National Scholar Updates

Upcoming Classes with Rabbi Hayyim Angel

After Pesah, Rabbi Hayyim Angel will offer many exciting learning opportunities in the community.

 

Beginning Monday, April 20, Rabbi Hayyim Angel resumes teaching at the Beit Midrash of Teaneck. The class is currently studying the Book of Exodus. Classes are every Monday and Wednesday from April 20 through June 17 (except Memorial Day), 12:15-1:00 pm Eastern Time. Live classes are at 70 Sterling Place, Teaneck, New Jersey. Zoom classes are available as well. For the link and for more information, please contact Mrs. Leah Feldman, [email protected]. Free and open to the public.

 

On Tuesday, April 21, from 8:00-9:00 pm Eastern Time, Rabbi Hayyim Angel will give a Zoom class on the Yom Kippur service in the Torah. This class is sponsored by the Ben Porat Yeshiva in Paramus, New Jersey. Free and open to the public. Here is the Zoom link: https://us02web.zoom.us/j/5413950938?pwd=dSszMGFUNEgrQlY3blc2K1hzYzdCUT09#success

 

On Sunday, April 26, from 9:40-10:40 am Eastern Time, Rabbi Hayyim Angel will give a class on Literary Studies in Megillat Ruth. This class is part of the SAR High School study days in Tanakh. It will be held at the SAR High School, 503 West 259th Street, Riverdale, New York. For registration information, go to https://saracademy.org/yemei-iyun-5786/.

 

On Shabbat, May 9, Rabbi Hayyim Angel will lead the next Foundations Minyan. The Foundations Minyan is a complete service, coupled with ongoing commentary on the Torah portion. Free and open to the public. The Minyan is from 9:15-11:30 am Eastern Time, at Congregation Beth Aaron, 950 Queen Anne Road, Teaneck, New Jersey.

 

On Shavuot (May 21-23), Rabbi Hayyim Angel will serve as scholar-in-residence at the East Hill Synagogue, in Englewood, New Jersey. For schedule, go to https://www.easthillsynagogue.com/.

 

 

 

Making our Days Count: Thoughts for the Omer Period

Making our Days Count: Thoughts on Counting the Omer
by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

We had a neighbor--an elderly widow--who was vibrant, intelligent and active. As she grew older, she became increasingly forgetful. Her condition gradually worsened, to the point where she needed full time help at home.

One day, several of her grandchildren came to visit her. They brought tape recorders and note pads. They wanted to know more about her life story. They asked her questions, but she gave vague or confused replies. First she told them she grew up in the Bronx; and later said she grew up in Brooklyn. She couldn't remember names, or dates, or places. She could not remember the facts that the grandchildren were trying to learn. They were frustrated; their tape recorders and note pads were useless, since the grandmother's memory had deteriorated so badly.

They had come too late. The grandmother had lived well into her nineties, but the grandchildren had never seemed to have found time to ask her their questions or to listen carefully to her stories. Now, when she was about to die, they realized that they had better interview her before it was too late. But, in fact, it was too late. Her memory was impaired. All of her stories and adventures were locked into her mind, and were forever inaccessible to them. They were unable to retrieve information that would have been meaningful to their own lives, that would have given them greater understanding of the grandmother's life and experiences. They must have asked themselves: why did we wait so long before asking her our questions?

When people suffer the loss of a loved one, they often ask: why didn't I spend more time, why wasn't I more attentive, why didn't I listen more and listen better? When people suffer a breakdown in their relationships, they often ask: why didn't I give more time and effort to the relationship? Why did I take things for granted, why did I assume that everything would just go on forever?

In relationships, small things are often the big things: kindness, attentiveness, giving extra time and energy, expressing love and respect and appreciation, not taking others for granted. To maintain good relationships, one needs to feel a sense of urgency; the relationship needs to be renewed every day. If we let time slip by, we may lose everything.

When I was a young boy, I heard a rabbi explain the importance of the mitzvah of counting the Omer--the 49 day period between the second day of Passover and Shavuoth. He said: "We count the days so that we will learn to make our days count!" By focusing on each day, by actually counting it out, we come to sense the importance of each day. We then learn, hopefully, that each day counts--each day is important and cannot be taken for granted. None of us knows how the future will unfold; we only know what we can do here and now in the present.

The Omer period is an appropriate time to remind ourselves of the importance of each day. We can make each day count by devoting proper time to our loved ones, to our friends and neighbors, to those activities that strengthen ourselves and our society. Don't wait for tomorrow or next week or next year. Life must be lived and renewed each day. Count your days to make your days count.

Paired Perspectives on the Parashah: Shemini

Shemini

Kashrut: Holiness through Separation

Introduction

 

Parashat Shemini concludes with the Torah’s first comprehensive presentation of the laws of kashrut. The chapter distinguishes between animals that may be eaten and those that are forbidden: land animals must possess both split hooves and chew their cud; fish must have fins and scales; many birds and most creeping creatures are prohibited.

 

Yet the Torah provides remarkably little explanation for these distinctions. It lists the laws in detail but offers almost no direct rationale for them. This silence has prompted centuries of interpretation as Jewish thinkers have sought to understand the deeper meaning behind the dietary laws.

