Despite their attempts, according to Gerson, most Jewish college students aren't aware of what Jewish groups on campus have to offer them. Gerson, a Washington, D.C. native who graduated from Brown University, was not very active in her campus Hillel; she only became intimately involved with Jewish issues last year, while living in Israel. She felt the urge to write, so she contacted the Jewish Press and began working for New Voices as an Israel correspondent. She covered an array of cutting-edge stories, including a kibbutz trying to reinvent itself as eco-Zionist, soldiers who didn't want to serve in Israeli-occupied territories, and a new urban kibbutz created by HaBonim, a Labor Zionist youth movement.

Many of these issues are of interest to college students, particularly the environment, peace in the Middle East, and technology-related matters. In order to "stay in touch" with the needs and interests of students, editors are no more than two to three years out of school. Additionally, Gerson says, "The idea is to have a youth run organization."

Published by the Jewish Student Press Service (JSPS), New Voices started their monthly publications in 1991. The JSPS, created in 1970 by different Jewish student editors on campuses across the country, attempted to provide material on Jewish issues for editors to include in their publications.

As JSPS began to see a decline in independent Jewish student publications, signifying a countrywide decline of Jewish activity on the college campus, they decided to reinvent themselves by creating New Voices, a magazine that is written by and for Jewish college coeds, rather than providing material for independent publications. "We still exist to support independent Jewish student initiatives on campus, but as the bers were less we realized that a better way to reach Jewish students right now was through one magazine," says Gerson.

In their recent December issue, topics ranged from how a shofar makes a surprisingly good bong, to a Jewish sex writer, to Leonard Nimoy's spiritual journey. However, humor is only one aspect of New Voices. Politics are essential to the magazine.

While some may think of college students as a monolithic group of liberal- minded young hotheads, New Voices has a wide spectrum of readers across the United States, Europe, and Israel. Although the magazine's appeal is only to college students, Gerson says, "particularly on issues regarding Israel our readers tend to be more conservative."

In fact, it is the Jewish students' greatest onus to be in the conservative camp on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. One of the recent challenges facing editors of New Voices has been to try to help flaying the college student's fight against anti-Israel rhetoric.

Since the Intifada broke out in September of 2000, Jewish college students are facing vociferous opposition, sometimes violently, from pro-Palestinian groups on campus. In a recent issue, the magazine reported on the anti-Israel riots that broke out on Concordia University's campus during a visit by former Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu.

Many students feel that they have come under siege by their fellow students, who were once partners in speaking out against evildoers of the world. Now they are having the fire of righteous indignation turned on them and their support for the Jewish State. "We want to make sure Jewish students are getting the support they need in order to support Israel on campus," says Gerson.

It has also attempted to help clarify moral issues regarding actions Israel takes. Whether New Voices provides a safe haven for young Jews to be able to openly express their frustrations with Israeli policies they don't agree with, or show young pro-Israel college students they are not alone, New Voices is successful at speaking to students across a broad range of Jewish opinions.

New Voices doesn't try to defend all of Israel's actions, however, "We try to give a nuanced view of the conflict and stories that will delve into the issues. While a lot of college students are liberal I think they also are more conservative in their views towards Israel," says Gerson.

Adina Capelle, a junior at Barnard College, said, "When I read that piece it really made me angry. As a Jewish student majoring in Middle Eastern studies, Campus Watch makes me feel like I'm not crazy when I have to hear diatribes against Israel." Capelle also felt that Gerson misunderstood what college students have to go through. "It's not only diatribes against Israel in a history of the Middle East lecture; I don't want to have to hear that in a literature class. Professors aren't speaking the truth; they're giving their political opinion. The world should know," she said.

In order to keep tabs on where Jewish students are, New Voices has a section devoted to Campus Diaries, where students can write regarding what is happening on their campuses. Besides Israel, unifying issues on campuses are American current events, pop culture, sex, interdating, intermarriage, being half-Jewish, anti-Semitism on campus, or even the current rage in learning Kabbalah.

Despite their attempts to reach out, they are not yet a household word among college students. Elisheva Coleman, a sophomore at Princeton University and former Yavneh Perspectives Chairperson, says, "I never really read it. It just doesn't have a significant impact on the Princeton Jewish community."

New Voices tries to take a cultural spin on Jewish issues which Gerson feels "is more approachable than religion to a wider spectrum of readers." They focus on what's of cultural interest to American Jews and their experiences on college campuses. "Jewish culture is something that we make our own, something dynamic and changing. We try to make it something new and that's why we appeal to Jewish college students," says Gerson. "Especially at a time in our lives when we are questioning why we are and who we are. So if there's something that speaks to us that's usually something we want to include."

Despite this, Gerson feels that New Voices has been lacking in its coverage of the religious life of college students. "I don't think we've done a great job on religion," laments Gerson. "It's something I would like to focus on more. Right now it's one of our weaker points."

A rabbinical student at the Jewish Theological Seminary wrote a review of David Berger's recent book, "The Rebbe, the Messiah, and the Scandal of Orthodox Indifference," which blasts the Lubavitch movement. Based on letters Gerson received in response to the piece, she concluded that most readers found the issues involved too complicated for them to understand. A major part of the reason the magazine appeals to Jewish culture, rather than religion, is because most readers don't have the education to be able to understand religious thought.

Shira Handler, a sophomore at Ohio State University, says "I like the cultural aspect of the magazine and the fact that there isn't much about religion. It allows the magazine to be more open to the general Jewish population and we need to be uniting rather than dividing."

