Re'ay, Devarim 14:3. Not Torah, Not Politics, Just So. (well, a tiny bit of Torah.)

This post started out have absolutely nothing to do with Divrei Torah, posted just because I thought the people who read this blog might find it interesting. As you will see, this, too, turned out to have a Torah connection.

I plant a garden for my mother shetichyeh. There are a few absolutes; the garden must have dahlias (which, in Lithuania, were called Georginas) and asters, but not zinnias. Zinnias are 'common.' There have to be tomatoes so the great-grandchildren can enjoy picking them. And there has to be rhubarb, for rhubarb and strawberry compot. Beyond that, I have a free (and calloused) hand.

The past two years, I've planted corn, or, in my mother's words, kukuruza. Corn cannot be planted in the single digits. Especially in my case, where the purpose is so that my mother can look at the back yard and see lush greenery reminiscent of the summers of her childhood, I have to plant a good stand of corn. So last year I planted an area of around fifteen by ten, and this year I planted fifteen by thirty feet of corn. I really can't guarantee a crop, what with malevolent squirrels, rabbits, and raccoons, but, at least, a block of corn eight feet tall looks nice waving in the wind, and that is the primary reason it's there.

This year, though, I do have some ears of corn, at least for the moment. If the four-legged vandals realize what I have, they'll rip it apart in a night, but if it lasts a week or so, my grandchildren will have something to pick.

This morning, I noticed that one ear of corn was swollen, and I recognized that it was infected with corn smut. What, you ask, is corn smut? Here's something I found about it:
GourmetSleuth Huitlacoche [wee-tlah-KOH-cheh]
Mexican Corn Truffle Huitlacoche (also spelled cuitlacoche) is a fungus (Ustilago maydis) which grows naturally on ears of corn. The fungus is harvested and treated as a delicacy. The earthy and somewhat smoky fungus is used to flavor quesadillas, tamales, soups and other specialty dishes. (...) Another interesting story told by Ms. Fussell is that of a dinner presented by the James Beard House in New York City in 1989. The purpose was to give Americans a tasting of the corn smut but with a new name “Mexican Truffle”. The menu was created by Josefina Howard of Rosa Mexicano restaurant and included huitlacoche appetizers, soup, crepes, tortilla torte, and even an huitlacoche ice cream.

One slight correction: it does not grow on the corn, it takes over the corn and renders each kernel grotesquely swollen and blackened.

So, this year, I decided to grill it and see what it tasted like. We had, in other words, corn smut for a side dish. I wrapped it in tin foil, put it into hot charcoal in the barbecue, and served it for dinner.

We had a dinner guest, Mrs. Victoria Weisenberg, a friend and colleague of my rebbitzen, who teaches college microbiology and anatomy. She was thrilled to actually see something she had lectured about, less thrilled to be dared to taste it, but after some moments of good, sensible hesitation, she did taste it. My rebbitzen has more seichel than that, so it was just me, Mrs. Weisenberg, and my oldest son. As we put it, we had an warm and congenial dinner, and then we all sat down and enjoyed some smut.

Having partaken, I can tell you that you're not missing anything. Even disregarding an appearance that would fit nicely in a shadowy corner of a painting by Hieronymus Bosch, its taste and texture were utterly insipid, without character, and bland. But, on the plus side, it didn't kill anyone.


The photo above is the piece of the ear that was left over after dinner. The next photo is not mine, just something I found on the net.



And that explains the title of this post, which refers to

יד,ג לֹא תֹאכַל כָּל תּוֹעֵבָה

When I posted this initially, I invited local readers to taste the piece I had left over. But when I checked it a few hours later, it had already begun to melt into primordial ooze. And despite that, the next day, when the woman who helps clean the house came, she saw it on the counter and said "Oh, where did you get that? It is very good." And she took it home to add to her home-made tortillas.

Now, even corn smut can raise interesting questions of halacha. The Bracha on corn is Ha'adama, because it grows from the earth. Plants are autotrophes, photosynthesizing their food from water and simple minerals. The bracha on Fungi, on the other hand, is She'hakol, because they are considered to grow from "the air;" they are heterotrophes, organisms that eat ready-made complex organic food. What about Corn Smut? On the one hand, it clearly is a fungus that grows on corn. On the other hand, since it doesn't develop into an independent entity, as do the fruiting bodies of mushrooms and other fungi, perhaps it remains defined as part of the corn, albeit spongy, swollen and black corn. (The logic is similar to ubar yerech imo; the child, once it is born, is obviously an independent entity. But so long as it is contained within and deriving nutrition from its mother, it is halachicly viewed as a part of her.)

