I read a review on VosIzNeias and one on the Jerusalem Post (ht: Seraphic Secret) for a new film for women called “A Light for Greytowers”. It fascinated me: a girl is separated from her parents and sent to an orphanage where a cruel matron does not want her to keep her religion.
Just my luck (or was it hashgacha pratis, Divine Providence), I got to see the movie last night. It screened at a local synagogue, Congregation Ohav Emeth in Highland Park, to a full room of women and teenage girls. It turned out the movie was not just a Jane Eyre story re-created in Jewish form. It was also a musical, and a funny one at that! Some said it reminded them of Annie. I thought of Oliver Twist and “food, glorious, food.” Another friend said it evoked “The Little Princess”, Jewish style.
This thrilling musical adventure follows Miriam Aronowitch from Czarist Russia to Victorian England where she and her mother, Anya, have taken refuge from the Cossack pogroms. When Anya becomes critically ill, however, twelve-year-old Miriam finds herself abandoned in an English orphanage — appropriately named Greytowers — and at the mercy of its cruel matron, Miss Agatha Grimshaw. Only the strength of her faith, imbued in her by her beloved mother, enables her to withstand the torments and bleakness of Greytowers and to rekindle the light of Judaism in the hearts of her young companions.
Some of my favorite scenes included one where the young orphan girls are being taught by a previous, kindlier matron on how to make brachos (blessings) on their food. Another, earlier in the film, depicts two silly sisters (who look like the aunts from James and the Giant Peach) singing to the girls about nutrition. The whole movie is a parody of many English stories, such as the scene where a captain’s wife comes to visit and sings of her loneliness. The woman who plays the cruel matron is a funny and fabulous actress.
And the movie has a happy ending, too!
I do have to say, however, that the emphasis on “gam zu letova”, this too is for the good, did get to me a bit. If one is using the film as a teaching tool, there really is no room for explaining the unhappy endings, which, unfortunately, do happen too often in life, especially in Jewish history.
One of my friends, Harry Glazer, was one of the organizers of that rally. He wrote the following letter to the Highland Park Mirror (a local newspaper), explaining the nature of the rally (and graciously agreed to my posting the letter on my blog):
As one of the organizers of the rally held in front of the Ten Thousand Villages store in September, I hope to clarify.
The Mennonite Central Committee has hosted [Iranian President Ahmadinejad] for dinner not once, not twice, but three times as of his September visit. His pronouncements and actions have only become more menacing in the years since he’s hobnobbed with the Mennonite Central Committee and other like-minded peace groups.
And if the purpose of dining with an enemy is not influence their views or acts, then how does a faith community justify showing respect to someone who espouses such blatant religious hatred?
Our protest was held in front of the Ten Thousand Villages store in recognition of the fact that the store sends a significant portion of their profits to their parent organization, the Mennonite Central Committee. So in a very real sense, a purchase at Ten Thousand Villages supports the Mennonite Central Committee’s legitimization of Ahmadinejad, as well as other activities by the group that demonstrate a complete lack of balance with regards to the Israeli/Palestinian conflict.
I have no problem with the fact that Ten Thousand Villages sells goods made in Palestinian areas or that the Mennonites send humanitarian aid to those areas. I do take issue with the attitude of the Mennonites that the conflict is mostly Israel’s fault.
I can say, as well, that it pains me to have to oppose Ten Thousand Villages, since I respect and value ideals of the store – to sell handcrafted goods that are manufactured by workers in underprivileged areas across the globe, thereby providing income to those struggling to support themselves and their famillies. This is a noble mission and, sadly, few other avenues exist to support these artisans in the same honorable fashion.
With sorrow, though, I recognize that I cannot shop at Ten Thousand Villages because some of the money spent there goes to defame a struggling democracy, Israel, which is regularly besieged by enemies with no regard for civilized rules of conflict. Worse yet, the funds spent at Ten Thousand Villages also contribute to efforts to honor a mortal enemy of my friends and relatives, an enemy currently seeking nuclear arms to make good on his word.
A cause may seem noble on the surface, but sometimes when you find out more on how the money is spent, one gets more cautious about giving.
