National Scholar Updates

On the Shabbat of April 4-5, Rabbi Hayyim Angel will serve as a Scholar-in-Residence at Sephardic Bikur Holim in Seattle, Washington. He will give the Shabbat morning derashah, speak at a luncheon in memory of their longtime rabbi, Rabbi Solomon Maimon, and give an afternoon class. 

For scheduling, please see the Sephardic Bikur Holim website,

https://www.sbhseattle.org/

Rabbi Stanley Davids: In Memoriam

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Rabbi Stanley Davids, a prominent Reform rabbi, passed away on Sunday night March 23, 2025. Although we differed significantly on religious matters, we were good friends for many years.

Stanley served as rabbi of Central Synagogue in Manhattan from 1986-1991, after which he became rabbi of Temple Emanu-El in Atlanta. He was active in many communal endeavors, including years as head of ARZA.

When we were both serving congregations in Manhattan, we found ourselves working together in various communal endeavors. Stanley was always affable, sensible and deeply committed to the wellbeing and unity of the Jewish People. That he was Reform and I was Orthodox did not get in the way of our mutual respect and fellowship. As human beings—and as Jews—we had many shared ideas, ideals and aspirations. 

Stanley regularly made his way from Central Synagogue to Shearith Israel where we studied Rambam together. We kept in touch after he moved from Manhattan, and we even had lunch together in Jerusalem after he and his wife made Aliyah. We published an article by him in our Institute’s journal, Conversations, https://www.jewishideas.org/article/everything-there-time, and he published an article of mine in a book he co-edited, https://www.jewishideas.org/node/3239. We shared significant occasions, professionally and personally.

Yes, it was (and hopefully still is) possible for an Orthodox rabbi and a Reform rabbi to study Torah together, to work together on behalf of the Jewish community and Israel, to enjoy a genuine friendship.  In an increasingly divisive world, we gain from friendships that overcome differences and focus on shared values. 

We extend condolences to Stanley’s wife, Resa, and to the entire Davids family. Min Hashamayim Tenuhamu.

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Pekudei

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

The Israelites contributed generously toward the construction of the Mishkan sanctuary. Upon completion of the project, Moses gave an accounting as to how the donations were applied. Although no one could have questioned Moses’s integrity, he wanted to make it absolutely clear that leaders are accountable for how contributions are spent.

The late Senator Everett Dirksen once quipped about the American budget: “A billion here, a billion there, and pretty soon you're talking real money.” And that was in the 1960’s. These days, we’re talking about trillions of dollars…not merely billions.

We are so accustomed to hearing of projects that entail millions, billions and trillions of dollars, we sometimes forget that these dollars are “real money.” Funds are allocated as though no human component is involved.

Moses set an example: public funds are not “anonymous.” They are generated by actual people who have a right to a proper accounting of their outlays.

The Torah refers to money as “damim”—blood!  Money represents human labor, time, and investment. It is not neutral. Each dollar represents a bit of our lives, the time and energy it took us to generate that dollar.

We learn of the government’s allocation of several hundred million dollars to this project, billions to another project, and more than a trillion for yet another massive endeavor.  While vast public expenditures are inevitable—and often necessary—we are presented with huge dollar amounts as if the money simply comes from the air. The numbers become disconnected from the actual human beings who are providing the dollars for the budgets.

 As governments and organizations deal with the public’s money, they are responsible for spending the money as wisely and fairly as possible. They are duty-bound to prevent wasteful use of funds. They need to realize that each dollar has a human component, that public funds represent the “damim” of all who pay into the system.

When allocating public funds, decisions must be made as to what is best and most needed by constituents. There will obviously be different budgetary opinions and calculations. Not every constituent will agree with every decision. Nevertheless, the process of allocating funds must be conducted with a keen sense of responsibility to the stake-holders. Dispensers of public funds need the wisdom to know how to apply resources properly. Cutting corners on important matters may well lead to increased wastefulness and damage in the future. The public is best served when long range planning is conducted calmly and carefully, taking into consideration positive and negative consequences of each decision.

Budgets are not simply a matter of neutral mathematical calculations. They represent the needs, concerns and aspirations of the human beings who have contributed their resources. Moses demonstrated the responsibility of giving proper accounting of public funds. He set a model for future generations…including our own.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel has posted a new book review at Tradition Online. It reviews Rabbi Yehuda Rock's new book on literary layers within the Torah.