I believe that the latter is correct, but I am not certain. So, in the highly unlikely case that you do eat corn smut, I suggest that you make sure you've already made a hamotzi or both she'hakol and ha'adama. I'm proud to say that this is very likely a question of first impression. We take our satisfactions where we find them.

~

Tevillas Keilim of Geirim; Disrespect of Gedolim; Earliest Bracha on Tzitzis; Well-intentioned but Profound Stupidity

Accumulated thoughts from the last two weeks.


The following four subjects are:
I. Does a geir have to be tovel the keilim he owned before his geirus.
II. A pox upon people who ascribe base motives and willful naiveté to Gedolim.
III. When is the earliest you can make a bracha on Tzitzis.
IV. Profoundly Stupid things I've heard people say to Aveilim and Cholim.

I
When a person becomes a geir, does he have to be tovel all his keilim? The answer, of course, is absolutely yes. There is ZERO evidence from any rishon that he doesn’t. There is no obvious svara to say anything different. But the Avnei Nezer, as brought by his son in the Shem Mishmuel in Parshas Mattos and in his drashos for Sukkos, holds that he does not have to be tovel his keilim. Why? Who knows. Some say it’s because he didn’t buy or acquire them, he just had them from before. Since there’s no ownership change, no chiyuv was chall. I am told that in a recent geirus in Houston, Rabbi Nota Greenblatt paskened that he should be tovel his keilim without a bracha. I am torn between the awareness that if the Avnei Nezer says something, then it was said carefully and deliberately with Shas and poskim behind it, and an acute discomfort with taking this to be normative halacha.

Anyway, for you Gerer Chasidim out there, and assuming that you trust the Shem Mishmuel's testimony, as opposed to that of those that say that the Avnei Nezer said to be tovel the keilim without a bracha, I have an excellent idea. Sometimes, a caterer has to be tovel a whole carload of things, which might also be fragile or unwieldy. Here's an option: Just give them all as a gift to a man or woman who is becoming a ger. When that person is misgayeir, they will give it all back to the the caterer, and it will not need tevilla.

(The only minor flaw in that suggestion is that the keilim were already chayav in Tevilla, so by selling them to the imminent Geir so that they will not need tevilla is a usurpation of a mitzva, which Tosfos says is not to be done lechatchila, like rounding the corner of a beged.)

This really sounds like Kinyan Agav. You make a kinyan (te'vila) on the karka (Geir), and the metaltelim (keilim) are nikneh (muchshor) "bechol makom she'heim."

II
I was talking to Rav Reuven Feinstein about what is being said on the internet about the EJF, and the many writers who ascribe venal, base, and selfish motives to the people who comprise and who support the EJF. I can say that his reaction was negative, and that he disagrees with those who say that he is being misled and bamboozled, or that he was distracted, or whatever other nonsense is being spread. He was just surprised that this is still going on. He thought that this kind of talk was already passe. I’m not a gadol in either middos or Torah, so my reaction is less civil. I hope that they either seek mechilla or that they see, as the Meraglim saw, the cost of malshinus. For those that are looking for mechilla: he's not hard to find.

III
What is the earliest time you can make a bracha on your talis/tzitzis? Of course, the zman is Misheyakir, as in OC 18, when you can discern between undyed wool and tcheiles, or when you can recognize a casual acquaintance from a few feet away. When is that? The shittos vary from 66 minutes before sunrise (Pri Megadim, but very few hold like this le'halacha) to 60 minutes before sunrise (see Taharas Yom Tov, VII, 92) to 35 minutes before sunrise (Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, LeTorah ve-Hora'ah, no. 3, p. 7). Of course, you should consult YLOR. But if you follow Reb Moshe, your should know that Reb Moshe’s shittah is that just like a blind person is pattur from tzitzis, Misheyakir depends on the actual, local, subjective misheyakir, and if it’s cloudy, then it’s later. Does this makes life much harder for us? Not really. Just wait until you’re sure, and then make a bracha. Also, three things to know: it varies between forty and thirty five minutes before sunrise on average days, and even the most cloudy day it will be misheyakir sometime before sunrise, unless there’s a total eclipse. Please note, also, that the determination of the zman for tefillin and the zman for tzitzis are not the same, since we pasken that mide'oraysa, there is a mitzva of tefillin at night, and it is just that Chazal took off the chiyuv for extraneous reasons. And don't worry about Rabbeinu Yona in Brachos and Tosfos in Sukka's shitta about what it means that Chazal "took off a chiyuv."

