The process of law-making in any nation is a complex task. In most legal systems, the creation of law usually involves a structured process anchored in the nation’s foundational legal documents, or constitution. For example, in the United States, the process of lawmaking involves both the legislative^[1] and judicial^[2] branches of government, each playing distinct but complementary roles.^[3] 

However, this process presupposes the physical and institutional integrity of a nation. For example, if we were to imagine a hypothetical scenario where a nation such as America is forced into exile with the doors of the Congress and Supreme Court shut, the standard legislative and judicial processes would be disrupted. Such a situation poses a significant question: How does a nation uphold the integrity of its legal system when the required mechanisms of law-making are rendered inoperative? The journey of the Nation of Israel through its period of exile offers a unique perspective on such a scenario.

In Jerusalem, the Sanhedrin functioned similarly to a combination of the U.S. Congress and the Supreme Court. As an assembly of Sages (comparable to Supreme Court judges), it interpreted the Torah (akin to the U.S. Constitution), shaping the laws and setting legal precedents. Members of the Sanhedrin were instrumental in transmitting and shaping the Oral Law. However, the destruction of the Second Temple marked a profound transition in Jewish history, leading eventually to the cessation of the Sanhedrin’s activities.^[4] The Jewish community faced a crisis with this loss of this central institution.^[5]

In response, the Bet Din HaGadol (Great Court)^[6] was established in Yavne, functioning as a new type of Supreme Court. This period marked a significant shift from a Temple-centered worship to a rabbinic and textual tradition. This decentralization was a direct consequence of the Jewish people’s geographical dispersion and the ensuing fragmentation of their society, leading to the closure of the oral tradition. 

The Formulation of the Mishna

The monumental shift toward writing down the oral tradition^[7] and publishing it in oral texts begins with the formulation of the Mishna, primarily spearheaded by Rabbi Aqiba, and completed by Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi in the second century ce. This transformation was necessitated by the precarious situation of the Jewish people following the destruction of the Second Temple and subsequent Roman persecution. The dispersal of Jewish communities and the erosion of traditional learning centers heightened the risk of losing the rich oral traditions that had been meticulously preserved and transmitted through generations.

Recognizing the urgency to safeguard these traditions, Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi embarked on the formidable task of compiling, editing, and organizing the Oral Law. This was not simply a work of transcription, but rather a selective process that involved synthesising various oral teachings, laws, debates, and interpretations that our Sages had been discussing for centuries. The Mishna emerged as a strategic effort to retain Jewish oral tradition captured across six orders (sedarim), and it laid the foundation for subsequent rabbinic discussions and commentaries, leading to the creation of the Talmud.

The Formulation of the Talmud

In the aftermath of the Mishna's completion around 200 ce, our Sages recognized the need for further elucidation. The Mishna was often succinct and enigmatic, calling for extensive interpretation and clarification. This necessity was heightened by the diverse living conditions and challenges faced by Jewish communities dispersed after the Second Temple's destruction, as well as the emergence of varied practices and interpretations within these dispersed communities.

Babylonia, now modern-day Iraq, emerged as a key center for Jewish learning. It was mainly here that the Jewish legal scholars of the era, known as the Amoraim, engaged in rigorous oral discussions and debates, delving into the Mishna.^[8] As these oral deliberations evolved, they were gradually recorded, forming what is known as the Gemara. This crucial addition to the Mishna offered not only interpretations but also legal precedents, ethical teachings, and historical narratives. This period of intensive scholarship led to the creation of the Babylonian Talmud (Talmud Babli),^[9] which came to represent a significant link in the chain of nationally recognized rabbinic scholarship and authority.

The End of New Rulings

There are two key figures of this period that are traditionally credited with the final editing and organizing of the Talmud Babli: Ravina and Rav Ashi.^[10] Their contributions to the compilation and codification of the Talmud were instrumental in preserving and transmitting our authorized legal tradition. This newly compiled Talmud thus came to represent a culmination of centuries of authoritative rabbinic scholarship, including decrees, customs, and judicial decisions derived through the application of authorized Torah exegesis. In other words, this Babylonian Talmud contained the last agreed-upon rulings of our last-sitting national and authorized legal bodies (the Sanhedrin and Bet Din HaGadol). The doors of Israel’s Supreme Court were now shut. With this compilation of Ravina and Rav Ashi, we arrive in the era of “sof hora’a” (end of ruling),^[11] marking the end of new law creation.

Recommended or Binding?

Given the reality of an exilic existence without a Sanhedrin or Bet Din HaGadol, our dispersed legal decisors (posekim) have since turned to the Babylonian Talmud in order to analyze and apply its laws in the context of new challenges arising in exile. However—and this is key—without a Sanhedrin or Bet Din HaGadol, the posek’s role is limited to offering legal recommendations based on their analysis of talmudic law. These post-talmudic posekim lack the authority to create new laws or customs that are legally binding.^[12] This remains a key point of contention between the Geonic-Sephardic tradition and the Ashkenazic-Tosafist tradition.^[13]

Ultimately, this inability of post-talmudic posekim to establish new binding laws (or annul earlier ones) in the absence of the national and authorized legal processes and institutions ensures the very continuity and integrity of our legal system.^[14] It underlines the need for a formal and national legal body to create binding laws, and such limitations serve as a motivation to rebuild our nation and our legal institutions. 

The Mishneh Torah: Restatement of National Law

With the lack of national and authoritative legal structures and the ensuing diasporic dispersion, the Jewish people encountered a void, necessitating a unifying judicial anchor. The Rambam’s Mishneh Torah emerged as this anchor, offering a comprehensive presentation of the entirety of talmudic law and, therefore, of the Oral Law. Rambam meticulously examined the Talmud and the juridical traditions of the Geonim (who were both the students of the Talmud and the predecessors to the Sephardic tradition^[15]). His work not only collated the legal rulings of Talmud, it also engaged in a critical analysis, addressing the gaps and ambiguities left by its dialectical style and the whimsical alterations introduced by generations of scribes.^[16] 

Rabbi Yosef Karo, in his Kesef Mishneh, notes that “Rambam’s practice is known, in that he simply records the law as it emerges from the Talmud.”^[17] Therefore, the Mishneh Torah is essentially the restatement of the Law of Israel. No other project of such magnitude existed then or now. This body of work remains our prime portal to access an unadulterated and concise version of our people’s National Law.^[18] Further, its accessibility in Hebrew, as opposed to the Aramaic of the Talmud, democratised legal knowledge for Jews around the world. 

However, the Mishneh Torah, with its exceptional clarity and transparency of Israel’s national law, was bound to challenge entrenched customs and opinions formed in exile. Indeed, many in the Ashkenazic community, which constituted merely ~10 percent of the global Jewish population at the time, viewed the Mishneh Torah as a potential disruption to their worldview. In the words Rabbi Ratson Arussi, the foremost rabbinic authority of the Yemenite Jewish community today:

Opponents rose up against the Mishneh Torah, whether against his teachings or against Rambam himself. Amongst the circles of Ashkenaz…there were those who perceived his halakhic writings as challenging their world of Torah. For their world of Torah was characterized by pilpulic talmudic study, digging deep, inquiring—[but] not halakhic. The legal component was very heavy among Ashkenaz Jewry. It rested upon customs (minhagim). It rested upon various approaches. It rested upon stringencies (humrot). For this reason, when they saw Rambam’s halakhic work [Mishneh Torah], first they were worried that his work may shove aside their halakhic tradition. For this reason, from the Bet Midrash of MaHaRa”M of Rottenburg, who is one of the great early scholars of Ashkenaz, one of his students, Hagahot Maimoniyyot, immediately wrote an amendatory commentary to Rambam’s Mishneh Torah, i.e. to indicate the positions of the sages of Ashkenaz and the customs (minhagim) of Ashkenaz, in order to show, “we are on the map!”^[19]

A How-To Guide to Post-Talmudic Opinions

Thus far, we have presented the following chain of logic: the Sanhedrin/Bet Din HaGadol shaped the Oral Law, and the primary method of preserving and transmitting their rulings was through oral tradition. This body of knowledge was eventually compiled into a structured written form known as the Mishna. The Talmud subsequently emerged as a detailed analysis and expansion of the Mishna. The Mishneh Torah, produced by Rambam, distills the Talmud's broad discussions into clear conclusions and practical applications, thereby serving as a concise restatement of the Oral Law.

So, what are we missing? After all, when we have clear guidance from the Mishneh Torah on a particular law, managing our diasporic existence seems feasible. But what happens when new questions arise that the Talmud (and therefore the Mishneh Torah) did not specifically address, and there is no Sanhedrin or Bet Din HaGadol around for us to call upon?

