Social Justice Today: Peah and Leket

The Torah presents an idealized world in Eretz Yisrael. It describes an agricultural society with certain egalitarian features and a strong ethic of taking care of each other. Everyone has an inherited plot of land, sufficient to support a family. The Israelites are even told by G-d to trust that there will be enough food left over for both the sabbatical and jubilee years–in which no food is planted or harvested.1 G-d insists that if society works together there will be a surplus to support all in the community.

Even in this world of plenty, a concept of poverty is understood. The text tells us to protect the stranger in our midst, the orphan, and the widow.2 These terms should not merely be taken literally. A broader view is called for. The text indicates the most vulnerable in our society—those who lack of family or social connection. We must protect those among us who might starve or otherwise fall through the cracks. The Torah commands an individual and communal responsibility to take care of others. A surplus is expected, and it is to be given directly to the vulnerable—פאה, the corners of the fields3 and לקט, gleanings.4

Today we live in a different kind of society, with different model of production. Whereas in biblical times, the profit centers were farms and land, today they are factories and financial instruments. A person living in the land of the Torah would have easy access to the corners of the fields of his neighbors. Today, the “corners” no longer exist in anything but an abstract way. The following is (i) an attempt to derive corollaries of פאה and לקט for today and (ii) to suggest that government programs and taxation are the best vehicles to effectuate the ideals of פאה and לקט.

Who should פאה and לקט protect? The text tells us to protect the stranger in our midst, the orphan, and the widow.5 These terms are not meant literally. Rather, they are indicative of the most vulnerable in our society—those who lack of family or social connection. The clear message is that of an ethical society. We are commanded to protect those among us who are at risk of abuse, neglect, starvation or otherwise falling through the cracks.

A further important feature of פאה and לקט is that they do not attempt to define who is “needy” enough to take from the corners or glean from what is left behind. Rather, the surplus is made available to any who feel they need it. The Torah conceives of a society in which people work hard to plant and cultivate their fields, but in the end, a part of the harvest belongs not to the individuals, but to G-d and to society. פאה and לקט are a surplus shared with all—whoever may come and take.

At a minimum, this includes institutions which provide life-saving sustenance for the most vulnerable in society: food banks, shelters and hospitals. Further required are programs that provide opportunity to everyone regardless of social or economic status: public schools and universities, jobs programs. Finally, to benefit everyone, some part should also extend to cultural enrichment: museums and support of the arts.

How is gleaning done?

First, modern realities mean that פאה and לקט—the metaphorical “corners of the fields”—are inaccessible. In farms, which are closest to the biblical case, the food is produced in large agricultural fields far from population centers. It is quite impossible for the needy today to take any kind of gleanings from these fields it is not permitted and farms are closed to the public. In the United States, for example, much agriculture is done on “factory farms”—vast complexes of land administered by multi-billion dollar agribusiness conglomerates for enormous profit. Further, the majority of the impoverished are in major urban centers quite distant from the farms, making access impossible even if it were permitted.

Second, much of the modern corners are abstract. What would it mean to leave a corner or gleaning on a $750 million credit default swap? Even if the financial institutions and corporate parties were willing to leave corners for the vulnerable, how do we measure it?

What constitutes the corners of today’s economy? Both פאה and לקט represent excess wealth in the Torah. They are that over and above which, the owner does not need to take care of himself, his family, to live in comfort. They are that amount which, looking at his own lot and that of a starving neighbor, a widow, and orphan, he could not in good conscience harvest to sell at market.

Modern society makes it impossible for פאה and לקט to occur organically. Thus, some agent to enact the ideals is required. Only one kind of agent could both collect and remit the פאה and לקט in an appropriate way on a large scale—and that agent is government. Collection is simply taxation. Remittance is the creation of and maintenance of the life-saving, opportunity-providing and culturally enriching programs that benefit the entire society. Government is the only entity with the reach and legitimacy to do these things effectively. Government is positioned to represent the best impulses of society, to protect our vulnerable, to ensure basic equity.

