National Scholar Updates

After the Six Day War there was a considerable renewal of interest in Israel throughout the world. At the same time, a Jewish national revival began in the USSR. Jewish identity started to acquire a new shape. Soviet Jews always had a distinct identity, but in many cases it was a "negative" one, caused by discrimination and persecution. Many people started investigating their Jewishness, learning Hebrew and thinking about going to Israel. But still more primary was the total rejection of the Soviet system, its regime, ideology, and values. This resulted in many Jews wanting to leave the USSR.

By 1980 many Jews had applied for emigration from the USSR. The official destination was Israel, but a majority used their exit visas to go to the USA. In the seventies many people were able to emigrate, but some were refused permission to leave, and the Refusenik phenomenon was created. After the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979 Jewish emigration practically stopped. Refuseniks and people planning eventually to leave the USSR were already far detached from Soviet ideology or had never been adherents of it. Refuseniks' Jewish national consciousness was developed to some extent. But they were trapped in a cold winter of the late days of failing Communism. Some of them became Zionists; others joined the struggle for human rights (the dissident movement), some tried to study Jewish culture, primarily Hebrew.

Studying Jewish culture and traditions led some people to the Jewish religion. The problem they faced was that there were not many people left to learn from. Many had died, others had left. Some elders in synagogues remained, but the cultural gap between them and the newcomers was great. A small isolated group of ba-alei teshuva was born.

By 1980 a special entity inside this small group was formed. Later, only after their main activists' aliya in 1987, this group took the name of Machanaim. Most of its members had a background in math or science. These people tried to stay as far away from Soviet ideology as possible, and thus could not learn history or philosophy that under other circumstances would have certainly attracted many of them. The group soon developed into an underground independent Jewish learning network that taught and disseminated the Jewish tradition in various forms: celebrating of Jewish holidays, study of Jewish texts, including the Talmud, organizing activities for children. Sometimes a small Moscow apartment was packed, with 70-80 people participating in a Pesah seder, or 100-120 watching a Purimspiel. Machanaim members also translated, composed and prepared handmade booklets on Jewish holidays and Torah study. These booklets were typewritten, photographed, and then printed in 50-100 copies on regular photo paper. All these activities were strictly forbidden by the Soviet authorities and had to be thoroughly hidden.

The classes took place in private apartments, which frequently had to be changed because the KGB received information about them. These were usually apartments of Machanaim's main activists: Zeev and Tanya Dashevsky, Pinchas and Nechama Polonsky, Levi and Miriam Kitrossky, Yaakov Belenky, Yehuda Frumkin, Baruch Youssin, Michael Kara-Ivanov and Ira Dashevsky, Nathan and Chana Brusovani. There were others, less visible to the KGB eyes, who occasionally volunteered their apartments.

Machanaim's goal was to disseminate an understanding of Jewish tradition that would be close to the Russian speaking Jewish intelligentsia. This included translations of many Jewish texts. But the real trick was to translate these not just into the Russian language, but also to the modern mentality, specifically, to the mentality of Russian Jewry. This demanded a lot of learning and teaching. It was primarily directed to the group members themselves, but also to a broader circle of friends and acquaintances. Machanaim people first had to learn Judaism themselves, from scratch. At first they learned from the few elderly religious Jews still remaining in Russia who had once learned in the yeshivas and were willing to pass on, against all odds, the knowledge they had to younger generations (Rav Avrum Meller, Chabad community). Michael Shneider and Zeev Shachnovsky were among the first Hebrew teachers, before the Machanaim group began its activity. They were our teachers for a long period of time. Some learned from Eliahu Essas and other Refuseniks. The community hardly existed, with only several dozens of families, scattered all over the gigantic city of Moscow, who were tied by friendship and common learning interests. By the beginning of the 1980 the underground Jewish learning network that included Machanaim had approximately 25 weekly classes and involved around 200 participants and about 15 active teachers. However, the Soviet authorities stopped letting people out, and the Machanaim people became "Refuseniks." This naturally led to the intensification of their underground Jewish activities, which now included not only learning Jewish tradition, but also Zionism and the struggle for the right to emigrate. At the same time the process of returning to religious values and observances involved more and more people.

There was also the more social and spiritual problem of finding one's place in modern society. The process of acquiring faith is described by Kierkegaard as a jump into darkness: one leaves a well illuminated place and comes into the unknown. The person feels threatened, stripped of convictions. Some people felt they must get rid of their "old" cultural baggage altogether. There were some who threw away their poetry or covered books of world classics with a screen. Machanaim members, however, had a different approach: they felt it was both possible and necessary to keep and use the cultural baggage that had been acquired in one's "previous" life.
The group would have been very isolated had there not been Jewish messengers coming from abroad. Jewish activists striving to promote aliya from the Soviet Union and to support the Jewish revival in the USSR started visiting Machanaim people (for example, Rabbi Michael Rozen z"l from London visited our group in Moscow in the end of the seventies). Rabbis, educators, youth activists and other highly motivated people would come from the US, Europe and Israel to help Jewish

Refuseniks, both materially and spiritually. They did what they could to help Jews in the USSR. It was impossible to transfer money to the USSR, but goods were sent for sale or use. They regularly gave lessons and brought books. The content and spirit of these clandestine meetings depended on the personality of the guest. They would bring kosher food or religious items such as Kiddush goblets, candlesticks and the like, but most importantly, they provided a connection with the Jewish world, which felt like a gulp of fresh air, and which served as a real window to the open free world and its vibrant Jewish life. The KGB kept watch on what was happening and used intimidation from time to time against religious activists, although it was much busier against Hebrew teachers and emigration activists.

