Min haMuvhar

Campus Fellows dinner meeting at the home of Rabbi and Mrs. Marc Angel, December 24, 2014

Stern/YU: God Save me from Your Opinion-Dec 25, 2014

Book tours are common—authors travel from one place to another to do readings and talks to promote their new books. But story tours? I realize that’s what I’ve been doing, giving readings of a story which I wrote in Ladino and translated into English, “Pasha: Ruminations of David Aroughetti.” The story, published in Midstream in English in 2005, and in Sephardic Horizons in Ladino in 2011, is about a Turkish Jew in the early 1900s in the fast-deteriorating Ottoman Empire and then in New York. When we meet him, this character has virtually nothing. Yet ironically he’s adopted the mindset of a harsh arrogant pasha—the Turkish word means a high-ranking public official, or someone who acts like one. In the spring of 2014, I did eight readings of the story in six weeks on a variety of CUNY campuses; before that, over the years, I’d done ten similar events in California, Massachusetts, and New York.

My CUNY readings were part of my project, “Spanish, Mizrahi, and Black Jews: Diversity and the Jews,” supported by a Diversity Fund grant that allowed me time away from an intensive teaching schedule. I went to Brooklyn, Manhattan, the Bronx and Queens, and it was exhilarating being welcomed on campuses in New York all nicely reachable by subway or bus. At Brooklyn College, for instance, I read at a symposium co-sponsored by fourteen departments including Judaic Studies, Puerto Rican and Latino Studies, Modern Languages and Literatures, Women and Gender Studies, and the office of the President.

At City College I performed for a theatre history course; at Baruch for a course on the Ottoman Empire; at Queensborough for the Liberal Arts Academy and Creative Writing Club; at Bronx Community at the CUNY Language Immersion Program; at City Tech (my campus) for two writing courses; and at the Americas Society for the Latin American Jewish Studies Association /CUNY Academy of the Humanities conference, where I read in Ladino.

The goal of my project was to counter the assumption that ethnic or racial groups are monolithic. People forget that a group with a particular label is actually highly diverse. Asians, for instance, may be Vietnamese, Chinese, Korean, or Japanese; or Hispanics, Puerto Rican, Ecuadorian, Dominican or Filipino. Similarly, Jews are not always white, nor do they all have names like Bloomberg or Goldstein; individuals named Rodquigue, Aghassi, Aroughetti, Sulieman, Gourgey, Papo and Abravaya may also be Jews.

One might ask, however, why encourage a multi-ethnic awareness through the lens of Judaism? For one thing, Jewish diversity is a metaphor for diversity at large. But also, CUNY students today don’t know much about Jews, yet are curious about them. Although, for instance, Jewish students were once a large majority at City College, today Jews are a small minority of the nearly half million students at CUNY, and reading a short story about a Spanish-Turkish-American Jew opens students to fresh experience they haven’t encountered before. The Sephardic experience happens to be one with a wide demographic reference. In this case, it’s Turkish, Middle Eastern, Hispanic, Jewish, immigrant and thoroughly American, a mix of the old country and the modern world with juxtapositions of the cosmopolitan and the provincial, the underdog and the power-monger. And in that mix, as everywhere, a good story is about being desperate for dignity.

CUNY students themselves represent so many ethnicities and are from so many countries all over the world that they are eager for new ways of viewing their own histories. In general, I find, people are eager for breaking down the doors of cultural boundaries. I should add that as a teacher of writing and literature, I’m interested in the way awareness of ethnicity crossing unexpected cultural boundaries encourages readers to think in new ways about family dynamics, identity, gender patterns, and even music. Hearing my story, students of diverse backgrounds see their own families in a larger context and model the power of such discovery for their own thinking and writing.

The Hispanic elements of my fiction, especially the fact of my writing this story originally in Judeo-Spanish, has made my project particularly attractive to a category of colleges such as City Tech and Bronx Community College that are known as Hispanic-Serving Institutions because of their high percentage of Latino/a students. For Hispanic students in general, the story of the Spanish Jews, who kept speaking Spanish in Turkey and elsewhere for five hundred years after their expulsion from Spain, opens new doors for listeners to understand their own Spanish backgrounds. Most of my readings have been in English, but I generally read excerpts in Ladino for the shock of recognition students have when they understand it.

“Pasha” essentially is a story about manhood in the face of harsh prohibitions. How does a young man in Turkey survive—with basically nothing, no money or education—when he’s a second son prohibited from even touching the violin his older brother will inherit along with the prospect of becoming a musician? David Aroughetti’s prospects in Turkey are especially bad because his own father can barely scrape together a living, and his whole community is struggling with poverty. Then too, after he emigrates, as he asserts himself and assimilates to early twentieth-century New York City, selling cigarettes on the streets, for instance, what are the personal and emotional costs and losses? People from all countries face similar pressures, continually calculating the costs of moving ahead, and the strains in relationships between men and women, and parents and children, that accompany a reordering of the past and a dash to the future. Perhaps nowhere are these questions muddled through, avoided, or confronted more than on the campuses of City University, where students from over two hundred different countries study together to promote their future. The questions remain for all immigrants and migrants trying to make their peace with traditional backgrounds and the open question of the future; they need to find not only an identity, but the relationships and community that allow them the dignity that every human being craves.

My CUNY readings were exhilarating because of the array of differences in the way the audiences of students and faculty responded, and the pleasure of the unexpected. A common reaction was, “I’ve never heard of Jews that speak Spanish.” An unusual one was when a young woman, having listened, wanted to talk about her family’s life in Sarayevo. A Latino student in a white button down shirt thoughtfully asked, “Did you notice that despite who this character is, and what we expect from him, he finds a way to rebel in America”? A handsome tall dark-skinned student said “I have to tell you that the Pasha story describes exactly how things are today in Ivory Coast.”

A stylish young Jamaican woman, who grew up in a poor Kingston neighborhood in a zinc hut right where a gully flooded regularly during storms, wrote, “I think you hit it dead on. All we are searching for is ‘identity’ to find who we are in the world and what we are meant to do. It really is a journey. There’s a huge misconception that you are born knowing who you are and what you want to do and that is completely false. Life is about discovering who you are in this chaos of a world.” A student named Remy said about the tense and aggressive main character, “I wished he could smile, enjoy life a little.” Another student said her father is Russian, her mother Chinese, and the story reminded her of how she likes to listen to Chinese music with her mother. In the course on Ottoman history a student asked if the main character’s arrogant pasha personality was an emblem of the whole problem of the Ottoman Empire at that time. A student in a writing class brought up Venezuela to say, “Some political leaders adopt pasha approaches to governing.”

Kimberly La Force, a former student of mine from St. Lucia, currently in a philosophy course for her graduate program at Columbia University, brought up an illuminating point after the reading she attended. She wrote me that the main character’s aggressive assumption that he is superior to others should be considered with an eye to the error of “dichotomous thinking.” Quoting the contemporary feminist philosopher Elizabeth Grosz, Kimberly said the problem with thinking in dichotomies like male/female, or mind/body, is that it “hierarchizes polarized terms” making one “the privileged term and the other its suppressed, subordinated, negative counterpart.” Indeed, by the end, the story restores the subordinated essence to its proper value, in a way our pasha does not expect.

I’m reminded of how students in Professor Carole Harris’s literature course last year talked about the dynamics of power in the way individuals treat each other. After reading the story, students considered “Pasha” characters in the short stories of the Southern American writer Flannery O’Connor, the Dominican writer Junot Díaz, and the Irish writer James Joyce, and noted the way literature written “inside a community” encourages discussion of difficulties in the very cultural groups that set up harsh dichotomies as social codes.

I’m a writer, a person who likes to stand to tell a story. We live in a world where the sight of text has often prompted the rejoinder “tl;dr”— too long, didn’t read. Perhaps the oral telling of a story can slow us down in the right way, and as we agree to be there for that thirty minutes or hour, we re-orient our sense of time. In the classroom at the top of the stairs in the Bronx, when I handed a copy of my story to a student who wanted to read along, I heard a groan because it looked long. When I said it will take me just thirty minutes to read it aloud, we were suddenly okay. Oh, half an hour. Literature builds bridges, takes down walls.

Listening to stories is worth something. The very sound of a story being told takes hold in the body. Peter Elbow, a well-known inspiring writing teacher whom I met at a recent Modern Language Association national convention, has said that language resides in the mouth and the ear, and meaning resides in the body. We need stories, music—that violin that the second son was not allowed to touch. I think the Diversity Fund should sponsor fiction-readings all over CUNY for writers of all backgrounds.

In May I began the second part of my Diversity project; I’m doing oral history interviews of Jews from different countries and neighborhoods of the world, for instance, Tunisia, Morocco, African-American Harlem, Bulgaria, Iraq, Israel, Turkey, India, China, Yemen. After that, to be continued.

Notes:

Jane Mushabac’s short story appeared in her English translation, “Pasha: Ruminations of David Aroughetti,” under the pen name S. Manot in Midstream LI.4 Yiddish/Ladino issue (July/Aug. 2005): 41-44; and in her original Ladino, “Pasha: Pensamientos de David Aroughetti,” under the pen name Shalach Manot in Sephardic Horizons online journal 1.4 [http://www.sephardichorizons.org/Volume1/Issue4/Pasha.html] (Fall, 2011).

City Tech is New York City College of Technology, a college of the City University of New York located in Downtown Brooklyn.

“Excuse me for a moment; I need to take this call,” I said to the rabbis I was meeting with at an important convention for Hareidi professionals dealing with practical halakhic issues and public policy. I had just stopped by the convention to meet some of the rabbis who had taught me and mentored me over the years. I was sitting with my main mentor—a Yeshivishe, Litvishe Rav—and his friend, a close associate of some of the Hareidi rabbinic authorities.

What made this moment ironic is that while my mentor and his friend were discouraging me from taking the position of President of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah, the call I received was from the Chairman of the Board of YCT offering me the job! In fact, just that evening, before coming to the convention, I had met with the Board of Directors of the Yeshiva for my final interview. So as I stepped aside, still surrounded by dozens of Hareidi rabbanim at the hotel, I accepted the offer from YCT, fully aware that in some ways I was agreeing to take myself into a different world than where I was standing. In an ocean of black hats, I was committing myself to a modern and open life-boat. But even at that moment of contrast, I still saw myself, and Modern Orthodoxy in general, as paddling in the same direction as the large ship of Hareidi, Yeshivish Orthodoxy. Moreover, I remained hopeful that along the way, there would be bridges from the life-boat to the large ship that would enable passengers in both vessels of Torah to intermingle and inspire each other.

