Aiming for mastery

In fluid mechanics today, the professor told us that the advice he received as a grad student was that the best way to study for an exam is to rewrite a "book" on the topic. If you're not able to do that, you don't have a sufficient mastery of the material. For this class, he didn't recommend trying to write a book on the topic, but he did suggest going through the notes and rewriting all of them, doing all the calculations yourself to understand how they work.

I'm a big fan of this professor. He's usually right on things, but usually they're things like getting those complicated equations right on the blackboard. The truth is, he's right about this too. Going through the notes and rewriting them all would be an amazing way to get a solid mastery of the material. But I probably won't do it, for the simple reason that I don't have time. I have other projects going on, for all six of my classes, and really don't have the 20-30 hours it would take to go through them as he suggests.

I really wish I had more time to spend on each class. I really wish I had time to do all the readings, spend as much time tweaking that algorithm, smoothing that essay, cracking that math problem. I really wish I could devote enough energy to each thing, to to take classes the way they're meant to be taken, to study for exams the way they're supposed to be studied for, to live life the way it's meant to be lived. But I have a difficult dilemma - when I have too much work I struggle to get it all done and to devote enough attention to each, but when I don't have so much going on, I get consumed by distractions and still, none of my work gets as much attention as it deserves. For now, though, I'm happy with the way I have it. I'd rather struggle, and put in the effort, and work my butt off and feel the frustration of only being able to devote 80% of my energy to each thing, than take things easy, be complacent, and never even feel the loss that I'm feeling now.

Beauty: The Rockies or Harei Yehuda?

About a month ago, we had a discussion on Areivim about the value of appreciating nature. It started with discussion of the famous quote by Rav Hirsch. At one point, Rav Hirsch decided to go on a trip to visit the Alps. He explained that he needed to go on the trip because one day when he reaches the next world God was going to ask Him, "Did you see my Alps?" and he wanted to have a satisfactory response. Danny Schoeman, a South African turned Israeli who spent a week skiing on the Alps as a teenager, claimed that the mountains in Eretz Yisroel (EY) are just as beautiful if not more so. That claim was debated, and some people questioned whether one even may leave EY to visit the Alps, basing themselves on the Gemara in Moed Katan 14a and the Shulchan Aruch in OC 531:4. Here's my take on the question.

As someone who grew up in Colorado, I must say that the mountains in EY are simply not the same. Much as I try, I can not honestly say that the mountains in EY are as beautiful as in Colorado.

But do they need to be? Must one have the ultimate physical experience to have the spiritual experience? I am perfectly happy having chicken served in my college dining hall on shabbos, and don't think my oneg shabbos suffers at all because I'm not having beef. One must experience beauty, but the height of the spiritual experience is limited not by the physical limitations of the beauty but by one's appreciation.

This also relates to the thread on ugly kallahs - everyone has some natural beauty, and if it's not immediately apparent, the chassan has to discover it. We help him by pointing out that she is a "kallah na'ah", and if not, then at least she's "chasudah". I never thought of it in this way before, but Moshe Feldman prompted me to think that maybe looking at mountains outside EY is like looking at other women - you can appreciate the beauty, but who says the appreciation is necessarily what God wants? While I don't know how far I would extend this comparison, I think it's very easy to apply to someone for whom the halacha states that it's assur for him to leave EY. Violating G-d's wishes so that you can have what you feel is a greater appreciation for His beauty seems quite off. (And brings to mind, "Mi shedar bechutz la'aretz harei hu c'mi she'ein lo eloka.")

EY has a wide variety of climates, terrains, and areas to experience God's beauty in different ways. While I grew up with a mountain view from my bed room window, it was not until I was 18 that I got to say the bracha of "She'asa es hayam hagadol." EY affords opportunities to experience every aspect, in a way that doesn't exist anywhere else. True, harei Yehuda aren't the rockies, and it seems silly to call the Mediterranean the Yam Hagadol next to the majestic Atlantic and Pacific, but it has everything we need to experience God's greatness. Yaakov's attitude, and this is expressed in EY as well, is "Yesh li kol." The Rockies can have the "Yesh li rav," we can be perfectly happy with the "everything" that we have.

