Min haMuvhar

Rabbi Marc Angel Replies to Questions from the Jewish Press

Should a person who enjoys learning on his own force himself to find a chavrusa?

The Talmud (Shabbat 31a) cites the opinion of Rava about what we will be asked when we eventually come before the heavenly court. One of the questions is: kavata itim leTorah, did you set aside fixed times to study Torah? Regular study of Torah is expected of us, and we will have to answer for ourselves in due course.

We won’t be asked if we learned on our own or with a havruta.

The goal is to study Torah regularly and effectively. We need to be able to set times for study, and to have the mental framework for gaining most from the time we devote to our studies.

For some people, having a havruta is an effective way to advance in Torah. Since two or more people are involved, it’s necessary to set times to meet. A havruta system enables the partners to struggle through texts together, to share knowledge, to challenge assumptions.

But for others, learning on one’s own is preferable. A self-disciplined person can often accomplish a lot more by oneself. While one loses the give and take of a havruta arrangement, one gains the ability to approach topics and texts as he/she thinks best and on his/her own schedule.

No one should feel compelled to find a havruta. If one feels that one can learn best with a learning partner, then one should choose a suitable havruta. If one feels that one can learn best alone, then study alone…but, either way, be sure to study!

If a person believes based on medical expert advice that wearing a mask on a quiet sidewalk is unnecessary, should he wear it anyways because of the chillul Hashem it will cause in some circles if he doesn't?  Does the answer depend on his motivation (convenience vs. making a political statement)?

 As responsible citizens, we are obliged to follow the laws of our government. We are currently required to wear masks and practice social distancing when in public, in order to lessen the impact of the covid 19 pandemic. These practices have been mandated for the health and well-being of all of us.

Those who do not follow the rules, regardless of motivation, are thereby endangering the health—and possibly the lives—of themselves and others. When people obviously identified as Jews spurn the regulations, this casts a bad light on themselves and on the Jewish community as a whole. In a recent example of a throng of Hassidic Jews attending a funeral, the Mayor of New York made unfortunate comments—not just about the scoff-laws, but about the “Jewish community.” Kol Yisrael areivim zeh lazeh, we are all responsible for each other; our individual actions reflect on our people as a whole.

If one is walking in an area where there are few or no other people nearby, it should be fine to remove the face mask since no one is endangered by this. However, when one is in a public setting where multiple other people are present, one should certainly wear the face mask and observe social distancing.

The consequence of violating the rules is not only a matter of hillul Hashem; it is possibly to endanger the health and lives of oneself and others.

When bad things happen to someone else, is it appropriate to speculate why?

It is appropriate for everyone to mind his or her own business; it is inappropriate to speculate about why bad things happen to others.

Tanakh makes this clear in the book of Iyyov, where Iyyov’s friends “speculate” that he is suffering because of his sins. Hashem states that only He knows the ultimate reasons for things. Speaking to Eliphaz, Hashem says: “My wrath is kindled against you and against your two friends; for you have not spoken of Me the thing that is right, as My servant Iyyov has” (42:7). In other words, leave judgment to the Almighty who alone understands why things happen as they do.

In the Pirkei Avot, we read the words of Rabbi Eliezer: “Let the honor of your fellow be as precious to you as your own” (2:15). Just as you would not someone to judge you in a manner that casts aspersions on your honor, so you should not judge others in a manner that diminishes their honor.

It is religiously and morally repugnant to suggest theological reasons to blame victims for their sufferings. People who are not prophets should not arrogate to themselves the right to proclaim that they know Hashem's will. They don't.

We have the right and responsibility to judge ourselves and to self-reflect when we deal with adversity. We don’t have the right or responsibility to stand in judgment of others. As we all learned from our parents, if you don’t have something good to say about someone…don’t say anything at all.

For bar mitzvah boys: Should you give them a sefer in Hebrew, which they may not be able to read for another five years (or perhaps ever), or should you give them something in English?  

King Solomon, the wisest of men, taught: "Educate each child according to his way" (Kohelet 22:6). Every child has his or her own strengths, weaknesses, aptitudes, interests. When considering a gift for a bar or bat mitzvah boy or girl, one needs to think about what would be most suitable for that individual child. If the decision is to give a book of Jewish content, then one needs to think carefully about what book/s would be most appreciated.

Making the right choice requires a lot of thought. Ideally, one should know the child very well so as to have a good idea of what book/s would be relevant. Giving an impressive set of Hebrew books might be of interest to the giver: but would these books be of interest to the recipient? Or is it reasonable to assume that the book/s will indeed one day become relevant to the child as he/she grows up?

Before giving a book or set of books, first think of what would be most appropriate for the child. Then consider whether the child already has the book/s or is likely to receive them from other bar/bat mitzvah guests.

My general suggestion for someone who is uncertain as to what book/s to give:  buy a gift certificate from a Jewish book store and let the child choose for him/herself.

Is there anything wrong with playing violent video games?  Does the answer depend on whom the video game wishes you to fight or kill or how gory the violence is?

Experts debate whether or not playing violent video games induces people to commit acts of violence. But we must remember that violence existed in the world long before the invention of video games. Human history is drenched in the blood of wars, terrorism, and crime.

From an early age, children learn to “play out” acts of aggression. Games such as “cops and robbers” entail mock murdering of enemies. Even quiet games like checkers and chess involve destroying “men” on the other team. Do these activities induce violence…or are they merely pastimes that are substitutes for actual violence?

