The Struggle to Apply Jewish Ethics to Contemporary Family Issues

When the Rabbis of the Talmud expanded on Jewish ethics, and the responsibility of Jews everywhere to live according to those ethics, they could not have envisioned the world in which we live today. A world where abortions, contraception and non-marital sex are commonplace.  A world where the internet has changed the face of communication between people, and terrorism has forever altered the laws of privacy.  Elliot N. Dorff explores these issues in his book Love Your Neighbor and Yourself(PA:JPS,2003.), and discusses how rabbinic teachings apply to these and other modern day concerns. 

    

As Dorff notes in his book, many contemporary issues are difficult to abide using Talmudic teachings. One of the most difficult has to be the issues facing today’s contemporary family. From conception to old age, Jewish ethical issues are not as clear cut for families as they once may have been. The ethical responsibilities of not only having children, but taking care of those children, and conversely, for those children to eventually take care of their parents may have been more easily applied centuries ago.  Today’s complicated family life can make it very difficult to discern how this same code of ethics is applied.

 

Ethical dilemmas can begin for potential parents before a child is even born. Some couples may not want to have children. Others may want to wait awhile, and choose to prevent pregnancy. Still others may decide to have children, but run into infertility problems. Dorff looks at all these issues, and the ethical directives that apply.

 

Dorff writes that married couples are not only encouraged, but required to have children according to the directive of Genesis 1 – that of course to be fruitful and multiply for the good of humanity. For the young married couple that does not want children at all then, there is no ethical provision around the Genesis directive. If they are physically able, Jewish couples must have children.

 

Dorff acknowledges however, that some people want to wait awhile before having children and need to use contraception. Interestingly enough, couples can prevent pregnancy without violating the ethos of propagation. Why? As Dorff explains, only the man is technically obligated to be fruitful and multiply. (Although how he can do this without a woman is still a mystery to me.) For this reason, it is perfectly acceptable for the woman to use contraception.  Dorff writes, “Even though the Rabbis of the Mishnah and Talmud knew that both men and women have indispensable roles in procreation and childrearing, they maintain that it is only the man who is legally liable for procreation – the stated reason is a specific interpretation of a verse in the Torah.” Dorff also explains that a man has not fulfilled this obligation until he has at least two children (unless of course there are infertility problems.)

 

With regards to contraception for women, the Rabbis not only allowed it, but also spoke to what methods the woman should use. Dorff writes, “Jewish sources from as early as the second century describe methods of contraception. A rabbinic ruling from that time prescribes the use of birth control devices when pregnancy would endanger either the woman or the infant she is nursing.”  Dorff continues by discussing more modern mandates on contraception. “From the point of view of Jewish law, the most favored form of contraception is the diaphragm, for it prevents conception and has little, if any, impact on the woman’s health.  If the pill or implant is not contraindicated…those are usually the next most favored forms of contraception. Jewish authorities recommend them because their success rate minimizes the possibility that the couple will later consider an abortion as a form of retroactive birth control.” 

 

Of course there are those couples who want children, but have infertility problems. Dorff explains that the mandate for procreation does not apply in situations of infertility. He writes, “…the Jewish teachings about the importance of having and raising children should not generate guilt or shame in infertile couples. The Jewish tradition should not add to their frustration by holding up an ideal that is impossible for them to fulfill, for Judaism can never be legitimately interpreted to expect the impossible.” Dorff goes on to say that Jewish law permits couples to attempt medical intervention but that they are not at all required to do so. He also says that adoption is encouraged by Jewish law, but this same law also mandates that the child be converted to Judaism no matter the race or age.

 

 I found the comments on adoption very thought provoking, because I had never thought of the “be fruitful and multiply” commandment in terms of one people.  I had always viewed it as a command for all humanity – and perhaps that is how it was originally intended. Dorff however, indicates it is a missive for Jews to continue the population of their people throughout the world. He writes, “Those who can produce or adopt children should see it as a mitzvah of the highest order to have more than the minimal number of two, for nothing less than the future of the Jewish community and of Judaism depends on that. The Jewish community after all, lost a third of its members in the Holocaust…and contemporary Jews are not producing enough children to maintain their present numbers. Add to these factors the high rate of intermarriage and assimilation among Jews today, and it becomes clear that we Jews are in serious demographic trouble as a people…propagation or adoption is literally a matter of life and death for us not only as individuals and as families but also as a people.” His argument is not only compelling, it is heartbreaking.

 

Once couples have their children, Jewish law mandates they take care of those children. For most people this mandate is easy – a parent is always responsible to take care of their child and help their child. Dorff writes, “Just as children have duties toward their parents, so too do parents have obligations toward their children. The classic Talmudic text delineating those duties is this – Rabbis taught a man is responsible to circumcise his son, to redeem him, to teach him Torah, to marry him off to a woman, and to teach him a trade, and there are those who say that he must also teach him to swim.” (Clearly modern times would expand education to include girls, and allow for young people to find their own spouses.)

 

In Talmudic times, children lived with their parents until they were married – which was often at a fairly young age.  It was then incumbent upon those children to go out and earn their own living and take care of their own family. Sons may still have worked with their fathers after marriage (the father was responsible for teaching their sons a trade as noted above), but they had to earn their keep and tend to their own.  Through the centuries, this has still been the norm in most cases.  However, there are nuances that have made the situation more complicated.

