Neil Manel Frau-Cortes' blog on music, Judaism and new technologies

Posts tagged ‘judaism’

Of Biblical Unicorns and Jews With Horns

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Following my (relatively) recent post about dragons and mermaids in the Bible, today I want to explore another subject that has to do with mythical beasts: the symbolism of horns and unicorns in Judaism. If you thought that unicorns are just honor members of a much-later medieval bestiary, you will be surprised to know that the King James Bible uses the word “unicorn” no less than six times (Num 23:22, Num 24:8. Job 39:9-10, Psalm 29:6, Psalm 92:10), although surprisingly other versions of the Bible translate the same word as “ox,” “wild-ox” or other horned animals. The problem is that these oxes seem to have a single horn, as implied by a text we recite twice every Shabbat: “you raise my horn (not ‘horns’) like that of the triumphant ox (or unicorn).” So these are the questions: are there unicorns in the Bible? And how do we read the metaphor of raising somebody’s horn in Jewish culture?

The Hebrew word usually translated as “unicorn” is ראם (re’em), a term of uncertain meaning. G. Dennis defines the re’em as a mythic giant ox-like animal with horns, or perhaps with a single horn. Let us explore what rabbinic literature and Jewish myth tell us about these unicorns. Very strong and agile, the re’em is so big that its horn touches the clouds and its droppings can dam the river Jordan (Yalkut II: 97d). The re’em was created on the sixth day of creation, that is, at the same time that the Divine created human beings and the rest of animals not included on the 5th day. Apparently, the legend says that there are only two re’emim (plural of re’em) at a time, and that they only mate every 70 years. After mating, the female re’em kills the male. The next pair gestate in the female for at least 12 years, and then the female dies while giving birth. It is said that King David inadvertently mistook a re’em for a mountain and climbed on it (B.B. 73a). Of course, the biblical and rabbinic legends about the re’em are later conflated with popular beliefs about unicorns in medieval writings.

The essence of this mythological beast is, obviously, his prominent horn, in Hebrew קרן, keren. Horns are the symbol of power, of alarm and of other-worldliness. A midrash says that Cain sprouted a horn from his forehead as a mark given by God in order to protect him, but his semi-blind grandson Lemach accidentally killed him thinking he was a game animal. Based on Ex. 34:29, early Christians depicted Moses as having horns, as light was radiating from his face, and because the Hebrew language uses the word keren also to mean “rays of light” (קרני אור). This representation of a horned Moses (see, for instance, Michelangelo’s sculpture) influenced the Christian myth that Jews were minions of the Devil. Popular belief was that Jews actually had real horns under their head cover, a myth reinforced by the mandatory wearing of horned hats.

The fact is that in medieval Europe Jewish males were forced to wear a single-horned skull cap or pilleus cornutus. It begun by being just another shape of the traditional head covering, but quickly became mandatory in order to distinguish Jews from Christians. The law was based on the Fourth Council of the Lateran (1215), which ruled that non-Christians must at all times be distinguishable by their dress, less Christians engage in sexual intercourse with them by mistake. Through the centuries, the wearing of the horned hat was substituted in other countries by the wearing of a badge, a trend that continued down to Nazi Germany. Rules of distinctive garb for Jews were also enforced in the Muslim world continuously at least until mid 19th century. In European art, the wearing of the horned hat is often symbolic: Egyptian magicians are depicted wearing it too, as a sign of being “like Jews,” that is, on the wrong side of the dispute depicted in Ex. 7:10-12; in scenes of Judgment Day conversions, removing the Jewish hat is a symbol of abandoning infidelity and recalcitrant Jewishness. On the other hand, antisemitic depictions of the male Jew –not unlike later prejudices against black males in our country— regularly included being a sexual predator that targeted gentile women, and some authors argue that a long “shapely” nose was nothing but a code for the Jewish phallus.

The point is that, for some primal, etiological reason, many cultures have equated the symbolism of the horn to that of the phallus, with implications of strength and ruling power. Going back to the Bible, the word “horn” appears often in the text in a literal, functional way, but also in a metaphorical sense. Here and there we have faint hints of horns and magic-ritual uses in the Bible. Thus Zedekiah made for himself (or perhaps for the king) a cap with horns of iron, saying “thus says Hashem: with these you shall push the Syrians until they are destroyed” (1Kings 22:11), the idea being that the wearer of the horns would be transformed in an invincible, triumphant bull. The concept of kings as “young bulls with horns” was quite common in the ancient Near East (Shalmeneser III, Thutmose III and Seti II all receive this epithet). The whole tribe of Efraim is poetically described in these terms: “his glory is like the firstling of his bullock, and his horns are like the horns of unicorns: with them he shall push the people together” (Dt 33:17). Once again, the King James Bible’s “unicorn” is none but the re’em in the original Hebrew.