Tanakh is replete with incidents of violence and bloodshed. Nearly all humans drown to death in Noah’s time; Sodom and Amorah are devastated by fire and brimstone; Moshe murders an Egyptian taskmaster; the Israelites are brutalized by Egyptian taskmasters; Egyptians suffer ten plagues etc. As we go on in the books of Tanakh, we confront wars, cruelty, murder.  Do these narratives incite readers to acts of violence? Most of us would not think so.

It could be argued that playing violent video games is a harmless way to work out aggressive feelings. It could also be argued that playing such games is a waste of time, with possibly negative impact on one’s psychology. Let people decide what’s best for themselves and their children.

In a Jewish marriage, is cooking and cleaning primarily the woman's job?

Every good marriage, Jewish or otherwise, is characterized by love, mutual respect, and a sincere desire to live a happy, cooperative and meaningful life together. It often happens—based on pre-modern patterns—that women assume primary responsibility for household chores and men assume primary responsibility for earning a livelihood to support wife and family.

But it also happens that the pre-modern model does not work well in many marriages. Unlike earlier generations, many women today have full time employment and spend long hours at their jobs. In some cases, women are the main earners for their families.  In such circumstances, it would be extremely unfair to expect that women also assume primary responsibility for cooking and cleaning. Husband and wife must come to a reasonable accommodation of sharing responsibilities, based on their own specific situation.

Sharing responsibilities is not only sensible and decent, it also sets a proper model for children. Boys and girls grow up seeing parents who work cooperatively for the benefit of the family. They learn by personal experience that men and women are not pigeonholed into stereotyped roles, and that fathers and mothers are loving people who care deeply about each other’s wellbeing.

     Is it important for an introvert "get out of his shell"?

The great 20^th century thinker, Isaiah Berlin, wrote an essay (“Two Concepts of Liberty”) in which he made the following point.“Paternalism is despotic…because it is an insult to my conception of myself as a human being, determined to make my own life in accordance with my own… purposes, and , above all, entitled to be recognized as such by others.”  Each person has the right—and responsibility—to live according to his/her best judgment, without being treated “paternalistically” by people who think they know what’s best for him/her.

Some people tend to be shy and introverted by nature. Others tend to be gregarious and extroverted. The important thing is for each person to live comfortably with who he/she is…and to be accepted as such. Some of the deepest thinking and kindest people are introverts “who don’t get out of their shell.” They don’t pretend to be what they aren’t.

If a person feels that his/her introversion and shyness are impediments to their proper functioning, they themselves should turn to trusted loved ones for advice and/or decide to seek psychological guidance.

Jewish tradition teaches of 36 “tzadikim nistarim,” hidden righteous people upon whom the world depends. I suspect that since these tzadikim are so hidden and unrecognized, they probably are introverts!

What nationality should a Jew in America consider himself? Jewish? American? Both?

     The question assumes that one actually must make an active choice as to how to consider his/her nationality. But this is generally not the case.

    According to the Oxford English dictionary, nationality is “the status of belonging to a particular nation.” Every American citizen, for example, is automatically of American nationality. A second dictionary definition is “an ethnic group forming a part of one or more political nations.” Thus, people of American nationality also may belong simultaneously to “sub-nationality” groups i.e. Irish-Americans, Italian-Americans, African-Americans…and Jewish-Americans.

   By these definitions, then, American Jews are both American and Jewish by nationality.

  Jewish nationality, though, differs from other nationalities that are based on lands of origin. The Torah describes us as benei Yisrael, children of Israel. Jewish nationhood, in principle, is the consciousness of being part of an extended family. We were still a nation for nearly 2000 years when we did not have sovereignty in our own land. Jewish nationality reflects the connection Jews have to their common origins, religion, culture, customs etc.

   Each person has multiple dimensions of self-identification. For example, I am American, Seattle-born, New York resident, Jewish, Sephardic of Turkish/Rhodes background etc. I am a composite of all these things, just as every person is a composite of all the components that form his/her identity. It is not fruitful to try to dissect ourselves and to consider ourselves to be only one of the multiple components that constitute who we are.

The ancient and so-far uncured disease of “anti-Semitism” is reflected in Megillat Esther.  Haman tells the king: “There is a certain people scattered abroad and dispersed among the peoples in all the provinces of your kingdom; and their laws are diverse from those of every people; neither keep they the king’s laws; therefore it profits not the king to let them be.” (Esther 3:8). Haman’s description of the situation is insidious and hateful. It slanders the Jewish people who, although they follow their own religious laws, also are law-abiding people who follow the king’s laws.

The disease of anti-Semitism has persisted through the generations and continues today, with all its false accusations, paranoia and dangerous consequences. How are we to cope with this deep-seated irrationalism? How are we to explain this to our children and grandchildren?

                                                                     *   *   *

Each generation of Jewish parents and grandparents seems to face the same dilemma. We teach our children and grandchildren that all humans are created in the image of God; that we should respect and assist others; that love of God necessarily entails love of God’s creations.

Yet, these right and proper teachings are challenged by the realities which our children and grandchildren witness with their own eyes. They see thousands of missiles shot at Israel by Hamas terrorists with the aim of killing as many Jews as possible. They see throngs of Palestinians cheering as missiles are launched to murder Jews. They hear the rantings of the President of Iran who calls for the annihilation of Israel. They read of anti-Semitic diatribes and attacks by anti-Semites throughout the world. They see the large number of countries at the United Nations who consistently vote against Israel, who consistently side with those who would destroy Israel. They know of the so-called humanitarian groups and journalists who seem to find fault only with Israel, but rarely, if ever, with the vicious enemies of Israel. 

