When in Rome

Right or wrong?

It's a question that most of us ask ourselves from time to time. Most of us. Not all because some aren't concerned about the answer. But those who do ask are usually concerned. And they're involved in an activity which is new to them. They haven't formed an opinion and the boundaries and rules aren't clear. Often the goal is to do what's legal rather than what's right, and in such a situation you have to know the rules. If you're going to exploit the law, you have to know the law.

It's not a new problem, but the answer may be difficult. There's an old joke about a student preparing for a test and obtaining the questions asked on previous exams. Noting that the questions seem the same from year to year he inquires of student senior to him and is informed that though the questions are the same, the answers change. (And that's the case regarding right and wrong – from time to time and from place to place.)

One and one will always be two (in base 2 or above) but it's less clear that human sacrifice is legitimate. The latter issue is one that is based on societal beliefs, preferences, and judgments, and they're subject to change. Which raises a question I've mentioned on many occasions in the past: absolutes. I haven't changed my opinion, although many will consider it old-fashioned and insensitive to the current, understanding, persuasion. It's not multi-cultural. It doesn't recognize that different societies view things differently and to oppose what may be practices that may be the norm elsewhere betrays a lack of tolerance, or worse on my part. But I accept the idea that there are absolutes.

And the different societies which I mention aren't all separated simply by location, but by time as well. Does that change the principle? Was it ever, anywhere, justified to sacrifice babies to the “gods?” It was the practice in some ancient, and not so ancient, societies and cults to do so, but we would reject it immediately, irrespective of the fact that it might have been a “normal” practice somewhere at some time. There are absolutes, and, among those who care about right and wrong, I suspect there are strictures on their behavior which supersede the customs of the society in which they find themselves.

If, however, such absolutes exist, there has to be a source. For me that source is the Bible, although I know that some of the absolutes it contains are shared by societies that have never seen one. (I'll come back to that point presently.) It's a good guidebook, although the sages of Judaism have advised us to obey the laws of the state in which we live. There's an exception, however. If secular law conflicts with Torah (Biblical) law, we are to follow that in the Torah. (“Right” is defined by the Torah.) By doing so we deny the following of the aphorism about Rome and its practices. When they conflict with our laws we don't follow them, although we may comply with local customs otherwise. Indeed, when we're in a Jewish community with different customs we follow theirs rather than our own. It's our practice to try to follow the rules of the community in which we find ourselves.

That leaves one subject to be addressed: the fact that there are some absolutes which exist in societies unaware of each other. Somehow or other we all recognize certain limits to our choices. And some of them are shared, even though other practices may be at great variance. How have we achieved this common position when many of our other customs are so different from other societies?

Suggesting that some of these are obvious and serve to protect us as we protect others is begging the question. It may be true, but it doesn't explain anything. Why are certain things obvious? Why should everyone have, in regard to some aspects of our lives and beliefs, a common view of right and wrong? The only explanation that I can conceive of in this age of electronics is that we're all programmed in the same way – at least in regard to some moral as well as physical characteristics. It's in our DNA.

But sometimes cultural influences override DNA. When human sacrifice existed in some societies, they believed that what they were doing was right. At least those in charge thought that their practices were proper, even if there were some who disapproved. That doesn't mean that they were right any more than it means that we should give free rein to cultures among us that have traditions that deviate from the absolutes. Every society has rules, and the hierarchy of its restrictions includes, or at least should include, the absolutes.

But when there is disagreement about the absolutes, who decides what they are? G-d. The One who created us and assigned our DNA. There is a right and there is a wrong. Even if there are some who are unwilling to acknowledge them.

When in Rome, or anywhere else, do what the Romans do. Unless you know that they are doing wrong. Then do what your conscience – as controlled by your DNA – directs you to do. If the society in which you are chooses not to follow the absolutes, it is wrong. That's not a matter of different societal norms and sensitivity to the practices of others. Right is right and wrong is wrong.

In the words of the cliché, “do the right thing.”






