I’d like to welcome a very special friend, my Yetzer Hara. Her name is somewhat unusual but it means “bad heart” so that sort of explains everything. YH is literally a part of me, that’s how close we are. You know when you have a friend where like you finish each others’ sentences? Don’t know where one ends and the other starts? Can’t even remember a time when you didn’t know each other? Yup, that’s us. I’m going to guess each of you has a YH in your life. If you do, count your blessings.
Happy birthday to me yesterday! I turned 39. No, legit 39. And I just love birthdays!
First let me say I don’t get anywhere near birthday cards that you buy in the store. Nor do I want my kids perusing them. Every single card for grownups is either in very poor taste or negative about aging. While some may think this is funny, I do not. I think it’s awful.
There’s a general approach in society that the younger, the cuter, the smarter, the faster, the stronger, the more savvy, the better. This approach hardly reflects Jewish values. And so many people who buy into Torah values still dread getting older.
I think it’s all about how you define yourself. We are all comprised, Judaism teaches, of body and soul (which has been a hot topic here). So if you define yourself by your body, well, after 17 it’s all pretty much downhill. You have to start excercising. Your skin starts to sag. The hair eventually gets gray or (gasp) falls out. It’s not so very pretty. I mean, which page in the newspaper (what’s that?) would you rather skim – the engagements, or the 50-year anniversaries?
But if you define yourself by your soul, well hopefully, if you’re growing as a human being, you’re improving every year. You’re learning new things and new insights; you’re more experienced in the wisdom of life; you’ve recognized mistakes and hopefully worked out some of your kinks. So every year is an improvement (and not just because you’re not dead, as Hallmark may have you believe). This is one reason that Judaism teaches us to respect our elders – as a famous Hebrew expression goes, “Ain chacham k’baal hanisayon” – there is no one as wise as he who has experience.
So here I am. 39. I’m better than I was at 29. I’m a little more measured and a little more patient. My pat parenting approaches have taken on a more nuanced sheen. I’ve realized the error of my ways in a number of areas. I’m so happy.
Did I love the birthday gifts, attention, beautiful and thoughtful and absolutely heartwarming phone calls, texts, emails, Facebook posts and messages, and in person wishes that I received? Did I adore the custom black-and-white cookie (my favorite) birthday cake that my husband ordered for me from the Bagel Shoppe? And all the relatives who came to celebrate with me? So much.
But that’s not why I love birthdays. And it’s not why I don’t dread turning 40.
It’s because I know I am soul far more than body. And the trajectory of that aging process, well, it’s in my hands.
How do you feel about birthdays?
A while back, an online friend of mine, Allison Josephs (aka Jew in the City) posted the following video, entitled “Orthodox Jewish All Stars.” The tagline was: Are all Orthodox Jewish men rabbis? Are Orthodox Jewish women allowed to work? Find out from these Orthodox Jewish All Stars!
I loved the video. Especially the part about Tamir Goodman, a neighbor of ours and personal friend of JFX, my organization. But something about it niggled in the back of my head and kept rattling there. I wasn’t sure what it was, so I ignored it and figured that it would go away.
Not.
Another blogger who always makes me think, PopChassid, wrote this little number, and as soon as I read it, bingo. I knew.
It’s all about defining normal.
Much of the time, I, too, try to show the world that yes, I am Orthodox, but I’m still normal. Which means I like stylish clothing and looking good. I like to be in the know when people crack pop culture jokes. I like to be up-to-date, respected, by the standards of the world. <—– See that? By the standards of the world.
In Allison’s very excellent video, which addresses a real misconception, she shows how wonderful the “all-stars” of Orthodox Judaism are. But by whose standards are they all-stars? By the standards of the world. They are quintessentially normal. No, better than normal. They take the standards deemed “normal” – successful financially, famous, esteemed – and excel therein.
