National Scholar Updates

From "secular" to "getting religious": an important story for modern Jews

 

 

If, ten years ago, someone had told me that I would be a member of the board of a religious, rabbinic organization, that I would attend synagogue services every Shabbat, that I would put on tefillin, and that I would even write an article for a religious publication – I would have laughed and explained how severely mistaken that person was: I, the proud member of Hashomer Hatzair, who is secular in every fiber of his body?! Nevertheless, something no less than a revolution took place in my life, and a substantive change in my worldview. Like many revolutions, the change began with something small. 

But, if I may, I would like to begin at the beginning. I was raised near Haifa, and I was taught the values of secular socialism, the love of Israel, tolerance, social responsibility – and many other values that can also be found in the Torah – as a member of the Kiryat Haim section of Hashomer Hatzair. In my childhood, there was no connection between the religious and secular residents, and no attempt was made to establish such a connection. The two communities lived side-by-side like oil and water, never mixing. In the army, I served in a mostly secular unit, whose members came from backgrounds similar to my own. When a religious soldier would arrive, our mission was to see how long it would take for us to get him to watch television on Shabbat, and to remove his kippah. We had quite a few “successes”. 

After the army, I met my wife, Irit, who had been raised in a traditional Jewish home, and we had four children. Until about a decade ago, a connection ith God was foreign to me, and was always associated with the corrupt religious establishment, on the one hand, and extremist settlers, on the other. I wrongly assumed that there was a part of the Jewish people that had an exclusive license from God. In the meantime, my hard work bore fruit, and I managed to purchase the Israeli Building Center.

 The biggest change in my relationship with religion and Judaism began in that framework, as I came to know several religious people involved in the construction industry. Work-related discussions began to digress to discussions about life, family, children, lifestyle, and we even got together with our wives. Slowly, for the first time in my life, I began to have real friendships with religious people. One day, our friends, Meir and Revital Noga, invited us to their home for Shabbat dinner. Meir gently suggested that I come early and accompany him to the synagogue. What I did not know at the time was that Meir had consulted with his rabbi, and had received what was then a rather innovative rabbinic decision, allowing him to invite me and my family for Shabbat, even though it meant that we might desecrate Shabbat. We went to synagogue together – for me, it was the first time in 30 years – and we sat down together for Shabbat dinner with their beautiful family. 

Back then, we also became very close friends with a family from Givat Shmuel, Michal and Meir Mizrachi, whose children became close friends of our children, and Iris and Dvir Granot from Tzur Yigal. Through those acquaintances with those special people, I learned how beautiful and special Judaism is, and that, wow, some of it suits me. Who would have imagined that one day the rabbi who allowed us to come for Shabbat, and who opened that door, Rabbi Ronen Neuwirth, would become a friend whom I would join in working together to establish the Beit Hillel organization?! 

More than ten years ago, I began putting on tefillin daily, making kiddush and saying birkat hamazon after meals. Two years later, I began attending synagogue services on Friday evenings (in the community center of my moshav, Ramot Hashavim), and a year later, I began attending Saturday morning services, as well, becoming a regular member of the minyan. Due to the small number of worshippers in the synagogue in Ramot Hashavim, Benzi (perhaps the only Orthodox person in the community), began to encourage us to lead services. Slowly, we began to add other “secular” Jews. 

But the turning point came during the Second Lebanon War (2006), when one of the women began attending Friday night services on a regular basis, and other women followed. The women began bringing their children, and their husbands soon followed. Today, twenty-five families are members of the Ramot Hashavim congregation. If you had asked people in Ramot Hashavim five years ago if such a thing were possible, they would have said that you were hallucinating. Every Monday, we study the weekly Torah portion at one of the homes in the community. Because we did not have a kosher Torah scroll, I assumed the responsibility of having one written (when I was told that I was crazy, and that it was very expensive, I replied that, in any case, everything I earn is granted to me from Above, so it really isn’t mine anyway), and two years ago, I brought it to the synagogue in a procession in which hundreds of residents participated, with musical accompaniment that rocked the whole neighborhood. 

This year, we held hakafot shniyot for the first time. We are on the way. We are not (yet) Shabbat observant, and perhaps some of us never will be. But we are now firmly rooted in the world of Torah and tradition, like thousands of other Israelis throughout the country – people with “invisible kippot”. None of this would have occurred had it not been for the Noga family from Kfar Ganim, the Mizrachi family from Givat Shmuel, and the Granot family from Tzur Yigal, who opened their hearts and their homes, and were it not for the invitation to be their Shabbat guests, and having us as guests in their home. They lit the Jewish spark that exists in every Jew. They showed me the beautiful side of Judaism and Jewish tradition. Thanks to their outstretched hands, my children are growing up together with theirs, and when my son joins the army, he will not be motivated to encourage his observant friends to watch television on Shabbat, but the opposite.

 So, what do I ask of the religious community? I ask them to learn from the Noga, Granot and Mizrahi families. Open your hearts and homes to your friends, coworkers and neighbors. Friends, the time is ripe in Heaven and in Israel. You must take advantage of this opportunity to be part of the unification of the Jewish People. That, I believe, is the current mission of Religious Zionism. May we fulfill the statement of the rabbis in the Midrash (Song of Songs, 5:2) - “Open up for me an opening like the eye of a needle and in turn I will enlarge it to be an opening through which wagons can enter.”

The Golden Age in Spain: How golden was it?

Review Article by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

In 2006, Oxford University Press published a book by Chris Lowney, “A Vanished World: Muslims, Christians, and Jews in Medieval Spain.” The author asked me to write a blurb, and it was included on the back cover of the book. Here is what I wrote:

“Chris Lowney has written a meaningful book about interfaith cooperation and interfaith antagonism in medieval Spain. While it points to the many failures of those days, it also suggests important triumphs of the human spirit. Can we learn from this story and shape a better, more harmonious world? Can we afford not to learn from this story?”

An underlying theme of Lowney’s book, like so many publications dealing with Islamic Spain, is that Jews and Christians fared reasonably well under enlightened Islamic rule. While life was not always perfect, it was much better for religious minorities in Islamic Spain than in Christian Europe.

Historians refer to a “Golden Age” for Jews of Spain. The Wiki Encyclopedia entry for the Golden Age states: “The nature and length of this ‘Golden Age’ has been a subject of much debate, as there were at least three Golden Ages interrupted by periods of oppression of Jews and non-Jews. A few scholars give the start of the Golden Age as 711–718, the Muslim conquest of Iberia. Others date it from 912, under the rule of Abd-ar-Rahman III. The end of the age is variously given as 1031, when the Caliphate of Cordoba ended, 1066, the date of the Granada massacre, 1090, when the Almoravides invaded, or the mid-12th century, when the Almohades invaded.”

Many authors laud “convivencia”—the generally peaceful co-existence in Medieval Spain that allowed Muslims, Christians and Jews to live in harmony. It is clear that Jewish culture blossomed in Islamic Spain, with the emergence of great poets, grammarians, Bible scholars, talmudists, philosophers, scientists, mathematicians and more.

The blurb I wrote for Chris Lowney’s book reflects my doubts about the extent of Islamic tolerance of Jews and Christians. I wanted to be sure to mention that interfaith antagonism existed and that there were lapses in tolerance. But I also indicated that there were important triumphs of the human spirit, and that we today can learn much of value for maintaining a convivencia in our own times, a respectful and mutually beneficial harmony among people of various religions.

I was right about the failures that occurred under Islamic Spain. But was I right in pointing to that era as a positive model for religious co-existence? Was I too optimistic? Was I engaging in wishful thinking? Was I influenced by the overwhelming praise, by many authors and teachers, of the tolerance of Islamic Spain, and by the ubiquitous lauding of convivencia?

These questions have come to mind as I’ve been reading a newly published book, “The Myth of the Andalusian Paradise: Muslims, Christians, and Jews under Islamic Rule in Medieval Spain,” by Dario Fernandez-Morera, (ISI Books, Wilmington, 2016). The author is Associate Professor in the Department of Spanish and Portuguese at Northwestern University.

While various scholars have pointed to problems and low points during Islamic rule in Spain, Dr. Fernandez-Morera goes much further. His bold argument is that the notion of Islamic tolerance of Jews and Christians is a myth—it is simply not true. The idea of convivencia—the mutual cooperation and harmony among Muslims, Christians and Jews in Medieval Spain—belongs more to the realm of propaganda than to history.

The author quotes numerous scholars who shower praise on Islamic tolerance, on the remarkable “Golden Age” in interreligious cooperation. But he argues that these authors were engaging in “political correctness,” the fashionable presentation of a tolerant and benevolent Islam. He draws on writings of people who lived in Islamic Spain, people who described what life was actually like in their times. He draws on extensive scholarly sources, on archaeological discoveries, as well as on the abundant secondary literature of more recent scholars.

Dr. Fernandez-Morera notes that the famed Umayyad dynasty were followers of the Maliki school of Islam which had little love for non-Muslims. The early Muslim conquerors of Spain and their successors systematically razed churches or turned them into Mosques. They imposed Islamic law on Christians and Jews—known as People of the Book—which made it very clear that the minorities were to be subservient to Muslims. Although granted relative freedom to conduct their communities according to their own religious traditions, Christians and Jews were “dhimmis”—an underclass of “protected people” who had to pay a special tax for the privilege of living under Islamic hegemony.

Dr. Fernandez-Morera writes: “In short, Islamic Spain enjoyed no harmonious convivencia; rather, Muslims, Christians, and Jews had a precarious coexistence. Members of the three communities had to come into contact now and then. Sometimes they did business, or collaborated with one another, or dwelled near one another.” (p. 117) Of course, as in all societies, kinder people interacted more kindly with those of the other groups. And of course, there are examples of periods of relative quiet. And there were individual Jews and Christians who rose to positions of power and influence. Nonetheless, the massive reality was that “dhimmis” were subject to ongoing humiliation, segregation, and violence.

The “dhimmi” regulations imposed a special tax on Christians and Jews. Various rules were intended to humiliate “dhimmis” and remind them of their subservient positions. Writing about restrictions placed on Jews in Islamic Spain, Dr. Fernandez-Morera notes that Jews “must not ride horses. They must show deference to Muslims. They must not give court evidence against a Muslim…They must not proselytize….They must not dress in such an ostentatious manner as to offend poorer Muslims….” (p. 180)

While Jewish communities continued to exist in Islamic Spain, Christian communities declined and ultimately disappeared. “By the end of the twelfth century, as a result of flight (or ‘migration’) to Christian lands, expulsions to North Africa, executions and conversions, the Christian "dhimmi" population had largely disappeared from al-Andalus. When Christians entered Granada in 1492, there were no Christian "dhimmis" in the city.” (p. 208).

Professor Fernandez-Morera’s book has a clear point of view. He is especially interested in highlighting the strengths and virtues of Visigothic Spain before the arrival of the Muslims in 711. He praises the Christian re-conquest of Spain. Had it not been for the “Reconquista,” Islamic rule might not only have prevailed over all of Spain, but might have spread further into Europe. This would have led to the fostering of religious discrimination, the low status of women, the inhibiting of intellectual freedom; it would have precluded the emergence of the Renaissance, and would have left the Western world in the same general condition as the rest of the Muslim world.

While some of the arguments of Dr. Fernandez-Morera seem over-stretched and even polemical, the overall impact of his research and his book must make one stop to think more carefully about the “Andalusian Paradise” and convivencia. Are scholars and politicians perpetuating this myth because it serves a useful purpose, because they—and we—want to believe it? How nice it would be to know that there was a time and place when Muslims, Christians and Jews worked side by side in mutual respect and kindness. How nice to think that it is possible for Islamic rule to be tolerant and benevolent.

President Barack Obama, in a speech at Cairo University, June 4, 2009, stated: “Islam has a proud tradition of tolerance. We see it in the history of Andalusia and Cordoba during the Inquisition [sic].” Prime Minister Tony Blair wrote (“Foreign Affairs, January/February 2007): “The standard-bearers of tolerance in the early Middle Ages were far more likely to be found in Muslim lands than in Christian ones.”

These politicians, relying on wishful and mythological thinking, seek to appease the Muslim countries and to glorify Muslim achievements. Perhaps they think they will thereby convince current day Muslim leaders to embrace the myth of Islamic tolerance, thereby creating bridges between the Muslim world and the West.

Dr. Fernandez-Morera has pointed to the unpleasant and politically incorrect reality that Muslim rule was “tolerant” to Christians and Jews, but only if the "dhimmis" were in a clearly defined inferior position, subservient to Muslims. This is hardly a framework for mutual respect and equal rights.

