Hadran Alach!

As the rabbi of YIOP, each morning we would study two mishnayot after davening. Over the years, we covered much of shas, but never finished it, because I skipped Taharot, fearing it two esoteric and complicated to explain in a five-minute shiur.
When we made aliyah about five years ago, we had gotten to the middle of Moed (or somewhere thereabouts), and I decided to continue learning those two Mishnayot each day (6 days a week). This time I didn't skip Taharot, and with the help of some picture books (primarily for Oholot), this morning I finished Shisha Sidrei Mishnah for the first time in my life.
On one hand, I feel great. It's a wonderful accomplishment and a testament to the power of learning a little bit each and every day. At the same time, I'm a little bit embarrassed that it took me over forty years to finish Shas Mishnayot. (Mom, I blame you.)
At the same time, as I've blogged about earlier, I've been learning Mishnah Yomit with my second son since the cycle began in Berachot - and we're now well into Nezikin. And my eldest saw us learning and he decided to study four mishnayot a day, a torrid pace that brought him to complete Shas over Shavuot, a feat that gives me great pride. I'm much, much prouder about his siyyum than I am about mine.
I guess that's reason enough to feel good.

הדרן עלך ששה סדרי משנה.

דעתן עלך ששה סדרי משנה.

לא נתנשי מינך ששה סדרי משנה.

לא בעלמא הדין ולא בעלמא דאתי.

The Piece of Gemara Dr. Ruth Calderon Skipped

While the buzz has certainly died down following Dr. Ruth Calderon's moving Talmud shiur in the Knesset (now approaching 200,000 views), the issues that she raised continue to resonate, and form the fault line between the Chareidi political parties who refused to allow their young men to enter the IDF, and the current Bayit Yehudi-Yesh Atid alliance, which refuse to enter a Netanyahu government without a firm agreement to implement the draft for the vast majority of Chareidi youth.
To recap: Calderon read a story in the Gemara from Ketuvot 62b about Rav Rechumi, who would only return home once a year on Yom Kippur to his wife, and how one year, totally immersed in his study, he forgot to come home. When his wife finally shed a tear out of anguish and pain, the loft upon which Rav Rachumei was learning caved in beneath him, killing him. Calderon used the story as a warning against using the study of Torah as an excuse to legitimate the harming of others. She associated Rav Rachumei with the Chareidi world, which sits in its ivory tower, and his wife with the rest of Israeli society, bearing the brunt of his learning. (if you haven't seen the talk, you can see it here with English subtitles.)
It was wonderful drush, and a powerful message. But Calderon began her lesson without mentioning the beginning of the section of gemara. She essentially told only half the story. And the part that she left out paints a far more complicated, nuanced picture.
The Gemara that introduces the story deals with a husband's obligation to fulfill his wife's sexual needs - the mitzvah of onah. According to Jewish law, a husband must satisfy his wife's sexual needs on a regular basis, an obligation codified in Jewish law. How often? That all depends on what you do for a living (and, according to Rambam, on how many wives you have). The range that appears in the Mishnah (Ketubot 61b) ranges from daily (!) all the way to once in six months. But then the Mishnah adds,

התלמידים יוצאין לתלמוד תורה שלא ברשות שלשים יום

The students [may] leave [their homes] for the study of Torah without [their wives'] permission for up to thirty days.

That doesn't sound like too much. But the Gemara (on 62b) notes that many Torah scholars would stay away from home for far longer.

אמר רב אדא בר אהבה אמר רב זו דברי ר' אליעזר אבל חכמים אומרים התלמידים יוצאין לת"ת ב' וג' שנים שלא ברשות אמר רבא סמכו רבנן אדרב אדא בר אהבה ועבדי עובדא בנפשייהו

Said Rav Ada bar Ahava in the name of Rav, that [thirty day period] is the opinion of Rabbi Eliezer, but the Sages said that one may leave for the sake of Torah study for two or three years without permission. Rava said: the rabbis relied on the position of Rav Ada bar Ahava and practiced themselves according to his opinion.