 

Several complementary approaches emerge from Jewish interpretation across the centuries. Some interpreters emphasize possible physical or psychological effects of different foods. Others focus on the religious discipline created by these laws. Still others highlight the ethical and theological vision reflected in the Torah’s restrictions on human consumption of animals.

 

Together, these perspectives suggest that the laws of kashrut transform one of the most basic human activities—eating—into a domain of holiness.

 

Explanations for the Laws of Kashrut

 

Health Explanations

 

Some commentators suggested that the dietary laws may promote physical health. Rashbam (on Leviticus 11:3) and Rambam (Guide of the Perplexed III:48) propose that certain animals are prohibited because they are harmful to human beings.

 

At first glance, this approach appears plausible. Some non-kosher animals do indeed carry diseases—for example, pigs can transmit trichinosis, and hares may carry tularemia. Shellfish and other bottom feeders bring various health risks.

 

Nevertheless, this explanation encounters significant difficulties. The Torah itself never mentions health as a reason for these laws. Abarbanel further observes that many poisonous plants are not prohibited by the Torah. If the primary concern were human health, it would be surprising for such dangers to go unaddressed.

 

Rabbi Yitzhak Arama (Akedat Yitzhak) adds another challenge: many non-Jewish populations that consume these animals enjoy perfectly good health. While dietary restrictions may incidentally promote health, this was likely not the Torah’s primary concern.

 

Moral and Psychological Influence

 

Another explanation focuses on the moral and spiritual influence of the animals themselves. Ramban (on Leviticus 11:11) and Abarbanel suggest that the Torah prohibits the consumption of predatory animals because their violent nature might shape human character. In this view, people are influenced by what they eat.

 

This idea finds support in a broader pattern within the Torah’s laws. All predatory land animals are excluded from the list of permitted species. The Torah may be teaching that those who aspire to holiness should not nourish themselves from creatures defined by aggression and bloodshed.

 

At the same time, this explanation cannot fully account for the entire system. Several herbivorous animals are also prohibited, which suggests that additional considerations must be involved. Fish predators, moreover, are permitted under the Torah’s criteria of fins and scales.

 

Discipline and Spiritual Formation

 

A third approach shifts the focus from the nature of the animals to the spiritual discipline created by kashrut. Ibn Ezra (on Leviticus 11:43) explains that these laws protect Israel from impurity and preserve their sanctity. By carefully distinguishing between permitted and forbidden foods, the people cultivate constant awareness of holiness in everyday life.

 

Other commentators develop this idea further. Akedat Yitzhak and Shadal understand the dietary laws as a form of obedience that trains Israel to accept God’s will even in ordinary matters. Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsch similarly stresses that kashrut elevates the physical act of eating into a spiritual practice.

 

The Torah itself hints at this idea in its conclusion to the chapter:

“For I am the Lord your God; sanctify yourselves and be holy, for I am holy… For I am the Lord who brought you up from the land of Egypt to be your God; you shall be holy, for I am holy” (Leviticus 11:44–45).

 

Holiness in the Torah frequently emerges through acts of separation and distinction. Just as God created the world by separating light from darkness, land from sea, and Israel from the nations, so too Israel learns holiness by distinguishing between what may and may not be eaten.

 

The Ethical System of Kashrut

 

Modern scholarship has also explored the ethical vision reflected in the dietary laws. Professor Jacob Milgrom (Anchor Bible) argues that kashrut forms part of a broader moral framework governing the human consumption of animals.

 

Limiting Human Domination

 

According to the Torah’s creation narrative, human beings were originally commanded to follow a vegetarian diet: “I have given you every seed-bearing plant… and every tree with fruit… they shall be yours for food” (Genesis 1:29). Only after the Flood was humanity permitted to eat meat (Genesis 9:3). Even then, the Torah immediately imposed restrictions.

 

The dietary laws therefore limit humanity’s domination over the animal world. Although people may eat meat, they may do so only within carefully defined boundaries.

 

This idea may also extend the distinction between clean and unclean animals already mentioned in the story of Noah. Noah offers sacrifices only from clean animals, and the Torah later restricts Israel’s diet in a similar way.

 

Excluding Predators

 

The Torah’s exclusion of predatory animals reinforces this ethical vision. Creatures that live by violence and bloodshed are not considered suitable food for a nation called to holiness.

 

This pattern lends additional support to the earlier interpretation of Ramban and Abarbanel that predatory behavior plays a role in determining which animals may be eaten.

 

Conclusion

 

The laws of kashrut transform eating into an arena of religious meaning.

Some explanations emphasize the possible physical or psychological effects of food. Others highlight the discipline created by obedience to divine law. Still others emphasize the ethical framework that governs humanity’s relationship with the animal world.

 

At the heart of the system lies the Torah’s call to holiness. Just as God created the world through acts of separation and distinction, Israel is called to cultivate holiness by learning to distinguish between permitted and forbidden.

Eating, one of the most ordinary activities of human life, thus becomes an opportunity to practice sanctity. Through the laws of kashrut, the Torah teaches that holiness is not confined to the sanctuary. It extends into the rhythms of daily living, shaping even the food that sustains us.

