National Scholar Updates

Modern Monarchy?

Should observant Jews pray for a king to lead modern Israel? It seems anachronistic and out of place in modern times, but something that Jews pray for three times a day, every holiday and at every meal. The below considers the complex biblical record and advances the necessity of an ethical, constitutional ‘monarchy’ interpreted for contemporary times.  

As modern Israel grapples with many open-ended issues in its governing, understanding the Bible’s position for the future of the Jewish State is more relevant than ever. Weak governments have consequences- invasion, abduction, murder and anarchy as witnessed on October 7th. It seems even small disagreements within the delicate legislative coalition can trigger immediate elections, with many important decisions being continually deferred for fear of civil war or disruptive protests. An activist judiciary increasingly referendums elections and a legislature which questions the legitimacy of a court without constitution. 

Several thinkers from Israel’s intellectual elite have recently proposed the Biblical vision as a decentralized system with the lack of a sovereign. Proponents of this decentralization point to the book of Judges and read the well-known refrain “In those days there was no king in Israel; everyone did as they pleased[1] as a positive statement. This is not the common interpretation, although an alluring observation as it emphasizes freedom of the individual. This school additionally points to the Prophet Samuel’s opposition along with the subsequent failures and abuses found in the book of Kings. We explore this record below.

Judges

Proponents of decentralization point to the nation’s ability to mobilize in crisis despite the lack of a sovereign in the book of Judges. One can counter that this was precisely the reason why the King is needed in the first place. Only after massive death and oppression by enemies on all sides do the tribes rise to action. Indeed “an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure” holds true when it comes to human life on the national scale. The period of Judges crescendos in anarchy with the cult of Michah, the gang- rape- murder of a concubine and another bloody civil war in which the tribe of Benjamin is nearly wiped out.

To suggest that the period of judges is successful, is to abrogate the importance of borders, security and sovereignty. Such a reality when ancient Israel was invaded dozens of times and occupied by eight different nations leaves little room for Israel to reach its potential as a light onto nations. Individuals may have prospered, or experienced freedom but only temporarily.  In a situation akin to the newly founded United States under the Articles of Confederation, the tribes ultimately opt for Federalism with a strong centralized leadership and standing army.

Samuel

An outstanding personality, Samuel reinvigorates the monotheistic mission of Israel after decades of foreign subjection, civil war and failed direction. Samuel represents a leadership style reminiscent of Moses and Joshua, where the religious leader’s authority is combined as the supreme political power. The people reject this leadership recipe and demand an independent political sovereign with a standing army.

Samuel warns the people of Israel of the cardinal sins of all monarchs: coercion of property and conscription of citizenry. The people reject Samuel’s advice and insist on a sovereign. God therefore instructs Samuel to proceed as it is ultimately the people who have referendum and self- determination of their destiny.

After Samuel, the Prophet becomes a secondary figure in ancient Israel. This new separation of powers is a shifting of authority. The Prophet’s role is now a voice of morality and counterbalances to power of the monarch. Nathan’s reproach of David or Elijah’s rebuke of Ahab are prime examples of outstanding religious figures who fulfill an essential but non- political role.

We might understand the ultimate social contract stuck in Samuel’s time as the people willing to accept the principle of “absolute power corrupts absolutely” in exchange for security. The book of Samuel links security as a necessity to establishing a more just society explicitly: “I will establish a home for My people Israel and will plant them firm, so that they shall dwell secure and shall tremble no more. Evil men shall not oppress them any more as in the past” (Samuel II 7:10).

Kings

The period of the Kings is presented with King David and King Solomon as the Pinnacle of achievement. It is the paradigm for which Jews pray three times a day and the underpinnings of messianic yearnings. Solomon centralizes worship, builds a capital with infrastructure throughout the land while the common people experience peace and unprecedented prosperity. “All the days of Solomon, Judah and Israel from Dan to Beer-Sheba dwelt in safety, every family under its own vine and fig tree.” (Kings 5:5)[2]. Surrounding nations pay tribute and visit Solomon in envy of the society he has created. Cyrus Gordon remarks that the Davidic Dynasty is the second longest ruling hereditary kingdom from Antiquity in the Middle East.

Yet, there are many abuses – even during David and Solomon’s rule. A careful analysis of the Solomon narrative demonstrates an intertextual play between Solomon’s abuses and those predicted by Samuel and the book of Deuteronomy. In a nuanced manner, the intertext reminds the careful reader, though political power may be necessity, it leads inevitably to abuses if not performed within the prescriptions of Deuteronomy. 

There are several “good” kings such as Hezekiah or Josiah who fully repent and uphold the covenant while the people lapse, and there are many “bad” kings like Menashe that murder his own subjects. The existence of corruption is ubiquitous to all societies. This reality does not negate the benefits of centralized authority and bureaucracy or a government. The exile is ultimately caused by failed leadership and failure of the people. It would be an oversimplification of the narrative to suggest that only abuses of the monarch caused the exile. 

Deuteronomy

In the Biblical Cannon, The Pentateuch outranks in the hierarchy of authoritative texts followed by the Prophets, Writings and Rabbinic tradition. Being a part of the Pentateuch, Deuteronomy dictates a sovereign king. While non- traditionalists will argue this portion as a later addition, one can counter that the redactor ultimately included this version in this final form that has been received in the Masoretic tradition. Regardless, on face value Deuteronomy’s canonical authority still outranks Judges, Samuel and Jeremiah.

From a modern democratic point of view the people’s election of a king in the book of Samuel presents a paradox. The request highlights the shortcomings of a democratic system- what happens when citizens democratically elect a despotic king? This is perhaps the anxiety of modern Israel’s judiciary. As Modern Israel’s traditional labor left loses election after election the same party headed by the longest reigning premier in modern Israel history continues to win majority after majority in the county’s legislative branch. This lack of a defined executive branch in modern Israel carries risk. 

Deuteronomy provides a balanced vision. A limited, constitutional monarchy which bounds the king is required to be hand copied by the sovereign and always kept with him. The King is beholden to the Almighty and covenant embedded in the Hebrew scriptures. In other words, the sovereign’s power is limited by a constitution. This social contract must be recited publicly by the people every seven years. Additional safeguards such as holiday readings of the constitution and public posting of laws serve as principles to which the King must serve.

Summary and Discussion

On October 6th It seemed all at once that Israel was on the brink of success and failure all at once. The cutting edge of technological innovations and peace with Saudia Arabia on one hand and endless protests of judicial reform and legislative dysfunction on the other. To add onto the contentious environment, we also find ourselves in a US election year marked by particularly vitriolic partisanship when it comes to Israel. 

There is something romantic about a society free of political class, executive branch or formal leadership. Perhaps the allure of unbounded freedom and frontier living fosters nostalgia of America’s West or modern Israel’s pioneering kibbutzim. Practically, creating such a society builds silos and a culture without shared values. Individuals must agree to limit personal freedom for overarching social contracts of fidelity and accountability to ensure peace, prosperity and nation building. We would like to not limit our personal freedom and drive as we please without red lights or stop signs, but realize the value in creating a system that recognizes the needs of others. Without a strong central government capable of enforcing law and order, no great project- spiritual of physical are possible. 

In the same manner that a company cannot function by committee and requires a single executive leader, so too with a country. In the United States, a balance was stuck by hard compromises of competing interests to establish a federalist system with an executive branch. This system is one very much based on the Bible and emerged out of the failed Articles of Confederation. The main innovation of the constitution is the adoption of a President. In an ironic way, it is now modern Israel which must take a cue from Untied States history to connect to its biblical precedent. 

As modern Israel continues to face existential threats, we pray that a superior system will emerge that prioritizes the human rights of her own citizens and her own legitimacy above all else. Israel’s current parliamentary system is modeled upon a watered-down version of England’s, but notably without a king or magna carta. These aspects could be incorporated in an Israeli national constitution and carried out by an executive branch with proper checks and balances to promote law and order, sovereignty and justice. 

Externally a unique society such as Israel requires a strong border and national security to safeguard her interests. Internally a centralized system with a strong executive branch prevents tribalism, relegates the other branches of power and thwarts special interest groups that can dominate a legislature. An executive branch protects against tyranny of the majority in the legislature by building bridges amongst interests and holding the power to veto and execute. The Bible’s prescription to promote law and order, sovereignty, peace and prosperity to Israel and her people: constitution and an executive branch.

This election season let’s strive to elevate the political discourse amongst our friends and families. The American system’s architects understood the value of reading the Bible to guide their intentions. When we pray, we do so with the intent that Israel’s leaders will merit divine enlightenment to emerge victorious and stronger from the current conflict.

==

Comments to: [email protected]


 


[1] This is the final verse in the Book of judges. It appears prior to the cult of Micha (18:1) and again before the raping of the concubine in 19:1

[2] CF “Judah and Israel were as numerous as the sands of the sea; they ate and drank and were content.” Kings 4:19

 

Agree to Disagree


     Why, in our days, do we disagree so badly? Perhaps it is more accurate to say we do not dare
to disagree at all. To disagree means to take another perspective seriously, to accept its challenge to
re-evaluate ourselves, and yet, at the end of this intense process, decide to maintain our difference.
We might even say that disagreement and concession are the same journey, with a fork at the end of
the road. Such a journey, difficult though it may be, enriches both travelers who turn to the right and
who turn to the left with equally improved insight. But true disagreement is rather scarce, and the
more important the issue, the rarer the disagreement. What takes its place is a kind of argumentative
chatter that is empty because neither side is really interested in what the other has to say. The
function of such an argument is not to allow ourselves to be transformed by a new perspective. It is
to preserve our status, and our relationships with others who expect us to affirm the locally relevant
status quo.
     Many arguments in the Jewish world amount to little more than expressions of dismay at
being challenged. Nostalgia for a time when everyone agreed can be heard in both Hareidi
Ashkenazic and Modern Orthodox Sephardic circles. We imagine that our ancestors did not have to
put up with the kind of foolishness we do today.
     But is this true? The proliferation of sects in the Second Temple period easily rivals the
diversity of present-day Judaism, so we have always had to put up with irritating neighbors. But
surely, despite the warnings of Kohelet, some issues genuinely are new? What, for example, of
feminism? Is it not safe to say that ancient rabbis did not have to deal with that? In fact, the world of
our Sages shows an interesting encounter with gender equality, one that is rarely described. Equally
as interesting is the way in which the sages disagreed about it: a full, thoughtful disagreement,
without the panic we associate with gender issues in our own days.
     Many students are surprised to discover a tannaitic opinion that women and men are equally
obligated in tefillin (Shabbat 62a, Eruvin 96b). Far from being a fringe position, it was held by R.
Meir and R. Yehudah, two of the most prominent students of R. Akiva. Those who say that women
are exempt from tefillin do so on the basis that they hold that women are exempt from Torah study
(Kiddushin 34b), and it seems clear that R. Meir and R. Yehudah also saw a link between these
mitsvot, holding that women are obligated in Torah study. In the Yerushalmi, we see a female
student of R. Meir:
     R. Meir used to teach in the synagogue every Shabbat evening. A woman used to come to
learn from his teaching. Once, he taught a long time. She arrived late to her house and found
the candles already extinguished. Her husband said to her, “Where have you been?” She
said, “Listening to the lecturer.” He said, “I vow this woman won’t come home until she
spits in the eye of that lecturer!” R. Meir saw it happen with ruah hakodesh (divine
inspiration) and caused himself an eye problem. He [went around] saying, “Any woman who
knows the healing arts of the eye, come and spit [in my eye].” [The woman’s] neighbor said,
“Here’s the solution for your problem! Go make a cure for him and spit in his eye.” She
approached him. He said, “Are you a wise woman who knows eye cures?” She was afraid
and didn’t answer. He said “Spit seven times in my eye and it will cure it.” After she spat, he
said to her, “Go tell your husband: you said just once, but I spat seven times!” His students
said to him, “Our teacher, aren’t you disgracing the Torah? If only you told us, we would
have grabbed [the husband] and beaten him up on his couch and made him concede to his
wife.” He said to them, “Shouldn’t the honor of Meir be no greater than that of his Creator?
For the name of the Holy One, which is written in holiness, at the verse’s instruction is
erased in water [i.e. the Sotah ceremony] in order to bring peace between a man and his wife—the honor of Meir, all the more so [should it be waived to bring peace]!” (Yerushalmi
Sotah 1:4)
     There is so much in this story beyond the simple information that at least one of R. Meir’s
students was a woman. We also learn much from the fact that the story does not express any
surprise over the fact that she is female. It is presented as utterly routine. Since Hebrew grammar
does not distinguish between all-male and mixed-gender groups, we are not sure how many other
women are included in R. Meir’s “talmidim.” What we do see is that they like the protagonist of our
story, and are willing to exercise violence to protect her access to learning (a rambunctiousness
which is, incidentally, another well-noted characteristic of R. Meir’s bet midrash; see Kiddushin
33a, Sanhedrin 11a). And what about those teaching in this social circle? In Eruvin 53b, R. Meir’s
wife Beruriah instructs—and physically disciplines–a student. The picture is clear that in at least
one corner of the tannaitic world, men and women were not only putting on tefillin, but teaching
and learning alongside one another.
     It is fascinating to see how little defensive political chatter was generated by R. Meir,
Beruriah, and R. Yehudah, in contrast to our own times. We know, of course, that others disagreed,
and indeed outlasted them in the history of halakhic practice. In Sukkah 2b, we see R. Yehudah
citing the example of Queen Helene’s sukkah to derive a maximum halakhic height. Other sages,
who do not believe women to be obligated, reject the validity of any observations about women’s
sukkot, and say so frankly. But it is fascinating that they are listening, and taking part in the same
conversation: It is enough for them that everyone is learned and committed to Torah. They do not
need to add political conformity to this requirement. Equally of note is R. Yehudah’s reply to them,
in which he does not chastise them for their non-egalitarian position, but rather explains why his
observations are significant no matter what one’s stance in this matter: “She has seven sons; and
besides that, never acted except in accordance with the sages.”
     The debate between R. Yehudah and his colleagues illustrates the importance of true
disagreement. It does not necessarily have anything to do with converting others to one’s viewpoint.
Neither side in Sukkah 2b puts energy into getting the other to concede. Rather, R. Yehudah
understands their lack of agreement as an opportunity to enrich his own teaching, to see if he can
express it in a way that will be heard even by those outside his echo chamber. For their part, R.
Yehudah’s interlocutors are enriched by information they would have otherwise discarded, because
they did not previously consider it significant.
     Imagine what richness of information we can consider when we, too, take disagreement
seriously. When we are presented with an opinion from an outlandish person, or from a sector of
Jewish practice we typically shun, we could choose to disagree rather than to argue—to give
ourselves the gift of absorbing and processing an unfamiliar perspective. A precondition for
engaging in quality disagreement would be to abandon the wishful thinking that the diversity of
thought which occurs in our own times is so absurd, so out of line that we have no precedent to
advise us to engage in meaningful dialogue. We must remind ourselves, not just of Kohelet’s
famous statement that nothing is new, but that we constantly misdiagnose ancient things as modern:
“Sometimes there is a phenomenon of which they say, ‘Look, this one is new!’—it occurred long
since, in ages that went by before us” (Kohelet 1:10).

Love the Ger: A Biblical Perspective

 

            Throughout the first 35 issues of Conversations, we have presented a considerable number of articles on the subject of conversion to Judaism in modern times. The general thrust of these articles is that there are strong halakhic positions that advocate greater latitude for the acceptance of converts than the restrictive positions often conveyed in the contemporary Orthodox world. There also are many commandments to love converts and to make them feel absolutely welcome as permanent members of the Jewish community.

These viewpoints are vital for addressing a plethora of halakhic and social issues pertaining to conversion and converts, and it is imperative for the rabbinic world and the broader community to weigh these positions when making decisions. This issue has been a central concern of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals since its founding in 2007.[1]

            In this article, we will step back into the biblical world, and explore the Torah’s attitude toward the ger. Before proceeding, we must understand that in the Oral Law, there are two categories of gerim: What we call a convert today is the ger tzedek, righteous convert, who becomes a permanent member of the Jewish people. There also is a category of ger toshav, resident alien. These are non-Jewish individuals who live in Israel and adopt certain standards of belief and practice (to be discussed below), but do not become Jewish through a formal process of conversion.

The plain sense of the Torah does not have these two categories. Rather, a ger always is a resident alien and refers to non-Israelites who permanently live in Israel. The biblical term ger more broadly refers to people living in a land that is not theirs (see Rashi on Exodus 22:20). God tells Abraham that his descendants will be gerim in a land that is not theirs (Genesis 15:13).[2] Abraham refers to himself as a ger ve-toshav to the Hittites when he attempts to purchase a burial site for Sarah (Genesis 23:4).[3] Israelites even have the status of gerim ve-toshavim in their own land, since the land belongs to God (Leviticus 25:23).[4] When the Israelites lived in Egypt, the idea that they were gerim has nothing to do with converting to Egyptian religion.[5] The same conversely applies to gerim living in Israel—they do not adopt Israelite religion, but live permanently in the land.