I did buy it. Hardcover and expensive as it was, it was well worth the money and the trip to Barnes and Nobles. The novel follows, Vladmir Grishkin, a hero for our times. Grishkin is a 25 year old who has immigrated to New York from Soviet Russia at the age of 13 . Known to his parents as "the little failure" Grishkin avoids law school, preferring instead to dream non-ambitiously at his desk at a non-profit organization and sleep with his Jewish dominatrix girlfriend, Challah. His major complaint is his sense of inferiority rooted in his status as an immigrant and a Jew. His mother, the looming presence in his life (of course) reinforces the idea by pushing him "to succeed" and urging him to stop "walking like a Jew."

Grishkin soon meets a gentile, intellectual girlfriend and begins to move into a new social sphere. He dumps Challah and his ethnic, misfit friends and feels for the first time that he can surmount his immigrant persona. While Grishkin is undergoing these changes, the novel takes a surrealistic turn in the form of the Fan Man, a rich, eccentric Russian immigrant that Grishkin meets at his job. The old man wants to become an American citizen and in return for Grishkin's help, he offers to fund Grishkin's trip to the fictional Eastern European country of Prava (Prague, of course) where Grishkin will work for the man's nephew, a top Russian mob boss.

Grishkin's life in Prava is the stuff of comedy routines. He woos the Soviet-style "biznessmen," becoming the right hand man of mob boss, Groundhog and pursuing his mob mission, infiltrating the expatriate community in Prava and involving them in a series of pyramid scams. This gives author Shteyngart the perfect platform to deconstruct today's Eastern European art scene where teams of Western hipsters have descended on places like Prague," the Paris of the East," in order to gain inspiration from the locale. In Prava, Grishkin finds that his sense of gnawing inferiority is lessened. Here he becomes a true part of the art scene - hobnobbing with budding poets while still living a separate life as a top Russian mobster. Although he identifies with the Westerners, even finding a girlfriend in the salt-of-the-earth, American, Morgan, Grishkin is actually using his new friends to make money and live a lavish life. Shteyngart seems to be suggesting that Grishkin too is being used. The Western artists are in some way using the painful experience of Eastern Europeans for their own psychological needs.

Grishkin's life in Prava, which begins to unravel in unpredictable ways forces him to question not just his Russian and American personas but also his identity as a Jew. Grishkin must deal with anti-Semitism by modern neo-Nazis. He must question how truly accepted he has been in the circles where he has succeeded. Sadly, Grishkin's Jewish identity is based only on his feelings of abuse and victimization. While his selfhood as a Russian and an American is explored, his Judaism is a footnote, discussed only as a name, a surface without meaning.

Reader beware, there is no Oprah like "aha moment." Shteyngart is far too cynical to wrap Grishkin's life up neatly or to force him into a moral corner. The whole fun of the book is its inherent freedom and irreverent tone. While sometimes slightly raw or unclear, Shteyngart's prose is full of vigor. It is the work of a young author in all the best senses.

It's difficult to say how the book made me feel. It intrigued me, triggered me, forced me to slow down and concentrate. The prose is thick and full of allusions to movies, books and cultural concepts. It is replete with cynicism. One can imagine Shteyngart writing this while chuckling at all the serious little readers trying to glean a simple moral. He is not so much telling a story as issuing a constant challenge to the reader. Are you smart enough to understand what I really mean, he is asking.

As a reader, I want to say; I understand you. But in a way, I don't. Not completely. Yet in a world of collapsing super-powers and blurry ethnic and religious lines, a lack of clarity makes a lot of sense.

"Light in the Vessels is a well-known Arizal-based symbol that stands for bringing the light of spirituality into the shapes of this world," explains Orah Chaya Bitton, founder and director of the project. And so, for the past two to three years, the "light" has been brought down straight to the Lighthouse Center - located on Albany St in Brooklyn, blocks away from the illustrious "Seven-Seventy" - in the shapes of multi-media based projects, arts festivals, Rosh Chodesh open mics and more.

"Seeing the Thunder" has been LiVe's most ambitious project to date. Over the summer, six curators and a group of students (ages fifteen to twenty-three) have gathered to workshop and explore such major religious questions as "Divine Knowledge: what does it mean to know G-d", "Man in the Image of G-d" and more. For seven weeks, participants brainstormed, gathered the sources, and brooded over their personal experiences. Having laid out the concept, they then filmed imagery and symbols that corresponded to their conclusions. As these films were screened, workshops were organized for discussions and more interchange of ideas.

"About Time" has been another major project, for which groups created collages and paintings in the form of clocks in order to extrapolate on the theme of the Jewish months. The annual festival of Simchas Bais HaShoeva features a wide showcase of various artists, and every month, there is a mini-festival in the form of open-mic Rosh Chodesh events.

The idea for this organization occurred to its founder Orah Chaya Bitton six years ago, as she was teaching the 7th grade class at Bais Rivkah, a local yeshiva for girls. Bitton worked with her students to build a website exploring the Lubavitcher Rebbe's famous extrapolation on Shir HaShirim, titled "Basi LeGani."

Much of the material and ideas used in LiVe's workshops are based on Chassidic teachings. "Chassidus is so artistic it's just hard to resist," says Bitton, referring to the highly metaphoric nature of the teachings. However, LiVe is open to anyone with artistic interests and basic knowledge of Torah Judaism. In fact, according to Orah Chaya, much of the core crowd that participates in LiVe's projects are people "on the edge". Unsurprisingly, it is people who are looking for answers outside of the set qualms of the Beis Midrash or a yeshiva setting that are most likely to be drawn to arts and technology. As the organization expands and more interested participants trickle in, more curators are in demand. LiVe is searching for more volunteers to facilitate the workshop sessions - future Jewish educators, or simply individuals interested in artistic exploration of the religious concepts.

