National Scholar Updates

A Braver New World?

Back when I was a principal at the Yeshivah of Flatbush, I had several bookcases that held a set of Talmud, Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe, and assorted other titles on one side of my office. Across, on the opposite side, stood a six-foot tall cardboard stand-alone Batman figure that I begged from one of the parents who operated a video store. On my desk, centered between the bookcase and the cardboard Dark Knight, was a mason jar filled with Laffy Taffy. My associate principal, faculty colleagues, and I turned many kids on to Torah and poetry in that little office, and I can honestly laughingly suggest that I'm not sure which had the greater influence at any given time, the Talmud Bavli, Poe’s “Raven,” or Batman (the hashpa’ah, influence, of the banana taffy was indisputable).

Nowadays, however, in addition to such invaluable educational tools of the trade as a sefer, a story, a master teacher, a life-size superhero cutout, and a candy wrapped in a cute riddle, Jewish educators have to manage a burgeoning array of digital resources. Today's technologies—incorporating both traditional texts and hypertexts, computer simulations, virtual-reality time travel, educational game platforms, and multimedia interactivities—promise to provide unique and engaging experiences to our younger generations of Orthodoxy and to impact an audience larger in numbers than that at ma'amad Har Sinai many times over. It’s up to us, as responsible and responsive Jewish educators, through foresight, insight, and intentionality, to balance and blend these newer technologies with more traditional texts and practices, and to inspire our younger generations to navigate this “braver” new world with thoughtfulness, ironic distance, and critical intelligence. Tacking toward the tradigital could conceivably spark untold opportunities to influence the future course of Jewish education in both Torah and General Studies, and, thereby, to influence as well the future course of Orthodox Jewish thought, culture, and continuity.

The question is: How should we be doing this?

Reading Between the Subject Lines

“WHAT WILL EDUCATION LOOK LIKE IN A MORE OPEN FUTURE? … TECHNOLOGY AND RAPIDLY EVOLVING STUDENT NEEDS…THE GLARING PROBLEM OF OUR OUTDATED EDUCATION… GROUNDBREAKING TECHNOLOGY TRENDS FOR THE YEAR AHEAD… TIME TO IMPLEMENT DISRUPTIVE INNOVATION!” This is just a small sampling of the often-melodramatic subject lines that appear daily in my office email. True, once in a while someone throws out a reminder regarding measurement of skills and assessment of knowledge. Still, it’s troublesome that some major educational concerns of broad general import are noticeably absent from the blaring headlines.

With all the emphasis on ever new means and methods, where is there shown a similar level of concern for subject matter itself? Where is the hot-button item asking “What content will encourage our younger generations to build a life extraordinaire (and in our case, a Jewish life), and why we should be teaching it?” What “groundbreaking” moral values are we urging our educators to model and extol in their daily conversations and explorations in our classrooms, and why? What “innovative” (a word to be used cautiously, if not skeptically) opportunities for inventiveness, imagination, creativity, and sheer joy and excitement are we embedding in our course of studies and in our ways of learning in our Jewish educational institutions … and why not?

Do Not Confine Your Children to Your Own Learning

These are not meant to be the wide-eyed queries of a naïf, the rants of a curmudgeon, or the proposed articles of a Luddite convention platform. As should be obvious from sentiments expressed earlier, we ought never turn our backs on new technologies and better methodologies; rather, as educators we must pledge to embrace these advanced and advancing tools, to exploit them, experiment, distinguish among them and, finally, to borrow Chazal’s metaphor of the model student in Pirkei Avot, like a human sieve to judiciously separate the fine flour from the coarse.

“Do not confine your children to your own learning, for they were born in another time.” So goes an ancient Hebrew proverb I’d once come across. Or is it talmudic, or Arabic, or Chinese? The all-knowing internet is uncertain and I’ve yet to find a classical Jewish source that mirrors these exact words. Still, the spirit is certainly recognizable in Jewish tradition, while it clearly reflects a universal sentiment as well. Indeed, who would deny the otherness, the “other-timeness” of each generation? What teacher would not acknowledge that the vernacular of the day, the sefat haRekhov so to speak, is a resource of first resort for meaningful discourse with students? That the cultural signposts of the day offer quick reference points and easy analogy? That the technology tools of the day are indispensible for compatible communication and hooking students’ attention?

Not long ago, a medical surgeon posted this on his blog:

Without acknowledging that new generations learn differently from previous generations, we will never be able to “transform” education so that it is fit for purpose in the future…

If one of my teachers had asked me about the supraspinatus muscle, it would have elicited a cascade of learning…. I would have gone to the library or to one of the standard textbooks... visited the dissection room… sought further knowledge [from] an anatomy demonstrator… . [Instead, while] writing this blog, I have googled “supraspinatus.” In 0.12 seconds… I have access to 858,000 pages of information, 137,000 images and 34,000 videos of this muscle.

And more recently, David Leonhardt of The New York Times described a similar rejiggering in the field of journalism:

One of the main lessons we’ve learned is that journalists have not been fully using all of the tools that are now available to us. For decades, the traditional article … has dominated newspaper and magazine journalism…. But … [i]t’s no accident that many of the most-read New York Times articles of the last few years have been complex takes on serious subjects in a form other than a traditional article: an explainer of the Ebola crisis, a photo essay on aging, a video on ISIS… the rent-vs.-buy calculator, a graphic on nonemployed men, a map on poverty and an interactive on generational politics.

Leonhardt makes an articulate, convincing argument that we might do well to echo in our own field of Jewish education. Still, let’s add the necessary caveat: Tools for their own sake, rather than as the product of mindful, well-analyzed, and well-argued strategies for the future, are of dubious pedagogical effectiveness. To merely toss technology into classwork like so many chickpeas into a salad, to have students click and play and cut and paste, is not the sine qua non for attending school. A live Jewish Day School classroom is a sacred place to inhabit, an environment within which to benefit and grow, a unique and inimitable communal gathering of diverse critical minds and personalities, with its give and take of human discourse rich in ideas and emotions and activities.

But what gives this coming together of participating students and teachers, staff, and administrators, its grand purpose and shape?

It’s the Curriculum, Stupid!

In addressing the topic of Jewish education for our younger generations, it is imperative—even before one student has an iPad in her hand, even before a single teacher powers on his wall-hung Smart Board—to direct the spotlight on the curriculum that underlies it all. I define curriculum in this context as the central nexus of a school, the overarching course of studies that represents the integrity and ethos of Jewish education, the proud purpose of which is to explore the infinite interconnections between all its activities and teachings. While every class lesson in such a curriculum possesses its own integrity by subject and grade, it is situated at the same time responsibly, even inevitably, within the school’s entire course of studies and, it is hoped, ultimately within the whole lifetime of an individual or group’s Jewish and General education.

