Lust One In Smells the Rotten Egg: Elazar Ben Dordia and the Flatulent Harlot

There is a popular Talmudic narrative that probably owes its prominence to its lurid (at least to Western ears) content. It is the dramatic story of Elazar Ben Dordia who was governed by his lust for harlots to the point that once he traveled seven rivers to sample the favors of a prostitute who was renowned for her "skills". During their moment of intimacy, she broke wind, and told him, "Just like this gas will not return to its original place, so too, Elazar will not be returned and atoned." At this point Elazar, struck by the poignancy (and the pungent nature) of this statement asks the mountains, the constellations, the heavens and earth to advocate on his behalf, but he is refused by all. He realizes that it is up to him alone, and his remorse for the wasteful life he has led ends up killing him. A heavenly voice welcomes Rabbi Elazar Ben Dordaya to the world to come.

The context of the story is a discussion of whether one can return from being an idolater and live. The Talmud concludes that if one has provocatively and willfully engaged in this ultimate betrayal, the return from it would be so perilous that the process itself would be fatal. The Talmud then asks whether the same would hold true for other sins, or is it only idolatry that exacts such a price. The answer given is that one does not die from turning away from sins. The Talmud challenges this answer by relating the aforementioned story where it seems that the process of turning away from sin did in fact take Elazar Ben Dordaya's life. The Talmud answers that because he was so profoundly addicted to this behavior, his devotion to these base desires was tantamount to idolatry. In other words, abject and fatalistic submission to any desire is as false of a god as one can have.

It is presumed in this passage that all desires have the potential to govern one's life, but that acts of will can conquer and even transform those desires. The first step is to acknowledge, like Elazar does that it is no use appealing to others when in the end, it is we who have control.

The Maharal of Prague points out that Elazar's last name "Dordia" means dregs in Aramaic. He says it is indicative of how out of control he was. His first name El-Azar means literally that God will help, so his name personifies the struggle of being helped out of the dregs, the misery of not being in control of your desires. Once we are so out of control that we worship that which is antithetical to our well-being then the return is so perilous that survival is not possible. The narrative witnesses that everyone is redeemable, but not everyone survives the redemption.

But since redemption, is the preferred goal over survival, even this story might be considered optimistic. When Elazar Ben Dordia is through asking for support from those things that were here before he was and will certainly outlive him, he is thwarted in his efforts. It is then he says: אין הדבר תלוי אלא בי (This process depends on me alone).

It is a sobering message to realize that we are responsible, but an empowering one as well.

There may always be french fries, and they may be engineered to be addictive and tempting, but we don't have to eat them. That does not exonerate the complicity of the food industry, but focusing on the battle that is won more handily, the one between the fries and our bellies, may be a better use of time.

Make French Fries Treif!!! That's What the Former FDA Chief says! (Well kind of)

The Diane Rehm Show interviewed the former head of the FDA, David Kessler who has just written a book entitled The End of Overeating. His thesis is that eating is a salient stimulus that is hardwired into our brains. It is not something we can unlearn, but we can create "new wiring" that will mitigate the unhealthy impulse to overeat. Eating is different than other "addictions" because we actually need to eat, unlike needing to smoke or drink alcohol.

In the middle of the interview, Kessler opined that people have to adhere to absolutes regarding unhealthy foods. One cannot hardwire a brain to eat some french fries. Once that door is opened, the old wiring takes over and three fries turn into thirty-three before one can murmur "supersize me". In other words, you have to make french fries treif!

The Rambam argues, echoing the Mishnah in Pirkei Avot that one does not eradicate desire, but one can conquer it, channel it so that it serves a higher purpose. One can and should resist the impure impulses, but he doesn't seem to think that it is possible to eradicate them. There will always be a struggle between what we want and what we should do, but it is a struggle where we believe we can prevail--most of the time.

The Hasidic masters believed that it was possible not only to conquer these desires but to transform them so completely that the desire was no longer there. Our souls can become so much closer to the Divine source that the base "natural" desires are no longer an impediment to reaching this potential.

