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Disrupting Texts is a Tradition -- My Hosea Story

A Facebook post by a congregant highlighted a controversy around an initiative called #DisruptTexts, and my response to it was going to be much longer than a typical FB comment. #DisruptTexts as a specific project isn't something I had heard of, but as I skimmed the website the other day it certainly doesn't seem brand new. This is an initiative for literature education in schools that aims to "challenge the traditional canon" both by bringing in more representative texts and by putting new texts and perspectives into dialogue with "traditional" ones. I'm posting partly because the congregant said she wanted all her child's teachers to be involved in this kind of pedagogy, and I am/hope to be one of those teachers.

I don't know why this approach would be controversial at all. I mean I do, of course. But I would think even people with suspicion ought to be cheered by the idea of critical thinking about texts and literature, and by the idea of pairings and conversations centered around both traditional and new literary texts.

Anyway my mind went immediately to an experience I had as a first-year rabbinical student in just this kind of pedagogy at an adult level. As a student at the Jewish Theological Seminary, I had access to the Protestant institution across the street, Union Theological Seminary. I enrolled there in a course about the book of Hosea taught by Professor Phyllis Trible, one of the pioneering feminist critics of the Hebrew Bible. I had read from a couple of Professor Trible's books. One of them was called Texts of Terror, to give you a sense of her work. Her scholarship there was about women such as Hagar, Tamar, and the brutalized concubine of Gibeah in the book of Judges. Professor Trible was looking both to document the treatment of women by the (male) authors and editors of the Bible and to listen for women's voices somehow in the same texts.

I had studied the opening chapters of Hosea in religious school during high school with my terrific teacher Earl Schwartz. Hosea takes to heart the prophetic metaphor that images Israel's straying from God as an unfaithful wife. So he marries a prostitute and his book opens with a graphic revenge fantasy put in God's mouth/mind, leading to reconciliation. It's pretty horrifying.

That's where Professor Trible opened the course. I figured, based on what I knew of her, that the course would critique Hosea and unearth all the factors behind taking an already-problematic metaphor too far back in his time. Instead, she opened by saying even so, she wanted to see whether there was a way to reclaim Hosea and to have his book in the canon. It was a generous and tentative opening -- Professor Trible presented this as an open question. We would work through the text of the book and see.

The students were paired off and each group had to prepare a particular section in depth to present to the class -- to translate, analyze, and suggest issues and interpretations. I asked for or ended up with a passage that is read traditionally in the synagogue as a haftarah, a section of the prophets paired with the week's Torah reading. My partner was a Southern female Protestant seminarian who was also lesbian and married (this was the first half of 1991).

I am sure we compared Hosea to other places in the Torah and prophets that talk about Israel's unfaithfulness or betrayals, straight up or in metaphor. Hosea was also an innovator in the idea of teshuvah or "repentance"/personal change in Jewish thought. How do we hold both sets of his words?

My engagement with Hosea continued. A number of years ago, I was in the synagogue and listening to the chanting of the first couple chapters of Hosea by a thirteen-year-old girl on the occasion of her Bat Mitzvah. I was horrified. How had I let that happen? Somewhere in between that moment and Professor Trible, I had sat in horror while the students in the Jewish day high school I worked at presented "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum" as the school play. So much leering at women in the play, being staged by young girls being watched by young guys, and we the faculty had somehow let that happen. Here it was again, and just as bad even though I'm sure relatively few people were paying close attention to the English translation of Hosea in front of us in the synagogue.

I resolved that one way or another, no girl would chant this passage in the synagogue again. I thought about this for a few months and learned that the haftarah readings were not as fixed as our Bibles in the pews would lead us to think. Then I remembered too a section of the Mishnah, the early code of Jewish law that is the foundation of the Talmud, that lays out a series of texts that are not to be publicly read and/or not to be publicly translated in the synagogue, even though they can be encountered in a process of Torah study. (Before print, during services biblical readings were in some places translated out loud into the vernacular.)

I proposed not just that young girls would not read this for Bat Mitzvah, but that no one should hear this passage read out loud in the synagogue. We would substitute another reading for the opening of Hosea. The first year, I took time the week before to explain what I was doing and why. I taught a bit about Hosea, and both Earl Schwartz and Professor Trible. The next week I gave out xeroxes of an alternative text. In succeeding years, I make note of what we are doing and why. This is how I keep Hosea in the canon. He's there, not as loud as he once was, and always now framed by and along with other voices including new ones, including my own.