When I wrote my blurb for Chris Lowney’s book, I wondered: “Can we learn from this story and shape a better, more harmonious world? Can we afford not to learn from this story?” When I wrote those words, I obviously harbored the belief—the hope—that there was a period of convivencia that can be a model for us today. I thought that it would be foolish for us to ignore the positive aspects of life in Medieval Spain.

After reading Dario Fernandez-Morera’s book, I could write these same words, but with a very different meaning. Rephrased, my blurb for today would read: Can we learn from the story of religious persecution and humiliation that characterized Islamic Spain? Can we learn to shape a better, more harmonious world by insisting on genuine respect, equality, decency, and theological humility among all religions? Can we afford not to learn these lessons?

True to Your Word: Thoughts for Matot/Masei

Angel for Shabbat, Matot/Masei

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

“When a person makes a vow unto the Lord or swears an oath to bind one’s soul, one shall not break one’s word; one should act according to one’s words” (Bemidbar 30:3).

Jewish tradition stresses the importance of keeping commitments. This is true not only for “vows unto the Lord” but for all our interactions. When we give our word, people should be able to rely on our integrity to fulfill our agreements. When we fail to live up to our commitments, we are dishonorable to ourselves, to others, and to the Almighty.

A member of my congregation was a highly successful international banker. He once told me: “When I deal with honorable people, I can trust their word. They won’t renege on their commitments. But when dealing with others, I not only can’t rely on their word, I can’t even rely on their written contracts. They will find loopholes and reinterpretations. I avoid dealing with people whose words are not trustworthy.” I think this policy was a major factor in his success!

How people keep their word is a key indicator of their general trustworthiness. Honorable people will meet their commitments. If they take on a responsibility, they will fulfill it to the best of their ability. You can count on them.

Rabbi Benzion Uziel (1880-1953) was a young student when his father passed away. In order to earn income, he sought jobs as a tutor. He soon realized, though, that he was unable to devote himself properly to his students since he was tired by the end of his own school day. Although he needed the income, he decided it was unfair—and dishonorable—to take pay for tutoring when he was not able to do so with fullness of effort. Rabbi Uziel recognized that being “religious” entailed doing one’s best to fulfill commitments. In his writings, he stressed the importance of working to one’s capacity to fulfill responsibilities as rabbis, teachers, employers, employees. 

Just as employers are obligated to deal fairly with employees, employees are obligated to deal fairly with their employers. Halakha demands that workers be paid fairly and on time. It also demands workers to fulfill their duties with diligence. When people renege on their commitments, they not only reflect badly on their own character but they undermine the proper functioning of society in general. 

In delineating responsibilities of employers and employees, Maimonides (Hilkhot Sekhirut 13:7) writes: “Just as the employer is warned not to steal the wage of the poor person [employee] or to withhold it from him, the poor person [employee] is forewarned not to steal from the work due his employer and neglect his work slightly here and there, spending the entire day in deceit. Instead, he is obligated to be precise with regard to his time….Similarly, a worker is obligated to work with all his strength, for Jacob the righteous man said (Genesis 31:7): I served your father with all my strength." 

When we give our word and make commitments, our personal honor is at stake. Halakha expects us to be our best and do our best.  Falling short of this standard is a sign of moral—and religious—deficiency. 

 

 

 

 

 

Lessons from Sephardic Traditions

 

JIMENA (Jews Indigenous to the Middle East and North Africa) was founded in 2001 by
Jewish refugees from the Middle East and North Africa, amidst the aftermath of the September
11 th attacks and the ongoing second Intifada in Israel. Driven by a commitment to preserving
their families’ personal stories, the founders sought to raise awareness about the religious and
political persecution that led to their displacement, material losses, and fractured identities.
JIMENA has spearheaded numerous campaigns to ensure that the history of Jewish
refugees from Arab countries is thoroughly documented and incorporated into discussions about
Middle Eastern refugees. Members of JIMENA’s Speakers Bureau have shared their experiences
with the UN Human Rights Council, the U.S. Congressional Human Rights Caucus, the Israeli
Knesset, the British House of Lords, over 100 universities across North America, and hundreds
of organizations. As a principal North America advocate for Jewish refugees from Arab
countries and Iran, JIMENA is recognized by the Israeli government as a central leader in
advancing international initiatives on this important issue. 


Recently, JIMENA has increased its efforts to promote Mizrahi and Sephardic education
by developing various projects that enhance educational experiences for both Jewish and non-
Jewish settings. Last year, JIMENA assisted the White House’s U.S. National Strategy to
Counter Antisemitism, impacting its strategic goal to ensure that “students should learn about
global histories of antisemitism. This should include histories of antisemitism experienced by
Sephardic and Mizrahi Jews—who trace their ancestry to Spain, the Middle East, and North
Africa—and their stories of exclusion, persecution, and expulsion.” In response, our team created
a series of lesson plans for public schools that align with state standards and provide resources
for public school educators, as well as Jewish community and religious schools. JIMENA also
leads adult education series and formed AIMEE: Advocates for Inclusive Middle Eastern
Education to promote a deeper understanding of Middle Eastern Jewish heritage and combating
antisemitism in public education and beyond.


To draw on the diverse expertise of our communities, JIMENA established the Sephardic
Leadership Institute, comprising over 60 members from various fields, including rabbinical
leadership, grassroots organizations, education, women’s leadership, and arts and culture, which
significantly shaped our educational endeavors. JIMENA has hosted five fellowships featuring
training sessions led by prominent Sephardic and Mizrahi rabbis, scholars, educators, and
authors. These six-month programs, held bi-monthly, delve into topics such as Sephardic
pedagogy, rabbinic thought, antisemitism, Israel, and Jewish literature. JIMENA has offered both
in-person programs for Jewish professionals in San Francisco and Los Angeles, and remote
programs for the National Fellowship, the Campus Professional Fellowship, and the current
Senior Jewish Educators Cohort.


This year, JIMENA launched the Sephardi and Mizrahi Education Toolkit—a
comprehensive resource for K–12 educators. The Toolkit offers a wide range of resources,
including school assessments, leadership recommendations, and classroom materials that

integrate the experiences of Jews from Muslim-majority countries into subjects such as Tanakh,
halakha, science, Israel, the Holocaust, Jewish literature, and more, providing a fuller picture of
the entire Jewish experience. By reaching schools, libraries, summer camps, and community
organizations, JIMENA aims to make Sephardi and Mizrahi studies a foundational element of
Jewish education, reshaping how Jewish heritage is taught and celebrated.
Since its launch, the Toolkit has reached over 4,500 individuals worldwide, with teachers,
authors, and Jewish professionals participating in JIMENA-led trainings hosted by Jewish and
non-Jewish organizations like PJ Library, Bar-Ilan University’s Lookstein Center, Hebrew Union
College, and Fairfax County Public School in District in Washington, D.C. JIMENA is currently
providing direct support to administrators and educators at over 40 schools and Jewish
organizations to integrate these resources into their curricula. The Toolkit’s impact has been
widely recognized, with coverage in publications like eJewish Philanthropy, The Times of Israel,
Tablet Magazine, The Jerusalem Post, and the Jewish Women’s Archive.


JIMENA recently concluded a pioneering needs assessment of Jewish Day Schools in
New York, identifying essential requirements, challenges, and opportunities for enhancing the
inclusion of Sephardic content and students. Simultaneously, we are conducting a parallel study
in Los Angeles. The final report from the New York study outlines a comprehensive set of
recommendations that is guiding the development of innovative new JIMENA projects tailored
to address these findings. Additionally, JIMENA completed outreach to 50 state departments of
education, sharing our state-approved resources for teaching Middle Eastern Jewish history and
antisemitism. Our efforts have received significant interest from many of their offices to bring
these resources into public school curricula, which is a crucial step in broadening the narrative of
Jewish history and combating antisemitism nationwide.


Through JIMENA’s literary publication, Distinctions: A Sephardi and Mizrahi Journal,
our organization has showcased the work, creativity, and scholarship of Jewish leaders from our
communities. The first issues have focused on the themes of antisemitism, unity for Israel, the
diaspora, and resilience through transmission. The articles within the journal highlight the
contributions of rabbis, academics, artists, campus professionals, and others who are dedicated to
advancing our understanding of Jewish life. These pieces illustrate both the difficult
circumstances and the successful opportunities that our families and institutions have and
continue to confront and ensure that our stories are honored and heard.


Following the October 7 th massacre and the ongoing war in Israel, JIMENA immediately
addressed the mental health needs of over 100 community members, including former refugees
and college students. Partnering with Cross Cultural Expressions, JIMENA provided bi-weekly,
culturally competent group therapy sessions, offering specialized support for college students
while addressing challenges like antisemitism and isolation. These sessions provided critical
relief to students and survivors of Middle Eastern antisemitism, helping them cope with both
present and past traumas. Additionally, JIMENA recommended reputable charities in Israel and
raised emergency funds to secure temporary housing for 100 displaced individuals, prioritizing
families with children.


These achievements in education and outreach are building a more inclusive global
Jewish community—one that authentically reflects and integrates the contemporary histories,
vibrant cultures, and invaluable perspectives of Sephardic and Mizrahi Jews. Through our efforts
working with public schools and partnering with other Middle Eastern minorities, JIMENA
strives to share our “light to the nations” and foster a love of Jews and Israel within our own
schools, organizations, and communities.

“Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people.” —Devarim 4:6

False Prophets and True Religion

False Prophets and True Religion

By Rabbi Uzi Weingarten

                                              

The account of Balak and Bil'am (Numbers 22-24) presents, in the form of a story, the great ethical and spiritual insights at the root of Judaism, as relevant today as they were when Abraham and Sarah first taught “the way of God, which is to do tzedakah and mishpat” (Genesis 18:19). 

 

Let’s first review the story briefly. Balak, King of Moab, feels threatened by Israel's presence in his vicinity, and hires Bil'am to curse them. Bil'am has a reputation for being able to pronounce blessings and curses that get results (Numbers 22:2-6). Arriving in Moab, Bil'am instructs Balak to build seven altars and offer seven bulls and seven rams (23:1). 

 

Bil'am then receives an oracle from God, one that is quite different from what Balak had hoped for. Since God has not cursed Israel, Bil'am says in his oracle, neither can he. Bil’am then explains to an angry Balak that he can do only as God tells him (23:7-12). This entire sequence--altars, offerings, Bil'am's blessing, Balak's anger and Bil'am's apology--is repeated (23:13-26) and repeated again (23:27-24:13).

 

What emerges is that Bil’am is a prophet-for-profit. He is willing to use his real or imagined spiritual powers to do whatever will bring him money and fame, with no thought of moral or spiritual considerations. Balak wants a curse placed on an entire nation, so that he can smite them (22:6). This is perfectly acceptable to Bil'am, as long as the price is right. Balak knows this, and therefore tempts Bil'am with money and honor (22:17; 22:37). 

 

One wonders why the Torah devotes so much space and attention to an unscrupulous charlatan. What I suggest is that this account conveys a deeper message: about how, and with what intention, we approach God. 

 

The religion of the ancient idolators involved a combination of magical incantations and rituals. If done in the correct manner, the gods would be pleased and all would be well in the world. The role of the clergy was to know the details of these magical incantations and rituals and to perform them precisely. This was the essence of ancient idolatry. 

 

Some idolators took this one step further. They served the gods with the intent of controlling and manipulating them. This is known as theurgy, which means ‘operations intended to influence the Divine.’ 

 

Where is Bil'am in all this? On the one hand, he repeatedly invokes the name of God, and acknowledges him as the source of blessing. At the same time, he has an idolatrous mindset; he thinks that he can control the gods. 

 

That is why, each time that Bil'am seeks to do Balak's bidding, he instructs Balak to build altars and offer up animals (23:1, 14, 29). And when God appears to Bil’am, he says, "I have arranged the seven altars and offered up a bull and a ram on the altar" (23:4). This is all he says, because he believes that through numerically-correct offerings he could manipulate God into doing his bidding. 

 

The Bible allows for sincere sacrifices that reflect an authentic desire to draw close to God. The Torah (Deut. 33:19) and Psalms (51:21) speak of ziv-chei tzedek, sacrifices of righteousness, whose very name indicates that they are accompanied by a life of personal integrity. (See Isaiah 1:10-17, regarding sacrifices, and rituals in general, that are not accompanied by a life of integrity.) These are quite different from Bil’am's sacrifices, offered by a prophet-for-profit, in order to place a Divine curse on his employer’s imagined enemies. 