Among those who sent messengers to Moscow, the England-based group of Earny Hirsh ("Ginger") was especially active; he recently published a book called Refused - The Refusenik Community that refused to give up and the London Community that refused to let them, Technosdar, Tel Aviv 2004.
The foreigners' visits were critically important, although they involved some risk both for the visitors and for those who received them. For example, once a plain clothed KGB officer and a policeman came "to check passports" when a foreign guest was giving a Torah class. The participants pretended that it was a simple tea party where no religious activity was taking place. All those present were put on a list and received visits from a representative of the Committee for Religious Affairs at their work places or were called for questioning. This was a regular occurrence. Some families had their apartments watched permanently. But without these visits from abroad, the process of Jewish revival would hardly have been viable. In the best case, it would have been very outdated and distorted. As it was, when the Machanaim people arrived in Israel they still had many things to learn.

By 1985-86 the Machanaim group had already developed its own characteristic features. One of these was an interest in Jewish philosophy, both modern and ancient. This was absolutely contrary to the assumptions made by some groups in Israel about the needs and priorities of the Russian immigrants interested in Judaism. A story told by Pinchas Polonsky illustrates this lack of understanding. "In 1987, soon after my arrival in Israel," - remembers Pinchas, "I was invited to the steering committee of one of the publishing houses that printed books on Judaism in Russian. They wanted to consult me as a new immigrant active in the field of Jewish education. One of the members of the committee began introducing their publishing house, saying, ‘We have published a lot of important and needed books in Russian for the Jews in the USSR - on Shabbat, Kashrut and the Jewish holidays. One of our publications was, however, a mistake. A lot of work was invested in it, and it is highly questionable whether anybody will read it even in Israel - how can we expect Russian Jews to?' The book he was speaking of was The Lonely Man of Faith by Rabbi Joseph.B.Soloveitchik. I had to stand up and say, ‘Dear friends! To tell you the truth, your books on Shabbat, Kashrut and the Jewish holidays have not been so interesting for us - they are pretty simple, about basic things. And not everybody in the beginning of hazara be-tshuva process is interested in the laws of Shabbat and Kashrut. But the book that we multiplied in hundreds of copies and disseminated all over USSR, the one that was in great demand, was this very book, The Lonely Man of Faith. What you considered your mistake was in reality your greatest success among Russian refuseniks.'"

People who knew nothing of Jewish tradition wanted to read Rabbi Soloveitchik. Why? Because he has an incredible ability to relate complex, deep philosophic issues of Jewish law and midrash, written in the arcane language of Jewish tradition, in a simple academic style understandable to educated Russian Jews. We felt that Rabbi Soloveitchik was close to us, and a number of his articles were translated by Machanaim from English into Russian and later published in a collection entitled Catharsis.

Another important author, Rav Kook, was not yet known to us at the time. Unlike Rabbi Soloveitchik, who writes in the academic language familiar to us, Rav Kook writes in a very difficult idiom of Hebrew mystical verse often not understandable by the Israelis. All our attempts to understand his works under the guidance of the students from different yeshivot who visited us in Moscow failed. We only started to grasp his ideas after our arrival in Israel. Later we published a major body of research - the first of its kind in Russian - on Rav Kook's philosophy, part of which was recently translated into English and published in the USA. It seems to be the only case when a modern work on Judaism has been translated from Russian into English, and not vice versa. One chapter of the English book was published in Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and ideals, in May 2009.

These two personalities, Rabbi Soloveitchik and Rav Kook, built the foundation of the modern approach to Orthodox Judaism, which works effectively for Russian Jewry. Their philosophy is widely seen as a turning point in the development of Judaism that gives us a new approach to many issues in Jewish life.

The strength of Machanaim is that its members came to Judaism possessing considerable cultural background, albeit not Jewish. The group's encounter with Jewish culture gave birth to a new understanding that might be of benefit to the world Jewish community. While Russian Jewry is usually perceived as an object for education, it may also be a community that can enrich the modern understanding of Jewish culture, tradition, and thought.

Current status of Russian Jews in Israel and the Diaspora

The peculiarity of Russian Jewry is that it combines an almost total lack of Jewish background with a high general intellectual level and corresponding demands. It will not be satisfied with only "basic Judaism" - ethnic information and an introductory level of Jewish tradition. It often demands not "Judaica" and ethnography, but serious philosophical literature.

