Words that don't exist

I've heard the claim that there are some words that do not exist in Hebrew. What the persons who make this claim are trying to say is that the concept does not exist in lashon hakodesh, the Holy Tongue. Since lashon hakodesh is assumed to be perfect, every word signifies a true reality. So if there is no word for that concept, then the idea is not authentic, but rather a deception of some sort.

I will tell you what they don't mean. They don't mean that you cannot look up these words in a dictionary of Modern Hebrew and find a translation.

I overheard this idea from a rabbi in the context of a mussar seder over the course of several days. I have also heard people say this kind of thing on the street, as it were, so it has some currency. But I have not been able to track down the original source.

The words include, to the best of my memory: fun, adventure, and romance. The list may also include doubt and humor.

I don't know if I believe this claim or not. I mean, I like it because it is thought provoking and makes for good discussion. I like the idea that lashon hakodesh was designed by HaShem and is integral and internally consistent. And it is obvious that innovative modern concepts could only find expression in modern words, like organic chemistry. Sure, I'd like to see that in Tanakh. But I am not going to lose my faith if it is not there.

This may be off-topic, but I do not like the claim that Hebrew was never a spoken language, only written. I have heard this claimed by a few bnei Torah, so it frightens me to think they may have seen it in a credible source somewhere. If they have seen that "inside", I have a hunch that the source said something different from what they think it said. I hate to bring out the cricket bat of "secular education", but... But there is no point in beating down a straw man, so I will wait until someone has show it to me inside to deal with it.

What I can tell you now is that I disagree that fun belongs on the list. "Fun" is, I claim, a true Torah concept and does exist in lashon hakodesh. That will be the topic of another posting. I am also prepared to give romance the full academic treatment. That's an interesting one, and I will probably end up coming to an agreement with the mussar rabbi. But it's the journey that counts.

Meantime, I would like to ask readers if they can give me a source for any of these claims, or if there are any other words that belong on this list.

Ger Tsedek but not a Jew? - part 2

In another place I once mentioned that I had undergone "a universally unquestionable Orthodox conversion". This was and is not a statement of arrogance, just my understanding how reliable my beth din is in the rabbinic world. As I mentioned before, the shtar that they wrote for me on that day has been accepted in every place I needed it to be: the kollelim, the Rabbanut, the sokhnut, and El-Al security checks.

My confidence is not due to my own personal "worthiness", but to the reputation that my conversion rabbi has and to the quality of the relationship that I built with him while still a Goy. I also studied the halakhah of geirut quite a bit before believing I was ready to do it, and believed I understood what the difference between a genuine and a non-genuine conversion was.

Larry Lennhoff saw that statement and begged to disagree:

Sorry to disillusion you, but there is no such thing. Some the Syrian Jewish communities in the disapora only accept converts who have frum grandchildren, for example. I also know 20 year chassidic converts who were required to do a gerut l'chumra when they moved to a different chassidic community. Not to mention the recent uproar over conversions by the Israeli Rabbinate, the London Beit Din, plus the controversy over Rabbi Amar and Rabbi Eliyeshev's recent comments.

You can (or used to, and I bet will again) get a 90% acceptance rate on Orthodox conversions pretty easily. The next 8% is harder, and the final 2% is flat out impossible. The key is to let converts know this in advance so that it is not as big a deal if and when they run into it.

So if you are considering conversion, consider yourself forewarned.

Of course, one could argue that the organizations I mentioned above are no proof of anything (especially the last two). Perhaps if it is possible to slip one past the beth din, one can certainly dupe the Jewish Agency.

And on the other hand, one could say that the only reality that matters is that in shamayim, not the checkpoints run by human beings. But that attitude raises difficulties, too. Last year a Jerusalem street vendor (who lived in a cave in the Jerusalem forest) died of a hunger strike in prison because the state refused to let him make aliyah. He was absolutely certain that he was a Hebrew, and called himself "David son of King David". The only problem was that on earth, not in shamayim, he was the son of Native Americans and could not produce any conversion certificate.