As voters—of any country—we must work to influence government to prioritize spending to alleviate poverty and provide opportunity for the most vulnerable in our society.6 The majority of tax money the government collects should be applied to programs in the interest of the most vulnerable members of society. The conception of social justice enshrined in פאה and לקט demands it.

A version of this post originally appeared on PostModox

1 See Leviticus 25:1-13. This passage sets up a sabbatical year of rest every 7th year, during which no agricultural activity is permitted, and a jubilee year every 50th year, which constitutes a second consecutive year of rest following the 49th sabbatical year of the cycle. Additionally, n the jubilee year, any ancestral land which was sold is returned to its original owner or his heirs, effectively preventing permanent dispossession of land. See also Leviticus 26:34-35, admonishing that the Israelites will be removed from the land to make up for sabbaticals they do not observe. “The land will be appeased for its sabbaticals during all the years of its desolation, while you are in the land of your foes; then the land will rest and it will appease for its sabbaticals. All the years of its desolation will it rest, whatever it did not rest during the sabbaticals when you dwelled upon her.” (All translations from the ArtScroll Stone Edition Tanach).

2 See, e.g.,Deuteronomy 24:19, “When you reap your harvest in your field and you forget a bundle in the field, you shall not turn back to take it; it shall be for the proselyte, the orphan, and the widow, so that Hashem, your God, will bless you in all your handiwork.”

3 See Leviticus 19:9, “When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not complete your reaping to the corner (פאה) of your field, and the gleanings (לקט) of your harvest you shall not take.”

4 See Id. See also Deuteronomy 24:19. The Book of Ruth also speaks of לקט and illustrates how the impoverished of a community would use gleaning to support themselves.

5 See, e.g.,Deuteronomy 24:19, “When you reap your harvest in your field and you forget a bundle in the field, you shall not turn back to take it; it shall be for the proselyte, the orphan, and the widow, so that Hashem, your God, will bless you in all your handiwork.”

6 Especially when considered side-by-side with, for example defense. While common defense is a fundamental, crucial role of the government, it doesn’t have the a biblical basis in פאת and לקט.

Share

[Alumni Guest Post] Why Can’t We Be Friends?

It's kinda funny for us to think of Megan Dyer (Spring '12)
as an alum because she's coming back to Pardes in January...

Nonetheless, here is another "alumni" guest post from Megan!

We're looking forward to her continued blogging when she 
returns home to Jerusalem!

A couple of weeks ago, I posted in this very blog about Operation Pillar of Defense. I expressed my dismay at Hamas aiming rockets towards the holy city of Jerusalem, of the continued assault on Israeli civilians without a care in the world for civilian life, my concern for my friends taking refuge in bomb shelters, and my worry about the escalation of tensions, and what that means for peace on both sides of the conflict. I also expressed my desire to be in Israel and to stand with her and the people I care about, because I’m one of those wacky people who sees Israel as an actual functioning democracy in a sea of extremism and violence, imperfect as it may be, and love it so much, that I don’t want to see its destruction. After having lived there for a year and having many friends and loved ones there who call it home, and actually possessing a non-biased education on the conflict itself, I sort of feel, you know, entitled to my opinion.

Entitled or not, I am usually pretty quiet about my political beliefs these days, meaning, I don’t bother to preach them; I just live them instead. I’ve learned that some things cannot be Continue reading

Share

Struggle is a Shared Value

(Cross-posted from Interfaith Youth Core)

I had just taken my first bite of lunch when I suddenly saw everyone around me stand up and head for the front door. I hadn’t even heard the siren. I put my sandwich down and joined my fellow classmates filing into the bomb shelter, where we gathered for ten minutes before deciding it was safe to return.

The first thought I had when I emerged from the basement was how lucky I felt to be an American studying in Jerusalem right now, and not a Palestinian living in the Gaza Strip. I feel deep sadness for the many Palestinians in Gaza, and Israelis, who have lost loved ones in the fighting between Israel and Hamas, and I can’t help but think that this kind of struggle is not the pathway to peace.

Ironically, the rabbi who was speaking to my class just before the siren sounded was giving a lecture on the importance of struggle in Jewish spirituality. He was encouraging us to make our lives about the pursuit of justice, meaning, and truth, rather than simply the pursuit of comfort.