Currently, the staff is choreographing a dance that elaborates a Purim maymer (extrapolation) of the Lubavitcher Rebbe, in which Mordechai is compared to the Sun, and Esther to the Moon. The symbolism expands to cite Chaman as the darkness, as he leads in the light of the sun into the world, perhaps, just as the final geula will result from the times of ominous spiritual and physical state of the world. These are the ideas that will be expressed in the special Purim dance program that will be showcased at the Lighthouse. One thing is certain, however - I will never get to see it. The events are strictly separated, of course - such are the rules Crown Heights, artists or not.

Check out www.lightsinvessels.org for more information.

I had been struck by both the aptness and the irreverence of the metaphor. Somehow, the power has shifted in the universe. Man now dominates a relationship that was once dominated by God. Whereas mystics once asked, "If God is so great how could man exist," yeshiva high school graduates now ask, "If man is so great how can God exists." God must be let in - he is not automatically here. The sensitive religious community must fight to rescue God. They must fight a Durkheimian vision of God as society - by rescuing God from their own self-identification. They must recognize a source of meaning outside themselves.

Not every orthodox Jew must face this challenge. Some have never heard the cry of the enlightenment - that man as an individual constructs his own destiny. These souls live in a universe of divine authority in which they are honed and molded into righteous beings by the timeless truth that is our Torah. God remains in the position left him by the mystics - overwhelming and overawing - leaving man a small corner in which to work and create.

I am torn between these two visions. As a mystic soul, I see the universe as overwhelmingly God's, and I trod along an ultra-puritanical quest to be mekayem torah - in its totality and its purity. I must guard my every living moment against the possibility of bittul torah - every second that falls to sloth or indulgence is a stain upon my soul for which I must account. As a soldier, my time is regimented - but the vision of the ultimate is appealingly perfect. As an enlightened caring soul, I speak to friends about their career choices asking them what they enjoy and what they love. I speak of a life full of values, but not because they are demanded, rather because true enjoyment can only come from partaking in a meaningful relationship with God.

I wonder what part my art plays in this religious schizophrenia.

The mystic self has little space from which God has been withdrawn, in which he can create. He tells a devar torah - the sin of the golden calf is juxtaposed to the building of the mishkan (tabernacle) for many reasons. Textually what I always found most compelling was the refrain that runs through parshat pekudei, ka'asher tzivah Hashem et moshe ken asu bnei yisrael, as God commanded Moses so did the people craft. When the people would build a temple for God, it would have to be as God commanded Moshe - otherwise a golden calf might emerge from the lathe. An artist like Betzalel ben Uri could fashion only within the strict guidelines of God's command to Moshe.

On a halachic level, this does not forbid innovative art - the limitations are specifically for the holiest of occasions. Yet, as a point of outlook, do we not like the psalmist seek to dwell all our days in the house of God? Living constantly in the sanctuary must cause the halachicly sensitive artist to consistently question if he is creating a golden calf or a temple within which Hashem might dwell. To create from and for the religious experience is to play with spiritual fire.

My independent self has a religious soul as well. It seeks God as a lover seeks his beloved - as dependent but yet as other. For this side of my duality, the artistic life must reflect the religious life. Artists create within a context of form - the rules we violate provide the context for understanding what we are saying and what we are doing. A piece of music must find tension in setting expectations and then violating them - only to resolve them at their conclusion. Taking the metaphor back to religious life, we might see a life lived in dialog with rules as an opportunity for facing and integrating the ups and downs of religious life. Somehow, we each live our own dynamic story with Hashem.

It all sounds wonderful - except when my neshama tehorah shouts, "Do you realize that this would advocate sinning in God's holy name and sinning with intent to do teshuva - repentance?" - two highly suspect activities. I want to live the ideal and pure spiritual life - if I fail I will try harder the next time - but I will not forfeit a constant spiritual pursuit of God's will.

The more I sense these divergent voices - the more I recognize a failure in my original intent in creating Mima'amakim. I wanted to bridge the beit midrash with the world of creativity - to give a new voice to a world that seeks to listen carefully and to repeat what it has heard. It won't work - the two voices are not one voice. Some will speak and some will be spoken too - I can't make anyone speak.

Yet, somewhere between these two people I do write - and I believe that the spark for my creativity is the ambiguity between their voices. Artists need not starve - but they should not be happy with the world and certainly should not be satisfied with themselves. I still call for those who seek the impossible - who seek to take the independent self and the mystic soul and tie them kicking and screaming together. Perhaps, someone can take satisfaction in the struggle that thus ensues.

Perhaps the most well known Jew of the Iraqi descent is the Baghdad born Rav Ovadia Yosef, former Rishon L'Zion (Sfradic Chief Rabbi of Israel) and head of the Shas political party. Other Iraqi Rabbis include the present Chief Rabbi Rav Eliyahu Bakshi-Doron and Rav Mordechai Eliyahu, all featured prominently on www.sephardicsages.org. And while we're looking at hahahim, the Ben Ish Chai, the Rabbi of Baghdad in the late 19th century has an institute in his name in Queens and on-line at www.midrash.org .

A congregation in Great Neck, called 'Bene Naharayim' has a site www.iraqijews.org (see also www.bjcny.org ). The Exiliarch Foundation publishes a journal 'The Scribe' which has over twenty years of issues accessible in Abode Acrobat at www.dangoor.com/scribe.html.