How not to win an argument:
Practical lessons learned from shabbos in Flatbush

1. Insinuating that someone's opinions are not their own ("Your girlfriend convinced you of this, didn't she?") or that someone will grow out of their opinions ("Let's have this conversation again when you're 50"), is very insulting. Even if it might be correct, it's not gonna successfully convince the people you're insulting of anything. Treat me like an adult and maybe I'll treat you likewise.
   
2. If you want to make negative comments against a group and have me believe you, call them by a nice name. If the guy making observations about black politicians during kiddush had said "black politicians" instead of "shvartze politicians", I would have been much more believing that he had correctly interpreted his experiences with those politicians.
   

Yerushalayim Oro shel Olam

At Meir and Yitty's wedding tonight, they sang the song "Yerushalayim Oro shel Olam." "Jerusalem is the light of the world, and Who is the light of Jerusalem? The Holy One Blessed be He."

What does this mean?

Jerusalem, as the center of the Jewish people (and as drawn on some medieval maps, the center of the world), is supposed to be the city from which Torah, including ethics, shines to the world. "Ki Mitzion Teitzei Torah, uDvar Hashem miYerushalyim - For from Zion will come forth Torah, and the word of God from Jerusalem." People look to the Jews, especially those in their "home turf", as a paragon of right and wrong. When we do the right thing, or the wrong thing, people look to us as an example. Sometimes, especially in the diaspora, we only have the chance to be an example as individuals; when we exist in Jerusalem, in a country with Jerusalem as its capital, we are a national example.

This week, Israel, and thus the entire Jewish people, are under the spotlight for our actions in Gaza. When people see what Israel does, they see it as reflecting the Jewish people, the Am Hashem. When Israel acts in a moral and ethical way, that creates a kiddush Hashem, a spreading of G-d's light from Jerusalem. If they act otherwise, it creates a chilul Hashem, a darkening of that light.

I don't know enough about the situation to make an intelligent comment on what they've done, but I know that appearances are important too. You can't create a kiddush Hashem by acting ethically and looking like a sleazeball. This just creates the obligation for us, as Am Hashem, even if we are not generally political people, to do what we can in the area of hasbara, explaining to people how Israel's actions are not just morally justified but morally positive so this light can continue to go forth.

My tefilla as I sang the song (and now as well) is that as we do the right thing, Yerushalayim should be the Oro shel Olam, and HKBH should be seen as Oro shel Yerushalayim.

This is piece 1 of an essay I'm planning to write on the topic of Judaism and humanity.

I heard a dvar Torah last night at shul between mincha and maariv by a rav, perhaps a Rabbi Feiner. Young-ish rabbi with a trimmed beard. When I go to the white shul again, I'll ask someone so I have his name.

This week's parsha includes the story of the meeting between Yaakov and Yosef after 22 years of separation. It describes how Yosef hugged and kissed Yaakov, but strangely, does not describe Yaakov reciprocating. The Midrash says that the reason is that Yaakov was busy saying krias Sh'ma and could not interrupt.

This is very strange - if it was zman krias sh'ma, why wasn't Yosef also saying krias sh'ma? And if it wasn't the zman, why was Yaakov saying it? Couldn't he wait a few minutes?

The Maharal (which I should probably look up at some point while researching this essay) explains that indeed it was not the zman, but Yaakov wanted to channel the intense emotions of the reunion with his son towards a lofty goal, and there is no loftier goal than yichud Hashem.

He told the story of how, lehavdil, when a certain Giants player got a touchdown in the ___ Superbowl (two times ago when the Giants won the Superbowl), rather than doing a crazy dance or sumersaults or whatever it is they normally do, this player got down on one knee and prayed. Take that moment of high energy, and channel it toward something Higher.

