The Evolving Jew

Cross-posted on DovBear When I was younger, especially after I became a vegetarian at the age of 21, I railed against the utter nonsense of the Ashkenazi prohibition of eating kitniyot on Pesach. It seemed like unnecessary torture, especially today when the danger of grains ending up mixed if far less likely. Why couldn’t I have my tofu? Would wheat really end up in my rice, when cereals today are grown as monoculture crops (not near other grains) and sold in packages? It seemed to me to be ridiculous and a burden. The only reason I stuck with it was habit and family. Over the last decade or so, my approach to Judaism has undergone somewhat of a sea change, and that has impacted how I view the issue of kitniyot. I now view Judaism not as a fixed revelation in time that established the form of Judaism we must follow forever, but as an evolving process, where halachot changed and developed over the past three millenia. The reasons for this have to do with study of history, archaeolog

Cross-posted on DovBear This is a rather esoteric question that doesn’t have a “real” answer, (and the basis of the question itself is a bit unrealistic) but is still something interesting to think about. The other day, I was cleaning off my desk at home in advance of Pesach. (Yes, I’ve eaten at my desk.) While going through papers, I came across a scribbled note in my handwriting that read “Zalman ben Sara Chana” obviously written to remind myself to say tehillim for the person for a refuah shelema. I have no idea when I wrote the note, but judging by the pile of mail it was in, it was sometime in past few months. I also have no idea who the person is. Someone must have asked me to say tehillim for this Zalman, or perhaps I saw it in an email. Either way, I obviously intended to say tehillim for him. But did I ever do so? It was lost on my desk, so there’s a fair chance I never did get to daven for his recovery. For all I know, he may have passed away in the meantime, or, hop