The answer lies in a pivotal talmudic rule,^[20] incorporated into the Mishneh Torah.^[21] It dictates that where the law is uncertain in Scriptural Law (de’oraita) matters, we should adhere to the more stringent post-talmudic view. On the other hand, where the law is uncertain for Rabbinic Law (derabbanan) issues, the more lenient post-talmudic stance is advisable. This approach implies that in the post-talmudic era, decision-making is not as straightforward as simply siding with the majority or minority opinion. After all, the principle of “majority rule” is legally relevant only in the context of judges sitting on an authoritative legal body, such as a Sanhedrin or Bet Din HaGadol.^[22]

Deviating from Due Legal Process

The principle of updating and adapting Jewish law to contemporary life is not just a desirable goal but a biblically mandated one, as evidenced in Deuteronomy 17:9: “And you shall come to the Kohanim, the Levi’im, and to the Judge that will be in those days.” This verse highlights the necessity of seeking guidance from the legally authorized representatives of our era, emphasising the interpretation of God’s law in a manner relevant to the current context. The evolution and application of God’s eternal law, adapted to contemporary life, is the very essence of the Oral Law and the Rabbinic enterprise.

Therefore, the problem with various reformist Jewish movements that emerged during exile is not their intention to evolve and update talmudic law. Rather, the issue lies in their approach to it, which attempts to implement changes without the rigorous legal scholarship and national authoritative bodies like a Sanhedrin or Bet Din HaGadol.^[23]

Indeed, the absence of authoritative institutions in our times makes many of our talmudic laws appear outdated or less relevant.^[24] Just imagine living in the United States in the year 2024 and adhering to legal rulings from a Supreme Court that last convened in the year 1924…let alone following rulings from the year 500 in exile! Yet, our commitment to the Talmud—our most recent nationally recognized legal rulebook—has been crucial in preserving the integrity of our legal system across generations. Ultimately, however, this unmoving commitment represents more than just legal adherence. It symbolizes an aspiration to rebuild our land, reconvene our assembly of Sages, and govern according to our days, in Covenant with God. 

May we witness this realisation in our times.

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Pinehas

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

As Moses’s life draws to a close, he asks the Almighty to appoint a successor who will lead the people into the Promised Land. God tells him to place his hand (singular) on Joshua’s head as a means of transferring authority to him in the presence of the people. But the Torah states (Bemidbar 27:23): “He laid his hands (plural) upon him.”

In his book, “An Adventure in Torah,” Rabbi Isaac Sassoon draws our attention to a midrash, quoted by Rashi: “Moses showed generosity; God had said lay one hand but he laid both.” Although it is generally forbidden to add or subtract from God’s commandments, Rabbi Sassoon notes that Moses “had no compunction allowing his generous impulse to broaden the one-hand command into a two-handed gesture” (p. 335).

What exactly is the difference between laying one or both hands on Joshua? In either case, the public understood that leadership was being transferred. Why does the midrash view Moses’s action as reflecting generosity?

The issue revolves around how we understand fulfilling our duties.

A person can meet an obligation in an accurate way but without necessarily feeling any special feeling about it. One does what one is supposed to do and no more is required. On the other hand, a person might fulfill an obligation not merely as a duty but as a meaningful gesture. If Moses had laid one hand on Joshua, that would have been fine. The deed would have been accomplished appropriately. But Moses went beyond duty; he demonstrated generosity of soul. He overflowed with a spirit of love and selflessness. 

People can go through life performing correctly but perfunctorily. They say “good morning” from habit and good manners, not because their heart prods them to reach out in friendship. They do their work honestly, day by day, but without any particular enthusiasm. They “lay one hand” on their labors, not “both hands.” Even in religious life, they perform the mitzvoth precisely but without “generosity of spirit.” They do what they have to do but no more.  They pay their dues, write their charitable checks simply as duties and not as expressions of real emotional commitment.

We show “generosity” when we go beyond what is merely expected of us, when we put heart into our deeds. 

And that is what Moses taught us when he laid both hands on Joshua. He truly wanted Joshua to succeed. He loved and respected his successor. He spontaneously went beyond what God had required of him. 

Our lives are enriched and enlivened when we live with generosity of spirit. This is a blessing…and a challenge.

   “In reality, this actual world is full of secrets just as it full of the divine. Its outwardness

should not disguise its radiant, hidden inwardness.”

—Erich Neumann 

Among the greatest Jewish psychological thinkers of the twentieth century was German-

born Erich Neumann. Because he resided in Tel Aviv from 1934 onward and traveled little, he never attained the popular fame of such pioneering Jewish colleagues as Sigmund Freud and Alfred Adler, and later, Erich Fromm and Abraham Maslow. However, Neumann’s global influence has skyrocketed in recent years, particularly after a centennial celebration of his birth was held in Israel in 2005 with the active support of his two adult children. 

In this article, I’d like to highlight Neumann’s life and key notions in building a psychology based on authentically Jewish foundations. 

Erich Neumann: A Biographical Sketch 

The youngest of three children, Neumann was born in 1905, in a Jewish section of Berlin. 

He was raised in a secular, affluent family, yet felt a strong affinity for Judaism. As a teenager, he became an ardent Zionist, inspired too by Martin Buber’s stylized writings on Hasidism as a pathway for Jewish spiritual renewal. “I feel God in everything…,” young Neumann wrote in his diary, “I feel it in my essence that my ancestors must have had an intimate selectness with God for thousands of years. All Jews must (still) have that” (Lowe, 2020, p. 15).

By the age of 16, young Neumann had already begun forging a Jewish identity for 

himself. He joined a Jewish debating society, which discussed philosophy and politics, 

and he privately studied modern Hebrew. Upon graduating from gymnasium in 1923, 

Neumann enrolled at Friedrich-Alexander University in Erlangen, where he took courses in education, philosophy, psychology, the history of art and literature, and Semitic studies. Upon receiving his doctorate in philosophy in 1928, Neumann enrolled in medicine at Berlin’s Friedrich Wilhelm University with the goal of a psychiatric career. That same year, he married Julie Blumenfeld, a Zionist activist and nurse. 

Coincidentally, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson was an officially visiting student at 

Friedrich Wilhelm University from 1928 to 1930—and it’s fascinating to speculate whether Neumann ever met the future Lubavitcher Rebbe due to their mutual interests in Hasidic thought. Clearly, however, Buber’s writings were still intellectually vital to Neumann, and the two exchanged correspondence in the early 1930s concerning his unpublished essay on Franz Kafka’s surrealist fiction. Buber warmly wrote, “Your clear and precise methodology does remarkable justice to some of (Kafka’s) references and contexts” (Ibid., p. 50). 

Neumann finished his medical coursework in 1933, while also pursuing Kabbalah 

and Hasidism at the University of Berlin. However, soon after Hitler came to power, Jewish medical students were barred from internships and thereby prevented from gaining licensure. Unlike many of their Jewish compatriots, he and Julie sensed that events would get much worse under the Nazis—and they departed Germany to settle permanently in Tel Aviv in 1934. 

At the time, Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, and Alfred Adler were the most celebrated psychological thinkers in the world—each with sizable international professional and lay followings. Their public statements on cultural, social, and even political matters were eagerly sought by journalists for European and American newspapers and were read by millions of people. Both Adler and Jung had originally been the most venerated members of Freud’s inner circle based in Vienna, but first Adler (in 1911) and then Jung (in 1913) had decisively broken with Freud due to his overriding emphasis on sexuality in the human psyche. Jung’s more optimistic writings on personality growth (which he called “individuation”) as well as mythology and symbolism appealed to Neumann. As a result, he studied with Jung for eight months before joining Julie and their infant son Micha in Tel Aviv. 

There Neumann became an analytic therapist and an independent scholar whose influential books included The Origins of Consciousness, Depth Psychology and the New Ethic, 

and The Great Mother. Because Neumann held no academic position and most of his Israeli 

colleagues were loyal Freudians, he was isolated professionally. However, along with the 

Kabbalah scholar Gershom Scholem at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem whom he knew collegially, Neumann in the late 1940s–1950s became an esteemed presenter at the prestigious Eranos conferences held annually in scenic Asconia-Moscia, Switzerland. Neumann’s lectures were subsequently published as articles on such diverse topics as art and creativity, mystical experience, ritual, and healthy child development. Many decades ahead of their time, these articles are still read by psychologists today. 

A quiet man devoted to Julie (who also became a psychotherapist in Israel) and their two children (daughter Rali had been born in 1938), Neumann turned down an offer in the mid-1950s to direct the newly established psychology clinic at Tel Aviv University. Rather, he preferred to maintain his scholarly lifestyle—even refusing to own a telephone in an effort to minimize distractions. Their two-bedroom apartment on Gordon Street had a balcony overlooking the sea, and he felt continually inspired by the natural beauty of Israel. At the time of Neumann’s sudden death from illness at age 55, he left behind a host of unpublished articles and a seminal two-volume manuscript titled The Roots of Jewish Consciousness.                   

Neumann began writing this magnum opus in 1934. His goal was to apply concepts from the Kabbalah and early Hasidism to create a new model of personality structure and growth. It was a bold, unprecedented project in the history of modern psychology. All through the 1930s and World War II, Neumann worked dutifully on the dual manuscript. But after finally completing it in 1945, he decided not to publish this 11-year labor of love for reasons that are historically unclear. From the later recollections of Neumann’s family and friends, it seems that Gershom Scholem persuaded him that the work was too weak in its Judaic sources to be released. It’s also likely that Neumann felt that Roots was simply too unconventional for mainstream psychology of the time. 

