National Scholar Updates

How Large is a "K'zayit?" Really.

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(This is a slightly edited version of an article by Rabbi David Bar-Hayim that originally was published some years ago.)

Rashi almost certainly never saw an olive. The same goes for other medieval authorities in Ashk’naz (Germany-Northern France). This little-known but indisputable fact should matter to you. It has everything to do with the following question: Is Halakhic Judaism rational and rooted in reality, or is it a hypothetical construct unconducive to engaging the real world?

It is a simple matter to ascertain, or describe to another, the volume of an average olive, a ‘k’zayit’…provided you have olives. But what if you have never seen an olive? How would you understand the concept? How would you describe it to someone unfamiliar with olives?

This was the reality in Ashk’naz in the Middle Ages, and there is no mystery as to why. The olive tree is native to the Mediterranean basin, from Israel in the East to Spain in the west; it does not naturally grow elsewhere. In Roman times, due to the trade routes which crisscrossed the Empire, olives may have made their way to Germany and beyond. The collapse of Rome, however, led to a breakdown of law and order, and therefore trade.

Medieval Ashk’nazim were unfamiliar with olives, a fact confirmed by R. Eliezer b. Yoel’s (d. circa 1225) discussion of the minimal amount required for a b’rakha aharona: “Wherever a k’zayith is required, one needs a sizeable amount of food, because we are unfamiliar with the size of an olive…” (Ra’avya, B’rakhoth 107).

Some Ashk’nazi authorities concluded that an olive was half the volume of an egg, while others demonstrated, based on Talmudic sources, that it must be less than one third of an egg. How much less they could not say. The truth, of course, is different, as was clearly perceived by one 14th century authority who actually made it to Eretz Yisrael. Responding to the proposition that a person could swallow three k’zaytim at once (which is quite impossible if one assumes a k’zayit to be half of an egg in volume) he wrote: “As for me, the matter is plain, for I saw olives in Eretz Yisrael and Yerushalayim, and even six were not equal to an egg.” S’pharadi authorities, on the other hand, had no such difficulties. One wrote that an olive is “much less” than a quarter of an egg (Rashba), while another mentions in passing that a dried fig is equal to “several olives” (Rittba). The last three statements, made by sages who saw olives, are entirely accurate.

In present day Halakhic practice, predicated on opinions rooted in the aforementioned lack of knowledge and experience, a k’zayit is often said to be 30 cc, while others say 60 cc. These figures bear no relation to the real world olives of Eretz Yisrael which average 3-5 cc. It is claimed by some that once upon a time olives were much larger. This claim is false. Olives and olive trees have not changed, as evidenced by the fact that there are over 70 olive trees in Israel ranging between 1,700-2000 years old, and 7 are approximately 3000 years old. These trees continue to produce fruit identical to the olives of younger trees. Halakhic responsa from the G’onic period echo these facts, stating plainly that olives do not change. Some would have you believe that there are two kinds of olives: real olives and ‘Halakhic’ olives. In their view, Halakha need not reflect reality; it exists in an alternate reality of its own. This is a tragedy because it paints Judaism as divorced from reality and irrelevant to a rational person. This is a lie because Torah was intended by Hashem as our handbook for operating in the real world.

The ultimate purpose of Judaism was announced by the Creator before He transmitted the Torah to His people: “And you shall be for My purpose a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exodus 19:6). The nation of Israel is the priest connecting God and mankind. “I, God, have summoned you for a righteous purpose…. and have assigned you for my covenant with humanity, a light for the nations” (Isaiah 42:6).

The Jewish people, in order to succeed, have to live and lead in the real world. To deal with the challenges facing us as a nation we must think, act and believe rationally. A rational person does not believe in olives 20 times the size of the olives we see with our own eyes. To deal with reality, we have to get real.

Paired Perspectives on the Parashah: Vayakhel

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Rabbi Hayyim Angel

Introduction

 

The narrative arc of the Tabernacle reaches its culmination in Vayakhel. What began with the divine blueprints in Parashat Terumah now becomes a human achievement. The Torah lingers over the construction with remarkable detail, signaling that something essential is being revealed—not only about Israel’s worship, but about Israel’s relationship with God and the world.

 

Two complementary perspectives illuminate the meaning and purpose of the Tabernacle. One views it as a portable continuation of Sinai—revelation institutionalized and made ongoing. The other reads the Tabernacle as a recreation of Creation and the Garden of Eden—a sacred space in which humanity is invited back into God’s presence. Seen together, these perspectives frame the Tabernacle as the fulfillment of God’s purposes in history.

 

Perspective I — The Tabernacle as Sinai Redux

 

Ramban argues that the Tabernacle is the perpetuation of the Sinaitic theophany. In his commentary to Exodus (25:2), Ramban writes that Israel was commanded to construct a sanctuary so that the revelatory experience of Sinai might continue among them in permanent form. The cloud, the fire, and the divine speech—all elements of the original revelation—reappear within the sanctuary. What Israel had witnessed briefly at Sinai would now accompany them in their journeys.

 

Ramban reinforces the Sinai parallel through close attention to textual sequence. The spatial structure reinforces this point: the summit of Sinai corresponds to the Kodesh ha-Kodashim, accessible only to Moses (or later the High Priest); the middle zone corresponds to the Kodesh, for elders and priests; the base corresponds to the courtyard, where the altar stands. In both settings, God descends and speaks from the sacred center.

