National Scholar Updates

What do we expect from our synagogues?

 

 

In light of the new Pew study on Jewish affiliation, there will be a lot of hand-wringing about what the Jewish community can do to get people more engaged. My revolutionary
suggestion? Get to synagogue.

People are always telling me that they’d love to come to shul more often, but they’re just not as religious as I am. Its one of the hazards of being married to a rabbi. Strangers think they know my exact level of religiosity, whatever that means. So here’s what I’ll say. You have no idea what goes on inside my head. And I have no idea what you’re thinking, either. Even more blasphemous, I don’t care.

Prayer is a funny thing. Many of us, if pressed, would say that we’ve had our most transformative moments, our most intimate experiences with the divine, when we were alone. When I’m on top of a mountain and see a breathtaking vista, I marvel at the brilliance of the creator. In the moments my children were born, and the pain magically stopped, I looked into their eyes and saw God working, literally through me.
Now let’s get real. I’ve had four children, and I don’t plan on having another one every time I long for a connection with the divine. And who has time to climb mountains on a regular basis!

Any onewho expects those kind of moments continuously, spontaneously erupting out of daily or weekly prayer, is, to put it bluntly, deluded.

Here’s what coming to shul on a regular basis has the power to deliver:

Entertainment

For those of us with children at home, shabbat services provide friends and activities, a free playdate without screens which you need only minimally supervise.
We grownups also get an opportunity to socialize without 12 emails back and forth planning a dinner date/ securing a sitter/ making reservations. Just show up Saturday morning.

Real live community

During the week we focus on friends who tend to fall within a few years of our own age. We get lost in the priorities of those micro communities and forget about the real needs of everyone else. On shabbat at services we are part of a community of all ages/ backgrounds/ experiences. Children chat with elderly couples, empty nesters give new moms a break and bounce cranky babies. You notice someone newly saying Kaddish, and ask about her loss.

Cultural Fluency

Rather than sitting through dry classes on liturgy in school or adult ed, people who regularly attend services attain fluency with the service simply by being there. Children and adults who have achieved mastery over the service feel at home in shul rather than feeling alienated. Circular logic, to be sure, but true nonetheless. These people are more likely to become leaders in all aspects of the Jewish world.

A Wider Focus

There will be many who suggest that the answer to engagement is individualized programming –Torah yoga, shabbat biking clubs, kabbalah for teens. These focused programs may bring people in the building, but they do little for the goal of creating long term connection and community. On the contrary, they send a message that in order for Judaism to be meaningful it must constantly be tailored to your specific needs. Real community is a place where we learn to care about people with decidedly different experiences and perspectives. The more we fracture our programming to
reflect the perceived needs of the few, the more we send the message that Judaism is only interesting to me inasmuch as it confirms the beliefs I already have.

Holiness

Judaism is not a religion based solely on belief. We do not police the thoughts of the souls who walk through our doors. But the ancient requirement that certain prayers need a minyan means that there is holiness embedded in the connection between Jews. It doesn’t come from the unwavering belief in God held by the people in the room. It comes from our connections with one another.

Holiness is in the interactions between the generations. Its in the 15 year old helping the 9 year old find the page. In the inherently selfish middle schooler giving an arm to an elderly man not quite ready to give in to a walker. In the whispers in the pews between a newly unemployed single mother and the business owner who might be able to help her land on her feet. In the collective groan from the room when the Rabbi uses an embarrassingly bad pun. In the unmitigated joy we feel the first time the couple long struggling with infertility brings their new baby to services. In the very act of choosing to be a part of something bigger than ourselves.

One of the questions in the Pew survey was whether anyone in your household is a member of a synagogue. Of the people the survey identified, 60% responded “no.” While a few of the children in these households will undoubtedly become future leaders, most of our leaders will come from the 40%. It is a countercultural choice to be part of a group less concerned with rugged individualism and more with the (gasp!) collective. And those who come to leadership in the next generation will be the beneficiaries of today’s old fashioned joiners, keeping the seats warm and the lights on and the spark alive.

Mountaintops can be transformative. But Jewish community is built by delivering shiva meals and learning a last minute torah reading and even the kvetchers in the back of the room. By looking someone else in the eye. Is there something of the divine there? I literally do not know. Faith is ever changing and intensely personal. Your belief has no effect on me. Your choice to throw your lot in with the rest of the Jewish people? That makes my life holy, every day.

The Chosen People: An Ethical Challenge

“The Chosen People”: An Ethical Challenge[1]

The concept of the Chosen People is fraught with difficulties. Historically, it has brought much grief upon the Jewish people. It also has led some Jews to develop chauvinistic attitudes toward non-Jews. Nonetheless, it is a central axiom in the Torah and rabbinic tradition, and we therefore have a responsibility to approach the subject forthrightly. This essay will briefly consider the biblical and rabbinic evidence.

 

The Book of Genesis

 

A major theme of the Book of Genesis is the refining process of the Chosen People. The Torah begins its narrative of humanity with Adam and Eve, created in the Image of God. The Torah’s conception of humanity includes the potential of every person to connect to God, and an expectation that living a moral life necessarily flows from that relationship with God.

Cain and Abel, the generation of Enosh, Noah, and the Patriarchs spontaneously brought offerings and prayed without any divine commandments to do so. God held people responsible for their immoral acts without having warned them against such behaviors. Cain and the generation of the Flood could not defend themselves by appealing to the fact that they never received explicit divine commandments.[2] They naturally should have known that their conduct was unacceptable and punishable.

At the time of Noah, God rejected most of humanity for their wickedness and restarted human history with Noah. After the Flood, God explicitly commanded certain moral laws (Genesis 9), which the Talmud understands as the “seven Noahide laws” (ethical monotheism). Noah should have taught these principles to his descendants, creating an ideal humanity. Instead, the only recorded story of Noah’s final 350 years relates that he got drunk and cursed his grandson Canaan. Although Noah was a righteous man, he did not transmit his values to succeeding generations.

Only one narrative spans the 10 generations between Noah and Abraham, namely, the Tower of Babel. This story represents a societal break from God, marking the beginnings of paganism and unbridled human arrogance.[3] At this point, God chose Abraham and his descendants to model ethical monotheism and teach it to humanity.

This synopsis of the first twelve chapters of Genesis is encapsulated by Rabbi Obadiah Sforno (sixteenth-century Italy) in his introduction to Genesis:

 

It then teaches that when hope for the return of all humanity was removed, as it had successfully destroyed God’s constructive intent three times already, God selected the most pious of the species and chose Abraham and his descendants to achieve His desired purpose for all humanity.[4]

 

There is no genetic superiority ascribed to Abraham and his descendants. To the contrary, the common descent of all humanity from Adam and Eve precludes any racial differentiation, as understood by the Mishnah:

Furthermore, [Adam was created alone] for the sake of peace among men, that one might not say to his fellow, my father was greater than yours. (Sanhedrin 37a)

 

Abraham and his descendants thus became the Chosen People—a nation expected to do and teach what all nations ideally should do. Abraham is singled out in the Torah as the first teacher of these values:

 

The Lord said, Shall I hide from Abraham that thing which I do, seeing that Abraham shall surely become a great and mighty nation, and all the nations of the earth shall be blessed in him? For I know him, that he will command his children and his household after him, and they shall keep the way of the Lord, to do justice and judgment; that the Lord may bring upon Abraham that which he has spoken of him. (Genesis 18:17–19)

 

The remainder of Genesis revolves around the selection process within Abraham’s family. Not all branches would become Abraham’s spiritual heirs. By the end of Genesis, it is evident that the Chosen People is comprised specifically of Jacob’s sons and their future generations.

            Although Genesis specifies the role and identity of the Chosen People, two difficult questions remain. (1) Once Israel was chosen, was this chosenness guaranteed forever, or was it contingent on the religious-ethical behavior of later generations? Could a sinful Israel be rejected as were the builders of the Tower of Babel? (2) Is chosenness exclusively limited to Israel (either biological descendants or converts), or can non-Jews become chosen by becoming ethical monotheists, observing the seven Noahide laws?

