose is to remind ourselves not to become resigned to such a state. It is hard to imagine a group of people more physically and spiritually distant from God than the Assyrians (renowned in the ancient world for their cruelty), yet in their moment of crisis they were able to repent. We, who have been brought much closer to God, are no less capable of repentance. This message is similar to that of Megillat Esther. Even at a time of "hester panim", the leading minister of the far-off Persian empire is not beyond Divine justice, and people of Shushan - both Jewish and non-Jewish - are not beyond Divine mercy.