It was important for us to understand what underlies the Jewish laws and practices that we started to observe. The Pesah seder, for example, is for many an array of odd actions that people don't understand. We thought it was essential to explain to ourselves and then to the participants not just WHAT should be done, but also how it's done and WHY, what meaning it has. We published, while still in Moscow (in our illegal, handmade form) a book on the Passover Haggada with commentaries. One might say it was a Haggada for beginners - yes, for beginners, but it certainly was not a simplified Haggada; rather, it was an expanded, comprehensive Haggada.

The conventional way to address beginners is this: just show them what should be done -- the minimum at first -- and they will do it. When people grow up with traditions, this approach works. But when people start observing traditions later in their lives, their approach is different. They want to understand why they are supposed to do this and the meaning behind it. People who came to the USSR from abroad would ask, "What are the minimal necessities for the Passover seder?" Everybody cried: Pesah, matza, maror. Yes, it's true. But this is far from explaining what the philosophic meanings are of Pesah, matza, maror. A messenger from abroad who does not speak Russian cannot explain it. Even if he has learned some Russian he will not manage it. It had to be somebody brought up in the same culture and mentality. Only this way could the traditional actions acquire a meaning for these people. That is why Machanaim people saw it as their primary aim to compose and publish booklets on the Jewish holidays that would be written using their own approach. These books gave the readers, along with information about the history and customs of the holidays, an insight into their meaning and significance today. They were important guides for Holiday celebrations and gateways to the world of Jewish practice.

The current efforts of Machanaim to enhance the spiritual life of Russian Jews
In 1987 the core of the Machanaim group received their long-awaited exit visas and moved to Israel. Even though our initial intention was just to live a Jewish life in the Jewish State on the Jewish Land, we soon felt that there was a need here for the continuation of the same kind of educational activities we held in Russia. That same year Machanaim was established in Israel as an officially registered non-affiliated non-profit organization. Among the people who helped Machanaim in its initial stage in Israel, the renowned hero and Prisoner of Zion, Yoseph Mendelevich, must be mentioned. Strengthened by new forces, among them Benyamin Ben-Yosef, the organization started its activities in two areas: educational work with new immigrants from the USSR, and those who were still in Russia. (At the same time, with the help of Avital and Natan Sharansky and Israeli political leaders, we continued our struggle for fighting for those who were still refused their exit visas.) The dual character of the work gave birth to the name MACHANAIM, taken from Genesis 32:3, meaning "two camps" - Moscow and Jerusalem. (We were aware, of course, of the classic reference to "the earthly and the heavenly camps," and meant it too, hoping for "siyata de-Shmaya"-heavenly help-- in our endeavors.)

At first, the "Russian" camp was the primary focus, with frequent trips back to the USSR to teach. In 1989, the President of Machanaim, Dr. Zeev Dashevsky was awarded the Jerusalem Prize for Torah Education in the Diaspora and the Henry Moore Award of the British Parliament for Service to the Jewish People.

Soon it became clear that Machanaim needed to utilize all media, technologies and educational forums, not just frontal teaching. We established a regular flow of Russian language material via mail, messenger, telephone and Kol Israel radio broadcasts from our new center in Jerusalem to our colleagues still in Moscow. Later, with the great wave of immigration to Israel, our emphasis shifted to work with newly-arrived Soviet Jews. In 1993, Machanaim was awarded the Yakov Agrest Prize of the Education Ministry. Of course these achievements would not have been possible without the continuous and devoted help of Rabbi Michael Melchior, Avital and Natan Sharansky and others.
We have found that almost all Soviet Jews coming to Israel are as unaware of their Jewish heritage as we were when we began studying in the seventies. At the same time, we saw that after uprooting themselves from their Russian homes and finding themselves in strange surroundings, many feel a desperate need for a sense of identity and belonging. Added to their initial concerns as they settle in the Jewish state -- finding homes, jobs, etc. -- are questions of what it actually means for them to be Jewish.

Few organizations have addressed these issues on a systematic basis. Various government agencies took on parts of the puzzle and their consequences, but no one looked at the whole issue from a cultural and educational perspective. Machanaim stepped into this void with a multi-tiered, multi-faceted open approach to teaching what being Jewish can mean to someone acculturated in the Russian Communist environment. As such, the main directions of Machanaim today include various learning programs: educational tours of Eretz-Israel, book publishing, a multi-faceted Internet site, lectures and other educational activities for new immigrants, radio programs, and educational articles in newspapers. Machanaim has also built a unique Russian-speaking community in the Jerusalem suburb of Maale-Adumim.

The mix of high general education and ignorance in Judaism that characterizes many Russian immigrants demands very specific teaching methods and unusual learning aids. Few existing books and learning systems can meet their needs. Having been educated in the same system and having had the opportunity to learn Jewish texts, we have developed a special approach to bridge the gap between ignorance and knowledge without focusing on observance per se. We have programs designed to fit into a wide range of schedules, levels and learning styles - afternoon and evening programs for men, women and children and special programs for those studying for conversion to Judaism. Everyone learns Bible, Jewish history, Jewish philosophy and Jewish Law. Most activities are in Russian. Our teachers travel all over the country, and we have many more requests for our programs, especially outside of Jerusalem, than we have the budget to handle.

