Yom Kippur

(based on true stories)

On a recent business trip to Virginia, I found myself in a small town searching for some food. I stumbled into a Kosher restaurant and enjoyed a scrumptious meal of steak and mashed-potatoes with a small glass of pleasantly dry red wine. Upon returning to my car, I called a friend for some directions. When I mentioned my unexpected discovery of this restaurant, he said, “Didn’t you know that it is no longer Kosher?!?” Darn, I thought.

Many years ago, I cheated on a US History final exam. I rationalized my actions by claiming that the teacher was unfair and that I put in as much work as can be expected from a young student and it was therefore permissible for me cheat on the exam. After all, if a teacher is being unreasonable to a student, the student can be unreasonable in return. Besides, I only needed three more points to maintain my first-place ranking in the class.

As Yom Kippur approaches, I am aware of the severity of my sins. I am conscious that there is a point-system in which good deeds add to my score and bad ones subtract from it. I don’t know exactly how the system works but I figure that it is like a credit score. Follow the proper rules and get a higher score. Fall behind on your payments and your and it will be reflected in your score.

But Judaism gives us a simple way out. Sin, repent, and be forgiven. Recognize your sins, regret them, be remorseful, and resolve never to repeat them, and they will be converted from red to white, from intentional sin to error – or perhaps even be judged favorably for them. It’s that simple.

Right?

But how do I really repent for a sin that gave me pleasure? I enjoyed that steak, I benefitted from cheating on my exam, and I took pleasure in the gossip I spoke about my friends. I may feel awful about my actions but can still appreciate how perfect the steak was and how proud I felt when I graduated first in my class. How can my remorse undo those pleasures? Can I really be forgiven for those sins?

Or perhaps true repentance is one where a person can no longer have any positive memories about a sin. But is that really possible?

Food For Thought

In theory there are two possible methods by which a person chooses and develops a philosophy. And by “person” I mean Orthodox Jew who is frum from birth (because this will be very different for a non-frum person). The first method involves Torah study – the more one learns, the more he understands and the more insight he gains into what the Torah implies is the proper philosophy and way of life for a Jew. Thus, by immersing oneself in Torah study one will create a Torah-produced philosophy. But I personally do not think that is how most people develop their philosophies.



There is a famous saying in the gemara and chazal that Dibrah torah b’lshon bnei adam, that the Torah speaks in the language of people. Most explain this saying to imply that the Torah often needs to speak in colloquial terms so that people of all generations can understand it. If the Torah was only written in an ancient and obscure form, what good would it be to us? I, however, understand this saying a bit differently. I think the “lashon b’nei adam” means that the Torah speaks to each of us differently in that we will each pull out from our Torah learning very different ideas. This brings me to the way I think most people develop their philosophies. We are trained to think a certain way as children. The way we learn chumash in grade school, our parents’ teachings, and our immediate community all strongly contribute to how we view the Torah and the world. As such, when we read a pasuk, a midrash, or a gemara we tend to interpret it such that it fits our unique philosophy. Our Torah studies fit the mold of our preformed philosophies. As we get older and have numerous life experiences our philosophies develop. Our continued education, our circle of friends, and our vision of the world all evolve with time; and as we return to reread those same words of Torah we see them in a different light. In essence, the Torah does not create and determine our philosophy; rather, our life experiences and our philosophies determine how we learn and what we extract from the Torah. Dibrah torah b’lshon bnei adam means that the Torah speaks to each of us individually such that we can read the same verse and have a completely different understanding.

Ramblings...

Hell month. Misery month. Torture month.

These are a few of the titles given to the four weeks in between the third and fourth years of medical school. During these weeks, medical students across the country study for the United States Medical Licensing Examination (USMLE) Step 1. The exam covers all the subjects from the first two years of medical school: biostatistics, behavioral sciences, embryology, biochemistry, microbiology, immunology, pathology, pharmacology, cardiovascular, endocrinology, hematology, oncology, musculoskeletal, dermatology, neurology, psychiatry, renal, reproductive, and respiratory. Passing the exam is a prerequisite for the medical school clinical years and is an important aspect of the residency application. For four weeks, from morning to night, medical students study for this awful awful exam.

