I struggle with my faith -- I think every religious person does, which is often a surprise to secular people, who may presume struggle indicates lack of faith.
There are a few things I find particularly difficult, especially this time of year:
The Nine Days -- the traditional period of mourning, right now, in the first nine days of the month of Av, leading up to the fast of Tisha B'Av, commemorating the destruction of the two Holy Temples and many other tragedies besides. I am fine with mourning the Temples etc.; why must we make ourselves sad in a time which is often the best time of summer? I can't stand the traditional restrictions, and I've noticed myself and other people bending the rules a bit.
Niddah -- the traditional period of separation between husband and wife during the wife's period and for a week thereafter. I love the laws of family purity; I do not mind the period of abstinence, and I think the ritual of bathing in a mikvah (ritual bath, with natural water) before reuniting is one of the most beautiful traditions in any religion. Yet I find the enforced separation infuriating, because it interferes with the need for tenderness and touch between a married couple.
Sefirah -- another period of mourning, from the second day of Passover until the Jewish holiday of Lag B'Omer. Again, I get why we do this; it's sort of the Jewish version of Lent. Yet I don't know why we have to make ourselves unhappy for so long; I just want to enjoy life and think about positive things. I guess life is full of tragedy, and this tames that a bit, perhaps preparing us for the unanticipated losses that everyone experiences from time to time.
Tachanun -- the traditional prayer of regret and mourning, offered during weekday services. The first time I saw people doing this -- putting their heads down on their arms, mumbling prayers of lament -- I could not stand it. I guess I'm sensing a common theme in my own complaints: I don't like periods of enforced sadness. I don't like being made to feel mournful in collective circumstances. I want to live life freely. This is what I wrestle with in my faith.
That's... about it.
Things I find easier than I imagined they would be, before I became more or less fully observant: keeping the Sabbath; keeping kosher (with a few exceptions, like fruit and vegetables, and occasionally fish, at non-kosher restaurants); keeping the holidays generally; putting on my tefillin for daily morning prayers.
This week's show will be slightly different from the norm: we'll focus on clips and topics, rather than guests -- and that, hopefully, will mean more input from the callers (unless you are all watching football on opening weekend).
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This week's Torah portion includes several laws about conduct in civic and personal life, the common theme of which is boundaries -- setting bounds to what one may do at home, at work, and even in the battlefield.
One noteworthy passage concerns Amalek, the evil nation that attacked the Children of Israel as they made their Exodus from slavery to freedom. Deuteronomy 25:17-19 commands Jews to obliterate Amalek's memory.
The South African government accused Israel of genocide on the basis of a story about Amalek in the Book of Samuel, in which King Saul was commanded to wipe out the entire evil Amalekite nation.
Because Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu quoted this week's portion -- "Remember what Amalek did to you" (25:17), the South African government claimed he was commanding soldiers to commit genocide.
It was an absurd and malevolent misreading of the Bible and of Jewish tradition. The commandment, as observed by Jews today, is to remember the evil of Amalek and fight ...