The belief that Modern Orthodoxy, inclusive, open, and connected with the non-Orthodox world, could also connect with Hareidi, Yeshivishe, Hassidishe Orthodoxy animated my decision to take on the presidency of YCT, a relatively new yeshiva founded by Rav Avi Weiss. I had been the rabbi of a rapidly growing (from 90 to 400 members) Modern Orthodox shul in Chicago, and every time I went in to meet the lay leaders and faculty of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah, I made sure to combine the trip with visiting Rashei Yeshiva of my alma mater, Yeshiva University. Some were more encouraging of my interest in YCT, some less encouraging, but all my encounters leading up to taking the job at YCT continued to reinforce within me the belief that as committed as YCT was to a Modern and open Orthodoxy, I could still connect the Yeshiva and its talmidim to the broad world of Orthodoxy, across the spectrum.

In fact, as it was announced that I would be becoming the President of YCT, some well-known rabbis, well-respected in the Hareidi world, said that they were interested in coming to YCT, as long as it was done quietly. These rabbis were interested in discussing kiruv and other pertinent matters with the students because basically, we shared the same goals.

I was quoted in the press as having the sincere desire to reach out and connect with both the “Right and the Left” and to welcome students from the spectrum of Orthodoxy. My experience in Chicago, where both my shul and I had close professional and personal relationships with many Centrist Orthodox and Hareidi rabbis and communal professionals—let alone lay leaders—convinced me that we were all together in this mission of spreading Torah throughout the Jewish world. Certainly there were arguments that justifiably could make me cynical, but I had a lot of evidence that bridges existed, and could be widened, to connect all of Orthodoxy.

Then came the installation. Rav Avi Weiss has been excited and supportive throughout the process of passing on the presidency to me, and with his encouragement and my own excitement for taking on this new role, the Yeshiva planned a gala installation to introduce me to the community. In my own thinking, consistent with the mission of the Yeshiva to train Orthodox rabbis to serve the entirety of the Jewish community, not just the Orthodox community, an installation should include the spectrum of the Jewish community. Yeshivat Chovevei Torah is one of the leading rabbinical schools in America, producing more Hillel rabbis—in various positions—than any other single institution, let alone the dozens of pulpit rabbis and educators in important positions throughout the Jewish community (85 so far).

So it was natural that we invited all the rabbinical schools—from Yeshiva University to Hebrew Union College—to participate in the installation. I had no expectation that every Hareidi or even centrist institution would participate or even attend. I may be passionate about building bridges, but that doesn’t mean every institution or community leader is—that much I recognize. Yet, it was gratifying that Orthodox and non-Orthodox leaders came from all over, together with another 500 people, to celebrate this transition at a Yeshiva, transforming our Yeshiva from a start-up to an established center of Torah. What was interesting—though not surprising—was that much of the Hareidi organized world attacked the bridge-building on the left as a sign that Chovevei Torah was not sufficiently Orthodox. The paradigm that the Hareidi institutional world was presenting, and accepted passively by elements of the organized Centrist world, was that if an Orthodoxy builds bridges with the Left, in an open, respectful way, it will not be able to build bridges to the Right. It is either or: If you want to be part of our type of Orthodoxy, or be in partnership with us, you will have to burn your bridges with the non-Orthodox organized world. No Presidents or Chancellors of non-Orthodox institutions should be on a pre-installation panel discussing the future of rabbinical education; if they are, we do not want to be any part of such an installation. It is either embracing your Orthodox friends and rejecting any respect or honor for the non-Orthodox, or we have no desire to connect with you.

Upon reflection, the strong reaction to placing non-Orthodox rabbis on a stage to be given respect and honor at an Orthodox ceremony could have been expected. Genuine and justifiable fear has built up in the Orthodox world for more than two centuries toward heterodox movements. There is fear that they are out to destroy Torah, mitzvoth, and Judaism as we know it. Indeed, this might have very well been the case in the past: Reform leaders spoke out against the “cult” of ritual in Judaism; Conservative leaders erected synagogues that had mixed seating and called for serious changes to halakha in a process unfamiliar to the Orthodox world. Reconstructionist Judaism represents the teaching of Mordechai Kaplan who rejected the Orthodoxy he grew up in. Perhaps if many of the open and inclusive Modern Orthodox leaders who are pluralistic would have been rabbis 100 or even 50 years ago, they would not have been able to build the bridges to the non-Orthodox world that we can build today.

The fear of the non-Orthodox world is understandable, but it is anachronistic and the wrong approach. Not only do the non-Orthodox movements espouse Torah and mitzvoth—albeit in their own unique ways—they are gateways for thousands of Jews to find more commitment to Torah and mitzvoth. These Jews who find Judaism and Jewish life through the non-Orthodox movements and non-Orthodox leaders, frequently are then drawn to Orthodoxy as well. The competition with non-Orthodox movements will only help Orthodoxy grow stronger, rather than pose a threat. More importantly, the opportunities that non-Orthodox movements provide for Orthodoxy, as far as outreach and connection to diverse Jewish populations should make us Orthodox Jews grateful for the other movements. In fact, placing Orthodox and non-Orthodox leaders on a stage, anywhere, is a way for Orthodoxy to learn more and to shine, rather than be damaged and beaten up.

Nevertheless, we in the Modern Orthodox world who have moved away from a position of fear to one of respect and excitement to build bridges to the non-Orthodox movements and organizations need to be sensitive to this fear. Perhaps in my joy of having such incredible leaders on stage with me, in equal, loving dialogue, I was not sufficiently sensitive to this fear that still exists in the Hareidi, Yeshivish, and Centrist organized world. One way of confronting this real fear is to further develop the idea of “emunat hakhamim”—the belief that rabbis, and the general halakhic rabbinic environment, need to be trusted to work things out. Normally, emunat hakhamim is a construction used to justify rabbis maintaining the status quo, despite how illogical and unethical it may seem, or to justify onerous humrot (restrictions) that make practical living difficult. Don’t question, but trust and believe in the great minds of our time. Emunat hakhamim differs from Da’as Torah: Da’as Torah is accepting the advice of the rabbis on non-halakhic, public policy issues; emunat hakhamim is trusting that the halakhic process works, that as strange as the rabbinic Orthodox halakhic consensus seems, it deserves to be trusted and adhered to.

I suggest that the concept of emunat hakhamim must be emphasized in alleviating some of the fear that people feel when bridges are built to the non-Orthodox world: Trust Orthodoxy! Trust Torah! Trust the halakhic system that as long as rabbis and scholars are learning Torah, are arguing Torah, are making Torah the basis of their decisions, we are safe! We do not need to fear that a Reform rabbi who learns in the Beit Midrash or who speaks to students will corrupt them and their Torah—or, will, God forbid, corrupt the thinking of great Torah scholars, Modern Orthodox or otherwise. No, we need to trust the system of Torah that started on Mt. Sinai and has been handed down to us in an unbroken chain to this very day. If we trust Torah and the halakhic system, we should not fear a slippery slope or the teachings of non-Orthodox rabbis. Our system built up over the millennia, and advanced over the past 200 years by the great Yeshivot that have re-enforced Torah learning, enable us to deal with any challenge, any question, any unexpected understanding of Torah, in a coherent way that will ultimately bring about Torah True Judaism. If we really have emunat hakhamim, we have nothing to fear of bridges to other Jews, even if they have a different perspective on Torah.

Yet perhaps even more important than dealing, sensitively, with the fear of bridges, we need to challenge the core idea of zero-sumism: that if we disagree or have competing approaches, only one of us can win. This is the Israeli concept of “frier-ism”—if I let someone get ahead of me, or freely benefit, then I must be losing and I must be a big loser at that. Thank God, we are in a world of a positive-sum game: We can each have our own approach, we can even compete, and yet, more times than not, we can both benefit from the interaction and relationship. That is essentially at the core of pilpul, or “kinat sofrim”—the competition the Talmud encourages to acquire more wisdom for everyone involved. When I encounter someone who disagrees with me, even on fundamental Jewish ideas, it is an opportunity to learn more, and sharpen my belief, rather than a moment of weakness and failure. Politically, that makes me a proponent of free-trade, immigration reform, even ethical capitalism. When it comes to the realm of Orthodox bridge-building to the non-Orthodox world, we in the Modern Orthodox camp need to demonstrate to the rest of the Orthodox world that our bridges are making us better Jews, not weaker Jews.

Yeshivat Chovevei Torah has an opportunity to demonstrate the value of openness and building bridges to Torah by producing top-quality Torah that comes out of a Modern Orthodox, inclusive-oriented yeshiva, and by pushing our students to continue to model passionate commitment to Torah and mitzvoth, in both the spiritual and ethical realms. It is a challenge. Many in the pluralistic Modern Orthodox world do not show the same passion for ritual laws as those on the less tolerant, more Hareidi side of Orthodoxy. The more we can show that this is a positive-sum world for building bridges, the more we can show that our bridges to the Left make us more passionate toward Torah, rather than more tepid, the easier it will be to demonstrate the value of building those bridges to Jewish life in America.

Bridges to non-Orthodox Jews and bridges to different types of Orthodox Jews are important for the same reason. We have to learn from each other; we have to share the Torah and destiny that God has chosen for all of us. We do not need to build bridges to demonstrate our legitimacy. For that we just need to live, learn, and love as good Jews following God’s ways. We do not require anyone on the Left or the Right to tell us we are legitimate or to make us feel loved; God and God’s Torah are the yardstick for legitimacy. Nevertheless, the bridges that have to go up on both sides help us be better Jews, and they strengthen the Jewish people. It is a challenge to convince many in the Orthodox camp of the value of such bridges to the non-Orthodox—but that challenge should neither stop us from building those bridges to the non-Orthodox, nor should it make us despair from believing that we can build bridges to the Hareidi, Yeshivish, or even Centrist Orthodox world.