When Neumann died in 1960, the two manuscripts were still unpublished. As the decades passed, perhaps few survivors in Neumann’s circle even remembered their existence. But thanks to a resurgence of interest in his work, initially spearheaded by a centennial celebration of his birth held in Israel in 2005 with the active support of his two adult children, these were translated from German into English—and with the aid of a team of prominent academicians and translators, published by Routledge in 2019. As evidence of its significance, the renowned Kabbalah scholar Moshe Idel wrote the Introduction to Neumann’s first volume, Revelation and Apocalypse. The second volume, Hasidism, will form the focus of my comments.   

The Roots of Jewish Consciousness

To provide a detailed analysis of Neumann’s far-reaching work lies beyond the scope of 

this article. Rather, I’d like to highlight three key features of Neumann’s thought. These all 

flowed from his conviction that the modern science of personality growth was badly inadequate—and that Jewish thought including the Talmud, midrash, and especially the

Kabbalah and early Hasidism provided a much-needed corrective. The extent to which Neumann at the time believed that these sources offered insights applicable to all individuals—and not solely Jews—is unclear. However, from his later writings, it seems that he felt that these insights had psychological universality. 

First, Neumann clearly viewed our individual essence (he used the German word 

translated into English as “soul,” so I will too) as connected to the divine—rather than 

comprising a wholly materialist entity. This notion was a radical break from all the secular psychological thinkers of his era—and in this regard, he relied heavily on the Kabbalistic conception of “Adam Kadmon” (the transcendental, primordial human being). Identifying the various levels of the soul posited by Kabbalists, Neuman asserted that through prayer and meditation, we’re able to elevate our being beyond the wholly physical. However, he emphasized, this process of inner transformation is never privatistic, but necessarily aimed outward. Neumann stated, “The human being’s exquisite task, (one’s) actual service, is to connect above and below, heaven and earth. This is an essentially Jewish idea, which predates the Kabbalah” (Neumann, 2019, vol. 2, p. 75).

            Presenting the classic Tree of Life diagram with its array of ten sefirot (divine energy-

essences) as a structure of the human soul, Neumann cited the Zohar and the Sefer Yetzirah. 

He gave particular importance to the sefira of Tiferet, positioned at the center of the 

kabbalistic Tree—and which he accurately related, has traditionally expressed a multiplicity of meanings. “Some associate Tiferet with volition; others represent it as the highest aspect of moral life or moral perfection. It is also depicted as beauty, through the perfection of the good” (Ibid., p.78). In this light, it’s fascinating to note that though Neumann died nearly 40 years before the emergence of positive psychology, he anticipated its discovery of moral elevation: namely, that witnessing, or even hearing about, an act of intense goodness evokes an experience associated with beauty. 

Second, Neumann posited that we have an innate capacity for altruism, central to our individual development. Alluding to Hasidic theology rooted in Lurianic Kabbalah, he called this capacity the “Elijah soul:” that is, a divine “spark” metaphysically connected to the prophet Elijah and existing within each person. Its purpose? To nurture, emotionally support, and uplift others. As Neumann well knew, Elijah had long been identified in Jewish belief as having been transformed into an angel who returns to earth in countless disguises to aid to those in need—and 

crucially for Neumann—harbors the messianic age. 

“Elijah is said to be the precursor of the Messiah,” Neumann wrote, “(Elijah’s) redemptive function is the crucial fact in the world, from which comes the emphasis on the individual, on the here-and-now…and to human service” (Ibid., p. 19). Depending on the individual’s soul, Neumann intimated, the “Elijah spark” varies in scope and intensity, but everyone has a vital part in bringing redemption to the world—and no one is immune from this responsibility.   

Neumann meant this notion literally, while others may prefer to view it metaphorically for productive value. However one chooses to accept it, for Neumann the issue was that inner 

growth is necessarily interpersonal, communal, and ultimately, messianic. He commented that with the rise of Hasidism, “Redemption (in Judaism) is now less than ever an event that comes 

from outside. It (rather) depends on whether every single person fulfills their messianic (unique 

capability)…at every moment and in every place, everywhere and at all times” (Op. cit.).

Intriguingly, Neumann contended that the “Elijah soul” within each of us is typically hidden: paradoxically, often most hidden from our self-awareness. Although it exists and possesses a divine essence, finding it requires that we trod a path “of darkness…through our own layers, our own casings and outwardness, through the conditionality of inauthenticity” (Ibid., p. 124). In this light, he emphasized the role of other people, exemplified by the tzaddik, to help us discover our intrinsic connection to the divine—and more broadly, our purpose or mission in this lifetime. 

Third, Neumann in Roots emphasized that “joy is a central Hasidic theme” (Ibid., p. 93) in its view of resplendent living in this world. Depicting this notion with Hasidic parables, he argued that joy is a “strengthening and life-enhancing principle” (Op. cit.) with both psychological and physical benefits. Although clinical evidence by the mid-1940s certainly suggested that chronic grief and depression had a harmful impact as Neumann also indicated, he was more than a half-century ahead of his time in affirming the mental and physical gains brought by joyfulness. Recently, researchers have begun to study this link empirically, and in my own published studies with colleagues on tears of joy, evidence supports these benefits from such experiences as the birth of a child, family togetherness, a long-awaited reunion, a major personal achievement, or moral elevation (mentioned earlier in this article). 

Crucially for Neumann, joy is not important only for its individualistic benefits, but because it “opens the heart” (Ibid., p. 95): a maxim attributed to the early Hasidic leader Rabbi Nachman of Breslov. And in this way, Neumann elegantly stated, “genuine kindness (becomes) possible and effective.” (Ibid., p. 94). In positing a positive relationship between joy and kindness to others, Neumann again anticipated recent scientific findings. Indeed, innovative psychologists have begun to recommend volunteerism as a means to ameliorate depression. Certainly, the notion that a joyful mindset makes caregiving more effective can be extended to a wide range of social relationships including parenting, teaching, and mentoring. In this domain and others, Erich Neumann’s far-sighted vision for a new psychology rooted in Jewish traditions is coming closer to full realization. 

References

Ballard, P. J., Daniel, S. S., Anderson, G., Nicolotti, L., Caballero Quinones, E., Lee, M., & Koehler, A. N. (2021). Incorporating volunteering into treatment for depression among adolescents: Developmental and clinical considerations. Frontiers in Psychology, 12, 642910.

Compton, W. C., & Hoffman, E. (2019). Positive psychology: The science of happiness and   flourishing, 3rd edition. Sage Publications.

Dreifuss, G. (1980). Erich Neumanns jüdisches Bewusstse. Analytische Psychologie, 11(3–4), 239–248.

Hoffman, E. (2007). The way of splendor: Jewish mysticism and modern psychology. Rowman & Littlefield. 

Hoffman, E. (2016). Paths to happiness: 50 ways to add joy to your life every day. Chronicle   Books.

Musick, M. A., & Wilson, J. (2003). Volunteering and depression: The role of psychological and   social resources in different age groups. Social science & medicine, 56(2), 259–269.

Löwe, A. (2020). Life and work of Erich Neumann: On the side of the inner voice. Routledge.

Neumann, E. (2019). The roots of Jewish consciousness, volumes one and two. Edited by A. C.   Lammers. Routledge.

Intellectual Freedom
I recently had some correspondence with a rabbinic colleague in which we discussed
ideas relating to the role of women in halakha. I had offered some thoughts on how I imagined
things would be in messianic times. He found my ideas somewhat interesting and then asked: Do
you have a source for them?
I replied: The source is my own thinking.
Our dialogue then reached a cordial conclusion.
I mulled over this conversation, and realized that it reflects some of the problems I have
with much discussion within the Orthodox world. It is increasingly difficult to express an idea
without pinning it to an “authority” or a reliable “source.” Independent thinking is not considered
to be good form.
If I had told my colleague that I had found my idea in a midrash, or a classic rabbinic
work, or even in the writings of an obscure kabbalist, he would have taken my words more
seriously. After all, I had a source!
But shouldn’t ideas be evaluated on their own merit? A statement isn’t truer if someone
said it a few hundred years ago, even if that someone was a great scholar and sage. A statement
is not less true if it is espoused by someone today, who has no “source” to substantiate his or her
views.
Yes, certainly, we have a proper tendency to give more weight to the opinion of sages
such as Rambam than the opinion of a person who is far less learned than Rambam.  We assume
that Rambam (or other “authority”) was surely wiser and more knowledgeable than we are; if
early sources didn’t come up with our idea, then it must be that our idea is wrong—otherwise the
previous “authorities” would have said it first.
But this line of thinking keeps us focused on the past, and doesn’t allow enough freedom
to break new ground, to come up with novel ideas and approaches. It has been said that reliance
on the authority of Aristotle kept philosophy from developing for a thousand years; reliance on
the medical teachings of Galen kept medicine from advancing for many centuries. Whether in
the sciences, arts, or philosophy, innovation is a key to progress. An atmosphere of intellectual
freedom allows ideas to be generated, evaluated, rejected, accepted; it provides the framework
for human advancement.
It is intellectually deadening to read articles/responsa or hear lectures/shiurim that are
essentially collections of the opinions of early “sources” and “authorities.” Although it is vital
for rabbis and scholars to be aware of the earlier rabbinic literature, it is also vital that they not be
hemmed in by those opinions. One needs the intellectual freedom to evaluate sources, to accept
what is deemed acceptable, to reject what is objectionable—and to offer one’s own views on the
topic, even if no earlier source/authority exists.

