What is the role of fiction in holocaust education? While some argue that fiction and literature have no place at all, one could make a case that The Diary of Anne Frank has done more to cement the lessons of the Holocaust in the minds of real people than any number of documentaries and studies. Art, literature, and film play the same role for civilizations as dreams do for individuals; they allow us to integrate our experiences and learn from them. They allow us not just to remember what happened but to be changed by it.
After an adventurous and unattributable career in security and intelligence, Yael Shahar now divides her time between researching trends in terrorism and learning Talmud with anyone who will sit still long enough. She is an entertaining and sought-after public speaker, and lectures both in Israel and abroad.
Recent articles by Yael Shahar
Yaakov meets the daughter of his mother’s brother at the well, and falls in love with her. What is it about wells that makes them the vehicle for matchmaking? The obvious explanation is that the village well is the community’s vital center—the place where people meet and mingle on a daily basis. Really the question isn’t why wells play so prominent a role in matchmaking, but why the Torah bothers to tell us something so obvious.
Tonight marks the holiday of Tu B’Av, commonly thought of as Israel’s answer to Valentine’s Day, the holiday of love. Ironically the most famous Torah verse of all occurs in this week’s parashah: the V’Ahavta—the statement of Israel’s obligations to love God “with all your heart, and all your might, and all your soul”. This paragraph stands at the very heart of Jewish liturgy. But what can it mean to “love God”? After all, the Torah reinforces again and again that God is incorporeal and totally above anything we can imagine. How are we to love something we can’t imagine? It turns out, this week’s Torah portion offers us some useful advice on maintaining a lasting relationship.
The recent kerfuffle around Whoopi Goldberg has once again ignited the perennial debate about whether the Jewish people constitute a race. The problem is that such distinctions are modern social constructs, and were invented long after the Jewish people came into being. Jews are not so much a race or a religion, but a civilization—a culture. As a culture, Judaism has its own laws, folk tales, myths, songs, and several similar—but not necessarily identical—religions. We’re a people, and any attempt to fit us into the little boxes designed for and by Western societies is destined to fail.
It’s been suggested that the Torah sets out a direction for societal development, pointing the way toward desired reforms, and that in each generation, scholars and governments have worked to continue this line of evolution. One such “signpost” put up by the Torah to show us how our legal systems should evolve is the Eshet Yiffat Toar—the beautiful woman taken in war.
Imagine that the earth was going to be destroyed within five years, and that you were tasked with deciding what literary treasures to preserve? That is the background of the Tanakh that we have today. The Talmud records the bare bones of discussions where scholars fought for the inclusion of those writings that were dear to them, often against ferocious opposition from their colleagues. Amazingly, of all the possible things to include, the famous Rabbi Akiva chose a collection of bawdy wedding songs! What lay behind such an odd choice?
Spring has officially sprung here in Israel and the hills are alive with wildflowers. We’re beginning to venture out in public again after a long and strange year! So to ease back into what passes for normal, here are some literary recommendations from around the Jewish blogosphere.
Here I review a remarkable book called Judaism Reclaimed by Shmuel Phillips, which has furnished me with food for thought for the past year. Based loosely on Parashat Hashavua (the weekly Torah reading), the book is actually a philosophical examination of Jewish thought and theology.
Sukkot is called by our sages “The Time of our Joy” ( זמן שמחתינו ). While other holidays are said to be times of joy as well, Sukkot is singled out in particular by the Torah (D’varim 16:15): “You shall be altogether/only joyful.” (והיית אך שמח) But can we ever be “altogether” joyful? Is there […]
Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz saw his mission as nothing less than bringing the Talmud back to the people. Jewish law is meant to be democratic, but only informed citizens can vote? Then, let’s make sure every citizen is an informed citizen! Or at least, let’s make it possible for any citizen who wants to become informed to do so. This is the basis for his decision to translate the Aramaic portions of the Talmud into ordinary Hebrew (the modern equivalent of Aramaic for Israeli Jews) and then into English. His motto was “Let my people know!”
In the shadow of Corona, most of us have had to spend an inordinate amount of time in lockdown of one sort or another. Some of us won’t be out and about again for some time. What to do with all this extra time? Read! Here are some great book-related posts from around the Jewish blogosphere.
Parashat Terumah is the first of several dealing with the construction of the Mishkan, where the priests would make sacrifice upon a great bronze-clad altar. And yet, only two weeks ago, at the end of parashat Yitro, we read a very different set of instructions: “Make for Me an altar of earth and sacrifice on it … ” How are we to reconcile the need for this elaborate structure to house God’s presence with the instructions to worship Him using a simple altar of earth? In attempting to reconcile these two very different types of encounter, it may be helpful to look at what comes in between.
Spring is in the air here in Israel, and the hills are alive with almond blossoms. Tu B’Shvat is just past, and we’re counting down toward Purim. Here are some recommendations from around the Jewish blogosphere (in more or less alphabetical order). Note that cover images link to the relevant affiliate-linked book page on Amazon.
In Parashat Beshalah, the Israelites are finally freed from slavery in Egypt. But neither the nation of Egypt nor the house of Israel is ready for the events now unfolding. The Israelites, having lived in slavery all their lives, were naturally fearful of freedom. It makes sense then, that they would need to be rescued against their will. The Egyptians, meanwhile, have reason to feel even more overwhelmed than the Israelites; they have been caught up in a process in which each ill-concieved decision breeds another calamity, and yet, they can find no way out of the cycle. How do we reconcile this seeming lack of free will with the Torah’s usual insistence that humans are free to choose?
In this week’s parashah, the plagues in Egypt reach their horrific conclusion, resulting in the freedom for the Israelite slaves (and presumably many others as well) and their expulsion from the country. Along the way, we’re given a fascinating glimpse “backstage” at the divine plan in history.
In honor of the 75th Anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz, here is an excerpt from the story of Ovadya ben Malka. “Here is one task for you to do,” Rav Ish-Shalom told him. “You must remember everything you can about individual people from that place. One cannot keep alive the memory of thousands; it just isn’t possible. Instead, call to mind individuals. Their lives, not their deaths. You must remember everything you can about them; how they were dressed, what they said to one another; any names that you heard spoken. Anything!” In this excerpt, Ovadya finally begins to overcome the barrier to telling what he witnessed.
The episode of Zipora’s emergency circumcision of her son at a wayside inn seems to defy interpretation. Who is it that God sought to kill, and why? We can begin to make sense of this story only when we realize that it has been lifted out of its proper place in the wider narrative; chronologically, it belongs much later, during the plague against the firstborn. But then, why do we find it here, at the very beginning of Moshe’s mission?
What is behind Yaakov’s sudden adoption of Yosef’s two sons? And why does he make Yosef swear to bury him in the land of Canaan? Is his son’s word not enough?
Yosef’s first question, after revealing his identity to his startled brothers is: “Is my father alive?” But had he not already been told that his father was not only alive, but worried sick about Yosef’s sole remaining full brother, Benyamin? Had Yehuda not related a whole conversation between the brothers and Yaakov, their father? And had the brothers not already told him about their aged father waiting at home? Why would Yosef ask: “Is my father alive” after all this?
It may well be that the incident in Shechem was meant to serve as a warning to Yaakov. We never once hear the words “My daughter” from his mouth. He had all but abandoned Leah’s daughter, leaving the action to Leah’s sons. Might this be a sign of how Yaakov relates to Leah’s children in general?