Dear Chevre (Friends):
(Note: these comments constitute the final installment in a series on the JCOGS cemetery. Thank you for all the questions and comments I have received!)
The more I think about it, we should not call next Sunday’s inauguration of our new cemetery a consecration. From its Latin roots, “to consecrate” means to make holy. But how can we make a plot of ground holy, simply by walking around its perimeter reciting psalms? What is hallowed ground anyway?
According to the religious anthropologist Mercia Eliade, ancient cultures believed that certain specific sites provided direct access to the divine. (The Sacred and the Profane, p. 37) For example, in last week’s Torah portion: “Jacob awoke from his sleep and said: ‘How awesome is this place! This is none other than the abode of God, and this is the gateway to heaven.’” (Genesis 28:16-17) God’s presence rendered the place holy. For the ancient Israelites, one location upon earth was supercharged with holiness above all others—the Foundation Stone underneath the Temple at Jerusalem (which they associated with Jacob’s headrest). However, after the Temple was destroyed, it became necessary to be able to invoke God anywhere: “Once, Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai was leaving Jerusalem with his disciple Rabbi Joshua. Seeing the Temple in ruins, Rabbi Joshua cried out: ‘Woe to us for the place where Israel once drew close to God!’ Rabbi Yochanan replied: ‘Do not be distressed, my son. We have another way of drawing close to God just as effective—through deeds of lovingkindness.’” (Avot de-Rabbi Natan 11a) Nowadays, places are not considered to be intrinsically holy; rather, they become holy by virtue of the righteous human activity that takes place there.
Instead of a consecration, let’s call Sunday’s ceremony a dedication. The Hebrew word for “dedication” is chanukkah. Just as our ancestors rededicated themselves to Jewish tradition on Chanukkah, we dedicate ourselves to upholding the honor of the dead among us, an action that, as I stated in a previous column, constitutes one of Jewish tradition’s supreme examples of a deed of lovingkindness. It is not what we say that matters, but what we do. Abraham Lincoln said it best: “We have come to dedicate a portion of [this] field as a final resting place… But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate—we cannot consecrate—we cannot hallow—this ground. The dead… have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note… what we say here… It is for us…, rather, to be dedicated here to [their] unfinished work …” (from the Gettysburg Address)
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
November 10, 2010: The Ways of Peace
Dear Chevre (Friends):
(Note: these comments constitute the third installment in a series.)
The JCOGS Cemetery Rules and Regulations document reads: “There are two sections: Chesed and Emet. The Chesed Section is for those who are Jewish… The Emet Section is for those who are Jewish, non-Jewish members of JCOGS and non-Jewish spouses or relatives of JCOGS members, or their cremated remains*.”
The historical trajectory tracing the Jewish burial of non-Jews provides a brief lesson in the evolution of Jewish law, illustrating that social circumstances sometimes influence the adoption of legal rulings to a greater degree than precedent. The practice of excluding non-Jews from Jewish cemeteries is recent by Jewish standards—only eight hundred years old, or so! Originally, the injunction carried the force of minhag (custom), rather than halachah (law)—although it is a truism that minhag followed over the course of generations quickly obtains the force of halachah. In fact, the Talmud expresses the exact opposite of current practice: “We bury the dead of the Gentiles along with the dead of Israel for the sake of the ways of peace…” (bGittin 61a) Rashi, the preeminent sage from 11th century France, was the first to prohibit the burial of Gentiles among Jews. Rashi adds an additional phrase to the text in his interpretation, the one in italics: “We bury the dead of the Gentiles along with the dead of Israel for the sake of the ways of peace… but not in Jewish graves.” (Later commentators explain Rashi to mean that if Jewish and non-Jewish corpses are found piled together on the ground, after a battle or natural disaster, for example, then it is permitted to help non-Jews bury their own in non-Jewish cemeteries, but not in Jewish ones.) Because Rashi’s comprehensive commentary on the Talmud became authoritative throughout the world, and has remained so to this day**, Jewish law quickly embraced his legal opinions (although some sages, such as Rabbi Joel Sirkes of Poland, continued to rule in favor of the presence of non-Jews within Jewish cemeteries, as late as the 16th century). But why did Rashi seemingly gratuitously tack on a few words that appear to contravene the plain meaning of the Talmudic text? I surmise that Rashi reacted from deep-seated mistrust of the dominant Gentile population, since he lived during a period of intense persecution, when marauding Crusaders were constantly threatening Jewish inhabitants with death and destruction.