Oh, and yes, I have a source for these views! Rambam wrote (Guide of the Perplexed,
2:13):
For when something has been demonstrated, the correctness of the matter is not
increased, and certainty regarding it is not strengthened by the consensus of all men of
knowledge with regard to it. Nor could its correctness be diminished and certainty
regarding it be weakened even if all the people on earth disagreed with it.
Rambam also noted (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Kiddush haHodesh 17:24):
Since all these rules have been established by sound and clear proofs, free from any flaw
and irrefutable, we need not be concerned about the identity of their authors, whether
they be Hebrew prophets or gentile sages.
We rely on the proofs, not on the credentials of the author.
Some years ago, I wrote an article “Orthodoxy and Diversity,” in which I expressed my
concerns:

Orthodoxy needs to foster the love of truth. It must be alive to different
intellectual currents, and receptive to open discussion. How do we, as a Modern
Orthodox community, combat the tendency toward blind authoritarianism and
obscurantism?
First, we must stand up and be counted on the side of freedom of expression. We,
as a community, must give encouragement to all who have legitimate opinions to share.
We must not tolerate intolerance. We must not yield to the tactics of coercion and
intimidation.
Our schools and institutions must foster legitimate diversity within Orthodoxy.
We must insist on intellectual openness, and resist efforts to impose conformity: We will
not be fitted into the bed of Sodom. We must give communal support to diversity within
the halakhic framework, so that people will not feel intimidated to say things publicly or
sign their names to public documents. (Here’s the link to that
article: https://www.jewishideas.org/article/orthodoxy-and-diversity)
When well-reasoned views are expressed, they should be evaluated fairly. Quoting
“sources/authorities” does not in itself validate an opinion. Not quoting “sources/authorities”
does not invalidate an opinion.
We certainly should draw on the wisdom and scholarship of others, and we should give
them due credit when we learn from them and quote their words. But we should not shut off our
own brains, nor feel unable to express an opinion without basing it on an earlier source. A
thinking Judaism makes us better Jews—and better human beings.
***
        
Crowd Instinct, Personality Instinct

In his memoir, The Torch in My Ear, the Sephardic Jewish writer Elias Canetti (who won
the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1981) reflects on an insight that came to him as a young man: “I
realized that there is such a thing as a crowd instinct, which is always in conflict with the
personality instinct, and that the struggle between the two of them can explain the course of
human history” (387). This idea became central to Canetti’s life, ultimately resulting in his
classic book Crowds and Power.
What is the “crowd instinct?” It is the desire to blend into a crowd, to dissolve one’s
personality into a large mass of people. The crowd instinct can be witnessed in sports arenas,
where fans become one with each other and with the players on the field. It can be experienced
in mass rallies where fiery orators fire up the crowd, or at rock concerts where fans lose
themselves in their wild admiration of the singers and their music. People have a deep desire to
be part of such crowds.
Yet, crowds can become dangerous. When individuals succumb to crowds, demagogues
can control them, can drive them to do terrible things, can turn them into lynch mobs or
murderous gangs, can push them into terrorism and war.
And so, there is also a “personality instinct,” a deep desire to retain our own ideas and
values, to resist the mesmerizing power of crowds.  Although we at times want to share in the
enthusiasms and griefs of crowds, we simultaneously want to maintain our inner freedom from
the crowds. We want to blend in—but not to blend in.
In the Almighty’s blessing of Abraham, we can detect both the crowd instinct and the
personality instinct. God apparently wanted Abraham to keep aware of these conflicting pulls,
and to maintain spiritual balance.
God promised that He would multiply Abraham’s seed “as the stars of the heaven.” 
Stars, although there are so many of them, are essentially alone; light years separate one star
from the next. Stars symbolize the personality instinct, the unique separateness of each one.
Although part of a galaxy, each star is separate and distinct, never losing its particular identity.
But God also promised that Abraham’s seed would be “as the sand that is upon the
seashore.” Sand represents an entirely different kind of multitude than stars. While each star is
alone and separate, each grain of sand is surrounded by many other grains of sand. Whereas stars
evoke separateness, sand evokes incredible closeness; it is almost impossible to take only one
grain of sand in your hand. Sand symbolizes the crowd instinct.
Abraham was to found a new nation, and nations need to have adequate numbers in order
to thrive. Nation-building entails working with crowds, striving to create consensus among
various factions.  Nations demand patriotism, national symbols that inspire citizens to feel united
with each other. But nations can become dangerous crowds. Demagogues can manipulate the
crowd’s emotions and can control information that they share with the masses. Crowds can
become dangerous; crowds can be turned into murdering, war-mongering and hateful entities.
How can one resist the power of crowds? For this we need the personality instinct. Each
person needs to understand the crowd, but keep enough independence not to totally succumb to
the power of the crowd. Each person literally has to be a hero, has to be willing to stand up and
stand out—and possibly take terrible risks in order to maintain personal integrity.
This was God’s blessing to Abraham: Your seed will learn how to form positive, helpful,
cooperative crowds that will enhance human civilization. Your seed will be composed of
individuals who will have the wisdom and the courage to remain separate, to resist those who
would try to manipulate the crowd into wickedness. Your seed—like the stars—will be

composed of strong, luminous and separate beings. Your seed—like the sand—will come
together to form healthy, strong and moral communities and societies.
Throughout human history, there has been an ongoing tension between the crowd instinct
and the personality instinct. Too often, the crowd instinct has prevailed. Masses of people have
been whipped up to commit the worst atrocities, to murder innocents, to vent hatred. Too seldom
have the masses acted like stars who can and do resist the power of dangerous crowds.
In our time, like throughout history, there are those who seek to manipulate crowds in
dangerous, murderous and hateful ways. There are those who play on the fears and gullibility of
the masses, who dissolve individuality and turn people into frenzied sheep.
But there are also those who refuse to become part of such crowds, who resist the crowd
instinct and maintain the personality instinct. These are the stars who will form a new kind of
crowd, a crowd that will bring human beings together in harmony and mutual respect. God’s
blessing to Abraham is a blessing that we all need to internalize.
***
Politicians or Statesmen
Henry Adams, a nineteenth-century American historian and author, distinguished
between a politician and a statesman. A politician is someone who listens to what people are
saying, and then molds his/her agenda accordingly. A statesman is someone who thinks carefully
and arrives at intelligent conclusions—and then works to persuade the public to adopt his/her
policies.
Politicians are essentially petty self-promoters who will say what people want to hear,
who will pander to the whims of the masses. They say one thing today, another thing tomorrow;
one thing to this audience and another thing to a different audience. They tell jokes, hug children,
spout off truisms. Their goal is to be popular enough to get elected and stay in office. They can
be bullies, buffoons, or big mouths: It doesn’t matter to them as long as they can get people to
talk about them and vote for them.
Statesmen are a much rarer breed. They actually take the time and trouble to think
carefully. They have a long range vision of what is best for society. They espouse ideas and
ideals that the masses may—or may not—readily understand or appreciate. They try to remain
above the fray, and to guide people to a better, larger view of what is at stake. They are people
who avoid sound bites and photo ops.
Political campaigns of our time often seem to be in the province of politicians, not
statesmen. People run to become President of the United States, but many of them sound as
though they are running for president of their high school class. Instead of contests for who
provides the soundest and most intelligent vision for the future of the nation, the political battles
seem to be popularity contests.
Will Rogers once said: When I was a boy I was told that anyone could become President
of the United States; now I’m beginning to believe it.
People in all generations complain that their political leaders are politicians rather than
statesmen. But it is the people who elect them! Apparently, the public does not demand or need
anything more than glib showmen for their leaders.
People deserve exactly the leadership that they choose for themselves, whether for good
or ill. This applies not only to political leaders, but to leaders of all sorts. It’s easy enough to