Most Kurdish Jews have immigrated to Israel, and established a 'Kurdish-Israeli Friendship League' www.israel-kurd.org. A Kurdish feminist hero Rabbanit Osnat Barazani served as a community leader in the 17th century. To quote Shmuel Moreh and Joseph Sadan in Ha'Aretz, "Among the Babylonian rabbis whose hymns became part of the liturgy were R. Yosef Hayyim, who is also known in the area of religious law (his book 'Ben-Ish Hai' is also esteemed in Ashkenazi yeshivas). The rabbi's wife, known as Osnat the Poetess, became a favorite with the public. She lived in the 17th century, but her family (a branch of the Barazani family) from northern Iraq came to Israel. Some of her descendants are living here, among them the poet Leah Hass Bar Haim." Read the full review here

. Another Iraqi-Jewish artist, composer Yair Dalal, who plays the violin and Oud and was nominated for 'Best Middle Eastern Musician' by the BBC. His eponymous site is www.yairdalal.com . Finally, Sami Michael is a famed author, one of his books, adapted for film, 'Trumpet in the Wadi' was reviewed by Jake Marmer here on Mima'amakm, and there are various articles on him on-line. Just Google them. Remember: if Nineveh is on-line (and it is), nearly anything else can be.

The hands on the clock in the Jewish Quarter run backwards
And you too go backwards in your life slowly
- Gulliame Appolinaire, Zone

A skeptic could argue that it was socio-economic coincidence - Haskalah movement, Enlightenment, German Empire granting citizenship to Jews, etc. - but that'd be a really logical and boring answer. You don't approach Surrealism with logic; you approach it with a green candle stick and a hairy spoon. Let's abandon this theory immediately.

As you may know, the whole shenanigans started in 1915 with Tristan Tzara and a couple of his buddies in a café in Vienna. They conceived an idea of a new literary movement, pierced the dictionary with a table knife, and the random word struck by the knife became the name of their movement. This word happened to be Dada. Tristan Tzara became the head of the movement, a legendary figure, spreading nihilism and wild convention-wrecking schemes throughout Europe. Born Sammy Rosenstock, he was a Rumanian Jew - quite ethnic looking, at that, and Paul Bowles described him by saying that "Except for his monocle he looked more like a doctor than a Surrealist poet." It took him a while to gain the proper respect in Paris - his Jewish looks and a heavy Rumanian accent got him booed out of a couple of poetry readings in the beginning. The main focus of Tzara was that of annihilation of conventions, pretentiousness, and everything that was not raw, pure and stripped to its utmost basics. "The thought," he would say, "was born in the mouth," and denigrated in every way he could the "crippled world and literary quacks with a mania for improvement."

If there was nothing tangibly Jewish about Tzara's art (except for maybe, few mentions of Jewish cemeteries and Jewish jewelers in his early collections), one of his fellow Dada founders and another Rumanian Jew, Marcel Janco's has moved to Israel even before the emergence of state, and painted a series of works on Tzfat and Tiberia. He was one the original founders of the artist village Ein Hod. In his day, he was one of the movers and shakers of the movement, designing masks and costumes for the notorious Dada balls. His two painting, included here are called Voyage to Zitra and Goat.

Another major figure of Surrealism was Robert Desnos, singled out in Andre Breton's manifestoes as the most successful practitioner of "automatic writing," a technique by which the poet delved into a sleep-like trance, induced by drugs, alcohol, meditation, exhaustion, etc., and wrote - heavily playing with the associations and leaps of his unconscious. Desnos, according to Breton, reached the heights (literally and substance-wise) of this technique. He was arrested during the WWII, sent to Auschwitz, later force-marched to Terezin, where he perished in 1945.

Benjamin Fondane was a Surrealist poet of a similar fate: he too was deported by the French to the concentration camps. He was yet another Rumanian Jew who gained recognition and success in Paris in the '20's. His most thematically Jewish piece, "L'Exode ("Exodus") was written during the days of German occupation of France. Michael Weingrad has written a fantastic article on him, here's the link - Click here to view it.

Paul Celan was the most famous post-war Parisian Surrealist poet. Born as Paul Antschel, the only child of German-speaking Jewish parents in Cernauti, in Bukovina, a part of northern Romania, now Chernovtsy, Ukraine. He managed to survive Holocaust by working in one the Nazi labor camps. A lot of his poetry was dark, mystical, terse -

The weightless, so weightless
Rings
of souls.

"Death is a Master from Germany" is one of his most often quoted phrases. He visited Israel before his death, and even wrote some minor bits in Hebrew, and widely used Biblical and Yiddish folk themes in his work - there's plenty of academic material examining that in depth.

Man Ray, a major American avant-guardists, photographer, painter and essayist who in many ways connected American artists with the French Bohemia, and was born as Emmanuel Rabinovich into a family of Russian Jewish immigrants in Philadelphia. His good friend, and another legendary Surrealist figure, Marcel Duchamp often paraded his alter-ego Jewish woman persona, Rrose Selavy. Born Catholic a male, Duchamp tried to divorce his original persona as hard he could. In many classic Surrealist photograph archives you will find a provincial-looking lady with distinct features of Duchamp - that's Rrose for you. By the way, she was inspiration and title on first Robert Desnos' book of poetry.

There's a whole host of others, including Georges Malkine, the only painter who was allowed to sign Breton's Surrealist Manifesto (the rest of the people were writers and poets), Erwin Blumenfeld - an obscure painter and the self-proclaimed Dutch president of the Dada movement, Max Jacob, perhaps the most important link between Parnassians and Surrealists, sculptor Jacques Lipschitz, phenomenal avant-guarde photographer Claude Cahun (born Lucy Schwob). Chaim Soutine and Marc Chagall, though traditionally considered to be, respectively, an impressionist and a primitivist, had a fair share of Surrealism in their works, whether as something inherent to their art, or an influenced of having lived in Paris in the hey-day of the movement. And finally, Freud was one of the most major inspirations for Surrealists, especially their experiments with automatic writing. Surrealists wrote him letters full of admiration, constantly seeking his acquaintance - which Freud rejected calling Surrealist "complete fools." Salvador Dali pursued Freud for years, and eventually got to meet him a year before Freud's death. The story has it, Freud muttered afterwards: "Small wonder that they have a Civil War in Spain if they look like that."

