Trutharchivist

So I said I might continue with my Jewish holidays series. Well, here is the beginning of covering things I've missed!

It's around this time of the Hebrew year that we get back to the time I wrote my first SU on the topic - regarding Pesach, AKA Passover.

Barely a single year has passed, and yet - it was a lifetime. I've been reading Frugal Wizard this time last year.

But enough about me! We're here to talk about some of the things I didn't cover regarding Pesach, and I actually want to go for one of the... Slightly less remembered facets. I want to talk about the 7th fast - one of the ones that don't usually count. Also, it will serve in part to talk about something related to the holiday the war here begun at.

So, Ta'anit Bechorot. The Fast of the Firstborn. It's a day of fasting on the day right before Pesach. Most all religious Jews know about this fast, and yet you'll be hard pressed to find even one person that fasts during it. Why is that? And why does such a fast exist in the first place?

Let's start from the latter question. It's kind of easy, because it's in the name. Remember the 10th Plague? The Plague of the Firstborns? Well, during it G-d could've just as well killed the Israelite firstborns as well. They were supposed to die, but G-d took pity on them. For this reason, the firstborn of every family supposedly belongs to G-d and has to be ceremoniously bought back by his parents from the Cohen, the Priest. Oh, yeah, and it holds just for the male firstborns. So for some reason, it also means they should fast during the day before the Plague was to hit.

So yeah, it's a fast only for male firstborns, or fathers of male firstborns whose children aren't of age yet. So is that the reason it's hard to find anyone fasting? Because there aren't many male firstborns?

Wrong. For obvious reasons. Every family has a firstborn (especially nowadays, when death rates among infants are significantly lower in relation to older eras), and it's a 50/50 chance it'll be a boy. Sure, the firstborns are still a small number of the population, but not that much. So why is that?

Well, the thing is... This fast doesn't have much to stand on regarding its origin. It's first mentioned in a relatively late source: it's not from the Torah, Prophets or even the old Sages. It's more of a tradition than a rule. And thus, it was agreed by several rabbis that if there there was an occasion during which there's a religious reason to eat - such as a wedding, for example - the firstborns can eat from it, and afterwards they don't have to fast any longer. But the usual escape isn't via weddings - it's using another mechanism, about which I want to elaborate: the Siyum feast.

You see, Judaism is heavily structured about learning and studying. Our books, written throughout the ages, our our holiest possessions. And so, it is said in Midrash Rabah on the Song of Songs that from the feast king Shelomo (Solomon) made right after his dream we learn that one should make a feast after finishing the Torah - likely because he asked for wisdom, it's as if he just studied the entire Torah or something. Anyway, that developed in what is known today as the Siyum (meaning finishing) Feast: every time someone finishes studying a book - usually one of the 37 Babylonian Talmud tractates, though a tractate of the Jerusalem Talmud or an Order (a collection of tractates, of which there are six) of Mishnah can also count - they gather around as many people as possible, hopefully at least 10 men (a Minyan). They then read out and explain the last paragraph of the book they've studied, sometimes talk a little on thoughts they had while studying it, and then they read out a couple of prayers: telling the book that as they repeat it, it will repeat them (don't ask, it's kind of weird) and that as they remember it it will remember them, both in this world and the next. Then they ask G-d to make the Torah pleasant for us to study, so that us and all our descendants will keep studying it; then they thank G-d for putting them among those who study the Torah. Lastly, they ask that like they finished this book, they could go on to study more of them. After that they say the Resurrection Kaddish and start eating. Though some people start the eating way earlier.

In case you were wondering, yes, it's a whole ceremony - but not a long and tedious one, really, it's mostly relatively short prayers, really. The Kaddish requires ten adult men to recount it, which is why they are needed. 

There's technically a slightly different text for finishing a book of the Tanakh. In addition, one can say a similar text on other religious books that weren't listed. Still, traditionally it's a tractate of the Talmud.