The problems Machanaim faces

The real challenge is, however, to attract youth to these activities. Machanaim has been active in several youth programs: Shir Mizmor le-bnei mitzvah, Young Leadership program, programs in Youth villages and the like. The particular goal of some of these programs has been to break the stigma that exists among Russian-speaking youngsters, who are still more sensitive to anything "smelling" of coercion than the adults. We focus especially on work with youth from underprivileged layers (single-parent and broken families, youth with criminal records, etc.), for whom the problems of integration in the Israeli society are still more acute.

These programs demand a lot of cooperation with formal educational bodies and, of course, their financial input, which is not always easy. Nevertheless, Machanaim continues its efforts to reach the young immigrant population. During Hanukka 2009 there was a gathering for about 70-80 immigrant children as part of Machanaim's Jewish Holidays Project.

There is still a lot of work to be done in this field. The problem is that youth are not usually interested in participating in educational activities. The most successful way to reach youngsters is through informal educational frameworks, which have their own limitations, and through their families at weekend seminars and similar events.

Areas of success

One of Machanaim's undisputed successes is its conversion program initiated in 1990 by Ira Dashevsky. This program resulted in almost 100% of its students successfully undergoing conversion. The program is an unquestionable success with those who take the offered conversion preparation course. Those interested can be referred to Ira Dashevsky and Michael Kara-Ivanov's paper on the social and educational aspects of the conversion, published at "Hidushei Torah NDS. It can be seen http://www.nds.com/z/chidusheitorah/toc_10_hebrew.htm.

Machanaim is offering to create a pre-conversion framework to be implemented in absorption centers, municipalities, boarding schools, and maybe even in the countries that the olim are leaving, as part of an aliyah preparation process. Within these frameworks, every oleh (or a potential oleh) will be offered up to 100 hours of a basic Judaism course in Russian. The course will be taught by the senior lecturers at Machanaim in an engaging, informal manner.

Just as there are no pre-conversion activities, so too there is no organization that assists olim after their conversions. There are multiple challenges awaiting new converts, from the refusal of certain rabbinates to officiate at their weddings (claiming the invalidity of their conversions), to the lack of familiarity with their local community, nearby synagogue, rabbi, community functions, etc, to difficulties in finding their potential spouses.

Another undeniable success is the creation of a unique Russian-Jewish Machanaim community in the Jerusalem suburb of Maale Adumim. After overcoming many hardships, this project resulted in a beautiful neighborhood called Maale Machanaim with its own Russian language synagogue. (The prayers are, of course, in Hebrew, but the sermon is in most cases in Russian, while all the announcements, as well as the synagogue publications are in Russian and Hebrew, and sometimes even in English.) The Rabbi of the Synagogue is one of the Machanaim founders, Rabbi Yaakov Belenky, who started learning basic Judaism illegally in Moscow and has become an ordained Rabbi with a family of nine children. The community numbers about 100 families, and has a vibrant life. The cultural center organizes concerts, exhibitions, and other community events; varied activities for children are provided on a regular basis. It must be noted that the community is open to people of different life styles, and some come to Maale Adumim from other localities to celebrate bar/bat-mitzvas, just because they feel more at home there and know that they are always welcome.
One more area of success is Machanaim's work at Bar-Ilan University. Machanaim runs courses in Judaism for over 500 Bar-Ilan immigrant students. These students are obliged to take courses on Judaism, but when they took regular Bar-Ilan University courses together with Israeli students, the effect was in many cases negative: the difference of backgrounds created a gap between the students, and the immigrant students felt alienated from and even hostile to Judaism. Learning with Machanaim teachers who have a background similar to that of the students and manage to convey Judaism in an open, non-coercive atmosphere, helps to change the students' attitude. Machanaim lecturers also teach at various other University programs in Israel.

Areas where much more work needs to be done

There is a lot of work being done - still more is needed. Machanaim is trying as hard as it can to cope with existing problems but suffers from budgetary limitations. Still, we have been overcoming those problems for a long time and hope to continue to do so. A lot of work is accomplished by volunteers, including lectures by renowned Rabbis and University professors.

Another difficulty is a severe lack of teachers who combine real knowledge in Jewish subjects with methodological skills and the open, considerate approach so much needed for newcomers. Machanaim developed teachers' training courses and offered them in the past. This requires significant funds and a lot of time.

A still more ambitious project would be to raise young leadership who would lead young people after them, involving them in Jewish life and building communities around them. We are working on such a project and hope one day to be able to implement it.

One of Machanaim's new projects, guided by Michael Kara-Ivanov and Ira Dashevsky, is the creation of "Beit Midrash Leumi". The aim of this project is to build a tight collaboration between the various sectors of the Jewish people, who currently exist in separate universes. The project discusses ways to bring the ideals of European and Russian culture (Literature, Fine Arts etc.) closer to the world of Jewish traditional values (Talmud, Kabbalah, Midrash etc). Initial motives for this project are described in the following paper: Greatest Creative and Intellectual Masters of Nations on the Ladder of Jacob, http://www.nds.com/z/chidusheitorah/toc_9.htm, pp. 7-29, 2008 (Hebrew).