 

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks cited Max Weber’s insight that transformative charismatic events survive only when they are routinized—translated into enduring institutions and practices. Sinai was unparalleled, but it was also ephemeral. Its survival required the regular rhythms of commanded worship. 

 

In his introduction to Exodus, Ramban adds one more layer: the Tabernacle completes the redemption from Egypt. Redemption is not fulfilled by liberation alone but by God dwelling among Israel, restoring them to the spiritual stature of the Patriarchs, with whom the Divine Presence rested continuously. Revelation becomes residence; Sinai becomes home.

 

Perspective II — The Tabernacle as Creation and Eden Redux

 

Another set of sources views the Tabernacle not through the lens of Sinai but through the lens of Creation and Eden. The Tabernacle stabilizes the world and invites humanity back into sacred space.

 

A remarkable Midrash (Numbers Rabbah 12:12–13) teaches that the world was like a two-legged stool until the Tabernacle was erected, and only then did it stand firm. Creation itself, the Midrash implies, is incomplete until God’s Presence dwells in the world through human action. The partnership between God and Israel brings the world to its intended stability.

 

The Torah reinforces the Creation parallel in narrative detail. When the construction is finished, “Vayekhal Moshe et ha-melakhah”—“Moses completed the work” (Exodus 40:33; cf. 39:32), echoing “Vayekhulu ha-shamayim ve-ha-aretz” at the end of Creation. Moses beholds the finished work and blesses it (39:42–43), as God does in Genesis. Vayakhel thus portrays human beings engaging in creative labor that mirrors God’s creative labor.

 

The placement of Shabbat laws on either side of the Tabernacle narrative underscores the point. The command to build concludes with Shabbat (31:12–17), and the account of building begins with Shabbat (35:1–3). God created the world in six days and ceased on the seventh; Israel builds the Tabernacle and refrains on the seventh. The categories of prohibited labor on Shabbat derive from Tabernacle work (Shabbat 49b), demonstrating that sacred human creativity is bounded by sacred restraint.

 

A final set of texts extends the analogy from Creation to Eden. Humanity’s ideal state was to remain with God in the Garden, obeying His command. Sin led to exile, and God stationed cherubim to guard the way to the Tree of Life (Genesis 3:22–24). In the Tabernacle, cherubim reappear—this time not as guardians against intrusion but as symbols of Divine Presence above the Tablets of the Torah, which becomes a new Tree of Life. The sanctuary thereby becomes a realized Edenic space, inviting all humanity—through Israel—to fulfill their potential as bearers of God’s image.

 

Other Midrashim reinforce the theme. Pirkei de-Rabbi Eliezer locates Eden’s opening at Moriah (Temple Mount in Jerusalem), linking primordial sacred geography to Jerusalem. Eden thus migrates from Mesopotamia to Zion, and exile gives way to return.

 

Conclusion — Revelation Institutionalized, Creation Completed

 

Seen through these two lenses, the Tabernacle accomplishes a double transformation. It converts the unrepeatable revelation of Sinai into a sustained relationship mediated through discipline, routine, and commanded worship. And it completes creation by enabling humanity to participate in its perfection, returning to the sacred space from which it once departed.

The Tabernacle therefore belongs not only to the story of Israel but to the story of the world. Revelation, creation, and redemption converge in the sanctuary. In Vayakhel, Israel learns not only to receive God’s gifts but to build a world in which God’s Presence can dwell.

Be Strong: Thoughts for Vayakhel-Pekudei-Hahodesh

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Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Pekudei

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

Many years ago, a young lady came to my office to discuss the possibility of her conversion to Judaism. She was raised in Saudi Arabia to American parents in the American military. She grew up hating Israel and hating Jews—although she had never met either an Israeli or a Jew.

When she reached college age, she came to the United States to study here. She met Jewish students and found that they were nice people, not at all like the stereotypical Jews she had learned to hate as a child. She began to study Judaism. She learned about Jewish history and about modern Israel. She eventually met, and fell in love with, an Israeli man.

In due course, she converted to Judaism, married the Israeli, established a religiously traditional household, and had children who attended Jewish day schools when they came of age.

We discussed the remarkable transformation of her life…from a hater of Jews and Israel, to an actively religious Jew, married to an Israeli Jew. In one of our conversations, she mused: “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if all haters could suddenly find themselves in the shoes of the ones they hate? If only people really understood the hated victims by actually living as one of them!”

She came to this insight through her personal experiences. She overcame blind hatred by literally becoming one of those she had previously despised. She wished that all haters would at least try to see their victims as fellow human beings rather than as unhuman stereotypes. If only people could replace their hatred with empathy!

While this is an important insight, it obviously eludes many people. Our societies are riddled with racism, anti-Semitism, anti-nationality x or anti-ethnicity y. It seems that many people prefer to hate rather than to empathize. They somehow imagine that they are stronger if they tear others down. In one of his essays, Umberto Eco suggests that human beings need enemies! It is through their enemies that they solidify their own identities.

Yet, if we truly want to be strong individuals, we need to define ourselves by our own values—not by who we hate or who we see as our enemies. A person with inner strength is a person who can empathize with others, can overcome hatred, and can find fellowship even with those of different religion, race or nationality. Hatred is a sign of weakness, a defect in our own souls.