In future postings I plan to deal with these problems mentioned by Larry Lennhoff one by one and attempt to get some clarity on them.

Ger Tsedek but not a Jew?

I was recently interviewing for a job with a high-tech firm. They had an idea for an innovative project, which was to take a group of men out of yeshivah who were ready for full-time work, and to train them for a specialized career in a particular field of high-tech. (I don't want to give away any more than that, in case they would prefer to keep their project under wraps for the time being.)

The interviewer, who was the entrepreneur responsible for the project, was asking me about my experience in university and about what I had been doing since studying this particular subject. And somehow, he stumbled upon the subject of my religious upbringing. I don't know how, since it has nothing to do with that field of study, but I suppose he was asking about it on purpose. Eventually I had to admit I was a ger tsedek. (See this posting about why that bit of information was not listed on my c.v.)

And then he had a strange reaction. Was there a risk of my not being accepted among these former yeshivah guys? he wondered. Would they wonder whether I was really Jewish? Would they wonder why I was working among them?

I explained how I had spent enough time in yeshivah myself, learning under enough rabbanim and among hundreds of fellow yeshivah guys, that I seriously doubted it would enter anyone's mind to think so. If it had been an issue, it would have come up by now.

Besides, I had a renowned American beth din for my conversion, and the certificate that they wrote and signed for me has opened enough doors since then: aliyah, security for El-Al, and marriage through the Rabbanut, just to name a few.

So he explained to me the source of his fears. Geirut is a big mess in Israel right now, he said. He has a child in the Israeli army who teaches English to Russians immigrants who are now Israeli citizens serving in the army. "And of course, no one is allowed to ask right out who is Jewish and who is not," he said, "But our children are going to be marrying their children, and I wonder what will be with the future generations. "

Was I missing something? I was unprepared for such a hava amina. This guy was clearly brilliant and successful, in a land where one does not guarantee the other, and where neither guarantees survival (since the present government punishes success). But either he had not thought this issue through, or I was (and am) grossly unaware of something that he knows.

So I'll give you the simple answer I gave him, more straightforward and less diplomatic than I gave it to him.

A ger tsedek is authentic if he or she converts for the right reasons. And it is usually easy to check that out. How good was the beth din? And is he or she still religious? Because if he or she is not, or never was, they obviously did not know what they getting into. Or they knew what the rabbis wanted to hear, and misled them. Are you going to let your children marry such a person?

My interviewer quickly changed the subject, and we went back to high-tech. (I did not get the job, by the way, but not for that reason.)

Changing Oneself

While in university I received counseling for... something or other. I was in graduate school and had a good life, working on a doctorate in Comparative Literature with a dream girlfriend (non-Jewish, for the record). But something was getting me down, bad. The girlfriend shot up warning flares, and I said, you're right; I'm going to do something about it.

I have never been afraid of counseling and consider seeking help even when one doesn't need it far preferable to needing it but not getting it. Besides, it was subsidized by the university health services, and I struck up a rapport with the psychologist from the beginning, so it seemed like a great thing to continue.

The doctor helped me understand that I mostly needed help coping with the two women in my life — my erstwhile girlfriend and my mother — both of whom were watching me pursue Judaism, and besides that, cross cultural boundaries where they were not prepared to follow. Much of what we dealt with toward the last of ou sessions was my growth in Judaism compared to the persons around me, in a mostly non-Jewish environment.

I wonder how many budding ba'alei teshuvah go to the university's health clinic to speak with a Christian psychologist in order cope with ba'al teshuvah issues. I wonder how many of those are not Jewish.

We discovered that the biggest sources of frustration, as concerning my mom, was her belief that changes to oneself were undesirable. She regretted my years spent in university education if they meant that I would change who I was. College was for getting a career so you could be financially secure - not for rewiring your mentality.

This philosophy is perhaps related to the differences between the Israeli Orthodox vs. the American Orthodox (or Lakewood vs. Balitmore) approach to secular education. The former is so afraid of those changes, knowing how inevitable they are, that it does not want to risk it. Better to stay in an insular environment than to end up with a hashgafah radically different from that of your parents and mentors. The latter approaches education cautiously but willingly, knowing that there is an inherent value to the arts and sciences. And, plus, that career-and-financial-security thing.

