So....I decided to try and post something I've written and see how I like it. Just a disclaimer- I am not lonesome or depressed. The poem was written by the beginning of the year, when I was feeling just a bit overwhelmed. And, incidentally, I was trying out a new style, which I'm still not entirely sure how I feel about.
Day fades into day
Like rain on a windowpane.
And sound slips in
to die upon the floor.
And someday this all will be my normal,
And time will have passed
like a movie flipping months.
And this will all be once and remember when.
Taking my pulse too often,
And caring too much.
Multiplying every moment by forever
And trying not to wonder when it all will change
Friday, February 17, 2006
Philosophy
To be a proper intellectual, one has to be into all those deep sort of questions- 'what is truth?' 'how do we know that we really exist?', etc ad infinitum.
I find that I simply do not have the patience for this sort of thing. I was talking to a friend a couple of days ago about Des Cartes and we got into the whole 'How do we know that we exist question?' Or at least started to. But my general feeling was, "Okay, whatever I've got sure feels like existance to me. Let's say, theoretically, it isn't. So what?" And that's where I run into trouble- with that persistant, annoying little so what. Let's say that all of our perceptions of everything are different- that what I see as blue, you see as red. So what? If I say 'pass me that blue book', you'll know which one I'm talking about, right? And I'll end up with the book that I wanted, right? So what's the problem? And if I describe something as blue, it'll have all the same sky/water/bluebirds connections in your head as it does in mine. So who cares?
I think that this is why I'm a geek and not an intellectual.
I find that I simply do not have the patience for this sort of thing. I was talking to a friend a couple of days ago about Des Cartes and we got into the whole 'How do we know that we exist question?' Or at least started to. But my general feeling was, "Okay, whatever I've got sure feels like existance to me. Let's say, theoretically, it isn't. So what?" And that's where I run into trouble- with that persistant, annoying little so what. Let's say that all of our perceptions of everything are different- that what I see as blue, you see as red. So what? If I say 'pass me that blue book', you'll know which one I'm talking about, right? And I'll end up with the book that I wanted, right? So what's the problem? And if I describe something as blue, it'll have all the same sky/water/bluebirds connections in your head as it does in mine. So who cares?
I think that this is why I'm a geek and not an intellectual.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Writing
I've long been conflicted about whether to post my writing on my blog. Not my light writing- something like the Lorax I can show to anyone, anytime. This is because I'm not particularly attached to it. It's something fun to write, it's nothing. But there are also things that are a little more... literary.
I'm tempted to post this stuff because it might make for a more interesting blog, because it'd be interesting to see how it's reacted to, and because...because my blog ought to be everything that pops into my head, and my writing is part of that.
The reason I'm reluctant to post is that I have an almost morbid reticence about showing my writing to anyone. Not because it's so deep and searing and reveals parts of myself that I am reluctant to show. But...but I'm not sure why. I think that a lot of it has to do with the fact that when I was younger and stupider (around 10) I thought that I could write poetry. Heck, I thought that I could write just about anything and the results were always clever and brilliant and so forth. Just the memory is like chalk on the blackboard of my soul. I recall one poem with the timeless line, "Sunrise, sunset, caught in time's endless net." There was another talking about the seasons as if they were people and thinking it was clever to be doing so.
Someday, I'm almost certainly going to look back on anything that I write now with as much chagrin as I look at these fourth-grade efforts. I hope that I do, because it will mean that I have improved. But to expose them in the meantime to other people's eyes...people with real taste...people who will know all of the pretentions that I inflict upon my writing....it's a frightening thought.
I'm tempted to post this stuff because it might make for a more interesting blog, because it'd be interesting to see how it's reacted to, and because...because my blog ought to be everything that pops into my head, and my writing is part of that.
The reason I'm reluctant to post is that I have an almost morbid reticence about showing my writing to anyone. Not because it's so deep and searing and reveals parts of myself that I am reluctant to show. But...but I'm not sure why. I think that a lot of it has to do with the fact that when I was younger and stupider (around 10) I thought that I could write poetry. Heck, I thought that I could write just about anything and the results were always clever and brilliant and so forth. Just the memory is like chalk on the blackboard of my soul. I recall one poem with the timeless line, "Sunrise, sunset, caught in time's endless net." There was another talking about the seasons as if they were people and thinking it was clever to be doing so.
Someday, I'm almost certainly going to look back on anything that I write now with as much chagrin as I look at these fourth-grade efforts. I hope that I do, because it will mean that I have improved. But to expose them in the meantime to other people's eyes...people with real taste...people who will know all of the pretentions that I inflict upon my writing....it's a frightening thought.
Jewish Bonding
Do you know what I love about Jews? The instinct that they have whenever they see another Jew in a non-Jewish setting, to make sure that the other Jew knows they're there. You know what I mean. Seeing someone with a kippa in the college library and pointedly take out a siddur or something. Talking loudly in yeshivish when you're standing near other Jews at an amusement park. The story I read in Tales Out of Shul (I believe) where a little girl shouts to her mother "what time is candling lighting?" on a Wednesday, just because she's seen another Jew enter the super-market.
And apparently the instinct is not unique to the religious. A girl in my Civ class always likes to bring in Old Testament quotes, and then shoot me a look beneath her eyelids as if to say, "You and me, kid. We know." The girl does not appear to be religious, has never once come to Hillel, and has no connection to me outside of class.
I had a wonderful example of this yesterday. I was sitting in the college guidance hallway, waiting for my instructor to show up for the mandatory meeting. Being around a week behind on my daf (wow, that's embarrassing to admit), I took out my pocket sized gemara and started to catch up. After a couple of minutes, I looked up to see a white-haired professorial type (no kippa) standing over me. "You know," he said, "you ought to get one of those magnifying glasses if you're going to be studying Talmud. It's not good for your eyes." "Yeah," I said, grinning imbecilically, "It's just that these are so convenient." "But still, you have to take care of your eyes. Especially if you're going to be reading Rashi." "Yes, I do Rashi," I said, repeating it as if it were a code word- 'The Mackeral hunts at midnight' 'Very good. You are one of Us.'
Did he feel the need to tell me about magnifying glasses? Did I care about his comments about them? No. Of course not. It was just the old Jewish bonding instinct recognizing its own in the college hallways.
And apparently the instinct is not unique to the religious. A girl in my Civ class always likes to bring in Old Testament quotes, and then shoot me a look beneath her eyelids as if to say, "You and me, kid. We know." The girl does not appear to be religious, has never once come to Hillel, and has no connection to me outside of class.
I had a wonderful example of this yesterday. I was sitting in the college guidance hallway, waiting for my instructor to show up for the mandatory meeting. Being around a week behind on my daf (wow, that's embarrassing to admit), I took out my pocket sized gemara and started to catch up. After a couple of minutes, I looked up to see a white-haired professorial type (no kippa) standing over me. "You know," he said, "you ought to get one of those magnifying glasses if you're going to be studying Talmud. It's not good for your eyes." "Yeah," I said, grinning imbecilically, "It's just that these are so convenient." "But still, you have to take care of your eyes. Especially if you're going to be reading Rashi." "Yes, I do Rashi," I said, repeating it as if it were a code word- 'The Mackeral hunts at midnight' 'Very good. You are one of Us.'
Did he feel the need to tell me about magnifying glasses? Did I care about his comments about them? No. Of course not. It was just the old Jewish bonding instinct recognizing its own in the college hallways.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
What is it with Cigarettes?
My favorite line from anything that a certain friend has written is her ending for a story that consists almost entirely of a dialogue between two soldiers. At the end of the story, they discover that another friend, who they thought was sleeping in the trench, is actually dead. The line: "And then it was morning and they could see and so it was not so bad, and Werner asked Fredrich if he had any cigarettes."
Whatever. You may or may not like the line, and anyway, I think that I am quoting it worse than it was. The point that I am trying to make is that the line would not have worked with anything other than cigarettes. Try it. Try reading any other word there and it just flops. Cigarettes has the cadence, the aura, the context, the je ne sais qua. It just works.
