#Responsa (Answers)

[heirbane]

he’s a ten but he named himself shadowhunter 😢 (sorry about the cringy nickname, old man)

Gaius is certain he can feel his grey hairs growing as the Viera speaks.

"... did you expect more," he asked, "from someone who wore the mantle of Black Wolf for thirty years? Would that you have proffered me better in my time of need."

(No - the needles are not truly sharp. They simply are, a knife for a knife, a bladed word for another.)

@darkflood

[inphront]

google is not cutting it tonight lads i need a three hour discussion with my rabbi and to be assigned homework immediately

[historicity-was-already-taken]

And since I'm bringing up Judaism, rules lawyering, and the Talmud(s), I'll also provide some context though, be warned, Jewish theology and intellectual history is very much not my field of specialization.

The Torah--Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy--is part narrative cosmology, and part law code for the Israelites, as they existed as semi-nomadic agriculturalists in the Southern Levant between about 1200 BCE and 500 BCE.*

The Diaspora of the Israelites/Hebrew/Jewish people from the Southern Levant started very early in our history (586 BCE), so we had to immediately determine how to obey the laws of the Torah, without having access to the land those laws are centered on.

Like, if you're a Jew in Persia, than how are you supposed to bring 1/10 of your harvest to the Temple in Jerusalem? Also, what happened if you're not an agriculturalist and the Babylonians and then the Romans destroyed the temple and also there is no High Priest? What if it's Shabbos but you're an ER doctor and you're on call?

How do you do Judaism without the Things the Torah assumes access to?

That's the question/guidance the Talmud and further commentaries--up to and including contemporary responsa--seek to answer/provide. And that is why Jews don't get literal about Leviticus.

And of course, this is all overly simplistic and deeply 101.

*This is not a political statement and if you treat it like one I will block your ass faster than you can say "Gemara"

[hyperpotamianarch]

I have recently read the Jewish Guide to the Galaxy.

No, this isn't a typo or some misled joke about HGttG. At least, not by me: the author was clearly referring to that book with the title. It's a book that was published in Hebrew about 2-3 years ago about serious Halachic answers to ridiculous sci-fi/fantasy questions. If that premise sounds vaguely similar to something you've heard once - it might be because this book was inspired by "What If?" by Randall Monroe.

As a Jewish fan of Fantasy who especially likes Jewish Fantasy, I liked the premise of the book, which raises the question why I only read it now. And honestly, I don't have much to the side of a proper answer. I just... didn't come around to buying it until lately. Part of it is because it was only available for sale in the website of a publication company I've never heard of, and another part might be because I was slightly dissappointed by the samples I've seen. Either way, I have read it now, and was somewhat disappointed.

The book did touch somewhat interesting topics. It didn't feel like it delved deep enough into them, though. One of the great things about the book that inspired it was how deeply it delved into the physics of the situations given. And it's possible to do that with the Jewish Halacha, too! There are many thick books of responsa discussing Halachic questions, and the answers can be very long sometimes. But this book doesn't give much outside of listing some opinions without diving too deeply into the exact nuances and reasons different rabbis had to have their opinions, and it felt... somewhat shallow.

It is possible that this was done in the name of accessibility. The average reader, after all, isn't necessarily interested in the exact details of a random halachic question. A Yeshivah Bucher might be able to follow a complex halachic discussion, but not every person interested in reading this book is going to be attending a Yeshivah. It's also possible that I, being relatively inexperienced in studying Jewish religious Responsa literature, am simply wrong in my assesment of what such a book should look like. Or that I am taking this too seriously.

Either way, the fact remains that I don't think this completely fills the gap that exists in Jewish Fantasy - a gap I don't believe I have the talent to fill, either.

Anyway, thank you for reading, and have a good day!

[magnetothemagnificent]

Hey, this is a bit of an odd question. Thank you for answering of you do!

I’m writing fanfic but I won’t bog you down in the details of that universe and make it generic.

My married couple had a baby through surrogacy. The wife/mother is Jewish and practicing. The husband/father is not. He used his own sperm but they needed to use a donor egg and that person wasn’t Jewish.

The kid is raised in an interfaith family (the mom is much more observant but still Reform, the dad isn’t particularly religious but is proud of his ethnicity.)

The kid decides he wants to go to Hebrew school. He also wants to become a bar mitzvah.

Since the mom is Reform, is he Jewish or would he need to officially convert because the donor egg used wasn’t Jewish?

The holes we dig ourselves into writing!

I'm gonna preface this by saying that I'm not an expert in Reform Jewish standards, but from what I understand, a child is considered Jewish if at least one parent is Jewish and if they are raised in a Jewish household with a strong sense of their Jewish identity.

The donor egg wasn't Jewish, but the child was raised Jewish. It would be a similar situation to adoption.

Here is an excerpt from a responsa by the CCAR (Central Conference of American Rabbis) regarding adoption:

"The first position holds that no formal conversion is required in the case of adoption, and it is not difficult to understand the theoretical basis upon which it rests. Adoption, after all, is simply another way of creating a family, and the ties which bind this family are equivalent to those that exist between parents and their biological children. The Rabbis teach that “one who raises an orphan in his home is considered as though he had begotten that child.”[9] And this Committee has declared that the adopted child “is absolutely and completely a member of the family, a full child of the parents,”[10] who are that child’s parents “in every respect.”[11] If so, then we might well conclude that the legal process of adoption transfers the Jewishness of the parents to the child, in the same way that the biological child of two Jewish parents automatically enjoys Jewish status.

We think, however, that the second position is the more persuasive one: adoption by a Jewish family does not confer Jewish status upon the child of Gentile parents, and a formal conversion is necessary. The legal process of adoption indeed creates a family. Still, that process is an act of the state, of the civil government in whose jurisdiction we happen to reside. To say that “adoption is conversion” is to say that the secular magistrate[12] is empowered to confer Jewish status upon a child, and it is difficult in the extreme to imagine that any of our responsa and religious writings would suggest that we depart so radically from the historical standard of Jewishness. Simply put, we do not believe that the government of state, province or nation is entitled to decide “who is a Jew.”[13] That determination is rather a Jewish concern, one which rests exclusively with the Jewish community. The way that the Jewish community–including our own–confers Jewish status upon a person born of non-Jewish parents is through the process of giyur. Therefore, the child of Gentile parents who is adopted into a Jewish family requires a formal conversion to Judaism, a conversion process that is distinct from the adoption itself."

So, essentially, it's a debate, and it seems to be a case-by-case situation. The two positions are:

-The act of adoption and naming the child is considered enough of a conversion, and thus they are validly Jewish

-Conversion is still necessary

Another excerpt from CCAR responsa regarding a similar situation to yours:

"On the other hand, the Conference and this Committee have also issued statements that suggest the opposite position, namely that an adopted child requires conversion. A 1978 responsum writes that the adopted child’s naming ceremony, performed in the synagogue once the adoption process is completed, “would be considered sufficient ritual conversion” in most Reform synagogues[10]; that is to say, a ritual conversion is necessary, and the ceremony of naming would be a suitable rite for that purpose. In 1984 this Committee reiterated that the adopted child should be named in the synagogue, “with a berit [i.e., circumcision] for a male, and if the family desires, tevilah, [ritual immersion].” The above are defined as “ritual acts” that constitute “the conversion conducted at the time of infancy.”[11] Gates of Mitzvah (1979), the CCAR’s guide to the Jewish life cycle, tells us that “an adopted child should be named in the synagogue and entered into the berit as soon as the initial legal procedures for adoption have been completed.” If the child is not an infant, “the rabbis should be consulted as to the procedure for formal entry into the Jewish community.”[12] Here, too, a ritual of entry into the Jewish community – i.e., a conversion – follows the adoption. Our current Rabbi’s Manual (1988) recommends that all legal adoption procedures be completed “before finalizing any change of [the child’s] religious status,”[13] indicating once more that the legal adoption and the establishment of the child’s Jewishness are two separate processes. Finally, this Committee explicitly urged conversion for adopted children in a 1999 teshuvah.[14]"

And it comes to a similar conclusion, that there are two viewpoints:

-The act of integrating the baby into Jewish life through naming, circumcision, etc, is enough of a conversion

-Full conversion is still necessary.