March 28, 2017

Staying Together

According to Ahad Ha'am, “More than the Jews have kept Shabbat, Shabbat has kept the Jews.” Ha'am wasn't religious. He was a “cultural Zionist,” but that didn't stop him from realizing that the self-identification provided by the weekly appearance of the day of rest has united us. It didn't matter if the day was observed religiously or was simply recognized as different – something Jewish; the idea told us something about ourselves. The concept, in one form or another, has been accepted by most of the world now, but that doesn't detract from our recognition of its origin and our attachment to it.

But there are other factors that unite us – at least in terms of self-identification. Holidays do that, especially the ones that feature eating of special foods. Jelly donuts and potato pancakes on Hanukkah, hamentaschen on Purim, and, of course, all the dishes that contribute to the feasts we enjoy on Pesach (Passover). Even those who aren't observant reserve Pesach for family assemblies. Somehow it resonates. As do the life-cycle events, like Bar and Bat Mitzvot which often signal the end of formal association with Judaism. But they are an affirmation of who we are – though that affirmation is all-too-often by the parents rather than the child. It is sad to note that the absence of a formal Jewish education, the absence of any culture of belief in the house, and the attractions of the non-Jewish world frequently overpower knowledge and remembrance of our heritage.

We're also united by a common enemy. That enemy is a world that would prefer our absence. Antisemitism used to be an open, acceptable, reaction to Jewishness. In order to avoid the enemy, many wanted to assimilate but found that they weren't wanted in universities, societies, and in the world in general. Today campaigns against Israel and the Jews are everywhere to be found, in the United Nations, national governments, and among individuals. And the level of affiliation with Judaism is often irrelevant. Hitler didn't care if his victims were observant or not. They were Jews and subject to annihilation. Unfortunately, the malady doesn't end there. Nowadays people try to hide their antisemitism, claiming that they only object to the policies of Israel. But their ignoring of other countries violating whatever standards they claim to support makes it clear that to them “Israel” means “Jews.” It's interesting that the religion of Abraham is so abhorrent to the Abrahamic religions that descended from it. Together Christianity and Islam represent about 55% of the world's population while Judaism is about 0.2% (that's about 275 times, for the math-challenged). Yet they blame Judaism for the problems we all face. The Abrahamic religions reject Abraham's people.

But just as there are ideas and acts that bring us together, there are some that drive us apart. It's fruitless and misleading to blame all our problems on others. The worst enemy of the Jews is not the rest of the world. It is us. It is the Jews. There may be no Haman, Torquemada, Khmelnytsky, Hitler, or Stalin among us, but, sadly, there are many Jews who would sacrifice their people for their own benefit, or for the sake of imagined wrongs. And there are many who accept what they “learn” from the media: societal fads and ideologically-driven views.

We like to think that if everyone would leave us alone, everything would be all right. But it won't. In the words of Walt Kelly, “We have met the enemy and he is us.”

We differ, among other things, in terms of religious observance and, very markedly, political philosophies. And our differences drive us apart. Unfortunately, we don't hesitate to condemn the views of our brothers and sisters (and, ourselves) to blame Israel – usually finding fault without trying to understand those views; often without even listening to them. 

Some years back the United Jewish Appeal started promoting the slogan “We are one.” Perhaps it worked for philanthropy, but we still don't always understand each other. To the rest of the world we may be one people, but the reality is that we aren't unified. We're certainly not unified in support of Israel, Jewish education, or the views of other strains of Judaism. Only 10% of American Jews consider themselves orthodox [as of 2016] and many more – perhaps three times that number – don't affiliate at all. The different movements, moreover, often have strained relations with each other and condemn the nature of the observance or non-observance of anyone not in their camp.

And our political stances are frequently violently opposed. For many there is the conviction that the most important characteristic of Judaism is liberalism, and they identify with liberal groups irrespective of what they endorse, often without investigating the meaning of a particular issue and their support of it. On the other end of the spectrum are those who invariably support Israel and increased Jewish education and base their support of conservative causes on those issues. Indeed, Israeli policies are sometimes the reason we separate ourselves from others of our religion. For too many the politics is more important than the heritage. And vehemence is appropriate rather then listening to each other while crafting a more unified approach. We're right and they're wrong. We don't compromise, and we don't take prisoners. 