His talk resonated with me deeply, and it is with that attitude of non-complacency that I approach today’s most recent bout of Islamophobia. This time it has taken the form of subway and bus ads in Chicago and NYC declaring, “In any war between the civilized man and the savage, support the civilized man. Support Israel. Defeat Jihad.” I speak out against these ads not only because they insult and distort the beliefs of my Muslim friends, but because they offend my Jewish beliefs as well.

In the spirit of pursuing truth and justice, I think it’s important to first give proper and fair context to religious beliefs. What I’ve learned about jihad from interfaith dialogue with Muslims is that there are two commonly accepted meanings of jihad: an inner spiritual struggle and an outer physical struggle, both in pursuit of the divine. The idea of “wrestling with G-d” is also an important Jewish value, straight from the biblical story of Jacob wrestling with the Angel.  Therefore, a sign saying “Defeat Jihad” is not only offensive to Muslims, it’s offensive to me as a Jew.

I also take issue with the ad’s language of “defeat.” Jacob did not wrestle with the Angel with the intention of defeating or killing it, but with the intention of receiving a blessing. That is a very different kind of struggle. Holy struggle is something that is meant to bring about blessings and peace, not divisiveness and hate. Therefore, Islamophobic signs about “defeating” jihad are a tactic of exactly the kind of struggle that is not holy.

It is also this sense of the need to “defeat”—rather than constructively struggle with—“the enemy” that bothers me most about the conflict in Gaza. It bothers me so much that when I recite the prayer for the protection of my friends in the Israeli Defense Forces, I cross out the two lines in the prayer pertaining to the “defeat” of the enemy. I appreciate that terrorism cannot be negotiated with, but it is the issues of the occupation in Gaza and the desires of both Israelis and Palestinians to have their own functioning societies that are at the core of the present struggle.

My deepest hope at this time is that the shared Jewish and Muslim value of divine struggle can be used a principle for the Israeli-Palestinian struggle to bring about times of blessings and peace.

Share

[Alumni Guest Post] Working for Prophet

By Jeremy Sorgen (Spring 2011):

What is prophecy? Who are prophets? Traditionally, prophets have played the role of messenger of God. They are God’s mouthpiece, communicating their revelation to mankind–at once an onerous responsibility and an unpleasant task. The prophets of the Bible are unhappy creatures, driven mad by the intimate presence of God and made a conduit to all the world’s suffering. Furthermore, they are often in harms way, since it is their main duty to bring an unsavory message to a corrupt people. In many cases, they must act alone in defiance of authority. Prophets then meet their holy mission as martyrs–lonely, tormented individuals with a high likelihood of being castigated by society.

Yet the prophet is the most revered figure in history (even though their holy work is usually only exalted in retrospect). Society may admire the celebrity since she demonstrates excellence, the highest reaches of human performance. The honor bestowed upon baseball players, musicians and actors is a celebration of the latent power in humans, the possibility of human transcendence and perfection. These are the archetypal men and women of action.

Accomplishments in thought also receive high honors, and those that carry forward the legacy of rational activity and human mastery are awarded accolades. Thinkers–great scientists and philosophers–are the second honorary members of society. Individuals of thought and action, representatives of our highest achievements of mind and body, are the great figures of human history.

Yet one thing is missing: the soul. For the soul corresponds to God and though humans may feel ennobled by full expression of their powers, ultimate dignity and worth can only come from a higher authority. The prophet combines perfection of thought and action into character and vision. They are more than individuals, representing the highest wishes and strivings of humanity, and thus their powers are not limited as those of the individual.

Whereas the baseball player may be an oaf off the field and the professor no more than a provincial cobbler of reason, the prophet, by devoting his life to higher impulses, becomes the chief architect of the world. He dons Godly truth–virtue, courage, compassion, enduring strength–and embodies the calling with every ounce of being, part and parcel of God.

Jesus was the prophet and so was Mohammed. Emerson was the prophet, and Kahlil Gibran, Mother Theresa and Ghandi, Dylan and MLK. The prophet is the person who enacts the Godly mission on earth. The prophet is God working in the world through the “active soul.” God is not dead, and neither is the prophet. God is re-imagined by each of us and re-awakened in our world by the practical expression of our ideals. Each one of us is the prophet, if only we heed the eternal cry.