But for us in the 21th century, either age seems young. One can see advantages to marrying someone off at fourteen; it (mostly) eliminates the problem with teenage pregnancies, as the girl/woman is married. She was also marrying someone who shared her culture, even if one family worshiped one God and the other worshiped idols. On the other hand, it doesn’t give her anytime to develop a career or even any sense of herself before having children. I can’t even begin to imagine a married 3-year-old, unless it was just a betrothal. Then, married fourteen-year-olds also seems like a strange notion…
This post is a continuation of 100 20 7 14 3. More on the 127, coming soon.
I did pottery for about ten years. I haven’t found a studio locally that I like, but maybe when my kids are older I’ll venture over to Raritan Valley Community College or back to Middlesex County College to take a pottery class again. It’s a very relaxing hobby. Anyway, my home is full of pottery that I’ve made. Accidents do happen, and someone who was quick to do the mitzvah of washing hands (before eating bread, Orthodox Jews wash hands with a mug and say a blessing) broke this washing mug that I made lovingly almost twenty years ago. Now I bury my favorite pottery in my garden, broken shards on display with my plants.
In an effort to get up a post about the Torah portion of the week, Chayei Sarah (which literally means the Life of Sarah) before Shabbat, I am just showing you these numbers:
100 20 7 14 3
Why am I showing you these numbers? Anyone is free to answer. I’ll write the full post early next week. Your comments will help write the post.
In an effort to link last week’s parsha of Vaera to this week’s of Chaya Sarah (the Life of Sarah), I put together this “collage” of a tent with a famous painting by Edvard Munch:
Rashi wonders what is the connection between the Akeida, the Sacrifice of Isaac, at the end of Vaera, with Chayei Sarah, the telling of Sarah’s death at the beginning of this week’s parsha? Sarah, who had waited so many years to have her first and only child, has just learned that her husband is about to sacrifice him. Unfortunately, she doesn’t learn the angel has stopped Abraham, and she dies of grief.
So is this perhaps how she felt?
See also 100 20 7 14 3 for more on parshat Chayei Sarah.
In this week’s parsha of Vaera we learn about hospitality, known in Hebrew as Hachnasat Orchim, welcoming guests. We have two examples of hospitality, one as Abraham welcomes three men (it does not say angels in Genesis 18:2) and another of Lot, who invites two angels to visit him.
How is Abraham’s hospitality different from that of Lot? For one, Abraham welcomed three men whom he saw as wanderers, not as angels, whereas Lot invited in angels. Rabbi Frand (from Rabbi Frand on the Parashah 2) differentiates the two greetings; Abraham welcomed men wandering through the wilderness, Lot was only welcoming because he saw angels. But at the same time, Lot had learned something from Uncle Abraham’s example.
Rabbi Frand writes:
Lot…saw angels. Lot was hospitable, but he wasn’t going to have just anyone at his house… Lot had learned enough from his uncle Avraham to invite the angels in, but he had not learned a most important lesson: you don’t handpick your guests. True hachnassas orchim is to make everyone feel welcome at your home, angel or human. And human, we might add, applies to all humans, even those that come from the less genteel segments of society.
Rashi brings another difference in their hospitality. Abraham requested that the travelers remove the dust from their feet first and then enter. Lot invited them to enter with dusty feet. Abraham saw his guests as worshipers of dust and did not want to bring their idol worship into his home. Lot, on the other hand, knew that the people of Sodom objected to Hachnasat Orchim so to protect the visitors suggested the guests remain with dust on their feet so it would appear as though they had just arrived.
I do like having guests over, though I can’t say I always feel up to it; some weeks I feel more inclined to entertain than others. But I do welcome my daughter’s complaint when we don’t have guests (“no guests this week?” she has been known to say). I like that she appreciates Hachnasat Orchim, welcoming guests into our home.
Finally, I struggle with Rabbi Frand’s idea of welcoming anyone into one’s home. Anyone else have their doubts or thoughts about this?
Terebinth. Now that’s an interesting word. Seems to be a Greek word, and it refers to a tree that is also known as a “turpentine tree”. It occurs in some translations of this week’s parsha of Lech Lecha.