But why are we buying into those standards? To me, a Jewish all-star is someone who excels in being Jewish. In promoting and living Jewish values, such as kindness, Torah, humility, generosity, faith. Granted, many of the all-stars featured are doing both – for all I know, they all are – I don’t know them all personally – but this is not exactly what they are being lauded for here. They are lauded for their cool careers that are normal by the standards of the world.
Why am I being critical? It’s not really my style.
But this was a very important recognition for me to make personally. When I think of myself as “normal” (by the standards of the world) I may fail miserably. I have a lot of kids. I only wear skirts and dresses. I cover my hair. These things aren’t particularly normal. And that’s what I walked away from this whole tararam with – that while my lifestyle, personality, and personal practices may sometimes jive with the world’s standards of normal, and that’s all fine, I shall be equally proud where they don’t.
Now, my chin lifts with pride and gratitude when someone asks me if my youngest of seven is my fist child. My heart soars with coolness at my somewhat counter-culture skirts. My mind expands to recall that my covered head is an external sign of my status as a married woman.
These are things I need to remind myself of. Because I, too, am subject to everyone else’s standard of normal. And I wish I weren’t.
PS Update/response from Allison Josephs:
I’m not sure if you noticed me say it, but the line that sums up all the “success” is me saying: what makes this group extraordinary is not just that they thrived professionally, it’s that they stayed true to their Jewish heritage while doing so even when it wasn’t always easy. Now that’s what I call an all star.
Hi everyone! I’m back. Kind of.
It’s been two full years since I started blogging. My first year was pretty much about “this is what my life is like, as an Orthodox woman, and here’s why I do the things I do. Welcome to my world. Are there any questions?” My second year was mostly about, “Here are the things I ponder and muse as an Orthodox woman. What do you think about that?” And here I approach my third year, and the following comes to mind:
THING THING What is that thing?
THING SING That thing can sing!
SONG LONG A long, long song.
Good-by, Thing. You sing too long.
Thanks, Dr. Seuss. Which has long been my mantra: stop before they’re tired of you.
But there’s more.
It seems that by putting myself out there as this happy, fulfilled, serene (most of the time) Orthodox woman, I have also set up a de facto “in defense of Orthodoxy” blog. And the greatest and most interesting irony of it all is that in many cases, the closer someone is to Orthodox Judaism, they more I feel that way on the blog – that my practice of my faith is on trial. Which has led to all kinds of incredible discussions on the blog: rich, deep, intelligent, caring, feeling discussions.
It has also led to me feeling wiped out.
At the risk of sounding petulant, I say this: I don’t WANT to defend religion so much here on OOTOB. So you might say, too bad. You set yourself up for this. Do you really think you are going to just emote or intellectualize about your life without tough questions? But truthfully, I don’t MIND tough questions. I like them. They’ve challenged me to find ever greater answers. The interesting part of this blog – and the fulfilling part, since it’s not all about what’s “interesting” – derives exactly from the friction here. But the exhaustion is not coming from there. It’s coming from the emotionality of it, sometimes, and the self-editing I find myself doing to avoid it. The emotionality that I and I alone (ridiculous, of course) am on the witness stand, defending Judaism with my formal education that ended 20 years ago (continuing education and being married to a rabbi notwithstanding). Questions that are simply curious do not exhaust me.
So I say this: I don’t have all the answers. Is that OK? Sometimes here on this blog, I will simply say “I don’t know” and it will be OK. And it will not be me conceding that therefore God does not exist, or does not care quite as much as I think He does, or that my practice of my faith is baseless, or any other host of issues we’ve covered here. It means that my inability to refute every challenge due to time constraints, my limited resources and brainpower, and my desire not to let this blog eclipse my life is in no way a blight on my faith or practice thereof.
I will still continue to publish comments that wipe me out, and they in no way signify my agreement or endorsement. I may alter the nature of my posts, but I might hate myself if I do 🙂 Who knows?
So I think I’ll continue on this crazy journey with a bit of self-protection. Let’s see what happens. Thanks for sticking with me.
Hey OOTOB community,
I’ll be taking a little summer break. See ya on the flip side! Hope you all have a safe and wonderful summer.