Machanaim has recently started a major project of translating their publications into English. The book Rav Kook's Religious Zionism by Pinchas Polonsky was published in 2009. The review on it written by Rabbi Israel Drazin is posted on Conversations website, http://www.jewishideas.org/store/religious-zionism-rav-kook.

More details about Machanaim can be found on http://www.machanaim.org/ind_eng.htm

Professor Mushabac teaches English at CUNY and was recently a Mellon Fellow. Her book Melville’s Humor won high praise from Irving Howe, Alfred Kazin, and Morris Dickstein. She’s co-author of A Short and Remarkable History of New York City, selected as one of the “Best of the Best” by the American Association of University Presses, and now in its 5th printing. Her radio play, commissioned for National Public Radio broadcast, Mazal Bueno: A Portrait in Song of the Spanish Jews, featured Tovah Feldshuh. This article appears in issue 7 (May 2010) of Conversations, the Journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.
We're addicted to branding. By we, I mean Americans, but it's probably true of most people, and for good reason. Seeking out name brands may be a simple and effective survival tactic. Pick a good brand (olive oil, car, university) and you feel confident you will live and be well, otherwise, who knows? Conversely, we don't just buy brand names, but sell them. For success in business, or in the arts, college graduates were told at a recent convocation, you must brand yourself, figure out and highlight the one key brandable thing you have to offer, and name it in a way that sparks recognition and interest.

I was traveling with a college friend in Mexico many years ago. We were up in the mountains of Chiapas. We saw a woman weaving against a tree in a method that predated Cortes. The area had no roads! Vehicles couldn't get there! We had gone up by horseback, led by an indefatigable seventy-year old Swiss woman named Trudy Blom. Seeing the Mexican weaver-woman there on the high open plateau, her posture holding her body-loom tight out from the trunk of a tree, it was as if time had stopped. It had, in a sense. I could look up at the moon and it looked the same as it had for all time, but the truth was Americans had walked on the moon the previous day (this was the summer of 1969), and all we could see was the people-less moon, because the town where Ms. Blom's lodging-house was located didn't have a single television set, and the moon was as it had been for eons, a serene brightly lit orb in the sky, the very same one from creation that divided night from day.

In Oaxaca, a famous city we visited the following week, my friend and I did the usual things, taking walks, shopping for local crafts in the market. But suddenly there was a drugstore, and we went in. We didn't need anything pharmaceutical or cosmetic-we didn't need anything, really. But we needed a fix, a fix of branding. I needed to see shelves of packaging in sharp American colors. Why? Because in Mexico many things had an earthen cast, an unmarked or unmarketed existence, like breathing, one of those things we can and do take for granted, unheralded, quiet, necessary, but without the intense attention and excitement of a brand name and a marketing, packaging, and distribution campaign behind it. Seeing the shelves of packaged items ridiculously allowed me something I needed in order to feel connected in the world. I didn't expect to need that kind of fix, because I don't love drugstores (or the American mania for packaging). I've steered away from drugstores when I could, and for example, avoided colorfully boxed cough syrup for my children, finding that honey-milk hand-spooned by my mother to her first grandson worked, as they say, like a charm.

Aviva Ben-Ur's recent book, Sephardic Jews in America: A Diasporic History (NYU Press, 2009), by its title seemed to offer a chance to understand precisely the Sephardic contribution to American Jewish history, and suggest a way to a serious recognition of a group that is a central part of my identity and worldview. Reading it was a stop on a journey perhaps not surprising in someone with a name as unusual as Mushabac, a name which I kept after marriage, because it connected me so directly to something I cherished. Being a Turkish Jew on both sides of my family represented a history of Jews who tenaciously stood their ground for thousands of years, despite obstacles and mortal threats, and clung to their community not only with determination, but with pleasure and celebration. Some people have said the exciting thing about being Sephardic is feeling nostalgia for Spain, where Jews thrived for a thousand years, or for the Ottoman Empire, where they lived for five hundred years, keeping up various aspects of Spanish heritage such as the language of Ladino, and appealing traditions of cooking and music. However, nostalgia has a mirage-like quality and ultimately we need something infinitely more solid to pin a future on.

When we study American ethnic or immigrant history, sometimes, even though we know this approach can be as simplistic as indulging in nostalgia, we hazard a definition of a "contribution" of a specific group. For instance, Koreans in 1970s New York can be said to have contributed to our city by opening colorful flower and fruit stands that brought light and activity 24 hours a day to formerly grim neighborhoods: they dramatically changed the face of New York. Perhaps Dr. Ben-Ur's book would name and describe the American Sephardic "contribution" and package it neatly for distribution to Jewish and other channels. Presto, a brand, and the satisfaction of branding.

