Kamtza & Bar Kamtza (Part 3)

Please read the first two parts carefully.

Kamtza & Bar Kamtza (Part 2)

A Victory Banquet

A certain member of the ruling Judean family hosted a celebratory banquet in honor of his political and military victory over rival factions. Among the political appointees and allies of the Prince, was a newly-appointed tax collector named Kamtza who, along with other friends and supporters of the Prince, was to be invited to this gala event. The Prince’s servant, ordered to invite this new tax collector of the district, made the mistake of inviting the old tax collector who, having served under and supported the previous regime, desperately wanted his old job back, having lost it in the change of power. The new Prince was allied with the Perushim and invited many Rabbis to participate in the victory celebration. To those Rabbis, this victory was more than just a political coup; it meant that they would assume control of the Bais HaMikdosh and the religious direction of the country, wrenching it from the hands of the aristocratic Tzedukim.

The deposed tax collector, having been invited to the gala event, thought that perhaps the Prince recognized his experience and his abilities and, in spite of his political antagonism, sought to reinstate him to his former position. With this in mind, Bar Kamtza dressed himself in fine robes and entered the banquet in high spirits. He was however, to be very disappointed by coming events.

When the Prince saw Bar Kamtza, the employee of his political rivals, seated at the banquet, he was furious that anyone who had opposed his government would have the chutzpah to partake of his good will. The Prince immediately insisted that Bar Kamtza leave the party. Bar Kamtza, being politically astute and knowing what such a disgrace would do to his future career opportunities, sought to appease the Prince by offering to pay for his own food, then half of everyone’s food, and then, as a last resort, to pay for the entire banquet. (Apparently, Bar Kamtza was doing pretty good himself moneywise.) The Prince would hear none of it, and forcibly removed Bar Kamtza from the hall. The Perushim, afraid to offend their new benefactor and Prince, sit silently by while Bar Kamtza was shown the door, for fear of endangering their recent political gains.

(In truth, Bar Kamtza is not a political person, but a sly opportunist who, as is obvious from his delight at being invited to the banquet, would work for and ally himself with anyone who offered him a civil service job.)

The Plan Unfolds

Bar Kamtza, now demoralized and wounded from his public humiliation and permanent lay-off, begins to think on how he will ever regain his former status, and that can only occur it seems, if the government would revert back to Tzeduki rule. To accomplish this, Bar Kamtza needs a pretext to accuse the Perushim, being the Prince’s foremost allies, of rebellion or treason against Rome. He must convince Caesar, in some way, that this new Perushi-sponsored regime is unfavorable to Roman interests.

Bar Kamtza is no shoyteh. He knows that the Judean malchus needs the approval of Rome and the support of at least one of the religious parties to survive. Rome has the power to intervene whenever it wishes, as is evident from the assassination of Aristobulus. He also knows that the Kohain Gadol wields tremendous influence and his position, also dependent upon political intrigue, plays a crucial role in the nation. If Bar Kamtza can find a means to discredit the Perushim, it would weaken the Prince’s hold on the government and ultimately bring it down. To accuse the Perushim of open revolt would be immediately refuted by any of the local Roman garrisons, so Bar Kamtza needed a subtle means of piquing Caesar’s interest. This would happen through the Avodah. Bar Kamtza decided to strike at the heart of both religion and government.

Meforshim indicate that the Caesar here was none other than the infamous Nero (Fiddler on the Burning Roof), the adopted son of the Emperor Claudius, who was, as history tells us, a close childhood friend of King Herod the Great, the remodeler the Bayis Sheni. Nero did not assume power until around 50 AD, which puts our little story somewhere between that time and the Churban. We also have to remember that the Jews went into open revolt in 67 AD, so it is likely that Bar Kamtza made his trip to Rome in the interim. Nero died in 68 AD.

More Than A Matter of Opinion

The Tzedukim and Perushim had very different views of Torah and Avodah. These not so subtle differences would be obvious to the Jews, but to Caesar, separated by distance, language, and indifference, these distinctions would be pretty much meaningless. Caesars before Nero, and even Nero himself, during the reign of the previous Tzeduki regime, offered korbonos at the Bais Hamikdosh; if for no other reason than for currying political good will with the Judean people. Bar Kamtza chose his battle plan wisely and embarked on a journey to Rome, where his scheme would hopefully catch the ear of Caesar himself. As a former tax collector and one-time agent of both the Judean and Roman governments, it would not be unthinkable that Bar Kamtza would manage in some way to gain access to Caesar.

Bar Kamtza’s report to Caesar that the new regime was rebellious was an obvious lie, even to Caesar. Yet, on the off chance that this now-unemployed tax collector form Yerushalayim might be right, Caesar agreed to send a young calf with Bar Kamtza, with papers and the necessary documentation to let everyone know that Bar Kamtza and the calf are traveling at the behest of Caesar.

(Bar Kamtza’s intent was never to have the entire nation of Israel destroyed, rather to induce a regime change, win the favor of Rome, and get his old job back. Like many opportunists, before and after Bar Kamtza, the execution of this scheme was riddled with unintended consequences he did not bother to consider. The person seeking the opportunity for himself becomes, without consent, the means of opportunity for others.)

The Obscure Blemish

Caesar charged Bar Kamtza with bringing a young calf as a korban on the Emperor’s behalf to the Bais HaMikdosh in Yerushalayim. The animal was perfect by any standard. Well, at least it started out that way. Between the Roman, the Tzeduki, and the Perushi standards of what constitutes ‘bli moom’ is a wide disparity of rules and qualities. For the Romans, as long as an animal was not mechusar ayver, it was considered acceptible. The Romans knew the Jews had a higher standard, but as to the differences between Tzeduki and Perushi, they cared little.

