Dissonance and Harmony: Halakhic Man Revisited

The midrasha (Seminary) that I attended in Israel for two years had several teachers who studied in Gush. One of my favorite teachers, who liked to lead discussions about Jewish theology and philosophy with the students once told us that the mussar (moralistic instruction) that everyone gets in Gush is, "go read footnote four." Now, "footnote four" is a foot note from the end of Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik's Halachik Man. In this footnote, the Rav berates the tendency people have to use religion as a comfort. when I first learned this, I really liked it. I believed in it. Religion is more substantial than silly comfort that people need. We're all about struggle and conflict, and how nothing comes so easy.
And so I feel guilty, today. I have a few more years of life experience, although not as many as the Rabbi who first introduced this footnote to me had at the time. However, I found myself, a couple of says ago, walking around Washington Heights and into Fort Tryon Park, where I thought up the following poem:

In Winter, Hearts are Broken

The twigs are suspended
Exposed to the cold
Night air, and I fear for them,
and for me—for I am also bare—
naked, my pride stripped
like the branches from
their leaves

I follow the lines, and I see
Hundreds of twigs lead into
dozens of these leafless branches.

The branches are strong, less susceptible
to breakage, and they all connect to the
proud trunk. The roots are sturdy—he
stands proud in the earth, even
without leaves.

I breath easier, with
nature's assurance
speaking the Creator's words
to me.

Ought I feel guilty? Jewish guilt is inevitable, I suppose. But I come today to question the Rav's whole premise. What's wrong with comfort? We are only human, and we have weaknesses, and we are affected by our experiences. And that's OK. There's no reason to deny those things, and there's certainly room to find G-d and grow in our connection Judaism through those experiences. I will allow that the entire religion ought not be about comfort exclusively, but I would like to see our experiences in life as variations on a theme, as in a piece of music, and that the dissonances only direct us and only lead our voices more directly to the home key.

In modern music, there is an effort to increase the dissonance-- Schoenberg with twelve tone music, and others with atonality. This doesn't appeal to me that much. The composers will argue, since we've seen the horrors of war that the world has witnessed, modern art and music reflect a darker, more dissonant reality. It isn't supposed to feel good. Art isn't about comfort. But I don't see why it can't be that, too. Granted, the dissonance is necessary, but it needn't take over our lives. Surely, there can still be the comfort of a 7to8 voice leading. We can still find a painting that looks like a landscape beautiful, without worrying about what terrors lay beyond the mountains, or what emotional problems the painter was compensating for by painting with those colors. Life can still be cheerful, and people optimistic, can't we? Or have we all grown old and cynical with the world, only impressed by complexity and conflict?

I am interested to hear what people think about this. Please share your thoughts.

Tackling Tough Issues

I plan, with G-d's help, to go on a retreat in Winnipeg, Canada, at the beginning of February. The retreat is meant to be a relaxed way for a group of mostly non-observant high school kids to experience a non-judgemental, informative Shabbos. The objective is honorable, and not part of any organization that is trying to save the world or the frum community. I decided to go, and then I was told that I needed to pass an interview (where I was supposed to explain things like why I'm a good person for this retreat-- ugh!) and answer some really hard questions via email.
The questions that the person running the shabbaton asked me to answer via email were:
1. As a feminist, why do I remain in a religious community that treats me as a 2nd class citizen?
2. A student comes over to me at the end of the retreat and tells me that he had a wonderful time. He wants to learn more about observance, and he really felt comfortable with the orthodox environment that we created. One catch: he's gay. How do I respond?
My interviewer then told me that I shouldn't think about these questions too much. He said that if I spend more than 15 minutes on these questions, I'm thinking too much. I replied, "well, they're both really simple questions, so it should only take me two minutes to answer them." Very funny. These are not simple questions. I'll tell you what I sent him.

