The True Shanda

Blogging about blogging is not something I usually have time for, but sometimes you have no choice.
My social-media feed today is being flooded by Rav Zev Shandalov's "Why I Will No Longer Blog in The Times of Israel." I don't know if he'll still view it, so maybe he'll miss this too, but Rav Zev is not my intended audience.
I want instead to address the subject of his ire, The Times of Israel's editorial policy. Rav Zev refrains from ad-hominem attacks, but those who share his piece often do not, even going so far as to tag the people they'd like to call out.
So what angers Rav Zev so much? The following lines:

Murdered in her bed: Teenage girl killed in terror attack Terrorist breaks into Kiryat Arba home, stabs teenage girl dozens of times, killing her. Member of local security team also wounded.

In the words of Rav Zev:

I read and re-read those words, and my blood began to boil. How dare the Times of Israel make the location of this girl’s murder a part of the story!? It was as if the fact that she was in the “West Bank” almost made the murder understandable. It was as if the Times of Israel was saying that we can “understand” (MY words, not theirs) why this happened.

Oh wait a second, I got that wrong. That header was from Arutz 7, also known as Israel National News, comfortably ensconced on the right wing of the spectrum. When they tell you where the attack took place, we can rely on them. We don't need Talmudic exegesis of why the subheadline does say where it happened, or why there's no mention of the nationality of attacker or victim. Not one time in the article do the terms Jew, Arab, Muslim, Palestinian or Israeli come up. Why is that? Is Arutz 7 afraid to face the truth? What are they trying to cover up?

The answer, of course, is nothing. They're reporting the story the way they usually do. As was Times of Israel, when it wrote:

Israeli girl, 13, stabbed to death by Palestinian in her West Bank bedroom

Hallel Yaffa Ariel killed by terrorist who entered her home in Kiryat Arba; civilian guard also injured responding to incident; attacker killed.

So why is the latter so offensive, so outrageous, so unconscionable that Rav Zev will never write for ToI again? Is it the unpardonable term "West Bank"? I doubt it, since the Bible uses that term (I Chron. 26:30).
Moreover, Rav Zev says quite clearly that it's identifying the place at all which disgusts him: "How dare the Times of Israel make the location of this girl’s murder a part of the story!"
Perhaps his introduction can be edifying:

Rather, I wish to take umbrage with many editorial decisions that have been made at Times of Israel, since I began posting my blog in July of 2013.Over the years, I fully understood that the site was not in concert with what I believed. It did not and does not share my values or my outlook on the State of Israel. I continued to post on their site, though, since it would give my writing exposure and readership. (There isn’t a writer around who doesn’t want his or her writing to get to the largest possible audience.)
I also knew full well about their editorial positions and chose to ignore them or (on some occasions) call them out on them. The one time that they censored one of my articles (which in and of itself PROVED the point of the post!) I just went ahead and posted it on Facebook.

Herein lies the problem: Rav Zev feels he did ToI a favor by posting on "a ‘left-wing, kumbaya, let’s not offend the world, occupation-is-the-reason-for-all-the-world’s-ills’ kind of site." But since he knows their true nature, he knows what they mean when they have the gall to identify the location of this heinous act of butchery.
The most important fact of this incident is the stunning, incalculable, cruel tragedy of a girl going from her bat mitzva party one year to her funeral the next. But the true shanda is that we have become so convinced of the inhumanity of our fellow citizens that we see their every act, every word, every gesture as calculated and compassionless. Now more than ever we need fora where we can come together to weep, to grieve, to talk... even, especially, if we're not all saying the same thing.

Mainstream Racism in 3 Easy Steps!

You know it's hard out here for a racism pimp. If racial bigotry and hatred is your stock-in-trade, it's a tough sell nowadays. A generation or two ago, you could count on the conservative or right-wing parties to welcome you or at least wink at you. Now, they shun you. The old standbys--"Some of my best friends are you-know-whats!" "You-know-whats are my best customers/ employees!"--just make you sound more racist.
But there is hope. For a decade now, discredited companies have been using the magic of re-branding. Blackwater renamed itself twice in three years! Now, that might not work for you as an individual, since you would lose all your Instagram followers. Instead, you need to re-brand your racism. All it takes is 3 easy steps:
1. Defining discrimination down: engage in definitional sophistry. 
This first step has three approaches:

A) X's comments can't be racist, because racism is an ideology, and X is no ideologue.