 

Israel’s Eternal Chosenness

 

God addressed the first question as He was giving the Torah to Israel:

 

Now therefore, if you will obey My voice indeed, and keep My covenant, then you shall be My own treasure among all peoples; for all the earth is Mine; And you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation. These are the words which you shall speak to the people of Israel. (Exodus 19:5–6)

 

God’s covenant with Israel is a reciprocal agreement. If Israel does not uphold its side of the covenant, it appears that Israel would cease to be God’s treasure. The very beginning of Israel’s national covenantal identity is defined as conditional rather than absolute.

Later prophets highlight this message as well. Amos states that Israel’s chosenness adds an element of responsibility and accountability. Infidelity to the covenant makes chosenness more dangerous than beneficial:

 

Hear this word that the Lord has spoken against you, O people of Israel, against the whole family which I brought up from the land of Egypt, saying: Only you have I known of all the families of the earth; therefore I will punish you for all your iniquities. (Amos 3:1–2)

 

Amos’s contemporary, Hosea, employed marriage imagery to demonstrate that Israel’s special relationship with God is contingent on its faithfulness to the covenant. As the Israelites were unfaithful in his time, God rejected them:

 

She conceived and bore a son. Then He said, “Name him “Loammi,” for you are not My people, and I will not be your God. (Hosea 1:8–9)

 

However, this was not a permanent rejection from the eternal covenant. Rather, alienation would approximate a separation for the sake of rehabilitating the marriage rather than being a permanent divorce. The ongoing prophecy in the Book of Hosea makes clear that God perpetually longs for Israel’s return to an ideal restored marriage:

 

And I will espouse you forever: I will espouse you with righteousness and justice, and with goodness and mercy, and I will espouse you with faithfulness; then you shall be devoted to the Lord. (Hosea 2:21–22)

 

The Book of Isaiah makes this point even more explicit as God insists that there was no bill of divorce:

 

Thus says the Lord, Where is the bill of your mother’s divorcement, with which I have put her away? Or which of My creditors is it to whom I have sold you? Behold, for your iniquities have you sold yourselves, and for your transgressions your mother was put away. (Isaiah 50:1)

 

At the time of the destruction of the Temple, Jeremiah took this imagery to a new level. There was a divorce, yet God will take Israel back:

 

It is said, If a man sends away his wife, and she goes from him, and becomes another man’s, shall he return to her again? Shall not that land be greatly polluted? You have played the harlot with many lovers; yet return to me! says the Lord. (Jeremiah 3:1)

 

Jeremiah elsewhere stressed the eternality of the God–Israel relationship:

 

Thus said the Lord, Who established the sun for light by day, the laws of moon and stars for light by night, Who stirs up the sea into roaring waves, Whose name is Lord of Hosts: If these laws should ever be annulled by Me—declares the Lord—only then would the offspring of Israel cease to be a nation before Me for all time. (Jeremiah 31:5–6)

 

To summarize, Israel’s chosenness is conditional on its faithfulness to the covenant. However, Israel’s failure to abide by God’s covenant leads to separation rather than divorce, and the door always remains open for Israel to return to God. The special covenantal relationship between God and Israel is eternal.

This conclusion harks back to God’s original choosing of Abraham. It is unclear in the Torah why God chose him to carry the religious torch for humanity. One could argue that Abraham’s religiosity evidenced after God singled him out can be projected back as the reason for God’s choosing him. From this perspective, God chose Abraham because of his righteousness.[5] Alternatively, Rabbi Judah Leib Lowe of Prague (Maharal) in his Netzah Yisrael maintains that God’s initial act of choosing Abraham was not explicitly based on his righteousness, making that choice unconditional.[6] Therefore, God never will cancel His covenant with Abraham’s descendants even when they sin.[7] As we have seen, there is truth in both positions. Israel’s chosenness is contingent on faithful behavior, but simultaneously it is eternal.

 

Righteous Gentiles Can Be Chosen

 

            Let us now turn to the second question, pertaining to God’s rejection of the other nations after the Tower of Babel. Can these nations be chosen again by reaccepting ethical monotheism? The answer is a resounding “yes.” Prophets look to an ideal future when all nations can again become chosen:

 

In that day five cities in the land of Egypt shall speak the language of Canaan, and swear by the Lord of hosts; one shall be called, The city of destruction. In that day there shall be an altar to the Lord in the midst of the land of Egypt, and a pillar at its border to the Lord.... In that day shall Israel be the third with Egypt and with Assyria, a blessing in the midst of the land; Whom the Lord of hosts shall bless, saying, Blessed be Egypt My people, and Assyria the work of My hands, and Israel My inheritance. (Isaiah 19:18–25)

 

Similarly, Zephaniah envisions a time when all nations will speak “a clear language,” thereby undoing the damage of the Tower of Babel:

 

For then I will convert the peoples to a clear language, that they may all call upon the name of the Lord, to serve Him with one accord. (Zephaniah 3:9)

 

God’s rejection of the nations at the time of the Tower of Babel was a separation for rehabilitation, not a permanent divorce. Were the nations to reaccept ethical monotheism, they, too, would be chosen. In halakhic terminology, non-Jews who practice ethical monotheism are called “Righteous Gentiles” and have a share in the World to Come (see Hullin 92a).

To summarize, one is chosen if one chooses God. For a Jew, that means commitment to the Torah and its commandments. For a non-Jew, that means commitment to the seven Noahide laws. Righteous Gentiles are chosen without needing to convert to Judaism. God longs for the return of all humanity, and the messianic visions of the prophets constantly reiterate that aspiration.

 

Israel as a Kingdom of Priests

 

Although the door remains open for all descendants of Adam and Eve to choose God and therefore be chosen, Israel occupies a unique role. Israel was the first nation to recognize God in this way. Using the marriage imagery, Israel is God’s first wife (Isaiah 54:6), a status that carries with it a special relationship. God calls Israel His “firstborn” (Exodus 4:22). That said, all of the nations are God’s children. Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik explains that the firstborn child must serve as a role model to the younger children.[8]

Perhaps the most fitting analogy that summarizes the evidence is Non-Jew : Jew :: Jew : Priest. God employs this terminology at the Revelation at Sinai:

 

Now therefore, if you will obey My voice indeed, and keep My covenant, then you shall be My own treasure among all peoples; for all the earth is Mine; and you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation. These are the words which you shall speak to the people of Israel. (Exodus 19:5–6)

 

Commenting on these verses, Sforno remarks:

 

“And you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests”: and in this manner you will be a treasure, for you will be a kingdom of priests to teach the entire human race to call in God’s Name and to serve Him alike. As it is written “you shall be called God’s priests” (Isaiah 61:6), and as it is written, “for Torah will come from Zion” (Isaiah 2:3).

 

Being Jewish and being a priest both are genetic. A priest is a bridge between the people and God and serves in the Temple on behalf of the people. Similarly, Israel is expected to guard the Temple and teach the word of God. Just as priests have more commandments than most Israelites, Israelites have more commandments than the nations of the world. The one critical distinction is that a non-Jew may convert to Judaism and is then viewed as though he or she were born into the nation. Nobody can convert to become a priest.

            When dedicating the first Temple, King Solomon understood that the Temple was intended for all who seek God, and not only Israelites:

 

Or if a foreigner who is not of Your people Israel comes from a distant land for the sake of Your name—for they shall hear about Your great name and Your mighty hand and Your outstretched arm—when he comes to pray toward this House, oh, hear in Your heavenly abode and grant all that the foreigner asks You for. Thus all the peoples of the earth will know Your name and revere You, as does Your people Israel; and they will recognize that Your name is attached to this House that I have built. (I Kings 8:41–43)

 

            In their messianic visions, the prophets similarly emphasized that Israel would occupy a central role in worship and in teaching the nations. All are invited to serve God at the Temple:

 

In the days to come, the Mount of the Lord’s House shall stand firm above the mountains and tower above the hills; and all the nations shall gaze on it with joy. And the many peoples shall go and say: “Come, let us go up to the Mount of the Lord, to the House of the God of Jacob; that He may instruct us in His ways, and that we may walk in His paths.” For instruction shall come forth from Zion, the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. (Isaiah 2:2–3)

 

            Rather than serving primarily as an ethnic description, the Chosen People concept is deeply rooted in religious ethics. It is a constant prod to faithfulness to God and the Torah, and it contains a universalistic message that Israel belongs to the community of nations. All are descendants of Adam and Eve, created in God’s Image. God waits with open arms to choose all those who choose to pursue that sacred relationship with Him.