What we've got here is an assorted mélange of random facts, thrown together. How to tie them in a logically inoffensive fashion, I'm not quite sure. One could speculate that Tzara and Janco gave Dada and Surrealism an inherently Jewish bent right from the start. Perhaps it was a yearning for obscurity, an escape away from Anti-Semitism, pretentiousness and snobbism. Maybe, it was movement's inherent humor and naughtiness. Maybe, something even more serious and sociologically sound - after all, most of the Surrealists (including Tzara) have joined the Communist party after Surrealism came to the halt. There are more questions then answers, more inkpots then chandeliers, and less fish tanks then paperclips.

Cover photograph: Chaim's Soutine's Man in Prayer

In the ongoing discussion over the relationship between 'Torah' and 'Mada', it is often forgotten that the same dispute over what to study is raging inside the world of 'Torah'.  The study of the Talmud and Halacha thrives, but the study of Tanach, Hebrew, and Jewish History, is often overlooked.  Creativity and intellect is judged by the ability to decipher and master halacha, rather than by describing what exists in verse or by creating fictional images.  Even in popular religious music, there is little innovation.  While traditional nigunim set to new tunes thrive, the texts almost always are Pesukim.  The spirit of Simcha has not disappeared, as today's singers and their audience sing with the same joy that previous generations did, but little is new.  When lyrics do address current issues, they are usually polemical in nature, or parodies of songs from other cultures.  This was not always the case.  Encyclopedia Judaica states: 'The halakic sciences, religious law, and Talmudic jurisprudence have employed the poets even more than has the linguistic sciences.  Hai Gaon treated in metrical verse of property and oaths according to Talmudic law.  An anonymous writer produced the whole of Hoshen Mishpat in verse, and many others versified the regulations concerning shechita and bedika.'  Just as there is constant pressure that our prayers not become stale, so too, our knowledge of the poetry in our siddur must not be forgotten.  To show that one can excel at both, here is a list of poets who were not only religiously observant, but generally would be considered, [dare I use the f word?], frum by today's yeshiva students.  I realize that to try and delineate who is 'religious' is to open a fierce  and complicated debate.  There are Rabbis who wrote secular poetry, artisans who wrote religious poetry, poets who wrote with passion and faith on Jewish themes-and were not Jewish, and many other variants that show the complex relationship between profiency in religious and secular arts.  This is only those who were central religious and legal figures, who usually were involved with halacha.  Many great poets will forever be anonymous, or little is known about their life.  Had the list included those who composed songs, or made music a part of religious service, this list would span into thousands of names.  Translators of the Tanach, such as Saadia Gaon, David Kimchi, and Moses Mendelson, also had to have knowledge of poetry to translate into the spoken vernacular.

1. Moshe: Foremost, he told the word of G-d to Bnai Yisrael, and there are interpretations that he wrote the poetic story of Balaam in a prophecy.  Credited with the authorship of one Tehila, other often forgotten Tehilim authors include: Adam, Malki Tzedek (Shem), Avraham, Heiman, Yedusun, Asaf, and Korach's three sons.
2. Miriam:  Not only was she a neyivah, her chant 'sing to the lord, for he has triumphed gloriously, horse and rider he has hurled into the sea' is part of today's Shacharit.
3. Deborah: In addition to leading a military, and being a judge, and prophet, her 'Song' can be found in anthologies of Hebrew poetry, and her reference to Sisera's mother crying is the source for one hundred shofar blasts on Rosh HaShana.   
4. King David: His Tehilim been an important part of religious worship and personal meditation for two thousand years, and his elegy for Yonatan is still well known today.
5. Eliezer Ha Kallir [circa 800 CE] Little is known of this poet, but much of his work remains. It seems likely that an author of hundreds of kinnot had a strong religous education
6. Rabbi Shlomo Ben Yitzchaki [1040-1105]: Not many of Rashi's poems remain, those that do are 'smooth and flowing and they breathe a spirit of sadness and a sincere and tender love of God.'
7. Rabbi Ibn Ezra [1062-1167]: In addition to Biblical commentaries, works on science, he composed many slichot and secular poems.  He also wrote a commentary on Shir Ha Shirim, comparing it to current Andalusian courtier poetry.
8. Rabbi Moshe Ibn Maimon [1135-1204] Maimonedes may have written a poem about the Zodiac that even today is a popular Hebrew song. 
9. Rabbi Israel Ben Moses Najara [1555-1625].  This Damascus born Rabbi printed 'Zemirot Yisrael' in Tzfat, 1587, and is most famous for 'Ya Ribbon'.  He wrote in the introduction of that book that he wrote many of his songs to turn Jewish youth away from secular songs.
10. Rabbi Shalom Shabazi [1619-1720].  Could he have envisioned that a quarter would be named for him in Tel Aviv, that his songs would be internationally famous, and over 700 would still be preserved today.
11. Rabbi Moses Haim Luzatto [1707-1746]: The author of 'Mesillat Yesharim' also wrote poetry, from his teens, including 150 of his own Tehilim, an epic about Shimshon, and two great allegorical dramas 'Migdal Oz' and 'La Yesharim Tehillah'.
12. Rabbi David Hassaine [1727-1796].  A Rabbi in Meknes, and considered to the greatest Moroccan Jewish paytan.
13. Solomon Poppenheim [1740-1814].  A dayan in the city of Breslav, he wrote 'Arba Cosot', a four part prose-poem reminiscent of Job, that was reprinted thirteen times.
14. Chaim Nachman Bialik [1873-1934].  He went to the famed Volozhin yeshiva, and left that way of life, but it affected his writing, and he often tried to incorporate religious customs into the developing Hebrew culture.
15. Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Kook [1865-1935].  Not only was he a leader in Religious Zionist thought, but often used poetry to explain religious thought, for example 'Just as there are laws in poetry, there is poetry in laws.'  He wrote many poems.
16. Shmuel Yosef Agnon [1888-1974].  In addition to being the main author of the prayer for the state of Israel, he wrote books on the 'Yamim Noraim', and wore a kippah to the presentation of the Nobel Prize.  His acceptance speech is not unlike a dvar torah: http://www.nobel.se/literature/laureates/1966/agnon-speech.html
17. Isaac Bashevis Singer [1904-1991] and I.J Singer [1889-1944].  The father of these two authors and poets was a Hasidic Rabbi, and the head of a Beit Din, written about in I.B Singer's 'In my Father's Court.'  
18. Rabbi Adonim HaLevi [920-990 CE], better known as Dunash Ibn Labrat who not only wrote responsa, introduced Arabic meter and rhyme to Hebrew but wrote many poems, of which 'Dror Yikra' may be the most famous.
19. Rabbi Shlomo Halberstam [1907-2000], the Bobover Rebbe composed a kinnah [elegy] for the victims of the Holocaust, which he had survived. Here's quote from him, relevant to this subject:

