Your Questions Answered #7

By Susan Esther Barnes

One of the fun things about getting website statistics for my blog is I get to see the search terms people use to get here. A lot of those search terms are questions. You have some great questions, and I think they deserve an answer. In addition, it turns out these posts are among the most popular ones on my blog. So here is the latest installment of “Your Questions Answered.”


Can you touch someone else’s mezuzah?
Yes! Of course, some people wear a mezuzah as a pendant, and I wouldn’t go reaching for a mezuzah hanging on someone else’s neck. However, any mezuzah on a doorpost is fair game – go ahead and kiss it!


Can you use the word “devout” to refer to Jews?
Of course you can. I’m guessing this question comes up because we often hear the phrase, “Devout Christian.” My handy Webster’s dictionary defines the word “devout” as “Devoted to religion,” so as with any religious person of any faith, religious Jews can be referred to as “devout.”


Do you have to tell people you weren’t born Jewish after you convert?
The short answer is no. Once a person converts to Judaism, he or she is considered to be a Jew just like any other Jew, with all the same obligations.

However, under some circumstances, a person may be asked to prove he or she is Jewish. I think this is wrong, and a person should be taken at his or her word about whether he or she is Jewish, but others disagree. If a convert is asked to prove he or she is Jewish, then the fact that he or she is a convert will inevitably come out.

Circumstances in which you may be asked to prove your Jewishness include applying for membership at some (most likely Orthodox) synagogues, enrolling your child in a yeshiva (Orthodox religious school), making aliyah (moving to Israel), and getting married in Israel (where only Orthodox Jews can be married – non Orthodox Israeli Jews often travel to Cyprus to get married).


What statement is written on the seder plate?
It depends on your seder plate. The seder plate is used for Pesach, or Passover. The word seder means “order,” and it refers to several different types of food that we eat in a certain order for this holiday. Those special foods are put on the seder plate, so many of them have the names of the special foods written on them. Some may also say “Pesach” or something else on them in Hebrew, relating to the holiday. If you want to know what your seder plate says, ask a rabbi, or bring it into a Judaica store for a translation.


Why do people visit others when they are sick?
When we talk about visiting the sick, we don’t generally mean visiting people who have a common cold or flu, or people who are contagious. We don’t want to interrupt people who are trying to get some rest, and we certainly don’t want to catch anything, or to spread disease to others.

However, when someone is in the hospital or recovering at home from surgery or a non-contagious illness, it can be pretty lonely. A visit from a friend can help to pass the time, and can help keep the person’s mind off of their illness, at least for a while.

Jewish tradition says that when you visit someone who is sick, it takes away a small part of his or her illness. Also, just after Abraham was circumcised, God came to visit him. We visit the sick as one way to try to imitate what God does.


Keep those questions coming!
I would love to answer more of your questions, so feel free to ask some in the comments section below, or just keep coming here via those interesting search terms.

Visiting the Sick: Lesser Standing and Greater Stature

By Susan Esther Barnes

Every year, my synagogue’s chevra kadisha – the group of people who visits the sick, comforts mourners, etc., receives additional training. These classes are a good way to bring new members of the group up to speed, as well as to give current members additional information.

In a recent class, we discussed a quote from Talmud Bavli, Nedarim 39b, which says, “’The mitzvah of visiting the sick has no limit.’ With regard to what does it have ‘no limit?’ Abaye said, ‘Even an individual of greater standing should visit someone of lesser stature.’”

What does this interpretation of Abaye mean? I’m pretty sure he’s not saying people of high standing should visit short people. It seems to mean that people in high positions in society should visit the sick, even if it means visiting someone lower in the hierarchy.

Setting aside that I’m not a big fan of hierarchies, the idea that those higher up should visit others lower down seems like a no-brainer to me. Of course, everyone, on up to the King or President, should engage in the mitzvah of visiting the sick.

As with anyone else, of course, there is a right way and a wrong way to do it. I once knew a woman who was hospitalized with pneumonia. When her boss walked into her hospital room, she thought, “How nice it is that she came to visit me here.”

Then the boss took out a pile of paperwork for the hospitalized woman to work on, and her husband quickly kicked the boss out of the room and told her not to come back. It’s no mitzvah if the “visit” is to increase the patient’s workload, rather than to provide comfort.

I find myself thinking what a good thing it was that this woman’s husband was present to throw the boss out. Why would the Talmud encourage people of greater stature to visit those beneath them, without any further instruction?

One of the problems facing people in the hospital is they may feel a loss of power. They are confined to a room for most, if not all, of the day and night, for the most part they don’t get to pick what they wear or eat, and they have little to no control over who walks into their room, or when.

Shouldn’t the Talmud remind the person visiting to keep in mind the balance of power, so the boss doesn’t forget that this poor hapless employee may not feel they are able to kick the boss out even if they’re feeling tired, or put-upon in some way? Shouldn’t the Talmud say that if a boss is visiting a worker, they should not pressure them to come back to work before they are ready?