The Torah in Vayikra (22:22-25) lists the types of moomin and says that these apply even to goyim who wish to offer korbonos. The various moomin include, blindness, broken limbs, and some other very obvious defects, both natural and human inflicted that disqualify animals from sacrficial purposes. According to the Tedukim, who relied on the literal and pashut reading of Vayikra 22, the twelve or thirteen moomin listed are the only ones that pasul a korban. The Perushim on the other hand, set a much higher standard. They darshened that to mention both ‘tamim’ (22:19) and ‘bli moom’ (22:20) is redundant and the double mention is there to imply extra factors that would pasul a korban above and beyond what the Torah enumerates. (The RamBam, in Hilchos Isurei Mizbeyach (2:1) lists 37 moomin, well above the 13 or 14 listed in Vayikra 22, and says that it comes Mipi Hashemuah.)

Bar Kamtza was also aware of this and decided that a slight moom, though not obvious or of much concern to either Roman or Tzeduki, would pose a real problem for the pedantic Perushim now running the Avodas HaBayis. He decided to place a pin-sized needle hole on one of the lips of the calf or, as other meforshim have suggested, he damaged the eye of the calf just enough to cause a mild cataract. In truth, this sounds more like a moom oyver, a blemish that once healed would not pasul the korban any longer (2:4). In this case, the Romans didn't know about it, the Tzedukim wouldn't have cared about it, and the Perushim end up arguing about it.

(We cannot be absolutely sure what the Tzedukim would have held to be a blemish, since they left nothing behind in the way of writing or commentary. We know (through the Chazal) that they rejected anything outside of the Kesav, much like the Karaites do today. What is certain, however, is that these differences would not matter much to a plotting Caesar.)

(Part 3 coming very soon!)

Kamtza & Bar Kamtza (Part 1)

Gittin 55b-56a

אקמצא ובר קמצא חרוב ירושלים דההוא גברא דרחמיה קמצא ובעל דבביה בר קמצא עבד סעודתא אמר ליה לשמעיה זיל אייתי לי קמצא אזל אייתי ליה בר קמצא אתא אשכחיה דהוה יתיב אמר ליה מכדי ההוא גברא בעל דבבא דההוא גברא הוא מאי בעית הכא קום פוק אמר ליה הואיל ואתאי שבקן ויהיבנא לך דמי מה דאכילנא ושתינא אמר ליה לא אמר ליה יהיבנא לך דמי פלגא דסעודתיך אמר ליה לא אמר ליה יהיבנא לך דמי כולה סעודתיך א"ל לא נקטיה בידיה ואוקמיה ואפקיה אמר הואיל והוו יתבי רבנן ולא מחו ביה ש"מ קא ניחא להו איזיל איכול בהו קורצא בי מלכא אזל אמר ליה לקיסר מרדו בך יהודאי א"ל מי יימר א"ל שדר להו קורבנא חזית אי מקרבין ליה אזל שדר בידיה עגלא תלתא בהדי דקאתי שדא ביה מומא בניב שפתים ואמרי לה בדוקין שבעין דוכתא דלדידן הוה מומא ולדידהו לאו מומא הוא סבור רבנן לקרוביה משום שלום מלכות אמר להו רבי זכריה בן אבקולס יאמרו בעלי מומין קריבין לגבי מזבח סבור למיקטליה דלא ליזיל ולימא אמר להו רבי זכריה יאמרו מטיל מום בקדשים יהרג אמר רבי יוחנן ענוותנותו של רבי זכריה בן אבקולס החריבה את ביתנו ושרפה את היכלנו והגליתנו מארצנו

When I attempt to parse something, be it a posuk Chumash or a sugya Gemara, I honestly do not know how it will turn out. Sometimes, I have a question that leads me to believe that I have some great chidush to reveal and other times, and these are more often than I’d like to admit, I find myself leaning more toward apologetics and further explanation of the accepted reasoning. Limud HaTorah should not demand rigid adherence or faith to the established ideal, but should become a friendly challenge to those ideals. To know the true rationale behind the Divrei Chazal, one has to attack those words as one would an adversary, and subject them to the scrutiny that they deserve, and if indeed true and wise, should be able to handle.

Let us get right down to business. The story of Kamtza and bar Kamtza and its intended lesson are well known. For an English translation of Gittin 55b-56a, visit this link. This whole tale, as written, appears to be a rather simplistic assessment of characters, causes, and effects. Gittin 55b-56a looks more like a tabloid-type news-blurb than a clear explanation of the cause and effect relationship leading to the Churban Bayis Sheni. My purpose here is to look a bit deeper into Gittin 55b-56a, applying halacha, historical context, and human psychology to connect those causes to their effects and bring the players in this Judean fiasco into some semblance of reality. Like any news article or police report, Gittin 55b-56a gives us information in two ways. First, in what it does say, and more importantly, what it doesn’t mention at all and probably should if the story is to make any sense whatsoever.

Questions, Questions

1) Gittin 55b-56a omits name of the fellow throwing this party, or what sort of affair it was meant to be. The host (or guest of honor) is simply referred to as ‘hahu gavra’ which, roughly translated, means ‘a certain fellow.’ There are hundreds of ‘hahu gavras’ throughout Shas, and among the dozen or so cases I explored, did not find anything remarkable about any of them. In any case, the host had to be Rabbi-friendly, since they were present in some number. To throw such a party during hard times, and the fact that he had servants, further indicates some financial wherewithal not available to the common person. (That the Rabbis sat silently during the commotion indicates that he was someone of power, perhaps royalty.)