And Abram moved his tent, and came and dwelt by the terebinths of Mamre, which are in Hebron, and built there an altar unto the LORD.
For those of you that read Hebrew, the words are: אֵלֹנֵי מַמְרֵא
So the key word we are trying to translate here is ‘elon’. What is an ‘elon’?
My Artscroll Saperstein edition of Breishit translates ‘elonai mamre’ as ‘the plains of Mamre’.
My JPS Hebrew-English Tanakh claims ‘terebinth’ is the translation.
The first translation of the Bible, the second-century BCE Greek Septuagint, interpreted the word as ‘oak’.
OK, so which is it, oak, terebinth or plains? Depends who you ask. (Do you hate answers like that? Or can you just accept that as life?)
Incredibly enough, I was introduced to this whole topic by two articles on the Forward, of all places (I did not know they had words of Torah on the Forward, a newspaper founded by atheist socialists):
In the second article, Seth Cohen suggests an explanation to the ‘plains’ translation, the translation that is least likely to be the literal one but is suggested by Onkelos:
The translation of elonei as “oaks,” he writes, “might have suggested to some readers in antiquity that Abraham settled in the midst of tree worshipers, since the worship of trees was quite prevalent in his lifetime and for many centuries afterwards.” Therefore, Mr. Cohen continues, although Onkelos’s translation is generally highly literal, he deviated from the text in this case for apologetic purposes — that is, to prevent any possible misinterpreting of the biblical story contrary to the way that he, and the rabbinic sages whose authority he accepted, understood it.
Onkelos did not want any misinterpretation that Abraham might be a tree worshiper.
So what about oaks vs. terebinths?
The Philologos of the Forward argues for oaks, because it is the oldest translation, and because of its small appearance:
Terebinths, whose small leaves indeed smell a bit like turpentine when crushed, may have an impressive-sounding name, but they are not very impressive in appearance. The terebinth is an evergreen shrub that rarely grows to more than 7 or 8 feet and is found all over Israel, where it is one of the most frequent plants in the hillside maquis; terebinths grow wild in my garden and can spread like weeds if you do not keep them in check. The common Palestinian oak, on the other hand, develops into a tall, stately tree. A whole forest or grove of such trees, now seen in only a few places but less rare in Abraham’s time, is an impressive sight indeed.
Why do other translators, such as Robert Alter who wrote the Five Books of Moses, choose terebinth? Perhaps because of its abundance? I couldn’t find an answer.
Here’s a terebinth, courtesy of Wikipedia:
If any of you have the opportunity to visit Neot Kedumim in Israel, you can find a terebinth there. We were there in June (hot!), but I hadn’t yet read about terebinths, so I didn’t think to find one and photograph it.
The cake I baked on Friday that was gobbled up by Sunday morning
First, an explanation for those that do not speak Hebrew. Mabul in Hebrew means flood. This post ideally should have gone up last week, but the cake was not baked until Friday, and the post was not ruminated over until Shabbat, and on Sunday I did JPIX, and after that…well, here it is. I try to make marble cake for Parshat Noach, the section of the Torah about the flood. This year I took Batya’s simple cake recipe (the one I had previously used for orange cake, but no orange in this one, just vanilla for flavor) and divided it in two, one with some cocoa (about 1/4 cup) and one without. I used three cups of flour, and I mixed some chocolate chips into the batter.
The cake itself came out delicious. And no one seemed to care that my lights and darks were not very pronounced. No one except me, however. So in preparing this post I put the picture in Photoshop and made it look a little more marbly (mabully?): Darkened with brightness tool and color balance tool
Does it look more like a marble cake now? Maybe next year I’ll melt some dark chocolate and drizzle it throughout the cake batter as I put in the pan. Any suggestions?
Another fun idea for this parsha by Juggling Frogs: Rainbow Menu
My speedy blogger friends already have posts up about this week’s parsha, Lech Lecha: Go to Yourself (Ilana-Davita) Avraham Ha-Ivra/the Hebrew (Daniel Saunders)
In this week’s parsha of Vaera we learn about hospitality, known in Hebrew as Hachnasat Orchim, welcoming guests. We have two examples of hospitality, one as Abraham welcomes three men (it does not say angels in 
