It’s the first day of Av. I’m seeing a lot of Facebook status messages and Twitter tweets griping about the Nine Days.*

I’m thinking (…can’t stop thinking…) about the bereaved young family not far from here who lost their 3-year old darling daughter in a sudden, tragic accident. Thinking about their loss, their pain. How the preschool-teacher mommy will be able to bear teaching her students again. How the babysitter will face herself, her friends, her future children… and on and on….

No meat. No music. No luxuriating in the shower. No swimming. No fun… Why not? “To remember the destruction of the House of G-d.” What does that mean? Why do we mourn now, today, this year?

Others have taught about learning the lesson from the past to the present; to repair the sins rampant then and now. “If the Temple is not rebuilt in our time, it is as if we destroyed it.”

Others have taught that the Destruction goes on until Redemption. We live in a world where humanity, the Jewish Nation, and the Expression of G-d’s Presence are in constant suffering. “One who mourns the destruction of Jerusalem shall merit to witness its rebuilding.”

I’m thinking… I’m thinking… I’m thinking about “nosei be’ol im chaveiro”. Shouldering the burden with your friend. How putting yourself truly into the experience of another person makes you both stronger.

I’m thinking that the Nine Days is also about keeping in touch with the global, historical Nation of Israel. Feeling a part of it, being a part of it. Maybe feeling a part of it IS being a part of it. In good times and in hard times.

“Getting through” the Nine Days misses the point entirely. Will that family whose daughter died be thinking about “getting through” the Nine Days; “getting through” their shiva? They’ll be the week in the deepest form of grief, finding expression in rituals of mourning that the Nine Days only shadows dimly. Will they be griping about the lack of chicken? About sitting on the floor in torn shirts and unpressed trousers? About not listening to music? About not having fun?

And why not? [I don’t mean: “Because the minor inconveniences are overshadowed by the enormity of grief.”] And why not? Because the actions suit the emotional state. They won’t be wanting to take a vacation this week. Or shop for new clothes. Or eat a steak… or much else. They won’t want to listen to a capella singing groups. They won’t want to be drawn out of their grief; they will want to experience and share and touch and reach and be drawn close. They will want to feel held by G-d and know He is carrying them to somewhere good.

Their pain, as almost-impossible as it is for me — a stranger — to bear, is right now. It is only my own pain for as long as I am willing, capable of sharing their burden.

Holocaust survivors know that the world is forgetting their pain. It isn’t gone. But we aren’t always willing to shoulder the emotional burden with them. We want to have fun. We want our meat and music. Despite an individual and human burden of pain that is so vast compared with that of a single family. (”Compared with…” is unfair. There is no “compared with”. What I mean is the vastness of numbers of individual sufferings, each unique and whole.)

The Churban Bayis. The destruction of the Holy Temple. It wasn’t just a demolition, a political or military casualty. It was a whole, long, agonizing war. A siege and famine. A Holocaust, if you will. The nearly complete destruction of the Old Country, the cities, towns, villages, educational system, government. A whole country, a whole people, a whole way of life. A thousand — nay, a million and another million individual sufferings, each unique and whole.

Experiencing the Nine Days is not about “getting through it” until the melave malka on motzaei Shabbos Nachamu. If you feel the pain, you aren’t trying to have fun. You are seeking meaning in the tragedy. You are seeking to experience, to share and touch and reach and be drawn close. To feel held by G-d and to know that He is taking you somewhere good.

You aren’t yet feeling the pain yourself?

It’s about shouldering the burden with your friend. Which friend? Your grandparents. And their grandparents. And theirs. Which friend? G-d, your Father. He does not experience time; it is all fresh, new, raw to His Shechina, ke’v'yachol.

“Kol rodfeha hisiguha bein hametzarim. All who pursue her [the Shechina] shall grab hold of her during the Straightened Times [of Mourning].”

Can you stop thinking about your meat and music long enough to sit down in the house of mourning? To shoulder the burden with your friends? To honor the freshness of pain by taking it into yourself, by acting as one with the body nation of Israel? To become the realization, the actualization, the embodiment of Jew, of Human, of Tzelem Elokim (image of God)?

“G-d is your Guardian, G-d is your Shadow at your right hand.” 