This week's Parasha brings us to the end of the book of Exodus. It is customary in some congregations for congregants to call out at the conclusion of the Torah reading: "Hazak ve-nit-hazak, hizku ve-ya-ametz levavhem kol ha-myahalim la-do-nai." Be strong, and let us strengthen ourselves; be strong and let your heart have courage, all you who hope in the Lord. This is a way of celebrating the completion of a book of the Torah, and encouraging us to continue in the path of Torah study so we may complete other books as well.

I think that a phrase from the above-quoted text can be interpreted as follows: hizku--strengthen yourselves, be resolute; ve- ye-ametz levavhem--and God will give courage to your hearts. First, you need to strengthen yourselves, develop the power of empathy and love. Then, God will give you the added fortitude to fulfill your goals. If we strengthen ourselves, we may trust that the Almighty will give us added strength.

Be strong, unafraid, empathetic; if we hone these values within ourselves and our families, we may be hopeful that the Almighty will grant us the courage to succeed in our efforts.

 

 

The Universalistic Vision of Judaism

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Rabbi Marc D. Angel is Founder and Director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, and Editor of its journal, Conversations.

At the Revelation at Mount Sinai, God chose the people of Israel to receive the Torah. This unique and unprecedented covenant between God and a group of human beings was to have an immense influence on human civilization. The Torah prescribed a specific way of life for the Jewish people. Yet, the Revelation—though experienced directly by Israel--was also concerned with humanity as a whole.

A fascinating Midrash points out that at the Revelation the voice of God divided into seventy languages, representing the seventy nations of the world i.e. all of humanity. The Torah, while containing a particular message for the people of Israel, also includes a universal message for all human beings.

Paul Johnson, in his History of the Jews, has noted that “the world without the Jews would have been a radically different place.... To them we owe the idea of equality before the law, both divine and human; of the sanctity of life and the dignity of the human person; of the individual conscience and so of personal redemption; of the collective conscience and so of social responsibility; of peace as an abstract ideal and love as a foundation of justice, and many other items which constitute the basic moral furniture of the human mind. Without the Jews, it might have been a much emptier place.”

The Jewish enterprise, then, has been both particularistic and universalistic. The Torah and rabbinic tradition have been the guiding forces animating Jewish life over the millenia. The halakha (Jewish law) has been understood by the Jewish people as a Divinely-bestowed way of life. Through living a life of righteousness based on Torah and halakha, Jews thereby serve as “a light unto the nations”. The achievement of this ideal is dependent upon faithfulness to the particular teachings of the Torah as well as a universalistic vision for the well-being of all humanity.

Maintaining this equilibrium is a basic desideratum of Judaism. Yet, this vital balance is threatened by various trends in modern Jewish life.

On the one hand are those who stress universalism, while playing down particularism as much as possible. They advocate Jewish ethics, but denigrate the need to fulfill the specific ritual commandments of the Torah. On the other hand are those who are devoted to the ceremonial rituals, but who are very little involved with the world at large. They retreat into their own spiritual and physical ghettos, often trying to drive as many wedges as possible between themselves and the rest of society. Both of these approaches represent a deviation from the harmonious balance implicit in classic Judaism. Our ethical teachings are rooted in the mitzvot. An ethical universalism outside the context of observance of the mitzvot is not true to the Jewish religious genius. Likewise, a parochial commitment to rituals, without a concomitant concern for universalistic ethics, is also an aberration. Judaism emptied of its particularistic mitzvot is hollow; Judaism robbed of its unversalistic vision is cult-like, rather than a world religion.

The current tendency within the traditionally-observant community has been toward particularism. This tendency manifests itself in the phenomenal growth of the hareidi (right-wing) community, as well as its pervasive influence throughout contemporary Orthodox Jewish life. Religious self-sufficiency and spiritual isolationism are dominant themes in the right-wing Orthodox way of thinking.

The turn inward within contemporary traditional Judaism actually has deep roots in Jewish history. It reflects centuries of anti-Jewish persecution. In the face of vast hostility and cruelty committed against Jews since antiquity, it was natural for Jews to turn inward, and to develop negative attitudes toward their non-Jewish oppressors. Could Jews fully trust non-Jews whose societies denigrated Jews and Judaism, forced Jews into ghettoes, compelled Jews to forsake Judaism by converting to the dominant religion of the land, and deprived Jews of elementary civil rights? Centuries of persecution taught Jews to be suspicious of the non-Jewish world, to focus on their own internal Jewish needs, and leave the non-Jews to take care of themselves.

The negative attitude toward the non-Jewish world found expression in rabbinic literature. For example, the Mishna (Sanhedrin 4:5) teaches that God began humanity by creating an individual human being, Adam, “to teach that if anyone destroy a single soul from humankind, Scripture charges him as though he had destroyed a whole world, and whoever saves a single soul from humankind, Scripture credits him as though he had saved a whole world.” This is certainly a universalistic teaching on the value of human life. Yet, at some point, the text of this Mishna was revised, so that many editions read that Adam was created alone “to teach that if anyone destroy a single soul from Israel, Scripture charges him as though he had destroyed a whole world, and whoever saves a single soul from Israel, Scripture credits him as though he had saved a whole world.” The text has thus been transformed to a quite particularist teaching about the value of a Jewish life, rather than the value of all human life.