After a year as President of YCT, I understand better that it will take a lot of effort, patience, and sensitivity to erect the critical bridges to other elements of the Orthodox world. Yet, my belief in emunat hakhamim and my belief that ultimately this is positive-sum world gives me hope that we will successfully build those bridges to the Right, while holding onto, even strengthening, our bridges to the Left. It has taken centuries for the world to understand the benefits of free trade and commerce, even when products compete with our own products. Judaism is just beginning to build the trust and respect necessary for free-trade bridges between denominations and leaders of the different movements and non-movements. But as president of a Modern Orthodox yeshiva that is committed to training Orthodox rabbis to connect with and learn from all Jews, there is no other way. Bridges to other Jews are the way we become better Jews. And no one will stop us from striving to become better Jews, to learn from everyone and every Jew, and to work together with all Jews to make us “goy ehad ba’aretz”—one, unified nation in the land.

On this coming Rosh HaShana the Shmita (Sabbatical) year (5775 – 2014-15) will begin. According to its laws, routine agricultural activities are prohibited and its produce is ownerless, free to be taken by all. At the end of the year, Shmitat Kesafim (the remission of debts) also takes effect. If we look at this also in the context of the (currently inapplicable) Yovel (Jubilee) year, which in addition to the Shmita laws also frees the slaves and includes massive agrarian reform as all land that had been bought and sold in the previous fifty years reverts to its original owners, we witness a massive societal change with utopian overtones. Before returning to this topic I would like to present two inverse parallel stories of utopian redemption, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov’s “The Master of Prayer” and Ayn Rand’s “Atlas Shrugged” . Their tales are surprisingly similar in structure and yet opposites in the values that they promote and in their respective visions of society, redemption and utopia.

Rebbe Nachman (1772-1810) witnessed the beginnings of modernization, the industrial revolution, capitalism and the enlightenment. He saw these trends as posing a grave threat to people of religion and struggled to empower his followers and readers with tools to maintain their faith and values. He told the story "The Master of Prayer" to his followers on Saturday night, January 6, 1810, less than a year before his untimely death from tuberculosis. This story which is based upon Kabbalistic motifs regarding the process of the future redemption, focuses primarily on the charismatic and revolutionary Master of Prayer (perhaps alluding to Rebbe Nachman himself), who leads a secret counter culture group that lives on the edge of a general society that is increasingly alienated from spiritual values. This group was dedicated to the worship of God and was based upon a clear set of values and goals: “He would explain that the only true goal was to serve God all the days of one’s life, spending one’s time praying to God and singing His praise” (280). This spiritual goal stands in stark contrast to the materialistic values of the rest of society, which are clearly seen as mistaken: “Wealth is not the goal of life at all…the only goal is the Creator, may His name be blessed” (297). In Rebbe Nachman’s tale, the society at large is that of extreme capitalism, whereas the revolutionary counter culture group is spiritual. It is not clear whether the group was run as a collectivist commune or not, but we shall shortly be exposed to their position regarding the accumulation of wealth.

The Master is not content to merely minister to his flock. He and his followers actively engage in recruiting members of the general society to run away and join their secret band. “It was the custom of [the Master of Prayer] to visit inhabited areas, convincing people to emulate him, serving God and constantly praying. Whenever people wanted to join him, he would take them to his place away from civilization, where their only activities would be praying, singing praise to God, confession, self-mortification, repentance, and similar occupations…Eventually his teachings began to make an impression, and his activities became well known. People would suddenly vanish without a trace; no one know where they were…people began to realize that all of this was due to the Master of Prayer, who was attracting people to serve God” (281-282). He is well-known and highly feared by the society at large, who could not succeed in capturing him due to his ability to cleverly disguise himself: “It was impossible to recognize or capture him, since he would always appear in a different disguise. He would appear to one person as a merchant, and to another as a pauper” (292).

What exactly was the nature of the society that the Master of Prayer was trying to overthrow? While there were actually several different lands that he was undermining, it is clear in the story that the most misguided and most difficult of all to fight against was “the Land of Wealth”. In this super capitalistic society men are judged solely upon the amount of wealth that they own and are assigned hierarchical status based upon their financial worth alone, with the richest individuals proclaimed as “gods” and the poorest as “animals”. The result is a never ending spiral of fierce competition for one’s life literally depended upon moving up the societal ladder. According to their religion there were even “animal” (human) sacrifices to the “gods” and not surprisingly theft and murder abounded. Not only that, but “Charity was a very great sin. They believed that if a person gave charity, it would diminish the influx of wealth that God had given him…It was therefore forbidden in the strongest terms to give charity” (289-290). This society, which strongly reminds us of Sodom, the biblical town of horrors, is the greatest challenge for the Master of Prayer. Not only is the society rampant with violence and idolatry (including human sacrifice), but the belief in wealth also constituted the most difficult theological error to combat, for: “it was possible to get a person out of any desire except for the desire for wealth” (337). This topic of the desire for wealth and its inherent spiritual dangers was addressed by Rebbe Nachman in numerous places in his writings and he must have seen its rampant negative effects all around him. The rectification for this disorder was only possible if the person were to be brought to a special place (“the path of the sword”) where he would be miraculously cured from his desire for wealth: “In that place money is the greatest shame. If someone wants to insult another, he says that the other has money. Money is so great a shame, that the more money a person has, the greater his shame…Now it was revealed that wealth is the main thing of which to be ashamed” (349-350). In the end the Land of Wealth falls as its inhabitants repent their evil ways and spirituality replaces material values as the essential definition of human activity. The entire world is redeemed and the eschatological utopia is ushered in.

A century and a half after Rebbe Nachman told the tale of the Master of Prayer, a remarkably similar tale with the opposite message was published, “Atlas Shrugged”, the magnum opus of the American novelist and philosopher Ayn Rand (1905-1982). Born Alisa Zinov'yevna Rosenbaum to a fairly assimilated bourgeois Jewish family in St. Petersburg, Rand and her family suffered greatly during the Communist revolution and in its aftermath. Arriving in the United States in 1926 she developed an extreme capitalist and libertine philosophy that she called “objectivism” and used the heroes in her books as her ideology’s mouthpieces. She also promoted an atheistic and rationalistic world view portraying her socialist anti-heroes as “mystics”. She considered herself a writer of the “Romantic Realist” school.

Her self-identification with her positive characters was nearly total, as she wrote in “About the Author” at the end of "Atlas Shrugged": “I have always lived by the philosophy I present in my books – and it has worked for me, as it works for my characters”. Atlas Shrugged represented the pinnacle of her literary career. Simply stated, in a mere 1168 pages she had managed to state her philosophy in its most highly developed form and it would seem that from then on it was all downhill in both her literary career and her personal life.

Like the Master of Prayer in Rebbe Nachman’s tale, "Atlas Shrugged" is also about a mysterious revolutionary figure living on the edge of society. John Galt is a brilliant individualistic inventor who has disappeared from the oppressive socialistic society that America has become and he strikes fear into the hearts of that society, whose slang refrain to almost anything is “who is John Galt?”. He too lures people from the general society to his secret utopian hideaway. However, the scenes are completely reversed, as the general society is an oppressive America ruled by socialist dictators who trample individual and economic rights. Galt steals away the leading minds of the country. Rugged individualists like himself, these elite "industrialists" join him in “going on strike” against a society that takes advantage of their brains and productivity in order to serve one of mediocrity and passivity. Galt and his friends know that eventually America will implode (and they also help it along the way here and there) and then they will take over, and their capitalist utopia will again rule America and the world, and people will once again have the ultimate freedom – to produce and to make money.

As stated above Rand’s heroes are all great orators who expound her beliefs to her readers. We are thus treated to such gems as: “When I die I hope to go to heaven…I want to be able to afford the price of admission… to claim the greatest virtue of all – that I was a man who made money” (96). “To the glory of mankind, there was, for the first and only time in history, a country of money – and I have no higher, more reverent tribute to pay to America…If you ask me to name the proudest distinction of Americans, I would choose…the fact that they were the people to create the phrase ‘to make money.’…The words ‘to make money’ hold the essence of human morality” (414). “I am rich and I am proud of every penny that I own…I refuse to apologize for my money” (480). (emphasis in original).

Moving on to Galt’s secret utopian society we find that even the most rugged individualists must live by some rules. So when railroad magnate Miss Dagny Taggart accidently arrives on her first visit Galt explains: “We have no laws in this valley, no rules, no formal organization of any kind…But we have certain customs, which we all observe…So I’ll warn you now that there is one word which is forbidden in this valley: the word ‘give’” (714). Inscribed above the building that houses the revolutionary motor that Galt has invented to power the village is the following motto: “I swear by my life and my love for it that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine” (731). While it is true that the group members work hard and live relatively modestly, their long-term vision obviously extends way beyond their temporary mountain hideout.

What would be an appropriate symbol for such a society? Dagny receives the answer upon her arrival: “But close before her, rising on a slender granite column from a ledge below to the level of her eyes, blinding her by its glare, dimming the rest, stood a dollar sign three feet tall, made of solid gold. It hung in space above the town, as its coat-of-arms, its trademark, its beacon – and it caught the sunrays, like some transmitter of energy that sent them in shining blessing to stretch horizontally through the air above the roofs” (706). The dollar sign also appears upon their locally produced cigarettes and was used by Dagny when she finally leaves her railroad terminal for the last time: “she glanced at the statue of [her grandfather] Nathaniel Taggert…she took the lipstick from her bag and, smiling…drew a large sign of the dollar on the pedestal under his feet” (1138).

If in the "Master of Prayer" the redemption was signaled when the inhabitants of the Land of Wealth became disgusted by money, Atlas Shrugged ends with the following messianic vision: “’The road is cleared,’ said Galt. ‘We are going back to the world.’ He raised his hand and over the desolate earth he traced in space the sign of the dollar” (1168). We should not be surprised that at Rand’s funeral her friends placed a six foot high floral bouquet on her grave – in the shape of a dollar sign.

In summation, if we compare the utopian visions of our two authors, it is clear that for Rand state socialism (and spirituality that she rather strangely connects it with) undermine all that is good and noble in humanity, destroying human motivation, individuality and freedom, and ultimately, society itself. The solution is in absolute Laissez-faire capitalism and the freedom to invent, produce, trade and most importantly - to make money.

