The twelfth anniversary of my father's death

 Well, THAT was interesting.

This is the twelfth anniversary of the death of my father. As an evangelical minister (at various times Free Will Baptist, Cumberland Presbyterian, [these were before I came along], Southern Baptist [what he spent the most time as and what he was at his death], and Assemblies of God), he was of course obsessed with the Bible.

His death certificate says he died at 11:45 pm (which sounds about right from what I remember). I decided to note the moment (I know he died Central time, but I'm not going to stay up that late and observed Eastern time).

About a minute before, I was just looking at my phone and noticed a message on Slack for my daf yomi (daily Talmud study) class. In today's daf, there was a quotation from Esther (interesting timing given that Purim just happened) and, at the end of class, I asked if anyone had done a study of how often particular books of the Bible were quoted in the Talmud, and a very learned member of the class (who sometimes substitute teaches when the rabbanit who leads the class can't make it) said he could get the answer for me by tomorrow. It turns out that he had tonight posted an AWESOME spreadsheet he had put together from Sefaria with overall statistics, statistics for how often which book is quoted in which tractate, vice versa, really a work of beauty.

I think my father had a very distorted and misguided understanding of the Bible and of who God is. I find my understanding of both the Bible and God to be greatly enriched by the study of Talmud and consider my daf teacher and classmates some of my greatest teachers and love grappling with theology as it arises from the daf with them.

And, somehow, looking at the magnificent spreadsheet analyzing biblical quotations in the Talmud by book, seems like it was what I was meant to be doing at the moment of the twelfth anniversary of his death.

Judaism’s Best-Kept Secret

This appeared in the January, 2021 newsletter of the Center for Contemporary Mussar as the Student Platform.

Mussar is Judaism’s best-kept secret – not well-known within the Jewish community, much less outside of it. But as a non-Jew who is studying Mussar through the Center for Contemporary Mussar, I’m very grateful that I found it and can experience its life-transforming teaching. 

My father was a fundamentalist Christian minister, as were eight of his brothers, and growing up I came to know the text of the Bible, including the Hebrew Bible, very well. However, the fundamentalist approach did not work for me, particularly after realizing that I am gay when I was a teenager. In college, I took a Judaic studies course and found it so compelling that I became a Judaic studies major with a minor in Hebrew. I especially loved learning the rabbinic commentaries on the Tanach, seeing the text through a very different lens that enabled me to lay aside the unhelpful approach I had been taught in childhood and reclaim the text as my own sacred inheritance. Martin Buber’s I-Thou also deeply affected my thinking. I took more Jewish studies courses in divinity school. I also found my way to more progressive Christian communities and serve as volunteer clergy in an egalitarian lgbt-inclusive church.

However, my interest in Judaism never went away, and a few years ago I began live-streaming synagogue services and then attending services in person a couple of years ago. While I still serve as clergy in my progressive church, I am also very involved in two synagogues, attending services and classes regularly, including a daf yomi shiur. Another synagogue whose High Holiday services I attended with a friend held an introductory seminar on Mussar that I attended, and I was intrigued and began taking courses, with Carol Daniels as my madrichah, for which I am grateful. 

Mussar speaks to me because it places ethical conduct within a framework of relationship and because it gives the practitioner the tools to develop their soul through the middot. Rather than following a list of do’s and don’ts or even viewing others in a collective abstract, we are urged by Mussar to see each individual other as a person created in the image of God whose burden we are to bear – and, of course, to bear their burden, we must first understand what their burden is. The understanding of Yetzer haRa, traditionally understood as the “evil inclination” but understood in Mussar terms as “self-absorption,” as something that is sometimes necessary for self-protection but a problem when it is not needed, has transformed my thinking. Considering which of the middot to apply to a particular situation has been very helpful to me – and I look forward to deepening my understanding of them.

Just as traditional rabbinic commentary helped me reclaim the Tanach and find value and meaning in the text, so the Mussar lens of understanding Torah has added depth and relevance to my reading. Recently, in preparing the d’var Torah for class (one of my favorite things about studying Mussar!), I realized that the seal, cord, and staff of Judah which he gave to Tamar are a metaphor for our identity as those created in the image of God – a “Mussar driver’s license” – which we abandon when we treat others in a way that denies their creation in the image of God – and which we regain when we engage in Cheshbon haNefesh and Teshuvah.

I look forward to continuing in the program and deepening my understanding and practice of Mussar.

Tim Cravens lives in Philadelphia, where he works in planned giving for a social justice organization. He holds a BA in Judaic Studies with a minor in Hebrew from Emory University and an MDiv from Harvard University. He enjoys collecting liturgical books, having over 70 siddurim and machzorim in his collection, and learning about different varieties of religious practice. 

In Salem also is set His tabernacle

In a class on Psalm 76, we were asked to write a poem reinterpreting a verse.

I chose verse 3: Salem became His abode; Zion, His den.

The word "Salem" is related to the word for "whole" and the word for "abode" is "sukkah", the tabernacle/booth/hut from the festival of Sukkot (the plural of "sukkah").