In a way, the holiday of Simchat Torah - the day everything went south for the State of Israel - is just a very large Siyum. You see, every year we read the Pentateuch, divided to 53 portion - with one being read every Shabbat (Saturday), every week of the year. There are some derailing with Shabbats that are during holidays and calculations of reading a specific portion at a specific date, which all lead in the end to the next to last portion being read during the last Shabbat right before Sukkot (unless Yom Kipur is in Shabbat, in which case it's the previous one). The next time we read from the Torah in the regular order is Simchat Torah, and there is much joy during it - we dance with the scrolls of the Torah in the synagogue. We also read the begining of both the entire Pentateuch (Genesis) and of the Prophets (Joshua) - which serves to show both the cycle of studying and repeating and continuing studying farther. Which leads me to another, somewhat less common tradition - of starting the next book you study during the event of the Siyum.

So, generally there are lots of Siyum Feasts during the day before Pesach, and most every firstborn goes to those - and this is why it'd be hard finding anyone practicing the fast.

So, that'll be it for now! I do still have more things I forgot to mention last time about Pesach, but I'm not going to say them right now. Be sure to check out the original SU if you didn't see it yet, for more information I likely won't repeat. Happy and Kosher Pesach to those who celebrate! To those who don't, have a good day!

So, I'm slightly depressed lately (only slightly), and I wanted to share two stories I thought of. Not stories I wrote, but stories I've gathered or read. 

I'm not going to give context, because there isn't much to it. If you somehow succeed in finding a logical context know that you're likely wrong, but I would love to hear what you thought of. Anyway, here they are (trigger warning - book burning, some references to suicide and general injustice):

The first is from around the first century to the Christian accounting. During the Roman rule over Judea, there were times they forbade on Jews to study the Torah. Rabbi Haninah ben Teradion (Haninah the son of Teradion) didn't care much for that and taught the Torah in public. The Romans decided to execute him in a somewhat creative way: they wrapped him with vines with a scroll of the Torah in his arms and set him on fire. To prolong his suffering, though, they took water-soaked wool and put it on his heart so that he won't die quickly. They say his students told him to open his mouth so that the flames would enter and kill him quickly; he replied that he who gave him his soul will take it. (Yeah, you have to open your mouth to talk, I know. Please activate your suspension of disbelief.) His students then asked him what he sees, and he replied: "scrolls burning, and letters floating in the air."

At some point later, his executioner asked him if he will get to heaven if he'll make him die quicker. Rabbi Haninah said it will, and swore on it, so the executioner took of the water-soaked wool and when Rabbi Haninah died he also jumped to the fire. A voice from the heaven then welcomed both Rabbi Haninah and his executioner.

Take what you will of this story. It comes from the Talmud, and I've actually read it all in one place - though it wasn't the Talmud, there are books that collect stories from the Talmud.

The second story is quite a bit later - at the middle of the 13th century, in Paris. I didn't read it from one source, I mostly heard of it from here and there.

Once upon a time there was a Jew who converted to Christianity called Nicolas Donin. He had a mission: to convince all Christians everywhere of the inherent wickedness of the Talmud and that it should be forbidden to study. It led, eventually, to a public trial and debate - between Jewish rabbis like Rabbi Yehiel of Paris and Rabbi Moshe of Coucy and Christian judges. In a Christian country in the middle ages.

Can you guess who won?

Anyway, after the debate has ended, there were brought twenty four wagons filled with copies of the Talmud - all hand copied, because the printing press didn't reach Europe yet - and all were burned in the middle of Paris, in Place de Grève (now known as Place de l'Hôtel de Ville). This marked the end of an era to Jews in France - if I ever get around to write about eras other than the Ahe of Enlightenment I might tell you about the Tosafot at some point. Rabbi Yehiel is said to have fled France to the holly land following this debate.

At the time, there lived a Jew in Germany, in the city of Rothenburg, called Rabenu Me'ir - often referred to as Maharam of Rothenburg. He was apparently a student of Rabbi Yehiel. When he learned of the event, he wrote a piyut - a religious poem, in this case a lamantation - over the burning of the Talmud. We say it every year at the ninth of Av to this day - it's called "Ask, o Burned One". 

Maharam of Rothenburg was later imprisoned by local authorities for unrelated reason and forbade the local Jews to pay too much ransom over him. He ended up dying in jail and a rich Jew had to ransom his body to get to bury him.

That would be it for today, thank you for reading and have a good day.

Happy birthday!

Why, yes, I do remember it's not your birthday. I don't remember when it actually is, so I chose to wish you today.