Her book doesn't do this. Instead it clearly shows a Sephardic American identity that has been toovariegated and fragmented to have a specific impact. The fact is that Sephardic Jews, because they were only a tiny percentage of the million and a half Jewish immigrants that came to New York over the past century, and because the relatively tiny Sephardic group came from many countries and spoke many languages, and thus couldn't communicate with each other, and especially since Sephardic today has come to mean any non-Ashkenazi Jew (Iberian and Mizrahi), as Ben-Ur puts it, there was and is "no critical mass." Instead of finding critical mass, Ben-Ur focuses in good part on the treatment of Sephardim by other Jews, and tensions between Western and Eastern Sephardim.

In one fascinating chapter, nonetheless, Ben-Ur provides what she calls a test-case on Sephardic impact. She tells how the Sephardic pronunciation of Hebrew came to prevail in Palestine beginning in the late 1800s. She suggests that this contribution can be credited in part to the prestige of the Palestinian Sephardic community. To Eliezer Ben-Yehuda, for example, Sephardic men in Palestine who worked on making a living contrasted sharply with the unhealthy-looking Ashkenazi men there who were bent on religious fervor; Sephardim and their Hebrew represented a new future. Reviving Hebrew was, if I may, a form of branding, and adopting Sephardic pronunciation was linguistically appealing and bold. While this story has a charm as Ben-Ur details its developments over decades, it illustrates Ben-Ur's key point, that in the United States, at any rate, as opposed to Palestine and Israel, there was no decided Sephardic "contribution" at this level.

Actually Ben-Ur steers us away from naming any "contribution, " Sephardic or Ashkenazi. She faults the "impact" paradigm of historiography. She says impact paradigms are problematic, based on questionable assumptions. She is really more interested in how groups are treated and seen in the world, especially in how people are marginalized, shoved off the page and out of our consciousness, and how they defend themselves. Her focus, in short, is on an "exclusion" paradigm. Also, she focuses only on the first fifty years of the twentieth century, and mostly on the Sephardic Jews with roots going back to Spain, such as Turkinos (Turkish Jews).

This approach threw me back on my original question. It was surely important to see the difficulties encountered by Sephardim in New York, and satisfying to see how they suffered condescension and worse, yet summoned the will to find their own way, with persistence and creativity, and thoughtful and memorable leadership on the part of many of the antagonists. But following closely this woven history of exclusion and inclusion left me still wanting to know what this group had to offer. What do Sephardim have to offer? I keep wanting to think globally through a thousand years of history to connect all the illustrious dots. In fact anyone can Google "Sephardic Jews" to create his or her own Encyclopedia Sephardica, which would range from Maimonides codifying a rational Judaism to Emma Lazarus announcing the golden door; from Jacob Rodriguez Rivera inventing spermacetti candle-making to Uriah Levy getting the U.S. Navy to prohibit flogging (where would Herman Melville have been without these two men?); from world-class pianist Murray Perahia, singing in the boys' choir in a Grand Concourse Sephardic congregation, to David Amram-maverick musician, composer, conductor, and writer. Shall we leave out Sephardic Jacques Derrida because we've heard too much about him, or Joe Elias, because we've heard too little about him? Elias learned hundreds of songs at his mother's knee, and taught Ladino singing for years at N.Y.C.'s Hebrew Arts School. What about Gracia Mendes Nasi, the grand dame and managerial titan of Early Modern Europe? What about Supreme Court Justice Benjamin Cardozo, or five Sephardic Jews who I've read have won Nobel prizes: we all know Elias Canetti, but do most people even know Baruj Benacerraf, Rita Levi-Montalcini, Claude Cohn-Tannoudji, and Salvador Luria are Jewish? Rabbi Marc Angel, of course must be mentioned with a full description of his works, and especially his 1991 Voices in Exile: A Study in Sephardic Intellectual History, his glimpse of something provocatively simple and natural in his 2006 Foundations of Sephardic Spirituality: The Inner Life of Jews of the Ottoman Empire, his award-winning new book on Maimonides and Spinoza, and his ground-breaking new organization, which sponsors this very publication, and boldly rebuts authoritarianism in the orthodox world. And what about Sacha Baron Cohen! Okay, he's scandalous-and we're going far afield, but doesn't Sacha Baron Cohen break new ground in American and European popular culture -connect with the future, wake up the bored, and put a Sephardic flag on the moon? Do we have a brand here?

Dr. Ben-Ur's book, of course, is simply not about any of this. Nonetheless, after all her eliminations and disputations, after detours that are interesting but incidental, for instance on Columbia University's prestigious, but not very Sephardic, Hispanic-Sephardic initiative in the 1930s, she finishes with a simple statement that is quietly revelatory. She speaks of the corporate Jewish identity, and says if American scholars get bored with it, look here, to the Sephardim. That word corporate should stop us. It's a word that can cut two ways, reflecting stable reliable productivity on one side, and domineering greed and political manipulation on the other. But let's look for a moment at the predictable sameness of corporate production. Corporate means every sip of Pepsi-Cola-owned Tropicana tastes exactly alike, and has nothing to do with the oranges (even though they may be grown by corporations) that we squeeze on the spot, cutting in half five or six of them, getting the juice on the table, straining the pulp and seeds, and handing golden glasses of it off with pride to family members.