So, it's very much not something everyone agrees on, and it varies from congregation to congregation and community to community.

Now, as for whether or not the child would be able to go to Hebrew School......many Hebrew Schools, especially non-Orthodox Hebrew Schools, are welcoming to any child of any Jewish background to be able to attend, whether or not they are considered Jewish by halakha. Obviously every Hebrew School is different, but I don't see how there would be a problem for your character to attend Hebrew School. After all, there are families in the process of conversion who are not yet Jewish who need somewhere to send their kids, too.

For the purpose of writing your story, I think you have a lot of flexibility with how you want the character's journey to go, considering that this topic is one that doesn't have a concrete answer yet.

[arcticdementor]

Sin has changed; crime has changed. We bring a different sensibility to our reading of the sacred texts of the past, even the Torah. There are passages in it which to our modern minds command "Crimes, the kind of crimes which our age would call "crimes against humanity," though, alas, the world, even now, shows that they are still committed! I think of the problematic section in Mattot which contains the commandment to exact revenge against the Midianites by slaying every male and every female old enough to engage in sexual intercourse. I am thankful that there are no Midianites at present. I used to think that were they suddenly to appear, no Jew would he willing to carry out such a commandment. Then Or Baruch Goldstein appeared on the scene, and he was followed by Yigal Amir and now I am not sure. It is because I have a different sense of what is a sin and what is a crime and because I bring a different ethic and a different sense of history to the reading of the past, that I produce different answers to the question of sins and crimes. If on the simplest ethical level, "what I forbid another, I forbid myself and what I permit myself, I permit to another," I find that the commandment to commit genocide against the Midianite unacceptable. To accept the commandment to do the same to the Hittite's the Amorite's, the Canaanite's the Peruzzite's, the Hivite's, and the Jebusite's" seems to me to make permissible the Holocaust, the attempted genocide of the Jewish People. To argue that for us, such a commandment was/is permissible because it is written in a book which we hold to be sacred is to forget the Holocaust against us was first intimated in a book, Mein Kampf, held sacred by Nazis! What was a crime against us surely would be a crime by us. —Leonard Kravitz, in Crime and Punishment in Jewish Law: Essays and Responsa, edited by Walter Jacob & Moshe Zemer (1999)

[copiousloverofcopia]

I'm back from my little mental health hiatus and feeling ok. So why not come back with a bang and a brand-new chapter of Holy Mary!

Thank you all for being patient with me while I catch up on everything and I hope you enjoy this new chapter....

Holy Mary Chapter 6: More Questions Than Answers

Sister Mary Catherine was only weeks away from taking her vows when she has a chance encounter with a man. A man she finds out is the Pope of the Satanic church.

Also available HERE on AO3! Haven't started yet? Read from the beginning HERE!

Definitely NSFW below the cut!

Thick black mist swirled around them. Quiet and fluid, it lingered in the air. Its movements slow and intentioned, as it fell upon the three Emeritus sons. The brothers’ eyes held shut, closing off the ties to the mortal realm in which they sat. Unified in their shared conjuration. 

The chamber was dark, lit only by a few candles. Dripping into the lattice left behind from those that came before them. Covering the ground in veins of wax, bleeding across the floor toward them. They had come to the bowels of the Abbey, to the one room made for the old rituals and ceremonies. Ones that even the most jaded of siblings avoided like the plague.  

Behind the closed doors they sat. Surrounded by damp stone walls, covered with moss and grit. The floors were beginning to rot beneath them. Old wood planks rising up from the ground like the undead, broken and worn down over centuries past. It felt unholy inside, hard to breathe. The sensation of phantom hands gripped tightly to windpipes. Primo chanted on, respecting the unseen forces that surely dwell there.  

Terzo couldn’t help but twitch his nose. His nostrils assaulted with the faint scent of smoldering flesh and desecrated earth. The soil beneath them, creeping out from the cracks within the floor. It’s grains holding onto vivid memories. Seasoned over the years with more than a few drops of blood spilt. It was here where they were the closest to the other side—a place to commune with the dead. 

It has been days since Mary developed her wounds. Hands punctured through their centers. Blood spilling from them like wine poured from promiscuous bottles. Bountiful and indiscriminate. Terzo had felt helpless, completely unsure of what to make of it, but Primo knew.

From the moment he saw them, Primo recognized the marks of the Stigmata. Sacred wounds that had befallen Christ. They had only ever been known to afflict the most devout of his followers. Saints and martyrs, those whose life belonged solely to God, now appearing on the body of a young girl. Cast out from her church and sinfully swollen with Terzo’s child. 

Surely the scent of sin on her was too great. How would she have received such an honor from the almighty. Why? Primo asked himself. Over and over he contemplated its meaning. 

He had already spent weeks researching ancient tomes. Pouring over pages of text, whose ink had all but faded into nothingness. Begging at every turn for spirits to lead him. Still nothing had come of it. 

There had already been two, the first Mary’s crown of thorns. Primo was angered that it had managed to escape him. The eldest Emeritus son worried that the wasted time could and would have serious consequences. Now with the appearance of her palms, wounds opening open from thin air—there was no mistaking it. Now the urgency of his cause had become that much more dire. 

Something was happening to the sister, Mary, named after God’s most beloved of mothers. It was Lucifer who planted the seed of this situation, his reasoning still yet to be revealed. Primo sensed it, in the early morning hours before the sun had risen, that all the answers were just on the horizon. If he could only use the strength of his brothers to obtain it. 

“In hac sacratissima loca ad te vocamus. Spiritus qui ante tempus resident, et in fine ejus manebunt. Attende vocationem meam et da mihi responsa pro quibus peto.” Primo called out, spitting onto the earth between him and his brothers. The ground hissing as his saliva seeped down into the dirt. He concentrated hard, desperately hoping to uncover the hidden truths. He took a deep inhale, drawing in deep the smoke surrounding them into his lungs. His closed eyes, opening slowly to reveal blackened sclera. The smoke, now fully disappearing inside him.

Terzo opened his eyes to watch, marveling at his brother’s power. There was an unnerving silence. The hushed sounds of Secondo and Terzo’s breath, just barely audible. “Fratello. What do you see? What do you hear?” Terzo asked him. 

Both him and Secondo wincing as Primo’s grip on their hands tightened. Hands turning red with the pain as he squeezed. Primo let out a gasp, “Can you hear them?” he asked, dropping their hands and his black eyes widening. They could hear it too, whispering and sounds of scratching. Like claws drug along the walls, countless voices speaking to them in a language neither Terzo or Secondo had ever heard before. 

Primo remained muted in his trance. Terzo, feeling his heart pounding hard against his ribs. “What are they saying?” he begged, hoping Primo would be given all the answers. 

“Shhh… Listen.” Secondo hissed, putting his finger to his lips. They watched in shock as Primo began to lift off from his seat. Levitating slowly into the air, eyes still black as night. When he was almost at the ceiling, the candles that surrounded them began to flicker. Blowing out one by one as a wayward breeze circled around them. Coming from nowhere and accompanied only by the intensifying whispers. It was then Terzo could feel breath against his ear. 

She belongs to Lucifer as much as she does you, Emeritus son. Maybe more.  

“Cazzo!” Terzo jolted, when suddenly Primo began to fall. Secondo and Terzo rushed to catch him and help to lower him down to the ground. The smoke, beginning to billow out from inside him as he descended. Candles relighting themselves as the whispering came to an abrupt stop leaving the three brothers in complete silence. 