It is indeed surprising that this one fools people, as it is the exact opposite of the truth. Racism is prejudice--as in judging BEFORE you have evidence or data. The ideology only comes later. Think of the folks siccing dogs and firing hoses on black people trying to vote or go to school. Did they all have 100,000-word manifestos at home? Most racists aren't ideologues; most humans aren't ideologues. However, because the most prominent racists try to justify themselves in (bad) writing, speaking & broadcasting, this one fools a lot of allegedly intelligent people.

B) Race is just a social construct, so it's meaningless.

You've got to be audacious to pull this one off, but the payoff is huge. See, if race isn't real, how can racism be real? This one is a half-truth, because race is indeed a social construct, but of course racism is a social ill. The black family in Queens denied housing by a slumlord may be the victims of a fabricated social construct, but it's meaningful as hell for them.

C) It's not racism, because we're talking about a group based on ethnicity/ religion/ national origin.

This is the flip-side of B): arguing that racism does indeed exist, but limiting it so drastically that you're let off the hook. What, did you say Mexicans or Muslims should be judged by their background, not their actions? Neither one is a race, so we're all good! Some think that it's discrimination which is the problem, not which biographical factor you're basing it on, but hey, that's why we need to keep them down, right?
OK, that's Step 1. Your statement/ idea/ action is not racist. But what is it then?
2. Alchemical dependency: transmute your racism with pseudo-synonyms
There are many synonyms for racism: discrimination, bigotry, prejudice, etc. None of those will help your case. However, pseudo-synonyms are extremely useful: terms that seem to be equivalent but are not, e.g. offensive, insensitive, off-color, inappropriate, polarizing, divisive, controversial. Those terms may appear to be negative, but they subtly shift the onus from the speaker to the subject. Did he find that offensive? Maybe he's easily offended. Did she find that insensitive? Maybe she's hypersensitive. Did they find that polarizing or divisive? Maybe they shouldn't take such an extreme stand in opposition.
OK, you're almost there. You're no longer a racist, but you still seem like a jerk. How can you go from zero to hero?
3. Despicable gallantry medal: make yourself a social-justice war hero.
Try this sample script. Make sure to punctuate it with head-shakes and looks of consternation.

It's really a shame that in today's politically correct society, we can no longer honestly discuss issues of major consequence. We're so afraid of overrunning people's safe spaces with micro-aggressions that we stifle the free exchange of ideas. Well, I say no! This country was built on freedom of speech, and I will not be cowed. Maybe this isn't politically correct, but I believe that the truth is still something worth fighting for!

Stirring, no? In three easy steps, you've gone from Andrew Jackson c. 2015 to Andrew Dice Clay to Andrew Jackson c. 1815! Huzzah!
Sure, you're still a racist, but now you and your supporters don't have to feel guilty about it. And isn't that the point?

20 Years of Peace

Tel Aviv sits in Gush Dan, the Dan bloc. Israel has no states, provinces or counties per se, but it does have millennia of history. The name of the region goes all the way back to the Bible, in which the tribe of Dan receives territory from Zorah in the lowlands to Joppa on the coast (Josh. 19:40-46). In fact, tomorrow we will read from the thirteenth chapter of Judges, the origin story of Samson, which begins: "And there was a certain man of Zorah, of the family of the Danites," and concludes: "And the spirit of the LORD began to move him in Dan's camp, between Zorah and Eshtaol."
So why do we read this prophetic passage this weekend? It has two links to the Torah portion, Naso. Num. 6 explains what it means to be a Nazirite, which Samson is ordered to be from birth, while Num. 7 tells us about the dedication offerings of the tribal princes, including Ahiezer, Prince of Dan, on the tenth day. The Midrash (Num. Rabbah) explains that "He brought his offering to correspond to Samson, as Jacob's blessing to Dan focuses solely on Samson."
(If you're wondering how Ahiezer knew the details of his latter-day tribesman's life -- forget it, Jake, it's Midrash Rabbah.)
Consider, for example, how it tackles the final element of the dedication offering: "And for the sacrifice of peace-offerings, two oxen..."

