Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Yom Ha'atzmaut is political
Yom Ha'atzmaut is political, they say, and thus has no place in our religious liturgy.
They are half right: Yom Ha'atzmaut is indeed political.
Furthermore, the story of Avraham is political.
The stories of Yitzhak, Yaakov and Yosef are political.
The story of Moshe is certainly political - Pesach is political.
The books of Bamidbar and Devarim are political.
Sefer Yehoshua is political, as are Shoftim, Shmuel and Melachim.
The latter prophets were political too.
The first Rashi on the Torah is political. So is the first Ramban.
Rosh Hashana is political. (Read the middle brachot of the Amidah.)
Purim is political.
Chanukah is political.
Tisha B'Av is political. As are Shiva Asar B'Tamuz, Asarah B'Tevet and Tzom Gedaliah.
The books of Ezra and Daniel are political.
The benching is political. So is the daily Amidah.
The rabbis of the Talmud were political. Some of them were even politicians.
Bar Kochba and Rabbi Akiva were political.
The mission of the Jewish people, from Abraham on, has been to develop a sovereign nation in its own land which sets an example for mankind - a light unto the nations - by worshiping God according to the Torah. Our story has been one of steps forward towards that goal - events of redemption - and of unfortunate failures and defeats - events of destruction and exile.
Yom Ha'atzmaut celebrates the most significant accomplishment towards our national mission in some 2000 years: reestablishing Jewish sovereignty over our homeland, a necessary prerequisite for the possible fulfillment of our national destiny. Its achievement on the heels of one of our greatest tragedies in history made it all the more miraculous.
We don't know what the state will bring in the long run. Will we fulfill our highest visions, or once again, God forbid, lapse into failure and ruin? We can't know that, any more than newlyweds can know whether their marriage will thrive or wither. That's no reason not to celebrate the achievement and thank God for making it possible.
Yom Ha'atzmaut is political. It is a major milestone in the achievement of our timeless national purpose as set out in the Torah. To leave it out of our religious liturgy would be a sign of ingratitude and historical blindness.
Chag sameach!
They are half right: Yom Ha'atzmaut is indeed political.
Furthermore, the story of Avraham is political.
The stories of Yitzhak, Yaakov and Yosef are political.
The story of Moshe is certainly political - Pesach is political.
The books of Bamidbar and Devarim are political.
Sefer Yehoshua is political, as are Shoftim, Shmuel and Melachim.
The latter prophets were political too.
The first Rashi on the Torah is political. So is the first Ramban.
Rosh Hashana is political. (Read the middle brachot of the Amidah.)
Purim is political.
Chanukah is political.
Tisha B'Av is political. As are Shiva Asar B'Tamuz, Asarah B'Tevet and Tzom Gedaliah.
The books of Ezra and Daniel are political.
The benching is political. So is the daily Amidah.
The rabbis of the Talmud were political. Some of them were even politicians.
Bar Kochba and Rabbi Akiva were political.
The mission of the Jewish people, from Abraham on, has been to develop a sovereign nation in its own land which sets an example for mankind - a light unto the nations - by worshiping God according to the Torah. Our story has been one of steps forward towards that goal - events of redemption - and of unfortunate failures and defeats - events of destruction and exile.
Yom Ha'atzmaut celebrates the most significant accomplishment towards our national mission in some 2000 years: reestablishing Jewish sovereignty over our homeland, a necessary prerequisite for the possible fulfillment of our national destiny. Its achievement on the heels of one of our greatest tragedies in history made it all the more miraculous.
We don't know what the state will bring in the long run. Will we fulfill our highest visions, or once again, God forbid, lapse into failure and ruin? We can't know that, any more than newlyweds can know whether their marriage will thrive or wither. That's no reason not to celebrate the achievement and thank God for making it possible.
Yom Ha'atzmaut is political. It is a major milestone in the achievement of our timeless national purpose as set out in the Torah. To leave it out of our religious liturgy would be a sign of ingratitude and historical blindness.