In such a curriculum, it's not the technology that drives the success of our educational endeavors but the content—the chosen stories, explorations, and shared values and experiences that are delivered via that technology, be they in the form of multimedia blasts across the internet, broadcast to mobile devices, or beamed down to smart wristwatches and eyeglasses. As the politicians (and, unfortunately, many educators) often fail to note, "It's the curriculum, stupid."

What We Talk about When We Talk about Jewish Education

A yeshiva Day School, with its dual-curriculum of Torah Studies and General Studies, has a special responsibility.

A yeshiva Day School is not a Talmud Torah grafted onto a public school with two distinct realms of study meant to compete for the time and attention of teacher and student alike. It is certainly not a language-themed Hebrew charter school, where the emphasis on contemporary Israeli life, language, and culture is both devoid of religious devotion, tradition, and Jewish practice, and constrained within legitimate legal guidelines that mandate a strict separation of church and state.

Rather, the ideal Jewish Day School is an organic unity within whose walls our younger generations learn to live as whole beings whose Jewish identity is evidenced by familiarity with Torah texts that span centuries, by facility in classical biblical, mishnaic, and contemporary Hebrew languages (and, it is hoped, acquaintance with medieval, enlightenment, modernit, and meduberet versions of Hebrew, not to mention awareness of Ladino, Yevanic, Yiddish, and other polyglottal variants in between), and by informed participation in the religious practices of a vibrant Jewish community. Within these walls they learn to live as whole beings whose Jewish identity is at the same time intrinsically bound up with their intellectual, spiritual, and social-emotional growth, with their studies in the liberal arts and sciences, and with their positive participation in society at large.

A modern yeshiva Day School has every obligation to exploit technology but, uniquely, the very spirit of traditional Torah training and the halakhic parameters of Shabbat and the mo’adim that are at the heart of such an education demand that our children develop a comfortable facility in ancient methods of text study and acquire learning skills that are not dependent on access to electronic technology and digital resources. Such “Sabbath skills” are invaluable in the 24/7 hustle bustle of today’s world—they foster conversation, contemplation, introspection, and mindfulness, and they transfer seamlessly to General Studies classes and activities with enormous benefit.

Of course, “Jewish learning,” in this discussion, encompasses Jewish and General education, and it is never imparted in completely separate silos. In their roles as Jewish, American, and global citizens, our younger generations must engage on a daily basis not only with the interconnectedness of Jewish and General texts (some use the term “secular,” which is too often intended and/or perceived pejoratively), but with the world itself as “text.” If we need a model for this approach, let us turn to Heaven, where, as the Gemara in Avodah Zarah describes it, God spends one quarter of every day teaching Torah to schoolchildren and playing with the majestic whale-like creature Livyatan at the same time. A free interpretation: Here we see God both teaching the children Torah text and taking them on an experiential fieldtrip to the aquarium to visit Livyatan; here we confirm the words of Sefer Tehilim, “”Lashem Ha’aretz U’mlo’ah,” the profusion of delights in this world is the Creation of God, and the most magnificent of all is the biological phenomenon of the Livyatan. God teaches the schoolchildren a wonderful lesson in Torah and a wondrous lesson in science interconnected and all wrapped in one.

“All forms of knowledge are interrelated and interdependent, and we are put on earth to know and to make known the correspondences between them all,” affirmed the non-Orthodox art historian Meyer Schapiro, a truth that could have been uttered by any of his Orthodox talmudic scholar forebears. It is a wise axiom to guide our curricular thinking.

In addition, to paraphrase Martin Luther King, Jr., the arc of a modern Jewish curriculum is long and should bend its participants toward lives of character and hessed, critical intelligence and kindness, personal virtue and keen awareness of the world around them. Twenty-first-century Jewish Orthodox education owes our younger generations a curriculum framework that moves beyond facts, factoids, and information. True learning is learning that grows into know-how, knowledge, self-knowledge, understanding, and, ultimately, “the search for self-transcendence, the enterprise of trying to become a different or a better or a nobler or more moral person,” as writer Susan Sontag, a passionate teacher herself, noted. All of this must be built upon an immutable foundation, the dictum of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (a great gaon and a paragon of pedagogy) that the learning of Torah is the very soul of Judaism.

Nor should we neglect, in creating successful and cutting-edge curriculum in the twenty-first century, to acknowledge that the daily world we immediately inhabit, the aggressively fast-paced world of popular culture and mobile device, is alluringly attractive and all-encompassing. That is why principals and teachers responsible for curriculum experiences should, in designing units of study, find ways to incorporate age-appropriate, grade-appropriate, and Jewish values-appropriate classic films, best-selling children’s books, popular music, internet trends, and a host of elements from pop and academic cultures. Such elements elicit instant recognition, trigger lively discussion, and serve as thematic touchstones in subject areas of all sorts. Comic books and Ben & Jerry’s, Swatch Watches and Radio City Music Hall, Twitter, TV commercials, and Six Flags Great Adventure all have something important to say about our society and our selves. How can we as educators afford not to guide our younger generations in understanding and critiquing the society they inhabit?

Youth, as Rav J. B. Soloveitchik has characterized it, is full of “simple faith and fiery enthusiasm,” and only children, he adds, “can breach the boundaries that segregate the finite from the infinite.” We must, thus, speak to the hearts and minds of our younger generations of learners, and provide them inviolate non-judgmental breathing space for individual wrestling with questions of identity, religious belief and practice, and spiritual growth. We must deliver them both the means and reasons to sustain a continued visceral, religious, and intellectual connection to Jewish learning and observance and the means to be competitive with the best in the world- at- large.

We must impart to our Orthodox younger generations a desire to go on learning, as philosopher John Dewey advocated. We must inspire them to rise from their Torah learning and, as the Ramban writes in his celebrated Iggeret, to immediately translate that learning into action. We must exhort them to act in the spirit of Rabbi Abraham Kook’s exuberant lyric, “Ani ohev et haKol,” “How I love all things!” so that they grow to appreciate and celebrate the varieties of Jewish experience, to practice Torah and mitzvoth meaningfully in their daily lives, to use the liberal arts and sciences as a means to understand the nature of humankind and the world it inhabits, and to recognize their roles and responsibilities as global citizens.

Permit me, finally, to tweak the proverb quoted above, from which this essay derives its title, and give it a decidedly Orthodox Jewish slant, its ambiguous origin notwithstanding. “Do not confine your children to your own learning, for they were born in another time.” The Gemara in Shavuot and the Midrash Tanhuma tell us that all Jews were present at the Revelation of the Torah at Mount Sinai and that the souls of all as yet unborn future generations of Jews joined in attendance with the Israelites of the Exodus at that moment. So, when we speak of our Jewish students as being “born in another time,” we are not only referring to them as the younger generation that succeeds us but as our compeers at Mattan Torah, our fellow standard bearers in tradition.