The negative attitudes toward the non-Jewish world have led to a serious distortion of the original teachings of Judaism. A narrow, xenophobic approach has developed, especially among those Jews who have felt most alienated and threatened by non-Jews.

Rabbi Aharon Soloveichik offered a more nuanced approach in an address to a conference of the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America in 1966, in which he dealt with the extent of Jewish responsibility toward non-Jews. He argued that Jews are obliged to love fellow Jews unconditionally, and are absolutely responsible for the welfare of all Jews. When it comes to non-Jews, though, the obligation is not identical. Since all human beings are created in the image of God, Jews obviously have to respect this fact when dealing with non-Jews. Yet, the extent of responsibility toward non-Jews is conditional: if they act properly toward us, we are obliged to act properly toward them. But if non-Jews hate us or persecute us, we have no obligation to be kind to them or work for their well-being. These sentiments reflect Jewish caution when dealing with a non-Jewish world that has a long history of persecuting Jews.

During the modern period, when Jews gained full civil rights in the Western countries, efforts have been made to shake off the mistrust of the centuries, and to strengthen the universalistic impulse within Judaism. Yet, these efforts have met resistance in the more traditionally-oriented Jewish communities. Those modern Jews who have been most identified with universalistic attitudes have also tended to be those who have moved away from traditional religious beliefs and observances. Thus, universalism has been identified with assimilation and loss of Jewish religious integrity.

Although the tendency toward isolationism may be understandable from a historical and sociological perspective, nevertheless, it is a tendency which needs to be corrected. Vibrant religious Jewish life needs to look outward as well as inward, and to regain its spiritual vision that focuses on all humanity.

The Torah (Devarim 4:6-7) tells the Israelites to observe and fulfill the commandments: “For this is your wisdom and your understanding in the sight of the peoples, that, when they hear all these statutes shall say: ‘surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people’; for what great nation is there that has God so near unto them, as the Lord our God is whenever we call upon Him?” Interestingly, the Torah is concerned that the Israelites be perceived in a positive light by the nations of the world. The medieval Italian commentator, Rabbi Obadia Seforno, comments on verse seven: “The reason it is appropriate to be concerned that you should be considered wise and understanding in the eyes of the nations is that God, may He be blessed, is close to us when we call upon Him. This shows that He chose us from all the nations. And if the nations should think that you are fools, it will be a desecration of God’s Name, for they will say: ‘This is God’s people.’ Since the people of the world look upon the Jews as the bearers of God’s Torah, the Israelites’ behavior reflects back upon the Almighty. If the Israelites are righteous and wise, then they sanctify God’s name; conversely, if they are foolish and unrighteous, they profane God’s name. The Israelites, thus, are not given the option of living in isolation without caring about the opinions of others. On the contrary, they need to see themselves as emissaries of the Almighty.

These passages in Devarim are cited by a great 19th century sage, Rabbi Eliyahu Hazan (Taalumot Lev 1:4). Rabbi Hazan had opened a school in Tripoli in which Jewish children were given instruction in religious topics, as well as in other subjects - including several languages. He pointed out that “it is the praise of our holy nation that the peoples of the world will say that this is surely a wise and understanding great nation with righteous laws and statutes, who should live among them. And if the scattered Jewish people would not know or understand the language of the people (among whom they live), they would be--Heaven forbid--a laughing stock, a derision and a shame among the nations.” In this responsum, Rabbi Hazan has indicated that Torah law requires that Jews be perceived as a wise people. They are obligated to be understood by their non-Jewish neighbors. Although Jews have their own distinctive religious way of life, they nevertheless must interrelate constructively with the non-Jewish community.

But the Jewish responsibility to the non-Jewish world is not merely that of setting a good example of wisdom and righteousness. The Jewish tradition teaches a principled and active responsibility for all people. All human beings are created in the image of God.

The Midrash, commenting on the Song of Songs (4:1) observes that the people of Israel offered 70 sacrifices in the holy Temple during the festival of Succoth. These sacrifices were offered by the Jewish people to seek atonement for all the nations of the world (symbolized by the number 70). Praying for the well-being of the nations is a powerful statement of concern and responsibility.

The Talmud (Gittin 61a) records the law that Jews are obligated to support the poor of the non-Jews along with the poor of the Jewish community. Moreover, Jews are obligated to visit the non-Jewish sick and to bury their dead. The Talmud specifies that these deeds of compassion and loving-kindness are to be done “because of the ways of peace.” In order to maintain a harmonious society, people need to care for each other and to offer help to those in need. Rabbi Haim David Halevy, late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv, has pointed out that our responsibility toward Muslims and Christians (as well as other non-idolaters) does not stem from expedience, but rather from a firmly established ethical imperative (Aseh Lekha Rav, 9:30 and 9:33).

Jews are commanded to be constructive members of society. The Torah demands that we be righteous and compassionate. This responsibility is not confined merely to the broad category of social justice, but extends to the general upbuilding of human civilization as a whole. Rabbi Benzion Uziel (Hegyonei Uziel, Vol. 2, p. 98) discussed the classic concept of “yishuvo shel olam,” responsibility to help in the upbuilding of human civilization. This involves practical society building, but also includes expanding human knowledge. Scientific research, for example, helps us gain a deeper appreciation of God’s wisdom. It also leads to technological discoveries which improve the quality of life. Working to improve the human condition is a Jewish religious imperative.