“Fratello? Fratello?” Terzo pleaded for Primo to respond. He opened his eyes to them, their appearance returned to normal. His white eye glowing as he gazed at them. Primo sat up with their help, his body aching and his mind satisfied with new knowledge. His face had contorted to show he had learned something. A smirk of accomplishment tugging at the corners of his mouth as he began to speak. 

“The child. Your child fratellino…he is special.” Primo began. Secondo furrowed his brows trying to figure things out as Primo explained. “Your seed mixed with HIS essence when the child was conceived. When you agreed to do his will.”

“What are you saying Primo?” Terzo asked, swallowing back the knot in his throat.  Secondo gritted his teeth. His mind flooded with the implications of Primo’s words. Already certain he knew their meaning.

“What are you babbling on about old man? Just get to the point!” Secondo demanded, 

“The child you have fathered Terzo. It belongs to the dark one as much as it does you…and to Mary. The child you have made… he will become the Antichrist.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her dark and lengthy mane had become even thicker in the passing weeks. The richness of blood, lush with nutrients, came shining through all aspects of her appearance. Like a fertile goddess, she glowed from within. Almost angelic to those who saw her. An ironic twist of fate considering her circumstances, Mary had thought as she pulled the brush through her hair.

She held tight to the dark wooden handle, so elegantly hand-carved with floral accents and ornate designs. Its cushion, covered in soft ball-tipped bristles that felt gentle on her tender scalp, still healing from her wounds that surrounded her head. It was Terzo’s mothers. A woman she now wished she could have met, never having really known her own. 

Maybe she could have told her what to do, how to feel—Mary, so lost and confused in her circumstances. For now, she would pounder them as she continued to brush her hair. A pastime she’d found to be one of the very few ways to help her relax. Her mind, constantly swirling within her circumstances and unable to truly let go of the unknowns.

The morning was soon coming to an end, and she had yet to see Terzo. Still sitting at the vanity in the Papal rooms they now shared, she waited for his return. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Mary couldn’t help but hope to see him behind her. Appearing to her and bringing her into his arms. 

Now she only saw her own face looking back at her. The face of a woman she felt she barely knew. Who was this person, pouty lips, tinged red and parted for a promised kiss? Her warm brown eyes, innocent but wanting. A gaze filled with unfulfilled desire. She had noticed more and more that she missed him. That in only a short time, she had come to love the man who fathered her child. 

Terzo too was clearly deeply in love with her–even if she could not love herself. As time passed, they grew closer. The Papa, never allowing her out of his sight for too long. So afraid that something else may happen to her, or their child in his absence. Good enough reasons, as any, for Mary to wonder why he hadn’t yet returned. 

She had felt him leaving the bed hours ago. Awakened before sunrise, just as their child had begun to quicken once more inside her womb. She hadn’t said anything to him, hoping to fall back asleep, but with the baby bouncing around inside her, there would be no return to slumber. 

She sat down the brush on the vanity, feeling the sting from her wounds. Reminding her of what lay beneath the wraps on her hands as she released the handle. What was happening to her? Would it happen again? Was God really willing to take her back into his light?

All questions that lingered in her mind as she rolled back her head. The weight of her heavy breasts, wreaking havoc on her shoulders and her neck tense from the emotional stress she carried. She pulled it side to side, hoping to relieve a bit of tension before she felt the softness of gloved hands along her bare shoulders. She looked up, catching sight of a pair of familiar mismatched eyes. 

“Where were you?” she asked as she turned to face him fully. Terzo smiled, gently kissing the top of her head and kneeling before her on the floor. Mary looked into his eyes, her hands gently caressing her bump beneath her black silk nightgown, as she awaited his answer. 

Terzo wasn’t sure what to say. It had been only moments since he learned the truth. Their child was the most unholy of all creations. The bringer of the end of days, the harbinger of death.

How could he tell the sweet woman before him, radiantly awaiting the birth of their child—that the child was surely of darkness. What would the knowledge of this do to her—what would she do with it? There were too many unknowns. Too many courses that led to an unsavory end for them—he couldn’t bear to say it.

“Honestly, I have been with Primo and Secondo.” Terzo smiled, hoping to leave it at that as he took her hand in his. Pressing his lips gently to the back of her hand. 

“Doing what exactly?” Mary laughed, until she saw the change in Terzo’s face. “Terzo? Tell me what’s wrong?” she begged, bringing her other hand to his jaw. Guiding his eyes back to meet with hers. 

“We are trying to find out what plagues you? Why you are having these afflictions. I can’t lose you.” he lamented. 

“You won’t.” Mary assured him, feeling deep in her bones that he was keeping something from her. She only hoped it was no worse than what she’d been keeping from him. Conversations with things unseen. Hidden motives still kept her feeling uneasy. Mary realized she must have made a face of her own because Terzo seemed more worried than before. 

“Mary is there something you aren’t telling me?” he asked her, ashamed to assume she was holding back something, knowing he wasn’t being honest with her. 

“I just missed you is all.” she smiled, “the baby woke me up this morning and you weren't here and well…I get nervous when you aren’t around. Everything here is so strange. My whole world has been flipped upside down. My life, uprooted for this little thing” she continued glancing down at her belly, “...and I just well…never mind me it's probably just hormones.”

“I would never leave you amore, not truly. I will do everything in my power to keep you both safe.” Terzo cooed, his lips pecking gently to hers. As they parted, their eyes met. Heavy and full of affection. The taste of her mouth, too much for Terzo to resist, as he brought his mouth back to hers.

Conquering her with his kiss, her body becoming languid with his touch. He rose up from the floor, picking her up off the small stool from which she sat, bringing her to lie on their shared bed. Setting her down with care. Treating her like she was made of glass, beautiful and fragile.

“You won’t break me Terzo.” Mary told him. Her breathing labored and her heart pounding loudly in her ears with anticipation as she felt him drag his lips along the line of her neck. He quickly traveled to her collarbone, his hand caressing her breast as he enjoyed her scent and the softness of her skin against his lips and palm. 

“I must remind myself to be careful with you. I can be quite the beast.” he smiled against her skin. Hands making quick work of gathering up her nighty. The fabric gripped tight in Terzo’s hand, as the other reached below the neckline to touch her bare breast. Mary moaned when his fingertips grazed her nipple. Terzo hovering over her as his fingers tried to find their way blindly beneath the fabric of her panties. 

So easily now, she gave into him—wanting him as much as he wanted her. It was moments like this she forgot about God. Forgot about the voice that called to her. No one spewing hatred for her lover, for her sins, for the child she carried inside her. Only love between them now—an obtainable salvation.

Maybe she was going crazy before. A surge of hormones and stress, making her hear things, but that didn’t explain the wounds. For now she didn’t care, feeling the rush as Terzo’s fingers met with her aching, wet flesh. “Terzo…” she whispered in her ragged breath, “make love to me.”

“Non c'è nient'altro che preferirei fare.” Terzo promised, pulling her breast from beneath her gown and sucking her nipple into his mouth. Working his fingers diligently as her hips rolled to meet the motions of his hand. Her legs parted wider for him. Mary licking her lips and breathing hard as he pressed deeply into the upper walls of her core. His fingers removed only a moment to gather up her slick. Pressing gently in circles on her clit a moment before returning to the sanctuary of her inner heat. 

“I want to taste you amore.” Terzo hummed, Mary’s nipple falling from his lips as he trailed kisses down her chest and over her swollen belly. 

“Mmm…” She writhed beneath him. Mary’s hand gripped tight to her own breast as Terzo’s handsome face disappeared below the roundness of her pregnant belly. She felt him grab her thighs, spreading them wider as his tongue gently slipped through her swollen lips. The tip, dancing along her folds with ease as he moaned against her. The vibrations were torturous, traveling to the bundle of nerves pulsing in her clit.

He worked her over, his tongue pressing taut against her and slurping gently. Two fingers carefully pumping in and out as he lapped at her. He stopped a moment to catch his breath, lightheaded in his ruthless endeavor to make her see stars. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for her. 

