Girsa d'yankusa

Jewish tradition has a very strong emphasis on "girsa d'yankusa" - the things you learn when you're young. On a fresh, impressionable mind, things make a much greater impact - so it's considered really important to start out on the right foot.

I can see how true this is of myself. I grew up in a pretty liberal household in South Africa, and the things I learned under my parents' tutelage have been the things that have most stuck with me in my life. Things like basic menschkeit and honesty. Having an open mind, and encouraging questioning. A deep seated revulsion at racism of any sort - I will never forget the telling off I got when, as a 6-year-old, I repeated a racist term I had learned from my schoolmates! I also imbibed a culture of activism, and having the courage to stand up for what you believe in, especially from my mother, who was arrested several times for anti-apartheid activities. People who haven't lived in a fear society usually don't fully appreciate just what kind of mesirus nefesh it takes to be a dissident, and actively work against the regime. My parents took great risks to do what they believed was right, and I can only pray that I can be a worthy heir to this spirit.

I only became religious at age 20, long past my "girsa d'yankusa" stage. And while I have intellectually accepted the ol malchus shamayim, internalizing it to the degree that it is a part of my personality is much more of a struggle, particularly where my religion might conflict with some of the things I learned as a child. I instinctively look for accommodations, and it's a constant challenge for me to be conscious of where the accommodation is justified, and where it's just a case of cognitive dissonance.

For example, I learned to live and let live. If someone else wants to do something that you disapprove of, unless it materially affects you, you should leave him alone to make his own choices. Judaism, on the other hand, is pretty strong about coercion, to the point where (in the presence of an authorized court) a Jew who eats pork can be flogged to within an inch of his life, and he can be sentenced to death for driving his car on shabbos. If that's not coercion, I don't know what is. But here I am, openly criticizing the ban on pork sales, advocating for civil marriage legislation, and quite willing to give directions to a Jew who is driving his car on shabbos. In each one of these instances I have, I believe, sound halachic reasons to back up my position, whether because the benefit of the coercion is outweighed by the loss, or because by giving the guy directions you are actually minimizing the chillul shabbos. But my position is not mainstream; I venture you'd find that most religious Jews would reflexively take exactly the opposite position to me in all of the above issues.

I was brought up with democracy as a fundamental value. People choose their leaders, and the leaders are answerable to their electorate, who will punish them if they fail to perform. Contrast Judaism, which on the face of things, does not have such a concept as leaders elected from the bottom up. The Jewish ideal is top-down: a king, appointed by Divine edict through a prophet, succeeded by his biological heirs, and wielding practically absolute power, albeit constrained by his own requirement to keep all the mitzvos of the Torah, as well as certain checks and balances that are under the control of the Sanhedrin. And the Sanhedrin itself is certainly not elected; it is appointed in much the same way (lehavdil elef havdolos) as the Israeli Supreme Court, only more so - there is not even a judicial selection committee for lay people to have their say; new dayanim on the Sanhedrin are appointed only by the existing members!

I reconcile this by saying that the Sanhedrin represented an unbroken chain of command from Moshe Rabbeinu and the 70 elders, who in turn appointed the best possible people to fill any vacancies. If you have a benevolent leadership like this, their judgment is probably way better than the judgment of a bunch of mostly ignorant lay people. After all, according to pure democratic principles, we have the absurd situation that a mentally retarded teenager's randomly chosen vote carries as much weight as the carefully considered position of a G-d fearing genius like Prof. Yisrael Aumann. But in our time, when we have no prophet to declare whom Hashem has chosen as king, and our Rabbinic chain of command has been all but broken, democracy is simply the best alternative we have left. We cannot continue to follow the paradigm of self-appointed, self-perpetuating structures, because look what happens if your original kernel is corrupt: you come out with an abomination like the Israeli Supreme Court, whose primary agenda appears to be stripping Israel of every last vestige of real Jewish values. We are therefore forced to fall back on the people's choice, both in terms of leadership and judiciary, because a leadership that is answerable to its people is far more likely to be benevolent than an unscrupulous dictatorship. (I include the judiciary in a guarded kind of way, because truthfully, we do have a Jewish judiciary even today - but there is no one beis din that is universally accepted by all factions, so unless all today's gedolei Torah can get together to appoint a Sanhedrin, a hypothetical Torah-true State of Israel would have no alternative but to have some kind of democratically appointed Sanhedrin, perhaps appointed by democratic vote among the gedolei hador.)

What about other clashes with Western values, such as "gender equality"? Yeah, yeah, I know all the apologetics about "separate but equal", and the different roles that men and women are supposed to play in Judaism. But am I happy to let my two sons split my entire inheritance, leaving my three daughters with nothing? Not a chance. Whatever the halachic devices are to do so, I fully intend to make sure that my daughters get their fair share of my estate. What is this? - do I think I'm smarter than the Torah? I'm uncomfortable with the dissonance between my professed beliefs and the fact that I simply don't want my inheritance to be distributed the way the Torah says it should be. Is that a bad thing?