 

Book Review: Shemot in Context: A Scientific and Kabbalistic Commentary of Exodus by Rabbi Elia Benamozegh

BOOK REVIEW

Shemot in Context: A Scientific and Kabbalistic Commentary of Exodus by Rabbi Elia Benamozegh

By Sina Kahen and Ben Rothstein (Da’at Press, 2026), 302 pages

 

Since its founding in 2020, The Habura and its affiliated Da’at Press have distinguished themselves by producing original scholarship and translations that reflect the classical Geonic and Andalusian worldview. Committed to the highest values of Jewish tradition and scholarship, they make many previously obscure and inaccessible works available to the wider English-reading public.

 

Rabbi Elia Benamozegh (1823–1900, Leghorn, Italy) was a remarkable and wide-ranging thinker. He was deeply steeped in classical Jewish texts and mysticism, while simultaneously being up to date with the best of archaeological and linguistic scholarship which expanded dramatically in his time. In his Em LaMikra commentary on the Torah, he approached Torah interpretation by bringing every tool he knew to bear, engaging in pagan myths and culture to demonstrate similarities and profound differences with the Torah in its context. 

 

Rambam demonstrated the value of situating Torah within the intellectual world of antiquity. Rabbi Benamozegh advanced this methodology with the plethora of findings Rambam wished he could have accessed (Guide of the Perplexed III:48). Of course, Rabbi Benamozegh was limited to nineteenth-century scholarship, just as Rambam was limited to that of the twelfth century. However, while many of his theses have become obsolete with updates in scholarly knowledge over the past two centuries, his pursuit of truth using the best available learning tools remains as relevant and as illuminating as ever. 

 

Rabbi Benamozegh is an independent scholar who critically evaluates the opinions of his predecessors and peers, and who sees an overarching unity from the many available sources of tradition and scientific knowledge. Kahen and Rothstein ably summarize and paraphrase many of Rabbi Benamozegh’s analyses of the Book of Exodus.

 

To cite one particularly striking example of this unusual methodology, Rabbi Benamozegh explores the meaning of the unusual name of God, Shaddai. Exodus 6:3 reads, “I appeared to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as El Shaddai, but I did not make Myself known to them by My name GOD” (the four-letter personal name of God). Rabbi Benamozegh’s extended discussion (see pp. 118-138) exemplifies many of the methodological tools evidenced throughout his comments in Em LaMikra.

 

Rabbi Benamozegh places singular importance on understanding the meaning of God’s various names in the Torah. Such analysis enables us to comprehend the Torah better, but also helps us ascertain layers of pure monotheistic faith which spread throughout humanity from the most ancient times. Rabbi Benamozegh considers ancient languages and mythology as repositories of traces of true faith in God.

 

He begins his analysis of Shaddai by surveying and evaluating the views of the classical peshat commentators. Rashi understands the name as compound, she-daishe-yesh dai. God is sufficient for all creatures, and supplies their needs. Many other medieval commentators—including Rambam, Ralbag, and Sforno—similarly understand Shaddai as compound, even as they offer different nuances to its precise meaning.

 

In contrast, Ibn Ezra and Ramban interpret Shaddai as deriving from shadad, victorious, mighty. Rabbi Benamozegh, however, rejects their interpretation, insisting that ancient Jewish tradition unanimously understands Shaddai as compound. To bolster his claim, he cites numerous Midrashim that indeed understand Shaddai as referring to God’s sufficiency. He observes that nearly all the ancient translations—including Symmachus, Theodotion, and the Septuagint—similarly interpret Shaddai as compound. Similarly, the Zohar understands Shaddai as compound. To “prove” his thesis, Rabbi Benamozegh observes that even the heretic Benedict Spinoza adopted this view, even though he had no allegiance to rabbinic tradition!

 

Rabbi Benamozegh offers a philological analysis of related words and phrases in Tanakh, which he claims also supports the dominant rabbinic reading against that of Ibn Ezra and Ramban. Thus far, he develops a traditional framework of interpretation to support his understanding that Shaddai is a compound name that derives from she-dai, sufficiency. His citation of biblical verses, Midrashim, and classical commentary is nothing out of the ordinary. His knowledge of ancient translations, the Zohar, and even Spinoza, makes him considerably more unusual among traditional commentators.

 

Yet none of the above compares with the next layer of Rabbi Benamozegh’s analysis. He turns to ancient India and China, where the word Tao or Dao is a seminal theological concept (the authors note that Taoism is indigenous to China, and perhaps Rabbi Benamozegh links this philosophy to India based on a legend that Laozi—the founder of Taoism—traveled to India). Rabbi Benamozegh links this Tao or Dao to Egypt (Teos), Greek (Theos), Latin (Deus), and French (Dieu), among other cultures.

 

Rabbi Benamozegh maintains that the dai in Shaddai is related to Dao. The etymological link might appear strained, since the Hebrew dai refers to sufficiency and Tao refers to “the way,” and represents the underlying unity within the created universe. However, Rabbi Benamozegh cites Kabbalah, which links Shaddai with the sefirah of Yesod, which kabbalists call derekh, the way.

