A Rubik's Cube of Blessings

Rubik Cube

For a thousand years the Israelites tended their flocks and minded their fields. They offered up their sacrifices to the priests, first in the movable tabernacle, and later at the temple in Jerusalem. They kept the kohanim in business and the kohanim kept them in good stead with their God, with varying degrees of success. They partied at Passover, Shavuot, and Sukhot, and if we deduce correctly from Torah, they observed Shabbat, said the Shema, and observed halakha in some manner. If we pay attention to the railings of the prophets, they did not always do so diligently or faithfully.

We’ve been studying Berakhot 30 – 35 and how, after destruction of the Temple by the Romans in 70 CE, the rabbis transformed Judaism from a God-facing practice involving sacrifice and observance of halakha, to a God-facing practice based on individual prayer, blessings, and observance of halakha.

We learned how the rabbis looked to Hannah as a model for ecstatic individual prayer, and how the rabbis, using svara (reason, logic, wit, and caring about the tradition), established blessings as the Architecture of Everything. Blessings redeem the world for our use. And what better place to start than with blessings over food?

How Many and What Kind of Blessings over Food?

At least one hundred blessings a day total, decided the rabbis. See, e.g. Menachot 43b. It’s a practice of mindfulness; it puts us in a state of awe.

But we are obsessive creatures. Jogging is good for health, we decide; and pretty soon we are running a few miles a day, running marathons, running faster and faster. It’s all we can think of. We pass the point of diminishing returns for health benefits. Our life balance falls off kilter. But we cannot help it, because we are obsessive creatures. The rabbis are not so different in their approach to prayers and blessings.

The Mishna established a template for different blessings over food: for fruits of the tree, fruits of the earth, herbs and vegetables, and blessings over the sacred foods of wine and bread [because they were present on the table in the Mishkan (tabernacle) and later in the Temple]. See Berakhot 35a, Steinsaltz p. 237. The rabbis of the Gemara expanded on this, and later generations of students added more and more (hair splitting) details. It’s to be thorough, said Peretz. It reflects joy of communal engagement over food; it’s not so different from how we take joy in gathering scores of cookbooks and hundreds of recipes we may never use. Food discussions never end.

There are many ingredients that make up the recipes for the correct blessings over food: there is the kind of food on the plate, the source of the food, and its point of origin. There is processed and non-processed food. There is food intended to be eaten and enjoyed, and food to be used as medicine. In Persia, where Talmud was developed, there was a great deal of medicinal food, and the rabbis made distinctions. There is the time when food is consumed: is it Shabbat, or a festival, or a regular weekday? Are we inside or outside the land of Israel? And there is bread and wine. The rabbis thought about and obsessed over all these distinctions.

For five centuries after destruction of the Temple, the rabbis of the Talmud engaged in extensive pilpul to expand the rules for blessings. Pilpul is that subtle and peculiar form of legal and conceptual reasoning that we find in Talmud. It evinces enthusiasm, inventiveness in a not always logically rigorous manner, a great love for the subject matter, and not a small amount of obsessiveness.

What we have in Talmud is a 500 year record of the Tanaim and Amoraim communing with God. The rabbis worked these ingredients like a Rubik’s cube puzzle, says Peretz. It’s how they talked to God. As Heschel (1907-1972) would later say “when I pray, I talk to God; when I study, God talks to me.” Talmud is a 500 year record of God talking to the rabbis in the Heschel sense.

The rabbis studied on these prayers over food. As Cliff Detz put it in class: “They looked at the food on their plate and they saw the cosmos.  If the sky expands infinitely, variety expands infinitely.” For the rabbis of the Talmud, says Peretz, it was a form of communion with God.

Turning the Rubik’s Cube with Vines and Olive Trees

In setting up the template, the Mishna says: “over fruits that grow on a tree, one recites—‘Who creates fruit of the tree, with the exception of wine.’” See Steinsaltz Berakhot 35a, p. 237. That’s clear enough. But the rabbis turn this exception over and examine it closely.

So what’s up with wine? The simple answer is wine was a sacramental offering required to be on the alter in the holy of holies in the Mishkan (tabernacle). See, e.g. Exodus 29:38-40 (“Now this you shall offer upon the altar: . . . a fourth of a hin of wine for a libation.”)

Aside 1:  A hin is a liquid measure containing 12 logs, or about eight quarts. So a fourth of a hin would be about two quarts.

But the rabbis are not looking for a simple answer. In their conversation with God they attempt to reason their way to the exception for wine: “Who creates fruit of the tree, with the exception of wine. . .”