Dor holekh ve’dor ba, always a next generation, intones the ancient Megillat Kohelet, a conceit that finds a modern counterpart in lines from the poet T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets, “For last year’s words belong to last year’s language / And next year’s words await another voice…”. Another voice. Another time. “Another time” in Judaism is always a glance backward more than 5,000 years to our origins and a glance ever forward towards an ideal world to come. That is what a tradigital curriculum is meant to honor, preserve, and anticipate. As Ben Franklin expressed it back in 1786, "We are, I think, in the right road of improvement, for we are making experiments.

Close to a million Israelis live in countries other than Israel. The majority have settled in the United States and Canada for the long run, teaching at universities, running business, and becoming entrepreneurs. Most identify as secular and send their children to public schools. Although they maintain a vague Israeli identity, most of the children call their current country of residence home. Far removed from Israel, which provided them Jewish identity by osmosis, these children’s Jewish life, identity, and culture is tenuous and vulnerable in the Diaspora.

Instead of absorbing Hanukkah in the streets as their parents did in Israel, they are, to their parent’s naive surprise, bombarded by Christmas. Instead of Kiddush on Friday night and a national ambiance of Sabbath on Shabbat, they have soccer practice and the myriad extracurricular activities of the average American child and teen. When the High Holy Days come, whereas in Israel their families might have stepped into a synagogue or community center for prayer, they now must contend with the notion of buying tickets for the first time, something those who had grown up in the Israeli zeitgeist find bizarre, as strange and foreign as paying for synagogue membership.

Diaspora Jews, no matter their denomination, for the most part retain their Jewish identity by forming religious communities around synagogues. Synagogues provide Diaspora Jews with a religious connection, communal identity and association, rudimentary education, and a vital sense of Jewish peoplehood. Most secular Israelis did not attend synagogues in Israel and may never have been in a synagogue. They were acculturated to see religion as dangerous, political, and coercive. They do not easily connect to non-Orthodox synagogues, because, as the cliché goes, for secular Israelis, the synagogue they do not attend is Orthodox. They, and especially their children, are left Jewishly unmoored.

The story of Israelis in America at this moment is foreboding. It tells of a population that is so connected in some ways to its Jewish roots and memories, but whose children are assimilating into American culture more quickly than the children of immigrants a century ago, who at least had their European parents, synagogues, and Jewish institutions to keep them connected. Secular Israelis in the Diaspora retain some of their cultural heritage through social connections with fellow Israelis and by gathering for events such as Israel Independence Day. They hope their children will avoid intermarrying and assimilating, but in reality Israeli culture alone is a thin string with which to maintain the next generation’s Jewish connection, and will not act as a bulwark against assimilation.

In America, it is religious community and institutional connections that help one retain Jewish life. The American Jewish community, with few exceptions, has not begun to address this population’s Jewish needs, and for the most part is not sure how to do so. Several years ago an Israeli came to my synagogue, Bais Abraham Congregation in St. Louis, Missouri, and told us that there was something even secular Israelis wanted from the Jewish community: a school to teach their children to read and write the Hebrew language. Realizing this was an opportunity to engage secular Israelis on their own terms, and perhaps eventually to engage them in the Jewish community and religious life, we opened a synagogue-based religious school specifically for the children of secular Israelis. We staffed the school with experienced Israeli language teachers and used opportunities such as Jewish holidays to teach this population about Jewish life, which, to their parents’ chagrin, they know almost nothing.

Over the first few years, family after family recounted that they had never expected to feel at home in a synagogue with religious people. They expected coercion, derision, and alienation. Instead, they were surprised to feel embraced and at home in a Jewish religious environment. Indeed, Bais Abraham is particularly suited for them, as an Orthodox congregation that has consciously removed as many barriers to entry as possible. It boasts a most diverse congregational makeup of religious from birth, Jews raised secular, converts, intermarrieds, and people on a spiritual journey.

Two years into the school’s existence, the Israeli families began to trust us and to realize the importance of some Jewish education, to the extent that they asked for an extra hour of study each week for their children to learn about Judaism. I saw this as the school’s true raison d’être. The “Shelanu” Hebrew School now acts as a foundation upon which we provide holiday parties, free High Holy Day seats, Shabbat meals, classes, and connection for Israeli families.

Opening up Jewish Community Centers and other culturally Jewish institutions to Israelis will never be enough to retain Israelis abroad as part of the Jewish people. It will take congregations that are open and welcoming in nature, learning about Israeli culture and the subtleties of engaging this population and meeting their needs, and working to retain their children as part of the Jewish people and engage them in Jewish life. It requires Israeli shelihim, who both understand secular Israeli culture and appreciate a synagogue's religious life, to serve as a bridge to local Israelis. Time is running out. We now face not much more than a 20-year window before the children of these Jews assimilate en masse. It happens as they finish high school and go to college in America with almost no Jewish religious knowledge, identity, or practice. There is little except the desire of their parents and a fuzzy connection to a land across the ocean to stop them from marrying the non-Jew they have met on campus. They have less to hold them back than their Reform or Conservative American-born, synagogue-connected counterparts. We can make a big difference in retaining these Jews and their children as part of the Jewish people and Jewish religion.

It is, in some ways, much easier than engaging a secular American Jew in that Israelis all have much stronger Jewish identities and memories. If we do not wake up quickly and put resources toward this challenge, equipping synagogues across the country to engage Israelis and to understand their unique culture and needs, it will soon be too late for the next generation.

What is it like on campus to be Jewish and a lover of Israel, as a student, as a faculty member? When one reads reports in many Jewish media sources it sounds grim. How bad is it? Is it really bad? I here offer reflections as a long-term faculty member at a number of institutions across the country and at a branch of the University of California since 1989.

I came to the philosophy at the University of California, Riverside, in 1989 from the University of Notre Dame. My wife and I live in Los Angeles, as do our adult son and daughter and her family. My daughter lived in Jerusalem for some years, studied at Pardes, and married her chavrutah. My wife and I are members of Bnai David Judea, a Modern Orthodox congregation. For some 20 years, I’ve spent most of June in Jerusalem, learning at the Chafetz Chaim Yeshiva and attending philosophy conferences at the Hartman Institute.

A few years after joining the UCR faculty, I was approached by the then faculty advisor to Hillel and asked if I would take over as advisor. Given my interests and background, I was eager to do so. Around that time, Dr. Raymond Orbach, an eminent UCLA physicist and administrator took the post of Chancellor of UCR. Orbach was Jewish and wanted to build up the Jewish population of UCR. He was successful in many things but not that one. UCR has always had a relatively small Jewish representation among the students; a much larger representation among the faculty. At the time, UCR was a commuter school, recruiting largely from the local inland areas. More recently, the highly diverse population is from across the state. But it’s certainly not Orthodox-friendly in terms of kosher food or a comfortable Shabbat atmosphere. (I once attempted to make inroads in the kosher food problem, but to no avail.)