ButI was loving the experience so much that I was prepared to extend it indefinitely. If someone had approached my on the campus lawn and offered a 16-year degree program in Everything You Want to Know with a guaranteed livable stipend, adjusted for inflation, I would have ripped my shirt sleeve back for the blood sample.

The biggest reproof she believed she could give me was, "I haven't changed, YOU are the one who has changed". Or the heart-wrenching, "What has happened to my boy? I did not raise you like this".

My counselor and I would agree: indeed I have, thank you. That is the purpose of education.

You might have empathy for my mother's position, having a son who rejected his family's religious and cultural heritage to be what I became. I'm occasionally reminded of that by Jewish naysayers who ask me, "How would if your child grew up and said she wanted to become a Christian?" (Yeah, yeah, whatever. That can be the subject of another posting.)

But I believe it is an untenable position that making changes in one's life, even a total rehaul of one's most dearly held life principles and points of reference, is inherently wrong. It will not hold up to logic, and more importantly, it goes against Jewish philosophy. Otherwise, there would be no such thing as mussar.

The dean of a yeshivah for ba'alei teshuvah here in Yerushalayim has a famous dictum that he tells parents who accuse his institute of brainwashing the guys who attend there. He tells them, "We don't do brainwashing here. Our job is dry cleaning."

And although I felt my identity in jeopardy when I began attending that very yeshivah, I recognize now that my real problems were often elsewhere, and sometimes in my own imagination. The me of four years ago could have looked at me now superficially and said, "Listen to you, penguin boy. You became with the rest of them." But I would argue that as much as I fought to retain my identity, I also picked my battles. I allowed change to happen where it needed to happen.

An example: recently, when pursuing a new job that would have been a total a change in career, I needed to provide references to my prospective employer. But after four years in Israel, three of which I had spent in yeshivah full-time, and a couple more years before that having been out of university, I had a tough time knowing who to go to. Who would be able to vouch for me, either academically or in the career world?

I ended up asking my Gemara rabbi to be a reference, and explained to him half-apologetically that I cannot ask my old professors because I'm hardly the same person that I was five years ago.

"I should certainly hope not", was his quick and cheerful answer.

What exactly is a Ger Tsedek?

First things first. There is a common misconception that the words "Ger Tsedek" mean in English, "Righteous Convert". Not so. This is a mistranslation.

The word "Ger" in the Torah means (according to Jastrow):

• a dweller (see Shabbat 104a)
and

• a stranger, especially a proselyte, a convert to Judaism (see Yevamot 46b; Berakhot 47b)

The first definition allows for persons who have no interest in the religion per se, as in the example of a Ger Toshav, a person who wants to live among the Jewish people in the land of Israel, and so renounces idolatry and keeps the seven Noahide commandments. He or she gets citizenship in the land of Israel, and of course is not obligated to keep 613 mitsvot. (This status is not in effect today, by the way — as far as I know.)

Jastrow also mentions a Ger Me'husar Kaparah, a proselyte who has not yet offered the korban that he is required to offer. I assume we converts are all technically in this category. I don't know what the ramifications are, but I have not knowingly encountered any in my own life. I seem to have the full rights, privileges, and obligations of a naturally born Jew.

Hey, wait! Maybe that's why I'm not allowed to marry a Syrian or Mashadi Persian girl! They're waiting for a korban!

Jastrow also lists the categories of gerei sheker, those who convert with impure motives, and gerei arayot, "lion converts", those who are converting out of fear. These and other cases are interesting, but we will not go into them now.

What I want to explain here is the grammar of the term "Ger Tsedek". "Tsedek" is a noun, which means "righteousness" or "justice". We view the Torah law as the ultimate expression of such.

The word "Tsadik" in Hebrew is an adjective meaning "righteous" or "just". (It also has a nominative function, but for now I'm explaining the misconception.) Thus, if you wanted to say a "righteous sojourner", you might indeed say "Ger Tsadik".... Which is not proper terminology in the Jewish tradition.