2) The Gemara doesn’t tell us why the host hated Bar Kamtza in the first place. We always assume that it might be sinas chinom, but is hatred like this always unfounded? Just because our Gemara does not tell us why, does not mean there was not a good reason. (I would have to REALLY mad before I would dare create a commotion during a simcha, physically and forcefully ejecting a guest in front of everyone. That kind of sinah usually goes well beyond what we would call chinom.)

3) It is likely that Kamtza and bar Kamtza (if they were even real people) were not their real names. I found three other places in Shas where the word Kamtza is used (Yevamos 121b, Nedarim 19b and Avoda Zara 37a.) Kamtza means an ‘unclean bug’; according to some it is an ant, and to others an unkosher type of locust. In either case, the authors of this sugya obviously did not hold either Kamtza in high esteem.

4) By referring to both men the with the same moniker implies that Kamtza and Bar Kamtza were very much alike (or at least had something in common), so it makes me even more curious as to why it is that one would be loathed and the other honored by our host. It obviously had little to do with their individual characters, since Gittin 55b describes both men as ‘unclean bugs’. (This reinforces question #2.)

5) Bar Kamtza was quite anxious to gain the good graces of the host. What purpose would that serve? What did Bar Kamtza stand to gain by kindling the host’s friendship?

6) Why did the Rabbis at the banquet say or do nothing? Why would Bar Kamtza have even expected them to come to his defense? Were they afraid to offend the host, or might they, have had some earnest dislike for Bar Kamtza as well?

7) Why did Bar Kamtza single out the Rabbis for blame and revenge when presumably there were plenty of non-Rabbis present who also failed to speak up in his defense? Did Bar Kamtza pick on the Rabbis because of a preexisting prejudice, or because he honestly felt they were the ones to sway the opinion of the host in his favor?

8) How did Bar Kamtza, a Jew whose real name we don’t even know, manage to gain an audience with a Caesar? Was he influential, very wealthy, or politically connected? The Gemara doesn’t say. (There are dozens of stories about Jews meeting famous kings and generals and frankly, I am suspicious of each and every one of those.)

9) Can we explain the vengeful behavior of Bar Kamtza only in terms of the banquet itself, or were there other circumstances? I find it hard to believe that a person, no matter how wronged, would risk the destruction of his entire nation out of a personal dishonor. It just seems a bit extreme to assume that a Bar Kamtza would go to all that trouble over being snubbed at a dinner.

10) Had Nero not ever offered a sacrifice at the Temple? Had any of his generals, governors, or previous Emperors? Would the Romans not have already known the Jewish laws for sacrifices? How would not accepting a sacrifice be a sign of rebellion unless other korbonos hadn’t already be received previously in good will? Had something changed in the Temple that Bar Kamtza knew about that perhaps Nero did not, which would preclude this particular sacrifice from being accepted?

11) Why did Bar Kamtza make this particular blemish on the animal? According to the Gemara in Temura 7a and the RamBam, Bar Kamtza could have made a much more obvious blemish on the animal, and by Noahide standards (or Roman Law), the animal still would have been acceptable, and Nero would still have been upset. Why the subterfuge then?

12) Why was Rav Yochanan so anxious to kill Bar Kamtza? Certainly, Rav Yochanan could not know the future, so how would he know the consequences? Had Bar Kamtza violated something else which made him, in Rav Yochanan’s mind, liable an immediate death sentence?

13) Why would Rabi Zecharia be so worried about how the killing might be misinterpreted? Was there some conflict as to what constituted a blemish or unfit korban, which would lead someone to assume the issue of Bar Kamtza’s execution was korban related? (This reinforces question #11.)

14) What would be the point of killing Bar Kamtza AFTER the korban of Nero had already been rejected and the event set in motion? At that point, killing him would have changed nothing. (This may have been Rabi Zecharia’s worry about how the killing would be interpreted by those who do not know all the circumstances.) Besides, was Bar Kamtza the only person who could have informed Nero? If his plan had been so ‘top secret’, then how did we ever find out about it?

Context & Pretext

If you were a Judean living between 150 BCE and 70 AD, it is likely that you existed in very tumultuous times. Under the Roman Occupation of Judea, the Jews were heavily taxed and the influence of Greco-Roman culture was coming in conflict with the more traditional religious ideals. The political divisions of the country were pretty much along the same lines as the religious ones; as Tedukim and Perushim were each vying for the favor of both the Romans and the general populace. These same divisions existed within royal families, too, and the Romans were experts at playing both sides against the middle. This struggle for religious and political control was centered mainly in the Judean malchus, the Bais HaMikdosh, and the Kohain Gadol. Essentially, whoever controlled the Kehuna controlled the people.

The Judean malchus assumed the task of appointing (with Rome’s approval) the Kohain Gadol and making many other political appointments (again, with Rome’s approval.) Among, the most sought after, yet reviled, position was that of tax collector. Tax collection was the raison d’etre of the Roman Empire, bringing wealth into Rome’s coffers. Tax collectors had good salaries and an entourage of Roman police on hand to enforce the law. Tax collection was lucrative position as well, affording power, influence, and the protection of the Roman Empire. The people, however, saw the tax collector as a parasite, especially when one of their own, a Judean, joined forces with the Roman exploiters of their cherished homeland.

