I heard what I thought I would hear. Clearly, the language of adolescents who inhabit a kosher pizza parlor is less vulgar and easier on the ears of an adult than the language of their less-traditional counterparts. And while vulgarities of speech might mean nothing at all to its utterer—as one would conclude simply by noting its frequency—nevertheless it is disconcerting.
Speech is not only a sign of character; for a Jew, it is also a symbol of faithfulness, a human response to the divine calling to be holy, to be part of a holy community.
Holiness of speech is not merely what we refrain from saying. Holiness is not silence or curtailing communication. The ascetics (nezirim), who took upon themselves vows of silence, were never significant models in Jewish tradition.
Holiness also means what you do in general with the gift of speech. If we are to spend less energy on lies, deceits, insults, and vulgarities, how do we fill the time? Tradition teaches that whenever three persons gather together they should speak some words of Torah. Similarly, at a meal, where conversation is as important as food, there should be some words of Torah—a dvar Torah (although the Rabbis said that, for health reasons, people should not talk while there is food in their mouths). Some families do have a dvar Torah regularly at mealtime. Some do so at Shabbat meals; others, at organizational meetings, luncheons, and dinners.
Speech is a reflection of faith in another way. Many Orthodox Jews, when talking about the future or about their current or past situation, will include such phrases as, “thank God” (“Baruch Hashem”), “with the help of God” (“B’Ezrat Hashem”), and “God willing” (“Im Yirtzeh Hashem”). The familiar “Baruch Hashem,” thank God, is often used by itself as shorthand answer to the questions, “How are you?” or “How is the family?” Not merely pious platitudes, they are profound reflections of the spiritual baggage a person carries around all the time in the innermost recesses of his or her soul: somehow we know that everything is in the hands of God, that healthy children are a gift, and good fortune comes because God wills it, that there are a thousand hitches that could foul up the trip we plan four months hence, that we get through every day by virtue of miracles. It is not pessimism or fear—it is realism and faith—and it comes through in a mere turn of speech.
Recently, a professor, an Orthodox Jew who generally tends to have a critical eye, commented to me how disgusted he was when he overheard the men standing at the back of his shul one Shabbat morning, discussing whether digital watches were okay to wear on Shabbat. “Ugh!” he said. “They’re so legalistic and petty.” “Would it be better,” I asked him, “if they were discussing this one’s divorce (gossip), or that one’s greed (slander), or the stock market (inappropriate in shul on Shabbat)?” Of course, Orthodox Jews discuss those things, too, but to leaven it with conversation of a halachic nature, to deflect from the passion for gossip or the consuming nature of envy is not bad at all.
To an extent, that back-of-the-shul scene points up how it all hangs together. Not only the thou shalt nots regarding speech, but everything else in the Torah, has bearing on speech and ethics. For each person, the ritual expression, the concern with halacha, the construction of holiness in so many areas of life have impact on so private and personal a matter as speech. Once again, we find it to be a system of vast, deep, and intricate interconnections.
CHAPTER · 8
MEZUZAH: SYMBOL OF A JEWISH HOUSEHOLD
A Jewish household is created by the people who live in it—by the way they act, the things they do and don’t do, the beliefs they hold. To a great extent, a Jewish way of life is a portable faith: you can take it with you anywhere you go. This is true for Shabbat, kashrut, Taharat Hamishpachah, daily prayer, and study of Torah.
It is generally accepted that Judaism as a religion is more oriented to holiness of time than holiness of place. There are many occasions we sanctify, but very few places we call holy.
Is that the whole truth? Not at all, for the very place in which we live, our permanent residence, is sanctified. This is achieved through a very concrete ritual, through the mitzvah of mezuzah.
Mezuzah is of Biblical origin and therefore carries great weight. “And you shall inscribe them on the doorposts (mezuzot) of your house and on your gates” (DEUT. 6:9, 11:20). What is to be inscribed? Divine instruction is very clear: “The words that I tell you this day”: that you shall love your God, believe only in Him, keep His commandments, and pass all of this on to your children.