When the Written Law differs from the Oral Law, we apply the Oral Law in practice, but the Written Law still teaches central values of the Torah. This essay focuses on these values.

 

The Ger in the Torah

 

            The Torah assumes that most gerim require the support of the community, and regularly lists them among the vulnerable members of society.[6] Gerim were not landowners (women like Ruth had an easier time integrating into Israelite society, since they could marry Israelite landowners), and often had no family network nearby for support.[7] The Torah exhorts Israel to care for gerim and to love them. God loves them, and Israel should love them and have compassion on them since the Israelites were gerim themselves in Egypt:

 

When a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers (gerim) in the land of Egypt: I the Lord am your God. (Leviticus 19:33–34)

 

For the Lord your God is God supreme and Lord supreme, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God, who shows no favor and takes no bribe, but upholds the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and befriends the stranger, providing him with food and clothing. You too must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers (gerim) in the land of Egypt. (Deuteronomy 10:17–19)

 

The Talmud (Bava Metzia 59b) counts 36 references to treating the ger fairly, making it one of the most frequently reiterated commandments of the Torah.[8]

Civil law treats Israelites and gerim equally (Leviticus 24:22).[9] Strikingly, the Torah also obligates the ger to observe many ritual commandments. For example:

 

  • Gerim may not eat leaven (hametz) on Passover (Exodus 12:19).
  • Gerim may not do work on Shabbat (Exodus 20:10; Deuteronomy 5:13; cf. Exodus 23:12).
  • Gerim may not do work on Yom Kippur (Leviticus 16:29).
  • Gerim may not eat blood (Leviticus 17:10–13).
  • Gerim must refrain from all prohibited sexual relationships and Molekh worship (Leviticus 18:26).
  • Gerim must attend the public Torah reading (hakhel) every seven years (Deuteronomy 31:12). This law is similar to the acceptance of the covenant in Deuteronomy 29:10, which includes the ger.
  • Gerim may bring sacrifices in the Tabernacle (Numbers 15:14–16).
  • Gerim incur the severe punishment of karet (excision) if they commit severe intentional sins (Numbers 15:29–31).

 

There are exceptions which exempt gerim from certain laws binding on Israelites: 

 

  • Gerim may eat carrion (nevelah) (Deuteronomy 14:21).
  • Gerim may become permanent slaves, unlike Israelites, who must go free at the Jubilee year (Leviticus 25:45–46).

 

The laws of the Passover sacrifice similarly suggest differences between Israelites and gerim:

 

If a stranger who dwells with you would offer the Passover to the Lord, all his males must be circumcised; then he shall be admitted to offer it; he shall then be as a citizen of the country. But no uncircumcised person may eat of it. There shall be one law for the citizen and for the stranger who dwells among you. (Exodus 12:48–49)

 

Ibn Ezra explains that gerim are not required to bring the Passover sacrifice. However, those who wish to may do so, if they first circumcise their males.[10] This law also implies that gerim are not required to be circumcised unless they choose to participate in the Passover sacrifice.[11]

            The commandment to dwell in booths on Sukkot applies to Israelite citizens (ezrah) without reference to the ger:

 

You shall live in booths seven days; all citizens in Israel shall live in booths, in order that future generations may know that I made the Israelite people live in booths when I brought them out of the land of Egypt, I the Lord your God. (Leviticus 23:42–43)

 

Rashbam explains that Israelite citizens must remember their humble origins as a nation in the desert so they do not become arrogant with their homes and wealth in Israel. This reasoning does not apply to gerim.[12]

 

The Oral Law

 

            The Oral Law redefines the meaning of ger in the Torah by applying the two concepts of ger tzedek and ger toshav. Any equations of ezrah and ger in the Torah are understood in the Oral Law as referring exclusively to the ger tzedek. Therefore, a ger toshav is not obligated to observe the Torah’s commandments directed at the ger.

The commandment to love gerim likewise is understood in the Oral Law as referring exclusively to the ger tzedek, and not to the ger toshav. The gap between the peshat of the Torah and the Oral Law is particularly conspicuous in Leviticus, where we find separate commandments to love one’s neighbor and gerim:

 

You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen. Love your fellow as yourself: I am the Lord. (Leviticus 19:18)

 

The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I the Lord am your God. (Leviticus 19:34)

 

            The plain sense of the text appears to refer to two groups of people. “Neighbor” likely refers to fellow Israelites (Sifra Kedoshim 8:4, Mishnat Rabbi Eliezer 16),[13] whereas the “stranger” likely refers to the ger toshav, resident alien. However, the Oral Law understands the law of loving the stranger to refer to the righteous convert, the ger tzedek. Wouldn’t that commandment already be included under the commandment to love one’s neighbor? Rambam (Hilkhot De’ot 6:4) explains that there is a double-commandment to love converts. We must love them as we love any fellow Jew, and we also have an additional commandment to love converts.

To summarize: There are two fundamental discrepancies between the peshat understanding of the Torah’s use of ger (which always refers to the ger toshav) and the Oral Law (which almost always understands the ger in the Torah as a ger tzedek): (1) Proper treatment: We must love, care for, and not oppress the ger. All of these commandments refer exclusively to the righteous convert and not the resident alien. (2) The ger obligated to observe commandments like Israelite citizens is the righteous convert, and not the resident alien.

There is one verse that the Oral Law must interpret as referring to ger toshav:

 

You shall not eat anything that has died a natural death; give it to the stranger in your community to eat, or you may sell it to a foreigner. For you are a people consecrated to the Lord your God. You shall not boil a kid in its mother’s milk. (Deuteronomy 14:21)

 

Since Israelites are prohibited from eating carrion (nevelah), righteous converts obviously are prohibited, as well. Therefore, this ger must be a ger toshav.[14]

            By interpreting most Torah references to gerim as referring to the ger tzedek, there is little left for the Oral Law to define the Torah’s requirements of a ger toshav. They are permitted to eat carrion, but what obligations or restrictions do they have?

A talmudic debate supplies a range of views, from minimalist to maximalist (Avodah Zarah 64b). Some suggest that if carrion is permitted, most other Torah laws likewise are not applicable to the ger toshav. One Sage rules that the ger toshav must refrain from idolatry. Others maintain that they must observe the Seven Noahide Laws, making them  ethical monotheists.[15] Leviticus 18:28 supports this position, stating that the Canaanites forfeited their right to live in the Land of Israel because of their sexual immorality and Molekh worship, which includes child sacrifice (=idolatry and murder): “So let not the land spew you out for defiling it, as it spewed out the nation that came before you.”[16]

A third view in the Talmud suggests that the ger toshav is permitted carrion, but is obligated by all other laws of the Torah. This view is much closer to the peshat of the Torah, which indeed applies many laws equally to Israelite citizens and the ger, i.e., the ger toshav.

 

Explaining the Gap between the Written and Oral Law

 

In his analysis of this topic, Rabbi Yehuda Rock[17] observes that there are two competing values within the Torah for the one category of ger toshav: (1) There is a goal of the unification of everyone living in the land of Israel under God and the Torah, so there is one equal law for everyone. (2) Israel is a holy nation and has a unique relationship with God. The permission for a ger to eat carrion in Deuteronomy 14:21 is stated in the context of Israel’s special holiness, “for you are a people consecrated to the Lord your God.”

We may add to Rabbi Rock’s analysis by reviewing the other explicit distinctions between the Israelite citizen and the ger in the Torah. In Ibn Ezra’s reading of Exodus 12:48 cited above, gerim are not obligated in the Passover Sacrifice (nor in circumcision), but those who wish to participate must circumcise their males. Both of these commandments are unique covenantal laws that govern the God-Israel relationship and therefore do not pertain to the ger.

The same applies to the reason Israelites cannot have permanent slavery (Leviticus 25:45–46). Through their singular covenantal relationship with God, they are God’s servants and cannot be slaves of humans forever.

Finally, the Torah singles out an obligation for Israelites to dwell in booths on Sukkot (Leviticus 23:42–43), since they alone have the historical narrative of the sojourn in the wilderness.

To summarize: In general, all who live in Israel must observe the laws of the land, be cared for and loved, and receive equal treatment. In covenantal laws that highlight the unique God-Israel relationship, the ger is exempt and distinguished from Israelite citizens.

The Oral Law distinguishes between the ger tzedek who is bound by all of the Torah’s laws and is loved and cared for by Israelites, and the ger toshav who must accept certain minimal standards to live in Israel. Since the Oral Law understands the commandments to love the ger as referring exclusively to the ger tzedek, it concludes that regarding the ger toshav, “you are obligated to sustain him” (Pesahim 21b).[18]

           

Conclusion

 

            The Oral Law teaches that a core Jewish value is to love converts to Judaism. The Written Law teaches that same love and inclusion of the resident alien, complete with rights and responsibilities. The Torah teaches a remarkable love, sensitivity, and fair treatment of all people living in the Land of Israel.

            The Torah commands the ger to participate in the hakhel ceremony every seven years, to participate in the acceptance of the Torah (Deuteronomy 31:12). In this spirit, Joshua executes a public Torah acceptance after crossing into the Land of Israel, and there are gerim present:

 

All Israel—stranger and citizen alike—with their elders, officials, and magistrates, stood on either side of the Ark…. There was not a word of all that Moses had commanded that Joshua failed to read in the presence of the entire assembly of Israel, including the women and children and the strangers who accompanied them (Joshua 8:33–35).

 

That God-fearing non-Israelites may serve God in the Temple traces its roots to Numbers 15:14–16:

 

And when, throughout the ages, a stranger who has taken up residence with you, or one who lives among you, would present an offering by fire of pleasing odor to the Lord—as you do, so shall it be done by the rest of the congregation. There shall be one law for you and for the resident stranger; it shall be a law for all time throughout the ages. You and the stranger shall be alike before the Lord; the same ritual and the same rule shall apply to you and to the stranger who resides among you.

 

King Solomon proclaimed this welcome message at the dedication of the First Temple:

 

Or if a foreigner who is not of Your people Israel comes from a distant land for the sake of Your name—for they shall hear about Your great name and Your mighty hand and Your outstretched arm—when he comes to pray toward this House, oh, hear in Your heavenly abode and grant all that the foreigner asks You for. Thus all the peoples of the earth will know Your name and revere You, as does Your people Israel; and they will recognize that Your name is attached to this House that I have built. (I Kings 8:41–43)

 

            This ideal carries over into the exalted messianic visions in the Book of Isaiah:

 

In the days to come, the Mount of the Lord’s House shall stand firm above the mountains and tower above the hills; and all the nations shall gaze on it with joy. And the many peoples shall go and say: “Come, let us go up to the Mount of the Lord, to the House of the God of Jacob; that He may instruct us in His ways, and that we may walk in His paths.” For instruction shall come forth from Zion, the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. (Isaiah 2:2–3)

 

 

As for the foreigners who attach themselves to the Lord, to minister to Him, and to love the name of the Lord, to be His servants—all who keep the Sabbath and do not profane it, and who hold fast to My covenant—I will bring them to My sacred mount and let them rejoice in My house of prayer. Their burnt offerings and sacrifices shall be welcome on My altar; for My House shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples. (Isaiah 56:6–7)

 

In a novel extension of these values, Ezekiel prophesies that in the ideal future, gerim even will own land in Israel:

 

You shall allot it as a heritage for yourselves and for the strangers who reside among you, who have begotten children among you. You shall treat them as Israelite citizens; they shall receive allotments along with you among the tribes of Israel. You shall give the stranger an allotment within the tribe where he resides—declares the Lord God (Ezekiel 47:22–23).

 

One cannot envision greater integration of the ger than this.[19]

 

Notes

 

 

[1] For a summary of the relevant issues, as well as references to many of the articles in previous issues of Conversations, see Hayyim Angel, “Conversion: Halakha and Public Policy, Primary Sources,” and “Conversion: Halakha and Public Policy, Contemporary Applications,” Conversations 32 (New York: Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, 2018), pp. 2840, 4151. See also the YouTube video of the Institute’s symposium on conversion in October, 2018, which featured Rabbi Marc Angel, Rabbi Hayyim Angel, and Rabbi Yona Reiss, at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GG17aaahdPQ&t=16s.

[2] This term is used regularly throughout the Torah in reference to Israel’s sojourn in Egypt. See Exodus 22:20; 23:9; Leviticus 19:3334; Deuteronomy 10:19; 23:8; 24:1722.

[3] See also Exodus 2:22, referring to Zipporah’s birth of Moses’ son Gershom: “She bore a son whom he named Gershom, for he said, ‘I have been a stranger in a foreign land.’” Cf. Exodus 18:3.

[4] See also Psalm 39:13; I Chronicles 29:15.

[5] A different term, nokhri, tends to refer to non-Israelites who come to Israel on a temporary basis, such as merchants.

[6] See, for example, Leviticus 19:10; 23:22; 25:6; Deuteronomy 14:29; 16:11, 14; 24:17; 26:11; 27:19.

[7] The Torah acknowledges the possibility that some gerim will become wealthy (Leviticus 25:47), and it is a curse if Israelites sin and decline while the ger rises (Deuteronomy 28:43).

[8] Nehama Leibowitz went so far as to suggest that the reason God wanted the Israelites to be enslaved in Egypt was so that they would develop a sensitivity toward the underprivileged (New Studies in Shemot: Exodus, pp. 111).

[9] See also Numbers 35:15; Deuteronomy 24:17; 27:19.

[10]They also must be in a state of ritual purity like any Israelite (see Numbers 9:67, 1314).

[11] The Oral Law interprets this passage as referring to the ger tzedek, the righteous convert. It therefore understands the verse as requiring the ger to bring the Passover Sacrifice (Rambam, Hilkhot Korban Pesah 9:7).

[12] Jacob Milgrom (Anchor Bible: Leviticus 1722 [New York: Doubleday, 2000], pp. 14961499) maintains that the ger must refrain from prohibitions since violation of negative commandments pollutes the land, whereas the ger is exempt from positive commandments. Milgrom explains the anomalous permission for the ger to eat carrion in Deuteronomy 14:21 as a means of preserving some distinction between Israelites and gerim. This explanation, however, is unconvincing, given the Torah’s equation of Israelites and gerim in every other arena.

[13] For a survey of Jewish views through the ages, with emphasis on a sea change in interpretation toward viewing “Love your neighbor” as a reference to all humanity in more recent times, see Reinhard Neudecker (“‘And You Shall Love Your Neighbor as Yourself—I Am the Lord’ (Lev 19,18) in Jewish Interpretation,” Biblica 73 (1992), pp. 496517. See also the illuminating moral debate between Ernst Simon, “The Neighbor (Re’a) Whom We Shall Love,” and the response of Harold Fisch, in Modern Jewish Ethics: Theory and Practice, ed. Marvin Fox (Ohio: Ohio State University Press, 1975), pp. 2961.

[14] The Septuagint reflects the same distinction. Jacob Milgrom notes, “[T]he Septuagint [invented] a new word, proselutos ‘proselyte,’ for the convert, a term they consistently use for ger in all legal contexts. The sole exception is Exod 12:19, where they use the transliterated (Aramaic) form geioras, and Deut 14:21, where, in order to prevent concluding that the convert may eat of a nebela, they translate ger as paroikos ‘alien’ (Anchor Bible: Leviticus 1722, p. 1501).

[15] Rambam (Hilkhot Issurei Bi’ah 14:78) rules that the ger toshav must renounce idolatry and commit to observe the Seven Noahide Laws. Rambam rules further that the laws of ger toshav are inapplicable today, since halakhah links those laws to the laws of the Jubilee Year. Rabbi Saul Zucker (unpublished essay, emailed to author May 5, 2020) explains that the ger toshav accepts a connection to Israel as a nation, in contrast to the ger tzedek who accepts a connection to Israel’s religion. Therefore, a halakhic ger toshav does not exist at a time when Israel is insufficiently constituted in its land to observe the Jubilee year. I am grateful to Rabbi Zucker for sharing his piece with me.

[16] See also Deuteronomy 12:31; 18:912.

[17]Yehuda Rock, “Love for the Ger,” at https://www.etzion.org.il/en/love-ger. Accessed April 24, 2020.

[18] Yehuda Rock analyzes that talmudic law. Here are his words (see reference in previous note), with minor modifications: “The substance of this requirement is a matter of debate among the Rishonim (medieval rabbinic authorities).  According to Ramban (Gloss to Sefer Ha-mitzvot, Positive 16; Commentary, Leviticus 25:35), it refers to saving his life… Rambam views this requirement as the provision of support – i.e., communal responsibility that facilitates the conduct of life, including also basic manners and acts of kindness (Hilkhot Melakhim 10:12).  The Gemara does not state explicitly the source for this command “to sustain him,” but the Rishonim (Rashi, ad loc; Rambam, Hilkhot Zekhiyya 3:11; Ramban, ibid.) point to Leviticus 25:35: “If your brother grows poor, and his means fail with you, you shall support him—a stranger (ger) or a resident (toshav)—that he may survive with you.”  The structure of this verse is somewhat opaque, but the message seems to be that the command to support and sustain a brother extends to include a “ger or toshav.”  The Sages explain (Torat Kohanim, ad loc), “‘Ger’—this means a ger tzedek; ‘toshav’—this means a ger who eats carcasses.”  In other words, the ger mentioned in the verse is a convert, as the word is usually used by the Sages; the toshav mentioned in the verse is actually a ger toshav. This, then, is the source of the requirement to support and sustain even a ger toshav.