In another interesting biblical epithet God is described as “the horn of my salvation” (Ps 18:2, 2Sam 22:3). This implies that horns not always have the connotation of attack or destruction, but also positive implications of deliverance and not-so-veiled phallic allusions, as the texts imply vertical representations of raising horns. Such is the case of “my horn is lifted up like the horn of the wild-ox (or unicorn, re’em), I am anointed with fresh oil,” which arguably could represent the erection as a symbol of power and victory. Redemption and strength for the future messiah are reflected in the phrase “I will make a horn to sprout for David” (Jer 48:25). One can easily read a castration metaphor when “the horn of Moab is cut” (meaning that Moab’s political domination is over). Note that in all of these cases, the texts mention one single horn, not a pair of them.

Despite the contemporary commercialized, sanitized version of the unicorn myth, unicorns also have a close link to phallicism, that is, the veneration of the generative principle in the form of a phallus. As both phallus and horn are symbols of primal masculinity (only male animals have horns), as such they have connotations of both destruction-agression (the horn as a weapon) and generative powers. The cornucopia –the “horn of abundance,” a classical symbol of Western art, often related in America to Thanksgiving– is depicted as a horn-shaped container overflowing with produce, flowers and nuts. This is an interesting symbiosis, as the masculine/horn symbol has a fecundity effect in the feminine/earth abundant harvest. Of particular interest are the many mythical beings depicted with horns, often inspired in anthropomorphic gods, as many of the moon-cult (think of the inverted crescent shape in the head of a figure) and bull-cult deities are represented with horns. Pan, Apollo Carneus and Dionysus are all horned gods with phallic implications, and they have been linked to fertility, a certain ritual madness, and religious ecstasy. We find similar connections in the myths related to Shiva, Osiris, Priapus, Hermes, Cernunnos, etc. It is quite interesting that Christianity turned the images of these horned gods into representations of the devil, the antithesis of God and incarnation of destructive passions as much as of unruly sexuality. To me, it is a symbol of the Christian discomfort, if not plain rejection, of anything related to the body and to sexuality.

And thus we close the circle. In this totum revolutum of popular imagination, Jews –perceived as horned creatures of insatiable and disorderly sexuality— conflate with images of alterity, of ancient gods and modern devils, sitting together around the fire, dancing the primal, generative dance of the unicorn.

 

Bibliography

Bienstock Anolik, Ruth and Douglas L. Howard, edit. The Gothic other: racial and social constructions in the literary imafination. Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Co., 2004, p. 188.

Davis, Christian. Colonialism, antisemitism and Germans of Jewish Descent in Imperial Germany. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2015, p. 103

Dennis, Geoffrey W. The Encyclopedia of Jewish myth, magic and mysticism, Woodbury MN : Llewellyn, 2007, pp. 117, 122-123.

“Jewish hat,” Wikipedia [https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jewish_hat, accessed Dec. 29, 2015]

Mystery, Mel, “Unicorns and phallic horns,” Discovering the male mysteries podcast, episode 10, May 18, 2014 [http://www.podbean.com/media/share/pb-xp64u-4ec73a/download, accessed Dec. 29, 2015]

Süring, Margit L., “The horn-motifs of the Bible and the ancient Near East,” Andrews University Seminary Studies, Autumn 1984, Vol. 22 no. 3, pp. 327-340

Howling at the moon: Dragons and Sirens in the Hebrew Bible.

 

The other evening my dear friend Eric Eldritch –the amazingly creative artist behind the Red Dragon Festival– brought to my attention an interesting Biblical verse: Job 30:29. I’ll transcribe it here so you don’t have to look it up: “I am a brother to dragons, a companion to owls” (KJV, which most probably implies something like Job is as hurtful and lonely as these two animals). Eric’s questions were if there are dragons in the Bible, and if dragons are part of Hebrew mythology.

If the King James Version surprised me, the wide variations between other translations were no less perplexing: dragons and owls became in other Biblical translations jackals and ostriches respectively. The subject piqued my curiosity and I decided to find out about the dragons and the apparently incongruous variation between translations. What lied behind the metaphor of these lonely animals howling at the moon?

For many generations, believers and religious leaders have thought that the Bible was the perfect word of God, divinely inspired letter by letter, even scientifically flawless and historically accurate. Rivers of ink had been spent trying to harmonize each and all contradictions of the text, and struggling to make the text be –or appear as!– perfectly homogenous. It begun with the redactors of the Biblical documents (JEPD) and has not ceased until contemporary fundamentalist commentators. It comes as no surprise that for centuries the Church preferred the Vulgate over the Hebrew Tanakh: any unequal, fragmentary text does look nice, smooth and coherent if translated with enough skill. However, the tireless efforts of generations of editors and translators have never been able to devoid the Bible of all traces of Hebrew myths: the Goddess, Lilith, the Leviathan, Azazel, demons, and giants have left their footprint in the Biblical text and it is relatively easy to uncover them.

Going back to Job 30:29, the Hebrew terms used in the text are tanin (תנין) and ya’en (יען). Sometimes the Bible uses hapax legomena, that is, words whose meaning is unknown because they appear only a few times in the text and we have very few or no other external texts where the word is used, so that we can deduce its meaning. Although tanin is technically not one of these words, its exact meaning is equally unknown. The term tanin seams to designate a wide range of creatures. The Even Shoshan Hebrew dictionary includes some of the meanings for this word: from crocodile and gecko, to a wide range of marine monsters and unknown humongous creatures. Thus, Gen 1:21 seems to refer to the creation of marine monsters, or at least of very big wales. Is 27:1 offers us a glimpse to a gallery of mythical monsters, including the Leviathan and another marine tanin, here often translated as “dragon.” When Aaron casts his rod in front of Pharaoh, it becomes a tanin, some sort of monstrous serpent that ends up eating the other serpents (Exod. 7:9).