Thus, a mezuzah has come to refer also to the parchment, or klaf, on which the verses of the Torah are inscribed (DEUT. 6:4-9; 11:13-21). Mezuzah refers as well to the case or container in which the parchment is enclosed. A mezuzah serves two functions: every time you enter or leave, the mezuzah reminds you that you have a covenant with God; second, the mezuzah serves as a symbol to everyone else that this particular dwelling is constituted as a Jewish household, operating by a special set of rules, rituals, and beliefs.
Before describing the ritual of affixing a mezuzah, let us examine some of its attendant laws:
The klaf must be hand-lettered by a kosher scribe—one who is observant of halacha and who qualifies for the task. The case or container, on the other hand, has no special requirements. It can be purchased or homemade; it can be of any size or shape or material. The scroll is rolled up from left to right so that when it is unrolled the first words appear first. The scroll is inserted into the container but should not be permanently sealed because twice in seven years the parchment should be opened and inspected to see if any of the letters have faded or become damaged.
A mezuzah should be fixed to the doorpost of every living space in the house, not just the entrance door. Any room that has two doorposts and an overhead lintel requires a mezuzah. There is some difference of opinion as to whether an arched opening with no door and no posts require a mezuzah, so one should check with a rabbi. Bathrooms, closets, laundry room, boiler room, and so forth, however, do not require a mezuzah.
The mezuzah should be put up as soon as possible after moving in, and not later than thirty days. A temporary residence, that is, a place we reside in for less than thirty days, doesn’t require a mezuzah; nor does an office or place of business. A dormitory room, which a student considers a home away from home, should have a mezuzah.
When a family moves it should not remove its mezuzot from the doorpost if it knows that another Jewish family will be moving in subsequently. (If the case is a valuable one, one can substitute another case, but the klaf should remain.) If one knows that a Gentile family is to follow in that place of abode, the mezuzot should be removed, lest they be considered useless and thrown away.
The mezuzah is affixed to the right side of the door as one enters a room. In other words, if your door swings open from hallway into bedroom, the mezuzah would be nailed to the right-hand doorpost as you face the bedroom from the hall. This is so no matter whether the doorknob is on the right- or left-hand side. It should be placed at the lower part of the top third of the doorpost, which is generally about eyeball height for a six-foot-tall person. It is affixed at a slant, with the lower part of the container toward you as you face the right doorpost. A mezuzah contains God’s name and therefore great pains are taken to see that it doesn’t fall. The case must be securely attached at top and bottom rather than hanging by a nail from the top of the mezuzah. If the doorpost is too narrow to affix the mezuzah on a slant, it can be attached vertically, but still must be nailed or glued at top and bottom.
Women are equally obligated in the mitzvah of mezuzah and can perform this mitzvah for the entire household. If children are old enough to understand and to perform this mitzvah, it is a nice idea to have them put up the mezuzah on the doorpost of their bedroom.
The ritual for affixing a mezuzah is very brief and very simple, especially so considering its enduring nature.
Mezuzah in hand, one recites this blessing:
Baruch ata Adonai Elohainu melech ha-olam asher kidshanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu
likboa mezuzah.
Blessed are You, Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who has sanctified us with His commandments and commanded us to affix a mezuzah.
All those standing about answer Amen.
Immediately, the mezuzah is nailed or glued to the right doorpost.
That’s it—a thirty-second ritual that lasts the lifetime of tenure in that place....
A newly married couple will do this upon moving into their apartment. I’m not sure what the origin or meaning of carrying the bride over the threshold is, but this is at least its Jewish equivalent. To the new couple it says, we are building a Jewish home together.
CHANUKAT HABAYIT
You don’t have to get married to put up a mezuzah. It can be done anytime there is a doorpost without one.