We Jewish parents and grandparents constantly teach our young generations about love of God, love of humanity, the sanctity of human life. Yet, there are so many millions of fellow human beings who are saturated with hatred, who engage in murderous activities against us. And there are so many millions of others who are complicit with the evils of anti-Semitism by their neutrality or silence.

How can we teach of love in a world filled with hatred? How can we teach that all humans are created in the image of God, when so many humans are actively trying to murder us? How can we preach the goodness of humankind, when so much of humankind is engaged in violence? 

For thousands of years, our people have weathered the storms of persecution. In spite of the senseless hatred and violence perpetrated against us in so many lands, the Jewish people are still here to tell our story.  Our enemies always disappear; we always survive. That is an iron law of history. And that bothers the anti-Semites greatly.

Why do anti-Semites give us such a hard time? Why do people who do not even know us express hatred and malevolence toward us? Why do Israel’s enemies persist in demonizing the Jewish State, rather than  finding a way to co-exist peacefully and happily?

Jews represent an infinitesimal fraction of the world’s population. Yet, so much negative energy is directed against us! I suppose we should feel complimented to receive so much attention!

Our enemies are astounded and troubled by the fact that such a tiny Jewish people has been able to accomplish so much. We gave the world Moses, King David, Isaiah and Queen Esther. Our Bible is venerated by Christianity and Islam and has been a major influence for human civilization. Our sages have produced an unmatched legacy of literature dedicated to righteousness, ethics and law. For thousands of years, our communities have striven to maintain the highest ideals of our tradition.

Jews have distinguished themselves for service to humanity far out of proportion to our numbers. Our enemies resent our persistent commitment to excellence: generations of Jewish doctors and teachers, social workers and scientists, artists and philanthropists, business people and diplomats. They resent the incredibly high proportion of Jewish Nobel Prize winners and other world-class intellectuals and writers.

Some hate us because they see in us a highly educated, highly idealistic, highly charitable group. In contrast to their much larger groups, we are an annoying paradigm. The enemies of Israel do not understand how a tiny Jewish State has become a world leader in science and technology, agriculture and industry. How can such a small State, constantly embattled and boycotted by much of the Arab world, be so amazingly successful in so many ways? How is it that only Israel of all countries in the Middle East has been able to maintain a vibrant and dynamic democracy, a society that gives so much freedom to all its citizens?

Our enemies solve their dilemma by denying or belittling Jewish virtues, or by blaming us for preventing their own advancement. When they cannot come to grips with their own shortcomings, they look for a scapegoat: and we are a convenient target since we are so small and yet so visible. If anything, their anti-Semitism is a blatant admission of their own failings and weaknesses. Those who devote themselves to hatred thereby undermine their own humanity.

The Jewish people are persistent in believing in the ultimate goodness of humanity. In spite of all our enemies and all their hatred, we remain eternally optimistic. We believe that reason and benevolence will prevail. We work to make society better and to alleviate suffering. We believe that even wicked human beings can be redeemed through love and compassion. We can point to many millions of people who think kindly and warmly toward Jews and toward the Jewish State. The good people far outnumber the anti-Semites.

When we come under fire from anti-Semites, we call on our collective historic memory to give us strength. We have survived the millennia due to the incredible courage and fortitude of our forebears. We are the children of the prophets who taught justice, righteousness and love to the world. Our teachings are right: the world simply hasn’t absorbed them as yet.

How can we teach of love in a world filled with hatred? How can we teach that all humans are created in the image of God, when so many humans are actively trying to murder us? How can we preach the goodness of humankind, when so much of humankind is engaged in violence? 

We teach these things because they are true, and because they are the ideas and ideals that can best bring fulfillment to humanity. In spite of so much hatred and evil in the world, the Jews teach love and righteousness.

The day will come when hatred and bigotry will disappear from humanity. In the meanwhile, we must stay strong, courageous and faithful to our tradition. And to our collective Jewish memory.

All of us are deeply concerned by the Covid 19 pandemic. We worry about health…physical, spiritual, mental, emotional, financial etc.  Most of us are sheltering in place; our world is contracting.

The ancient Israelites were enslaved in Mitsrayim—the Hebrew name for Egypt. The word mitsrayim comes from the root tsar, meaning “narrow and confined.” The Israelites were not only in physical servitude, but they suffered from the psychological pains of being in bondage. They lacked freedom to go where they wanted when they wanted. It was a depressing, anxiety-ridden time.

We now find ourselves in a modern-day mitsrayim. We are dealing with the narrowing of options and with confinement.

Rabbi Benzion Uziel, late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel, offered an explanation of the Korekh “sandwich” eaten during the Seder. This custom goes back to Hillel the Elder who used to put together the matzah and maror and eat them together. This was based on the verse (Bemidbar 9:11) that instructed people to eat the Pessah offering with matzah and maror.

Rabbi Uziel noted that the matzot were eaten after the Israelites left Egypt, and are therefore a symbol of freedom. The bitter herbs, maror, are eaten as a reminder of slavery in Egypt. We eat both of them together to remind us that freedom and slavery are intertwined elements of life. We always find ourselves between exile and redemption. But even at a time when we are experiencing the bitter herbs of life, we should be awake to the possibility of redemption; we must maintain hope.