'For years, I had wanted to express my grief over my personal loss and Klal Yisrael's [the Jewish People's] loss, but I hesitated.  I felt that in order to compose a kinnah one must be on the exalted level of [the legendary liturgist] R' Elazar Hakalir, who wrote with Ruach Hakodesh [Divine inspiration]. Moreover, he was a master of kabbalistic secrets and knew the mystical incantations of the ministering angels. Still, many chassidim requested a vehicle to convey their personal sorrow on this bitter day [i.e., Tishah B'Av], but I held back, because I felt genuinely unworthy. Then one day, I was studying the laws of Tishah B'Av in the book Seder Hayom, where the author writes: Whoever can wail on this day should wail, and whoever can recite kinnot should recite kinnot - either those already recorded in the holy books or the kinnot he himself composed with the intellect G-d has granted him.  It is a mitzvah for each and every individual to compose kinnot for weeping and moaning, and to recite them on this bitter day. One who does this is considered most righteous, and he is worthy of being described as one of Yerushalayim's mourners and one of her holy people.'

And it shall come to pass that, before they call, I will answer, and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.
Isaiah chapter 65 verse 24

It is now the peak of the season in which we examine the essence of liberty, our journey from the Exodus to Matan Torah, from freedom to redemption. How should we in Chutz l’aretz prepare for the second stage of Ge’ulah? For some, the answer is simple, pack a bag and head for Israel. There is of course another more traditional route available; that of fervent and frequent tefillah, which coupled with general good behaviour, can usher in the messianic era. But these approaches seem insufficient. Medinat Yisrael may be Jewish, but its character is still stuffed with Exile. What Isaiah seems speak of is neither the simple deliverance from slavery that we experienced at Pesach, nor the essential foundations of our nation that came at Sinai, but rather redemption from an already redeemed society.

In these times we are often encouraged to think in terms of the apocalyptic. Everything, from Gulf War II to the success of Lord of the Rings and the Matrix, seems to point to a New World Order that’s just around the corner. Amidst all the excitement, grief and soul-searching, new ideas and trends are quietly developing. I can of course speak only for my own little corner of the planet, the United Kingdom and its community of 270,000 or so Jews, which, painfully slowly, is beginning to turn itself around. Any portrayal of the mainstream Anglo-Jewry of my parents’ generation would describe a community grossly uneducated in Jewish terms, which davened in the ‘United Synagogue,’ (our standard Orthodox denomination) although subscribed largely to the ‘drive-to-shul & park -round –the-corner’ hashkafa. In shul the presidents and wardens would wear top hats and the services would be ponderous, tuneless, and decorum-less. This scene is not entirely unrecognisable today, but at last, things are changing.

There has been a huge increase in the ber of Jewish day schools. The Masorti movement (loosely affiliated to the Conservative movement in America) has firmly taken root and, known for its tolerance and friendliness, is now the only denomination that is actually growing. Partly in response, the United Synagogue has been forced to modernise welcoming younger more modern Rabbis and Carlebach-style davening. Women’s megillah readings are beginning to take off here. Most of all, the revolution has come in the form of a single organisation called ‘Limmud.’ Limmud (www.Limmud.org) is a unique, non-denominational organisation dedicated to the promotion of Jewish education. Run entirely by volunteers, Limmud has a flagship annual conference whose delegates come from every denomination, every level of observance, every level of education, from infancy to the every elderly, from every part of Britain and beyond, to learn together and to teach each other on every aspect of Judaism and Jewish culture you can imagine. Although some of the best speakers on the international circuit are flown over specially, the essence of Limmud is the opportunity it gives ordinary lay members to share their wealth of knowledge and skills. For those who want to contribute in other ways, volunteering opportunities range from co-ordinating the whole program to brewing the tea. Limmud has now spawned one-day learn-a-thon events around the country, study courses, publications and more, and in response to the many Israelis who have “come to Limmud as Israelis and returned to Israel as Jews,” the organization is currently trying to establish a Limmud-Israel.