Chag sameach!
Labels: Yom Ha'atzmaut
Thursday, May 01, 2008
A moment of silence
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Make matzah, not chametz
What's the difference between chametz and matzah?
Don't all answer at once.
Seriously, bear with me here. What's the basic, chemical, cookbook-recipe difference between chametz and matzah?
Simple. To make chametz, just mix flour and water and leave the dough alone. After a modest amount of time (halachically, we assume 18 minutes), the dough will begin to ferment as invisible yeast cells found naturally in the environment get to work on it. The surface starts to glisten and crack. Voila, chametz! (Interestingly, the first recorded evidence of leavened bread comes from ancient Egypt.)
To make matzah, bake the dough thoroughly before it has time to ferment.
Chametz, then, is the natural end result of the process begun when flour and water are mixed. Flour + water + time = chametz.
Matzah, on the other hand, is the result of a deliberate intervention to prevent the fermentation process from developing.
If you've ever visited a matzah bakery, you know how much easier it is to produce chametz than matzah. Chametz happens. Matzah must be made. The natural progression of dough into chametz must be stopped.
We can see this intervention into the development of chametz as a metaphor for divine intervention into history. The midrash famously describes the Israelites in Egypt as having descended over the years of assimilation and slavery into the 49th and lowest level of tumah (impurity or depravity); any longer and they would have been beyond redemption. So God intervened, taking them out of Egypt so they could be rededicated to His service.
The flour of Israel had spent a dangerously long time fermenting among the waters of Egypt. It had to bake in the fiery desert before it irreversibly became chametz.
Or we can see the creation of matzah as a metaphor for our personal spiritual lives. It is easy for us to go with the flow, to persist in harmful patterns of behavior or life situations, even though they will naturally worsen until they cause us irreversible damage. "Baking the matzah" is intervening in our lives or those of our loved ones to fix those errors before it's too late.
You can't turn chametz back into matzah. Chametz is natural, it's easy, it requires no effort on our part to create. Only benign neglect and the passage of time.
Making matzah requires alertness, careful action, prompt intervention into a developing process. It's much harder than making chametz. It needs some assistance from heaven.
Hey, no one ever said Pesach was easy.
Update: I forgot one last point:
You can't make matzah without making dough. Matzah is not simply non-chametz; it is almost-chametz. Unless you start with flour and water made into dough, you can't end up with matzah any more than you can end up with chametz.
The same goes for the Israelites in Egypt. They were enslaved, both physically and spiritually. No one would have chosen their situation voluntarily and consciously. Given more time, they could have been forever doomed. Yet it is only as a result of their sojourn as slaves in Egypt that they could emerge as the newly-born nation of Israel. They could never have become matzah had they not been at palpable risk of becoming chametz.
And in many ways, that is the essence of Jewish national identity to this day. We are the anti-slaves, anti-enslavers, dissidents to tyrants throughout history. We freely worship the one God who created all men as equal reflections of his divine image. Could the Jews be who we are today had we not endured slavery ourselves?
Without the potential of chametz, you can't make matzah.
Don't all answer at once.
Seriously, bear with me here. What's the basic, chemical, cookbook-recipe difference between chametz and matzah?
Simple. To make chametz, just mix flour and water and leave the dough alone. After a modest amount of time (halachically, we assume 18 minutes), the dough will begin to ferment as invisible yeast cells found naturally in the environment get to work on it. The surface starts to glisten and crack. Voila, chametz! (Interestingly, the first recorded evidence of leavened bread comes from ancient Egypt.)
To make matzah, bake the dough thoroughly before it has time to ferment.
Chametz, then, is the natural end result of the process begun when flour and water are mixed. Flour + water + time = chametz.
Matzah, on the other hand, is the result of a deliberate intervention to prevent the fermentation process from developing.
If you've ever visited a matzah bakery, you know how much easier it is to produce chametz than matzah. Chametz happens. Matzah must be made. The natural progression of dough into chametz must be stopped.