This is hardly the only example of its kind in my own life of texts and canons and teaching literatures. A whole section of my very first education course at the Seminary was about "difficult texts." But I describe all of this about Hosea to say that there are many dimensions to encountering texts, and all kinds of ways of staging or framing those encounters. We read privately or with others; we listen or we debate; we study intimately or we share ritually. There is more than canon-or-cancel. #DisruptTexts is about the classroom, the place where students and teachers read together and learn how to read. It's part of what we should be doing as teachers and parents, sharing stories and literature with our students and children.

 

 

An Open Letter to Speaker Paul Ryan

This is a letter that I am mailing and publishing, prompted by the appointment of Stephen Bannon as chief strategist for President-Elect Trump. It reflects my personal political perspective and my own read on what Mr. Bannon represents, which overlap but are not the same as many of my friends and readers. I will also be sending a version of this to other officials, Ms. Ivanka Trump, and Mr. Jared Kushner.

An Open Letter to Speaker of the House Paul Ryan

Dear Speaker Ryan:

I write you as an independent voter from New Hampshire, a religious person, a Jew, and a rabbi.

First of all, congratulations on your re-election to Congress, and your selection once again as Speaker of the House. Thank you for your service to this country. My hopes are with you, your colleagues on Capitol Hill, and President-Elect Trump, that you will all conduct the business of government in a way that addresses our overarching needs, restores the most vulnerable to the center of our community, and brings us honor in our own eyes and in eyes of the world.

This letter is prompted by the appointment of Stephen Bannon as chief strategist in President-Elect Trump's White House. I am asking you, as the respected leader of your party in Congress, to call on the President-Elect to rescind this appointment.

I can't know whether all the views often expressed through Breitbart News are Mr. Bannon's own or not, or those of the President-Elect or not. It's enough to know that Mr. Bannon has proudly taken on the role of giving a megaphone to hate groups, and his prominence has emboldened such groups to attack and harm other people with impunity. People I know and care about are afraid in ways I have never seen before. Mr. Bannon's appointment is a disgrace to our country and the office of the President. I hope you will do everything you can to reverse it.

I am writing you more broadly as someone who has had hopes about the direction of the Republican Party that you, Speaker Ryan, have been sketching out over the past few years. As a religious person and a Jew, I have committed myself to make Torah the measure of my political allegiance, and not vice versa. I know that you, like me, have been engaged by the social teachings of your religious tradition. I am in other words one of your potential followers.

One reason I am not a registered Democrat is that I believe our social welfare policies often settle for approaches that separate and stigmatize people in need, and do not build enduring relationships of partnership and dignity – true equality. Whenever I vote for Democrats, I do so to try to make sure that there is funding so that people are not punished for being poor, do not starve or go without basic medical care. But I have been hoping that you in particular would flesh out and explain a more robust version of your own health care and anti-poverty plans.

Many of us are looking to you as the national leader who can present a new option for us to consider -- combining a vision of an inclusive American community, conservative economic principles, and strategies that address the specific obstacles that the most vulnerable among us face. Real plans backed by sufficient resources, designed to lift up individuals and make possible a true community that spans socioeconomic class.

In this past election year I was open during the New Hampshire primary to any candidate in either party who had such a vision of justice through community. I took every last moment to decide which party's primary to vote in and which candidate to support.

What I am telling you is that if your party follows through with an alliance with or a tolerance of hate at the highest levels, then you will forfeit your claim on my attention or the attention of people like me. It will be harder, and sometimes impossible, for you to ask me to take a careful look at your proposals, as against those of the Democrats which, despite their flaws, fund a certain level of services and care. You won't be able to ask me to trust your compassion overall, if you institutionalize voices and forces of bigotry and abuse at the highest levels of your party's power.

Now is the time for you to present your case. But you will have to make clear who you are, Speaker Ryan, and who you want your party to be and what you want this country to be.