What is the corporate brand of Judaism? What is the corporate brand of Orthodox Judaism? Aren't Jews like everyone else allowed to want and enjoy a predictable, normalized, generalized homogenized product? Is there anything wrong with that? And if in many locations, Ashkenazim have given way to their more prominent Sephardic hosts, let's say in Istanbul, why should Sephardim not give way graciously to the vastly bigger numbers of the Ashkenazim in America, and join the corporate model? Famous Sephardic Americans may or may not be swept up into the general Jewish category, but in any event, is there any problem with Sephardim modestly stepping aside and accepting dominance by the sheer, vastly larger Ashkenazi numbers?

One of the problems with corporate identity is its smug assumption that the book has been written and is closed, the book of Judaism, or the book of Jewish identity. It's branded-in the bad sense, like an animal bound for slaughter, and whether it's because I'm Sephardic or simply Jewish, I find I resent a corporate Judaism. It's difficult to express how comforting it is to see the brand broken up. Congregation Shearith Israel hires a woman as an Assistant Congregational Leader-what a breakthrough!- or an African-American who has converted to Judaism, gives a lecture on his life as a practicing, engaged, fascinating Orthodox Jew. It is healing to see all the Iraqi and Turkish Jews out on the dance floor at the "mixed dancing" (men and women) celebrations at a synagogue's annual party. It's healing and comforting to hear Jean Naggar's reminiscences of her Egyptian Jewish childhood, or to hear the accents at a Bible class as people from Israel and Paris, Florida and Tunisia, express their individual responses to a biblical text. It's not just that if the corporate model of Judaism is accepted, some of us feel left out because our names are different-many Sephardic names of course are actually Hebrew-or that we look different (do we?). It's that the corporate model is deadly, not because it's fake, or made from concentrate, but because it has a telltale medicinal aftertaste-it's not freshly squeezed. Jewish authenticity depends on dissent and difference, and without these elements we have lost our center, and our juice.

In the late 1950s my mother and I contemplated writing a Sephardic cookbook, and she queried a well-known Jewish publisher. He wrote back, "No one would be interested in that." Knowing now what we know about the health benefits of Mediterranean cooking and the Mediterranean lifestyle (and what Sephardim with many nonagenarian parents and grandparents have always known) , one can't help wonder at this old-time Ashkenazi insularity, which may still be among us. A friendly letter to Midstream's Winter 2010 issue noted that an occasional article on Yiddish or Ladino topics is interesting, but ultimately the writer asked the magazine please to limit such articles because these topics are not part of "our Weltanschauung." We know of course, why the writer used the German word, and didn't simply say "worldview." Branding. Meanwhile, Midstream has been ground-breaking with its July/August Yiddish-Ladino issues that it started in 2002.

We haven't even touched the terrible story of the disparaging treatment of Mizrahi Jews in Israel, Jews who make up almost half of the population of Israel! Sitting on my desk is Rachel Shabi's new book, We Look Like the Enemy, The Hidden Story of Israel's Jews from Arab Lands. The realities of that story are shameful.
We are addicted to branding. We all want the comfort of sturdily packaged familiar people and ideas. We want the prestige, why else start an article with our credentials? But we don't want to feel shut off, in a corporate can sealed with BPA plastic that like chicken fat and butter (we don't cook with them) may harm our bodies. Let in the air. In the Jewish world, as everywhere else, we desperately need an open system, agreeable to diversity, gracious to innovation, open to new voices.

Is there a Sephardic contribution to America? I've long wondered. Starting in high school I worked on that Sephardic cookbook, and still have the large index cards of my Turkish grandmother's recipes that my Bronx-born mother typed up. I've read books, attended wonderful courses and seminars. I've made lists of words we said at home as I was growing up, Bivas ( Live!) when we sneezed, Kon salu (in good health) when we wore a piece of new clothing, Ijo d'una bova (son of a stupid woman) when someone was acting like a dope, Ya basta! (enough!), Kapara (when a glass broke, that glass was for God), and foods that expressed Sephardic joy, health, and celebration. I'm supposed to know about customs, but all I can think of is telling Joha stories, stories about the wise fool who coming from his day's work in the fields to dinner, and being told he must have a dinner jacket, returns with his jacket and tells the jacket, "It's you they invited, Eat!" There are hundreds of Joha stories which many of us have retold and written about.