I actually did the same thing with Facebook when no older than how you were when you joined here.

Hello there!

No, I'm not General Kenobi. You, on the other hand, aren't Grievous; I think you're just a spambot.

I'm pretty sure you're a spambot.

So, remember that series of essays on the History of Judaism I wrote? Well, guess what? I just recalled it too! not only that, I actually wrote the next installment and published it! Here it is, it's about Modern Orthodox Judaism - the group I'd consider myself to be a part of.

For the previous parts about Haskalah, Reform and Ultra Orthodox, just click on the links!

Hopefully you'll enjoy it.

Hello! It's been a while, hasn't it. So, short reminder of what I do here: I write pieces about Jewish holidays, explaining their origins and traditions as much as I can remember at the moment, more or less. And now, we're getting close to exactly 12 Hebrew months since we started - which would be next Sunday! Yet, I still have one more holiday to talk about. It's special in various ways, but every holiday is so I guess there's no need to make a big deal out of it. So, anyway, the holiday of Purim!

Firstly, I'd like to answer the (unasked) question regarding how twelve months have pased and yet it wasn't a year. Lucky you, I talked about it a bit in the past here. But it appears I didn't elaborate on this specific point, so let's do that a bit: the Hebrew year is a lunar one, but there's a commandment on Pesach (Passover) that says it has to occur during the spring. So, for this reason, every two-to-three years there's an extra month in the Hebrew calendar. Incidentally, it's a double of the month we're currently at, called Adar. This year is a leap year, so we have this extra month - but the month's holidays are kept for the second of the two, which is why we're in this situation now. There's a reason for that, but this isn't our topic and frankly, has taken too much space as it is.

So, Purim! The last holiday in the Hebrew Bible, nicknamed the Last of Miracles (not commonly so, but still). The only holiday which story both starts and ends while the Jews are in exile. Technically the first of the Sages' holidays (its story predates Hannukah), but in the yearly cycle it comes after. Being a Sageic (is that a word?) holiday, you can bet it has a story - one we actually read during it, because the book documenting it did get canonized in the Hebrew Bible. So, say hello to the Book of Esther!

Our story begins with the Persian king Ahasuerus, commonly assumed to be Xerxes I. You see, he held a feast for over half a year-

groans

Oh, come on, it's not that's bad. That's how it's told in the Bible!

You can shorten it, though.

And I'm going to! I was about to do that when you interrupted. Rude.

Anyway, Ahasuerus had his feast for all his ministers and governmental workers for about half a year. Then he held a week long feast for all of the citizens in his capital. He became drunk, asked his wife to come so he can show her off, and when she refused he opted to get rid of her.

That's not shortened! And besides, what does all that have to do with Jews?

Fiiiine, I'll try actually making it short. You see, the Book of Esther is unique in multiple ways. Two defining features are: a. It's one of the only two books in the Hebrew Bible to not mention any of G-d's names. Literally, G-d is completely absent for the entirety of this book. b. It starts and ends with the deeds of a foreign king - Ahasuerus. And one of the most compelling explanations for that is that it wasn't written solely boy Jews for Jews; it was also written to sit in the bookcase of Persian history.

It's still mostly about the story of the Jews there - how incidentally a Jewish girl was picked to become queen; how Mordechai the Jew saved the king from an assassination attempt; how Haman the Agagite rose to power and decided to plan the first recorded genocide on the Jews (unless you count Pharaoh's, I guess) as a petty revenge over Mordechai not bowing to him; and finally, how Haman - and later his attempted genocide and ten children - were rid of by a collaboration of Mordechai and Esther. That would be the short summary, the longer variation includes death sentences over various crimes, rules that can't be changed, regal horses and clothing, and one can't forget the feasts! And fasts, too. If you want the entire story, go read the Book of Esther. It's not that long and can easily be found for free on the Internet, here and here, for example (former is a Jewish resource, latter is Christian).

So woohoo, the Jews were saved from genocide! (And killed 75800 people who were supposedly attempting said genocide. All across the Persian empire.) That's... a pretty good cause for celebration. No questions asked, right?