In his Encyclopedia of Jewish Myth, Magic and Mysticism (p. 71), Dennis defines the tanin asan archetypical monster, usually resembling a serpent. Some readers understand it to refer to a monstrous serpent or dragon that is a menace for navigation (Is 27:1; Neh 2:13; Baba Batra 74a-b). Although in some instances it may be a synonymous of Leviathan, in the apocalyptic literature it designates a dragon of huge dimensions in Sheol that feeds on the souls of the wicked (3Baruch 4-5). Demons can take the form of taninin, dragons, according to the Talmud (Kid. 29b). In fact, the demon Samael is often given the title “serpent” or “dragon.” A cosmic blind dragon or Tanin ‘Iver serves as the steed of Lilith (Daniel Septuagint, 3Baruch, Treatise on the Left Emanation).

So what are the tanin and the ya’en? When linguists do not know the meaning of hapax legomena or of a particularly obscure term, we try to find out how ancient translators understood them. It is quite probable that ancient Biblical translators from the beginning of the common era were more knowledgeable than us regarding these two words: they were fluent in both languages and conversant with both cultures and their socio-historical contexts. Ya’en doesn’t seem to be much of a problem: other than its meaning of “owl” we only find another alternative, that of the Septuagint, which translates the term as Στρουθος, “ostrich.” However, the word tanin is another story, and the options of the ancient translators do not but increase our perplexity. The Vulgate chooses to translate tanin by draco, “dragon.” The Targum translates the plural form taninin as yerurin or yelulin (ירוריןילולין) derived from a root (ילל) that means to howl or to cry out with full voice. Whatever the monstrous tanin was, it was understood to be howly and noisy, and therefore some translators thought it had to be a lonely jackal. The Peshitta follows the same reading and translates it as yerura (ירורא), with the same meaning.

Most surprising to me was the Septuagint, which decides that a tanin has to be a howling, marine monster of another kind: a seiren (σειρήν-σειρηνος), that is, a siren. As we know from the Odyssey, the sirens were two mythical sisters on the south coast of Italy, who enticed seamen by their songs, and then slew them. They tried to seduce Ulysses with their chants, but luckily he was tied to that mast (Od. 12.39 ff.). Strange how the alluring appeal of the siren’s song and the mournful, loud howl of the dragon converge in our story. Seiren is also one of the epithetic names of Zeus, possible related to a verb that means to scorch. The funny thing I find out is that the word σειρήν, generally feminine, can be used in a masculine form, particularly with the meaning of a kind of solitary wasp. The tanin, by the way, is definitively masculine, and so is draco. My wild imagination can’t avoid but to conjure images of Odysseus seduced by a leviathan, a serpent, a dragon, a masculine siren whose chants have the allure of wale songs and the dirge of jackals. 

She wore blue velvet: more dangers of co-optation.

 

Some years ago, in Tel Aviv, an Israeli friend of mine told me –in a mixture of wonder and puzzlement–: “I don’t understand how can you call yourself dati (religious), when it’s obvious you are not.” What he meant was clear to me: I don’t wear kippah all the time, only when I feel like doing it, and when I don my yammy, it is definitely colorful, not plain black velvet. My tsitsit do not hang ostensibly outside of my clothes. I observe Shabbat, but I don’t mind turning on lights, taking showers or using my electric kettle on that day. To me, Shabbat is about rest, enjoyment, connection with the divine and other human beings, about spirituality, not about making myself a pretzel considering if pouring soy milk over my cereal is tantamount of forbidden cooking. All these details brought my proudly secular friend to repeat the common motto: “it’s all or nothing!” Either you observe or you do not. Translated in plain words: stop appropriating the beautiful, meaningful, ethically sound aspects of Judaism and discarding the retrograde, anachronistic aspects they define as equally essential. According to this theory, it is hypocritical to light Shabbat candles, bless the wine, smell the sweet havdalah spices, celebrate the new moon, or cry like a baby at neilah, if you are not ready to accept the laws of mamzerut, pray for the restoration of animal sacrifice, and discriminate against random folks (women, agunot, LGBTQ, converts, liberal Jews and anybody who doesn’t look like us). This is just a fallacy, a mistake that is hurting more than helping.

More recently, while writing an article, I was trying to find a good definition of “repentance” in Judaism and I did what most of us do these days: I begun by googling the corresponding Wikipedia articles. The articles on ba’ale teshuvah stirred me and brought to my memory the story I just told you. For those of you that may not know, a ba’al teshuvah (literally “penitent” or “somebody who has repentance,” for short a “BT”) is a person who was born “legally Jewish” but never practiced, and later in life has a religious awakening and comes back to Judaism. Therefore, most of us, average committed Jews of all denominations are ba’ale teshuvah in some form or other. A number of us –born Jewish or not– has experienced the transformative miracle of discovering the richness of Judaism at a point of our lives.