To clarify: Halachah makes demands of a husband that requires a him to be home at least once a month, if not more often. But, on the other hand, serious Torah study demands that one leave home and study at the academy, often a great distance from home. Trying to study while juggling other responsibilities greatly diminishes the level of one's study.
How do you balance the two? Should a person choose his individual obligation, he cannot realistically grow in the way that he could by investing in exclusive Torah study for an extended period of time. On the other hand, what right does a person have to make the choice to abandon his own obligations towards others and leave his wife (and probably children) so that he can sit and learn?
And yet, that's exactly what the Sages did. That's also how they became Sages. They made difficult choices (the formulation in the Gemara is fascinating: "they themselves practiced according to his opinion"). The Gemara gives the impression that they didn't really ask anyone for permission - not their teachers, nor their wives. They understood that their choice may not have been ideal. Yet, they nevertheless left home, family, community and other obligations for two to three years at a time if not much more (see the famous story of Rabbi Akiva) all for the sake of Torah immersion.
It is with this background in mind that the Gemara relates the story of Rav Rechumei, and the difficult, tragic price he paid for the pain he inflicted upon his wife. The story doesn't condemn his choice. Chazal agreed with it. Many, if not most of them made similar decisions.
Yet, perhaps he went too far. Perhaps his error wasn't in the choice he made, but in his lack of sensitivity for and appreciation for his wife, and he sacrifices. Maybe, had he understood her pain, his story would not have ended in tragedy.

Ruth Calderon's Clarion Call

In what must have been the most important speech delivered from the podium of the Knesset in years (politicians don't really talk to each other any more; they talk at each other, and rarely, if ever convince each other using something as arcane as "argument" or "logic"), Dr. Rut Calderon, in her initial speech to the Knesset as a newly elected member of Yesh Atid, essentially turned Israel's legislative body into a short Gemara shiur.
It's a powerful, insightful, and important speech. If you haven't yet watched it, you should, and if you don't understand the Hebrew, you can read a translation here although watching it is much better, because you get a sense of her masterful teaching skills. (When she opens the book, she simply stops reading her speech, and begins to teach, instinctively and masterfully. You also immediately recognize that she knows her stuff; she knows not only how to read Gemara, but is intimately familiar with Gemara terminology and idiom. This isn't a one-off of some vort she heard. She's teaching from the inside.
And her choice of which section to teach was clearly picked to send a clear message to the Chareidi world: You can't just learn Torah in a vacuum. A true student of Torah cannot simply sit on the rooftop basking in the glory of his study. Rather, he must also account for how his learning affects others around him. She said this almost explicitly:

What can I learn about this place and my work here from Rabbi Rechumei and his wife? First, I learn that one who forgets that he is sitting on another’s shoulders – will fall. I agree with what you said earlier, MK Bennett. I learn that righteousness is not adherence to the Torah at the expense of sensitivity to human beings. I learn that often, in a dispute, both sides are right, and until I understand that both my disputant and I, both the woman and Rabbi Rechumei, feel that they are doing the right thing and are responsible for the home. Sometimes we feel like the woman, waiting, serving in the army, doing all the work while others sit on the roof and study Torah; sometimes those others feel that they bear the entire weight of tradition, Torah, and our culture while we go to the beach and have a blast. Both I and my disputant feel solely responsible for the home. Until I understand this, I will not perceive the problem properly and will not be able to find a solution. I invite all of us to years of action rooted in thought and dispute rooted in mutual respect and understanding.

Of course, the Chareidi condemnation came swiftly (short English summary here). How could they not see a Gemara-learning-secular-woman as a threat to their way of life, especially when her party's clear goal is to force the Chareidi community, by and large, to leave the Beit Midrash and "share the burden".
Yet, if that's all we take away from Calderon's speech; if all we see here is a political talk, then we're missing her primary audience.

Calderon began her talk by noting her secular upbringing, (it really was a masterful speech, crafted with great care and skill. And I'm pretty critical of such things) devoid of any spiritual or true religious content. Yet, she spoke of herself as an example of her entire generation.

The Torah is not the property of one movement or another. It is a gift that every one of us received, and we have all been granted the opportunity to meditate upon it a we create the realities of our lives. Nobody took the Talmud and rabbinic literature from us. We gave it away, with our own hands, when it seemed that another task was more important and urgent: building a state, raising an army, developing agriculture and industry, etc.