complain that our leaders are mere politicians and panderers; but we somehow seem to forget
that we are the ones who have elected them or have allowed them to stay in office.
As long as the public will laugh at the politicians’ jokes and rejoice in the politicians’
one-liners, then the politicians will continue their reign. Until the public will demand more of
their leaders and more of themselves, we will have politicians, not statesmen. And we will all be
the worse for it.
***
Kamtsa, Bar Kamtsa and Contemporary Parallels
R. Johanan said: The destruction of Jerusalem came through Kamtsa and Bar Kamtsa in
this way: A certain man had a friend Kamtsa and an enemy Bar Kamtsa. He once made a
party and said to his servant, Go and bring Kamtsa. The man went and brought Bar
Kamtsa. When the man [who gave the party] found him there he said, See, you tell tales
about me; what are you doing here? Get out. Said the other: Since I am here, let me stay
and I will pay you for whatever I eat and drink. He said, I won't. Then let me give you
half the cost of the party. No, said the other. Then let me pay for the whole party. He still
said, No, and he took him by the hand and put him out. Said the other, Since the rabbis
were sitting there and did not stop him, this shows that they agreed with him. I will go
and inform against them to the Government. He went and said to the Emperor, The Jews
are rebelling against you. He said, How can I tell? He said to him: Send them an offering
and see whether they will offer it [on the altar]. So he sent with him a fine calf. While on
the way he [Bar Kamtsa] made a blemish on its upper lip, or as some say on the white of
its eye, in a place where we [Jews] count it a blemish but they [the Romans] do not. The
rabbis were inclined to offer it in order not to offend the Government. Said R. Zechariah
b. Abkulas to them: People will say that blemished animals are offered on the altar. They
then proposed to kill Bar Kamtsa so that he should not go and inform against them, but R.
Zechariah b. Abkulas said to them, Is one who makes a blemish on consecrated animals
to be put to death? R. Johanan thereupon remarked: Through the scrupulousness of R.
Zechariah b. Abkulas our House has been destroyed, our Temple burnt and we ourselves
exiled from our land. (Gittin 55b–56a)
The story tells of a host—apparently a wealthy man—who throws a party and wants his
friend Kamtsa to be brought to it. The servant makes a mistake and brings Bar Kamtsa—a person
the host despises. When the host sees Bar Kamtsa, he orders him to leave. Even though Bar
Kamtsa pleads not to be humiliated by being sent away, the host is unbending. Bar Kamtsa offers
to pay for whatever he eats, for half the expenses of the entire party, for the entire party—but the
host unceremoniously leads Bar Kamtsa out of his home.
The story reflects a lack of peace among the Jewish community in Jerusalem. The
antagonism between the host and Bar Kamtsa is palpable. The unpleasant scene at the party was
witnessed by others—including “the rabbis”; obviously, “the rabbis” were included on the
party’s guest list. They were part of the host’s social network. When Bar Kamtsa was ejected
from the party, he did not express rage at the host. Rather, he was deeply wounded by the fact
that rabbis had been silent in the face of the humiliation he had suffered: “Since the rabbis were
sitting there and did not stop him, this shows that they agreed with him.” He might have

understood the host’s uncouth behavior, since the host hated him. But he could not understand
why the rabbis, through their silence, would go along with the host. Why didn’t they stand up
and protest on behalf of Bar Kamtsa? Why didn’t they attempt to increase peace? Bar Kamtsa
was so disgusted with the rabbis that he decided to stir up the Roman Emperor against the Jewish
people. If the rabbinic leadership itself was corrupt, then the entire community had to suffer.
Why didn’t the rabbis speak up on behalf of Bar Kamtsa?
Apparently, the rabbis kept silent because they did not want to offend their host. If the
host wanted to expel a mistakenly invited person, that was his business—not theirs. The host
seems to have been a wealthy patron of the rabbis; he obviously wanted them included on his
invitation list. Why should the rabbis offend their patron, in defense of an enemy of their patron?
That might jeopardize their relationship with the host and could cost them future patronage.
The rabbis kept silent because they thought it socially and economically prudent for their
own interests. They could not muster the courage to confront the host and try to intervene on
behalf of Bar Kamtsa. By looking out for their own selfish interests, the rabbis chose to look the
other way when Bar Kamtsa was publicly humiliated.
Rabbi Binyamin Lau, in his review of the rabbinical and historical sources of that period,
came to the inescapable conclusion that
the rabbis were supported by the wealthy [members of the community], and consequently
were unable to oppose their deeds. There is here a situation of economic pressure that
enslaved the elders of the generation to the officials and the wealthy…. The Torah
infrastructure depended on the generosity of the rich.
When rabbis lost the spirit of independence, they also lost their moral compass. They
were beholden to the rich, and could not afford to antagonize their patrons. They remained silent
even when their patrons behaved badly, even when their silence allowed their patrons to
humiliate others. Bar Kamtsa was outraged by the moral cowardice of the rabbis to such an
extent that he turned traitor against the entire Jewish people.
The story goes on to say that Bar Kamtsa told the Emperor that the Jews were rebelling.
To verify this, the Emperor sent an offering to be sacrificed in the Temple. If the Jews offered it
up, that proved they were not rebelling. If the Jews refused to offer it up, this meant that they
were defying the Emperor and were rising in rebellion. Bar Kamtsa took a fine calf on behalf of
the Emperor, and put a slight blemish on it. He was learned enough to know that this
blemish—while of no consequence to the Romans—would disqualify the animal from being
offered according to Jewish law.
When Bar Kamtsa presented the offering at the Temple, the rabbis were inclined to allow
it to be offered. They fully realized that if they rejected it, this would be construed by the
Emperor as a sign of disloyalty and rebellion. Since there was so much at stake, the rabbis
preferred to offer a blemished animal rather than incur the Emperor’s wrath. This was a sound,
prudent course of action. But one of the rabbis, Zecharyah b. Abkulas, objected. He insisted that
the rabbis follow the letter of the law and not allow the offering of a blemished animal. He cited
public opinion (“people will say”) that the rabbis did not adhere to the law and therefore allowed
a forbidden offering. The rabbis then considered the extreme possibility of murdering Bar
Kamtsa, so that this traitor would not be able to return to the Emperor to report that the offering
had been refused. Again, Zecharyah b. Abkulas objected. The halakha does not allow the death
penalty for one who brings a blemished offering for sacrifice in the Temple. Murdering Bar

Kamtsa, thus, would be unjustified and illegal. This was “check mate.” The rabbis offered no
further ideas on how to avoid antagonizing the Emperor. The offering was rejected, and Bar
Kamtsa reported this to the Emperor. The result was the Roman destruction of Jerusalem and
razing of the Temple. “R. Johanan thereupon remarked: Through the scrupulousness of R.
Zechariah b. Abkulas our House has been destroyed, our Temple burnt and we ourselves exiled
from our land.”
Rabbi Johanan casts R. Zecharyah b. Abkulas as the villain of the story. R. Zecharyah
was overly scrupulous in insisting on the letter of the law, and he lost sight of the larger issues
involved. He did not factor in the consequences of his halakhic ruling; or if he did, he thought it
was better to suffer the consequences rather than to violate the halakha. Rabbi Johanan blames R.
Zecharyah’s “scrupulousness” for the destruction of Jerusalem, the razing of the Temple, and the
exile of the Jewish people. The moral of the story, according to Rabbi Johanan, is that rabbis
need to have a grander vision when making halakhic decisions. It is not proper—and can be very
dangerous—to rule purely on the basis of the letter of the law, without taking into consideration
the larger issues and the consequences of these decisions. Technical correctness does not always
make a halakhic ruling correct. On the contrary, technical correctness can lead to catastrophic
results. To follow the precedent of Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas is a dangerous mistake.
Yes, Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas was overly scrupulous in his application of halakha,
when other larger considerations should have been factored in. His narrow commitment to legal
technicalities caused inexpressible suffering and destruction for the Jewish people. But is he the
real villain of the story?
Rabbi Zecharyah was only one man. The other rabbis formed the majority. Why didn’t
they overrule Rabbi Zecharyah? The rabbis surely realized the implications of rejecting the
Emperor’s offering. They were even willing to commit murder to keep Bar Kamtsa from
returning to the Emperor with a negative report. Why did the majority of the rabbis submit to
Rabbi Zecharyah’s “scrupulousness”?
The story is teaching not only about the mistaken attitude of Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas,
but about the weakness and cowardice of the rest of the rabbis. The other rabbis were intimidated
by Rabbi Zecharyah. They were afraid that people would accuse them of being laxer in halakha
than Rabbi Zecharyah. They worried lest their halakhic credibility would be called into question.
Rabbi Zecharyah might be perceived by the public as the “really religious” rabbi, or the
“fervently religious” rabbi; the other rabbis would be perceived as compromisers, as religiously
defective. They recognized that Rabbi Zecharyah, after all, had technical halakhic justification
for his positions. On the other hand, they would have to be innovative and utilize meta-halakhic
considerations to justify their rulings. That approach—even if ultimately correct—requires
considerable confidence in one’s ability to make rulings that go beyond the letter of the law.
Rabbi Zecharyah’s position was safe: it had support in the halakhic texts and traditions. The
rabbis’ position was risky: it required breaking new ground, making innovative rulings based on
extreme circumstances. The rabbis simply were not up to the challenge. They deferred to Rabbi
Zecharyah because they lacked the courage and confidence to take responsibility for bold
halakhic decision-making.
When rabbis lose sight of their core responsibility to bring peace into the world, the
consequences are profoundly troubling. The public’s respect for religion and religious leadership
decreases. The rabbis themselves become narrower in outlook, more authoritarian, more