Today when we are in a sort of mitsrayim--when our lives are increasingly confined and narrowed-- we need to strengthen ourselves as much as possible. Each word of comfort and consolation is helpful. Each prayer to the Almighty is important. We need to reach out as often as possible to relatives and friends, to those who may be feeling excessive isolation and loneliness. We push back at the powers of mitsrayim by trying to enlarge our lives through communication with others (while strictly observing the social distancing rules). Phone calls, emails, online interactions help bring light into our lives.

This year’s Sedarim will indeed be different from all other Pessah nights. We pray that the Almighty will give strength and wisdom to all the health care professionals and scientists who are working so diligently to combat the pandemic. We pray that the Almighty will bless all of us with all manner of good health. We pray for a speedy end to this world wide plague.

May we soon emerge from this time of mitsrayim and may we soon enter a period of freedom and redemption.

A New World: An American Sephardic Memoir

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

(These are excerpts from Rabbi Angel’s book, A New World: An American Sephardic Memoir, Albion Andalus Books, Boulder, 2019.   The book is available through the online store of jewishideas.org.)

            Transitions.

Things stay the same, but not really. Things change, but not totally.

            My grandparents were among the 30,000 or so Sephardic Jews who came to the United States during the early 20th century. They were born and raised in Turkey and the Island of Rhodes. They had little formal education, little money, but a lot of courage.

            They brought the “old country” with them to the new world. Their language was Judeo-Spanish. Their culture was the traditional Sephardic Judaism of Ottoman Jewry. They settled in Seattle, Washington, and were part of a vibrant Sephardic enclave with large extended families.

            My grandparents were of the “old world” and they sought to transmit their ideals and values to their children. Their children were of the “new world.” Life in America was very different from the tradition-centered life of the Jews in Turkey and Rhodes. The children’s generation respected their parents; but this new American generation was restless. They wanted to adapt fully to American life. How much of the “old world” could they carry with them? How much of it had to be left behind?

            By my generation (I was born in 1945), the Americanization process was well advanced. We loved and admired our grandparents and their generation; but we were full-blooded Americans, many of us with American-born parents. The “old world” was remote, somewhat exotic. It didn’t define who we were.

            Our children and grandchildren are further removed from the “old country.” Most have never heard a conversation in Judeo-Spanish. Most have not had personal contact with members of my grandparents’ generation.

            The Americanization of our family over the past hundred years has brought many changes. We are far better educated than the immigrant generation. We are generally more affluent, more “successful,” and more integrated into American society. We have shared in the American dream.

            But we have also incurred losses in the generational transitions. Life is not static. Things change. Circumstances change. People change.  Whereas most of our family once lived within the same neighborhood in Seattle, now we are spread out all over the country. Whereas most of our family once felt a strong sense of belonging to the Sephardic Jewish tradition, now we are much more diverse in our religious and cultural patterns of life.

            While we can’t go back to the “old days” and the “old country” way of life, we can draw meaningful lessons for ourselves and our next generations. In assembling the memoirs for this book, I have chosen people and events that have left a lasting impression on me…and that I think can leave a lasting impression on many others. This book is one man’s record of an era which is rapidly coming to a close. I acknowledge that memoirs are subjective; each person experiences life through his or her own eyes and each remembers things differently.

            My mother used to say that we could learn almost everything we need to know about human nature from our own extended family. Some relatives were wise, some foolish; some were successful, some failures; some optimistic, some morose; some pious, some rebellious.  Our family included intellectuals and people of very limited intelligence. We had courageous and outspoken individuals, and we had timid, quiet types. Some had phenomenal senses of humor, and some would hardly ever laugh. In the family, one could experience love, hatred, selflessness, jealousy, greed, generosity, spirituality, materialism, seriousness, humor.

            The family included people of great mind and heart, people who were handsome and beautiful, people of striking personality. It also included, without embarrassment, people who were quite ordinary, as well as individuals who had various physical, emotional and mental disabilities.

            My grandfather Angel had a shoeshine stand. My grandfather Romey was a barber. My father was a grocer. Among my uncles were a butcher, fish salesman, rabbi, printer, storekeeper, bartender, college professor, and assorted unskilled laborers. Various relatives were real estate speculators, never-do-wells, while others were employees of Boeing.  In the days of my childhood, most of the women of our family did not work outside the home.

            By the next generation, the extended family came to include rabbis, teachers, attorneys, insurance and real estate agents, a political scientist, skilled employees in various companies, a merchant marine, salespeople, athletes, a nurse, and several authors of books.

            My mother saw the family as something of a microcosm of humanity in general and society in particular. We could understand the world around us if we could understand ourselves.

            In those days, the family was large, diverse and whole. We mostly lived in the same neighborhood; we got together often; we recognized a strong vital sense of kinship among ourselves.

            One of the focal points of my childhood was the home of my maternal grandparents at 214 15th Avenue in Seattle, Washington. Even now, so many years after their deaths, I often find myself reminiscing about that house, remembering so many details about it. It has stood as a symbol in my mind of our family together. It calls to mind a simpler time, a time when life seemed whole and connected.

*****

My grandparents and their generation have passed away.

My parents and all their siblings have passed away.

My generation is getting on in years. Some of my cousins have died or are in declining health. Some still live in Seattle, but some live in Portland, Los Angeles, Sioux Falls, New York, Jerusalem…and other places. Some are religiously traditional, and some have moved far from Jewish religious observance.