And this isn't the only place. I find that when I'm writing stories, cigarettes always work themselves into it. For no particular reason. Example, the context of which is way too confusing to give: "The train stops for twenty minutes at a station, and he goes off and buys some cigarettes." or "...to lean against a red-brick wall and try to read his future in the swirling clouds of cigarette smoke." (Not from the same story.) Or take Simon and Garfunkel's "Toss me a cigarette, I think there's one in my raincoat. We smoked the last one an hour ago."
Don't get me wrong. I think that cigarettes are foul-smelling cancer-sticks. I would never think to smoke one and I think that anyone who does is dangerously unwise. I don't even think they look particularly cool. But something about the word...especially when you're trying to write about anything from the twenties through the sixties....it just works. Don't know why, don't know how.
Whatever. You may or may not like the line, and anyway, I think that I am quoting it worse than it was. The point that I am trying to make is that the line would not have worked with anything other than cigarettes. Try it. Try reading any other word there and it just flops. Cigarettes has the cadence, the aura, the context, the je ne sais qua. It just works.
And this isn't the only place. I find that when I'm writing stories, cigarettes always work themselves into it. For no particular reason. Example, the context of which is way too confusing to give: "The train stops for twenty minutes at a station, and he goes off and buys some cigarettes." or "...to lean against a red-brick wall and try to read his future in the swirling clouds of cigarette smoke." (Not from the same story.) Or take Simon and Garfunkel's "Toss me a cigarette, I think there's one in my raincoat. We smoked the last one an hour ago."
Don't get me wrong. I think that cigarettes are foul-smelling cancer-sticks. I would never think to smoke one and I think that anyone who does is dangerously unwise. I don't even think they look particularly cool. But something about the word...especially when you're trying to write about anything from the twenties through the sixties....it just works. Don't know why, don't know how.
Monday, February 13, 2006
Fun with Aggadata
I used to always skip the aggada bits of the Talmud. Or at least read it through very, very quickly. After all, it wasn't halacha. But that is just silliness. For sheer meaning-packed, ambiguous, literary, intellectual, confusing, inconclusive joy, you cannot beat a good Talmudic story. Take, for example, the following text from Avoda Zara, 18a:
(Text from here . English from here. Italics are my comments.)
תנו רבנן כשחלה רבי יוסי בן קיסמא הלך רבי חנינא בן תרדיון לבקרו
The rabbis taught: When R. Jose b. Kisma became sick, R. Hanina b. Tradian called on him; Visiting sick beds is a surprisingly common setting for Talmudic stories. Perhaps because it is a forum where Sages can meet in a context that is not officially halachic?
ואת ספר תורה באש
אמר לו רבי מה אני לחיי העולם הבא אמר לו כלום מעשה בא לידך אמר לו מעות של פורים נתחלפו לי במעות של צדקה וחלקתים לעניים אמר לו אם כן מחלקך יהי חלקי ומגורלך יהי גורלי
אמרו לא היו ימים מועטים עד שנפטר רבי יוסי בן קיסמא והלכו כל גדולי רומי לקברו והספידוהו הספד גדול ובחזרתן מצאוהו לרבי חנינא בן תרדיון שהיה יושב ועוסק בתורה ומקהיל קהלות ברבים וס"ת מונח לו בחיקו הביאוהו וכרכוהו בס"ת והקיפוהו בחבילי זמורות והציתו בהן את האור והביאו ספוגין של צמר ושראום במים והניחום על לבו כדי שלא תצא נשמתו מהרה
And when his daughter said to him: Father, is it just, what I see done with you? He answered: If I were burned alone, it would be hard for me, but now that I am burned in conjunction with the Holy Scrolls, I am sure that He who will take revenge for the Holy Scrolls will take revenge for me also. His disciples questioned him: What do you see now? And he answered: I see the letters are flying away from the parchment while they burned.
Why is one of the questions from the daughter and one from the students? The daughter reacting more emotionally and the students trying to get the last bits of inspiration. What kind of a question is "what do you see?" anyway? Actually, both questions can be seen as the shattered idealists looking to have this cruel reality explained to them- how can this be? The daughter's question- does this disprove the ideals? The answer can be read- How can you say that this disproves anything if it's happening to the Torah itself as well? Obviously, being destroyed doesn't prove that you're in the wrong. And the students' question "What about the future? Is this the end of the hope? And the answer is that the parchment may burn, but the letters fly away and escape.
What's the you too? Continuing from the previous answer about the parchment- if the parchment burning doesn't matter, than why don't you die as well? The answer- because it's not for me to decide.
And then we get into lovely ambiguities about suicide. Three main statements- 1)R' Chanina won't hasten his own death. 2) He encourages the executioner to speed things up and promises him heaven for assisting in his 'suicide' and 3) The executioner kills himself and earns his world to come. Distinction between active suicide and removing obstacles for death? And what exactly is the deal with non-Jews and suicide?
Also- if the executioner has switched sides, why doesn't he try to save R' Chanina's life? Can we presume that all of the other Roman officials are there watching the whole thing? In which case, the executioner is probably about to be killed rather nastily in a moment or so. And just to confound the whole issue, the text writes the suicide literally as "he jumped and fell into the fire", very deliberately clouding the issue of whether it was suicide. Not about to give us any answers there.
Another point- notice theme of acheiving world to come- R' Chanina asks how he can get it, and decides that it lies in one small charitable act. The executioner gets it in one massive self sacrifice, making Rebbi weep and reflect that for some it takes a moment and for some a life-time. Definite theme going there.
And here's another fascinating thing about the whole story. When R' Chanina was killed, his wife was killed as well and one daughter was forcibly put into a brothel. This could have been the daughter who asked the question- looking for something to fortify her- but that also could have been...Bruria. Yeah, Bruria. Adds a whole new perspective to the whole thing? And note the suicide tie-in. And what if she was the one to ask the question? Does that change anything about her story? Does this help us understand why she was unable to cope with moral failure? I have no idea...
Which just illustrates once again the joy that can be gotten out of really reading something- with as much literary analysis as you can throw at it.
(Text from here . English from here. Italics are my comments.)
תנו רבנן כשחלה רבי יוסי בן קיסמא הלך רבי חנינא בן תרדיון לבקרו
The rabbis taught: When R. Jose b. Kisma became sick, R. Hanina b. Tradian called on him; Visiting sick beds is a surprisingly common setting for Talmudic stories. Perhaps because it is a forum where Sages can meet in a context that is not officially halachic?
אמר לו חנינא אחי <אחי> אי אתה יודע שאומה זו מן השמים המליכוה שהחריבה את ביתו ושרפה את היכלו והרגה את חסידיו ואבדה את טוביו ועדיין היא קיימת ואני שמעתי עליך שאתה יושב ועוסק בתורה [ומקהיל קהלות ברבים] וספר מונח לך בחיקך
the former said to him: Hanina, my brother, are you not aware that this nation is reigning by heavenly decree, and notwithstanding that she has destroyed the Temple, burned the palaces, killed the pious and put out of the way all the best of Israel, she is still in force. About you, however, I heard that notwithstanding the decree of the government, you occupy yourself with the Torah publicly, and you bear with you the Holy Scrolls at all time.
אמר לו מן השמים ירחמו אמר לו אני אומר לך דברים של טעם ואתה אומר לי מן השמים ירחמו תמה אני אם לא ישרפו אותךthe former said to him: Hanina, my brother, are you not aware that this nation is reigning by heavenly decree, and notwithstanding that she has destroyed the Temple, burned the palaces, killed the pious and put out of the way all the best of Israel, she is still in force. About you, however, I heard that notwithstanding the decree of the government, you occupy yourself with the Torah publicly, and you bear with you the Holy Scrolls at all time.
ואת ספר תורה באש
Hanina then answered: The heavens shall have mercy with us. Exclaimed Jose: I am relating to you reasons, and you say, the heavens shall have mercy. I wonder whether the government will not burn you with the Holy Scrolls on fire? (I'd prefer a translation that conveys a bit more of the indignation- "I'm talking logic and you say 'the heavens will have mercy'?! I wouldn't be surprised if they burn you and the torah with you!" )
Thus far, the Talmud has presented us with the basic debate of Moderates and Zealots. Interestingly, it presents it quite like a debate between pragmatists and idealists- R' Yossi says that one ought to look at reality and evaluate risks sensibly. R' Chanina's reply can either be interpreted as brushing him off, or as a firm idealistic conviction that G-d is on his side, and so nothing can happen to him. Also interesting the way that they trade Divine Providence views- R' Yossi judging it from history, R' Chanina projecting his philosophy into the future.
