Experience, expertise . . . and elephants

A long time ago, in a galaxy far far away, before I began writing my Jewish Standard/New Jersey Jewish News column, I submitted articles and opinion pieces to a variety of Jewish publications. As I once reminisced, “I wrote those articles sporadically, when the muse hit me, and submitted them to whichever publication I thought most appropriate.” That included the Baltimore Jewish Times, then edited by my college classmate and lifelong friend Gary Rosenblatt.

One early BJT article, “Danzig’s Message,” described a 1980 exhibit in New York’s Jewish Museum that Sharon and I visited, titled “Danzig 1939: Treasures of a Destroyed Community.” The exhibit, as noted in the New York Times, recreated the Jewish community’s historical role in Danzig through photographs and documents, and displayed 134 ceremonial objects and textiles that were shipped from Danzig to the Jewish Theological Seminary during the Shoah for safekeeping. (My BJT article discusses some personal takeaways from the exhibit. While it has no online presence/link — remember pre-computer days? — it can be found in my book.)

What I didn’t mention, however, was a serendipitous encounter that was instrumental in vividly bringing the exhibit alive for us. As we climbed the museum stairs, we chanced upon Dr. Vivian Mann, the Jewish Museum’s curator of Judaica as well as the curator of that exhibit. We had known Vivian for many years, having first met her through her brother, Barry, my high school and college roommate, and like Gary a lifelong friend. We stopped to chat, and as we exchanged pleasantries, Vivian asked which exhibit we were planning to visit. When we told her Danzig, she said she had some time to spare and asked if we’d like her to show us around.

Let me explain that offer in baseball terms. It was like bumping into Mickey Mantle at a batting cage (my younger readers can substitute Aaron Judge) and having him ask me if I’d like some hitting tips. Like Mantle (and Judge), Vivian was an MVP in her field; at the time of her too-early death in 2019, she was professor emerita of Jewish art history and visual culture at JTS and chair of Judaica at the Jewish Museum. More than her titles and positions, though, she was acknowledged as the leading Jewish art historian of her generation in America. We obviously jumped at the invitation, and in an amazing hour with her, we saw the exhibit through her eyes in a way that no audio guide or regular docent could have duplicated.

Guess what? Sometimes history can repeat itself. As it did for me and Sharon earlier this week, when we visited “The Book of Esther in the Age of Rembrandt” at the Jewish Museum accompanied by Dr. Abigail Rapoport, the curator of that exhibit and Vivian’s successor as the museum’s Judaica curator. Our connection this time was my daughter Gabrielle, Abigail’s lifelong friend, dating back to their Moriah and Frisch days. And I like to think that Abigail, as an adult, is our friend as well. So, having watched her develop from occupying a school desk in those early days to now occupying a prestigious post in one of the world’s leading Jewish museums, and remembering our experience with Vivian, we asked her if she would personally guide us through her exhibit. She very graciously agreed.

My quick review of the exhibit is simple. If you haven’t seen it, rush and get tickets immediately. And I mean rush, because it closes this coming Sunday, and if you won’t be able to squeeze in a visit in these last few days you will have truly missed an elegantly wonderful amalgam of Jewish lore and remembrance (The Book of Esther), social history (in the Age of), and great painting (Rembrandt).

As for viewing it with Abigail, let me switch analogies from baseball to another love of mine, musical theater. Imagine Stephen Sondheim invites you to sit with him in his box at a special performance of “A Little Night Music,” where chatting between scenes is permitted. And after you’ve heard Glynnis Johns render “Send in the Clowns” in her inimitable manner (I still remember how I gasped in astonishment when I heard it for the first time, done by her), you turn and ask, “Stephen, how were you ever able to write that masterpiece?” And he tells you. That’s how we felt listening to Abigail.

This experience, and recalling our 1980 one, made me think about experts and, yes, elephants (cue famous Jewish joke). Huh? Let me explain.

There’s an ancient Indian parable about elephants and blind men. Each man, having never come across an elephant, touches a different part of the animal’s body (tusk, leg, ear) and then describes an elephant based on that limited experience. Each description is thus quite different from every other and misses what an elephant actually is. One moral is that people sometimes erroneously claim truth based on their limited experience.

But this moral is as limited as the blind men’s descriptions because there are some people whose experience is vast rather than limited; people whose expertise is based on an enormous store of knowledge acquired over years, through in-depth study and work in the field. Such people, experts in their specialties like Vivian and Abigail in art, often see things that others don’t; they frequently extract nuggets of gold that laypeople may miss, like nuances, shades of gray, subtle distinctions, nonintuitive conclusions, and more. When they describe an elephant, it’s wise to listen carefully.

I write this thinking about some experts in my family. If we’re discussing the Shoah or the rise of the State of Israel, we all have some knowledge and opinions, but my brother-in-law Monty, the author of numerous books on those topics, can add tone and texture, noting facts, complexities, and insights that otherwise might be missed. My late brother-in-law David did so about music, my doctor brother-in-law and professor brother-in-law Jordan do the same in conversations about medicine and Masoretic texts, Sharon about social dynamics, each of my children about their disparate fields (education, law, and therapy/domestic violence), and, if I may be so bold, me about recent Supreme Court decisions. And as happens frequently in Modern Orthodox circles, if a Shabbat table conversation turns to the Rambam or the Rav, should my brother Lawrence, a world-recognized expert on both, have a seat at the table, a conversation that threatened to be a rehash of so many earlier ones can sparkle with a depth previously unplumbed.

Let me be clear. I’m not talking about lectures from experts or always agreeing with them. They too can be wrong, as I hope we’ve learned from the best and brightest who led us down an ignominious path in Viet Nam. But when experts talk not only to us but with us, sharing their knowledge while also listening to what we have to ask and say, our conversations become deeper, richer, and more meaningful and enlightening.

Experts can help us better understand what elephants are. And then it’s up to all of us to decide how to best use this knowledge to benefit our world and ourselves.

Joseph C. Kaplan, a retired lawyer, longtime Teaneck resident, and regular columnist for the Jewish Standard and the New Jersey Jewish News, is the author of “A Passionate Writing Life: From ‘In my Opinion’ to ‘I’ve Been Thinking’” (available at Teaneck’s Judaica House). He and his wife, Sharon, have been blessed with four wonderful daughters and five delicious grandchildren.