What The Dog Saw

I got this from Wikipedia:

“Solomon Maimon was born Shlomo ben Joshua in the town of Zhukov Borok near Mir in the Grand Duchy of Lithuania…He was recognized as a prodigy in Talmudic studies. His parents fell on hard times, and betrothed him to two separate girls in order to take advantage of their dowries, leading to a bitter rivalry. At the age of eleven he was married to one of the two prospects…At the age 14 he was already a father…Later he learned some German from books and walked all the way to Slonim, where he met a rabbi named Shimshon ben Mordechai of Slonim who had studied in Germany. He borrowed German books on physics, optics and medicine from him. After that he became determined to study further.”

The post goes on to describe his remarkable life and his tireless search for the truth. Without a doubt, he was one of the great Jewish geniuses of the early modern era. He was also a total jackass. But more on that later.

He took the last name of Maimon to honor or perhaps even coopt Rambam. And who could blame him? After all, from Moses to Moses, there were none like Moses. Maimonides’s greatest achievement was probably his “Mishnah Torah”, in which he enumerated all the great controversies in the Talmud and pronounced the correct position. There was some pushback to this work.  It seems that Rambam had breached rabbinical etiquette somewhat by not listing dissenting opinions, and you know touchy our sages can be.

Solomon Maimon was more interested in Rambam’s “Moreh HaNevukhim”, known in English as “The Guide for the Perplexed.” This remarkable work attempted to reconcile philosophy with Judaism. I am hardly an expert, but Rambam presents many troubling anthropomorphic images in the Torah as convincing, rational metaphors. Now, I don’t know if the Guide gets much attention in yeshivas these days, but it seems that young Talmud students in the 1700’s read it with furtive fascination, almost the way any of us would have read Mad magazine: at night, under the covers with a flashlight. And when Maimon was a young man, the Jews in Berlin expelled him from the city after learning that he was writing a commentary on the Guide. They didn’t want this freethinker anywhere near them.

Jews being Jews, poor Solomon was not the only outsider being dissed by the rabbis. The establishment was also quite suspicious of a new ecstatic mystical movement. Today, the Orthodox world has come to accept, or at least live with, Chassidism. Back then, it was another story entirely. After all, who were these unlearned, boisterous lowlife anyway? They didn’t study Torah, barely kept the commandments, and were just so damn loud. What, with their miracle workers, wonder rabbis, and tzaddikim, it was all too much.

Chassidism has changed greatly since its inception. Since this was all before YouTube and TikTok, we don’t have a clear picture of the early movement. Thankfully, Maimon recorded an eyewitness account of his encounter with the Maggid of Mezritch and some of his adherents in his autobiography:

“At last I arrived at M-----, and after having rested from my journey I went to the house of the superior with the notion that I could be introduced to him at once. I was told, however, that he could not speak to me at the time, but that I was invited to his table on Sabbath along with the other strangers who had come to visit him…Accordingly, on Sabbath I went to this solemn meal, and there found a large number of respectable men who had gathered together from various quarters. At length the great man appeared, his awe-inspiring figure clothed in white satin. Even his shoes and snuffbox were white, this being among the Kabbalists the color of grace. He greeted each newcomer with ‘Shalom.’ We sat down to the table, and during the meal a solemn silence reigned. After the meal was over, the superior struck up a solemn inspiring melody, held his hand for some time upon his brow, and then began to call out, Z----- of H-----, M----- of R-----, S. M. of N-----,’ and so on. Each newcomer was thus called by his own name and the name of his residence, which excited no little astonishment. Each as he was called recited some verse of the Holy Scriptures. Thereupon the superior began to deliver a sermon for which the verses recited served as a text, so that although they were disconnected verses taken from different parts of Scripture they were combined with as much skill as if they had formed a single whole. What was still more extraordinary, every one of the newcomers believed that he discovered in that part of the sermon which was founded on his verse something that had special reference to the facts of his own spiritual life. At this we were of course greatly astonished…”

Maimon was impressed by what he saw, saying that the Chassidim were “closer to correct ideas of religion and morals” than those he was taught in cheder. Nonetheless, he ridiculed their enthusiasm and thought they were being manipulated by the Maggid.

Maimon’s story about his stay with the Chassidim is interesting on so many levels, but one aspect struck me deeply, as I’m sure it has all of you. That part about his listeners feeling that he reached into their souls. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but that’s exactly what happens every time I give one of these talks. It’s uncanny. So I became determined to emulate Maimon’s Maggid and weave some random thoughts together into a beautiful, cohesive whole. But where to start?

And that’s when the Almighty got involved and sent me a messenger. Now, I’m quite used to divine revelations. Indeed, KBH texts me quite frequently. But I was surprised by the choice of courier. Usually, it’s the prophet Elijah. This time, it was the prophet Ezekiel, you know, the one with all those whacked out visions.

