There was a time when the literary treasures of the Jewish people were accessible only to those with a reading knowledge of Hebrew. This is no longer the case. I know of no major Jewish religious work which has not been translated into English in recent years and, in most instances, into many other languages as well. The past several decades have witnessed the publication of multiple editions of the Bible and the Talmud, commentaries ancient and modern, liturgical works, historical tomes, biographies, and even cookbooks with recipes of our ancestors.
It is a question that I learned never to ask. I first learned this lesson in my training as a psychotherapist, long ago. I was seeing a gentleman for a number of problems, including his marital difficulties.
We all have our secret lives. I don't mean to say that each of us has a sinister side, which we wickedly act out in some deep, dark, private world. What I do mean is that we all act differently when we are alone, or with a few close intimates, than we act when we are out in public, among others.
It is a question which I learned never to ask. I first learned this lesson in my training as a psychotherapist, long ago. I was seeing a gentleman for a number of problems, including his marital difficulties.
It was the kind of thing you would hear from old men. "Things just ain't the way they used to be."
For the past several weeks, in anticipation of the upcoming Days of Awe, I have devoted this column to the topic of teshuva, repentance. Many of us find this topic quite scary. Confessing our sins of the past year and committing ourselves to improving our religious conduct threatens to undermine our self-confidence and self-esteem.
It was the first time that I announced a contest from the pulpit. It felt like a risky thing to do, and probably was. But it worked, and I tried it several times over the ensuing years.
For many of us, the first pieces of wisdom which we learned were from nursery rhymes and schoolyard jingles. Sometimes these childish lessons had value, but more often they were off the mark and had the effect of distorting a truer perspective on life.
It seems that war is one of the most common of all human activities. Study history of the human race, and you will not find many years that were not blemished by warfare. Read the literature of the world, and you will find very few books whose pages are not bloodstained. Study the Jewish tradition, beginning with the Bible itself, and you will find very few narratives that do not contain the images of battle.
There is a phrase that one hears quite commonly nowadays: "It is what it is." There is something that has always disturbed me about that phrase.
We have been hearing a lot lately about the dangers of the Internet. Not long ago, thousands of Orthodox Jews gathered in a large sports stadium to publicize the negative consequences that exposure to the Internet has in store for adults and children alike.
For many of us, the first pieces of wisdom which we learned were from nursery rhymes and schoolyard jingles. Sometimes these childish lessons had value, but more often they were off the mark and had the effect of distorting a truer perspective on life.
Earlier this week, I looked at my calendar. This calendar is sent to me every year. I cherish its colorful illustrations. They make me aware of the significance of the upcoming month. This time, I was taken aback. Wonder of wonders, Elul is here.
I begin this column with two distinct goals in mind. On the one hand, I want to familiarize you with the complexity of a brief verse in this week’s Torah portion, Shoftim (Deuteronomy 16:18-21:9). On the other hand, my second goal is to introduce you to the use a rabbi made of this verse in a sermon to his Brooklyn congregation long ago.
I love metaphors. An apt metaphor can help stimulate boundless creativity and can lead to a deeper and richer understanding of the concept being studied.
Ethics is a subject about which we all have many questions. What makes an ethical personality? How do we make ethical decisions in complicated circumstances?
Like any good grandparent, I have seen my share of little-league baseball games. Earlier this summer, I sat through an all-day tournament of four five-inning games. Not too excited about what was happening on the playing field, I found myself slipping into a half-dozing, half-contemplative mood.
Who would you consult if you wanted to know a thing or two about the perfect society? Would you ask a politician? A professor of government? A philosopher expert in theories of utopia? Or perhaps a historian familiar with successful societies across the ages?
It is at this point in time that we all begin to realize that the summer is ending. There is something about mid-August that says, "The summer is waning." School children begin to experience the anxieties that come with the anticipation of the return to school; vacationers hasten to relish the last of the "lazy, hazy days;" and the baseball season is at the stage when the pennant and wild-card races begin to really heat up.