This is why Gittin 55b-56a refers to these men as Kamtza and Bar Kamtza. Tax collectors were, in the eyes of the people, like locust or ants, that sweep down on a field, consume everything in sight, carry it off to somewhere else, and there is little that anyone can do to stop it. Tax officers of ancient times were no more beloved then than any IRS agent would be today.

It is in the backdrop of this politico-socioeconomic and religious unrest that the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza must be told. Here is the complete version retold in some detail. (This is a long post, so get some coffee and a danish. Part 2 is on the way!)

Half Way There

"A complex system that works is invariably found to have evolved from a simple system that works." (John Gaule)

Reb Shtreimel had to change the format of his wonderful blog due to spamming problems. Since I am not a member of his ‘team’, I am no longer able to post comments there. Therefore, I will address them here. Reb Shtreimel, as always, asks very basic questions, and the best that anyone can do in refuting him is either insult or divert the topic with 'complexity'. Let me come to his defense from a different angle.

Re: Something complex cannot come from something simple, therefore there must be a Boreh Olam.

Complexity is a psychological projection of our HUMAN view of things. It is complex in comparison to what else? Well, since you have nothing to simple to compare it with, then how do you know its complex? We can define anything as 'complex' when it becomes hard to to figure it out. Science has a few ideas about what is considered complexity and what isn't, but bottom line is that the thing functions, and THAT is where it matters.

For argument’s sake, let’s go ahead anyhow and work this through. Now we argue about the Olam itself as being either simple or complex. Lets drop that for a moment and assume that it is rather complex. What about the Boreh Olam? Is He/It simple? Or complex?

If you hold that the Olam is complex and therefore needs another complex thing to create it, then it follows that the Boreh must be complex, perhaps even moreso than the Olam it allegedly created. Now we are left to seek evidence, either from real life or from Tanach/Chazal to PROVE that the Boreh is complex as we imagine It must be in order to have created all of these other complex structures. (Since we are dealing with intangibles here, I want to check my logic before going any further.)

The Hebrew word for complex is ‘murkav’. The closest thing that I can find in Tanach is, of course, the Ma’aseh Merkava. Now the Maras Yechezkeil is rather complex, but all the visions were introduction, they did NOT represent the Boreh. The Kabala says that this is the prerequisite stages of Nevius and Brias HaOlam. (To me it looks more like a talk show host who has a band that opens for him.) In any case, the Merkava, in spite of its complexity does NOT reflect the Boreh, but only his means of communicating with at least one of the Nevi’im.

The evidence from Torah actually suggests quite the opposite; that the Boreh might be a simple thing. In the Aseres HaDibros (Shemos 20:4) it says “Do not make any image or picture of what you think HaShem might look like, because It cannot resemble anything you would know from the world around you.” Now, if the world around us is complex, then it follows that HaBoreh, not reflected in or by this complexity, would be simple!

Ok. I know what you’re thinking. Why can’t 20:4 mean that the world is complex and HaBoreh is even MORE complex? So complex that even we cannot ever imagine His complexity? That would satisfy Shemos 20:4 and the complexity problem in one fell swoop. Ergo, proof of a complex Boreh Olam.

That is fine if we are arguing greater complexity to lesser complexity. There is a Boreh Olam who, within Itself, contains all the requisite abilities and possible functions necessary to create, develop, and maintain the Universe and all the various forms of matter/energy within its limits. If you agree with this logic, then I have bad news for you. You are already ½ way to becoming an Apikores! (Spinoza is thinking along those same lines, but he leads it back to simplicity.)

Truth is, my earlier argument using 20:4 has no bearing on whether or not the Boreh is complex or simple. Shemos 20:4 is telling us what WE should not imagine the Boreh to be, but has no bearing on what the Boreh thinks of Himself, since the Boreh tells even Moshe pretty much not to worry about it. For all we know, HaShem imagines or knows Himself to be pure simplicity! From 20:4, we only know what NOT to think, and that leads us nowhere. So if you are trying to argue complexity from simplicity, greater complexity from lesser complexity, or real complexity from greater ‘potential’ complexity, you end up running around in mental circles chasing a tail you will never catch.

So what is more important, what we think of HaShem or what Hashem thinks of Himself? Huh? This takes us back to the original point of complexity and simplicity being exclusively human projections of how we imagine things should be organized.

Once we drop what we think the world should be, then we can start to see the Universe for what it is.

“Wonder is what sets us apart from other life forms. No other species wonders about the meaning of existence or the complexity of the universe or themselves.” (Herbert W. Boyer, co-founder of Genentech, Inc)

“I know that most men, including those at ease with problems of the greatest complexity, can seldom accept even the simplest and most obvious truth if it be such as would oblige them to admit the falsity of conclusions which they have delighted in explaining to colleagues, which they have proudly taught to others, and which they have woven, thread by thread, into the fabric of their lives.” (Leo Tolstoy, 1828 - 1910)

The Warrior & The Weakling

"The Muscle Man" (Jim Daly)

“There is always one moment in childhood when the door opens and lets the future in.” (Graham Greene)

I was about ten years old at the time, sitting around a crowded Shabbos tisch with a number of my classmates and a few other orchim. One of these guests was particularly interesting. Avraham was an Israeli ex-commando turned farbrente Chabadnik. He was a tall, dark man with a long, thick black beard, a deep melodious voice, and large white teeth that spanned out across his face like a bright brick road when he smiled. His hands were large and powerful and he spoke with both a friendliness and authority that captivated everyone. He regaled us with stories about the wars, his military training, and the army life in Israel. I doubt that any of us ever paid that much attention to our rebbes or melamdim.