Look around you. Who are the prophets today? Who is suffering and sweating and rejoicing on my behalf? Everyone has vision, but who has courage to act? Where will prophecy begin anew?

Share

Jerusalem Day

Originally posted on my blog:


Jerusalem Day

On the twenty-eighth of Iyar
A battle was fought,
With G-d’s help, we won,
Against annihilation.

Jerusalem, are we worthy of you?
When will we live up to your name?
Do we deserve these holy places?
We were not worthy of leaving Egypt,
What is different now?

Oh, city of some peace,
Oh, city of some completeness,
Still not unified.

Seeing you again was a blessing.
Jerusalem, this generation’s bitter waters.
Your path is never easy.





Share

מעבדות לחירות [From Slavery To Freedom]

[cross-posted from my blog]

Celebrating Pesach in Israel, for only the second time in my life, has definitely been a unique and enjoyable experience.  From the relative lack of restrictions on access to delicious food — since so many of the restaurants in the city stay open with completely kosher-for-Pesach menus — to enjoying a seder with some of the inspiring and engaged Jews I have the privilege to study with this year, I am sure I will remember this Pesach for years to come.

There are two thoughts that have occupied me leading up to this year’s seder, connected to two of the classic themes of the holiday.  The first I spoke of during the seder: in thinking about the plagues (whether there were 10 or 300 of them, as the Midrash brought in the Hagaddah asserts), I was struck by the rabbinic impulse to argue that there were more plagues inflicted upon the oppressors of the Israelites in their effort to become free.  Why stress the plagues, and the attendant suffering they caused the Egyptians?  What kind of god does that imply that the Israelites (and the rabbis) believed in, and what theological differences would it have made had the Midrash (or the Torah itself) instead tried to minimize the plagues, championing the miracle that Hashem was able to free the Israelites with a minimum amount of harm dealt to the Egyptians?

The second is much more of a modern, grounded concern.  I have focused a little bit this year on a problem of slavery as it exists in the world today, in the form of sexual trafficking.  From volunteering for ATZUM’s Task Force for Human Trafficking, to reading and talking about Half The Sky, the plight of trafficked people has been prominent for me this year.  The tie-in to the seder occurred when I began thinking about how the formal seder ends (before the concluding songs): לשנה הבאה בירושלים — Next Year in Jerusalem!  As someone celebrating the seder in Jerusalem, with little chance of doing so next year, I began to wonder what Jews have traditionally said about this paradox (quite different from being in another country with an equally slim chance of celebrating the following year in Jerusalem).  The basic understanding of this phrase, shared by many, is that the ‘Jerusalem’ referred to is not the city I have been living in this year, but rather ירושלים של מעלה — The Heavenly Jerusalem.  The call at the end of the seder is not one of mass aliyah to Jerusalem, but rather a call to rebuild our world as a whole to more properly reflect what we would consider a heavenly Jerusalem.  I could not help but think that the Jerusalem I had in mind when saying that concluding phrase would have no place in it for the sexual trafficking that occurs in ירושלים של מטה — the Earthly Jerusalem which I live in.

Share

Faces of Pardes: Meet Mirta Eifer

By Suzi Brozman

She’s quiet, she sits back behind Karen Feuer and near Dr. Bernstein, so unless you’re looking for her, you might just miss Mirta.  And that would be a real shame!

At Pardes, Mirta means money…not giving it out, but accounting for it.  As the Finance person, she’s in charge of the bookkeeper, the salaries, preparing budgets, working with the development team and much more.  “There are foundations…we receive money from outside sources.  They require reports, I prepare them. We also receive money from the government, and I work with that.  It’s good that the government recognizes our worth.  We get money from MASA through the Jewish Agency, and I deal with the reports.  Generally, I’m in charge of the cash flow.”

A native of Buenos Aires, Mirta came to Israel 30 years ago after attending Jewish schools and college and getting married.  “I had the good luck to live in Argentina when it was a good place for Jews—schools, places to go.  You could call it the Pardes of South America, with a high level of culture back then.  It was very safe for kids, but it’s not safe now for anybody.”