 

Let us look at two verses from the first oracle that God puts into Bil’am’s mouth. One of the first verses is: 

How shall I curse 

whom God has not cursed? (23:8)

The purpose of this statement is to inform Balak that God will not curse Israel. It also informs Bil’am that God cannot be manipulated, not by sacrifices and not by anything else. 

 

That is the simple part of the story. What is of greater interest to us is the conclusion to Bil’am’s first oracle. He prays for himself: "May I die the death of yesharim" (23:10). Yesharim (sing., yashar) means ‘straight,’ and refers here to ‘morally straight,’ the opposite of crooked. Bil’am prays that he die the death of ‘upright people.’ 

 

This prayer is perplexing, because it seems to come out of nowhere. It has nothing to do with the subject at hand, which is Balak’s desire to have Bil’am cursed Israel. What is it doing here? 

 

It seems to me that by having Bil’am say this prayer, God is teaching him what the true path is. Unlike what Bil’am thought earlier, the way to God is not through magical incantations or precisely-performed rituals. Rather, the first step in walking with God is the way of yesharim, a life of spiritual awareness that begins with honesty and compassion. By putting in Bil’am’s mouth a prayer that he die the death of yesharim, God is teaching him, and us, to what we should aspire. 

 

Let us look now at the haftarah (reading from the Prophets) for this week’s Torah portion, which is a section from Micah (5:6‑6:8). There would seem to be a self-evident connection, since Micah is the only prophet who mentions the incident of Balak and Bil’am. Micah (6:5) calls on Israel to 

… remember what Balak, King of Moab, connived regarding you 

and what Bil’am son of Be'or answered him. 

 

There is, however, a subtler, more profound connection between the two sections. As we saw, one of themes of the story of Bil’am is how to serve God. And this is also what Micah teaches us. Immediately following the mention of Bil’am in the above verse, Micah poses the question that every spiritual seeker asks: 

With what shall I approach God, bow before God on high? (6:6)

 

How one comes near to God is a shared theme of our Torah portion and the haftarah. The ‘common religion’ of Micah’s day was animal sacrifices, so Micah refers to that and asks: 

Shall I approach him with burnt offerings, with year-old calves? 

 

The prophet reminds us that the essence of walking with God is a life of honesty and kindness and humility and spiritual awareness. It is only in that context that rituals have true spiritual value. Micah concludes this section with the verse (6:8) that guides us on how to walk with God: 

He has told you what is good

And what does God ask of you?

ONLY 

To do what is just and to love kindness 

And to walk humbly with your God 

 

“To do what is just and to love kindness” are the two parts of the moral life. Between them, they encompass all human interactions. 

 

“Walking with your God” refers to the spiritual life. Micah adds “humbly” because ‘humility’ is the single most important spiritual quality (though not the only one). In other words, what God asks of us is to live of moral and spiritual lives.

 

CLOSING THOUGHT

The story of Bil'am, in the way we explained it, is a statement about true religion. And religion is "true," from the Torah's standpoint, when it does three things: 

First, when it teaches that the core of the Divine path is kindness, truth and walking with God humbly. 

Second, when religion gives concrete expression to these values, offering real-life guidance on how to live a life of honesty, compassion, gratitude and holiness. It gives practical 

 

And third, when religion provides rituals, to serve as reminders and to build community, while making clear that they are in a supporting role. (In this understanding, the rituals do not carry the same level of obligation as Micah’s three principles. Hence, Micah saying ONLY.)

 

The author is grateful to Miryam Carr for her assistance in preparing this study. 

Book Review: Rabbi Moshe Taragin on Rabbi Yehuda Amital

Book Review

By Rabbi Hayyim Angel

 

Rabbi Moshe Taragin, To Be Holy but Human: Reflections Upon My Rebbe, HaRav Yehuda Amital (Kodesh Press, 2025)

 

          Rabbi Yehuda Amital (1924-2010) was a leading Rosh Yeshiva in Israel, founding and building Yeshivat Har Etzion, a premier Hesder Yeshivah which combines Torah study with service in the Israel Defense Forces. Rabbi Moshe Taragin, a leading educator in his own right and a dedicated student of Rabbi Amital (as well as Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein, who co-led Yeshivat Har Etzion), offers a strikingly personal glimpse into Rabbi Amital’s unique personality.

          Rabbi Taragin’s book is comprised of two sections: One relates personal stories that offer a window into Rabbi Amital’s outlook, and the other focuses on aspects of Rabbi Amital’s ideology. The ideological essays are valuable in their own right, outlining the religious worldview of a master educator, communal leader, and model of Modern Orthodoxy and Religious Zionism. Personally, I find the stories even more illuminating, as they present elements of the inner world of Rabbi Amital. Here are just a few examples that speak to Rabbi Amital’s core values.

          Rabbi Amital stressed that people must develop a healthy personality before trying to become Torah scholars or communal leaders. He rejected a popular adage, often attributed to Rabbi Yisrael Salanter (1810-1883): “First, I tried to change the world. When that didn’t go as planned, I focused on changing my family. And when that didn’t work, I retreated inward to change my own inner life.” Rabbi Amital dismissed this lesson, insisting that the opposite is true. When people fail to change themselves, they often shift focus to changing the world. They use external success as self-proclaimed visionaries as a substitute for self-development or meaningful family relationships (93).

          Similarly, Rabbi Amital objected when, at a relative’s circumcision, people referred to the infant as “Yankele Iluy” (Torah genius) during their speeches. They explained that they wanted him to grow into that role and therefore called him a Torah genius from infancy. Rabbi Amital objected strongly: “Just grow up to be a happy, well-adjusted balabus (layperson).” One first must focus on being a well-adjusted person committed to Torah, before thinking of becoming a Torah prodigy (47).

          Rabbi Amital instructed his own daughter, in fourth grade at the time, to fail a test. Her teacher was placing far too much pressure on the students to excel, and Rabbi Amital wanted to teach his daughter that academic success should not overshadow emotional well-being (260).

          Rabbi Amital had a profound sense of reality and humility. He was famed for changing his mind, even on the most important topics. For example, he initially saw little value in Talmud education for girls, since his own mother and grandmother had been pious without it. Only a couple of years later, when addressing a women’s learning program, he remarked, “You know, I used to think that Talmud study for women was unnecessary, but now I think it is absolutely essential.” He also had evolving views on the religious centrality of the Land of Israel. Initially, he was influenced by Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook’s position that the land was at the very heart of the Zionist mission. Over time, however, Rabbi Amital came to realize that too much focus was on the land itself, and not enough attention was on people and the tenor of Israeli society (116-117).

          Rabbi Amital valued creating students who can think for themselves (talmidim), rather than clones who mimic their teachers (hasidim). He once participated in a panel discussion with his illustrious student, Rabbi Yuval Cherlow. Rabbi Cherlow nervously explained to the audience that “Everything I am about to say stems from Rav Amital’s inspiration, but it completely contradicts what Rav Amital himself believes.” Rabbi Amital stood up and announced, “Ah, finally, I have a talmid!” (75).

          A particularly poignant story reflects Rabbi Amital’s Torah leadership through his personal involvement. Once, there was a terrible snowstorm in Gush Etzion, leaving its residents without heat. A kibbutznik arrived on Shabbat, and told Rabbi Amital that the electricity in the hothouse where baby chicks were being raised had failed. If they did not restore the heat, the chicks would die. Rabbi Amital immediately put on his coat and walked through the storm to the kibbutz to offer his ruling. When he returned, people asked why he went, instead of simply asking more questions and then giving a ruling. He explained that Torah is to be lived in the real world, and is not simply book knowledge. He wanted to hear the cry of the chicks himself before issuing his ruling (28-29).

          Rabbi Taragin’s book title derives from a lesson Rabbi Amital frequently quoted from the Hasidic Rabbi Menahem Mendel of Kotzk (1757-1859). The Kotzker interpreted a verse, “Ve-anshei kodesh tihyun li” (you shall be holy people to Me, Exodus 22:30). While we strive to elevate ourselves by being holy, we must embrace the fact that we also are anashim, humans. We serve God precisely by recognizing our humanity, rather than falsely pursuing an angelic life (123).

          Through these and so many other anecdotes, Rabbi Taragin provides readers with a means of learning transformative lessons from one of the great rabbinic figures of the previous generation. 

 

Sweetness and Light: Thoughts for Parashat Beha'aloteha

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Beha'aloteha
 

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

For many years, we were regular customers of a local store. The proprietor always greeted us with a smile, called us by name, asked about our family. If our bill amounted to $51.10, he would often just round it off at $50. He genuinely loved his work and had a warm relationship with us and his many other customers.
 

But a few years ago, he retired and another person took over the business. The new proprietor always has a glum expression on his face, rarely greets us when we enter the store, seems to wish he was anywhere else but in the store. If our bill amounts to $51.10, we pay every cent of it, since he never rounds off the total.

We find that we now rarely shop at this store. The merchandise is the same…but the shopping experience has become unpleasant. We’ve found other stores to patronize.
 

What’s true in business is also true in religious life. When a rabbi/synagogue/community is welcoming, approachable and genuinely interested in us, we are more likely to respond positively. If a rabbi/synagogue/community doesn’t really seem to care about us—except for our membership dues and donations—we are likely to look for a more congenial religious setting.

This week’s Torah portion relates the details of the lighting of the menorah by Aaron the High Priest. Aaron’s role was not merely to provide light for the sanctuary, but to symbolically create an atmosphere of holiness, warmth, and enlightenment for the public.

In the Pirkei Avot, we read the words of Hillel: Be among the disciples of Aaron, loving peace and pursuing peace, loving people and drawing them close to the Torah.  Aaron, who lit the menorah in the sanctuary, was himself a personification of the spirit of kindness; he brought light to others through his warmth, caring, and genuine desire to develop friendships among the community. He was successful in bringing people closer to Torah because they were attracted to his kindness, to his concern for them and their families.

The late Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach founded a synagogue in Berkeley during the 1960s in order to reach out to the many young Jews who had drifted away from Jewish tradition. He named it the House of Love and Prayer. In the summer of 1967, he was asked to explain his vision for this synagogue.

He answered: “Here’s the whole thing, simple as it is. The House of Love and Prayer is a place where, when you walk in, someone loves you, and when you walk out, someone misses you.” (Quoted in “Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach: Life, Mission and Legacy,” by Natan Ophir, Urim Publications, 2014, p.119)

In these few words, Rabbi Carlebach expressed a profound insight worthy of immortality! He offered a vision not just for the House of Love and Prayer…but for all places of Jewish worship. When we enter a synagogue, do we feel welcomed? Does our presence mean anything to those in attendance? When we leave, does anyone miss us? Do the rabbi and synagogue officials take the time to get to know us, our needs, our concerns?

One might attend various synagogues and find the same general liturgy and customs—but in one synagogue one feels ignored or rebuffed, and in another synagogue one feels warmly received and appreciated.  Which would you choose to attend and support?

 

 

Politics, International Justice, and the Responsibility of Jews to Behave Morally and Protect Their Interests

 

The recent Iron Swords War has highlighted many flaws with the political order in general and the international criminal justice system in particular. Attempts to indict Israeli leaders in the International Criminal Court alongside preposterous accusations of genocide have led many to conclude that the politicized system is built on a (anti-Semitic?) bias against Israel. In this article, I hope to show how these well-founded concerns were already raised by rabbinic scholars in the earliest days of the League of Nations. I further argue that these problems have continued to confound many Jews who were otherwise tempted to support a system that promised a new world order.

 

Jewish Internationalists and Dreams of a New World Order

 

On November 12, 1917, while World War I continued to rage, R. Avraham Yitzchak Hakohen Kook sent a letter to his son R. Tzvi Yehuda: God’s light has finally pierced into our dark world. The redemption has begun.[1]

What inspired this proclamation? Ten days earlier, the British foreign minister issued the Balfour Declaration establishing support for the “establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people.” The British soon afterward conquered Palestine from the Turks, ending 400 years of Ottoman control of the Holy Land and raising hopes of Zionists around the world. 

R. Kook had been waiting for this moment. Now dwelling in London, he had been delivering Bible-laced sermons praising British patriotism and their fight against Germany.[2] With the declaration of the world’s great power, he wrote to Seidel, the messianic process has begun! The Lord, who is “master of battles and sprouts salvations,” had delivered.[3] It’s true, he conceded, the bloody war had revealed the depravity of modernity and its European delegates. God, however, had now made it possible for people of uplifted spirit to bring about a new era. 