Limmud is probably not quite as an-embracing an organisation as it would like to believe. The people it attracts are mostly middle class and mostly well educated in secular spheres at least. It attracts few Charedim and few assimilated Jews. Limmud culture is very intolerant of any intolerance, meaning that the sort of Orthodox Jews that come tend to be left-wing liberal types, which is not an accurate representation of this sector. Limmud takes pride in its harmonious atmosphere. Indeed, the sight of so many Jews of such different persuasion learning together and befriending each other must be seen to be believed, but it is important not to get carried away. Like all examples of successful pluralism, this is an essentially artificial state, achieved only by burying the issues that divide us. The range of independent minyanim that run throughout the events are unofficial and cannot acknowledge the problems posed by each other’s existence. There are some Orthodox Jews who will not come to Limmud, because it is run by Progressive as well as Orthodox Jews, and features many Progressive educators. They feel that their participation is tantamount to condoning Progressive Judaism and to accepting that all types of Judaism are equally valid and acceptable. They have consequently established a rival event called ‘Encounter’, which is run by and features only Orthodox educators. Others believe that learning with someone does not amount to anything save the acquisition of knowledge. Another problem is that whilst some believe in learning for its own sake, others feel that learning in a non-religious context is meaningless or worse. But without doubt and despite these issues, Limmud is an incredible organisation, and is doing more than anything else around here to remove the entrenched apathy and cynicism of an entire generation.

Limmud has tapped into a growing yearning of Jews to reach out to each other beyond politics and theology, to come together and embark on very personal journeys from a shared springboard. It seems to me that the Mima’amakim community is filling that same niche. Protected and stripped by the anonymity of the forum, we use our shared heritage to leap forward into individual acts of creation. What is sustaining us is also liberating us; what is communal is intensely individual. Are its flaws the same as Limmud? At the moment no- I don’t think it is ambitious enough to have these issues. It is ‘just’ a space to share art. But already there have been debates about the potential offensiveness of some of the offerings, whether that spark is the lack of tzniut in a picture or the coarseness of language in a short story. Is ‘heresy’ tolerable as long as it’s only in a poem? Are we trying to educate each other through our work or just express ourselves to people who will understand? If Mimaamakim really is to be part of the revolution, it cannot afford to be smug. Some time it will have to face up to what it is prepared to be.

Jews worldwide are taking their roots with them into unknown dimensions as part of an unconscious quest for Ge’ulah. Despite everything, this is an intensely exciting time to be a Jew. Spread the word.

            Most literate Jews are aware of an enduring tension within Judaism: that between the “rational” and the “mystical”. Many Jews may identify the “rationalist” tradition with the great medieval thinker, Moses ben Maimon (Maimonides). In contrast, they may associate the “mystical” strain of Judaism with Hasidic masters, such as the Baal Shem Tov (the Besht). This dichotomy is understandable, and not entirely incorrect—but it drastically oversimplifies the complex reality of Jewish teachings. Indeed, I want to suggest that within the stream of “mystical” Judaism is a surprisingly strong current of rationalism—one that joins the Hasidic tradition in a fundamental way with that of Maimonides and other rationalists.  Additionally, I will suggest some striking parallels between this rationalist strain and modern cognitive-behavioral therapy (CBT)—a treatment based on the premise that emotional disturbance is caused by irrational or self-defeating ideas.

        But before proceeding, we should briefly define what these terms—“rational” and “mystical”—are supposed to mean. In essence, the rationalist strain in Judaism has identified religious truth with the faculty of reason and the use of logic. Thus, Maimonides has been described as, “…the typical rationalist, in that rational understanding stands immeasurably higher for him than the experiences men have through feeling and intuition.” (1) (pp. 127-28). On the other hand, it is more difficult to define “mysticism” in the Judaic context. Still, Louis Jacob’s definition is a good start: “Jewish mysticism can be defined as that aspect of the Jewish religious experience in which man’s mind is in direct encounter with God.”(2) (p. 3). Hence, no perjorative connotations should be attached to the term “mysticism” as used in this essay. Though not synonymous with mysticism, Hasidism, as Green observes, “at its theoretical core is a mystical movement.” (3)  (p. 318).                                                       

         While not the focus of this essay, one could make a strong case that even in Maimonides (Rabeinu Moshe ben Maimon, Rambam), the mystical strain of Judaism is present (2). For example, in Section 3, chapter 51 of his Guide of the Perplexed, Rambam’s discussion of “communion with God” has strong affinities with the Hasidic concept of devekut –“perpetually being with God” (2). Thus, even in the “arch-Rationalist”, Maimonides, an element of mysticism may be discerned.

            But enough abstraction—how do specific figures identified with Jewish mysticism actually incorporate rationalist elements into their teachings? We shall examine three seminal figures in the Jewish mystical tradition: Shneur Zalman of Liady; Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson; and—perhaps the most problematic of the three--  Nahman of Bratslav,

Shneur Zalman of Lyady

            Rabbi Shneur Zalman (1745-1813) was a contemporary of Rabbi Nahman. His mag opus, the Tanya (Sefer Shel Beinonim) has formed the basis of the Habad or Lubavitch movement (4). Rabbi Shneur Zalman (RSZ) is unquestionably part of what Bokser calls “the Jewish mystical tradition”, having studied kabbala under a certain Rabbi Issachar in Lubavich. On the one hand, we find in RSZ’s writings many references to “the soul’s yearning to cleave to God,”  “the return of the soul to its divine source,” and many other ideas found in the Jewish mystical tradition (4) (pp. 218-219).  But RSZ developed his own strain of Hasidic thought that incorporated strong rationalist elements. For example, RSZ modified the concept of the zaddik (the righteous or saintly individual), so that it was seen “…in terms closer to the classic conception of the rabbi as a teacher and a guide, but not as a channel of divine grace.” (4) (p. 210).