 

 For example, men and women are not getting married young anymore.  Many will graduate high school and then go to college – usually on their parents’ dime and technically still under their parents’ roof.  Whereas in the time of the ancient Jews, parents provided a roof over their family’s head and food for the table, modern times dictate a significant financial contribution, and a longer duration of care.  Dowries were once paid for a daughter’s hand in marriage – now it is the parents who usually pay when the daughter marries (with regards to the wedding itself.)

 

 Although the commitment on the part of the parents has increased tenfold, most parents are still more than happy to take this on. There are situations however, where this commitment is not so easy – and ethical issues can get very murky.  Specifically, I’m talking about situations that were not prevalent in ancient times – such as teens and young adults who have substance abuse issues. If such a child is living on the streets or spending all their time doing drugs, how can a parent fulfill their obligation to educate, teach a trade, or marry off? To what point is a parent obligated to care at all for that child??

    

A friend of mine has a son who is a recovering drug addict. This addiction started early in high schoo and had taken complete control of him by his junior year.  She believed he was using heroin most of the time, but could never really be sure.  For over a year, she and her husband took numerous trips to the ER. They got their son admitted to several rehab programs, but he always ended up using drugs again shortly after release.  He also had continual run-ins with the police.

    

By the time he was 17, his addiction was running the lives of everyone in the family.  His 14 year old brother was witness to the many battles between his parents and him. His parents who both have full time jobs, would come home to find he had either passed out, or had left the house altogether. He never showed up for school anymore. He had severe mood swings that frightened my friend (who is a petite woman.) She was afraid her son might hurt her in a drug induced rage. I remember talking to her on the phone one night while she was locked in her room afraid to come out. I could hear him pounding on her door and urged her to call the police. He eventually gave up, and left the house a few minutes later.

Finally, in the best interest of their younger son, (and to protect themselves,) they kicked him out of the house. They knew he’d wind up on the streets of New Haven – or hopefully on a buddy’s couch now and then – but they couldn’t allow him to stay in the house anymore.  He could call them if he was in trouble, but he couldn’t come back until he was clean.

    

Based on Talmudic teaching, this decision would have severe ethical implications. Kicking him out of the house before he was educated, or trained, or married is in direct conflict with Talmudic mandate.  The Rabbis however, could not possibly have foreseen a situation such as this. During the time of Moses, families were not torn apart by drug addiction. One could argue that my friend really was tending to her son by making that hard choice. (Her son eventually got clean, and has been sober for several years.) And yet, if she had been a devout woman of Jewish faith, the code of ethics may have stopped her from making that choice. Although I do believe that the Jewish code of ethics is right in its mandate that parents take care of their children, modern day situations may necessitate violation of those ethics.

    

Eventually the tide turns, and it is the children who are taking care of their parents.  Dorff discusses this at length – both in the general command to take care of one’s parents, and the even more difficult task of caring for the very elderly.  He explains, “It is important to understand that the duty to be with one’s aged parents is not only to be able to take care of their physical needs, a task that presumably could be done by a person hired for the job, but also for the psychological reason that they need company – especially from those who can most directly give them a sense of warmth and continuity…Even God, according to the Midrash, exemplifies this value by bidding us to build a sanctuary so that God can dwell among us…Thus although the major medieval codes do not directly require that children reside with parents, they undoubtedly assume it.”

    

Taking care of parents can be costly and emotionally draining. Where people did not live as long in Talmudic times, extensive medical care helps keep them with us much longer. This often requires the child to be a full time caregiver, or to place the parent in a convalescent facility – leading to much guilt for the child and unhappiness for the parent. Dorff writes, “Jews and others often construe the command to honor parents…as chiefly applying to young children and their parents.  Although young children should certainly be taught to honor their parents, until children reach the age of bar or bat mitzvah, they cannot be held legally responsible for anything. Thus the Rabbis understood the commandment as primarily governing the interactions of adult children of elderly parents.  That makes the commandment even more critical for adults nowadays than it was for our ancestors, for with many people living into their eighties, nineties, and beyond, and with families commonly scattered throughout the country or even the world, adult Jews need clear and wise guidance about what they need to do for their parents.”

    

Those of us who love our parents are more than willing to go to extreme lengths to care for them.  But what about the parents who aren’t loved? Some parents may have been abusive, or absent.  A strong sense of Jewish ethics might compel someone toward caring for an aging parent, but a dislike for that parent might override that sense of obligation.  Dorff notes, “One other important principle in regard to honor and respect of parents emerges from the sources-namely, that the parents should not make unreasonable demands of their children or punish their children in a way that will lead the child to rebel against them and dishonor them.”

    

My mother’s feelings about her parents exemplify both ends of the spectrum of love and hate.  Her father was an extremely abusive husband and parent. He was an alcoholic who often came home drunk and violent.  Once when my mother was 7, she and my grandmother heard him come in late at night with a stranger.  The two men were drunk of course, but my mother and grandmother heard enough of the conversation to know that her father had drunkenly hired the man to come home and kill them both.  Thankfully, the man backed out at the last minute and left. But it was enough to convince my grandmother to get a divorce. 

    

Mom’s father stayed in touch with her until she was about 9.  The last contact was a postcard she received, and she never heard from him again.  Eventually, he was dead to her.  I didn’t even know until I was in high school that he hadn’t really died when she was young.  Even when my brother found information years later that he had died of Parkinson’s when in his 70s, my mom was not the least bit interested. It wasn’t disinterest for self-protection – she truly was ambivalent.