And which view does the Talmud take? Well, there it's beautifully vague. On one hand, the argument is pretty similar to one that R' Akiva had with Pappus. In that case, R' Akiva is distinctly allowed the last word, and the Moderate's argument is put in the mouth of a disbeliever. Here, on the other hand, it's being said by one of the great Tannaim, whose dire predictions, in this case, turn out to be prescient. On the other other hand, when that time comes, R' Chanina doesn't seem particularly non-plussed.
And which view does the Talmud take? Well, there it's beautifully vague. On one hand, the argument is pretty similar to one that R' Akiva had with Pappus. In that case, R' Akiva is distinctly allowed the last word, and the Moderate's argument is put in the mouth of a disbeliever. Here, on the other hand, it's being said by one of the great Tannaim, whose dire predictions, in this case, turn out to be prescient. On the other other hand, when that time comes, R' Chanina doesn't seem particularly non-plussed.
אמר לו רבי מה אני לחיי העולם הבא אמר לו כלום מעשה בא לידך אמר לו מעות של פורים נתחלפו לי במעות של צדקה וחלקתים לעניים אמר לו אם כן מחלקך יהי חלקי ומגורלך יהי גורלי
Hanina then said: Rabbi, what will become of me in the world to come? And Jose asked him: Did not some of the meritorious acts come to your hand? And he answered: The money which I prepared to celebrate Purim, I erred, thinking that it was of the charity treasury; I have distributed it to the poor, and thereafter I have not collected from the charity. If so, answered Jose, I wish that my share should be like yours, and my fate similar.
Besides being a whole halachic mess of its own, this passage seems like a total tangent. Does the fact that R' Chanina fears for his world to come and relies on his miztvot rather than his learning give us any answers as to whether he is right in risking his life. And what does this particular mitzva have to do with anything? An example of self-sacrifice? I feel as if there might be something there with Purim specifically, as relating to foreign oppressors, etc, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Also, ironic structuring with the one not on his death bed worrying about his world to come- as compared to the many stories out there with the dying man asking for reassurance that he will merit it. Foreshadowing that R' Chanina is also going to die pretty soon? Or perhaps he's agreeing with R' Yossi's predictions and accepting upon himself the status of someone about to die? And what about this last line? Is R' Yossi's statement admiration for the good deed, or ceding some other point in the argument?
Besides being a whole halachic mess of its own, this passage seems like a total tangent. Does the fact that R' Chanina fears for his world to come and relies on his miztvot rather than his learning give us any answers as to whether he is right in risking his life. And what does this particular mitzva have to do with anything? An example of self-sacrifice? I feel as if there might be something there with Purim specifically, as relating to foreign oppressors, etc, but I can't quite put my finger on it. Also, ironic structuring with the one not on his death bed worrying about his world to come- as compared to the many stories out there with the dying man asking for reassurance that he will merit it. Foreshadowing that R' Chanina is also going to die pretty soon? Or perhaps he's agreeing with R' Yossi's predictions and accepting upon himself the status of someone about to die? And what about this last line? Is R' Yossi's statement admiration for the good deed, or ceding some other point in the argument?
אמרו לא היו ימים מועטים עד שנפטר רבי יוסי בן קיסמא והלכו כל גדולי רומי לקברו והספידוהו הספד גדול ובחזרתן מצאוהו לרבי חנינא בן תרדיון שהיה יושב ועוסק בתורה ומקהיל קהלות ברבים וס"ת מונח לו בחיקו הביאוהו וכרכוהו בס"ת והקיפוהו בחבילי זמורות והציתו בהן את האור והביאו ספוגין של צמר ושראום במים והניחום על לבו כדי שלא תצא נשמתו מהרה
It was said that a few days later R. Jose ben Kisma departed, and all the great men of Rome were going after his coffin, lamenting him greatly. On their return, they found Hanina b. Tradian studying the Torah publicly with the Holy Scrolls in his bosom; he was enwrapped in the Holy Scrolls and surrounded with branches of trees, which were kindled. And two woollen towels, soaked in water, were placed on his heart that his soul might not depart so quickly,
Definitely something intentional going on by juxtaposing the two deaths, but not really giving anything conclusive towards taking sides. Yes, we have R' Yossi's prediction fulfilled completely, but he also ends up dead. With all the Romans attending his funeral- is this meant to be a good thing or a bad thing? Note that R' Chanina didn't attend the funeral, although he seems to have respected R' Yossi. Maybe the funeral got entirely co-opted by the Romans, which could be seen as an ironic result of R' Yossi's being so loyal to them- he becomes 'theirs' and no longer the Jews'.
אמרה לו בתו אבא אראך בכך אמר לה אילמלי אני נשרפתי לבדי היה הדבר קשה לי עכשיו שאני נשרף וס"ת עמי מי שמבקש עלבונה של ס"ת הוא יבקש עלבוני אמרו לו תלמידיו רבי מה אתה רואה אמר להן גליון נשרפין ואותיות פורחותDefinitely something intentional going on by juxtaposing the two deaths, but not really giving anything conclusive towards taking sides. Yes, we have R' Yossi's prediction fulfilled completely, but he also ends up dead. With all the Romans attending his funeral- is this meant to be a good thing or a bad thing? Note that R' Chanina didn't attend the funeral, although he seems to have respected R' Yossi. Maybe the funeral got entirely co-opted by the Romans, which could be seen as an ironic result of R' Yossi's being so loyal to them- he becomes 'theirs' and no longer the Jews'.
Why is one of the questions from the daughter and one from the students? The daughter reacting more emotionally and the students trying to get the last bits of inspiration. What kind of a question is "what do you see?" anyway? Actually, both questions can be seen as the shattered idealists looking to have this cruel reality explained to them- how can this be? The daughter's question- does this disprove the ideals? The answer can be read- How can you say that this disproves anything if it's happening to the Torah itself as well? Obviously, being destroyed doesn't prove that you're in the wrong. And the students' question "What about the future? Is this the end of the hope? And the answer is that the parchment may burn, but the letters fly away and escape.
אף אתה פתח פיך ותכנס [בך] האש אמר להן מוטב שיטלנה מי שנתנה ואל יחבל הוא בעצמו אמר לו קלצטונירי רבי אם אני מרבה בשלהבת ונוטל ספוגין של צמר מעל לבך אתה מביאני לחיי העולם הבא אמר לו הן השבע לי נשבע לו מיד הרבה בשלהבת ונטל ספוגין של צמר מעל לבו יצאה נשמתו במהרה אף הוא קפץ ונפל לתוך האור יצאה בת קול ואמרה רבי חנינא בן תרדיון וקלצטונירי מזומנין הן לחיי העולם הבא בכה רבי ואמר יש קונה עולמו בשעה אחת ויש קונה עולמו בכמה שנים
They said to him: Rabbi, open your mouth, so that the fire should catch you, (better translation "you too, open your mouth that the fire may enter you") and he answered: It is better that my soul be taken by Him who gave it and not I myself shall cause it an earlier death. The executioner then said to him: Rabbi, if I will increase this fire and will take off the woollen towels from your heart, would you bring me to life in the world to come? To which he answered, Yea. He then asked him to swear, which he did. Immediately he increased the fire, took off the towels, and his soul departed. The executioner himself then jumped into the fire. A heavenly voice was then heard: Hanina and the executioner are prepared for life in the world to come. Rabbi then wept, saying: There is one again who bought his world in one moment, etc.What's the you too? Continuing from the previous answer about the parchment- if the parchment burning doesn't matter, than why don't you die as well? The answer- because it's not for me to decide.
And then we get into lovely ambiguities about suicide. Three main statements- 1)R' Chanina won't hasten his own death. 2) He encourages the executioner to speed things up and promises him heaven for assisting in his 'suicide' and 3) The executioner kills himself and earns his world to come. Distinction between active suicide and removing obstacles for death? And what exactly is the deal with non-Jews and suicide?