We can see this intervention into the development of chametz as a metaphor for divine intervention into history. The midrash famously describes the Israelites in Egypt as having descended over the years of assimilation and slavery into the 49th and lowest level of tumah (impurity or depravity); any longer and they would have been beyond redemption. So God intervened, taking them out of Egypt so they could be rededicated to His service.
The flour of Israel had spent a dangerously long time fermenting among the waters of Egypt. It had to bake in the fiery desert before it irreversibly became chametz.
Or we can see the creation of matzah as a metaphor for our personal spiritual lives. It is easy for us to go with the flow, to persist in harmful patterns of behavior or life situations, even though they will naturally worsen until they cause us irreversible damage. "Baking the matzah" is intervening in our lives or those of our loved ones to fix those errors before it's too late.
You can't turn chametz back into matzah. Chametz is natural, it's easy, it requires no effort on our part to create. Only benign neglect and the passage of time.
Making matzah requires alertness, careful action, prompt intervention into a developing process. It's much harder than making chametz. It needs some assistance from heaven.
Hey, no one ever said Pesach was easy.
Update: I forgot one last point:
You can't make matzah without making dough. Matzah is not simply non-chametz; it is almost-chametz. Unless you start with flour and water made into dough, you can't end up with matzah any more than you can end up with chametz.
The same goes for the Israelites in Egypt. They were enslaved, both physically and spiritually. No one would have chosen their situation voluntarily and consciously. Given more time, they could have been forever doomed. Yet it is only as a result of their sojourn as slaves in Egypt that they could emerge as the newly-born nation of Israel. They could never have become matzah had they not been at palpable risk of becoming chametz.
And in many ways, that is the essence of Jewish national identity to this day. We are the anti-slaves, anti-enslavers, dissidents to tyrants throughout history. We freely worship the one God who created all men as equal reflections of his divine image. Could the Jews be who we are today had we not endured slavery ourselves?
Without the potential of chametz, you can't make matzah.
Labels: bread, chametz, Egypt, fermentation, leavening, matzah, yeast
My annual surge
My, has it only been a year since my last post? It seems like so much longer. (I suppose it has been much longer since I've been blogging regularly. And I'm not planning to start now.)
So what happens to a dormant blog whose barely-relevant title happens to refer to an actual annual event? The answer is below:
You can hardly tell that April 18 was the date of biur chametz this year, can you? (Well, technically it was the 19th, but that was Shabbos.)
Chag sameach!
So what happens to a dormant blog whose barely-relevant title happens to refer to an actual annual event? The answer is below:
You can hardly tell that April 18 was the date of biur chametz this year, can you? (Well, technically it was the 19th, but that was Shabbos.)
Chag sameach!
Labels: biur chametz, page views
Monday, April 23, 2007
Remembering the fallen
Monday, February 19, 2007
McCain casts aside an age-old tradition
I don't have strong feelings about John McCain or his candidacy for the Republican nomination. But I have to comment about his website.
McCain has long been trying to position himself as an unconventional Republican candidate, which is fair enough. So his team has designed a somewhat unconventional website, which you may or may not care for. (Personally, I don't see the point of campaign websites, however designed.)
What irks me is the description. Both the home page and the press release call the site "a departure from the traditional campaign website".
Traditional?
The web has been around for under fifteen years. The first campaign websites were probably online in 1996 at the earliest. Ten years of graphic design fashion - is that what passes for a tradition these days? And for a Republican presidential candidate, no less?
I'm not sure campaign websites have been all that similar to begin with, or, if they have, that McCain's is all that different from them. I might be willing to grant him "unconventional". But "a departure from the traditional campaign website"? Please.
McCain has long been trying to position himself as an unconventional Republican candidate, which is fair enough. So his team has designed a somewhat unconventional website, which you may or may not care for. (Personally, I don't see the point of campaign websites, however designed.)