[19] Sifri Beha’alotekha 78 reinterprets Ezekiel to refer to atonement rather than land inheritance. Several classical commentators interpret the passage as referring to the ger tzedek who will inherit land (see, e.g., Rashi, Radak, Abarbanel, Malbim).

 

A Renaissance Man--At What Price?

            “Some of the most famous and important works of literature contain passages and themes that are immodest in nature. May a God-fearing Jew read these works for the good they contain, or must one forgo reading them entirely?”

That was the question I posed to several rabbis in 2017 for a feature I wanted to publish in The Jewish Press. I sought five answers of 100–300 words each. Much to my surprise, though, none of the rabbis I contacted agreed to respond. One said he wasn’t a posek (halakhic decisor), another said he had no time, and a third didn’t want to be quoted. I emailed a few other rabbis, hoping for better luck. Nothing doing.

I was perplexed. In my many years as a writer for The Jewish Press, I rarely had encountered a less cooperative group. I also couldn’t understand how so many rabbis—whose duty it is to lead the masses—could beg out of answering a question that surely must occur to every educated observant Jew at one point or another in his intellectual development. In Modern Orthodox circles, where dropping literary references is fashionable, the question is particularly important. Who among us, after all, isn’t impressed by someone who can quote both Rashi and Rousseau, the Netziv and Nietzsche, the Or HaHayyim and Orwell? But is reading an author like Orwell, in fact, permissible? His brilliant short novel Animal Farm is squeaky clean, but his longer, more famous novel 1984 certainly is not. Can a God-fearing Jew read this work nonetheless for the insight it provides on totalitarianism? Can one read Gulliver’s Travels, All Quiet on the Western Front, Brave New World, Atlas Shrugged? Can one watch classic movies like “The Godfather” or “The Graduate”? Or do the immodest scenes in these works disqualify them from being read or watched by a Torah-observant Jew?

            A few months after failing to elicit any responses to my question, I tried again, determined to at least raise the issue in the pages of The Jewish Press. After much effort, I finally found five rabbis willing to go on record (Rabbi Marc Angel, Founder and Director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, was one of them) and I published their answers in The Jewish Press in February 2018 (see www.jewishpress.com/sections/books/on-the-bookshelf-23/2018/02/16/). In total, I had posed the question to roughly 15 to 20 rabbis. Thus, for every rabbi who responded, two or three ignored my email or begged out of the project. 

I find this response rate unconscionable, and I believe it reflects a dereliction of rabbinic duty. If you encourage—or at least don’t actively discourage—engagement with general culture, you must provide guidance to the public. Right now, too many observant Jews go about their lives as if Torah U’madda or Torah im Derekh Eretz sanctions any and all engagement with general knowledge and society. They assume, for example, that they can go to the movies, cavalierly invoking the behavior of this or that famous rabbi who went to the movies in the 1940s. Movies, however, have changed over the last 70 years. Rabbis in the 1940s didn’t encounter nudity, profanity, or endless crude jokes at the movie theater. Our generation does.

            I occasionally hear observant Jews quoting lines from famous sitcoms like Seinfeld or Friends and wonder why they aren’t embarrassed to effectively admit in public that they watch shows with off-color plots and jokes. I also wonder why Orthodox media outlets occasionally publish articles that implicitly encourage immoral behavior. A few years ago, for example, a Jewish publication celebrated a Modern Orthodox high-school boy who starred in a primetime TV show. I wouldn’t object except that this boy had a romantic interest on the show and expressed this interest by violating the laws of intimate physical contact before millions of viewers. Should such a kid be celebrated in an Orthodox publication?

The author of the article handled the young man’s violation of halakha by ignoring it. Presto. Problem solved. Another Jewish publication pulled off this same trick a decade ago. It interviewed an Orthodox Hollywood screenwriter at some length—clearly taking pride in the writer’s accomplishments—but never once asked him about the moral problems inherent in working as a screenwriter in Hollywood where virtually every script contains inappropriate material. The implicit message these two publications conveyed to readers was that participation and success in general society is a praiseworthy end unto itself. Don’t worry about the inconvenient details. We’ve wished them away for you.

Terence, an esteemed Roman playwright, famously declared, “I am human and consider nothing human alien to me.” But God wants some aspects of humanity to be—at least partially—alien to us. Rav Avraham Yitzhak Kook argues that certain elements of the human soul should be buried rather than explored in literature. He writes that we each possess a “spade” to fulfill this task, borrowing language from Deuteronomy 23:13, which requires Jewish soldiers in military camp to carry a spade with them with which to bury their human waste (Olat Re’iyah, section on Shir HaShirim). Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch, who enthusiastically promoted a life of Torah im Derekh Eretz, actually rejected the full gamut of German cultural expression. He delivered an encomium in 1859 on the centenary of the birth of Friedrich Schiller, a famous German poet (calling him a “messenger of God” for using “the gift of poetry to inspire the human mind with enthusiasm for all that is pure and true and godly”). Yet, he told a friend that had he been in Frankfurt in 1849 on the centenary of the birth of Goethe—another famous German poet—he would have left town so as to avoid honoring a writer many of whose ideas he believed were antithetical to those of the Torah.

Torah im Derekh Eretz and Torah U’madda encourage societal engagement and the attainment of knowledge, but not every society is created equal nor is every piece of knowledge kosher. Rav Hirsch notes that our patriarch, Abraham, far from seeking entry into mainstream society and culture, protested strenuously against it. The whole world stood on one side of the spiritual spectrum, and he stood on the other. The Maccabees, too, rejected the prevailing culture of their day, despite its allure. Their brethren embraced Hellenistic values; they were the “enlightened” ones. But Jewish history condemns them, and we celebrate their downfall every Hanukkah.

            Rabbis know perfectly well that the Maimonidean model—excellence in both Torah and culture—can’t be realized in every era. Maimonides himself writes that a Jew in a decadent age may be required to escape to a cave or desert and live alone (Hilkhot De’ot 6:1). But most rabbis (save those in the most insular communities) are reluctant to publicly voice their reservations in our era of supreme tolerance. For example, many know that Orwell’s 1984 contains inappropriate passages, but they don’t necessarily want to go on record “banning” a book whose very plot revolves around the dangers of censorship. Nor do they wish to recommend desisting from reading other famous works of literature. Their reluctance is understandable but still regrettable. For without direction, the masses will undoubtedly take the path of least resistance. And that path will lead them to read, watch, and listen to practically anything in the name of “culture” and “education.” 

I am not arguing that all literature with problematic material should be avoided. As several rabbis argued in response to my query, much might depend on the nature of the work and the person reading it. Is the person mature? Does the book have redeeming value? Perhaps the permissibility of reading such works depends on one’s age, background, gender, and marital status. An 18-year-old yeshiva boy reading 1984 may be affected in a way that a 38-year-old man might not. The nature and frequency of the inappropriate passages may be relevant factors as well. 

            I personally made a conscious decision a few years ago not to read an international bestseller by Michael Houellebecq called Submission. In it, Houellebecq imagines a future in which France, in order to avert a takeover by Marine Le Pen’s far-right party, elects a Muslim president who proceeds to Islamicize French society. The novel’s main character, Francois, leads a spiritually vacuous life and, at the end of the book, seeks escape from his empty existence by converting to Islam. I read a review of the novel and was intrigued. The ending in particular piqued my curiosity. Unfortunately, in an effort to illustrate the vacuousness of Francois’s life, Houellebecq depicts him engaging in highly inappropriate behavior. I tried convincing myself that the book reviews had exaggerated and that the inappropriate passages were brief. But every subsequent review I read led me to believe the very opposite. Indeed, I learned from a friend that Houellebecq is famous for saturating his novels with inappropriate material. I had no choice. I couldn’t read the novel.

            I believe I made the right decision in this instance, but I don’t know if I’ve always made the right choice in the past, and I wish I had had the sage advice, in print, of others who had faced this dilemma before me. I attended classes at Yeshiva University for a decade and, during that period, regularly read its student newspapers and other popular Modern Orthodox literature. Surely, in those 10 years, I should have come across several articles addressing this topic. And yet, I don’t recall a single one.

I was left to my own devices, as are hundreds of thousands of others who face the question of abstaining from problematic elements of Western culture. So, as matters stand now, everyone just “does their own thing,” with most of us pretending the problem doesn’t exist. After all, who wants to be out of the cultural loop? Who wants to be the one staying home when everyone goes out to see the latest movie? Who wants to mingle in educated circles without having read the book on everyone’s lips?

And yet, at least some of us in some circumstances in regard to some famous works may have to do just that. The prophet Micah tells us to walk modestly with God (Micah 6:8). Modesty means not showing off. It means doing the right thing without fanfare. It means seeking God’s approval and caring little about human approval if that approval comes at the expense of truth and morality. It means avoiding rather than seeking the limelight. So I humbly suggest that we learn to take pride in living virtuously even if that means being unable to signal our educational prowess to others. 

Exhibiting knowledge is exciting—often effective—but it shouldn’t come at the expense of virtue. I don’t know exactly where the boundaries lie. Rabbis should help us plot them. But these boundaries do exist, and we may not pretend they don’t. We have a mandate to study the Torah. According to many rabbinic greats, we also have a mandate to be productive and educated members of society. But we don’t have a mandate to read every book on The New York Times bestseller list (or watch every movie that wins Best Picture at the Oscars). We must be selective, opting for virtue, even if that means sometimes forgoing the pleasures of participating in literary discourse and impressing our friends and acquaintances.

Pressures Faced by Posekim: A Personal Reflection

 

 

Pressures Faced by Posekim: A Personal Reflection 1
by Michael J. Broyde
 


When someone poses a halakhic question, the authority offering an answer or issuing a
decision—the posek, or decisor, and in plural, posekim or decisors—is faced with five important
considerations (or pressures, if you prefer) that can incline them to answer the question in
different ways. These considerations are as follows:
1. Is the Jewish law in this case clear or indeterminate? If indeterminate, what presses one to
pick this option over another?
2. How will the person who asks the question respond to the answer? Is this something that
the decisor needs to consider when resolving the issue at hand?
3. How will the community respond to the question and the answer? Is this a pressing
matter for the community, one in which an answer will likely bring a swift and vocal
communal response? Or, rather, is this of relative insignificance to the broader
community?
4. Are there reasons to answer publicly so that others will see both the question and the
answer?
5. Will people misunderstand the answer to permit something that the posek does not intend
to permit, or prohibit what was not intended to prohibit?
Each of these considerations generates complexities worth exploring—and I am sure there
are others that I am not considering here. My hope is that those who ask and answer questions of
Jewish law will be girded and guided by this short essay. May both those who ask and those who
answer remain virtuous and determined to stand for the authentic values one needs to stand for,
resisting the social tides that can dilute our observance.


The Starting Point: Is Applied Jewish Law Clear or Indeterminate?


The first question is very basic, but also the most important because it asks: “What really
is the halakha in this case?” There are two possible scenarios that the decisor might find
themselves in. First, in some matters of halakha, Jewish law accepts the possible propriety of
more than one answer. Thus, the job of the decisor in those cases is to decide not only what the
ideal halakhic answer is in that particular case, but also which answer best fits the needs of
person asking the question. This, of course, differs sharply from the second scenario, where only
one answer is consistent with Jewish Law—and there are many cases where this is true. But, this
essay focuses on cases where more than one answer is possible.


Importantly, halakha has deep doctrines of indeterminacy in ritual law. Broadly speaking,
Jewish law considers minority opinions that are not proven wrong as possibly correct. Thus, they
may be relied on in a time of need. In fact, even opinions of just one significant authority can be

relied on in cases of urgent need. 2 This principle impacts the role of the decisor as follows:
Sometimes one is asked a question regarding a matter for which one does not have a firm and
clear view of the halakha, nor can one find a single correct answer that is supported by both
custom and practice. I will give an example of such a case later in this article. Nevertheless, the
decisor is called upon to figure out which approach is the correct one for the matter at hand. 3
Based on my conversations with others, this question—how many disputes are still open and
how much discretion does an individual decisor have—is the single most important point of
disparity among authorities who answer questions of halakha. 4


Some claim that most legal disputes in Jewish law (maybe all, at least in theory) can be
resolved internally and textually by reference to certain talmudic logical rules that are universally
accepted within traditional Jewish jurisprudence. While this is not the case (this group of
decisors concedes) for secondary matters of ritual custom or theology, it is for matters of
functional Jewish law. Indeed, for this school of decisors, properly applied logic will resolve
almost all the disputes of previous generations. Furthermore, many decisors have a deep trust of
their own logic and comfortably consider disputes closed because they have thought about a
matter in detail and have determined what they consider to be the correct answer.


A second, separate school of thought reaches essentially the same outcome—nearly all
disputes can be conclusively resolved—but does so from a very different starting point. These
decisors posit that almost no dispute can actually be resolved by reference to first tier rules of
Jewish jurisprudence (unlike school one, above), since—at least among giants of Jewish law—it
is exceedingly rare that one view is demonstrably incorrect. Instead, they resolve disputes by
resorting to binding second tier rules which resolve disputes, rules such as “follow the current
majority” or “be strict on matters of biblical law.” Ashkenazim, for instance, follow Rabbi
Moshe Isserless (Rama), and Orthodox Jews in America accept the authority of Rabbi Moshe
Feinstein. All such rules are to be followed. Disputes are thus functionally closed by reference to
the customs around us.


A third school of thought argues that the two approaches outlined above are functionally
correct with respect to how people and communities ought to function on a regular basis. They
give power to custom (minhag) both in ritual, commercial, and family law matters, since in the
real world, law needs consistency of outcomes and certainty of results. These rules are thus
binding because they are followed and not the other way around. This is the way (argues this
school of thought) that Jewish legal theory has evolved over time, and it allows (if you will
excuse me for saying this) Jewish law to be considered a legal system rather than merely a
personal ethical system. Yet what this means practically is that if you live in a place with a well-
established ritual practice, that practice is the halakha for all intents and purposes, even as one
can agree in theory that it is no better than a different outcome and is no more correct in God’s
eyes.


The final school of thought rejects all of this, both as a matter of legal theory and also as
a matter of actual practice, at least in a time of need, certainly for personal questions that impact
no one else. 5 Instead they construct Jewish law as a spectrum of opinions from the ideal view to
keep to one that is minimally acceptable in time of urgent need. This school of thought proposes
three basic ideas. First, very few opinions are ever truly and completely rejected as definitively
wrong. 6 Second, in a time of need, any opinion can be relied on unless it is one of those opinions
that is distinctly considered wrong. Third, this matter is left to the judgment of individual Jewish
law authorities who may decide for themselves and their followers what the rules ought to be,
both as an ideal and in a time of need. There is no formal hierarchy at all. In this model, Jewish

law is much more open, and the customs mentioned in school three above are social and not
jurisprudential. 7


As I have noted elsewhere, 8 I am inclined to think that the dominant model of Jewish
ritual law follows the final school of thought because any halakhic authority who confronts a
real-world problem of ritual law has many more choices and options than we might give them
credit for at first glance.


Allow me to give you a simple illustrative example (which I will return to at the end of this
paper). How many days of Yom Tov should a tourist from the Diaspora observe when in Israel?
Is the answer one (as they do in Israel) or two (as they do in America)? This matter was the focal
point of a dispute between Rabbi Yosef Karo and Rabbi Tzvi Ashkenazi many centuries ago.
Rabbi Karo (d. 1575) adopts the view that a tourist in Israel keeps two days, as this is a matter of
personal practice, and argues that, so long as one is a resident of the Diaspora, wherever one
is—even in Israel—one keeps two days. Rabbi Ashkenazi (d. 1718) maintains the opposite, that
one who is in Israel only observes one day of Yom Tov. To him, this is not a personal custom, but
a geographical one—and everyone in Israel keeps one day only. Most classical Jewish law
authorities adopt the view of Rabbi Karo, and only a minority adopt the view of Rabbi
Ashkenazi. So, how do different decisors resolve this matter for their communities?


1. Some examine the talmudic and other sources and determine the correct answer on their
own, using the logical and textual tools of rabbinics.
2. Some argue that this matter is settled by the rulings of the previous generations, and one
should follow the majority view.
3. Some argue that this matter is in doubt, and one should follow the view of Rabbi Karo
and be strict for Rabbi Ashkenazi, and some reverse this and adopt the view of Rabbi
Ashkenazi while being strict for Rabbi Karo. Some treat this as a matter of full doubt and
are strict for both views.
4. Some rule that this matter is in doubt, and one should follow the custom of the
community they are in and the rabbi(s) who established those rules. 9


Of course, one should not be surprised to discover that some think it is best to follow Rabbi
Karo, but posit that, in a time of need, one can follow Rabbi Ashkenazi. 10


This example offers an important takeaway: Jewish law is a somewhat flexible legal
system vis-a-vis ritual matters. While there might be an ideal answer to a question, there are also
less-than-ideal answers that are also viable. Practitioners of Jewish law know this, and that is
why different communities of followers of halakha exist and one of the reasons decisors differ
from each other. Anyone who has learned any substantive area of halakha knows that cases of
urgent need are treated differently. The idea that in some ideal world all authorities of halakha
would answer all questions identically for all people misses exactly that one person’s
circumstances are not the same as another’s, and one community’s situation is not identical to
another’s.


