15/10/93

The Shmita Oracle

People like Rabbi Gewirtz just don't grow on trees.

    As the Lord said in Exodus 23:10,11, "Six years thou shalt sow thy land, and gather the increase thereof; but the seventh year thou shalt let it rest and lie fallow."
    As Rabbi Gewirtz said in a newspaper ad on 23:8:93, "Greetings to the public! The shmita year is soon upon us. Come, visit Shmita Headquarters in Jerusalem. Meet with our shmita expert! Tell us what you think! Ask us what we think! Special gift for all visitors: a free 'Moshiach Now' bumper sticker! PLUS -- you could win an all-expenses-paid trip to Bnei Brak by taxi-special!"
    Shmita Headquarters consisted of Chaya Sara at a desk outside the office, and Rabbi Feivel Gewirtz at a desk inside.
    Not two minutes passed before they had their first visitor, Haim Levy of no fixed address. "Can I use the bathroom?" he asked Chaya Sara. "Ask the rabbi," said Chaya Sara, and she ushered him in.
    "Can I use the bathroom?" he repeated rather urgently to the venerated scholar.
    Rabbi Gewirtz stroked his beard for a moment. "In a shmitta year it is permitted to use the bathroom. Third door on the left."
    A few minutes later, Chaya Sara's waiting room was again ventured. It was Haim Levy again. "By the way," he said, "what's 'shmitta'?" The receptionist figured she could answer this one herself. "It's the sabbatical. Every seventh year, the crops of Eretz Yisrael lay fallow. Jews  may not plant, plough or harvest." And then she gave him a free Moshiach bumper sticker.
    A bright-eyed, black-clad yeshiva student named Yehezkiel was next to face the rabbi. "A farmer starts harvesting his wheat from the field 15 minutes before the year begins. He finishes four minutes into the year. A baker buys the crop and makes it into halla. The halla contains seven forbidden grains. May it be eaten?"
    The rabbi pondered for a minute, speed-reading in his memory through the entire Gemara for a relevant condition. Then he told the student: "It is a sin to eat it, and a sin to waste it. So, cut off a seventh of a seventh of the loaf, let it lay fallow on your table for the full shmita year, and with the New Moon thereafter cut it up into croutons and eat it in soup within seven minutes of the new year."
    Yehezkiel left illuminated; Mordechai Lifshitz entered confused. "Rabbi, my children, bless them, are growing inches every day. Should this be stopped in a shmita year?"
    Rabbi Gewirtz smiled. "Mr. Lifshitz. You should raise them as Jews, not as lettuce. Unless you plan on selling them as garnish to a restaurant, you have my blessing." Lifshitz thanked him, took his free bumper sticker and left.
    Avigdor Mermelstein walked in with Dror. Mermelstein was a scientist; Dror was a robot. "It sows, it reaps, it does everything a farmer does. If I program Dror before the shmita year, couldn't every Jewish farmer buy one and still grow his crops?"
    "It is true that your robot is not a Jew," reasoned the rabbi, "so yes, it could take the farmer's place." Mermelstein's face lit up. "However," continued Rabbi Gewirtz, "only other robots may eat the food it produces. Next?"
    Next were Avraham and Miriam, a blond, blue-eyed young couple. "We're from Butte, Montana, we live on Kibbutz Hafetz Haim and we're about to convert. If we remain as goyim for another year, could we 'purchase' the kibbutz cotton fields so they can still grow the crop?"
    "According to Halacha, the kibbutz could sell its fields to a non-Jew. But you should think of yourselves as Jews already. My advice is, go back to Butte, grow cotton there, and ship it back to us over here." And Chaya Sara gave them a Moshiach bumper sticker.
    A bearded man named Clint walked in next. "Like, I'm just passing through, and, you know, somebody says to me it's not allowed to grow things over here for food. Well, I don't get it. Does that mean I can't grow something if I only want to smoke it?"
    The rabbi stroked his beard as Clint rummaged through his, rooting out a nit. Presently, a rabbinical ruling came to mind. "The truth is, young man, my Lawgiver Blessed Be He takes a back seat on this one to the secular police chief. You get the OK from him, and I'll get you the OK from Him."
    Clint said thanks, man, and left. Ahmed Ibn Jihad Ahmed Jezouni Ibn Ahmed from Kalkilya walked in.
    "Sala'am."
    "Shalom."
    "I come though I fear," said Ahmed.
    "You have nothing to fear here, but why have you come?" said the rabbi.
    "You are the Great Jewish Rabbi of Shmita. I am Ahmed the farmer. You should not be bothered by me."
    "We are both the children of Abraham. Please sit down. Relax. How can I help you?"