Our children and grandchildren live in a world much removed from the “old neighborhood” in Seattle where I was born and raised. They have little contact with the children and grandchildren of the cousins of my generation. They have hardly heard (or never heard) Judeo-Spanish as a living language. They have no first hand memories of the lives of the pioneer Sephardic immigrants who came to America in the early 20th century.

Peter Berger, an eminent scholar of modern American civilization, has noted that moderns suffer from a deepening condition of spiritual “homelessness.” The old anchors and moorings have not held.

The old days are gone forever. Looking back can be pleasant; but it cannot create a new framework for society. It is not enough to have a “home” in the past. We need to be at home in the present and to create homes for our children and grandchildren.

The “old country of Seattle” cannot be put back together. It is gone, never to return. But values can live on; attitudes can be transmitted; ideas can transcend time and space. Moderns need not be spiritually homeless if they can create a society based on love, trust, shared values and ideals. Our sense of being at home will come from inner strength, from our immediate family and friends, from our communal structures. For our future generations to feel that life is whole, meaningful and secure, we will need to create frameworks where they feel “at home,” comfortable with themselves, comfortable with the world in which they live.

Our grandparents and parents and their generations left us a powerful legacy of memories, values and ideals. As we draw strength and wisdom from their lives, we face the present and the future with increasing confidence. We can’t go home again, but neither can we ever really leave home.

When bombs are exploding and tanks are rolling, it is difficult to imagine peace. When children are taught to hate and suicide/homicide murderers are called "freedom fighters", it is difficult to imagine peace. When all sides list their grievances and do not listen to the grievances of others, it is difficult to imagine peace.

But if we do not try to imagine peace, peace will not come. So let us imagine, in spite of all the "facts on the ground", that peace must be achieved. What voices can guide us? What words can be a salve to our wounds? How can we put the dream of peace into real terms?

In 1919, Rabbi Benzion Uziel, then a young rabbi, spoke to a conference of rabbis in Jerusalem. He stated: "Israel, the nation of peace, does not want and never will want to be built on the ruins of others....Let all the nations hear our blessing of peace, and let them return to us a hand for true peace, so that they may be blessed with the blessing of peace." In 1939, when Rabbi Uziel became Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel, he delivered his inaugural address in Hebrew, and then added words in Arabic. He appealed to the Arab community: "We reach our hands out to you in peace, pure and trustworthy....Make peace with us and we will make peace with you. Together all of us will benefit from the blessing of God on His land; with quiet and peace, with love and fellowship, with goodwill and pure heart we will find the way of peace."

The words of Rabbi Uziel reflected the wishes of the tiny Jewish community in the land of Israel in those times. His words still reflect the wishes of the Jewish community of Israel today. Hawks and doves alike would like nothing better than genuine, secure peace. They would like Israeli society to be free and happy, without the specter of warfare and terrorism, without the constant threat and reality of Arab military, economic and political attacks. They would like to live in harmony with their Arab neighbors-and to trust that their Arab neighbors will want to live in harmony with them.

But the words of Rabbi Uziel need to be stated and restated by the leaders of Israel. The idea of reaching a mutually rewarding peace must be put into words, must be repeated, must be believed and taught. Will words create peace? Not immediately. But they will set the foundations of peace. The words will help transform the dream of peace into a framework for peace.

In 1919, at the Paris peace conference following World War I, the Emir Feisal, one of the great Arab leaders of the time, made the following comments about the Jewish desire to return to their ancient homeland in Israel: "We Arabs...look with the deepest sympathy on the Zionist movement....We will wish the Jews a most hearty welcome home....I look forward, and my people with me look forward, to a future in which we will help you and you will help us, so that the countries in which we are mutually interested may once again take their places in the community of civilized peoples of the world."

I do not know if any Arab leaders today can say these words with sincerity. Yet, if Arab leaders-especially Palestinian leaders-could find the strength to say these words, the dream of peace might be brought closer to reality. Israel wants most what the Arab world has for the most part not given: a sign of acceptance, a sign of welcome, a sign that Jews have a right to live in peace and tranquility in the land of Israel. The people of Israel need to hear what Emir Feisal said: welcome home; we will help you and you will help us. Together we will raise our peoples to great cultural and economic heights.

We need to hear these words. The people of Israel and the Arab nations need to hear these words. If we are to imagine peace, we must articulate the words that can point us to peace. If we all start saying, and believing, and teaching our children these words, we will be on our way.

But who has the courage to speak as Rabbi Uziel and as Emir Feisal did? We are waiting. Israelis and Palestinians are waiting. Jews and Muslims and Christians are waiting. The world is waiting. Let us hear these words, let us begin to understand.

Should a person feel guilty for using an English ArtScroll Gemara (as opposed to struggling with the original Aramaic)?

The Talmud (Shabbat 31a) cites the opinion of Rava about what we will be asked when we eventually come before the heavenly court. One of the questions is: kavata itim leTorah, did you set aside fixed times to study Torah. Regular study of Torah is expected of us, and we will have to answer for ourselves in due course.

Torah study can be in any language one understands. The important thing is to understand what we read and to connect our study to service of Hashem. Over the centuries, Jews have studied Torah in many languages—Hebrew, Aramaic, Greek, Arabic, Spanish, German,Yiddish etc.  I hope and assume that none of those Jews ever felt guilty for studying in the vernacular they understood.

When one studies Talmud today, it’s fine to use editions that provide translations and explanations in the vernacular. The goal is to understand what we read. It is hoped, though, that one will eventually become proficient enough to study the original text on its own.

