The Evolution of the Torah

Since the moment God bequeathed the written law to Moses, the leader of the Jewish people, on top of Mount Sinai, the Torah has been the epicenter of the Jewish faith, specifying Halacha (Jewish law) and facilitating the struggles of quotidian Am Yisrael (the Jewish people). As the years went by, Torah SheBichtav (the written Torah) began to be interpreted by Am Yisrael in order to adapt to the times and the societies in which they lived—this became known as the Torah SheBaalPeh (oral Torah). Both aspects of Torah are essential to the continuation of Am Yisrael, each one enabling the other to survive, the unchanging Torah SheBichtav and the perpetually growing Torah SheBaalPeh combining to shape Jewish life into a modern, yet traditional culture.

About 1500 years after Moses was given the written Torah, Am Yisrael began to organize the Torah SheBaalPeh, which was accumulating over centuries into a collection of commentary: the Mishnah. This was a result of the vast amount of oral tradition needing to be passed down, the inability to pass it down orally, and the fear of oral law being extinguished in the case of a disaster—such as the failed Bar Kochba revolts, in which nearly all of the Jews in the area known as Judah were murdered. The result of writing down the oral Torah was that Am Yisrael came to take the commentary as Halacha, the benefits of this being the adaptation to modern society that the interpretations enabled. As time went on however, the belief in oral law became so prominent, that it began to take over authority from Torah SheBichtav, a scenario never meant to occur.

The written Torah was always supposed to take precedence over any other forms of commentary. The Mishnah was merely exposition from the rabbis on the Torah, with the real authority stemming directly from the scripture itself, given to Am Yisrael by God. The modern Reform Movement has taken Torah SheBaalPeh to a whole new level of importance, relying in most cases only on contemporary interpretations of the Torah. While beneficial in the fact that this creates a tolerance in the Jewish community, it also ignores our deep historical roots; Jews are people of the book, and the Torah contains rules that have governed Am Yisrael for millennia. For the Reform Movement to forsake these commandments now, the repercussions of such a drastic action could lead to far worse things than not following Halacha, in terms of being ostracized by the remainder of Jewry.

            It is essential as Jews to keep in our hearts Torah SheBichtav, our connection to the Israelites of the past, our forefathers. However, many aspects of the written Torah are no longer applicable in the slightest to modern day, begging the introduction of oral law into society. But cautious steps must be taken. To fully turn to Torah SheBaalPeh would mean disregarding its original basis, and as Jews we cannot resort to that. Instead we must utilize both, weave each of them into our lives so that we live in the present, but never forget our past.

Challah baking... who would've thought that such a simple thing could cause such a large debate? The issue of women being thought of as the bakers brings about an interesting scenario. Usually the roles are reversed, and it is the women who are frowned upon by society to step into a "men's line of work". However, to put aside the issue of gender discrimination and bias, challah baking is a Jewish custom, and while society should be open to any Jew practicing it, it has singled out only the women to be eligible. This should not be a gender issue, it should not be one at all, which is exactly the argument of many Jewish men who bake challah. Even gentiles are welcome to take part in this custom, and while it may not be as meaningful to them, they can still bake delicious bread, and withholding that would be depriving the rest of the world of a delicacy.

For the whole article, see below:
http://www.tabletmag.com/jewish-life-and-religion/198163/challah-and-the-men-who-bake-it

The weekend was full of nostalgia. After spending two nights back in the city where I had lived for half a year in 6th grade, every glance brought a moment of déjà vu or a recollection of what once had been and now has changed. Sarona market reminded me of distinct memories walking through Shuk HaNemal on the Tayelet, and just the sight of Shuk HaCarmel revived distant memories of spices and fruits wafting from the stands of the multitude of merchants. Walking down Tel Baruch beach and exploring Nachalat Binyamin, I took strange comfort in the fact that they were just as I remembered them.

The rest of the city however was an eye opener to me. I had not been aware enough when I was 11 years old to perceive what life was like for many Tel Aviv residents, I had merely turned an innocent eye. Especially two days after the Tayelet stabbings, I kept a watchful gaze on my surroundings. It was a much different feeling from the warmth and safety radiating from every Israeli that walked by me five years ago. Now there was an air of mistrust and caution that suffocated the warm sea breeze and settled over the land of Israel.

The Babylonian Talmud, the version of Tanakh, Mishnah, and Gemarrah commentary that is most well known today is influenced by many outside sources, including Roman traditions that found their way into the lives of our rabbis of old. Compared to the Jerusalem Talmud, the one created and redacted in Babylon contains laws of how to live as a minority—a tool essential to the Jewish people after the genocide of the Bar Kochba revolts in Judea. The Jerusalem Talmud is not as applicable to Jewish life after this time because it was made in a city where Jews had been the minority for many, many years.

A book by Richard Kalmin, Migrating Tales, contains historical evidence of the Talmud's creation, and the stories behind the narrative's travel and migration. The book accentuates the subtle details of historical times: for example how the rabbis acted as the leaders of the Jewish community, even though it is likely that there were other, more important political figures in power. Additionally, living in the midst of the Roman empire, it is no surprise that tradition and culture assimilated very fast into cultures, and that Rome became a melting pot of civilizations—many of which ceased to exist as a separate entity from Rome. It is miraculous that within these confines, a minuscule percentage of the population, being influenced by hellenism, Christianity, paganism, and other regional cultures, that we managed to stay our own nation of Israel, and that our teachings have survived to this very day.

http://marginalia.lareviewofbooks.org/here-there-and-everywhere-by-amit-gvaryahu/

Back in the swing of things after Gadna—the army experience at Sde Boker base that gave off such a surreal impression—spending a full week back in Kibbutz Tzuba seemed taken for granted. Reflecting on the short but sweet trip, the long and harsh seeming days at the beginning, and the ironically melancholy ending, I came to appreciate the freedom in our everyday lives. I can still remember the rigidly timed mornings, standing at attention in perfect form, running in two lines for ten seconds, and the air of respect that was present around the commanders. While shooting a military-grade M16 automatic assault rifle, I was intrigued, but the real fun came the following day when we had a field training exercise: covering our faces with mud, learning different variations of army crawling, doing the knife-walk, and working together as a team—I was totally immersed. As the buses pulled up the next morning to take us back to reality, I was relieved to be rid of the rigorous lifestyle, but as I now sit here in nostalgia, the stagnant air that is devoid of training camp bustle emanates indifference and does not fill me with the same appreciation for life that was present at Gadna.

The tomb of Ezra the Prophet—turned shrine by religious Iraqis—is a tangible example of Muslim and Jewish harmony in the midst of the Middle East's warring ways. Islam and Judaism are both monotheistic religions, their vast differences being contrasted with their similar central focus: " There has been so much war and strife between the two, but are they truly that different? Both hail Ezra as a quintessential historical figure, and many Iraqi sources are open to Jews visiting Ezra's tomb. Various Muslim Iraqi citizens have recounted fond memories of their Jewish neighbors prior to their exodus from Iraq, and tell the press they would be open to their return.

On the other side of the spectrum, the former Iraqi Jews felt unsafe in their homes—and for good reasons too. When they fled Iraq, their homes were left in their names, and many Iraqis wait for their Jewish neighbors to come home. While Jews and Muslims alike regard Ezra as an important prophet from their past, most Jewish symbols or signs showing their connection to Ezra have been stripped away from his tomb, leaving only a few subtle reminders of Judaism. The tomb remains a Jewish and Muslim holy place, but because of its location, the Jewish side of those coming to pay Ezra their respects or pray has dwindled to a negligible percentage when compared to Muslims. And so Ezra lives on in our memory.