“Giuro con tutto ciò che sono che non c'è niente di più dolce del sapore della tua fica contro la mia lingua.” he confessed, breathing heavy and mouth dripping wet. Mary’s Italian was novice at best, but from the few words she could make out, she knew what he was trying to say. His words heated her up and sent a flush of red over her face and chest. He returned to his ministrations. Eager to make his lover cum. 

“Oh Terzo, it feels so good don’t stop.” she mewled as she gripped tight to his hair. Blood, beginning to seep out from her bandages as she lost herself in pleasure. Terzo buckled down, using the width of his tongue to move through her lips, tip flicking up at her clit. Sucking it gently as Mary began to release. Her body quivering as he drove her over the edge. Clit encased blissfully against his lips and tongue with his fingers buried deep inside her. 

Terzo was absolutely ravenous, working her over until she came for him twice over before he’d let her rest. Climbing back onto the bed as he pulled her into his lap. Mary was dizzy, the pooling of blood between her legs making her hazy in their shared lust. Terzo quickly brought himself inside her, lowering her down, taking her fully onto his cock. 

“Ah! Mia dolcezza, è davvero tutto essere tra le tue braccia.” Terzo moaned, feeling her fluttering inside. Her body, forming to him just as it always had. The two of them, fitting together as if they were made to do so. He held her close against him, only her belly keeping them from being closer as he took her. 

Mary began to feel more disoriented. Waves of dizziness befalling her as Terzo continued to thrust up inside her. She held tightly to his shoulders as he panted in her ear. Suddenly visions of bodies piled up on top of each other flashed before her. All of them writhing in agony and screaming while covered in blood and stacked miles high.  

She began to cry, her body unable to hold back the surge of emotion. Fueled by the horror of her vision and the hormones. The guilt and shame, rearing its ugly head as she came once more.

You asked for my forgiveness and yet you still so willingly…and gleefully commit yourself to sin. If I didn’t know better Mary…it would seem you were too far lost within Satan’s grasp.

The voice remanded her, forcing her back to reality, reminding her of her transgressions. Mary struggled to digest the words as she shifted against the deep violet sheets. Sweat, sticking her to them as she struggled against them wanting to crawl out of her own skin. Still coming down from the highs of her orgasm, her insides still pulsing with pleasure. Just as fast as it came, it went. 

Had her own shame and guilt manifested itself into madness? Was the vision from God? Or the devil? Terzo collapsed beside her. Pulling her close to him and holding her lovingly in his arms, seemingly unaware anything was amiss. Mary’s body continued to shiver, tears still rolling down her cheeks. 

“Are you alright?” Terzo asked her, holding her tight against him. 

“Just hormones.” She dismissed his concerns, feeling terror for what she had seen and for what may yet come. Was she truly shunned from the light of God’s love? Had she damned all mankind along with her? Mary’s head began pounding, her thoughts racing inside her mind when Terzo noticed her bandages were saturated with blood. 

“Amore, let's get you fixed back up, si?” he suggested, gently holding her hand as he helped her from the bed. Mary only nodding in response. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Secondo flew into his chambers. Slamming the door behind him before leaning against it. He could feel the fire burning inside him, the heat of frustration, and the bitterness of jealousy coursing through his veins. He was angry—angrier than he’d ever felt before. 

It wasn’t enough that his power was not as developed or refined as Primo’s. Or that his charisma paled in comparison to his younger brother’s. He was used to being overlooked. The sting of it this time, hitting hard when rejection came by way of Lucifer himself. His vexation, reaching its new heights knowing that he was once again outshined by Terzo. Given an honor the highest any follower of Satan would ever hope to receive. 

Terzo was the chosen one—chosen to father the vessel for the Antichrist. Secondo couldn’t help but clench his jaw tight. His teeth on the verge of cracking with each second, he grew more and more livid. Wondering what would come of things should they be revealed to Mary. Mary the mother of his brother’s child. Would his lover keep him within her good graces and remain loyal knowing that he had done to her. Damned her to eternity of Hellfire, and along with her all of humanity.

Notes:

In hac sacratissima loca ad te vocamus. Spiritus qui ante tempus resident, et in fine ejus manebunt. Attende vocationem meam et da mihi responsa pro quibus peto.- In this most sacred of places we call to you. Spirits that reside before time and will remain at its end. Heed my call and give me the answers for which I seek. 

Cazzo- fuck

Non c'è nient'altro che preferirei fare.- There is nothing more I would rather do. 

Giuro con tutto ciò che sono che non c'è niente di più dolce del sapore della tua fica contro la mia lingua.- I swear with everything that I am that there is nothing sweeter than the taste of your cunt against my tongue. 

Mia dolcezza, è davvero tutto essere tra le tue braccia.- my sweet, it is truly everything to be in your arms.

[converted-catholic]

I am not shamed to admit that I am a traditional Catholic…

As a “trad” as many people refer to me as, it is important to remember some key elements. When learning theology you can’t use the clips and phrases found on News media (both secular and Catholic) as your end all be all. I have been keeping up with the most recent synod…to see the current reactions and stretches that have been made have been appalling. Linked on the post I have the direct Vatican source as well as a unbiased (as far as I am able to discern) video going over the most recent dubias. The behavior and reactions of those who seemingly hold the title of Catholic is sickening at their ability to scorn and denounce the Pope over wicked lies and false information.

As Catholics we must submit to and pray for our Holy See!

We are not called to ‘like’ him or think he is the best Pope to ever grace our history, but remember what our Bible says…

Romans 5:8 “But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

Ephesians 4:32 “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.”

Matthew 25:40 “The King will answer them, 'Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me”

But I continue, we are called to love and support each other. Everyone knows the phrase “love the sinner hate the sin” and although I do not believe that the Pope is the sinner in this situation it reminds us that we are all fallen and are trying to live like Saints, so listen to the words of the man trying to guide us and make prudent decisions when listening…

[lostneedcoopcake]

Beyond the Signals Prologue: Light Signal

A lonely drive through the long highways leading from one city to another was more than enough to calm the young driver down. The lights that speed through his vision blended quite nicely with the starless due to the light pollution night sky. But he didn’t seem to mind. He was driving fast, but not too fast to hold his breath, although he loved the adrenaline. But the streets were busy that night, so he was driving just at the speed limit, switching the radio. Nothing on it was quite spectacular, only the usual, radio music, some news then and there, a random podcast that caught his attention for a short while before resuming switching the channels again. Soon, he was interrupted by a friend’s call that he answered through his headphones. Nothing important, just his best friend who wanted to talk. The young driver talked for a bit, hung up and focused for a bit on the road. He watched the various cars driving next to him and passing him – one of them was an idiot who almost crashed on him – before resuming his radio switching.

A static made him groan and clench his fist just barely before the signal got fixed. It was a news channel, one he had never paid attention to. He let his hand on the wheel, his eyes focused on the road and his ears on the radio. It seemed to be the news channel of a small town nearby, mostly focused on the news of said down. The driver scoffed and was about to switch the channel again, when he heard the following sentences: “Just this afternoon, there have been sightings of weird, white lights above our town. Could it be something from the city? We’ll have them know that -bzzkt- we want nothing to do with them, as they have taken our youth for “jobs”. No pollution here! If it’s something else, we’d love to investigate further -bzzkt.”

The following news were more news, interrupted by static more and more as he reached the city.

When he arrived at his rather large apartment, he immediately rushed to his makeshift radio station. Mostly used to transmit news, music and messages to his college, but he did not hesitate to hijack in easy targets now and then. The one he stumbled upon was one of said targets. As midnight fell upon the world, the young man put on his headphones and searched for the station. After finding it, he stood still for a bit, leaning on his desk. Listening to the midnight broadcast. It was mostly music, with the rare messages telling people to go to sleep. Just as he was about to start hijacking, he heard the following: “Pueri bene dormiunt sub luna et luce quae damus. et dormi, puer curiose, et has ultra non vexas.” The voice was almost non existent and, at the same time, echoed louder and louder in his head, making him hold it. It radiated through like light, but was also a screech from the void. The voice was neither male nor female, but an amalgamation of both. The young man fell on the ground in a fetal position, holding his head and groaning. When he calmed down, he took some quick breaths and rose on his desk, falling on his chair while whispering to himself:

“What the fuck what the fuck…”

He put his headphones back on, hearing chants and a choir. He felt his entire equipment shaking. “Who are you? What do you want?” He said in a quick sentence, but trembling voice.