Dr. Norman Lamm observes that “a truly religious Jew, devoted to his own people in keen attachment to both their physical and spiritual welfare, must at the same time be deeply concerned with all human beings. Paradoxically, the more particularistic a Jew is, the more universal must be his concerns.”[9]

 

Conclusion: Jews and Non-Jews

 

            The Torah embraces universalistic values that apply to humanity. All people are descended from one couple so there is no room for racism (Sanhedrin 37a). All people are created in God’s image (Genesis 1:26). There is a universal morality demanded by the Torah, codified in the Talmud as the Seven Noahide Laws. The messianic visions of the prophets foresee that all humanity will one day live in harmony by accepting God and the requisite moral life demanded by the Torah.

            Simultaneously, God made a singular covenant with the people of Israel through the Torah. Israel plays a unique role as a “kingdom of priests and holy nation” (Exodus 19:6), has a separate set of laws revealed by God, and occupies a central role in the covenantal history between God and humanity.

            Some within the Jewish community focus almost exclusively on the particularistic elements of tradition, and consequently think less of non-Jews and non-observant Jews. Other Jews focus almost exclusively on the universalistic vision of Judaism, ignoring Jewish belief, law, and values in favor of modern Western values. Needless to say, the respective espousing of half-truths distorts the Torah and leads to rifts within the community.

            Tradition teaches a sensitive balance of universalism and particularism. The Torah has a special vision for Jews and simultaneously embraces all of humanity in an effort to perfect society.

 

For further study:

  • Rabbi Marc D. Angel, “The Universalistic Vision of Judaism,” Conversations 12 (Winter 2012), pp. 95–100.
  • Rabbi Marc D. Angel, Voices in Exile: A Study in Sephardic Intellectual History (Hoboken, NJ: Ktav, 1991), pp. 197–207.
  • Rabbi Marc D. Angel with Hayyim Angel, Rabbi Haim David Halevi: Gentle Scholar, Courageous Thinker (Jerusalem: Urim, 2006), pp. 189–198.
  • Rabbi Elijah Benamozegh, Israel and Humanity, trans. Maxwell Luria (New York: Paulist Press, 1995).
  • Alan Brill, Judaism and Other Religions: Models of Understanding (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010).
  • Alan Brill, Judaism and World Religions: Encountering Christianity, Islam, and Eastern Traditions (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2012).
  • Alan Brill, “Many Nations Under God: Judaism and Other Religions,” Conversations 2 (Autumn 2008), pp. 39-49.
  • Moshe Greenberg, “Mankind, Israel, and the Nations in the Hebraic Heritage,” in Studies in the Bible and Jewish Thought (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1995), pp. 369–393.
  • Rabbi Haim David Halevi, Asei Lekha Rav 8:69.
  • Menachem Kellner, “On Universalism and Particularism in Judaism,” Da’at 36 (1996), pp. v–xv.
  • Menachem Kellner, “Rashi and Maimonides on the Relationship between Torah and the Cosmos,” in Between Rashi and Maimonides: Themes in Medieval Jewish Thought, Literature and Exegesis, ed. Ephraim Kanarfogel and Moshe Sokolow (New York: Yeshiva University Press, 2010), pp. 23-58.
  • Jon D. Levenson, “The Universal Horizon of Biblical Particularism,” in Ethnicity and the Bible, ed. Mark G. Brett (Boston: Brill, 1996), pp. 143–169.
  • Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, The Dignity of Difference: How to Avoid the Clash of Civilizations (London: Continuum, 2002).
  • Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, “Jewish Identity: The Concept of a Chosen People,” at www.chiefrabbi.org/ReadArtical.aspx?id=454.
  • Symposium on “You Have Chosen Us from Amongst the Nations,” Jewish Action 65:1 (Fall 2004), especially the articles of Rabbis Chaim Eisen and Norman Lamm.
  • Symposium on “The State of Jewish Belief,” Commentary 42:2 (August 1966), pp. 71–160, especially the articles of Rabbis Eliezer Berkovits, Marvin Fox, Immanuel Jacobovits, Norman Lamm, and Aharon Lichtenstein.

 

 

[1] This article appeared originally in Conversations 8 (Fall 2010), pp. 52–60; reprinted in Angel, Creating Space between Peshat and Derash: A Collection of Studies on Tanakh (Jersey City, NJ: Ktav-Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2011), pp. 25–34.

[2] Several Midrashim maintain that God commanded Adam six of the seven Noahide Laws, with the exclusion of eating limbs torn from live animals (since eating meat was not permitted until after the Flood). See, for example, Genesis Rabbah 16:6; 24:5. We are following the account as it appears in the Torah.

[3] See Hayyim Angel, “The Tower of Babel: A Case Study in Combining Traditional and Academic Bible Methodologies,” in Where the Yeshiva Meets the University: Traditional and Academic Approaches to Tanakh Study, ed. Hayyim Angel, Conversations 15 (Winter 2013), pp. 135–143; reprinted in Angel, Peshat Isn’t So Simple: Essays on Developing a Religious Methodology to Bible Study (New York: Kodesh Press, 2014), pp. 201–212.

[4] Genesis Rabbah 39:5 suggests a similar approach, that God told Abraham to go to Israel after the failings of the generation of Enosh, the Flood, and the Tower of Babel.

[5] Nehama Leibowitz quotes Ramban and Genesis Rabbah 32:3 in support of this position (New Studies in Bereshit-Genesis [Jerusalem: Eliner Library], pp. 116–119). The many Midrashim that fill in Abraham’s righteous behavior prior to the Torah’s account of him likewise cast God’s choosing him as a result of his righteousness.

[6] See further discussion of Maharal’s position in Byron Sherwin, Mystical Theology and Social Dissent: The Life and Works of Judah Loew of Prague (Teaneck, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1982), pp. 83–93.

[7] See also Jon D. Levenson, The Love of God: Divine Gift, Human Gratitude, and Mutual Faithfulness in Judaism (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2016), pp. 43–44, 115–116.

[8] Chumash Mesoras HaRav: Shemos, compiled and edited by Dr. Arnold Lustiger (New York: OU Press, 2014), p. 39.

[9] Dr. Norman Lamm, The Shema: Spirituality and Law in Judaism (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1998), p. 35.

The Jewish Secret--Optimism: Thoughts for Parashat Ekev

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Ekev

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

The first word of this week's Parasha is "vehaya"--and it will be. The 18th century Moroccan Jewish sage, Rabbi Hayyim Benattar, notes in his commentary Or ha-Hayyim, that this word implies happiness. He would interpret the first verse of the Parasha to mean: if you will be careful in keeping the ordinances [of the Torah] and you will observe and fulfill them--then you will be happy! God will fulfill His covenant as He promised to your ancestors. In elaborating on this theme, Rabbi Benattar stresses that our observance and study of Torah should be marked by a spirit of joy.

But the message goes beyond observance and study of Torah. A positive worldview enables us to deal with the ups and downs of life with greater confidence and satisfaction.

I recall a member of our congregation who always seemed to have a smile on his face, a good word for everyone, a spirit of kindliness.  Yet, his life had included no shortage of sufferings and setbacks. He came to the United States as an immigrant and had to adapt to a new country, a new language, and a new social context. He started a business that was sometimes flourishing and sometimes not doing as well. He had various problems with his family members. In one of my conversations with him, he offered words of wisdom: “turn the page.”

“Turn the page.” Don’t waste time and energy fretting over what you could have done or should have done. Don’t let past failures and frustrations hold you back. Life is a book, turn the page and start writing anew.  When one “turns the page,” one does not forget or deny the past; but one realizes that life goes on. Strengthen yourself, trust yourself, smile…and start writing the next page.