No one should ever feel guilty for studying Torah in the vernacular. Guilt should only be felt if we fail to set aside times for Torah study each day. The heavenly court has its question ready for us: let us be sure to have our answer ready.

Should we try to preserve Yiddish as a living language in America or Israel?

Over the centuries, Jews developed languages such as Yiddish, Judeo-Spanish, Judeo-Arabic etc. These languages reflected Jewish societies that were largely cut off from the larger societies around them. Jews spoke their own languages, ran their own schools, published their own books and newspapers.

For most Jews today, the sociological reasons for maintaining a distinctive Jewish language no longer apply. Jews speak the language of the land as their mother tongue. Sociological realities relentlessly undermine the need for a distinctive “Jewish” language.

Yiddish remains a living language among Chassidim and others who seek to insulate their group from the “outside” society. For them, the language is alive and well.

I grew up among Sephardim of Judeo-Spanish background. My grandparents’ generation spoke Judeo-Spanish as their mother tongue. My parents spoke the language fluently to their parents and elders…but spoke to us in English. We understood our elders when they spoke Judeo-Spanish…but our mother tongue is English. My generation is the last to hear Judeo-Spanish as a vibrant, living language.

There are efforts to maintain vestiges of the language and tradition…prayers, folksongs, proverbs etc. But it is highly unlikely that it will ever again be spoken as a mother-tongue. Instead of lamenting this fact, we should be striving to derive lasting lessons from Judeo-Spanish civilization. The same is true for Yiddish outside Chassidic circles.  Instead of lamenting the decline, let us draw on the treasures of Yiddish culture to enhance and enrich the Jewishness of ours and future generations.

I wrote a memoir about growing up in the Sephardic community of Seattle, and how the Americanization process has impacted on us: A New World: An American Sephardic Memoir . It can be ordered on this link: https://www.jewishideas.org/new-world-american-sephardic-memoir-rabbi-marc-angel

Is it appropriate for a Jew to own a (non-violent) pet dog?

The Shulhan Arukh (Hoshen Mishpat 409:3) rules that it is forbidden to raise a “kelev ra”-- a bad, ferocious dog—unless it is chained down. The Rama notes that it is permissible to raise tame dogs and that in fact this was a fairly common practice.

Since it is halakhically permitted to own a non-violent dog, each individual can decide whether or not to have a pet dog. No one else has the right to pass judgment on whether it is or is not appropriate for a Jew to own a pet dog.

Dog owners should realize, though, that some people are afraid of dogs, others are allergic to dog hair, and yet others are simply uncomfortable in the presence of dogs…even tame dogs. Owners should be sensitive to the needs and feelings of those who visit their homes or who are met while walking their dogs. Even good dogs can seem to be “bad” in the eyes of those who have an aversion to dogs.

If Jews want to own non-violent pet dogs, they are welcome to do so. If they want to own guard dogs, they need to be sure that these dogs are kept under proper control so that they do not harm innocent victims. Dog owners should be highly sensitive to the concerns of others who are not “dog lovers” and who may be frightened or displeased to have a pet dog bark at them, jump on them, or lick their hands.

The Turkish author, Orhan Pamuk, observed: “Dogs do speak, but only to those who know how to listen.”

It is with deep sadness that we record the passing of Rabbi Dr. Chaim Wakslak, for many years the Rabbi of the Young Israel of Long Beach, New York. The funeral was on Friday February 21, 2020. We extend our condolences to his wife Rivkah, to their children and grandchildren.

Rabbi Wakslak was a uniquely good man, a devoted rabbi and teacher…and a wonderful friend.

Much can be said about his remarkable life and his outstanding service as a communal Rav. I, personally, have rarely met a rabbi who was so truly a servant of Hashem.

                                                      *     *

“Rabbi Elazar said in the name of Rabbi Haninah: Rabbinic scholars increase peace in the world” (end of tractate Berakhot). The hallmark of a rabbi must be the commitment to increase peace and harmony among the Jewish people and within society at large. Without this guiding focus, rabbinic scholars betray their responsibility.

How do rabbis go about increasing peace in the world? How is this general truism translated into specific action? An answer may be found in the commentary of the Maharsha on the closing passages in Berakhot and Yevamot. The Maharsha states that rabbis are obliged to bring peace between the people of Israel and Hashem. By teaching Torah, the prayers and blessings, as well as by imbuing reverence and love of God, rabbis thereby lead Jews to find peace in their relationship with the Almighty. The rabbinic mission demands a spiritual outlook, an overwhelming desire to bring Jews closer to Hashem and Torah. This mission can only be fulfilled properly in a spirit of love, compassion, inclusivity—and much patience.

The rabbi must be—and must be seen by others to be—a selfless religious leader who places the public’s interests before his own. He must set the example of what it means to be a truly religious personality.

Rabbi Chaim Wakslak was a rabbi who brought people closer to Hashem, selflessly and sincerely. When he davened, his beautiful and spiritual voice lifted all of us. When he delivered his sermons, his keen wit and love of Torah filled the synagogue. He was devoted to his “Daf Yomi” group; he was a tireless teacher to all segments of the community.  He taught not only with words…but by example. If you want to visualize a genuinely pious, a sincerely religious human being—Rabbi Chaim Wakslak is the image you would call to mind.