 

The book’s authors conclude, “Rabbi Benamozegh shows how philology, Rabbinic tradition, comparative religion, and Kabbalah all converge in the name Shaddai, revealing it as a profound symbol of divine sufficiency, providence, and the sustaining power of creation. It is a name rooted in Israel’s ancient tradition yet echoed in the languages, myths, and symbols of other nations.” 

 

It is difficult to accept all of Rabbi Benamozegh’s analysis, but it may be viewed as creative theology rather than rigorous historical philology. It also reflects the sweeping comparative enthusiasm characteristic of the 19th century. Yet such sweeping convergence invites scrutiny.

 

Rabbi Benamozegh’s enduring value lies not in the precision of every historical or philological claim, but in his expansive theological imagination and his confidence that all genuine wisdom ultimately converges in divine truth. His work reflects the sweeping comparative enthusiasm of the nineteenth century, and modern scholarship may question many of his linguistic connections. Yet his intellectual audacity remains deeply instructive. He models a Torah scholarship unafraid of engagement, willing to test its claims against the widest available horizons of knowledge. Reading him today is also a salutary reminder that our own scholarly certainties may one day prove provisional or obsolete. Sina Kahen and Ben Rothstein have rendered a significant service in making this daring and erudite interpreter accessible to the English-speaking world.

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik's Views on Orthodoxy in Israel

 

On Friday, September 27, 1935, the Boston Jewish Advocate published an extensive interview with Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, who had recently returned to Boston following a four-month stay in Palestine. In what is arguably the most comprehensive articulation of his early Zionism—if one takes seriously the citations of the interviewer, Carl Alpert—Rabbi Soloveitchik set forth in this interview his perspective on the role of Orthodoxy in Erets Yisrael.

According to theJewish Advocate, Rabbi Soloveitchik said, “The future of Palestine is with Orthodoxy, just as the future of Orthodoxy lies in Palestine. I make this statement not as a rabbi, but as an objective observer. The recent newspaper announcement that ministers are being sent to Palestine to propagate Progressive Judaism is nonsense. Orthodoxy will be the only form of Judaism in Erets Yisrael.”

Later in the article, Rabbi Soloveitchik predicted that “When Palestine Orthodoxy is well-organized, it will reclaim even those who have gone astray. After all, even among the most radical halutsim there exists a subconscious desire and longing for religious life and observance that temporarily finds its outlet in the redemption of the soil and the renaissance of the Jewish people. If this religious fervor will be cultivated and brought into clear light, it will eventually lead to traditional Judaism.”

Finally, Rabbi Soloveitchik suggested, “It is the task of Orthodoxy to redeem not only the soil of Palestine, but also the souls of its sons and daughters, and bring them within the traditional fold.”

Although there are many dimensions to Rabbi Soloveitchik’s comments, some of which I recently addressed in an article analyzing Rabbi Soloveitchik’s early Boston career, the following article explores each of these statements from the contemporary perspective (inserting Medinat Yisrael for Palestine), asking if Rabbi Soloveitchik’s statements still ring true today, and if they calibrate with the ethos of contemporary Orthodoxy.

 

Is the future of Medinat Yisrael with Orthodoxy, and is the future of Orthodoxy in Medinat Yisrael?

 

Rabbi Soloveitchik’s first statement was made at a time when Orthodoxy in the United States still represented the normative religious community—at least in name—for the majority of Eastern European Jewish immigrants. Today, of course, although Orthodoxy is the norm (by law) in Israel vis-à-vis marriage and divorce and is generally adopted as the norm in synagogue life and burial, the layers of resentment felt among the non-Orthodox population are balanced by those who are content with the traditional model. Still, it is not difficult to imagine Medinat Yisrael without Orthodoxy. In fact, many claim that the Orthodox monopoly in the modern state is deleterious to its Jewish and democratic nature.

A number of years ago, I flew on a plane with Effy Eitam, who was then the leader of the National Religious Party in Israel. As I described to him my work within the religious establishment helping secular Israelis navigate religious life, he stopped me and said: “Let me tell you why you won’t ever be successful: The religious Zionist rabbinic leadership has a messianic vision that everyone will be Orthodox. I’m not sure that you are convinced that this is an ideal.”

Many Orthodox Jews remain unsure about Orthodoxy’s universal application among the contemporary Jewish community—especially in Israel. I’m not convinced that religious coercion is viable on the tactical or strategic planes. This certainly throws into question whether the future of Medinat Yisrael is with Orthodoxy.

As to the converse claim of Rabbi Soloveitchik, that the future of Orthodoxy is with Medinat Yisrael, I equally remain unconvinced, notwithstanding my personal decision to live in Israel. A number of years ago, I delivered a paper at the Orthodox Forum in New York about the so-called brain drain to Israel. The argument that many of my contemporaries put forward was that talented young leaders of (Modern) Orthodoxy were making aliya, thus depriving the North American Jewish community of its best and brightest. I argued that I believe Orthodoxy has flourished in North America, notwithstanding the departure of rabbinic leadership such as Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein, Rabbi Shlomo Riskin, or Rabbi Danny Tropper. In fact, the great renaissance of Orthodox Day Schools and Orthodox synagogues happened after each of these three men moved to Israel.