This corresponds to the two times it is written of him that he judged Israel for 20 years, and these are they: "And he judged Israel in the days of the Philistines 20 years" (Jud. 15:20); "And he judged Israel 20 years" (Jud. 16:31). This teaches you that the judged Israel for 20 years of his life; then, for 20 years after his death, the reverence of Samson was upon the Philistines, and they dwelled in tranquility.

This is intriguing, as it means that Samson, like so many other early Jewish leaders -- from Moses; to fellow Judges Othniel, Deborah and Gideon; to Kings David and Solomon -- had a tenure of forty years. However, unlike his colleagues, half of his was after his death!
The Midrash here distinguishes between two types of peace: one based on mishpat, and one based on mora. Mishpat is usually translated as justice, but as amusing as it is to imagine Samson's confirmation hearings for the Supreme Court, that's not the sort of Judge we find ruling over Israel and leading it in war during the pre-monarchial period. Perhaps Judge Doom. Or Judge Dredd.
Dread is one of the translations of mora, but I translated it above as "reverence," describing what the Philistines felt once Samson was dead. It certainly was not the worry of what Samson might do--the Philistines did not fear a zombie strongman. Mora is a term which parallels kavod, honor or respect. The Talmud (Kiddushin 31b) explains: "Mora -- neither stand in his place nor sit in his place, nor contradict his words, nor tip the scales against him." Mora, on the national level, means not seeking to dispossess or disinherit another people.
Thus, Pax Samsonia had two distinct periods: that of reactive mishpat in his life and that of preemptive mora in his death. The former involved a lot of smiting, as the Midrash notes; but what's truly wondrous is the latter, two decades of peace based on the final sacrifice of Samson.
As we consider the horrific terror attack this week in Tel Aviv's Sarona market, in the heart of ancient Dan, we have to ask ourselves: how do we get to the era of mora? How do we reach a place of mutual respect in which we say that the slaughter must end, in which killing is decried by all people of good conscience? How do we find the period of peace that lies beyond awful tragedy? When, at last, will we all dwell in tranquility?
It is high time for our 20 years of peace to begin.

The Big Five-Oh

We Jews love our numbers, but we're a bit so-so on Numbers.
The fourth of the Five Books of Moses, which we begin this week, is a testament to truth in advertising, as its first portion at least is full of detailed census results. Sure, those numbers are round, firm and plump, but what do they mean? Does how many thousands and how many hundreds Reuben and Judah had really resonate millennia after all those folks died?
There is one tribe which breaks the double-oh pattern, however:

Those that were numbered of them, of the tribe of Gad, were forty and five thousand six hundred and fifty.

The Gaddites have an extra fifty, which naturally means that the total of the Israelites, a number we've been hearing about since the Book of Exodus, also ends in 50. But did every other tribe randomly have perfect hundreds with zero remainders? That seems actuarially unlikely. Rabbi A.D. Goldberg, citing Imrei Noam, offers a different take:

Certainly the intent is that the Torah rounds to the nearest hundred, not the nearest ten, for if so we would still be challenged by the unreasonable proposition that no tribe other than Gad happened to have an exact multiple of ten. The reason the tribe of Gad was not rounded is that its count was exactly fifty, which cannot be rounded to the nearest hundred; for which of them would you exclude?