A few years later, the Balfour Declaration was incorporated by the newly established League of Nations into its broad mandate system that would govern territories of collapsed empires. Belgium controlled Rwanda and Burundi; the French oversaw Syria and Lebanon; and the British governed Palestine and Transjordan, to name a few prominent examples. The goal of the mandate system, at least as proclaimed by its founders, was to end the colonialist era of exploitation. At the base level, this would entail protecting the rights of the local inhabitants through a system of international law. More ambitiously, the mandate system would facilitate the founding of new states. Concomitantly, various treaties were enacted to ensure minority rights in all nation-states, new and old. Taken together, a new world order was sought to preserve peace between states and prevent persecution of minorities within them.

Many Jews, including some avowed Zionists, were deeply involved in these movements.[4] One such figure was a rising academic star and legal activist, the Polish-born Hirsch Tzvi Lauterpacht (1897–1960). In the days after World War I, Lauterpacht had witnessed the horrible November 1918 pogrom in Lemberg, a contested city within the newly independent Poland. The war was over, yet Jews continued to be slaughtered.[5]

As borders were getting drawn anew across the globe, Lauterpacht dedicated his life to providing protections for minorities in these new states. He believed that Britain could use its imperial power to bring lasting peace, including support for both Jewish nationalism in Palestine and rights for Jews and other minorities throughout Europe.[6] Lauterpacht would become a leading law professor at Cambridge and later a judge on the International Court of Justice. He is credited with establishing that international law prohibited territorial conquest through warfare; that’s precisely the expansionist “discretionary wars,” to use rabbinic terms, that Kook wanted to end. Lauterpacht also helped establish that those who waged aggressive warfare could be placed on trial. His advocacy directly led to the Nuremberg trials against Nazi figures after World War II. This was a deeply personal case for Lauterpacht. His parents, siblings, and extended family were all killed in the Holocaust.[7]

Another prominent international jurist who escaped Europe before the war and worked with Lauterpacht on the Nuremberg trials was Jacob Robinson (1889–1977). Robinson was born in a small village in the Russian empire to an Orthodox Jewish family from distinguished rabbinic lineage. Like many others, he sought solutions to the “Jewish problem” after the antisemitic violence in Kishinev and elsewhere. After earning his law degree, he was drafted into the Russian army in 1914. He was captured by the Germans and spent the next three years in eight different German POW camps. Somehow surviving, he returned home to the newly independent Lithuania, where he not only led a Hebrew-language school but was also elected to the Lithuanian parliament. Robinson became a renowned advocate for national minority rights, playing critical advocacy roles in the Congress of European National Minorities and at the League of Nations. Throughout the 1920s, he promoted a “pan-Europa” transnational community that would allow minorities to peacefully live within whatever national borders they found themselves.[8] At the same time, he was also the de facto leader of Lithuanian Zionism. Ben-Gurion even deemed him as “the most important man in Lithuania.”[9]

For many Jews, international governance presented an enticing alternative to pacifism toward achieving the prophetic visions of a new world order. We don’t need to naively declare that violence is never justified. Instead, we can work to create an institutional system that will find alternative methods for conflict resolution. If peace efforts fail, then these bodies will act to ensure that any belligerent aggressors face justice. The world can together agree upon what military actions are acceptable. They will provide direction for moral dilemmas alongside clarity for determining which sides were right or wrong. For many, this was, and is, an alluring vision of prophetic proportions.[10] 

Yet could international governance deliver on these high hopes? Could world powers, in fact, now provide justice for the Jewish people and other persecuted groups? 

 

Two Excommunicated Rabbis and the Changing Self-Image of the Jew 

 

In August 1920, a book ban was issued by the leaders of the ultra-Orthodox community of Jerusalem. The author of the prohibited book was none other than Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, who had recently returned from London to assume the position of the Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem. Once settled, R. Tzvi Yehuda published his father’s major treatise, Orot (Lights), which included his reflections on the Great War from Switzerland and his hopes for a new era in international relations. 

What raised the ire of his critics to ban this book? R. Kook had equated the spiritual merits accrued by youthful physical training to those gained by piously reciting Psalms or mystical enchantments. This was not the first time R. Kook had aroused controversy for praising the ethos of self-defense. In the first years of the twentieth century, Jews—usually immigrants fleeing from the pogroms in Russia—founded different groups to build character based on physical toil and exercise. “Muscular Jews” could work the land and fight for themselves. Kook wrote enthusiastically about the importance of Jewish self-defense, viewing the phenomenon as “heartwarming.”[11] While recognizing that these groups were led by secular Jews, he embraced their efforts. He mourned for two that were killed in 1911 as “holy martyrs,” despite the fact that both had abandoned the religious lifestyles of their upbringing.[12] For R. Kook, physical strength was a sign of renewed Jewish vigor to develop the homeland and instill fear in its enemies.

Yet his latest expression of praise for profane labor and physical strength—comparing it to a classic religious act of beseeching God for assistance—was too much for those who viewed the Jewish hero as pious, pensive, and passive. They wanted R. Kook out of Palestine. The controversy quickly spread throughout the Jewish world, with competing images of Jews and Judaism at stake.[13] 

Unlike several of R. Kook’s apologetic defenders, one of his most strident supporters felt that R. Kook didn’t go far enough. What’s the benefit, he asked, of simply reciting Psalms as a protective charm or incantation? 

 

It is unquestionable that to strengthen Jewish boys to enable them to defend themselves against their pursuers (with God’s help) is a greater mitzvah (religious deed) than reciting Psalms.… Reciting Psalms is the task of the indolent; calisthenics is the task of the industrious. 

 

Prayer, he added, can have a valuable role, but only alongside self-defense training. He further accused R. Kook’s critics of timidity and suggested they instead go back to Europe. Their cowardice was only causing fear among the Jewish residents from antisemitic Arabs, who looked upon diffident Jewish neighbors as “dead meat.”[14] 

R. Kook’s defender, Rabbi Hayim Hirschensohn (1857–1935), knew something about rabbinic bans. He himself had left Jerusalem two decades earlier following controversies over his own publications. Unlike most of the prominent Zionists of this era, Hirschensohn was born in the Land of Israel. His parents were proto-Zionists (ĥovevei Tziyon) who had immigrated from Pinsk in 1847. They helped develop Jewish settlement in the cities of Safed and Jerusalem before Herzl was even born. The younger Hirschensohn followed in their footsteps by organizing the acquisition and development of properties around the country. He later became a founding member of the religious Zionist movement, Mizrachi. 

As a scholar, R. Hirschensohn aroused the ire of traditionalists in Jerusalem. This was partly because of his outspoken advocacy for reviving Hebrew as a spoken language, including his founding, with Eliezer Ben-Yehuda, of an organization toward that goal. (He and Ben-Yehuda were the first two families to enforce Hebrew-speaking in their homes). He also displayed openness toward analyzing classic rabbinic texts from a critical historical lens. These factors, among others, led to his formal excommunication by the old-school rabbis of Jerusalem. Needing to make a living, Hirschensohn was forced to leave his birthplace. 

So, in 1904, the same year that R. Kook immigrated to Jaffa, R. Hirschensohn made it to Hoboken, New Jersey, where he served as a rabbi for the rest of his life. During World War I and its aftermath, he attests, he was deeply engrossed in pastoral work with veterans and their families, for which he received a letter of commendation. R. Hirschensohn remained active in various Zionist organizations and maintained correspondence with the great rabbinic figures in Palestine. Yet he died in relative obscurity, with his writings becoming well-known only in the past couple of decades. His works remain particularly important because in the wake of the horrors of World War I and the excitement of the Balfour Declaration, he wrote several books dedicated to establishing the legal groundwork for a democratic state within Jewish thought, including addressing the dilemmas of war and conquest.[15] 

 

The Jewish Legion and the Hasmonean Spirit of Self-Determination 

 

The 1920 excommunication controversy was not the first time that Rabbis Kook and Hirschensohn had supported Jews taking up arms. Both men had endorsed enlistment during World War I in the so-called Jewish Legion, battalions within the British army composed of Jewish volunteers from England, North America, and other countries to fight in Palestine. They were created upon the initiative of Joseph Trumpeldor and Vladimir Jabotinsky. Trumpeldor was a veteran of the Russo-Japanese War in which he lost his left arm and received four medals of bravery, making him the most decorated Jewish veteran of the Russian Army. Jabotinsky was a Russian writer who made Bialik’s poem on the Kishinev pogrom famous by translating it into Russian. More significantly, he had been an organizer of Jewish self-defense organizations and an advocate for minority rights in Europe, seeking to protect the Jewish people with both law and shield.[16] 

During World War I, Trumpeldor and Jabotinsky sought British permission for Jews to fight the Ottomans in Palestine. After protracted negotiations, including those of Chaim Weizmann, the Legion finally formed and played a minor role in completing the British conquest of Palestine in 1918. Its fighters included David Ben-Gurion, later Israel’s first prime minister; Eliyahu Golomb, the founder of the pre-state Haganah defense force; and Berl Katznelson, a future labor leader. 

The Legion did not accomplish much and soon disbanded, yet it transformed the image of the Jew into someone who could fight for himself and his homeland. The chaplain of the Legion was Reverend Leib Falk (1889–1957), who grew up in Boisk and studied in the school of R. Kook and Seidel. In a Hanukka holiday sermon, Falk reflected on the significance of the first Jewish military corps that had fought in nearly eighteen hundred years: 

The whole world was watching [and] were looking on us, but they see now the Maccabean spirit revived, they see now that Israel is not only powerful with his voice, but he has also a mighty arm.... The Jewish soldier upholds now the honour of our nation. The Jewish warrior saved our national honour which was at stake.[17]

 

While the troops were still in England, R. Kook visited Falk and his men. Previously, R. Kook had opposed the enlistment of yeshiva students (frequently new immigrants from eastern Europe) into the British army because of their inability to maintain a religious lifestyle.[18] Yet he bestowed Jewish Legion fighters with blessings of strength while deeming them as the bearers of the beginning of salvation.[19] Years later, when the Jewish Legion’s flag was brought to Palestine for a grand ceremony, R. Kook compared it to the banners that the Israelites used in the desert on their way to conquering the Land of Israel.[20]

Yet it was R. Hirschensohn who penned the most extensive treatise in support of the Legion. Even though Jews were fighting within a foreign army, he nonetheless deemed fighting in Palestine as within the category of an “obligatory war” for the liberation of the homeland. Earlier rabbinic Zionist figures were concerned that military activity may violate talmudic oaths that prohibited the Jews during their exile period from “rebelling against the nations” or “rising up together in force.” [21] They thus advocated for a peaceful settlement through land acquisitions. R. Hirschensohn was not deterred by this talmudic prohibition; it applied, in his mind, only to rebellions in foreign lands, not to conquering the Holy Land. This was especially true since the British had recognized the right of the Jews to establish a state in Palestine. This was not treason, but rather a deeply honorable fight by soldiers for their homeland which had been taken from their people centuries beforehand. Most significant about his declaration was the negation of the talmudic impulses against militarism as binding on the Jewish people in the current era. It was a holy deed, in his mind, not just to settle the land, but to fight for it.[22] 

 

A Temple of Peace Without Sacrifices?

 

Renewed Jewish warfare naturally meant that Jews would need to think about the legacy of biblical warfare. Like R. Kook, R. Hirschensohn sought to neutralize the ethos behind the Bible’s total wars, albeit more radically. First, he contended, any remnant of the Canaanite nations has long been lost, thereby making the commandments irrelevant. Second, while the commandment to conquer the land is eternal, the clause to “leave no one alive” among the land’s inhabitants was only applicable to Joshua’s generation, when such military tactics were necessary to conquer the land and remove the fears of the Israelite people. Once completed, however, no such clause existed; as such, we don’t find Kings David or Solomon fighting total wars against the local inhabitants.[23]

Even if we could identify the seven Canaanite nations, he further argued, we would not wipe them out because such behavior is morally unacceptable in our era. “It is prohibited to violate international law that regulates the conduct of war by charter. God forbid that Israel be regarded by the nations as barbaric murderers who violate international law and the norms of civilization.”[24] The continued history of biblical warfare—alongside our moral intuitions—proves that this biblical verse was a temporary provision, not a permanent commandment. 

Given his embrace of the norms of civilization to reject this biblical model of warfare, one might expect that R. Hirschensohn would be enthusiastic about the postwar treaties to prevent armed conflicts. Yet R. Hirschensohn expressed doubts that these proposals to resolve international conflicts would be more successful than earlier treaties. [25] Those rules, which governed hostile conduct, seemed utterly ineffective during the Great War. Hirschensohn was skeptical that the efforts of American president Woodrow Wilson and the League of Nations, meant to prevent the outbreak of war, would be any more effective. Ultimately, these bodies were subject to the political interests of powerful nations, which would thwart any real attempt at justice. 