It's not that the Chareidim took the Gemara, or Jewish tradition, away from secular Israelis. We, she said, didn't want it. We had other things to do. But in building a powerful, advanced, strong state, we forgot about our souls,and built a secular state devoid of meaning, empty of spiritual and cultural richness.
The people of Israel vaulted Yesh Atid to prominence on the power of the slogan "Shivyon B'netel" - or "Sharing the burden equally." Yet, Calderon wasn't simply calling to the Chareidim to serve in the army and pay taxes. She does, of course, call for that. But she wants the sharing of the burden to go the other way as well.
She wants secular Israel to recognize that the Torah isn't just the possession of the Chareidi world. They too must "share the burden." They too must delve into the richness and depth of Jewish tradition, to make it part of their cultural identity.

I aspire to bring about a situation in which Torah study is the heritage of all Israel, in which the Torah is accessible to all who wish to study it, in which all young citizens of Israel take part in Torah study as well as military and civil service. Together we will build this home and avoid disappointment.

Calderon concluded her remarks by mentioning the passing of her teacher, the late Rabbi David Hartman, who she said, "opened up the doors of his beit midrash for me." With all the numerous eulogies commemorating the contribution Hartman made to the Jewish world, the Orthodox world has been curiously silent about his death. Personally, I've never studied any of his books, and am only vaguely aware of the institute that he founded decades ago. His life, and his passing, seemed unrelated to my life - or that of the Orthodox world - in any tangible way. That is, until I heard Calderon's talk.
Perhaps her talking about forcing the Chareidi world to "share the burden" scares them. But perhaps the other side of her talk scared them even more.
To my mind, we can only hope that Calderon has the vision, power and influence to turn her dream into a reality. While I might not agree with all of her conclusions about each text, that matters to me much less than the fact that she has the potential to bring Torah to the masses in an unprecedented way. (As of this writing, her talk/she has been viewed over 120 thousand (!!) times. When is the last time any Torah shiur of any kind had been watched that many times?)
I hope she succeeds.

The Bitter Tree of Life - Why Torah Study is Hard

During a recent meeting with a successful educational administrator in the United States, our discussion turned to one of the great challenges in teaching Gemara to day school students. Many American day school students, for lack of a better word, hate Gemara, and I can understand why. The text isn't even in the foreign language they don't really understand (Hebrew). Rather, the Aramaic makes it even more difficult. The classic text has no punctuation, and an internal logic that's quite difficult to grasp. But perhaps, most critically, students just don't connect to the material. In its best, most pristine form, Gemara is abstract, analytic, and esoteric - the opposite of the practical, "what's the bottom line" perspective prevalent among many students today. (I find the same phenomenon in many of my current students, who don't want to be bothered by the process of the development of a halachah, but instead just want to know what it means, or in their words, "what do I have to do"?)
In the end, teaching Gemara boils down to a simple question: how do you teach a difficult, complicated, confusion subject that students generally don't like?
The answer, I believe, is that you force them to study Gemara, just like you force them to study grammar, math, history, English - and every other subject whether they like it or not. And you force them to do it because you believe that's it's good for them, and that the struggle and hard work will ultimately prove worthwhile.
Torah study was never designed to be easy. The Mishnah in Pirkei Avot (6:4) succinctly states:

 כך היא דרכה של תורה, פת במלח תאכל ומים במשורה תשתה ועל הארץ תישן וחיי צער תחיה ובתורה אתה עמל, אם אתה עושה כן, (תהלים קכח ב): "אשריך וטוב לך". אשריך בעולם הזה וטוב לך לעולם הבא.

This is the way of the Torah: Bread and salt you shall eat, and drink water in small measure, and sleep on the ground and a life of pain you shall live as you toil in the Torah; if you do this, "Fortunate and good for you" - fortunate for you in this world, and good for you in the World to Come.

Sound enticing? It's interesting that we fail to highlight this point as we educate our children. You're not supposed to enjoy it; Torah study is toil; bread, salt and water. Sleeping on the ground. Truth be told, it doesn't really play that well in today's world. Suffering just doesn't sell today.
But that's the way it works - and has worked - from the very beginning, even before we received the Torah.
Following the euphoria of Kriat Yam Suf, the Jewish people immediately encounter the first of many existential challenges. There's no water, for a very simple reason. God didn't give them any. After traveling for three days without water, they finally locate a spring of water but find the water too bitter for consumption.

