A Play

A synagogue. People are walking about, mumbling and periodically shouting at an invisible presence in that disembodied manner of the subway tramp. Suddenly:

Moshe: "Shhhhh!!!!"

Baal: [Icy stare; goes back to discussing the merits of the Kuzari and the chemical differences between protium and deuterium]

Moshe: "Shhhhhh!!!!" [Thump, thump, thump]

Baal: [Glare]

Moshe: "Hisssssssssss! We're davening!!!"

Baal: [Sarcastically] "We are?"

Later, Moshe and Baal meet outside:

Moshe: "Sorry for that; I understand we all have a yetzer hara (evil inclination), and I sometimes fall prey to it as well. But have you ever thought about the terrible calamity you bring about by talking in the middle of prayers?"

Baal: [Sweetly] "Oh, thank you for worrying about my soul and my eternal reward. At least somebody does! That's so kind of you."

Moshe: "You don't understand. It's not you I'm worried about, it's me! If I don't say anything I'm liable to get punished myself!"

Baal: "Wow, now I've lost all respect for you. I thought you were selflessly worrying about my wellbeing. Turns out you're just being a selfish crank! All you care about is yourself?"

Moshe: [Stare]

Baal: [Fuck you, too]

===---===---===

An apartment. Children and adults are walking about mumbling to themselves, and periodically shouting (but not at an invisible presence).

She: "Seen the latest news out of Iran? See how they oppress women? How messed up they are!"

He: "Yeah. I think we should move there. We'd be happy."

She: [Smile] "What makes you say that?"

He: "Well, we live in Iran now. We might as well go all the way."

She: [Huh?] "How?"

He: "Have you tried going out with uncovered hair lately? Uncovered arms? How about with colored stockings? You'd be burnt at the stake, pilloried, and if that's not enough, run out of town! How about if you dress in a way considered too modern? Didn't work out too well for Toby."

She: "That's totally different."

He: "How, exactly?"

She: [Uh, uhmmm. Hmmm...] "I don't go out with that stupid looking chador!"

He: "You're right. You do shave your hair clean off, though. Don't you think those frum chador-wearing women think that is stupid?"

She: "Let's finish this conversation."

He: "Okay." [Damn it!!!]

Sufi Hakafos and Sheine Meidelech

How I spent my Simchat Torah: (Run at double speed to get an almost exact approximation of my hakafot. Can you spot me?)

(Hat-tip: Ben Atlas)

How I'd rather spend it: (Sheine meidelech... swimming in the sea, according to the singer. Can't argue with that logic, can you?)

Yom Kippur Reflections

Beseech, beg, shout. Again and again. Is God deaf? Is he impressed by tears, by gal, by song? How many times does he need to hear how great and wonderful He is, how we are all sinners, slaves, and the very embodiment of Nothing next to His infinite greatness? Is his infinite ego that fragile?

"Forgive us, for we have sinned!" The list in the prayers is long and complicated, and of course repeated often. Sins that I've never even dreamed of, and wouldn't want to be in the same room with those who have. I'm weary. Did anybody commit these?

And of course the promises. Totally sincere. "I'll never do that again!" It's Yom Kippur after all -- a time for repentance. What hypocrisy! Why the mask? We know you'll be back to the same shenanigans as soon as the day is over! Is your God so feeble minded that he's fooled by the same faux sincerity display every single year, like the travelling side-show fooling the foolish with the three-card Monte every year again?

And so, locked away in my humble little hideaway, I reflect: will I live another year under my mask? Will I continue to live but not live, love but hate, be passionate but stay empty, yearn for nothing, laugh heartily -- but more so, bitterly? Can I afford to do that again? Can I afford not to?

Time to go. Musaf is coming up. And I'll have you know that thanks to Larry Craig, I did NOT take a wide stance here. That would be inappropriate; it's Yom Kippur, for God's sake!

Have an easy fast -- even though by the time you read this the fast is
probably over.

Bite Your Tongue

"Hi!" he smiled sweetly, turning to face me with the air of a man who just bumped into a really pretty girl (which, just to be clear, I most definitely am not) at a bar (which, just to be clear, it most definitely wasn't) and has great hopes for the conversation that might ensue. I fix him with a quizzical look -- the look that silently expresses 'do I know you from somewhere? Can't you see I'm busy? Do you know where the nearest bathroom might be, or my ten year old might pee his pants soon? Where did the oldest wander off to? Oops, the little one is kicking the display that says 'Do Not Touch!' again. Why is it so dark in here? There you go, just throw up. I'll get a tissue. Hey, how did the baby get THAT?!?! Yes, I'm enjoying myself -- aren't we all? Why do you ask?'