Ironically, it was Rabbi Soloveitchik himself who—failing to receive the position of Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv in 1935—forged contemporary Orthodoxy in the United States. I believe that the type of Orthodoxy Rabbi Soloveitchik contemplated might have had exclusivity in Medinat Yisrael, had history unfolded differently. But contemporary Orthodoxy is comprised of so many subgroups that it is hard to imagine that the future of Orthodoxy lies—at least exclusively—in Medinat Yisrael.

 

Will the religious fervor of the “halutsim” lead to traditional Judaism?

 

This second assertion of Rabbi Soloveitchik needs to be put in its immediate historical context as well. Just days before the interview in Boston, Rabbi Soloveitchik had paid a visit to Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, who was then ailing, and would pass away just before Rabbi Soloveitchik returned to Boston. No doubt this was a dramatic meeting for Rabbi Soloveitchik. (Rabbi Kook had studied with Rabbi Soloveitchik’s grandfather in the Volozhin yeshiva.) During his visit to Israel, Rabbi Soloveitchik had met with a number of students of Rabbi Kook. The statement which relates to a “subconscious desire and longing” may find its anchor in the influence of Rabbi Kook’s thinking on Rabbi Soloveitchik in the mid-1930s.

Whatever the case, today’s contemporary Jewish scene in Israel is a work in progress. There are still elements of theba’al-teshuvah movement of the 1970s, but more and more individuals who have a religious fervor (including those from the Orthodox community) are seeking a new-age type of religiosity that is a far cry from the type of Orthodoxy that Rabbi Soloveitchik espoused (and a far cry from the Orthodoxy that the normative Modern Orthodox community espouses). Sometimes known as ChabaKook (short for Chabad, Breslav, and Kook /Carlebach), this ideology has some connection to halakha but emphasizes the religious ecstatic moment rather than the disciplined cerebral one. It certainly is not “traditional” Judaism. My sense is that this is a phenomenon more central to Medinat Yisrael than to the North American Jewish community.

Again, given the contemporary Orthodox scene, I think there is still a lot of questioning going on in Israel about what is normative Orthodoxy. The ideals (and dreams) of Rabbi Soloveitchik do not appear to be either relevant or able to be realized given the contemporary Orthodox scene in Israel.

 

Is it the task of Orthodoxy to redeem not only the soil of Medinat Yisrael, but also the souls of its sons and daughters, and bring them within the traditional fold?

 

The last claim of Rabbi Soloveitchik is remarkable and deserves close attention. In many respects, notwithstanding the commitment to halakha that Orthodox Jews share, this statement reveals a layer of Jewish life not often spoken about. Orthodoxy is not only about kibbush (conquest), but also about kiruv (bringing near).  I imagine it was hard to conceive—particularly in the mid 1930s—that these two notions might stand in opposition. During the last three decades, too much emphasis in the Orthodox community has been placed on redeeming the soil (in the broadest sense of the term), and not enough emphasis has been placed on exposing the non-religious community to the beauty of traditional Judaism. The Modern Orthodox community has expended enormous resources on the settlement movement in Israel, without paying attention to the Jewish lives of Jews in Tel Aviv or Rishon Letzion. These Jewish souls have been exposed to a much more fundamentalist, Hareidi Orthodox approach, speaking in the name of halakhic Judaism. This is a trend that needs to be rectified.

Of course, one could argue that kiruv isn’t an essential part of Orthodoxy, or certainly halakhic practice. But in its broadest sense, Orthodoxy in Israel should see kol yisrael arevim zeh lazeh (all Jews are responsible for each other) not only as a descriptive adage, but rather as an imperative. If one can see Rabbi Soloveitchik’s terminology of “redemption of souls” as a charge to expose rather than impose traditional Judaism within the secular community, then I believe such a responsibility is still central to our community.

The challenges to contemporary Orthodoxy in Israel are enormous, and the implications of modernity and the founding of the State of Israel for traditional Judaism are still being explored in Israel. Notwithstanding the rising political clout of the Hareidi Orthodox parties in Israel, I believe that the Modern Orthodoxy that Rabbi Soloveitchik spoke of still has a place in Israel, and will ultimately play a central role in its future.

Three Pillars of Inclusive Orthodox Rabbinical Leadership

 

     “Inclusive Orthodoxy” was Rabbi Jonathan Sacks’ way of describing how the majority of Jewish

congregations operate in Britain and the Commonwealth. In these communities most

synagogues are run along Orthodox lines with an Orthodox Rabbi, and some

members who are observant. However, most congregants are more traditional than

strict in their religious practice. Nevertheless, they are part of an Orthodox

congregation, and when the model is working at its best, they feel at home there, are

actively welcomed and valued, and they may even grow in their religious

commitment. Beyond their commitment to maintaining Orthodox communal

standards, these congregations are not part of a dedicated ideological project of any

particular variety, but religious communities that seek to provide a home to as many

Jews as possible.