כג וַיָּבֹאוּ מָרָתָה--וְלֹא יָכְלוּ לִשְׁתֹּת מַיִם מִמָּרָה, כִּי מָרִים הֵם; עַל-כֵּן קָרָא-שְׁמָהּ, מָרָה.  כד וַיִּלֹּנוּ הָעָם עַל-מֹשֶׁה לֵּאמֹר, מַה-נִּשְׁתֶּה.  כה וַיִּצְעַק ה' וַיּוֹרֵהוּ ה' עֵץ, וַיַּשְׁלֵךְ אֶל-הַמַּיִם, וַיִּמְתְּקוּ הַמָּיִם; שָׁם שָׂם לוֹ חֹק וּמִשְׁפָּט, וְשָׁם נִסָּהוּ.  כו וַיֹּאמֶר אִם-שָׁמוֹעַ תִּשְׁמַע לְקוֹל ה' אֱלֹקיךָ, וְהַיָּשָׁר בְּעֵינָיו תַּעֲשֶׂה, וְהַאֲזַנְתָּ לְמִצְו‍ֹתָיו, וְשָׁמַרְתָּ כָּל-חֻקָּיו--כָּל-הַמַּחֲלָה אֲשֶׁר-שַׂמְתִּי בְמִצְרַיִם, לֹא-אָשִׂים עָלֶיךָ, כִּי אֲנִי ה' רֹפְאֶךָ. 

23 And when they came to Marah, they could not drink of the waters of Marah, for they were bitter. Therefore the name of it was called Marah. 24 And the people murmured against Moses, saying: 'What shall we drink?' 25 And he cried unto the LORD; and the LORD showed him a tree, and he cast it into the waters, and the waters were made sweet. There He made for them a statute and an ordinance, and there He proved them; 26 and He said: 'If you will diligently hearken to the voice of the LORD your God, and will do that which is right in His eyes, and will give ear to His commandments, and keep all His statutes, I will put none of the diseases upon you which I have put upon the Egyptians; for I am the LORD that heals you.'

This strange story raises a number of fascinating questions: why did God bring them to a bitter well? What was the test, and did the Jewish people pass it? Chazal note that this sojourn at Marah serve as the opportunity for a mini-revelation. Rashi (on verse 25) comments that at Marah God transmitted three mitzvot: Shabbat, the laws of the Red Heifer, and tort law (dinim). The events at Marah were far more than a simple rest stop. Rather, the experience there was meant to set the stage for the Revelation that was soon to come. 

Kli Yakkar asks a different, fascinating question: What kind of tree did God show Moshe? Logic would dictate that it was a sweet tree. After all, the best way to sweeten bitter water is with a lot of sugar. Yet, Kli Yakkar notes that the Midrash offers three suggestions for the identity of the tree. Some say that it was an olive tree, some say it was a willow, and Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai said that God showed Moshe a concept from the Torah - the Tree of Life. According to the first two opinions (leaving Rabbi Shimon aside for now), how did the tree sweeten the water? Why would God specifically tell Moshe to use a bitter tree to make the water sweeter? Kli Yakkar explains that in the identity of the tree lies an essential message about the nature of Torah study.

וביאור הענין שהתורה תחילתה מרה ונקראת תושיה שמתשת כוחו של אדם, וחז"ל אמרו (דברים רבה ז ג) למה נמשלה התורה לזית מה זית זה תחילתו מר וסופו מתוק אף דברי תורה כן, והמצוות גם כן לאו ליהנות ניתנו, וכמו שנאמר (שמות יט ג) ותגיד לבני ישראל דברים קשים כגידין, כי חולי הנפש כמו חולי הגוף כי כמו שרוב חולי הגוף דרכם להתרפאות על ידי לקיחת עשבים מרים ואם אין החולה מאמין אל הרופא ימאן לקבלם, כך בחולי הנפשות שהיו חולים על ידי קניית אמונות רעות שקנו במצרים, רצה הקב"ה לרפאותם על ידי קבלת התורה שנמשלה לזית כי ראשיתה מרה כזית

The explanation of this matter lies in the fact that the Torah begins in a bitter fashion, and it is called "weakening", for it weakens the strength of a person. And our Sages said, 'Why is the Torah compared to an olive [tree]? Just as an olive is initially bitter and ultimately sweet, so too are the words of Torah. And the commandments were also not given [to us] for our pleasure, as it is written, "And you shall say to the Children of Israel" - 'words that are hard like sinews'. For sickness of the spirit is like sickness of the body. And just like most physical illnesses are healed by taking bitter herbs - and if the patient has no faith in the doctor, he will refuse to take the medicine - similarly, regarding the sickness of the soul which infected the people through their acquisition of destructive beliefs in Egypt - God wished to heal them through their acceptance of the Torah which is compared to an olive - for [Torah] too is initially bitter like the olive...