Indeed, an early glimpse of this problem emerged in the aftermath of the post-war Lemberg pogrom. Wilson initially pushed hard for strict provisions of minority rights as a condition for Polish sovereignty. He pulled back when a related measure was proposed that would possibly sanction racial segregation in America.[26] Protecting minority rights was important, but only if it didn’t endanger American interests. 

Instead of a politicized court, R. Hirschensohn desired to build, in the spirit of the prophets, a new house of worship on Jerusalem’s Temple Mount. It would feature song and prayer but leave out the animal sacrifices mandated in the Bible. The Temple would serve as a “House of Peace” to advocate for each nation to thrive within its own borders without succumbing to the evil excesses of nationalism. He penned an extensive essay to resolving how Jews could walk onto the Temple Mount in light of heavy ritual restrictions against treading on its sanctified grounds. Hirschensohn sought to ensure that Zionism would have a center for religious and moral development that would guide Jewish nationalism. It would also serve as a model for nationalist movements around the world.[27]

Yet he also had a political agenda: If the Jews did not develop the Temple Mount, it would not remain closed to all. Instead, it would be controlled by foreigners and Arab Muslims. The Jews would be left standing, as they had throughout centuries of exile, by the Dung Gate, with all that this name entails. 

R. Kook rejected this proposal. While agreeing that Jewish nationalism must be rooted in a religious spirit, he disallowed stepping on the Temple Mount, let alone building on it. He further criticized R. Hirschensohn for eliminating the use of animal sacrifices. Hirschensohn had written that the restoration of the sacrifices “would make us the object of ridicule before all the nations of the world. Instead of being a light to the nations, they would think of us as an unenlightened people who walk in darkness.”[28] In R. Kook’s mind, this was a religious reform corrupted by the ideals of European philosophy. We should leave the Temple Mount alone and instead build a synagogue next to the Western Wall that could serve as a house of prayer and peace.[29] 

R. Hirschensohn, in reply, accused Kook of making a religious and political error that was equivalent to the 1903 “Uganda plan” to grant the Jews a state in Eastern Africa. Just as you can’t temporarily replace the Holy Land with some other territory, you can’t replace the heart of the Temple Mount with its outer western wall! Either Jews settle their territory or someone else will. As for R. Kook’s jibe that he was overly influenced by Western norms, R. Hirschensohn replied that there is no doubt that the Great War had shown the failings of European culture. Nonetheless, the prophets repeatedly asserted that God did not truly desire animal sacrifices.[30] With all the failings of Western culture, knowledge and wisdom would not recede backward, or as he put it, that “which is uncivilized will not suddenly become civilized!”[31] In any case, the mission of the hour was to purchase all holy sites toward ensuring our political and spiritual future.[32]

 

The Value of Treaties 

 

R. Herschensohn’s idyllic visions for a “Temple of Peace” are stirring yet fantastical. He also does not offer a sufficient answer as to how it would avoid the politicization that plagues other international bodies. It’s possible that this was more a theoretical exercise than an actual plan.[33] 

Nonetheless, his writing reflects a deep ambivalence on the potential success of international bodies to execute justice in a world of competing nationalistic claims. On the one hand, there is a genuine desire to promote humanistic values that will avoid a repetition of the unnecessary bloodshed of the Great War. On the other hand, R. Hirschensohn recognizes that political interests will dominate international bodies. Therefore, to achieve equity, Jews need to take hold of what belongs to them, such as the Temple Mount, based on their own values and interests. Otherwise, someone else will decide based on their interests, not justice. 

This weariness toward international political bodies is also reflected in R. Herschensohn’s extended 1926 treatise on the standing of international treaties. Nations should be careful before signing treaties, he believed, because once they commit, they are liable to punishment for breaking their word. This is why the Israelites were punished by God for violating the covenant at Sinai and breaking His law. So too, he asserted, Germany got its due in World War I because Kaiser Wilhelm had treated the 1839 Treaty of London that granted sovereignty and neutrality to Belgium as “a scrap of paper.”[34] The Allies were justified in resisting Germany since treaties are only binding when they are reciprocally observed.[35] 

Yet treaties are not the only obligations that are binding on the Jewish people. So, too, are the ethical practices of “civilizations.”[36] While he doesn’t fully translate that term, it seems that he has in mind the widespread moral sentiments of modern civilized nations.[37] Violating these standards, in his mind, constitutes a grave desecration of the reputation of God and His people. Considering these beliefs, we can further understand his rejection of the models of fighting against Amalek and the Canaanite nations. Whether or not there is a treaty against total war or genocide, Jews must hold themselves to the highest standards of morality and build a stellar reputation.[38] 

So what would a Jewish state do in this era of treaties? R. Hirschensohn argued that it should make accords with as many foreign nations as possible—in Europe, America, and Africa. Like R. Kook, R. Hirschensohn asserted that imperialist excursions beyond Israel’s borders had no place in contemporary Jewish law and that all wars required moral justification.[39] Nations must stick to their own borders. As such, there was a confluence here between the religious value of international peace and Jewish national interests. 

What about Arabs living within Palestine? R. Hirschensohn claimed that permanently ceding territory in the Holy Land would violate the biblical mandate to conquer the land. He also believed that Jews should not quickly initiate negotiations that would put them in a position of weakness.[40] Yet he recognized that despite the Jewish historical claim to the land and the Balfour Declaration, there was an Arab population who had legitimate conflicting claims to the same territory. This was primarily because they were residents in the land. At the end of the day, the strongest claim to any territory is based on settlement. Given these competing legitimate claims, he suggests that Jews should form long-term peaceful accords with their neighbors. One day, he hoped, the Jews could peacefully get full control of the territory. In the meantime, it was in the interests of all parties involved to have peaceful relations.[41]

Independent of one’s assessment of R. Hirschensohn’s particular strategy, the framework of his analysis is particularly striking. On the one hand, he embraces positive developments in international mores. Judaism is a peace-promoting religion that should support all initiatives to reduce animosity and bloodshed, even with those competing for hold of the Holy Land. This entails integrating new values—including democracy, minority rights, and conventions to limit the horrors of war—by finding support for them in traditional Jewish texts. 

On the other hand, he understood that it was far from clear that international institutions will have the ability to promote and enforce these values. There are too many national interests at stake to make this possible.[42] Thus, Jews must wisely develop a strategy that will endorse refined values while actively promoting their own political interests. In his time, this meant taking hold of their homeland through the purchase of holy locations and the settlement of the Land of Israel. 

 

Arab Riots in Palestine and the Triumph of British Political Interests 

 

The most pressing question, however, was whether force would also be necessary to reestablish Jewish sovereignty in Palestine. Both Rabbis Kook and Hirschensohn hoped that a combination of Jewish political initiatives and international diplomacy would be sufficient. Yet this was not meant to be. In March 1920, Trumpeldor was sent to help protect Tel Hai, an upper Galilean settlement that ended up under French control in the unstable period after World War I, leaving those Jewish settlers suddenly outside of British auspices. In a chaotic confrontation with Arab Bedouins from Syria, Trumpeldor was killed, alongside five other Jews, including a couple of other Jewish Legion veterans. His alleged dying words become immortalized as the fighting spirit of the new Jew: “No matter, it is worth dying for the country.”[43] 

Trumpeldor would become lionized by Zionist writers like Hayim Yosef Brenner, who eulogized this “symbol of pure heroism” for teaching that it is good to die for the national cause. Tamares the pacifist had opposed the Jewish Legion and saw Trumpeldor’s legacy as the embodiment of force and ultranationalism, but his views were hardly noticed.[44] The self-image of Jews was being transformed. A few years later, Jabotinsky would break away from the Zionist Organization and establish the revisionist Zionist organization “Betar.” The name commemorated the last fighting ground of the Jewish people in the second century, but also paid homage to the fallen hero of Tel Hai, with the letters of Betar standing for “the covenant of Joseph Trumpeldor.” 

Jewish-Arab tensions were also rising in Jerusalem. Jabotinsky warned the local British military governor of an upcoming slaughter, this time by Arabs against their Jewish neighbors. Jabotinsky and other founders of the Jewish Legion had been busy training the Jews in calisthenics and self-defense; it was their group, among others, for whom Kook’s praise in Orot had earned him the scorn of the local ultra-Orthodox leaders just a few months later. When the riots started in Jerusalem’s Old City, however, his men were not around. Several Jews were killed and over two hundred more were wounded. Two sisters were raped. 

Long aware of the self-defense groups, the British governor nonetheless arrested Jabotinsky and his men for carrying illegal weapons, with Jabotinsky receiving a fifteen-year jail sentence. Hirschensohn, from afar, would cite the case as an example of the ways in which a civilized justice system can become corrupt.[45]

R. Kook joined others in demanding Jabotinsky’s release as he and his comrades threatened to go on a hunger strike. R. Kook saluted their brave efforts but warned that Jewish law strictly prohibits taking such drastic protest measures.[46] Jabotinsky stopped the hunger strike. Soon afterward, his sentence was commuted, alongside those of many of the Arab rioters. R. Kook protested to the British high commissioner that the Arabs should be punished politically for the violence, but to no avail.[47] 

For now, the international community stayed the course with British plans for Palestine and affirmed the Balfour Declaration in the San Remo conference a month later. Yet Arab-Jewish tensions remained high and in May 1921, riots would break out again, this time in Jaffa. Forty-seven Jews were killed, and over 140 more wounded. Among the dead was the writer Brenner, who had been busy editing the letters of Trumpeldor. 

Yet the biggest turning point was 1929. Arab-Jewish tensions over control of the Western Wall had existed for several years but escalated after a march in Jerusalem’s Old City on Tisha B’Av, Judaism’s annual day of mourning for the Temple’s destruction. R. Kook, who had protested restrictions on Jewish access to the wall for several years, supported the march, telling a local newspaper that the youth had demonstrated “national pride and Maccabean zealousness” toward defending Jewish rights to the holy site.[48] Arab riots soon broke out in Jerusalem, Hebron, Safed, and other locations. 

The riots left the Jewish community particularly vulnerable since most of its leadership was in Zurich for the sixteenth Zionist Congress. Beyond working with the remaining Zionist authorities to secure British protection for the Jewish settlements, R. Kook sent a brief letter through the head of the Jewish Telegraphic Agency. “To the entire Jewish world: All of the Jewish community in the Land of Israel is in danger. Act to save us in any way you can as fast as you can.”[49] The sense of urgency was palpable. 

Robinson and other activists organized mass rallies, sent urgent telegrams, and penned editorials to get the League of Nations to act. They called on the mandate’s commission to protect the Jewish people, noting their centuries-long connection to the Holy Land. They further demanded the removal of British officials who had not come to their rescue. No response came. In the end, more than 130 Jews were killed over two hot August weeks. 

Lauterpacht, the rising jurist now teaching at University College of London, lamented the tepid British response and its failure to ascribe full blame to the Arab side. Why did the British fail to protect the Jews? Lauterpacht’s answer was telling: even the mighty British empire had to cower before the prospect of a religious war with all of Islam. Britain cares about minority rights. But it had to take into consideration its own political interests in placating the feelings of the millions of Muslims that lived within its empire.[50]

Lauterpacht’s conclusion was reached after the publication of the findings of the Shaw Commission that investigated the riots. The Muslim mufti, Haj Amin al Husseini, blamed the Jews for provoking the rioters. Kook forcefully retorted these claims and accused the Husseini of incitement. While expressing hope and belief that most of the Arabs wanted to continue to live in peace with the Jews, he insisted on Jewish rights to their holy sites and encouraged their settlement.[51] A similar sentiment was expressed by Hirschensohn, who further encouraged Jews to learn Arabic so that they could build personal relations with their Arab neighbors and thereby circumvent the incitement of their leaders. 

After their investigations, the Shaw commission concluded that the Arabs were the guilty instigators. Nonetheless, they argued that the broader cause of the violence was Jewish immigration. How could the British recognize that the Arabs were guilty of violence yet punish the Jews politically? Many in Britain had concluded that the Balfour Declaration was a mistake and against their interests. The solution came in the White Paper issued by Colonial Secretary Passfield in October 1930. Britain must restrict Jewish immigration and land purchases to ensure that the Jews remain a minority and do not negatively impact the Arab economy – or broader Arab support for Britain. R. Kook, for his part, condemned Britain for its treachery. He wondered aloud if his Majesty’s government had abandoned its esteemed role in the world’s redemption. Deliverance, he asserted, would come in other ways.[52] 

It certainly didn’t come from Britain. Ultimately, after another extended period of violence later in the decade, the British would issue, on the eve of the Holocaust, an even more restrictive immigration policy (the 1939 “white paper”) which essentially undermined the Balfour Declaration and their entire mandate. Weizmann appealed to the League of Nations, but to no avail. 