Also- if the executioner has switched sides, why doesn't he try to save R' Chanina's life? Can we presume that all of the other Roman officials are there watching the whole thing? In which case, the executioner is probably about to be killed rather nastily in a moment or so. And just to confound the whole issue, the text writes the suicide literally as "he jumped and fell into the fire", very deliberately clouding the issue of whether it was suicide. Not about to give us any answers there.
Another point- notice theme of acheiving world to come- R' Chanina asks how he can get it, and decides that it lies in one small charitable act. The executioner gets it in one massive self sacrifice, making Rebbi weep and reflect that for some it takes a moment and for some a life-time. Definite theme going there.
And here's another fascinating thing about the whole story. When R' Chanina was killed, his wife was killed as well and one daughter was forcibly put into a brothel. This could have been the daughter who asked the question- looking for something to fortify her- but that also could have been...Bruria. Yeah, Bruria. Adds a whole new perspective to the whole thing? And note the suicide tie-in. And what if she was the one to ask the question? Does that change anything about her story? Does this help us understand why she was unable to cope with moral failure? I have no idea...
Which just illustrates once again the joy that can be gotten out of really reading something- with as much literary analysis as you can throw at it.
Tu B'Shvat
Happy Tu B'Shvat, I suppose.
There was a Tu B'Shvat seder on campus yesterday, but I decided not to go because it is rude to giggle hysterically throughout events that someone has painstakingly planned. Which, as it so happens, was just what happened at my seminary's Tu B'Shvat Seder last year and my shul's Seder two years ago. I just can't help it.
Tu B'Shvat is, fundamentally, a holiday with no significance whatsoever. It is mentioned, if I am not mistaken, exactly once in the Talmud, has no commandments associated with it, and is basically the equivolent of the halachic first day of spring. The only distinction that it can possibly claim is that you don't say tachanun (on a Monday! Yay!), but that applies equally to days like Purim Kattan and The Day that Some Rebbe Got Out of Jail. And it apparently doesn't rate high enough to avoid Lamnatzeiach before Uva L'Tzion. But I digress.
What then, is the source of its perplexing popularity? I mean, a seder? Some might point to the kabbalistic background, but I know few kabbalists and many, many Tu B'Shvat celebrators.
I blame it on environmentalists. Tu B'Shvat is a chance, as someone at the Hillel said, "To be Jewish and hippie." And who wouldn't welcome a religiously mandated occasion to hug a tree? And to simultaneously demonstrate to the world just how hip and ecologically aware Judaism can be.
But it's not the mushy-gushy tree-hugging liberalism that annoys me. Tree-hugging is all very well, for those that enjoy it. They should live and be well. But did they need to co-opt an innocent holiday and invent for it an odd, ritualistic, pseudo-religious ecological ceremony? I think that my memory will be forever scarred by the image of the people at my shul- normal, sane, rational people- carefully pouring for themselves cups of half white and half red wine, to symbolize the infusion of spring. Or solemnly singing a song about apple trees.
Some might say the same of any Jewish ritual. Which is exactly my point. In my view of Judaism, rituals matter. Rituals have divine significance beyond the surface understanding, are commanded by G-d, and bring us closer to Him by performing His will. How dare a bunch of environmentalists think that they can make up a seder? How dare they try to make their verses about nuts and trees the equivolent of ceremonies written by the Sages? Saying that we can write a Tu B'Shvat seder says that all of our other practices have no meanings but the ones that we can readily replicate with our humanist little interpretations. I happen to believe that commandments are far more than that, that reducing mitzvot to the level of poems about nature is an insult to them and to ourselves.
So go out and hug your trees, if you like. But kindly do not devalue my religion by making your ceremonies part of it.
There was a Tu B'Shvat seder on campus yesterday, but I decided not to go because it is rude to giggle hysterically throughout events that someone has painstakingly planned. Which, as it so happens, was just what happened at my seminary's Tu B'Shvat Seder last year and my shul's Seder two years ago. I just can't help it.
Tu B'Shvat is, fundamentally, a holiday with no significance whatsoever. It is mentioned, if I am not mistaken, exactly once in the Talmud, has no commandments associated with it, and is basically the equivolent of the halachic first day of spring. The only distinction that it can possibly claim is that you don't say tachanun (on a Monday! Yay!), but that applies equally to days like Purim Kattan and The Day that Some Rebbe Got Out of Jail. And it apparently doesn't rate high enough to avoid Lamnatzeiach before Uva L'Tzion. But I digress.
What then, is the source of its perplexing popularity? I mean, a seder? Some might point to the kabbalistic background, but I know few kabbalists and many, many Tu B'Shvat celebrators.
I blame it on environmentalists. Tu B'Shvat is a chance, as someone at the Hillel said, "To be Jewish and hippie." And who wouldn't welcome a religiously mandated occasion to hug a tree? And to simultaneously demonstrate to the world just how hip and ecologically aware Judaism can be.
But it's not the mushy-gushy tree-hugging liberalism that annoys me. Tree-hugging is all very well, for those that enjoy it. They should live and be well. But did they need to co-opt an innocent holiday and invent for it an odd, ritualistic, pseudo-religious ecological ceremony? I think that my memory will be forever scarred by the image of the people at my shul- normal, sane, rational people- carefully pouring for themselves cups of half white and half red wine, to symbolize the infusion of spring. Or solemnly singing a song about apple trees.
Some might say the same of any Jewish ritual. Which is exactly my point. In my view of Judaism, rituals matter. Rituals have divine significance beyond the surface understanding, are commanded by G-d, and bring us closer to Him by performing His will. How dare a bunch of environmentalists think that they can make up a seder? How dare they try to make their verses about nuts and trees the equivolent of ceremonies written by the Sages? Saying that we can write a Tu B'Shvat seder says that all of our other practices have no meanings but the ones that we can readily replicate with our humanist little interpretations. I happen to believe that commandments are far more than that, that reducing mitzvot to the level of poems about nature is an insult to them and to ourselves.
So go out and hug your trees, if you like. But kindly do not devalue my religion by making your ceremonies part of it.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Idealism
Talking to a friend about Amona. The whole thing makes me sick and terrified at heart. Not only that Israeli police would brutalize citizens, which is in itself appalling, but this as the latest blow to religious Zionism as a movement. How long can it go on, when it finds itself so alienated from the government that it pledges itself to support? And even more so, how long can it last as a...(to be biased)- a sane movement? A lot of my fears, I expressed in my post during the heat of the disengagement. Thank G-d, the nathion and the movement managed to survive that, and I had begun to hope that they had recovered, come back. And then Amona.
It scares me, it really does. As E-Kvetcher discusses in his Fox/Hedgehogs posts, raw idealism is one of the most frightening forces in the world. It is also one of the most beautiful. It is at the same time heart-breakingly innocent and entirely merciless. You can't argue with people who think that they know G-d's will, and you can't ask them to be moderate. You can try to show them that they are mistaken, and you can try to convince them that their means aren't the most efficient. But why should they believe you? I don't want to make this analogy- it makes me sick to make this analogy- but they have the same hard, cold-eyed, fiery, irrevocable certainty as the Moslem extremists. Thank G-d, the beliefs that they hold so certainly are not a tenth as despicable, but they are as firmly held. And to make things worse, I hold many of the same ideals, feel much of the same passion, long for much of the same things.
And then-and this is the really sneaky thing- even this terror of certainty hoists us on our own pitard. If we are to be open-minded, must we not ask ourselves, like Chamberlain in Killer Angels (20 points if you get the reference)- it forces you to ask, "What if I am wrong?" What if my own faith in uncertainty is false, and these idealists have caught the truth? What if theirs is G-d's cause, and I, in my stupid open-minded doubtfulness, am missing it? What if I am not wiser, but more cowardly?
I don't believe this. I cannot believe it. But I must entertain the doubt.
I don't have answers for this. I can only hold to what I think is right, and pray, and worry about the future of the idealists.
