Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Update for The week
It's been quiet here on the blog - partly because I've been so busy doing other stuff, partly because of a creeping malaise - probably brought on by equal parts sleep deprivation, discouraging situations that several friends are in, strange conditions at work, too much work of my own, and the regrettable tendency to listen to too much news coverage on the radio.
Is it just me, or too many people talking too much?
There are some gifted and impassioned writers out there, each convinced that their own point of view is the correct one. There are some hacks who prevail because they are loud or influential for whatever reason. I'm pretty well able to filter that kind of noise out. What bothers me most about political discourse generally is the presumption that the other person or party must be wrong.
Now, I'm not a relativist, and I definitely believe in clear definitions of right and wrong. Further, I believe that a person CAN know or infer a moral system and can live by one. Most of us know much better than we let on, but that's another subject.
I reject the current idea that there is some greater good to be served by considering all viewpoints as equally valid, but I still recognize that my own viewpoint may be skewed, limited, or just plain wrong. That leaves open that yours may be, if not right in all points, at least worth listening to.
Isn't it possible that there are several varieties of worthwhile ideas? For example:
1. Ideas that are demonstrably and ontologically true. E.g., If I drop a ball from a tree, it falls to the ground, at least on our home planet.
2. Ideas that give strong evidence of being true, but cannot be demonstrated with the physical evidence you have in hand. E.g., A card that I receive from my sister bearing her handwriting and postmarked with her city is strongly likely to be from her, but I did not actually watch her address it and deliver it to my mailbox.
3. Ideas that may not give strong evidence of being true, but make sense as an inference, given related evidence. If my son buys me a necktie every christmas, and this christmas I receive a necktie in an unmarked box, whom will I suspect of the gift?
Now you'll note that I slipped in the value of "truth" as a synonym for "worthwhile". And for our working purpose, that is a useful tool. It remains to be seen if it truly works.
true=worthwhile -----------false=not worthwhile
More on this subject tomorrow.
Is it just me, or too many people talking too much?
There are some gifted and impassioned writers out there, each convinced that their own point of view is the correct one. There are some hacks who prevail because they are loud or influential for whatever reason. I'm pretty well able to filter that kind of noise out. What bothers me most about political discourse generally is the presumption that the other person or party must be wrong.
Now, I'm not a relativist, and I definitely believe in clear definitions of right and wrong. Further, I believe that a person CAN know or infer a moral system and can live by one. Most of us know much better than we let on, but that's another subject.
I reject the current idea that there is some greater good to be served by considering all viewpoints as equally valid, but I still recognize that my own viewpoint may be skewed, limited, or just plain wrong. That leaves open that yours may be, if not right in all points, at least worth listening to.
Isn't it possible that there are several varieties of worthwhile ideas? For example:
1. Ideas that are demonstrably and ontologically true. E.g., If I drop a ball from a tree, it falls to the ground, at least on our home planet.
2. Ideas that give strong evidence of being true, but cannot be demonstrated with the physical evidence you have in hand. E.g., A card that I receive from my sister bearing her handwriting and postmarked with her city is strongly likely to be from her, but I did not actually watch her address it and deliver it to my mailbox.
3. Ideas that may not give strong evidence of being true, but make sense as an inference, given related evidence. If my son buys me a necktie every christmas, and this christmas I receive a necktie in an unmarked box, whom will I suspect of the gift?
Now you'll note that I slipped in the value of "truth" as a synonym for "worthwhile". And for our working purpose, that is a useful tool. It remains to be seen if it truly works.
true=worthwhile -----------false=not worthwhile
More on this subject tomorrow.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Thoughts on Yom Kippur
Not MY thoughts!
An article thought-provoking enough that I reproduce it here in its entirety. Feel free to visit the Author, though, because there's lots more to read.
by Esther D. Kustanowitz(09/29/2006)
To err is human, clearly. And during the High Holy Day season, even those of us who acknowledge our errant ways and engage in the process of repentance with a pure heart still possess the fatal flaw of our humanity. As soon as the hunger pangs from the Yom Kippur fast wane, we’re back on stage in our tragicomedy of errors, slinging gossip over bagels and lox, and likely violating any Rosh HaShanah resolutions before sunrise on the 11th of Tishrei. Another year goes by, and we’re back in our synagogues, proclaiming our guilt all over again in an endless annual loop—it’s like an episode of “The Twilight Zone.”
What’s the point in persisting in this annual dance of repentance?
In the literal realm of human marital relationships, some couples, after five, 10, 20 years or so, decide to proclaim to the world that the person they’ve found is the person they still want to spend their lives with. They hold “second weddings” or “vow renewals” or “recommitment ceremonies,” inviting friends to witness the re-consecration of their partnership. But often, such ceremonies are prompted by the discovery of a breach in confidence or respect or another violation of the rules of sanctified relationships. Or perhaps the pair has survived a trauma and feels the need to reaffirm—not just for the sake of celebrating love in the public eye, but to put their own souls at ease—that despite all that has happened, their mate is still the One.
So the two stand there, opposite each other, looking into the eyes of their beloved and looking for a trust and commitment that they may not find. A partner may admit that he or she has made mistakes, and may swear before you and a group of people that from here on in, it’s all faith and devotion. But there’s a part of you that’s unsure: can people really change?