When the people saw how a bitter tree could make the water sweet, they would also understand that Torah study and observance - which is hard - quite hard, in fact, is in fact very sweet as well.

Sometimes I feel like we ignore this truth - especially related to the manner in which we raise our children - at our own peril. We try and make life sweet, almost nauseatingly so, and then when they encounter bitterness, in a strict teacher, or a challenging or difficult assignment, or a failing grade - instead of allowing them to taste the bitterness of that water, we sweeten it; by taking their side, or minimizing the suffering, or propping them up artificially.

This is especially true with regard to the study of Torah. It was never meant to be easy, and the easy kind of Torah study is usually the least fulfilling as well. Torah is like a good olive: bitter at first, but sweet in the end, if you're willing to put in the time, toil and sweat necessary to appreciate its unique sweetness.

On Learning Gemara and Daf Yomi

Imagine a school in which, after graduation, most if not all graduates never, ever returned to the mode of study that they had engaged in during their entire education. What would call such a school (other than college)? Most, I daresay, would call such a school a failure.
What then, can we say about a yeshiva system in which all students spend a majority of their study time studying Gemara b'iyyun (i.e. in intensive depth, with a strong if not exclusive focus on theoretical study, with an almost allergic avoidance of any practical ramifications to that study), but, once they leave yeshiva, never study Gemara b'iyyun ever again? Would that not indicate that our yeshiva system is failing us?

During a recent Gemara shiur that I give here in Yad Binyamin, I mentioned a thought that Rav Tzuriel (the former mashgiach in Sha'alvim) once said that stuck with me. He said that he felt that instead of putting the commentary of the Ba'alei Tosfot on the side of the page of the Gemara and the commentary of Rosh in the back of the book, they should have switched the two and put the Rosh on the side and the Tosfot in the back. I'll explain.
The commentary of the Ba'alei Tosfot generally attempts to unify Shas into a single entity, challenging our understanding of a text by raising contradictory evidence from different texts from across the breadth of Shas. Using this methodology, Tosfot will arrive at a new, different understanding of the Gemara based on a resolution that allows the two seemingly "contradictory" texts to coexist. It's critically important and intellectually exciting. But it's also often quite theoretical, and many times the commentary of Tosfot does not affect that halachic outcome of the sugya.
Rosh, on the other hand, is essentially a halachic summary of the Sugya at hand; similar in content to the gloss of the Rif, but far more expansive. Moreover, due to his unique place in intellectual Jewish history, having been raised in Germany (Ashkenaz) but having moved to to Spain to escape persecution, his commentary forms a critical crossroad between halachic and intellectual worlds, and represents one of the first rabbinic texts which melded the worldviews of Ashekanaz and Sepharad. (For you intellectual historians out there, I know that I'm painting with a very, very broad brush, but I'm doing it to make a point. Please don't hold me to every detail. The basic gist is accurate.) Now, imagine that instead of the theoretical studies of Tosfot on each page of the gemara, we first confronted the halachic, practical commentary of the Rosh. The manner in which we study Gemara today would be fundamentally different than we learn today. It's impossible to measure, but to what degree is the theoretical learning that's standard in every serious yeshiva partly due to the placement of the Tosfot on the Daf, as opposed to at the back of the book?
The most ironic aspect of Rav Tzuriel's suggestion is that this isn't a decision that was made by a group of rabbanim or educational leaders after careful consideration and study. Rather, it was a decision that was made by a printer, who for reasons I don't know decided to put Tosfot in the front, and Rosh in the back, and forever altered the way Gemara would be learned.