The Hasidic rewiring allows for a new brain every Yom Kippur, while the Rambam encourages a new resolve for the old brain to behave better, and do what it has always been capable of, and always will be. He assumes that some people will need to engage in extreme denial for a period of time, but the goal is to get to the place where one moderates behaviors that are detrimental when overdone--like overeating.

Kessler says that may not be possible when it comes to compulsive eaters. They need to create new taboos in their head that will make them turn up their nose at those salient stimulators. In other words, those foods (and you know what they are) need to become as treif as bacon and elicit the same level of disgust. For those of us who have never partaken of certain foods, it is not difficult to refrain from eating them, but I am told by those who once ate them, but now don't, that the desire lingers. It is just that they have rewired a new "taboo" that prevents them from going down that road.

The problem with applying a kashrut mentality to unhealthy foods is that these foods are more unhealthy for some than for others. There is less of an objective standard, but there is little argument that the world would be a healthier place without the provision of large portions of fat and sugar laden foods that are engineered for everyone to eat more than they should.

Kessler argues that just as tobacco went from being socially acceptable/desirable to being uncool, the same thing has to be done to certain foods as a first step. Many of the Jewish community have taken on the mantle of extending the definition of treif to unfair labor practices, industries that are ecologically insensitive, and the like. There has not been, however, the same outcry regarding industries that stuff our stomachs and psyches with murderous doses of sugar, fat, and salt in super-sizes. Isn't this a more direct and immediate threat to our personal well-being? I mean, it's killing us now--isn't it?

It's not likely that such a movement will emerge, nor is it necessarily desirable, but if one does wish to take control over these appetites, you might want to do what Kessler suggests, and for observant Jews, that means--make them treif!

Quote of the Day...from the Talmud

Rava said: Length of days, fertility, and income are not the products of merit, but of mazel. For look at Raba and Rav Hisda both of whom were righteous men.

When either of them prayed, the rains came.

Rav Hisda lived to be ninety-two.

Raba lived to be forty...(Moed Katan 28a)

Each day brings new possibilities, but each day is a gift.

The Good One Who Ran Away: Ode to Bongo Barry

A childhood friend died suddenly and his untimely demise evoked speculation from which a subtle undercurrent of panic could be felt among his contemporaries. "He was overweight." "His family had a history of heart disease." Somehow, these reasons were supposed to immunize we, the fifty somethings, from a similar fate. Nobody wants to be cheated out of his three score and ten, so we blame the victim. Deep down inside, we know the truth--it could be any one of us at any time. After all, there are plenty of fat, old people. I, unfortunately, am not able to mollify myself with rationalizations that have little bearing on reality. When it's your turn, it's your turn, and it often--more often than not--feels too soon.

His was a life filled with celebration, music, and children. He was a music therapist/performer who brought a sense of celebration to the Dewey Decimal System, the anatomy of ants, and the art of drumming. He was beloved by the local community of musicians and they showed up in great numbers to celebrate all that he had achieved with children, with his persona, and with his craft.

I knew Barry from my synagogue youth group. He was younger and was always pleased to be with one of the older guys. Growing up in an almost exclusively Jewish millieu, he was a typical product of Jewish American suburban culture, but in young adulthood he became so profoundly alienated from the Judaism of his youth, that Judaism and his Jewishness played the most minor of roles during his funky, eclectic memorial service. No kaddish, no burial, only the slightest acknowledgement of those who almost exclusively nurtured him through high school.

One could ask why I went only to see the tradition I revere, snubbed in such an overt fashion. I went because his eighty year old mother is still alive and I knew she would get comfort from seeing some of his old friends come to pay their respects. She did. Barry intermarried, and he succeeded in freeing his daughters of the Jewish baggage that he wished to leave behind. More than I blame him. I blame us.

Even though there are many ways to be a Jew, membership to any part of the Jewish community comes with a hefty price tag, and too often, the materialism and pretension that comes with it. Barry made a choice to live through music, and certainly there were sacrifices that attend such a decision. We as a community let him know in many ways that these are choices that a Jew shouldn't make. He shouldn't help autistic children. He shouldn't be silly at libraries creating cacophonous symphonies of percussive sound to the delight of young and old. This may be a way to work ones way through college, but this is not a path for a grown man to make a living.