400 year old grapevine, Maridor Slovenia

They start with the assumption that grape vines are “trees,” says Peretz. That’s because when grape vines are old, they look a lot like small olive trees. In the dry environment of Persia, Valley of Nineveh (near present day Mosul), the Assyrians made wine from very old grape vines that lived 500+ years.

Aside 2: In modern viticulture, with proper care, grape vines can grow for more than 120 years, although yield decreases after 20 years. Commercial operations seem to be based on a 30 year life expectancy for a vineyard.

Olive trees are even longer lived, many have been around for more than 1,000 years. Olive trees and old vines, that’s what the rabbis were looking at.  

Next we notice that the Mishna sets up another category confusion—even if olive trees and grape vines are both trees, “wine” is not a “fruit” of the tree: wine is derived from the fruit of the tree, just like olive oil is derived from the fruit of the tree. And that’s where the rabbis turn their attention.

“The rabbis taught,” says the Gemara, “over olive oil one recites ‘Who creates fruit of the tree,’ just as he does over the fruit itself.” 

So the real question presented is why do we say a different blessing over olive oil and wine, given that (in the rabbis’ minds) they are both “fruits of the tree,” and they are both “changed for the better” from the fruit of the tree? And the rabbis work the Rubik’s cube but fail to properly align the colored squares:

What’s the difference between wine and olive oil? Could the difference be nourishment? Mar Zutra suggested: wine nourishes; olive oil does not nourish! But others are quick to deny the distinction: olive oil, too, is nourishment—only water and salt are not nourishment. No help here.

And what about satisfaction? “Is it that wine satisfies, while oil does not satisfy?” And the rabbis thought of Rava who would drink wine all day on the eve of Passover to stimulate his heart, and so that he might eat more matza. Could it be Rava said “I can’t get no satisfaction,” as Mick Jagger sang? But no, that’s not it. The Gemara answers: “A lot of wine stimulates, a little satisfies!”  So no distinction in their satisfaction.

The rabbis turn their Rubik’s cube to bring bread into the picture:

The rabbis continue, doesn’t it say in Gemara that “wine gladdens the heart of man, and bread fills man’s heart.” So isn’t it bread that satisfies, and wine doesn’t satisfy but gladden the heart?  But that’s no proof says one: wine satisfies and gladdens both; bread satisfies but does not gladden.

It’s playful and inventive, but the logic wouldn’t pass muster in a Hellenistic gymnasium! Communing over wine and olive oil, the rabbis have played with their Rubik’s cube but they are farther from resolution than when they started, suggests Peretz.

In attempting a reasoned distinction to account for the different treatment of olive oil and wine the rabbis have made an academic proof that wine gladdens, satisfies, and nourishes. It’s like a meal unto itself this says: “So, now we’ll do a birkat HaMazon (the blessing after a meal) over wine?” they ask rhetorically. Nah. The Rubik cube just moved—and the colors did not align because “No one does that!” the rabbis note. No one says birkat HaMazon after sharing a bottle of wine at the café with a friend. “No one does that!” is another source of knowledge.

The quandary is not being resolved; the argument is not going anywhere.

And Rav Nahman bar Yitzhak said to Rava: If one based his meal on wine, what is the ruling? Do we say Grace after meals as we do after bread?  And Rava replied: “When Elijah comes and says whether or not it can serve as the basis for a meal, this will be resolved. For now, his opinion is irrelevant; by the opinion of all other men we don’t say grace after a meal based on wine.

In other words, “We’re going to cancel the argument,” says Rava. Using  deduction (however playful or inventive) we came to no answer. And sometimes we just have to stop, and kick the can down the road. And no, we won’t edit this out of Talmud, because God has been speaking to us!

Oracular Devices: Urim Vetummim, High Priests, and Elijah

“When Elijah comes’” is a standard concept that rabbis resort to when it’s unclear what halakha requires, says the sidebar on p. 242.  Irresolvable questions get kicked out to Elijah, says Peretz: but not important ones.  Things like what blessing do we say when.  Can we make a ruling that people will follow?  When in doubt we follow the ways of the world: Derech Eretz (“No one does that. When Elijah comes, he will figure it out.   

For example, it is said there is a dispute whether, at the Passover Seder we drink four cups of wine, or five. We follow Derech Eretz—we drink four cups, but we put a fifth cup out for Elijah, which remains untouched. When the Messiah comes, Elijah will anoint him and they will resolve the question.

