I really should be going to bed now, or really, a good hour ago. But there was a paper to finish, and this has been on my mind of late... (And if I'm up, I should be cooking for the potluck Shabbat dinner tomorrow. But instead I'll write this more quickly that it deserves, and cook insanely tomorrow afternoon.)
So, I've been thinking about Aleinu a lot lately. I remember telling
fleurdelis28 that I didn't think that Aleinu was really saying anything, a Very long time ago. That was before I had a clue about what I was trying to read through in the second paragraph. And I wasn't all too sure abotu the point of going back and reiterating "Gee G-d, you're great, we're different and special, and by the way, G-d, you made all of Creation" after a lot of other prayers many of which include these ideas at various points. And to be honest, much as I like and find certain parts of the cool-down (post AMidah) section of the morning liturgy, I don't do the "cool down" thing too well: I start to get impatient. I love the when-we're-not-too-happy-and-not-too-sad Psalm, but it's hard to get into Psalms again after the Amidah. But regardless...
My Hebrew has slowly improved over the last few years, and I've learned a lot about theology and the like. And so- yes, the Aleinu as a whole, and most especially the second paragraph make all sorts of theological problems. And I really liked the idea that I got in Liturgy class last year where the two paragraphs are sort of an attempt at parallel between creation in the past and our hope for redemption in the future (which would work even better if the bowing shtick were at the end of the first paragraph. But it Still works quite well). But well, that just brings me back to the same problem- it's an awfully We're-Right-You're-Wrong idea of redemption. And well, I tend to feel that when we really merit redemption (as much as I tend to actually think seriously about redemption in that way: it's something I believe in, but which really doesn't impact my life much, so I haven't thought about it enough. I really ought to. That and the issue of the afterlife if there is one. And related issues.) it might be, well, Because we aren't quite so Self focused. So it feels a little bit like a contradiction.
And yet- there's a part of me that really, really Likes that paragraph. It would make life so much simpler. But I'm not sure it would work- if everyone believed what we believe (where we = Jews, or some such definition), well, there'd still be huge amounts of disagreement. But even so, I feel like that paragraph is my chance to out my little inner religiously egocentric self, and give it some air. On the one hand, I'm afraid that it will get to grow outside of the little space where it is acceptable, if not at all admirable. On the other hand- the third hand?- maybe giving it this out, and letting it be a tremendously legitimate out, will be enough to contain it, and to harness that energy for working towards positive change in the world- one of my real weaknesses, I think. (certainly so on a large scale. Small scale I can do, but somehow I'm not at all that counts in the eyes of the world.)
So, I've been thinking about Aleinu a lot lately. I remember telling
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My Hebrew has slowly improved over the last few years, and I've learned a lot about theology and the like. And so- yes, the Aleinu as a whole, and most especially the second paragraph make all sorts of theological problems. And I really liked the idea that I got in Liturgy class last year where the two paragraphs are sort of an attempt at parallel between creation in the past and our hope for redemption in the future (which would work even better if the bowing shtick were at the end of the first paragraph. But it Still works quite well). But well, that just brings me back to the same problem- it's an awfully We're-Right-You're-Wrong idea of redemption. And well, I tend to feel that when we really merit redemption (as much as I tend to actually think seriously about redemption in that way: it's something I believe in, but which really doesn't impact my life much, so I haven't thought about it enough. I really ought to. That and the issue of the afterlife if there is one. And related issues.) it might be, well, Because we aren't quite so Self focused. So it feels a little bit like a contradiction.
And yet- there's a part of me that really, really Likes that paragraph. It would make life so much simpler. But I'm not sure it would work- if everyone believed what we believe (where we = Jews, or some such definition), well, there'd still be huge amounts of disagreement. But even so, I feel like that paragraph is my chance to out my little inner religiously egocentric self, and give it some air. On the one hand, I'm afraid that it will get to grow outside of the little space where it is acceptable, if not at all admirable. On the other hand- the third hand?- maybe giving it this out, and letting it be a tremendously legitimate out, will be enough to contain it, and to harness that energy for working towards positive change in the world- one of my real weaknesses, I think. (certainly so on a large scale. Small scale I can do, but somehow I'm not at all that counts in the eyes of the world.)