My weekly shiur in Gemara is a shiur that learns Gemara minimally "b'iyyun" (in depth). We don't cover a specific amount of material during each shiur. Rather , we study the Gemara and discuss the issues that arise from the text, and look at some basic Rishonim until we've exhausted the issue, whether it takes one shiur, or three. Only then do we move on. We began studying Brachot four years ago, and have since moved on to Beitzah. During the four years of the shiur, attendance has been relatively stable - between six and eight participants. One dropped out recently, two more joined. It's a nice group which I enjoy and appreciate very much, and I don't think that it would be a better shiur if it was much bigger. But, in my shul (and the broader community, as far as I can tell), I give one of perhaps two regular in depth gemara shiurim in our community.At the same time, since we began studying four years ago, while our shiur has remained stable, I have watched dozens, if not hundreds of men join the daf yomi. Shiurim have sprung up at all hours of the day. You can learn the daf here beginning at 5:20am, or at 6:00am or at 7:15am or even at 8:00am, in Hebrew or English. It's a juggernaut; a runaway train that cannot be stopped (nor do I think it should.) And yet, I wonder: many, if not most of the community here in Yad Binyamin spent years in yeshiva, whether in Hesder or in chutz la'aretz, studying Gemara "b'iyyun." And now, later on in life, when they voluntarily choose what type of learning to engage in, they're not asking for iyyun. They never asked for such a shiur, and that's why it doesn't exist. What they want now, and attend religiously, is the Daf Yomi shiur. So I have to wonder: Did they ever want to learn iyyun? Were the hundreds if not thousands of hours spent studying b'iyyun really worthwhile, if people are voting with their feet (and their Artscrolls) in such overwhelming numbers?

And yet, I think that the most appealing aspect of the Daf isn't the goal of finishing Shas, and it's certainly not that most people who learn the Daf hope to remember most of what they've learned. Rather, it's the kvi'ut (regularity) - the security of knowing that the system forces us to learn a set amount, each and every day. You have to keep up, because everyone else is, and even if it's not in depth; even if you don't fully understand every issue, it's time invested in Talmud Torah, which is time well spent.

For years I've avoided learning Daf Yomi for reasons I consider legitimate. If you're reading this blog you probably know what they are without my needing to hash them out again. And yet, I've always done so from the outside, while people who "do the Daf" seem to like it quite a lot. So the time has come to "bite the bullet" and give the learning a shot. After all, I doubt I'll get through much of Shas at the pace we're learning once a week.
The real challenge will be to keep up with the Daf without sacrificing my other learning I'm already doing: preparing for the shiurim that I already give; learning mishnah yomit with my son, maybe even putting down a Torah thought as I do here every so often. I truly hope that I can keep up without feeling overwhelmed. So I figure that since the cycle just started Shabbat, and I've never learned through Masechet Shabbat (which is hard to really believe, since I'm an ordained rabbi. How is it that you can get semichah without having finished Masechet Shabbat?!) I'm going to try and do the daf at least until the end of the masechta, and then reevaluate. After I've done if for a good few months, I'll have a better sense of whether I feel I really learned, and whether the time was well spent.
I'll keep you posted.

A Beautiful Siyyum HaShas You Didn't Read About (Until Now)

Rav Chaim Dovid Kowalsky

In this past week's B'sheva, Yedidya Meir wrote a beautiful daf yomi story that I want to share, in which he quotes a letter he received from a reader.