Having provided some historical background on the burial of non-Jews, I now return to our own cemetery policy. It is one of those fault-line issues that threatens to divide an umbrella community such as JCOGS, similar to our kosher kitchen policy—and perhaps even more so. Death, by its very nature, stirs up passion. My own observation is that even relatively unobservant practitioners of Jewish traditions revert to orthodoxy when confronted with matters of grave concern, so to speak. I respect the deep-seated feelings of devotion, loyalty and kinship that compel many of us to abide by the practice of burial among other Jews only. Just as one may feel strongly about spending eternity next to one’s beloved spouse, one may feel just as strongly about spending eternity with one’s own people. The question, whether non-Jews may be buried in a Jewish cemetery, is analogous to the question, whether a mosque may be built near Ground Zero. In both cases, although there might be legal grounds for lenience, nevertheless, in deference to the highly charged emotions of those who have (or will have) died and their mourners, separation should be maintained. Such was the predominant consideration that motivated our decision at JCOGS, recognizing the extraordinary sensitivity of the matter on all sides.
The final clause in the relevant subsection of the JCOGS Cemetery Rules and Regulations document deliberately hearkens back to the basic Talmudic source, quoted above. At the same time, it reflects our highest aspirations for accommodating the diversity of our community, which embraces Jews and non-Jews, and which embraces Jews of all beliefs and persuasions. The clause reads: “The two sections are separated by a path called Derech Shalom, the way of peace.”
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
*This article deals only with the issue of non-Jewish burials, not the issue of cremation.
**When I studied Talmud at Yeshivat Simchat Shlomo in Jerusalem, the baseline text and its embedded Rashi commentary were equally revered as sacrosanct and unerring.
(Note: these comments constitute the third installment in a series.)
The JCOGS Cemetery Rules and Regulations document reads: “There are two sections: Chesed and Emet. The Chesed Section is for those who are Jewish… The Emet Section is for those who are Jewish, non-Jewish members of JCOGS and non-Jewish spouses or relatives of JCOGS members, or their cremated remains*.”
The historical trajectory tracing the Jewish burial of non-Jews provides a brief lesson in the evolution of Jewish law, illustrating that social circumstances sometimes influence the adoption of legal rulings to a greater degree than precedent. The practice of excluding non-Jews from Jewish cemeteries is recent by Jewish standards—only eight hundred years old, or so! Originally, the injunction carried the force of minhag (custom), rather than halachah (law)—although it is a truism that minhag followed over the course of generations quickly obtains the force of halachah. In fact, the Talmud expresses the exact opposite of current practice: “We bury the dead of the Gentiles along with the dead of Israel for the sake of the ways of peace…” (bGittin 61a) Rashi, the preeminent sage from 11th century France, was the first to prohibit the burial of Gentiles among Jews. Rashi adds an additional phrase to the text in his interpretation, the one in italics: “We bury the dead of the Gentiles along with the dead of Israel for the sake of the ways of peace… but not in Jewish graves.” (Later commentators explain Rashi to mean that if Jewish and non-Jewish corpses are found piled together on the ground, after a battle or natural disaster, for example, then it is permitted to help non-Jews bury their own in non-Jewish cemeteries, but not in Jewish ones.) Because Rashi’s comprehensive commentary on the Talmud became authoritative throughout the world, and has remained so to this day**, Jewish law quickly embraced his legal opinions (although some sages, such as Rabbi Joel Sirkes of Poland, continued to rule in favor of the presence of non-Jews within Jewish cemeteries, as late as the 16th century). But why did Rashi seemingly gratuitously tack on a few words that appear to contravene the plain meaning of the Talmudic text? I surmise that Rashi reacted from deep-seated mistrust of the dominant Gentile population, since he lived during a period of intense persecution, when marauding Crusaders were constantly threatening Jewish inhabitants with death and destruction.
Having provided some historical background on the burial of non-Jews, I now return to our own cemetery policy. It is one of those fault-line issues that threatens to divide an umbrella community such as JCOGS, similar to our kosher kitchen policy—and perhaps even more so. Death, by its very nature, stirs up passion. My own observation is that even relatively unobservant practitioners of Jewish traditions revert to orthodoxy when confronted with matters of grave concern, so to speak. I respect the deep-seated feelings of devotion, loyalty and kinship that compel many of us to abide by the practice of burial among other Jews only. Just as one may feel strongly about spending eternity next to one’s beloved spouse, one may feel just as strongly about spending eternity with one’s own people. The question, whether non-Jews may be buried in a Jewish cemetery, is analogous to the question, whether a mosque may be built near Ground Zero. In both cases, although there might be legal grounds for lenience, nevertheless, in deference to the highly charged emotions of those who have (or will have) died and their mourners, separation should be maintained. Such was the predominant consideration that motivated our decision at JCOGS, recognizing the extraordinary sensitivity of the matter on all sides.