We, being the impressionable boys that we were, swallowed more ma’asehs than we did cholent and kugel that afternoon. Needless to say, everybody in the room was impressed by this vigorous and engaging gentleman, who in spite of having a promising future in the Tzahal or in secular life, chose to dedicate his life to Torah and Mitzvos. The stories he told that Shabbos gave us all a little glimpse into a world we would likely never come to know on our own, albeit in a romanticized and no doubt equally sanitized fashion. I suspect there was a great deal of subtle eye contact and nodding from the ba’al habayis directing our orach as to which details to include, which others to omit, or when to conclude a particular story. In any case, the afternoon was an inspiring event.

Now, imagine yourself being a very naive, or at least a quite entertained and happy ten-year-old boy in the presence of this Davidic-style ‘hero’ and in the company of friends. You are even fortunate enough to be seated right next to this ‘giant’ in the hope that some of his popularity and confidence rubs off on you. Then, something quite unexpected happens that changes your life forever, and at a mere ten years old, you would never have known such things as possible.

In the middle of one of his stories, Avraham turns to me, grabs my left arm, rolls up the sleeve of my best shabbosdike hemde, nearly tearing it in the process, and proceeds to compare his well-developed Israeli commando arms with those of a ten-year-old Chasidishe kindt! Everyone at the table laughed as I struggled to get my own arm back and out from Avraham’s vice-like grip, exposing my ‘puny’ and untrained ten-year-old muscles to everyone. To this day, I do not have any clue why he would do such a thing. I know now that it wasn’t personal, because he didn’t even know my name and there was equal odds that Shabbos of any of the other boys sitting close enough to him to have suffered this indignity as well. Yet, at ten years old, being shamed by the fellow who was everyone’s hero, and not to mention befarhesya, was a crushing experience. I swallowed my pain at the time and played along, but that event changed my thinking, and perhaps contributed in some way to my leaving Yiddishkeit. It is safe to say that none of the others present that Shabbos afternoon, including the muscle-bound Avraham, even remembers the incident. The whole affair took less than thirty seconds of their time.

Now, when I say that this event ‘contributed’ to my Apikorsis, it really had nothing to do with ad hominem issues with other frumme Yidden. People will be people, and knowing as much as I do about human psychology and development, I find it difficult to blame people for being human. In fact, the incident really had nothing to do with Yiddishkeit at all either. It was something much more personal. Until that moment in which Avraham exposed me to the as a weak and puny little boy, I had no idea that I was weak and puny! Avraham’s actions, perhaps motivated by self-aggrandizement (that wasn’t required to impress anyone there), or just anxious to be funny, made me painfully self-aware of my own physical weakness and vulnerability. Until that time, I never worried one bit about exercise, muscles, self-defense, or personal security. I became exposed as a weakling to the entire world and, worst of all, to myself.

(Had Avraham later apologized to me or displayed some gesture of friendship, this matter would have faded even from my own memory, having no lasting ill effects. As it is, the likelihood that today, were he asked of it, he would deny ever doing such a thing in the first place adds insult to injury.)

Being a Chasidishe yingele, whose mission in life is primarily to learn Torah and do Mitzvos, having large biceps should not be a requirement, even when that boy eventually becomes thirty. Yet, I left that shabbos tisch thinking about one thing and one thing only; how to make it so that I would never be ridiculed or vulnerable again. I would do everything and anything to that end. Never again would anyone grab my arm, my leg, my hand, or my attention without getting a good fight in return. If you doubt me, give it a try.

What does this have to do with leaving Yiddishkeit you ask? Directly, nothing at all. Indirectly, it began me on a course of action that would lead me away from the coziness of the communal bond. Here I am, this ten year old pisherke who has already lived through more trauma than most adults, and in the public presence of those who I like and the one everyone holds in high esteem , and I end up insulted and ridiculed over a thing I knew nothing of and could do nothing about. How much would that have affected your outlook on life? This event, insignificant as it appears, snowballed into something much larger as time went on. Nothing causes more change in the world than a changed mind, and mine had been altered profoundly.

I began then to exercise a little. I started by doing a few push-ups and sit-ups in my bedroom. Then I filled an old suitcase with seforim and started weight lifting with it. Then I discovered a durable pipe running across our basement and began doing chin-ups, and then shadow boxing. Then I found a book on martial arts in a used bookstore. It is easy to surmise as to where this was leading. Now, I wasn’t getting big muscles yet, or picking fights at yeshiva. My mind was not set upon conquest, but on active resistance. I became resistant and defensive, and in turn, less trusting; should it be revealed that my efforts at self-protection were not successful enough to repel a punch, grab, or even an insult. This development reinforced my already strong tendencies for seclusion and privacy. I managed to take on the bullies and made a few of them regret pressing me into action, in spite of my own self-doubting.

This impulse continued into my adulthood and, even well into my marriage and college education. I remained clueless to its ultimate source and, for the most part, still processed many things through the mind-set of that hurting ten-year-old child. I still had the powerful urge to study the martial arts secretively and exercise, and I found any and every excuse to do so, even if my wife and friends thought it somewhat foolish and wasteful. I could not explain to them the real reason because I didn’t know the source of it myself at the time, but I did concoct some pretty clever rationales. I hadn’t forgotten what Avraham had done, but I had never connected that Shabbos with these later events.

Subsequently, as my need for physical self-improvement increased, so did my need for information and the means to cause that self-improvement. That requirement led me to people and places outside the normal stomping grounds of most Chasidishe Yidden. I began making friends and keeping short company with people outside the religious Jewish sphere of influence. I was learning stretching techniques from dancers, submission holds from wrestlers, and healing arts from Tai Chi teachers. In yet another part of my life, I became more enlightened and more open to new ideas. I was learning something new and useful every day.