Often, when a family moves into a new house, it will celebrate the event with family and friends. The celebration, of which the central part is the ceremony of the mezuzah, is known as a chanukat habayit, which means “dedication of the house.”
The reader will notice the same word is used for dedicating a house as was used for dedicating the Holy Temple after the Maccabean victory.
Since the mezuzah ceremony is so simple, many people expand it by adding special readings, a dvar Torah, singing and dancing, and—always an accompaniment of a mitzvah that marks another milestone in life—a nice repast.
One final word about the symbolic status of a mezuzah. The parchment is inscribed on only one side. On its reverse side, only one word appears, Shaddai, one of the names used for God. When the scroll is rolled properly, the Shaddai is facing the eye. The letters of Shaddai, shin, daled, yod are also the initials of the phrase shomer delatot yisrael, the Guardian of the doors of Israel.
Partly as a result of this lettering, partly because some people naturally tend toward superstitition, the mezuzah sometimes has been accorded the status of amulet, a magical charm. Not only in medieval cultures but even in our day, some would attribute or explain misfortune as linked to the lack of kosher mezuzot.
A mezuzah is not meant to be a protective device, nor lack thereof a source of direct punishment. A mezuzah is a sign and reminder of the Covenant, of our love and commitment and our willingness to create a Jewish household. That, in itself, is sufficient!
PART TWO
Special Stages of Life
CHAPTER ·9
MARRIAGE
It always has been that way. In Jewish tradition, one who doesn’t marry is considered an incomplete person. Marriage, not celibacy, is the higher form of existence. Sex outside of marriage is forbidden, while sex within marriage is seen as a positive human expression, not only for procreation but also for pleasure. Marriage is considered a sanctification. It is no coincidence that the word for marriage, kiddushin, is derived from the root word, kadosh, holiness. One partner, set aside, consecrated to the other.
What about the 1980s, when a singles or divorce life-style is more common than not? What about today, when no group is insulated from broader cultural values? Still, traditional Jews remain avowedly committed to marriage. Happily, singles and divorced persons are no longer considered pariahs as they once were in the traditional community. Happily, too, they nevertheless remain the exceptions.
Many factors come into play: traditional notions of marriage are but one part of a much larger system of traditional values; ritual and rite, keyed to celebration in units of family, naturally reinforce the desire to marry; and, perhaps most of all, the taboos on premarital sex help push young people with healthy drives toward finding a proper mate and marrying. In consequence, while the average marriage age for women in America has advanced several years during the past decade, Orthodox women still tend to marry in their early twenties.
Given a strong commitment to marriage, for our children and ourselves, there are a hundred things we can do to broaden the circle of friends of similar backgrounds from which to seek a suitable mate: schools, camps, and tours sponsored by Orthodox Jewish organizations; spending the Jewish holidays at a hotel that caters to a clientele with shared values; asking friends and relatives of all ages to suggest possible dates/mates; arranging blind dates and parties. In other words, while it is all quite low-key and discreet, the dating game is a purposeful endeavor with the goal of marriage clearly in mind. There is no embarrassment, for it is a mitzvah not only to marry but also to make a match.
The Midrash tells of a Roman matron who asked Rabbi Jose bar Halafta, a defender of the faith, what his God had been doing since the six days of creation. The rabbi replied that God had been busy as a matchmaker, spending time finding appropriate life mates for His earthly creatures. The Roman woman replied derisively, “That is His occupation? Why, I can match thousands in an hour.” She lined up one thousand of her female slaves and one thousand of her male slaves and married them to one another. The next day, they returned to her with all sorts of wounds, bruises, and broken bones. Not one was satisfied with the mate she had chosen for him or her. Graciously, she called for Rabbi Jose bar Halafta and said to him, “Indeed your Torah is true and beautiful.” Rabbi Jose bar Halafta said, “Though it looks easy to make a match, even for God it is as difficult as splitting the Red Sea.”