Stung by the betrayal of the British, Zionists learned what R. Hirschensohn had declared several years beforehand: when it comes to international politics, interests will trump justice. 

 

“The Generation Is Not Ready”: The Education of Jacob Robinson 

 

If the mandate failed to protect Jews in Palestine, it did little better in Europe. The idea behind the minority rights treaties was a sense of reciprocity between different states: “I protect your minority; you protect my minority.” Yet as the interwar period progressed, it became clear that attempts to protect minority rights in Europe were no guarantee to help the stateless Jews. Jewish loyalty was regularly suspect in these new ethnic states, with Jews suffering discrimination and persecution in Hungary, Poland, Romania, and elsewhere. As Robinson darkly quipped about the interwar period, European reciprocity meant “I hit my Jews, you hit your Jews.”[53] Recognizing the failure of the interwar treaties to protect Jews or other minorities, Robinson recognized that the only real solution for European Jewry was to emigrate to Palestine, or as in his case, to flee to America.

While Lauterpacht would continue to promote international legal protections as a judge on the International Court of Justice, his colleague Robinson became more skeptical of its potential efficacy. After Israel’s founding, Robinson served as a leading adviser on diplomacy and international law to the Israeli delegation at the United Nations. He was weary of the prospects of the UN providing real solutions to human rights problems. Its Genocide Convention, developed in the wake of the Holocaust, was too vague and lacked any enforcement mechanism that would make it efficient. Moreover, it and other UN initiatives would be manipulated by Israel’s Arab neighbors and minorities to attack the Jewish state, even as these countries would do nothing to respect the human rights of minorities in their own lands. 

While he remained a prominent, albeit somewhat reluctant, international jurist, Robinson understood that national interests and politics would forever play a problematic role in international law. Toward the end of his life, he would assert that while local protections for minorities remained important, the globalized system had failed. Recalling his childhood yeshiva education, he cited the talmudic expression lo ikhshar dara (the generation is not prepared) to assert that the world had been insufficiently ready to weave minority rights into its social fabric.[54] 

In the coming decades, rabbinic scholars would collectively take a similarly ambivalent but increasingly critical view of such international bodies.[55] Many were thankful for the essential role of the UN in the eventual establishment of the State of Israel after World War II. This was despite it coming way too late to save the six million Jews killed in the Holocaust and not preventing the Jews from still having to go to war to gain what the international community had been promising for over thirty years.[56] Going beyond particular Jewish interests, others appreciated the attempt by international organizations to reduce warfare and limit the atrocities committed when war occurs. They further noted that despite the imbalance of power between strong nations and weak ones, the United Nations and other bodies still promote the important idea that even the smallest of nations have basic rights that should not be trampled upon.[57]

One scholar, Rabbi Shaul Yisraeli, even went so far as to assert that Jewish law would obligate Israel to observe all international treaties limiting warfare—including a total ban on war—provided that all parties equally respect these obligations. In the meantime, he noted, lo ikhshar dara, the generation is not ready to reciprocally implement such measures.[58] 

Aspirations are not a measure of success. The criteria must be whether treaties are loyally followed by their signatories and if international bodies prevent moral mayhems. In the years that have passed since R. Hirschensohn wrote, these institutions were entirely ineffective in preventing the continued pogroms in Europe after World War I, the horror of the Holocaust, and the forced migration of 850,000 Jewish residents from Arab countries in the 1950s and 1960s, to name just a few egregious examples. When preparing to attack Israel in May 1967, the Egyptian army demanded that UN peacekeeping forces immediately leave the Sinai area; the UN forces hastily left without even an appeal by the UN secretary-general to Egyptian leaders.[59] In 1975, the UN General Assembly passed a resolution declaring that “Zionism is a form of racism,” with the support of the USSR, Arab- and Muslim-majority countries, and many African countries, essentially rejecting, again, the justice of the Balfour Declaration. (The resolution was repealed only in 1991.) Many observers also accuse these bodies of unfairly singling out Israel for censure in its complex and protracted struggle with Palestinians while ignoring many travesties around the world.[60] This alleged bias has, in part, led many rabbis and Zionists to severely question whether these international bodies can ever provide justice in the Middle East and around the world.[61] 

 

Rwanda, Syria, and the Education of Samantha Power

 

The “failure to protect” critique against international bodies has extended well beyond Jews and Israel. It has also been leveled against Pol Pot’s terror in Cambodia, Saddam Hussein’s destruction of the Kurds in northern Iraq, the Bosnian Serbs’ eradication of non-Serbs, the Rwandan Hutus’ systematic extermination of the Tutsi minority, and the systematic killing of ethnic Darfuri people in Western Sudan. There are many reasons given for these failures. Some assert that the diffusion of responsibilities to prevent war crimes absolves too many specific international players of taking the lead.[62] Yet it’s also clear that the politics of these bodies regularly prevents them from acting. To take the most obvious example, the UN Security Council, with veto power given to its five permanent members, is helpless in addressing Chinese human rights abuses or the 2014 Russian invasion of Crimea and its subsequent invasion of all of Ukraine. As historian Paul Kennedy has documented, the granting of additional privileges to great powers is inherent to the UN system and, more fundamentally, to any international body that is dependent on its member-states to provide its funding and soldiers.[63] Despite its improvements over the League of Nations, the UN cannot circumvent the political nature of any international body.       

There was no greater critic of the Western response to these twentieth-century atrocities than Samantha Power. Her award-winning, best-selling book “A Problem from Hell”: America and the Age of Genocide extensively documented these cases, including the 1994 ethnic cleansing in Rwanda. Power showed how political considerations led the Clinton administration to ignore the plight of the hundreds of thousands of Tutsis who were killed and raped over four months. U.S. officials, for example, purposely avoided utilizing the “G-word” (genocide) in describing the atrocities because that might obligate them—morally, if not legally—to intervene under the 1948 Genocide Convention. This treaty, whose potential effectiveness was doubted by Robinson, as we noted, was the culmination of years of work by Lauterpacht and especially Raphael Lemkin, another European Jew who had fled Europe and became a leading international jurist. They believed it would succeed in committing countries to prevent and punish “crimes against humanity,” a term coined by Lauterpacht.[64] It was signed and affirmed by well over a hundred nations, including leading superpowers. None of those signatures helped when the Hutus began their slaughter. 

Power singled out senior administration officials like National Security Adviser Anthony Lake, who had written a well-known critique of immoral realpolitik considerations in previous eras of American foreign policy yet had now fallen into the same trap. Power’s book helped inspire the 2005 “Responsibility to Protect” declaration of all UN member states to prevent genocide, war crimes, ethnic cleansing, and crimes against humanity. 

Two decades later, Power became the American ambassador to the United Nations under President Barack Obama. A civil war was raging in Syria, with the UN Security Council unable to act because Russia vetoed any measures against the Syrian government. Then Syria used chemical weapons against her own citizens. Such weapons have long been banned under international law with a nearly universal and unprecedented endorsement from countries around the world. This had been a declared “red line” of Obama, even as he was wary of an unpopular excursion of American troops into another bloody Middle East conflict. According to one aide, Obama even noted, “People always say never again, but they never want to do anything.” [65]

Yet Power wanted to act. She declared in the UN that the international system had broken down in Syria, with one side being gassed and the other feeling it could get away with it. Claiming that all alternative options were exhausted, she called for limited military strikes. “If violation of a universal agreement to ban chemical weapons is not met with the meaningful response, other regimes will seek to acquire or use them to protect or extend their power.”[66] At stake, in other words, was whether treaties had teeth or were just another scrap of paper. 

In the end, Obama called off airstrikes, instead electing to work with the Russians to get the Syrians to give up their chemical weapons. Subsequently, Obama’s aides have testified about the many political and strategic considerations that led the White House to abandon this limited military action. Some have further asserted that Obama did not want to risk ruining negotiations with the Iranians over their nuclear ambitions.[67] Whatever the reason, America, followed by others, backed away. Syria, with Russian support in both the UN and on the battlefield, continued to commit atrocities in places like Aleppo, including the repeated use of chemical weapons it hid from international inspectors. 

Power, for her part, was left to Twitter to share her indignation while delivering scathing speeches at the Security Council against the Russians. “Aleppo will join the ranks of those events in world history that define modern evil, that stain our conscience decades later. Halabja, Rwanda, Srebrenica, and now, Aleppo.… Are you truly incapable of shame?” Powerful words, but international treaties were meant to be backed by more than speeches and 140-character tweets. The Russian ambassador retorted by calling her Mother Theresa and called it a day. Since then, critics of American policy have labeled Power a hypocrite and questioned whether she should have resigned.[68] 

In her memoir, aptly titled The Education of an Idealist, Power admirably lays out her conflicting feelings. Perhaps American intervention would have failed and uselessly endangered American soldiers. Or perhaps the administration, and the entire system, simply failed. 

The ultimate result was pretty bad: the Syrian regime, with Russian and Iranian support, massacred hundreds of thousands more while causing a flood of refugees which has left them homeless and Europe politically unstable. Western inaction also left the roughly 30 million Kurds quite vulnerable to the whims of the despotic leaders of four countries in which they reside, one hundred years after the 1920 Treaty of Sèvres, signed between the Allies and the defeated Ottomans, called for an independence referendum in their territory. Despite all the treaties and promises they were given over the century, they have neither a state nor minority rights. 

These examples only strengthen R. Hirschensohn’s basic claim: International laws and treaties provide no guarantee that justice will be executed or that the innocent will be protected. Sometimes they will help, which is a good thing, but many times they will not. Even people with the best of intentions like Lake and Power fall into the trap of allowing power and politics to color, if not shape, international legal bodies. 

This sad but important truth does not mean that we should simply dismiss the ethics that international law aspires to implement. While displaying great skepticism about the efficacy of the system, R. Hirschensohn affirmed many of the values of “civilized society.” He sought to prove how Judaism may incorporate concepts like democracy and minority rights in order to make them valuable to Jews on their own terms, independent of their enforcement in broader international society. If, for example, forsaking total war tactics is an upright decision, then Jews should integrate and implement those values for integral reasons, let alone for preserving our reputation as an ethical people.[69] 

At the same time, Jews should not be naive about the prospects of international bodies providing them with support or protection. In practice, self-help is the prevailing rule of world affairs. Jews cannot wait for others to deliver justice. In an international order deeply impacted, if not driven, by interests, then Jews need to proactively do what it takes to protect themselves. 

 

Notes


 


[1] Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 3, no. 852, 131–33. See Yitzhak Krauss, “HaTeguvot HaTeologiyot al Hatzharat Balfour,” Sefer Bar Ilan 28/29 (5761): 81–104. 

[2] See Ginzei HaRaayah, Iggerot, 157–59. See also Ari Schwat, “Sibot Erekh HaGvurah HaFizit VeHaTzvait BaMishnat HaRav Kook,” in Nero Yair (Mitzpeh Yericho, 5773), 353–394. 

[3] Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 3, no. 871, 155–159.

[4] James Loeffler and Moria Paz, eds., The Law of Strangers: Jewish Lawyers and International Law in the Twentieth Century (Cambridge, 2019).

[5] See Jeffrey Veidlinger, In the Midst of Civilized Europe (Metropolitan, 2021).

[6] James Loeffler, Rooted Cosmopolitans: Jews and Human Rights in the Twentieth Century (New Haven, 2018), 22–27.

[7] Oona A. Hathaway and Scott J. Shapiro, The Internationalists (New York, 2018), 298–305.

[8] Loeffler, Rooted Cosmopolitans, 31–50.

[9] Omry Kaplan-Feuereisen and Richard Mann, “At the Service of the Jewish Nation: Jacob Robinson and International Law,” Osteuropa 58:8/10 (August-October 2008): 164.

[10] See Lauterpacht’s May 1950 speech given in Jerusalem, cited by Loeffler, Rooted Cosmopolitans, 176. 

[11] Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 2, 54. 

[12] Maamarei HaRaayah, vol. 1, 89–93. See Hagi Ben-Artzi, HeĤadash Yitkadesh (Tel Aviv, 2010), 70–73.

[13] On the controversy, Mirsky, Rav Kook, 167–169, and the introduction to Orot, trans. Bezalel Naor (Jerusalem, 2015). 