There's nothing you can do to prevent people like Stephen Bannon and his alt-right followers from hanging on with your party. I don't hold you to that standard. But you can certainly avoid installing them in positions of power. And you can do more than react to statements of bigotry, which you have often done during this past year to your great credit. You can get out front and proclaim a vision of conservatism that begins with: We are all of us Americans. You can, with each new proposal you make, make a point of explaining to us how it will bring us all together. There is no easier start than to make clear that Stephen Bannon has a right to free speech and freedom of the press, but he does not belong in the Republican White House.

Our own community of Nashua, New Hampshire, has many people trying to model the country as it should be. In September, in the middle of the contentious national election, our Board of Aldermen debated and approved a proposal to make Nashua an official “welcoming city”, in support of the work that is being done here by a wide coalition to welcome and integrate immigrants and people of different backgrounds.

Just watching the parade of speakers and supporters was an incredible cause for hope, on our small scale. The Democratic mayor and the Republican head of the Chamber of Commerce. The Chief of Police, who talked about work being done with communities of different colors – and a black man who told of nearly being beaten when he tried to register to vote down south in the 1950s. Two refugees, speaking in their brand-new, incomplete English. Ministers, social workers, educators, community organizers.

As a local leader, I am committed to that kind of work and coalition building. I am attaching for you a sermon about faith and politics, liberalism and conservatism, that I gave a year ago on Yom Kippur. I think it will speak to your mind and your heart.

Thank you for your time and consideration. May you find guidance and strength through the One Whose life-giving energy and wisdom flows through all.

 

L'shalom – Toward Peace and Wholeness,

Rabbi Jonathan Spira-Savett

Nashua, New Hampshire

 

Walking With, Into, and Through Difference - Part 1

It is said sometimes that a rabbi will speak or teach the same thing over and over. So it's great to realize when you learn something knew, and not bad when it's from yourself.

Last Shabbat I said something in my D'var Torah, reflecting on Elie Wiesel -- that getting the details right is important, even when you're talking about unjust suffering. I realized this week how much I gravitate toward stories of those who are in pain nonetheless reaching out for commonality with those on another side.  Like the family of Rabbi Miki Mark in Israel, who was murdered in an act of Palestinian terror, who told those calling for revenge on Arabs that it was Arab Palestinians who were their first responders. Or the Sunday church service last week in Dallas, where one of the murdered policemen was known, and the community talked about the need to hear African-Americans' pain.

It dawned on me that when I do this, I ought to know more about the "other" when I praise them in the name of my own ideals.

So one thing I decided to do was to make some time, as soon as possible, to step into difference in my own world. I don't live a life that is tremendously diverse, but the place I have it is religion. So I thought to start there, by getting with some people I know well of different faiths, clergy people, to talk about differences.  And together to go to some other religious places in town that I don't know well, to bring a gift and ask questions and see what I can answer for those who want to know more about Jews, Judaism, or me.

We can't rush through difference.  We have to notice it and take it seriously.  I'm part way through this first, quick thing, a social-media stunt to jumpstart some talk and connections and action in town.  I have more places to visit today and in the next few days.  I'll pull together a short video and some better thoughts about what I am learning after I finish.  In the meantime, some photos...

We started at the Hollis Congregational Church.  That's me with Rev. Tanya Stormo Rasmussen, the pastor there, and Rev. Sally Newhall of Nashua Presbyterian Church on the left.

I gave Rev. Rasmussen a klaf, the parchment that goes in a mezuza on the doorpost, partly because it says "Adonai is One."

Then we went to the Nashua Baptist Church.  It's two minutes from my home, I drive by all the time, and I have never been in there.  It's Southern Baptist, in New Englahd!  The pastor wasn't there but we sat for a while with the church secretary:

We knocked on some other doors too, didn't have any more successful deliveries but sat for a bit at Bonhoeffer's Cafe, with Rev. Matthew Tingler of Christ the King Lutheran Church and Zev Sernik, regional president of United Synagogue Youth.  I don't know why it's upside-down, I'll work on that:

Parashat Vayishlach -- Penn State and the Rape of Dina

Now Dina, the daughter of Leah whom she had borne to Yaakov, went out to see among the daughters of the land.  And he saw her:  Shechem son of Chamor the Hivite, chief of the land, and he took her and he lay with her and he raped her.  Then his soul was drawn to Dina, daughter of Yaakov, and he loved the young woman and spoke tenderly to the young woman... (Genesis 34:1-3)

This is the only story we have about Dina, the only daughter of Yaakov and his wives.  She might be literally a teenager or a young adult woman.  The language of yetzia, "going out", is used also about Yaakov himself and about Moshe, when they were teenagers or young men.  And this is what happened:  she went out to be among other young woman, "to see".  And her life was interrupted by another "seeing", from Shechem son of Chamor, a powerful man.  The result -- the twisted love from him, and the revenge against Shechem's people by Yaakov's sons -- is the only result we hear.  We don't hear any more of Dina's story.