I'm sure there are many other areas of my life where my worldview is colored by my secular/traditional upbringing, and is in conflict with authentic Jewish values - whatever those are.

What about you?
What was the "theme" of your upbringing?
How does that mesh with your current lifestyle?
What dissonances do you experience in your life?
What lessons have you learned, and what advice do you have for others to deal with dissonances?

Azriel Chayim Behr

On Monday 18 May 2009, כ"ד אייר תשס"ט, our son entered into the Bris of Avraham Avinu, and was given the name Azriel Chayim - עזריאל חיים.

This is a first for us. For all our previous children we put a lot of thought into the meaning of their names, the etymology of each name, the balance between the first and second names, etc. etc. This time around it didn't really matter to us what the names Azriel or Chayim mean or how they complement each other, or even that "Azriel" sounds uncomfortably like our older son's name "Ezra", which could possibly giving the impression that we're obsessed with help (עזר being the root of both names)! There was almost no need for discussion; we simply knew, even from before he was conceived, that our next son would bear the name Azriel Chayim. Because that is the name of the person who, in my humblest opinion, was probably the greatest human being I have ever met.

That's him on the left: Rabbi Azriel Chaim Goldfein זצ"ל, the Rosh Yeshiva of the Yeshiva Gedola of Johannesburg, who passed away about a year and a half ago at the relatively young age of 73. I have written before about him, in a more oblique way; and many others have delivered spoken and written hespedim for him. I'd like to add my angle here.

Rabbi Goldfein was one of those rare individuals who was beloved by practically everyone he ever met. He loved and could relate to every human being, whether the greatest Torah scholar, an assimilated Jew or a non-Jewish nurse taking his blood pressure. He could converse freely and easily with anyone, with sincerity and interest, as one person said at his funeral, as if they were his best friend in the world. "Nay," said this speaker, "when he was talking to you, you were his best friend in the world."

He was a man of profound humility. He did not puff up in self-importance; he declined to grow a beard (other than during sefira and bein hameitzarim); while always dignified, he never felt the need to dress in an overtly "rabbinic" way. I heard that at one major public dinner, there was one table reserved for the Rabbis of the community. Rabbi Goldfein was among the first to arrive, and as he was making to sit down at this table, one of the waiters came and said, "Excuse me, sir, you can't sit here; this table is reserved for the Rabbis!" Rabbi Goldfein simply thanked the waiter for pointing this out, and politely moved away, mingled with other guests, and only later discreetly returned to the Rabbis' table along with his colleagues.

He drilled home the importance of derech eretz, how important it is to behave like a mensch, to dress like a mensch, to relate to others like a mensch. Derech eretz kadma laTorah, he always said: if you don't have the most basic level of menschkeit, how is it possible that the higher level of Torah is going to stick with you? Can you have a house without a foundation?

And speaking of Torah, he was a person who was, if you can have such a thing, the embodiment of pure, unadulterated Torah, with no add-ons of politics or other agendas. Once an Israeli professor met him, learned he was a Rosh Yeshiva, and asked him which camp he was from. "What do you mean, what camp am I from?" asked Rav Goldfein. "I'm a Rosh Yeshiva, not a Rosh Machaneh!" He had no interest in these political squabbles. All he wanted was to know the emes - how to understand the daf, what is the halacha; what does Hashem want us to do? And a love of Torah! He was generally a happy and optimistic person - but when he was giving shiur, he never stopped smiling - not for a minute! Even when he was in hospital, towards the end, in great pain and discomfort, and under strict instructions to relax and not strain himself, he could not resist engaging in Torah discussions with his colleagues and students who came to visit him. He would simply forget his pain, becoming more and more animated and excited as the discussions progressed, until the doctors would come and eject his guests and sternly warn him (again) that he needed to rest.

But to me, the one thing that he represented most strongly was balance. As I mentioned in my previous article, it's actually pretty easy to be stringent all the time. All you have to do is work on your gevura, your ability to restrain yourself, and you can say "no" to pretty much anything. But that's not the whole picture - because for every stringency there is an associated leniency. You want to make your restaurant "mehadrin"? If all restaurants do that, all the "regular" shochtim will lose their parnassa! You want a new, nicer mikveh, with more hiddurim? And cast aspersions on all the people who used the old mikveh for decades before? Every choice in life is something to be weighed up carefully, and casually choosing to err on the side of (apparent) stringency is not automatically the safest route!

Rabbi Goldfein to me represented the struggle for balance - and a thoroughly successful one at that. It is our beracha to our child, Azriel Chayim, that he should take after his namesake in all the aspects I have described above, and that his struggle for perfection throughout his life should be similarly blessed.