His communities were those who made similar choices. Those who were fulfilled by entertaining, educating and supporting the most vulnerable in our society. Those who somehow manage to feed their families by doing what they love. Such conviction takes courage not appreciated by those who make "great" livings doing something they hate.

That Barry found little resonance in Jewish symbols, Jewish traditions, Jewish song and dance and celebration is not entirely our fault, but I can't help but wonder what a little appreciation and acceptance might have done, not only for him, but for us as well. Certainly, he could have found company with those Jewey Jews who have maintained the spirit of the sixties throughout their lives, but why seek out that which you feel you already know and don't much care for?

The Jewish vacuum at his memorial service meant we missed the scores of children's performances and songs. We missed drum circles with a Jewish vibe. Songs that taught the holidays in our Hebrew schools. We missed somehow, a spirit that grew up among us and saw little of value to take with him. He bears some responsibility for this, but, then again, so do we.

Lech B'Shalom Barry. I'm sorry we missed you.

Elul, Teshuva, & Teddy Kennedy

If you look at my mother's library, you can't help but notice the many shelves of Kennedy memorablilia. JFK's assassination kept my mother in bed for days. Teddy's death marked an end of an era not only for them, but for her.

I haven't had much interest in the Kennedys over the years, but the stories I've been reading over the past few days belie the feigned disinterest I have managed to cultivate. I, too, more than I care to admit, am a loyal subject of Camelot.

He was the most layered of individuals. His appetites and his flaws were fodder for the mainstream media and the tabloids, but few would define him only by his sins. Moreover, his last seventeen years of devoted public service illustrated that people can change, grow, and bring honor and respect after a tawdry, and somewhat dengenerate past. His, was an almost wasted life, but ultimately redeemed by the best parts of him.

Over and over again, the papers recount stories of his concern for individuals, their families, and the loyalty that inspired. One such instance was recalled on NPR by Boris Katz, an MIT professor. Boris was a refusenik in Soviet Russia over thirty years ago. His daughter, Jessica, was a toddler with a serious disease that was beyond the expertise of the Soviet medical system. Dr. Katz demonstrated in front of Red Square to bring international attention to his plight.

One night at 1 o'clock in the morning, he was alerted to expect a visitor. Teddy Kennedy was at his door accompanied by KGB agents and Soviet officials. Once inside, Kennedy told his "escorts" that they could leave now, which--, to the astonishment of Boris--they did! Days after that Kennedy visit, Boris was granted permission to emigrate to the United States, and the first person to greet him on the tarmac, was Teddy Kennedy.

Daughter Jessica was recently married and works for the city of New York, helping find housing for the disabled. Boris attributes her interest in public service to the events that brought her to the United States. The interviewer wondered whether he had the opportunity to ask the Senator why he had taken such a personal interest in his plight. He said he never did, but he knew the answer.

"He was one of those rare individuals who truly cared about others."

He understood deeply that during times of trial is when people feel, not only to be vulnerable, but invisible. Not to personally acknowledge their suffering and offer comfort exacerbates the loneliness of afflictions. His acute awareness of this made him seize every opportunity to bring comfort to others. The caring for individuals suffering, whatever their ailments, were as important to him as any major policy issue in congress, and the personal testimony of scores of people attest to that.

It is these stories that illustrate where I often fall short, and has led me to resolve to do better. This was Teddy's Elul legacy to me for which I am chastened and grateful.

What physicians once were and what they may not be now.

I am old enough to remember house calls from my pediatrician, Dr. Pakula who called me "Johnson", and for some reason, I, as a small child thought this was hysterical. Dr. Pakula was part of our family. He entered rooms that were reserved for those with whom we were most intimate. He was privy to information that was not readily given to many who might be considered good friends. He knew us, he cared about us, and he was considered family. It would have been the most reasonable thing in the world to discuss end of life options with Dr. Pakula, because we trusted him.