In other words, it's easy enough to add or subtract 49 to bring a total to the closest hundred. But if it's 50 on the nose, why is it more valid to add 50 and bring it to 45,700 then subtract 50 and bring it to 45,600? Thus, an even fifty at the end stays put, indelible.
The Gaddite census is hardly the first time we come across an ineffaceable fifty. At Sinai, Moses is advised by his father-in-law to appoint judges in an almost perfectly decimalized system: over tens, hundreds and thousands. But in between the first two are "officers over fifty." Indeed, the officer over fifty (pentecoster, to be technical) is a position of unique authority and regard during the First Commonwealth (I Samuel 8:12, II Kings 1, Isaiah 3:3). A unit of fifty people has special significance which cannot be ignored.
Nor can we overlook the monetary value of fifty. At the peak of physical ability, one's valuation is fifty shekels (Lev. 27:3), The value of land is also determined by a fifty-shekel standard (ibid. v. 16). This is even the standard bridal payment (Exod. 22:17, Deut. 22:29).
Most striking, however, is the use of fifty in units of time. After all, we are currently "counting the omer," marking the days and weeks until we arrive at the fiftieth day after Passover, commemorating the Giving of the Torah on Shavuot (AKA Pentecost--yeah, that's where it comes from). The date is immaterial; we are commanded to sanctify the fiftieth day after leaving Egypt.
Fifty weeks is the length of a standard year on the Hebrew calendar.
And fifty years? That once again brings us to the end of Leviticus (25:10-13):

Consecrate the fiftieth year and proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants. It shall be a jubilee for you; each of you is to return to your family property and to your own clan. The fiftieth year shall be a jubilee for you; do not sow and do not reap what grows of itself or harvest the untended vines. For it is a jubilee and is to be holy for you; eat only what is taken directly from the fields. In this year of jubilee, everyone is to return to their own property.

The fiftieth year is (usually) a once-in-a-lifetime event, an occasion to restore and return, of reuniting families and proclaiming liberty. It is sacred and inviolable. It is not to be ignored.
And so we enter the fiftieth year, the jubilee of united Jerusalem. Perhaps this year we will finally find the courage to answer the questions that Jerusalem demands of us, or at least to ask them. Instead of hiding behind slogans and cliches, we may finally confront the challenges of David's capital. What is our vision for Jerusalem? What does unity mean? How do we proclaim liberty not in theory, but in practice? How, ultimately, do we make the Holy City whole?

Uncensered

Leviticus, the middle child of the Pentateuch, is often overlooked as we prepare for the spring and its bevy of colorful holidays. However, the Book does offer some pyrotechnics in this week's portion, Shemini (9:1-3):

Then Nadab and Abihu, the sons of Aaron, each took his censer and put fire in it, put incense on it, and offered foreign fire before the Lord, which He had not commanded them. ² So fire went out from the Lord and devoured them, and they died before the Lord. ³ And Moses said to Aaron, “This is what the Lord spoke, saying: ‘By those who come near Me, I must be regarded as holy; And before all the people, I must be glorified.’” So Aaron held his peace.

This is not only a personal tragedy, but a national one as well. For 25 chapters--the last 16 of Exodus and the first 9 of Leviticus--the Israelites are dedicated to one purpose: constructing and consecrating the Tabernacle and its vessels, including the human ones, Aaron and his four sons. Now, the elder two--already designated for greatness at Sinai (Exod. 24:1-9)--are dead, precisely at the height of the celebration, the eighth (shemini) day, following a week-long initiation process.

So what did they do wrong? The Baal Haturim, famous for his love of mnemonics and gematria, here hews closely to the simple meaning of the words.

"Which He had not commanded them"--now, we cannot say that he neither commanded them to do so nor commanded them not to do so! Rather, it means "which he commanded them not to." The same is true of "or any of the host of heaven, which I have not commanded" (Deut. 17:3) [that God commanded not to worship the stars].

What law did they violate? Apparently, Baal Haturim alludes to Exod. 30:9: "You shall not offer foreign incense on it." But if the prohibition is foreign incense, why speak of "foreign fire," both here and in Numbers 3:4?

The fact is that fire is a leitmotif in Shemini, appearing no less than--what else?--eight times in the story of the eighth day. At first, the fire is outside the camp, for the incineration of a special type of sin-offering. At the completion of the ceremony, Aaron blesses the people and a fire comes down from heaven to light up the altar, at the center of the camp. By then kindling their own fire, Nadab and Abihu defile the Tabernacle and defy God, for which they end up paying the ultimate price, as a divine fire comes forth to devour them. To set matters straight, Moshe stresses three times that the survivors, Aaron, Eleazar and Ithamar, must eat their portions from "the fires of the Lord." Procedure must be followed, even in their bereavement.
All of this seems esoteric to the modern reader. Divine fire, profane fire--what does it all mean? However, the power of our fire is far from a moot point. The idioms are the same in English and Hebrew: opening fire, ceasefire, under fire. When we hold our fire and when we fire away are questions of morality. The stakes are so high that we as a society must be exacting in determining when such fire is justified and when it is not. Nadab and Abihu, after all, were righteous men, destined for positions of prominence, but their momentary error in judgment doomed them. God knew what was in their heart; all we have is a system of laws to try to uncover the truth of the matter. In the meantime, we must reaffirm our commitment to never profane the awesome power of our fire.