Read it here https://traditiononline.org/review-yehuda-rock-ahat-dibber-rivud-sifruti-ba-torah-bereshit-noah-2024-815-pages/

We asked for your responses about synagogue affiliation (or lack thereof) among younger Jews. Here are some of the responses we received.  It would be important for committees within each synagogue to deliberate about how best to maximize affiliation and attendance among Jews in their 20s, 30s and 40s.

Below are some of the responses we received.

I

1) General demographics in the neighborhood

Some locations are attractive to younger people for a variety of reasons: availability of Jewish resources and institutions, availability of general resources and cultural institutions, security, jobs that young people can actually get and commute to, etc.

2) Affordability

For a variety of reasons, neighborhoods around some synagogues that have all the above factors going for them are simply unaffordable, be it to singles or young couples.  Sometimes the neighborhood near the synagogue is expensive and also nice - this could still attract young people with access to money.  One of the even harder combinations is when a neighborhood is expensive and not particularly nice.  This the reason that I lived 44 blocks from my chosen synagogue when I lived in NYC.  I recall seeing an apartment 4 blocks away that wanted almost $2k a month for 250 square feet with a microscopic oven, a mini-fridge, and a closet-like bedroom that was barely large enough to fit a single twin bed.  When I lived in LA, the cheapest 1-bed 1-bath condos within 2 miles in any direction of my synagogue *started at half a million dollars.  As a young father in my 30s, I counted myself lucky to find a rental apartment that cost $3,500 a month.  In four years there I paid almost $170,000 with nothing to show for it other than that I wasn’t homeless.

3) Culture of the synagogue

My current synagogue is regarded as young, growing, and attractive.  People are moving here in droves for a friendly job market, and are settling down for the long term despite rapidly rising costs of living.  But the thing is that there is no singles culture here.  Almost everyone who comes is already married, and the 18-30 set has almost no reason to come to us.  The biggest complaint I get from young people who visit us is that they can’t find a match in a place where such a high percentage of the opposite sex is married.  Due to the demographics of the neighborhood, our model still works, but it basically requires that young people come to us only after having taken care of their own religious affiliation between high school and marriage.

4) Capacity of the synagogue 

Most synagogues I know, even successful ones, operate on a shoestring budget and wishful thinking.  After the mortgage, program costs, and salaries for even just a rabbi, administrator, and light custodial work, there is nothing left, or even a deficit.  Synagogues that by size ought to have many more staff members still operate with a skeleton crew.  Typically they are at or beyond their organizational capacity with just the daily grind, and they can’t really absorb the cost and effort of the kinds of outreach and inreach that it takes to make a perceptionally recalcitrant demographic group show up.

5) Challenges faced by the young people themselves

This is a demanding time of life for young people.  They are pursuing education, and have limited access to religious life that is distant from college campuses.  They are trying to find a mate, and need to be in places where they can find one.  They are trying to start out professionally, and are under high pressure with the lowest resources to deal with that pressure.  Most Jewish resources are geared at people who are older or younger than they are.  Pursuing and nourishing their religious life in this situation requires a lot of drive and commitment.

6) Support for this transitional period from their home community 

Young people retain their commitment to Jewish life the best when they are able to become Jewishly literate and build up a deep deck of positive religious experiences before graduating high school.  Communities who do not invest in this but still expect the young people to affiliate need to reallocate their resources.

7) Nationally, there aren’t many resources available to the young people

In the time between college education and settling down with kids, there is poor communal investment and programmatic development.  This reflects in part that the demographic is in a high state of flux, so they’re harder to serve.  It also reflects a broad failure of the Jewish community to imagine how to invest in them and devote money to that end.  Despite knowing full well that their own organizational health requires new people to affiliate, they are much better at complaining about the young people’s absence than they are about proactively attracting them to fill the gap.

This is based on my own anecdotal observations, and is the best judgment I can reach from my own experience,