What irks me is the description. Both the home page and the press release call the site "a departure from the traditional campaign website".
Traditional?
The web has been around for under fifteen years. The first campaign websites were probably online in 1996 at the earliest. Ten years of graphic design fashion - is that what passes for a tradition these days? And for a Republican presidential candidate, no less?
I'm not sure campaign websites have been all that similar to begin with, or, if they have, that McCain's is all that different from them. I might be willing to grant him "unconventional". But "a departure from the traditional campaign website"? Please.
Labels: John McCain, tradition, website
Monday, February 05, 2007
Soccer Dad's finally lost it!
Monday, December 18, 2006
A salty tale of intellectual property ferment
The life of brine
I haven't made pickles in a long time. I'm crazy about half-sours and garlic dills, and when I'm visiting the States I consume an inordinate quantity of Ba-Tamptes. But, to my constant sorrow, such delicacies are almost unheard of in Israel. Most pickles are canned, and even the fresh refrigerated ones can't compare with the ones I grew up on.
There are a handful of small delis that make their own American-style pickles, and I stock up when I can, but none of them are near my home. So the only choice is to make my own, like my grandmother used to do when I was little.
In fact, it's not hard and not much work either. I have a few cookbooks with suitable recipes, including two which specialize in pickling and preserving. I'm always afraid I'm doing something wrong, but they almost always come out terrific.
The main problem is finding the cucumbers. To make a good batch of pickles, you have to start with the freshest, firmest possible cucumbers. Since I don't find perfect cukes in the supermarket every day, my pickle making is always an on-the-spot thing, dependent on a confluence of circumstances: A good supply of cucumbers on a day when I expect to have the time to make a batch of pickles.
(The worst was when I found perfect pickles towards the end of Chol Hamoed. On Chol Hamoed, you can only prepare food you need for the current festival, but the pickles wouldn't be ready until afterwards. Bummer.)
So it's an all-too-rare pleasure when I'm in the produce section and I find myself face to face with perfect cucumbers. I load up a couple of sacks, add some garlic and fresh dill, and shlep them home, eager to find the time to brine them.
This week, for the first time in ages, the cukes were gorgeous, and I got to work. But it had been so long since my last batch that I did a bit of recipe googling first, to refresh my memory and inspire my imagination.
The case of the modified recipe
Along the way, I discovered this recipe for dill pickles on allrecipes.com. I don't do vinegar pickles, so I'm not planning to use it, but what caught my eye was this comment by the original submitter of the recipe, one Sharon Howard:
Outrageous, no? Allrecipes.com apparently took Sharon's submission, changed it in a significant way that harmed the resulting product, and kept it up on their site, continuing to identify her as the submitter. Can they do it? Is it legal? Is it consistent with their terms of use?
I accept!
Like most of us, I routinely click-approve Terms of Use forms for Internet services without bothering to read them. This time for a change, I clicked on "Legal" at the bottom of the page and was treated to the site's Terms and Conditions of Use Notice. The more I read, the more outraged I became. Only a lawyer could come up with this stuff. A delusionary lawyer, for that matter.
Take the opening:
By viewing the website, I agree to the terms and conditions in the notice? Seriously! I can't even find the notice without viewing the website. Guess it's too late by then. I've already agreed to it, whether or not I've found it or read it. I don't even have to click to accept it. How can the mere viewing of a website be tantamount to agreeing to its terms of use? (Answer: It can't. I'm not a lawyer, but I'm not stupid either.)
It continues:
What a pleasure! Every time I visit the site, I must review the terms and conditions notice to see if it has been updated. Otherwise, for all I know, I may be agreeing to sacrifice my first-born to the sun goddess. (Note to self: Before reading pickle recipes, check to see if terms of use have changed since yesterday.)
Positive comments only, please
Then there's the bit about hyperlinks:
How considerate of them. They grant me the right to link to their site! Well, provided I don't make fun of them. Oops! Better remove that link... it's only legal to denigrate Allrecipes.com if you don't link to them!