What this means is that in the “real world” of answering questions from people—rather
than in writing a “Code of Jewish Law for all times and all places” like the Rambam’s Mishneh
Torah—one learns to listen closely to the person asking the question. Placing the question in
context and in a situation is important, and recognizing the range of options that are present is
crucial. On the other hand, there are questions that presuppose a value system that is outside the
pale of Torah Judaism—one that reflects a set of values that are rejected by the overwhelming

consensus of halakhic decisions of the centuries. Determining what is the range of viable
halakhic opinions helps one understand both what is in and what is outside the range of Torah
values.


The Next Step: Objectively Correct versus Subjectively Right


The next set of questions that a decisor always asks concerns a common set of problems
dealing with responses to the decisor’s decision. These questions are:
1. How will the person who asks the question respond to the answer? Is this another
consequence that needs to be considered?
2. How will the community respond to the question and the answer?
Another equally important question—one unstated (and virtually undiscussed) in the halakhic
literature—is, “What gives a decisor the right to consider people’s (and community’s) responses
to the decisor’s decisions—decisions based on the truth as the decisor sees it?”


I suspect that the ability of a decisor to ask these questions is also unique to halakha as a
legal system. 11 Sometimes, decisors decline to answer questions and affirmatively refer
questioners to someone who will provide them with the lenient answer that the questioner needed
but that the original answerer was unwilling to provide. This "punting" is a way that a posek
deals with pressure of "I need this answer" from a questioner, even where the decisor thinks that
the answer they want is not the correct answer, but nevertheless recognizes the real need for the
questioner. The posek therefore sends the question to another authoritative decisor who is
prepared to rule as the questioner senses they need.


Consider, for example, the practice of the late great Jewish law authority, Rabbi Shlomo
Zalman Auerbach, with regard to a subset of questions relating to aborting fetuses with certain
types of defects. 12 He would refer such people to Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg [Tzitiz Eliezer] who
permitted those abortions, although Rabbi Auerbach himself thought that such abortions were
prohibited and perhaps even tantamount to murder. Nevertheless, he recognized that the
consequences of his answer would be difficult or bad for this individual person, and, since there
was a legitimate view found among recognized halakhic decisors, he would send such questions
to those recognized decisors.


His practice teaches a vital point about issuing decisions [pesak]: One decisor can (but need
not) send a person to a decisor who can provide a person with the answer they need. But what
right does one posek have to send the case to a different posek?


The justification is revealing about the role and practice of Jewish law decisors generally.
First and most importantly, it demonstrates that these authorities are meant to safeguard the
community; they consider the impact of their answers on the people around them. Second, it
demonstrates that the decisor is aware that there are clearly cases where not seeking the
objectively right answer is proper. Rather, the decisor may (and perhaps should) find the answer
that fits the needs of the questioner and their community as a valid expression of Jewish law. 13
There are at least six different approaches to “punting” that are worth noting, each of which
points to a different aspect of the decisor’s role. The first is derived from a talmudic story in
Hullin 99b:

When people would come before Rabbi Ami to ask about the halakha of a thigh that was
cooked with the sciatic nerve inside, he would send them before Rabbi Yitzḥak ben Ḥalov,
who would rule leniently about this issue and say that is was permitted, in the name of
Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi. Rabbi Ami himself did not hold accordingly, but he did not
wish to rule stringently for others. And the halakha is that sciatic nerves do not impart
flavor at all. (Translation from Sefaria.)


This story suggests the following guidance on “punting” (similar to what was discussed
above): One decisor many decline to answer a question and send it to another of equal status and
authority. This is permitted even when the first is sure that the second view is wrong. Now, why
Rabbi Ami did this, and how he was justified in doing so, are good questions and not explained
by the Talmud. Rashi implies that Rabbi Ami was justified in punting simply because the
questioner was expecting a more liberal view. In other words, according to Rashi, decisors can
generally punt matters where they do not want to impose their stricter standards on those seeking
more liberal answers.


A second approach to punting can be construed as an example of “soft pluralism.” In other
words, Jewish law recognizes many questions has three (or more) answers: the right one, the
wrong one, and the one (or ones) that one can accept in a time of need. The Talmud sometimes
even acknowledges that in times of urgent need, one can accept any view as legitimate so long as
it is plausible. 14 Halakhic authorities frequently concede that views other than their own (even as
they think their view is most correct) are plausible, and in a time of need, these other views can
be accepted as correct. In this model, halakhic authorities decide what views besides their own
are subjectively right even if they are not objectively correct. 15


There is a corollary to this notion. A decisor may consider another’s subjectively right
decision as completely wrong, and yet still be comfortable in allowing the questioner to rely on
that decision because it is based on the holdings of a scholar or rabbi who himself is reliable (bar
samcha). I would go even further and say that although this second view is incomprehensibly
wrong to the first decisor, he may direct people to that second view simply because the one who
is articulating it is a respected authority of Jewish law. 16


A third way of conceptualizing punting, and of understanding the talmudic source above, is
to maintain that the only time an authority may refer a questioner to another authority is when
the first truly believes the second authority’s view of Jewish law is correct. This issue, rather, is
merely that his own view is stricter than the minimal legal standard. That is a possible reading of
the above passage, particularly if one understands that the normative Jewish law codified in the
last line of the page rejects the view of Rabbi Ami. 17


A fourth view—taken from the talmudic recounting in Hullin 48a—seems to be that that one
can “punt” a questioner to another decisor only when he is uncertain as to what the correct legal
ruling ought to be. That Talmudic source states:


The Gemara relates that Rabbi Yitzḥak bar Yosef was walking after Rabbi Yirmeya in
the butchers’ market. He saw these lungs that were full of cysts, and he wished to
determine the halakha with regard to them. He said to Rabbi Yirmeya: Doesn’t the Master
desire a piece of meat? If so, meat from those animals is for sale. Rabbi Yirmeya, not
wanting to issue a ruling with regard to the meat, said to him: I have no money. Rabbi
Yitzḥak bar Yosef said to him: I will buy them for you on credit. Rabbi Yirmeya realized
that he could not avoid issuing a ruling, so he said to him: What can I do for you? As

when people came before Rabbi Yoḥanan with such lungs, he would send them before
Rabbi Yehuda, son of Rabbi Shimon, who would instruct them in such cases in the name
of Rabbi Elazar, son of Rabbi Shimon, to permit the meat for consumption. But Rabbi
Yoḥanan himself does not hold accordingly and does not permit the meat. I practice
stringency in accordance with his opinion. (Translation from Sefaria.)
The narrative here seems to limit referrals to cases of uncertainty. 18


A fifth view involves hierarchical authority. The work Vealayhu Lo Yuval, which is about
questions asked to the great Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, recounts the following incident: 19
Sending the Questioner to the Chief Rabbis: Rabbi Ephraim Greenfeld told me that a
relative of his suffered a brain hemorrhage. The doctors were certain that he had no
chance of survival and asked the family’s permission to donate his organs to other
patients. Rabbi Ephraim spoke with his relatives and knew that whatever ruling the Rabbi
[Shlomo Zalman Auerbach] would give on this matter would be accepted by them, so he
approached with a religious doctor from the hospital during the late-night hours to ask
Rabbi Auerbach what to do. Rabbi Auerbach told them: In my opinion, it is forbidden to
take organs from him to save other patients, but I am aware that the Chief Rabbis of
Israel [Rabbi Avraham Elkana Kahana Shapira and the Rishon LeZion Rabbi Mordechai
Eliyahu] permit in such a situation to take organs to save other patients—you should go
and ask them!


It is possible to read this story as permitting only referrals to the “chief rabbis” or maybe only to
decisors viewed by oneself as superior, and even so only on communal questions. 20
A final view on punting, this anecdote notwithstanding, a close read of the article “Mah
Enosh: Reflections on the Relation between Judaism and Humanism” by Rabbi Aharon
Lichtenstein inclines one to think that maybe this phenomenon is simply another example of
Jewish law’s desire to accommodate the humanity of people, without a deep specific unique
jurisprudential basis. In other words, “punting” reflects the desire of Jewish law to allow people
to function in a time of need, with a variety of tools, not each of which is fully individually
jurisprudentially based, but more reflective of human necessity and the desire of halakha to
function than any other idea. 21


Whatever the reason is, there is no doubt that sometimes decisors refer questions to other
authorities, and that this is part of the job. It is consistent with how authorities of Jewish law help
people find the right answer for a person without personally saying things that the decisor thinks
are mistaken. In this process, the decisor considers how the questioner would respond to their
answer, as well as how the community will understand and respond. 22


A Final Consideration and a Caveat: Will the Decision Be Properly Understood?


There are two final, but no less important, factors that a decisor must consider before offering
their legal decision:
1. Are there reasons to answer this question publicly to bring this discussion to broader
attention?

2. Will people misunderstand the answer to permit something that the decisor does not
intend to permit, or else prohibit something that the decisor does not intend to prohibit?
Both questions are more sociological than legal. Consider, for instance, the following
illustrative example: Over the last decade, decisors have seen increasingly more questions on
what role a person who is in a same-sex relationship (SSR) can play in an Orthodox community.
At some point, these questions need to be addressed not on an ad-hoc basis, but in a more
systemic way. This is true for three reasons. First, reasoned written material allows people to
understand the logic of the decision-maker and thereby the Jewish legal process. Second, written
material creates communal and general expectations so that people are not put in a situation in
which they are unaware of what is expected of them as a matter of Jewish law (whether they
follow the law or not) and thereby made to be unexpectedly embarrassed. Third, written
discussion allows many authorities to see what others are doing and modify their public (and
private) expectations considering the norms of other communities.


Yet, in writing decisions down, there is always the concern of misunderstanding. Every
authority worries that rulings will be misunderstood beyond their proper parameters and will be
taken to permit something that the writer did not intend to permit or to prohibit something that
they did not intend to prohibit. This fear of misunderstanding—or sometimes understanding all
too well what is on the authority’s mind, but what they are (in fact) unwilling to permit—is
critically important in understanding when one chooses to write an answer (teshuva) or an
article, or, why a decisor might issue a resolution with no firm reason that clearly addresses the
situation, thus leaving the explanation of “why” somewhat unresolved. A desire to contain, or
better still, avoid misunderstandings will often dictate much of what one writes and in what
language one writes and even in what style one chooses to speak. Writing about SSRs is an
excellent example of that. Sometimes one wants to convey a complex idea, namely, that while
this conduct is a violation of Jewish law, one does not want to see these violators treated any
differently than any other violators of comparable matters of Jewish law. 23


Let me add an important caveat: We are discussing in this article the pressures on the
decisor who is answering question, and not on the questioner, a topic certainly worthy of another
article. Jewish law has a clear rule prohibiting a petitioner from asking the same question to more
than one authority; once a person directly asks a question to an authority and the question is
answered, the questioner is bound by the answer. The authority can punt, but the questioner
cannot. The ability to choose which opinion is the correct one is left to the person who answers
the question and not to the person who asks it. The questioner has one—and only
one—enormous decision: to whom should they ask the question. Indeed, to a great extent, this is
the most fundamental question all Jews have—one that shapes the Jewish law as they actually
practice it: What community should they join, and to whom should they direct questions of
Jewish law and ethics? 24


Six Examples that Highlight the Complexities Faced by Authorities


Let us move away from the abstract toward six concrete examples that provide insight into
the complexities decisors regularly face. 25
1. End of Shabbat

The first example deals with an oft-asked question: When is the earliest time one can end
Shabbat? I was recently asked by a congregational rabbi, on behalf of a congregant in a dire
financial-legal situation, when was the earliest time they could sign a document on a Saturday
night to avoid a significant financial problem. Sunset in New York City is at 4:28 pm on
December 9, and, for reasons that are beyond the scope of this paragraph, the congregant needed
to personally sign a document in front of a judge before 5:00 pm on Saturday. The person
worshipped in a Chabad synagogue, which ends Shabbat at 5:15, 45 minutes after sunset. Jewish
law here is far from clear, with opinions permitting Shabbat violations 13.5 minutes (relative) a
mil after sunset, as early as 4:46 pm (Gra), and some being even more strict, arguing that Shabbat
ends at 5:57 (Rabbenu Tam). 26 Yet, it is also clear that the normative custom in America does not
follow either the minimalist understanding of the Gra, or the maximalist understand of Rabbenu
Tam. Nearly all synagogues end Shabbat no earlier than 35 minutes after sunset and no later than
50 or 72 minutes after sunset. Chabad synagogues uniformly ended Shabbat 45 minutes after
sunset, as is their custom. 27 This person needed to be in a judge’s chambers to sign no later than
32 minute before sunset and also needed some time to prepare to do so. Given the indeterminacy
of the law, the fact that most American communities adopt the view of the Gra, treating
additional waiting as fulfilling the special mitzvah of adding additional time for Shabbat, and
that this question could be answered without setting any general policy, I told the rabbi to tell his
congregant that he could walk to the location in question with his identification in hand (in a
place where there was an eruv) and sign the form any time after 4:51 pm. 28


2. SSM Kohen Performing the Priestly Blessing


Over the past few years, I have been occasionally asked about whether a man who is in a same-
sex marriage (SSM) and is a kohen can engage in the priestly blessing (duchen). Although at first
glance one might intuit that this is prohibited, actually the law is reasonable clear
that—anomalously and unusually for sexual sins by kohanim—same-sex relations are not the
type of sexual sin that prevent a kohen from blessing the people. This is in accordance with the
Mishnah Berurah, Arukh haShulhan, Kaf haHaim, and Yalkut Yosef, and is unlike many other
serious sexual sins. The exact reason for this is set out in the note below. 29 Yet, as Rabbi Feinstein
notes in his answer on whether a kohen who violates Shabbat can engage in the priestly blessing
(where there is some basis, although far from controlling, to prohibit such), there is an argument
that a synagogue rabbi can ask kohanim to leave the sanctuary and not engage in the blessing to
protect other values. 30 For a long time, I answered similarly. However, after engaging different
questions over time, I set out a few months ago to lay out my views in an article, so that (1)
leniently permitting a kohen in a SSM to engage in the priestly blessing should not be
misunderstood as lenient in other areas related to SSRs or other sexual sins by kohanim; (2) these
types of questions are relatively recent and community-wide guidance is needed; and (3) I
thought it was good to combat the sense that halakha was always unduly strict in this area which
was preventing people from doing a mitzvah.


3. Second Day Yom Tov in Israel


A regular question asked of almost all American rabbis—including me—involves what to do as a
tourist in Israel during a holy day. Should one observe one day of the holy day, two days, or
some combination? Many views abound. I personally try very hard to follow the view of Rabbi
Aharon Lichtenstein and observe the second day as a stricture (lehumra); I do not observe the
second day of Yom Tov prayer and ritual when in Israel, though I abstain from work in general

and from what would be biblically prohibited work on the first day. 31 Even my own family thinks
my view is difficult to implement and hard to understand. Yet, after due consideration, it is my
view that correctly balances the views of the Rabbis Karo and Ashkenazi. Nonetheless, when
people who are not uniquely my students ask me this question, I tend to send them to one of my
many friends who are Chabad rabbis—some of whom even were my students—who tell them to
observe only one day, since that is the common custom in fact in our community. I recognize that
what I think the best legal decision might be is viewed by many as burdensome, complex, and
intellectually indeterminant. Sometimes, one does not have to share one’s view, and one can send
people to decisors that provide them with answers that resonate with their expectations and allow
them to function.


4. Error in the Creation of Marriage


Many years ago, I wrote an article on the rare situation in which a woman can leave her marriage
without a divorce (and yet where her husband is still alive) entitled “Error in the Creation of
Jewish Marriages: Under what Circumstances Can Error in the Creation of a Marriage Void the
Marriage without Requiring a Get according to halakha.” 32 The piece explains Rabbi Moshe
Feinstein’s views on this matter. For many years, I was privileged to have assisted Rabbi Gedalia
Dov Schwartz zt”l on some matters in which a woman was permitted to remarry without a
religious divorce decree (get) based on an error in the creation of the marriage, and I have been
involved in other such matters since his passing. Such cases are rare and complex, and one easily
worries that they will be subject to abuse by some in our community who are sincerely seeking
to solve very sad agunah cases (cases where one spouse has left but the other cannot remarry
with a religious divorce), yet lack the firm legal foundation to validly argue for a marriage to be
void in its creation. 33 In addition, determinations of this type are very public and are subject to
review by many great authorities. While my view is that cases like these are worthy of ending
without a religious divorce decree, others do not agree, and the child that results might be labeled
a mamzer—born of a forbidden union—by their community. Based on all these factors, I only
issue decision letters when they are endorsed by great Jewish law authorities, and I abstain from
merely voicing my personal opinions unsupported by a leading scholar. I do work exceedingly
hard to find giants of Jewish law to agree in cases as needed. In some areas of legal decision-
making, consensus is needed, and idiosyncratic views are unwise for a community.