Ruchi
Pluralism: a theory that there are more than one or more than two kinds of ultimate reality
I wonder if Merriam Webster was a nice Jewish girl.
In a post a little while ago, Larry made an insightful comment explaining the difference between inclusivism and pluralism. Inclusivism means I don’t think you’re right, but I will include and value you. Pluralism means you’re right and I’m also right. There are multiple ways to be right.
Now here’s my question. Religious pluralism does not make any mathematical sense to me, because to me, religion is based on facts. Either God did or didn’t write the Torah as we have it today. Either the Torah was or wasn’t given at Sinai. Either Moses did or didn’t perform those miracles. If religion isn’t based on a belief in facts, then what is it based on?
Take other popular debates: vaccines either do or don’t cause autism. Either baby carrots do or don’t have chlorine on them. Drinking coffee either does or doesn’t make your teeth yellow. You wouldn’t hear a pluralist say, “Well, I believe that vaccines cause autism, so that’s true for me, but if you don’t believe that, then it’s not true for you. You’re right, and I’m right.” That’s not a fact-based argument.
If you are an evolved religious debater, you will be thinking at this point, Ruchi. Don’t you know that even within religious thought there is a plethora of ambiguity and pluralism? Take Hillel and Shammai. Weren’t they both right? Aren’t there “shivim panim latorah,” 70 ways to interpret Torah, all of which are correct?
70 but not 71. 13 ways to interpret the Torah: not more. Where Hillel and Shammai debated, each opinion revealed a different facet of the topic at hand, both of which might have been correct, but the halacha was always determined to be either one or the other. Or sometimes one in private, one in public. One in temple times, and one in diaspora. One in ideal circumstances, one to rely upon only under duress.
While I greatly appreciate that a non-Orthodox pluralist thinks that it is correct to drive on Shabbat and also correct not to, honestly it would make more sense to me if she thought I was wrong.
And that is why I’m not a pluralist.
My fellow blogger Kelly Youngblood, an occasional commenter here, just wrote this on Christian modesty in terms of women’s dress. Modesty actually includes a lot more than how women dress, but that’s what we’ll focus on for today. I’ll wait for you to read it. Hmm, hmm. La la la. K, are you done? Good.
A number of similarities and contrasts struck me while reading it.
First, one of the main things Kelly laments about Christianity is “there is a broad range of what modesty may mean, and so the admonition to ‘be modest’ is generally unhelpful.” Of course I found this interesting, since Judaism is VERY specific (to the dismay of many) about what modesty means. Specifically, collarbones, elbows, knees, and everything in between, ought to be covered. Nothing that is tight and form-fitting, or screaming for attention.
Next, she mentions that “modesty often tends to be about being covered up, but if that were the
case, then we should just all walk around in bathrobes. I can’t think
of anything more covered up than that.” I have learned in Judaism that women were created with the desire to look beautiful, and that this is a natural and honorable aspect of being a woman. We should and must feel pretty, without being provocative. So, clear one – no bathrobes. Modesty is not just about covering up, it’s about allowing our inner loveliness and refinement to emerge without distractions.
She also discusses that “women are often told to dress modestly in order that they don’t cause
their Christian brothers to sin by causing them to lust after the
women. Men are not warned in the same way…” Interestingly, in Judaism women are warned more, although men certainly are as well, about HOW they look; but men are warned more, although women are as well, about WHAT they look at, and how they look at things. In other words, men are cautioned more about objectifying women, and women are cautioned more not to allow themselves to be objectified. In no way does this remove blame from the other gender – both are warned. Of course, men could be objectified and women could objectify – but typically it goes the other way.
Finally, Kelly brings up the valid ideas that envy/objectification exists everywhere, so really, can you ever stop or avoid it? The answer to that is that each person has to work on his own arena of fault. If you tend to objectify people or be envious of what they show to the world, get a grip. Could it ALSO be their fault, for flaunting? Yup – that’s their arena of fault, not yours.
Thanks, Kelly, for getting me thinking about all these things.