As noted earlier, the Jewish impact on human civilization has been vast. We have given the world many ideas and ideals. On the other hand, we have also learned from the non-Jewish world. And we have been strengthened by non-Jews who have converted to Judaism. In the words of Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh (Israel and Humanity, trans. Maxwell Luria), “each proselyte in becoming converted has contributed his own impulses and personal sentiments to the Israelite heritage.” Rabbi Benamozegh argued that “in order to achieve the concept of a universal Providence extending to all peoples and sanctioning the legitimate rights of each, men must cease to believe that the national or ethnic group is all that counts, that mankind has no significant existence apart from the nation or tribe….We should not be surprised that such has not been the case with Hebraism, which teaches that all mankind has the same origin and thus that a single Providence looks over all.”

Victor Hugo observed that “narrow horizons beget stunted ideas.” Classic Judaism has included an idealistic universalistic world-view. Judaism’s horizons have been great; and it has begotten great ideas. The challenge to modern Jews is to remain faithful to their distinctive mitzvot while maintaining a universalistic ethical idealism.

Book Review: Joshua Berman on the Haggadah

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Rabbi Hayyim Angel

Book Review

Joshua Berman, Echoes of Egypt: A Haggada (Koren, 2026), 138pp.

by Rabbi Hayyim Angel

 

The Koren Tanakh of the Land of Israel has just published the next volume in its ongoing series. Professor Joshua Berman presents a visual commentary on the slavery and exodus narratives, featuring ancient Egyptian images. Like the Shemot commentary of this excellent series, the vivid images with scholarly explanations bring the Egyptian setting of the Pesah story to life. This pedagogical technique distinguishes this Haggadah and will enhance the Seder experience for a wide variety of readers.

Several pictures simply enable readers to see artifacts and wall reliefs that provide vivid depictions of our slavery. A photograph of a vast ancient Egyptian mudbrick storage facility (p. 38), a detailed Egyptian tomb illustration of the backbreaking labor of brickmaking (pp. 64-65), and a relief of a pharaoh in a chariot (105) bring the experience of our slavery and redemption to our Seder table.

Berman’s introductory essays provide meaningful background to the Torah’s narratives in Exodus. He outlines how the Torah broke with ancient political thought and the many political and economic ramifications of the Torah’s revolutionary ideology. He then discusses Egyptian royal propaganda, and how the Torah ironically turns those terms on their head as God overwhelms the helpless pharaoh and his nation.

On other occasions, we gain greater insight into the meaning of the Torah. God repeats the phraseology that He will redeem Israel with a mighty hand and outstretched arm. Clearly, these terms refer to God’s power. However, Berman observes that these expressions—used throughout Tanakh—appear only in association with the exodus from Egypt and not other narratives where God displays His power. Berman explains this seeming anomaly by noting that these terms appear in Egyptian writings, particularly in the zenith of Egypt’s power from 1550-1100 BCE. A relief showing Seti I holding his captives down with his left hand while wielding a mace (p. 14) illustrates the Egyptian propaganda regarding their pharaohs. Berman explains that the Torah thereby uses Egyptian propaganda against Egypt—now, God will devastate them as He frees a slave nation from their grip. The visual medium makes the propaganda argument tangible at the Seder table — tying archaeology to lived ritual.

Several of Berman’s comments present interesting tidbits. He observes (23) that Egyptians refer to their own country in Arabic as Misr. We would intuitively conclude that the Hebrew Mitzrayim and the Arabic name derive from the ancient Egyptian name for their land. However, this is not so. When the ancient Coptic Christians translated the Torah into Coptic, they transliterated the Torah’s Mitzrayim directly into Coptic. After the Muslim conquest in the 7th century, Muslims adopted the Coptic form of the name into Arabic. Therefore, Egyptians refer to their land as Misr because of the Torah’s transmission of that name into Coptic.

Occasionally, the connections between our Seder and ancient Egypt remain unclear. Not every element of the rabbinic Seder requires Egyptian background; some reflect later Greco-Roman cultural adaptation. For example, we eat maror, bitter herbs. However, the Torah itself does not prescribe which species of vegetation qualify for this commandment. By the Mishnah, the preferred vegetable is romaine lettuce (Mishnah Pesahim 10:3). The Talmud goes on to describe several other options that qualify for fulfillment of the maror. Berman observes (8) that depictions of the Egyptian god of fertility, Min, frequently include offerings of romaine lettuce. He suggests that romaine may symbolize fertility and growth.

However, it may be overly speculative to connect romaine lettuce to ancient Egypt, given that the Torah does not specify any vegetable for maror. Scholars such as Joseph Tabory (JPS Commentary on the Haggadah, 2008) outline the similarities between the prescribed rabbinic Seder rituals and the Greco-Roman symposium. In the latter, intellectuals gathered to share wine, food, and stimulating discourse. A common appetizer before the main course was romaine lettuce dipped in a sauce. Since maror is a required commandment for our Seder, the rabbinic Sages moved that practice to the maror section of our Seder, while substituting karpas, or a non-maror vegetable such as celery, to the earlier appetizer stage of our Seder. In this instance, it is unclear that we should link romaine lettuce as the preferred maror of the Mishnah with ancient Egyptian rituals.