5. Tripartite Prenuptial Agreement


The same can be said for the tripartite prenuptial agreement I authored many years ago. Solutions
to the agunah problems abound. However, we all recognize that “solutions” that are not accepted
by the Orthodox community are functionally ineffective, since the woman will think she is free
of her Jewish marriage, but the community will not. This is a bad place to be in; thinking oneself
as single and yet being married is unwise, and so too is thinking of oneself as single when most
Jewish law authorities deny it. Even if some rabbis think an individual is single, it might be just
as bad a status. Thus, in terms of my decision-making, I am swayed by the force of the question,
“How will the person asking the question respond to the answer? Is there another consequence
that one must consider?” This drives me to conclude that until a critical mass of significant legal
authorities endorses this tripartite prenuptial agreement, it ought to remain something I think is
correct, but not something I instruct people to use. Even so, I am aware of the fact that many,
many couples in Israel and America actually are using this document, 34 and that it has many
advantages in cases of spousal death (especially halitza procedures), men in a permanent

vegetative state, 35 and in terms of its independence from secular law. So, I share the document
with the community, uncertain of the legal consequences and without instructing people to use it
or not.


6. Hair Covering


Our final example is, at some level, the one that is most complex. Many years ago, I wrote an
article in Tradition explaining the legal basis for married women to not cover their hair, and it
provided what I considered then (and my sense that this is correct has only increased) an
excellent justification for conduct, without endorsing it as a legal determination (limud zekhut). 36
My abstract view is that Jewish law here is indeterminate—there are numerous pre-modern
decisors who rule that in a society where modest women do not cover their hair, Jewish law does
not require it—and thus a person who comes from a family where married women do not cover
their hair need not start. I am also aware that none of the great legal decisors with whom I
regularly consult actually agrees with my view, and the same is true for nearly all authorities of
the last century. Furthermore, many women view this matter as a critical one; some do not want
to be part of a community in which women think they need to cover their hair, and others have
the exact opposite view. Furthermore, I worry that people will understand any permissive ruling
with regard to hair to apply to many other situations of modesty, a uniquely problematic issue in
an immodest society. Based on these factors, I wrote the article only as a thought exercise.
Nevertheless, I regularly get asked questions from women about hair covering. I have
three basic approaches to these questions. First, I try my hardest to avoid directly answering
them. I say things like, “In the article I explain the basis for not covering,” or “Read the article,”
or “The Ben Ish Hai permits women not to cover their hair when modest women generally do
not,” or “There certainly are Jewish law authorities who think married women need not cover
their hair when modest women do not,” and other such comments that do not directly speak in
my own name. Second, I appreciate the public complexity associated with these
questions—being liberal on issues of modesty in immodest times is hard. Third, I do not answer
these questions in writing having already written once.


But, truth be told, sometimes rules are meant to be broken—I was recently called by a
great Jewish law authority in Brooklyn who told me “Mrs. X will be calling you shortly to speak
with you about hair covering, and you should tell her that she does not have to cover her hair.”
So, I asked this great Jewish law authority, “If that is the right answer to this question, why don’t
you tell, after all, you are a Torah giant!” He responded, “I am Rabbi Ami and you are Rabbi
Yitzḥak ben Ḥalov in this question.” [See Hullin 99b, cited above at page 13 .] So, I did as I was
told and directed this woman that she need not continue to cover her hair.


Conclusions


The process of answering Jewish legal questions starts with knowing the answer, but it
does not end there. It moves from there to knowing what other answers are possible and who
provides those other answers. It then moves on to formulating answers in a way that works for
the community that one is serving, including sending questions to others. Nuance, complexity,
and sensitivity to the community are part of the tools used by those who answer questions of
Jewish law.

1 Thank you to Rabbi Hayyim Angel, editor of Conversations, for inviting me to prepare this article. His posing of
the thoughtful question to me of “I thought it would be a very valuable contribution for you to reflect on what it is
like to be a posek [one who answers questions of Jewish Law], the pressures you face to conform, other communal
issues that you think the public should be aware of, etc. Given your expertise and integrity to stand up for your own
principles, I think it would be a very worthwhile perspective to bring to the public” framed this article. I attempt to
answer the questions he poses, aware of my limitations. Thank you as well to Rabbi Reuven Travis for his editorial
help.
In this article, I do not discuss the pressures—actually very different—as a dayan in commercial matters where one
is adjudicating between two parties or pressures faced by dayanim generally in many matters. The pressures in those
situations are different, and much more governed by technical halakha, as found in Shulhan Arukh Hoshen Mishpat
9, 10, 12 25 and other places.
2 See, for example, Encyclopedia Talmudit, Hefsed Merubeh 10:36 around notes 44–50.
3 I am aware of Rav Aharon Lichtenstein’s insightful presentation of the difference between a rule [pesak] and a
ruling [pseika], as explained in “The Human and Social Factor in Halakha” (Tradition 36:1 1–25 (2002). If Rav
Aharon (truly one of the greatest minds our community has ever produced) is arguing that pesak [in the sense of
writing a rule] is the idealized form of Jewish law, and pseika is the practical application of these idealized rules to
the reality that we live in, then I think almost all halakhic authorities are engaging in pseika when they answer
questions, and this distinction is not valuable, even as it is true. On the other hand, if Rav Aharon means that halakha
in less-than-ideal situations is pseika and halakha in a perfect word is pesak, then I think this distinction is over-
stated in the real world. Even the real world of talmudic, medieval, and early pre-modern authorities, these sages
considered the hard and complex nature of reality in which they lived when they wrote rules. Therefore, all is just
pseika, other than just a few works of idealized Jewish law, like the Mishneh Torah. For example, is instructing
someone to use a heter iska [pro-forma document than permits charging interest] an act of pesak or pseika? Is
instructing a woman that birth control is proper in any particular situation pesak or pseika? Is permitting carrying a
gun on Shabbat pesak or pseika? Sadly enough, we live in a less than ideal world—where it does not rain gold coins,
raising children is complex, and antisemitism abounds—so many challenges are present. Let me add that there is
palpable tension between the above article and another article of Rav Aharon on halakhic process entitled “Mah
Enosh,” to be discussed later.
4 To be clear, there are times when one might have a clear view of the halakha or can answer the question based on
both custom and practice but declines to do so. Later in this article, I will discuss “punting”—the Jewish law
phenomenon in which a halakhic authority is certain what the answer is, and yet will decline to answer the question
because it provides the questioner an answer that they do not want in a case that is important to them. Needless to
say, this phenomenon requires that there be an authentic posek who is comfortable providing the answer the party is
seeking.
5 This is in contrast to question where even though this is actually a personal ritual matter as a matter of fact, it is a
communal matter since the community actually adjudicates by its conduct whether the result is accepted. For
example, whether a woman needs a Jewish divorce or not is a personal ritual question only she may ask about
herself—but a determination by a rabbi that she does not is, in fact, second guessed by anyone who she wishes to
marry.
6 When I say “wrong” in this context, I mean that the view cannot be relied on in any circumstances, even though of
course the view is well within the umbrella of Torah, and one fulfills the mitzvah of Torah study by studying them.
The views of Beit Shammai in the Mishnah are one such as example, as the talmudic rabbis themselves note.
7 The contrast between Jewish law and American law here is complete: Minority opinions in American law are just
for study, but are of no legal value at all, whereas in Jewish law, most minority opinions are validly used in
situations of need.
8 I do not discuss this issue here at great length, but I have a few books that do discuss this issue in various forms.
See Setting the Table: An Introduction to the Jurisprudence of Rabbi Yechiel Mikhel Epstein’s Arukh haShulhan,
Academic Studies Press (2021) (co-author: Shlomo Pill) and The Codification of Jewish Law and an Introduction to
the Jurisprudence of the Mishna Berura, Brighton, Mass.: Academic Studies Press (2013). (co-author: Ira Bedzow)
and Innovation in Jewish Law: A Case Study of Chiddush in Havineinu Jerusalem, Urim Publications (2010). The
reality of legal indeterminacy helps explain why works of Jewish Jurisprudence are of less common in Jewish law,
since if legal indeterminacy governs, jurisprudence is less significant.
9 See Rabbi Joseph Karo, Avkot Rochel 26 and Rabbi Tzvi Ashkenazi, Chachmat Tzvi 167. For more on this, see the
excellent discussion by my friend and former co-author Rabbi Howard Jachter, in Gray Matter I at 217–224 at
https://www.sefaria.org.il/Gray_Matter_I%2C_Laws_of_Holidays%2C_The_Second_Day_of_Yom_Tov_for_Visito

rs_to_Israel.10?lang=he and Rabbi Dr. David Horowitz, “Visitors in Israel and Yom Tov Sheni,” JHCS 6:79–92
(1983) at https://www.yutorah.org/lectures/735671/ . Of course, within the views that compromise between the two
views there is much nuance on issues.
10 See for example Rabbi Hershel Schachter, “Regarding the Second Day Yom Tov for Visitors in Eretz Yisroel” on
Torahweb.org.
11 American law and the common law from which it descends certainly does not allow this question to be asked. See
Code of Conduct for United States Judges, Canon 3.
12 See for example “Abortion in halakha” https://www.yutorah.org/lectures/lecture.cfm/1021843/rabbi-hershel-
schachter/abortion-in- halakha/ at minute 22:30 to 23:10 for Rabbi Hershel Schachter recounting such. If you listen
closely, you see that Rabbi Auerbach recognized that the consequences of his answer for this person was bad for this
person, and since there was a different legitimate view found among recognized posekim, he would send such
questions to that recognized halakhic authority. I was told that Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein also had this approach to
abortion as I note in “What Does Jewish Law Think American Abortion Law Ought to Be?” at note 16. I was told that it
was the practice of the Lubavitcher Rebbe with regard to some questions related to Jewish law and adoption to
instruct people to ask Rabbi Soloveitchik; See R. Tzvi Schachter, Penina HaRav page 268 which notes one such
story.
13 It is clear that there are some halakhic authorities who did not think this correct. For example, the great Rabbi
Moshe Feinstein in Iggrot Moshe OC 5:20:16 prohibits declining to answer questions when both the facts and the
law are clear to the person who is being asked. He states, “But, when one is asked on a clearly defined set of facts
what he thinks the Jewish law is, it is obvious that he must respond as is proper for this person and it is prohibited to
decline to answer and send them to other experts …”. Furthermore, this idea is found rather directly and
unmistakably in the penultimate paragraph of his introduction to volume 1 of the same work as well. There are two
possible ways to explain Rav Moshe: One is that if he felt that if a leniency was needed, he would find it and give it
himself, and the second that a Jewish law authority when asked is called upon to answer and not punt even if this
authority is stricter than others. Furthermore, it seems clear that Rabbi Feinstein felt this was the rule even if others
around one was more eminent authorities. See Iggrot Moshe YD 1:101. Let me add as support to this view, and
maybe as an explanation of what this dispute is about, that the core question might be whether the formulation found
in Shulhan Arukh YD 242:14, which notes that “Any scholar who is eligible to rule and does not rule, is depriving
people of Torah and putting a stumbling block in front of the masses” is rule of law, or a rule of reason, or simply
ethical advice, or limited to the situations where the scholar solves the problem. Rabbi Feinstein understands this as
a rule of law, and others as a practical application to help people.
14 In the words of the Talmud “It is proper to accept the rule of Rabbi X in a time of need.”
15 See, for example, Ktav Sofer YD 77, who in parts of the teshuva formulates the rule this way.
16 In the above Ktav Sofer, other parts of the same teshuva can be read this way.
17 This seems to be the view of Rama. See YD 228:21 in the name of some say and Rama OC 472:7 and Responsa of
Rashba 3:304 and others. This is part of the discussion of why—in cases of urgent economic need—we are lenient
in ritual matters. See also Pri Megadim, Formulation of the Question (first order).
18 That seems to be the view supported by the above Iggrot Moshe in OC 5:20:16, which denies the right to send a
question to another who will provide a different answer when the initial person asked is sure of the answer.
19 See Nachum Stepansky, Ve’alayhu Lo Yuval: The Insights and Practices of Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, YD
58 at page 91. A thoughtful reader of this article suggested that in cases in which the person will do the sin anyway,
it is better to find them some authority who will permit this action, since it is better pastorally that a person not view
themselves as a sinner, and this is a rationale for punting, as well.
20 The next story (59) in this work involves a similar referral, but on a communal matter to the Chief Rabbi. It seems
to this writer unlikely that Rabbi Auerbach viewed himself as intellectually subordinate to either of the Chief Rabbis
mentioned although one never knows for certain. At some level, the question posed is whether this is a punt or a
lateral, or a forward pass, to continue the football metaphor.
21 See Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein “Mah Enosh: Reflections on the Relation between Judaism and Humanism” The
Torah Umaddah Journal 14:1–61 (2006/7) also at https://www.etzion.org.il/sites/default/files/2021-01/RAL-
Mah%20Enosh-%20Judaism%20and%20Humanism.pdf particularly in section VI, from pages 29 to 42 as well as
crucial paragraphs on the bottom of page 43 and the top of page 44.

By contrast, the principle to be explored presently—that normative standards may be compromised in
straitened circumstances—does concern the clash of human and halakhic factors. It suggests that, within
limits, extraneous factors may validly intrude upon halakhic judgments; that, for the posek or his
respondent, non-normative considerations may properly enter into normative decision. Clearly,
however—as regards the respondent, certainly—the consideration of such factors must be, at best, a matter
of license. If one may, as a concession to his condition, take certain liberties, these can hardly be elevated
into duties. And even if one argues correctly that it is the halakha itself, which has sanctioned these
liberties—so that they be rightfully regarded as grounded in principle rather than convenience—it has
sanctioned them only as such, as an option of which one may avail himself rather than as an imperative
duty. Hence, the humanistic moment implicit in such permissiveness must be regarded as more significant
than that reflected in pikuach. nefesh or kevod haBeriyyot. Whereas they constitute particular halakhic
concepts relevant to specific areas of halakha, this principle represents a broad flexibility within the
halakhic process generally; and whereas they remain genuinely internal elements, it can, in a very real
sense, be construed as an extraneous factor.
Translating this into the idea of one posek looking for another posek who permits this conduct is not so hard.
22 Not explicitly addressed here, and certainly worthy of more analysis is when should a posek decide to provide a
simple verbal answer, a simple written answer or write a clear explanation. There is no doubt that the same factors
that are considered when deciding to send the question to another are at play in these decisions as well. Of course,
the temperament of the posek is also important, with some extremely hesitant to write, and other more comfortable.
23 See the examples section for more.
24 Forum shopping, prior to asking a question, is abstractly permitted; indeed, many people make very important
religious choices by examining diverse religious communities, considering their views on important matter, and
deciding to join one of them, and then asking the rabbi or rabbis of that community their questions, tempered by the
important idea found in Eruvin 6b that a person who forum shops for both the leniencies of the Shammai school and
the leniencies of the Hillel School is called evil. Of course, people can switch communities when they decide that
such is proper and change who they ask questions to. What they cannot do, however, is ask a question to a rabbi, be
given an answer, decide that this answer does not fit what they want and ask another rabbi the same question, hoping
for a better answer. This article does not explain the unique role and responsibility of a posek who is the rebbe
muvhak—a teacher who one has personally committed to following lockstep—since I think such relationships are
exceedingly rare among readers of this journal, even if it is more common, perhaps, among Belzer Chassidim. For
more on these issues, see Shulhan Arukh YD 242 and the elaborate discussion there among the commentators there
as well as the comments of Shach on SA CM 25:5.
25 I have slightly changed the facts of each of the cases relevant to preserve the anonymity of the questioners. The
details of the questioners hardly matters for the examples.
26 See https://www.myzmanim.com/day.aspx?vars=68949485/12-9-2023/elab///////////////3b6def for a recitation of the
various possible halakhic times. For an excellent new book on the various view, see Rabbi Ahron Notis, The Great
Z’manim Debate (2022). It is worth noting that the above link gives 11 different answers to when Shabbat ends,
from 4:45 to 5:56 and notes on the top of the page that Shabbat ends at 5:14 and others wait until 5:41.
27 See https://www.chabad.org/calendar/candlelighting_cdo/aid/6226/locationid/370/locationtype/1/save/1/tdate/12-
09-2023/jewish/Shabbat-Candle-Lighting-Times.htm which notes that on December 9, 2023, shabbat ends at 5:13,
45 minutes after sunset in New York.
28 Let me contrast this approach with one that I think is rejected by modern posekim nearly universally. Ra'avya
(cited by the Ohr Zarua, Shabbat 76) limiting the torah prohibition of writing to Hebrew and Greek [neither the
language of use in this case]. Although Rama cites this view in SA OC 306:11 as thus only prohibiting writing in the
vernacular rabbinically, there is a distinct sense among the posekim (as noted by Mishna Berurah 306:47 and Arukh
haShulhan OC 306:21) that this view of the Rama is either wrong or a typo and not to be followed as the view of the
Ra’avya is incorrect or alone. If that view were correct, one could have addressed this issue—which would then be a
rabbinic prohibition—in many other different ways. Indeed, I have no doubt that if the Ra’avya were alive today and
still held to his view, it is possible that I would have sent this questioner to the Ra’avya to have him answer this
question. But, in the current generation, I am unaware of any halakhic authority who thinks the Ra’avya is correct.
29 A prepublication version of the article can be found at
https://www.broydeblog.net/uploads/8/0/4/0/80408218/allowing_a_kohein_in_a_same_sex_marriage_to_duchen_fo
r_publication_review_with_ai_appendix_includeded_near_final_for_sharing.pdf and in essence this article
highlights that a kohen in a SSR or SSM is not in a prohibited relationship with anyone uniquely prohibited to marry