The problem comes when you use the concept of ba’al teshuvah in an exclusive, discriminating way. The fact is that most people have bought into the idea that a BT is somebody who didn’t grow up Orthodox and has later adopted this denomination. If you were secular, a moderate Reform, a committed Conservative Jew, or even a Conservadox all your life and suddenly you “don the black velvet kippah” so to speak, congratulations, now you are a BT, and you are a “real Jew.” However if you were secular and then come back to any progressive way of Jewish observance, you are out of luck: you have not upgraded to BT.

On a deeper meaning, from its inception, the current use of the term BT was intended to discriminate against newbies. The auto-denominated religious will say that somebody is a BT in order to differentiate this person from an FFB, a frum from birth, somebody who is born “into families that are already religiously observant, and who have been conceived, born and raised Jewishly” (quoting the Wikipedia article). And if you are a FFB you can always go wrong and become an OTD (“off the derech”), somebody who has left Orthodox practice, no matter if he is still a very observant liberal Jew.

You see, sad as it might be, it is perfectly Ok if Orthodox people use these terms and look at the rest of us as unauthentic and fundamentally wrong. There is very little I can say or do to change their opinion. My many Orthodox friends know that we will never agree in this subject, so we just don’t bother. But why in the world should the rest of us buy into it and use these words in the same terms? I have already ranted about the need to stop using the term frum or “religious” among us to mean only “Orthodox”, which invalidates the religious experience of must of us. Maybe it is time that we become aware of this other language co-optation and stop using BT with the same implications. Then we’ll realize that the so-called BT movement is immensely bigger than what they tell us. Everywhere I turn I see people who (re-)discover in Judaism a beautiful, ages-old, moving, profound, and living wisdom. And, believe me, not all of them wear black velvet kippot.

Creativity as an excuse.

An apology to everybody for this time of silence: I have been wrapping up my dissertation and getting ready to defend it very soon! As I take a tiny break from higher education, I finished this post precisely about some disturbing trends in Jewish and secular education.

I was brought up in an educational system which, quite unfortunately, did not value creativity. One learned to draw by copying Freixa’s artwork to the smallest detail. One learned piano by playing Bach’s Inventions. Piano improvisation or creative drawing just was not for beginners: first you had to prove that you mastered the technique, then you’d be free to create. Far from me to sing the praises of an education that was frankly castrating, but I think that today we may have gone to the other extreme, emphasizing individual development and creativity up to a point where rules and hard-work learning are frown at. I think that this cartoon gives a good hint of what is happening:

The other day, one of my third graders was trying to play a new song on the recorder. He’s been playing for around seven months but is still unable to produce more than three basic notes. “Jacob, the left hand goes up and the right hand goes down” –I tell him. It is to no avail: Jacob answers that this is the way he plays, that it’s a lot easier than my way. “See? It works just fine!” –says little Jacob with a challenging, slightly impertinent tone of voice. I spend some minutes showing Jacob that, although his current fingering may seem to work fine for the few notes he knows now (from high C down to E), he will never be able to play lower notes just because using the wrong hand, his pinky will not be able to reach the lowest hole. We have been repeating this same dialogue for some months now and Jacob –otherwise a normal, intelligent kid– still does not change his mind. It is a phenomenon I observe very often in my music classes: in this boy’s mind, his way of doing things is as good as –if not better than– the teacher’s. Like most of my young American students, he doesn’t perceive any hierarchy between us. He sees me as a peer whose opinion can safely be ignored. As teachers, we are encouraged to let him learn at his pace, in his way, leaving nobody behind and not forcing our learning schemes on anybody.

Without any doubt, creativity and individual self-expression are values we ought to cultivate, cornerstones of personal development and education. However, they cannot be a good excuse for the lack of knowledge, for the bliss of ignorance. As my former composition teacher used to say, if you chose to ignore what the experts say, you may reach similar results –supposing that you are really lucky– , but not without having wasted a long time “reinventing the chicken soup.” Of course there are great composers that never took a class on counterpoint, but there’s no guarantee you’ll be one of them.

It may well be that the misuse of creativity as an excuse is a problem restricted to my area of teaching, but something tells me that it is a trend affecting not only our educational system, but also our synagogue life. Not so long ago, I was reflecting on the excessive use of creative midrash among lay leaders and even among a few rabbis and cantors. Confronted with the need of delivering a devar torah, it is always easier to come out with a creative midrash or some gematria interpretation than to ponder what Rashi and Sforno wrote about the text. The smaller our knowledge of Talmud, codes, and halachah, the bigger our recourse to creative allegories, pseudo-kabbalistic interpretations and the like.