“Noli timere.” the same echo answered, making him fall again once more. That time, he was hyperventilating, his chest pointing to the sky. Before he put his headphones back on, he got up, grabbed some water and painkillers and got back to his station. He put one of the painkillers in the water, let it dissolve and drank it. The effect wouldn’t immediately kick in, so he had to rely on the placebo effect. The put the headphones on, the hymns waiting for him.

“Listen, I – I don’t know what you’re saying. I did not major in Latin. If there’s someone who speaks English or Spanish, please, bring them in.”

“Vade ad urbem inter maria et lucem videbis. Et habebis responsa tua.” As his felt his brain about to explode, the station got shut off. The young man immediately turned it on and looked for the station, only for it to be radio silent. The man immediately got up, heading towards his bed while shaking his head. He lied on his bed, scrolling on his phone to distract himself from what he went through, to avoid the questions of whether it was real or not. Eventually, sleep got to him.

He woke up after what seemed to him an eternal sleep, making him immediately check his phone for the time. Normal times for him. He dropped his phone on his bed and fell on it with his back. He thought of going for a coffee that morning, so he started looking on the maps for new cafes. A recently saved location made him drop his phone and cower on his bed, covering himself with his sheets. On the phone was saved the location of the town he was getting the broadcast from, which happened to be between the two cities. It was quite a while after he picked up the phone, with shaking hands. It wasn’t that far, really. Yet, in his eyes, it’d seem he’d reach faster than he should. Not knowing how else to satisfy his curiosity and put clarity to the mystery, the young man packed some things up and headed straight for his car. When he had gotten outside of the city, he had a call, which startled him and almost made him drive out of the highway. He stopped on the side while catching his breath and answered the call. It was his friend again, wondering why wasn’t he answering the previous calls. His tone immediately changed when he realized his friend was in shock and asked what was wrong. The young man proceeded to explain to his friend what had happened the previous night, to which he responded that he is rushing for his car and that he’d be right behind him. After hanging up, the young man threw his phone on the seat next to him, gasping for air, but with a smile on his face. He was glad he had someone with him, someone he could trust.

The young man was the first to arrive at the small town, at first seemingly empty, void of people. It just so happened that a lot of them were elderly, sitting at the shadow of their porches, looking right at the man as he walked through the dirty streets. There were some people around his age that were going around, doing their jobs, paying no attention to the man. One young lady stood there for a while, looking at him. She turned to look at the church that was at the very end of the town. Looking around at the houses, she quickly approached the man, who took some steps back. She slipped a small paper in his bag and strode away from him, the elderly watching them both. The man looked at the paper. At first glace, it was just an advertisement of the radio station. He looked back at the long gone woman and remembered the human voice he heard from the radio. It was an older woman, so it could possibly be an assistant? The man felt like he’d never know. Upon reading it closely, he saw a time. 10 at night, on top of the church. Walking a bit to the side at the sound of a car passing, he sat down and read the rest, small but elegant words underneath the date: “I will be there. I don’t know what else will be with us. Mrs. Phospho won’t tell me a thing, I am painfully aware she knows more because she was talking in Latin with someone – or something. What she doesn’t know is who intercepted the signal – it was you. I will explain what I can.

-Carmen”

The screeching of a car right next to him made the young man drop the paper and step back, eyes widened, then frowned brows as he looked at the oddly familiar car. His friend came out of the car, slamming loudly the door as he looked around the town. He quickly walked up to the man, them gripping their hands in a form of a handshake.

“Scott! What’s up? Heard you talking about-” the young man put his hand over his friend’s mouth, let it go and picked up the paper. He slammed it on his chest, his friend holding it and reading it in confusion.

“Town’s a bunch of elderly weirdos, but I am not leaving until I learn what’s going on.” His friend looked up from the text with a smile, slamming back the paper at Scott.

“Don’t think it’s anything but a weird event from that Phospho, so might as well talk to that Carmen lady – was she cute?” Scott rolled his eyes and shrugged, his friend laughing and grabbing his shoulder. They went inside their cars, Scott trying to find any weird signals or messages again, his friend listening to music and, eventually, falling asleep.

“God fucking dammit Greg, it’s almost the time, you sleepy ass!” Scott shook his friend out of his deep sleep, him looking around. There was almost no one outside, but a figure going towards the church. Greg pointed towards it.

“Don’t curse in front of the house of God, man! Look, I think I see that Carmen going to the church.” he got up from his comfy seat, groaning while stretching. “Might as well follow without looking like creeps, you know?” Scott opened the door of his friend’s car, pulled him out, put him on his shoulders and carried him towards the church after kicking the door shut. Greg, with his hands floating, locked the door of his car before he started giggling and moving his legs around. At the same time, Scott put his headphones on, tuning his phone to the radio. He heard the same, middle aged lady again – possibly Mrs. Phospho – speaking her mind about what is going on in the world. It was not late until she started complaining about the city people, and soon her words about them “meddling with anyone’s business” made it clear that she was talking about them. Wasn’t it for what was going on, one would think from her rambling that she was completely mad. She started talking about how defiance from both the youth of the city and the youth of the town would “bring forth their punishment”, moments before she started shouting Carmen’s full name. The boys saw a figure on top of the church, holding a small, rectangular object and frantically looking around. She saw Scott carrying Greg and signaled them to come on top. Scott started running, Greg dropping down and running alongside him, barely catching up. From the shadows, they saw light from fire emerging. Mostly middle aged and older people were shouting at them and coming their way. The two boys went inside, Scott slamming the door shut and holding it with his back.

As Greg was carrying chairs to keep the door shut, Scott looked around the church. Fully decorated with religious images and glass patterns of many colors, the place inside seemed much larger on the inside in comparison to the bland, white and small church at the end of the town. A warm sense and a soothing calmness almost made him forget what was going on outside, wasn’t it for Greg constantly carrying chairs. Yet, it looked like as if the place never changed. As fancy as the materials looked like at first glance, with more precise observation, one could tell all consisted of paint, glass, wood, concrete and steel. Simplicity bringing forth beauty through creation. Scott shook his head and looked through the lock. He saw the angry mod outside, shouting at them while wielding fire. His friend, finally realizing the surroundings, started taking pictures of the interior, only for it to appear as bland as the outside in the photos. As he was shown the photos, Scott started touching the walls, feeling both real and as a mirage. It was not until whispers started reaching his ears that he focused again at what they had come to do and he started looking for a staircase. All they found was a steel ladder, which they climbed, the place echoing under them, turning into a white void, yet still being there.

On the roof, they saw the lady that gave the paper to Scott, Carmen, who had set up a small radio tower in front of her. As she had headphones on, she did not notice the boys at first, getting herself startled by Greg’s scare. She dropped her headphones and looked at the boys, both giggling. She sighed, constantly looking at her radio tower.

“So, you intercept radio signals too?” Scott asked her, pointing at the radio tower with his arms crossed. Carmen nodded.

“I managed to add a translator to this small baby, mostly to translate the Latin. It’s not perfect, but I can understand what Mrs. Phospho is saying – she is trying to communicate with something. At midnight, before she goes to sleep, she speaks much more than before about the divine.” Greg pointed at downstairs with his thumb.

“Seen the church change too? That was wild as – ah, shouldn’t talk with a dirty mouth.” Carmen nodded once more, looking at the steel ladder.