Another of our congregants was celebrating the bar mitzvah of her son. When she spoke, she turned to her parents who had survived the Holocaust: “Mom and Dad, you are not survivors; you are winners!” Her parents overcame horrendous sufferings and challenges…and yet they were able to “turn the page” and start a new life, create a lovely family, and be active members of the Jewish community. They did not focus on being survivors…but on being “winners,” people determined to build a better life for themselves, their families and society in general.

When we faced challenging times, my father of blessed memory would say in Judeo-Spanish: “ya la pasa,” this too will pass. Don’t let frustrations or failures break your spirit; you will get through this and you will be stronger for having overcome adversity.

A positive worldview helps us to see beyond the negatives of life, to aspire and work for a better future. Optimism is one of the secrets of Jewish success!

 

 

Why No Tent Protests for Sudan?

WHY NO TENT PROTESTS FOR SUDAN?

by Rafael Medoff

 

     A major editorial in the New York Times last Sunday was headlined “The World Must Wake Up to the Horror in Sudan.” The week is now almost over, and the world is still sleeping.

     The Sudanese group known as the Rapid Support Forces already has “committed acts of genocide” and is now besieging the city of El Obeid, where 600,000 civilians are suffering from “severe shortages of food, water and medicine,” the editors of the Times wrote.

     To the Times’s credit, its editorial acknowledged that the RSF is “a predominantly Arab group,” and its atrocities are genocidal because it specifically targets “members of non-Arab ethnic groups.” That is a crucial fact which Times news articles in the past often buried or even omitted.

     Sunday’s Times editorial called on “the world” to “make a bigger effort to halt the killing and mass displacement in Sudan.” It urged “the world” to “urgently take action” to protest the genocide.

     The Times didn’t say so, but the most obvious part of “the world” that should be protesting is the community of activists who were so vocal in recent years when they thought genocide was being committed in Gaza. Now that there is a real genocide going on in Sudan, why aren’t angry protesters marching in America’s streets and taking over university campuses?

     Where are all the idealistic student protesters gone? Why are their tents folded up and their bullhorns silent?

     Where are the humanitarians with their placards demanding “Stop the Arab Genocide” and “Free Sudan”?

     Where are the passionate op-eds and the politicians pointing accusing fingers?

     Sudan is a test. If the Gaza protesters were genuinely concerned about genocide, they will now raise their voices against the actual genocide in Sudan. If they remain silent about Sudan, that will suggest the only time they genuinely care about human suffering is when they can blame it on Israel.

#    #    #

(Dr. Medoff is director of The David S. Wyman Institute for Holocaust Studies, and the author of more than 20 books about Jewish history, Zionism, and the Holocaust. Follow him on Facebook to read his daily commentaries on the news.)

 

Authority and Dissent: A Discussion of Boundaries

 

 

           Diversity of opinion is a reality well recognized in Jewish tradition. The Talmud (Berakhot 58a) records the ruling that one is required to make a blessing upon seeing a huge crowd of Jews, praising God who is hakham haRazim, who understands the root and inner thoughts of each individual.  "Their thoughts are not alike, and their appearance is not alike." Just as no two faces are exactly the same, so no two people think exactly the same. God created each individual to be unique; He expected and wanted diversity of thought.[1]

 

The recognition that each person thinks differently leads to a respect for the right of a person to express his or her opinion. This notion is dramatically underscored in the laws relating to a zaken mamre, a rebellious elder. The elder (rabbinic scholar) is not deemed guilty for teaching opinions contrary to the rulings of the Great Court; he is only punishable if he instructs people to defy those rulings.[2] It is also reflected in the talmudic practice of recording minority opinions, even though the law follows the consensus of the majority.[3] Even rejected opinions are entitled to respect.

 

Yet, although Judaism respects diversity of opinion and allows considerable freedom of expression, it also sets some boundaries beyond which a person may not trespass. One may not believe in the divinity of idols. One must believe that the Torah is from Heaven. Indeed, Maimonides listed 13 principles of faith that a Jew must accept. If not, one forfeits a portion in the world to come.[4] We are not free to follow our intellect if it leads us to incorrect beliefs. Our intellectual freedom, thus, is limited by the authoritative beliefs taught by the Torah and our sages.

 

Within the boundaries of normative Judaism, dissent is respected and even encouraged. But beyond those boundaries, dissent is not tolerated. Intellectual freedom gives way to the authority of tradition. A problem arises: What exactly are the boundaries established by tradition? A variety of attempts have been made over the centuries to establish the principles of Judaism from which one may not dissent.[5] There are certain tenets of faith that may not be denied.

 

Yet, within the framework of Jewish law and thought, there is considerable room for responsible differences of opinion. When the right to express responsible opinions is negated, Judaism suffers. In a fascinating responsum, Rabbi Naftali Tsevi Yehudah Berlin—the Netsiv—reminded his readers that during the time of the Second Temple, the Jewish people was divided between the Perushim and Tsedukim. Competition between the groups was intense. The situation became so bad that Perushim branded as a Tseduki anyone who deviated even slightly from prevailing practice. To dissent from the predominant opinion led to one's being ostracized. The Netsiv applied the lesson to his own time:

 

 

It is not difficult to imagine reaching this situation in our time, Heaven forbid, that if one of the faithful thinks that a certain person does not follow his way in the service of God, then he will judge him as a heretic. He will distance himself from him. People will pursue one another with seeming justification (beHeter dimyon), Heaven forbid, and the people of God will be destroyed, Heaven forfend.[6]

 

 

The Netsiv was concerned that self-righteous individuals were attempting to suppress the opinions of others. In the name of Torah, they sought to discredit others—even branding them as heretics. Yet, Jewish tradition respects the right and responsibility of individuals to express opinions that are fully based on proper Torah authority—even when those opinions differ from those popularly held. Rabbi Yehiel Michel Epstein, author of the Arukh haShulhan, noted that differences of opinion among our sages constitute the glory of the Torah. "The entire Torah is called a song (shirah), and the glory of a song is when the voices differ one from the other. This is the essence of its pleasantness."[7]

 

II

 

The boundaries of dissent and authority are not always obvious. Let us consider several specific issues, one in the realm of halakha and one in the realm of aggada. The Shulhan Arukh rules (Yoreh Deah 242:2, 3) that one who dissents (holek) from his rabbi is as one who dissents from the Shekhinah. The holek al rabbo is defined as one who establishes his own yeshiva and sets himself up as teacher without getting his rabbi's permission. The Rama adds: "but it is permissible for him to dissent from (his rabbi's) ruling or teaching if he has proofs and arguments to uphold his opinion that the law is according to him (rather than his rabbi)."

 

This halakha deals with the balance between authority and dissent. On the one hand, a student must respect the authority of his teacher and not try to establish himself as an authority on his own. This would undermine the status of his teacher. On the other hand, if the student has strong proofs to support a halakhic ruling against his teacher, he may disagree with him. Rabbi Hayyim Yosef David Azulai, in his Birkei Yosef, cited the opinion of the Radhaz that a student may disagree with a ruling of his teacher but should not publicize the disagreement nor write a contrary pesak for distribution.[8] The students of each generation had disagreements with their teachers, and did present their proofs and refutations to them. To be sure, students are obligated to present their cases respectfully and reverentially. Their purpose must be to establish the truth, not to aggrandize themselves nor demean their rabbis, Moreover, we are speaking of students who have reached a very high level of Torah learning, and whose opinions deserve serious consideration.

 

Rabbi Hayyim David Halevy has stated:

 

Not only does a judge have the right to rule against his rabbis; he also has an obligation to do so (if he believes their decision to be incorrect, and he has strong proofs to support his own position.) If the decision of those greater than he does not seem right to him, and he is not comfortable following it, and yet he follows that decision (in deference to their authority), then it is almost certain that he has rendered a false judgment (din sheker).[9]

 

Rabbi Yaacov Emden ruled that students should question their rabbis' teachings as best as they can. In this way, truth is clarified.