Our tradition had always put high value on received knowledge and careful study. And yet, do we value Torah expertise today in our synagogues? We like to think that we do, but the changing reality might teach us otherwise. I have already posted a couple of times about the so-called Pediatric Synagogues, that is, shuls where absolutely everything turns around the children school and the benei mitzvah. How many shuls do you know where there is virtually no adult education? Aren’t we supposed to be a religion of lifetime learning? And yet, mysteriously, American families join a shul whenever the kids are of age and stay through the bar/bat mitzvah, only to disappear from active Jewish life soon after. Admittedly, the performance of the b. mitzvah kid looks brilliant, so nobody seems too concerned that he or she never learned Hebrew properly and just memorized a haftarah in transcription. Like in a day school, we put out beautiful displays of our kids’ works so that all parents can see it when they come for Open House night. Yes, it is true that we gave the kids all the pieces cut and marked so that  they only had to add a drop of glue, and thus learned near to nothing, but doesn’t it look dazzling?

At the same time, an increasing number of synagogues show a concerning trend when hiring a new rabbi or cantor: they essentially look for somebody who can teach haftarot to kids, say El Male in a funeral and chant a decent Kol Nidre. After all, the majority of their members will only be in shul in those very occasions. Of course, it will be a part-time job: the cantor or rabbi will only have to lead a couple services a week, teach children, and be available for funerals. What’s that? 6 to 10 hours a week? We don’t need more than that.

I wish I was exaggerating, but after almost two years of applying to jobs, it is hard for me not to reach to this conclusion: as we are losing our emphasis on lifetime education, we are also losing our reverence for clergy as our sages and teachers.  It hasn’t been too long until the creation of fast-track rabbis. There are at least a couple of rabbinical training programs in the US for people who are too busy to learn. One single Skype meeting a week, and in a year you could call yourself a rabbi, with semikhah and all. Certainly, for El Male, Kol Nidre and haftarah teaching it is probably enough, but is it enough for adult education, pastoral care, serious Jewish learning, etc? To me, this is like learning 5 songs on the violin through the Suzuki method and then printing business cards that read “John Doe, violinist.”

Now you can think that there have always been funky ordination tracks and that they are in the fringes, not representing any generalized trend. I dare to differ: the curriculum of some well-established rabbinical schools is also being changed with the pretext that they are tailoring it to the needs of a 21st century synagogue. However, this does not account for the considerable reduction of admission requirements (lower Hebrew level, if any) nor for the elimination of scholarly subjects in favor of “more spiritual” and professional courses. In these new curricula we see a lot less Talmud, less Codes and Responsa, and more creative midrash and social activism. Rabbinical seminaries are feeling the crisis and they need to keep a steady flow of incoming students if they don’t want to close their doors. They are also competing with new rabbinical programs whose requirements are clearly lower. As a result, we will have more rabbis than ever, with less knowledge of traditional texts but with lots of creativity. If a serious congregant wants to learn Gemara, the rabbi may have to refer him or her to somebody else.

The value of higher Jewish education is in question. Whenever I apply to a job, any cantorial soloist is taken on equal foot as an ordained cantor like me. What is worse, any fast-track rabbi will be given preference over my degrees, since I don’t have an “R” in front of my name. Some months ago, when I complained about this subject on this blog, I received a quite vitriolic comment that deeply saddened me. Paraphrasing the message, this is what this person told me: “I am a part-time cantorial soloist with a day job as a college teacher; I don’t feel underpaid nor underemployed at my shul; stop complaining, go back to school, get a degree and find a real job; then you’ll be able to afford this lifestyle.” The “lifestyle” referred was simply  being a cantor.

For weeks I debated with myself what to do. I didn’t hit the “approve” button and the comment wasn’t published on my blog. It just laid there, hidden in my inbox, lurking and waiting for an answer. I was very ready to write a quite bitter response to this person, maybe even publicly in the blog. Then I decided that this –hopefully well-intentioned– friend didn’t know me from Adam, and assumed I was some uneducated bum. In a way, she was a victim of the very same trend I am talking about. This cantorial soloist saw herself as equal to an ordained cantor. Since probably she had invested very little money and time in her own cantorial education, she couldn’t see a need for a fair compensation. To her, this was a hobby, and being paid at all for something you enjoy and you would do anyway is the cherry on the pie. Like many others, this reader thought that being a cantor or a rabbi was not so much of a vocation –or a ministry, as other religions say– but some “lifestyle,” an occupation that can equally be done by lay individuals in their free time. What is more alarming: she didn’t see any added value on being a clergy person, of having spent five or six years in seminary.

Today, any lay person leads services; independent havurot pride themselves on being lay-led. Don’t get me wrong: every Jew should know enough to be a sheliach tsibur. However, sometimes you need an expert that can explain the rationale of it all and take you to the next step.  The rabbinical and cantorial placement lists of all denominations are probably at the lowest they have ever been. The vast majority of these jobs are very part-time. Meanwhile, in my opinion we may be losing the reverence for our sages and experts. We are holding our little plastic flute the wrong way, we smile and say: “see? It works just fine!”

 

Jewish Songs: the New, the Old and the Hidden.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There are so many things happening in the field of Jewish music that sometimes it is hard to keep track, since –even in the age of the internet– excellent new books and recordings do not get the exposure and diffusion they deserve. If it is hard enough for us in the US to know what is being done opposite coast, what to tell about new publications in Israel or Europe. Today I would like to take some time to present four new books on Jewish music, the new, the old and even the hidden.