Shalom interviewer. Here are some cursory responses to your extremely difficult questions:

1. You bring up an extremely valid issue that one addresses when she honestly approaches orthodox practice in traditional Judaism. I personally have been bothered by issues pertaining to women in Judaism since a very young age. When I was 11 years old, I insisted that I read from the Torah at my Bat Mitzvah, which I did in a women's prayer group. I relate very much to many women's frustrations with the halakhic system. But I also know that I love Judaism-- the way that I know it. I love the community, I love the meaning that I find in it, I love many of the practices. I read a relationship book recently that said that good marriages are not made up of people who never disagree about anything. Instead, they have what the author calls "Positive Sentiment Override." That just means that despite their differences, the couple feels generally positive feelings towards each other most of the time. I think that this rule in human relationships with one another can also be applied to my relationship to Judaism. Does every single part of Jewish law please me? Honestly, no- not at all. But as a whole, am I happy with the religion? YES! I really am. I love being Jewish, and I'm proud of who I am, my history, my fellow Jews, and my relationship to G-d. I do believe that the orthodox community can work on adjusting certain norms that exist in the community to be more women-friendly, and I want to be part of that. I don't want to escape, and just throw it all away because I'm annoyed that none of my rabbis are women.

2. A friend of mine in high school was from a conservative home where there was a strong connection to Jewish identity. She was in an exceptional group of students at the Hebrew school where a bunch of them were drawn to religion and growth, and many of whom chose to be orthodox and are still practicing today. She herself was becoming more interested, and she enjoyed NCSY shabbatons, and frequently attended them. In the middle of High School, this friend of mine came out as a lesbian. She told the administration at NCSY, and they said that she was welcome to continue coming to the shabbatons, but to please keep this information private at the shabbatons, and not to mention it within the NCSY context. She then left NCSY and never came back. They wouldn't accept her for who she was, and she didn't want to feel rejected in any way. I totally understand that. I'm not really sure why the administration made this decision, but I would like to warn you that the orthodox community is not welcoming of homosexuality. It's unfortunate, because I ran into this friend at a recent Hebrew school shabbaton, and she said that she likes the orthodox service, and would attend, but the students all go to the conservative service. And anyway, she feels more comfortable there. In any event, she now lives with her partner, and has not pursued her religious growth in the same way that many of her peers did. I can totally understand that. I think that this is an area where the orthodox community runs into a brick wall. But I'm not saying there's nothing good about the community. I love my community, and I think that Jewish Family as my community sees is it wonderful and beautiful. Being that as it may, there's little room for acceptance within the halakhically observant community for homosexuality. So I would just have that in mind while you continue with your journey exploring religion, and take that into consideration.

That's the end of the email. I think that this task that I performed captures a paradox that is prevalent among people I know. It actually came up in another question in the interview. He asked me, "I don't like to label people, but how would you categorize yourself?" What is that? Give me a label for your fluid, dynamic religious self in two minutes. Tell me, in five minutes, how you feel about the most pressing issues in the Jewish community today. These questions strike of insensitivity to my thoughts and real, deep and substantial feelings about these issues. But I think the paradox goes beyond this. I think that he asks me to keep it short because in the end of the day, we want to focus on the positive aspects of Judaism, and kind of side-step the elephant in the room. Yes, those issues are real, and the way that you respond will say a lot about who you are. But, who you REALLY are lies beyond-- aaahhh. That's right. The inspiring Dvar Torah that you said at the shabbos table this week, that was really who you are.
We want the positivity to override, and so we pretend these issues can be glossed over in a short email. Meanwhile, this is not actually the case. I spend much more time thinking about these issues and talking about these issues with my friends than I spend on kriyat shma, or on shmirat halashon. The topics that are en vogue are the ones that he asks about, not whether I have Yirat Shamayim. Maybe he thinks that the way I will respond will answer both questions. But the message that comes across is, this isn't really, really that important, but it is really the only thing that interests me. Does that make sense to you? Obviously, we can't scale well for Yirat Shamayim. And maybe he was just screening me to see whether I can relate to people with problems with Judaism, or if I get preachy, or dismissive. Maybe. But I think that the focus is directed towards the negativity. It's something I'm guilty of as well, and I think that it's kind of self destructive for the community to obsess over crisis like these. But at the same time, I find it irresponsible and myopic not to do so. Suggestions?