Dr. Orbach and I did some fundraising in the Palm Springs area, trying to raise money for Hillel. And to encourage this, I taught a few adult education courses in the Palm Springs area. For two years or so, we received enough support to hire a Hillel Director, a rabbi or lay leader. I would interview the candidates and meet with Dr. Orbach who gratefully had a hands-on approach. At one point we hired an Orthodox lay leader who worked extremely well with the students and quickly became my chavrutah.

The support of the Palm Springs Federation was regular but generally (other than a two or three year period) insufficient to hire a Director. I argued for funding to do more serious Jewish education on campus, but the real stimulus to Federation funding was the occasional threat of anti-Semitism. This seemed to me upside down: Creative programming seemed like a much better way to insure solidity of the campus Jewish presence. Nor was there serious anti-Semitism to worry about. There were occasional issues, but the administration--Orbach and those who followed him--were on top of such things.

The other source of personal frustration was student attitudes to the political/security situation in Israel. Some years back, an Israeli organization--strongly leftist in orientation--sent two speakers to campus, a Palestinian Women’s Studies Professor from BirZeit University and a Jewish Professor of Geography from Ben Gurion University. I was asked to be on a response panel of UCR faculty, a woman from Religious Studies, and two Palestinian-American faculty members from Engineering. I was supposed to speak in between the two Palestinian-Americans. The first one said pretty outrageously wrong things about Israeli policy and attitudes. The Protestant minister who was running the program instantly rearranged it so that I could speak last and respond to both Palestinian-Americans. The second spoke in even harsher terms. This gave me the opportunity to say what I believe, that harsh overstatement and wild condemnation accomplishes nothing, that the moral imperative is to listen to the other side, that the two main speakers, Israeli and Palestinian, represent one opinion among others, one that I disagreed with. One can disagree strongly, but we need to hear one another. Talking points are all too easy; they trade on oversimplification; and they accomplish nothing. I sat down feeling grateful for the opportunity to (I hoped) raise the level of the debate.

Next the students--Hillel students and sympathizers with the Palestinian-Americans--got to ask questions and make comments. Without exception, all we heard were talking points. The pro-Israel students rightly saw the pro-Palestinian remarks as self-serving, and vice versa. Talking points are not going to help mutual understanding, nor are they going to move the sides toward any sort of agreement. My frustration with students on both sides of the divide was a product of my inability to share nuance with them.

Nevertheless, I have had considerable success talking about Israel to campus audiences. On one occasion, the UCR Ethnic Studies program put on its website an inappropriate pro-Palestinian announcement. Our administration was upset and asked me to help organize an evening devoted to the issues. Five faculty members spoke, representing a variety of points of view. My own talk began with my connections to and love for Israel, the time I spend there regularly, as well as my misgivings about Israeli policy. People listened; what they were hearing was a faculty member who clearly had allegiances but who spoke openly, in human terms; not talking points. In fact, the Palestinian students approached me afterward about speaking to their group. Not much came of this after I asked them if they were okay with a Zionist speaker. In any case, they were respectful, a far cry from what we have read about.

One of the campuses of the UC that has a terrible reputation in the Jewish community is UC Irvine, also an hour from Los Angeles, halfway to San Diego. UCI is the campus at which the pro-Palestinian students were arrested subsequent to their unruly and rude protest at a talk given by Israeli ambassador, Michael Oren. I was invited by the UCI Religious Studies Program to give the annual guest lecture. My topic was my work in the philosophy of religion, but as with my book on the subject, The Significance of Religious Experience, I told of my religious struggles and commitments, my love for learning Talmud, and the extensive time I spend in Israel. I spoke about the latter at some length, not sure what to expect.

My talk was well-received and a number of people stayed afterward to pursue the discussion. One of them was an Orthodox Muslim woman; like the rest of the audience she was interested in matters of substance. It was a very pleasant occasion. I have a friend and former chavrutah, closely identified with Israel, who is on the UCI faculty. He reports that the atmosphere on the UCI campus is similar to UCR, that the campus is, in his words, “largely apolitical.” However, in the LA Orthodox community as well as in Israel, I continue to hear that UCI is a hotbed of Palestinian activism, an unfriendly place to Jewish concerns.

A word about my teaching: I teach a variety of courses from very large (300+) service courses (for example, “Evil,” “Introduction to Philosophy”) to small seminars, undergraduate and graduate. A great deal of my teaching concerns philosophy of religion. My style in teaching emphasizes discussion, and it’s quite personal, full of stories and examples from life, literature, film. Since Judaism is the religion I know best, many examples come from Jewish sources: Midrash, Tanakh, Talmud. And the experiences I relate include a great deal about Israel. Especially since my students are largely not Jewish and many not religious at all, I encourage them to bring in their own stories, texts, experiences, and perspectives and they are eager to do so. At no point, in all these years of teaching, have I experienced any ill feeling either about my religious perspective or about Israel. On the contrary, the responses are often warm and welcoming; always respectful both to me and to others in the classes.

My experience with the campuses with which I am familiar, in the UC system and across the country, yields the sense that there is a great deal of exaggeration in the frequently heard media reports these campuses are unfriendly to Jewish/Israeli concerns. That is not to deny that there are professors who confuse education with propaganda. Nor is to deny extremely uncomfortable times when SJP students confront Hillel students. I mentioned the UCR Ethnic Studies website above and I could tell other stories. But these are the exceptions, not the rule, and atmosphere on campus is not unfriendly to Jewish concerns.

The UCR Humanities Center seeks topics of academic concern and holds sessions on these issues. This past fall, a session was held on the proposed academic and cultural boycott of Israeli institutions. Three of us were on the panel: Professor Muhammad Ali, a Muslim from the Religious Studies Department; Professor Brownwyn Lebow, a Jewish (unaffiliated) Professor of Political Science, and me. A few years ago, Professor Ali and I taught a course together on Israel-Palestine; more on that below. All three of us thought that this proposal did not make sense. The audience, some 35 faculty and graduate students, agreed. There were only two advocates for the proposal, the people (I assumed) who brought the proposal to the Humanities Center.

Professor Ali and I taught a course in which we watched films, read history, and talked through issues about Israel and the Palestinians. The atmosphere was again entirely congenial. It was an Honors seminar, with only about a dozen students. One student was a radical leftist, the others just people interested in learning about the region and its history. At one point I assigned a Ha’aretz piece that spoke of injustices to which a group of Palestinians had been subjected. The leftist student came prepared; she argued that this sort of thing is typical, the sort of injustice about which she had been speaking all term. I pointed out that our knowledge of this was a product of an Israeli newspaper, illustrating the sort of freedom of the press and self-criticism characteristic of democracies at their best. The point was not lost on the students.

Anti-semitism, especially in Europe and the Arab world, has resurfaced as a genuine threat. And even where it’s not as much noted, things are not as one would like. I have friends who spent time in Berlin, very enjoyably. But further discussion revealed that one dare not wear a kippah on the streets. And the support for Israel among fundamentalist Christians in the United States always seems to me very thin; I fear that it would not take that much for it to turn. In light of our history and these and other current issues, vigilance makes sense.

