JewsByChoice.Org

One of the questions I was asked in my first (of three) meetings with the beit din at my conversion dealt with what I would do if I had a question regarding Jewish ritual.  “Would you look it up yourself, or would you ask a rabbi?” asked the black-coated, bearded personage on the dais.

Now, I had read enough books to know that they are nearly always accompanied by the caveat that they are presenting one version of the laws and how to perform them, but that if the reader is actively seeking psak (halachic advice), he or she should seek out a competent rabbi to ask.  I also knew, though, that this was an extremely loaded question, and one close to the hearts of most communal rabbis.  I once heard Rabbi David Hartman in Jerusalem talk about when he was a congregational rabbi in Montreal.  He said he would wait by the phone for people to call him with questions about kashrut, or Shabbat, or taharat hamishpacha, but no one ever did.  (He said this with a twinkle in his eye, and went on to describe the REAL issues people were concerned about.)

I got the answer right: call a rabbi.  I knew this was the right answer not only because it would please the rabbis sitting before me and get me one step closer to the dunking I so desired.  It was also correct because the books tended to give a VERY frum version of events, and since I was planning on adopting a more modern form of Orthodoxy, I knew that my corresponding rabbi would probably give more lenient advice.

As some of you may recall from an earlier post, I have a rav.  (Keep your shirts on.)  He was my moreh derech (teacher and advisor for my conversion), my congregational rabbi, and someone I count as an advisor and friend to this day.  His advice to me has been thoughtful, well-researched, and tailored to his knowledge of me.  (Getting an answer from him on the phone could sometimes take a while because he would tell me where he had researched my question, the various opinions he’d discovered, the one he thought I should go by, and why.)  While a member of his congregation, I was content to follow his advice in most matters, and we stuck very close to the standards he laid out for the community in matters of practice.

But over the years, I have continued to struggle with this issue.  (I know my friends and fellow congregants do too, so I know I’m not alone in this.)  There are times when I feel comfortable getting a ruling on something I don’t know about, and I’m happy to ask a she’elah (question) and go along with the answer.  But there is an etiquette about asking she’elot (questions): If you’re ready to hear the answer, whatever it is, ask.  If not, don’t ask.  At least not yet.  (Nechama’s comment on Chavi’s recent post about her rav helping petitioners think about the issue more clearly, rather than coming out with a black-and-white answer shows a rabbi sensitive to this tension.)

While A Simple Jew’s interview with R’ Dovid Sears linked to on Chavi’s post shows that R’ Sears is not entirely comfortable with the tension between personal initiative and rabbinic authority, I feel differently.  I sometimes talk about the advantages to Judaism of having converts and ba’alei teshuvah inject new life and new accountability into the tradition, and I stand by that.  I’ve known a rabbi who had very narrow views about Reform Jews (and Reform converts, yet) who, after meeting and getting to know me, became much more thoughtful and sensitive about those issues.  I’ve gotten psak from a rav one year, then mentioned the psak to him a few years later and had him say to me, “I said that?”  And when I was given psak to try covering my hair temporarily, but then stopped a few years later, no one said anything.  I think that converts and ba’alei teshuvah, coming from a non-frum background where science, debate, and asking “Why?” all the time are par for the course, can actually raise the bar and the level of quality of Orthodox life.  They encourage more complacent Jews to reassess their own practice, force them to explain why they do what they do, and demand better grounding in the Jewish sources (and less in regional practice) from their rabbis.  One of the reasons my father lost interest in Judaism was because no one in his family understood (or cared about) Jewish practice, and hence failed to transmit it as anything important to him.  Complacency leads to stagnation.  But revisiting, rethinking, articulating, debating, explaining…  All that’s to the good.

At this point, my Orthodox practice, especially around my kitchen and in my beliefs, is pretty unassailable.  However, I do continue to harbor some issues around hair-covering, women’s dress code, kitniyot (see Avi’s post on this hot topic), and taharat hamishpacha.  These arise from one or more of the following:
1) varying practices in different Orthodox communities,
2) the practices’ murky origins,
3) the sometimes indistinct lines between minhag (custom) and halachah,
4) the accuracy (or lack thereof) of food science (on food issues),
5) social pressure on rabbis or civilians to conform or to appear sufficiently frum in the eyes of others, and
6) my own comfort level.

I know Orthodox converts are expected to observe faithfully the 613 commandments.  But the truth is I don’t know a single Jew who does.  This doesn’t make anyone a hypocrite or a bad Jew.  Most people are doing their best, and those who try but don’t get it right 100% of the time are still pretty amazing people, and admirable Jews.

My take-home message from this is that Judaism is a choice for everyone who embraces it, every day.  We may grow in some areas, and backslide in others.  We may go through phases where certain things are important to us, and other things less so.  We may occasionally be called upon to question our core values or to renew our commitment to them.

Where rabbinic authority can help is if we have someone whom we trust and admire, who can know and understand us for who we are, with whom we can discuss our tensions and questions.  And freedom of freedoms: You choose your own posek.