“It happened when I was inside the church, I like how serene it is. The warmth, the imagery. Then, the voice, more blinding than the sun. I could not understand what it was telling me, nor could I listen to it from the pain. Through my tears, I saw the entire room becoming white, then I was on the top of a mountain.” Carmen paused, still staring at the ladder before turning to her radio tower. “I saw some lights. Bright, white lights. Then… then…” Carmen paused, looking to the sky. “Nothing. I was back to the normal church. At least I thought it was nothing, then the lights started appearing in front of everyone and now we’re here.”

The small team stood for a while before turning towards the small radio tower, the moonlight shining on their work and the light from the mob’s fires burning their souls. As they were laser focused on trying to figure out all of Mrs. Phosphos’ messages, they noticed not the light from the sky being brighter and the voices being more and more silent. The white light got blindingly bright, making the three of them turn towards it. The sky was almost white from the circular lights that had occupied it for the night. It was just fine for them to stare at. At first, nothing but small rays of white coming from the lights was happening. Wind started blowing through their hair as, in a moment’s notice, they were on a powdered by snow tip of a mountain. The turned to look at the light which, upon sight, widened their rays in wings and turned to face them with their uncanny eyes, circling in halos of golden light but always staring at the humans. Above them was the moon, which turned too to face them with its large, neutral color eye and its wings spanning the entire sky. The team could not speak and, even if they wanted to, could not.

“Nolite timere, filii hominum.” a voice said as the entirety of the skies echoed, delivering the white void to ears untrained by it. All three of them fell on the ground, holding their heads while trying to regain whatever little focus they were holding on. “Dolor, qui te per praesentiam nostram afficit, nos quoque dolet, quia laedere non volumus. Veritatem totius non potes videre, sed mente sortium immensitatis loquemur : vosmetipsos audistis et non pro laqueis ego cecidi, ae- culo remunerabitur. Mox plura scies.” a more concerned version of the many voices spoke to them, trying to be as soft for human ears as possible, to no avail. When the team started getting up, the beings of a higher realm started singing in hymns. Wonderful, ethereal hymns that no human could resist listening to for hours, even forgetting how to be human. When the team turned to face the divine messengers, they only saw a giant clock instead of the moon, holding up the clouds and the white sky. The clock was at midnight, as it started ticking after the humans looked at it for a while.

At a turn of their heads, they were on top of the church again, the wind ringing the church’s bell. Either the wind had snuffed out the fire or the mob had left, the only light that existed was the moonlight. And silence. Only the wind howling. The team stood there for a while before Carmen turned towards the radio tower. It had captured absolutely nothing.

“Scott, what the fuck have you dragged me into?” Greg broke the silence. “The realization we may need to learn Latin. And whatever that was.” Scott answered, sitting slowly on the concrete roof. Carmen carried the radio tower when she looked at the time.

“The clock struck midnight while it’s now 1 at night.” She smacked her lips, looking at the crater filled moon. “I.. I don’t know. I don’t know what we saw, or if we saw the same thing. It’s ok – ok if you want to never talk about this again.” Scott immediately got up and looked at Carmen.

“Not before deciphering the messages. Something tell me,” Scott pointed at the sky, “there’s something out there. I don’t know what it is, but we will figure out – something! It may not be exactly what’s been asked for, but we’ll try. I – I don’t know either. But I am willing to learn.” Scott turned towards his old and his new friend. “Are you?” They all looked at each other. They all nodded at each other.

Before they realized it, it was morning. They watched the sun rise on top of the church and, as it rose, they got down. Not in defeat, but in continuation.

------

Starting as just a short story based on a prompt, I am thinking of developing this in a full on story. It's just the first draft, so don't expect to much. Hope you like it and stay in tune for the next parts!

[technicolor-laura]

✆

Name: Where There’s a Will

Ringtone: The William Tell Overture Finale

Picture: Laura always asks before taking a picture, and always reminds her subject to “Smile!”  She got this one just before they left for central park.  She didn’t say so, but his camera-ready smile still eases her nerves just as well as it used to, and she had many nerves to ease that day.

[heirbane]

a kiss shared between enemies during combat . // 🐺🐇 hey

Something about this had pulled him back half a decade. Mayhaps it was the older blade Arye had chosen; mayhaps it was the weather, the night dark and the moon high in the sky just as it had been then, the summer heat still and stagnant with nary a breeze.

They had clashed here before - it was almost a given when the Warrior visited and stayed more than a few bells. Gaius would prepare them supper; they would drink, some visits more than others, and then they would seek out the barren cliffside to go toe-to-toe. Allie sometimes came to watch; others, she used the time on her own accord. Once they returned, however, she knew she was not to leave her room, if she stayed the night in their home at all.

(Severa had, rightfully, given Gaius hell for making his daughter feel unwelcome in her own home. He had found a way to awkwardly apologize, and make it clear that should she ever need their home to herself for similar situations - all she needed was to say so. But he would venture to behave himself a little more going forward.

It was, perhaps, the most excruciating conversation he had had since he retired.)

But they hadn't made it all the way back to his cottage, tired and sweat-slickened and spattered with dried blood and dirt. They had scarcely made it past their first round of sparring when they collided, awkward and out of sorts.

He was off his game. Gaius collapsed onto his side in the tall grass, cursing into the wind, and bit off another when Arye tumbled into him, eyes wild and a short blade held aloft. It glittered in the moonlight.

"Get off of me," Gaius snarled, his words barreling from his throat in a way that did not belong to him. He reached up, fisting a handful of Arye's ponytail and yanking the man to the side so that he could sit up.

It was the celebrations, he realized.

Even now, he could hear the sounds of tiny fireworks, the smell of grilling meat and gunpowder. He had not realized that the Werlytans celebrated the summer in the same way other Eorzeans did - he had not been afoot when such things occurred before.

It had all collected. He had spent the day on edge, his jaw sore from how tightly he grit his teeth, and only now recognized just what had gotten under his skin. The furious, desperate need to push Arye into the dirt - to leer above him and seek victory, even in this silly spar -

It was not him. It was who he had been.

He did not release Arye's hair. The other man seemed as if he understood, as if he were choosing to throw kindling into the fire, a feral sort of sound coming from his lips as he lunged forward to pin the Garlean back into the grass.

Gaius guided his head, grip tight against the man's scalp, their kiss all teeth and violence. He was barely aware that he had drawn blood until it dripped onto his cheek as they parted.

"Roll over," he groused. "I will bite again. Move."

@darkflood

[memesandknights]

// 6. What is one muse you don’t see yourself ever stop rping as?

RP QUESTIONS FOR THE MUN

Honestly it’s a toss-up.

I had a few other blogs that faded into obscurity, not because my interest faded, but just because I couldn’t find partners.

I think I’m currently doing the best, so far, though, and I tend to have strong interest in any given thing for a few years at a time, so I think I’m cautiously optimistic, for at least a little while.  

[pandakailovesshangchi]

Namor, hero or villain?

Namor, the king of atlantis, a hero of world war two, one of humanity’s most dangerous foes, an avenger, a member of the cabal, a saviour of thousands, a murderer of millions. You can say all of these things about Namor and you’d be right about every single one of them. 

Namor is a character that has been used as a villain and hero numerous times throughout his very very long existence in marvel comics. He was an x men, an avenger, part of the illuminati (although whether you consider them heroes or not is another matter), a part of the inavders and probably more teams then I can think of. If you look at the list, it paints a pretty good picture of the guy, regardless of what his personality is like. But, wel... 

He has often times attacked the surface world with tsunamis, invasions and the like only to be thwarted by the intrepid heroes of the world that more often then not simply let him retreat back to his home. Often times these attacks were caused by misconceptions or decepit, trying to pin the blame on someone else to unleash the sub mariner on your foes, but many other times the cause is simply left unaddressed. 