identified with a rabbinic/political bureaucracy than with idealistic rabbinic service. They
become agents of the status quo, curriers of favor from the rich and politically well-connected.
When rabbis lack independence and moral courage, the tendencies toward conformity and
extremism arise. They adopt the strictest and most fundamentalist positions, because they do not
want to appear “less fervent” than the extremist rabbinic authorities.
When rabbis fear to express moral indignation so as not to jeopardize their financial or
political situation, then the forces of injustice and disharmony increase. When rabbis adopt the
narrow halakhic vision of Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas, they invite catastrophe on the
community. When the “silent majority” of rabbis allow the R. Zecharyahs to prevail, they forfeit
their responsibility as religious leaders.
The contemporary Hareidization of Orthodox Judaism, both in Israel and the Diaspora,
has tended to foster a narrow and extreme approach to halakha. This phenomenon has been
accompanied by a widespread acquiescence on the part of Orthodox rabbis who are afraid to
stand up against the growing extremism.
In the summer of 1984, I met with Rabbi Haim David Halevy, then Sephardic Chief
Rabbi of Tel Aviv. He was a particularly independent thinker, who much regretted the
narrowness and extremism that had arisen within Orthodox rabbinic circles. He lamented what
he called the rabbinic “mafia” that served as a thought police, rooting out and ostracizing rabbis
who did not go along with the official policies of a small group of “gedolim,” rabbinic authorities
who are thought to have the ultimate power to decide halakhic policies. When honest discussion
and diversity of opinion are quashed, the religious enterprise suffers.
The Orthodox rabbinic establishment in Israel, through the offices of the Chief
Rabbinate, has had the sole official religious authority to determine matters relating to Jewish
identity, conversion, marriage, and divorce. It has also wielded its authority in kashruth
supervision and other areas of religious law relating to Jewish life in the State of Israel. This
religious “monopoly” has been in place since the State of Israel was established in 1948. With so
much power at their disposal, one would have expected—and might have hoped—that the
rabbinate would have won a warm and respectful attitude among the population at large. The
rabbis, after all, are charged with increasing peace between the people of Israel and their God;
with applying halakha in a spirit of love, compassion, and understanding; with creating within
the Jewish public a recognition that the rabbis are public servants working in the public’s
interest.
Regrettably, these things have not transpired. Although the Chief Rabbinate began with
the creative leadership of Rabbis Benzion Uziel and Yitzchak Herzog, it gradually sank into a
bureaucratic mire, in which rabbis struggled to gain political power and financial reward for
themselves and/or for the institutions they represent. The Chief Rabbinate is not held as the
ultimate religious authority in Israel by the Hareidi population. It is not respected by the non-
Orthodox public. It has scant support within the Religious Zionist camp, since the Chief
Rabbinate seems more interested in pandering to Hareidi interests than in promoting a genuine
Religious Zionist vision and program for the Jewish State.
Recent polls in Israel have reflected a growing backlash against the Hareidization of
religious life and against the political/social/religious coercion that has been fostered by Hareidi
leadership. Seventy percent of Jewish Israelis are opposed to new religious legislation. Fifty-
three percent oppose all religiously coercive legislation. Forty-two percent believe that the
tension between the Hareidim and the general public is the most serious internal schism in Israeli
Jewish society—nearly twice as many as those who think the most serious tension is between the

political left and political right. Sixty-five percent think the tensions between Hareidim and the
general public are the most serious, or second most serious, problem facing the Israeli Jewish
community. An increasing number of Israelis are in favor of a complete separation of religion
and State, reflecting growing frustration with the religious status quo.
In recent decades, Orthodox Judaism has become increasingly narrow, authoritarian, and
sectarian. We have argued that the Modern Orthodox/Religious Zionist communities must
energize themselves to reclaim Orthodoxy as an intellectually vibrant, compassionate, and
inclusive lifestyle that has a meaningful message for all Jews—and for humanity as a whole.
While working to improve the spiritual climate in Israel and the Diaspora, we must
concurrently foster specific policies that increase our representation in rabbinic roles, in lay
leadership, in Jewish education—and indeed in general involvement in our societies. We must
demonstrate our unflinching determination to resolve the halakhic controversies surrounding
conversion, agunot, and other problems—by employing the full range of halakhic options, and
by keeping in mind the ethical and national dimensions of our decisions.
The ways of the Torah are ways of pleasantness; all its pathways are peace. Orthodox
Judaism must cling to this principle and demonstrate to itself and to the world that the Torah way
of life is sweet and beautiful, and that Torah scholars indeed increase peace and harmony in the
world.

***
Resisting the Bullies
When the Israelites pressed Aaron to make them an idol of gold, the Torah informs us:
“And all the people broke off the golden rings which were in their ears and brought them unto
Aaron” (Shemoth 32:3). It seems that “all the people” participated in idolatrous behavior.
Yet, when it came to contributing to the building of the Mishkan, the sanctuary of God,
the Torah states that donations were to be given only by those with generous hearts, “of every
person whose heart was willing” (Shemoth 25:2).  The donations came not from “all the people”
but from a smaller group of willing donors.
Professor Yeshaya Leibowitz, in his book Yoke of Torah, offers his interpretation as to
why these events differed. Simply stated, it is much easier to get drawn into doing evil than into
doing something righteous. Once the Israelites went into a frenzy to make an idol, “all the
people” were swept up in the excitement; all of them contributed quickly and generously. But
when it came to building the Mishkan, many were reluctant to part with their valuables. There
are mental obstacles to contributing to a worthy cause. Donors need to battle with internal
resistance. They need to let their generosity overcome their possessiveness.
Professor Leibowitz’ observation is bolstered by the Midrash. At the time of the golden
calf, the Israelites had two main leaders in the absence of Moses: Aaron and Hur. The Midrash
posits that Hur resisted the idolatrous masses, and they murdered him! Seeing this, Aaron
decided it was safer to go along with the crowd rather than to stand up against them. Hur, who
stood for courageous righteousness, died a martyr’s death. Aaron, who went along with the
sinning crowd, survived and even went on to serve as High Priest.
Yet, I wonder if “all the people” who contributed their gold earrings really were
ideologically convinced to engage in idolatry. I suspect that a rather small group made the

decision and usurped the leadership. When no one (other than Hur) stood up against them, they
became increasingly arrogant. They murdered Hur to set an example: Resistance doesn’t pay.
They cowed the masses of Israelites, who handed in their gold earrings because they were too
afraid to resist—or because they were too apathetic to fight the in-group. Their participation
wasn’t enthusiastic and ideologically motivated; it was more like a passive going along with the
tide.
It is easier to go along with evil than to stand up defiantly against evil.
It is easier to join with bullies or to look the other way, rather than to confront them.
A recent study has reported that severe bullying is quite common for many students.
Forty-one percent of middle school and high school students in the United States report that they
were bullied at least once during their current school term. About eleven percent of boys report
that they are bullied once a week or more. Of the boys who report being bullied, nearly eighteen
percent are hit, slapped or pushed once a week or more. (Michael E. McCullough, Beyond
Revenge, Jossey-Bass, San Francisco, 2008, p. 35)
The easier it is for bullies to cow their victims, the easier it is for them to continue their
bullying. If the victims are too weak or too afraid to resist, the bullies are emboldened to increase
their arrogance and their violence.
But it’s not just the inability of victims to resist: it’s the inability or unwillingness of all
the witnesses to come to the aid of the victims. The masses, by their passivity, allow the bullies
to flourish and to create an environment of fear. Some attempt to befriend the bullies, so as to
protect themselves from being bullied themselves. Others feel too weak to confront the bullies,
so they look the other way. Those who stand up to the bullies run the risk of being beaten up and
humiliated in the eyes of others.
It is easier to go along with the tide than to stand up in righteous opposition. It is easier to
donate gold earrings for a golden calf than to incur the wrath of the bullies who are leading the
idolatrous movement.
From the days of the golden calf to our own times, bullies have attempted to assert their
leadership by means of violence and the instilling of fear. They have depended on the weakness
of the victims to resist. Even more, they have depended on the “silent majority” that lacks the
courage to stand tall.
Bullying takes many forms in our society. Sometimes it is overtly violent. Sometimes it is
the surreptitious usurpation of power by undermining all opposition. Sometimes it shows itself in
tyrants and dictators; and sometimes it shows itself in power hungry individuals in all walks of
life. The common denominator is that bullies prevail by crushing or intimidating opposition.
There are many people today, in all walks of life, who call on us to donate our “gold
earrings” to create all sorts of “golden calves.”  Are we donating or are we rallying our courage
and our morality so that we can resist?
***
The Dangers of Groupthink
Several years ago, Professor Eliezer Schnall of Yeshiva University and his student
Michael Greenberg, presented a paper at the annual convention of the American Psychological
Association in which they discussed an influential theory developed by the psychologist Irving
Janis, known as “groupthink.” Janis posited that tight-knit, smart, and well-informed cliques can