Here is my poem:

In wholeness, God's sukkah

Wholeness is fleeting

Notice it? It's gone!

Wholeness is a Thou, not an it

Wholeness only comes when all 7 of your ushpizin selves

show up

Mourning the Septuagint

Today (the eighth of Tevet) is the anniversary of the order by Ptolemy for a translation of the Hebrew Bible (and apocrypha) to be made into Greek, resulting in the Septuagint. According to legend, he took 70 or 72 Jewish translators and put them in separate rooms and, miraculously, they all produced the exact same translation. The Septuagint is important for scholarly biblical study and was used by many Jewish and Christian communities as scripture (and still is today in some Christian churches).

Yet this translation is regarded as a tragic event by the rabbis and is even commemorated in the selichot, or penitential liturgy, for the Tenth of Tevet, a fast day observed two days later, among other events being mourned. The prayer states, “A Greek king compelled me to translate the holy Law into Greek; the plowers plowed upon my back, they made long their furrows.” (The second half of the prayer is taken from Psalm 129.) Ironically, this is taken from an English translation of selichot from 1912, and there are certainly translations into the vernacular of the Torah put out by even the most Orthodox communities. Anything that increases people’s access to sacred scripture can only be seen as a blessing – even as anything that takes people away from the original text leads to a loss of understanding and access to that text.

Having studied Hebrew, I can attest that there are layers of meaning that are not accessible in other languages. Something is, indeed, lost in translation. Learning the original language is important to plumbing the depths of the text and understanding its riches. There are connections between words in Semitic languages such as Hebrew, Aramaic, and Arabic that are not readily apparent in other languages – there are even puns! The study of Hebrew is a very worthwhile pursuit for anyone wanting to read the Bible.

But I think the commemoration of the translation of the Septuagint as a tragedy points to something deeper – which is that the communication of Divine revelation must always be translated into language understandable by human beings, and there are depths of meaning and revelation that are inevitably lost. Even if one sees the Torah or other sacred scripture (regardless of one’s religious tradition – this applies to the scriptures of any and all religions) as being a perfect revelation, there is a translation that occurs by those who read it into their own life experiences – even by those who have a perfect understanding of the language. There is a gap between Divine revelation and human understanding – and even more between revelation and living out the commands we are given by that revelation. We have an obligation to understand and act in response to God’s communication to us to the best of our ability – even knowing that in this world, those will always be imperfect.

So may we rejoice in revelation wherever it is to be found – even as we mourn our imperfect understanding and response to that revelation.

A new verse for "I Have a Little Dreiel"

I have a little dreidel,

Of plastic it is made, 

And when I spin it for my kittens,

Their interest does not fade!

Judah’s Seal, Cord, and Staff

Parashat Vayeishev would be a perfect parashah with which to play Pin the Mussar Tail on the Parashah Donkey – if you were blindfolded, turned around three times, and sent to put your finger on any random verse in this Parashah, you would have no problem easily constructing a Mussar lesson or d’var Torah from it. From the arrogant way Joseph treats his brothers, to their kidnapping him and selling him into slavery and letting their father think he had been killed, to Potiphar’s wife framing Joseph for a crime he didn’t commit, to the chief cupbearer forgetting Joseph’s interpretation of his dream and leaving him to languish in prison, there are many instances of people acting in accordance with their yetzer hara and not their yetzer hatov.

One particularly shameful episode occurs in chapter 38 with Judah and Tamar. Judah has two sons, Er and Onan. Er marries Tamar but is displeasing to God and dies. Onan then marries her in a levirate marriage and refuses to father children in his brother’s name and he too dies. Judah promises Tamar to his son Shelah who is too young to marry. As time passes, Tamar despairs of this marriage happening and so she sets out to dress as a prostitute and seduce Judah.

Judah does indeed sleep with her. By doing so and agreeing to reduce what should be a loving act to a commercial transaction, he engages in self-absorption and treats her as nothing more than a commodity that exists for his pleasure and not as a human being. This is an act of sexism and misogyny, in which he sees a woman as nothing more than a plaything, rather than as a human being made in the image of God whose burden he is called to bear. Verse 16 states that he did not know that she was his daughter-in-law, and while she was in disguise, nonetheless this points to a lack of genuine relationship with a member of his family and speaks to his failure to accept his obligation to her.

After they had completed the act, she asked for payment and he promised to send it to her. She asked for his seal, cord, and staff as surety. The seal was a metal cylinder with unique markings identifying him, that could be pressed into clay as a form of signature. It was worn on the cord around his neck. Similarly, the staff likely had markings that were unique to Judah, identifying him. These were the equivalent of our passports or driver’s licenses – proof of identity. But on a deeper level, his willingness to relinquish them speaks to his willingness to abandon his higher self, his neshamah, for momentary pleasure gained at the expense of another whose neshamah, dignity, and creation in the image of God he refused to recognize.