The final clause in the relevant subsection of the JCOGS Cemetery Rules and Regulations document deliberately hearkens back to the basic Talmudic source, quoted above. At the same time, it reflects our highest aspirations for accommodating the diversity of our community, which embraces Jews and non-Jews, and which embraces Jews of all beliefs and persuasions. The clause reads: “The two sections are separated by a path called Derech Shalom, the way of peace.”
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
*This article deals only with the issue of non-Jewish burials, not the issue of cremation.
**When I studied Talmud at Yeshivat Simchat Shlomo in Jerusalem, the baseline text and its embedded Rashi commentary were equally revered as sacrosanct and unerring.
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
November 3, 2010: Values Embodied by Our Cemetery, and Our Community
Dear Chevre (Friends):
(Note: these comments constitute the second installment in a series.)
The community and its cemetery are mirrors for each other. It’s not merely that those interred in the cemetery are members of the community. It’s that the structure and composition of the cemetery itself reflects the community’s highest values.
In the case of JCOGS, I like to think that we stand for openness, warmth, and inclusiveness. As a denominationally unaffiliated institution, we aim to provide a home for anyone journeying along a recognized Jewish path. It’s important to acknowledge that Judaism is not monolithic, and never has been. In modernity, of course, Judaism includes Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionist, and other movements, but even in earlier times, the Jewish world embraced widely divergent streams, such as Ashkenazi, Sephardi, and Mizrachi. To speak of “Jewish tradition” is misleading; it is more accurate to speak of “Jewish traditions.” In keeping with this observation, we at JCOGS avoided the labels “traditional” and “non-traditional,” or “Orthodox” and “non-Orthodox,” for the two sections of our cemetery. Instead, we chose neutral, descriptive designations, Chesed (“lovingkindness”) and Emet (“truth”). The names convey equal respect for the traditions of all those included, and they also encapsulate the character of the cemetery—and the community—that we are trying to build here in Stowe.
Chesed and Emet are meant to evoke the fundamental Rabbinic concept of chesed shel emet, literally, “true lovingkindness,” which denotes the noblest type of action to which we may aspire as human beings. Chesed shel emet is a deed of kindness that can never be repaid. Burying the dead constitutes the classic example. Because there can be no expectation attached to the act—a corpse is not even capable of recognition—it is “true” lovingkindness, absolute and everlasting. Chesed shel emet is love proffered not out of obligation, loyalty, or even sentiment, but simply love for love’s sake. By labeling our cemetery with the rubrics Chesed and Emet, we pay homage to the supreme devotion that the responsibility to bury our loved ones demands of us. Moreover, Chesed and Emet call to mind our basic JCOGS values of mutual caring and commitment, despite—or perhaps even because of—our diversity.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
(Note: these comments constitute the second installment in a series.)
The community and its cemetery are mirrors for each other. It’s not merely that those interred in the cemetery are members of the community. It’s that the structure and composition of the cemetery itself reflects the community’s highest values.
In the case of JCOGS, I like to think that we stand for openness, warmth, and inclusiveness. As a denominationally unaffiliated institution, we aim to provide a home for anyone journeying along a recognized Jewish path. It’s important to acknowledge that Judaism is not monolithic, and never has been. In modernity, of course, Judaism includes Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionist, and other movements, but even in earlier times, the Jewish world embraced widely divergent streams, such as Ashkenazi, Sephardi, and Mizrachi. To speak of “Jewish tradition” is misleading; it is more accurate to speak of “Jewish traditions.” In keeping with this observation, we at JCOGS avoided the labels “traditional” and “non-traditional,” or “Orthodox” and “non-Orthodox,” for the two sections of our cemetery. Instead, we chose neutral, descriptive designations, Chesed (“lovingkindness”) and Emet (“truth”). The names convey equal respect for the traditions of all those included, and they also encapsulate the character of the cemetery—and the community—that we are trying to build here in Stowe.
Chesed and Emet are meant to evoke the fundamental Rabbinic concept of chesed shel emet, literally, “true lovingkindness,” which denotes the noblest type of action to which we may aspire as human beings. Chesed shel emet is a deed of kindness that can never be repaid. Burying the dead constitutes the classic example. Because there can be no expectation attached to the act—a corpse is not even capable of recognition—it is “true” lovingkindness, absolute and everlasting. Chesed shel emet is love proffered not out of obligation, loyalty, or even sentiment, but simply love for love’s sake. By labeling our cemetery with the rubrics Chesed and Emet, we pay homage to the supreme devotion that the responsibility to bury our loved ones demands of us. Moreover, Chesed and Emet call to mind our basic JCOGS values of mutual caring and commitment, despite—or perhaps even because of—our diversity.
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com
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