"Are you from around here?" he continued cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to my thoughts.

"Yes. You?"

"No. From France -- Marseilles."

"Oh." Apparently, there aren't that many Jews in Marseilles, and this typical French tourist decided that now is a good time to talk to the Jew right here in the museum. Great.

"You know, this is really tough," he continues, vaguely motioning in the direction of the huge flat screen modeling the big bang and the formation of our planet over and over and over again in an endless loop, like the movie Groundhog Day writ large. "After all, we KNOW Hakadosh Baruch-Hu created the world out of nothing, less than six thousand years ago. It says so explicitly in the Torah. Right? What are we supposed to think?"

Oops. I do a quick double take, adjusting my mental image from 'typical French tourist' to 'bare-headed, bare-shouldered, Chareidi French Jew' as fast and with as little facial expression as I could muster. What tipped him off that I might help him with his predicament? Was it the long payos? The big black velvet yarmulke? Damn. Now this is really great. He traveled all the way from France to New York so he could discuss theology with........ me! The irony is delicious. Dark thoughts start forming in my head. I'll explain to him the stupidity of what he just said. I'll laugh in his face. Or maybe I should tell him he can be a believing Jew and still believe in the big bang? It's possible -- many pull that off. Or should I tell him I don't believe in his ridiculous God?

"I know," I shrug, "it's tough."

"But........ it's really tough, isn't it?" He sighed a long drawn-out sigh.

Oh man. This is too much. I shrug again, smile the sweetest smile possible under the circumstances, bite my tongue, and hurry off to find a bathroom.

===---===---===

"Look, there are so many goyim in here" I vaguely hear my oldest saying to my second-oldest. I wasn't really listening up to this point, so much as being happy they are entertaining each other instead of arguing or fighting. But now my interest is piqued. "I know what we should do," she continues. "Lets refrain from looking at some of them and then we can pray for whatever we want and our prayers will be answered. My teacher said if you keep holy and stop yourself from looking at a goy, you can pray for whatever you want."

What an excellent education she's getting! And I'm paying for it, even. How proud that makes me! But my second is unconvinced. "Yeah? I'll refrain from looking at the next one and then pray for Moshiach. And when he doesn't come, I'll know it isn't true!" A budding scientist, I think to myself. I wonder how long it'll take until he applies the scientific method to everything she's taught. Oh well. Anyway, I need to say something. I can't let the 'dirty goyim' bromide pass without a comment, lest my own children turn into the very people I cannot stand with a worldview I cannot stomach. But as soon as I open my mouth, my wife shoots me a dirty look. She knows my views on this particular subject and we have agreed to disagree. But of course, I better not confuse the children with my poisonous opinions. I understand that look well. It says 'you better bite your tongue, or I'll do it for you, and not in the good way.' So I do as told, and bite my tongue -- again.

===---===---===

"A food stand!" I exclaim enthusiastically. I need to get something to eat, or at least a drink. Maybe even for the children as well. "Everything has an OU" I add helpfully, with faux enthusiasm. It has an OU-D, but does it really matter? But my poor wife is horror-stricken.

"Not in front of the children!" she hisses. "You know we have to be careful with their chinuch -- their upbringing!" Yeah, I know. Start them off on OU-D and soon they'll think there might be nothing wrong with looking at goyim! Next thing you know, they're dancing with a shiksa while balancing a pig on their heads. I bite my tongue yet again -- really hard this time. It hurts (no, not the tongue), but is still better than the alternative. Or is it?

In the spirit of Tish'a Ba'av

Blue and green and wind, a beginning full of hopes,
A future sight unseen, yet to know the ropes
Shimmering glass, glistening, as far as you could see
Eyes blinded by light, surely that's for me

Oh laugh and run and stumble, wounds are never sore,
See! It is life, forever more

Dreams haunting and fresh, and sweet as apple pie,
Disturbed by angry diamonds, telling you a lie
Worry and distemper, the sharp horizon etched
Shadows stamp and shout, not as far-fetched

Laugh and run and stumble, shaken to the core,
See! It is life, never more

Atop glistening stars - gauzy heaven blown by air,
Beneath - flaming marble, you look and stare
Cry and shout and bellow, in deafening silence beseech
Back - a hellish hollow, forward out of reach

Laugh and run and stumble, remember days of yore?
See! It was life, tossed out the door

Ring of Fire burns, without any fuel at all
Scorched around the edges, when the flames were small
Yellow and red and white, much bigger than he
And so it burns a hole, where the soul used to be