She grew up with many options, able to travel safely around the city as a teen, even coming home by bus in the middle of the night.  There was freedom to learn, to do whatever she chose.  “The Jewish community in Buenos Aires was not so religious, but very Zionist.  There was a high degree of identification with Israel.”

She still visits Argentina once a year.  Her two children were born here and the highlight of her life, her 6-month-old granddaughter.  “It’s amazing, a big miracle.  They live near Tel Aviv.”  She delights in seeing the family frequently.

Away from money matters, Mirta does sports.  “Moving my body is healing my soul so I do it as much as I can…going to the gym, swimming, walking.  If I’m not moving myself, it hurts.  I always find the time to do something.  It helps my integrity.”

Besides exercise and the new baby, Mirta’s focus is on Pardes.  You’re liable to find her at 6 a.m. in front of her home computer checking the balance in Pardes’ bank account.  “I’ve been at Pardes over 10 years.  The economy has affected us.  We depend on income from students and donations.  But we manage.  We recover financially.  The goal here is not to make money, but to educate.  We make it happen.”

Share

Speak Up

I am a 22 year old American living in Jerusalem.  I moved here shortly after my college graduation to spend a year learning Jewish texts and familiarizing myself with Israel.  Coming here, I expected to meet wonderful people and be enriched by high quality learning and wonderful adventures.  What I did not expect was to have my heart broken by the reality of what is going on in Israel.

All my life I have contributed to the Jewish National Fund (JNF).  As a little kid, I remember how exciting it was to put coins in the little blue boxes.  I was proud of the work they did building reservoirs and planting trees.  I admired the way they also financed parks and trees in Palestinian territories.  And I was personally grateful for their help in financing my alternative spring break trip to Uruguay to build emergency housing in the barrio during my freshman year of college.

Because I was so proud of JNF and because I lauded them for the good they create in the world and because they are one of the few organizations I have personally funded, you can imagine my shock when I opened the paper this week and learned that my JNF is behind the eviction of a twelve person family in East Jerusalem including five children, a pregnant mother, and a grandfather on dialysis.  How could this be?

The eviction of the Sumarin family began almost twenty years ago.  The owner of the property passed away, at which point government officials took exception to documentation regarding inheritance of the property and confiscated it under the Abandoned Property Law.  Despite the fact that the Sumarin family was still residing in this home, the property was then transferred to the Development Authority which is run by the state of Israel.  In a not-uncommon turn of events, the government then exchanged this property and surrounding lands for land near Wadi Ara, Northern West Bank.  In this deal, Himnuta, the JNF subsidiary, became the owner of the property.  That was in the early 1990s.

Shortly thereafter, Himnuta leased the other properties involved in this land exchange to Jewish settlers through the Elad agency.  The Sumarin family appeared in court many times over the coming years, defending their right to their home, and received both verdicts in their favor and against them.  In 2005, Himnuta filed to evict the Sumarin family.  This suit was accepted in 2006 by the Jerusalem Magistrate’s Court and the family was required to vacate the property and pay a one million shekel fine.  (Keep in mind that according to a government survey conducted in 2008 of Israeli—not Palestinian—territories, the gross monthly income per Israeli household was 13,339 shekels.  According to this study the gross yearly income of an Israeli family would be 160,068 shekels.  This means that the Sumarin family’s fine was 6.25 times the gross yearly income of the average Israeli family, and the average yearly income for a Palestinian family is far less than that of an Israeli family.  How could any family anywhere pay a fine of 6.25 times their yearly income?)

For a few years after the eviction notice was delivered, it seemed that Himnuta had forgotten about the suit.  But, about two months ago, proceedings began again.  This time, Himnuta pursued the property through the Bailiff’s office.  The Sumarin’s received another eviction notice which requires them to vacate the property by November 28 or they will be forcibly removed from the property.  And their fine was doubled to two million shekels.