Cruel Intentions

"Whoever is made compassionate to the cruel will ultimately be made cruel to the compassionate" is a refrain so often voiced by hardliners, you might think it's a verse in the Torah. Not quite.

Rabbi Elazar said: Whoever is made compassionate to the cruel will ultimately be made cruel to the compassionate, as it is written, “And Saul and the nation spared Agag and the best sheep and cattle” (I Sam. 15:9), and it is written (Ibid. 22:19) “And Nob, the city of priests, he smote with the edge of a sword.” (Midrash Tanhuma, Metzora 1)

Jews worldwide will read the story this weekend. King Saul is commanded by the Prophet Samuel to eradicate the nation of Amalek, as you may have seen horribly portrayed in Of Kings and Prophets. (They missed this part, 14:48: "And he gathered an army and attacked the Amalekites, and delivered Israel from the hands of those who plundered them.")
Regardless, people seem to forget that this line is a criticism of Saul's decision not to execute Agag, king of Amalek, whose crimes are many and, of course, cruel -- as Samuel declares, “As your sword has made women childless, so shall your mother be childless among women” (15:33). Indeed, some versions of the Tanhuma make this even clearer by speaking of "the cruel one," putting it in singular, unlike the plural "compassionate ones," a reference to the people of the priestly city of Nob, wiped out decades later for aiding David in his flight from the by-then mad king.

So was Saul bothered by the initial command? The Talmud (Yoma 22b) explains that Saul was bothered by the fact that the Torah requires that in the case of a unsolved murder, a heifer must be taken to make atonement for the nearest city:

And he strove in the valley” (I Sam. 15:5)--R. Mani said: Because of what happens ‘in the valley’: When the Holy One, blessed be He, said to Saul: Now go and smite Amalek, he said: If on account of one person the Torah said: Perform the ceremony of the heifer whose neck is to be broken, how much more so for all these persons! And if humans sinned, what has the cattle committed; and if the adults have sinned, what have the little ones done? A divine voice came forth and said: Be not righteous overmuch. And when Saul said to Doeg: Turn you and fall upon the priests, a heavenly voice came forth to say: Be not overmuch wicked.

Now, this is a bit perplexing. If Saul is such a bleeding heart, we would expect him to spare the innocents; instead he (and the people) spare the finest of the animals and the cruelest of the men!
Rabbeinu Hananel (ad loc.) offers an explanation:

This means that the decree of heaven bore heavily upon him, as he said, "A corpse found in the camp requires a broken heifer--all of these souls we kill, all the more so we must bring offerings to atone for ourselves!" That is why he left the finest animals.

In other words, Saul was not troubled by the bloodshed, but by the bloodguilt. It may seem strange to us, but tribal societies in the Middle East have for millennia believed in this concept. Even the Torah speaks of the blood-redeemer. Saul is clearly adopting a mechanistic view of sacrifices: it's fine to spill the blood of Amalek, but atonement must be made, by offering the finest animals. But more than that, there needs to be a party to whom this blood-ransom is paid--and none is more fitting for this role than King Agag himself. This is why Samuel, to whom altars are not exactly foreign, denounces the choice of sacrifice over justice in the strongest terms (Ibid. 22): "Has the Lord delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices, as in obeying the voice of the Lord? Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice, to heed than the fat of rams."

Saul is an intriguing figure: powerful enough to unite the tribes of Israel, but constantly beset by depression and doubt. On the one hand, he carefully tells the Kenites to evacuate before waging war against their Amalekite neighbors. On the other hand, his genocide of the Gibeonites -- collateral damage of the Nob massacre according to Talmud Yevamot 78b -- leads to a devastating three-year famine "because of Saul and the House of Blood, because he killed the Gibeonites.” Indeed, the awkward phrasing "made compassionate" and "made cruel" may indicate that Saul himself was not motivated by these emotions, but by the need to appear empathetic or emphatic in the eyes of the people.