At the same time, it’s easy to confuse genuine criticism of Israeli policy for anti-Semitism. We are blessed that the State of Israel is a world power. Such international actors are regularly criticized. Indeed, such criticism helps to keep the world from falling into a worse place than it is. Some are focused on what they see as the unfair standards by which Israel is judged. There is surely something to this. But the same can be said of criticism the United States. While anti-Semitism may get into the mix, there is surely more here than simple prejudice.

When one turns to the situation on campus, one similarly wants to be alert to anti-Semitism without confusing it with legitimate differences of perspective. Part of what we--I--feel about Israel is something like family-feeling. And others belong to other families. As mentioned, there are from time to time campus incidents that cry out for our attention. At the same time we need to question the reports we read, especially when authored by those with strong commitments on the issue in question.

Comments of Rabbi Marc D. Angel
A symposium on contemporary Orthodoxy, Tradition Magazine, vol. 32, no. 4, Summer 1998

The Status of Women in Orthodoxy

The past sixty years have witnessed a remarkable transformation in the status of women in general society, and this has obviously had an impact on Orthodoxy.
While some segments of the community do their best to deny or ignore the changed reality, others attempt to find ways of expanding women’s role in Orthodox life within the parameters of halakha. While in some Orthodox communities it is forbidden for women to study Talmud, in others it is allowed and encouraged. While some Orthodox communities have made no efforts to expand ritual opportunities for women in synagogues, others have instituted women’s prayer groups, Megilla readings, hakafot. Women serve on the boards of a number of Orthodox synagogues, and also are involved in education and hesed work.

We are living in a transitional period vis-à-vis the role of women in religious life. Different approaches are being tried; but it will probably be several generations before we reach a real consensus as to what will be deemed “normative.”

The wisest approach is to keep our options open. We need to explore halakhically acceptable ways of meaningfully involving women in as many aspects of religious life as possible. No one today should state with certainty what the “truth” is on this topic because no one really can know for sure how things will develop. One hundred years ago, it would have been deemed sinful to teach Talmud to women; today, some of our best and brightest Orthodox women study Talmud. Again, let me emphasize: the role of women—as of men—must always be within halakhic boundaries.

The Need for Diversity within Orthodoxy

Anything that moves Jews away from traditional faith and observance is a threat to Orthodoxy. This includes the non-Orthodox movements as well as secularism.

One general response has been to strengthen ourselves so that we and our families are not swept away from Torah and mitzvoth; we have built synagogues, day schools and yeshivot, communal institutions; we have published books and magazines; we have utilized modern technology to spread Torah study through tapes, videos, the Internet.
We have also sought to reach the non-Orthodox in various ways. Some have chosen the road of dialogue and friendship; others have emphasized outreach programs; some have separated themselves from direct contact with the non-Orthodox.

Our strategies have had some success, yet all of them have failed. The evidence of this failure is that the vast majority of Jews do not share our commitment to Torah and mitzvoth. In spite of all the heroic and inspired work of generations of Orthodox Jews, the overwhelming number of Jews are not Orthodox—and many are anti-Orthodox. The assimilation rates among the non-Orthodox are frightening.

Creative, dynamic Orthodoxy should be providing non-Orthodox Jews with vibrant, alternative models. We need to foster a healthy diversity within Orthodoxy, giving as many options as possible for non-Orthodox Jews to find a suitable entry point for a life of Torah and mitzvoth. Whether right wing or left wing or centrist, whether Sephardi or Ashkenazi, whether rationalistic or kabbalistic—the more diversity within Orthodoxy, the more the possibility of reaching those who are not presently within our camp.

Yet, precisely now, when we vitally need legitimate diversity, we are witnessing a shrinking of options within Orthodoxy. The growing narrowness in Orthodoxy is reflected by the growing narrowness in clothing styles deemed appropriate for Torah-true Jews.

Worse, the range of legitimate intellectual and halakhic options is contracting. The forces for conformity are powerful; and one who dares not to conform will be intimidated or isolated. We have Moroccan and Yemenite rabbis in Israel who dress like Eastern European rabbis because they feel they will not be accepted as rabbis if they do not conform. We have people afraid to make controversial statements in public because they fear communal reprisals. One rabbi has referred to the contemporary situation as the “Artscrolling of Judaism,” i.e., only a certain range of interpretation is allowed, and only certain sages are given recognition.

If Orthodoxy is to meet the critical challenge of this generation, then it must reject the tendency toward narrowness and unthinking authoritarianism. It must be open, fresh, imaginative; it must give sway to the human mind and soul; it must foster diversity of thought and diversity of style—all within the boundaries of Torah and halakha.

The Orthodox community must be governed by the principle of derakheha darkehei no’am. We must represent Torah as a sweet, pleasant and meaningful way of life. To do otherwise is to discredit Torah and to generate hatred toward Orthodoxy.

Right Wing, Left Wing, Centrist

Tendencies in religious life vary from period to period. Sometimes the mood is more to the right, sometimes more to the left; but most of the time it hovers near the center. People, by and large, are not extremists and will not live indefinitely with extreme positions. They, or their children or grandchildren, will seek a more balanced outlook.

Musar

A religious Jew must be heroic; must have a deep sense of inner calm and confidence; must not be afraid to be different. It is valuable to draw on the ethical and moral guidance of our great Musar writers. I personally have found much strength in the Pele Yoets of Rabbi Eliezer Papo.

Rabbi Marc D. Angel is Founder and Director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals; Rabbi Emeritus of Congregation Shearith Israel; author and editor of many books. Here are his thoughts on turning 70.
Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah said: Here I am as a man of 70 years old, yet I was not privileged to know the source of the commandment to recite the story of the exodus from Egypt at night, until Ben Zoma interpreted the verse. The Torah states (Devarim 16:3) “so that you will remember the day you went out from the land of Egypt ALL the days of your life.” If the verse had stated “the days of your life” I would understand the commandment to refer to days. Since it adds the word ALL, this comes to include nights. The sages have interpreted the verse as follows: The days of your life refers to this world; ALL the days of your life comes to include the days of the Messiah.

The above Talmudic passage, well known due to its inclusion in the text of the Passover Haggada, relates to Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah. The sages of Yavneh, during the period following the destruction of the Second Temple in Jerusalem, wanted to appoint Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah as head of the Academy. He was a brilliant scholar, respected and beloved by his colleagues. But he had one shortcoming: he was too young! It was considered inappropriate to have such a young man as head of the venerable rabbinic sages of Yavneh.

The Talmud relates that a miracle happened. The young Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah woke up one morning and found that his hair and his beard had turned gray! He now looked like an elder. When his colleagues viewed his new appearance, they then felt comfortable asking him to become head of the Academy of Yavneh.

So Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah had the best of both worlds: he was chronologically a young man, full of the strength and energy of youth; but he was also (at least in appearance) an old man, filled with the experience and sagacity of age.
What a great combination! What a wonderful blessing to be young and old at the same time!

Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah, once he was “as a man of 70 years old,” realized something very important, something he had learned from Ben Zoma. One is obligated to recite the story of the Exodus from Egypt at night. This lesson, I believe, goes beyond the technical issue of when to recite the Haggada. It reflects a religious worldview.

Night symbolizes the time of darkness, the crises and sadnesses of life. At night, things seem bleak, even frightening. Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah came to understand that even at the “nights” of life, one must recite the story of redemption. One must look forward to the coming dawn. One must see beyond the darkness and envision the brightness and glory yet to come.

The secret of being young and old simultaneously is: maintaining hope, looking ahead, overcoming gloom and failure by focusing on the brightness on the horizon.

A wit once said: You don’t stop laughing when you get old; you get old when you stop laughing. This can be rephrased: You don’t stop dreaming and growing when you get old; you get old when you stop dreaming and growing.

It is a great blessing to reach age 70. One can look back on a long span of life’s joys and achievements. But one, inevitably, also looks back on a long span of life’s sad moments and failings.

I thank the Almighty for having brought me to this special time of my life. I don’t have adequate words to express my joy and gratitude to my wife Gilda, to our children and grandchildren, to our relatives and friends who have made life so worthwhile and so satisfying. I thank all those who have been steadfast and loyal in their friendship over these many years. I am grateful for the special people and the special moments of my life. My cup overflows.

But one cannot reach age 70 without having experienced sadness and loss. I remember with profound love my late parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts; my parents-in-law and so many relatives and friends who have passed on to their eternal reward. I sometimes quip that I have more friends in the next world than I do in this world; although this is just a quip, it has a lot of truth in it. So many loved ones and real friends have died, but their memories continue to inspire.

One of the common features of aging is a sense of “contraction.” One’s physical strength isn’t what it used to be. One’s circle of relatives and friends changes—and often contracts—as the mysteries of life and death play out. One’s professional life changes—and often contracts—as one grows older and less “productive.”

So I find great satisfaction in thinking about Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah’s ability to be young and old at the same time. I find great meaning in his lesson to overcome darkness by envisioning the coming redemption.

In a sense, I feel that I have a reverse situation to that of Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah. I AM a man of 70 years old; and yet, I thank the Almighty that I have the enthusiasm, optimism and energy of someone much younger in years. Instead of letting life “contract,” I have been very fortunate to keep “expanding” the scope of life, through our growing family, through my work for the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, and through my ongoing writing, teaching and lecturing. I pray that the Almighty will bless me with additional years of learning, growing and sharing.

The Messianic era has not yet arrived. There is much work to do, many challenges ahead. I am grateful for the many wonderful yesterdays of life. I pray to be worthy of many wonderful tomorrows, together with Gilda and our family, our loved ones, and our true and trusted friends.

May the Almighty Who brings harmony in the spheres above, bring peace to us, to all Israel, to all good people everywhere.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel is a wonderfully creative teacher of Tanach who has attempted something very daring in his latest book. The multiple books he has published in the past explore complex themes across the Bible. He utilizes commentaries throughout the ages but pays particular attention to recent studies, including critical academic works. He will take any perceptive insight that fits into the Orthodox view of the text, regardless of its source. Those books are Biblical analyses for advanced students by a master teacher. In A Synagogue Companion, Rabbi Angel attempts something completely different. Rather than addressing the advanced student, Rabbi Angel reaches out to the average synagogue attendee with deep literary insights into the holy text. This is a challenging task. He must balance the needs of his intended audience with the sophisticated methodologies and sources he uses. Yet he succeeds marvelously in this astonishingly simple yet profound book. On each parashah, Rabbi Angel writes a few short essays using primarily modern techniques of commentary to explain key themes and passages. With his exceptional clarity, he offers popular adaptations of critical and literary studies that are appropriate for synagogue reading (presumably in between aliyot). Because he is so meticulous at listing his sources, the reader sees the breadth of his reading and the humility of his writing, quoting web sites and scholarly journals that are insightful, even if outside mainstream scholarship. The result is stunning—thoughtful insights and ethical lessons that are relevant because they reflect timely concerns yet textually sound because they emerge from rigorous analyses. The book concludes with similar studies of haftarot and, remarkably, prayer. Rabbi Angel applies these same methods of textual study to the prayerbook, enlightening and inspiring toward more meaningful tefillah. A Synagogue Companion is the rare commentary that offers profound insights for everyone, regardless of background, as long as they are interested in the synagogue texts.

I first visited Tel Aviv’s Chief Rabbi Haim David Halevy, of blessed memory, in the summer of 1984. I was then a 15-year veteran of the American Orthodox rabbinate serving a large congregation in New York City.

At our meeting, we discussed the increasing authoritarianism and extremism that were spreading relentlessly within the Orthodox world. With sadness in his eyes, he asked me: “Have you heard of the mafia? We have a rabbinic mafia here in Israel!” A small clique was arrogating power to itself and marginalizing those who held opinions that differed with them. Instead of viewing halakha in its remarkable diversity, this clique was advocating a halakha that seemed to have only one answer to every question, one view on every issue.

Rabbi Halevy looked forward to the day when all Jews would be living in Israel. But as long as Jews were living in the diaspora, they needed religious leadership. Rabbi Halevy—and other leading rabbis of those days—viewed the American Orthodox rabbinate as partners and friends. They understood that these rabbis devoted their lives to spreading the teachings of Torah, and that they struggled mightily to maintain Orthodoxy within an American Jewry that was overwhelmingly not Orthodox.

In my memory, I have relived my 1984 meeting with Rabbi Halevy many times. As I write these lines, I am reliving that meeting once again.

Rabbi Halevy lamented the marginalization of rabbis who do not follow the “party line,” who offer original halakhic opinions, who refuse to stifle their freedom in order to curry favor with the rabbinic power-brokers. This tendency has only worsened in recent years. One manifestation of this is the current attempt to marginalize Rabbi Avi Weiss of Riverdale, New York. The Chief Rabbinate of Israel has refused to accept Rabbi Weiss’s letter attesting to the Jewishness of one of his congregants.

Rabbi Weiss has spent a lifetime working for Torah and mitzvoth. His Orthodox commitments are beyond reproach. He is one of the most prominent Orthodox rabbis in America, having built a thriving community, having brought many Jews into Torah learning and observance, having founded an Orthodox rabbinical school, having sacrificed so much for the honor of Torah, Israel and the Jewish people.

How then is it possible for the Chief Rabbinate to discredit him? I recall Rabbi Halevy’s sad observation that there is a rabbinic “mafia” at work, a group which sees itself as the only legitimate gatekeepers of Orthodoxy. Rabbi Weiss is surely not popular among this “mafia.” He unabashedly argues for a creative, open, modern Orthodoxy. He seeks ways, within halakhic parameters, to increase the role of women in our synagogues and communities. He seeks ways of working together with all Jews, Orthodox and non-Orthodox. He strives to enhance relationships between the Jewish community and the non-Jewish communities among whom we live.