            In his spiritual practice, RSZ can certainly sound quite “mystical”, emphasizing intense catharsis and penitence. Thus, Foxbrunner tells us that Zalman advocated

            “…weekly or monthly periods of introspection and self-berating that, ideally, were to culminate in a tearful outpouring of the heart. This weeping was intended simultaneously to purge the soul of its spiritual guilt and of all its worldly worries; it would then be capable of serving God with unadulterated joy.” (5) (p. 115)

            And yet, RSZ paid high tribute to the role of the intellect. This is especially true in his depiction of the struggle between the “divine soul” and the “animal nature” inherent in all human beings. Indeed,

             “…it is clear that in Tanya (and in some discourses) the emotions are generally caused and completely controlled by the intellect. A mind engaged in contemplating sublime matters will eventually bring forth sublime emotions. Conversely, the powerful, untamed physical passions generated by the animal soul may always be tamed and sublimated by the intellect of its divine adversary.” (5) (p. 102, italics added).

            But RSZ’s concept of the emotions does not necessarily pit them against the intellect. His view is more subtle than that. RSZ suggests that, “…the greater a man’s intellect, the greater his potential for arousing commensurately great emotions…in other words, like all good parents, the intellective faculties feed, clothe, educate and discipline their emotive offspring…” (5) (p. 102, italics added).

            In effect, for RSZ, even as the divine soul struggles with our animal nature, the relationship between the intellect and the emotions is essentially nurturing and parental.

            Finally, like Rabbi Nahman and other Hasidic masters, Rabbi Shneur Zalman seems to have been preoccupied with depression. RSZ distinguished between what he called “dejection”— what modern-day psychiatrists might term, “major depression”—and “bitterness”. Whereas dejection is a crippling emotion that “inhibits Service” bitterness is a form of “active dissatisfaction” with one’s shortcomings (5) (p. 122). Bitterness, in this sense, is a kind of goad to self-improvement. It is not unlike the modern cognitive psychologist’s instruction to the depressed patient; e.g., “Write down all the things that you’d like to change about yourself, and then some practical ways you might bring that about”. This instruction is provided in a context that also emphasizes self-acceptance—distinguishing the individual’s self-defeating actions from his or her ultimate value as a human being (6).

            Similarly, Foxbrunner writes that “RSZ devotes much attention to psychological strategies for dealing with periodic depression. These episodes were to be examined and their nature determined…” (5) (p. 120). Then, the individual could begin to alter his thinking so as to alleviate the depression. For example,

            “…sadness arising from one’s apparent spiritual weakness-the inability to suppress profane thoughts, for example—could be overcome by simply accepting one’s lot…as one of the vast majority of men whose purpose in life is constantly to struggle with profane thoughts, speech, and actions naturally arising from the animal soul and the yetser hara [evil impulse].”  (5) (p. 120).

            In effect, Zalman is advocating self-acceptance and the avoidance of unrealistic, perfectionistic thinking. This is essentially a change in one’s belief system, though it occurs in the hothouse atmosphere of “self-abasement and self-effacement” sessions (5)  (p. 121). These are akin to what the narcissistic individual undergoes—often painfully—as his grandiosity and self-involvement are gradually confronted in psychotherapy. Rabbi Shneur Zalman is thus a classic example of how the mystical and the rational are closely interwoven in Judaic teaching.

Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson

            Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson (1902-94)—head of the Lubavitcher movement for forty-four years—was and is regarded, by many of his followers, as the Messiah. But as his student, Rabbi Simon Jacobson, has observed, the Rebbe “…never required anyone to accept his authority—as a Messiah, or for that matter, even as a Rebbe.” (7) (p. 283). On the other hand, as Jacobson notes, there is no doubt that the message of “the Rebbe” (as he is known by his followers) represents “…the culmination of nine generations of the Chassidic tradition…” extending back to the Baal Shem Tov, Rabbi Dovber of Mezeritch, and Rabbi Shneur Zalman (7) (p xvi). In this sense, the Rebbe is also squarely within the Jewish mystical tradition, emphasizing that, “…to begin to understand G-d…we must learn to go beyond our own mind, our own ego, our own tools of perception.” (7) (p. 214). Indeed, the Rebbe tells us that, “…to look for G-d with our eyes, with our intellect, with our logic, would be like trying to capture the sun’s light in our hand.” (7)  (p. 214).

            And yet—once again, we see in the Rebbe the magnificent paradox of our greatest spiritual leaders. For like his predecessor, Rabbi Shneur Zalman, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson also draws on traditional sources of Jewish “rationalism”. (It is intriguing that, in the 1930s, the Rebbe studied mathematics and science at the University of Berlin and the Sorbonne! It is almost certain that he would have been exposed to the psychoanalytic theories of Freud, as well). Also in the tradition of his Chassidic forebears, the Rebbe was intensely interested in how we cope with pain and suffering, fear and anxiety. To those of us in the mental health profession, some of the Rebbe’s advice might well have come from a handbook on cognitive-behavioral therapy. For example:

 “To defeat depression, you must introduce a fresh perspective to your thinking. You must begin to replace troubling, destructive thoughts with positive, constructive ones. Think good and it will be good. This is not foolish optimism; this is recognizing the goodness within even a seemingly bad situation…” and “…the moment you look fear in the eye, it begins to crumble. Use your intellect to harness your emotions…” (7) (p. 141).

            Cognitive-behavioral therapists often use a technique called “reframing”, in which the patient’s mode of seeing a predicament is altered by means of a new cognitive “schema”. In this regard, consider the Rebbe’s approach to the following case:

 “…a woman came to the Rebbe for a blessing for her father, who was depressed that he had to spend the High Holidays in a hospital. The Rebbe smiled and said, “Tell your father that he should finish the mission he was sent to the hospital for, to inspire the others there to intensify their spiritual commitments. Then he will be released.” (7) (p. 92).

            Indeed, by redefining the problem—not, “hospitalized and depressed”, but “hospitalized with a mission”—the Rebbe acts in the manner of the cognitive therapist: “The real-life problem itself has not been changed, but the therapist assists the patient to