*The “Nine Days” count from the 1st to the 9th day of the Jewish lunar month of Av — this year, beginning Wednesday, July 23. They are part of a three-week process of increasing mourning, culminating in the Fast of the Ninth of Av (Tisha B’Av). During the Nine Days (or the week of Tisha B’Av for Sephardic Jews), the Torah teaches to avoid eating meat; enjoying significant new acquisitions such as clothing, houses, cars; restricting bathing to cleanliness (as opposed to pleasure); and listening to music. A summary of the Laws of the Three Weeks, Nine Days and Tisha B’Av may be found here: Halacha For Today.

Some things are basic truths: we become great through difficulty. I don’t know why, of course; but life experience has shown that it’s true. (I suspect it has to do with galus: that alternate route, that more difficult historical path to redemption.)

Shmula has posted a marvelous piece, attributed to General Douglas MacArthur:

Build me a son who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is a afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.

Build me a son whose wishes will not take the place of deeds; a son who will know Thee — and that to know himself is the foundation stone of knowledge.

Lead him, I pray, not in the path of ease and comfort, but under the stress and spew of difficulties and challenge. Here let him learn to stand up in the storm; here let him learn compassion for those who fail.

Build me a son whose heart will be clear, whose goal will be high, a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men, one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past.

And after all these things are his, add, I pray, enough of a sense of humor, so that he may always be serious, yet never take himself too seriously. Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, and the meekness of true strength.

Of course, we don’t wish for our children to suffer. But shouldn’t we wish for our children to achieve personal greatness? Shouldn’t we wish for ourselves to achieve personal greatness?

Perhaps reading General MacArthur’s prayer serves as a sort of litmus test: how deeply do we feel the words; how truly do we yearn to make our lives worth living?

Perhaps reading General MacArthur’s prayer puts us into a frame of mind where we feel less sorry for ourselves, less angry at the world, and more determined than ever to be Big.

*  *  *

Here’s another version, via the American Information Web:

A Father Prayer by General Douglas MacArthur (May 1952)

Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to know when he is weak, and brave enough to face himself when he is afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honest defeat, and humble and gentle in victory.

Build me a son whose wishbone will not be where his backbone should be; a son who will know Thee — and that to know himself is the foundation stone of knowledge.

Lead him I pray, not in the path of ease and comfort, but under the stress and spur of difficulties and challenge. Here let him learn to stand up in the storm; here let him learn compassion for those who fail.

Build me a son whose heart will be clear, whose goal will be high; a son who will master himself before he seeks to master other men; one who will learn to laugh, yet never forget how to weep; one who will reach into the future, yet never forget the past.

And after all these things are his, add, I pray, enough of a sense of humor, so that he may always be serious, yet never take himself too seriously. Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom, the meekness of true strength.

Then, I, his father, will dare to whisper, have not lived in vain.

User Experience designers talk about mobility meaning independence, individuality, and personal freedom. Or mobility meaning communication, income, and literacy.

What if mobility means you might be blown up by a terrorist? If mobility means vulnerability and insecurity? What happens when you combine a culture that glorifies charity with an environment of mortal vulnerability?

Israel is a country brimming with charitable acts. The phone book has 50 pages of free loan society (”gemach“) listings, offering interest- and payment-free loans of money, cell phones, baby strollers, pacifiers, Sabbath meals, medicines, photocopies, fax machines, tools… you name it.

The 600-pound gorilla of free loan societies is, of course, Yad Sarah, founded by Rabbi Uri Lupoliansky, currently mayor of Jerusalem. But gemachs are a common family activity.

It’s normal for Jewish homes worldwide to have one or more charity boxes, into which small change (usually) is collected over months or years, then picked up by the organization who owns the box. Our home currently has about five of them, including one shaped like a tractor to help support farmers during the sabbatical shemitta year.

A field between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv, left fallow for the Sabbatical (Shemitta) year. 

A typically Israeli sight is that of charity boxes in public places — available should a sudden philanthropic urge strike, or you just have some spare change in your hand. Or you get nervous about taking public transportation.