It scares me, it really does. As E-Kvetcher discusses in his Fox/Hedgehogs posts, raw idealism is one of the most frightening forces in the world. It is also one of the most beautiful. It is at the same time heart-breakingly innocent and entirely merciless. You can't argue with people who think that they know G-d's will, and you can't ask them to be moderate. You can try to show them that they are mistaken, and you can try to convince them that their means aren't the most efficient. But why should they believe you? I don't want to make this analogy- it makes me sick to make this analogy- but they have the same hard, cold-eyed, fiery, irrevocable certainty as the Moslem extremists. Thank G-d, the beliefs that they hold so certainly are not a tenth as despicable, but they are as firmly held. And to make things worse, I hold many of the same ideals, feel much of the same passion, long for much of the same things.
And then-and this is the really sneaky thing- even this terror of certainty hoists us on our own pitard. If we are to be open-minded, must we not ask ourselves, like Chamberlain in Killer Angels (20 points if you get the reference)- it forces you to ask, "What if I am wrong?" What if my own faith in uncertainty is false, and these idealists have caught the truth? What if theirs is G-d's cause, and I, in my stupid open-minded doubtfulness, am missing it? What if I am not wiser, but more cowardly?
I don't believe this. I cannot believe it. But I must entertain the doubt.
I don't have answers for this. I can only hold to what I think is right, and pray, and worry about the future of the idealists.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Avoision and the Shabbos Goy
While reading Ill Gotten Gains, a book by Leo Katz about financial legal conundrums (almost as much fun as the one he wrote on criminal law), I was intrigued by his discussion of the Shabbos Goy. He brought it up as part of the more general question of what is legal avoidance and what is illegal evasion, citing the Shabbos Goy as one example of people making this distinction in areas beyond the pall of financial law. His analysis of the whole problem was fascinating and I am not doing it enough justice by this two second summary, but he basically said that there are two schools of thought with regard to avoision (the term used for border-line cases). One group, the consequentialists, think that only the result matters- if it is right to steer the trolley to run over one person instead of hitting five, then it is equally right to kill one person and divide his organs among five others (to use his example). Therefore, avoision is always wrong because it reaches unsanctioned results. The other group, deontologists, believe that the path taken is as important as the end- if it is moral to kill one for five in one case, in another it may well be immoral. Avoision, therefore, simply consists of playing within the rules regarding means, and is perfectly alright, even if the means are against some imagined "spirit of the law".
What his argument does not fully explain is the reluctance that people have to engage in avoision. Many people will not, for example, take advantage of a tax loophole, even if available, because it simply feels wrong. I would say that everyone has a hint of the consequentialist as well as the deontologist, not being willing to abuse the system to reach results that are too massively wrong.
Which brings us to halacha. People often have a hard time with the idea of loopholes in Judaism. The example that Katz used of the Shabbos Goy is only one of many examples of this sort of thing- others include the eiruv, selling chametz, 'partnerships' to allow charging interest, and purposely not re-conquering parts of Israel during the Second Temple to allow work in shemitta. The rationale that the gemara usually uses for these things -"the mouth that permits is the mouth that forbade"- works only for Rabbinic commandments. The other major rationale- that G-d knew ahead of time that this loophole would exist and chose to leave it in- gets into tricky debates about pre-destination, not to mention the fact that it doesn't really address the problem that we are getting around a theoretical spirit of the law.
I think that Katz's argument is the best that I have ever heard to explain loopholes. Halacha, is manifestly deontologist- ends are never said to justify means. But what Katz adds is that means can be used to justify the ends. Halacha is all about the morality of actions, rather than about utilitarian calculus of results. If this works to prohibit actions with lofty intentions, then it equally well permits actions with sneaky consequences.
At the same time, the natural inhibitions that we have about loopholes- the feeling of sneaking around G-d- also has basis in halacha, most specifically in the concept of ha'arama (trickery). There are times that a halachic discussion will simply say "Push comes to shove, what is being done is wrong, no matter how you slice it." The example that comes to mind off-hand, and I may be mis-recalling it, is a case where a boatload of wheat became chametz. The gemara asks whether it is permissible to sell this grain to non-Jews, who may sell it to unwitting Jews. After a complex discussion of lifnei iver, lifnei d'lifnei, safek, etc, one Amora says "What you're actually doing is tricking Jews into eating chametz. Whether that is technically whatever is unimportant."
The section in Katz's book interested me so much for two basic reasons-firstly, that it cast a light on a basic question in morality as well as halacha, and secondly, because much of the reasoning and questioning that it had done had already been considered in halachic sources. I bring this all down as one humble example of the usefulness of incorporating secular wisdom into halacha, and particularly viewing halacha as wrestling with many of the same problems as any other legal code.
What his argument does not fully explain is the reluctance that people have to engage in avoision. Many people will not, for example, take advantage of a tax loophole, even if available, because it simply feels wrong. I would say that everyone has a hint of the consequentialist as well as the deontologist, not being willing to abuse the system to reach results that are too massively wrong.
Which brings us to halacha. People often have a hard time with the idea of loopholes in Judaism. The example that Katz used of the Shabbos Goy is only one of many examples of this sort of thing- others include the eiruv, selling chametz, 'partnerships' to allow charging interest, and purposely not re-conquering parts of Israel during the Second Temple to allow work in shemitta. The rationale that the gemara usually uses for these things -"the mouth that permits is the mouth that forbade"- works only for Rabbinic commandments. The other major rationale- that G-d knew ahead of time that this loophole would exist and chose to leave it in- gets into tricky debates about pre-destination, not to mention the fact that it doesn't really address the problem that we are getting around a theoretical spirit of the law.
I think that Katz's argument is the best that I have ever heard to explain loopholes. Halacha, is manifestly deontologist- ends are never said to justify means. But what Katz adds is that means can be used to justify the ends. Halacha is all about the morality of actions, rather than about utilitarian calculus of results. If this works to prohibit actions with lofty intentions, then it equally well permits actions with sneaky consequences.
At the same time, the natural inhibitions that we have about loopholes- the feeling of sneaking around G-d- also has basis in halacha, most specifically in the concept of ha'arama (trickery). There are times that a halachic discussion will simply say "Push comes to shove, what is being done is wrong, no matter how you slice it." The example that comes to mind off-hand, and I may be mis-recalling it, is a case where a boatload of wheat became chametz. The gemara asks whether it is permissible to sell this grain to non-Jews, who may sell it to unwitting Jews. After a complex discussion of lifnei iver, lifnei d'lifnei, safek, etc, one Amora says "What you're actually doing is tricking Jews into eating chametz. Whether that is technically whatever is unimportant."
The section in Katz's book interested me so much for two basic reasons-firstly, that it cast a light on a basic question in morality as well as halacha, and secondly, because much of the reasoning and questioning that it had done had already been considered in halachic sources. I bring this all down as one humble example of the usefulness of incorporating secular wisdom into halacha, and particularly viewing halacha as wrestling with many of the same problems as any other legal code.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Liberal Arts- A Bitter Stream of Consciousness
Do you know what annoys me? Well, lots of things, actually, but the subject of this particular rant is liberal arts intellectual snobbery. Sometimes it amazes me how a field with no absolute standards of right and wrong can manage to simultaneously maintain a constant self-righteous, more-PC-than-thou smugness. It's rather impressive if you think about it. Nothing, of course, is, absolutely speaking "right" or "wrong", since everything is all based on societal standards anyway, but by gosh, if your societal standards cause you to insult minorities, well, then, your books should be eschewed, mocked, counter-analyzed, etc.
Take, for example, Heart of Darkness. Now, I can't claim to be in love with the book. The writing, although beautifully fluid at times, can also be slow, tedious, and overly overt. But that is not, of course, the reason that I ought to be hating it. I ought to hate it because it is racist. Oh, terribly so. Awful colonialist propoganda from beginning to end. The clearest evidence of this is that it's written only about the Europeans; Africa and the Africans are used only as a foil, as if they weren't even people of something.
This, of course, is rot. Absolute blithering rot. Conrad was writing about Europeans and how Africa affected them. If he had written about the Africans, it would have been a different book, not to mention a remarkably stupid one since he would have been writing about things he knew nothing about. I wonder whether a book about, say, an African-American coming to terms with racism would be criticized for not focusing enough on the white culture.