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Is not the right/wrong bit kind of inherent in the whole redemption thing? The redemption idea for a great many religions is a "We're-Right-You're-Wrong" idea. Moreover, even within the dualities of quantum physics, there are binary scenarios.
About your scale issue, I quote "Quantum Leap":
-"Do you [Sam] think that all you did [by Quantum Leaping and putting right what once went wrong] was help a few people?"
-"Essentially, yes."
-"Oh! I got Mother Teresa on my hands! At the risk of inflating your ego, you've done more. The lives you've touched, touched others. And those lives, others. You've done a lot of good...and you can do a lot more."
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It also probably works better from the framework of God-as-truth-and-right-and-justice than "our God can beat up your gods!", though I suppose it's open to both interpretations.
The part that gets me is the scuffle over the ommitted line in the first paragraph, and whether it implies anything about Christianity. In its original context, it's talking about followers of Ba'al. Do we know any? (Though I suppose that could weigh equally for continuing not to say it, or saying it because we know that its implications ought to be safely uncontroversial these days.) The idea of being selected by God for a religion feels a little bit obsolete whether or not it's smug, though, given the ease of finding out about, and moving between, religions today if one wants to.
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Normally I would say this sounds about as likely as the "stupid gentile guards who know the siddur very well" explanation of the extra shemas in shaharit, but two things lead me to think otherwise:
1. The teacher who taught me this is not given to quoting the party line when it comes to liturgical development.
2. A friend who davens Nusah Ha'ari pointed out to me that European Jews who don't use the Ashkenazi rite spell the word ולריק, adding 30, even though the phrase is a direct criptural citation (Isaiah 30:7).
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I don't tend to think that it says anything about Christianity in Particular, but it's definitely a statement about the invalidity of others' religions. Which I, of course (I guess), agree with. On the other hand, it does complicate our ideas of the other major Western monotheistic faiths (and for that description, I probably could have just typed out their two names instead and taken up less space and sounded less haughty), since we're effectively saying that they Aren't praying to the same one G-d that we are, even if they strongly believe that they are- just in Ways that we don't think are applicable.
On the other hand, one could read it like R. Schechter-Shalomi, aka as simply a statement, not a value judgement: "they do this, and we do this other thing". But I find it somewhat hard to do that in liturgy, and most especially in this sort of liturgy, that feels like it wants to Make A Point. I mean, it does follow well as the context for the "thanks for making us different" section prior, but that very context makes it hard to read it as a really and truly nonjudgemental statement.
I think one of the critical bits of my theology in regards to chosenness comes directly from my mother's Bat Mitzvah speech (delivered when I was about 10, so I remember it- although I don't remember anything besides this one point from the whole speech): G-d acts like a parent with a first child, with Israel. Chosenness might well mean chosen-to-get-the-experimentation-before-the-kinks-get-worked-out. (Yes, I realize that that's problematic for seeing G-d as omniscient. There must be some way to harmonize them. I just haven't found it yet.) I'm realizing that that works well considering the shared root between chosenness and the birthright. (Unless I'm spelling something wrong, which is quite possible.)
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Are we, though? Who says we're talking about them at all? The original context was about idolaters; who says it's saying ethical monotheism other than ours doesn't count? Maybe the rise and spread of Christianity and Islam is covered by the second paragraph.
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Of course, if he was just some guy, then isn't the spreading mostly Paul's domain? (Of course, if Paul had stayed out of it, maybe the result would have been a bunch of largely observant Jews who happened to have a conviction that their dead messiah was unprecedentedly awesome to some disputed degree, and coming back.)
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(I'm teaching this in my Sunday school liturgy class just now, actually.)
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Yet another reading: We are different because we are obligated to thank God.
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(By "us" I mean "our spiritual progenitors," of course. If we were they, we wouldn't spent so much time reminding God that our ancestors were relatively cooperative people.)
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