 

 My mom is a very compassionate person. However, this man was so abusive in her early childhood, that my mom could not fathom trying to get him help or taking care of him had she even known he was sick.  Even if he had cleaned up his act (which apparently he had), my mother had nothing but feelings of hatred toward him and a stack of bad memories. This is why when reading the Jewish ethics on caring for our parents, my first thoughts were of my mom and her father. 

    

It should be noted that my mother is also a very religious person – a devout Catholic.  And I wondered if as a devout Jew she would put aside her personal feelings and somehow arrange care for this man.  As Dorff points out, “Although one must honor and revere parents, one important strain in the tradition asserts that a child is not obligated to love them.” Dorff further explains that although some of the ancient Rabbis (such as Rabbi Shelomo Yizhaki) said that children are under a legal obligation to love their parents, Maimonides thought differently. Dorff quotes Maimonides “Know that the Torah has placed us under a heavy obligation in regard to the proselyte.  For we were commanded to honor and revere our parents, and to obey the prophets…Now it is possible for a man to honor and revere and obey those whom he does not love.”  Dorff concludes, “Clearly, it is best to honor one’s parents out of love and to love them while fulfilling the duties of honoring them, but that is not always how a child feels. The law demands honor and respect for parents, but, at least according to Maimonides, it does not demand love of them.”  

    

My mother is a perfect example of how it can be such a struggle – or even an impossibility – to fulfill this obligation for so many people.  To care for a parent in today’s world is difficult enough. It can take a lot of time and money.  It’s hard enough to do when you love the person.  But when you despise them? When they’ve abused you?  It’s a lot to stomach for many people. I know it would be too much for my mom with regards to her father.

    

On the flip side, my mom did take her mother in 30 years ago. My grandmother still had a job as a salesclerk, but not enough to pay for rent and food.  My parents convinced her to move in, after her apartment was no longer affordable.  The ethical decision of taking in my grandmother was easy for my mom.  She loved her and wanted to help her.  My parents gave (and my mom continues to give her) a home, food, even money.  My parents have always lived on a very thin shoestring. My father certainly didn’t relish having my grandmother there – she is known as a “nudge” by the whole family.  They both felt however, that it was the right thing to do.

    

The challenge of the ethic here has been trying to continue to honor her while she’s lived there.  I have love for my grandmother, but she has the maturity of an 8 year old. She throws tantrums, complains constantly, and is extremely self-centered.  She is sharp as a tack, so it is not an elderly affliction.  She has been this way since she moved in. She just decided a long time ago to let my mom assume the role of responsible adult. When she doesn’t get her way, she somehow brings the conversation to how hard it was for her as a single parent. She talks of how my mom’s having mononucleosis at age 11 really set her back financially – an extremely manipulative tactic.  The irony is that my mom had a full time job at 18, and married my dad at 20. My mom has been taking care of my grandmother much longer than my grandmother took care of her.

      

I know it has been very difficult over the years for them to deal with her, but my parents have been as patient as they could be and always kind – sometimes to a fault.  When my dad died, we all joked that he could finally rest in peace. Sometimes I think God rewarded him for being so ethical…   Even now when my grandmother yells at my mom to stop crying about missing my dad, my mom will stand up for herself or walk away – but she is never cruel to my grandmother. To me, this exemplifies the missive of honoring and respecting a parent.  

    

What’s interesting to me – particularly in regards to taking care of one’s parents – is when the Talmudic laws are in conflict.  On the one hand, my parents should care for my grandmother under the Talmudic assumption mentioned before of inviting one’s parents – particularly when not infirm – to live with them.  On the other hand, the Talmud also prescribes that the parent not put unnecessary burden on their children. Dorff writes that, according to Maimonides and Joseph Karo, “If he finds that he cannot endure the situation because of [the parent’s] extreme madness, he may leave and go away, appointing others to care for them properly.” Dorff then explains, “Jewish sources specifically demand that a parent not make overly burdensome or provocative demands on a child so that the child is tempted to dishonor or disrespect the parent…because in making a demand that evokes the response, the parent would thereby transgress the biblical command of not putting a stumbling block before the blind.”

    

It is clear that today’s challenges make it difficult to adhere to the ethical mandates set forth by the ancient Rabbis.  It would be a stretch though to say that these ethics don’t apply anymore.  They were set forth as a guide for living life as God would want his people to live, and so will always be relevant.  The challenge is adhering to the spirit of the teachings, when modern situations may not always allow for following direct missives. The Jewish people have struggled with worse however, and will continue to face these challenges – individually and as a people. 

 

Jews keep holy days holy – why can’t Christians?

Everywhere you look at Christmastime, there are blinking tree lights, big blow up Santas, and green neon “happy holidays” signs.  I do pass the occasional nativity scene – but that is usually on the front lawn of a church. Christmas – one of the holiest days on the Christian calendar – seems to be lacking in Christ.  Unfortunately, Christmas isn’t the only time this happens.  Easter is now about a bunny and candy and coloring eggs.  

           

The “big two” Christian holidays have become extremely secularized – and I don’t mean the secularization that comes with political correctness and inclusiveness.  I’m referring to those aspects of the holidays that focus on mythical characters, elaborate decorations, and of course, spending A LOT of money – with little or no focus on why the holidays exist in the first place.    I am not an overly religious person, but I still have several nativities in my house at Christmas.  I also have a “Happy Birthday Jesus” cake every year for my children.  We sing Happy Birthday to Jesus as a reminder of what the celebration is all about.