The idea of ending disputes about minor questions of halakhic interpretation (until they are resolved by Elijah), says the sidebar on p. 242, originates in the book of Ezra. The book of Ezra, says Peretz, represents a liminal moment between the first exile to Babylon (~586 BCE) and return to the land of Israel (~538 BCE). During that half-century irresolvable questions arose regarding halakha, as Jews were making their transition from the Babylonian period back to the land of Israel. They did not always see eye-to-eye with those who never left. They were bringing Torah developed in Babylon and Persia back to the land of Israel. In this liminal period they would only have to wait until a high priest with Urim Vetummim would appear to resolve conflicts. He would have the last word.

Aside 3: Urim Vetummim are a mysterious inscription in the breastplate of a high priest. They are oracular devices; dice on the high priest that gives him the last word, says Peretz. Perhaps these high priests and their oracular devices could resolve conflicts of halakhah.  But today, and since the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 AD, we don’t have high priests and no Urim Vetummim. So until we have a high priest again (the Messiah) who can resolve some of these issues, we’re going to hold off. And this giving arguments a rest allowed the community to rebuild.

Aside 4: Derech Eretz, literally means “The way of the land.” The phrase also appears in Mishna, Tractate Avoth (“"Beautiful is the study of Torah with derech eretz, as involvement with both makes one forget sin") and there it refers to earning a livelihood and getting along appropriately with others. In Germany in the 19^th century the term became associated with Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808-88) a founder of the Modern Orthodox movement.

The Rubik’s cube the rabbis were playing with is not orthogonal, we decided: it has more than one solution; it has redundancies, it does not resolve all disputes, the colors never fall fully into place.

Elijah the Prophet

Elijah the prophet is discussed in the books of Kings and Malachi. He was an early defender of the Israelite God Yaweh against the Canaanite rival Ba’al. He lived in Northern Israel during the reign of King Ahab (871-852 BCE) and his theophoric name is a combination of “El” (God, might, power) and “Jah” a shortened form of “Yaweh.” And Yaweh performed miracles through Elijah.

For example:

The Lord sustained Elijah “by the brook of Cherith,” east of the Jordan, by having ravens bring to him meat and bread in the morning and evening. 1 Kings 17:1-7. (Sounds a lot better than Manna) A drought came and the Lord directed Elijah to go to Zarepath (on the coast between Tyre and Sidon, modern day Lebanon) and there the Lord commanded a widow to feed Elijha. 1 Kings 17:9. The widow had but a handful of meal and a little oil, but Elijah said “make me a little cake of it, and one for yourself,” and the jar of meal was not spent, and the cruse of oil did not fail, and he and the widow’s household ate of it for many days. 1 Kings 17:8-16.

And Elijah resurrected the widow’s son, and she said: “Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth.”  1 Kings 17:24.

And, of course, Elijah ascended to heaven. As Elijah was ready to die, he travelled with his student Elisha back to the Jordan River. And when they came to the Jordan River “Elijah took his mantle, and rolled it up, and struck the water, and the water was parted to the one side and to the other, till the two of them could go over on dry ground. [The Red Sea all over again] And as they talked and walked, “a chariot of fire and horses of fire separated the two of them. And Elijah went up by a whirlwind into heaven.”

Elijah plays a central role in Jewish eschatology, as set forth in the Book of Malachi. It’s not so different from Revelations:

“For behold, the day comes, burning like an oven, when all the arrogant and all evildoers will be stubble; the day that comes shall burn them up, says the Lord of hosts, also that it will leave them neither root nor branch. But for you who fear my name the sun of righteousness shall rise, with healing in its wings. You shall go forth leaping like calves from the stall. And you shall tread down the wicked, for they will be ashes under the soles of your feet, on the day when I act, says the Lord of hosts.

“Remember the law of my servant Moses, the statutes and ordinances that I commanded him at Horeb for all Israel.

“Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes. And he will turn the hearts of children to their fathers, lest I come and smite the land with a curse.”

Malachi 4:1-6

In the meantime, Elijah has work to do. Stories in the aggadah, throughout the various collections of rabbinic writings, including the Babylonian Talmud, portray Elijah as exceedingly pious and zealous. And like all zealots he was abundantly critical of his fellow Israelites.  He berated the Israelites, even as he was ascending to heaven, and he did it with such excess that, finally, God has had enough. God scolds him, and refuses to allow him to enter heaven:  “You are going to stay right where you are and you’re going to have to watch this irredeemable people redeem themselves,” says God.  “Every time they say a blessing, you have to be there and bear witness, until they do it enough that they redeem themselves completely, and the Messiah comes—at which point you have to anoint the Messiah.”  

Elijah is busy like Santa Claus on Christmas, all year round.