The exam is 8 hours long and consists of 7 blocks of 48 questions. The maximum time to complete each block is one hour. It is up to each individual examinee to determine how he will distribute the hour of break time throughout the day. I took a five minute break between each block and a twenty minute lunch break. Of course, as luck would have it, there was construction outside the examination center and by the fourth block developed a nice headache. Either way, it’s over now. I only hope I passed…

So now I have vacation time. Yup, I have five days of vacation before I begin my third year of medical school.

Have you ever been on Flight 1? Yeah, flight #1! I always thought that all airlines begin their flight numbers with obscure 143 or 0010. I am currently 30,000 feet in the air on Jet Blue Flight #1 with Adina heading to Boca Raton, FL for a few days of sunshine and quiet time. It is nice to be able to write, think, read, and breathe something other than science and medicine for a few days.

At the airport, we made a quick stop at Borders. I am excited to once again read something other than my review books. I told Adina that I am committed to finishing two books this weekend. I bought Glenn Beck’s Common Sense: the case against out-of-control government, inspired by Thomas Paine. The title basically says it all. I also bought The Worst Hard Time, by Timothy Egan, about The Great American Dust Bowl. It’s a book a close friend of mine read a few years back that seemed intriguing at the time. Ah, no equations, charts, graphs, clinical vignettes, or practice questions for a few days.

I never like it when my grandmother tells me that people are so lazy nowadays. Nobody sends hand-written letters or postcards. Instead, we are obsessed with electronic means of communication that deprive us of the very basics of human interactions. I always counter by arguing that email and online chatting provide us with the means to communicate with more people, and more often. Oh, and it’s cheaper! But sitting in the airport this morning, I noticed something that forced me to smile in agreement with my grandmother, if only for a moment. At the Jet Blue gates, you can hop up on a stool and logon to a flat-screen computer. Swipe your credit card, surf the web, and even order a drink to your seat. This is the epitome of laziness, if you’ll consider for a moment that the bar is but a few feet away! I wonder what it is about our generation and our desire to pursue convenience at any cost. I debate whether it is harmful or beneficial. But mostly, I wonder what I/we miss by physically talking to others less because of technology.

Anyhow, time to type in my request for a cup of coffee. I just need to figure out how to order it on this mini touchscreen right in front of me…

The Principal and the Movie

It is not uncommon to hear complaints about Jewish education. Between the astronomical costs of tuition, the teachers who cannot teach, and the distortion of what is important for children to learn, many a finger has been pointed at our education system as an enormous problem. Every once in a while, however, one hears a story about an educator who seems to really understand that the greatest education may take place outside of the classroom.

My nieces and nephews attend what is considered a Modern-Orthodox day school, though probably slightly more right-leaning than others (how’s that for labeling a school?). The principal of the school, a white-bearded Rabbi G (yeshivish, at least in his balck pants, white shirts, and black hat), has been there for many years. I have met him a number of times, and the cheerful sincere smile never seems to leave him face.

A few nights ago, my brother-in-law hosted a melava malkah in his house for a local shul. When Rabbi G knocked on the door, he proudly stated to my sister-in-law that he didn’t care all that much about the meeting but wanted to say hi to the kids (four of her children are currently in Rabbi G’s school).

My sister-in-law explained that they were upstairs in her bedroom watching a movie.

“OK, let’s go see them!” declared Rabbi G.

Hesitantly and surprisingly, my sister-in-law directed Rabbi G up to her bedroom. When he opened the door, there they were sprawled out on her bed.

“Hey!” said Rabbi G. “What are we watching here?”

