Are They His Adornments?
On Guns and Masculinity
ARYEH COHEN
SHMA.COM
When I went to Israel in the mid-1970s to study in yeshivah for a year (which became two years, then five
years, then aliyah and a life-long commitment,
then twelve years), there was a moment ritualized in the surety of its repetition with every
new cadre of American students.
As I was studying at a hesder yeshivah, all
of my Israeli contemporaries were either serving or on the brink of serving in the Israeli
army. As a result of this, our Israeli colleagues
in the bet midrash and with whom we shared
dorm rooms and lunch tables were — when on
security detail — armed. This was quite a
change from the urban and suburban lives that
my American colleagues and I had led prior to
our time at yeshivah. The reaction to this situation is fascinating in hindsight. The overwhelming response was awe. Here’s the
ritualized moment: At some time during the
year, almost every one of the Americans would
borrow one of the Israeli students’ weapons
(usually an M16 submachine gun), unloaded,
and be photographed holding the gun. There
were ancillary moments to this central ritual
such as acquiring IDF shirts or hats or T-shirts.
However, all were secondary to the moment of
posing with the weapon.
I feel the need to stress that these were sev-enteen-, eighteen-, or nineteen-year-olds who
spent most of their waking hours studying
Talmud. These were young men whose life experiences and cultural knowledge up until that
moment had taught them to avoid people with
weapons. Yet, here they were, venerating
death-dealing weaponry. The weapons, of
course, were not seen as real, as in “I might be
in combat where I would have to fire a weapon
at another person.” They were props and the
young men were Rambo or Ari ben Canaan for
that moment.
Holding the weapon was also a transitory
cure for what might be called the diasporic malady — living historical powerlessness and oppression. These young men were exulting in the
power of an army that was no more theirs than
their powerlessness in North America; however,
this momentary dream of masculinity served to
assuage the learned powerlessness of the
American Jewish community.
The contestation about the status of
weaponry is inscribed in some of the earliest
texts of Rabbinic Judaism — texts that were
part of the core curriculum of these students.
Mishnah Shabbat 6: 4 records some regulations
for what one may transport from a private domain to a public domain on Shabbat.
A man may not go out with a sword
or a bow or a shield or a club or a spear;
and if he went out [with the like of
these] he is liable to a sin-offering. R.
Eliezer says: They are his adornments.
But the Sages say: They are only a disgrace to him, for it is said (Isaiah 2: 4):
And they shall beat their swords into
plowshares, and their spears into prun-ing-hooks, nation shall not lift up sword
against nation, neither shall they learn
war anymore.
Whether or not a man may carry his
weapon from a private to a public domain depends on whether weapons are considered to
be adornments like jewelry (tachshitin). If so,
then it is parallel to what a woman is permitted
to wear while going from a private to a public
domain in this chapter of Mishnah. R. Eliezer
claims that weapons adorn a man. They are
intricately bound up with his masculinity and
are a glory to it. As proof of his position, he
draws support from a verse in Psalms (45: 4):
“Gird your sword upon your thigh, O hero, in
your splendor and glory.” Rav Kahane, a
Babylonian sage who made aliyah to the land of
Israel, avers: “This verse refers to Torah study.”
The American Jewish community is unsettled about what guns, army, power, and violence
mean. While it would probably be seen as scan-dalous if the son of a Modern Orthodox family
abandoned the professional track for a stint in
the marines, it would be seen as laudable if that
same son joined the IDF paratroopers. Gun control is desirable in Los Angeles but guns are desired by Americans living in Jerusalem.
This should force us to face the question:
Do we think that weapons adorn our communal masculinity?
Aryeh Cohen, a Sh’ma
Advisory Board member, lives
in Los Angeles with his partner
Andrea and their children
Shachar and Oryah. He
teaches Talmud at the Ziegler
School of Rabbinic Studies,
davens at the Shtibl Minyan,
and writes about Talmud,
justice, Shabbat, and gender
among other topics. He is
currently writing a book,
Justice in the City: Thinking
the Just City out of the
Sources of Rabbinic
Literature.