That’s God’s “curse” on Elijha. He has to do penance. He has to be present for every redemptive act. And so he can be found at every Bris (male circumcision at 8 days of age), at every Havdalah service, at the closing of every Sabbath, and at every Passover service. He serves as an intermediary between us and heaven. Issues we can’t resolve “will get resolved when the Messiah comes,” and it is Elijah who will be heralding and anointing the Messiah.

Aside 5. At the top of page 243 it states: “Previously the Gemara cited. . . .” It uses the word Gufa. It’s a signal that we are about to enter into a connected set of arguments; the section closes with “the Gemara reconciles . . .” and they use the word Peshita  (obviously!). That is were it ends—near the bottom of page 243. It is one topic they are dealing with. 

Our Rubik’s Cube

“Previously (gufa),” say the rabbis, “Gemara cited the halakha that one recites the blessing: Who creates fruit of the tree, over olive oil.” And the rabbis then turn their attention to other permutations of olive oil: 

·      What would we say if we guzzled olive oil plain?

·      What if we anoint ourselves with the olive oil of the teruma unknowingly?

·      What if we dip bread in olive oil?

·      What if we boil beets in water and mix it with oil and drink it for medicine, as an anigeron for a sore throat?  Does it make a difference if we drink it or gargle? What blessing do we say?

·      What if we eat plain flour, what would be the blessing?

So many things to bless, so little time . . . . So here is some practical advice, says Peretz:

·      A Meal with bread:  we say Hamotzi lechem min haaretz (who brings forth bread from the earth) before the meal.

·      A meal without bread:  we say shehakol nihiyah bed ‘varoh (by whose words all things came to be).

·      After a meal:  whether it includes bread or not, we give thanks with the Birkhat HaMazon blessing.  There are three major paragraphs; it got longer over time. The blessing is different when it’s a normal daily meal than when it’s a feast (Suda). If it’s a wedding, funeral, bris, or any festival where the community gathers, then Birkhat HaMazon references the messianic hope for Jerusalem: “May we see this and soon in our day!”

·      For holidays only (e.g. Shabbat, Passover, Shavuot, Sukhot):  We recall that the alter had sacramental bread and wine. Therefore, we say a separate blessing for wine ahead of the meal.  For a normal weekday meal, if we have wine with dinner, the Hamotzi covers it.   

Bless, eat, be satisfied, and bless, it's the architecture of everything. 

The Mishna’s mission was to try and make Judaism work based on prayer, blessings, and observance of halakhah; the Gemara, already in a more complicated world, was still trying to make it work. By the time of Maimonedes (1135-1204) the Rubik’s cube of blessings and halakhah had mushroomed. So Maimonedes attempted to cut through a lot of this, to make the task of observance manageable, with publication of his Mishneh Torah.

The rise of the Reform movement in Germany was also to say “It’s not working! No one is going to Shul.” It’s not like there were a lot of happy orthodox communities in Bremen, and they decided to switch to Reform, says Peretz. The tradition was dying. Hasidism, too, arose because Orthodox Judaism was dying. And so you had these movements arise to retool. To restart. That’s also part of a living community.

If we are to engage with this tradition in a meaningful manner, we have to make it work for us. The Rubik’s cube of Talmud and this God-facing practice of prayer, blessings, and halakha is there for us. We can follow an adept; we can pick up the Rubik’s cube if we will. We can do our best to make the colors align for us. 

We left off at the bottom of page 243, Berakhot 36a.  Next class is March 5, 2017.  

100 Blessings a Day: A Practice of Mindfulness

Our Talmud Circle met on January 8, 2017, the 202^nd anniversary of the Battle of New Orleans. The wind howled like the voice of God at Sinai. We were not deterred. We are in Berakhot 35b and the rabbis are concerned about work-life balance, how to approach their study of Torah, and the role of blessings. They, and Rabbi Peretz, set forth a vision of blessings as a practice of mindfulness.

Worker/Workers from Judah Touro to Mark Zuckerberg

Sanctuary of Touro Synagogue,
New Orleans (built 1908)

Judah Touro (1775-1854), the son of a Hazzan at a Sephardic synagogue in Newport, Rhode Island, moved to New Orleans in 1801. When the United States acquired the city in the Louisiana Purchase two years later, business boomed. Touro was all in. He enlisted in Andrew Jackson’s army and hauled ammunition in the War of 1812. Wounded in the war, he survived to become a wealthy merchant, shipper, real estate mogul, and, eventually, philanthropist. He donated for the construction of a free public library in New Orleans in 1824. He purchased a Christian Church building, assumed its debts, and allowed the congregation to use the building rent-free in perpetuity. “I am a friend to religion” he explained to a friend. He founded a home for the poor and a hospital. He purchased slaves in order to free them. And at his death he donated more than $500,000 to various institutions, including Jewish institutions in 14 states, (the equivalent of $2 billion today as a percentage of GDP).