Now, I already had long-standing sefeykos in terms of Yiddishkeit (and what it claimed as truths), but until I found friendships outside of the shtetl, the close-knit world of the kehilla kept my body at home even if my mind liked to wander out. My social circle was ever widening now, even if only as a large number of acquaintances rather than close friends, and the exclusive social bonds that linked the individual with the kehilla were eroding quickly. As I said before, at the time, I had no idea this was going on or why it was happening. I reflect back and see it all too clearly now. For those who go off the Derech, there are likely to be a hundred little reasons that lead up to the major one, or as in my case, those hundreds of others offered a convenient avenue of escape.

Avraham’s actions were not a curse really. In fact, if one believes in any sort of Providence, one would have to say they were more likely to have been a blessing than anything else. As a result, I became (at least outwardly) confident, strong, and reliable in reaction to the assertion that I was anything otherwise. Avraham’s ridicule also saved my life, and this is a story in and of itself. It may just be that some ‘higher’ power or force guided this into play, manipulating the only weakness it knew could be prodded into eliciting the desired results. (I do believe that cause and effect are ‘gods’, and mazel is the rule of the game.)

Avraham ended up saving me from myself. I have always lived with depression. Depression has always messed with me and messed me up at times. It makes me melancholy, artistic, creative, reclusive, thoughtful, empathetic, and stubborn to a fault. It gives me an aura of mystery that women find intriguing, and it allows me to tap into parts of my mind and psyche that others never imagine. Depression has also destroyed many opportunities in love, career, and business. Of all the things that depression does, there is one thing it cannot do, and that is provide help for itself or an outlet for its own powerful emotive force.

As it turns out, the outlet that allowed me to survive depression and to function relatively well was physical exercise. In my manic stages, rather than pacing up and down hallways or running around the house yelling and screaming, I was in the gym punching and kicking the heavy bag or skipping rope until I became exhausted; too tired to be a manic threat to anyone or anything. I would feel a bad mood coming on and stretch or breathe deeply to relax. The best part was feeling that I had done something useful with that energy. In my down times, exercise, by temporarily altering one’s chemical state through hormonal changes and metabolism, allowed a healthy avenue of escape from my doldrums, unlike many others who turned to sex, drugs, food, or indolence for comfort.

Avraham deserves gratitude for his inadvertent mockery of a ten-year-old child, though had it been any other kid, the results would have likely been quite different. I blamed him for a thing that now I can see as perhaps the greatest blessing imaginable. His actions, negative and painful as they were, were part of what held me to sanity and emotional balance. I still have my moments. I still get frustrated. That is the normal stress of life and living rearing its ugly head every now and then. Avraham taught me how to get up and be strong, and he deserves some thanks, even if he couldn’t possibly have intended it as such.

Here is what I learned from all this:

1) Do not insult or ridicule children unless you know them well enough for them to insult you back. If you make a child feel helpless, he will become withdrawn and defensive.

The traumas of youth, when placed in their proper perspective, can make stronger adults. 2)This comes about only through self-awareness. Connect the causes and effects when possible.

3) Blessings and curses raid each other’s closets for trendy outfits. It’s hard to tell which is which just by the way they are dressed. Most of the time they impersonate each other, much like mischievous twins who swap identities to confuse strangers.

4) Strong personal/social bonds are the most important factor in keeping people on the derech. A Jew can be living right smack in the middle of Meah Shearim and not have any personal connection to those around him. If he feels truly loved, there is nowhere else for him to go.

5) Thoughtfulness means that we consider the possible unintended consequences of our actions. We can’t control everything that happens, but at least we can use common sense to gauge the most likely results. Either way, we have no power over the outcomes.

6) To understand why a child is hurting, we have to look at life through the eyes of that child, and not project our own adult perspectives, thus ignoring or invalidating the child’s feelings in the process. We can’t fix what we refuse to see.

“Genius is no more than childhood recaptured at will, childhood equipped now with man's physical means to express itself, and with the analytical mind that enables it to bring order into the sum of experience, involuntarily amassed.” Charles Baudelaire (1821 - 1867)

The Meandering Jew : Yet Another Bus Story

As most of you know, my preferred method of conveyance around town and country is the bus. The ability to get back and forth across road and city without having to navigate or worry about fuel, tolls, or bathroom breaks is a huge weight of my shoulders. Travelling is tiring enough. By delegating those efforts to another, I can kick back (albeit not too far back), read, listen to music, or flirt shamelessly with the prettiest girl aboard; her road-bound captivity my romantic good fortune. I can daydream, write letters, and even catch an interesting sight or two along the way.

Some very interesting things happen on bus rides that, most likely, would not occur on more expensive or exclusive modes of travel. It is not as if the upper echelons of high society and culture are commuting via Greyhound on their way to the Preakness or some yachting expedition out on the islands. Most of those who ride buses have no choice, some because of money, and others because of the anonymity of this particular form of travel. (The “Runaway Bride” was smart to use the bus as a cover for her wedding day escape plan.) No one checks identification, no one asks what you are doing, and no one cares where you come from. Overall, the bus is the still the best place to hide when you need to inconspicuously move around the country. This is yet another reason I enjoy bus travel.