Our only hope is that we will begin to listen to each other. Perhaps we can come together based on the features of our religion that keep us together and not let our disagreements, whether political or religious, drive us apart. It will take a lot of good will from our fellows, but after two millennia it's clear we're not going to get it from outsiders.

March 19, 2017

Mixed Grill XXI

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Prayer

I love my (Jewish) heritage and its rites and rituals. I try to recite the prescribed liturgy, davening [praying] three times a day. But there is one prayer that contains a verse that confuses me. I don't really understand what it is saying. (There are others of course, but they are not the subjects of today's effort.) I'm fairly sure that I have, in the past, admitted to my difficulties with our prayers, but I want to use this example to illustrate one particular thing that is giving me trouble.

The prayer is called Tachanun, and one version or another is said on most days. The verse in question, originally from Samuel II, has been translated as Let us fall into Hashem's [G-d's] hand for His mercies are abundant, but let me not fall into human hands. The statement is by David, and the translation is by “Rabbi Artscroll,” a term used both approvingly and satirically to characterize the interpretations found in a series of books by Artscroll, the publisher of many books, all adhering to a fairly rigorous rendition of Jewish law. I suspect that there are many explanations of this verse in our literature, but, for me, they are all closed books.

There are many problems that can be related to this apparently simple and straightforward verse, and they are ones that are universal, but I'll focus on an apparent distinction between two types of punishment – one which is merciful and one which, presumably, isn't – and that one of the punishments, though likely to be longer, is more desirable than the other. The verse is followed by another that pleads for mercy, asking Hashem to accept our prayers and grant us compassionate treatment. The implication is that our fates are decided at the last minute and our prayers can cause Hashem to change plans for us.

It's generally accepted that, until the moment of our death, we can repent for sins we committed and we'll be forgiven. And every year, on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, we seek the same forgiveness, in the hope that our lot in the following year will be better than it might have been. We assume that our destiny is changeable, while we simultaneously believe that G-d knows, and has always known, what is going to happen – that is, our future is determined even before we pray. And that's because He knows what we will do – whether or not we pray for mercy. It's a common construction, but it raises the issues of free will, omniscience, predetermination, Divine control, and others. The idea is comforting, however, and it's easy to ignore those issues.

But back to the focus. And that is the question regarding punishment inflicted by man and that originating from G-d. The words expressing preference from David suggest that Divine punishments are more merciful than those of man. One might wonder if a “natural” death, one often prolonged, is better than a sudden, traumatic one inflicted on us by one of our fellows. The verse, however, could be understood to indicate a belief that the latter implies torture and pain while the former is accompanied by comfort. We'll never really know David's thinking on the subject.

The proposed possibilities, though, miss the point. Our heritage teaches us that G-d controls everything – the events that we consider good and what we deem “bad.” So, if that is the case, both of the punishments about which David ponders are Divine in origin. We have learned that evil people may be made agents of G-d and used to perform evil deeds that promote His “agenda.” They do so of their own “free will” and are punished for their acts, but they are acts which G-d controls. And penalties are warranted both for the one being punished and the one doing the punishing, for he will suffer both for this act and for his other evil behavior.

But if we accept the idea that all punishments in fact reflect G-d's will and are under His control, how do we explain David's statement? Certainly he understood “the system” better than we. He surely would have known that whatever happened to him, whether by “Hashem's hand” or by “human hands” reflected G-d's will, and while he might hope for the former, he couldn't change what was to be. The only reasonable interpretation isn't an interpretation at all, but that it was a literal expression of his prayer, for, as he put it, His mercies are abundant, and David was both expressing his desire for mercy and his faith in Hashem, as he did in Psalm 145 – You open Your hand, and satisfy the desire of every living thing.

It's our hope as well. Most of us aren't masochists, and, while we know that death is inevitable, we don't want to suffer. That's our hope, but G-d has already decided, and all we can do is to act in a way that will justify it having been a favorable decision.





March 10, 2017