II

 There are several issues that repel many below the age of 50 or so.  A few of these are: 1. Hypocrisy--it's obvious that much of the service is rote reading from the siddur and even the torah.  It seems that the purpose of this mouthing of syllables iis superstition-- those syllables must be said or bad things may happen. For example, I have a grandson on active combat duty in the IDF.  It's an extreme turn off to listen to a rapid fire prayer for the State of Israel and the IDF seemingly just to 'get through it.'  2. Having to sit through superstitious content such as 'Women may die in childbirth for various failures such as improper handling of the halla.  Scare tactics alienate younger people. 3. Sermons full of midrashic content taken literally a dn contrary to science.  Last shabbat, for example, the rabbinic speaker held as true that even pails of water throughout the world split at the same time as did the Red Sea and that God brought down the sun to discomfit the following Egyptian army. He also noted the importance of believing in miracles such as the sun standing still.  Even a 1st grader knows that the sun doesn't revolve around the earth and pass each night underground.  4. The length of services is also a negative consideration. 5. The lack of seriousness on the part of congregants and, way too often, synagogue leaders as evidenced by the persistent talking and gossiping during services. 6. The absence of explanations for doing what we do.  For example, almost no one seems to pay attention to the haftarah readings-- what's the connection between the parasha and the readings? 7. Related to the foregoing, when younger people are told that we do or say something just because that's the way we do it or that's the way it was done in the old country, doesn't cut it for educated younger people.  

III

While I can't speak to Orthodoxy in specific, I will say that COVID had an impact on many programs and institutions, and we are all still experiencing this effect today.   People found other routes to daven and have community...perhaps informal gatherings in their neighborhoods.   I know that for some people, large synagogues are impersonal.  And therefore, within a congregation, havurot have been formed to create tighter bonds.  Women also want to have an active role and can where there are partnership and/or women's minyans but without them, women may not feel the same pull to come shul.  

IV

 Whether or not they are coming to synagogue, perhaps it is important to understand how young people are identifying and expressing their Judaism through organizations, institutions and other activities. There is also the enormous influence of Chabad and perhaps many mainstream daveners are to be found there...with innovative programming and strong outreach.  I'm not sure that people are less involved in Judaism, just involved differently than past generations.   

V

I would recommend sitting down with those who do not attend and ask them. 

My ideas may not be accurate, but I imagine those in the age groups of interest will express openly their thoughts as to their lack of involvement. 

Perhaps a third party could do interviews on your behalf to allow a possible more open dialogue on the matter. 

VI

.I noticed not just this but an absence in daily life. Intermarriage is a large but not the only reason. I attribute a lot of this to the absence of attending Hebrew school where one can form a collective identity among peers. One learns the songs, the history and the traditions. I was born in the 1950s when these things “didn’t exist on any level” in public life so Hebrew schools/synagogue were a safe zone. Parents and grandparents were embedded in these traditions and history. Now, Hebrew school is a nuisance for many parents.

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.”

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Ki Tissa

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Moses descended Mount Sinai, found the Israelites worshiping a golden calf, and he threw down the tablets of God’s commandments.  The Torah’s account of this tragic scene unflinchingly describes the sinfulness of the Israelites, the frustration of Moses, the “anger” of the Lord. 

The Torah could have omitted this story or edited it to make it look better. But the Torah is an amazingly candid document. In setting the foundations of religious life, the Torah takes under consideration that human beings are not angels. We are capable of great achievements…but also of great failures. We can reach great heights receiving Divine Revelation and we can sink very low worshiping a golden calf.

The Torah doesn’t expect us to be perfect; it expects us to strive to be as good as we can be. According to tradition, the second set of Tablets was given on Yom Kippur. This is strikingly symbolic of the nature of life: we sin, we repent, and we have the opportunity to renew ourselves. Failure need not drag us down permanently. The Almighty has built Yom Kippur into our annual observances as a sign of Divine faith in our power to atone for past sins and to improve ourselves in the future.

The Torah teaches that spiritual life has ups and downs. The hallmark of religion at its best is an ongoing sense of striving, failing, growing, falling back, moving forward. It is dynamic and transformative. Religion is not about maintaining a dull status quo; it prods us to reach beyond.

Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, who was Ashkenazic Chief Rabbi of Israel in the early 20th century, once compared religious life to being on a ladder. Was someone on a higher rung more “religious” than one on a lower rung? Rabbi Kook answered: it depends which direction the people were going. A person might be on a higher rung—with more knowledge and greater level of mitzvah observance—and yet be stagnant or actually on the way down the ladder. Another person might be on a lower rung of religious knowledge and observance, and yet be ascending, moving up with each passing day. So the one who is ascending is experiencing a dynamic and growing religious life, while the one on the higher rung is experiencing a dry and diminishing religious life. The one on the lower rung is aspiring to grow, while the one on the higher rung has surrendered to rote and dullness.

Religion is not a part time sideline, or something to do in our spare time. It isn’t a collection of laws and customs to perform in a mechanical way. It is, at root, a framework for striving toward a dynamic relationship with the Almighty. It is not so much a pattern of life as an attitude toward living, of reaching beyond ourselves, of climbing one more rung in our quest for self-understanding and confrontation with the Divine.