Part of the cruelty of sexual assault and sexual abuse is the physical violence.  Part is the taking over of a life -- the hijacking of the victim's own story, own path.  Dina's story opens with something so interesting -- we don't have other biblical stories about young people going out among themselves, other than to herd sheep or draw water.  What were they doing?  What kind of interesting young woman were they?  But now, we have only "the rape of Dina" and nothing else.

In the verses I've quoted, the Hebrew word for young woman is read aloud as na'ara, but the written Hebrew in the scroll says na'ar -- a lad, a young man.  Against the backdrop of the Penn State sexual abuse scandal this lept out at me.  Shechem's assault was against a young woman, but it could have been against a young man or a boy.  The violence, the consequences, are the same.

We ask:  what more is there to learn?  What more might we not already know about rape, abuse, assault, sexual harrassment?  So this year the Torah isn't coming to teach us something we don't know.  Instead, it is reminding us of all the things we do know.  We're reminded, through Penn State and Syracuse University, that we have not finished building systems of accountabiity, so that those who witness or suspect sexual abuse are obligated to come forward.  We have not finished building cultures or havens that protect abusers.

Rabbi Brad Hirshfield of CLAL, reflecting on Penn State, recently made the case for vigilance, which he defines like this.  Vigilance means a willingness to be more on guard than usual on behalf of people who are especially vulnerable.  To put aside even loyalty and the presumption of goodness we usually have about other people, and for the sake of those who are vulnerable to entertain the possibility that the worst may be true.

Rabbi Hirschfield argues that being vigilant does not mean thinking that everyone is an abuser or even that every secondhand story one hears is true.  It does not mean giving up our faith in others, in teachers and coaches and advisers.  But when something credible comes to us, we have a duty -- especially to children -- to pursue it, to confront if we can, to see that it's not swept under the rug.

There are all kinds of reasons it is hard.  It's easier to be a bystander, not to take sides, not to get involved.  But the fact is:  abuse, whether it's physical or sexual or emotional, is real and it happens, and there is no part of our society that is yet free from it.

So we have to remind ourselves of our duty not to turn away if we know or if we hear something.  Children especially need to know that if, God forbid, they have to summon the courage to speak to us about something that happens to them or to a friend, that we will listen and not dismiss it, or look for reasons not to take it seriously.  We -- their parents.  We -- their teachers, their youth group leaders, their rabbi.

It's the same in the case of adults who tell of abuse or harassment.  The kinds of things Herman Cain was accused of occur in private.  They are the situation of Dina and Shechem, where one person holds particular power over the other -- whether it's financial or emotional or physical.  It's hard to prove, and incredibly frightening for the victims to contemplate what might happen if they speak out.  Those who have been abused or threatened or harassed stand in a position of particular vulnerability, especially against the powerful, whether it's a boss or a coach or any kind of leader.

We have to keep reminding ourselves that no one is beyond reproach simply because of their position of power.  Certainly not a football coach, and not even a person who fancies himself the President of the United States.  It is our duty, imitating God, to look out for the less powerful, for the vulnerable.

That is vigilance, one of the things we need reminding of.  The other is that we have to tell our children that we will listen if, God forbid, they have to tell us about something that happened to them or to someone they know.  We have to be there if a friend or a neighbor, God forbid, has to tell us that they are in danger, to be ready to call the police if necessary or to find safety.  In our community, one place to turn in a case of abuse of any kind is Bridges, which is one of the best organizations in our area for victims of domestic or child abuse in any form -- the phone number 24 hours a day is 603-883-3044.

In our synagogue this week, it is USY Shabbat, a celebration of youth and leadership.  They are the truest honor to the legacy of Dina, daughter of Leah and Yaakov.