My davar from PEP graduation

By Daniel Weinreb, PEP ’12

“It’s so appropriate that we are in this week’s parsha…”

Really?  I’m skeptical.  In fact, when I hear that phrase in a d’var Torah I fluff up the shoulder next to me and hit the snooze button.  Why?  Because I anticipate I am about to get a contrived connection between this week’s parashah and some contemporary or personal event.

So to allay your fears, today I’m justifying my d’var employs proto-midrash, also called intertextuality.  Intertextuality is an approach I learned from Baruch Feldstern, my teacher. I could call it an inversive, or reversive sequel, a la gaon Judy Klitsner.  The concept is that Tanakh drashes on itself.  Continue reading

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[PEP Student] Developments in Talmud Study

“Kids these days. They don’t learn like before. They have all the information at their fingertips. Confronted with a problem, they need only to glance over to a different page and lo and behold their questions are answered. Learning used to be a social process, with emphasis on learning from someone else, or better yet, from an expert. And not only that, if you were learning Gemara, you had first to know the Mishna by heart more or less. Now, with that new technology, the level of learning has plummeted. The easy access is fine – but their learning is confused because the technology has allowed them to jump over acquisition of information that they need to understand the material.”

Surprise! I’m not talking about online access. I’m talking about the Vilna Shas. Prior to its printing, if a talmid was lucky, he had the Rashi alongside the Gemara. He did not have two dots and a citation to indicate where the Gemara was starting a new Mishna. He did not have Tosafot on the outside margin, or the Masoret HaShas for easy cross reference. Then, in the late 19th century, the Vilna Shas appeared with all these innovations. As we know, Talmud learning continued without a disastrous plummet in quality.

In the Jewish tradition, we have seen radical shifts before. We moved from the Written to the Oral Tradition and back to a written form of the Oral Tradition (that’s confusing!), from scattered halachic decisions to the codification of the Rambam, from a Gemara that required intimate knowledge of the whole corpus to the Vilna Shas as I described it above. New online and translated resources have created new ways of understanding our tradition.

New technologies can – and often do – provide new ways of organizing information. And new organization can lead to new understanding. I think an easy connection can be made between modern Talmudic scholarships interest in comparing girsot (different editions) of the Talmud with the development of modern databases. Granted, we have historical precedence for this: Tosfot, the B”Kh (the Bayit Chadash of Joel ben Samuel Sirkis) and the GR”A but they were outstanding scholars of their time. Today, a Masters Candidate at Hebrew University can investigate the same issues as they and not be considered the greatest of their generation (although they still are impressive.) Maybe this generation’s greatest scholar will be the one who is able to represent the Talmud visually or in three dimensions, or in color. I do not know… but I’m looking forward to it.

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[PEP Student] The Narcissistic Use of Technology In Life, and In the Classroom

Cell phones seem narcissistic to me. When I’m on public transportation and another traveler subjects me to the inanities of cell-phone conversation, my blood pressure raises a few millimeters in a Sphygmomanometer. I think I’m more sensitive than most people but I don’t think I’m off the charts. The larger issue is that technologies seem to isolate people: each person on his own digital island, with his own iPod tracks, at his own laptop with his gChats, receiving customized information from her favorite blogs. This is not just annoying; it cuts at the core of Jewish learning in my opinion. Jewish learning is inherently a social exercise. I almost feel (but not quite) that as long as I am learning in chavrutah, my learning is Jewish learning. (Even People magazine in chavrutah? Well sure – but who likes to read People with someone else?) What should we do to connect people back together?

Why, use technology of course. The impression of the death of community from technological poison is greatly exaggerated. Or at least exaggerated. The impression may come from an earlier use of computers for computation. Back then (the 1970s?) technology was a tool for data storage, organization and analysis. Today, it is a tool for communication. The rise of Silicon Valley celebrities a la Steve Jobs z’l is evidence of this as much as anything else. (Although he was a narcissist.) Or, as a seminal book Growing up Digital – Today the computer is a communication tool, not something that automates processess. (I wish there was a way to automatically turn off cell phones.)

The benefits on the classroom can be revolutionary. If my students are working on a blog, or a wiki, or a gDoc, the classroom becomes a collaboration. Because of the medium, the message to the students is that they are learning with the teacher. In a wiki, they have the opportunity to edit information. In a blog in which all can post, the teacher becomes one among many voices, no longer standing at the front of the room. The physical situation has changed dramatically – which may explain why many teachers abstain from using it. (Abstinence has a nice ring of prudishness to it.) It also challenges their authority. It’s the end of professors who manage their classrooms like petty tyrants. Hopefully their decline is not exaggerated.