a kohen which is the central test for whether a kohen should be prohibited from the priestly blessing (duchaning).
Please read the article if you wish.
30 See Iggrot Moshe OC 1:33 and this discussion in the above article on pages 13–14.
31 See above for more information. For more background see Rabbi David Brofsky, Yom Tov Sheni. who notes "This
position has been adopted by numerous Posekim, although they differ as to the extent to which one should observe
Yom Tov Sheni. While some suggest that one should merely refrain from melakhot [work], others recommend that
one should fulfill the positive commandments, such as the mitzvot of the second seder, hearing the berakhot
[blessings] from another person. R. Soloveitchik and R. Aharon Lichtenstein also rule that one visiting Eretz Yisrael,
including students who come to study but intend to return, should refrain from performing melakhot [work] on the
second day of Yom Tov."
32 https://www.jlaw.com/Articles/KidusheiTaut.html
33 See for example, https://www.torahmusings.com/wp-content/uploads/2005/08/4_2_Broyde.pdf
34 See https://jewishprenup.org/ and see "Tripartite Agreement is Jewish Law" Techumin 37:228–240 (2017). For an
excellent criticism of this agreement, see the thoughtful recording by Rabbi Yona Reiss at
https://www.yutorah.org/sidebar/lecturedata/867961/Response-to-Tripartite-Solution-for-Agunos and his article in
Techumin 37:240-247 (2017) entitled “Veim Shlosh Ayla Lo Ye’aseh La.” For a more sympathetic review, see
Rabbi Mordechai Torczyner, “The Tripartite Agreement: A Prenup Like No Other” at
https://www.yutorah.org/sidebar/lecturedata/918245/The-Tripartite-Agreement:-A-Prenup-Like-No-Other.
35 See my article “Plonit v. Ploni: The Get from the Man in a Permanent Vegetative State,” Hakirah: The Flatbush
Journal of Jewish Law and Thought 18 (2014), 59–90.
36 See Hair Covering and Jewish Law: Biblical and Objective (Dat Moshe) or Rabbinic and Subjective (Dat
Yehudit)? Published in: Tradition: A Journal of Jewish Thought 42:3 (Fall 2009), 95–179.

To Heal America, Take the Liberty Bell on Tour

              Lady Gaga, Green Day, Celine Dion, and Guns N’ Roses are back on tour this summer. Hey, hey, even the Monkees are launching a farewell jaunt. But this July 4, America’s biblically inspired greatest draw ever should take another loop across the country.

The Liberty Bell should go back on tour.

The Liberty Bell’s first road trip in over 100 years would mark a powerful effort to heal our nation’s fractures. While despite popular myth, it does not appear that it was rung on July 4, 1776, to mark the adoption of the Declaration of Independence, the bell, inscribed with a verse from the Hebrew Bible, has long galvanized countless Americans, bridging racial, social, and political fissures.

Between 1885 and 1904, the bell went on six trips to capacity crowds, drawing onlookers from across the widest divides. In 1885, it headed to the World’s Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exposition in New Orleans. There, the trip’s organizers made it a point to ask Jefferson Davis, the former president of the Confederacy, to pay homage to the bell in a show of national unity. After all, as the organizers put it, the bell was “so generously loaned to us by the City of Brotherly Love.”

Davis obliged. Addressing the crowd, and the bell, he exclaimed, “I think the time has come when reason should be substituted for passion and when men who have fought in support of their honest convictions, shall be able and willing to do justice to each other.… Glorious old Bell, the son of a revolutionary soldier bows in reverence to you, worn by time, but increasing in sacred memories.”

Roughly two decades earlier, Frederick Douglass invoked the bell in his remarks to the Southern Loyalists’ Convention in Philadelphia. “I ask you,” he implored attendees, “to adopt the principles proclaimed by yourselves, by your revolutionary fathers, and by the old bell in Independence Hall.”

Two million people viewed the Liberty Bell during a 1902 trip to Charleston, South Carolina, as it passed through Pennsylvania, Virginia, North Carolina, and Georgia. Other treks, each of which drew millions, included the World’s Fair in Chicago and the Louisiana Purchase Exposition.

Growing concern by the public and metallurgical engineers over the bell’s fragility was thought to have put an end to its touring. But pleading by Mayor Jim Rolph of San Francisco, the petitioning of hundreds of thousands of California children, and William Randolph Hearst’s endorsement led to what amounted to a 10,000-mile farewell tour from Philadelphia to the West Coast.

A quarter of the U.S. population at the time came to view the bell on this journey in 1915. While officials originally permitted only the blind to touch it, countless children kissed it along the way, while adults handed jewelry and whatever was in their pockets to guards willing to tap the bell’s surface with it, symbolically connecting their personal aspirations to America’s symbol of freedom.

Originally commissioned in 1751 by the Pennsylvania Provincial Assembly to mark the 50th, or jubilee, anniversary of William Penn’s composition of the Charter of Privileges, the bell has served as the de facto Ark of the Covenant of what Robert Bellah called America’s “civil religion.” Engraved on its surface is the King James translation of a verse from Leviticus, “Proclaim Liberty Throughout All the Land Unto All the Inhabitants thereof,” a promise of liberation from servitude and debt granted to the ancient Israelites every jubilee year. Originally referred to as the “State Bell” or the “Old Bell,” abolitionists popularized the name “Liberty Bell,” by which it has been referred to since.

Even when not on tour, the Liberty Bell has served to galvanize Americans around social justice, freedom, and even health. On D-Day, it was tapped 12 times with a rubber mallet by the mayor of Philadelphia to mark a renewed sense of “Independence.” During the Cold War, it was tapped to show solidarity with the East Germans. During the Civil Rights movement, the bell was a common motif, best encapsulated in Martin Luther King Jr.’s call to “let freedom ring!” And in 1976, Muhammad Ali, controversial for his having refused to serve in the Vietnam War, celebrated the country’s bicentennial by recording an album meant to inspire America’s children to take better care of their teeth. The album, titled Ali and His Gang vs. Mr. Tooth Decay, kicks off by the boxer asking, “Who knocked the crack in the Liberty Bell?” To which a choir responds, “Ali! Ali!”

Recent years have seen protests on behalf of the DREAM Act, in favor of gay rights, and against racism outside the bell’s current home in Independence National Historical Park.

Like the ark that led the Israelites through their desert wanderings—in front of which Moses would proclaim, “Rise up, O Lord! May your enemies be scattered, and may those who hate you flee before you!”—Americans have viewed the bell’s promise of liberty as leveling hatred and drawing us closer to both safety and societal flourishing.

Of course, the Liberty Bell’s heading back out on tour won’t solve our country’s political, legal, and social challenges. But it can serve to remind Americans of the faith in our country’s unifying symbols and biblically inspired values, which have survived eras more fractious and violent than our own. As John R. Vile writes in his encyclopedia of the bell’s legacy: “The Bell remains imperfect, and yet its silent plea for liberty continues to ring metaphorically throughout the land.”

Obeying Lady Gaga’s command to “just dance” or Monkee-ing around with ageless musical wonders will no doubt be a delight this summer. But it’s the return of an icon inspired by the world’s best seller that would give Americans the biggest reason to cheer.

 

Does Anyone Hear?: Thoughts for Parashat Korah

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Korah

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

Some years ago, I officiated at a wedding in a very upscale venue. Before the ceremony, I asked the wedding planner to check that the microphone was on. After being assured that everything was in good order, the wedding procession began.

It was a large wedding with many hundreds of guests. The bride and groom and their parents stood under the Huppa with me, and family members sat in the first few rows. I chanted the blessings, delivered an address to the bride and groom, and continued the ceremony until the breaking of the glass. Everything went very well.

Almost everything.

It turned out that the microphone wasn’t on after all. Thus, no one other than those under the Huppa and the first row or two of guests heard any of the blessings or my wedding speech. 

I was understandably annoyed. I had done my best to do a nice wedding but very few even heard my words. 

But then I had a flash of insight! This was a parable of a rabbi’s life!!. We work hard to find the right words, to convey the right message…but only those closest to us even hear us. Most don’t hear, don’t listen, and don’t really care. The “microphone” isn’t on, the words don’t reach them no matter how hard we try.

But then I realized that the problem doesn’t only face rabbis; it faces everyone who has a positive message to convey. It confronts all who speak for righteousness against evil; for truth against falsehood; for Israel against its enemies.  Those nearby hear the message but so many beyond our immediate audience don’t hear what we are saying.

It can be frustrating. It can cause one to lose heart. 

In pondering this dilemma, we can find room for optimism in this week’s Torah portion. Parashat Korah actually can be a depressing read: rebellion against Moses and Aaron; discontent among the masses of Israelites; deaths and plagues. Moses must have felt as though he was speaking without a “microphone.” Most of the people did not seem to hear his message and did not internalize his teachings. 

But remarkably, the Torah notes that the sons of Korah did not perish along with their father and his fellow rebels. Rabbinic tradition has it that the sons repented; they actually listened to Moses’ words and realized the truth of his message.

The Talmud teaches that the words of those who have fear of Heaven will ultimately be heard. Kohelet concludes: “In the end, when all is heard, fear the Lord…” This is interpreted to mean that even though one’s words are not “heard” now, they will be heard in the end…if not by this generation, then by future generations. Righteous words do not die. They take effect even if we don’t see results immediately.  Although Korah wickedly defied the words of Moses, Korah’s sons listened to Moses.

So this is the message: good words ultimately prevail even if so many people don’t hear them right now. Truth overcomes falsehood. Love overcomes hatred. Righteousness defeats evil.  We may not see immediate results, but we can hope that our words will eventually take root.

Sometimes (often!) we speak but the microphone isn’t on. Most people don’t hear our words. But we trust that ultimately the words will be transmitted into the back rows, little by little, until they take root in the hearts, minds and souls of the people.

Sof davar hakol nishma…In the end, the true message of love, peace and faith will be heard.

Bernice Angel Schotten: In Memoriam

Bernice Angel Schotten: In Memoriam

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

As we mark the end of the "sheloshim" mourning period for my sister Bernice, here are some words in her memory.

   Bernice Angel Schotten passed away unexpectedly at the age of 77. She had been active pretty much until the day she died. She and her late husband Peter lived in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, for 50 years, where Peter taught Political Science at Augustana College. After Peter's death a few years ago, Bernice decided to relocate to Brookline, MA, to live closer to her daughter. 
   Bernice was one of four siblings in our family, the only daughter. Although third-born, she was the first of us to pass away. The mourning symbol of "Keriah" comes to mind. We tear a garment as a sign of grief--but really as a sign of a tear in the fabric of our lives. The deceased has gone on to the world beyond, but the survivors feel the loss. Mourners learn to heal, but the tear leaves a permanent scar. 
    We grew up together in Seattle with wonderful parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts, cousins--a large network of family and friends. From her earliest years, Bernice was bright, energetic, thoughtful, and independent. She attended the Seattle Hebrew Day School, Franklin High School and the University of Washington and was a leader and activist in various school clubs and youth groups.  She met Peter at U of W.  Peter continued his PhD studies in Claremont, Ca., and he and Bernice lived there for a while before moving to Sioux Falls.
   Although she lived much of her life far away from us, she maintained ongoing relationships with her siblings and other family members.  She remembered birthdays; she loved when family members visited her in Sioux Falls; and she enjoyed traveling to join us for family celebrations and reunions. The last time I saw Bernice in person was in January 2024 when she came from Brookline to attend the wedding of our grandson Max and Rena.
    But the Jewish mourning practices go beyond Keriah. Mourners recite Kaddish. Significantly, the Kaddish prayer has nothing whatsoever to do with death. Rather it is a dramatic expression of God's greatness, beyond any words of praise we can possibly utter.  In praising God, we are acknowledging our faith in the ultimate wisdom of God's ways. When we tear Keriah, we bless God as the dayan ha-emet, the True Judge. It is a blessing of resignation. We don't understand the mysteries of life and death, the passing of the generations, the ongoing meaning of life in the face of death. But we bow our heads and praise God. At a time when we sense our own mortality and vulnerability, we express trust in the ultimate value of our God-given existence.
   When we observe the "shiva" and "sheloshim" mourning periods, we reminisce. We remember the wonderful times--the family celebrations, picnics, vacations, parties of all kinds. Bernice had so much for which to be grateful--and she was truly grateful. When she had to face some difficult times and troubles, she demonstrated an amazing strength of character. In one of my last phone conversations with Bernice, I told her she was gutsy and resilient in adjusting to her new life in Brookline. But she was gutsy and resilient throughout her life.
    In her years in Sioux Falls, she was an active leader of the small Jewish community there. She taught in the Sunday School. She was part of an ongoing Torah study group with the Chabad rabbi of Sioux Falls. She was a proud and active Jewish leader...principled, generous, loving, devoted.
   Her memory will be a blessing, source of strength and happiness to her daughter, her siblings, her extended family, her many friends in Sioux Falls, Seattle, Brookline and around the country.
    "The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away; may the Name of the Lord be blessed."

On Local Responsibility

 

“Messy,” “chaos,” “broken,” and “dysfunctional.” According to a July 2023 survey by the Pew Institute, nearly 80 percent of Americans express a negative sentiment when asked to describe politics in the United States. The top 15 cited words include those previously listed as well as more depressing descriptions such as the top two—“divisive” and “corrupt”—along with “disgrace” and the vivid expression “dumpster fire.” For those unfamiliar with this phrase, suffice it to say many can at the very least agree on something: this situation is not good. 

For people across the political, racial, ethnic, and religious spectrums, regardless of where they live, it is hard not to see the brokenness of so much of society. The same Pew study also found that the most politically engaged people report feeling the highest levels of exhaustion and anger. The more people are involved, the more draining and upsetting the experience. Is anyone surprised? What are the options? Agree with the overwhelming majority that there are massive problems but disengage to avoid unpleasant feelings?

This essay does not aim to expand on the many troubles in society or to identify their varied causes. This essay endeavors to encourage people to take responsibility in small ways in local communities. Maybe it is possible to share the burden of some of those aforementioned adverse emotions and in the process make things close to home a little brighter. 

Looking at the modern world through the lens of Tanakh is not an attempt to redefine the holy texts or distill their divine meaning. Rather Tanakh can help provide eternal wisdom and guidance to confront today’s colossal challenges. I see variations of my own struggles and challenges throughout Tanakh and find the narratives intensely helpful for the lessons and especially the knowledge that God has seen us through so much so many times.

The story of Jonah offers tremendous insight and inspiration when thinking about how to address, albeit reluctantly, societal problems. The task is unfathomable. We know this. On the best days it promises to be frustrating and exhausting. Literally no one wants to take this on. Who doesn’t want to flee to Tarshish instead of face the mob in Nineveh? Yet, Jonah teaches us avoidance is worse. Problems follow us.

God calls to Jonah to go to Nineveh, a city whose tremendous greatness is referenced four times in the short book. Nineveh became the capital of Assyria and was home to 120,000 people as well as an untold number of animals. It held hundreds of years of history and cultural riches. It would later include the Royal Library of Ashurbanipal which contained among its vast collection of 30,000 tablets such treasures as the Epic of Gilgamesh, one of the oldest fairy tales in the world. 

Despite its greatness as a city, Nineveh was a wicked society. God had planned to bring destruction there, but first summoned Jonah to proclaim judgement upon it. Jonah famously makes a run for it. Not only does Jonah not want to do the job God called him to do, he was initially willing to risk more than his own safety to avoid taking responsibility. 

The story gets better with each retelling. Jonah boards a ship. God casts a powerful storm on the sea. The God-fearing sailors finally agree to toss Jonah overboard after trying in vain to row to shore. The whole while Jonah knows he was the cause of the storm. A monstrous fish the likes of which none of us can possibly imagine takes Jonah to an experience worse than death. At the depths of the ocean, Jonah calls out to God in a prayer whose beautiful and inspired echoes we can hear in the book of Psalms. God instructs the fish to release Jonah on dry land. God commands Jonah a second time. Jonah went at once and proclaimed what God had said, “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” 

That’s it. Jonah had to deliver one simple but powerful message. The message traveled through the people and found its way to the king, inspiring belief, repentance, commitment to God, and an abandonment of evil ways and injustice. The people of Nineveh genuinely atoned, and God renounced the punishment that had been planned. 