In Rebbe Nachman’s view it is faithless capitalism that leads to idolatry and violence. The solution is faith, and it would seem that ultimately the nature of the particular economic system is secondary as the emphasis is upon Divine service combined with a great deal of compassion. It suffices us to note again in Rand’s utopia even the use of the word “give” is prohibited, whereas one of the greatest signs of corruption in Rebbe Nachman’s despicable Sodom-like Land of Wealth is the prohibition on charity.

Did Ayn Rand model her hero John Galt (gelt?) upon the Master of Prayer? It is possible that she had read Martin Buber's 1906 German translation of the story, but it seems unlikely and at the end of the day, it isn't really so significant. The question that interests me is what does Judaism, via the mitzva of Shmita, have to teach us about utopian beliefs?

Historically it can be argued that the modern state of Israel began with a heavy-handed socialist economic model which led to bureaucracy, inefficiency and corruption. We later moved to a capitalist free market model, based on individualism which led to both economic growth and a massive gap between the wealthiest and poorest members of our society. Some say it is the largest in the Western world. We also suffer from a situation in which a significant percentage of our population lives below the poverty line. It seems clear that there is a need for balance. Alexander Dub?ek said in the Prague Spring of 1968 that Czechoslovakia was in need of "socialism with a human face" and perhaps Israel in 2014 is in need of "capitalism with a human face". The social-economic model of Shmita, seen in its broader context including Shmitat Kesafim and Yovel can provide us with the proper model. Let us briefly examine some of the explanations given by the classic commentators to this mitzva and their relevance to our question. While it is clear from their words that Shmita contains multiple elements including personal and national spiritual growth and renewal (such as providing the opportunity for a year of Torah study) as well as addressing ecological and agricultural concerns, I will focus primarily on those perspectives which pertain to social and economic issues.

Maimonides, in the Guide for the Perplexed (3:39), writes as follows: "This [mitzva] expresses mercy and compassion for human beings as it says “and the poor of your people will eat”…and it also strengthens the land and increases the harvest by allowing the land to rest". We see here an emphasis on social justice as the poor now have equal access to food supplies. It may be that the agricultural aspect is not to be seen only in light of increasing future profits for the landowner, but as part of a plan to maximize food production in the Land of Israel for the ultimate benefit of all of the inhabitants.

In addition to additional “religious” messages the Sefer HaChinuch (Mishpatim, mitzva 84) teaches: "There is an advantage to this, for us to acquire the trait of forgoing. One should also remember that the land which gives him fruit…doesn’t produce through its own power, but there is a Master over it and over its masters”. Here it is apparent that one cannot clearly distinguish between the ritual and the interpersonal aspects of Shmita. For if it comes to instill within us the character trait of forgoing one’s property and financial rights for the good of society, this must be coupled with an increase in ones faith that ultimately it is God Himself who rules over the land and provides for our needs. One who internalizes this spiritual message will find it easier to share his wealth with others while learning to take his own losses in stride.

Rabbi Zvi Hirsch Kalisher (Sefer HaBrit, Behar s.v. Derech HaSheni, U’Sefarta Lecha) explains that "the wealthy man will learn not to look down upon the poor man, for the Torah said that in the seventh year everyone is equal, both rich and poor have permission to enter gardens and fields and eat”. An additional reason is “so that he will not always be burdened with physical pursuits…and when he throws off the yoke of labor he will engage in [the study of] Torah and wisdom. And those who don't know how to study will build houses and buildings so that the Land of Israel will not be lacking them either…for the need and perfection of the world". Rabbi Kalisher, the great 19th century proto-Zionist, openly stresses the equality of rich and poor during the Sabbatical year, both in terms of economic opportunity and in terms of consciousness. While he stresses that the rich will cease to look down on the poor there will no doubt be an additional benefit – that for a change the poor will be endowed with dignity and self-respect. This new consciousness, especially when combined with the reforms of the remittance of debts and the freeing of the slaves and returning of property in the Jubilee year will serve to level the socio-economic playing field as we shall discuss shortly. Even his caveat that those farmers not suited to a year of Torah study will engage in construction work for the good of society is part of a harmonious and utopian vision of a righteous society predicated upon spiritual values, physical labor and equality. It is of little wonder that elsewhere in his commentary he quotes an opinion to the effect that the Shmita year is meant to recreate the reality of the Garden of Eden before Adam and Eve sinned. This is of course, a well-known vision in Jewish eschatology.

Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook, writing in the introduction to his classic exposition on the laws of Shmita (Shabbat HaAretz), explains that "The individual shakes off his profane existence often, on every Shabbat…the same effect that Shabbat has on the individual, Shmita has on the entire nation…whose inner Divine light is occasionally revealed in its entire splendor, which cannot be annulled by ongoing social life…by rage and competition". What is of interest to us here is not Rabbi Kook’s beautiful description of the well-known comparison between Shmita and Shabbat, but rather his characterization of the atmosphere that characterizes the workweek and non-Shmita reality as one of “rage and competition”. The endless fight to get ahead financially at the expense of one’s “competitors” must occasionally give way to the atmosphere of compassion and equality that we have seen above.

Rabbi Yaacov Ariel, the chief rabbi of the Israeli city of Ramat-Gan explains as follows (Zeh Dvar HaShmita): "The mitzva of Shmita is built upon two foundations: the public and the private…the mitzva’s central idea is to remove one from his egocentric perspective and develop his feelings for his fellow man, public responsibility and a “majestic” perspective". While the end of Rabbi Ariel’s words here hint at certain aspects of Halachic debate and public policy regarding the proper observance of Shmita’s legal aspects, his first comment is crucial. We are dealing with a law which is to have a very specific moral and psychological impact on us. If Rabbi Kalisher spoke of the cessation of the superiority complex of the wealthy, Rabbi Ariel broadens it to include a general cleansing from our usual egocentricity in favor of a much broader perspective that centers upon our concern for the individual other and for society as a whole. I recall that during the previous Shmita year of 2007-8 I heard him quip that whereas in general the Torah leans towards capitalism, during the Shmita year it is decidedly communistic!

In the fall of 2001, just as the Shmita year was ending and the remission of debts was about to take effect, I was privileged to study the topic of Shmita Kesafim with my late teacher Rav Shagar (Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg zt”l). He too stressed that with the overall package of Shmita, Shmitat Kesafim and Yovel the Torah was presenting us with clear socio-economic imperatives. In his view what we see here is a periodic attempt to reset economic reality and level the playing field. Debts are cancelled, land is returned and slaves are emancipated. He pointed out that in ancient time one of the main reasons why a person would become a “Hebrew slave” (what we would call an “indentured servant”), was his inability to pay off his debts. Thus the combination of the economic measures listed above together with the availability of free produce during an entire year would be sufficient to return society, at least temporarily, to a harmonious balance. This, when combined with a heightened consciousness of faith in God’s providence as the true provider, the cessation of the usual competitiveness and the arrogance built into the economic system, would provide us with a taste of the revolutionary changes in store for the world when the true messianic utopia comes to pass. I can only hope that our proper observance of the Shmita year in all of its aspects will hasten that great day.

Rabbi Zvi Leshem was ordained by the Chief Rabbinate of Israel and holds a PhD in Jewish Philosophy from Bar-Ilan University. He served for several decades in senior educational and rabbinic positions before assuming his current role directing the Gershom Scholem Collection for Kabbalah Research at the National Library of Israel. He is the author of "Redemptions: Contemporary Chassidic Essays on the Parsha and the Festivals".

The Israeli government recently moved to decentralize the conversion system by allowing local courts to convert individuals on their own.

Ironically, as Israel moves away from centralization, here in America the Rabbinical Council of America is enthusiastically embracing it. The modern Orthodox rabbinical organization recently reaffirmed its commitment to its centralized conversion system, which it calls GPS (Geirus Policies and Standards). Under the system, the RCA accredits only those conversions conducted under RCA’s batei din, or rabbinical courts, using the GPS process.

Since its inception in 2008, we have opposed this centralized approach. We still do today. Here’s why.

Dangers of centralization: When one rabbi or court controls the conversions of an entire region, the potential for danger is magnified because inappropriate conduct can implicate the entire system. Investing power in a select few invites the question: Who oversees the overseers? And if the court or rabbi is corrupt or abusive, a prospective convert has no alternative but to submit and comply. A decentralized system that gives local rabbis the right to convene and serve on the beit din allows for choice.

Overly strict standards: The centralized beit din system almost invariably relies on the most stringent opinions of halachah, or Jewish law. As a result, the mainstream halachic tradition, which is far more inclusive and compassionate, is ignored. This overly strict approach to conversion causes unnecessary suffering on the part of would-be converts.

Emotional distress: Conversions require that rabbis have a deep understanding of the condition of the particular convert. While clear guidelines are required for conversion, within those parameters halachah provides latitude for individual rabbis to decide who is worthy of conversion. But unlike local rabbis, the centralized rabbinic authority has far less sensibility to the convert’s particular situation. Rather than face a rabbi who knows them, the converts must appear before a tribunal. While GPS supporters maintain that local rabbis can be “sponsors” who advocate for their candidates, some of these rabbinic sponsors have told us that they and the converts they represent were often distraught by the rigid, inflexible and often callous approach of the centralized beit din and felt that the convert’s particular circumstances were ignored.

Fewer converts: A centralized system, which by definition limits the number of rabbis who sit on conversion courts, can deal with only so many converts, and too many converts are being forced to wait for too long. Only 1,200 people have been converted through the GPS since its creation 6 1/2 years ago – on average fewer than 200 converts per year. With most of the conversions taking place in New York, the system yields fewer than 100 converts annually in the rest of the United States. Certainly every convert who comes forward must undergo a significant process, but we must be more welcoming. These dismally low numbers simply don’t reflect this value.

“Out of town” cities suffer: Large cities in America like Baltimore, Denver, Houston, San Francisco and St. Louis have no local GPS court, so potential converts in these cities must travel to a GPS beit din elsewhere. Prospective converts in Denver, for example, must fly to Chicago, where the nearest beit din is located. Bearing in mind that the convert must meet with the beit din even before the actual conversion takes place, this process is frustrating, onerous and uninviting. With relatively few GPS courts across the country, significant backlog and scheduling problems arise. This results in many converts feeling disrespected and unwelcome.

Undermining the local rabbi: The centralized system sends the message that local rabbis are not to be trusted, weakening their position as spiritual leaders within the community. The mission of rabbis is to spread Torah to their communities and help shape the Jewish world. The centralized system undermines their mission and effectiveness.