Here’s a common one (affixed to a pole near a bus stop):

Here’s a collection box outside the counter of a downtown bakery (note that the money collected isn’t for the shop owner):

The translated sign reads: Hidden Charity — i.e., the donor and recipient don’t know one another, which is a more sensitive form of charity — for Sabbath charity and kindness to families blessed with many children (may they live long) in honor of the holy Sabbath and the holidays. [The money will be donated to] the charity [in honor of] Rabbi Meir Baal haNes and Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, may their memories protect us. May you be blessed from on high with good fortune, blessing, and success.

Here’s one I saw just down the block from my home, also next to a bus stop, but somehow it has been grown right into the knot of a tree:

Seen in Shaare Tzedek Hospital, Jerusalem:

The white outlets are part of the ordinary hospital circuitry.

The brown outlets lead to the grama circuit, an electrical system designed to indirectly close circuits on the Jewish Sabbath — not something you’ll find in common home use, but perfectly acceptable for use for the sick. Also on the grama circuit is the call button, so that patients will feel free to call for a nurse even if they don’t have an emergency (for an emergency, anything will do, of course).

Not shown are the red outlets, on the emergency generator circuit, and often designed to accept hospital equipment only.

If you’ve ever heard Orson Welles on the radio, you know his style: the deep voice of authority, the dramatic pacing of volume and tone, the occasional gong punctuating the most climactic statements. Fourteen August is Orson at his most… Wellesian. And then comes the kicker: “With God and Uranium on our side…”

I nearly swallowed my chocolate.

It’s a classic snapshot of the attitude of the late 1940s and early 1950s: the belief that any problem could be conquered with the concerted focus of good scientific brainpower. Of course, many of world’s problems could be resolved — or at least relieved somewhat — by more attention (money, brainpower, willingness, etc.). But some have turned out to be resistant to such treatment, which makes the explicit faith in science come across as pathetically naive.

What is today’s equivalent?

One of my interests is medical ethics. I’ve gone through much of the contemporary Orthodox bioethical literature, subscribed for many years to Lancet and New England Journal of Medicine, and am a voracious reader of all most things medical (well, dermatology’s just not my thing).

There are some advantages to reading what the professionals read: I’ve been able to help a number of family members and friends to research diagnoses and treatments, as well as benefiting from a realistic, unvarnished image of the biases and conflicts within the profession. (In the December 2000 issue of Jewish Observer I published a small piece entitled Ethics, Ethics, Everywhere, describing the efforts of my grandfather’s doctor to “let him go” after he suffered a stroke.)

I have great respect for doctors and the knowledge they carry. But they’re only people, with all the opinions, biases, and weaknesses that implies.

This week Jerusalem Post health reporter Judy Siegel reported that Samuel Golubchuk, the 84-year-old frum Jew from Winnepeg, whose doctors seek to remove him from his ventilator and feeding tube, had awakened. Mr. Golubchuk is now described as “awake, alert, has returned back to his baseline, sitting up in a chair at times, more interactive, and shaking hands purposively.”

Nevertheless his doctors still seek to kill him, and are contesting the matter in court, including moving to exclude the affidavits of experts on the grounds that they arrived too late. Apparently winning to them is more important than Mr. Golubchuk’s life. Indeed in a similar case recently in Calgary, involving an elderly Chinese man, whose family contested the doctors’ decision to cut off life support, and won, the patient eventually improved so much that he was able to walk out of the hospital and return home. Nevertheless the doctors continued to pursue an appeal. Presumably they wanted to bring him back to the hospital and kill him. [via CrossCurrents]

Jonathan Rosenblum is writing a little sarcastically here, but that shouldn’t disguise the fact that this is a really, really important case, and one which the religious Jewish community has been following closely for a week or so now. (The Golubchuk family asserts, without contradiction, that their father would want lifesaving measures taken, were he able to express himself.) I am not Canadian, and don’t know where one would begin making one’s voice heard on this issue, but I do know that we must not watch silently.

Why? Because this is not just “somebody else’s” problem. Because unless you hold deeply Galtonian Social Darwinist beliefs, it should matter to you that your own personal wishes for your care be respected. If you are, G-d forbid, ever unable to speak for yourself, you do want your Living Will to be consulted, don’t you? And you would like to have the person to whom you’ve granted power of attorney for healthcare matters consulted and their decisions followed, don’t you?