Laugh and run and stumble, don't listen to lore,
See! This is life, and so it will be more

A lonely figure on a ship, on the waves of space,
Chilled by the mist of time, finding no solace
Battered, crushed by Nothing, black irony is thus
Chased a phantom, from a dream, that never even was

Laugh and run and stumble? Not like before,
It was life indeed, but now it is no more

Stories

I've long thought that if we would republish the stories in Nach (the Hebrew biblical books outside of the Pentateuch) under a different cover, dressed up in modern language and perhaps illustrated by a skilled illustrator, it would put any modern history text or popular work to shame. The narrative is so varied and stories so numerous that a skilled storyteller should be able to regale anyone, whether young or old, ignorant or educated, for hours and hours on end.

There are tales of war and intrigue, ghosts and angels, prostitutes and generals, kings and rebels, outsized heroes and frightening villains, loss and grief, guile and innocence, religious devotion and pagan tomfoolery, horrible rape and tender love, wanton murder and miraculous resurrection, terrible revenge and great reward, irony and revelry, and what not? They run the gamut of the human experience in both fact and fiction, sprinkled with poetry throughout and all set in the great arc of Jewish history. No wonder we, entertainment-averse Chassidim, refuse to teach Nach in our schools!

Apparently, the entertainment and business potential of all that wasn't lost on one Suleyman, an Arab dragoman living in 19th century Syria. A clever and witty fellow, that Suleyman, and one who obviously knew his trade well and understood how to tailor his services to his clientele, all while amusing himself with his ability to befuddle his charges with what should've been very familiar stories. And so, here is his unique take on Sampson's revenge (Judges 15) and Elijah's slaughter (1 Kings 18:40), courtesy of the memoirs of Marmaduke William Pickthall:

One English parson he [Suleyman] bedevilled utterly by telling him the truth--or the accepted legend--in such a form that it seemed false or mad to him.

As they were riding out from Jaffa towards Jerusalem, he pointed to the mud-built village of Latrun and said:

'That, sir, is the place where Simpson catch the foxes.'

'Ah?' said the clergyman. 'And who was Simpson?'

'He was a very clever gentleman, and liked a bit of sport.'

'Was he an Englishman?'

'No, sir; he was a Jew. He catch a lot of foxes with some traps; he kill them and he take their skins to Jaffa to the tailor, and he tell the tailor: "Make me one big skin out of these little ones." The tailor make one thundering big fox's skin, big enough for Simpson to get inside of it. Then Simpson, he put on that skin one night, and go and sit out in the field and make the same noise what the little foxes make. The little foxes come out of their holes to look; they see one big fox sitting there, and they not know it's really Simpson. They come quite near and Simpson catch hold of their tails and tie their tails together. Then they make the noise, and still more foxes come, and Simpson catch hold of their tails and tie their tails together, till he got hundreds and hundreds.'

'Whatever did he do with them?' inquired the parson.

'He set fire to them.'

'What on earth did he do that for?'

'That, sir, was to annoy his wife's relations.'

'And would you believe it,' added Suleyman when he told me the story, 'that foolish preacher did not know that it is in the Bible. He took it all down in his notebook as the exploit of a Jewish traveller. He was the Heavy One.'

...

One afternoon, when I was riding round the bay from Akka towards the foot of Carmel, supposing Suleyman to be a hundred miles away, I came upon a group of tourists by the river Kishon, on the outskirts of the palm grove. They had alighted and were grouped around a dragoman in gorgeous raiment, like gulls around a parrot. The native of the land was holding forth to them. His voice was richly clerical in intonation, which made me notice that his audience consisted solely of members of the clergy and their patient women.

'This, ladies and gentlemen,' the rascal was declaiming like a man inspired, 'is that ancient riffer, the riffer Kishon. It was here that the great Brophet Elijah bring the Brophets of Baal after he catch them with that dirty trick which I exblain to you about the sacrifice ub there upon that mountain what you see behind you. Elijah he come strollin' down, quite habby, to this ancient riffer, singin' one little song; and the beoble they lug down those wicked brophets. Then Elijah take one big, long knife his uncle gif him and sharben it ubon a stone like what I'm doin'. Then he gif a chuckle and he look among those brophets; and he see one man he like the look of, nice and fat; and he say: "Bring me that man!" They bring that man; Elijah slit his throat and throw him in the riffer. Then he say: "Bring his brother!" and they bring his brother, and he slit his throat and throw him in the riffer ... till they was ALL gone. Then Elijah clean his knife down in the earth, and when he'd finished laughin' he put ub a brayer.

'That was a glorious massycration, gentlemen!'