Well, there are a couple before we get to the holiday practices and traditions. Those are: is this the only time Jews were saved from genocide? If not, why then don't we have other holidays celebrating similar things? What does "Purim" mean, and why is this holiday called that?

The answer to the first and second questions is basically that there were other averted genocides - and that they were celebrated. Honest! There was a time were every other Jewish community has its own Purim. Literally so, because it was often called this community's Purim. But in modern times, with so many Jews emigrating to specific centres, this practice all but disappeared. That is likely because most weren't as wide as the attempt at Purim to wipe the Jewish people off the Persian map. But what of the Holocaust? I hear you ask? Well, we... umm... weren't exactly saved from it. Also, it ostly hit Ashkenazi Jews - which isn't all that relevant, but still.

The third question is tricky, and not just because it's a double question. The first half is easy enough: Purim is the plural form of Pur, which the Book of Esther itself explains to be lot. So Purim means, essentially, lots. Now, I once read a book that asked this question and took a few chapters to answer it; I can't really do that here, so I'll give a short answer that is also related to G-d's absence: the story is full of coincidences. There is a huge miracle here - but it's hidden with the natural works of the Persian Empire. Purim, then, is the holiday when seemingly random chance - a lot - saved us. So it's called appropriately, while somewhat hiding that G-d's hand was in it.

So, it's time for practices and tradtions! First, there are two days during which Purim might be celebrated - the 14th of Adar for most places, every city that isn't walled since the time of Joshua/Shushan (in which the miracle occured, since it was the capital of the Persian Empire at the time), while the walled cities celebrate at the 15th. The original reason for that was... Well, remember the genocide I've mentioned? It had a date attached. It was supposed to occur (or at least start) during the 13th of Adar. Mordechai and Esther saved the Jews by sending a second decree that called the Jews to fight against the genocide-committers at this same day. When this day came around and the Jews killed 500 people in Shushan, Esther and the king talked for a bit, and Esther convinced him to give the Shushanki Jews an extra day for vengence. Or something like that. So, the Jews around the Persian empire rested at the 14th of Adar and made it a celebration, while in Shushan the Jews didn't get to rest until the 15th of Adar. The reason for the "walled cities" rule is slightly more vague and has a couple of explanations I don't want to elaborate on right now. This year, the days of the holiday are next Sunday and Monday. I live in Jerusalem, so I usually practic the later of the two, but since my Yeshivah isn't in a walled city, I'm celebrating both.

During whichever day you celebrate, there are four major practices: reading the Scroll (=the Book of Esther), handing money to the poor, giving each other food (kind of a reverse trick-or-treat) and last but not least: feasting!

To try not to derail much, I'd say that according to the Talmud tractate for the holiday (it has one, unlike Hannukah) - those practices are paired with each other. The food sent should be served as part of the feast, and the poor wair for the Reading of the Scroll to receive their money. The reading occurs twice - once in the night before (since Hebrew calendar days begin with sunset) and once in the morning. The feast has to be during the day - not that it stops people from feasting during the night as well. There are certain definition for how much food/money to give your friends/the poor, but I don't have the willpower to elaborate on that.

The holiday has a couple of traditions, and honestly - I'm bound to forget something. For example, I didn't find a place yet to talk about the fast the day before Purim - at the 13th - which is practiced early this year since it occured during Saturday and we don't fast during Shabbat. And by "early" I mean "right now" for me, so excuse me if my hunger gets the better of me. This day is called "the Fast of Esther" - likely after the time Esther fasted three days before coming to see Ahasuerus. The reason for the fast might be to commemorate that - but this fast actually occured during Nissan (the next month), so this connection is a bit dubious. Some claim that during the fighting the Jews fasted - presumably the ones who didn't fight, becuase it's not a great idea otherwise. It has all the regular fast practices like the 17th of Tamuz, the Gedaliah Fast and the 10th of Tevet, though it's the least important of the six yearly fasts - supposedly you're allowed to eat if your eyes hurt. It's in some ways the flimsiest of the fasts - outside of the Fast of Firstborns, which I only mention here as a random tease and will likely never bring up again.