Slippery slope of centralization: If local rabbis cannot be trusted to do conversions in their own communities, one wonders what the next step will be. Will only select rabbis be able to perform weddings?

Questioning earlier conversions: Despite repeated RCA assurances that pre-GPS conversions would not be revisited, the facts on the ground are otherwise. Institutions that turn to the RCA for guidance regarding past conversions are advised to obtain a retroactive certification from the GPS. Thus, post-GPS guidelines are imposed on conversions done pre-GPS. Just recently, a young man converted by a prominent RCA rabbi 25 years ago told us that he was questioned about his level of observance and then required to immerse again in the mikvah, or ritual bath, for purposes of conversion before being accepted to a graduate-level yeshiva. The policy of reevaluating conversions leaves open the possibility that GPS rabbis of today will have their conversions questioned tomorrow.

Now that Israel is finally doing something to address the harmful influence of centralization of rabbinic authority, we in America should be celebrating our tradition of decentralized and locally empowered rabbinical leadership. The welfare of converts, our communal health and our religious vitality depend on it.

(Rabbi Avi Weiss is senior rabbi of the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale. Rabbi Marc Angel is the director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. They are the co-founders of a new modern Orthodox rabbinical organization called the International Rabbinic Fellowship, or IRF.)

Rabino Alfredo Goldschmidt of Bogota, Colombia, describes his rabbinic work

Over 20 years ago when I was the National President of the Australasian Union of Jewish Speakers we hosted Rabbi Avraham Infeld for a National Conference. Avraham was the first person to tell me that I should become a rabbi. “But Avraham” I said, “I don’t even know if I believe in God” and he responded to me, “But you love people”. That was before I started learning Torah and before Torah was the guiding light in my life. I was standing at the precipice of my spiritual journey that has opened out in different directions including through prayer, yoga, meditation, dream-work, inner child healing, relationship work, conflict transformation, spiritual direction, pastoral counseling & sexual healing.

I had the privilege of studying at and graduated from Yeshivat Maharat, Class of 2015. One of the things that I love about Yeshivat Maharat is the diversity of women students. I appreciate the clarity of the institutional goal of training orthodox women spiritual leaders- and also the plurality of women and of visions for the rabbinate that this shared goal brings together. A sense of the diversity of the contexts in which we operate is reflected in the different titles we hold. We have the titles of Maharat (acronym for Leader in Jewish Law, Spirituality and Torah) Rabba, Morateynu (Our Teacher) and even a Rabbi, each title being mandated by its context.

I have been teaching and leading in Jewish life for many years. I love learning and I love halakha. As a law graduate, I have an appreciation for law generally as well. The rabbinic attention to detail involved in the halakhic process is a symbol of love, an act of love. As we learn the halakhic details and distinctions, we are invited into that love relationship of paying attention, of noticing, of caring - and of discernment and differentiation.

For me joining Yeshivat Maharat, was an important opportunity to be part of a cohort of women leaders who could act as mirrors for each other, mutually supporting each other’s journey to be who we can possibly be as leaders, and as humans in this magnificent and broken world.

My intention for my ordination is to use the threshold and wearing of this formal mantle of leadership and responsibility, to more fully speak my voice and have it be heard. As I start living and embodying this intention I am confronted with so much resistance. It is so uncomfortable for me to continue to speak and put my voice into the public arena, even as I write this now. However, this discomfort is only matched and even overtaken by a huge discomfort of what I have been calling my passion, the feeling that I am on fire, a feeling that I have so much energy and desire to give that need to find channels. This passion is a consuming fire and it could consume me from the inside without adequate channels for expression.

I see my role as using the depth and sensitivity of my own experience as a resource that other people can use in service of their own process and self-understanding and acceptance. Each challenge has its dividends. Over the past 4 years my work in conflict transformation has taught me that conflict truly can be an opportunity for openness, healing and transformation. Instead of managing problems and trying to put out fires, appeasing people with big feelings and numbing ourselves to the pain of the real, we make the choice to jump into the fire, bring out the messiness and then in unraveling it we get to discover the magnificence of the world.

This is the intention with which I accepted my ordination at the Yeshivat Maharat Ordination Ceremony, Sunday June 14, Ramaz , NYC:

With this smicha I will..Love truth and pursue the Divine; Embrace and share the Living Torah; And empower myself and others to live full lives of passion and transformation- sustained and guided by the deep knowledge that all humanity is created in God’s image.

I am blessed and sustained by the connection to you my colleagues, my hevrutot, women, spiritual leaders, in Torah, and I treasure how we are mirrors for each other. Each one holding inside her the seeds, sprouts, and fruition of her own calling- and the manifestation of her own unique voice and refraction of holy Torah.

I am deeply grateful to all those who have gone before us and in whose merit we are here, to the Board, donors, faculty and staff at Yeshivat Maharat- and all those teachers, family, friends and communities who have held me and brought me to this place. At a moment like this, I see all that I carry- and that I inherited- the light and the dark- the individual and the collective- as transmuted into a blessing.

May I be of service as a vessel of connection and an invitation to plumb the depths- Both accompanying people into the joy and fullness of their own solitariness, as well as into the celebration of community and togetherness.

May I step forward with the courage of speaking truth to power, and have the trust to fully manifest in this dear world the gifts you, God, have bestowed upon me- in ways I dream of and ways I have yet to dream - at home, with family, with friends, in and across communities. At every breath.

1. Does Such a Possibility Exist under Torah Law?

The Torah (see Deut. 24:1) describes a divorce occurring through a “writ of [marriage] termination” (sefer kritut) given by the husband. Indeed, the Mishnah (Yevamot 14:1) states: “A woman can be divorced when she agrees and when she does not agree; but a man divorces only at his will.” Thus, there seems to be no way in which a woman can receive a divorce if her husband is recalcitrant.

However, our most ancient rabbinic sources state that such a possibility exists. In vaYikra 1:3, the Torah notes that in certain circumstances, a person must bring a sacrifice, and he is required to do so willingly (yakriv oto lirtzono). This seems to be an oxymoron: Either an act is mandatory and one is obligated to perform it, or one is free to act at one’s own personal discretion; can these seemingly contradictory elements be reconciled? The ancient halakhic Midrash answers in the affirmative: “We apply pressure upon him, until he says ‘it is my will to do so.’”[1] In other words, an act that is mandated by the Torah will be considered as having been performed willingly even if such “will” was formed under pressure by legitimate agents of Torah. The Sifra does not extend this principle beyond the issue of sacrifices, but the Mishnah (‘Erkhin 5:6) does. After stating that a sacrifice is considered as brought willingly after the person was pressured until he says, “It is my will to do so,” the Mishnah adds: “and the same is true for women’s bills of divorce.” [2]

Several explanations may be offered for this principle. One explains this in light of the general halakhic principle, “What a person harbors in one’s heart is halakhically irrelevant.” [3] Thus, when the Mishnah refers to “will,” it is not relating to an internal psychological disposition, but rather to an externally verified condition. Thus, if a person declares: “I do not want to do X”—we hold that performing X is against his will, and are not concerned with his internal thoughts. Conversely, if he declares: “I want to do X”—we hold performing X to be in accordance with his will.[4] Others suggest that if a husband refuses to divorce a wife who hates him and will in no case remain with him, he is acting only out of spite in order to deny her to others.[5] Such behavior, denying to others something that in any case cannot bring the individual any benefit, is halakhically unacceptable; we can therefore apply the general principle kofin ‘al middat Sedom. A third explanation was given by Maimonides:

Since he was compelled, why is this divorce not invalid? … Because a person who was overcome by his evil inclination to desist from performing a positive mitzvah or to commit a transgression, and who was then coerced [by the authorities] until he did what he ought to do or desisted from what he was forbidden to do, is not considered to be acting under compulsion …since he does want to be a Jew, he ipso facto wants to fulfill the commandments and to refrain from sin, but his evil inclination overcame him. When he was beaten, his evil inclination weakened, and so when he says “I want [to divorce]”—the divorce is in accordance with his will. (Laws of Divorce, 2:20)

Maimonides has a theory of human personality that recognizes several “levels” of will that can be in simultaneous conflict. The “will” required for divorce is not a subjective feeling but an objective mental position, which is assessed according to the overall context of a person’s life choices. A person who wants to be a Jew, surely consents at heart to what is entailed by being a Jew. If according to Torah he should in the case at hand divorce his wife, his refusal to do so is in conflict with what he deeply assents to. By physical coercion, the court is merely enabling him to overcome a powerful urge that conflicts with his own deeper and more serious will.

2. Who May Coerce a Husband to Divorce?

Having seen that Torah law contains the option for coercing a husband to divorce, the question arises: Who may do so? It should be pointed out that today, with a get regarded as a document required only because of adherence to a religious tradition, physical coercion to give a get flies directly in the face of the principle of freedom of religion. When we discuss today physical coercion of a get, we are therefore arguably doing something analogous to discussing the death sentence as a punishment for adultery, i.e., marking certain actions as worthy of extreme censure. With this in mind, let us return to the question: When physical coercion was a real operative option, who might be involved in this? The upshot of the talmudic discussion in Gittin 88b seems to be that physical coercion of divorce is not a matter that should (or may!) be undertaken by individuals. No matter how much I personally may be convinced that Zalman (for example) should really divorce his wife Rivka, I am not allowed to take matters into my own hands and beat him up in order to get him to agree to do so. Indeed, if he does give a divorce after being manhandled by self-appointed guardians of Torah (or by thugs they employ), the get thereby produced may well be halakhically invalid. Rather, it is only legitimately appointed communal leaders who were authorized to decide to apply such physical coercion. Having reached such a decision, they could appoint agents—whether Jews or non-Jews—to actually do so (in much the same manner that civil courts today direct law-enforcement officials to act against those who refuse to follow court rulings).