IV
And now, introducing a special feature:
Profoundly Stupid Things I Heard from People Who Meant Well.
'A' and 'B' refer to the people having the conversation.

1. Conversation with a person recently diagnosed with Breast Cancer:
A. "I know what you are going through, my sister in law had the same thing."
B. "Thank you for your concern. And how is your sister in law?"
A. "Oh, she died within a year of her diagnosis."


2. At a Shiva House:
A. "Yes, (his mother) was a tremendous ba'alas bitachon. I once asked her how she dealt with the horrors she saw during the war. She answered that she had no questions: If Hashem did it, there is a reason, and we all have to love and trust the Ribono Shel Olam."
B. "You know, I've met people like that, and I think that the unsophisticated people, the uneducated, klein shtettlsheh people, they just accepted everything unquestioningly. The more educated people are the ones who threw away their bitachon."
(Oh. I used to think of her as a rock solid ba'alas bitachon. I guess she was really just a glassy-eyed cow.)

3. At another Shiva House:
A. "I don't know how I can take this...it's so hard to lose a father...."
B. "It's much harder when you lose your mother."
(I have to admit, these were not the actual words, but I was afraid you wouldn't believe me if I quoted her verbatim. What she actually said was "Wait until you lose your mother." I'm not making this up.)

4. At another Shiva House:
(background: A was sitting for his mother. When his father had passed away some years before, the chevra kadisha messed up, perhaps it was the fault of the local funeral chapel, or the chevra kadisha that took the Aron from the airplane in Israel, and they ended up eulogizing what turned out to be a nun's coffin in his Rebbe's Beis Medrash, as they realized when they opened the Aron for burial on Har Hazeisim.)
B. "Well, at least they didn't misplace her Aron...."
(Thank you, my friend, for re-opening an old wound.)

5. At a Shiva where, nebach, parents were sitting for their teenaged daughter.
A. At a time like this, maybe we can only say that (the daughter) was a gilgul of a holy neshama that came to this word to work out unfinished business, and when her neshama achieved its tafkid, she was taken back to Olam Haba.
B. I don't know about that. Reb Saadia Gaon says there's no such thing as Gilgulim, and the whole idea of Gilgulim was just made up because people couldn't deal with situations just like this.
(B, by the way, is a gifted talmid chacham, but a through and through Yekke/Litvak, although he's a big baki in Reb Tzadok.)

UPDATE APRIL 2013;
I was directed to the following article in the Wall Street Journal.
Reprinted with Ms. Pogrebin's kind permission.

For a Sick Friend: First, Do No Harm 

Conversing with the ill can be awkward, but keeping a few simple commandments makes a huge difference

 By Letty Cottin Pogrebin

 'A closed mouth gathers no feet." It's a charming axiom, but silence isn't always an option when we're dealing with a friend who's sick or in despair. The natural human reaction is to feel awkward and upset in the face of illness, but unless we control those feelings and come up with an appropriate response, there's a good chance that we'll blurt out some cringe-worthy cliché, craven remark or blunt question that, in retrospect, we'll regret.

Take this real-life exchange. If ever the tone deaf needed a poster child, Fred is their man.

"How'd it go?" he asked his friend, Pete, who'd just had cancer surgery.

"Great!" said Pete. "They got it all."

"Really?" said Fred. "How do they know?"

A few simple commandments makes a huge difference when conversing with the ill.

We're all nervous around illness and mortality, but whatever pops into our heads should not necessarily plop out of our mouths. Yet, in my own experience as a breast-cancer patient, and for many of the people I have interviewed, friends do make hurtful remarks. Marion Fontana, who was diagnosed with breast cancer eight years after her husband, a New York City firefighter, died in the collapse of the World Trade Center, was told that she must have really bad karma to attract so much bad luck. In another case, upon hearing a man's leukemia diagnosis, his friend shrieked, "Wow! A girl in my office just died of that!"Later, when Pete told him how demoralizing his remark had been, Fred's excuse was, "I was nervous. I just said what popped into my head."

You can't make this stuff up.

If we're not unwittingly insulting our sick friends, we're spouting clichés like "Everything happens for a reason." Though our intent is to comfort the patient, we also say such things to comfort ourselves and tamp down our own feelings of vulnerability. From now on, rather than sound like a Hallmark card, you might want to heed the following 10 Commandments for Conversing With a Sick Friend.