There’s a tricky side to this: vulnerability.

A GUI (graphical user interface) that offers too many options is just plain overwhelming. Keeping the interface simple and straightforward reduces stress, encourages uptake, and is conducive to a more positive user experience. It is not easy to create an interface that is simple and straightforward, and at the same time offers powerful user control over details (Apple is remarkable for their ability to successfully design software this way).

Now think about a person whose “task function” is to make life-and-death decisions on behalf of someone they love very deeply. Even a well-prepared child will not find it easy to decide whether it is kinder to “stop the suffering” or to “do everything possible” or something in between. Under stressful conditions, the burden is almost unbearable. Following the advice of a knowledgeable doctor is the equivalent of simplifying the GUI. It makes the decisions straightforward and far simpler, while reducing the burden of responsibility. And the doctor should know, right?

Well… there’s the rub.

I had occasion yesterday to be in a group comprised of a disproportionate number of very poor women. Not women who think they are poor — most probably don’t think so — but they are.

Notable: lots of very bad teeth. Missing teeth, discolored teeth, teeth headed in all directions.

Why? First, dental coverage is weak in Israel, despite health coverage being all right. So those who haven’t got the money simply don’t have the work done.

That’s the obvious reason. There’s another reason, culturally rooted, and more potent: in haredi culture, people take pride in being non-materialistic. That’s helpful for coping if you’re poor, although it doesn’t incentivize for climbing out of poverty (another story). It also means that in certain haredi circles, women are proud of looking dowdy. Dowdiness implies disdain of trends and fashion, and a focus on more important things than external appearance. This makes spending money on external appearance less compelling than it is in other circles.

Understand that I’m not making any sweeping statements. There are other equally religious haredi circles in which the women’s clothes will make your eyes pop out (”the Europeans”), and others in which the mothers dress down but make up for it on their kids’ wardrobes and decorating their homes. But there is this anti-materialistic group, as well, and seeing it yesterday in a concentrated form (dozens at a time) was striking.

When the secular Israeli media look down on haredi society (and they do), it is generally the stereotype of this anti-materialist segment that they are despising: Bad teeth. Outdated clothes. Shabby “grandmother” shoes on women in their 40s. No makeup. Sagging stockings.

That’s the external appearance.

Internally:

Intense focus on being good, loving mothers — the education of the children comes before everything — including reading books and joining workshops on the subject. Pushing themselves to their physical limits to help neighbors and strangers with a hot meal, babysitting, a listening ear, a relevant referral. Genuine interest in and care for everyone they meet.

When I had the option, I chose to live in a neighborhood with a higher proportion of poor families rather than a neighborhood with a higher proportion of “Europeans”. For one thing, it made me feel rich, whereas the other neighborhood likely would have made me feel deprived. But I also relish the intensity, the purity, the focus on the real things in life uncluttered by recreational shopping, ice coffee, and vacations in the Alps.

It’s a different world, and a refreshing one.

It’s a culture that deserves respect and awe, not disdain and discrimination.

Seen today in Jerusalem: 

Kudos to National Geographic for being true to its tradition of respect for other cultures.

Now available: an alternate edition of the Israeli edition of National Geographic magazine — targeted to the “Torah Observant community” (the term is inclusive of National-Religious, Sephardic, and haredi groups). Presumably, this NG version selects articles that avoid controversial discussions of evolution, and edits out those images of indigenous women that kept the boys in my fifth-grade class so interested in anthropology.

Thanks to Mr. Deadfish for the National Theographic title.

Friday night was not an ordinary Sabbath evening in our haredi neighborhood of Jerusalem. At 2:30am I was wakened by a police car circling the streets, announcing: “Dear Residents: A 12-year old child is missing from his home. All who are able should come to help in the search.” The quiet zone that is Shabbos was broken.

Men in fur shtreimels, men in suits and ties, men in flannel pajamas and bathrobes, yeshiva students in sweatsuits, carrying flashlights, riding motorcycles, patrolling in cars. Helicopters circling low, flare explosions down in the valley, police hunching over a map big enough to serve
as a Shabbos tablecloth.