Did I say I was surprised? I was stunned. I said: “Zeke, is it really you? Or is this a flashback to one of my youthful acid trips?”

He assured me that it didn’t matter and handed me a book, “What the Dog Saw and other adventures” by Malcolm Gladwell. “Use this as the basis for your next post. I’m sure you can weave together these stories with stuff you read about Jewish history, and it will be fantastic.”

The book seemed interesting. It was a series of essays that challenged received wisdom and common sense. Still, I didn’t think I could pull it off. This sort of material just wasn’t in my wheelhouse. But Zeke would have none of that, and showed me this acclimation from the front of the book, by Amanda Heller of the Boston Globe:

“What makes Malcolm Gladwell so extraordinary is his ability to focus on any topic from the arcane to the apparently banal, research it with shrewd intelligence and wholehearted engagement, then weave in other thoughts and themes that may seem unrelated until he subtly illuminates their relevance. The result is unfailingly riveting.”

To be sure, those same words could have been written about me. I still had doubts about it, but before I could say anything, Zeke took off in his chariot.

I resolved to give it my best shot. Although the book was cool and I learned a lot, the topics were not amenable to my incisive wit and shrewd analysis. Indeed, the book deserves a review by someone with more practical inclinations than I possess.

Which is not to say that some of the items didn’t come close. For example, there was an article titled “John Rock’s Error – What the Inventor of the Birth Control Pill Didn’t Know About Women’s Health,” and another titled “The Picture Problem – Mammography, Air Power, and the Limits of Looking.” These cover some intricacies of the female anatomy that a knuckle dragger like me would never think of. Women frequently complain, with great justification, that they’ve been overlooked by scientists who limit testing and research almost exclusively to the male body. I read in a different source about a clinical trial of a drug with potential to treat ovarian cancer that only included men as test subjects. For what it’s worth, there probably was a legitimate rationale. Try telling that to someone wearing a bra.

But Gladwell did not delve into those sorts of inequities. Rather, he explained just how complicated all that reproductive machinery is and how dangerous it can be for the ladies in our lives. Whatever Jew thought up that business about thanking the Almighty that he was not born a woman clearly knew what he was talking about. When you get home tonight, make your wife some tea.

Then there was this: “True Colors – Hair Dye and the Hidden History of Postwar America.” At first blush, that struck me as superficial, even frivolous. But it turned out that there’s a lot to learn from how the marketing of beauty products has changed over the decades. Look closely enough, and you’ll see how June Cleaver evolved into Sally Ride. My older brother and I both attended Rutgers College. When he started, it was the last year that the school was all men. When I got there six years later, it was the first time most freshmen were women. Pretty soon they won’t need us at all.

Indeed, this was great material. I just finished “On Being A Jewish Feminist.” It was edited by Susannah Heschel and was chock full of awesome articles by a slew of women and two guys on, well, being a Jewish feminist. You’d think this would be an easy layup for me, a gimmie, or even a hanging curve ball – choose your metaphor. The essays included “The Jew Who Wasn’t There: Halakhah and the Jewish Woman,” “Women and Power in the Federation,” and “Scenes from the Life of a Jewish Lesbian.” There were some more cryptic titles: “The Noah Syndrome” and “The Lilith Question.” Indeed, the post should write itself. But try as I may, I couldn’t summon my muse: no striking parallels, no surprising contrasts, not so much as a single bon mot. I was crestfallen.

But I determined to press on. I didn’t want to let Zeke down.

There was “Blowing Up – How Nassim Taleb Turned The Inevitability Of Disaster Into An Investment Strategy,” “Open Secrets – Enron, Intelligence, And The Perils Of Too Much Information,” and “Dangerous Minds – Criminal Profiling Made Easy.” Anyone of these, as well as all those I’m not mentioning, asks important questions, and could give rise to penetrating discussions. Still, the words didn’t flow. I was ready to give up.

But then, I came across this: “The Ketchup Conundrum – Mustard Now Comes In Dozens Of Varieties. Why Has Ketchup Stayed The Same?” Now, my son, you know, the one who works at NASA, says that there is more than one flavor of ketchup. Perhaps he’s right. But don’t you see? This Gladwell essay provides the key to understanding the most esoteric and obscure corners of our scripture.

Don’t get it? As per Shulcloud, there are four levels of understanding in the Torah, each deeper than the one before. First is the “p’shat”, the plain and simple meaning of the words; then, “remez”, the subtle meaning that is only hinted at; penultimately is “drash”, the derived and scholarly meaning; finally, there’s “sod”, the mystical meaning.

It doesn’t stop there. There’s gematria, in which you take the numeric values of words, apply some fancy arithmetic, and come up with interpretations that would have blown them away at Yavneh. In a similar vein, some folks count the little serifs on the letters in a Sefer Torah to uncover even deeper revelations. I can only imagine what ChatGPT and other forms of artificial intelligence will come up with. And, of course, there is midrash.