 

First for the new songs: some months ago Shalshelet published its 4th International Festival of New Jewish Liturgical Music 2010 Festival Songbook and accompanying CD’s. Like the preceding volumes, this is a must-have for cantors, lay shatz and shul musicians. You will find numerous musical settings that fit the needs of religious services, educational venues and formal music interpretations by choirs and soloists, from quite elaborated contemporary music to congregational, simple tunes that work very well in most synagogues. The book is organized by subjects: psalms, songs of love, songs of memory and healing, etc. Among my favorite melodies I will mention Aaron Blumenfeld’s Song of Songs, Jessi Roemer’s Ahavat Olam, and Marcia Dubrow’s Va-tikach Miryam. There is a wide array of styles, from folk to jazz, pop to Hasidic and mizrachi. Musical creativity in the Jewish world is alive and well! A number of the musical pieces are recorded in a double CD, that is sold separately, but unfortunately the recordings do not cover the whole collection, so it is well worth getting both items, and thereby supporting Shalshelet‘s great task. By the way, the songbook includes a piece of yours truly, Shachar Avakeshka, in a jazz style for choir and piano.

 

The other three books I want to introduce to you are written by the same author and, in my opinion, form an impressive collection that any person seriously interested in Jewish folk music will enjoy. The author is Liliana Treves Alcalay, and the titles are Canti di corte e di juderia, Melodie di un Esilio, Canti della diaspora, all published by Giuntina in Italy. Do not let the Italian text scare you out: they all come with abundant music transcriptions, original lyrics, a CD that contains a selection of the analyzed melodies, etc. Canti della Diaspora [Songs of the Diaspora] is a short, well-written book that serves as a good introduction to the variety and richness of Jewish folk song. After a brief exposition of the major trends of Sephardic and Ashkenazi musical traditions, Liliana Alcalay offers a very nice selection of songs in Ladino and Yiddish, accompanied with Italian translations (although without any music transcriptions).

 

In Canti di corte e di juderia [Songs of Court and Jewry], Alcalay focuses on the origins of Sephardic music and tries to establish the features that make it different from non-Jewish Iberian folk-song. The author compares a number of Sephardic songs to their “original” (for lack of a better term) Iberian versions. It is very interesting to see how both cultures elaborated the same melodies and lyrics according to their own idiosyncrasy. After some chapters of delimitation and contextualization, Alcalay exposes the different treatments of seven musical and literary themes, such as tragical deaths, forbidden loves, lullabies, etc. One of the assets of Alcalay is that –unlike other musicologists that assume a nonexistent medieval “Spanish” cultural unity– her research includes the exploration of the Aragonese-Catalan tradition. For instance, the book contains a comparative analysis of the Catalan song La dama d’Arago and La bella in missa, a romanza from Salonica.

 

In Melodie di un esilio: percorso storico-musicale degli ebrei e marrani spagnoli [Melodies of an exile: a historic and musical survey of the Spanish Jews and the Marranos], Alcalay offers part of her field work among Cryto-Jews, while intending to establish if there is an actual marrano musical tradition, a subject that is highly controversial. In my opinion, this is the most interesting book of the series, although due to the nature of the subject it is prone to be contested, and even more when the author does not go into the academic minutiae but rather tries to expose broad concepts. To begin with, how would a hidden minority make public display of a distinctive musical tradition? How could we “sound different” in a society that punishes the difference? Furthermore, most Crypto-Jewish communities have received the modern influx of music from mainstream Jews, thus making very complicated to establish what is Crypto tradition and what is something brought in only recently. The book opens with some chapters on the history of the Iberian expulsion, immigration of marranos to the New World, and an analysis of the Crypto-Jewish religious practices. If in Canti di corte Alcalay presents a detailed analysis of how Sepharadim have “de-christianized” the traditional Iberian romanzas, most of the affirmations of Melodie di un esilio regarding Crypto-Jewish music are somehow conjectural, although that does not hinder from the high value of the book and CD.

 

Open for Me the Gates of Justice: Reconstructing Conversion.

the Shulchan Arukh, code of Jewish Law

 

One of the most concerning aspects of the future of Judaism is the undeniable fact that Jewish population is shrinking and getting older. When a Christian church’s membership decreases, they can always evangelize the neighbors or move to another part of town with more potential parishioners. When a shul is dying due to demographic changes, we often do not have these options, since the pool of Jewish residents in an area is usually very limited. This is the fate of synagogues in small town America, particularly in areas that used to be important hubs of business or industry but have since waned. When the newer generations move to bigger cities in search of opportunities, there is very little we can do to keep the shul open. We have lost millions to the Holocaust and to assimilation. We are loosing some thousands more due to demographic factors that are not in our hands.

 

It is my opinion that the future of Judaism demands us to reconstruct our approach to conversion seriously. Granted that it is unquestionably forbidden to force anybody to become a Jew, and that Jews have not been active proselytizers for thousands of years. However, I think that there is a big difference between knocking on somebody’s door Bible in hand (white shirt and tie included) and reaching out to non-Jews who are ready to explore Judaism. Most of the negative traditional attitudes towards candidates to conversion are fruit of the times and circumstances that surrounded the Jewish community in centuries past. According to some of these attitudes, a beit din is supposed to reject candidates up to three times before accepting them to the conversion process. Once accepted, a number of right-wing batei din will make practically impossible for the convert to succeed, demanding from the person a level of observance –always interpreted in the narrowest way possible– that they would never dare to demand from those who are born Jewish. While I am not advocating careless leniency on conversion processes, I think it is time to denounce the lack of humanity, understanding, and derekh erets of many a beit din.

