One of the Jewish rites of passage for moving into a new place is the trip to the Keilim Mikvah. For reasons we’re not getting into here, certain new vessels and utensils must be immersed in water to “purify and uplift the vessel” (B. Avoda Zara 75b). Even if someone went for their parents once or twice before, few things compare to schlepping multiple sets of brand new plates, silverware, and cookware to a polluted lake or glorified leak.

Ironically, the body of water used for “purifying” the vessels is usually more contaminated than the Hudson River. Sure there are some exceptions – the one by Breuer’s is relatively clean – most of the ones I’ve seen are in dire need of cleaning, or in some cases, sulphuric acid.

Case in point, I spent part of Sunday at the Springfield keilim mikvah helping out the folks with some of their dishes and without exaggeration, there was at least a full inch of black “stuff” lining the bottom of the basin. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t care – I’d just lower the objects in the laundry basket, move things around making sure they’re totally submerged with no hatzitzot, lift, dry, and repeat.

Today however, when going through the place settings, my mother noticed that a spoon was missing.
Now we know it wasn’ t on the outside of the mikvah, but even though I didn’t notice anything escape the firm clutches of the laundry basket, we’re still short one spoon. Were this a cleaner mikvah, I’d just be able to look in and see, “hey! there’s that spoon!”
Not this one.

The crud at the bottom of this thing swallowed up virtually everything that had the unfortunate fate of coming into contact with it. Think of the black goo from Creepshow 2 only without the whole jumping out of the water flesh eating part. That’s what I’m talking about.

Against all odds there were a few items which reflected the limited sunlight, so there was some hope. The good people of Springfield were kind enough to supply a pole with nothing attached to either end. This allows unfortunate klutzes to push around the gunk thinking they can get their plates back, but in reality they’re just making it harder to see through it.
When I thought I saw something resembling the wayward flatware, I reached in as far as I could, but was still a good 4 inches too short. Going Jacques Cousteau wasn’t really an option but we did try some other unconventional alternatives.¹

Skipping right to the good stuff, we had the best success using a combination of a snow shovel and a reaching/gripper thingie left over from when my mother was recovering from the hip surgery. While we did manage to fish out 2 plates (one of which was shaped like a fish) and 3 spoons and knives covered in at least 25 types of dirt, but sadly the lost spoon is still lost in the abyss that is the Springfield keilim mikvah.
I did get a few things out of the experience. First, shuls really ought to clean their kelim mikvahs. Second, thanks to lefum tzar’ah agra (M. Avot 5:23) on both tevillat kelim *and* kibbud eim, I’m set upstairs for a while.

Still, I am curious if anyone else out there has had their own bizarre experiences with a keilim mikvah and/or the absolute worst keilim mikvah you’ve ever seen.
In the meantime, I’ll be in quarantine until I stop glowing.

1. If you’re asking yourself why make a big deal over one spoon, the answer is: “because.”
2. And I just *know* I’m not the only one here

After years of horrible dating experiences, you finally find The One. She’s (or he’s) pretty, funny, smart, a dynamo in the kitchen, and even with your impossibly high standards, she’s (you get the idea) everything you’re ever been looking for in a spouse.

Well … almost.

As it turns out she doesn’t want to make aliyah. Or vice versa, she does and you really don’t. For some reason, this little detail got overlooked by both of you and/or the shadchan never bothered checking. While there are many factors one considers in dating, aliyah is unique. There are significant halakhic, hashkafic, and practical considerations, and there is little room for compromise. You’re not choosing between city and suburban life, but living in Israel or not living in Israel.

At any rate, you’ve now got a choice to make. Do you marry the girl of your dreams and give up aliyah, or go ahead with your life and take a chance with the dating game for however long it might take?

Naturally, there’s not going to be a definitive answer to the question. But for those who are facing this dilemma, perhaps we can help sort through some of the factors to consider.

Way back in 1999 when I was a senior in YU I worked for both of the major undergradutate publications: as a co-techie/webmaster with Ben for The Commentator and a short-lived editor-in-chief for Hamevaser (alav hashalom). So when Edah organized their first conference, I scored a free press pass to cover the new Modern Orthodoxy for either paper.
I also scored an interview with Rabbi Saul J. Berman himself.
It wasn’t a long interview; Rabbi Berman was extermely busy and preoccupied and the fact that he gave me any time at all was generous on his part. However, while Ben’s analysis got printed in The Commentator, my interview got buried in Hamevaser’s quagmire and was never published.
A recent cleaning of my YUCS account turned up this lost piece of history, still in its Word Perfect format. Since the interview was intented for publication, and it’s not like Hamevaser will do anything about it, I don’t see too much of a problem posting it up here.
And of course, many thanks to Fresh Samantha for the loan of her tape-recorder.¹

Introduction
It should be obvious by now that my take on Judaism is a little bit different than most other people’s. Sometimes I appear to be mahmir (strict), other times meikil (lenient), and other times completely ambivalent. I’m inconsistent to some, mechanical to others. I’ve had people try to throw every possible label at me trying to peg me down into an ideology with which they could identify. Even when I give my typical short answer of read Rambam’s Introduction to Mishnah Torah, I typically get blank stares or people just don’t understand the point.

In truth, I’ve never tried try to fit into most of the religious boxes that people set. I suppose I would be considered “Modern Orthodox,” but there are so many opinions as to what that term means that I do not believe it is terribly useful. I would also avoid using the varying degrees of “frum,” as well as the currently fashionable qualifications of “orthopraxis” or “heterodox.” Rather than rely on the social categorizations of other people, I will try to explain as best as I can what I believe and why. You’re free to call it whatever you’d like.

Personally, I prefer simply, “Shomer Torah.”

Introduction

As mentioned previously (and obvious to many readers), Orthodox Judaism is considered to be religious, traditional, and/or authentic, but there are several gradations and sub-categories within Orthodoxy. There are countless customs, world views, and interpretations such that adequately defining what Orthodox Jews do or believe is nearly impossible.

Of course, this never stopped people from trying.

So in today’s installment of the “Personal Hashkafa” series, I’d like to present my take on the worlds of Orthodox Judaism, with a theory I believe accounts for most if not all phenomenon found in Orthodoxy. Let me just restate that this is my thinking and how it plays into my overall hashkafa. This is not an academic paper – though it could be a fun one if/when I’d ever have the opportunity.

So the return to Washington Heights for Shavuot was really nice. From what I can tell, the drasha went pretty well, although I think the delivery went better the second time when I was at the bridge shul. Anyway, here’s the quickie write-up of the shiur.