More coming tomorrow....

My project this summer

My feelings about this summer's project have vacillated on almost a daily pattern.

One day I was frustrated, at being asked to do the impossible.
The next day I was gratified, at realizing that the "impossible" was not just possible, but accomplished.

One day I was frustrated when my seemingly all-knowing but hard-to-reach bosses were not giving me all the answers to all my questions. Why can't they just tell me the formula I need? Surely they must already know it!
The next day I was gratified, at realizing that they actually didn't have a simple formula, which is why they were asking me to figure it out. You mean I'm actually contributing to a project that a grad student and a post-doc are working on?

One day I was frustrated at being told, "Read up on the subject in Chao's thesis", and having to figure not just which of the 348 pages discussed that topic, but what the heck he was talking about.
The next day I was gratified, at the realization that with enough effort and experience, I actually can read a physics PhD thesis (and other scientific papers) and understand something.

Some days I was frustrated at being pushed to what I thought was way beyond my limits.
Other days I was grateful to my bosses, for teaching me the lesson that with perseverance, all such limits are artificial, and you can accomplish a lot if you just keep trying.

Ways of Viewing the Orthodox Community

Updated 4/18/2006

This is an essay that I wrote for my College Writing class, and since it speaks about the blogosphere, I decided to do none other than blog the essay.

As with many communities, the Orthodox Jewish community can be seen many ways. On the one hand, its religious rituals and the lifestyle of its adherents are very homogeneous. On the other hand, close observation will show that there is much dissent and diversity within the Orthodox Jewish community. I believe that careful analysis of the community from both of these perspectives will show aspects of the community that could not have been seen from either of these perspectives alone.

Mary Louise Pratt, in “Arts of the Contact Zone, ” describes two perspectives from which to analyze communities. She quotes Benedict Anderson, and his description of “imagined” national communities. He says that communities define themselves by three characteristics: they are limited, by “finite, if elastic, boundaries”; they are sovereign; and they are imagined as fraternal. Orthodox Judaism follows all three of these characteristics, albeit in the sense of a transnational religious community, rather than a national community.

The Orthodox Jewish community is much more clearly delineated than many other communities. It is defined primarily by commitment to Halacha[1] – Jewish law. Certain observances – observance of Sabbath and kashrut (dietary laws) – are considered minimums for social acceptance in the Orthodox Jewish community. In addition, many other observances serve to strengthen this homogeneity of lifestyle in the community. Adult males are required to pray three times a day in community with a quorum of ten worshippers, and other religious requirements dictate not just occasional rituals, but an entire lifestyle.

(In Judaism, status as a Jew is determined solely by birth to a Jewish mother, or by conversion. While acceptance or non-acceptance into a particular community is a complex topic, Jewish status is not. While some non-Orthodox movements have decided to change the standards for who is Jewish, that idea is totally rejected in the Orthodox world. The question of “who is a Jew” is entirely moot. Thus, even those who totally dissociate themselves from the Orthodox world will continue to be seen as Jews in the fullest sense of the word.)

In terms of beliefs, Orthodoxy is quite diverse, yet quite homogeneous. Certain beliefs, such as the existence of a Supreme Being and the truth of the Torah, are seen as the principles of faith, and their acceptance is seen as obligatory. Anyone who denies any of these principles is seen as a heretic. (This is not to say that such people are shunned; outreach efforts, especially recently, are significant, and Orthodoxy aims to bring such unfortunate people back to the fold. But they are seen as outsiders who must be brought back.) Within these parameters, however, there is much debate and discussion. The level of debate can appear quite confrontational to an outsider. Walking into a Jewish study hall is quite different from a university library. In a Jewish study hall (beis medrash), one will regularly see study partners literally yelling back and forth at each other, trying to understand a religious text.