But that is not even the point of this rant. The point that I am trying to make is that it really disgusts me to read literature from this angle, us wise, enlightened, all tolerant, all wonderful liberal arts modern heroes, analyzing why past generations were evil. (Evil? Did I use the term evil? Sorry, let's call it insufficiently enlightened.) Not that I believe that racism is right, G-d forbid. But nor do I think that we have unraveled the secrets of history. And nor do I think that the best way to get the most out of a book is to superciliously analyze how it reflects the primitive twaddle of its times. Take it on its terms, for heavens' sakes. Just read the blinking book.
This all reminded me of a discussion that we had in European Civilization. We were reading a bunch of articles written after the World's Fair in England. All about progress and civilization and equality and technology and how this generation can only be consoled for missing the bright future by the knowledge that they are securing these wonderful things for their children. One girl remarked that they were disgustingly optimistic, and yes, they rather were. But...there was something beautifully sweet about it. The idea that the world is wonderful and getting better every day. That we are at the high point of history so far and on the right track, at that. We don't have that anymore. Today we know better. Know better than everything. Everything that has been hoped, we have seen fail. Or rather, we have seen hope fail so often that we cannot trust it.
This liberal arts self-righteousness- at first it looks as if it is the same bright optimism. A shining hope that today, we have got it all figured out. But somehow, it doesn't have the same warm bright feeling. Maybe it's because it involves sneering down your nose at everyone before you. Maybe it's because it doesn't believe in hope either- it has the same self-conscious fear of getting too excited, because in the end, you'll just be disappointed. And so it thinks that it understands everything, but the poor stupid world does not. It lacks the excitement and replaces it with world-weary angst. The only thing it can bring itself to believe in is its own superiority. Because it knows better than to believe in anything else
Take, for example, Heart of Darkness. Now, I can't claim to be in love with the book. The writing, although beautifully fluid at times, can also be slow, tedious, and overly overt. But that is not, of course, the reason that I ought to be hating it. I ought to hate it because it is racist. Oh, terribly so. Awful colonialist propoganda from beginning to end. The clearest evidence of this is that it's written only about the Europeans; Africa and the Africans are used only as a foil, as if they weren't even people of something.
This, of course, is rot. Absolute blithering rot. Conrad was writing about Europeans and how Africa affected them. If he had written about the Africans, it would have been a different book, not to mention a remarkably stupid one since he would have been writing about things he knew nothing about. I wonder whether a book about, say, an African-American coming to terms with racism would be criticized for not focusing enough on the white culture.
But that is not even the point of this rant. The point that I am trying to make is that it really disgusts me to read literature from this angle, us wise, enlightened, all tolerant, all wonderful liberal arts modern heroes, analyzing why past generations were evil. (Evil? Did I use the term evil? Sorry, let's call it insufficiently enlightened.) Not that I believe that racism is right, G-d forbid. But nor do I think that we have unraveled the secrets of history. And nor do I think that the best way to get the most out of a book is to superciliously analyze how it reflects the primitive twaddle of its times. Take it on its terms, for heavens' sakes. Just read the blinking book.
This all reminded me of a discussion that we had in European Civilization. We were reading a bunch of articles written after the World's Fair in England. All about progress and civilization and equality and technology and how this generation can only be consoled for missing the bright future by the knowledge that they are securing these wonderful things for their children. One girl remarked that they were disgustingly optimistic, and yes, they rather were. But...there was something beautifully sweet about it. The idea that the world is wonderful and getting better every day. That we are at the high point of history so far and on the right track, at that. We don't have that anymore. Today we know better. Know better than everything. Everything that has been hoped, we have seen fail. Or rather, we have seen hope fail so often that we cannot trust it.
This liberal arts self-righteousness- at first it looks as if it is the same bright optimism. A shining hope that today, we have got it all figured out. But somehow, it doesn't have the same warm bright feeling. Maybe it's because it involves sneering down your nose at everyone before you. Maybe it's because it doesn't believe in hope either- it has the same self-conscious fear of getting too excited, because in the end, you'll just be disappointed. And so it thinks that it understands everything, but the poor stupid world does not. It lacks the excitement and replaces it with world-weary angst. The only thing it can bring itself to believe in is its own superiority. Because it knows better than to believe in anything else
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Musings...just in general
Alright, this is going to be a pretentious college piece, about the sort of banal adolescent angst that everybody likes to pretend that they're unique in having, until they actually a) meet other people or b) read books. But...so what? It's my blog, it gives me joy, so here goes.
I was sitting in class yesterday, listening the proffessor babble about Nietzsche, when I was suddenly and unexpectedly hit by a gushing wave of the thought: "Holy mackeroly, I'm surrounded by college students. What the heck am I doing here?" It was fascinating. I think that, at some level, I still think of myself as... eleventh grade. Tops. The whole college experience seems, at times, a joke, as if I am visiting an older sibling and sitting in on classes just for the thrill. As if everyone else there is somehow inexpressably older and wiser and more sophisticated. Their pretentions are adult pretentions, their vices are adult vices. I feel like some precocious kid, watching it all go by and wondering when I'm going to be all grown up too.
Which is crazy. I'm older than many of my acquaintances, including most of the people in my year (the year in Israel thing will do that). I am at least as intelligent as a good many of them, and I lack as many of their immaturities as I do their sophistications (I think the grammar of that sentence works. I have no patience to check it).
I put the whole thing down to my general method of dealing with reality. While everyone in my class was crying over leaving high school, I was shockingly blase. And the reason behind that is that it simply had not hit me. It did not even begin to hit me until a month into seminary. Seminary itself never started to become real, forget about getting over it. It was a glitch, a retreat, an anomaly. No wonder I can't come to terms with my being in college.
But at the same time, who says that's true? I mean, maybe I perceive reality just fine. Maybe I didn't get all het up over leaving high school 'cuz I just didn't care so very much. Maybe what I like to call glitches in my perceptions of reality are simply normal, and I just have to give them some name to account for the way they seem to clash with the way everyone else reacts. Maybe nothing ever hits anyone, or rather, was I have been feeling is hitting.
And the saddest thing about all of the above is that I have absolutely no patience for any of this sort of "look, I'm being deep" babble. I am, at heart, a pragmatist, which is why it annoys me so much to lapse into useless existential musings. But at the same time, I worry sometimes, because neither do I want to be one of those annoying people, who at forty still do not seem to have come to terms with what age they actually are.
I was sitting in class yesterday, listening the proffessor babble about Nietzsche, when I was suddenly and unexpectedly hit by a gushing wave of the thought: "Holy mackeroly, I'm surrounded by college students. What the heck am I doing here?" It was fascinating. I think that, at some level, I still think of myself as... eleventh grade. Tops. The whole college experience seems, at times, a joke, as if I am visiting an older sibling and sitting in on classes just for the thrill. As if everyone else there is somehow inexpressably older and wiser and more sophisticated. Their pretentions are adult pretentions, their vices are adult vices. I feel like some precocious kid, watching it all go by and wondering when I'm going to be all grown up too.
Which is crazy. I'm older than many of my acquaintances, including most of the people in my year (the year in Israel thing will do that). I am at least as intelligent as a good many of them, and I lack as many of their immaturities as I do their sophistications (I think the grammar of that sentence works. I have no patience to check it).
I put the whole thing down to my general method of dealing with reality. While everyone in my class was crying over leaving high school, I was shockingly blase. And the reason behind that is that it simply had not hit me. It did not even begin to hit me until a month into seminary. Seminary itself never started to become real, forget about getting over it. It was a glitch, a retreat, an anomaly. No wonder I can't come to terms with my being in college.
But at the same time, who says that's true? I mean, maybe I perceive reality just fine. Maybe I didn't get all het up over leaving high school 'cuz I just didn't care so very much. Maybe what I like to call glitches in my perceptions of reality are simply normal, and I just have to give them some name to account for the way they seem to clash with the way everyone else reacts. Maybe nothing ever hits anyone, or rather, was I have been feeling is hitting.