The relationship between God and the Jewish people is often cushioned in the metaphorical language of marital commitment. In Genesis, God made a covenant — sealed in flesh in the form of a brit milah (circumcision), which promised the Land of Israel to Abraham and his children. The terms of the agreement — God gives the land of Israel to the people, and the people will worship God — are reiterated at Mount Sinai. The term that God uses to refer to the people is segulah, which indicates a special, sanctified relationship like marriage.
And a midrash on the Mount Sinai narrative interprets that when the text says that the people stood b’tahteet ha’har, literally “in the bottom of the mountain,” that the mountain was suspended, chupah-like, over the heads of the assembled people — were they to try to end the relationship with God, they would have been crushed. And some suggest that Song of Songs, which describes a physically passionate affair — seemingly between a man and a woman — is a metaphor for the relationship between God and the Jews.
When it comes to actual marriage, something I admittedly don’t know anything about, I imagine that certain violations are forgivable and that others are not. At some point the two people who make up the zug (the couple) have to assess whether the relationship is worth it. But in the relationship with God, in which we have no way of really knowing whether God has forgiven us, the best we can do is see this annual assessment as a state of the union between the Jews and God.
The High Holy Day season is a chance to renew our relationship with Jewish life. Every year, we stand with our metaphorically wedded partner under a canopy of recommitment, and promise to marry each other all over again. As our Creator, surely God knows not to expect perfection — our entire relationship has been a bumpy cycle of imperfection: We violate our contract of commitment with God, and God rebukes but quickly forgives.
Still, we do what we can to make positive changes in our lives, to increase our commitment to living as nobly and morally as human beings can. We critically assess our actions and hopefully forgive ourselves as we attempt to curb evil inclinations, in the pursuit of more permanent partnerships, with other people and with God.
Shanah tovah!
An article thought-provoking enough that I reproduce it here in its entirety. Feel free to visit the Author, though, because there's lots more to read.
by Esther D. Kustanowitz(09/29/2006)
To err is human, clearly. And during the High Holy Day season, even those of us who acknowledge our errant ways and engage in the process of repentance with a pure heart still possess the fatal flaw of our humanity. As soon as the hunger pangs from the Yom Kippur fast wane, we’re back on stage in our tragicomedy of errors, slinging gossip over bagels and lox, and likely violating any Rosh HaShanah resolutions before sunrise on the 11th of Tishrei. Another year goes by, and we’re back in our synagogues, proclaiming our guilt all over again in an endless annual loop—it’s like an episode of “The Twilight Zone.”
What’s the point in persisting in this annual dance of repentance?
In the literal realm of human marital relationships, some couples, after five, 10, 20 years or so, decide to proclaim to the world that the person they’ve found is the person they still want to spend their lives with. They hold “second weddings” or “vow renewals” or “recommitment ceremonies,” inviting friends to witness the re-consecration of their partnership. But often, such ceremonies are prompted by the discovery of a breach in confidence or respect or another violation of the rules of sanctified relationships. Or perhaps the pair has survived a trauma and feels the need to reaffirm—not just for the sake of celebrating love in the public eye, but to put their own souls at ease—that despite all that has happened, their mate is still the One.
So the two stand there, opposite each other, looking into the eyes of their beloved and looking for a trust and commitment that they may not find. A partner may admit that he or she has made mistakes, and may swear before you and a group of people that from here on in, it’s all faith and devotion. But there’s a part of you that’s unsure: can people really change?
The relationship between God and the Jewish people is often cushioned in the metaphorical language of marital commitment. In Genesis, God made a covenant — sealed in flesh in the form of a brit milah (circumcision), which promised the Land of Israel to Abraham and his children. The terms of the agreement — God gives the land of Israel to the people, and the people will worship God — are reiterated at Mount Sinai. The term that God uses to refer to the people is segulah, which indicates a special, sanctified relationship like marriage.
And a midrash on the Mount Sinai narrative interprets that when the text says that the people stood b’tahteet ha’har, literally “in the bottom of the mountain,” that the mountain was suspended, chupah-like, over the heads of the assembled people — were they to try to end the relationship with God, they would have been crushed. And some suggest that Song of Songs, which describes a physically passionate affair — seemingly between a man and a woman — is a metaphor for the relationship between God and the Jews.
When it comes to actual marriage, something I admittedly don’t know anything about, I imagine that certain violations are forgivable and that others are not. At some point the two people who make up the zug (the couple) have to assess whether the relationship is worth it. But in the relationship with God, in which we have no way of really knowing whether God has forgiven us, the best we can do is see this annual assessment as a state of the union between the Jews and God.
The High Holy Day season is a chance to renew our relationship with Jewish life. Every year, we stand with our metaphorically wedded partner under a canopy of recommitment, and promise to marry each other all over again. As our Creator, surely God knows not to expect perfection — our entire relationship has been a bumpy cycle of imperfection: We violate our contract of commitment with God, and God rebukes but quickly forgives.
Still, we do what we can to make positive changes in our lives, to increase our commitment to living as nobly and morally as human beings can. We critically assess our actions and hopefully forgive ourselves as we attempt to curb evil inclinations, in the pursuit of more permanent partnerships, with other people and with God.
Shanah tovah!