 

In regard to legal decisions, not only is the student allowed to reveal his opinion and proofs to refute the words of his rabbi, but he is also obligated to do so. He should not remain silent in such a situation in deference to the honor due his rabbi; the honor due to the Torah is greater.[10]

 

 

The issue of dissent from one's rabbis extends back in time to dissension from the rulings of sages of previous generations. Certainly, the earlier sages are granted greater authority than the later sages. Rabbi Yehiel Yaacov Weinberg wrote that proper Torah methodology involves serious analysis of the writings of the aharonim, including evaluation and criticism of their statements. Yet, in matters of pesak we may not dissent from their rulings. In the areas of opinion and explanation, though, we do have the right to offer new insights "because each Jew whose soul was at the revelation at Sinai received his portion in Torah and in novellae of Torah. One should not quibble against this point."[11]

 

Rabbi Hayyim Palachi wrote that "the Torah gave permission to each person to express his opinion according to his understanding. . . . It is not good for a sage to withhold his words out of deference to the sages who preceded him if he finds in their words a clear contradiction. . . ." Moreover, "a sage who wishes to write his proofs against the kings and giants of Torah should not withhold his words nor suppress his prophecy, but should give his analysis as he has been guided by Heaven. [In this situation,] one does not give honor to the rabbi, for this is Torah and I must study it." Rabbi Palachi noted that even though Maimonides certainly wrote with Divine inspiration, nevertheless many great sages of his generation attacked him and criticized his work. There are numerous examples of students refuting their teachers: Rabbi Yehudah Hanasi disagreed with his father; the Rashba disagreed with the Ramban. The Tosafists disagreed often with Rashi. Respect for authority does not mean that one may not hold opposing opinions.[12]

 

Rabbi Moshch Feinstein, in one of his responsa, expressed disagreement with an opinion of Rabbi Shelomo Kluger. In rejecting that opinion, Rabbi Feinstein wrote: "But it is certain that I am right (ha-tsedek iti) and that the words of Rabbi Shelomo Kluger-with all due respect-are nothing (einam kelum). One must love truth more than anything."[13] In another responsum, Rabbi Feinstein replied to a rabbi in Benei Berak, who worried because he sometimes taught opinions contrary to those of the Hazon Ish, who was the rabbi of that vicinity. Rabbi Feinstein pointed out that it was not at all disrespectful for the rabbi to study and quote the words of the Hazon Ish, even if he disagreed with some of them. On the contrary, that is the honor of Torah—to have words taken seriously and evaluated seriously. It could not have occurred to the Hazon Ish that there would never arise rabbis who would disagree with his teachings. Rabbi Feinstein concluded by saying that one is certainly allowed to question and disagree with the sages of our generation, even the greatest sages, as long as one does so respectfully, and with proper halakhic justification.[14]

 

Rabbi Yosef Hayyim of Bagdad, in the introduction to his Rav Pe-alim, stressed the need to be exceedingly respectful of the sages of previous generations. He opposed attacking the opinions of those sages. But it is obvious that even great sages make errors. Yet, when one offers a critique or correction of the words of sages, he should not do so with any sense of personal pride or vanity. He should be humble, aware that even great sages may overlook a source or miss a particular point.[15]

 

From this discussion, we see that responsible and respectful disagreement is a legitimate and necessary aspect of the halakhic system. Views that can be properly substantiated, even if they conflict with views of greater and earlier authorities, deserve to be heard. One cannot properly be called an apikores simply because he holds a position which differs from others. On the contrary, his position should be carefully evaluated. If it is wrong, it should be criticized and rejected. If it is right, it should be accepted in spite of the greatness of authorities who held a different opinion.

 

The boundary of legitimacy is not what one individual or group defines it to be. Rather, one may offer his insights and opinions as long as they do not go beyond universally accepted principles of Jewish faith, and as long as they are properly and correctly substantiated by authoritative sources. The halakhic system depends on intellectual inquiry, receptivity to the positions of others, devotion to truth, humility, respect for authority. It is not appropriate to outlaw responsible and respectful criticism of authorities nor to discredit those who offer properly substantiated opinions, even when those opinions dissent from leading authorities.

 

III

 

The balance between authority and dissent may also be considered in the realm of aggada. One opinion is that all the words of our talmudic (and even later) sages are true and must be upheld. Another position is that the words of our sages must be treated with respect, but that we are not bound to believe that all their aggadic teachings are without error.

 

Does the authority of our sages preclude the possibility of legitimate disagreement with their aggadic teachings? Is someone who questions or rejects some of those teachings an apikores?

 

In the sixth chapter of Pirkei Avot, we are taught that the Torah is acquired in 48 ways. One of them is emunat hakhamim, trust in the sages. Rabbi Yosef Yaavets, one of the rabbis at the time of the expulsion of Jews from Spain, explained that one must not hasten to criticize the words of our sages. If he does not understand or agree with their words, he should attribute the problem to his own intellectual weakness. "He should suspect his own intelligence, not the intelligence of our sages and their words, which were spoken in truth."[16]

 

Following this attitude in the realm of aggada, Rabbi David Ibn Abi Zimra, a younger contemporary of Rabbi Yaavets, taught that the aggada is true and essential, "given from Heaven like the rest of the Oral Torah. And just as the Oral Torah is interpreted with 13 principles, so the aggada is interpreted with 36 principles. And these principles were transmitted to Moses our teacher at Sinai."[17]

 

Rabbi Moshe Hagiz wrote an important essay on emunat hakhamim, in which he argued forcefully against challenging rabbinic authority by questioning the validity of any of the words of our sages. He believed that an attack on rabbinic dicta would ultimately lead to a rejection of rabbinic authority generally. This would undermine religious observance and belief.[18]

 

Rabbi Hayyim Hizkiyahu Medini, in his Sedei Hemed, stated unequivocally: "We must believe in all that is stated in the aggadot of our sages."[19] Rabbi Zvi Hirsch Chajes followed this assumption when explaining that

 

there are several subjects in the Gemara whose meaning cannot be taken in a literal sense, because the text expounded literally would depict God as a corporeal being, and would also at times involve an act of blasphemy. We should, and we are, indeed, in duty-bound to believe that the transmitters of the true Kabbalah, who are known to us as righteous and saintly men and also as accomplished scholars, would not speak merely in an odd manner. We must therefore believe that their words were uttered with an allegorical or mystical sense and that they point to matters of the most elevated significance, far beyond our mental grasp.[20]

 

 

The demand that one must believe all the words of our sages in the aggada came into question in the famous disputation in Barcelona in 1263. Rabbi Moshe ben Nahman, the Ramban, was challenged by his Christian opponent with an aggada that stated that the Messiah was born on the day that the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed. The Ramban responded: "I do not believe in this aggada at all. . . ." He went on to explain that Jewish religious writings are divided into three traditional categories: Bible, Talmud, and Midrash. "The first we believe entirely. . . ; the second we believe when it explains laws. We have yet a third book which is called Midrash, sermons so to speak . . . ; and this book, if one wishes to believe it he may, and one who does not believe it does not have to. . . . We call it a book of aggada, which is to say discourses, that is to say that it merely consists of stories which people tell one another."[21]

 

This explanation of the Ramban was rejected by those who insisted on maintaining the truth of all the words of our sages. Some argued that the Ramban never meant what he said, that he only said it to deflect the challenge of his opponent. Thc Sedei Hemed wrote that it is forbidden even to think that the Ramban meant what he said. Writing over two centuries after the disputation, Rabbi Yitzhak Abravanel strongly disavowed the statement of the Ramban because "it opens the gates to undermine all rabbinic authority when we consider any of their words as errors or foolishness."[22]

 

The above position assumes that respect for our sages demands that we not dissent from nor find fault in their words. Should we do so, we undermine their authority. If we find some of their aggadic teachings problematic, we should not reject them, but should assume that we have not understood their true meaning.