Touro thrived in the American milieu. His philanthropy embraced Christian, secular, as well as Jewish causes. In 1840 he gave $10,000 for the restoration of the Bunker Hill memorial and was eulogized for it by Daniel Webster. He gave money for the assistance of persecuted Christians in Jerusalem. Through all this “Touro remained a devout Jew, although for most of his life he was without a synagogue,” says his Philanthropy Roundtable profile. It seems safe to say that in the taxonomy of Rabbi Peretz’s cousin in Los Angeles, he was an assimilated earner/earner, and a philanthropist.

Is it enough? Was Judah Touro a good Jew? The rabbis wrestled with the question.

Rabbi Shimon Ben Yohai and the Learner/Learner Model of Life-Balance

Rabbi Shimon Ben Yohai and his son would not have been impressed by Judah Touro and his philanthropy.

Berakhot, 35b (p. 241 of Steinsaltz):

Rabbi Shimon ben Yohai says: Is it possible that a person plows in the plowing season and sows in the sowing season and harvests in the harvest season and threshes in the threshing season and winnows in the windy season?. . . . What will become of Torah? Rather, one must dedicate himself exclusively to Torah at the expense of other endeavors.

Shimon Ben Yohai was a second century Tannaim. He is the fourth most mentioned sage in the Mishna. God’s work is to study Torah, he said. All the time. Forget about gainful employment, forget about the business of merchant, shipper, and real estate developer.

[Aside 1: Ben Yohai and his son, to be sure, have some textual support for their extreme position. Isaiah 61:5-7 says: “Aliens shall stand and feed your flocks, foreigners shall be your plowmen and vinedressers; but you shall be called the priests of the Lord, men shall speak of you as the ministers of our God; you shall eat the wealth of the nations, and in their riches you shall glory. Instead of your shame, you shall have a double portion.” It’s a neat trick if you can pull it off, but earner/earners from Judah Touro to Mark Zuckerberg will tell you, you don’t get to be a big league philanthropist by ignoring the ways of the world.]

Ben Yohai was critical of Roman administration, as we might expect based on his extreme and uncompromising position. He was forced to flee. With his son he went to hide in a cave. They found a great cave, the best cave, as our president might say. A carob tree and well with sweet water graced the entrance to the cave and this sustained them for thirteen years. They removed all their clothes and buried themselves up to their necks and studied all day. They became all mind—no body. They were head cases.

Ben Yohai and his son emerged twelve years later, after Hadrian (emperor 117 CE – 138 CE) has died. Pax Romana has been restored, the Bar Kokhba revolt is over; there are even attempts to rebuild the temple in Jerusalem. Ben Yohai and his son emerged into this word like Rip Van Winkle. As they looked out they were disappointed that people appeared to be living normal, assimilated lives; why are they not rending their clothes over loss of the temple, they wondered?  Ben Yohai and his son burned the fields with their laser vision; they burned people alive, and God said “back in the cave!”

Entrance to ben Yohai tomb

 There was more to be learned.

[Aside 2:  Shimon ben Yohai is held in unique reverence by the Kabbalistic tradition. It is said that he was sent to Rome where he exorcised a demon from the emperor’s daughter. It is said he died on the 33^rd day of Omer, and that on his deathbed he revealed deep kabbalistic secrets that form the basis of the Zohar.  Daylight was miraculously extended until he completed his final teaching and died. There is an annual pilgrimage to his tomb located near Meron, in Northern Israel. There, it is a tradition that three year old boys are given their first haircut (upsherin) at this celebration.]

[Aside 3. The days of Omer (seven weeks plus one) are the days between Passover and Shavuot. See Leviticus 23:15-16, “And you shall count from the morrow after the Sabbath, from the day that you brought the sheaf of the wave offering; seven full weeks shall they be, counting fifty days to the morrow after the seventh Sabbath; then you shall present a cereal offering of new grain to the Lord.” The counting starts on the second day of Passover, and the idea is to prepare to mind in anticipation of the commemoration of the giving of Torah at Mt. Sinai.]

[Aside 4. The edicts of Roman emperors automatically expired upon the death of the emperor. The new emperor started with a clean slate. It’s a feature of empire that Donald J. Trump appears intent on resurrecting.]

Rabbi Yishmael and the Learner/Earner model of Life-Balance

The sages recognized that all study and no work (and play?) was not workable. Being extreme is not the answer.