Finally, we get to submissions:
Translation: Anything you send us belongs to us. We can do anything we like with it. We owe you nothing in return. Forever! Har, har, har!
And they claim the right to modify user submissions in any way. If this "agreement" holds legal water, the site was within its claimed rights to change Sharon's recipe without consulting her and while continuing to represent it as her original submission.
I'm passing this story on to some law-bloggers in the hopes of more enlightening comments. Stay tuned.
I haven't made pickles in a long time. I'm crazy about half-sours and garlic dills, and when I'm visiting the States I consume an inordinate quantity of Ba-Tamptes. But, to my constant sorrow, such delicacies are almost unheard of in Israel. Most pickles are canned, and even the fresh refrigerated ones can't compare with the ones I grew up on.
There are a handful of small delis that make their own American-style pickles, and I stock up when I can, but none of them are near my home. So the only choice is to make my own, like my grandmother used to do when I was little.
In fact, it's not hard and not much work either. I have a few cookbooks with suitable recipes, including two which specialize in pickling and preserving. I'm always afraid I'm doing something wrong, but they almost always come out terrific.
The main problem is finding the cucumbers. To make a good batch of pickles, you have to start with the freshest, firmest possible cucumbers. Since I don't find perfect cukes in the supermarket every day, my pickle making is always an on-the-spot thing, dependent on a confluence of circumstances: A good supply of cucumbers on a day when I expect to have the time to make a batch of pickles.
(The worst was when I found perfect pickles towards the end of Chol Hamoed. On Chol Hamoed, you can only prepare food you need for the current festival, but the pickles wouldn't be ready until afterwards. Bummer.)
So it's an all-too-rare pleasure when I'm in the produce section and I find myself face to face with perfect cucumbers. I load up a couple of sacks, add some garlic and fresh dill, and shlep them home, eager to find the time to brine them.
This week, for the first time in ages, the cukes were gorgeous, and I got to work. But it had been so long since my last batch that I did a bit of recipe googling first, to refresh my memory and inspire my imagination.
The case of the modified recipe
Along the way, I discovered this recipe for dill pickles on allrecipes.com. I don't do vinegar pickles, so I'm not planning to use it, but what caught my eye was this comment by the original submitter of the recipe, one Sharon Howard:
SUBMITTED BY: SHARON HOWARD
This is my recipe and it has recently been changed by the All Recipes site. I do not use a water bath, that's what causes them to lose their crispness. I think All Recipes added that step when they chose this recipe as one of the top ten recipes. I imagine they added it to comply with USDA recomendations. I have emailed All Recipes asking that they either change back to the original recipe or remove my name. I am so sorry that you had the results you did.
Outrageous, no? Allrecipes.com apparently took Sharon's submission, changed it in a significant way that harmed the resulting product, and kept it up on their site, continuing to identify her as the submitter. Can they do it? Is it legal? Is it consistent with their terms of use?
I accept!
Like most of us, I routinely click-approve Terms of Use forms for Internet services without bothering to read them. This time for a change, I clicked on "Legal" at the bottom of the page and was treated to the site's Terms and Conditions of Use Notice. The more I read, the more outraged I became. Only a lawyer could come up with this stuff. A delusionary lawyer, for that matter.
Take the opening:
Welcome to Allrecipes.com (the "Website"). Please read this Terms and Conditions of Use Notice ("Notice") carefully before using the Website. By viewing or otherwise using this Website, you agree to the terms and conditions in this Notice.
By viewing the website, I agree to the terms and conditions in the notice? Seriously! I can't even find the notice without viewing the website. Guess it's too late by then. I've already agreed to it, whether or not I've found it or read it. I don't even have to click to accept it. How can the mere viewing of a website be tantamount to agreeing to its terms of use? (Answer: It can't. I'm not a lawyer, but I'm not stupid either.)