3. What Circumstances Justify Coercion of a Husband to Divorce His Wife?

If in general a husband divorces his wife only at his will, but in certain cases legitimate community leaders may coerce him to do so, the question arises: What are those “certain cases”? The Mishnah (Ketubot 7:10, cited at Bavli Ketubot 77a) gives a very specific and very short list of men whose extreme objective physical repulsiveness justifies coercing them to divorce if their wife demands a get. The more interesting case, however—not discussed by that Mishnah—is when a wife declares that her husband is subjectively repulsive to her and demands a get. This matter comes up with regard to a “rebellious” wife, i.e., a wife who openly refuses to have intimate relations with her husband. The Mishnah (Ketubot 5:7 cited at Bavli Ketubot 63a) states, that the communal authorities are not allowed to physically force her to change her mind, but that economic sanctions may be employed to cause her to reconsider, i.e., they may sanction her by impairing her right to payment of ketubah, thus threatening her with a situation in which her husband can divorce her not only against her will, but at no cost to himself. However, in the talmudic discussion Ameimar (c. 400 CE) states, that the above does not apply to a wife who justifies her refusal to remain with her husband by explaining that she finds him repulsive (ma-ees ‘alai). Well then, what is to be done when a woman so declares? Here the picture becomes really interesting, because we have at least three variant wordings of the talmudic phrase defining what is to be done in such a case. The printed text of the Talmud (based of course on manuscripts the first printers had before them), states:

But if she says ma-ees ‘alai—we do not coerce her.

On this version, it is not the business of the court to in any way pressure such a woman to have sex with her husband. If he is fed up with such a situation, he can divorce her. Of course, in those times, polygamy was also an option: if he was sufficiently well to do, the husband could simply take a second wife. But the court will take no sides in this marital crisis. This version seems to have been the one known to most rishonim, including Rabbenu Hananel (d. 1055), Rabbi Yitzhak AlFasi (1103), and many others.
However, a second version exists, in a talmudic manuscript known as ms. Firkovich-Leningrad. In that manuscript, the Talmud states:

But if she says ma-ees ‘alai—we coerce him.

On this version, the court will actively intervene on behalf of the rebellious wife who declares her husband repulsive, and coerce her husband to divorce her! Thus, in addition to the short list in the Mishnah of physically repulsive men who are coerced to divorce, a husband who is subjectively repulsive to his wife is also so coerced. Rabbenu Gershom, “Light of the Exile” (c. 960–1028), the greatest scholar of Ashkenazic Jewry of his time, ruled that if a woman found her marriage so unbearable that she was willing to totally forfeit her ketubah if only her husband would divorce her—the court is required by Torah law to coerce her husband to do so. As he writes (Teshuvot Rabbenu Gershom Meor haGolah, #42):

If she wants to be divorced and forfeits her ketubah, and he does not want to divorce her, the authorities must coerce him to give her a get. As the rabbis taught […] “We apply pressure upon him, until he says ‘It is my will to do so.’” And such is the actual halakha.

Note that the Mishnah stating that a husband could be coerced to give a get when the Torah mandates this, did not state when the Torah so mandates a divorce; it is Rabbenu Gershom who determined that Torah so requires whenever a woman is so desperate for a divorce that she is willing to forfeit her ketubah!

Another great authority who held this to be Torah law was Maimonides, who ruled that coercion of a divorce when a woman declared ma-ees ‘alai was mandated by the Torah (Hilkhot Ishut/Laws of Relationships, 14:8; note that at 14:14 he rejects post-biblical legislation on this issue):

If a wife declares “I find him repulsive, and am unable willingly to have sex with him”—the authorities immediately coerce him to divorce her. For she is not a captive of war, who must have sex with a man she despises.

This brief ruling reflects Maimonides’ assumptions about the basics of marriage. He holds that the status of a married woman is not like that of a captive enemy, and that she is under no obligation to submit to the sexual advances of a man she finds repulsive—even if that man is her lawful husband. He also clearly assumes that sex is an essential component of marriage, that a woman cannot be expected to be bound in a sexless marriage, and that divorce is therefore an absolute necessity in such situations. Now, the Torah never expressly states either of these things about marriage. While some biblical passages might seem to support such views of marriage, others might be cited against them, as in Psalms 45:11 where the bride is enjoined, “He is thy lord, and do homage to him.” Clearly, Maimonides’ decision that the Torah here requires an immediate, forced divorce is dependent upon his value-laden understanding of what marriage is all about—an understanding that informs his reading of the Torah no less than it derives from such reading. And such an understanding may well have been what led Rabbenu Gershom to also mandate coercion in such cases—and what informed the talmudic author of ms. Firkovich-Leningrad, who wrote: “But if she says ma-ees ‘alai—we coerce him.”

A third variant of this talmudic phrase was proposed by Rabbenu Yaakov ben Meir (also known as Rabbenu Tam, France c. 1100–1171), but it can be understood only after tracing developments in the halakhic history of coerced divorce from the time of Ameimar to the twelfth century.

4. Waiting 12 Months—and What Then?

The talmudic discussion of the rebellious wife concludes with the following cryptic sentences: “And we delay her reception of the get for 12 months. And during those 12 months, she receives no financial support from her husband” (Bavli Ketubot 64a). This seems to be referring to a rebellious wife whose husband has not been coerced to divorce her, and a strange situation is thereby created. On the one hand, unlike other husbands who under talmudic halakha may divorce their wife whenever they want, the husband whose wife has rebelled against him may not do so until 12 months have passed. On the other hand, unlike other married women whose husbands must support them, the husband of a rebellious wife is free of that burden. Their marriage is thus in limbo for 12 months. To what end? Some say (e.g., Rashi): This time period is designed to give the wife further cause to reconsider if she indeed wants to find herself divorced with no ketubah. And some say: The 12-month wait would prevent a husband who wants to be quickly and cheaply rid of his wife from mistreating her (thus causing her to rebel) and then being able to immediately divorce her without a ketubah. Knowing that he will have to wait 12 long months will (in this view) deter him from choosing such an option.

Whatever the purpose of this 12-month delay, the question arises: Once that time has passed—what then? Specifically, may the husband (whether or not he has taken a second wife in the interim), who can now divorce without paying any ketubah—decide not to do so, holding the rebellious wife in eternal limbo as an agunah? The Talmud itself says nothing on this matter. However, it seems that the interpretive tradition of the Babylonian academies was that such an option is a moral non-starter, and therefore the Talmud must have held that any husband attempting to do so is coerced to change his mind. As Rev Sherira Gaon explained: “After these 12 months, the authorities physically coerce the husband and he gives her a get.”[6] However, for Rav Sherira Gaon, as well as for almost all other rabbis until Rabbenu Tam, the interpretation of the talmudic view on this matter was a purely intellectual exercise, as all knew that talmudic halakha on this matter had been superseded by a post-talmudic takanah (rabbinic legislation).

5. Dramatic Change: Whenever a Wife Requests a Divorce, Her Husband Is Coerced to Give a Get

Around the year 650 CE, a dramatic legal enactment (takanah) was instituted by the halakhic leaders of Babylonian Jewry, immediately following the Muslim conquest of that area in 637–650:

When our masters in the times of the Sevora’im saw that Jewish women were going to the Gentiles and with their assistance were obtaining forced divorces from their husbands, and the husbands were writing bills of divorce under compulsion and these were illegally forced divorces—and this resulted in disaster—they enacted, with regard to a woman who rebels against her husband and demands a divorce, that … we compel her husband to divorce her immediately. [7]

In contrast to the policy of the Sassanid Persian kingdom that previously ruled in Babylonia, Muslim legal authorities provided succor to Jewish women seeking divorce, and forced their husbands to acquiesce and issue a writ of divorce. However, as we saw above (section 2), if a husband is unlawfully forced to write a bill of divorce, it is invalid. Therefore, the Muslim coercion resulted in divorces that were halakhically invalid but at the same time made it impossible for the rabbis to prevent the women from re-marrying, because doing so would enrage the Muslim authorities who had validated the procedure. The result was a disaster, because since the divorces were invalid, the women’s second marriages were adulterous, and children born from such unions were mamzerim who would never be able to marry legitimate Jews. Since the rabbis could not change the political-legal reality of Muslim rule, they decided to institute a change in halakha via the mechanism of takanah. From then on, any Jewish woman demanding a divorce (not only on the grounds of sexual repulsiveness) would get it immediately—no questions asked—from a Jewish court! And since a writ of divorce lawfully imposed upon the husband by a Jewish court was valid, any subsequent marriage of the divorcee would be lawful, and children born by her after receiving such a coerced get would be fully “kosher” according to halakha.

The Sevora’im knew full well that the persons directly benefitting by their dramatic takanah were specifically those women who knowingly acted against the Torah and against halakha by refusing to rely upon Jewish rabbinical authorities and instead relying upon Gentile courts—as well as those Jewish men who disregarded the (in)validity of those divorces and married women of such questionable status. But it was precisely for such halakhically deviant/marginal women and men that the rabbis needed to provide a viable alternative—for the good not only of these sinners themselves, but of the entire Jewish community.

The decision of these rabbis to enact such a takanah rested upon an underlying premise that it is important to explicate, that is to say, the premise that within the realm of values recognized by the Torah, it is possible for rational human beings to recognize a hierarchy and to prioritize accordingly, and that the responsibility to do so rests primarily upon rabbis. While the Torah generally granted a husband the prerogative of not issuing a divorce against his will, it also regarded the prevention of adultery and mamzerut as a major value. It was crystal-clear to the rabbis at that time that if historical conditions required prioritization of one of these values, then prevention of adultery and mamzerut should be given preference—even if this meant denying a privilege explicitly granted to husbands by the Divine Lawmaker, and granting to women a privilege He had denied to them. Obviously, the fact that they knew that in certain cases the Torah itself had extended to women the privilege of a coerced divorce enabled them to enact the extension of such privilege to a new range of cases.

For half a millennium after the institution of this takanah (from the mid-seventh to the mid-twelfth centuries), a de facto equality had been obtained between men and women with regard to unilateral divorce: A husband could divorce his wife unilaterally, and a woman could unilaterally achieve freedom from her marriage, since the court would immediately coerce her husband to divorce her.