Rabbi Yishmael (d. ~135 CE) sets forth a more reasonable work-life-balance option. Berakhot 35b, (Steinsaltz p. 241):

The Sages taught: What is the meaning of . . . “And you shall gather your grain?” Because it is stated: “This Torah shall not depart from your mouths, and you shall contemplate in it day and night.” I might have thought (this means one should study all the time). But the verse states “and you shall gather your grain, your wine and your oil.” (In doing so) we adopt the way of the world; we set aside time not only for Torah, but also for work. This is the statement of Rabbi Yishmael.

Rabbi Abaye (280 – 340 CE) summarized the dispute a couple centuries after ben Yohai, suggesting that studying Torah to the exclusion of all else can lead to ruin:

Many have acted in accordance with the opinion of Rabbi Yishmael, and combined working for a living and learning Torah (and they were successful in their Torah study). Many others have acted in accordance with the opinion of Ben Yohai and were not successful….

And Rabbi Rava (280-352 CE) made a point of doing something about it: he closed his yeshiva during the planting and harvest seasons. “Engage in your agricultural work so that you will not be preoccupied with your sustenance all year,” he said.

Work-life-balance is good, the rabbis taught. Even ben Yohai, after another 12 months in his cave, caught on. When he and his son emerged from their cave a second time they observed a man running home for his Shabbas meal with two bunches of myrtle. “What is this!” said the son, “the myrtle is only meant for Sukkot; there is no mitzvah to bring fragrant myrtle home for Shabbat.” “Idolatry!” says the son; but ben Yohai interrupts him and says: “No. How great is Israel that they have increased how to celebrate Shabbat.” After 13 years in the cave, Rabbi ben Yohai had mellowed.

Now he can leave the cave. He has learned how to live in this temporal world, even while paying attention to the eternal world. He has learned how to be spiritual and practical at the same time.

Samuel Hirszenberg (1865-1908), Talmudists School
Before coffee?/Wikicommons

A Practice of Mindfulness: 100 Brachot Trigger a State of Awe

There is a requirement to recite at least 100 brachot (blessings) each day, said the rabbis. It puts us in a state of awe. It sets the tone. Buber talks about this, says Peretz: Buber encounters everything in the world in a way that sanctifies. Indeed, it is the essence of Hasidism to be in a state of awe. To encounter everything in life in away that makes it holy brings us into a state of awe. It changes us. 

Say your blessings, be in awe, follow God’s path. It’s a curriculum.

Samuel Holdheim
(1806-1860)

People can differ over how to engage in this curriculum. We have different attention spans, said Peretz.  There is a tension point between different liturgical movements (reform, orthodox, etc.) that centers on the efficacy of liturgy. It’s not about theological differences. For example, David Ellison recounts a story about Rabbi Samuel Holdheim who was serving a Reform community in Bremen. After completing an abbreviated one-hour High Holiday service for his congregation, he was spied in a café completing the service, the rest of the traditional prayer book, on his own. Holdheim was struggling between his role as a community leader and his own spiritual needs. But the difference between him and his congregation was not theological; the difference was about the extent of the practice, over how to engage in the curriculum of mindfulness for it to be effective.

Peretz directs us to Deuteronomy 10:12-13: “And now, Israel, what does the Lord your God require of you, but to fear (be in awe of) the Lord your God, to walk in all his ways, to love him, to serve the Lord our god with all your heart and with all your soul, and to keep the commandments and statues of the Lord, which I command you this day for your good.”

“For your good.”

[Aside 5:  The passage is generally translated with the word “fear,” but it really means “awe.”]

There is a link between some of the early prophets and Deuteronomy—in terms of language and intent. The opening here (“what does the Lord your God require of you, but to fear (be in awe of) the Lord your God”) is familiar from the book of Micah: “What does God want of you—to seek justice, walk humbly, and follow your God.” This suggests an aspirational relationship. We aspire to be in awe; we aspire to seek justice, walk humbly, and follow our God. 

[Aside 6:  At the online site Naaleh they add the following:

There is a requirement to recite a minimum of 100 brachot a day. The end of the book of Shmuel recounts how 100 Jews were dying every day in a plague. To counteract this, King David enacted that every Jew should recite 100 brachot each day. The prophet relates that after the Jews began doing this the plague stopped.

The Gemara mentions another source for this enactment. In Parshat Eikev the Torah says, “V’ata Yisrael mah Hashem elokecha shoel m’imcha.” What does Hashem ask of you? The Gemara says mah can be also read as meah (100). Hashem asks of us to fear Him, to cling to Him, to love Him and the way to reach this is through reciting the meah brachot.