            However, Jonah was not pleased. After completing his task of informing Nineveh of its impending doom, which led to the salvation of the great city, he was despondent. Rashi suggested Jonah knew Nineveh would repent and be saved and therefore might lead to Jonah being called a liar. This certainly could have been part of the explanation for Jonah’s gloom. Is it possible this is also an illustration of the findings Pew would publish some 3,000 years later? The more engaged individuals report the greatest levels of exhaustion and anger. Who was more engaged than Jonah? 

The only source of comfort and joy Jonah finds under the shade of a vine miraculously grown overnight. God then appoints a worm to destroy the beloved plant and the shade Jonah had quickly grown to love. God rebukes Jonah for mourning the loss of the plant, stating he did not grow the plant himself and therefore has no share in the sorrow. God further asks if Jonah thinks God should not take pity on a great city like Nineveh. 

For anyone who has ever grown even the smallest plant, the experience can be a source of great joy. Especially true if the plant grows successfully. For anyone who has lost special plants to deer, garden rodents, or other pests, this loss can be downright painful. I remember too well the cabbages that disappeared seemingly overnight thanks to insidious cabbage worms and the many promising seedlings eviscerated by a wily groundhog. However, my family worked hard to plant and care for these lost crops. Our pain is justified!

What about Jonah? No offense to a glorious shade in the hot sun, but what about the great city God just saved? What about the responsibility Jonah attempted to run from and the reality that all he had to do was show up and say one thing that led to a great miracle? What about the glory to God? Then the short book is over, and we hear no more from Jonah.

Over and over, the Torah lays it out for us. God, family, community, nation, world. Take as much responsibility for the relationships and institutions closest to you and work toward your goals. What is the responsibility the Torah wants us to take? Which step do we take first? From Jonah, it is possible we learn the first step we don’t take. We should not step away. We cannot avoid the problem. We have to do the work to show up, and perhaps we have to speak, but we might not have to say as much as we fear. When our work is done, we might feel exhausted, angry, and despondent. So, who wants to sign up and get involved?

What is happening in my small world that I am overlaying the narrative of Jonah? I live with my husband and our children in Teaneck, NJ. Teaneck has about 41,000 residents. Not quite Nineveh, but a great town in its own right. Due to countless circumstances, especially the pace and demands of life, many decent and upstanding citizens have simply not gotten involved in local matters. Less involvement begets less involvement. We paid our copious taxes faithfully but had little knowledge and even less oversight of where this money went. 

In Teaneck, as it is in many towns, there are ample opportunities for individuals to step forward and get involved civically. It is sometimes as easy as signing onto a Zoom to watch a local town or board of education meeting to see what our tax dollars are funding. My husband Hayyim and I are grateful to have had opportunities to engage civically over the past few years. We hope to contribute to a high quality of life for all our neighbors and aspire to sanctify God with our actions. Our experiences have been steady streams of learning about numerous local issues, showing up to various meetings, and meeting all kinds of people. We also started sharing our experiences with friends and neighbors, encouraging others to get informed. 

This was before the atrocities of October 7 and the ensuing aftermath. October 7 shone a blinding light on many problems in our town and as a result, many concerned citizens have taken it upon themselves to engage, despite the very real exhaustion identified by Jonah and Pew. Particularly noteworthy is the recent election of a slate of three phenomenal, qualified men to the Teaneck Board of Education thanks to a massive turnout of Jewish voters organized by the newly formed Bergen County Jewish Action Committee. Since then, BCJAC volunteers have worked tirelessly to advocate for thoughtful Jewish civic engagement.

Dr. Jordan Peterson says, “Every responsibility you cede to others can be taken up by tyrants and used against you.” While it might seem unlikely to escalate rapidly, it certainly can. The good news is things can turn around quickly if good people pay attention, stand up, show up, and say what needs to be said. Like it states in Pirkei Avot 2:21: "It is not incumbent upon you to complete the work, but neither are you at liberty to desist from it." 

Sephardim, Sephardism and Jewish Peoplehood

Sephardim, Sephardism, and Jewish Peoplehood

(This article was originally written for Re-forming Judaism: Moments of Disruption in JewishThought, edited by Stanley Davids and Leah Hochman, New York, CCAR Press, 2023, and is reprinted by permission of the Central Conference of American Rabbis. The article was reprinted in Marc D. Angel, Sephardim, Sephardism and Jewish Peoplehood, published by the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, 2022).

            My grandfather, Marco Romey, used to tell us of his experiences as a young Sephardic bachelor newly arrived from Turkey to Seattle. He and the few other young Sephardim had arrived during the first decade of the 20th century. They went to an existing Ashkenazic synagogue, assuming they would find welcome among fellow Jews; but instead of welcome, they were greeted with suspicion. Were they really Jews? They didn’t have “Jewish” names; they didn’t speak or understand Yiddish; they never heard of gefilte fish! Even when the Sephardim showed their prayer shawls and recited Hebrew prayers, the Ashkenazim were not convinced.

            It took a generation or two for Ashkenazim and Sephardim to begin to re-connect after centuries of separation during the long diasporic exile. Until the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the Ashkenazic world of Europe had little interaction with living Sephardim. And the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic world, concentrated for the most part in Muslim lands, lived in its own cultural bubble. The two communities developed along different historic lines; although sharing the same religion and peoplehood, they were, to a large extent, strangers to each other.

Sephardim: Preliminary Definitions

            My grandparents were members of the Sephardic communities of Turkey and the Island of Rhodes. Those communities harked back to the Jews of medieval Spain (Sepharad in Hebrew), many of whom found haven in the Ottoman Empire following the expulsion of Jews from the Iberian Peninsula in the late fifteenth century. Their language was Judeo-Spanish. Their religious practices and customs followed the Sephardic traditions as codified by Rabbi Joseph Karo in his Shulhan Arukh and other great Sephardic halachic authorities. They prayed according to the classic Sephardic rite, including the kabbalistic texts that were incorporated over the centuries.

            While most of the Sephardim lived in the lands of the Ottoman Empire, a smaller group settled in Western Europe and the Americas. These “Western Sephardim” were Jews or descendants of Jews who had been forcibly converted to Catholicism in Spain and Portugal, but who eventually were able to return to Judaism. They established communities in such places as Amsterdam, Paris, Bordeaux, Bayonne, London, Hamburg, and, beginning in the seventeenth century, in the Americas. The Western Sephardim were quick to adapt to the lands of their dispersion, and developed their own distinctive patterns of Jewish life.

            Although the term “Sephardic” literally refers to Jews of medieval Spanish background, it has more generally come to include those communities that followed the patterns of Sephardim, e.g. halakhic practice, liturgical rituals, and religious customs. Thus, Jews of the Middle East and North Africa—even those not “Sephardic” genetically—have become part of the Sephardic world culturally. The late Dr. Henry Toledano referred to these communities as “pan-Sephardic.” This article will be considering disruptions in the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic world as of the mid-nineteenth century and will be using the term “Sephardic” to refer to the entire pan-Sephardic diaspora.

Disruption One: Confronting Modernity and Westernization

            The Western Sephardic experience was unique among the Sephardic communities. Western Sephardim have been described as the first “modern” Jews, in that they generally flourished in relatively free societies. They valued general as well as Jewish religious education. They spoke the languages of the lands in which they lived. They advanced economically and professionally. Their synagogues were marked by a high sense of aesthetics and decorum. 

            The Western Sephardic communities were governed by rabbis and lay people who strove to maintain classic religious traditions. But as members became increasingly receptive to the freedoms of Western culture, individuals strayed from halakhic observance. The “establishment” had to deal with growing numbers of Jews who were lax in their observance, and others who left Judaism altogether. Notorious examples of defectors included Benedict Spinoza of seventeenth century Amsterdam and Benjamin Disraeli of nineteenth century London.

            Western Sephardic leadership worked diligently to adapt religious traditionalism with the challenges of modernity. In seventeenth century Amsterdam, Rabbi Menasseh ben Israel published books in Spanish and Portuguese in order to provide religious guidance to newly returning conversos. Dr. Isaac Cardoso of eighteenth century Verona wrote powerful tracts defending Judaism from Christian attacks and misrepresentations. Grace Aguilar of nineteenth century London wrote important works stressing the spiritual qualities of Judaism, and refuting pervasive anti-Jewish stereotypes fostered by Christian society. Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh of nineteenth century Livorno wrote extensively on Jewish ethics, the universal messages of Judaism, and on spiritual foundations of Judaism. In twentieth century America, the Western Sephardic religious leadership included such figures as Rabbis Henry Pereira Mendes and David de Sola Pool of New York, and Sabato Morais of Philadelphia.

            Yet, for a variety of reasons the Western Sephardic communities have diminished in numbers and influence. Over the centuries, many Western Sephardim became acculturated in their adopted societies. While the traditionalists succeeded in maintaining their communities for centuries, a gradual erosion in membership and commitment set in. The Sephardim, along with their fellow European Jews, suffered catastrophic losses during the Holocaust, and have been unable to regain their former vitality.

The Western Sephardic congregations in South America and the Caribbean declined due to assimilation, migration out of the region, and other factors. In North America, the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogues of New York and Philadelphia continue to adhere to the Western Sephardic rite in prayer, but very few members are actually of Western Sephardic birth. The synagogue in Newport is basically an Ashkenazic congregation, and the synagogues in Charleston and Savannah have joined the Reform Movement. Overall, until the mid-nineteenth century, the Western Sephardic congregations were the mainstream of American Jewry, but they were eclipsed by Ashkenazic influences beginning in 1840 with the dramatic increase of immigration of Ashkenazic Jews. Thus, the Western Sephardim today form a miniscule percentage of Sephardic Jewry, and in spite of their many historic achievements, the disruptions of modernity and Westernization have reduced this group dramatically.

Sephardim in Muslim Lands

            The Sephardic/pan-Sephardic communities of the Muslim world are not monolithic and each community has a history of its own. Until the mid-nineteenth century, most of these Jews lived in self-contained communities governed by traditional Jewish law. They were a tolerated minority sometimes enjoying relative freedom and prosperity, and sometimes suffering discrimination and poverty. 

            The forces of Westernization and modernization began to emerge in the mid-nineteenth century. The Ottoman Empire made a series of reforms, known as Tanzimat, between 1839 and 1876. These reforms aimed at adopting European style government and stimulating the economy. Jews in the Ottoman Empire gained new freedoms, and the educated and affluent classes were drawn to the progressive policies. Although the masses of Jews lived within the traditional framework, cracks in the old system began to develop. 

During the course of the nineteenth century, the Ottoman Empire was in the throes of decline, ceding much territory in the process. Greek independence brought significant changes for the Sephardim of Greece. 

            In the early twentieth century, with the rise of Kemal Ataturk, Turkey experienced a strong surge of nationalism. As the century progressed, the Jews of Turkey—along with other minorities—were drawn into the Turkification process, moving away from former traditional patterns that had characterized their communities for centuries.

            In the 1860s, the Alliance Israelite Universelle[1] began a major educational endeavor that aimed to bring modern, French-style schools to communities throughout the Middle East and North Africa. Between 1862 and 1914, Alliance schools could be found in Morocco, Tunisia, Libya, Egypt, Syria, Turkey, Iraq and Iran. By 1900, Alliance Israelite Universelle was operating one hundred schools with a combined student population of 26,000. In 1912 the Alliance had seventy-one schools for boys and forty-four for girls, with schools in such places as Baghdad, Jerusalem, Tangiers, Istanbul, Beirut, Cairo, Damascus, Salonika, and Rhodes. 

            The impact of these schools was significant. While the existing traditional schools were almost exclusively open to boys, the Alliance provided education to thousands of girls. While existing traditional schools focused heavily on teaching religious texts, the Alliance schools offered an expansive general education. Parents who wanted their children to advance socially and economically were attracted to the opportunities that the Alliance schools offered.

            The Alliance schools were met with mixed responses. Some strongly opposed them as a threat to traditional religious life. The emphasis on French language, literature and culture was seen as undermining Hebrew and religious Jewish studies. But for others, these schools offered a path for educational and economic progress. Graduates of the Alliance schools played increasing roles in transforming and modernizing their communities. 

            Some Alliance students went on to pursue advanced studies in Paris and elsewhere. Many had their eyes opened to the possibility of emigration where new opportunities beckoned. For the female students, the Alliance provided a framework for life beyond the role of wife, mother, and homemaker. Students were often taught by highly educated female teachers, who themselves served as role models. Subtly, and not so subtly, the patterns of traditional life were undergoing change.

            The success of the Alliance schools led the existing traditional schools to upgrade their own educational program. In order to attract students, the communal schools began to offer classes in languages and general studies; they also improved their methods of teaching Hebrew and religious studies.

            While the forces for Westernization and modernization were seeping into the Jewish communities of Muslim lands, larger external factors also came into play. Many of the lands in which these Jews lived were coming under the control and influence of European colonial powers. Egypt was under British control from 1882 until 1956. Sudan was a British colony from 1899 to 1956. Britain also was the Colonial power for Jordan, Palestine and gulf nations. French colonies included Tunisia (1881-1956), Algeria (1830-1963), Morocco (1912-1956), Syria (1918-1946), and Lebanon (1918-1943). Italy controlled Libya (1911-1951) and the Island of Rhodes (1911-1944). 

            Many of the Jews living in these lands identified with the European powers. They worked in their consulates; learned their languages; adopted their style of dress etc. To the often-downtrodden Jews, the European colonizers seemed to offer a higher culture with more opportunities for advancement. But as Jews “Europeanized,” they also tended to move further away from traditional religious observance. The rabbinic establishment which had governed the Jewish communities for centuries was gradually losing the adherence of modernizing Jews.

                From the early twentieth century, migration of Sephardim from their native lands grew significantly. The spirit of change had taken hold. Many were drawn to the land of Israel. Many others were attracted to the United States. Some found their ways to Western Europe, the south of Africa, and cities of Latin America. The migration pattern was not only a result of the confrontation with modernity, but was also stimulated by the desire to escape the dire conditions in their homelands—poverty, natural disasters, and wars.

Reactions to the Disruptions of Modernity

            Rabbinic leadership in the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic communities reflected different attitudes. The traditionalists—steeped in a kabbalistic/midrashic Judaism—felt deeply threatened by the Westernizing/modernizing influences. They sought to maintain the pre-modern ways of their communities. They were intellectually and emotionally unequipped to provide enlightened guidance to the growing numbers of Jews who were becoming alienated from the status quo and who were attracted to the freedoms and opportunities of modernity.

            Albert Memmi, one of the great intellectual figures of twentieth century France, grew up in the Jewish ghetto in Tunis. After attending a French high school, he went on to Paris for advanced studies. He eventually sought to identify with the Tunisian national movement, but was rejected because he was a Jew. In his book, The Liberation of the Jew, he described his malaise:  “When we graduated from the lycee in Tunis many of us decided to cut ourselves off from the past, the ghetto and our native land, to breathe fresh air and set off on the most beautiful of adventures. I no longer wanted to be that invalid called a Jew, mostly because I wanted to be a man; and because I wanted to join with all men to reconquer the humanity which was denied me.”[2] Memmi, who died in 2020 at the age of 99, seemed never to have been able to make peace with his Jewishness.

            Elias Canetti (1905-1976) was a Bulgarian-born Sephardic Jew of the Judeo-Spanish tradition. Yet his upbringing was far from traditional and his mother went so far as to feed him ham as a way of ridding him of past claims of Judaism. Through his various writings and teachings, he had a significant impact on general intellectual life, and was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1981, largely in recognition of his major work Crowds and Power.

            Rene Cassin (1887-1976) was born into the Sephardic community in Bayonne, France, and grew up in Nice. He became a political activist and was co-author of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights issued by the United Nations. He was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1968. He identified strongly with the work of the Alliance Israelite Universelle and served as its President from 1943 to 1976. Yet his personal life was well removed from traditional religious belief and observance.

            Memmi, Canetti, and Cassin represent a Sephardic intellectual class that contributed greatly to general society, but who removed themselves from the traditional life of Sephardic Judaism. With the rise of modernity, acculturated Sephardim advanced in many fields and in many lands; but in the process, many drifted away from traditional Jewish living.

            The Sephardic rabbinic establishment could not hold back the forces of modernity and Westernization. But there were important religious leaders who responded creatively and intelligently to the new challenges, and who succeeded in maintaining tradition-based communities.[3]  The rabbis of Morocco maintained close ties and held rabbinic conferences in which they dealt with the issues facing their communities. Rabbi Benzion Uziel (1880‒1953) was the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel from 1939 until his death in 1953. His extensive writings, including impressive volumes of responsa (Mishp’tei Uziel), had considerable influence throughout the Sephardic world and beyond.