The Haggadah exhorts all of us: “Generation by generation, each person must see himself as if he himself came out of Egypt.” By presenting Egypt in its historical and cultural setting, Berman demonstrates how contextual scholarship can illuminate and sharpen the Torah’s message. When used with care, archaeology and comparative study clarify the polemical and theological force of the Exodus narrative. In this way, Echoes of Egypt models how serious scholarship can deepen and enrich religious experience at the Seder table.

 

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

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Rabbi Hayyim Angel

BOOK REVIEW

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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Rabbi Shaul Farber heads Itim, an organization in Israel that helps people deal with the rabbinic establishment in life- cycle matters. He has been at the forefront in working on behalf of converts to Judaism who have chosen to settle in Israel. This article appeared in issue 10 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

Three Pillars of Inclusive Orthodox Rabbinical Leadership

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Rabbi Dr Benjamin Elton has been the Senior Rabbi of The Great Synagogue in Sydney since 2015.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

commitment. Beyond their commitment to maintaining Orthodox communal

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

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

Jews as possible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

alienating his congregation?

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

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

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

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

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

is also a religious imperative.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

followed if his behavior exemplifies proper conduct, because teaching ultimately

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

innocent suffer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

repair following rupture and a continual attempt to do better.

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

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

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

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

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

where everyone is consciously and deliberately on a journey towards greater

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

making specific suggestions should never mean the relationship is allowed to

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

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

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

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

should feel celebrated when they do more.

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

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

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

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

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


 

 

 

Art Appreciation and Creativity Development in the Jewish Day School

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Linda Kastner is a teacher at Manhattan Day School in New York City. She had served for 37 years as Chairwoman and art educator at the Garden City Public Schools on Long Island, New York. She was an honoree in Who’s Who among America’s Teachers and played a leadership role in achieving the first Middle States accreditation for growth in a middle school setting. She has had the privilege of visiting numerous art programs throughout the world, has taught art on a kibbutz in Israel, and was personally invited by the Royal Government of Bhutan as a guest American art teacher. This article appears in issue 11 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

“Imagination is more important than knowledge.”

—Albert Einstein

“Pyramids, cathedrals, and rockets exist not because of geometric theories of structures or thermodynamics, but because they were first a picture—literally a vision in the minds of those who built them.”

—Historian Eugene Ferguson

Introduction

Art education is rarely prioritized in Jewish Day School curricula. A double curriculum of secular and religious studies often leaves little time for subjects whose importance is “still questioned.” Even in the best of secular schools, art education often survives, but only on a year-to-year basis with the constant threat of being slashed. If not for the monitoring by the education watchdogs and the relentless hard work of art advocates, there would be many artless schools in America and even more artless Jewish Day Schools.

The fact that art is offered in some schools and not others is nothing new. Many administrators or school boards have considered an art program “glorified busywork” and do not really understand the nature of art and its value to society. While no one group can be blamed for this misunderstanding, arguably most everyone who is against art programs rarely cares enough to give the matter of art education serious thought. As a result, the average Jewish Day School graduate, like most secular school graduates, is probably a victim of a passive attitude toward art education that often translates into no art classes being offered. There is a sad irony in this situation because the arts have always played a major role in Judaism. In this essay, therefore, I will argue that it is essential to have an art program in a Jewish Day School, and present ideas for what I think a rich art curriculum should consist of, taking into account limits on time that result from a “double curriculum.”

Before I talk about art education in a Jewish Day School setting, it is important to define what art is. It is commonly held that the definition of art has changed many times since the cave paintings were first created 40,000 years ago. It started with “art is magic,” then moved to “art is beauty and emotion,” then to “art is the artist’s view of the world,” and on and on and on. Each culture has defined art in its own way, depending on the time, the place, and the people who made it. But what is art today, in the twenty-first century, postmodern era? The present accepted definition is, “art is when a person takes any material or substance and uses it to make a statement.” Today, one can take paint, stone, clay, food, newspaper, scraps of metal, wire, cloth, vinyl, egg crates, rubber, or film and use them to make a statement. Anyone who has visited a museum of modern art anywhere in the Western world can attest to the variety of materials being used in unique ways. Like the paintings of the past, postmodern art of the twenty-first century challenges the viewer to think about and analyze what the artist is trying to say. But it may be more demanding than paintings of the past because the viewer may not readily understand the language of an artist who, for instance, uses a few tree branches to make a point.

What distinguishes art from science is that art and creativity are timeless. Science is like a ladder—each year humanity builds upon what it knows and what it has achieved to move forward and upward. When humanity makes progress in science, it usually replaces old techniques and old insights with new ones. Art is only somewhat similar, in that while artists employ techniques that build upon those of their predecessors, viewers do not cease appreciating and finding beauty in what came before. Cave paintings are just as fantastic to behold as a Michelangelo statue, or a Picasso painting, or an Andy Warhol silkscreen of a soup can, or a Frank Gehry piece of architecture. Someone might prefer one style over another, but each is still relevant today and can be appreciated. So with this in mind, why is it important to teach art in school?