The preacher was Suleyman, at struggle with the Heavy Ones.

(Hattip: BAR)

Administrativa

Take note: a great blogging gadol, the inimitable Shtreimel, has been hacked, his blog defiled, his email stolen. The Hassid (--and The Heretic) lost its Shtreimel, and it is not pretty -- but x-rated. For the time being, you can reach him at conartistic1@gmail.com.


Update:
He's back!

Godspeed

(A repost from something I've written elsewhere)

יומו של הקב"ה אלף שנים שנא' כי אלף שנים בעיניך כיום אתמול
A day to God is a thousand years, as is said: "For a thousand years in your sight are like a day that has just gone by"

So I read the above and think (yeah, yeah, I shouldn't do that, I know): exactly at what speed is God traveling to achieve this kind of time dilation? And given that, how big a distance did God manage to travel so far?

For simplicity's sake, let's assume for now that God is traveling at constant velocity. (I think -- but may be mistaken -- that we can achieve a more dramatic effect if we have God maintaining constant acceleration. But I'm not sure even a deity can sustain that indefinitely.) Also, let's discount the possibility that God is permanently parked right next to a black hole (although that would explain a lot).

For starters, I'm trying to get a Lorentz transformation calculator working. But I'm woefully ignorant on how exactly I should deal with velocity figures. My calculator doesn't understand v. ;-) So, anyone else ever wondered about this question? (Thought so.)

Why I need to know God's speed, you ask? Well, first of all, as Orthoprax knows, we need to know these things. "If the issue is important to [us], then practically we cannot let it remain undecided." But mostly, I'd really like to know if I can beat Her in a race to the End.

Update 1:
Since nobody offered to help, I was forced to think about it some more. We need to express v in terms of the speed of light, of course! Duh, what a stupid question.

Since a mean Hebrew year has 365.2468 days, we need a time dilation factor of 365,246.8.

So, to simplify {1day / sqrt(1- v^2 / c^2) } into {1/ sqrt(1- 0.999999999996251^2)} (we take c=1 to simplify the calculation) gets us pretty close. That means God is traveling at (approximately) 299,792,457.998876 meters per second, or 670,616,629.381881 m.p.h., right?

Hmmm, I think I may need a new minivan if I hope to beat that!

Update 2:
All this further means, of course, that to find the speed necessary for any time dilation factor f (in this case 365,246.8), all we need to do is {sqrt(1- (1/f)^2)c} (simple, huh?), which, with c expressed in meters per second of 299,792,458, gives us the correct answer of 299,792,457.998876! (And also yields a more accurate figure for v: 0.999999999996252)

Was it that difficult to say {sqrt(1- (1/f)^2)c} instead of letting me figure it all out with pen and paper??? Gee, thanks! ;-) So now, how about we add acceleration into the mix? Anyone?

P.S. To those who inquired (or wondered but didn't inquire): the picture on the previous post is not of a real person, but rather of a larger-than-life sculpture by the incredibly talented artist Ron Mueck. Click here for a gallery of his work. (Warning: some images may be offensive to some. Proceed with caution.)

תשמ"ד

Nineteen Eighty-Four

He knew that sooner or later he would obey O’Brien’s summons. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps after a long delay—he was not certain. What was happening was only the working-out of a process that had started years ago. The first step had been a secret, involuntary thought, the second had been the opening of the diary. He had moved from thoughts to words, and now from words to actions. The last step was something that would happen in the Ministry of Love. He had accepted it. The end was contained in the beginning.

נעץ סופו בתחילתו, ותחילתו בסופו

JIB awards

It appears that unbeknownst to me, some kind-hearted soul decided to nominate this here humble blog for a JIB award in the Jewish Skepticism category. I'm flattered. And bemused.

What are the JIB awards, you may wonder? The winners of the JIB awards are awarded with a JIB award, which consists of -- you guessed it -- an award called the "JIB award". It's a contest whose purpose is to identify -- in no uncertain terms and in categories split into as many sub-atomic classes (and sometimes provoking the associated Sound and Fury) as is humanly possible -- the blog-writer who can attract the most readers of the kind who are idle, bored and soft-minded enough that they can be goaded, by endlessly repeated and hollow entreaties, into mindlessly and vigorously bleating "this blog good, that blog bad" over and over and over again, like good little sheeple.

In that vein, I urge everyone to vote for DovBear in the Jewish skepticism category. Thank you.

P.S. To the entity that nominated this blog: Should you chose to identify yourself, you will receive the coveted Hamlitze"l (*) award.

(*) הנותן מתנה לחבירו צריך להודיעו