Most modern Orthodox choose their own mates, but the shad-chan (matchmaker) is beginning to have a bit of a comeback. Shadchanim were widely used to arrange marriages in Europe and have long been used by Chasidic and more traditional Jews in this country. Nowadays, some of them are beginning to update the trade to meet the needs of modern youth. What with society so highly atomized, the services of a good shadchan are at least as good as a good computer dating service. No one says you have to marry the shadchan’s first choice! The point of it all is that if a community is committed to the idea of marriage for its young, it will find a way.
THE ENGAGEMENT PERIOD
Engagement used to be formalized by t’naim, the signing of a legal document which stipulated certain conditions: that the two parties were obligated to keep their commitment of marriage, the financial resources or possessions each party would bring to the marriage, the responsibilities of each family to the other, and the penalties to be paid were either side to break off the engagement. Breaking t’naim was considered a disgraceful act by the initiator, and a humiliation to the rejected party. Through time, as modern values won out and romantic choice became the more dominant motive, t’naim were postponed until right before the wedding ceremony. In effect, t’naim became a mere formality. Nowadays, if an Orthodox couple breaks an engagement, it’s like any other informal civil act. There are no community sanctions. Despite what they say about girls and diamonds, the ring is always returned.
The engagement period is the time for the mechutanim, the in-laws, to meet each other to plan the wedding and discuss the financial responsibilities of each. It used to be widely held, and largely still is, that the bride’s family absorbs all the cost of the wedding except for liquor, flowers, and the photographer. This was based on the premise that the husband (and his family) would be supporting the newlyweds’ household for the rest of their lives. What with women working and sharing the breadwinning roles until children arrive, and often afterward, and with both husband and wife being supported by both families through school, some parents have begun to divide the wedding costs more evenly. Whatever arrangements are made, parents are generally careful to settle things amicably so as not to put undue stress on the new couple, or, as it is widely referred to in Jewish circles, not to “fashter the simcha” (take the joy out of the occasion).
Choosing a wedding date must not only mesh with the desires of the couple, their parents, the rabbi who will perform the ceremony, the availability of the synagogue or wedding hall, and the caterer’s schedule; it must also satisfy two other criteria. One is easy to determine: the dates of the Jewish calendar when weddings are permitted. Weddings are not permitted during Sefirat Ha’Omer—the period of quasi mourning between Passover and Shavuot—in memory of the Hadrianic persecutions of Palestini
an Jews in the second century. The major exception within this seven-week stretch is Lag B’Omer, the thirty-third day of the Omer on which the persecutions ceased. Lag B’Omer is a popular wedding day. Israel Independence Day and Jerusalem Reunification Day, which fall in this period, have been accepted by the Israeli rabbinate and by some in the American Orthodox rabbinate as festive days which also break the period of quasi mourning and during which weddings are permitted. Weddings may also be held on the three days prior to Shavuot. Weddings are not permitted during the three weeks leading up to Tisha B’Av, which is a period of mourning for the destruction of the Temple in 586 B.C.E. and 70 C.E.
Fortunately, that leaves most of June, plus all the other days of the year, except, of course, Shabbat, holidays, and fast days. There is a tradition to hold the wedding on a Tuesday, if possible, because it is considered a day of good fortune. Of that day in the creation cycle, God said of His work not once but twice, “And it was good” (GEN. 1:10,12).
The second criterion in finding a date has to do with a woman’s menses. Given the fact that an Orthodox woman is likely to be a virgin at marriage, the rupture of the hymen will make her a niddah: four days count for blood flow (a dispensation from the usual minimum of five) plus seven white days during which husband and wife must separate sexually. Thus, a young couple will try to time their marriage toward the end of her monthly cycle, just before the onset of menstruation; otherwise, she will be niddah twice consecutively in one month, which isn’t the most pleasant way to start one’s married life. Most Orthodox women keep some track of their periods before setting a wedding date. It doesn’t have to be discussed with the entire world, but a couple will arrive at a convenient date and everyone will work around it.
How to Run a Traditional Jewish Household Page 21