suppress dissent and create a “groupthink” phenomenon—where the general public goes along
with the ideas of the inner power group. People either come to accept the dictates of the power
group, or they are de-legitimized or ostracized. Dissent is crushed. Open and free discussion is
not tolerated.
Dr. Schnall demonstrated how the deleterious effects of “groupthink” were consciously
counteracted by the methods of operation of the Sanhedrin, the classic judicial system of ancient
Israel. For example, when discussing cases in the Sanhedrin, the judges of lesser authority spoke
first. The more senior judges offered their own opinions later. This system was adopted in order
to ensure free and open discussion. If the veteran “expert” judges spoke first, the other judges
might be reluctant to express disagreement with them. The result would be
“groupthink”—control of discussion by a small, powerful clique.
The Sanhedrin sought to avoid becoming insular. Outside experts were consulted.
Disciples who watched the proceedings were allowed to offer their opinions. If the Sanhedrin
reached a unanimous guilty verdict in capital cases, the defendant was acquitted! It was assumed
that absence of dissension meant that group conformity was operating and that the defendant did
not have a fair trial.
“Groupthink” is a highly dangerous phenomenon. It arrogates considerable authority into
the hands of a small inner circle, and essentially causes the public to conform to the views of this
power clique. This is the method employed by tyrannies. This is the method that enables small
elite groups to impose their views on a passive or frightened public. “Groupthink” is quite
evident in anti-Jewish and anti-Israel propaganda and in the “politically correct” movement.
Individuals stop thinking for themselves, stop demanding facts, stop evaluating the “truths” that
are imposed on them. If they resist the pressures of “groupthink,” they risk being branded as
social and intellectual outcasts. They risk being isolated and ostracized.
In this week’s Torah portion, we read that the courts are to pursue justice, tsedek tsedek
tirdof. Many commentators have understood this phrase to mean: You must pursue justice in a
just way. The search for truth must be conducted in an open and free environment, without
coercion or intimidation. People must feel free to offer their insights and opinions, and must not
succumb to “groupthink.” Discussion and dissension are to be encouraged, not stifled.
Manifestations of “groupthink” are ubiquitous in our society, and it requires considerable
astuteness and courage to resist its pressures. “Groupthink” is increasingly evident in religious
life, where small groups of clerics/intellectuals seek to impose their narrow views on the public.
They state what is “true” and expect the public to go along with their pronouncements. Those
who don’t follow the dictates of the power group are branded as heretics. The tyranny of
“groupthink” is rampant in religious fundamentalist circles of whatever religion. Small cliques of
“authorities” are granted incredible status, bordering on or including infallibility, and they
proclaim what is “true” and what is “heresy.” Discussion, debate, and dissent are ruled out. Woe
unto the person who does not conform in thought or behavior to the dictates of the “authorities.”
If “groupthink” is highly dangerous for society at large, it is perhaps even more
pernicious for religious life. It injects a spiritual poison into religion, gradually sapping religious
life of vitality, creativity, dynamism. Instead of fostering a spirit of discussion and free inquiry, it
demands a ruthless conformity. Instead of empowering religious people to think and analyze and
debate, it forces religious people to stop thinking independently, to refrain from analysis and
debate, and to suppress any ideas that do not conform to the framework of “groupthink.” It
insists on abject obedience to “authorities”—even when we don’t agree with them, even when

we don’t acknowledge them as our “authorities,” even when we are convinced that these
“authorities” are leading the public in an entirely incorrect direction.
If we are to be responsible individuals, we must resist the tyranny of “groupthink.” We
must insist on the freedom to think for ourselves, to evaluate ideas independently, to stand up
against coercion and intimidation. We must strive for a religious life that is alive and dynamic.

We must pursue truth and justice in a true and just way.

Thanks very much for your support of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. As we are approaching Rabbi Marc Angel’s 80^th birthday IYH (July 25, 2025), our Institute is planning a special publication in commemoration of the occasion.

Rabbi Angel has been writing his weekly “Angel for Shabbat” column for many years. The 80^th birthday volume will be a collection of these thoughts on the Torah portions, holy days and festivals. Preparations on the book are underway with the goal of publishing it by summer 2025.

This is an opportunity to celebrate Rabbi Angel’s many years of service to our community and to strengthen the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals so it can continue its work in the years ahead. The Institute works for an intellectually vibrant, compassionate and inclusive Orthodox Judaism…much in the spirit of the classic Sephardic tradition. Thousands of people have gained wisdom, inspiration and guidance through the Institute’s work.

The 80^th birthday volume will include a Scroll of Honor listing contributors to this project. You may contribute by mailing your check to the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, 2 West 70^th Street, New York, NY 10023; or by making a contribution on our website jewishideas.org and then emailing [email protected] to let us know the donation is for this project. If you wish to contribute securities, please contact us at [email protected]   The due date for inclusion in the Scroll of Honor is September 1, 2024. Thanks for your support.

SCROLL OF HONOR FOR RABBI MARC D. ANGEL’S 80^TH BIRTHDAY VOLUME

INSTITUTE ANGELS                     $18,080

SPONSORS                                      $15,080

PATRONS                                        $10,080

BENEFACTORS                              $5,080

FRIENDS                                          $2580

CONTRIBUTORS                            $1880

DONORS                                          $880

WELL WISHERS                             $180

On Wednesdays, July 17, 24, and 31, from 11:00-12:00 EST, Rabbi Hayyim Angel will give a three-part series on the Book of Isaiah. The classes are over Zoom, and hosted by Lamdeinu Teaneck.

To register, and for a fuller listing of Lamdeinu's summer classes, go to:

https://www.lamdeinu.org/programs/

Introduction: “What Is This?”

The Exodus from Egypt represents a cornerstone event for the Jewish people. While mentioned daily in the liturgy, the story is told anew each year at the Passover seder with rituals commemorating as much the miracles and plagues as the hardships and triumphs. The scripted gestures during this feast of freedom are not virtue signaling about the holiday of the month, but rather an opportunity to internalize the values of freedom, justice, and responsibility.

The Torah understands the power of the story in real time and anticipates that future generations will have questions. Exodus 13:14 reads: “And it shall be when your child will ask you at some future time, ‘What is this?’” One would be hard-pressed to find a more seemingly straightforward inquiry packed with layers of meaning. Is this child asking about the Jewish people’s experiences as slaves, God’s miracles that redeemed us, or, perhaps, what relevance these historical events hold for us today? Whatever the intention, this inquiry attributed today to the “simple child” is anything but simple. 

It is not hard to imagine American children today observing the state of our democracy and asking the same question, “What is this?” Like their biblical counterparts, this question would be as much about the past as the future. In our intensely polarized country, the next generation would be justified in asking about the underpinnings of society, the aspirations of our founders, and the possibilities of building bridges over such wide divides.

The necessary steps to prepare the next generation to be engaged, informed, and optimistic citizens require a great deal more than liking a photo online or sharing the latest TikTok on one’s social media page. Consistent with the theme of “Virtue without Signaling,” this national enterprise cannot be a passing trend, but rather an evergreen subject. 

In his book, The Bill of Obligations, Richard Haass highlights the risk of ignoring civics: “One major reason that American identity is fracturing is that we are failing to teach one another what it means to be American.... It is thus essential that every American gets a grounding in civics—the country’s political structures and traditions, along with what is owed to and expected of its citizens—starting in elementary school and continuing through college.”

Failing Grades and a Troubling Picture

Civic education historically gave students the knowledge, skills, and sensibility to become informed and engaged citizens. In the 1950s, students spent five to six hours a week on civic education, learning how government works and the importance of civic participation. Civics started to decline in the 1970s, and only worsened in the 1990s. 

Today, students rarely learn about fundamental democratic principles, nor are they equipped to discuss the benefits and challenges of a policy proposal. While both political parties view civic education as a strategy for strengthening “American identity,” debates over the content of civic education are a partisan battleground. Pressure falls on school administrators and teachers to navigate difficult topics without the opportunity to attain mastery in how to bring students into the complex story of their country. 

According to 2022 National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP), only 22 percent of 8^th grade students displayed proficiency in civics, with only 13 percent displaying proficiency in U.S. History. “The Nation’s Report Card” also documented a “significant decrease” across all levels of performance except for the “very top-performing students” at the 90^th percentile. These scores are the lowest since this research began in 1998.

If the decrease in content knowledge wasn’t troubling enough, public trust in government has steadily declined since the 1960s. According to the Pew Research Center, only 2 in 10 Americans trust our government to do what is right for the public good. Expressing a growing sense of hopelessness, nearly half of American young adults (46%) are less trusting of governmental institutions—including Congress and the Supreme Court—than previous generations. 

In our age of intense political polarization, we have also witnessed a dramatic rise in antisemitism and hate crimes. The ADL reported last year a 36 percent increase in antisemitic acts, many of them transpiring at schools. Since the war in Israel broke out on October 7^th, the number of incidents has risen dramatically.

The data present a troubling picture of American education today. A majority of American students do not have a working knowledge of civics and how the government works. Without this background, we should not be surprised that young adults do not feel empowered to make a difference in society through civic engagement. 

Cultivating Civic Spirit

Civic Spirit was founded seven years ago to address these very issues. In the aftermath of the 2016 election, Rabbi Robert S. Hirt and Virginia Bayer were concerned with the state of civil discourse in the United States. They convened conversations with educators, clergy, elected officials, and philanthropists to discuss how to address this situation. They discovered that civic education has been largely ignored since the end of the Cold War. This vital subject matter has been shoehorned into American History, glossed over, or ignored altogether for over a generation. Our two founders partnered with Dr. Tamara Mann Tweel, whose research uncovered that there was a significant need for teacher professional training and in-depth learning on civics education, to create an organization whose name bespeaks its aspirations: Civic Spirit.