The Maharsha points to another rabbinic characteristic that results in increasing peace in the world. It is the application of halakha in a way that reflects understanding and sensitivity to the human predicament. Our sages recognized overarching principles that guided halakhic rulings—principles such as sanctifying God’s Name; avoiding desecration of God’s name; making decisions with the understanding that the ways of Torah are pleasant and all its paths are peace.

 Rabbi Wakslak was not only a Rabbi but was a trained psychologist; he understood people; he related to each person with sensitivity. He knew not only how to speak, but how to listen. He was a talmid hakham who was able to bring Torah and halakha into peoples’ lives in a loving, thoughtful way.

To increase peace in the world, rabbinical scholars must be sensitive to the needs of the public and must see themselves as integral members of the public. These were qualities epitomized by Rabbi Wakslak. In the aftermath of Hurricane Sandy, he mobilized the entire Long Beach community—Jews and non-Jews—to come together, to help one another, to provide meals and comfort to those who lost so much in the storm. Whatever he did, he did with profound faith in the Almighty, and without seeking personal glory or even simple gratitude. He did what was right…because it was right, because the Torah guided his every step and every thought.

Rabbi Wakslak was the guiding spiritual light of the Young Israel. He was the tireless Rav who saw to it that the community had proper minyanim, shiurim, kosher establishments, an eiruv, a mikvah. With his passing, the community has lost a Rav of incredible energy and dedication. We have all lost not just a fine Rav; we have lost a genuine and trusted friend.

The Gemara (Berakhot 46b) cites the opinion of Rabbi Akiva that one should recite a blessing upon learning of someone’s death: Barukh Dayyan ha-Emet, blessed be the True Judge. This is a blessing of resignation. Although we are grieving, we acknowledge the ultimate wisdom of Hashem. We do not understand the mysteries of life and death.

But the Hakhamim suggest a different blessing: Barukh haTov ve-Hameitiv, blessed be the One Who is good and Who does good. This seems like a strange choice; but it is not strange. The hakhamim are reminding mourners that even in the deepest sadness, we need to remember the good things that the deceased person had experienced during the course of life. We are to remember the person’s goodness and how that goodness will continue to be a source of strength, blessing and happiness in the months and years ahead.

Rabbi Chaim Wakslak was blessed with a wonderful wife and family; a devoted congregation; years of satisfaction as a teacher, guide, and communal leader. With resignation and sadness, we say Barukh Dayyan ha-Emet. With gratitude for the blessings he enjoyed over the course of his life, and for the blessings he showered on his family and community, we say Barukh ha-Tov ve-Hameitiv.

    Reb Chaim, as a genuine talmid hakham, you brought peace between us and Hashem. You brought peace between us and our fellow human beings. You helped us find peace within ourselves.  May you, who were the source of shalom and sheleimut during your lifetime, now find ultimate shalom and sheleimut in the Olam haEmet.

May the mourners be consoled by the Almighty. Min haShamayim Tenuhamu.

Should a frum Jew care if an animal species is endangered or goes extinct?

All human beings, including (and even especially) religious Jews should be concerned about the extinction of animals.  Scientists have indicated that extinction is a natural phenomenon, with a normal rate of one to five species per year. They now estimate that the extinction rate is up to 1,000 times higher, with as many as 30 to 50 percent of all species heading for extinction by mid-century.

The vast majority of threatened species are at risk due to human activities…destruction of natural habitats, pollution of the seas, unsustainable use of natural resources etc. If species are disappearing at an alarming rate, this indicates that earth’s ecosystem is increasingly unbalanced. This is not merely a threat to endangered species: it is a threat to human life!

The Almighty, in His infinite wisdom created nature to function as a balanced system. All the myriad plants and animals play a role in the overall health of our world. Mah rabbu maasekha Hashem. “How great are Your works, Hashem, You created all of them with wisdom, the earth is filled with Your possessions.”

For purely practical reasons, all people should be concerned about the health of the world’s eco-system. From a religious point of view, we should be concerned not to destroy the natural balance that Hashem created. It is taught in Bereishith Rabba (10:7): “Even things you may regard as superfluous to the creation of the world such as fleas, gnats and flies, even they are part of creation; the Holy One carries out the Divine purpose through everything—even a snake, scorpion, gnat or frog.”

Out of respect for Hashem’s creation, and out of concern for the future of our children and grandchildren, we must care about the earth’s eco-system and the ongoing threat of extinction of so many species.

Should a frum Jew take special pride in famous people who were Jewish but not frum and whose achievements have no evident connection to Judaism (e.g., Walter Rathenau, Richard Feynman, Danny Kaye, Bobby Fischer, Milton Friedman, Jascha Heifetz...)?

The Torah refers to us as children of Israel. We are part of one family, going back to Abraham and Sarah. When a person converts to Judaism, he/she joins the Jewish family and is now identified as a child of Abraham our father.

Our family of Israel has a religious covenant going back to the Revelation at Mount Sinai. We have a mission to follow and teach Hashem’s word. Ideally, all family members should not only feel kinship with each other, but should also adhere to the lofty ideals and commandments of the Torah. But whether all Jews act ideally or not, they are still family—unless they actually repudiate both their Jewishness and their Judaism.

When a Jew—whether religiously observant or not—commits a crime, we instinctively feel upset. When one member of the family acts shamefully, it reflects badly on our entire family.

So when a Jew—whether religiously observant or not—distinguishes him/herself for positive deeds, we also naturally take pride in the achievements of a family member. When we contemplate the incredible contributions of Jews to the arts, sciences, government, literature etc., we are indeed proud that our tiny family has contributed so vastly to humanity.