It continues:
We reserve the right in our sole discretion to change, modify, add or delete portions of this Notice at any time. We will provide notice of such changes only by posting the updated notice on our Website and changing the "last updated" date listed above.... We encourage you to review our Notice each time you visit our Site to see if it has been updated since your last visit.
What a pleasure! Every time I visit the site, I must review the terms and conditions notice to see if it has been updated. Otherwise, for all I know, I may be agreeing to sacrifice my first-born to the sun goddess. (Note to self: Before reading pickle recipes, check to see if terms of use have changed since yesterday.)
Positive comments only, please
Then there's the bit about hyperlinks:
You are granted a limited, nonexclusive right to create a hyperlink to the homepage of this Website only, provided such link does not portray Allrecipes.com or any of its products and services in a false, misleading, derogatory or otherwise defamatory manner. This limited right may be revoked at any time.
How considerate of them. They grant me the right to link to their site! Well, provided I don't make fun of them. Oops! Better remove that link... it's only legal to denigrate Allrecipes.com if you don't link to them!
Finally, we get to submissions:
By submitting, disclosing or offering any recipe, review, photograph, image, "favorites" list, comments, feedback, postcards, suggestions, ideas, notes, drawings, concepts and other information, content or material, or other item... you hereby grant to Allrecipes.com an irrevocable, nonexclusive, perpetual, worldwide, royalty-free right and license to use, display, publicly perform, modify, reproduce, publish, distribute, make derivative works of, sublicense and otherwise commercially and non-commercially exploit your Submitted Items and all copyright, trade secret, trademark or other intellectual property rights therein, in any manner or medium now existing or hereafter developed (including but not limited to print, film or electronic storage devices), without compensation of any kind to you or any third party.
Translation: Anything you send us belongs to us. We can do anything we like with it. We owe you nothing in return. Forever! Har, har, har!
And they claim the right to modify user submissions in any way. If this "agreement" holds legal water, the site was within its claimed rights to change Sharon's recipe without consulting her and while continuing to represent it as her original submission.
I'm passing this story on to some law-bloggers in the hopes of more enlightening comments. Stay tuned.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Finding pshat
It happens every time. I'm reading the weekly parasha, and I'm intrigued by some questions of pshat, the literal interpretation of the text. Naturally, I peruse the classical commentators for some insight. But nothing.
Generally, the mepharshim focus on the micro level: Explaining an unfamiliar term or grammatical construction, or citing a midrashic approach to explain an odd turn of phrase. But rarely do they seem to ask or answer the story-level questions that any thoughtful reader might pose.
Take yesterday's reading. So many questions are raised by the interactions between Yaakov and Esav.
Take, for example, the birthright. Is it possible to sell one's birthright? Presumably, you could sell the property after you inherited it, but can you sell the right to it ahead of time? If so, was this even a valid sale? Yaakov exploited Esav's hunger to force him to sell; is that not a sale under duress? And surely the price (apparently, the food he served) was far from sufficient. Clearly, Esav would have strong grounds to contest this sale when the time came to inherit his father - why doesn't he?
Then there are the blessings. Why did Yitzhak have to have a meal before he could bless Esav? Why did he ask for game rather than any other kind of food? Is that really how a blessing works: A great man lays his hands on your head and blesses you, and whatever he pronounces comes true? If so, does the blessing irrevocably apply to whoever happens to be under those hands, even if he lied and cheated and deceived to get there? (One could ask the same question about Yaakov's subsequent marriage to Leah, an episode with parallels to this one.) Yaakov was worried that when his deception was found out, his father might curse him - why didn't he? His mother promised to bear his curse for him - is that even possible? And if Rivka could have borne the curse due to Yaakov, that means curses are portable. Why aren't blessings? (So Yitzhak could correct the misplaced one.) Was this whole series of deceptions appropriate behavior for the father of a nation? And was the result worth the long-term provocation of Esav's wrath?
I could go on. And on. And I could suggest plausible answers for most of these questions. But most of them, as obvious as they seem, are not even alluded to by the classical Torah commentators.