 

 Jewish holidays are not so secularized.  The only decoration one sees during Hanukkah is the menorah in the window of a Jewish home.  That menorah however, represents exactly what the celebration is about.  8 days of light provided by a minimum amount of oil – represented by 8 candles in the menorah.  Gifts can be given each day, but department stores aren’t overloaded with blue and white decorations,   There is no fictional character associated with Hanukkah (save for Saturday Night Live’s annual repeat of a skit called “Hanukkah Harry”,  in which a Jewish friend takes over for a sick Santa, and delivers warm socks to all the children!)   The less secularized the holiday, the more it retains its holiness and sacred meaning for the celebrants. Christmas and Hanukkah are celebrated in the same season.  For Jews it is a celebration of a miracle over 8 nights.  For most Christians, it is a month of shopping frenzy, decorating, and writing out cards – except for one hour each week during Advent when the events leading up to Jesus’ birth are celebrated in church.  

 

 As I mentioned before, the same is true of Easter.  Easter and Passover are also during the same season.    Passover is a very special time for the Jewish people, celebrated with a traditional Seder.  The Seder is the time to revisit the most important time in Jewish history – the exodus from Egypt.  This was the turning point in Jewish history, and is celebrated in a sacred, prayerful way.  It is such a sacred meal, that it is believed to be why Jesus and his disciples had gathered the night before his crucifixion.  . This “last supper.” is reenacted in Christian churches when they celebrate the Eucharist.   What most fail to realize, is that they are reenacting the last traditional Jewish celebration of Jesus’ life.   Passover was then, and is now a sacred holy day.

 

Easter however, which is considered THE most important holy day of the Christian calendar, is completely commercial outside of church.  On Good Friday, Christians attend very solemn services commemorating the death of their Lord and savior Jesus Christ – then they go home to color eggs.  Sunday morning, the joyous day of celebration that the Lord is raised, begins with a frenzy of children searching for eggs, and tearing into candy jammed baskets.  Everyone puts on their Sunday finest, goes to church for an hour to celebrate Jesus, and then likely spends the day with relatives.  A prayer may be said over dinner, but there are no traditional (meaningful) foods (such as the unleavened bread for the Jewish Passover), and no specific prayers.  The celebration of Jesus’ rising often stops at the church door.

 I don’t know why Christian holidays have become so secularized.  And while I enjoy watching my kids’ excitement about Santa and the Easter bunny, I am disturbed by the fact that the “reason for the season” is often glaringly absent.   The Jewish people have kept their holy days holy – why has it been so difficult for Christians to do the same?

Is it better to be righteous in a different faith? Or Lax in Your own?

Out of all our readings on Jewish Ethics, one passage from the Telushkin book really stood out in my mind.  When discussing the Noahide laws he writes, “Because Jewish law makes fewer demands on non-Jews, historically many rabbis have been hesitant to convert non-Jews to the more rigorous system of the Torah, believing that it is better that a person be a righteous non-Jew than a nonobservant Jew. “   What struck me about this passage was its contrast to Catholicism – the faith of my childhood.   While the Rabbis felt it was better to be righteous in a different faith than be non-observant in their own, Catholic tradition seems to favor being a non-observant Catholic, rather than a righteous Protestant or Jew. 

            I remember as a child, we were not allowed to visit Protestant churches or synagogues. It was considered a sin against the Church, and it certainly didn’t “count” as the weekly obligation to attend mass.  I would ask my parents why attending other Christian churches was a bad thing.  Wasn’t following Christ the important issue?  But my parents would simply say (with sincere belief) that the Catholic Church was the one true church. 

            As I grew older, I was still held to this standard.  My former priest, upon hearing that I had become a member of a UCC church, angrily chastised me at my aunt’s funeral.  I replied (sincerely), “Well, we are all Christians.” I still remember him sticking his face 2 inches in front of mine, and saying,  “How could you do that?” and “How can you be part of a church that has no doctrine, and no sacraments?” That I was still a practicing Christian was of no consequence to him.   My parents were also upset that I’d “turned” Protestant. (My mother cried through my son’s entire baptism because it wasn’t a Catholic church. She felt so ashamed in front of all our other Catholic relatives, (and made that day so miserable for me), that I only had immediate family at my daughter’s baptism.  My parents were more upset when I joined the UCC, than they had been during the 5 year stretch when I didn’t attend ANY church.

            It finally became clear to me that my parents – who have VERY close friends that are Protestant, Jewish, even agnostic – could not accept their daughter as a practicing Protestant. They would have had an easier time accepting me as a non-practicing Catholic (especially if I had at least baptized my children Catholic.)    I would still be part of the “fold” even if I wasn’t attending church, and that would have been the lesser of two evils.   My mom refers to it as being  “a Catholic not in good standing.”   Good heavens – at least that’s not Protestant!