Our grandfather, Saba Yaakov, has already completed two cycles of the Daf Yomi. From the time that he retired, about fifteen years ago, he decided to dedicate his time to Torah study. Despite the fact that he did not grow up in the Yeshiva world, and despite the fact that he spent most of his life supporting his household, slowly but surely Saba Yaakov accumulated skills in learning the pages of the holy Gemara with regularity. Not a day passed that he didn't learn the Daf - first with a Steinzaltz and later on in the regular shiur of Rav Bortman in Kiryat Mutzkin. Even during the second Lebanon War, when the residents of the [Northern] cities were shelled, and Saba Yaakov found himself exiled to his son's residence in Petach Tikvah, he joined the shiur in the "Hadar Ganim" neighborhood for a month, and was beloved by the members of the Kolel.
Over the past three years, Saba Yaakov's health has taken a turn for the worse. He's had a pacemaker implanted, his legs are full of fluid, and he can no longer leave the house to attend regular tefillot or the Daf Yomi shiur. His physical deterioriation affected his mental state. We watched as Saba Yaakov deteriorated, and saw no resolution to the problem. He simply stopped grasping to the "Tree of Life", and we feared that from that point onward, the road would be short, God forbid.
Then, like a final lifeline, Saba Yaakov discovered Rav Kowalsky and the website of "Meorot Hadaf Hayomi." Hidden away at home, Saba Yaakov plunged back into the Sugyot of the Talmud as Rav Kowalsky, with a unique sweetness and grace, via the computer screen, breathed life back into [our grandfather]. One shiur, and then another, and then another - returned to Saba the will to live. Rav Kowalsky became his virtual best friend. Saba spent three or more hours each day with the Rav - and just try and interrupt him during the shiur. No conversation with Saba did not include a word about the Rav or his young son Shmulik, who would ask wise questions during the shiur.
On the occasion of the [recent] Siyyum Hashas we decided to surprise Saba - who never leaves the house, and lives in the four "inches" of Rav Kowalsky. We tracked down Rav Kowalsky's phone number in the hopes that he would find a few moments in his busy day to record a personal video greeting. [When we reached him], the Rav asked where Saba lives, and when he heard the answer - Kiryat Chaim - he said, "I'm on my way to the north for a family vacation. What's the address? Rather than record a greeting, I'll come in person."
So, yesterday, exactly at 1:00pm, when Saba was preparing for his regular learning with his virtual "Rebbe", a knock was heard at the door. So that he would not grow overly emotional, Savta Chaya prepared Saba in advance telling him that an important guest was scheduled to arrive and visit him. Saba demurred, "Who could be more important that my daily learning with Rav Kowalsky?" and he turned back to the computer.
I still cannot find the words to describe the emotional meeting between teacher and student - who despite having never met felt so close. The Rav sat in Saba's home for more than half an hour. They discussed Sugyot in Shas, Saba's birthplace in Romania - Saba was beside himself with pleasure. They departed warmly - but not before the Rav begged Saba to bless him and his son Shmulik.
Many important leaders in Israel benefit from Rav Kowalsky's shiurim - from his well-known shiur in the Azrieli Towers to the last shiur he delivers each night. Yet, on his trip to a family vacation, he made the effort to come, greet and give honor to his last student. I write this letter without asking [the Rav's] permission, because I'm not entirely sure that he'd be happy about this publicity.
Tens of Siyyumim of the Shas took place recently in Israel and around the world; events adorned by the Gedolim of Israel, impressive meals and wonderful momentos for those who completed the learning. Yet, fortunate was the eye that saw the Siyyum of Saba Yaakov with his no-longer-virtual Rav.

Guilt for Excercise? A Torah Value Taken to the Extreme

My weight and I have long engaged in a friendly, and sometimes not-so-friendly competition. It tries to the get the best of me while I struggle to keep it under control. I was never one of those people who could eat whatever I wanted and maintain a healthy weight (and found myself quite envious of those who were). For many years I adhered to a SugarBusters diet (though I fell off that wagon about a year ago), and since my college days I've been a regular runner. (Back in semichah, when I lived in Washington Heights, I used to run over the George Washington Bridge. It was a great, beautiful run.)
Aside from the issue of trying to stay healthy, I just feel better when I excercise, both physically and emotionally. Running helps me stay calmer, more balanced, and well-adjusted. I figured it was a good thing all around.
Then I received the OU's most recent Shabbat Shalom email, which contained an article entitled, "Why Do I Feel Guilty When I Run?" in which Rabbi Pesach Sommer, who lost about 100 pounds over the last year writes,

So when I began to vigorously engage in what seemed like a strictly physical pursuit, I felt guilty. I was uncomfortable with activities like sports and exercise. Running, with all the health benefits it had to offer, left me uneasy.
I tried to ignore the little voice in my head that told me that running was bitul zman, a waste of time. When that didn’t work, I tried to convince myself that my time in the gym was justified by the fact that it would allow me to live longer and fulfill the goal of v’nishmartem meod, protecting my life. I suppose that should have been enough, but somehow it left me less than satisfied. Not enough to get me to stop, but, still, I was determined to understand and hopefully get rid of the gnawing feeling I was experiencing.