            Rabbi Uziel’s religious worldview, characteristic of much of the Sephardic rabbinic community, was reflected in a letter he wrote to the leadership of the Alliance Israelite Universelle.[4] While recognizing the importance of students learning both religious subjects and general studies, he stressed the need to master Hebrew as well as the language of the land in which they lived and at least one European language. The goal of Jewish education should be clear: to raise children faithful to their people and to their Torah, people who would be useful to their families, their people, and society. Rabbi Uziel insisted that general subjects be taught by religious teachers. Otherwise, a spirit of secularism would enter the children's hearts, leading them away from the very principles for which Jewish schools stood. If modern-day Jews thought that their children could achieve success only by receiving an exclusively secular education, they were in fact sacrificing their children's spiritual lives. There was no necessity to do so, since one could attain worldly success while remaining deeply steeped in Torah tradition. 

 

Traditional Communal Framework

            Religious leaders throughout the Sephardic Diaspora felt that the Jewish people could best be served by remaining faithful to its own distinctive way of life. To them, Reform was a surrender to the whims of European modernity, and it could only lead to a breakdown in Jewish religious life.

            Whereas the issues of emancipation and enlightenment led to the formation of religious movements within Ashkenazic Jewry, Sephardic Jewry did not fragment itself into Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, or other movements. Ashkenazic Jewry was torn by feuding among the ideological movements. It established separate communities, institutions, even cemeteries. Sephardic Jewry was spared this internecine denominational struggle.

            Certainly, not all Sephardic Jews adhered to the details of traditional halakhah. Laxity in observance was growing. A lessening of reverence for rabbinic authority was apparent in many communities. Yet, the religious intellectuals, as well as the masses, were desirous of maintaining a traditional framework for their communities. The Sephardim found a modus vivendi characterized by respect for tradition and tolerance for those whose observance of halakhah fell short. Whereas some individuals might not be personally observant, the synagogue and community structure were to operate according to halakhah.

 

 

Disruption Two: Confronting the Ashkenazim

            The Sephardic/pan-Sephardic communities were learning to cope with the challenges of modernity and Westernization. They were dealing with the influences of the Alliance schools; the impact of the Colonial European powers; the changes in their educational system; the new opportunities for girls and women; the growing laxity in religious observance; and the alienation of some of the best and brightest intellectuals.

            But the Jewish communities of the Muslim world were to undergo massive disruptions over which they had little or no control. Large-scale migration from these communities was evident from the early twentieth century. Thousands of young people were seeking new opportunities in the United States. Many others were attracted to the idealism of returning to the Jewish homeland. With the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, vast numbers of Jews from North Africa and the Middle East migrated there—often driven from their homes by anti-Israel Muslim governments. Indeed, Jews of the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic world came to be the majority of Jews in Israel. In 2021, there are very few Jews still living in the former communities in North Africa and the Middle East.

            As Sephardim came into contact with the Ashkenazic-dominated communities in the United States, Israel and elsewhere, they now had to face a new set of disruptions. Among their problems was dealing with negative stereotypes prevalent in the Ashkenazic community. 

            When Sephardim were arriving in the United States in the early decades of the twentieth century, they came to be labeled as Oriental Jews. Indeed, they themselves assumed this designation and some of their early organizations were the Federation of Oriental Jews, Oriental Hebrew Association, Oriental Israelite Fraternity and others. Moise Gadol, editor of the Ladino newspaper, La America, established the Oriental Bureau of HIAS in 1911.[5] 

            Why would the term “Oriental” be applied to Jews from Turkey, the Balkans, Greece and Syria? Apparently, it was to distinguish this group of Jews from the more cultured “Western” (also referred to as Occidental) Jews. After all, Western civilization was deemed to be the most advanced. The “Orientals” were eastern, backward, uncultured by Western standards. So Ashkenazim (and Western Sephardim, too) could separate themselves from the lower-status newcomers by applying a term that then had negative connotations.

            A similar situation arose in Israel. Jews from Muslim lands were termed edot hamizrach, “eastern tribes.” It is as though normative Jews are simply Jews, i.e. Ashkenazim; but Sephardim/pan-Sephardim are broken into eastern compartments—interesting (and sometimes troublesome) Jewish exotica. The late Dr. Daniel Elazar noted the prejudicial use of the term. He pointed out that the Jews of North Africa should hardly be referred to as “easterners” when all of Morocco is farther west than London, and most of North Africa is farther west than Poland. The appellation is obviously not related to geography, but to “the mobilization of loaded terms to advance a convenient Ashkenazic myth in a situation where to be Western is often synonymous with being modern. And since virtually everyone wants to be modern, this myth gives the Ashkenazim a significant psychological advantage over the Sephardim.”[6] 

            I remember as a student at Yeshiva College in the early 1960s that an emissary from Israel addressed us about the need for us to make aliyah. He spoke with dread about the possibility of Israel being overtaken by the “Mizrachim” (eastern) immigrants from Arab lands. He urged Western aliyah in order to maintain Israel as a modern democracy. He verbalized a common fear/prejudice: the Sephardim/pan-Sephardim were not “us”; they were foreigners with low eastern culture. They could not be trusted to become Westernized, certainly not right away.

            These anti-Sephardic notions were held in spite of the fact that many of the Sephardim spoke Spanish, French, Italian and other European languages; that many had received "western” education in the schools of the Alliance Israelite Universelle and in the general schools run by the European Colonial powers in their lands; that many, even of the less educated and less affluent classes, had a rich religious and cultural heritage that had sustained their communities for centuries.  Were the poorer and less educated Sephardim in worse conditions than the Ashkenazim of the shtetls of Eastern Europe?

            The pervasive prejudice against the “Oriental” Jews, the “edot hamizrach,” was not always overt and conscious. It was not necessarily meant to be malicious. But, in fact, it served to undermine the status of Sephardic/pan-Sephardic Jews. The Jewish schools almost totally ignored the existence of Sephardim, their history, culture, traditions. At best, they would introduce a Sephardic song or describe a Sephardic food. Generally, Sephardic tradition was either ignored, misrepresented, or confined to the areas of folklore/music/food.

            Sephardic rabbis in Israel were relegated to lower positions with lower pay than their Ashkenazic peers. Rabbi Haim David Halevy, late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv, was active in an association of Sephardic rabbis between 1953 and 1959, known as Agudat haRabbanim haSephardiyim b’Yisrael. The group fought for proper recognition by the Ashkenazic rabbinic establishment. In those days, Sephardic rabbis were not allowed to sign simple documents attesting that a person was married or single. While Ashkenazic rabbis were appointed as chief rabbis of cities and received commensurate compensation, Sephardic rabbis, for the most part, were only appointed as rabbis of communities (rabbanei ha’eidah) and received lower salaries. Once the basic objectives of the Sephardic rabbinic group were achieved (by 1959), the group disbanded.

            The frustrations of the Middle Eastern/North African immigrants were many. They were often settled in remote towns and villages. Many lived in ma’abarot, tent cities, until real housing could be found for them. Their children were not expected to attend academically advanced schools or universities. Their economic situation was problematic, since many positions in government and business were granted by proteksia, favoritism by those in power to people of their own backgrounds.

            While the Sephardim did indeed make considerable progress in adapting to life in Israel, the underlying social and economic problems could not be ignored. In 1971, a group of Israeli-born Jews of North African and Middle Eastern backgrounds created the Black Panthers party. Its goal was to promote social justice for their communities and to combat their perception of widespread discrimination against them. They brought their concerns to public attention through demonstrations, media events, and political action. 

            Early in the 1970s, Soviet Jews began to arrive in Israel in large numbers. The Israeli government worked energetically to absorb these new immigrants who needed housing, jobs, social services, education for their children, etc. The North African and Middle Eastern Jews could not help but note the difference between how poorly they were treated in comparison with the Soviet immigrants.  In spite of general progress, frustration and discontent persisted.

            Sensing an anti-Sephardic attitude among the Ashkenazic rabbinate, especially in Hareidi circles, Rabbi Ovadia Yosef spearheaded the establishment of the Shas political party in 1984. The goal was to assert Sephardic rights throughout Israel, and especially in the religious realm. Shas became a political power with the election of its party members to the Israeli Knesset. Shas expanded its network of schools and yeshivot, and won the support of many Sephardic/Middle Eastern voters—even those who were not themselves Hareidi in outlook or observance.

            In the United States, Canada, Europe—where ever they settled in the diaspora-- North African and Middle Eastern Jews faced the usual challenges of immigrants; but they also faced problems in their relations with the existing Ashkenazic establishment. Their Jewishness was questioned; their “oriental” or “eastern” backgrounds were depreciated; their traditions were ignored or relegated to the domain of folklore. But within several generations, most of these Jews progressed professionally, economically and socially. As Sephardim and Ashkenazim grew more accustomed to each other—and married each other—the old alienations and stereotypes diminished.

            The situation in Israel has also improved over the generations, especially given the advancement of Sephardim in all areas of Israeli life. Marriages between Sephardim and Ashkenazim have become much more common, and the merger of cultures has become more prevalent especially in the non-Hareidi segment of the population. Yet, Jews of North African and Middle Eastern backgrounds still feel pangs of discrimination and negative stereotyping.

            Sephardic immigrants, whether in Israel or the diaspora, had to deal with serious disruptions as a result of moving into new lands. Their former communal structures and religious patterns were dislocated and not fully or easily replicated in their new homes. The Jewish establishment operated on the assumption that normative Jews and Judaism were Ashkenazic, that Sephardim needed to “Ashkenazify” in order to become modern and acceptable. It was as though Sephardic history came to an end hundreds of years ago, and that nothing of real significance occurred among them for the past few centuries.

            Whether in Israel or the diaspora, Sephardim had to deal with a sort of identity crisis. They no longer had the calm confidence of living in societies that accepted and valued them and their traditions. If their children attended Jewish schools, they were taught normative Ashkenazic Judaism. Their own rabbis—especially those of the new generations—were becoming “Ashkenazified.” They adopted Ashkenazic practices and even dressed in the black hats and frock coats of the Ashkenazic rabbinic establishment.

            In responding to the challenges, some Jews of North African and Middle Eastern background literally changed their names so as not to be identifiable as Sephardim. Others tried to blend into the Ashkenazic majority in whatever ways they could. Sephardic yeshiva students and rabbis began to identify with the Hareidi Ashkenazic rabbinic leadership. Rabbi Ovadia Yosef was a strong voice on behalf of maintaining Sephardic halakhic teachings; yet, much of the Shas leadership dress and speak pretty much like Ashkenazic Hareidi rabbis.

            Another trend has also emerged in which Sephardim fully accept their backgrounds and embrace an almost “tribal” devotion to the particular customs of their past communities. These Jews take pride in being loyal to the rites and practices of the Jews of Morocco, Syria, Turkey, Iraq, Yemen etc. Instead of backing away from these traditions, they proclaim them proudly and energetically.

            Even the term “mizrachim” has been turned on its head by some of the more militantly Sephardic group. Instead of being a source of derision, being “eastern” has become a positive value in modern times. Eastern Jews can claim an indigenous connection to the land of Israel, even more than Jews of European background. With the growing intellectual trend toward multi-culturalism and diversity, the “mizrachim” are feeling a new sense of importance in the Jewish world, and especially in Israel. Being “Western” is not necessarily viewed as an asset.

 

Disruption Three: Confronting the Future

            At present, the Sephardic/Ashkenazic rift is still evident, especially in Israel. The Jerusalem Post (August 15, 2021) reported that Miri Regev, a member of the Israeli Parliament for the Likud party, is seeking to become the party leader and to move on to become Prime Minister. Regev was born in the southern development town of Kiryat Gat to immigrants from Morocco, Felix and Marcelle Siboni. She declared that “the time has come to have a Sephardi Prime Minister and that the Likud rank and file must vote this time for someone who represents their class, their ethnicity and their agenda.” Regev, as well as the leadership of the Shas party, continue to stoke the ethnic pride of the Sephardim and position themselves as alternatives to the Ashkenazic establishment. 

            “Ethnic” politics is obviously still a factor in Israel. This is not only evident among Jews of North African and Middle Eastern descent, but also among others including Russian Jews and Anglo-Jews. In the short term—at least for another generation—ethnic divisions and divisiveness will flourish.

But will these ethnic divisions continue indefinitely?  What will the terms Sephardic and Ashkenazic mean one hundred years from now? How many Jews will be “pure-blooded” Sephardim or Ashkenazim?

            The Ashkenazic world, although still tending to emphasize Sephardic folk qualities, is also coming to appreciate Sephardic intellectual traditions, rabbinic teachings, and religious worldview. Scholars are increasingly researching and publishing articles and books, exploring the Sephardic experience in the lands of North Africa and the Middle East.

            Change is inevitable. Although we are not prophets, we can envision a Jewish world a century from now that has moved beyond ethnicity. Our great-great grandchildren will descend from Jews of many diasporic backgrounds. They will have a mixture of Sephardic/Ashkenazic genes (and other genetic components drawn from converts to Judaism, and from Jews who do not neatly fit into Sephardic/pan-Sephardic or Ashkenazic compartments). Aside from genetics, they will also be drawing on a wide range of intellectual and cultural traditions. Hopefully, they will draw on the best of all our traditions and live a happy, wholesome Jewish life free from ethnic strife.

            I suspect that 100 years from now there will still be groups of tightly knit Hareidim and Hasidim. There may also be groups of ethno-centered Jews who tenaciously cling to particular traditions. But most Jews, whether in Israel or the diaspora, will be sharing in a more general Jewish culture that combines elements from many traditions.

            The Sephardic/pan-Sephardic Jews of today need to identify and promote positive elements of their history and culture that are worthy to be transmitted to future generations. The day will surely come when all Jews—of whatever background—will come to view each other as “us”—as one people with a shared history and shared destiny. Instead of ethnic rivalries, prejudices and stereotypes, we will ultimately emerge as a “homogenized” Jewish people, proudly and happily composed of many diverse elements.

            (If I may dare to add, I think that not only will ethnic divisions become increasingly irrelevant, but the division of Jews into religious “streams” will also decline. A century from now, I don’t think it will be important for Jews to identify as Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionist, Renewal or any other such sub-division. Rather, Jews will make their own free and independent decisions as to what to believe and observe, where and how to pray etc. We will still have a wide range of opinions and plenty of controversy—but it will be in the realm of personal choice rather than institutional rivalries.)

            Thus, the third disruption of the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic world is actually a disruption for all Jewry. It is a disruption—or rather a transformation—brought about by the coming together of Jews of all backgrounds, by inter-group marriage, by growing understanding and appreciation of the history and cultures of each of our diverse communities. 

Our goal as a Jewish People should be to draw on all the strengths of all our communities and to work toward a Jewish Peoplehood that is inclusive, diverse, strong and healthy.

For Further Reading:

Angel, Marc D., Foundations of Sephardic Spirituality: The Inner Life of Jews of the Ottoman Empire, Jewish Lights, Woodstock, 2006.

______________La America: The Sephardic Experience in the United States, Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia, 1982.

______________Loving Truth and Peace: The Grand Religious Worldview of Rabbi Benzion Uziel, Jason Aronson, Northvale, 1999.

_____________Voices in Exile: A Study in Sephardic Intellectual History, Ktav Publishers, Hoboken, 1991.

Chouraqui, Andre, Between East and West, Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia, 1968.

Elazar, Daniel, The Other Jews: The Sephardim Today, Basic Books, New York, 1989.

Kaspi, Andre, ed., Histoire de l’Alliance Israelite Universelle: De 1860 a Nos Jours, Armand Colin, Paris, 2010.

Laskier, Michael, North African Jewry in the Twentieth Century, New York University Press, New York, 1997.

Stillman, Norman, The Jews of Arab Lands in Modern Times, Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia, 2003.

Zohar, Zvi, Rabbinic Creativity in the Modern Middle East, Bloomsbury Press, London, 2013.

 

 

 

 

            


 


[1] See Andre Kaspi, ed., Histoire de l’Alliance Israelite Universelle: De 1860 a Nos Jours (Paris: Armand Colin, 2010).

 

[2] Albert Memmi, The Liberation of the Jew, trans. Judy Hyun (New York: Orion Press, 1966), 22.

[3] Among this group were Rabbi Israel Moshe Hazan (1808‒1963), born in Izmir, who served Sephardic communities in Rome, Corfu and Alexandria; Rabbi Yehuda Yaacov Nehama (1825‒1899) of Salonika; Rabbi Yosef Hayyim (1835‒1909) of Baghdad; Rabbi Eliyahu Hazzan (1846‒1908) who served the communities of Tripoli and Alexandria; Rabbi Reuven Eliyahu Israel (1856‒1932), last Chief Rabbi of the Island of Rhodes.

[4] Uziel, Mikhmanei Uziel, Tel Aviv, 5699, p. 517, 5699 (1938/1939)), 505.

 

[5] Gadol later abandoned the term “Oriental” not only because he thought it was pejorative, but because he thought the public used the term specifically to relate to Asians.

[6]Daniel Elazar, The Other Jews: The Sephardim Today (New York: Basic Books, 1988), 24.