And the saddest thing about all of the above is that I have absolutely no patience for any of this sort of "look, I'm being deep" babble. I am, at heart, a pragmatist, which is why it annoys me so much to lapse into useless existential musings. But at the same time, I worry sometimes, because neither do I want to be one of those annoying people, who at forty still do not seem to have come to terms with what age they actually are.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Reflections on Nietzsche
Don't you wish that you were a philosopher? If your opinions are contradictory, then they are ironic; if they are evil, they are misinterpreted; if they are incoherent, illogical, or badly-written, then they are deep. This last is of the supreme importance- establish your work as the unique province of the intellectuals and they will trip over themselves justifying your genius. Do not be ashamed of your egotism nor your incoherence- the more you claim that your work can be understood only by the lofty few, the more your work will be lauded, loved and universally admired. Your semi-coherent babbling will become the gospel of the elite, because they know that very fact makes them elite; they will love your work not for itself, but for all of the wonderful things that it says about them, discuss it not because it is great, but because it makes them part of the class of people who discuss that sort of thing. Claim that you are perfect, and then you are, because any perceived imperfection would be an admission of incomplete understanding in an insufficiently deep reader. If you have any doubts of universal acceptance, do your best to insult the Institution, endorse hedonism, and massage your public's more ugly prejudices. Complete overthrow of Christianity is the minimum- see if you can do in all of morality at once. If your facts are wrong, people will admire your logic; if your logic is flawed, they will praise your perspective; if all else fails, they will turn to admiration of your style, celebrating every rhetorical trick as a triumph of literature.
The joy of liberal arts is that nothing is too meaningless to be profound, nothing too egotistical and subjective to be canonized, nothing too made-up to be Truth.
The joy of liberal arts is that nothing is too meaningless to be profound, nothing too egotistical and subjective to be canonized, nothing too made-up to be Truth.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Friday, January 20, 2006
Robespierre
Robespierre rocks! In a paranoid, terroristic, spittle-frothing dictatorial, meglomaniac sort of way.
Today's Civ class was all about Robespierre and his... philosophy, I guess. It sort of boiled down to this: All you ought to care about is the public good. And there is only one Truth about what that is. Which you would know if you used your reason properly. So if you don't agree with me, then you are wrong. Which means you are corrupt and selfish. Which is counter-revolutionary. Die!
Awesome, isn't it? We were trying to figure out how he would deal with practical disagreements or mistakes. It's sort of like the scene at the end of Quest for the Holy Grail:
Robespierre: WHAT....is the best way to run the country?
Other person: I....don't know....Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! (as they drag him off the guillotine)
R: WHAT...is the best holiday?
Another: Um....wait, don't tell me... Easter?
R: No! The Festival of the Supreme Being!
Other: Aaaaaaaaaaaah!
R: WHAT...has eight wheels, but can only carry one person?
Another: Um....?
R: A pair of roller-skates!
Other: But that isn't even invented yet!
R: Are you saying I'm wrong?
Other: Aaaaaaaaaaaah!
R: WHAT...do I remind you of?
Another: Um...wait...God?
R: Right. Darn! Well....what number am I thinking of now?
Another: Oh, go shoot yourself in the chin
Today's Civ class was all about Robespierre and his... philosophy, I guess. It sort of boiled down to this: All you ought to care about is the public good. And there is only one Truth about what that is. Which you would know if you used your reason properly. So if you don't agree with me, then you are wrong. Which means you are corrupt and selfish. Which is counter-revolutionary. Die!
Awesome, isn't it? We were trying to figure out how he would deal with practical disagreements or mistakes. It's sort of like the scene at the end of Quest for the Holy Grail:
Robespierre: WHAT....is the best way to run the country?
Other person: I....don't know....Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! (as they drag him off the guillotine)
R: WHAT...is the best holiday?
Another: Um....wait, don't tell me... Easter?
R: No! The Festival of the Supreme Being!
Other: Aaaaaaaaaaaah!
R: WHAT...has eight wheels, but can only carry one person?
Another: Um....?
R: A pair of roller-skates!
Other: But that isn't even invented yet!
R: Are you saying I'm wrong?
Other: Aaaaaaaaaaaah!
R: WHAT...do I remind you of?
Another: Um...wait...God?
R: Right. Darn! Well....what number am I thinking of now?
Another: Oh, go shoot yourself in the chin
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Nonsense
Once again, proving the joy of nonsense. A site generates trivia, based on a name you put into it.
Ten Top Trivia Tips about Rashi!
- Rashi does not have toes.
- Two grams of Rashi provide enough energy to power a television for over twenty-three hours.
- Pound for pound, hamburgers cost more than Rashi!
- Rashi invented the wheel in the fourth millennium BC.
- Rashi can last longer without water than a camel can.
- Rashiicide is the killing of Rashi.
- Rashi was first discovered by Alexander the Great in India, and introduced to Europe on his return.
- Rashi can smell some things up to six miles away!
- Only one person in two billion will live to be Rashi.
- Rashi can't sweat.
The Signs of Campus
A man standing by the bookstore this afternoon, with a bushy white beard and a woolen hat. He carries a sign that says "Genital Integrity is a Human Right" (wha? you ask) and beneath it "Ethical Doctors say no to Circumcision."
Sometimes, all you can do is look away and bite your lip to keep from laughing. Just one question- I wonder if this man also holds that life is a Human Right and Ethical Doctors ought to say no to euthanasia.
Sometimes, all you can do is look away and bite your lip to keep from laughing. Just one question- I wonder if this man also holds that life is a Human Right and Ethical Doctors ought to say no to euthanasia.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Battle of Titans
A couple of days ago, heard on the radio (Forbes on Radio, actually) about the epic battle that is soon to take place between Google and Microsoft. Oooooh, it just makes me happy all over. I'm not even entirely sure why, except that I like competition, big corporations, and battles of wits, which this is definitely going to be. Much as I like Microsoft, I am glad that somebody is going to be beating them into shape. That is what capitalism is all about.
And even more so since all the people in Silicon Valley are whining about how this is going to inflate salaries and how google lures away the best people and everything. Such awesmosity. May the best man win.
And even more so since all the people in Silicon Valley are whining about how this is going to inflate salaries and how google lures away the best people and everything. Such awesmosity. May the best man win.
Savage Goodness
Oh, that Michael Savage. Sometimes I wonder whether he exists for any purpose other than fueling blog posts. In the past hour, he issued forth a constant stream of silliness.
First, he berated somebody for not being enough in favor of national security stuff- "what, you want to wait until they blow up a baby store?" Yes, I also fear for the safety of the nation's baby stores.
Then there was various harrying of a movie producer. In addition to the normal leading, chatty questions, Savage inserted his own unique brand of hosting- five minute rants about how insane and annoying he (Savage) was. The poor producer. And then, with signature classiness, he cut him off in the middle of his answer to a caller's question- mid-sentence, in fact, to tell him that they only around thirty seconds left of the hour, which were all spent with Savage talking about him and the producer having dinner that evening. I mean, most hosts give a two-minute warning or ask them to just finish quickly. But Savage's secure little bubble wrap of ego keeps him above the petty niceties of the common man.
And then, best of all, he gave a short rant about Howard Stern's new radio show. How it was not radio, but garbage, how the man was a disgrace and stupid. It was almost too perfect to be true.
First, he berated somebody for not being enough in favor of national security stuff- "what, you want to wait until they blow up a baby store?" Yes, I also fear for the safety of the nation's baby stores.
Then there was various harrying of a movie producer. In addition to the normal leading, chatty questions, Savage inserted his own unique brand of hosting- five minute rants about how insane and annoying he (Savage) was. The poor producer. And then, with signature classiness, he cut him off in the middle of his answer to a caller's question- mid-sentence, in fact, to tell him that they only around thirty seconds left of the hour, which were all spent with Savage talking about him and the producer having dinner that evening. I mean, most hosts give a two-minute warning or ask them to just finish quickly. But Savage's secure little bubble wrap of ego keeps him above the petty niceties of the common man.
And then, best of all, he gave a short rant about Howard Stern's new radio show. How it was not radio, but garbage, how the man was a disgrace and stupid. It was almost too perfect to be true.