This story not only breaks my heart, but fills me with an indelible sense of guilt.  After all, my beloved JNF is not the only culprit here.  I contributed to their funding.  In this way, I helped to fund the Sumarin family eviction.  And this is not an isolated case.  This appears to be a commonly employed strategy to displace Palestinian families and expand Jewish settlements in spite of what is publicized as government or JNF policy.

I beg you to please write to JNF.  Tell them that creating Jewish homes by throwing Palestinian families into the street is no way to create a homeland.  Implore them to act with a higher moral authority.  Demand that your money be directed towards good in the world, and not in a way which fuels terrorism and ill will.  I have been a witness for the pain that JNF is causing.  If you speak up and demand change I can be a witness to JNF living up to its charter and to traditional Jewish values of social justice.

I was shocked to find out how different the reality here is from what is reported in the American press.  I believe that things will only change if the American people hold Israel accountable.  Please speak up.  Please allow me to witness the righteousness of the American people.  Hold JNF accountable for policies and actions committed under the guise of Himnuta and create a more just Israel.

 

Since this article was written, the family was granted a temporary reprieve.  But this is not the end.  There is still a lot of work necessary to prevent this from happening in the future, and to alleviate ongoing threats of eviction.  Want to get involved?  Here are a few suggestions:

  1. Go to facebook and “like” http://www.facebook.com/pages/Jewish-National-Fund-Do-Not-Uproot-Palestinian-Families/186727121416986?sk=wall.
  2. Write a letter to JNF.  Tell them that their actions are inappropriate and unethical.  Urge them to change course and find a workable solution for all involved parties.
  3. Write to your community at home.  Let them know what is happening with families in Silwan.  60% of the Palestinians who live there are facing this type of eviction.  Let your community know that their tzedakkah is enabling this heartache.  
  4. Visit Silwan.  This is a powerful opportunity to see firsthand what is happening and learn a side of the truth.  You may also want to learn about the laws which support this type of eviction, and the action (or inaction) that has taken place in the past.
Share

Week 5: Days of Awe

(X-posted to my home blog, Yinzer in Yerushalayim,)

Rosh HaShana was amazing. The services at Yedidya (which is a lot like YPS except much bigger, and, frankly, younger) were filled with singing and soul, and I got to attend lots of fantastic meals– in terms of both food and company–at the homes of a Pardes board member, a teacher, and several friends.

But the most memorable and most moving event happened on Shabbat afternoon after the Pardes potluck picnic in the park, filled with great food, and friends and frisbee, and brought to you by the letters P and F (they’re the same in Hebrew). It was filled with so much frisbee that once it was over, all I wanted to do was go back to my apartment and sleep until Havdala. Once I got to by apartment, it became clear that my key had fallen out of my pocket while playing and it was now somewhere in the park, and no amount of checking and feeling my pockets then checking and feeling my pockets again was going to bring it back, though I did have a hunch that checking and feeling my pockets a sixth time might. (It didn’t.) Fortunately, the park is only a minute from where I live, so I dashed back there and started searching around. I felt so awkward wandering around the park in the middle of playing children staring intensely at the ground, and I can’t imagine how creepy I must have looked. I found at least 3 kipa clips, a comb, and lots of candy wrappers, but no key. After maybe five unsuccessful minutes of stalking about the park, I raced back to my apartment to check the staircase and under the doormat, but with no luck. Since I have a reputation for being a somewhat oblivious person, I knew it was at least possible it was still at the park and I just overlooked it, so I ran back to the park to search some more, praying that a.) A little kid didn’t steal it, or at least that b.) A new one wouldn’t be too too expensive. After maybe five more minutes of suspicious behavior around the park, I had finally given up hope and began to mope home with my head down when I did a double-take–there, on the ledge of the stone entrance into the park, was my key! Apparently, someone must have noticed it laying in the grass and placed it there, thinking it would be easier to for me to find in a different location from where I lost it. I snatched it, kissed it, skipped back to my apartment, and understood for the first time why people make aliya.