The kids were obviously a bit surprised to see their principal upstairs in their parents’ bedroom.

“OK, move over and make some room for me!” he said as he jumped onto the bed with them.

You know, just like most principals would…

On Passion, Tolerance, and Understanding

“The foundation of piety and the root of complete service is that a person comprehends the true nature of his duty in life and the aim and objective he must adopt in all his labors, as long as he lives.”

-- Messilas Yesharim, Chapter One, Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto

Applying to medical school is always stressful, often disheartening, and certainly humbling. One stressful component is the medical school admissions interview. Applicants are trained to prepare for the usual questions: Why do you want to be a doctor? Why this medical school? What have you done to prepare yourself for medical school? What are your strengths and weaknesses? As a member of the admissions committee at my medical school, I rarely ask any of these questions. I, of course, am far more practical. I ask more appropriate questions: What music do you listen to? What is your favorite hobby, movie, and food? Tell me about your best friend, your parents, and your sibling? I have found that the answers to these questions are more valuable.

Despite reading lists of possible questions, there is always an interviewer who does not follow the script and instead elects to ask a more obscure and unexpected question. At one of my interviews, I had such an experience. My interviewer, NS, chose to investigate my belief in God.

NS: “So, do you believe in God?” (Probably a rhetorical question, considering that I was wearing a kippa)

Me: “Yes.”

NS: “What does it mean to believe?”

Me (thinking for a few moments): “I think when one says he believes in something, he is stating that despite not having concrete scientific evidence of a fact, he nevertheless holds that fact as the truth based on other less-concrete evidence, based on a feeling, and even based on tradition. Thus, when claiming to believe in God, I am stating that although I have never seen or felt Him, I do believe that He exists.”

NS (nodding his head in agreement): “Ok, that seems fair enough. But let me tell you something. I am a Jew and I think God is BullS**t and there is no room for him in science.”

Me (slightly disturbed): “That is a fair opinion for one to have. But why do you say that?”

NS: “I am Jewish as you can probably tell from my name. In fact, I used to live in Israel. Before I chose to pursue a PhD in Biochemistry, I was strongly considering studying religion and writing a thesis on religion and all the wars fought on the basis of religion. Millions have been murdered in such wars and in the name of God. Clearly agitated he continues: The whole notion of murdering people in the name of God and destroying lived for His sake is ridiculous.”

My interview with NS continued for close to an hour, during which we discussed religion, marriage, gay people, and yes, even a little medicine. Later that day, I wrote him a thank-you note, and mentioned that the interview was most interesting and disturbing.

NS was and is passionate. In fact, he appeared overly and inappropriately passionate. Indeed, his passion bordered intolerance.

What is passion? How does one express it? How does one react when a passion is challenged?

When I was younger, as one of twelve children, I learned to keep most of those issues about which I felt strongly within the safe confines of my mind, especially since most (or many) of those ideas and passions contradicted the beliefs and philosophies of many family members. So I held these beliefs close to my heart. I never told my friends and rarely mentioned anything to a family member. And of course, heaven forbid, would I dare approach a Rabbi with these issues. These beliefs were mine and I would hold on to them dearly, lest someone take them from me, or worse, distort them. Yes, I was a coward.

As I matured (I think) I have learned to share these ideas, to express these concepts to others, and to open my mind to the world, or at least to its members who are willing to listen. I have found that my life and my mind have been enriched as a result of hearing what others have to say about my thoughts. The more I share, the more I learn. The more I discuss, the more I gain. The more I compromise, the stronger I become.

In truth, this self-described maturity is not merely a result of my own hard work. This maturity is a product of life experiences. More importantly, it developed as I met particular friends and people who are/were more than friends. It was and is those people who have helped shape the way I think and develop my knowledge, understanding, and perspective. I attribute this “maturity” to these individuals, some aware of these facts and others completely unaware of their effect on my life.