Yes, we will surely experience failures along the way, just as the Israelites in the Torah did. But we will also experience growth and achievement. It is not the failures that define who we are. It is our aspirations…and our striving to attain them.

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Vayikra

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

My friend, Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo, has come out with a new book Cardozo on the Parashah: The Book of Leviticus (Kasva Press, 2025) in which he presents his thoughts on the weekly Torah portions. As in his many previous writings, he draws on a variety of sources—rabbinic and general—but he is also known for his original thinking.

The book of Leviticus, Vayikra, devotes much text to laws relating to the Mishkan, animal sacrifices, and the duties of the priestly class. For moderns, these passages are remote from our personal experience. 

Rabbi Cardozo ponders the ultimate significance of the ancient Mishkan and Temple services. Without going into whether these things will be re-established in Messianic times, we still need to think about why they are part of our tradition altogether.

Rabbi Cardozo offers his insight: “The Temple service is not the ultimate form of worship, it is only the beginning, a foretaste of what is to come. Its purpose is to function, through metaphoric rites, as a medium through which people are stimulated to take their first steps toward an inner transformation. When Jews pray that God grant them the opportunity to bring fire offerings, this does not mean to actually bring animal sacrifices, but to be able to make ever greater spiritual contributions, of which the sacrifices were merely a foretaste.” (p. 15)

The Mishkan/Temples were not meant to be ends in themselves but were intended to be entryways into spiritual growth. Similarly, the many mitzvoth of the Torah are not the goals of religious life but are vehicles to bring us closer to the Divine.

When religion prods us to higher levels of faith, love and righteousness, it is of vital importance to us as individuals and to humanity as a whole. When religion is abused by fostering hatred, violence, and cult-like behavior, it is destructive to individuals and to society. Religion can be—and should be—the most elevating element of human civilization. But, as we unfortunately know, it can also be the root cause of extremism, terrorism, and war.

Perhaps the ancient Temple services serve to remind us of the need for religious humility. We come before the Lord with sacrifices as a symbolic way of demonstrating our subservience to the ultimate Divine and our need to strive daily for spiritual growth. Today, our synagogues should be serving this purpose—to remind us to come before the Lord humbly, with pure hearts, with sincere desire to strive for righteous and wise lives. 

Our biblical prophets inveighed against sacrifices that were brought in a cult-like pattern without the proper intellectual and spiritual framework. If Temple services—and prayer services—are performed mechanically and without proper intent, they become a mockery rather than expressions of religiosity. 

The Hebrew word for the Temple sacrifice is “korban.” The root letters of the word mean “drawing near.”  Sacrifices—and prayer—are intended to draw us into a closer, more intense relationship with the Almighty. They are not ends in themselves but are entryways to a more spiritual life.

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Tetsaveh

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

“And you shall command the children of Israel…” (Shemot 27:20)

“And you shall bring near to you Aaron and his sons… (Shemot 28:1).

“And you shall speak to all who are wise-hearted…” (Shemot 28:3).

This week’s Parasha opens with three different words alluding to three different means of communication. 

Command: Sometimes the public (and individuals) need clear orders. A “commander in chief” must mobilize constituents and spell out specific responsibilities. If a major undertaking is at stake, forceful leadership is often required. Without the command, things might not get done properly…or at all. When Moses was dealing with the children of Israel, he frequently had to energize people by giving commands.

Bring Near: Sometimes commands don’t work. The public (or individuals) are reluctant to take responsibility or simply do not like to be given orders. In such circumstances, it is best not to command but to draw near. Offer words of encouragement. Let them know you appreciate and value them and that you know they are up to the task at hand. Thoughtful words are more effective than cold commands. It is better to talk with…not at. When Moses instructed Aaron to begin his service as high priest, the Midrash suggests that Aaron was hesitant. He needed Moses to draw him near, to encourage and strengthen him.

Speak: Ideally, the way to move forward is with direct communication where people feel part of the process. When Moses spoke to the “wise-hearted” he was speaking with those who were self-motivated. They didn’t need commands or encouraging words. They needed to have candid discussion about how to proceed; they needed to feel that they were valued partners in the work ahead.

Communication is not only about issuing a message; it requires that the message be received. Each context has its own dynamics. Each parent/leader/rabbi etc. must have the sensitivity to choose the right means of communication for each situation. 

Whether one commands, brings near, or speaks, one must be attuned to the mindset of the recipients. A message, no matter how excellent, is only successful if it is received and acted upon appropriately.