 

But there is another position, also well rooted in authoritative rabbinic sources. Rabbi Hai Gaon taught that the aggada should not be considered as divinely revealed tradition. The authors of aggada were merely stating their own opinions, and "each one interpreted whatever came to his heart." Therefore, "we do not rely on them (the words of aggada)." Rabbi Hai Gaon maintained that aggadot recorded in the Talmud have more status than those not so recorded—but even these aggadot need not be relied upon.[23] Rabbi Sherira Gaon taught that aggada, Midrash, and homiletical interpretations of biblical verses were in the category of umdena, personal opinion, speculation.[24] Another of the Gaonim, Rabbi Shemuel ben Hofni, stated: "If the words of the ancients contradict reason, we are not obligated to accept them."[25]

 

This position was also expounded by Rabbi Shemuel HaNaggid in his introduction to the Talmud. He wrote that aggada represents the personal opinions and interpretations of our sages. Rabbi Abraham, son of Maimonides, in an important essay concerning aggada, maintained that one may not accept an opinion without first examining it carefully.[26] To accept the truth of a statement simply on the authority of the person who stated it is both against reason and against the method of Torah itself. The Torah forbids us to accept someone's statement based on his status, whether rich or poor, whether prominent or otherwise. Each case must be evaluated by our own reason. Rabbi Abraham stated that this method also applies to the statements of our sages. It is intellectually unsound to accept blindly the teachings of our rabbis in matters of medicine, natural science, astronomy. He noted: "We, and every intelligent and wise person, are obligated to evaluate each idea and each statement, to find the way in which to understand it; to prove the truth and establish that which is worthy of being established, and to annul that which is worthy of being annulled; and to refrain from deciding a law which was not established by one of the two opposing opinions, no matter who the author of the opinion was. We see that our sages themselves said: if it is a halakha (universally accepted legal tradition) we will accept it; but if it is a ruling (based on individual opinion), there is room for discussion."

 

This is not to say that the words of our sages should not be taken seriously. On the contrary, statements of great scholars must be carefully weighed and respected. But they may also be disputed, especially in non-halakhic areas. In his introduction to Perek Helek, Maimonides delineates three groups, each having a different approach to the words of our sages. The majority group, according to Rambam, accepts the words of our sages literally, without imagining any deeper meanings. By taking everything literally—even when the words of the sages violate our sense of reason—they actually disparage our rabbis. Intelligent people who are told that they must accept all the midrashim as being literally true will come to reject rabbinic teaching altogether, since no reasonable person could accept all these teachings in their literal sense. "This group of impoverished understanding—one must pity their foolishness. According to their understanding, they are honoring and elevating our sages; in fact they are lowering them to the end of lowliness. They do not even understand this. By Heaven! This group is dissipating the glory of the Torah and clouding its lights, placing the Torah of God opposite of its intention."

 

Maimonides described the second group as also taking the words of the sages literally. But since so many of the statements of the rabbis are not reasonable if taken literally, this group assumes that the rabbis must not have been so great in the first place. This group dismisses rabbinic teachings as being irrelevant, even silly. Rambam rejected this point of view outright.

 

The third group, which is so small that it hardly deserves to be called a group, recognizes the greatness of our sages and seeks the deeper meanings of their teachings. This group realizes that the sages hid profound wisdom in their statements, and often spoke symbolically or in riddles. When one discovers a rabbinic statement that seems irrational, one should seek its deeper meaning. While Rambam argued forcefully for a profound understanding of aggada and Midrash, he did not argue that all rabbinic statements are of divine origin. Rather, they are worthy of serious study because they represent the thinking of great sages. Presumably, his son Abraham carried his argument further. When one found rabbinic statements to be unreasonable or incorrect—even after much thought and investigation—he was not bound to uphold them.

 

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch echoed the opinion of Maimonides and his son. He wrote that "aggadic sayings do not have Sinaitic origin . . . they reflect the independent view of an individual sage."[27] Rabbi Hirsch went on: "Nor must someone whose opinion differs from that of our sages in a matter of aggada be deemed a heretic, especially as the sages themselves frequently differ. . . ." He rejected the opinion that the authority of aggada is equal to the orally transmitted halakha. Indeed, he thought this was "a dangerous view to present to our pupils and could even lead to heresy."

 

Rabbinic tradition, thus, has two valid approaches to the authority/ dissent issue in the realm of aggada. Rabbi Hayyim David Halevy has written a responsum which offers a balance between the two positions.[28] He noted that there are Midrashim where sages disagree with each other. For example, the Torah records that following the death of Yosef, a new Pharaoh arose over Egypt. Rav interpreted this verse to mean that an actual new Pharaoh arose. Shemuel, though, maintained that it was the same Pharaoh who now made new decrees against the Israelites (Sotah lla). It is impossible for both of these opinions to be objectively correct. Obviously, each offered his interpretation, based on his own understanding of the text.

 

Moreover, there are topics about which the sages spoke, not relating specifically to the Torah and its interpretation-in which they expressed their own opinions. The statements of our rabbis concerning natural science, for example, were not divinely revealed traditions. In fact, our sages admitted that the wise men of the non-Jews had greater knowledge than the Torah sages in some scientific matters (Pesahim 94b). Rabbi Halevy wrote: "If it becomes clear through precise scientific methodology that a specific idea expressed by our sages is not entirely correct, this does not mar their greatness, Heaven forbid, and their greatness as sages of Torah. Their words relating to Torah were stated with the power of the holiness of Torah, with a kind of divine inspiration; but their other words on general topics were stated from the depth of their human wisdom only." In non-halakhic matters, we should recognize that the sages spoke with great wisdom, although not necessarily with divine inspiration. Therefore, there were disputes among them such as the one concerning the new Pharaoh, where it is clear that one side is wrong.

 

While respecting the authority and wisdom of our sages, we also must recognize the possibility that some of their non-halakhic statements and interpretations are incorrect. To say this does not make one an apikores. Great sages, as mentioned above, have themselves taught this opinion and have considered it to be correct and authoritative.

 

It is clear, then, that there is room for dissent and criticism within the halakhic and aggadic systems. This dissent and criticism must be based on great reverence for our sages; on properly substantiated and argued positions; on commitment to the honor and divine origin of Torah. Dissent may not go beyond the universally accepted principles of our faith. But within this boundary, freedom of inquiry, analysis and criticism must be respected-and encouraged.

 

Notes


 


[1] See also Bemidhar Rabba, Pinehas 21:2; Tanhuma. Pinehas 10. An excellent discussion of intellectual freedom in Jewish tradition was written by Menahem Elon in Piskei Din Shel Beit Hamishpat Ha-e!yon Le-Yisrael, Vol. 39, section 2, Jerusalem, 1983, pp. 291–304.

[2] Maimonides, Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Mamrim.

[3] See Tosefta on Eduyot 1:4 and 1:5; and Eduyot 5:6.

[4] Maimonides, Introduction to Perek Helek; a good discussion of the medieval understanding of principles of faith is by Menachem Kellner, Dogma in Medieval Jewish Thought, Oxford University Press, New York, 1986.

[5] See Kellner's book, ibid.

[6] Meshiv Davar, Warsaw. 5654, no. 44. A contemporary author, the "Dehrocziner Rav," in his Be-er Mosheh, nos. 3 and 6, has written that it is forbidden to study Torah from a rabbi who is a Zionist or who studied at Yeshiva University. For him, the boundaries of faith are quite limited, and exclude a considerable number of pious and righteous scholars. His responsa reflect the problem which the Netsiv described, and are testimony to the spiritual troubles in which Orthodoxy finds itself.

[7] Arukh Ha-Shulhan, introduction Hoshen Mishpat.

[8] Birkei Yosef on Yoreh Deah 242:3.

[9] R. Haim D. Halevy, Asei Lekha Rav, vol. 2, Tel Aviv, 5738, no. 61.

[10] Sefer She-elot Yaavets, Jerusalem, 5731, vol. 1, no. 5.

[11] Seridei Esh, vol. 3, Jerusalem, 5726, introduction.

[12] Hikekei Lev, vol. 1, Salonika, 5600, Orah Hayyim no. 6 and Yoreh Deah no. 42.

[13] Iggrot Moshe, New York, 5719, Orah Hayyim 1:9.

[14] Iggrot Moshe, Brooklyn, 5742, Yoreh Deah 3:88.

[15] Rav Pe-alim, Jerusalem, 5661.

[16] Kol Sifrei Rabbi Yosef Yaavets, vol. 2, Jerusalem, 5694, p. 149.

[17] Responsa of Radbaz, New York, 5727, vol. 4, no. 232.

[18] Mishnat Hakhamim, Brooklyn, 5624, section 23.

[19] Sedei Hemed Hashalem, vol. 1, New York, 5722, p. 192.