What is this cause? Well, marvel’s decision to intrinsically link every oil spill and exploitative fishing techniques with Namor’s kingdom. The times where Namor has attacked because of human’s desecrating his home or subjects are many, and the sympathy he gets from others tends to vary wildly. While many heroes (like in the most recent run of the avengers) understand his reasoning, they stop him but refuse to acknowledge the root of the problem, that actions such as these are many, and they don’t stop happening. 

This, is where people start to question, hero or villain? One could even say that marvel itself doesn’t know the answer to the question, and more often then not the answer depends on what kind of plot device the writers want to turn Namor into. His reasoning, values, loyslties and morality are often tweaked, changed or disregarded completely for the sake of the plot. 

So, maybe we should stop and look at Namor, and who this person is. He is atlantean, he is human and he is a mutant, he is a patchwork of different identities that are often at war with one another and that he often has to choose one over the other due to (in my opinion) Atlantis’ absolutely abysmal acceptance of anyone that is different. 

Atlantis’ racism and its influence in Namor is very much a part of his character, while his hate for the surface world can be largely explained by all the ugly things he has seen from it, no little part of it is the own culture he was raised in that belittled surface worlders and Namor himself, who often times isn’t considered a ‘real’ atlantean by his own people. 

Namor himself, I won’t lie, is a whole can of worms of a character. He is prideful to a deadly degree, arrogant to the detriment of his people and stubborn in a way that can sometimes prove fatal to his kingdom’s future and wellbeing. But, he is also honourable, a man of his word that is sencere, and loyal to those who have earned his trust and friendship (though currently, after inavders (2019) and the whole mess in Avengers, that list is practically empty).

Which, the whole being alone thing is another thing that makes Namor himself, above anything else, Namor is lonely. There is no one out there who is quite like him, though human vein flows in his veins he is not accepted by them and he rejects them as well, his atlantean blood wars with the other in a battle of morality and the perseverity of his people. His mutant status does nothing to breach the gap between himself and other, simply marking another difference that sets him apart. 

And to all of this, you must add the fact that he is a king, which is a lonely position in and out of itself. He is a figure to be admired and followed by his subjects, his wives have all been killed and his family is either dead, distant or hates him. His fellow heroes are individualistic people who hold no responsability for the people they protect, they do not have to ensure the following generations will not only survive, but thrive, they do not have to worry about feeding their people, or people doubting their right to rule, or holding the responsibility of thousands of lives under the weight of the crown. 

Nobody is like Namor, so nobody can empathise with Namor, pushing him deeper into a well of islotion that has been carved very much by himself and those around him, wether knowingly or not. 

Everything I have said is important in answering the question of ‘is Namor a hero or a villain?’ Namor is a complex character who, in recent comics specially, has only been used to create conflict that is superficial and many times out of character. Namor, is not evil, he is pragmatic and cruel sometimes, but nothing he does is done out of an intent to make anyone suffer. 

Becuase the crux of the problem is that he cares, Namor loves his people to a dangeroues degree that makes him irrational in the best of days. He is king to a dwindling people who have had their city and homes destroyed almost like clockwork in the last ten years, being left with nothing over and over again while Namor tries to solve the problems, but can’t.

Recently, Namor has been forced to join the avengers to atone for his sin out of She hulk’s advice. He is a king without a crown, and a man with no friends. From what little we’ve been shown he seems to be contemplative, been forced for the first time in very long to reconsider his choices and actions. Although my hopes are low, I hope that the avengers comics can show that Namor can be one of the best heroes out there, he can become something other then a symbol of an enemy under the waves, he can be a symbol of peaceful coexistence between the surface world and Atlantis. 

But the avnegers is a big team, whose character focus often times vary wildly and lead to unsatisfying story archs. However, hope is sometimes all we can afford.

So to answer the question, is Namor a hero or a villain?

For now, you can’t say he’s either of those things. But I do believe, that he can become a hero.

[hyperpotamianarch]

Part 2 of my attempt at summing up Jewish religious literature (more or less):

Now, I believe I already said in my previous installation on that topic that from here on, the division of Mikra-Mishnah-Talmud is getting a ittle less useful. I would like to, then, suggest a different categorization for books written from here on out. However, I would like to preface this by saying that this categorization isn't official or definitive. I believe and hope that it can be useful, but it's still of limited use, and various books I will put under one umbrella are going to be vastly different from each other even in their purpose - though they should keep a generally similar structure.

With that in mind, my division is between Responsa books, Commentaries, Faith & Moral betterment, and Halacha. Again, as a categorization it isn't nearly as useful as it should be, but I think it can work. the third one is possibly the most problematic to consider one category with how varied it can be, but I think there might be enough overlap for it to work.

Anyway, let's actually start. Last time, we stopped after the Savora'im, the people who finalised the Babylonian Talmud. So we go on to the next era - the time of the Ge'onim. Now, this (along with the Savora'im) is an era I'm not really certain about and am very far from being an expert on. It lasted from about the 7th century CE to about the 11th. The major significant feature of this era was the Jewish religious center in Babylon, which was considered authoritative by Jews all around the diaspora. The period gets its name from the title given to the heads of the major Yeshivas in Babylon - Ga'on, a word that means something along the lines of "pride" or "splendor". In Modern Hebrew it came to mean "genious", though that's probably a result of the title being used for great rabbis, and certainly isn't the cause of it.

This era more or less invented the Responsa literature - called Shu"t in Hebrew, which is basically the equivallent of Q&A. Essentially, whenever a Jew anywhere around the word had a question about Halachah (Jewish religious law) he wanted to ask - he would've sent it to on of the Ge'onim who served at the time in Babylon, and they would answer. Those answers were collected and kept, sometimes used as Halachic prescedence for farther questions, and sometimes copied and distributed for farther study. Jewish responsa literature survived for centuries to come, and is still being written today. The typical responsa book simply had a collection of answers, sometimes perhaps sorted by topic, but it would be a while before a universal categorization would be accepted. We'll get to that one later. For now, suffice it to say that the Ge'onim were more than happy to educate their fellow Jews in the diaspora, wherever they were, on the religious law. In some ways, that is what led to the end of their era - as more Jews all around the world learned to study the Talmud and arrive at conclusions themselves.

Beyond the responsa books, there are a couple of more interesting books that were written in that period. To that, I'd like to note that this is the first period where colaborative books - such as the Talmud - are a rarity rather than standard. A book of this time is the work of a specific person, and not the collaborative effort of generations of Yeshivah students. This claim itself will come to bite me in the back at the next era, but at least I'm aware of and ready for it.

So, to get to the important book, let's start with the She'iltot D'rav Aḥa, because that can't possibly get us off rails! This is a book organized by the Portions of the Torah that were read each Shabbat in an annual cycle. So far, so good. It's mostly about Halacha, as well! So far so good. However, it's likely composed of Drashot (the closest English equivalent is likely sermons, but I'm reluctant to use this word) that he carried to his students. Plus, it also has some Aggadah in it. Aggadah being the name of the less Halacha-focused, more story-focused portions of the Talmud. So, it probably belongs in the Halacha category of books out of those I presented. However, you can see how this isn't exactly an examplary sample of that category.

Another book that is probably a better example of a Halachic book is Halachot Pesukot by Rav Yehudai Gaon. It's structured around the tractates of the Talmud, and includes most all religious law that is required at the time there's no Temple. It was slightly less widely known, however, than the book that's followed in its footsteps - Halachot Gedolot, which was probably written by Shimeon Kayyara. The latter was not a Gaon, apparently, but he lived at the era, around the appropriate place. I forgot to mention, but language wise - I belive most all books by the Ge'onim were written in Aramic, possibly including their responsa.

That is, until we get to Emmunot V'De'ot by Rav Saadiah Gaon.

This is the first book in the category of Faith. It essentially describes everything a Jew should believe and know, and was originally written in Arabic, or at least Jewish Arabic. Now, this isn't a sudden change because of the Arabic conquest, since that happened a couple of centuries before the book was written. It's certainly a result of it, but I think it's more because the target audience was every Jew everywhere and many of them didn't know Aramaic or Hebrew anymore.