While civic education has been minimized in public schools, they also found that there is no formal requirement to implement any civic education curriculum in Jewish Day Schools and their faith-based counterparts. In recent years, large and small organizations have joined the movement to ignite civics education. Of the millions of dollars spent on changing legislation and creating civics curriculum, none of these efforts other than Civic Spirit focus specifically on the needs and merits of faith communities and the rapidly expanding faith-based schools, where over four million students in the U.S. attend, even more than those enrolled in charter schools. Focusing on this niche, Civic Spirit embraced the opportunity to make a positive and noticeable impact on American society. 

A Three-Pronged Approach

Civic Spirit promotes and provides training in civic education to Day Schools. Our work aims to enhance civic belonging, knowledge, and responsibility in their student and faculty communities. We believe in a multidisciplinary, nonpartisan approach to fostering informed and adept members of American society. 

Faith communities’ adherence to ritual and text study is an asset and catalyst for civic learning. We also leverage the highest values of each faith tradition to encourage civic responsibility and the virtues of respect, curiosity, humility, hessed, and justice.

Faith also provides an important window into understanding America’s founding generation. While not all the founders were religious people, faith deeply informed their outlook and aspirations about what they hoped to achieve in this new country across the Atlantic, what Washington called “the great experiment.” In addition, the Hebrew Bible, one of the most read and quoted books in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, was part of the cultural conversation and occupied an honored place on contemporary bookshelves next to Hobbes, Locke, and Montesquieu.

Over the past six years working with Jewish and Christian schools from varied demographic communities, we have identified three core pillars for designing long-lasting, effective, and meaningful civic learning: 

• democratic fluency 
• civic skills
• civic belonging

These areas not only constitute our educational philosophy, but also reflect the soul of our mission. Other civics organizations focus on one or two of these, but we believe that the synergy between these three creates comprehensive civic education that is as grounded as it is uplifting. 

Democratic Fluency

Telling America’s story is challenging today. History teachers across the United States report feeling micromanaged, criticized, and on the defensive—so much so that thousands have left the field altogether over the last few years.

Sensitive to the support teachers need to succeed, Civic Spirit’s emphasis on reading primary sources changes the dynamic in the classroom. By focusing on founding and foundational documents, teachers can let the texts speak for themselves. Further, rather than reading about our democracy’s key texts, students can immerse themselves in the material, wrestle with their meaning, and arrive at their own conclusions. Our approach in anchored in the belief that knowledge of America’s intellectual and political traditions prepares students for a self-governing society. 

When I worked in a synagogue setting as a Jewish educator, it was not uncommon for children to ask me: “Didn’t we learn this before?” This delicious question has been applied to everything from Passover to Bible stories and everything in between. The simple answer, quite frankly, is “yes.” But the truth is that material covered in any grade is meant to be revisited and reexamined at a later time. At every stage of their educational journey students will participate in what’s technically called a “spiral curriculum.” We need to look no further than our weekly Torah reading ritual to see this value in action. In essence, Keriat HaTorah (Torah reading) is akin to a book club that reads the same text every year.

Judaism has this educational approach built into its DNA. Effective civic education requires the same intentionality, where students intersect with key sources throughout their education. More than just reinforcing the basics, this educational approach provides opportunities for students to see texts in a new light and embrace their responsibilities that flow from them. 

Civic Skills

In an age when students communicate screen to screen, face-to-face communication is a skill set that needs to be developed, nurtured, and strengthened. Students today have difficulty with conflict. Like an app on their smartphone, it is easier to disengage than to lean in and listen with genuine curiosity. In addition to teaching about the importance of serving on a jury and voting, Civic Spirit invests in civic skills by providing training in civil discourse, media literacy, and collaboration across differences. 

We operate with the expectation that there will be differences of opinion, and these differences should be embraced. This approach is informed by the traditional havruta model: learning in pairs. Highlighting the value of this type of learning, the Talmud asserts: “Two scholars sharpen one another” (Taanit 7a). Judaism holds that students in dialogue and debate can elevate each other’s thinking about the material, and, one might argue, their community. 

Too often today, conversation feels like debate, and at times, even worse, like a winner-takes-all gladiator sport. In Talking to Strangers, Danielle S. Allen writes: “Distrust can be overcome only when citizens manage to find methods of generating mutual benefit despite differences of position, experience, and perspective. The discovery of such methods is the central project of democracy.”

Civic Spirit prepares the next generation to participate in and lead our democracy, and listening represents a vital civic skill. We provide training for teachers and students in structured dialogue about texts and ideas, intentional listening, and guided conversations, so the students learn how to talk with one another and to transform hesitation into understanding, difference into connection, and strangers into friends. 

Civic Belonging

Our Educators Cohort year-long fellowship program opens with the question: “What experience shaped your American identity?” Each time we pose this question, the responses touch upon consistent themes. Fellows speak about going into the ballot box with their parents, visits to historical sites, and experiences abroad that generated their first opportunities to reflect upon America from afar. Group members also mention iconic events—the pandemic, 9/11, the Bicentennial, etc.—and how they impacted on their lives. Memories intermixed with inspiration, questions, and aspirations. 

These fellows represent schools of different faith traditions, hail from all over the United States, and include newcomers to the field along with their veteran peers. And yet, every time we open our training, what impresses me most are the commonalities. Similar challenges motivate them to join the fellowship, including teaching America’s story during a time of intense political polarization and a societal preference of scattered soundbites over ongoing conversations of consequence. More importantly, their conviction that civic education can enable us to overcome contemporary issues and inspire students to develop strong American identities never fails to energize the room. 

Civic Belonging emanates from the successful implementation of our first two pillars. At the same time, this feeling that “I belong to America” and that “America belongs to me” can be developed independently when students feel a social and emotional connection to their school, city, state, and country. We believe that this emotional connection to community and country is the first step toward civic faith and responsibility.

I mentioned before that Civic Spirit, while informed by Jewish values, is a multifaith organization. Multifaith describes the composition of our participants, not the content we discuss. The wisdom of this model is the realization that, frankly, one community cannot change the world on its own. Strengthening American democracy can only be achieved with a wide coalition and through collaboration across differences. 

In an age of intense political divisions and polarization, it can be easy to yearn for simpler times and even the “good old days.” Our ancestors also faced their own challenges and wrestled with differences that may have felt like obstacles to the future. 

One such example unfolded on the very first day of Continental Congress in Philadelphia in September 1774. When one of the delegates suggested that the session begin with a prayer, there was a great deal of pushback, for the group represented a variety of religious beliefs ranging from Anabaptists to Quakers.

Seeking to bridge the divide, Samuel Adams convinced his peers to move forward by asserting “that he was no bigot, and could hear a Prayer from any gentleman of Piety and virtue who was at the same time a friend to his Country.” 

The very next morning on September 7, 1774, the assembly opened with Reverend Jacob Duche offering several prayers. Remembered most vividly was his reading of the first three verses of Psalm 35, which states: “Of David. O Lord, strive with my adversaries, give battle to my foes. Take up shield and armor, and come to my defense. Ready the spear and javelin against my pursuers; say to my spirit, ‘I am your deliverance.’”

John Adams described the response to this prayer in a letter to his wife Abigail: “I must confess I never heard a better prayer....with such fervor, such ardor, such earnestness and pathos, and in language so elegant and sublime for American [and] for the Congress.... It has had an excellent effect upon everybody here.” 

There are several theories why Psalm 35 resonated so deeply with the members of the Continental Congress that day. One asserts that the founders were inspired by the identification of America with the biblical David fighting victoriously against England representing the giant Goliath. Another opinion is that the belief that the Almighty supports moral causes affirmed the delegates’ intentions. 

I suggest that inspiration emanated from finding a way forward. What began as a cacophonous debate transformed into a harmonious moment generating civic spirit to embrace common purpose. 

Strengthening Democracy

In 1776, when America’s founders were imagining the great seal of this new democracy, several suggested a depiction of the Exodus from Egypt. The Israelites’ overcoming oppression and reaching freedom captured their imagination, as they saw themselves in this biblical triumphant story.

More than our back story, the Exodus story promotes the very best of Jewish values. What makes Passover special is not just the telling of the story, but the internalization of its messages through study, rituals, questions, and conversation. Further, the celebration of Passover is certainly elevated by the storytellers as much as the story. 

Nearly 250 years later, at a time when democracy is challenged near and far, our role as educators and storytellers is more important than ever. This moment of American history inspires and animates the work of Civic Spirit with urgency. Our mission is grounded in the belief that our approach to civic education and investment of hope, love, and energy will yield the next generation of engaged citizens and civic leaders who will overcome their differences and chart a course for our country with common cause. A commitment to liberty, democracy, and freedom is a legacy we can be proud to pass onto our children. During these divisive times, these civic virtues serve as a North Star to a stronger future.