     That is the model of the United Synagogue in London, similar congregations around

Britain, and in other countries including Canada, New Zealand, South Africa and my

own home in Australia. I have been the Rabbi of one such congregation, The Great

Synagogue of Sydney, for just over ten years now. In that time I have had to reflect

on how a Rabbi can and should lead an Inclusive Orthodox community. It is not

straightforward, and raises several quandaries. How can the Rabbi uphold Orthodox

standards while still welcoming everyone? How can he make everyone feel at home

even though they might have very different lifestyles to his own, and very different

from a halakhic ideal? How can he promote increased Jewish observance without

alienating his congregation?

     I cannot claim to have all the answers to these questions, but I think that the bridge

that needs to be built may rest on three pillars: Embracing, Exemplifying and

Encouraging. Just as Rabbi Sacks argued that Inclusive Orthodoxy as a whole was

not an accommodation, but an ideal, certainly in the context of the modern world as it

actually exists, I submit that this rabbinic approach is not just a strategic choice, but

is also a religious imperative.

     First comes Embracing. It is the job of the Rabbi of any congregation, and especially

a congregation where the members are not uniform in their level of religious

observance, to embrace each and every person. My young children have a board

book called We Go To Shul (by Douglas Florian and Hannah Tolson), which includes

the line “rabbi greets all those he meets”, which captures this responsibility

perfectly. Everyone who wants to come to any activities of the congregation should

be greeted, embraced, genuinely welcomed and valued, and they should feel that is

the authentic disposition of the Rabbi. This is a different concept to being non-

judgmental. Choosing not to be judgmental implies that I harbor an unexpressed

judgement, and I am making the decision not to bring it out, but it exists and I could if

I wanted. Embracing puts all that aside, and sees only a person who wants to

connect, and celebrating and facilitating that desire. Although, as I will go on to

argue, the Rabbi can and should be ambitious for each person’s religious growth,

authentic embrace is not a tool to bring about that growth but a fundamental

expression of Jewish values in its own right. When Maimonides codified the

obligation to love another Jew in Hilkhot Deot 6:3 he did so without qualification:

“Each person is commanded to love each and every one of Israel as themselves.” It

is not dependent on the level, actual or prospective, of religious observance.

     Sometimes this can be difficult, on a personal or a religious level. Some people are

difficult, they are prickly characters, or simply have a personality that does not click

with the Rabbi’s. Sometimes the Rabbi may feel frustration or disappointment with a

congregant’s religious observance. He might feel the congregant could do more, or

has even slipped backwards. He might feel that his hopes for that congregant have

not borne fruit, or that he has poured care and effort without experiencing reciprocity.

     There are two ways for the Rabbi to address this, and they are both internal work.

The first is to try to set all these considerations aside, and return to the core values

of universal and unconditional embrace. If that is not immediately or always possible,

then it is worth remembering that religious-pastoral relationships play out over a long

time. What does not happen this year may happen next year, or in ten years.

     Patience and persistence are the keys to both a happy and a successful rabbinate.

The second pillar is Exemplifying. Yelling at people to do more or do better probably

never worked well, and certainly cannot work today. A Rabbi makes clear their

standards not by demanding them of others but by living up to them, as much as

possible, himself. Again Maimonides points us towards this, when he advises

(Hilkhot Talmud Torah 4:1) that however wise a teacher may be, he should only be

followed if his behavior exemplifies proper conduct, because teaching ultimately

resides in actions more than words. The Rabbi must therefore be scrupulous in how

he speaks and what he eats, in timely and reliable attendance at services, visible

enthusiasm for the study of Torah, hospitality, generosity, acts of personal kindness.

As the Talmud states in Yoma 86a, he should prompt observers to say of him “how

pleasant are his ways, how proper are his deeds”.

     This should not make the Rabbi appear angelic, because the Torah was not given to

the angels. He can thoughtfully give insight into his struggles, because questioning

and doubt are inevitable parts of the religious experience, and his congregants

should not be misled into believing they alone face these challenges. That would be

both dishonest and unhelpful. In a careful way, the Rabbi can share the practical

struggles of, say, raising a young family while also attending to religious and

communal obligations, or the theological struggles that come from seeing the

innocent suffer.

     The Rabbi must also demonstrate palpable intellectual integrity and moral clarity. If

he feels the need to teach difficult lessons or transmit challenging ideas, he must do

so, but not in a way that demands agreement or compliance. The stance of the

Rabbi should be “you have asked me to be your teacher, and that gives me an

obligation to teach the truth as I see it. No one is obliged to agree with me, but you

have a right to know what I think, if I believe the circumstances call on me to tell you.”

     That combination of courage and conviction with humility and openness is a

contribution in itself and also makes even the hardest messages possible to give and

receive without destabilizing relationships. They reveal a Rabbi who might be wrong,

and knows he might be wrong, but who is not prepared to be a liar or a coward. Of

course, knowing when not to speak, and how not to speak is just as important, and

verbal recklessness is no more a quality in a Rabbi than it is in anyone else. What is

true, is that with the growth of love and trust, more can be said.