 

Once a person is officially converted it is almost inevitable that s/he will not be universally recognized. For those of you who may not know, in principle Reconstructionists accept conversions effectuated by all other movements (caveat: it is the Reconstructionist congregation and not the rabbi who decides whom to recognize). Reform rabbis recognize all conversions, but Conservative rabbis only accept Orthodox or Conservative conversions. As for Orthodox, they only accept their own, and yet not universally: it is not uncommon for Orthodox rabbis to question batei din from other Orthodox trends. Although generalizations are never fair, I would say that the more insular a denomination is, the less welcoming to conversion candidates. When we talk about Israel, recognition also means the right of immigration, and unfortunately the Orthodox monopoly of legal institutions makes things very difficult for everybody else. If it wasn’t enough with the Israeli chief rabbis anathematizing non-Orthodox conversions, lately they are equally nullifying conversions performed by American Orthodox rabbis. What is worse, when the beit din declares that a convert is not such, it creates a human drama that includes this person being denied aliyah, having his or her marriage nullified and his children declared mamzerim.

 

While I don’t think we should accept conversions that skip important steps (namely brit, mikveh, duly constituted beit din, etc.), in my opinion all demands should be reasonable. Even if one is so concerned for the fulfillment of all halakhic minutiae, I still do not see why conversion processes are not being evaluated case-by-case, and why –when there is a serious doubt– the batei din do not deploy all ways and means to “re-convert” expeditiously the person whose conversion is questioned. You are entitled to not consider a conversion valid according to your standards, but it is just not Jewish to leave the person out there and not help her regularize the situation.

 

The more astringent argumentation for the denial of recognition is as follows: according to SA Yoreh De’a 286:12, a convert must have the intention of keeping all commandments at the time of the bet din. Even if s/he doesn’t observe afterward, the conversion is still valid. However, there are rules as for who can act as a judge and witness of a conversion: any public transgressors of commandments are disqualified. And that is where Orthodox operate in the assumption than all non-Orthodox rabbis are by definition public transgressors. Do you see the problem? Nobody is really doing this for the sake of the convert, or even out of love for the Torah, but rather as a political game, because they cannot conceive the possibility of recognizing the authority of a rabbi that doesn’t belong to their denomination.

 

Lately, some other Jewish movements take an apparently more friendly approach to conversion and encourage non-Jews to observe the seven noachide laws. Their argument: why would anybody want to go through the hassle of conversion when they can become one of the benei Noach? Particularly in South America we are witnessing an explosion of websites, groups and even congregations that ascribe themselves to this category. The problem is that the renaissance of this halakhic concept is not exempt of an agenda. Most of what we know about the noachides is codified by Maimonides, who equals a noachide to a ger toshav, a hassid umot ha-olam. The Rambam did not understand this category of people as limited to the physical land of Israel. Anybody who accepts the seven mitzvot is a ger toshav, living among Jews in any of the lands of their dispersion. However, the Rambam says that until the days of the messiah we can only accept a full convert, not a ger toshav (Hilkhot Avodah Zarah 10:6). Why does then Chabad –for instance– encourage non-Jews to accept the noachide commandments? Probably because they would have problems with their full conversion. Firstly, if Schnerson was the messiah, we are currently living in the messianic era and there is dispensation to accept noachides. The second reason is Chabad’s theology of the nature of non-Jews who, according to the second chapter of Tanya, have no neshamah: like Jews, they do have an animal soul, but do not possess that “extra” divine soul reserved for Jews. Jews have a spiritual purpose, gentiles a physical one (Likutei Sichot v. 25, p. 49). How can somebody become a Jew, if it is not in the person’s nature? Nobody can get himself a divine soul if he lacks one! Some Orthodox groups even think that teaching Torah to a non-Jew is prohibited, less the person uses it for idolatrous purposes. If you are not outraged, you should.

 

Without advocating careless leniency, and with all respect for our halakhah, I think we should all do teshuvah for making it difficult for potential converts to adopt Judaism fully. People should be well informed, study Judaism in depth and understand the process before being fully accepted as Jews. However, all demands should be reasonable and all care should be given to treat the person with sincere respect and acceptance. It is true that progressive shuls are a lot more welcoming for converts, but not totally exempt of prejudices. We should all do teshuvah for the way we have treated converts when questioning and “marking” them, which is against the halakhah. Think of the many times a person is casually reminded that they are converts, or a rabbi insists they should use ben Avraham avinu when called to the Torah (less somebody would think that his “real” father’s name was Abraham! I’ve seen this even in a few “progressive” synagogues). In the 1990s I was outraged to hear an important leader of liberal Judaism in Europe say that we should put a cap on conversions because too many converts in a shul would have pernicious effects in the congregation’s culture. Even in this day an age, we all have our own baggage of prejudice and insularism. We should particularly question our congregations’ attitudes toward converts of a different race, transgender persons or anybody who looks slightly different than your average American Ashkenazi. Even in the most liberal circles, some are suffering discrimination.