Hushed mid-street conferences under the yellow glow of the streetlights. Cars, motorcycles, ambulances, and police vans patrolling the silent streets. Tens of people working their way methodically from synagogue to synagogue. By 4.00am, hundreds of neighbors were quietly taking up the trail. Down the mountainside, out to the highway, peering into the ancient and crumbling structures in Lifta, carloads dispatched to an ever-increasing radius of Jerusalem neighborhoods, Ezrat Torah, Ganei Geula, Mea Shearim, Geula, Har Nof, Givat Shaul, Bayit Vegan, Ramot.

By daybreak, several hundred people had fanned out to search, building by building, from roof to basement, then to report back to the headquarters at the community center.

Serious faces, determined expressions, blistered feet, up and down hundreds and thousands of stairs. Jackets going on and off in the cold air and heat of exertion. Every hour, the announcement repeated: “A boy has been missing from his home since the afternoon. All who are able should come help in the search.”

…the exhaustion, and the swell of relief as the news spread that he was found.

The right technology chosen for the right context. Compare with reverse 9-1-1 alerts during the California fires, and silent radio frequencies for wartime communication.

Car-mounted amplified announcements are used frequently to advertise sales, prayer rallies and funerals in religious neighborhoods, where a vast majority of the population does not access mass media outlets. In the twelve years that we have lived in Israel, this was only the third time that an announcement was circulated on Shabbos: the first was when a toddler was kidnapped (she was found, thanks in part to the amplified bulletin), and the second was when a specific brand of baby formula was found to be causing serious neurological damage to babies (it was later discovered that the problem was a lack of B-vitamins, not a toxin).

The victimised Muslim woman is the lens through which Islam and Muslim society are seen. In medieval times she was cast as an intimidating powerful queen or termagant (like Bramimonde in the Chanson de Roland, or Belacane in Parzival) reflecting an intimidating powerful Muslim civilisation. And when the power balance began to shift in Europe’s favour in the 17th and 18th centuries, she was made to mirror her society’s fallen fortunes. She turned into a harem slave, leading little more than a dumb animal existence, subjugated, inert, abject, powerless, and invisible. She is the quintessential embodiment of a despotic, deformed, and backward Islam. [from Damsels in Distress?,  Soumaya Ghannoushi]

A fascinating assertion. I won’t comment on the overall theme of the blog posting; the issue is complex. Worth reading, though. It will make you think.

From the comments (which are well-worth reading, too): 

There are other aspects to this complex, too. Thus there’s the tendency for societies to use female symbolic figures to represent themselves (Athena, Britannia, Lady Liberty etc). There’s the sentimentalisation embodied in the phrase “motherhood and apple pie”. Among many other things. Religions, of all varieties, being concerned with the regulation of social groups, are particularly interested in women, because of womens’ status as social vectors.

So if a society is reacting against “the west”, that reaction will inevitably take the form of suppressing the freedoms of women, for the simple reason that those freedoms have become associated with westernisation. And this reaction will be justified in religious terms. But equally, western and other interests seeking moral justification for intervention will highlight the situation of women.

…and this…

This argument is OK as far as it goes but may I add a couple of points:
1) Human rights can and do exist outside of an imperialist narrative. In the European context they arose in the struggle against ruling elites that were also involved in colonialism. Hence they are better framed in an anti-imperialist narrative.
2) My first point would of course preclude blowing the **** out of someone in order to liberate them, but not of being concerned with their state of being, or of engaging with them to improve their situation. (R.A.W.A. springs to mind). Your point about ‘the oppressed Muslim woman’ being an imperialist construction, is quite possibly true. However, if you then conceive of a Muslim world that is self-contained and separate from the ‘West’, (or wherever), you are reproducing the same fallacy; namely that Muslim human beings have an essential difference that requires special treatment. […]

…and also this…

What would you say to people like me who abhor Islams treatment of women yet opposed the Iraq war? I’m sorry but tarring everyone who recognises that Islam oppresses women as some kind of racist imperialist is simply false. I’m not impressed at all with the OP, she seems to be trying to brush the abuses of women under Islam under the carpet by pointing out how western governments exploit this abuse as propoganda for their imperialist wars. […]