This is not to cast aspersions on fellow blogger Ger Tzadik, who is presumably making a play on words. (I discovered him only recently, and plan to make a full study of his blog in the near future.)

In Hebrew grammar there is the concept of "semikhut" or juxtaposition. The easiest way to express this would be to show that we do the same thing in English. String two or three nouns together, and the first one becomes a modifier for the second one, and so on:

humanities department
Israel Defense Forces
soda bottle
world mask

Whereas adjectives work the other way around: place the adjective first, and the noun second:

international economy
dull lecture
meticulous detail
Great Britain
Holy Roman Empire

In Hebrew, the order of adjectives is opposite what it normally is in English, as in that last example. But juxtaposed modifying nouns come first:

Beit Knesset: "House of assembly", i.e. a synagogue.
Melekh Yisrael: "The king of Israel"
Beit Din Tsedek: "A court of justice"
Sifrei Kodesh: "Books of that which is Holy"

and finally:

Ger Tsedek: "A convert of righteousness"

Meaning this. It is not that the person himself or herself is inherently righteous or just. That may be true, but it takes work. The concept that they converted to, that which they chose as a definition of their life's guiding principle, is righteousness: tsedek.

Jewish music

This past Monday the ever-entertaining Rav Gil brought up the subject of Jewish music. The specific question was whether Erev shel Shoshanim, an Israeli love song, should be used as the melody to which we sing Kedushah in Shabbat services.

You cannot bring up a subject like this without a debate that follows certain predictable lines. And that is exactly what happened. By "predictable" I don't mean anything derogatory; I love that discussion, and always learn something wonderful from it. A mixture of sevara and trivia come together to the point in which most persons, including myself, realize that we are in deep waters, and that no hard-line position can be taken.

Just like the question, "What makes architecture Islamic?" there exists the debate question, "What makes music Jewish?" Is it the music or the words? If the music, what music? If the words, what words?

One line of debate says: "I have heard sacred Jewish words sung to the tune of X, Y, and Z secular songs, and most people know those songs first and foremost as the secular songs". Bonus points if the secular words are terribly inappropriate for religious sentiment.

Another line of debate says: "Some of the melodies that everyone takes for granted in sacred Jewish music actually come from X, Y, and Z secular songs, but those songs are so old that almost no one knows about them anymore". And we face the realization that it has been done already for so long, that it is an unavoidable process.

What is especially entertaining to me is that I saw this debate occur along nearly identical lines in the Christian world. I grew up and was educated in an environment that abhorred rock-and-roll and all manner of "contemporary" music (that was the word for it in the 1980s), and had an extremely hard time accepting that "Amazing Grace" came from a pub song, and so on and so forth. (Later, when I studied musicology in college, I learned that this was all quite true, and that were are hundreds more examples. See the Boston Camerata CD, "New Britain".) Everything that passed as acceptable Worship music was identifiable with some kind of secular genre.

The magic ingredient: most people did not know. Somehow, there is a power in that ignorance.

And so I am amused when "Land Down Under" passes for a Jewish wedding song, along with all the other examples you can see in that thread. It's ironic and therefore funny. But I am horrified and disgusted when Backstreet-Boys type music is played on "frum" radio, and when jazz-infused Hassidic rock becomes the de-facto choice for a religious celebration. Because there, there is no irony. Just ignorance.

the Geirut closet

For better or for worse, I do not actively publicize the fact that I'm a convert. I usually prefer to blend in, which I can due to the coincidence of my biological appearance, besides the way I dress and conduct myself. Not all geirim are able to do so, and I suppose they accept that early on.

In most situations I am simply more comfortable being considered just like everyone else around me. Although I am not, of course, and neither are each of them. But you know what I mean: most persons around me always were Jewish. I do not wear an Herbalife-style badge inviting people to ask me about life as a shaygets or about the taste of pork, or about my seven-some year transformation from one identity to another.