The Kitzur (condensed code of Jewish law) says that there are 100 curses mentioned in Devarim, 98 specific curses and two general curses. The 100 brachot protect us from these curses.

On a regular day most of the brachot can be covered by the shemone esrei, which is recited three times a day. Some authorities are lenient and count another 19 with the repetition of the shemone esrei. But most say not to rely on this. ]

Deuteronomy 10:12-13 uses the pronoun “you” in both its plural and singular sense when it suggests “get ye in a state of awe!” What does God require of “you” is ostensibly addressed to “you Israel,” but “you” is also singular—meaning each one of us. But Deuteronomy does not tell us whether to engage like Rabbi Samuel Holdheim in Bremen, or like his congregants.

And as we recall from last month, we go to an adept to learn how to engage in this practice of mindfulness. We don’t go to a “sage,” which connotes an old white man; we go to “an adept” like our yoga teacher, four years ahead of us.  It is a model of copying: we do what they do.

Rabbi Samuel Holdheim completing his practice by himself in a café in Bremen notwithstanding, it’s a communal activity. We educate our children. It requires schools and teachers, and entire infrastructure of urban life. It leads us to urban life. “How many schoolhouses do you have?” asks one. “None” was the answer.  “It’s a dead town, I’m not coming,” was the conclusion. This is a Judean idea. We need scholars around centers, we need broad literacy, we need education.

The camping movement is part of the program of following adepts. A parent asks, “What did you learn at camp?”  The child answers, “We celebrated Shabbat, we danced, we sang.”  We learn by doing, by following role models.

Following adepts at Camp Coleman
Shabbat, 2011 (Georgia)

Following a role model is accessible to anyone. In the United Sates the Orthodox have been most engaged in teaching disabled students; any child can learn by modeling. None are hidden away. We can teach them by modeling.

[Aside 8:  In creating Judaism after the destruction of the Temple, the rabbis replaced sacrifice and the tithe for the Levites at the temple with prayer and blessings. If we are awake 16 hours a day, and we are engaged in prayer and blessings for 1.6 hours/day, we think of this as our tithe, our offering.] 

A hundred blessings does not take all day. As we wake up in the morning we recite the Modeh Ani (thank you for my soul), then when we hear the cock crow, or our alarm clock ring, we say a blessing for opening our eyes, we say a blessing over getting out of bed, over getting dressed, over putting on our shoes. We recite the Amidah and its 19 blessings three times a day. They don’t take long, these blessings; but they make us mindful of our actions. 

Is it a Belief Statement, or Observed Correlation?

We should be in a state of awe says Deuteronomy and say the rabbis; and if we are in a state of awe, our determined outcome will be to follow God’s path. It’s inevitable. This is an Aristotelian ideal, says Peretz: ethics is a curriculum (and a practice) that produces a moral outcome. That observation runs deep in Talmud, says Peretz.

But is it a statement of faith, or is it observed correlation?

Is awe sufficient, or do we also need laws and mitzvoth: rewards and punishment? The discussion back and forth through time between ben Yohai, Yishamel, Abaye, and Rava seems to point towards “we do this because it’s effective.” In Deuteronomy, and in Berakhot 35b, we see the rabbis wrestle with the curriculum. What should we teach? What is the curriculum? What works? And they come up with a plan: a hundred blessings a day. . . because it works. . . like Four Hugs a Day that they sang of in my daughter’s pre-school.

It’s an old debate, suggests Peretz: is humanism a natural outcome of a state of being? Do we just get there naturally on our own from a state of awe, or do we also require mitzvot and a scheme of rewards and punishments? The debates in Talmud reflect this tension between that which is fixed and formalized, but not felt; and that which is felt but not formalized.

We explored the question “Can we do away with the 100 blessings once we are in a state of awe?” The answer is “No.” And we borrow from meditation practice: nothing stays with us. If we stop the practice we drift. There is a balance between the practice of saying blessings, and the outcome which is awe; but awe is not permanent, it drifts.

“I was in a state of awe for the Raiders,” said Peretz; “it’s gone. Just like that. The Season, gone!” Another season will come back.

That all sounds like observed correlation, cause and effect, not dogma. We can look back and find a model of success. We can investigate what are successful models. Our practice of mindfulness is not revealed by God—it is based on practical success.

Summarizing, rabbi bar bar Hana said:

“Come and see that the later generations are not like the earlier generations. The earlier generations made their Torah fixed and their work occasional (and both work and Torah) was successful for them. The later generations who made their work fixed and their Torah occasional (found neither work nor Torah) was successful for them.”