            This is why this one line written by Telushkin affected me so deeply.  I truly sat and wondered how it would be if my family were Jewish.  Would living my life justly and righteously – with a great deal of compassion and generosity toward other human beings – be first and foremost in my family’s eyes?   If I was non-observant, would my parents at least take comfort in this righteous living? Would they ever approve my converting to another religion rather than be a non-observant Jew, (as per the Rabbis)?   Yes, the Rabbis would prefer Jews be observant and faithful to Jewish teachings and practices.  Unlike the Catholic Church however, the lesser of two evils for the Rabbis is being a righteous non-Jew rather than a non-observant Jew.  It was a comforting notion.  Surely my parents would see it differently if we were Jewish.

            But, then I remembered that Jesus’ teachings were similar to the Rabbis.  Love one another, act justly and righteously.   He was devout, and yet he rejected much of the rigidity surrounding Judaism in his time.    I follow his teachings, but I am still “not in good standing”.  Would it really be any different if we were Jewish?    I still haven’t determined if my family fears for my soul, or if they are just upset with my rejection of a deep rooted family faith tradition.  I can’t find the term “Jew not in good standing” anywhere, but somehow I think it would find its way to me…

The Beauty of the Jewish Sabbath

MT Winter was discussing the notion of Sabbath in one of my classes.  She remarked that every Friday, she looks at her “good friend Yehezkel” mentally and spiritually preparing for the Sabbath – and she is envious.  She said he is faithful to setting aside that time for spiritual renewal and closeness to God, and there is a definite peace about him.  She expressed that she wished it was something she too could experience.

 

 As I’ve been reading the many writings on Sabbath – particularly the Heschel book, I keep returning to that comment MT made, and remembering how it struck me that night.  I understood how she felt!   I’ve been in what I can only call a spiritual void for the last two years – so the idea of one day a week set aside for spiritual renewal in one’s self and one’s family is so appealing.  I long for that kind of weekly connection with both my spiritual self and my Creator. 

 

Unfortunately however, the notion of Sabbath – in the true sense of the word – is so foreign to the experience with which I’ve grown up.  My parents’ tradition – the Catholic tradition – is that you devote one hour a week to God in church.  A daily rosary is also encouraged, (which my father did faithfully everyday of his life – a small daily does of Sabbath for him, maybe), but 24 hours was unheard of.   Yes, we’d have “Sunday” dinner after church, and spend some time as a family – but there was also yard work to be done, housework, social obligations, etc.  And of course once the law changed to allow stores to open on Sunday, that last notion of Sunday family time vanished.  It was one more day to get things done.

           

I have to believe that unless you are brought up in the tradition – or marry into a family that practices the tradition, it would be difficult – if not impossible – to adjust one’s lifestyle to be faithful to the Sabbath.  For my family, there is a constant bombardment of all those same chores my parents did on weekends – PLUS – a slew of sport and club activities for my children.  They are only enrolled in one or two activities at a given time, BUT sports dominates weekend time.  Practices on Friday nights, games on Saturdays or Sundays or both.  On top of that are the scouting activities, the birthday parties, etc. What about holidays?  What if Halloween was on Friday?  The phone calls going back and forth between parents trying to organize; the running around doing last minute decorating and the shopping for candy.  What about other obligations – like going to my mom’s on Saturday to help her?  In a world where I try to squeeze 9 days worth of “stuff” into 7 days each week, I can’t imagine squeezing it further down to 6. 

           

So now, I’ve reached a new guilt-ridden phase of “where are your priorities?” I wonder not only where spiritual renewal time for my family comes in – but where any room is made for God at all.  In truth, it just isn’t.  Yes prayers are said, but in general, everyday life seems to just push my family’s relationship with God to the back burner. And of course, we’ve allowed that to happen.   The irony, is that my husband and I constantly drill into our children the importance of honoring commitments.  You don’t skip a team practice or a game. If you say you’re attending a function, you must honor that commitment.   I find it interesting now – shameful actually – that we never make that commitment to God.  And then I wonder – if we did make that commitment, could we stick to it?  How often would we say, “This practice is important”, or “I have to drive the kids to a party?”  I’m fairly certain we’d say, “God won’t mind.”

 

All this brings me back to my main point about MT’s comment.  I too envy that deep seeded notion of Sabbath.  I envy that commitment to keep the Sabbath holy, and somehow shut out the distractions and noise of the world for 24 hours.  And I wish with all my heart that this notion of Sabbath was part of our family.  With all the fullness in our lives, my exposure to the true meaning and power of Sabbath, makes me realize just how much is really missing.

Thoughts on Jewish Marriage (by a non-traditional Christian!)

After reading so many of the traditions and customs of the Jewish people, the one that stood out most in my mind was the attention given to marriage – particularly the nurturing and support of the marital relationship from the moment the couple are wed.   

            In the Christian tradition – particularly Catholicism which was the religion of my youth – much thought is given to the time before marriage.  We are taught from childhood that the main purpose of sex is procreation and that pre-marital sex is a sin. There is encouragement to be fruitful and multiply after marriage, yet it seems the church would still prefer to avoid the issue of sex.   Paul taught that abstinence was a holy experience – one that spouses should strive for!  

            As far as Christian marriage, there are preparatory classes to ensure the couple is ready to wed.  The ceremony is planned out in great detail, and church weddings are a must.  The couple must make their vows before God in order for the marriage to be “recognized” as legitimate by the church.  After the wedding however, the couple is on their own.  Little attention is given to the state of the marriage – and there is no tradition or custom to encourage a strong union.  Speaking as someone who has been married 20 years, a religion which helps keep a couple focused on one another is very appealing.