There is no doubt that at times I have shared hours of conversation with some of society’s lesser loved personages. I’ve struck up a dialogue with an ex-convict or two, or even a person currently wanted by the police for one crime or another. I don’t know or care what they did or who they are really; their story is what I’m after. I’ve sat next to unshowered migrant workers, among raucous Marine recruits on leave, and with grandmothers traveling hundreds of miles on their own to visit family and friends out in the countryside. Every roadside chat, every unbelievable story, and every human voice from those trips left a profound effect on my person. The easy-going banter, initially intended to help pass the time quicker, quickly grew into something much more meaningful.

This story takes place in a part of the USA that I call “What The Hell Am I Doing Here?”

Omaha is a quiet town by any standard, and I was privileged to spend a few hours within her city limits on a bright and crisp Sunday morning in September. Downtown Omaha is a ghost town on Sunday mornings, and I have a hard time imagining it being more ‘hustly-bustly’ on Monday afternoon. My first thoughts when stepping off the bus were to the famous “Mutual of Omaha Wild Kingdom”, a nature show that even some of us religious Jewish kids were able to watch at a relative’s home where television was permitted. I half-expected to see huge billboards all over Omaha in tribute to the famous insurance carrier, but I was to be disappointed. Omaha turned out to be just another plain, boring town along the way to the other plain, boring town that was to be my final destination. There are some emu and ostrich farms on either side of Omaha, but not much else appeared to be happening from where I was standing that morning. Granted, my view from the bus terminal was somewhat limited.

It is important to note that when on the bus, the driver is king and lord-master of his realm. If you have any ideas or suggestions as to when or where to stop or go, you would be best advised to keep those musings to yourself. This vehicular autocrat at the front cannot be cajoled to do anything outside of the predetermined scheduling. Power comes with responsibility, however, and bus drivers are responsible for making sure that whoever is on the bus belongs on the bus. They have the dual role of driver and security guard, and like others, whose jobs also require multitasking; sometimes one work requirement overshadows another, leaving the other undone. On some of the smaller bus lines; drivers usually function as makeshift mechanics as well, adding yet another burden. In spite of their seeming omnipotence, bus drivers also have human needs, and Virgil, stoic and taciturn as he appeared, was no exception. At each rest stop or station, Virgil would slowly and carefully aim the bus into one of the lanes provided and perform his necessary private functions in the designated location. It was during one of these potty breaks that things got weird in Omaha.

In this case, Virgil neglected the ‘security’ function. In his eagerness to get the bus back on the road and back on schedule, he forgot to recount the passengers. During his short, but necessary absence, two new passengers had boarded the bus without his knowledge, and on a bus with no more than 20 people total on board; it should not have gone unnoticed. Virgil’s lapse of duty became particularly striking in light of the fact that our stowaways were almost completely nude. One would think that a naked person would stand out on public transit, and if by chance that number simultaneously increased by yet another unclad soul, one might rightly assume that all hell would break loose. No such thing happened, however. Virgil returned to his air-cushioned spring-loaded throne, checked his mirrors, adjusted his Ray-Bans, and started the engine. Maybe bus drivers have to ‘zone out’ a bit to tolerate the long hours behind the wheel, and once Virgil entered his driving ‘mode’ there was nothing else, at least in his mind, going on.

Now even if our ‘birthday suited’ fellow travelers went somehow undetected by Virgil, not one of the other 20 or so passengers on board failed to notice them. If you have ever been caught among a small group of people placed in an awkward situation, then you will most likely know what happened for the next 30 miles or so en route to our next stop. The clothed members of our still-clothed entourage looked back and forth and at each other in shock, and without a syllable uttered between any of us. We may have all been waiting for the bus driver to finally realize what was going on behind him, or, as might have been equally plausible, Virgil knew there were naked people on his bus and did not care. Either way, there was dead silence, except, of course, for the constant banter between the naked people. One had to wonder if they even knew they were naked at all.

Now when I say they were naked, I’m exaggerating a bit. They were wearing those blue-green paper hospital slippers and caps that routinely adorn the expecting dads in maternity wards brazen enough to enter the inner sanctum and behold the miracle of childbirth up close and personal. One did have a hospital gown on, but it was so small when compared to her large frame that it left little to the imagination as to what lurked above, below, and around the gown’s poorly hemmed perimeter.

It is a sad coincidence that people who end up butt-nekkid in public generally aren’t the most attractive people, even when fully clothed, and our new friends, both very obese 30-something females, would likely not have been chosen to grace the cover of ‘Livestock Monthly’, let alone ‘Cosmo’ or ‘Vanity Fair.’ If a super-model or porn star does happen to show up naked somewhere, the chances, considering my luck, are that I will never even know about it, let alone be present to behold the gala event. I wondered then as to how I might react to being caught naked in public, and boarding a bus, going to another town, and all the while behaving as if nothing is amiss, are not among the things I would find myself doing under those particular circumstances. Let’s hope it never comes to that.

As if the offence to my visual faculty wasn’t painful enough, it got worse. On Greyhound busses, there is a small cramped restroom at the back of the bus. In order to keep down the smell of urine or feces, especially for the extended amount of time on the road, the bus company places a super-duper powerful deodorant of some sort in their toilets. Yet, the scent of this deodorant is so nasty that at times one wishes for the aroma of fetid cesspool to dull its effects. If you’re riding in the back of the bus where the stench is strongest, it could literally take hours to get used to it. (It remains a toss-up as to which smell is actually worse). This is one of those smells one never forgets, and for days after my trip, that scent would remain trapped in the nostrils, and everything smelled like Greyhound urinal cake.