A few months later, Tamar became pregnant. Furious, Judah wanted to have her executed, but she said, “The father is the one whose seal, cord, and staff these are” – and he recognized with shame what he had done and agreed to take care of her and her children (she gave birth to twins). His recovery of his symbols of identity point to our recovery of our highest self, our neshamah, when we engage in cheshbon hanefesh, accounting of the soul, considering our “Mussar moments” when we have failed in our obligations to others, and do teshuvah, repentance, by changing our behavior to recognize other people as made in the image of God and accepting our responsibility to bear their burden.

May we learn from Judah and take care not to lose our identity in acts of self-absorption but rather build our character and hear and accept the call to serve others by bearing their burden, doing teshuvah when we miss the mark.

Tomer Devorah

I recently read the book Tomer Devorah, by R Moshe Cordovero, a great sixteenth-century Kabbalist and Musar writer. I was interested in reading it for several reasons:

1. It is one of the great Mussar texts - in fact, the first chapter (about one-third of the book) is the primary text for the second year of the Center for Contemporary Mussar (CCM) program I'm taking (still in the first year). CCM uses a translation and commentary by R Ira Stone and Beulah Trey, which I have but have not yet read but will read next.

2. R Moshe Cordovero (Ramak) is one of the great kabbalists and, indeed, this work uses the sefirot as a framework for the book (especially in the latter 9 chapters).

3. In college, my Israeli Hebrew professor insisted we use our Hebrew names in class. As the only non-Jewish kid in the class, I of course did not have one, but he gave me the name "Tomer", probably because of the similarity in sound to "Tim", and it has come to have resonance as a name for me. "Tomer" means "palm-tree" and Tomer Devorah refers to the palm tree of Deborah under which this biblical judge sat to rule over Israel (Judges 4:5). ( I don't know why this is the title - there is no mention of this verse or image in the work. I have a couple of non-mutually-exclusive theories - first, some rabbinic works will take a biblical phrase as a title that references the author's name [e.g., Pachad Yitzchok refers to writings by Yitzchok Hutner, Yitzchok Friedman, and Yitzchok Lampronti while Chaim of Volozhin authored Nefesh Chaim]l. The names of the mother and wife of Moshe Cordovero are unknown, and my theory is that perhaps one of them is named Devorah and the work is dedicated to her. Second, he also wrote Pardes Rimmonim, "Orchard of Pomegranites", a synthesis of kabbalistic thought to date, and I wonder if the two books named after trees are a reference to the Etz Chaim, the Tree of Life?)

4. The physical book is incredibly beautiful - fairly small, but with faux leather that is embossed with a beautiful design (including a medallion with a palm tree on the back) and beautiful endpapers.

Intriguingly, in addition to the version by Stone & Trey, I am aware of at least two other commentaries on the first chapter alone, and having read the whole work, I now understand why.

The first chapter uses the Thirteen Supernal Attributes of Mercy found in Micah 7:18-20 (which differ from the standard Thirteen Attribute of Mercy in Exodus 34:6-7 used in the High Holy Day liturgy with a very moving melody) to construct a beautiful theology of God based on mercy and profound love of creation that forms the basis of an ethic requiring people to imitate those attributes by virtue of being created in the image and likeness of God. I was very moved - and challenged - by the description of the thirteen attributes and the ethical imperative contained in them, and I want to explore them further and look forward to learning them through CCM next year. I plan to read the Stone-Trey book next to re-read it with their commentary.

The remaining nine chapters are interesting but do not live up to the promise of the first chapter. They display a worldview that most modern readers outside very traditional communities will find oppressive - in particular, a patriarchal view of women and a decidedly hetereonormative view of marriage, the relationship between spouses, and singleness. In addition, the advice about how to attain humility veers into self-abusing techniques that are best left in the past (even though the virtue of humility is to be prized and some of what is presented in terms of how to relate to others is much more useful).

That being said, there are insights that can be translated into a contemporary context, particularly in regard to charity/tzedakah, and I do want to read it again and think about it more. There are a couple of things that stood out to me in particular. First, a story of Rabbi Yehudah from Bava Metzia is related that he failed to show mercy to a calf who took refuge under his cloak to avoid slaughter, for which he was punished, but then did show compassion on a weasel and was rewarded - perhaps this spoke to me because weasels made several appearances in recent dappim in the daf yomi cycle! Cordovero connects this to the sefirah of chochmah and says that he was delivered from gevurah by the act of compassion. (Interestingly, the term for weasels in Bava Metzia is "b'nei karkushta" - but Tomer Devorah, in alluding to the passage in Bava Metzia, uses "hulda" as is used in Pesachim.) There is also an interesting connection made between tzedakah, including the mitzvot of maaser ani (tithe of the poor) and peah (leaving the corners of a field unharvested for the poor to glean) with chesed, tiferet, yesod, and malchut - and also mentioning the idea in the Zohar that tzedakah refers, by gematria, to daily saying Amen 90 times, reciting Kedushah 4 times, reciting 100 blessings (the only one of these I had heard about), and learning from the 5 books of the Torah.

So, to sum up, I loved the first chapter and heartily recommend it, while the rest of it might or might not be of interest to others and should be read with a dash of critical salt.