Dear friend,

 

One should not violate the laws of Shabbat in order to vote. In both the USA and in Australia (where your email appears to originate) when elections are held on a day that a person cannot vote, including for religious reasons, alternate arrangements are available. The Australian government website voting FAQ notes,

Early voting is available for electors who are unable to vote on election day. This includes electors who for religious reasons are unable to vote on Saturday 14 September 2013. The dates for early voting are to be confirmed but commence soon after the declaration of nominations for candidates standing in the election during the election period.

 

Dear friend,

 

First of all, B'sha'ah Tovah ( may the birth be at a good time) - may your daughter be healthy and grow to a life of Torah, chuppah and maasim tovim (good deeds).

 

The essential answer to the quastion you ask turns outto be a simple, "Yes." 

 

The explanation is a little longer.  There is no limitation in the Torah or talmud on naming your child after a living person - in fact, as you may know from your clarification that you're following Ashkenazi tradition, Sephardim consider it an honor to name a child after a living relative, and their custom is to do so.

 

The two reasons most important for not naming after a living relative in the Ashkenazi custom are  -primarily, in my observation - the superstitious one: that naming after a living relative may cause a child to be taken by the angel of death rather than the elderly relative. The less well-known one is that according to halacha (Jewish law), since one ought not to belittle one's parents by calling them by their first name, naming a child after that grandparent or parent might cause the person to be dishonored by casual use of their name by a younger relative.

 

To satisfy the first matter, one need only avoid giving the exact same name ("Ava," rather than "Abraham," should be fine). To satisfy the second might be more problematic. Technically, your grandfather's name is not Ava, but if it is generally the name by which he is called, you may want to reconsider whether this will be a problem for the second point.

 

In that case, you might want to find a slightly different name, such as "Avigail" or something similar, and simply let your grandfather know that you're naming after him. However, if you wish, you may certainly name your daughter "Ava" and not be concerned, as it is a perfectly valid tradition in the Jewish world to name after a living relative.

 

 

 

 

This is a complicated question: Many people have stated that it is the obligation of Jews in the diaspora to counter "bad PR" about Israel. The difficulty comes in when we consider what that "bad PR" is: a great deal of it is not "public relations" at all, but genuinely bad things that happen in Israel due to political decisions of the Israeli government, or sometimes crimes and violence committed by certain groups of Israelis for political reasons.

 

Since the great majority of the "bad news" has a factual basis, from a religious point of view there are two conflicting values: the first is that there is a principle based in the talmud that it is forbidden for one Jew to inform on another. Strictly speaking, the prohibition is to inform on individual Jews to a non-Jewish government, and there are exceptions to this rule even early on, such as  that one who engages in conduct that endangers the community maybe informed on. In addition, there is some disagreement by modern commentators about how this applies in countries with a secular government which is not inherently oppressive of Jews.

 

There is a (for this matter, anyhow) somewhat related principle that one shouldn't commit a chillul haShem: in other words, one shouldn't cause others to think badly of the Jewish God. In terms of our current question, this principle has bent both ways. In one mindset, the idea has become that one should never say anything bad about one's fellow Jews, because it will cause others to think poorly of Judaism. However, the principle can also be faced the other direction; we'll see how in a bit.

 

Together, the two concepts have morphed from Jewish legal guidelines to a sort of folk idea of not creating a "shanda fer di goyim" -creating a shameful view of  Jews to non-Jews.

 

However, a second concept that must be taken into account is that of the obligation to rebuke. The Torah (Lev. 19:17) commands us, " You shall not hate your brother in your heart: you shall surely rebuke your neighbor, and not bear sin because of him."

 

In the talmud, there is a wonderful passage explaining this verse which states: "Whoever can prevent their household from committing a sin but does not, is responsible for the sins of their household; whoever can prevent the people of their city, is responsible for the sins of their city; if the whole world, one is responsible for the sins of the whole world."

 

If Israel is doing bad things, then we are obligated to try to stop them.

 

Finally, there is a further consideration about what it means to speak publicly in the modern world. Not so long ago, it was possible to keep information under wraps, more or less. Today, that is simply impossible. Technology and social media have made information freely available. The idea that, somehow, failing to speak about bad things that are happening will keep people from knowing about them is hopelessly naive. The average high school student has constant access to all sorts of information, 24 hours a day. Moreover, simply trying to counter serious problems by talking about good things to "balance" them is absurd. Does a new iPhone app counterbalance spitting on an 8-year-old?

 

To solve problems we must necessarily make it clear that we are aware of these actions and object to them. At the same time, we shouldn't forget the first part of the verse in Leviticus, "You shall not hate your brother in your heart."  Criticism must come from a place of love: we don't criticise to destroy, but to repair. However much it hurts, speaking out about extremism and violence is a necessary part of our relationship with Israel.