[20] The Student's Guide to the Talmud, London, 1952. p. 201. See also his discussion on pp. 208f.

[21] See C. Chavel’s edition of the Vikuah in Kitvei Rabbeinu Moshe ben Nahman, 1963, vol. 1, pp. 306–308.

[22] Yeshuot Meshiho, 1812, p. 9b.

[23] See Otsar Ha-Geonim, ed. B. M. Lewin. Jerusalem, 5692, vol. 4 (Hagigah), pp. 59–60.

[24] Ibid., p. 60.

[25] Ibid., pp. 4–5.

[26] The Ma-amar Odot Derashot Hazal is printed in the introductory section of the EinYaacov.

[27] See Joseph Munk, "Two Letters of Samson Raphael Hirsch, a Translation," L'Eylah, April, 1989, pp. 30–35.

[28] R. Haim D. Halevy, Asei Lekha Rav, Tel Aviv, 5743, vol. 5, no. 49.

New Book by Rabbi Hayyim Angel!

Rabbi Hayyim Angel has published a new book, the Heart of the Megillot.

The Five Megillot occupy a unique place in Jewish life and thought. Read throughout the liturgical year, these beloved biblical books explore love and longing, loyalty and redemption, grief and faith, wisdom and uncertainty.

In The Heart of the Five Megillot, Rabbi Hayyim Angel draws on classical rabbinic interpretation, literary analysis, and contemporary scholarship to illuminate the enduring power of Song of Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, and Esther.

Written for thoughtful readers, students, educators, clergy, and synagogue study groups, this volume invites readers to engage the Five Megillot with intellectual rigor, spiritual sensitivity, and a deep appreciation for the richness of the Jewish interpretive tradition.

 

Available here at amazon.com

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H7VZKZ6M/ref=sr_1_1?crid=UGJL2JALY6HR&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.Bl4EkbXIOrivBzGbGTUt0cmBo3apHFhoVImVzDSvVn622_FwBP40Hk3oVNZpiz1xvqfem8XfrVl7GYz5eoiR_wILSk1cpjZmEghUVqf3_JbK4IgE6KpnbnSyHPjHMvlmcuMOxab0Md2ziuL4Nrju8Gs2PBWSMGhc4jGCMkD_LshLyKOqddQdTE7fe6yZzz7MpE8G8PuPaKAR6PXLQ1IwvokzVFlDsL96F0ya3UeHSTo.pQFvQ_rSuFE8y244-TTd8G-PwULLI1rMqZECWKNCEA4&dib_tag=se&keywords=hayyim+angel&qid=1783435824&sprefix=%2Caps%2C102&sr=8-1

 

If you are a member of the Institute and receive Conversations, you should have received Rabbi Hayyim Angel's book, The Megillot Companion (Conversations 47).

 

 

INTERNATIONAL RHODES/COS MEMORIAL PROGRAM

An online commemorative lecture by Anastatios Karababas. Program includes a traditional ‘Hashkavanah’ Memorial prayer for the Sephardic Community of Rhodes, Cos, and throughout Greece and the Balkans during the Holocaust

American Jews and the Transformation of Israeli Judaism: Book Review

 

Agents of Change: American Jews and the Transformation of Israeli Judaism, Adam S. Ferziger. New York: NYU Press, 2025. 455 pp.

Ordinarily, a title claiming that a phenomenon is transformative sounds hyperbolic. In the case of this fascinating study by Bar-Ilan University professor Adam Ferziger, however, the claim is entirely justified.

This impeccably researched study, co-winner of the Shapiro Award for Best Book in Israel Studies, traces the immigration to Israel of a number of Modern Orthodox rabbis and their families. Most were trained at the Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary (RIETS) of Yeshiva University under the tutelage of Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik. Beginning in the early 1970s, the talent, vision, and learning these rabbis and their families brought to Israel helped reshape the country's religious landscape in significant ways. What Ferziger calls Israeli Moderate Orthodoxy dramatically altered the religious scene in Israel. How?

This highly readable history answers that question by telling a series of fascinating stories. Consider Aharon Lichtenstein. Rav Soloveitchik's son-in-law (married to Tovah, an accomplished educator in her own right), Lichtenstein arrived in Israel with impeccable Jewish intellectual credentials. A brilliant Talmudist, he also earned a Ph.D. in English literature from Harvard University, writing a dissertation entitled Henry More: The Rational Theology of a Cambridge Platonist, later published by Harvard University Press.

That achievement points to a defining feature of Lichtenstein's intellectual identity. He was not only a great Torah scholar but also someone who believed that wisdom could be found beyond the walls of the yeshiva. His willingness to engage deeply with Western thought reflected an intellectual openness that distinguished him from many of his Israeli contemporaries.

This openness was hardly unique to Lichtenstein. Of the principal male figures Ferziger profiles, all but one earned doctorates, several from major North American universities. As noted, Lichtenstein studied English literature at Harvard; Nachum Rabinovitch studied the history and philosophy of science at the University of Toronto; David Hartman studied philosophy at McGill; Daniel Tropper earned a doctorate in education at Yeshiva University; and Chaim Brovender studied Semitic languages at the Hebrew University. Of the figures Ferziger studies, only Shlomo Riskin did not pursue an earned doctorate. The point is not simply that these men were highly educated. Rather, they embodied a form of Orthodoxy in which advanced secular scholarship and uncompromising Torah learning were seen as mutually enriching rather than mutually exclusive. That intellectual synthesis became one of the defining characteristics of the movement they helped transplant to Israel.

The influence of this cohort extended far beyond the classroom and synagogue.

David Hartman is a good example. He founded what has become one of Israel's most important centers of Jewish intellectual life, the Shalom Hartman Institute. Today it encompasses a major research think tank, the Kogod Research Center for Contemporary Jewish Thought; the David Hartman Center for Intellectual Excellence, which cultivates emerging scholars; the Center for Israeli and Jewish Identity, devoted to educational reform; the Center for Shared Society, promoting Jewish-Arab civic partnership; the Center for Judaism and State Policy, addressing the relationship between religion and the state; Rabbanut Yisraelit, a pluralistic Israeli rabbinical ordination program; two Jerusalem high schools; and a wide array of educational initiatives for Israeli educators, rabbis, students, and public leaders.

Ferziger's larger point becomes unmistakable: these American-trained rabbis did not merely bring new ideas to Israel. They built enduring institutions through which those ideas could shape Israeli society for generations.

Hartman's influence did not stop at Israel's borders. The Shalom Hartman Institute became a major force in North American Jewish life, offering intensive educational programs for rabbis, educators, lay leaders, college students, and Jewish professionals. Under the leadership of Dr. Yehuda Kurtzer, who serves as president alongside Donniel Hartman, the Institute has become one of the most influential centers of Jewish thought in North America, shaping contemporary conversations about Israel, Zionism, pluralism, Jewish identity, and the moral challenges facing the Jewish people.

One of Ferziger's important through lines, then, is that the movement he describes did not travel in one direction only. American Modern Orthodox ideas were brought to Israel, transformed there, and then returned to North America in new forms. This transnational circulation of ideas, institutions, and religious leadership is one of the book's most illuminating themes. The Hartman Institute is only one of many examples Ferziger points to in showing how developments within Israeli Moderate Orthodoxy came back to influence American Jewish life.

Ferziger further shows the influence of this immigration on women's education. Rabbanit Malka Bina's work, for example, led to the development of the Women's Institute for Torah Studies. Housed in a multi-story building in Jerusalem, the Institute offers a wide array of sophisticated learning opportunities, including a five-year course of study equivalent to rabbinical studies, whose graduates receive the title meshivat halachah ("one who responds to questions of Jewish law").

A related development is the work of Rabbanit Oshra Koren, who teaches at the Sharon Center of MaTaN in Ra'anana. Her programs include the "Mother-Daughter Bat Mitzvah Program," now taught in eighty locations throughout Israel.