1. Rejoice at their good news. Don't minimize their bad news. A guy tells you that the doctors got it all, say "Hallelujah!" A man with advanced bladder cancer says that he's taking his kids to Disneyland next summer, don't bite your lip and mutter, "We'll see." Tell him it's a great idea. (What harm can it do?) Which doesn't mean that you should slap a happy face on a friend's grim diagnosis by saying something like, "Don't worry! Nowadays breast cancer is like having a cold!"

The best response in any encounter with a sick friend is to say, "Tell me what I can do to make things easier for you—I really want to help."

2. Treat your sick friends as you always did—but never forget their changed circumstance. However contradictory that may sound, I promise you can learn to live within the paradox if you keep your friend's illness and its constraints in mind but don't treat them as if their illness is who they are. Speak to them as you always did (tease them, kid around with them, get mad at them) but indulge their occasional blue moods or hissy-fits. Most important, start conversations about other things (sports, politics, food, movies) as soon as possible and you'll help speed their journey from the morass of illness to the miracle of the ordinary.

3. Avoid self-referential comments. A friend with a hacking cough doesn't need to hear, "You think that's bad? I had double pneumonia." Don't tell someone with brain cancer that you know how painful it must be because you get migraines. Don't complain about your colicky baby to the mother of a child with spina bifida. I'm not saying sick people have lost their capacity to empathize with others, just that solipsism is unhelpful and rude. The truest thing you can say to a sick or suffering friend is, "I can only try to imagine what you're going through."

4. Don't assume, verify. Several friends of Michele, a Canadian writer, reacted to her cancer diagnosis with, "Well, at least you caught it early, so you'll be all right!" In fact, she did not catch it early, and never said or hinted otherwise. So when someone said, "You caught it early," she thought, "No, I didn't, therefore I'm going to die." Repeat after me: "Assume nothing."

5. Get the facts straight before you open your mouth.Did your friend have a heart or liver transplant? Chemo or radiation? Don't just ask, "How are you?" Ask questions specific to your friend's health. "How's your rotator cuff these days?" "Did the blood test show Lyme disease?" "Are your new meds working?" If you need help remembering who has shingles and who has lupus, or the date of a friend's operation, enter a health note under the person's name in your contacts list or stick a Post-it by the phone and update the information as needed.

6. Help your sick friend feel useful. Zero in on one of their skills and lead to it. Assuming they're up to the task, ask a cybersmart patient to set up a Web page for you; ask a bridge or chess maven to give you pointers on the game; ask a retired teacher to guide your teenager through the college application process. In most cases, your request won't be seen as an imposition but a vote of confidence in your friend's talent and worth.

7. Don't infantilize the patient. Never speak to a grown-up the way you'd talk to a child. Objectionable sentences include, "How are we today, dearie?" "That's a good boy." "I bet you could swallow this teeny-tiny pill if you really tried." And the most wince-worthy, "Are we ready to go wee-wee?" Protect your friend's dignity at all costs.

8. Think twice before giving advice.Don't forward medical alerts, newspaper clippings or your Aunt Sadie's cure for gout. Your idea of a health bulletin that's useful or revelatory may mislead, upset, confuse or agitate your friend. Sick people have doctors to tell them what to do. Your job is simply to be their friend.

9. Let patients who are terminally ill set the conversational agenda.If they're unaware that they're dying, don't be the one to tell them. If they know they're at the end of life and want to talk about it, don't contradict or interrupt them; let them vent or weep or curse the Fates. Hand them a tissue and cry with them. If they want to confide their last wish, or trust you with a long-kept secret, thank them for the honor and listen hard. Someday you'll want to remember every word they say.

10. Don't pressure them to practice 'positive thinking.' The implication is that they caused their illness in the first place by negative thinking—by feeling discouraged, depressed or not having the "right attitude." Positive thinking can't cure Huntington's disease, ALS or inoperable brain cancer. Telling a terminal patient to keep up the fight isn't just futile, it's cruel. Insisting that they see the glass as half full may deny them the truth of what they know and the chance to tie up life's loose ends while there's still time. As one hospice patient put it, "All I want from my friends right now is the freedom to sulk and say goodbye."

Though most of us feel dis-eased around disease, colloquial English proffers a sparse vocabulary for the expression of embarrassment, fear, anxiety, grief or sorrow. These 10 commandments should help you relate to your sick friends with greater empathy, warmth and grace.

Ms. Pogrebin is the author of ten books and a founding editor of Ms. magazine.  Her latest book is "How to Be a Friend to a Friend who's Sick," from which this essay is adapted.