            I loved reading about the tradition of yikhud after a wedding ceremony.  The bride and groom are locked in a room together to finalize their commitment to each other – body as well as soul.  In all the Christian weddings I’ve been involved in, the couple leaves the church and immediately starts taking pictures and goes to the reception.  I found it very touching that yikhud is such an important part of the Jewish wedding custom.  I would have loved to have that time alone with my husband after we said our vows, rather than be whisked off to the party and picture-taking.  To be close to one another, talk and think about what we just entered into together – and celebrate it alone – that is something I would have cherished.

            I was also very intrigued by the Ketuba, and the laws designed not only to protect the wife, but to encourage continued support and love between the couple.  It appears a great deal of thought was given to ensure the couple has marital relations.  And I was fascinated to note that relations between husband and wife are such an integral part of Sabbath observance.  It is a beautiful notion to me that the physical expression of love between husband and wife is part of the Sabbath observance honoring God.  Again, this is quite the contrast with many Christian teachings where abstinence is a way to honor God – even in marriage.

            Finally, I was struck by the laws of purity and how they relate to marriage.   I find the idea of a woman in menses being deemed “impure” completely misogynistic, (although I understand it’s part translation problems and part ancient practice.)  Yet, I was touched by the more modern notion of the days of menses being a time for spouses to long for one another.  Rabbi Joseph Telushkin writes, “…the prohibition of sexual relations for 12 successive days each month leaves a couple hungering for each other, even after many years of marriage.” He adds, “The Talmud recognized the rejuvenating effect the laws of separation can have on marriage.”  Telushkin, (quoting Niddah 31b) writes, “The husband becomes over-familiar with his wife and tires of her.  Thus the Torah prohibited her to him for certain days each month so that she may remain as beloved to him as she was on her wedding day.”   The fact that Jewish law addresses   a husband and wife staying as beloved to one another as the day they were married (let alone in such detail), is a clear indication that Jewish custom encourages and supports the marriage bond.  This is more than any Christian/Catholic doctrine has ever addressed.  I know that not all Jewish marriages endure forever, but perhaps more Christian marriages would last longer if concern extended beyond the wedding.  I love this part of the Jewish tradition!

The devotion of Orthodox Jews to noahide adherence

Several weeks ago, we were told the following in a class lecture: “Jewish sensibility would favor action over belief.  The practice of constant prayer brings one to greater understanding.  Taking on the discipline makes you a disciple, and to observant Jews belief is secondary. “At the time of the lecture, I understood that notion to an extent.  After doing the readings on Jewish holy days and rituals, I have a deeper understanding of what that means.      

            If one truly observes the requirements and rituals set forth under Judaic law, one could not help but become fully immersed in the religion.  I was amazed at the number of holidays I did not know about.  The daily rituals we discussed in class (such as the infamous prayer upon exiting the bathroom.)  The weekly rituals upon entering Shabbat and re-entering the week ahead.  The 613 laws.   613 laws!  How could anyone who practices some time type of devotion every hour of their life not be religious?   The more I read, the more convinced I was that it is in the practice – not the belief – where you grow closer to God.

            As a Catholic growing up, we had the weekly tradition of mass.  During Lent, there was the increased practice of fasting.  Holy week meant mass three times that week – including the reenactment of Jesus entrance into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday.   Of course at Christmas, there is the traditional Christmas Eve mass and the placing of the baby Jesus into the nativity.  More traditional Catholics (like my parents) do a daily rosary.  These are all important, beautiful practices/rituals.  But they are for a short period of time.  The practices associated with Judaism – especially Orthodox Judaism – are constant, hour to hour, and minute to minute.  I often wonder if I had been raised in an environment of continual practice, whether I would have stuck with it, or faded off as I have from Catholicism.  Without practice, one can get apathetic.  Turn your head long enough – and you lose interest.  Traditional, orthodox Jews do not let this happen – and for this reason, they are true disciples of God.  

The non-traditional Christian – me!

     I was in the Niantic Women’s Prison chapel (visiting with my women’s leadership class), when the Christian Minister rose to deliver his sermon.  He said, “All everybody talks about is God this and God that. God, God, God.  What they really should be talking about is Jesus Christ!”  I was horrified.  I was a Christian yes, but personally I had always believed that Jesus’ main purpose was to bring people closer to God – not to deify him in place of God.  Was I a bad Christian for praying to God, rather than Jesus Christ?  I hadn’t thought so, but here was an ordained Christian minister saying that Jesus should be our sole focus.  And, why was he saying it? Why do so many Christians feel that since Christ has redeemed them, he should be our sole focus?   I was deeply troubled.

            I was grateful then to read Wesley Ariarajah’s book “People of Other Faiths”.  His views on Jesus had a profound impact on me, and helped reaffirm what I had always believed.  That is that Jesus Christ was focused on teaching about God – not on replacing him.  Ariarajah writes, “The most striking fact in the Synoptics is Jesus’ own God-centered life.  He never calls himself the Son of God, but the Son of man.  Even more important, Jesus sees his primary function as the initiator of the Kingdom of God.  It is God who offers life to all who enter the kingdom.  Jesus’ own life is entirely God-centered, God dependent, and God-ward.  In the Synoptic environment, it would be strange if Jesus were to say, ‘I and the Father are one’, or ‘I am the way, the truth and the life.’  There seems to be no claim to divinity or to oneness with God; what we have is the challenge to live lives that are totally turned toward God.”   If only I had Ariarajah’s book that day with me in Niantic!   Seeing in print what I had always believed – that Jesus was God-centered and not “Jesus-centered” was an enormous comfort.