So, as a 21st century educator, I’m inclined to direct my students to a blog or a wiki. I’ll have to work harder, but they will learn more and develop a stronger sense of themselves as contributors to the classroom. And I’m still going to take the quiet car on the train.

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[PEP Student] Witch’s Brew

I am a student at Pardes. I’m learning like everyone else, reveling in my progress or in a boxing match with Jastrow trying to translate an Aramaic verb that long ago dropped every letter in its shoresh except vav.. I also am in the Educator Program which means that sometimes I step outside my student role and think about how I will teach next year in a Gemara or Tanakh class. Yesterday, I had an experience that shed some light on how engaging, and how frustrating, learning Gemara can be.

For context, let me describe what learning was like last year. I worked mainly on punctuation, learning the layout of the page, who the main speakers are and translation. Slow, arduous translation. For the thematic elements. I relied on my teacher. This year, the consistency of thought, the presence of the Gemara, has become more evident. I hear the voice of the Stama more easily, thinking about which amora, or tanna, the Stama decided to bring. The awareness that there is a larger design that supports the details of the individual debates makes an enormous difference in how I read. In particular, this awareness of context is particularly helpful in translation.

For example, recently my chavrutah and I were studying about lost items (Baba Metzia 24B). We had been reading about a ship that sank at sea. Following was a section that was a little puzzling – something took meat from a shuk and deposited it among trees. Contextually, we could surmise that this thing a) liked meat and b) could fly. So therefore either a) it was the Hamburglar with wings, or b) it was a carnivorous bird. Rashi told us that it was a vulture (or, at least the word for vulture in Old French.) That made sense, and made more sense as the sugya continued and we learned about other examples of purloined meat. That’s one of the two main point of this blog – that if you assume the Gemara makes sense, and moves logically from one point to the next, it becomes easier to translate.

In contrast, yesterday we were reading further on in the masechot (29B) and came across a teaching of R. Yohanan. The two lines prior had dealt with a tallit. Translating the vocabulary, we came up with the following words: cup, tepid, metal and another word “חרשין” that Jastrow translated as entangled, deaf or sorcery. Tangled seemed to make the most sense, as we had been talking about tallitot. Deaf made sense too because חרש is modern Hebrew for deaf. Sorcery made no sense at all. We still could not parse it, so we looked at Rashi, who used a word that had כ-ש-ף in the middle, (mis) leading us to think of silver, spelled with a samekh, not a sin. And so we did not look the word up, which in fact meant sorcerer. It turns out that R. Yohanan was saying “I would rather drink witches’ brew than drink tepid water.” Exclamation point.

There are a few things to note about this sentence. First, it is funny. What a thing for an amora to say. It’s personal, homey advice, like “Check the date on the milk carton before pouring it over your cereal.” And it’s ironic, a tone that I did not – prior to Pardes – expect to find in Gemara. But all of these attributes, particularly the irony, makes it very difficult to read. The first point that I made above is that if you the Gemara to make sense, it becomes easier to translate because you can anticipate and extrapolate from context. My second point is that when reading the Gemara a talmid needs to be ready to see irony or humor. And humor often, and irony almost always, operate by confounding expectations.

So, as I think about teaching next year, on the one hand I will encourage students to anticipate rational arguments and contextual significance in the Gemara. “It doesn’t make sense? Go back and read it again and find the connection because it is there,” I will tell them. Understanding things in context is a skill that is necessary not only in Gemara but also in life.. It is a sign of progress, and confidence, when a person can anticipate the next move of the Stama. But I also look forward to those moments when a student and I will recognize the unexpected and when we will laugh at ironic situations, because that is part of life too.

That is to say, I would not want to read a Gemara that only conformed to expectations….why, I’d rather drink witch’s brew.

Daniel Weinreb
Pardes Educators Program

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Shrine of the Book – Postcard Commentary #6

5. The entryway symbolizes the transition from the mundane to the sacred

Entrances are a big part of life in Israel as much as liminal states that a person moves through from one part of his life to another. The liminality begins when you duck your head to board the El Al plane unless you happen to be flying on Shabbat; Haredim surround you as you fly through the sky. And holy sites like the Kotel always have a checkpoint to pass through, checking for weapons and more existentially to remind you that you are moving from one part of life to another.