It is important to note, that this legislation superseded talmudic halakha not only in Muslim-ruled Babylonia but throughout most of the Jewish world, including not only the Middle East, North Africa, [8] and Spain, but also countries where the Gentiles never considered intervening on the side of a women to compel her husband to divorce. Thus, in Catholic Germany, where divorce was anathema to the Christian authorities, Rabbenu Gershom knew of the Babylonian takanah and declared it to be binding in his time and place, i.e., although Torah law allowed coercion of the husband only when a wife was willing to forfeit her ketubah, praxis in Ashkenaz should (and did) follow the takanah, so that the Jewish authorities would coerce the husband of any wife demanding a get to give her a divorce (see his responsum cited above). A century later, in Catholic France, Rashi’s grandson Shmuel ben Meir and other members of the Paris Bet Din also followed suit, demonstrating that such coercion was standard operating procedure in all of Ashkenaz (see Sefer haYashar, responsa, beginning of responsum #24). But all this was to change, because of an almost single-handed effort embarked upon by none other than Shmuel ben Meir’s brother Jacob, known as Rabbenu Tam.

6. Reversal of the Tide: Rabbenu Tam’s Campaign against Coercing Divorce

Rabbenu Tam heard of an incident in which a woman demanded a divorce, and his brother Shmuel and other rabbis in Paris ruled (in line with generally accepted praxis) that the husband should be coerced to do so. In a lengthy halakhic epistle (Sefer haYashar, responsa, beginning of responsum #24), Rabbi Jacob ben Meir critiqued their action. Beginning in a minor tone, he first expressed concern lest “the enemies” claim the get was invalid, because the Bet Din in Paris had not waited for 12 months as required by the Talmud. At this point it seems to the reader that he is not contesting the validity of coercion after the 12 months are over (i.e., he seemingly accepts Sherira Gaon’s tradition, that already in talmudic times the husband was forced to divorce after that interim period). But he is definitely contesting immediate coercion—in other words, he is contesting the Sevora’ic takanah.

Indeed, Rabbenu Tam proceeds to state that there could never have been such a takanah. Why? Because the power to enact takanot contrary to Torah law in matters of marriage and divorce existed in talmudic times—but not after that. Thus, talmudic rabbis were authorized to decide that a get could be coerced in circumstances where the Torah had not allowed that.[9] But if post-talmudic rabbis were to enact such a takanah, they would be acting ultra vires. However, the post-talmudic rabbis were very great, and would never have so acted. Something that could not have happened, obviously never happened. Therefore, such a takanah had never been enacted. The conventional view in Ashkenaz (and wherever else it might be held), that such an enactment had indeed been made, was simply a counterfactual myth.

The only possible source that could authorize rabbis to coerce the husband of a rebellious wife to divorce her was, therefore, the Talmud itself. Rabbenu Tam writes to his brother: “I will now explicate for you; line by line, the talmudic sugya in Ketubot about the rebellious wife,” and proceeds to do so. In the course of that explication, he explains that the Talmud recognizes two types of rebellious wives. Both want to terminate the marriage and receive a divorce. The difference between them is this: Do they also demand payment of their ketubah? The rebellious wife who says ma-ees ‘alai is willing to receive a divorce without any payment of ketubah. It is with regard to her that Ameimar states (according to Rabbenu Tam’s citation of the Talmud):

But if she says ma-ees ‘alai—we do not coerce him.

Rabbenu Tam explains that this means that we do not coerce the husband to wait before divorcing her. Rather, he may immediately divorce her, as she in any case has waived payment of her ketubah. But what if despite her waiver of ketubah, the husband does not want to divorce her? Rabbenu Tam is very clear on this: “In the entire talmudic discussion, there is no mention at all of coercing the husband to divorce, and no other interpretation of the sugya has any validity.” Since, as Rabbenu Tam argues, there never was a post-talmudic takanah enabling coercion, and the Talmud itself does not authorize coercing the husband of a rebellious wife to divorce her, the upshot is clear: Any Jewish court that applies such coercion is acting illegally, and the resulting get is invalid. If the wife remarries, she and her new partner will be adulterers, and their children will be mamzerim. Therefore, “It is better that she remain an agunah, than that aspersion be cast upon the status of her children.” And if the rabbis of Paris were to respond, that for hundreds of years the custom had been to coerce husbands to divorce, and that a general maxim in Ashkenaz was “custom overrides halakha (minhag ‘oqer halakha)—Rabbenu Tam is not impressed: “Heaven forbid that we follow this maxim, when the result will be forbidden adultery and mamzerut.”

Rabbenu Tam is known for his bold reliance upon his own best understanding of the sources, even when this flies in the face of accepted halakhic praxis. Thus, he argued that the conventional arrangement of the four biblical passages inside the tefillin was mistaken, thereby ruling inter alia against his own grandfather Rashi. He also explained that the conventional view that Shabbat begins at sunset was completely mistaken, and that it began only when darkness had fallen. However, his overturning of the ancient tradition that when a woman demands a divorce her husband is coerced to do so—was certainly his most dramatic reversal of halakhic praxis. What could have been the reason for him to do so? Why would he want once again to place the wife at a disadvantage vis-à-vis her husband?

Having phrased the question thus, the answer is immediately obvious. In twelfth-century Ashkenaz, the enactments attributed to Rabbenu Gershom (herem de rabbenu Gershom) had become totally accepted. These enactments had deprived men of two of their major marital advantages vis-à-vis women: They could no longer be married to more than one wife, and they could no longer divorce their wife against her will. However, Rabbenu Gershom had not deprived the woman of her right to have the court force her husband to divorce her! The situation was therefore asymmetrical—to the advantage of the wife! It was this asymmetry that Rabbenu Tam effectively cancelled … by denying that women had ever legitimately possessed such a right.
Post-Rabbenu-Tam, neither the husband not the wife could opt out of a marriage by imposing a divorce upon the other. Divorce was only possible by mutual consent.

7. How to Justify Rabbenu Tam’s Ruling: Rabbi Asher ben Yehiel’s Portrayal of Women

Some 200 years later, Rabbi Asher ben Yehiel (also known as as Rosh) re-located from Ashkenaz to Spain. In Ashekenaz, Rabbenu Tam’s denial of a coerced get to women had by then become totally accepted. In Spain, however, coercion of the husband to divorce was still quite widely practiced. This was apparently especially so in cases where the woman stated that she found her husband repulsive and declared ma-ees ‘alai. How indeed could one go against Maimonides’ value-judgment that a woman may not be compelled to have sex with a man repulsive to her? Rabbi Asher ben Yehiel responded:

Is this a reason to force a husband to divorce, and thereby permit a married woman [to other men]? Let her not have sex with him, and remain a straw widow to the end of her days! In any case, a woman is not commanded to have children. Can it be, that because she wants to follow her headstrong desires, and has fastened her eyes on another man and desires him more than the champion of her youth, that we should fulfill her lust and force the man, who still loves the woman of his youth, to divorce her?! God forbid that any rabbi should rule thus! [...] In this generation, the daughters of Israel are cheeky, and if a wife will be able to extricate herself from under her husband by saying “he repulses me,” not a single daughter of Abraham will remain with her husband; [rather] they will fasten their eyes on another and rebel against their husbands! [10]

According to this view, women are not interested in marital stability but in following their lust and desire. Indeed, if given the choice, not a single woman would remain married to her present husband! One might argue that if that is truly what women want, perhaps they should be freed from their current unwanted state? But this is not the view of Rabbi Asher. His analysis reflects a deeply-held understanding of the purpose of marriage. Marriage is a bulwark against socio-sexual chaos. Such chaos will occur if women will be able to follow their desires for men other than their husbands by forcing him to divorce against his will. Therefore, it is only by absolutely closing such options that social stability can be ensured.

This does not mean that Rabbi Asher is in favor of forced sex. If a wife claims that she finds her husband repulsive, she need not have sex with him. But that does not entitle her to a divorce. Better that she remain without sex for the rest of her life, he argues, than that her husband be forced to capitulate and give her up, against his will! Unlike Maimonides, who holds that a sexless marriage is a moral oxymoron and must be terminated by divorce, Rabbi Asher holds that if such a divorce will enable a woman to seek sexual satisfaction with another man, it is absolutely preferable morally that she remain married against her will—and if she will not have sex with her husband, let her not have sex at all.

However much a contemporary reader may be turned off by this view—and whether or not Rabbenu Tam himself held such a view of women—it is very important to note that this is not a formal-authoritative presentation of halakha. Rather, Rabbi Asher bases his position on what he holds to be central Torah values: the sanctity and stability of marriage, the suppression of social chaos, the preference for marriage without female sexuality over an alternative of lust and licentiousness. And while it is quite probably true that today very few Jews (of either gender) agree with the Rosh’s view of women, the halakhot of divorce remain as they were formulated in twelfth-century Ashkenaz: A husband or a wife who seeks divorce is effectively hostage to his or her marital partner, without whose consent he or she cannot become divorced.

8. Conclusion

When I was growing up, I was taught that the holiness of Jewish marriage is based on the serious commitment of man to woman and of woman to man, expressed (inter alia) in their entering a relationship in which neither party can cast off the other against his or her will. Later, when I leaned in the Yeshiva, I became aware that such had not always been the case: Originally, “in the time of the Torah” (and indeed, also the time of Hazal and the first millennium of the Common Era), a husband could arbitrarily be rid of his wife whenever he wanted. Only later, in the eleventh century CE, did Rabbenu Gershom decide to come to the aid of Jewish women and defend them against such a possibility by forbidding divorce without the woman’s consent. From time to time, a strange question would pop up in my head: Did Torah and Hazal not know that a true Jewish marriage means a serious commitment that cannot be unilaterally terminated by one of the parties?

Subsequently, I became more acquainted with the sources, and realized that over the course of time, holy Jewish marriage with huppah and kiddushin has undergone many metamorphoses. Originally, a husband could divorce a wife against her will, but a wife could not be divorced without her husband’s agreement (pace, e.g., Rabbenu Gershom and Rambam, who hold that under original Torah law any woman really fed up with her husband could forfeit her ketubah and receive a coerced divorce). Later, at the end of the talmudic period or at least from the seventh-century Rabbanan Sevora’ei, halakha moved to a symmetrical situation: Not only the husband but also the wife could unilaterally end the marriage. Then, after Rabbenu Gershom forbade the husband to unilaterally divorce his wife, the pendulum swung to the opposite pole: For about a century, only the wife could coerce the husband to divorce her, while he was forbidden to do so against her will. At this time, halakha (at least in Ashkenaz) was directly contrary to Torah law. After that, Rabbenu Tam restored symmetry between the spouses—but in a manner opposite to what had been the case until Rabbenu Gershom: Now, not only the man but also the woman could not exit the marriage unless the partner concurred. For the first time since Mount Sinai, both partners entering a Jewish marriage knew that they might become hostage to the other.