[14] Ĥiddushei HaRav Hayim Hirschensohn LaMasekhta Horayot, vol. 3, 33a (letter 23). The letter is dated November 1924. On Hirschensohn’s letter and Kook’s reply, see Naor’s introduction to Orot

[15] Luz, Wresting with an Angel, 222, regards Hirschensohn as the only religious-Zionist thinker who was systematically engaging in political thinking.

[16] Colin Schindler, The Rise of the Israeli Right: From Odessa to Hebrew (Cambridge, 2015), chapter 7.

[17] Cited in Michael Keren and Shlomit Keren, We are Coming, Unafraid: The Jewish Legions and the Promised Land in the First World War (Lanham, MD, 2010), 116.

[18] Kook’s letter to Chief Rabbi Hertz is found in Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 3, no. 859. See Rosenak, HaRav Kook, 156–160.

[19] Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 3, no. 974. Kook further advised Falk on how to maintain standards of dietary law observance. 

[20] Ari Shvat, Leharim et HaDegel, chapter 11.

[21] Warren Ze’ev Harvey, “Rabbi Reines on the Conquest of Canaan and Zionism,” in The Gift of the Land and the Fate of the Canaanites, ed. Katell Berthelot et al. (Oxford, 2014), 386–398.

[22] Malki BaKodesh, vol. 1, 18–22, 142–163.

[23] Hayim Hirschensohn, Eleh Divrei HaBrit, 70, 79. Kook had also tentatively suggested this idea but ultimately rejected it. See Kook, Tov Ro’i: Sota, 22. For another openly apologetic attempt to limit the meaning of this commandment to not require annihilation, see Rabbi Tzvi Mecklenberg, HaKetav VeHaKabbala on Deuteronomy 20:16.

[24] Hirschensohn, Eleh Divrei HaBrit, 70.

[25] Malki BaKodesh, vol. 1, 15–16.

[26] Loeffler, Rooted Cosmopolitans, 14–15.

[27] Malki BaKodesh, vol. 2, 5–31 (which includes part of Kook’s letter), especially pp. 26–28.

[28] Ibid., vol. 1, 11. 

[29] Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 4, 23–25. Also printed in Malki BaKodesh, vol. 4, 4–5. On the relation of these passages to the depiction of a future Temple in Herzl’s utopian novel, Old-New Land, see Eyal Ben-Eliyahu, “Lehakim Binyan Ĥadash?” Cathedra 128 (Tamuz 5768), 101–112. 

[30] Malki BaKodesh, vol. 1, 62–64. See also p. 56.

[31] Ibid., vol. 4, 8.

[32] Ibid., vol. 2, 28. He emphasizes that these holy sites should be utilized for the search of wisdom, not extremism. On the history of Jewish attempts to purchase holy sites in Palestine, including areas around the Temple Mount, see Dotan Goren, UVa LeTziyon Goel (Beit El, 2017).

[33] This is implied in Hirschensohn’s follow-up letter.

[34] Hirschensohn, Eleh Divrei HaBrit, introduction.

[35] Ibid., 8. The importance of reciprocity is made explicit in Midrash Shoĥer Tov on Psalms 60:2 regarding the wartime behavior of King David. 

[36] Hirschensohn, Eleh Divrei HaBrit, 13–14. 

[37] Hirschensohn may have in mind the notion of the “standards of civilization” that circulated since the nineteenth century within international legal circles and has made a recent revival. See David P. Fidler, “The Return of the Standard of Civilization,” Chicago Journal of International Law 2:1 (2001): 137–157.

[38] This might even mean upholding agreements made under false pretenses. Following talmudic precedent, he noted that Joshua chose to maintain his peace treaty with the Gibeonites, one of the Canaanite nations, in spite of the fact they had fooled the Israelites into thinking that they came from distant lands. While the treaty was not compulsory, the Israelites kept their promise since others would think they don’t keep their word. See Hirschensohn, Eleh Divrei HaBrit, 71–72.

[39] Malki BaKodesh, vol. 1, 143–149.

[40] Eleh Divrei HaBrit, 175–176.

[41] Ibid., 37–38.

[42] For a similar attitude in more recent writing, see Rabbi Yaakov Ariel, Halakha BeYamenu (Ashkelon, Machon HaTorah VeHaAretz, 5770), 378.

43 Regarding the veracity of this final statement and Trumpeldor’s broader relationship to Judaism, see Moshe Nahmani, HaGibbor HaLeumi: Perakim BeĤayav shel Yosef Trumpeldor (2020), 131–256.

[44] See Tamares, Shelosha Zivugim Bilti Hagunim (Pietrkow, 1930), 9, 40, 60–61.

[45] Malki BaKodesh, vol. 2, 159–160.

[46] Otzrot HaRaayah, vol. 1, 393–395.

[47] Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 5, 333.

[48] As cited in Hillel Cohen, 1929: Year Zero of the Arab-Israeli Conflict (Brandeis, 2015), Kindle location 1755. See also Kook’s testimony to the British investigation commission published in Otzrot HaRaayah, ed. Moshe Tzuriel, vol. 2, 359–360. On Kook’s reaction to the 1929 riots, see Yosef Sharvit, “HaRav Kook UMeoraot 5689,” Sinai 97 (5745): 153–185.

[49] Central Zionist Archives, A176/11.

[50] Loeffler, Rooted Cosmopolitans, 28–30, 49–50.

[51] Iggerot HaRaayah, vol. 5, 143 and Maamarei HaRaayah, 252–53. See also Mirsky, Rav Kook, 196–202 and Shtamler, Ayin BeAyin, 199–201. R. Kook also told that Zionist Congress that he regretted how the fight over the Western Wall became such a flash point. See Cohen, 1929, Kindle location 4665–4680, based on documents found in Central Zionist Archives S100/10. 

[52] Kook, Ĥazon HaGeula (Jerusalem, 5701), 46–47.

[53] Ibid., 56–57.

[54] Jacob Robinson, “International Protection of Minorities: A Global View,” Israeli Yearbook on Human Rights (1971): 61–91. See Loeffler, Rooted Cosmopolitans, 171–201 and Gil Rubin, “The End of Minority Rights: Jacob Robinson and the ‘Jewish Question’ in World War II,” Simon Dubnow Institute Yearbook 11 (2012): 55–71. Rubin dubs Robinson’s later career as one of a “reluctant internationalist.” See his article, “A State of Their Own: Jewish Internationalism and Human Rights,” Marginalia, June 6, 2018. 

[55] For a survey of positions, see Amos Israel-Vleeschhouwer, “Yaĥas HaHalakha LaMishpat HaBeinleumi” (unpublished PhD diss., Tel Aviv University, 2011).

[56] See Soloveitchik, Kol Dodi Dofek, 31–32.

[57] See Rabbi Hayim David HaLevi, Dat UMedina, 21–22, 37–38.

[58] Rabbi Shaul Yisraeli, Amud HaYemini, siman 16, 195.

[59] Michael B. Oren, Six Days of War: June 1967 and the Making of the Modern Middle East, 67–75.

[60] See, for example, Dore Gold, Tower of Babble: How the United Nations Has Fueled Global Chaos (Forum, 2004); Justin S. Gruenberg, “An Analysis of United Nations Security Council Resolutions: Are All Countries Treated Equally?,” Case Western Reserve Journal of International Law 513 (2009): 41. Gerald M. Steinberg, “The UN, the ICJ and the Separation Barrier: War by Other Means,” Israel Law Review 38:1–2 (Winter-Spring 2005): 331–347.

[61] See, for example, Rabbi Avraham Sharir, “Etika Tzeva’it al pi Halakhah,” Teĥumin 25 (5765), 436 and Rabbi Avraham Sherman, “HaMishpat HaBeinleumi (BaMilĥama) LeOhr Mishpetei HaTorah,” Torah SheBe’al Peh 44 (5764), 74. See also Rabbi Yaakov Ariel, Halakha BeYamenu, 378.

[62] André Nollkaemper, “‘Failures to Protect’ in International Law,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Use of Force in International Law, ed. Marc Weller (Oxford, 2015), 439.  

[63] Paul Kennedy, The Parliament of Man (Vintage, 2007), Kindle Location 495.

[64] See Ana Filipa Vrdoljak, “Human Rights and Genocide: The Work of Lauterpacht and Lemkin in Modern International Law,” The European Journal of International Law 20:4 (2010): 1163–1194. 

[65] Ben Rhodes, “Inside the White House During the Syrian ‘Red Line’ Crisis,” Atlantic, June 3, 2018.

[66] “The Ambassador to the UN’s Case against the UN,” Atlantic, Sept 6, 2013; “Samantha Power’s Case for Striking Syria,” Washington Post, Sept 7, 2013.

[67] See Natasha Bertrand and Michael B Kelley, “The Startlingly Simple Reason Obama Ignores Syria,” Business Insider, June 4, 2015.

[68] See, for example, Tony Badran, “‘Ambassador Samantha Power Lied to My Face about Syria,’ by Kassem Eid,” Tablet, February 27, 2018 and Steve Bloomfield, “The Obama Administration’s Misadventures in Foreign Policy,” Prospect Magazine, November 2019.

[69] An exemplar of this idea was Israel’s first Ashkenazic chief rabbi, Yitzhak Herzog, who wrote about Jewish law while in dialogue with international norms and ethical standards. See R. Herzog’s essay on minority rights in Israel, “Zehuyot HaMi’utim Lefi HaHalakha,” Tehumin 2, 169–179. 

Book Review: Michelle J. Levine on Ramban

Book Review

By Rabbi Hayyim Angel

 

Michelle J. Levine, Navigating Wilderness: Ramban’s Commentary on the Exodus and Numbers Narratives (Kodesh Press, 2025)

 

          In a book review essay I wrote over twenty years ago on a Memorial Volume for Professor Nehama Leibowitz (Pirkei Nehama), I outlined a fundamental difference that generally exists between those who study Tanakh as the primary text, and those who focus on the work of a particular commentator:

In line with all traditional exegesis, Professor Nehama Leibowitz emphasized that we must scrutinize the meaning and significance of each word and passage in the Torah, and perceive its messages as communicated directly to us. We accomplish these daunting tasks by consulting the teachings of the Sages and later commentators. In effect, they serve as our eyes through which we understand the biblical text in its multifaceted and ever-applicable glory. Of course, their opinions must be painstakingly evaluated against the biblical text...

          To those studying parshanut as a discipline, whether for methodological approaches or in historical context, Midrashim and commentators are no longer secondary to the biblical text. They are three-dimensional people living in specific times and places. Parshanut scholarship investigates how a given exegete approached the text, and what influenced him, such as Midrashim and earlier commentaries, intellectual currents of his time, and other historical considerations beyond purely textual motivations. The student of Tanakh views commentary as secondary literature, while the student of parshanut or history treats exegetes as primary sources. These contrasting perspectives almost necessarily will yield different understandings of the comments of our commentators (Tradition 38:4, Winter 2004, pp. 112-113).

 

          Professor Michelle J. Levine’s recently published volume on Ramban’s interpretation of the wilderness narratives in the books of Exodus and Numbers is a remarkable exception to the aforementioned dichotomy. She takes readers on a journey through the biblical narratives through the eyes of one exceptional commentator, Ramban (Rabbi Moshe ben Nahman, Spain-Israel 1194-1270). Levine’s expertise in Ramban’s commentary and the secondary scholarly literature on Ramban’s work shine forth on every page and in her learned footnotes. Strikingly, Levine provides a holistic approach on how Ramban learns the biblical texts.

          Ramban composed a three-tiered commentary, exploring the layers of peshat (plain sense, contextual meaning), derash (deeper meaning, homiletical teachings), and mysticism. Ramban navigates his own path guided by Midrash, Rashi, Ibn Ezra, Rambam, Radak, and Rabbi Joseph Bekhor Shor. Transcending the works of his illustrious predecessors, Ramban also “often groups many biblical verses together to develop a wide-all-encompassing analysis that seeks to educe their integration as a literary unit and to extrapolate their fundamental motifs and concepts” (5). Ramban stresses that while God revealed the Torah and it is true, it is vital to focus on how God, as Narrator, relates the story. The literary form of the narratives contribute substantially to the meaning of the Torah (8). These overarching premises of Ramban’s commentary remain relevant and illuminating to this very day.

          For example, Ramban observes that after Pharaoh decrees that Egyptians must drown baby Israelite boys, two Levites get married and have a son:

Then Pharaoh charged all his people, saying, “Every boy that is born you shall throw into the Nile, but let every girl live.” A certain man of the house of Levi went and married a Levite woman. The woman conceived and bore a son; and when she saw how beautiful he was, she hid him for three months (Exodus 1:22-2:2).