When I meet new people and they start asking life questions or playing Jewish Geography, there's always a judgment call I have to make: should I admit it up front, or wait for it to come up naturally? In my yeshivah, for example, there are some persons I told the first day I met them because it seemed natural. There are others who, two years later, still don't know. And it's not because I'm not close to them (my ḥevruta of several months, for example — unless he's just a good actor). It just hasn't come up naturally yet.

I am not saying this is the proper course of action, and I could be quite wrong. After a while it does get awkward to come out of the closet. It's not that I am not proud of what I am, of what I did, and of who I used to be. Adaraba!

Two factors are motivating my behavior. One is the Christian tendency, among many at least, to mention the fact that they are believers in that faith, and to make sure everyone around them knows that from the outset, even if it has to be forced as a non-sequitur into the conversation.

The other factor is that people want to ask me why. And when that happens, I can talk for hours. The contrast of Judaism to Christianity, and every issue in between, is simply the most fascinating subject in life to me. And once I get started, there is no stopping. They usually keep asking more and more questions, that we get off on so many rabbit trails, and I start to feel sorry for them. Did they know what that innocent question about my past was going to lead to?

I guess that is what this blog is all about.

The purpose of this blog

The start-up of this blog coincides with a major shift in my life's activities. It appears that I am basically moving from the world of full-time Torah study to full-time employment, with big responsibilities in my new position, should it prove to be a success. This blog may work as a pressure valve, an outlet for other things on my mind while I'm working.

The idea for this blog has been in the works for a long time, though, so its creation at this moment is not exactly haphazard.

I plan to talk about the following subjects primarily:

• My life story, and how and why I converted to Judaism


• All the Jewish and non-Jewish issues that came up in the process and all the entertaining anecdotes about them


• Torah-related issues that might come up in my life (or elsewhere on the internet) that I would like to figure out


• An ongoing limud of the subject of geirut itself, in hopes of understanding just how it works and what it means


• Avodat middot that I feel it is necessary to discuss publicly, in hopes of getting feedback (moral support or criticism) from readers

But that's assuming there will be readers.

If I can post as frequently and as interestingly as Gil Student or James Lileks, who in my opinion are the gold standard in Jewish and non-Jewish blogging, respectively, then I will be quite happy. And I probably won't worry too much about readership.

Question: What kind of a name is that?

...and why doesn't it display correctly? I just see a square where the fourth letter should be."

Answer: Well, it's a Hebrew name, obviously. Or rather, a Jewish name.

Or, to be precise, it's the kind of name that a Jewish person has nowadays, since in the times of the Tanakh a person did not have a family name per se, but was identified according to his or her father, mother, or tribe. In my case, it would be Pinḥas ben Avraham Avinu. Had I lived in the times of the Tanakh and had converted, I suspect I would have been identified by the people that I'd come from.

Pinḥas is one of the heroes of the Torah. Known in English (mis)translations as Phineas, probably borrowing the name from Greek mythology, he was the grandson of Aharon the Kohen. The name Phineas is infamous now in Christianity as the name of a society of racist bigots who use "Biblical principles" to justify violent behavior (and after all, what's new?). So I will stick to the original form of the name, thank you.

The "Ivri" part is both an attempt to identify more fully with my adoptive father (it literally means Hebrew) and a choice of family name. Because you can be as idealistic as you want, and wish for people to call you by your true "sefer-Torah name", and you may even convince many to do so. But you've got to put something on the mailbox and on the electric bill. And in my case, I'd rather not flaunt my European family name, with all its connotations of non-Jewishness.

And why doesn't it display correctly on your computer, if it doesn't? Because you're not using Unicode. See here, the site of the Jewish Encyclopedia for more information. (Obligatory disclaimer: I am not recommending all of the content of the Jewish Encyclopedia.)

greetings and salutations

Shalom, and thank you for visiting my blog, "Ger Tsedek: Chronicles
of an authentic Jewish Convert". There is not much to see here at the
moment, save a couple of photos from my side of town.

I hope to post some more interesting content in the coming days, so
check back soon.