I’m ambivalent about midrash. It can be very interesting, even inspiring. But, and this may be my inner ignoramus talking, sometimes it seems that some sage is pulling something out of a divine orifice.

For example, we all know that Moses fled from Egypt, tarried a bit in Midian, saw the burning bush, returned to liberate Israel, ten plagues, splitting of the Sea of Reeds, Ma Nishtana, yada yada yada. That’s all in Sh’mot, the Book of Exodus. But I read this in Louis Ginzberg’s “Legends of the Bible.” It seems that after Moses offed that Egyptian, but before he met Jethro’s daughters at the well, he took a right turn, ending up somewhere in Africa. He ran into a tribe that was so impressed that they declared him king. The midrash goes onto describe his stay in intricate detail.

Watermelon! Tartar Sauce! Farkleberry! I did not know what to make of this. Fortunately, a learned scholar of my acquaintance was able to explain this to me in small enough words that I could follow. This story dates shortly after the very first Chanukah. The Maccabees, more commonly known as the Hasmoneans, had just kicked Antiochus’s butt and established their own kingly dynasty. But these guys were Kohanim. They weren’t from the House of David; they weren’t even from the Tribe of Judah. As you can imagine, this dissing of prophecy did not sit well with the rabbis. The family of Mattathias needed a bit of legitimation, hence Moses’s reign in Africa was retrofitted into tradition.

And there we are. It’s got to be the ketchup.

Not following me? Okay, I’ll drill down into the weeds.

In the beginning, there was only one mustard, and it was without form and void. Nonetheless, the market was dominated by French’s Classic Yellow Mustard. There was also Gulden’s, but how different was that anyway? Then, in an inspired bit of product differentiation, Grey Poupon came onto the market with a clever advertising campaign, and that’s all she wrote. Go into any supermarket these days, and you’ll find Dijon mustard, honey mustard, hot mustard, Creole mustard, horseradish mustard; need I go on?

When they tried to do the same thing with ketchup, it fell flat. Gladwell gave an explanation that involved flavor chemist jargon, and I didn’t really follow. Hence, our hamburgers must make do with plain old, tried and true sauce American. So there!

Still not making any sense? Let’s give it one more shot.

The afore-mentioned learned scholar of my acquaintance was kind enough to let me read his unpublished book, “The (Attempted) Murder of Isaac, Draft 6.” It was quite a page turner. I’m limiting myself to an overview of this work – I will only present a few small details that I already knew.  If this is not enough, you’ll have to wait until the movie comes out.

The author has produced an eye-opening look at the few verses that make up the Akedah, the Binding of Isaac. Using source criticism and midrash, he gives us a peek at the great variety of meanings that have been read into this seminal episode of our people. We also get important historical context, explaining why our ancestors came up with these interpretations when they did.

Let me take you back to my days in Hebrew school. One day, the teacher explained the great joy Abraham felt when commanded to sacrifice his son. Indeed, he didn’t want to share this mitzvah with anybody. Although he had many servants, he insisted on handling all the preparation himself, from chopping up the wood to saddling the asses.

And Isaac – he kept telling his dad to make the ropes tighter, holding his neck out to make it easier for Abraham to do the deed.

And whoomp, there it is! Straight forward and clean. Think of it as plain old mustard.

But what if we mix it up just a bit? A few weeks earlier we had learned about Sodom and Gomorrah. Didn’t Abraham have the audacity to argue with the Almighty, demanding mercy for complete strangers? Why couldn’t he have spoken up that way for his son? In other words: “Pardon me, do you have any Grey Poupon?” And then it would be on to numerous other insights: Dijon midrash, honey midrash, hot midrash, Creole midrash, horseradish midrash – many of these covered in “The (Attempted) Murder of Isaac.”

Of course, I wouldn’t dare ask anything like that, even if I had thought of it at the time. And if I did, he would have responded with a paternalistic: “You’ll understand that when you’re older.” But who am I kidding. It’s more likely he would have channeled W. C. Fields: “Get away from me boy, you bother me.” Some people insist on only one flavor of ketchup.

I recently finished reading “In The Year 1096: The First Crusade and the Jews” by Robert Chazan. He discusses how the Binding of Isaac had special meaning for the survivors of that period. Indeed, they believed that Isaac was killed and subsequently brought back to life. Hopefully, their own communities would get the same treatment.

“The (Attempted) Murder of Isaac” refers to the Jewish victims of the crusade but mentions nothing of this tidbit from Chazan’s book. A glaring omission, but hopefully one that will be corrected in Draft 7.

I don’t fault Maimon in his search for truth. But as America’s ex-mayor says: “Truth isn’t truth.” And as Stephen Colbert put it: “Facts have a well-known left-wing bias.”