Why Is an Art Education Important for Every Child?

Many people do not accept art as an important element in their lives or in the general education of their children. Therefore, there are numerous schools that lack art education, even in the richest and most progressive states.  I am fortunate to teach at a school whose headmaster and administrators value art education, but within many Jewish Day Schools across the country art education is often missing from their curricula. This is always an unfortunate state of affairs, and with budget cutbacks and financial restraints, the problem will only get worse. Therefore it is important to outline a few reasons why every child should have the opportunity of an art education throughout his or her years in school.

I use the term art education to mean a curriculum that combines the teaching of art appreciation and theory with the instruction of hands-on projects—seeing and doing. There are several reasons children benefit from this type of art education. Most broadly, art education can help nurture creativity and critical thinking, which are necessary to excel in a range of disciplines. If people stopped creating or thinking critically, progress in many fields—medicine, engineering, science, or literature would cease. At the same time, art education can encourage healthy risk-taking so that children become comfortable with stepping out of their “comfort zone,” and gain confidence in trying new projects. This ability to come to terms with risk-taking, and sometimes experiencing and recovering from failure, is an important skill-set to learn. Parents who therefore dream of their children becoming doctors or engineers or lawyers should consider that the skills taught in art education can be useful, and critical to, a variety of professional careers.

Aside from benefiting their future professional lives, art education both deepens and broadens children’s understanding of the world around them. Students who take art classes are not only able to appreciate art in museums, they are able comprehend and value the different cultures they come in contact with on a daily basis. Students equipped with this skill are more able to navigate through an increasingly multicultural world and interact intelligently with people of different backgrounds and faiths.

Finally, art education can help improve children’s academic performance. Making art is a uniquely human activity and the making and appreciating art marks an important stage in human intellectual development. In addition, research shows a correlation between studying art and academic achievement. For instance, art education correlated with higher SAT scores, and some studies show that students perform 30 percent better in business when they have taken art classes.[1]

Why Is an Art Education Especially Important in the Jewish Day School Setting?

To make connections.

We marvel at modern-day communication tools; the iPhone, the Internet, Skype, wi-fi, and the digital camera have all facilitated communication and the sharing of ideas. We can be in touch with people living anywhere in the world in a matter of a few seconds. But of course we cannot call or email people who lived years ago. Art is different, as it can put us in touch with civilizations and people that lived thousands of years ago. Art is the voice of what occurred.

Jewish Day School students are especially vested in history, so they can use art to better appreciate their Jewish cultural heritage and see how their forefathers and foremothers lived, as well as get a sense of the other civilizations of the ancient world. The art tells the story. Whether it is an ancient menorah, a ceramic jar, an Assyrian animal carving, an Egyptian tomb painting, a Babylonian ziggurat, or a Greek mosaic, art puts the viewer in direct contact with the past.

To nourish the soul.

How might a student feel when at the Kotel for the first time, or when he or she learns about the horrors of the Holocaust? The history and stories of the Jewish people can certainly open profound as well as unsettling emotions and feelings. In an art class, students can express their feelings and emotions and make a statement through the visual arts.  It is a place where they can incubate their thoughts without the pressure of a test. They can get lost in thought as they make a clay bowl; as they feel the wet clay slip through their fingers, they can find themselves. But it is where they can also explore their values and create a visual image that is reflective of their beliefs and concerns. For example, they can design a poster to express the injustice of the kidnapped soldier Gilad Shalit.  Nourishing the soul of a Jewish child has to include the arts as a way of integrating the life cycles, the emotions, the battlefields of Jewish history, and the spiritual meaning of our traditions. It is especially important and is a way of staying connected to Israel as well as the outside world.

To learn respect.

The world is filled with human rights violations, prejudice, discrimination, gender inequality, anti-Semitism, ethnic hatred, and war.  Art curricula can enlighten students both about their own culture, as well as the cultures of the world around them. The advantages of a Jewish education are enormous. But there is a downside to it. Day School students often grow up in an environment that is just like theirs, and they often miss the opportunity to mingle freely with kids from other backgrounds and lifestyles. An art program is a great way to learn about other cultures. This is increasingly important because Jewish people play on the world stage, and so it is essential that they be comfortable with other cultures for business, in politics, and for pleasure. For example, doing a Chinese landscape painting and along the way understanding the origin of this style of painting can help a Jewish Day School student learn about the symbolic meaning of the style and the culture within which it developed. Instead of laughing, which kids normally do when they see something that is bizarre or strange to them, if they have knowledge of what they are looking at, they can begin to respect different cultures. In the end, they will respect themselves as well for being culturally literate. Museum visits with observations and explanations are therefore very important. Worksheets, writing and sketching in the museum are wonderful ways to get children to ask about what they see.

To develop an interest in the aesthetic dimension of life.

Somehow a sense of aesthetics sometimes gets lost in the observant Jewish family tradition. Why? Does a sukkah have to be pre-fab and made of plastic? Does everyone’s wedding invitation have to look similar? Can a menorah be made from copper plumbing parts or fire bricks?  Judaica that is creative not only brings a smile to everyone’s face, but also can make them think more about the mitzvah. Holidays and semahot become more exciting and inspire more reflection when the Judaica is unique. Why does creativity tend to get lost in the tradition? This issue is something that I never quite understood, but is certainly a valid argument for a substantial art program in the Day School setting. There are endless possibilities for new and different ideas while keeping with tradition.