The same pattern is evident in Hadran. Founded by Michelle Cohen Farber and Shoshana Baker, Hadran seeks "to make Talmud study accessible to Jewish women at all levels...in a unique way: by providing a wide range of resources...in the voice of women teachers" (p. 268). Hadran's online platform, which includes a women's version of Daf Yomi, extends women's Talmud study to an international audience, further illustrating Ferziger's argument that these Israeli innovations have reshaped Jewish life far beyond Israel's borders.

The book's appendix, "Representative Israel-Based Students and Protégés of the American Immigrant Pioneers for IsMO [Israeli Moderate Orthodoxy]," offers an impressively large roster of figures who have extended the work of their teachers. It reinforces Ferziger's concluding argument that a distinctly Israeli form of Moderate Orthodoxy has emerged. This evolving religious culture is rooted in tradition yet marked by an unusual degree of autonomy, as Israelis selectively embrace Orthodox practices that enrich what Shmuel Rosner and Camil Fuchs describe as Yahadut Yisraelit (Jewish-Israeli identity). Ferziger makes a persuasive case that this development owes much to the generation of American Modern Orthodox rabbis and educators whose immigration transformed Israel's religious landscape.

 

 

Paired Perspectives on the Parashah: VaEthannan

 

VaEthannan:

Two Tellings of Revelation: 

Why the Decalogue Changes in Deuteronomy

 

One of the most striking phenomena in the Torah is the appearance of the Decalogue in two different versions. The first appears at Sinai in Exodus 20, while the second is presented by Moses to the new generation on the plains of Moab in Deuteronomy 5. Although the two versions are substantially similar, they contain several noteworthy differences.

 

Among the most significant variations are the reasons given for Shabbat observance, the addition of the phrase ka-asher tzivvekha Hashem Elokekha (“as the Lord your God commanded you”) regarding Shabbat and honoring parents, the use of shav instead of sheker in the prohibition against false testimony, and the substitution of titavveh for tahmod in the prohibition against coveting.

 

How are we to understand these variations? Are both texts verbatim divine speech, or does Deuteronomy represent Moses’ own presentation and interpretation of revelation?

 

Rabbi Saadiah Gaon maintained that the version in Exodus was engraved on the first tablets, while the version in Deuteronomy appeared on the second tablets. According to this view, both formulations constitute direct divine speech. However, this position encounters a formidable difficulty. Exodus 34:1 states: “And I shall write upon the tablets the words that were on the first tablets.”

 

Similarly, Deuteronomy 10:1–4 emphasizes that the second tablets contained the same words as the first. If so, how can one maintain that the first tablets contained the Exodus version whereas the second tablets contained the Deuteronomy version?

 

Furthermore, why would God alter the formulation of the Decalogue between the first and second tablets?

 

Several Midrashim, followed by Rashi and Rambam, adopt a different approach. They assume that both versions are equally divine and that each wording conveys additional religious teachings. The differences are therefore not contradictions but complementary dimensions of revelation.

 

Rashi, citing Sanhedrin 56b, explains that the phrase ka-asher tzivvekha Hashem Elokekha (as the Lord your God commanded you) regarding Shabbat and honoring parents in the Deuteronomy version must refer to a command given before Sinai, at Marah. There, Scripture states: “There He established for them statute and ordinance” (Exodus 15:25).

 

Since Rashi regards the Deuteronomic Decalogue as preserving God’s own speech, the phrase cannot be understood as Moses’ addition. Rather, God must be referring back to an earlier divine command. The Midrashic approach therefore treats the variations as deliberate expressions of multiple dimensions of the divine message. Each formulation reveals an additional aspect of the commandment and enriches our understanding of its meaning.

 

Yet one may still wonder why God did not simply incorporate both formulations into a single version. Why not say, for example, “zakhor ve-shamor et yom ha-Shabbat” (remember and observe the Shabbat day) and include all dimensions simultaneously?

 

A fundamentally different approach emerges from Ibn Ezra, Radak, and Rashbam. They suggest that Moses is not reproducing the Decalogue verbatim in Deuteronomy but rather presenting it anew to a new generation.

 

Radak, commenting on Genesis 24:39, observes that biblical speakers frequently paraphrase earlier statements, preserving their substance while varying their wording. Ibn Ezra similarly argues that the Exodus account of the Decalogue records God’s exact words at Sinai, whereas Deuteronomy presents Moses’ retelling and explanation of revelation.

 

Accordingly, zakhor already implies remembrance expressed through observance, and therefore Moses may legitimately formulate the command as shamor. This approach assumes that several of the linguistic differences are stylistic or synonymous rather than independently significant. Thus, shav and sheker convey essentially the same prohibition, as do tahmod and titavveh. Not every variation is intended to communicate a distinct teaching.

 

This perspective suggests something profound about the nature of Deuteronomy. Moses’ own voice enters the presentation, even within the Decalogue itself. Deuteronomy is not merely a transcript of Sinai but a covenantal reinterpretation addressed to a new generation preparing to enter the Land.

 

The differing versions of the Decalogue thus illuminate one of Deuteronomy’s central themes. Revelation remains authoritative, yet each generation requires renewed explanation and application. Whether one follows Rabbi Saadiah Gaon, Rashi, Rambam, and the Midrashim, who understand both formulations as equally divine speech, or the approaches of Ibn Ezra, Radak, and Rashbam, who see Deuteronomy as Moses’ inspired retelling, the message remains profound.

 

The covenant at Sinai is not merely preserved; it is continually interpreted, taught, and transmitted. Deuteronomy demonstrates that fidelity to revelation does not preclude explanation. Rather, the enduring vitality of Torah depends upon the ability to restate eternal truths in ways that speak meaningfully to new generations.

 

Mourning and Consolation: Thoughts for Shabbat Nahamu

Angel for Shabbat Nahamu

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

On a Tisha B’Av day some years ago, I was leaving my apartment to go to synagogue. I was dressed in a suit but wearing sneakers. One of my neighbors noticed the anomaly of my attire and asked if it was some sort of Jewish holiday.  I told her it was a fast day and that’s why I was wearing sneakers, since we don’t wear leather shoes as a sign of mourning.  She asked: what is the fast day about? I replied: we are fasting because our First Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed by the Babylonians in 586 BCE and our Second Temple in Jerusalem was razed by the Romans in 70 CE.  She raised her eyebrows: you’re fasting for things that happened thousands of years ago? I replied: yes, we Jews have long memories.

She was amazed that we fasted for things that happened so long ago…but so am I!  It is truly incredible that we have continued to fast and mourn over events that would otherwise be swallowed in the shadows of history. What is it about our national memory that keeps these ancient tragedies so current and so personal?

We of course cry for the many thousands of Jews who were murdered in those years. We weep for the destruction of our national spiritual homes—the Temples in Jerusalem. We mourn the loss of sovereignty over our land and the long exile that ensued.

But we don’t view these things as distant happenings that happened to others. We take these tragedies personally. We see ourselves as inextricably linked to all the Jewish generations that have preceded us, and all the generations that will follow us. We don’t fast on Tisha B’Av as though it’s a historic commemoration; rather it is an expression of our identification with all that transpired to our people in those days. We actually feel pain. These tragedies befell “us.”

Symbolically, the Jewish people are viewed as a united, eternal community—Kenesset Israel. Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, in his “On Repentance,” offers a poignant passage:

“The Jew who believes in Kenesset Israel is the Jew who lives with Kenesset Israel where she may be and is prepared to die for her, who hurts with her pain and rejoices in her joy, who fights her wars, suffers in her defeats, and celebrates her victories. The Jew who believes in Kenesset Israel is the Jew who joins himself as an indestructible link not only to the Jewish people of this generation but to Kenesset Israel of all generations. How? Through Torah, which is and creates the continuity of all the generations of Israel for all time.”

This Shabbat is known as Shabbat Nahamu, the Sabbath of Consolation. We read the beautiful prophecies of Isaiah pronouncing God’s love for the people of Israel. Consolation does not erase the tragedies of the past; it doesn’t bring back any of those who were murdered. But it teaches us to re-focus, not to dwell on crying but to cling to hope for better times.

Yes, we mourn on Tisha B’Av for the destructions of our ancient Temples in Jerusalem. But we then take off our sneakers, dress in our Shabbat clothes, and celebrate God’s consolation for the future peace, security and happiness of Israel…and all humankind.