So, why do I think Solomon Maimon was a jackass? I barely know where to start. As a teenager, he started to delve into secular studies, or as the sages put it, external knowledge, in earnest. I have mad respect for that. Today, you can reach a world full of subjects with a few clicks on Amazon. In his time and place, such books were quite rare, and he had to scrounge around every bookshelf he could find. At some point, I believe at 21 years of age, he left the shtetl to pursue his education in the big wide world. In doing so, he abandoned his wife and kids without leaving so much as a forwarding address. Sounds bad? Well, sure. But let’s put a pin in that for now.  I’ll circle back in a bit.

Sometime after being booted out of Berlin, he wandered around, tattered, dirty and hungry. He had pretty much given up hope when he found himself in a Jewish neighborhood and threw himself on the ground, screaming and crying for help. The good people came to his aid, and when they learned he was a Talmud scholar, they fed him, cleaned him up, and hired him as their rabbi.

Now, these Jews could be quite superstitious, as were many East European Ashkenazim. Their shul had a set of deer antlers over the door, and the locals believed that anyone who touched them would die instantly. Maimon, ever the rationalist, tried to dissuade them from this belief. I’m not thrilled with the way he went about it. Rather than engaging in a respectful discourse, he rather flamboyantly told them just how stupid and backward they were, grabbing the antlers without dying. After this display of tact, I suppose the rabbi and the natives grew disenchanted with each other, and Maimon moved on.

He went back to Berlin, but he was still flat broke. He had no food to eat, no place to stay, and certainly no money for tuition. But he was in luck. At that time, there were several wealthy Jews who were happy to provide for provincial yokels who wanted to learn a secular profession like law or medicine. And they extended a hand to Maimon. But you know how these rich people are: they expect results in return for their patronage. They assumed that the young men would take up an occupation through which they could return the favor by paying it forward to the wider Jewish community. But this was not what Maimon had in mind. He refused to settle on a profession and was entirely focused on his pursuit of truth. Maimon had rejected the culture of the Beth Midrash in which the greatest minds were supported to study and think great thoughts, but he still expected the secular world to support him to study and think great thoughts.  This caused his relations with his backers to sour somewhat.

But let’s get back to his blowing off his family. Usually, I’m hostile to deadbeat dads, but Maimon’s situation was a little different. When we think about child marriages, young girls marrying much older men is what usually comes to mind. But Maimon was only eleven years old, and any bride’s family wanted the status that came with having a scholar as a son-in-law. Think of it as “Keeping Up with the Steins.” He certainly wasn’t expected to contribute financially to the household. So, his taking off was still bad, but it's almost understandable.

But it did leave his wife as an agunah, a chained woman, unable to go on with her life. A few years later, she caught up with him and asked for a get, a bill of divorcement. He refused. I’ve read speculation that he might have still hoped for a reconciliation with the wife of his youth. Again, not good, but I’ve heard worse.

Several years after that, she caught up with him again, and this time dragged him in front of a rabbinical court. He was castigated and urged to free his wife, but Talmudic scholar that he was, he called the rabbis a bunch of losers and told them that they could grant the divorce by themselves. I’m not sure how he made his case, but the rabbis stood firm and so did he. A few days after the court adjourned, having acted out and shaming the mother of his children, he relented and gave his wife a get. But great googly moogly – I give this a 9.7 out of 10 on the jackass scale.

I want to say a few words about the Heretic’s Blessing, which is the 19th of the 18 benedictions we chant during the weekly Amidah. We praise the Almighty for humbling the arrogant. There are several explanations for why it was added. Perhaps it was used to weed out Jewish Christians. Or maybe to shame informers. Most colorfully, it was a way of flipping the bird at apostates standing at the door of the shul taunting worshippers inside. When I say it, however, I’m pointing directly at myself. I could use a little humbling, with all this faith I have in my own rectitude.

When Stephen Colbert roasted George W. Bush at the Correspondents Dinner, he praised the president’s consistency by saying, and I’m paraphrasing: “He believes the same thing on Wednesday that he believed in on Monday, no matter what happened on Tuesday.” It is surely no help for the body politic that we are all so sure of ourselves. We’re told repeatedly that we’re doomed because we can’t agree on facts, but it’s much worse than that. We can’t even agree on vocabulary. If someone disagrees with us, he must be a vicious liar. But as Humpty Dumpty presciently said in Lewis Carrol’s “Through the Looking-Glass”: “When I use a word, it means just what I choose it to mean—neither more nor less.”

Which is not to say that there aren’t plenty of lies floating around. Who knows, perspectives change. Perhaps the Orange Moses will be remembered as even greater than he thinks he is. I won’t say that stranger things have happened, because they have not. But hope springs eternal. And Carthage must be destroyed.

Now, go and study.