Also, going with the traditions that are more well based, we read from the Torah at Purim from Exodus 16 (I think) - the War with Amalek, due to the tradition that Haman was an Amalekite - a descendant of Agag, the king of Amalek at the time of King Shaul (Saul). We don't say Tachanun during Purim, but we don't read the Hallel either - the reading of the scroll sort of replaces that. There are also some other traditions going with the Shabbats around Purim, but I don't think I can push it here.

But now, let's get to the meat of it. Because if you ask the average Jew, when they hear Purim they don't think of reading the Scroll. Most of them will think of two things: getting drunk and wearing costumes. The getting drunk part derives from the feast, but it's kind of an expansion on that. The Talmud is what actually brought it up - one Amora (a sage of the Talmud) said that every Jew has to get so drunk in Purim that he couldn't tell the difference between cursing the villain and blessing the hero of the Book of Esther. This is paraphrasing, but this is the gist of it - or, well, being unable to tell the difference between the hero and villain themselves is more the gist of it. So... yeah, people get very drunk. Some people (such as myself) lean more on softer interpretations, like drinking until you sleep (maybe drinking and then sleeping is enough?) or drinking just a little more than you're used to (which isn't much, in my case).

The costume tradition has much, much less basis. I honestly don't know of evidence it even existed over 500 years ago. It's still surprisingly old, though - it's mentioned in a halachic book from 500 years ago. You could say it's copying Hallowe'en, but it's not very close to it in the yearly cycle. There are a couple of explanations for that - including the idea it's part of the flipping theme of the holiday. Which exist, because "on the day during which the enemies of the Jews hoped to rule over them it was reversed." (Esther 9, 1). So everything is flipped. Kind of. An additional point I forgot to mention that is tangentially related is the fact the Talmud stated: "once the month of Adar [during which Purim occurs] starts - happiness shall be added" (rough translation, it's kind of hard to translate). In modern day, it means that the somewhat topsy-turvey atmosphere of Purim is expanded to the two weeks before it - though TBH, I think it's most apparent in schools, where a Purim Rabbi is appointed to say a humurous sermon (so to speak, I honestly am having a hard time finding good terms). Or, well, sort of - I'm not sure I've ever seen a prooper Purim Rabbi, but I've heard quite a few Purim Torahs, which is the term for such a humurous sermon. There's also the "turning the entire school into something else" day, having special rules temporarily added to the school charter, having an equivalent of Secret Santa only with mostly food, parodying teachers, and the obligatory "come to school in a costume" day. And we've circled right back!

In addition to wine and other alcoholic drinks, Purim has its own trademark food. The Hamantash(TM) is a triangular pastry, usually filled with poppy seeds or - if you're slightly saner - chocolate. It's known as 'Ozen Haman (lit. Haman's ear) in Hebrew, since there's a rumor that the holiday's villain had triangular ears. Maybe they were even full of poppy seeds! Anyway, some claim that Hamantash(TM) are actually named that because they're poppyseed pouches, and the Yiddish word for such a thing would be montash - with the Ha- added as the Hebrew equivalent of the defining article (the o and a sounds tend to be swapped for each other among Ashkenazi Jews sometimes. Long story, this isn't precise but I don't have the willpower to elaborate right now). This is, obviously, heresy, and we will bear no such thing said regarding the Hamatashen(TM). There is also an annual debate in the Univesity of Chicago whether the Hamantash(TM) or the latke is the superior food. The actual answer is obvious (it's the Hamantash(TM), as long as it's filled with chocolate), and yet they keep debating. At least they enjoy it.

There's also a tradition to make noise every time Haman's name is read in the Scroll, which led to the marvelous line of toys that have no purpose other than making noise appropriately called noisemakers. I may have forgotten some other things that are still relevant - if you note such things, feel free to inform me. 

Sadly, this year I didn't find the time to make myself the costume I wanted, so I'm going to wear an old Johnnie Walker costume of my father's - ironic, since I myself don't drink Whisky. 

Short version of all of the above: during the time of the Persians they tried to kill us. They didn't succeed due to some political maneuvers and heavenly help (which isn't really mentioned). It was, in fact, reversed back on them. Let's celebrate!

Anyway, have a happy Purim! I may or may not continue this series in order to round off all the bits I skipped. I also may or may not try to record those things and upload them to YouTube - it's something I've considered, but I know nothing about video editing. So I'll guess we'll have to see if and where you're going to see me next!