Rabbi Avi Weiss does not wear a black hat, nor have a long beard, nor hang his tsitsith outside his pants. But he surely is Orthodox, and proudly so. For the Chief Rabbinate to delegitimize Rabbi Weiss’s Orthodoxy is not only a sin against Rabbi Weiss, but against all modern Orthodox rabbis—and a sin against Torah itself.

Rabbi Halevy—and other leading rabbis of his time—viewed the Orthodox rabbinate of the diaspora as allies. The Chief Rabbinate relied upon these rabbis and trusted their documents of Jewish identity and conversion.

This sense of partnership snapped when the Chief Rabbinate of Israel in 2006 stated that it would no longer accept documents of conversion by Orthodox rabbis of the diaspora, unless these rabbis were on an “approved” list. Thus, in one fell swoop, the Chief Rabbinate undermined the authority and credibility of hundreds of American Orthodox rabbis. The sense of partnership has slipped into the outright alienation of many American Orthodox rabbis from the Chief Rabbinate. The Rabbanut’s shoddy treatment of Rabbi Weiss deepens this alienation.

Modern Orthodox rabbis and their many communities wonder: Can we still have respect for Israel’s Chief Rabbinate? Why has the State of Israel allowed its Chief Rabbinate to slander Rabbi Weiss and the entire modern Orthodox Jewish community of America? Why is the glory of Torah being dragged into the mud by a clique of rabbinic power-brokers whose views on Torah are so narrow and extreme?

I can still visualize Rabbi Halevy’s sad countenance when he spoke to me of the rabbinic “mafia” that was endangering religious life. I can still hear his words of encouragement to me and other diaspora Orthodox rabbis: “Happy are you who keep the flame of Torah alive in your communities.” It is now nearly thirty years later. The extremists have grown more extreme. The partnership between the Israeli Chief Rabbinate and the diaspora modern Orthodox rabbis has frayed to the breaking point.

The issue today is not the Orthodox legitimacy of Rabbi Weiss and the modern Orthodox rabbinate. The issue is the legitimacy of Israel’s Chief Rabbinate and the “hareidized” rabbinic establishment. Will the Jews in Israel and the diaspora finally stand up against a religious tyranny that is poisoning the soul of Judaism and undermining the spiritual wellbeing of the Jewish people?

June 4, 2013

To our members and friends of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals: I am delighted to have begun working for the Institute as of June 1.

It is an honor and privilege to build a shared vision with my father, the Institute’s founder and director, Rabbi Marc D. Angel, and with all of you. After seventeen years of serving in the rabbinate, I am delighted to transition to a career of full-time Jewish education, which will include the robust position of National Scholar of the Institute, as well as a full-time appointment teaching Bible at Yeshiva University. My goals as National Scholar include a broad menu of educational programs and writings, with the goal of bringing our shared vision of an open, vibrant, inclusive Orthodoxy to the broader community through classes, publications and electronic media. I will be developing and teaching adult education classes, giving lectures for the Institute’s University Network, creating online classes, teaching teachers in Jewish Day Schools, working on publications, serving as scholar in residence in various communities... and more.

As we launch the position of National Scholar of the Institute, here are some of my first activities.

• Served as Scholar-in-residence in the Young Israel of Jamaica Estates, Queens, NY, on Shabbat May 31-June 1.

• Serving as Scholar-in-residence in the Young Israel of Stamford, Connecticut, June 21-22.

• Produced audio for several lectures on Bible that will be converted into online videos through the Aleph Beta Academy (alephbeta.org). This creative online institution develops educational videos for High School students, College students, and interested adults. My videos will survey much of the Bible. The Joshua classes are now available online, and over the next couple of months we will produce at least thirteen more courses.

• Conducting a teacher training program at the Ida Crown Academy (Chicago) on June 10. I have been working together with their Tanakh faculty to develop their curriculum, incorporate a sound learning methodology, and prepare students better for their collegiate years ahead when they take academic Bible courses.

• Participating in the Experiential Education program run by Yeshiva University on June 26, developed for Day School educators across the country.

• Preparing a Synagogue Companion with commentary on the Torah, Haftarot, and the Shabbat morning prayer service. This volume will contain short pieces—generally 300-500 words each, to deliver meaningful content to people of all backgrounds. Bibliographies are included for those who wish to explore any of the topics more thoroughly. The Institute is aiming to publish this volume in January 2014.

• Working to arrange parlor meetings to spread our Institute’s vision of an intellectually vibrant, compassionate and inclusive Orthodox Judaism. We hope these parlor meetings will generate new support for the Institute as we dramatically increase our work. If you would like to host a parlor meeting, please contact me. I welcome your ideas and suggestions. Please feel free to contact me at [email protected] I look forward to helping build our shared vision together with you. Thank you for your support and dedication.

Now that Natan Sharansky is going public with his proposal to resolve the Kotel conflict, it is time for the leadership of Modern Orthodoxy to speak out. The message should not be only support for Sharansky’s Solomonic proposal but to dissociate from the policies and tactics practiced by the haredi Western Wall Heritage Foundation.

Modern Orthodox’s leadership was held back by fear that if they criticized the authorities at the Wall, the Women of the Wall would get their way and Modern Orthodoxy would be accused internally of having enabled a victory of liberal Judaism over Orthodox religious practice. Now that Sharansky has proposed a way in which justice is done but there are no losers, the Modern Orthodox establishment should strongly support the plan – and separate itself from the current Kotel leadership.

First of all, Modern Orthodox should make clear that they affirm that the Kotel is the sacred space of the entire Jewish people and not a haredi synagogue where only haredi social norms should be followed. The Kotel existed before the synagogue became the institution of prayer and service of God. The Wall is an historical treasure of the whole nation. The majority of the Jewish people is not observant – yet they have a legitimate share in this national icon, not to mention a full right to be there. Part of the Sharansky solution is to take back the Wall Plaza for secular national programs, for IDF dedication ceremonies, etc. – many of which have stopped being held there because of haredi restrictions on women’s presence, visibility and singing as well as on head covering, etc.

The Modern Orthodox should also dissociate themselves from the haredi suppression of women’s services. By excluding liberal services in general, the haredim have pitted Israel’s commitment to being Jewish against its commitment to democracy. It was wrong to do this. There are tensions built in the relationship of Judaism and democracy. These tensions should and can be minimized by sensitivity and flexibility in practice and by respecting minority rights. Instead the conflict was aggravated by exploiting Orthodoxy’s established status and its majority support in Israel to override the rights and needs of the liberal minority and of the Women of the Wall. Currently a majority of Israelis deem Orthodoxy to be the authentic brand of Judaism – even if they are personally non-observant. Therefore, they tolerated the unequal treatment of liberal Jews. But this trampled the rights of non-Orthodox Jews and offended many Jews, especially in the diaspora.