 

Trying to hide what's going on, either by not talking about it or by "countering" it with good news is more likely to be counterproductive than helpful. People already know what is going on. If we love Israel, then we are obligated to try and make sure that we do not hide the problems, but to the contrary, are very open that 1. we are working to try to fix these very real problems and do not regard them as things that we simply need to put a different spin on, and 2. that at the same time, we love Israel and care about Israel's people, who are our family.

 

By doing both of these things, we make it clear that Jews and Judaism are not monolithic; that we understand that there are problems that cannot be left to fester; that we also believe that these problems can be solved; that we believe that these problems should be solved peacefully and politically; that we are willing to put pressure on Israel to make the Israeli government act to address the problems, and that we fully support the continued existence of the state of Israel and that solving these problems is part of ensuring Israel's safety.

 

It's fine to talk about good developments that are coming out of Israel, and when it's appropriate we certainly should talk about them. At at the same time, we are doing no favors to Israel if we pretend that everything will be fine if nothing changes.  Is it painful to have to admit that there is a geat deal that needs to be fixed in israel? Yes, it is.  So I finish with a quote from the chasidic rabbi, Menachem Mendel of Kotsk: "The one who increases knowledge, increases pain (Kohelet 1:18). And what does this mean? It is worth it for a person to increase pain, provided that they increase knowledge as well."

 

 

 

In the very beginning of the Torah, in the very first chapter, we read a verse that seems to be permission for human beings to do whatever they wish with the world that we are given:

 

27. So God created man in His own image, in the image of God created He him; male and female He created them.

28. And God blessed them, and God said to them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it; and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over every living thing that moves upon the earth.

 

But in the Torah, things are not always as simple as that. In Judaism, one of the primary underlying themes, is that God gave us Torah in order to help us master ourselves. It is thus worth noticing that in the very NEXT verse, God limits human dominion over the animals – we are given only plants to eat, not animals:

 

29. And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed, which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, on which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be for food.

 

So, clearly from the very beginning, the meaning of ruling over the earth turns out to be not entirely carte blanche. After the flood, we were given permission to eat animals, but then it was only as a concession to human nature, and we, as Jews, were given a great many restrictions about how we could eat animals. The Torah in fact regulates not only the eating of animals, but how we treat them in our use of them in many ways. Here are a few selected examples (of many):

 

Animals that are working in the field must be permitted to eat freely (as are human laborers) from the field: they cannot be muzzled (Deuteronomy 25:4), we are obligated to relieve the suffering of a burdened animal – even if it’s owned by an enemy (Exodus 23:5). When animals are slaughtered, the process must be painless – if the knife contains even a small nick that might cause the slaughter to be painful, the meat is not kosher, and hunting for sport is forbidden. We are not even permitted to cause psychological pain to animals: one cannot take eggs from a nest without shooing the mother away, because she might be distressed, and it isn’t permitted to slaughter a mother along with her offspring on the same day, for the same reason.

 

The Spanish scholar and mystic Nachmanides (Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman 1194-1270) explains that the prohibition against slaughtering an animal and its offspring in one day is so that we should not have cruel hearts “or that the Torah should not permit us to destroy and uproot a species, even though [the Torah] permits ritual slaughter of this species. One who kills a mother [animal] and her children in one day or who takes them... it is as if he annihilates that species.”

 

Similarly, there are limitations to how humans are permitted to use the land. For example, during every seventh year, shmita, the land is not permitted to be cultivated: all agricultural activity—including plowing, planting, pruning and harvesting—is forbidden, and all are permitted to eat from whatever grows of itself, and this produce cannot be bought or sold. This period is called a Sabbath for the land. (Exodus 23:10-11, Leviticus 25:1-7). We are prohibited from cutting down fruit trees during time of war Deuteronomy 20:19-20– even those of an enemy city, even to actually besiege the city - because it is wantonly destructive.

 

From this prohibition is derived a more general prohibition called “bal tashchit” – do not waste/destroy. The late 12th century philosopher and scholar Maimonides explains further, that we are forbidden from being needlessly destructive in any way -" Whoever breaks vessels, or tears garments, or destroys a building, or clogs a well, or does away with food in a destructive manner violates the negative mitzvah of bal tashchit "you shall not destroy." (Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Laws of Kings 6:10)

 

The Sefer Ha-Chinuch, a thirteenth century text which explains the 613 mitzvot, focuses on the notion of training us to be ethical. “The purpose of this mitzvah is to teach us to love that which is good and worthwhile and to cling to it, so that good becomes a part of us and we will avoid all that is evil and destructive. This is the way of the righteous and those who improve society, who love peace and rejoice in the good in people and bring them close to Torah: that nothing, not even a grain of mustard, should be lost to the world, that they should regret any loss or destruction that they see, and if possible they will prevent any destruction that they can. Not so are the wicked, who are like demons, who rejoice in destruction of the world, and they are destroying themselves.” (Sefer Ha-Chinuch, Mitzvah #529).