In community relations and “fraternity”, the Orthodox community is very close. Because of the prohibition of driving on Sabbath, Orthodox Jews will live within walking distance of a synagogue, and thus of each other. They (that is, we) have a strong culture of inviting guests to Sabbath meals. The home hospitality custom is partly because of kosher restrictions in eating out, and partly because of the groups’ understanding of the intense need for new people to connect. In fact, since coming to Boston as a freshman in September 2005 and positioning myself within the Orthodox community, I have been invited by various families to a festive dinner and luncheon every single Sabbath and also on Jewish holidays. I have never once eaten a Sabbath or festival meal alone! There is a strong community feeling, and many organizations (way out of proportion to the population) exist to provide charity services, such as a burial society, visiting the sick, bridal dowry, and philanthropy for the poor. Another consequence for me and for other Jews is the ability to immediately connect with any new community when traveling or relocating. When my dad and I visited Boston on a college trip during my senior year, we stayed “in the community” with invitations to sleep and dine at the homes of total strangers – positioning ourselves as observant Jews made us immediately be “in.” The same thing occurred when my mom and I visited Boston for college orientation before freshman year. A story is told about a Gentile who kept a yarmulke (skullcap) in his glove box, because he knew that if his car broke down and he needed help, all he needed to do was put on the yarmulke and “fellow” Jews would pull over to help him.

An example of the Jewish emphasis on community bonding appears in the Haggadah[2], recited on Passover. This book describes the questions asked by four types of children – the wise one, the evil one, the simple one, and the child who does not even know how to ask. The Haggadah trains parents how to approach each educationally. The evil child asks, “What is this worship for you?” The Haggadah notices that he asked the question about “your worship”, rather than “our worship.” The Haggadah comments that “since he removed himself from the community, he has denied the fundamentals.” So while observance and minimal belief are a prerequisite to community acceptance, self-affiliation with the community is also considered to be an important fundamental of Judaism in itself.

A community that defines itself by a minimum level of observance will by definition be quite homogeneous in practices. This is especially true when the religion demands a high level of commitment. This idea parallels an idea expressed by Pratt, with regard to elementary school classrooms. She describes that the classroom is usually only seen through the eyes of the teacher, not the eyes of the students. She writes, “If a classroom is analyzed as a social world unified and homogenized with respect to the teacher, whatever students do other than what the teacher specifies is invisible or anomalous to the analysis.” Similarly, if when viewing Orthodoxy we only pay attention to those who follow the rules, we miss much of the picture.

In her essay, Pratt discusses the concept of the “contact zone”, and argues that we need to see communities more through this perspective. Her term, the contact zone suggests that rather than simply looking at a culture, you look at how the culture relates to its surroundings – that is, the culture in context. For example, she discusses the text of Guaman Poma, who wrote an autoethnographic account of world history through the eyes of the Incans. In an attempt to present this record to the Spanish, he wrote in a Spanish literary style, alternating between Spanish and Incan literary and graphic norms. Literature from the contact zone looks at the interface where two cultures meet, or where dissent exists within a culture, rather than at the homogeneous aspects of a culture.

If approaching Orthodoxy from the perspective of the contact zone, a lot of previously unobserved facets of the Orthodox Jewish community will appear. Although conflict can be seen in many different areas, my discussion here will focus on those Jews who question the basic tenets of Judaism, and the tensions they experience between Judaism and their so-called rationalism. The world of Jewish blogs[3] – the JBlogosphere as it is called by many of its participants – is the new outlet for those nonconformists. They give an anonymous place where people can espouse their atheist or agnostic beliefs, without risking being ostracized by the community. Also, blogs give others a chance to see the voices within the oOrthodox community that until now have been either unexpressed, or expressed but unheard.

One blogger from this genre expressed himself as follows. (Even without understanding the specific rituals he refers to, one can get a feeling for where he’s coming from.)