            There was still the question though, of why so many Christians focus solely on Christ, almost to the point – as the minister was doing – of setting aside God?  I believe this question was answered both in a classroom discussions with Professor Agosto, as well as in the Time magazine article on alternative gospels.  It’s because the Gospel of John directed that only through Jesus could a person reach God – or more to the point – be saved!    One line in one Gospel seems to have shaped the focus of Christianity (and in so doing, led many Christians to disregard people of other faiths).

            In a Time Magazine article, Elaine Pagels discusses “traditional Christianity’s emphasis that salvation depends upon, among other things, accepting Christ’s divinity and his exclusive claim expressed in the Gospel of John that ‘no one comes to the Father except through me.’”  Among the four canonized Gospels, and the myriad of others that were written, only John seems to have made this assertion. This was a revelation to me. And yet, as I read Pagels comments, and digested other references to John over many weeks, I could not help but feel that Christians are so focused on the “except through me”, that they are forgetting the main focus – which is coming to the Father.  I liken it to trying to enter a house with a locked front door – a beautiful, perfect, flawless door.  If one focuses on the door itself – finding the key, or picking the lock or even just holding the knob and taking in the beauty and perfection of the door, one forgets that the real objective is the house itself.  In the process, one also ends up disregarding the windows and doors and other ways of entering, and might just end up outside for good!  This is in no way a means to compare the awesome beauty of Christ with a door, but hopefully the metaphor speaks for itself.

            I will admit that I am not the traditional Christian.  I love Jesus Christ. I know that he died because of what he taught, and that he was loving, just and righteous.  I know that without his teachings, a great deal of the world would not know how we should live our lives as children of God.  But, I have also always prayed directly to God.  I am someone who believes that there are many paths to God – not just Christianity.  And I have believed for most of my life that Jesus himself would say that Muslims, Jews, and any other person that worships God has a place in the kingdom of heaven.  Living my life among mainly traditional Christians, I have often felt “wrong” – even blasphemous – for having those beliefs.   Ariarajah, Pagels, and the class discussions themselves have helped me see that being a non-traditional Christian does not make me a bad Christian.  On the contrary, I think that by loving God with all my heart and soul, I am doing precisely what Jesus taught me to do.  Isn’t THAT what makes a good Christian?

Jewish Scripture Reflection – Understanding Midrash

 

            A woman found herself in an orchard abundant with fruit.  There were so many varieties however, that she found herself dizzied by the prospect of choosing.  A rabbi happened upon the orchard and she said to him “Rabbi, surely you know which tree is best to eat?”  He told her, “Yes, there is one. But you can only find it by sampling each fruit on your own.”  Frustrated, the woman sampled each of the many trees until she was sure she had found the sweetest and ripest fruit of them all. Proud of her accomplishment, she called out, “Rabbi, come and see. I have found the tree of which you spoke.” He told her, “That is not the tree from which I eat.” Confused, she asked him, “How can this be? I have sampled every tree and this is surely the sweetest.” The rabbi replied, “What is sweet to one may be bitter to another. Only you can say which is right for you.  Had I simply shown you the tree I find most pleasing, you would have gone straight to it, and missed finding the one that’s clearly sweeter for you.  Only through the work of careful sampling were you able to find what was most rewarding.”

            I wrote the above (albeit crude) Midrash to show my struggle in choosing which portion of Jewish text on which to write. The Jewish written and oral traditions (the Pentateuch, the Kethuvim, the Talmud, etc.) are so rich in wisdom, rabbinical teachings,  and biblical text, that I was not at all sure which was best suited for my focus.    In the end, I decided to focus on what was “sweetest” to me.  I’m absolutely fascinated with the use of Midrash to illustrate rabbinical teachings, and it is this branch of Jewish text that I find most inspiring.

            As my professor pointed out, the Midrash – which is part of the Talmud – is actually oral tradition put into written form.  In fact, there is so much oral tradition that the Midrash is comprised of 63 volumes! He also pointed out that the Midrash is an example of Acadah – that is spiritual and ethical ideas taught through folklore, symbols, etc.   With all that in mind then, it would seem these numerous stories were merely fables handed down (through the oral tradition) for the purpose of intrigue, colorful tale telling, or in some cases to further the personal agendas of the author.  This is particularly true of the Midrash written by Rabbi Meyer and Rabbi Judah.  Each rabbi wrote a Midrash on which tribe was first to cross the red sea.  There was no biblical text to support either of their assertions, so it was clear they invented the stories to bring prominence to their own respective ancestries.

            Both my professor and author William Silverman however, assert that most Midrash are much more than fables – and that they are equally as important as other Jewish text in teaching the laws, ethics and justice of God.  Although certain aspects of Jewish literature may be viewed as more sacred, (e.g. the Pentateuch which are the five books of Moses), the Midrash is considered an invaluable tool of rabbinic teaching.  Silverman writes in his  “Rabbinic Wisdom and Jewish Values”, that it is “through the Talmud, the Midrash, and Hasidic literature that Judaism reveals the belief in a personal God of justice and compassion.”