Secondly, the authorities committed a Chillul Hashem [a desecration of God’s name] by prodding the police to arrest women for wearing a tallit or carrying a Torah, and threatening to arrest them for reciting Kaddish. This flagrant foul was infamously aggravated by the strip-search inflicted on Anat Hoffman, leader of the Women of the Wall. Essentially, the haredim pressed for these arrests for their own ‘convenience’, i.e. not to be disturbed. The arrests have left a permanent mark of shame: in the Jewish state, Jews were arrested for exercising their religious freedom to worship God.

These wrong actions were raised to the level of reckless endangerment in that these arrests were trumpeted around the world by Israel’s enemies as proof that the Jewish state is governed by a theocracy that oppresses women. The main line of Israel’s defense and support in the West is the recognition that Israel is a genuine democracy whereas its enemies represent despotic societies that mistreat women and religious minorities. By giving some appearance of truth to claims that Israel mistreats women and religious minorities, these authorities have struck a blow at the foundations of Israel’s security.

It is true that the Supreme Court of Israel ruled that the Women of the Wall must respect the customs of the existing (haredi) Synagogue at the Wall. But the Supreme Court acted under pressure from the right and the haredim. It sought to satisfy the established group for the sake of reducing societal tensions while (in true democratic spirit) giving the women equal access to the Kotel at Robinson’s Arch. [Afterwards, equal conditions were not set up; under Sharansky’s plan, this will be corrected.] The Supreme Court’s actions can be compared to the U. S. Supreme Court’s upholding tax loopholes that are in place – even as it knows this is bad for society and that it is letting an exploitative minority take advantage of the majority. The Women then protested through civil disobedience. They should never have been arrested or physically harassed for these actions.

It is time for the Modern Orthodox to say all this – because the Wall is not the only problem point. There is a continuing unfair treatment of women in rabbinic courts. And the liberal movements still are being discriminated against by the religious establishment, which is exploiting the fact that Orthodoxy was established decades ago by democratic processes. Fair and equal treatment should be extended to all, now – and accommodations made for the Women of the Wall until the Kotel area is reconfigured.

In Israel’s national elections in January the public rose up and empowered the modern religious Zionist political party to take leadership and to partner with secular Jews. The motivation was to stop the discriminatory funding for haredim under current law and to insure that a fair share of the tax and military service burden be taken up by all sectors of the population. It is time for American Modern Orthodoxy to step up for a fair sharing of the Wall and its Plaza with all sectors of Jewry in Israel and in the diaspora.

In truth, I believe that Modern Orthodoxy owes an apology to the Women of the Wall for remaining silent while they were being harassed and denied their religious rights by authorities misusing the levers of a democratic society. However, given the present balance of power in Orthodoxy and the disproportionate influence of the haredim on the current Modern Orthodox establishment, I do not believe that realistically could happen – so I do not propose it. However, the time is now – and the community opinion is ripe – to speak up and to support the Sharansky proposal. This act would honor Orthodoxy. And a fair sharing will restore the dignity and luster of the Kotel as an ancient/eternal place of holiness and mentschlichkeit where Jews are united before God.

The tired, the poor, the huddled masses, the homeless: they make us uncomfortable.

Compassion demands that we care for them and help relieve their sufferings. But pragmatism pushes us in a different direction. The beggars and the needy are nuisances, impinging on our quality of life. They cost us money, effort and time. And they never seem to go away.

The needy are a weight on our consciences as individuals and as a society.

During the 19th century, Thomas Malthus offered a suggestion on how to deal with the burgeoning population of poor and helpless. Malthus believed that social engineers should arrange for the poor to have a high rate of mortality. “In our towns we should make the streets narrower, crowd more people into houses, and count on the return of the plague. In the country, we should build our villages near stagnant pools, and particularly encourage settlement in all marshy and unwholesome situations.”

This drastic approach should strike us as being immoral and ruthless. Yet, in certain ways, our contemporary society does seem to follow the advice given by Malthus. Poor people are often concentrated in slums, out of our sight. In Malthusian terms, if the poor live in areas with a higher mortality rate, less health care, more crime—this is part of the solution rather than part of the problem. Indeed, many people seem quite content to let the poor suffer and die, as long as they do so in their own part of town and out of our line of vision.

But if we will all agree that this “solution” is no solution at all, then what, after all, can be done? We spend billions of dollars on welfare and social programs, and yet the problems do not get solved. Some say: The Government should deal with these problems! Social agencies and philanthropies should solve the problems! Others say: The poor and needy should help themselves. Yet others “solve” the problem by moving away to an expensive area where the poor cannot afford to follow.

All of these “solutions” don’t solve the problems, nor do they resolve the inner conflict of each moral person in our society.

Expecting someone else to eliminate the crisis does not work. Running away from the problem is only a short lived venture in escapism. The problem always follows.

For many years, our synagogue operated a shelter for homeless men. I had a conversation with one of our homeless guests, and lamented the seeming impossibility of solving the problem of homelessness. Our homeless shelter was merely a tiny bandage, it was not curing homelessness.

The homeless person to whom I was complaining looked perplexed. He gave me some good advice: “Don’t focus on the whole problem. Think of one person at a time. The shelter is keeping me warm and safe for this night. Perhaps tomorrow will be better.”

None of us can solve the overall problem. None of us can relieve all the suffering, poverty and illness in the world. But every one of us can do something. We can create a human connection with at least one person, maybe a few more. We can give contributions of money and time. We can think of the poor and downtrodden not as “them” but as part of “us.”

Will this process solve all the problems? Probably not. Will we still have a moral dilemma and a troubled conscience? Very likely. And perhaps this is a true sign of a moral individual and of a moral society. Moral people face the gap between the ideal world and the real world, and try to bring the two closer together. This process involves frustration, guilt, inner conflict. When we stop feeling the pain of this dilemma, we have lost a powerful moral impulse.

This week’s Torah reading focuses on the first stages of redemption of the Israelites from their slavery in Egypt. For generations, Egyptians felt no moral qualms about forcing the Israelites into servitude, or murdering the Israelites’ children, or seeing the daily sufferings of the Israelite slaves. When a society loses its moral conscience, it tolerates—and promotes—dehumanization of its weakest and neediest members.

Moses and Aaron strove to stoke Pharaoh’s moral conscience. God brought plagues on the Egyptians with the intention of making them see the wickedness of their immoral treatment of the Israelite slaves. It was a long, arduous and painful process before the Israelites were finally allowed to go free.

A moral conscience helps us sympathize with the poor and downtrodden; it helps us maintain sensitivity to the needs of others; it prods us to do something—however small—to alleviate the pain and suffering of our fellow human beings.

If each one of us does something to help someone in need, this is a reflection of a living moral impulse. Each gesture of kindness is a contribution not only to the human being whom we help, but to society at large—and to our own moral development.