I'm an Orthodox Jew. I believe in Hashem (God) and His Torah. I go to davening (prayer services) every morning, putting on my tefillin (phylacteries for prayer). I make a brocha (blessing) before I eat anything, and then only eat foods with a proper hechsher (kosher certification). I make it a point to learn [Torah] regularly. I wear a yarmulke (skullcap)and tzitzis (fringes). I keep Shabbos, without even so much as availing myself of an eiruv (a legal loophole to overcome the prohibition of carrying items on Sabbath by setting a boundary to confine the carrying within an enclosed space).

There's just one minor detail. All of the above statements are lies that people believe about me.

Oh, I look like a frum yid (Orthodox Jew). My family and friends are completely convinced that I'm just a deeply religious as them. They think I'm a Shomer Torah U'Mitzvot (observer of Torah and the commandments), but I have a secret - I'm an atheist.

I'm not an agnostic, a nontheist, a secular humanist or a bright. And I am most definitely not an Orthodox Jew . I am an atheist.

I keep this secret very carefully, even from my wife. No one, absolutely no one, knows that I don't believe in their imaginary friend.[4]

Reaction to these blogs is understandably mixed. On the one hand, it does provide an important outlet for these people to vent. Although discussion of the issues close to these people’s hearts (and expressing opinions they hold) is difficult, there is no sense pretending they don’t exist. On the other hand, many argue that they do more harm that good. For one, the contrarians (heretics, if you will) are grossly overrepresented in the blogosphere – most people who are happy conforming to society’s rules have no need to vent on blogs. Also, the tone on many of these blogs is scoffing and condescending, unlike the serious tone that people feel would be appropriate in discussing such weighty topics as, say, the fundamental of our faith, and whether God exists. Some people say they would have no problem if such issues were approached from an intellectually mature stand point. The scoffing tone, they claim, shows that the skeptics are merely trying to justify their non-observance, rather than honestly seeking answers to their questions. Lastly, for those who view following community religious standards not just as societal conformity but as a religious mandate, the visibility of these problems is seen as somewhat dangerous. Will they attract those on the periphery of full observance by showing that there are many other skeptics like them? Or will these blogs serve as a positive example of skeptics who ask legitimate questions in a semi-serious way, and yet continue to maintain their observance?

In summary, there are two main ways to look at a community. One can see a community as a homogeneous body, focusing on elements shared by members of the community, as well as the fraternity shared by members of the community. This is the so-called Utopian view, as described by Benedict Anderson. Or, one can look at a community as a contact zone, as defined by Pratt. In her view, each individual comes from a slightly different angle, and the community serves as the meeting place for those different currents. Orthodox Judaism can be seen in both of those ways. The community can be viewed using the traditional model described by Benedict Anderson, which leads to seeing the community as relatively homogeneous and friendly. Alternatively, one can see the community through the perspective of the “contact zone” paradigm, which allows one to see much more of the bigger picture, a change that carries both positive and negative consequences.




[1] Halacha: In Judaism, the body of law regulating all aspects of life, including religious ritual, familial and personal status, civil relations, criminal law, and relations with non-Jews.
"Halacha." The Columbia Electronic Encyclopedia, Sixth Edition. Columbia University Press., 2003. Answers.com 9 Apr. 2006. http://www.answers.com/topic/halacha

[2] Haggadah: The book containing the story of the Exodus and the ritual of the Seder, read at the Passover Seder.
"Haggadah." The American Heritage® Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition. Houghton Mifflin Company, 2004. Answers.com 9 Apr. 2006. http://www.answers.com/topic/haggadah

[3] (WeBLOG) A Web site that contains dated entries in reverse chronological order (most recent first) about a particular topic. Functioning as an online newsletter, blogs can be written by one person or a group of contributors. Entries contain commentary and links to other Web sites, and images as well as a search facility may also be included.

[4] This was an early post on the blog by a blogger with the pseudonym Mis-nagid. It appears on invisiblog, a site specially designed to facilitate totally anonymous blogging.
http://invisiblog.com/f4b342ff7de1534f/article/
1b9ce9545c62416f80849dadb2819324