Reading the commentaries, one gets the impression of a series of disjointed comments, somehow or other tied to the text of a given verse, but with little effort to explicate the narrative as a story. This is, in large part, why the teaching of Chumash in day schools is generally so poor: There's no coherent message, just a choppy collection of mini-interpretations and selections of midrash.
Why is this? Why the apparent lack of interest in basic pshat?
Any ideas?
(And if you're curious, I haven't been blogging because I've been busy, not becuase I haven't had anything worth writing.)
Generally, the mepharshim focus on the micro level: Explaining an unfamiliar term or grammatical construction, or citing a midrashic approach to explain an odd turn of phrase. But rarely do they seem to ask or answer the story-level questions that any thoughtful reader might pose.
Take yesterday's reading. So many questions are raised by the interactions between Yaakov and Esav.
Take, for example, the birthright. Is it possible to sell one's birthright? Presumably, you could sell the property after you inherited it, but can you sell the right to it ahead of time? If so, was this even a valid sale? Yaakov exploited Esav's hunger to force him to sell; is that not a sale under duress? And surely the price (apparently, the food he served) was far from sufficient. Clearly, Esav would have strong grounds to contest this sale when the time came to inherit his father - why doesn't he?
Then there are the blessings. Why did Yitzhak have to have a meal before he could bless Esav? Why did he ask for game rather than any other kind of food? Is that really how a blessing works: A great man lays his hands on your head and blesses you, and whatever he pronounces comes true? If so, does the blessing irrevocably apply to whoever happens to be under those hands, even if he lied and cheated and deceived to get there? (One could ask the same question about Yaakov's subsequent marriage to Leah, an episode with parallels to this one.) Yaakov was worried that when his deception was found out, his father might curse him - why didn't he? His mother promised to bear his curse for him - is that even possible? And if Rivka could have borne the curse due to Yaakov, that means curses are portable. Why aren't blessings? (So Yitzhak could correct the misplaced one.) Was this whole series of deceptions appropriate behavior for the father of a nation? And was the result worth the long-term provocation of Esav's wrath?
I could go on. And on. And I could suggest plausible answers for most of these questions. But most of them, as obvious as they seem, are not even alluded to by the classical Torah commentators.
Reading the commentaries, one gets the impression of a series of disjointed comments, somehow or other tied to the text of a given verse, but with little effort to explicate the narrative as a story. This is, in large part, why the teaching of Chumash in day schools is generally so poor: There's no coherent message, just a choppy collection of mini-interpretations and selections of midrash.
Why is this? Why the apparent lack of interest in basic pshat?
Any ideas?
(And if you're curious, I haven't been blogging because I've been busy, not becuase I haven't had anything worth writing.)
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Gmar chatima tov?
Dave the language guy at Balashon writes about the seasonal greeting Gmar Chatima Tova, approvingly citing Passing Phrase, which translates it as meaning "Literally: A good final sealing".
There's just one problem. The grammar of the phrase doesn't support that translation.
"A final sealing" is "gmar chatima". This is a compound phrase (semikhut for Hebrew grammar mavens), in which the base word is "gmar", meaning "sealing". (Correction - I meant to say: "gmar", meaning "finalization".) The gender of the phrase should therefore be the gender of "gmar", which is masculine. But that would demand a masculine form of the adjective "good", yielding "gmar chatima tov"! (Fast talkers sometimes correctly shorten the phrase to "gmar tov", "a good finalization". Adding "chatima" doesn't change the gender of "tov".)
To maintain grammatical correctness, the phrase should be translated a bit differently, as wishing "A final good sealing". As if the "good sealing" is presumed already to exist, and one is wishing for that to be finalized. This is a plausible interpretation after Yom Kippur, when one's fate has already been sealed. But during the preceding ten days of penitence, it is hard to justify. In any case, it is not the common way the phrase is understood.