Yet as I share my beliefs with others I often become frustrated. My opinions and my feelings only transform into my strong beliefs after I have spent time agonizing, writing, arguing, discussing, and over-analyzing. It is only after I have experimented with my ideas and reviewed them countless times, that I become confident enough to consider them a serious belief and philosophy of mine. A gut-feeling I have is not a belief, nor is a hunch a philosophy; rather, a philosophical belief is an evolution of thought, discourse, and experience.

I truly believe in what R’ Luzzatto states in Chapter 26 of his magnum opus:

I have already said that a person cannot achieve this of his own accord; he can only be fervent in striving for it.

The path I take to defining and shaping my beliefs is a difficult one and it is only once I have completed the path or at least reached a milestone on it, that I feel confident to put them into practice and present their strong arguments. The decisions and philosophies become passions of mine. I think about them, I talk about them, and I practice them. But most importantly, I feel them.

The difficulty and frustration this presents is that I often demand this same process from those who are closest to me, my friends and family. I expect them to think before they act, to understand what they are doing, to appreciate their practices, and to recognize that actions without thought are pointless. I find myself frustrated and upset when people (especially family and friends) act without reason. If someone has thought about a topic and comes to a different conclusion, that is fine. However, it hurts me when they act without thinking or say and do certain things without understanding “the why.”

If this was not a passion but a thought, a feeling, or a weak belief, I would not be so troubled. But these are my passions that they question with their actions.

However, I recognize how critical it is for me to begin to tolerate these issues. Years ago I was hurt by people who believed that I was acting without thinking and questioned my practices and philosophies. They disregarded them as childish, insincere, and overall unimportant. They looked at me the same why I am tempted to look at people in my life.

So I am learning from those experiences. I try to believe that everyone has thought through these issues the way I have, although I know this cannot be true. I am beginning to recognize that my passions may not be shared with others, the way theirs won’t be shared with me.

My abovementioned interviewer, NS, has become a close friend of mine despite being thirty years my senior. Earlier this week he proudly showed me the small idol he wears beneath his shirt. And while I was tempted to strangle him with his own necklace I smiled and politely said: “Personally, I cannot understand why you would wear that, but if that’s a decision you have made, so be it. But please tell me why you would wear something like that?” You see? Progress!

Dear Mr. President

Dear Mr. President:

As your eight years in what President Taft called “the loneliest place in the world” come to an end, I would like to express my appreciation, admiration, and gratitude.

On September 11, 2001, terrorists attacked my city; the city in which I was born, where I went to school, where my wife and I currently live, and a city that is home to over fifty of my relatives. I, like many other Americans, was afraid. I never thought I would gather the courage to walk the streets of my bright city again. The cheerful and optimistic colors of my world suddenly morphed into dark colors of worry and fright. But you took it upon yourself protect me, my family, my friends, my city, and my country. You understood that nothing is more important to this country than the safety of its citizens. You recognized that safety is synonymous with freedom and you fought for it. For this, Mr. President, I thank you.

What is the price of freedom and safety, Mr. President? The frightening but obvious response can be summarized in one word: priceless. No political capital, financial figure, or personal pride is worth more than our safety. No price tag can label our right to walk out of our homes without worrying about planes crashing into our cities or bombs reducing or strongest foundations to rubble. It was this recognition of freedom that drove you to sacrifice more than expected for the citizens of this great country. Supporters deserted you, “allies” stabbed your turned back, and others lost their respect for you. But you did not care. You recognized the importance of our safety and liberty, and the threat of Islamo-fascism. And what has been the result of your determination? No terrorist attacks on our soil in over seven years. For this, Mr. President, I thank you.