We look forward to the fulfillment of the Torah’s teaching that the nations of the world will say about us that “surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people” (Devarim 4:6).

Is taking a selfie proper?

It is proper to let individuals make their own choices on this kind of personal matter. For some (including me), selfies are irrelevant and not part of one’s life. For others, selfies are a way to memorialize a special moment. And for yet others, sharing selfies is a way to maintain contact with loved ones and friends. Let each person decide for him/herself what is most suitable.

A problem arises when people find themselves taking selfies very frequently, rather than on rare special occasions.

Some psychiatrists and psychologists who have done research on selfie usage have suggested that “selfitis”—an obsessive compulsive desire to take photos of one’s self and post them on social media—is a mental disorder. Chronic selfie-taking may be a sign of lack of self-esteem or exhibitionism. Even people who take selfies only several times a day may be reflecting deeper emotional and psychological issues.

Those who take selfies need to reflect on why they do so, on whether selfie-taking is beneficial or detrimental to their self-esteem, on whether they are taking selfies too frequently. 

Perhaps the most powerful selfie is: looking into a mirror! See and think about who you really are. Once you come to terms with self-identity, the selfie issue will almost resolve itself.

(Rabbi Solomon Maimon passed away September 26, 2019. Several months ago, the Sephardic community of Seattle honored him on his 100th birthday; I had written words of tribute for that occasion...and I reprint these words here as a eulogy.)

Words of Tribute in Honor of Rabbi Solmon Maimon's 100th Birthday

From Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Shir haShirim asher LiShlomo:  The Song of Songs of Solomon

Each of us is a composer; through our lives, we write a song. The song reflects who we are, what we value, who we love…everything we are.

There are three kinds of songs.

The first kind has a melody and words. It is an expression of how we interact with others, what we say and what we do.

Rabbi Solomon Maimon—(Uncle Solomon to me and to his many other nephews and nieces)—is composing a magnificent song. It is a song of strength, hope, courage, love of Torah, love of Israel. The Almighty has granted him rare talents of mind and heart. He has devoted a lifetime—and may he be blessed with additional years—to teaching Torah. No other rabbi gives sermons as Uncle Solomon has given. He is a natural story teller, he knows how to capture our attention, to make us think, to make us better human beings. He has brought generations of us closer to Torah and mitzvoth through the resonance of his voice, the wisdom of his words, and the integrity of his personality. He was a guiding force in the establishment of the Seattle Hebrew Day School. He was the pioneer in Sephardic camping. He personified a rabbi who devoted himself selflessly to his congregation and community—in a spirit that blended solemnity and joy.

Moshkheini aharekha narutsa—Draw me in, we will rush to follow you.

The second kind of song has a melody…but no words. It is too deep for words. This song contains our inner thoughts and feelings. It is a kind of song which is private, but that others can still hear even if they can’t grasp its full meaning.  Uncle Solomon began serving Sephardic Bikur Holim many years ago. As a young man, he was filled with ideas and ideals, hopes and aspirations. He worked tirelessly to bring his vision to life among his family and friends, his congregation and community. It is quite usual for rabbis to “burn out” with the passage of time. Although they rejoice in their successes, they grieve at their inevitable failures. The hopes and ideals of youth give way to somber realities. But while many rabbis are crushed by their setbacks, Rabbi Maimon has literally been an eternal light. Uncle Solomon’s song—the one with melody but without words—is a song rejoicing in his many blessings. But we also can hear the sad tones, the losses of loved ones, the unfulfilled hopes and dreams. We sense the well of contentment…and of restlessness.

Ani yesheinah velibi er:  I sleep, but my heart is awake.

The third kind of song has no melody and no words. It is a private song between our souls and our God. No human beings have access to our own deepest song.

Rabbi Moshe Almosnino, a great sage of 16^th century Salonika, wrote a commentary on Shir haShirim. He suggested that King Solomon wrote this book at an advanced age. As a young man searching for truth, Solomon wrote Koheleth. As a more mature man who was king of Israel, he wrote Mishlei to provide moral guidance to his people. But then he reached his highest level when he composed Shir haShirim. In his other books, Solomon identified himself as a king, as the son of a great father. He wanted to impress his readers with his credentials. But he introduced his ultimate song, the Shir haShirim, only with his name—Shelomo, Solomon. He no longer needed to impress people or prove his worth to them; now it was just between him and God. His name, Shelomo, was enough; he didn’t need any other credentials.

And now, Rabbi Maimon sings his own special Shir haShirim. He stands on his own merit, in the eyes of God and humans. He doesn’t need to impress us or recount his achievements. His life speaks for itself. His Song of Solomon is a beautiful, powerful and mysterious song.

Uncle Solomon: the song of your life has been a source of inspiration to all of us. You have impacted on this community and have made truly remarkable achievements for Torah, for Judaism, for society at large. So many of us—and I include myself in this—would simply not be who we are had it not been for your influence.

I would like to add a word of tribute to the memory of Aunty Sarah. We lovingly remember her sincere piety, her graciousness as a hostess. Your living room on 26^th Avenue was like an extension of our own home. You and Aunty Sarah—Cheryl, Abraham, Mordecai and Michael—were—and remain—foundation stones in our own lives. Though so many years and so many miles have separated us, in our hearts and souls we know that we are all part of the same song.

Haveirim makshivim lekoleikh hashmi-ini: Your friends wait to hear your voice…let me hear it.