     Have I detailed impossibly high standards? Probably. Which means in turn there can

be modelling of living with imperfection, honesty about falling short, the need for

repair following rupture and a continual attempt to do better.

     The final pillar is Encouraging. The challenge is to nudge without becoming a

‘noodge’. In an Inclusive Orthodox congregation the Rabbi cannot rely on a shared

understanding of the practical binding force of Halacha, or on peer pressure and

social expectations, but he still wants to see his congregants grow in their religious

observance. He is not presiding over what is sometimes called a “kiruv shul”, a place

where everyone is consciously and deliberately on a journey towards greater

religious observance and they want the Rabbi to help them on that path. That is

probably not the project or the consensus of the membership of an Inclusive

Orthodox community. What, then, can the Rabbi do? He can and should encourage.

He should engage with his congregants, as Maimonides counsels “patiently and

Gently” (Hilkhot Deot 6:7). Suggesting to someone who rarely attends services to

come, not just more often in general but on a specific occasion, whether Shabbat,

Yom Tov, or weekday; offering to take time to learn Torah with them; not just laying

tefillin for them, but teaching them how to put on tefillin; teaching them how to read a

Haftarah, perhaps the Torah, or lead a service; giving them an active role in services

as a shamash or gabbai. This is aside from a role in lay leadership, such as joining

the synagogue board; it is about deepening specifically religious activity.

     Not everyone will agree to try to do more, some will agree but not follow through,

some will follow through for a while and then participation will tail off, but the more

and the wider the Rabbi’s encouragement the greater will be the results. This

encouragement has to be personal. I have not seen exhortations from the pulpit or

appeals in emails have much effect. Success comes most often from personal

invitations made in the context of personal relationships. The greatest success for

the Rabbi is when, in the case of an individual, he no longer needs to encourage,

because that person now attends and participates because of their own internal

enthusiasm and not because of an external intervention. Of course, no longer

making specific suggestions should never mean the relationship is allowed to

atrophy. Anyone can see when the Rabbi loses interest because their presence is

taken for granted, is regarded as “in the bag”.  Instead what starts out as drawing

people in can become a warm, close and settled relationship of fellowship and

appreciation. No one should feel looked down upon because they do less, but they

should feel celebrated when they do more.

     While these three pillars represent an ideal rather than a claim of personal

achievement, they are perhaps parts of a vision to which an Inclusive Orthodox

Rabbi can aspire and strive. They are a route to combining openness with integrity, breadth with growth, 

and authenticity with ambition. For a Rabbi called to this type of community and the challenges 

and opportunities it will bring, I submit these suggestions as an approach worth attempting.


 

 

 

Angel for Shabbat HaGadol

Angel for Shabbat HaGadol

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

“And the Lord gave the people favor in the sight of the Egyptians…” (Shemot 12:36).

For centuries, the Egyptians enslaved the Israelites with malice and cruelty. But when the Israelites were about to gain their freedom, the attitude of the Egyptians changed dramatically. The Israelites now “found favor in the sight of the Egyptians,” who showered gold, silver and garments on their erstwhile slaves.  Last year they hated us; today they love us; is this for real?

This strange phenomenon came to mind when I re-read an article I wrote in 2017, reporting on the results of a survey by the Pew Research Center. The survey showed that Americans expressed more positive feelings toward Jews than any other group! “Warmer feelings are expressed by people in all the major religious groups analyzed, as well as by both Democrats and Republicans, men and women, and younger and older adults.”  They loved us!

But the situation today seems so radically different. We are constantly barraged by statements and surveys that point to increased rates of anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism. Anti-Semitic violence is on the rise.  Did all the goodwill cited in earlier polls simply evaporate?

The bad news: people are fickle.  Attitudes can—and do—change due to media bias, publicity campaigns, statements by celebrities etc.  Public opinion can be—and is—manipulated through many sources. Not everyone has the clarity of mind or solid facts to make informed judgments. The crowd moves with the crowd. Demagogues know this and depend on this. By generating a non-stop flow of anti-Jewish and anti-Israel propaganda, they insidiously infect public opinion.

The good news: people can change for the better. They are able to overcome past negative stereotypes and come to see things more realistically. Most Americans, as reflected in earlier polls, admire the Jewish community as a highly educated, idealistic, charitable and constructive group. They respect the dynamic democracy of Israel and its amazing creativity and strength. When the anti-Jewish/anti-Israel fulminations die down, so will public opinion veer back in a positive and honest direction.

The haftara for Shabbat HaGadol is drawn from the prophecies of Malachi. He foresaw a day when righteousness will prevail over wickedness, when goodness will be rewarded and evil will be overcome. “But unto you that fear My name shall the sun of righteousness arise with healing in its wings; and you shall go forth and gambol as calves of the stall. And you shall tread down the wicked; for they shall be ashes under the soles of your feet in the day that I do make, says the Lord of hosts” (Malachi 3:20-21).

During this season, the ancient Israelites were freed from bondage. During this season, may our generation be saved from haters, oppressors and perpetrators of violence against us. "In Nisan the Israelites were redeemed; in Nisan the Israelites will be redeemed."