You understand the definitions of two words that are the foundation of our country: liberty and sacrifice. More importantly, you understand that these two words are tightly linked. Our founding fathers understood this, too. Our country is built on sacrifice. Your opponents use terms like sacrifice and patriotism as words that sound promising but that ultimately remain just that: words. They don’t comprehend sacrifice; you do. You recognize that the war on terror can just as well be rephrased as the war for freedom. You went back into history and reviewed the sacrifices made during our first war for freedom: The American Revolutionary War. Thousands perished in the ultimate sacrifice fighting for our independence. That is the definition of sacrifice and patriotism; not higher taxes. You were stronger than the others and with a heavy heart you sent our young men and women into battle – to fight for our liberty and to sacrifice for our independence. While other “leaders” question and publicly defame our troops, you support them. You may mourn the death of each soldier, as all Americans do, but you accepted the difficult challenge of asking members of my young generation to put their future on hold and to sacrifice for our county and its freedom. For this, Mr. President, I thank you.

A saddening and disappointing theme of the American media and the mindless liberals of this country is to create a mockery of you and your presidency. Some view your successful shoe-dodging skills as your only accomplishment while others whished you hadn’t gotten out of the way. They laugh at your claim that there is democracy in Iraq. After all, in what democratic state can a shoe be thrown at a visiting official? Of course they ignore the fact that your very presence at a news conference in Iraq is sufficient proof of our progress there. You recognize that freedom does not simply belong to Americans, but is the right of every human being born on this earth. You devoted yourself to promoting this notion across the globe and now, as a result of your hard work, countries are working toward democracy. The world is therefore a better place because of you. For this, Mr. President, I thank you.

Your approval ratings hardly reflect your accomplishments as our leader. It will take time before the rest of the world recognizes what I already know. In future history textbooks, you will be presented as a great president. The present day scholars and academics are unsurprisingly short-sighted and fail to recognize the long-term goals of your actions. You, however, chose the potential of the future over your political career. You focused on the difficult and not the easy. For this, Mr. President, I thank you.

So I thank you on my behalf and on behalf of those who have yet to recognize that they owe you thanks.

With great respect,
Moshe

On My Childhood - Part 1

When I was ten years old, my parents decided to uproot my ten siblings and me from our comfortable seven bedroom house (with an above-ground 4-foot pool) in Monsey, NY to a cramped four bedroom apartment on the fifth floor of an apartment building in the Har-Nof section of Jerusalem. My parents had been planning this for a while as my father was owed a sabbatical year from his work. So that was the initial game plan. We would live in Israel for one year and then move back to the States. Of course this turned in to a very, very long year. It is now fourteen years later and my parents still live in Har-Nof.

A few years after moving my parents decided to sell our house in Monsey. However, they had accumulated more than a decade of personal belongings for which they had to find a new home. They rented out a large room in a storage center. About once a year my parents go to this warehouse and remove a few items in an attempt to make a dent in the piles.

This year my parents got more serious than usual. My mom has been in town now for a couple of days and together my parents have loaded up a minivan of old junk. This afternoon, my parents handed me a bag of old folders. I sifted through them and found a number of items I’d like to share. Of course some of these items surprised me while others did not.
I always knew I liked chocolate chip cookies. Apparently I had to write a recipe as a project for school. So here is my chocolate chip cookie recipe from when I was a child. I plan on making them this shabbos! I wish I had gotten I higher grade :-)


In case you doubted my artistic ability or my love of baseball, here’s a little picture I drew many years ago.



And now for the shockers.

Firstly, I was always a good student when I was younger. But I am also very well away that I sometimes (ok, ok, often) got into trouble at school. What I did not realize is that apparently I was very open about it and never minded sharing this with e-v-e-r-y-o-n-e, even on school projects such as the one below. Pay special attention to questions 1, 2, and 4.



Finally, although I knew I occasionally got into trouble I never thought that I was a violent child. Once again I am proven wrong as you can see in this Oral Language Evaluation!


So tonight’s lessons are: keep doing well in school, make chocolate chips cookies, stay out of trouble, keep your hands to yourself, and remember that you may have a selective memory of your childhood!!