Maybe the Talmud assumes that the person of lesser stature will be so flattered to get a visit from someone higher up that there is no need to worry about these things, but I just don’t think that is a reasonable position to take.

I also find it interesting that the Talmud doesn’t seem to say anything about there being an obligation for those of us who are farther down on the social ladder to visit those sick people who are farther up.

I understand there are other places in the Talmud in which it discourages us from appearing to be trying to curry favor with those in the upper classes. I can certainly see how this could be a concern.

There is a rabbi who used to work at our synagogue, and her husband, also a rabbi, still works there. I have taken classes from this woman, as well as from her husband, her father (yet another rabbi) and her mother. One could argue they are all of “higher stature” than me.

When this woman’s grandmother died, I wanted to attend the shiva minyan, but I wondered how it would look. Would the family, or others, think I was just there to “brown nose” with higher-ups, or would they see my visit as sincere?

I wrestled with the question for a while, and I could see how the same issue would come up for me if, God forbid, anyone in their family were hospitalized and I needed to decide whether to visit them. In the end, I decided to go to the shiva, concluding that since God and I knew the visit was sincere, I shouldn’t be overly concerned about what others might think.

Still, I can’t help but wonder, why is it that the Talmud, which addresses so many issues, does not address this one? Why does Abaye mention visiting people of lesser stature, but not visiting people of greater stature?

Does this mean Abaye took for granted that those of us of lesser stature will visit those further up, or does it mean he doesn’t think it is necessary or desirable for us to do so?

If any of you have references to any place that the Talmud addresses these questions, I’d appreciate it if you could let me know.

Distracted Driving

By Susan Esther Barnes

Earlier this week I was driving to work when I saw something out of the corner of my left eye. I glanced over, and discovered a couple of thin, shiny threads directly to my left. I swiped at them with my hand, successfully removing them, thinking that would be the end of it.

A couple of minutes later, I saw something moving out of the corner of my left eye. I looked over again, and saw a tiny spider ascending an invisible piece of web. I understand how helpful spiders are, eating mosquitoes and other flying pests, and yet they, especially large spiders, freak me out. Many years ago I saw the movie “Arachnophobia,” which was the only time I actually lost control in the movie theater, instinctively pawing the air in front of me as scenes of spiders filled the screen.

I consoled myself with the fact that this was a tiny spider, as well as with the idea that it was simply making for the safety of the top of the inner car door, where it would likely cower in fear until after I exited the vehicle. Alas, it was not so.

No, this critter was in no way intimidated by my presence or my recent destruction of its earlier strands. As I sped down the freeway at (actual speed has been omitted so as not to incriminate myself, but truly I generally try to stick to no more than 5 or at most 10 MPH or so over the speed limit, and have so far – knock on wood – never been pulled over), this brave tike just went about its business, building its web on the inside of my car window.

Needless to say, this activity was a bit distracting, but I just couldn’t bring myself to kill it, and it never occurred to me to pull over on the side of the freeway to evict it, so I just kept glancing over at it to make sure it wasn’t going to try to use me as one of the anchor points for its web.

Unexpectedly, this experience with the spider turned out to be prophetic of how my week would feel.

It felt like the week was speeding by. While normally I have intense powers of concentration, focusing so much on my work that I tune out everything around me to the extent that sometimes I don’t even notice a colleague calling my name, this week I was decidedly distracted.

As the week rushed by and I tried to concentrate on the task at hand, other thoughts kept popping into my head. Lists of things I needed to do at work, items I wanted to remember to pack for my trip to Israel, the last few items (snacks!) I wanted to buy at the grocery store this weekend, kept ruining my concentration.

While I worked late every evening to make sure I didn’t leave a pile of work for my colleagues while I was gone, and while my mind darted from one thing to another, it became clear that my blog would suffer.

I wanted to write about Judi, who fell in Chicago and hurt her leg so badly she will be in a care center for weeks and in rehab for months after that. I wanted to talk about how delivering a meal to the sick is different when it’s someone you know.

I wanted to write about Rose, whose signature is on my ketubah as a witness to my marriage. Rose, 93 years old and one of the most active people at the synagogue, who is back in the hospital after having a cancer tumor removed, and then developing an infection and abdominal seepage after she was discharged from the first hospital too soon. Rose, who for years has said she’s not afraid of death, who says her first thought upon awakening is, “Oh! I’m still alive!” Rose, who told me last weekend that as they wheeled her into the operating room she suddenly realized, “I don’t want to die.”

Usually when I want to write about things like this, I can feel some semi-conscious part of my mind going over it again and again, picking out words and phrases, harrying it mercilessly until I know it’s time for me to sit down and let it flow onto paper.

This week, the thought process would start, then get derailed, then sputter along a bit, then get dropped entirely for days, then peek up again only to be pushed aside. It was as if all week a little spider just on the edge of my sight kept pulling my thoughts off the road.

At least I have a reason to be distracted. Next week, in Jerusalem.