 

You can see from just a brief overview that the Jewish view, far from allowing wanton waste and destruction, takes quite seriously the idea that it is our duty to treat the world with care, and furthermore, that the original statement that we have dominion over the earth is quite clearly not without restriction, but to the contrary, Jewish law is quite strong in its view that the earth is not ours to do with as we wish – rather, the earth belongs to God, “the land must not be sold beyond reclaim, for the land is Mine; you are but strangers resident with Me." (Leviticus 25:23) Our use of it is subject to our responsibilities to God, among which are our care for God’s creation. Thuis is made clear by a midrash, “"Look at My works! How beautiful and praiseworthy they are. Everything that I have created, I created for you. Take care not to damage and destroy My world, for if you damage it, there is no one to repair it after you."(Ecclesiastes Rabbah, 7:28)

 

Dear one,

At first my inclination was to answer just as my two colleagues did. Chaplains are assigned not according to faith, but by who is there at the time, and they are not supposed to proselytize, or even engage in any religion-specific activities (a Jewish chaplain can’t perform sacraments for Catholics for example). There is no bar to receiving the chaplain who is available at the time.

But then I wondered if there was something else that might be on your mind? I thought that perhaps you were expressing a worry that the patient might choose the non-Jewish chaplain to pray with, rather than the rabbi?

If so, there really isn’t a Jewish legal answer to this question. It strikes me that the worry here is less about whether it’s appropriate for a Jew to ask for a priest to pray with him, and more about a concern that a person might be led to become invested in another religion.  That could happen, of course. It’s not too likely in a hospital, because of the structures of chaplaincy that are put in place to prevent it, as both of my colleagues mentioned.  Nevertheless, the time to address this question is not when a person is in the hospital, but beforehand  -and afterwards.

If I were worried about a patient in my community whom I thought was vulnerable, I would make sure that the community – not just myself- was visiting that person and supporting them. Bikkur Cholim has a lot of power, and it shouldn’t be something done just by the rabbi. In addition, I would try to find someone that I thought would be able to relate to that patient – and that might not be me. It might not even be a rabbi.

If the nature of the illness is such that the person has suddenly started seeking answers to difficult questions, simply avoiding those of other faiths will probably not prevent them from that search. What we can do, is try to make sure that the questions and answers that Judaism offers are available to them. The second is to make sure that we’re answering their questions – and not our own.

In the Talmud, tractate Megillah 7b, Rava said, “A person is obligated livsumei on Purim until they do not know the difference between ‘cursed is Haman’ and ‘blessed is Mordechai’.” Rashi comments that livsumei means “to intoxicate oneself with wine.”

I have to admit, I have always suspected that what is really going on here is Rava making a play on words from Abaye’s previous comment that “Room can always be found livsima [–for sweets].” Nevertheless, the understanding of this passage has traditionally been that Rava understands each Jew to be obligated to get intoxicated on Purim with wine because several of the key events of Purim occurred during wine drinking parties (Vashti’s refusal to attend the king, Haman’s downfall, Esther’s ascendancy).

But the passage that immediately follows Rava’s statement is part of an alternate tradition that undermines the idea that one must drink. It is a short story that tells a story of two rabbis, Rabbah and Rabbi Zera. They shared a Purim feast and became drunk. Rabbah then got up and slew Rabbi Zera. The next day, Rabbah prayed for mercy and revived Rabbah. However, the following year, when Rabbah asked Rabbi Zera to come and feast with him again, Rabbi Zera declined, saying, “Not each and every time will a miracle occur.”

 This passage is cited in several places (the Ran, Baal HaMeor and the Meiri) as a refutation of Rava’s ruling, and that in fact, it is wrong to drink, although the Shulchan Aruch, the Rif and the Rambam all side with Rava’s ruling. Still, even amongst those who side with Rava, there are limitations.

First of all, Rambam and Rashi both seem to be saying that one may only drink wine to fulfill this obligation, and Rambam also (together with the Rama and several others) states that the amount of wine is only enough that one should feel sleepy and go to sleep (thus fulfilling the mitzvah of not knowing the difference between “blessed is Mordechai” and “cursed is Haman” – because one is asleep!). Others say that  the amount one should drink is only enough to cause confusion when singing a complicated song in which there are alternating verses of “blessed is Mordechai” and “cursed is Haman,” and the tosafot say, only drunk enough to have trouble working out the gematria (mystical-numerical representations) of these words. The end result being that even among those who think that one should drink, nearly everyone agrees that we’re not talking about a great deal of alcohol, and quite a few agree that even the type of alcohol should be limited to wine.