Rabbi Summer ends his brief article concluding that his excercise was actually improving his spirituality, which is nice and true. But reading the article, I found myself wondering, "Why in the world did he feel guilty? What if he achieved no spiritual nirvana through running, but simply led a more healthy lifestyle? Where did we get the notion that excercise is "bittul zman"?
A commenter on the article states it this way,

I'm actually shocked and even horrified at the idea that we Jews have produced a culture that could leave someone feeling guilty for exercising.

I believe that the answer - and the source of Rabbi Sommer's guilt - lies in a good value taken to the extreme, which manifests itself in many areas of Orthodox life.
Judaism considers the study of Torah to be a core component of a religious, spritual life. In fact, halachah considers Torah study to be obligatory. One must study Torah. The question is: how much? For how long?
Boiling a complicated halachic discussion into a nutshell, two basic opinions emerge. The first, articulated by Rambam and actually encoded into the Shulchan Aruch (Yoreh Deah, 246:1), posits that one must, at a minimum, study Torah every day and night. They derive this from the verse where God tells Yehoshua, והגית בו יומם וליליה - "and you shall delve [Torah] day and night." (Yehoshua, 1:8) According to the most lenient position, one can even fulfill this obligation with the simple recitation of the Shema each morning and night.
On the other side of the spectrum - way, way on the other side - is a chorus of opinions that take the verse quite literally: one must study Torah at all times, always, day and night. According to opinions in the Talmud, this precludes any secular study (See Menachot 99b), learning a trade, (See Mishnah Kiddushin 4:14), and basically anything else. Any activity, other than the study of Torah, is a waste of time, and represents the shirking of one's spiritual obligation to study Torah.
Despite the fact that the Shulchan Aruch ruled leniently, the strict opinion - perhaps even the most extreme formulation of that opinion, has become the guiding mantra of the entire yeshiva world. Any serious yeshiva considers, as one of its founding principles, that the study of Torah is not only the most valuable endeavor in which a person can engage, but that as a direct result, any other endeavor is, by definition, a waste of time, and must be calculated as such.
Is it wrong to have such an attitude? Of course it's not wrong. But I don't think that it's right for everyone. In fact, it might only be the correct attitude for a very small subset of people who are capable of devoting every waking moment to Torah study. For them, the sense of obligation to learn all the time propels them forward, spurring them to achieve greatness in their learning. But what about for everyone else?
How would you feel if you were told, from the moment that you walked into school, that you must study Torah without pause for the rest of your life...and if you just couldn't do it, either because while you liked learning, the hours of sitting were just too long; or you weren't all that good at it; or you needed to get a job to support your family; Or you were 100 pounds overweight?
I can tell you how you'd feel, because I've felt it: You'd feel guilty. You'd feel like you were wasting your time. You'd feel that running, to stay in shape and be healthier, simply couldn't be justified, no matter how unhealthy you'd become. And that guilt is not a healthy thing.
More importantly perhaps, this guilt-fest does not accurately represent the only perspective on this issue. The Torah also conveys other values that Torah Jews must consider. Case in point: living a healthy lifestyle. It's not simply a matter of common sense. Rather, being healthy is a Torah value as well.
Rabbi Shlomo Ganzfried, in his "Kitzur Shulchan Aruch (Chapter 32) writes,

הואיל והיות הגוף בריא ושלם, מדרכי השם הוא, אי אפשר שיבין או ידע דבר מידיעת הבורא והוא חולה, לפיכך צריך האדם להרחיק את עצמו מדברים המאבדין את הגוף, ולהנהיג את עצמו בדברים המברין והמחלימים את הגוף, וכן הוא אומר ונשמרתם מאד לנפשותיכם. 

Since it is among the ways of God to have a whole and healthy body, and it is impossible for a person to have knowledge of God when he is sick, for this reason, a person must distance himself from things that destroy the body, and purport himself in ways that bring health and well-being tot he body, as it is written, "And you will carefully guard your lives."

They don't emphasize that halachah in yeshiva, because if they did, every bachur would take a couple of hours, a few times of week, to get some excercise. And he'd do it, not because he was overweight, and not because he couldn't feel his legs after hours of sitting in the Beit Midrash.
No, he'd do it because he saw his Rosh Yeshiva exercising too. And then, I am certain that he'd have no problem exercising without ever feeling guilty.