 

Finally, we should question our misconceptions about “proselytism,” and examine what is allowed when making outreach to non-Jews and what is not. According to the Rambam, proselytizing is actually one of the 613 commandments: the Responsa 149 says it is permitted to teach the commandments to non-Jews in order to drawn them close to our religion. In the Rambam’s Sefer ha mitsvot, the third commandment is to love G-d. He states that the way we fulfill this injunction is by sharing the knowledge of G-d with the world and drawing others close to HaShem. Maybe we will not knock on doors but I see no problem on organizing Judaism courses to target potential converts, or on informing mixed families that our clergy is open and willing to explore conversion studies. In the same context, the mitzvah no. 9 is to sanctify the Name of G-d. Its essence, for Maimonides, is to publicize the faith in HaShem without fear of any harm incurred by doing so. The verb used here is lefarsem, to publicize or proclaim. I cannot avoid to relate it to another proclamation, the so-called pirsuma de-nisa. This Aramaic expression, which contains the same root, is the one our rabbis use when talking about the commandment of lighting our chanukias in front of the window, so that we can proclaim and publicize the miracle of Hanukkah. My wish for this season is that we strive to make our Judaism shine out for whomever wants to see its light.

Nice work if you can get it: on placement offices.

If this crisis has taught us something, I think is has been that Jewish organizations in general are in an urgent need of reinventing themselves. I have already written here about what I perceive to be a disconnect between Jewish institutions and the real Jewish community and its needs. Federations and JCC’s, for instance, seem to be programming activities that obeyed to the needs of the Jews of previous generations, who were not allowed to join gyms and social clubs, for instance. Today, instead of changing or eliminating those outdated activities, they go crazy trying to raise money to keep the machine running. In this new post I would want to reflect on the future denominational placement offices.

For those of you not acquainted with them, I’ll tell you that every Jewish movement –including some trans-denominational clergy associations– have placement offices of their own so that they can connect their rabbis or cantors seeking a job with the congregations that belong to that movement or with those shuls that –after paying a fee– decide to list with that office. Placement offices have rules for the congregations, particularly regarding the contract details. They also have rules for the clergy: rabbis or cantors that belong to that association are not allowed to contact synagogues directly but through the office; they cannot apply for congregational jobs outside of the office’s list; they can only be officially looking for jobs after telling their current synagogue that they want to leave, etc.

Of course these rules were formulated for a particular “echo-system” where there was a balance between clergy persons looking for jobs and congregations that were hiring. However, new factors have changed this landscape. As the Jewish population is getting older and smaller, fewer synagogues can afford to hire full-time rabbis. Some of these shuls struggle to keep their doors open, and many cannot afford membership in the denomination, so they become non-affiliated. Other shuls are mere lay-led chavurot and will not hire a religious leader. Bigger synagogues that in the past had a rabbi and a cantor now need to reduce staff and they just hire a rabbi. Finally, who needs to pay a fee to placement office when any shul can advertise a rabbinical job online for free or at a very low cost? On the clergy’s side things are changing too: today there are a number of non-denominational rabbinical and cantorial schools whose graduates are not subject to any of these rules and restrictions. In the case of cantors, there is a proliferation of the so-called cantorial soloists: anybody who can play some guitar and lead a service can fill cantorial positions, and they often do it for a lower salary or even as volunteers. The rabbinical and cantorial schools of all movements are graduating more people that needed. Some schools try to derive new graduates to non-congregational positions such as chaplancy, teaching or social activism, even if the salaries in these positions are so low that make very difficult to pay-off the student loans.

Although some placement offices may be aware and concerned for these changing circumstances, many others seem to prefer to dwell in the golden past. Their job –they tell you– is not to recruit new synagogues looking for rabbis and cantors, but to put both parties in touch and to oversee the process. We may be failing to see that in the current market situation, the hiring process often happens out of circuit and with no supervision. And yet, what are placement offices doing to enlarge their listings? In a world where congregations can list whenever they please, with so many independent seminaries and private ordinations, and even with non-denominational label becoming an added value, how are we going to maintain denominational placement offices?

Again, I don’t have an easy solution but I think that if we do not talk about the elephant in the room then the necessary brain-storming to solve the situation just can’t happen. If there will still be denominational placement offices in the future, they will have to learn to reinvent themselves. For one, we may have to acknowledge that monopolistic practices are a thing of the past. On the other hand, offices have to invest on staff that will bring about a more aggressive and effective marketing to increase the number of participating synagogues. One of the keys for “selling their product” would be rethinking what makes the denomination, movement or association unique. What can they offer their “clients” that they will not get elsewhere? Yes, there are many rabbis and cantors, but are they all from accredited schools? All rabbis have some sort of smicha, all cantors know some nusach, but have they received a solid pastoral training? What is the added value of having a Reconstructionist cantor or rabbi? What makes us unique?