Now I am relating this bit of information to tell you something else about the super-sized and unappareled duet that joined our expedition that September morning. Aside from offending the sight and logic of everyone on the bus (Virgil excluded), these women stunk to high heaven, possibly the combination of horrid body odor and a diabolical government experiment gone awry. The stench wafting from off these behemoths made you want to run into the Greyhound bathroom, remove those nuclear-powered deodorant cakes from the toilet, and shove them up into one or both of your nostrils. I doubt that would have masked the smell either, but it was worth thinking about the possibility of such relief in the moment; much in the same way a starving man finds things that would normally be highly unappetizing rather tasty.

So about half an hour goes by and Virgil has managed to remain the only one not to see or smell two giant masses of ‘celullitic’ nudity sitting less than 15 feet behind him to the left. All of the sudden, the shrill cry of police sirens were heard approaching our bus from the rear. Since there is no window at the back of Greyhound busses, we had no idea how fast or close the police were until they came up alongside the bus. A Nebraska state trooper, leaning out the passenger window of his cruiser, and after some effort, flagged Virgil down, and directed him to pull off onto the shoulder of the highway. By that time, we were all fairly certain why the bus was being stopped. The naked fat people, however, true to their earlier form, were oblivious to these recent developments and continued in their conversation unabated.

The bus came to a stop and the doors were opened. A tall, sharply-dressed trooper with a regulation police haircut and huge grin stepped onto the bus, explained to the perplexed driver his reason for stopping the bus, and then turned to us, announcing, “Anyone without pants please step to the front of the bus.” Without hesitation, the two ladies stood up, (once again blessing all of us with the full panoramic view of their immensity), lumbered obediently up to the officer (who was doing his best to keep a straight face), and after a few whispers between them, followed the trooper off the bus and into the back of his cruiser. The officer then returned, apologized to everyone for the delay, spoke a bit with Virgil, and cut back across the median with his captives in tow, his rear bumper almost scraping the pavement of the highway as they headed back to Omaha.

The two women turned out to be patients from one of Nebraska’s state-run mental health hospitals, and had apparently decided, spur of the moment, to take a little bus ride on a sunny Sunday morning. They were not, however, aware that bus rides are not ‘clothing optional’ or require tickets. (C’mon now, this isn’t France!) Just to illustrate for you how dead the city of Omaha is on a Sunday, the facility these mammoths migrated from, almost stark naked mind you, was at least six city blocks away from the bus terminal! If you calculate their rate of speed times the distance traveled (even discounting for time window shopping or sorting through trash cans), these ladies were walking for at least a full hour through downtown Omaha without being noticed by anyone which, to my logic, implies that there wasn’t anyone around to do any noticing.

Thankfully, there was no more public nudity for rest of the journey.

Every story has a lesson. So kids, what have we learned today?

1) Traveling with Shlomo is always an adventure.

2) The things you hate now will become the things you desire when something worse than the thing you hated in the first place shows up.

3) The sudden appearance of naked people engenders silence.

4) Crazy people love bus rides.

And……..

5) Do not plan to honeymoon in Omaha.

Stay tuned for the continuing saga of “The Meandering Jew.”

A New R-E-S-P-E-C-T

“The bonds that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each others life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof.” (Richard Bach)

I have persistently, and often quite stubbornly, held my own mishpocho in somewhat lower esteem for many years. Perhaps I have been merely justifying my own self-inflicted cherem and the cherished 'philosophy' that follows by finding fault with family members wherever and whenever possible. It is not that I ever considered them as 'bad' people, but I did mistakenly view them as somewhat niderik in light of my own standards. Whatever the reason, I stand here, today, a nichne. I am now humbled beyond shiflus, into a place of pure R-E-S-P-E-C-T and awe for what someone in my family has been doing for a long time. I pride myself on being smart, being strong, and being clever, but in truth, nothing impresses me more than emesdike chasodim. Kindnesses demolish ga'avah and the façade that becomes built around it. All the knowledge or power I might possess becomes as nothing in the light of such overwhelming ahavah.

It recently came to my knowledge that my kleinste shvester (she is not so little anymore) has been involved with an international moysed that performs a particular sort of chessed. She attends national meetings, writes newsletters, publicizes events, and speaks at seminars all over the country. She has become a beacon of strength and inspiration for 1000s of people. She has never breathed a word of this to anyone, even amongst her own family. It was all I could do to not start bawling (funn shtoltz farn zie und boosha ofen zich) when I learned of my sister’s ‘mission’ in life. I will not share details for the obvious reasons. I just want to say that I am so proud of what she does and who she is, and that I never would have imagined, knowing her as I did (or obviously did not!), that she was capable of such levels of ma'asim tovim and ibergegebenkeit. If you would have, yesterday, picked her out of a crowd and said to me, "That woman will be doing great and wonderful things someday.", I would have laughed in your face. Today, I am beaming with nachas! That whiny little 'princess' who moaned and cried about every little slight, perceived or real, is now changing the world and changing lives for the better.

I am completely ‘blown away’ by all of this. It just goes to show that we never know what kindnesses people are capable of, in part because we’re just not paying attention, and in part because the true gomlei chessed do not flaunt it. She makes the world a better place for 1000s of people. I want to thank her for being her. There is a woman among the lamed vovniks of this world, and she is my ‘baby’ sister. May all brochos and simchos be hers. I can’t imagine anyone more deserving. She has definitely earned her “Arethas” with me! I am sorry for misjudging her, but that might have been her plan all along.

Kol Tuv

"That best portion of a good man's life. His little, nameless, unremembered acts of kindness and of love.” (William Wordsworth, 1770 - 1850)

“This is my simple religion. There is no need for temples; no need for complicated philosophy. Our own brain, our own heart is our temple; the philosophy is kindness.” (Dalai Lama)