[Aside 9: The play on “earlier generations/later generations” is a common trope in Talmud to illustrate a point—here that “what works” is to have Torah as a fixed practice, and to work as needed]

[Aside 10:  the word “fixed” in the quotation above is translated in Steinsaltz as “permanent.” “Fixed” is the correct meaning]

Blessed are the Cheesemakers

Some of the rabbis of the Mishna may have been just out of earshot of the Sermon on the Mount, but they were at least 1200 years removed from any revelations at Mt. Sinai. There is a dispute between Rabbi Moses Maimonedes, the Rambam (1135-1204 CE), and Rabbi Moses ben Nahman, the Ramban (1194-1270 CE) about the effect of our remoteness from revelation.

The Ramban maintained that the further we get away from Sinai, we have more difficulty. That’s why we have disputes. We are unsure what the correct rules are. Our halakhic issues and difficulties, he said, will be finally resolved when the Mashiach comes. The Ramban sees a collection of textual difficulties which must be resolved.

The Rambam, by contrast, said “No, things are getting better all the time. We have more material. We have a clear document of what happened at Sinai, the Torah, and we keep adding to it. And the more we have, the more wisdom we have.” We have experience and we have observed what works. The Rambam sees a growing body of wisdom to be pursued and enjoyed.

Both of these views are in Talmud, but they were clarified in the 12^th & 13^th century philosophies of these prominent Jewish rabbis. These two thoughts stay with us today.

Idolatry and the Consumer Society

Idolatry is to worship an object as though it were God. It’s what King Jeroboam ben Nevat (r. 928-907 BCE) was guilty of when he reintroduces idols into the temple. Idolatry reduces God to an object we can define and control. It’s a strange practice because it takes God, who is infinite and eternal, and reduces God to a finite and temporal object. It’s objectifying God to a consumer good. 

[Aside 9:  A Jeroboam is also a large bottle of wine; equivalent of six standard 750 ml bottles.  “Curiously, the historic convention for naming wine bottle sizes is based on the names of biblical kings.” See Wine Folly.]

That’s not what we do when we say a blessing over food, or some object. When we say a blessing, the object does not change. We change; we can now engage it because we’ve said the blessing.  We can move, the apple cannot. We can change our condition. A practice of mindfulness can never be idolatry, it can only be more or less efficacious, says Peretz.

And Peretz points us to Maimonides, and his Safer ha-mitzvot, which seems to agree:

“I have already told you, my child that all glory, majesty, good, power, and blessings are God’s. The words of humanity, and all our deeds, good or bad, do not increase or diminish God. Therefore, you must learn that our constant recitation of blessings in praise of God does not mean, as it would appear, that blessings added to the One who requires no addition; we must seek to understand the intent of this matter of blessings.”

Maimonides tells us that the blessing does not (and is not intended to) affect God. Blessings are mindfulness—they are meant to affect our state of mind, our state of being—we are not attempting to affect the object of the blessing. For this reason, blessings can never be idolatry.

The Priorities of San Francisco Jews

Adolph Sutro (1830-'98)

When Jews arrived in San Francisco, beginning in 1848, their first communal organization was the Eureka Benevolent Society (1850) (precursor to Jewish Family and Children’s Services). Their first move was to take care of the widows, orphans, and strangers.  Their second philanthropic organization was Mt. Zion Hospital (1887). Sherith Israel built its first temple in 1854.  Places of recreation, like the Sutro baths (1894) followed.

What Happens when the Temple is Rebuilt?

We have been studying how rabbinic Judaism represented a huge change away from a practice based on sacrifice and tithes in the temple to a transportable practice based on prayer and blessings. We want to say this is a “development,” but there is the nagging fact that the rabbis always wanted to keep open the door to restore the temple and sacrifice.

When Jews did return, some early Zionists wanted to throw out all the trappings that Judaism had assumed outside the land of Israel: “just farm, baby, farm” as Al Davis might have said. “Farm and follow the biblical calendar,” they said. These pioneers wanted to throw out the Talmudic gloss (and dross). “We speak the language, we live on the land. It’s enough. Who needs these prayers and blessings the rabbis came up with in Babylonia and Vilnius?”

But today Judaism is practiced both inside and outside the land of Israel. Jews have brought back their practices from Vilnius to Jerusalem, and as Heraclitus observed, “no man ever steps in the same river twice.” There is no pre-Talmudic home to return to.

“And the study of Torah is equal to them all, because it leads to them all.”

What should we keep and what should we discard? Let experience be our guide suggest the rabbis in Berakhot 35b.

Our next class is Sunday, February 5, 2017.