Rather, I would stick with the original translation, and assume the phrase is simply grammatically incorrect. As a folk greeting which developed over time, either it was originally formed incorrectly ("gmar chatima tova" just sounds right; "gmar chatima tov" doesn't) or grammarians were simply less pedantic about such details as noun-adjective agreement.
Evidence for this understanding is provided, conveniently, by the common pre-Rosh Hashana greeting: "K'tiva Vachatima Tova", "A good inscription and sealing". Since the noun here is compound, the adjective should be plural: "K'tiva Vachatima Tovot"! The singular form properly translates as wishing "An inscription and a good sealing" - an unlikely interpretation, to say the least.
Perhaps "K'tiva Vachatima Tova" just rolled off the tongue (it rhymes!), and "K'tiva Vachatima Tovot" didn't. Or the phrase began as "K'tiva Tova" and the "Vachatima" was added later, inserted with blatant disregard to grammatical technicalities.
I find this all a bit ironic, since I remember as a youngster being very careful to pronounce the precise greeting specified in the Machzor for each type of recipient: "L'shana Tova Tikatev V'techatem" to a man, "...Tikatevi V'techatemi" to a woman, and so on for plural groups. Today I casually rattle off a holiday greeting which is just grammatically wrong. Oh, well.
However you say it, I wish you a final sealing for good. On Yom Kippur we're sealed, but sometimes God has been known to sneak open the envelope for a last minute adjustment on Hoshana Raba, the last day of Sukkot. Or so I'm told. So we continue to wish a "Gmar Chatima Tova" until then.
There's just one problem. The grammar of the phrase doesn't support that translation.
"A final sealing" is "gmar chatima". This is a compound phrase (semikhut for Hebrew grammar mavens), in which the base word is "gmar", meaning "sealing". (Correction - I meant to say: "gmar", meaning "finalization".) The gender of the phrase should therefore be the gender of "gmar", which is masculine. But that would demand a masculine form of the adjective "good", yielding "gmar chatima tov"! (Fast talkers sometimes correctly shorten the phrase to "gmar tov", "a good finalization". Adding "chatima" doesn't change the gender of "tov".)
To maintain grammatical correctness, the phrase should be translated a bit differently, as wishing "A final good sealing". As if the "good sealing" is presumed already to exist, and one is wishing for that to be finalized. This is a plausible interpretation after Yom Kippur, when one's fate has already been sealed. But during the preceding ten days of penitence, it is hard to justify. In any case, it is not the common way the phrase is understood.
Rather, I would stick with the original translation, and assume the phrase is simply grammatically incorrect. As a folk greeting which developed over time, either it was originally formed incorrectly ("gmar chatima tova" just sounds right; "gmar chatima tov" doesn't) or grammarians were simply less pedantic about such details as noun-adjective agreement.
Evidence for this understanding is provided, conveniently, by the common pre-Rosh Hashana greeting: "K'tiva Vachatima Tova", "A good inscription and sealing". Since the noun here is compound, the adjective should be plural: "K'tiva Vachatima Tovot"! The singular form properly translates as wishing "An inscription and a good sealing" - an unlikely interpretation, to say the least.
Perhaps "K'tiva Vachatima Tova" just rolled off the tongue (it rhymes!), and "K'tiva Vachatima Tovot" didn't. Or the phrase began as "K'tiva Tova" and the "Vachatima" was added later, inserted with blatant disregard to grammatical technicalities.
I find this all a bit ironic, since I remember as a youngster being very careful to pronounce the precise greeting specified in the Machzor for each type of recipient: "L'shana Tova Tikatev V'techatem" to a man, "...Tikatevi V'techatemi" to a woman, and so on for plural groups. Today I casually rattle off a holiday greeting which is just grammatically wrong. Oh, well.
However you say it, I wish you a final sealing for good. On Yom Kippur we're sealed, but sometimes God has been known to sneak open the envelope for a last minute adjustment on Hoshana Raba, the last day of Sukkot. Or so I'm told. So we continue to wish a "Gmar Chatima Tova" until then.