In recent years, the ideal of no-fault divorce has become prevalent in many societies around the globe: Marriage should not be a prison in which each side holds the only key to the other’s freedom. Hearing rabbis speak (nay, sermonize), one gets a clear message: Such is not the way of the Torah. Our marriage is holy, and that is why it is called kiddushin. And marriage cannot be holy unless it is a total, unconditional commitment that can be abrogated only after much travail and by mutual consent. No-fault divorce is thus a halakhic non-starter.

After reading this article, one thing should be clear: Whatever this or that rabbi may think of no-fault divorce, such was exactly the character of Jewish divorce for a very long time. According to Rabbenu Gershom and Maimonides (et al.), this was original Torah law from the time of Moshe Rabbenu (and according to many others, from the sixth or seventh century until Rabbenu Tam, i.e., for at least half a millennium). Was Jewish marriage not holy then? Similarly, if today, or in several years, halakhic authorities find the will and the courage to (re)institute halakhic no-fault divorce, this will not at all undermine the holiness of marriage under huppah and kiddushin. In fact, the opposite may well be true.

[1] “Kofin oto ‘ad she-yomar rotze ani.”Sifra, ad loc. (Dibbura di Nedava, 3).
[2] “veKhen b’gittei nashim.”
[3]“Devarin she-baLev einam devarim.”
[4]See e.g., Tosafot on Gittin 32a s.v. mahu de-teima.
[5]See Rashbam on Bava Batra 48a s.v. hatam nami neima.
[6]Responsum of Rav Sherira Gaon, Otsar HaGeonim to tractate Ketubot, no. 478. This responsum was known to the rishonim. See e.g. Rabbi Yesh’aya di Trani (thirteenth-century Italy), Tosfot RID on Ketubot 64a–b.
[7]Responsum of Rav Sherira Gaon, Otsar HaGeonim to tractate Ketubot, no. 478.
[8]Rabbi Yitzhak AlFasi (Morocco and Spain, 1013–1103) ruled that the takanah was in force throughout the Jewish world. Rabbenu Hannanel (d. 1055) does not mention the takanah, and thus some have held that he rejected its validity. But this is not self-evident.
[9]To prove the categoric difference between talmudic and post-talmudic authority, Rabbenu Tam cites the talmudic statement (Bava Metzi’ah 86a) “Ravina and Rav Ashi are the termination of instruction (sof horaah).” However, the notion that these words teach that after the Talmud no enactments authorizing coerced divorce are possible—may well be an original interpretation of Rabbenu Tam.
[10]Responsa of Rabbi Asher ben Yehiel section 43:8.

I rubbed my eyes in disbelief when I read that Sephardi Chief Rabbi Yitzhak Yosef has extended the ban on television and computers by decreeing that anyone using the “abomination” of smartphones be prohibited from leading prayers. Like most Israelis, I felt profoundly ashamed that a “chief rabbi” could seek to impose such primitive views on the Israeli public. Under such circumstances, is it any surprise that Israelis have utter contempt for the Chief Rabbinate?

The time has come for the vast majority of us, including nonobservant Jews, who take pride in the fact that we represent a cultured people which was at the forefront of enlightenment and civilization from time immemorial, to stand up and say enough is enough.

The state has imposed upon the nation a Chief Rabbinate that is now dominated by the most extreme and obscurantist elements. We are not living in the Middle Ages when our sages were actually trailblazers in enlightenment and worldliness. Indeed, Maimonides, one of the greatest Jewish thinkers and halachists of all time, was an utter repudiation of what today’s ultra-Orthodox extremists symbolize. Steeped in Torah, he was nevertheless a worldly man, considered one of the great physicians of his time, and even wrote books relating to Greek philosophy. He called on Jews to adhere to the “golden path” of moderation and shun extremism. However, because of his worldliness, Maimonides today would be ineligible to teach in most haredi educational institutions.

It is clear that this obscurantism has no relationship with piety or standards of religious observance. Many ultra-Orthodox Jews, especially in the Diaspora, take pride in high academic and professional achievements. Few endorse the extremes of gender separation and inequality which have more in common with the Taliban than with traditional Jewish practice. Likewise, many haredim reject the approach of extremist Israeli-based rabbis that commitment to a Torah life necessitates eschewing a livelihood.

Under the mantle of the Chief Rabbinate, the extremists display contempt for and seek to undermine the Zionist state -- which pays their salaries. They prohibit their followers from serving in the army or performing national service.

If these elements merely sought to practice an obscurantist lifestyle, that would be their democratic prerogative. However, it is outrageous to seek to impose on the entire nation rigid and primitive lifestyles inconsistent with the Judaism that sustained our people throughout the millennia.

In the past, we were privileged to have chief rabbis who were spiritual giants -- Rabbi Isaac Herzog, Rabbi Ben-Zion Meir Uziel and Rabbi Shlomo Goren -- whose piety and learning was unsurpassed and who sought to unify the nation, thus making Yitzhak Yosef’s edicts sound like the ravings of a troglodyte.

The current Chief Rabbinate and its courts are incompetent and corrupt and largely recruited on the basis of “jobs for the boys.” They lack a modicum of compassion and frequently transform what should be routine marriage applications into a bureaucratic nightmare, encouraging thousands of nonobservant Israelis to bypass the rabbinate and perform their secular weddings in Cyprus and elsewhere. Were it not for the admirable and courageous work of Tzohar, the rabbinical organization that provides a warm and friendly service for thousands of Israelis, the numbers would be even higher.

But the worst aspect of this abhorrent structure is the almost venomous approach toward converts which is disparaging, humiliating and usually forces them to withdraw in disgust.

There are over 300,000 Russian immigrants who regard themselves as Jews, are indistinguishable from other Israelis, and serve in the army but are not considered halachically Jewish. It is clearly in the national interest to encourage them to convert before the impending crisis when they will seek to wed and will be told that they are ineligible because they are not Jewish. This has potentially enormously divisive social implications and the makings of a long-term disaster for the state.

Instead of employing halachic precedents for easing conversions of Jews of mixed marriage -- especially from a society like the Soviet Union which denied Jews the right to a religious education and ruthlessly persecuted those seeking to practice their Judaism -- today’s Chief Rabbinate does the opposite.

Indeed, current Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi David Lau was only elected after pledging not to tamper with the prevailing conversion restrictions without the approval of the extremist elements such as those who sought to retroactively annul conversions authorized by religious Zionist Rabbi Haim Drukman.

In recent years, the Chief Rabbinate attempted to widen its influence and also sought to centralize control of rabbis in the Diaspora akin to the Vatican’s control of the Catholic Church. It demanded total subservience to its stringent and hostile approach toward conversion and rejected conversions undertaken by more enlightened Orthodox rabbis despite the fact that, according to Halachah, a conversion court can be convened by any three religiously ordained rabbis. If successful, this centralization would lead to a reign of zealotry unprecedented in Jewish history. From the Mishnaic era, there were disputes in halachic interpretations between the more stringent followers of Shammai and the more liberal disciples of Hillel, but the people could select the rabbi they chose to follow, and no one disputed their legitimacy.

The previous government, which excluded the haredi parties, intervened and tabled legislation to enable Israelis to select the rabbis of their choice for marriage, divorce and conversion. Unfortunately, under pressure from the haredi political parties, the current government turned the clock back, reverting to the totally centralized control by the Chief Rabbinate. This emboldened the Chief Rabbinate to further abuse its power by attempting to force the retirement of Rabbi Shlomo Riskin, one of the principal and highly respected Orthodox rabbis seeking to bring about conversion reform. Only due to a storm of protest did the attempt fail.

This led to a schism and the creation of a new conversion court, independent of the Chief Rabbinate, headed by a renowned scholar Rabbi Nahum Eliezer Rabinovitch, head of the Maaleh Adumim hesder yeshiva, Rabbi Riskin, and Rabbi David Stav, head of Tzohar.

This court, rather than seeking to impose the most stringent regime of observance on converts, will apply the more flexible solutions and interpretations of Maimonides reflected in the approach of former Chief Rabbi Uziel, who approved conversions without obsessing on the minutiae of observance.

This is an explosive situation, with the haredi groups in government pressing Netanyahu to compel the Interior Ministry to endorse the Chief Rabbinate’s refusal to recognize conversions by the new courts.

With a majority of one, Netanyahu is in an impossible position -- which he himself created by capitulating to all the haredi demands when he formed his government.

Yet, if the new conversion courts are not recognized by the Interior Ministry, we face a social disaster in which the most extreme elements of the ultra-Orthodox will further intensify their control of the nation.

The truth is that the current Chief Rabbinate -- which has no standing as an institution in Halachah -- alienates the nation from Judaism. No communal group accepts its authority. Despite having hijacked the Chief Rabbinate to exploit it as an instrument to impose their stringent interpretations, haredim themselves continue to despise the institution. Many also feel embarrassed by the primitive outbursts like those of Yitzhak Yosef, and recognize the need to educate their children so that they can earn a livelihood. Religious Zionists are obviously appalled with the abuse of an institution that was created to unite the nation and is now dividing it.

But it is the secular parties from both the Left and Right that created the haredi Frankenstein’s monster. Most nonobservant Jews are utterly ignorant and incapable of distinguishing between any varieties of Judaism and display contempt for all forms of religion. They fail to understand that the religious orientation of the state-sponsored rabbinical establishment is at the core of national identity.

The secular parties should have ensured that qualification for rabbinical leadership, at a minimum, involves loyalty to the Jewish nation state and its institutions. To have rabbis on a state payroll who refuse to permit the prayers for the welfare of the state and its armed forces in their synagogues, is an abomination. For secular parties, for the sake of political expediency, to endorse the appointment of a chief rabbi who has himself not served in the army and does not support the draft, is unconscionable.

Today we stand at a crossroads. In an ideal society, the prime minister and leader of the opposition would suspend political differences on this issue and either dissolve or restructure the Chief Rabbinate so that it provides a Zionist religious leadership, more in tune with the national need. But since this is unlikely to happen, the secular Zionist parties will bear the guilt for exploiting short-term political benefits to create generations of extremists and anti-Zionists who will ultimately undermine the Zionist state and devour them.

Isi Leibler may be contacted at [email protected]