            The beauty of the Midrash in particular though, is its ability to simplify complex biblical (or other Judaic) text in a way that the reader can translate to everyday life.  For example, in Chapter 5 of Silverman’s book, he explores the issues of justice and the ways in which humans should treat one another.  He uses biblical text to explain God’s command, but only through the use of the Midrash do we have a clear understanding of what the text is saying.  Silverman quotes Isaiah 56:1, which says, “Keep ye justice, and do righteousness…” Looking strictly at the text, it is difficult to determine what this means.  Is justice simply the following of Jewish law?  Is it more primal such as “an eye for an eye”? The text is unclear.  But upon reading the Midrash about Rabbi Wolf and his wife’s quarrel with her maidservant, one can better understand the rabbinical interpretation.  When Rabbi Wolf accompanies his wife for mediation of the dispute, we learn that it is not for her sake, but for the sake of the maidservant who is unwise in legal matters.  Specifically, Rabbi Wolf says, “You know (what to say to the judge) quite well, but the poor orphan, your maidservant, in whose behalf I am coming does not know it, and who except me is there to defend her cause?”  The Midrash then, clarifies the lesson of Isaiah in that justice should be pursued not only for us, but for our rivals/enemies as well. Only then can we be righteous in the eyes of God.   Isaiah provides the Divine directive, but it is the Midrash that illustrates how the directive applies to everyday life.

            Silverman uses a different Midrash to reflect God’s justice in punishing the wicked.   He writes, “With or without man’s knowledge, God’s law of retribution applies to the affairs of men. Goodness is rewarded and evil is punished, even though it may not be at the time or in the way we would expect.” This of course, is a point that has been debated for centuries.  But the Midrash used by Silverman is quite persuasive in its assertion that God punishes evil men. He tells the story of the Roman conqueror Titus who turned the Judean temple into a brothel, cut the curtain of the Holy Ark, and claimed to be stronger than the God of Israel.  The Midrash goes on to say that God arranged for a tiny gnat to be put in Titus’ goblet of wine. The gnat went up Titus’ nose, devoured his brain, and turned into a dove. Physicians, rabbis, etc. were said to be present at the opening of Titus’ head, and indeed a dove was inside. The dove subsequently turned back into a gnat, and “the soul of Titus flew to destruction.”  Thus, as the Midrash says, “God decided to destroy Titus by the smallest of his creation.”  Yes, the Midrash is more likely legend than fact, but it makes a stronger point in one short story, than pages of biblical theory/study might otherwise attempt.

            What strikes me most about the Midrash though, is that even a story written in ancient times can still apply to today’s world.  Silver demonstrates this through the   Midrash of the woodsman.  In the story, a woodsman asks the trees for wood, and they offer up their weakest/humblest tree. In the end though, it is they who are felled, and they realize it was to their detriment to offer up the humblest among them. Silver compares this to the problems of today’s world when he says, “The phenomenon of larger nations sacrificing smaller nations to an aggressor, only to be cut down as the next victims, has been demonstrated in contemporary history.”   For me, this is reminiscent of the actions of our own nation.  Past U.S. administrations supplied weaponry and training to Iraq in hopes they would destroy our enemy Iran (the smaller nation). Now we (the larger nation) are sacrificing our own soldiers as a result.

My professor was right when he says that the written texts may be closed, but the oral tradition is open forever.   Even in today’s contemporary world, the lessons of the Midrash still hold true.  Their timeless wisdom makes them just as useful in the 21^st century as when they were first written.  It is that aspect, I believe, which makes them “most pleasing” to me today.

Jesus from a Muslim perspective

There are so many rich passages and tenets of justice in the Qur’an, that it would be impossible to give them their due in one page.  I will narrow my focus then, to one point of study in our readings and class work – the Islamic idea of a non-crucified Jesus.

            As a Christian, I was taught that not only did Jesus die, but also that God sent him here to die.  It doesn’t evoke the image of a loving God.  Conversely, Jewish scholars believe that Jesus was crucified, but certainly not for divine purpose.  Learning then, that Muslims believe that not only was Jesus raised into heaven, but without a crucifixion at all is fascinating to me. 

            When I first heard that Muslims didn’t believe in the crucifixion, I assumed it was following Jewish tradition of Jesus as man – not divinity.  Only through our recent study of Qur’an, did I learn that Muslim belief on crucifixion comes closer to mimicking Christian theology – that is in the idea of a “raised” Jesus.  Christians believe that Jesus died first – but to see such different religions aligned in belief of a physical Christ in heaven is very exciting. 

            What particularly intrigues me as a Christian, is that Muslims believe Jesus was one of the most holy prophets ever recorded. I love the passage (Surah 4), which says, “They neither killed nor crucified him, even thought it seems so…rather, God lifted him up to Himself.”  As someone who was always horrified at the thought of a crucified Christ, I found this an almost comforting notion.  For it is not the crucifixion on which I focus as a Christian, but rather the life of Jesus and what he taught.

            Along the same lines, the notion of God letting Jesus die – and in such a horrific manner – has also really bothered me.  But as my classmate Mohammed explained, Muslims believe that God would “never let his greatest prophet be tortured or killed”.   As a Christian who doesn’t really subscribe to the view of Jesus as blood sacrifice – particularly by a loving and merciful God – I can’t help but find the Muslim view of a non-crucified Jesus just beautiful.  Toss in the Islamic faith in a second coming, and I am again in awe of two such divergent religions finding commonality through a reverence of Christ.