Monday, January 02, 2006
RCA Speech
The Lekutei Pshatim was advertising a speech about the Jewish perspective on international law, and, as I have little else to do with my time, I decided to go. So did Mother, Mike, and Dad, but this post is going to be mainly about me. For a change.
So what the ads neglected to say was that the thing was mainly a part of the RCA convention and therefore mostly for rabbis. As we walked in five minutes before it was supposed to begin, there were masses and masses of men in black suits (now that would make a great movie) sitting about listening to some telephone hook up thingy. There was one female, and thank goodness she was there or else I would not have realized that it was a mixed event. (I think she was the wife of one of the organizers). Later, more women trickled in and there was the actual speech. Very nice, good speech, very interesting actually. Then they announced a ten minute break followed by a speech about, and I quote, "Lighting the Menorah in the Shul". Grrrrrrr. There ought to be some sort of truth in advertising rule. Because if there had been maybe, just maybe, they would have mentioned the fact that it was a twenty minute speech followed by a chat about the role of the RCA for a shul rabbi. And therefore, maybe I would have guessed that all the WOMEN and actually, all of the laymen, were going to be leaving. And then maybe I wouldn't have been stuck all alone in the women's section, hoping that nobody would come along and yell at me. Which of course, they didn't, because they were all very nice people. The only -person who noticed me was one man who came over to offer source sheets. And then I had to sneak out of the speech after the shiur part, because I do not happen to be a shul rabbi or care all that much about the RCA. I don't think anyone noticed, even the speaker, who did not go to the effort of making eye contact with my half of the room, for which I was profoundly grateful, becuase that would have meant that he would be staring at me a lot.
But that is not the point of this rant, actually, inasmuch as it has a point. The point is that I wish that the organizers had made it clear exactly what each part of the process was going to involve, and exactly who was invited. I know that it might have been uncomfortable for them, but frankly, it's a lot more uncomfortable to cower on the women's section, hoping that you aren't accidently crashing an event that is not supposed to be mixed.
So what the ads neglected to say was that the thing was mainly a part of the RCA convention and therefore mostly for rabbis. As we walked in five minutes before it was supposed to begin, there were masses and masses of men in black suits (now that would make a great movie) sitting about listening to some telephone hook up thingy. There was one female, and thank goodness she was there or else I would not have realized that it was a mixed event. (I think she was the wife of one of the organizers). Later, more women trickled in and there was the actual speech. Very nice, good speech, very interesting actually. Then they announced a ten minute break followed by a speech about, and I quote, "Lighting the Menorah in the Shul". Grrrrrrr. There ought to be some sort of truth in advertising rule. Because if there had been maybe, just maybe, they would have mentioned the fact that it was a twenty minute speech followed by a chat about the role of the RCA for a shul rabbi. And therefore, maybe I would have guessed that all the WOMEN and actually, all of the laymen, were going to be leaving. And then maybe I wouldn't have been stuck all alone in the women's section, hoping that nobody would come along and yell at me. Which of course, they didn't, because they were all very nice people. The only -person who noticed me was one man who came over to offer source sheets. And then I had to sneak out of the speech after the shiur part, because I do not happen to be a shul rabbi or care all that much about the RCA. I don't think anyone noticed, even the speaker, who did not go to the effort of making eye contact with my half of the room, for which I was profoundly grateful, becuase that would have meant that he would be staring at me a lot.
But that is not the point of this rant, actually, inasmuch as it has a point. The point is that I wish that the organizers had made it clear exactly what each part of the process was going to involve, and exactly who was invited. I know that it might have been uncomfortable for them, but frankly, it's a lot more uncomfortable to cower on the women's section, hoping that you aren't accidently crashing an event that is not supposed to be mixed.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Fantasy Writing- Chapter 1
[I have just finished reading a certain fantasy book whose predictibility annoyed me so very much that it...inspired this novice's attempt at mockery. It is being composed extemporaneously, with little editing, so please give it a break.]
The morning was clear and blue, not unlike that fateful morning when he was four years old when his entire family, including the pets, had been brutally massacred by the evil, eeeeevil soldiers of the evil, eeeevil Lord Morduke, who had finished the brutal massacre by loudly commenting much fun it had been, just in case anyone might have been suspecting that they were only moderately evil or something like that. (It had run like this: "Duhhh....that was fun." "Yrk. Yuh." "I...like killing." "...Yuh." "Huh, huh." "Snort." They may be evil, but they were not overly smart.)
As Captain Zerbu rose and began to dress, he cast his mind back to the way that he had escaped the massacre, spent years in the forest being brought up by mountain lions (geographically confused mountain lions) and discovering his uncanny magical abilities, before fleeing to the capital to offer his services to the new, extremely noble king in his fight against the evil, eeeeeevil Lord Morduke, following the massacre of the mountain lions.
"Urgent news, sir!" shouted his aide, running into the tent. "The evil ar-" "Evil, eeeeeevil armies, Ned. Always remember, two evils, the second one drawn out, like so: evil, eeeeeevil." "Yessir. The evil, eeeeeevil-" "Better." "-thank you, sir-armies of the enemy are quickly approaching. They outnumber us at least twenty to one and bear strange and fearsome weaponry." By then they could hear the first hissing of arrows around the command tent. "Don't despair, Ned." "Do you have a plan, sir?" "Well...yes, I do! Listen up..." But then an arrow slammed into his back, piercing a lung. He gasped and fought to maintain his balance. And then another one tore into his head and he died. Died. Not "badly wounded, but don't you worry, because he'll recover soon enough, with nothing more than a picturesque scar and a new-found determination." Not "And then he woke up in a clean white room with a beautiful nurse who will quickly become our love interest, since we have forgotten to give him one thus far, but hey, we didn't have all that much time, okay?" Not even "But not until he delivered some touching last words." Just died. And so did Ned, by the way. And everyone else in the camp, because frankly, that's what happens when you're massively outnumbered, out-gunned and led by people who think with the it's-crazy-but-it-might-just-work strategy. Which means that we will have to get a lot of new people if we ever decide to do a chapter two.
The morning was clear and blue, not unlike that fateful morning when he was four years old when his entire family, including the pets, had been brutally massacred by the evil, eeeeevil soldiers of the evil, eeeevil Lord Morduke, who had finished the brutal massacre by loudly commenting much fun it had been, just in case anyone might have been suspecting that they were only moderately evil or something like that. (It had run like this: "Duhhh....that was fun." "Yrk. Yuh." "I...like killing." "...Yuh." "Huh, huh." "Snort." They may be evil, but they were not overly smart.)
As Captain Zerbu rose and began to dress, he cast his mind back to the way that he had escaped the massacre, spent years in the forest being brought up by mountain lions (geographically confused mountain lions) and discovering his uncanny magical abilities, before fleeing to the capital to offer his services to the new, extremely noble king in his fight against the evil, eeeeeevil Lord Morduke, following the massacre of the mountain lions.
"Urgent news, sir!" shouted his aide, running into the tent. "The evil ar-" "Evil, eeeeeevil armies, Ned. Always remember, two evils, the second one drawn out, like so: evil, eeeeeevil." "Yessir. The evil, eeeeeevil-" "Better." "-thank you, sir-armies of the enemy are quickly approaching. They outnumber us at least twenty to one and bear strange and fearsome weaponry." By then they could hear the first hissing of arrows around the command tent. "Don't despair, Ned." "Do you have a plan, sir?" "Well...yes, I do! Listen up..." But then an arrow slammed into his back, piercing a lung. He gasped and fought to maintain his balance. And then another one tore into his head and he died. Died. Not "badly wounded, but don't you worry, because he'll recover soon enough, with nothing more than a picturesque scar and a new-found determination." Not "And then he woke up in a clean white room with a beautiful nurse who will quickly become our love interest, since we have forgotten to give him one thus far, but hey, we didn't have all that much time, okay?" Not even "But not until he delivered some touching last words." Just died. And so did Ned, by the way. And everyone else in the camp, because frankly, that's what happens when you're massively outnumbered, out-gunned and led by people who think with the it's-crazy-but-it-might-just-work strategy. Which means that we will have to get a lot of new people if we ever decide to do a chapter two.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)