 

When Sunni Muslims pray for Israel

 

In an era when social media often amplifies hatred and outrage, something remarkable happened recently on X (formerly Twitter).

It began with a simple post I wrote on March 12. I mentioned that my sons, along with thousands of other young Israelis, are serving in the Israel Defense Forces as the Jewish state confronts Iran and its proxies. Like any father, I worry for their safety.

So I ended the post with a request directed to the people of Somaliland, a state that declared independence from Somalia in the early 1990s.

Over the years, I’ve met many Somalilanders online and been struck by their open admiration for Israel-its resilience, democracy, and ability to thrive despite hardship. Because of that, I asked them to do something unusual: pray for the IDF.

Even so, I never expected what happened next.

Replies poured in-warm, heartfelt, and sincere.

“I pray to Allah to stand with the people of Israel and protect them against Iran and all enemies who wish them harm."
- Rakad Sultan, businessman connected to Somaliland’s Ministry of Labor"

“We pray a lot for the sons of Israel who are fighting the enemy. May they be victorious!"
- Amin Ismail

“Our prayers are with you. May G-d protect and watch over you. Long live Israel."

The messages just kept coming. Again and again, religious Sunni Muslims from Somaliland expressed their willingness to pray for Jewish soldiers.

Pause and consider that.

In much of the Muslim world, public support for Israel is rare. Political rhetoric and decades of propaganda have fostered hostility toward the Jewish state. Yet here were Muslims openly praying for IDF soldiers-publicly, on a global platform.

Even more striking, it happened during Ramadan, a time of devotion and compassion. As Muslims worldwide turned to G-d, Somalilanders included Jewish soldiers in their prayers.

That is extraordinary-and deeply telling.

Located in the Horn of Africa along the Gulf of Aden, Somaliland declared independence in 1991. In three decades, it has built democratic institutions, held elections, and maintained stability in a turbulent region. Despite this, it remains unrecognized internationally. Israel, however, became the first to recognize it in December 2025.

Both societies share similarities: they arose from difficulty, were built under pressure, and survive in tough neighborhoods. But beyond geopolitics lies something more important-mutual respect between people.

The responses to my post weren’t official statements. They were simple prayers from ordinary Somalilanders.

And that’s why they matter.

Even among Arab countries that have peace with Israel, few citizens would so openly pray for its soldiers. For decades, hostility between Israel and the Muslim world was seen as inevitable.

But Somaliland offers another model - a Muslim-majority society that is pragmatic, outward-looking and open to cooperation.

Here were individuals who answered a Jewish father’s plea by asking Allah to protect his sons. That is more than a gesture. It’s a glimpse of what relations between Israel and the Muslim world could one day become.

Sometimes diplomacy doesn’t begin with treaties or official visits. Sometimes it begins somewhere far simpler: with a Jewish father asking for prayers, and Muslims answering that call.

 

 

Thoughts for Pessah

Thoughts for Pessah

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

At the Seder, we ate the “Hillel Sandwich,” Korekh, which includes both matsa and maror. Rabbi Benzion Uziel, late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel, pointed out that matsa—eaten as the Israelites left Egypt—symbolizes freedom. Maror—bitter herb—symbolizes the bitterness of slavery. We combine these two symbols to remind us that freedom and slavery are intertwined. Even when we are enslaved, we have our inner freedom. Even when we are free, we have to worry about falling back into slavery.

Until Mashiah arrives, we are always experiencing a mixture of matsa and maror, freedom and suffering. Sometimes things are better and sometimes worse…but we are constantly engaged in personal and national struggle.

We are currently living in very challenging times for Israel and the Jewish People. We all feel the taste of maror, the bitterness of war, death, anti-Semitism, ugly anti-Israel hatred. But we also have the taste of matsa…freedom. The State of Israel is strong, vibrant, and courageous. The Jewish People worldwide are standing up for our rights and for the honor of Israel. We are literally eating “korekh”, matsa and maror together, simultaneously. 

If the first days of Pessah highlight the mixed feelings symbolized by matsa and maror, the last days of Pessah stress redemption. On the Seventh Day of Pessah, the Torah reading features the song sung by Moses and the Israelites upon crossing the Sea of Reeds and escaping from their Egyptian oppressors. The focus is on the past redemption. On the Eighth Day of Pessah, the Haftara is drawn from the prophecies of Isaiah concerning the future redemption. “Cry aloud and sing for joy, Zion resettled, for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel.”

It has been noted that the redemption from Egypt is attributed entirely to the Almighty. The Israelites themselves were relatively passive in the process of gaining their freedom. But the ultimate redemption will require us to participate actively. While Hashem will be the guarantor, we will need to assume personal responsibility.

Along with our prayers, we each must stand with Am Yisrael in every way possible. We need action—communal, political, financial etc.—in support of Medinat Yisrael. We need to stand up against anti-Semites and anti-Zionists with fortitude…and we must prevail.

Isaiah’s words resonate: “Behold, God is my salvation, I trust and am not afraid; For God the Lord is my strength and my song and He is become my salvation…Cry aloud and sing for joy, Zion resettled, for great in your midst is the Holy One of Israel.”