Israel cannot afford to be motivated by insecurity and crises of confidence. The stakes are too high to sacrifice justice on the altar of avarice and tribalism.

In self-defense of Purim

I eagerly dread this time of year.
On the one hand, Purim, now just two weeks away, is a carnival of costumes, comedy and conviviality. Oh, and cocktails. So, fun for kids and adults.
On the other hand, its central text becomes more troubling the more you hear it. And we read Esther a lot: two times, four times, infinite times if your son happens to celebrate his bar mitzva on Purim.
Now, I hear you shaking your head (yes, I bugged your house). After all, isn't the story of Esther one of of self-defense? Haman's decree allows Jews to be attacked; Mordecai's decree allows them to defend themselves, right? We assume so, but even at its inception the second decree seems a little ominous, echoing Haman's language of killing, annihilating and destroying, including women and children. Does this sound like self-defense? "A copy of the text of the edict was to be issued as law in every province and made known to the people of every nationality so that the Jews would be ready on that day to avenge themselves on their enemies" (Book of Esther, 8:13).
Perhaps it's all just a scare tactic? If so, it works:

And many people of other nationalities became Jews because fear of the Jews had seized them. (8:17)
No one could stand against them, because the people of all the other nationalities were afraid of them. And all the nobles of the provinces, the satraps, the governors and the king’s administrators helped the Jews, because fear of Mordecai had seized them. Mordecai was prominent in the palace; his reputation spread throughout the provinces, and he became more and more powerful. (9:2-4)

Aye, there's the rub. If it was all about self-defense, and everyone was terrified of them, all those "other nationalities" needed to do was NOT stride into the Jewish Quarter brandishing axes on the 13th of Adar. Just go to work or school or the movies (Iranian cinema is delightful) on that day! Instead, they circumcised themselves and jumped in the mikveh?
Now, let's turn to Shushan, center of the action. On the 13th of Adar, 500 people are killed in the citadel, as well as Haman's ten sons (75,000 empire-wide), without any mention of self-defense. And then (9:13):

“If it pleases the king,” Esther answered, “give the Jews in Shushan permission to carry out this day’s edict tomorrow also, and let Haman’s ten sons be impaled on poles.”

That would be the 14th of Adar. A day on which no one is allowed to attack Jews. And, as per another decree from Xerxes, "The Jews in Shushan came together on the fourteenth day of the month of Adar, and they put to death in Shushan three hundred people" (9:15). And that is why we have Shushan Purim.
So if it wasn't self-defense, what makes these people the enemies, haters, ill-wishers and adversaries of the Jews? It's not like they were writing nasty posts in which they spun conspiracy theories of Jews bent on taking over the Holy Land, inducing government officials to adopt antisemitic policies!
Actually, it's exactly that, as we learn from The Book of Ezra, which is set during the return to Zion following the horrors of Babylonian captivity:

Then the peoples around them set out to discourage the people of Judah and make them afraid to go on building. They bribed officials to work against them and frustrate their plans during the entire reign of Cyrus king of Persia and down to the reign of Darius king of Persia. At the beginning of the reign of Xerxes, they lodged an accusation against the people of Judah and Jerusalem. And in the days of Artaxerxes... wrote a letter to Artaxerxes... "The king should know that the people who came up to us from you have gone to Jerusalem and are rebuilding that rebellious and wicked city." (4:4-7, 12)

Esther is, essentially, a revenge epic. It's a story of the powerless Jews in exile finally getting a chance to turn the tables on their tormentors. It is the Persian version of Inglourious Basterds.
There seems to be quite a hunger in the Jewish community for that sort of material right now. After all, we do face legions of haters and ill-wishers. But the question we have to ask is whether we think transferring this revenge epic from parchment to pavement is really the way to go. This time, there are actual attackers with blades in their hands. Isn't it time we focus on that reality, not the fantasy of eradicating all the haters?
At the very least, it's a sobering thought for Purim.