To take risks.

To become a creative person, one has to take risks, come up with new ideas, and have the tenacity to follow through with the creative process. In Jewish Day Schools, taking risks, or trying something different, is often avoided. More broadly, thinking and problem solving is becoming easier to avoid in the age of computer technology. It’s just easier to Google your way from start to finish. What is getting lost, therefore, is the teaching of problem solving and imparting the confidence in students to take risks. It is an especially important skill to have the courage to create something, change it, revise it, critique it and work with it. It doesn’t happen instantly. You have to work it through. That is the nature of the creative process. And you might get a great idea that just doesn’t pan out and that is okay too! It is just as important to learn from mistakes.

A Proposed Art Curriculum in the Jewish Day School

Ideally, if Day School art educators work together, a seamless art curriculum could be developed that would run from grades K–12 and that follows state standard guidelines.

Knowledge and skills would be built on prior experience, but would be revisited allowing for mastery. This is called a spiraling approach. Kids need to be re-exposed to the information and the experience for education and confidence building to work best.  The following are proposed standards, which are based, in part, on some baseline standards set by New York State:

Standard 1: Students should participate in the arts and make works of art that explore different kinds of subject matter, topics, themes, and metaphors. Students will understand and use sensory elements, organizational design principles, and expressive images to communicate their own ideas in works of art.

Standard 2: Students should know and use a variety of visual art materials, techniques, and processes and become aware of the many options and careers in the arts.

Standard 3: Students should respond critically to works of art connecting the individual work to aspects of human thought. They will learn to reflect on, interpret, and evaluate works of art using the language of art criticism.

Standard 4: Students should develop an understanding of the personal and cultural forces that shape artistic communications and how the arts shape the diverse cultures of past and present society. They will explore art and artifacts from world cultures and discover the roles that art plays in the lives of a given time and place. They will use art to understand the social, cultural, and environmental dimensions of human society.

With these standards as a guide and with the limited amount of time for art classes, I would propose the following:

K–2nd grade: An introduction to the different art materials and techniques, such as painting, sculpting, and printmaking. The emphasis should be on experimentation and exploration. Children should begin to feel confident with the materials. There should be a focus on Jewish themes, such as the holidays. Examples: a clay hannukiyah or a tzedaka box.

3rd–5th grade: An introduction to the elements of art, which are line, shape, form, color, value, texture, and space. Basic observational drawing skills and modeling skills should be introduced, as well as an introduction to the work of various artists.  Jewish themes should be used whenever possible. Examples: scenes of Israel painted in acrylic paint on canvas, three-dimensional soft sculpture.

6th–8th grade: Design principles should be introduced, such as balance, movement, rhythm, contrast, emphasis, pattern, unity, proportion, and variety. This is the language and grammar of art. Students in middle school should be given the opportunity to delve deeper into the art and culture of other lands as well as learn about the art of the Western world. An overview of the art movements as well as a close study of one of the artists should be explored. Examples: Chinese hand scrolls, hard-edge paintings, Picasso cubist portraits, pop-art paintings, the mosaic and South American rain sticks.

9th–12th grade: One unit of art is needed for a high school diploma and the choice is one of the four arts, which include dance, music, drama, or the visual arts. Students who choose fine arts should create a collection of artworks in a variety of media, based on assignments that encourage them to explore various ideas and viewpoints. Teachers should use rubrics for evaluation. College portfolios should be prepared for those students seeking admission to university art schools. Examples of projects: graphic design, lithography, computer graphics, poster design, and experimental sculpture.

Conclusion: To the Source

The center of our Jewish spirituality was the Holy Temple and from the beautiful biblical descriptions we know that there was an emphasis on aesthetics.  As it’s mentioned in the Torah, “Let them make a Holy Shrine that I may dwell amidst them” (Exodus 25:8). The descriptions in this part of the text tell us that the Israelites procured such materials as gold and silver along with fine artisanship, such as weaving, dyeing, and the setting of jewels. The Torah prescribes in detail all the fine materials to be used to build the Temple including the specific measurements and amounts. One could only imagine how beautiful it all was—a true work of art.

In the time of the Temple, Judaism’s expression of faith was fundamentally connected to the arts. And so it should be today as well. There is a concept in Judaism of “hidddur mitzvah”—beautifying the mitzvah. It is praiseworthy to not just fulfill the commandment, but to embellish the mitzvah with additional beauty, so as to express our love and respect for it. It is our responsibility as a community to continue that aesthetic journey with our children so that they may express their faith and so that they can appreciate and participate in the arts throughout their lives. After all, out of the Jewish Day School might come a great architect, industrial designer, fine artist, art teacher, graphic designer, interior designer, curator, art conservationist, art historian, commercial artist, fashion designer, frequent museum visitor, or art collector. Hopefully all of our children armed with a good art education in their Day School years will become lifelong participants in the creative process as well as the future caretakers of all of humanity’s artistic treasures. 

[1] The College Board Profile of SAT and Achievement Test Takes from 1990, 1991, 1992, 1993; “Why Business Should Support the Arts: Facts, Figures and Philosophy,” Business Committee for the Arts.