Nowadays, avuncular images of the family doctor have been replaced with demonic apparitions of "death panels", and an innocuous piece of health care legislation that allows reimbursement for counseling becomes an ominous foreshadowing of bureaucrats cajoling the vulnerable and defenseless into dying "early".

It is too easy to only dismiss this hysteria of "death panels" as ignorant people being stirred up by demagogues, but the deeper fear, I feel is a true one. Anyone over fifty remembers a more personalized medicine that has eroded considerably over the years. Even though the statistics would tell us that we live longer and better than we did fifty years ago, our experience tells us that doctors cared about themselves a bit less and us a bit more. There was a time when they knew us better.

This impression will not show up in statistics, but our quality of life is ascertained by our quality of community. Now, nobody has a "family doctor", but a "general practitioner", the practice of which has become the most unattractive option for those entering the medical profession. It doesn't pay, and there is no time allocated by the insurance companies to develop relationships with patients.

The following Talmudic passage emphasizes the power and the limitation of healing, but more importantly, it underscores the profound impact of genuine concern and empathy.

Rabbi Elazar fell ill, and Rabbi Yochanan went up to him but he was obscured because the house was dark. When Yochanan revealed his arm, light fell from it. When Rabbi Elazar saw this he broke down and cried.

Rabbi Yochanan asked: Why are you crying? If it is because of the Torah you have not learned, isn’t it taught: One will learn much, one will learn littler, but most important is that one direct his heart toward heaven? If it is because of your income, not every individual merits both tables (the table of plenty and the table of Torah). If it is because of children that you have lost, here is the tooth of my tenth son.

He answered: I am crying for this beauty that will be ravaged by dust.

Yochanan responded: This is truly worth your tears.

Both of them then cried together!

After awhile Yochanan asked him: Are these afflictions dear to you?

He answered: Not them, nor their reward.

Then give me your hand. He gave him his hand and helped him stand.

The fear expressed by many is a veiled yearning for the days when the Dr. Pakulas were considered part of the family.

For the complete translation of this piece of Talmud click here.

Now Quentin Tarantino Gives His "Jewish Fantasy"

I can't see his movies. Once my brother took me to see Reservoir Dogs, and I spent too much time avoiding eye contact with the screen. I guess it was only a matter of time until, he reckoned with the ultimate horror of the twentieth century, and, of course, Jews are weighing in on whether he should or shouldn't have.

Tom Segev, in his history, 1949, The First Israelis, speculated that whatever Tarantino had in mind, there were Jews who would have and tried to do much worse. According to Segev, the well regarded Hebrew writer and poet, Abba Kovner had plotted to poison the water supply of Germany in 1945 to avenge the murder of the six million. Other accounts say that his plot was only directed at German POW's. Either way, the British were on to him and deported him to Egypt.

Kovner was unrepentant, and held the entire German people accountable for the murder of his people. In 1945, he wouldn't have shed a tear over the death of a German child. This was a visceral response rooted in a particular time under what were extaordinary circumstances. To revisit the moral implications of these actions from the comfort of our air conditioned homes would be obscene if it weren't so damn silly. The question isn't who are we to judge, but rather, who are we to have an opinion in the first place? And if we deign to have an opinion, who cares?

The Sages when offering triumphant Jewish stories under Roman occupation rarely speak in terms of physical triumphs, but moral triumphalism is the preferred medium for exacting vengeance. Hanina Ben Tradyon's executioner jumps in the fire with him, convinced of Rabbi Hanina's spiritual superiority. The materialists rejected this view as hollow and mourned the fact that Jews had become so passive thereby making Jewish blood such a cheap commodity.

Neither the spiritualists, nor the materialists had the whole story. While it is true, "That not with valor nor with might, but rather with My spirit..." (Zecharia 4:6) will we ultimately triumph. It is also true that when "someone actively pursues another to kill him, he should get up early and kill him first." (Sanhedrin 72a) For Kovner, the question was what to do if you failed to pre-empt the tragic consequence.

It's a question of balance.