    "Allah be blessed, you are wise and kind. I have come to help the Jewish Nation in their year of need. There is great dread among your people for the lacks there will be when Jewish farms lay fallow. I have heard rumors. In the streets of Tel Aviv people are beating their breasts and saying, 'Whence will come our tomatoes, our cucumbers, which we chop up very small and add parsley and lemon juice and call "salat"? What will we eat in this shmita year, next to our breakfast egg, in our felafel, with our shnitzel, mixed with yogurt?' You, rabbi, can tell them: go to Ahmed the farmer. He grows cucumbers. Very good cucumbers. And then go to Ahmed's cousin Nazeeh in Gaza, he grows tomatoes. And we will offer very good prices."
    Rabbi Gewirtz closed his eyes, placed his fingertips on his temples and bobbed his head in deep meditation. Presently, he regarded his visitor.  "Ahmed, my cousin, your offer is sincere and considerate and generous. It evokes fond memories of shmita years of yore, when we bought everything you could grow. I can think of only one small problem. Nowadays, a Jew gets killed buying a cucumber in Kalkiliya. The intifada, Ahmed. They'll kill you, too, for selling to us, for being a shmita collaborator."
    "So talk to them. Tell them to stop killing people for a year."
    "Ah, an intifada sabbatical. It's a very good idea, Ahmed, my friend, but they wouldn't agree to it. So I'll tell you what. You come visit me any time, bring your biggest cucumbers, I'll buy a dozen every week." And Chaya Sara gave him a free Moshiach bumper sticker.
    Rabbi Gewirtz took a brief tea break, and then Chaya Sara sent in Max Katzenelenbogen. "See here. I think this shmita business is silly."
    "Oh?"
    "It's silly because ... because it's enough we have Shabbat imposed on us, why do we need a sabbatical on top of that? What, it's not enough once a week, now we also have it every day for a whole year? I think we don't need to have both the Sabbath and a sabbatical, it's like paying a tax on your taxes,  and my wife agrees with me."
    "You think maybe we should give the Sabbath a sabbatical?"
    "Yeah!"
    Rabbi Gewirtz smiled benignly. "I tell you what. You stop keeping Shabbat -- and stop paying taxes too. For as long as you dare not pay VAT, income tax, property tax and TV tax, you don't have to eat nice fresh halla, meet your pals in shul, nap, play with your kids, rest on Shabbat. Deal?"
    Max Katzenelenbogen slinked out muttering; Chuck Fuchs charged in muttering. "I paid thousands and thousands for a built-in swimming pool and now you're saying I can't use it for a year because every time I fill it with water the weeds grow along the edge and that's a sin shmita-wise, they didn't tell me about this in the Aliya Office in Philadelphia when I asked about Israeli laws concerning a private pool and that's misrepresentation and I'm going to call my lawyer."
    "Whom precisely are you going to sue, God or the Jewish Agency?"
    "I didn't leave America to be treated like this! I want an answer, not a question!"
    "So here's an answer. Here's an answer based on the collected wisdom of all the rabbis and scholars and our forefathers and the Tora and God: fill your pool, gezunte heit, swim back and forth, get a nice tan, just be careful not to eat the weeds. Next?"
    The door swung open.
    The Good Rabbi was known as Feivel the Unflappable when he was a student, but when his next visitor stepped in, he flapped.
    Thus spake the stranger: "Peace unto the House of Israel."
    And the rabbi fell upon his face. "Oh, my God!"
    And the stranger said: "No, my son, I am but Elijah the Prophet."
    The earthly sage could not think of the appropriate nicety to greet such a transcendental guest. Feebly, he said the first thing that came to mind. "Coffee?"
    Elijah did not answer. "I have come to ask about shmita."
    The rabbi's jaw dropped. "Is there something you'd like to know?"
    "Yes. I would like to know why you are here, answering foolish questions. Does not the whole House of Israel know and obey the laws and commandments?"
    "No, my Prophet, they do not." Gewirtz held his breath, but there was no thunder, no earthquake, no terrible plague, so he relaxed a bit.
    "And how many learned ones like yourself avail themselves with love and humor to spread the word of shmita to those who are ignorant?"
    "Well, uh, frankly speaking, I think I'm the only one."
    "Are there not ten good men in this land?"
    "Uh, sure, there must be. But they're always so busy."   
    "Praying."
    "Yes. Praying."
    "We hear them. Night and day, day and night. I pray to them, but they do not hear me. Only you have."
    "But my master, they observe shmita to the letter! They are men of God!"
        "So talk to them. Tell them to stop shunning people for a year."
    Rabbi Gewirtz went white.
    "And another thing," said the Prophet Elijah. "Stop giving out those stupid 'Moshiach' stickers."
    And then he vanished out the door.