 

These Levites, whom we later learn are Amram and Jochebed, just gave birth to Moses. We also learn later that Moses already has an older brother, Aaron, and Moses’ sister (generally, but not universally, understood to be Miriam) watched over him in the ensuing narrative. From the impression given by the narrative, however, it would appear that Moses was born right after his parents’ marriage, as there is no notification of the births of Miriam and Aaron.

          One midrashic reading (Sotah 12a-13a) assumes that after Pharaoh’s evil decree to drown all baby Israelite boys, Amram and Jochebed separated since there was a 50% chance of having a boy who would be drowned. They were filled with despair and helplessness. It was their precocious daughter Miriam who persuaded them to resume having children so there would be a chance to have girls and thereby perpetuate the nation of Israel. The Torah presents Moses’ birth after his parents’ marriage since Moses was born after the remarriage of his parents.

          Ramban disagrees with this reading. The juxtaposition of Pharaoh’s decree and Moses’ parents’ marriage serves to highlight the moral courage and heroism of Amram and Jochebed who challenged Pharaoh’s decree. The Torah does not mention the births of Miriam and Aaron at this juncture, since Pharaoh issued his decree after they already were born. The Torah wants to focus the reader’s attention on the heroism of Moses’ parents and on the birth of Moses.

          Ramban notes further that Jochebed also acts courageously by attempting to save Moses. Ramban then connects this narrative to the exceptional virtue of Pharaoh’s daughter, who rescued and adopted Moses, defying her own father’s evil decree. Ramban even surmises that Pharaoh’s daughter subsequently persuaded her father to repeal his wicked decree. Levine concludes, 

Thus, Ramban’s commentary spotlights how Moses is surrounded by central personages who act with intent, purpose, and focus in order to be vehicles for salvation from a situation of oppression. With this in mind, readers can better appreciate when Moses himself initiates his own parallel actions to save others from injustices (37).

 

          Through this and countless other examples, Professor Levine’s volume is a truly welcome contribution, enabling readers to have a sustained focus on Ramban’s singular contributions to Tanakh learning and its religious meaning.

 

Thoughts on the Teachings of Elie Wiesel

          

  Elie Wiesel (1928-2016) won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1986. Actually, it was against all odds that he should have been alive, let alone become a powerful voice for world peace. When he was only fifteen years old, he—along with all the Jews in his town of Sighet—was rounded up by the Nazis and shipped to concentration camps where most of them were murdered. His mother and younger sister perished in the gas chambers of Auschwitz. His father died before war’s end. His two older sisters survived. The young Elie Wiesel—a religious, pious young man—was spiritually scarred for life by his traumatic experiences in the hell of Nazism’s death camps.

           After the war, he was sent to France, along with other orphans. He could not then find words to describe the Holocaust. The pain was too raw and too deep. He found work as a journalist. In the early 1950s he interviewed the Nobel Prize-winning French novelist François Mauriac, who encouraged Wiesel to write about the concentration camps and to bear witness for the millions whose lives were snuffed out by the Nazis and their collaborators. This led to Wiesel writing an extensive work in Yiddish, later edited down and published in French in 1958, and in English in 1960: The Night. That book was widely read and acclaimed; and Wiesel went on to write many more books, win many awards, teach many classes, give thousands of lectures.

           Upon moving to the United States in 1955, his career as writer and teacher flourished. He held professorial positions at the City University of New York, Yale University, and Boston University. He received numerous awards for his literary and human rights activities, including the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the United States Congressional Gold Medal and the Medal of Liberty Award. President Jimmy Carter appointed Wiesel chairman of the United State Holocaust Memorial Council in 1978. Shortly after receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, he and his wife established The Elie Wiesel Foundation for Humanity.

            Elie Wiesel, a survivor of a Nazi concentration camp, was not only to be a voice and a memorial for the murdered millions. His life’s mission was to serve as a conscience to the world, to remind humanity of the horrors of war and mass murder, to help humanity understand that there should never again be concentration camps, genocide, ruthless and merciless tyranny.

            Throughout his life, Elie Wiesel was a religiously observant Jew; but his faith in God—and humanity--was conflicted, sometimes angry; in spite of his grievances, though, he sought to remain optimistic.  “I belong to a generation that has often felt abandoned by God and betrayed by mankind. And yet, I believe that we must not give up on either…..There it is: I still believe in man in spite of man” (Open Heart, pp. 72, 73). 

            Wiesel’s approach found expression in his description of biblical Isaac, the son of Abraham who was brought to the mountain to be sacrificed to the Lord. At the last moment, an angel appeared to Abraham and commanded him not to put the knife to Isaac’s throat.  In Hebrew, the name Isaac (Yitzhak) means: he will laugh. Wiesel asked: “Why was the most tragic of our ancestors named Isaac, a name which evokes and signifies laughter?” And he provided his answer: “As the first survivor, he had to teach us, the future survivors of Jewish history, that it is possible to suffer and despair an entire lifetime and still not give up the art of laughter. Isaac, of course, never freed himself from the traumatizing scenes that violated his youth; the holocaust had marked him and continued to haunt him forever. Yet, he remained capable of laughter. And in spite of everything, he did laugh” (Messengers of God, p. 97).

            Wiesel’s religious worldview was strongly influenced by the Hassidic movement. He wrote much about Hassidic masters and drew heavily on their teachings. A central element of Hassidism was the role of the Rebbe, the rabbi and teacher, who was—and was expected to be—a tzaddik, a truly righteous person who was deemed to have great powers.

            The Hassidic movement began with Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov (1700-1760), born in a small town in the Ukraine. The Besht, as he came to be known, brought a message of hope to the poor and oppressed Jews. A man of humble origins, he taught that the less fortunate were beloved by God, “that every one of them existed in God’s memory, that every one of them played a part in his people’s destiny, each in his way and according to his means” (Souls on Fire, p. 25).  The simple, unlearned Jew could serve God through piety, joy, song, love of nature. What God required was a sincere and pious heart. When people criticized the Besht for associating with lowly individuals, he replied: “A small Tzaddik loves small sinners; it takes a great Tzaddik to love great sinners” (Somewhere a Master, p. 65). This was a basic principle of Hassidism: love for our fellow human beings must resemble God’s love; it reaches everyone, great and small.

            The Besht’s successor was Rabbi Dov Baer, the Maggid of Mezeritch. He drew hundreds of students and thousands of followers. To the more erudite, he taught the hidden truths of the faith. To the simple, he explained that their mere recital of the Sh’ma Yisrael prayer with proper devotion would make them worthy of redemption. The Maggid inspired loyalty. He was an excellent strategist and administrator and succeeded in spreading Hassidism throughout Eastern Europe. Although the Besht was the first leader of the Hassidic movement, it was Rabbi Dov Baer who established the role of the Hassidic Rebbe as a Tzaddik.  “As he saw it, the Tzaddik had to combine the virtues and gifts, as well as fulfill the roles and obligations, of saint, guide and sage. Spokesman for God in His dealings with man, intercessor for man in his dealings with God” (Souls on Fire., p. 66). An essential role of the Tzaddik was to encourage Hassidim never to consider themselves as being useless, abandoned, or neglected by the Almighty.

            As Hassidism grew and spread, new Rebbes emerged, each with his own distinctive style. The common denominator, though, was that each had to be a Tzaddik, a righteous person who could connect the people with God, and God with the people. Some Tzaddikim were ascetic and humble; others enjoyed a degree of luxury. Some were compassionate in the extreme, while others were more remote, less personally involved with the individual struggles of their followers. Some were expected to be wonder workers who could perform miracles; others were respected for their insistence on individual responsibility.

            Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev (1740-1809) was known for his unlimited love of each Jew, even the most sinful and ignorant among them. The notables of Berdichev chided him for associating with people of inferior rank. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak replied: “When the Messiah will come, God will arrange a feast in his honor, and all our patriarchs and kings, our prophets and sages will of course be invited. As for myself, I shall quietly make my way into one of the last rows and hope not to be noticed. If I am discovered anyway and asked what right I have to attend, I shall say: Please be merciful with me, for I have been merciful too” (Ibid., p. 99).

            A Tzaddik of a later generation, Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk (1787-1859), was known for the rigorous demands he made on himself and others. He sought no compromises with truth, no short cuts, no evasions. Wiesel describes him as “the angry saint, the divine rebel. Among the thousands of Hassidic leaders great and small, from the Baal Shem’s time to the Holocaust, he is undeniably the most disconcerting, mysterious figure of all. Also the most tragic” (Ibid., p. 231). The Kotzker always seemed to be yearning, to be reaching for something beyond. He once explained that the serpent in the Garden of Eden was punished and had to forever crawl in and eat the dust. It has been asked: why is eating dust a punishment? In fact, this makes it very easy for the serpent to eat without having to search for its sustenance. The Kotzer replied: “That is the worst punishment of all: never to be hungry, never to seek, never to desire anything” (Somewhere a Master, p. 101). The Kotzker spent the last years of his life as a melancholy recluse. Yet, his sharp wisdom and keen erudition made him a sainted figure among his followers, and one of the most quoted Hassidic Rebbes through modern times.

            Elie Wiesel was especially drawn to those Tzaddikim who were torn by internal conflict and doubts. Rabbi Pinhas of Koretz (1728-1791) taught that even if some questions are without answers, one must still ask them. Doubts are not necessarily destructive, if they bring one to a Rebbe. One must realize that others have gone through the same sorrow and endured the same anguish. “God is everywhere, even in pain, even in the search for faith” (Ibid., p. 12). 

            The Tzaddik invariably lives a double life. He must at once be a humble soul, aware of his limitations—and he must be a seemingly perfect person in the eyes of his followers. If he is too humble, he cannot gain their trust. If he thinks he indeed is perfect, then he is a deeply flawed human being. “A saint who knows that he is a saint—isn’t. Or more precisely, no longer is. A conscience that is too clear is suspect. To ever be clear, conscience must have overcome doubt. As Rebbe Nahman of Bratzlav put it: No heart is as whole as one that has been broken” (Ibid., p. 59).

            Elie Wiesel was drawn to Hassidic masters who were epitomes of religious faith and leadership…and who had their own questions, self-doubts, feelings of melancholy. In spite of personal internal struggles, the Tzaddik had to be available to his followers with a full and loving heart. “Just tell him that you need him and he will receive you. Tell him that you are suffering and he will be your companion. Tell him you need a presence and he will share your solitude without invading it. This may seem unusual today, but in those days many Hassidic Masters treated their followers in that way, with similar compassion” (Ibid., p. 142).

            Wiesel writes nostalgically, especially about the early Tzadikkim of Hassidism. But as the movement grew and expanded, it also lost some of the initial energy and idealism of its founders. Many different and competing groups emerged, each with its own Rebbe/Tzaddik.

To the outside observer, Hassidim appear to be cult-like groups blindly devoted to their charismatic Rebbes; they dress in distinctive garb, follow distinctive customs, and speak primarily in Yiddish rather than the language of the land. Yet, Hassidim are living testimony of the power of survival. Vast numbers of Hassidim perished during the Holocaust. Their communities in Europe were decimated. Yet, the survivors did not lose faith. They rebuilt communities in Israel, the United States and elsewhere; a new generation of Rebbes emerged, attracting thousands of adherents. Elie Wiesel’s emotional connection to Hassidism and Hassidim are an expression of his faith in humanity’s ability to overcome horrors…and survive with renewed vigor and optimism.

                                                *     *     *

          When it was announced in 1986 that Elie Wiesel won the Nobel Prize, many (including me) supposed it was the prize in literature. After all, he was a famous author of numerous highly acclaimed books. But the prize was not for literature, but for peace.

            Apparently the Nobel committee thought that his universal messages relating to peace were more important than his literary production. Some have felt that Wiesel’s writing is overly emotional, sometimes pretentious; it tries too hard to appear profound. While his books will be read for many years to come, his role as a conscience for humanity was deemed most significant.

                       In presenting the Nobel Peace Prize, Egil Aarvik, chair of the Nobel Committee, said this about Wiesel: “His mission is not to gain the world’s sympathy for victims or the survivors. His aim is to awaken our conscience. Our indifference to evil makes us partners in the crime. This is the reason for his attack on indifference and his insistence on measures aimed at preventing a new Holocaust. We know that the unimaginable has happened. What are we doing now to prevent its happening again?”

References

Conversations with Elie Wiesel, E. Wiesel and Richard D. Heffner, Schocken Books, New York, 2001.

Messengers of God, Simon and Schuster, New York, 1976.

Night, Bantam Books, New York, 1960.

Open Heart, Schocken Books, New York, 2012.

Somewhere a Master, Schocken Books, New York, 1982.

Souls on Fire, Random House, New York, 1972.