Certainly, however, alcoholics should not drink on Purim. There are significant numbers of sources who agree that one should not drink on Purim at all, and even among those who think that one is obligated to drink something, for an alcoholic, drinking endangers their own life and those around them, which is forbidden.

At first, I took this as a very straightforward halachic (Jewish law) question of how to do something, to which there was a very straight halachic answer (Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh Deah, Hilchot Kri’ah 320:21) which states that when there is a death, one performs kri’ah (tearing), and when it is followed by another death within the week, one tears again.

 

But then I realized that what was at stake was a slightly different question, the underlying question, which is indeed a values question: Originally, when one performed kri’ah – tearing- what one tore was one’s clothing. Over time, it has become the custom to tear, not one’s clothing, but a ribbon. This was done on the assumption that the clothing one was wearing was expensive to replace.

 

Today, most people attend funerals dressed in “good” clothing – what they would wear to work, rather than one’s street clothing, and it is more expensive than the sort of clothing one might wear on the street. However, in the time of the Shulchan Aruch, people might only own a few items of clothing; they made their own clothing, and clothing was expensive and laborious to produce. In some sense, the clothing might be considered to have been more valuable then. Of course, people would also mend their clothing when it became worn – or torn- and it was normal for people to wear clothing that had been mended. Today, it would be odd for anyone over the age of twelve to wear clothing that has been mended, and particularly one wouldn’t wear mended clothing to work – one would simply replace the item.

 

The question you ask – what to do about a ribbon which has been cut, comes because we have made the idea of kri’ah a purely symbolic act. Rather than an act of passion and grief – of rending one’s clothing in sadness at the time of hearing the news of the death and saying “Baruch Dayan Emet – blessed is the True Judge,” as we attempt to remember that God’s judgments are to be accepted- we have neatly separated ourselves from the death with a mere symbol of sadness.

 

What I would suggest is that we should discard this custom, and go back to actually rending our clothing. While business clothing is expensive, it is not really required for funeral clothing, especially the immediate family’s funeral clothing- to be business attire. To the contrary, we should consider wearing mourning clothing which are, while not sloppy, not necessarily the most expensive item in the closet. Rather we should consider wearing a less expensive item and actually tearing it in grief.

 

This would return us as mourners to people who are genuinely mourning, rather than separating us from the process of grief and the actuality of death by pinning on a mere symbol of mourning. After all, isn’t one's mother or father worth a $40 shirt?

 

You are right to be concerned. While the teacher may have found that there were breaches of tzniut (modesty), she had no way of knowing that ahead of time. In Judaism, we have a principle of “dan l’chaf z’chut” judging people towards the likelihood of their merit. Although the teacher surely meant well and was likely trying to protect her students from making mistakes that they might regret later, she was in the wrong to assume that there would be breaches that she could trick them into revealing by pretending to be someone else. Moreover, it is unclear why the teacher thought it would be her job (as opposed to a parent’s) to be policing such breaches.

 

Jewish law takes the notion of privacy exceptionally seriously. There are many commentaries emphasizing how very deeply the notion of privacy is embedded in Jewish society. Rashi comments on Numbers 24, verses 2 and 5, that the reason that Balaam, the gentile prophet praises Israel, “--"How fair are your tents, O Jacob, your dwellings, O Israel" (Numbers 24:5), is specifically because in the verse just a few lines earlier, "Balaam raised his eyes and saw Israel dwelling according to its tribes," what Balaam meant was —“He saw that their entrances did not face each other, so that one should not look into his neighbor's tent.” (Talmud Bava Batra, 60a, quoted by Rashi on commentary to verse 24:2).

 

The Talmud in Yoma declares that one should not disclose matters from even a casual conversation without explicit permission (Talmud Yoma 4b) and Rabbeinu Gershom (early 10th century) wrote a takkanah that “one should not read one’s friend’s letter,” which seems to me to apply to even media such as Facebook.

 

But even more explicitly related to our case, in the Mishnah (Bava Batra) there is a concept of “hezek r’ayah” – damage caused by looking - more idiomatically, "invasion of privacy" - which forbids a person to, for example, open a door across from a door or a window across from a window. Creating a casual way of glancing in at others’ lives that they might not wish you to see is, itself, a breach of tzniut.

 

While Judaism does view the teacher as a very important person in a student’s life – one who helps mold the soul of the student, and so is, in some ways, as important as a parent, I would suggest that it might be appropriate for the principle to discuss with the teacher whether she should be monitoring students out of school, and what an appropriate relationship with the students might be. Certainly if the teacher has concerns about what is going on between the students – mean girl behavior, for example, or posting inappropriate pictures of themselves, the teacher should speak to the parents about her concerns. She should not however, pose as someone she is not in order to spy on her students.