My apartment, for that matter, is a basement apartment (as I mentioned before.) As I emerge from it, through the doorway (with my head at the level of the feet of people walking by), I feel the passage from subterranean sleep and repose to the world of sun and action. When I leave Jerusalem, and pass the cemetery on the outskirts, again I have the impression of passing through a boundary. And where is there a more famous border in the world than the Green Line, fiercely and persistently contested. (Yet are there not more arbitrary boundaries separating Arabs from one another since 1917?)

A world of arrivals and departures, many of them only imagined. 

Previous postcards here: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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Shrine of the Book – Postcard Commentary #5

4. The entrance to the Shrine’s underground level, similar to entrances to ancient sanctuaries.

It’s not only the confluence (conflation, overlap and confusion) of ritual and secular life that makes life in Jerusalem out of the ordinary. Another aspect of life in Israel in general (b’gadol as Israelis say) are the layers of history piled one on the top of the next.

I worked on an urban economics project right out of college that looked at the role of Jerusalem in the peace negotiations. One reading of the city’s history was – and remains – that every street has a precious – and political – significance. This reaches an absurd degree in the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, which is like a drop of history that has become putrid over time through sectarian squabbles about which part of Jesus’ life happened where, and to whom that spot belongs. Supposedly, there are specific tiles on which one sect (Protestant, Catholic, Orthodox), and only that sect, is allowed to walk.

Previous postcards here: 1, 2, 3, 4

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Shrine of the Book – Postcard Commentary #4

3. The stairs connecting the upper plaza to the shrine’s entrance resemble those in a mikveh excavated at Qumran.

Ritual life in Jerusalem is like nothing I have experienced elsewhere. The mikveh on the front of this card is only one part of life here that is enveloped in symbolic acts. The food in Jerusalem almost entirely is kosher; although my cousins (mother Ruthie’s side) eat pork. They live in Haifa, a town much more prose than poetry.

On Shabbat, Jerusalem quiets down, the buses return to the central parking yard for a 25 hour reprieve and the great big glass windows of the shopping stores – the unblinking eyes of Mammon – close shut.

Previous postcards here: 1, 2, 3

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Shrine of the Book – Postcard Commentary #3

2. The fountain on the Shrine’s dome – a symbol of purity and life.

Without question, the living standard is lower here. “Ahhh,” you say, “who sets the standards and what, or whom – do those standards serve?” A very good question! I could say the standard by which Israel would be ranked lower serves the interest of CPG (consumer packaged goods) manufacturers. 

My apartment is a converted cistern from 100 years ago, The “top” floor is ground level; no, it’s below ground level. And my bedroom is 14 feet underground. The walls are plastered white. The living room kitchen and study are all one room; the bathroom is so small that I could shower, brush my teeth in the sink and take care of my body functions simultaneously. Not that I care to try. I mention this because the water sprayed on the shrine is a rare example of largesse. Indeed, water is a good analogy for the scarcity of material resources here.

Previous postcards here: 1, 2

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Shrine of the Book – Postcard Commentary #2

1: General view of the Shrine of the Book – the white dome representing the Sons of Light, the black wall representing the Sons of Dark.

One of the interesting aspects of Israel has been, and continues to be, the ineducable element of tragedy and conflict here, meaning the Shoah and the tension of ongoing conflict with the Palestinians. The Shoah is our dark past, the Palestinians are the darkness of the present. I’m not equating the two except in the sense of tragedy. What distinguishes Israel from the US is that the US has mostly buried its tragedy (slavery) or ships its tragedies (exploitative labor practices, environmental desecration) overseas to third world countries from whom it imports mass consumer products or to whom it exports its garbage. Israel stares its tragedy in the face, or at the very least, stares at the wall which obscures it. And here, even at the Shrine of the Book, the forces of Light and Dark both appear.

You can read the first post of this series here.

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Shrine of the Book – Postcard Commentary #1

The week I arrived here, I knew I would have to make a pilgrimage to the Shrine of the Book (Heykhal HaSefer). To me, it is more moving than is the Kotel, and more inspiring. After all, what other nation has a shrine to a book in the heart of its capitol? Of course, libraries do exist – and they are becoming like shrines unless they have been digitalized… But the Heykahl is so different – a tribute to a technology long superseded but still powerful. What does it say about Israel that the artifact of the book is consecrated as well as the content?

 

I also knew that when I did go, I would have to write to the man who was my childhood guardian, Robert Darnton; he studied the history of publishing and printing in France during the Enlightenment. To whom else would it be more appropriate to send a series of postcards about a shrine to books? This is the first of six entries written on the back of postcards from the Heykhal HaSefer.

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