Now, I have been using Wikipedia as an aide to write this so far. They actually had a list of books in the article about the Ge'onim. I was nearly ready to wrap this era up when I recalled some other, very important development of the time. One that nearly goes outside of the categories I so neatly set up: the first Siddurim.

Basically, Jewish prayer existed in a similar enough manner to how it is today since the beginning of the 2nd Temple, estimated by researchers to be around the 500s BCE. It wasn't completely finalised for a couple more centuries, but through the time of the Talmud onward there was an order to it. It was simply left unwritten, and people had to remember it by heart. This is actually why the role of Shliach Tzibur, a prayer leader, was necessary: for the illiterate and less educated members of the congregation to follow the prayer and be considered to have prayed even though they didn't know how. This worked until the time of the Ge'onim.

At this point, a Jewish congregation in Spain sent a letter to Rav Netronai Ga'on asking him for help on the matter of the daily blessings. So he sent them what was the prototype for the modern Siddur. More well known are Sedder Rav Amram Ga'on and the Siddur of Rav Sa'adiah Ga'on. Sedder Rav Amram is, essentially, the basis of all modern Siddurim. One way or another. There are different Nusachim, variations, but essentially it all came from that - a Siddur that was sent to the Jewish community of Spain over a thousand years ago.

Now, clearly liturgy doesn't fall neatly into my categories. However, I would still like to claim that this is, essentially, a book of Halacha: it tells Jews how to follow their religious laws. It could also be considered something not unrelated to the responsa literature, which always was pretty much attached to Halacha anyway. I don't consider it responsa, though, because it's not a collection of answers to questions - it was sent as a response to (supposedly) one question. However, while I categorize this as Halacha, you might want to remember liturgy still exists as something of a separate branch. And while completely separate and completely new works of liturgy weren't generally collected in books until relatively lately, there are some independant pieces that I might want to acknowledge.

That said, I think moving on to the Rishonim now would make this overly long. So, this series is likely going to be of four parts - depending on how comprehensive I'll manage to make it. After all, I didn't say a word about the Piyutim yet. Or the Karaites, or the conflict between religious authorities in Israel and Babylonia at the era - though these latter two technically aren't related to literature as much.

Anyway, thank you for reading, and have a good day! If anyone in Jumblr would like to pop in and add from their knowledge, or correct me on instances I've been wrong, I would love to hear it!

[magnetothemagnificent]

Since Jewish conversion often takes months if not years, what happens if a prospective convert dies before completing their conversion? Would they be allowed a Jewish funeral and to be buried in a Jewish cemetery if their Rabbi was sure they'd have completed it had they lived or are they barred from that since they never really became Jewish? Or is it more of a case-by-case scenario?

This...is complicated, and it depends who you ask. There's no definitive answer.

I'm not a Rabbi, and certainly not your Rabbi, and anything I say shouldn't be taken as Rabbinical authority. But here's a very very brief summary of the different perspectives and debates on the matter:

Here's a quote from a chapter in Tradition: A Journal of Orthodox Thought by Rabbi Moshe Yares reading

"R. Hayyim Eleazar Shapira, discussing in Responsa Minhat Elazar the prohibition of accepting for Jewish burial the child of a non-Jewish mother, raises inter alia the question of a non-Jew who underwent circumcision le-shem gerut but died prior to the tevilah. R. Shapira felt that in this case it would only be logical to allow burial in a Jewish cemetery. As to whether a distance of eight amot is needed to separate such a grave from other Jewish graves, R. Shapira does not reach a definite eondusion. In all of these cases there was no completed gerut; yet the deceased was accepted for burial in the Jewish cemetery." [page 64]

Here is a detailed responsa by the Rabbinical Assembly (Consevative/Masorti Judaism) regarding the burial of non-Jewish loved ones, and an important quote:

"A thousand-year custom should be respected and not lightly discarded. Nevertheless, we live in different times. Our relations to non-Jews are very different than in the past. Many of us have non-Jews in our families. All of us know non-Jews who are strongly connected to the Jewish community although they have chosen not to convert and retain their status as nonJews. In regard to the question of interfaith marriages, we must be sensitive to their feelings and make them feel welcome in our communities. In addition, non-Jewish spouses and children who are involved in our synagogues, while not Jewish, are nevertheless part of our community. Our tradition has continually evolved in our understanding and differentiation of non-Jews. We must respect those who have married Jews and have raised Jewish families and are connected to the Jewish community. Since there is no specific prohibition in the Bible or the Talmud and the first mention of a prohibition is Rashi’s interpretation, special provisions should be made to allow the non-Jewish spouses and children to be buried in Jewish cemeteries, in specially designated sections that are separated from the rest of the Jewish cemetery by a path or a road." [page 12]

And here is an "ask the rabbi" article in the Jerusalem Post briefly summing up different movement's perspectives, and a quote:

"With some controversy, subtle special separations are sometimes created, with the non- Jewish graves on cemetery outskirts or separated from their neighbors by decorative bushes.

Rabbi Yehuda Shaviv (Tehumin 14), citing a potential talmudic precedent (Bava Batra 10a), has suggested that this practice might not be necessary in military cemeteries built to bury comrades-in-arms without distinction.

He further noted a 17th-century opinion that allows Jews and non-Jews who died together to be buried in the same courtyard (Bach YD 151).

WHILE THE REFORM movement allowed for interfaith interment in the early 20th century, the American Conservative movement has just recently authorized the establishment of separate sections within Jewish cemeteries for interfaith couples, reflecting the growing sociological pressure of intermarriage within that denomination."

Basically, it's complicated, and it's something that's been debated for literally thousands of years. Nowadays it really depends which movement the individual was converting into. But even many Orthodox Rabbis agree that provisions should be made for people who died in the midst of conversion or non-Jewish relatives of Jews, both kinds of people who while not technically Jewish, are still very much members of the Jewish community. Whether it means having a "mixed" section of a cemetery or not having Jewish symbols on the grave marker or not having any distinctions at all, it really depends. It's what we like to call a Makhloket- a disagreement.

[gliklofhameln]

Sefer Nofekh (responsa), Rabbi Abraham ben Jacob ibn Tawwah, Algiers, 16th century

Rabbi Abraham ben Jacob Ibn Tawwah (d. after 1551) was a prominent halakhist, yeshiva dean, preacher, cantor, and liturgical poet of Catalonian extraction based in Algiers. He was a descendant of both the Spanish Rabbi Moses Nahmanides (1194-1270) and the Majorcan-Algerian Rabbi Simeon ben Zemah Duran (1361-1444).

This manuscript, entitled Sefer Nofekh, origninally contained one hundred fifty (the numerical value of the word nofekh spelled without the vav) of his responsa, copied in his hand and, in several cases, signed by him with his distinctive signature: “The most humble descendant of Adam and Eve [Hawwah], Abraham ben Jacob Ibn Tawwah, of blessed memory.” (The manuscript is currently missing thirty-one of the responsa: numbers).

Sefer nofekh not only covers many topics in ritual law but also treats personal status and business law questions. Its pages preserve questions received from Fez in Morocco, Djerba in Tunisia, and several cities and towns in Algeria (Algiers, Tlemcen, Oran, Miliana, Constantine, Médéa, Ouargla/Mzab), especially those that had no local halakhic authority. In his answers, Ibn Tawwah traced the sources of Jewish law from the Talmud to contemporary times, objected to excessive stringency, defended established communal practice, and worked hard to minimize conflicts between members of a community. The book’s essays thus shed much light on the history and socio-religious culture of North African Jewry in the critical period following the expulsions from the Iberian Peninsula and open a window onto Ibn Tawwah’s thought, halakhic methodology, and spiritual leadership.

Ibn Tawwah was a lyrical writer, and many of his responsa include rhymed poetic portions. Toward the end of the volume is a collection of the author’s liturgical poetry, in which he displays great expertise in the principles of traditional Sephardic piyyut.