The next day I had to go to the Center of Town to give my security deposit to my landlord. While leaning against the wall of the bus shelter waiting for the bus, a woman sitting on the bench tried to get my attention. She started saying something in Hebrew, and when it became obvious I didn’t understand, said in English that part of my check was sticking out of my pocket, and I should put it deeper in or else someone might steal it. I thanked her and took her advise. It was fortunately a blank check, but her point was very well taken. Sociologically, I know my amazement at these incidents stems from going to a collectively-minded society after being spending my whole life in an individually-minded one, but they made me confront a stark truth: I am too self-reliant. Without getting in to specific examples, so many times this and every year I wait until situations get out of hand before asking someone else for help, and, once I finally do, time and again I discover that the advice or solution I needed was there waiting for me all-along in the heart of someone close to me, all I had to do was swallow my pride and ask. I need to learn that I am not in this (whatever “this” is) alone, and if I was, I couldn’t survive. Jews and Israelis know this all too well. So comparatively minor as these two incidents are, I’m glad they graphically pointed out to me much wider nagging issues in my life that I need to be paying attention to. ‘Tis the season.

I got another great opportunity for self-reflection Wednesday at Pardes’ voluntary, extra-circular Non-Judgmental Garbage Collection activity. The workshop consisted of two-parts: in the first, we discussed two Jewish sources on when and how to pass judgement on others then in the second, the roughly 7 of us got bright-orange garbage bags, put on plastic gloves, and walked around outside the Pardes building in silence at twilight, picking up trash while trying as hard as we possibly could not to pass judgement on the people who dropped it. I thought that since we were specifically told not to pass judgement on them, passing judgement on the litters would be all I would be able to think about, but thankfully, it wasn’t; in fact, it ended up being quite therapeutic. After about a half-hour of picking up cigarette butts, Styrofoam, and random little pieces of metal and plastic and (definately not self-judgmentally) having this song stuck in my head, we reconvened inside and reflected on the experience. Here are some of the insights I had while meditatively, non-judgmentally, picking up trash:

  • Determining what is and is not trash is in itself an act of judgement.
  • How many anonymous people have been picking up my after my physical and emotional trash over the years?
  • Thank God there are almost certainly fewer cigarette butts now than there would have been even 5 years ago.
  • Why am I looking at how much other people have in their bags? I’m turning this into a contest, how insecure am I??
  • As time wore on, I became less and less concerned whether passersby were looking at me. Sorry, but I’m too busy being non judgmental to care what you think of me.

In all seriousness, I’m very glad I did the workshop. As much as I learned from it, I learned even more from the revelations of my classmates during the discussion afterwards.

Thursday afternoon, we went on tiyyulim around Jerusalem. I signed up for the S.Y. Agnon tour. I admit I have read very little Agnon and spent most of the tour regretting that fact. Israel loves its only Nobel laureate in literature so much he is the theme of the 50 shekel bill, and it is not hard to understand why–even what little of him I have read is so beautiful and poetic even in translation, I can only imagine how much more profound it is in Hebrew. The most inspiring part of the tour, though was learning that from the publication of his first novel, Agunot, in 1908 until his death in 1970, he was supported by a stipend from the publisher Zalman Schocken that enabled him to work exclusively at writing for 60 years. I think this is one of the best ideas I’ve ever heard. Israel is very proud of having a disproportionately large number of Nobel laureates (including the latest one we’re all kvelling over, Dan Shechtman for Chemistry) for a country of its age and size, yet they are not satisfied: our tour guide said they really expect Amos Oz to win one of these years and sounded legitimately disappointed that Israel has only had but 1 literature laureate. If you ask me, the reason for this is lack of investment in writers. If they gave even 1% of the money they throw around to Diaspora kids so they can come here for 10 days or a year then leave to struggling writers like me–who God knows don’t need much to get by–to move here and write for 60 years, they would have Nobel Prizes in literature coming out the Agnon. I know I have been adamant that I have no plans of making aliya, but for the good of the Jewish state, I would be man it up and be willing to make that kind of a sacrifice. Even in the worst-case scenario, this plan would still give the Israeli government a much higher ROI then all the millions of shekels they give away to neighborhoods full of cheredim to learn no marketable skills and not serve in the army.

Now I have to start getting ready for tonight.

Hebrew word of the week: לחשוב (“L’khashohv”) – To think

Share