In 1992 when I was giving lectures through the Sephardic House lecture bureau to various organizations in the New York area, I decided the answer had to do with the difference between the perfect circle of the wheel and the odd-shaped circle of the olive- or the lemon. Ashkenazim are perfect like the wheel, always ready to go. The rest of us stop to chase an olive around the plate, or the olive chases us, or we see the world up close because we cook with so much exquisite lemon juice and have lived near water, and love to eat fish. Maybe it's an outspokenness, or zaniness-I think of that Hunter High School math teacher who threw chalk at students who fell asleep in her class. Maybe it's a female outspokenness. "Listen to Sarah," said God in Genesis, and perhaps ironically it was only in the patriarchal East in the Sephardic world where patriarchy was so elaborate and unintellectual that it counter-intuitively left the door open to women. Women have been great carriers of Judaism, with their monumental work of child rearing and cooking, but perhaps only Sephardic women had the fun of singing wild centuries-old Spanish ballads that romantically asked about my beloved coming down the stairs, or that raucously attacked a man for not being able to love someone other than himself. I don't know. But diversity represents an open system, and I know I crave it, and it suits my authentically Jewish soul. Without diversity we are rigid and dead. Those beds in Sodom and Gomorrah, we recall, cut off the feet of those who were too tall, and stretched the bodies of those who were too short.
As I sat and listened to that African-American convert to Orthodox Judaism and heard about his funny and interesting upbringing in the Jehovah's Witness religion, and how he gave speeches on Sundays to please his mother, and how his life today is totally Jewishly engaged at Ramath Orah on 110th Street near Broadway, I felt that a sharp sense of difference is what allows us to breathe. The system is open, we are breathing, not shutting out truth and life with refusal to accept difference.

Obviously we need both, a strong connection to the fixed, to the Jewish tradition in its most inalterable values and beliefs, but also a connection to the very unbranded thing of breathing, something natural and eternal, an open system. Diversity allows us to breathe, and without it we are not really here. In one of his novels, Henry James had a character surprisingly say in the midst of his very patriarchal world, "The women will save us." Perhaps the Sephardic contribution is its diversity. Perhaps Sephardim have contributed to the world by virtue of their their interethnic mix, with all its surprises and openness, its outspoken women, its outspoken men. Boredom and insular stultification are terribly contrary to authentic Judaism. Dialectic is the absolute core of Judaism, from Abraham's argument with God about Sodom and Gomorrah to this week's Forward article, "War on Internet Is a Fight the Rabbis Can't Win." No one should say, "The Sephardim will save us." But everyone should say, "Diversity will save us." Jews, like everyone else, need to be saved from ourselves.

Question: What is the status of the 'extra' conversion immersion [tevila leHumra] demanded by some Orthodox rabbis?

Answer:

1. The minimum standard required by Jewish law is that the rabbinical court consist of three observant laymen. Once the convert is accepted by the court, the conversion takes effect and without cause, may not be called into question.

2. a. The converting rabbinical court may include Orthodox rabbis who are themselves converts. [Hoshen Mishpat 7:1] Rabbis need not go through hoops to forbid the permitted on the part of parochials who either do not know or do not accept Jewish law.

b. If one of the rabbis serving on the court is [1] strictly Orthodox in observance but [2] serves amixed seating synagogue, said rabbi is not to be disqualifed because if he was placed by RCA placement, which has the status of bet din, or with permission from his authority granting body, Even haEzer 17:58 would apply. Furthermore, mixed synagogue seating, while in violation of historical usage, is not a violation whereby bona fidesis forfeited. [See Hoshen Mishpat 34]

c. If the convert, after theconversion, lives as a Jew, the conversion maynot be questioned.

Questioning a conversion tempts the convert to sin. Those "rabbis,"institutions and communities that require "upgraded" conversions are violating Jewish and should be denied communal support, their rabbis should notbe hired by modern Orthodox institutions, and the request mus tbe denied because Jewish covenantal lawis being wrongly disfigured, reformed, and reconstructed.

3. Once a Halakhic rabbinical court has accepted the candidate and immersion (and when appropriate, circumcision) has taken place

a. the conversion is complete
b. the conversion must be accepted
c. unless impropriety or fraud with regard to the conversion takes place, questioning the validity of the conversion calls the legitimacy of the questioners into question as per kol haPoseil pasul.

The halakhic status of Jews who publicly violate Shabbat and/or publicly deny key elements of the Jewish faith (e.g. Torah mi-Sinai[i]) is well known. Those Jews are not to be counted towards the quorum for public prayer, nor are they to be learned from or with. It is even questionable whether one should perform the public mourning rituals upon their passing[ii]. The question that became pressing for the 19^th century European rabbinate[iii] was how to interpret within a halakhic framework the unprecedented amount of public desecration of Shabbat, coupled with open rejection of key tenets of traditional Judaism. If this new reality were to be treated in a similar way as in previous times, the end result would be that many Jews – actually the vast majority –would be ineligible to be counted for a quorum.

Rabbi Yaakov Ettlinger (1798-1871) was the Chief Rabbi of the German town of Altona, and was considered one of the most prominent German Orthodox rabbis of his era. He also was one of the first rabbis to have received academic training, having studied at the University of Wurzburg in Bavaria. It is worth mentioning that he would become a teacher to both Rabbi Azriel Hildesheimer and Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch. Rabbi Ettlinger was asked the question of how to consider wine that was touched by non-observant Jews[iv]. The standard practice was to consider the wine stam yeinam, that is to say, forbidden to consume. The wine in question was considered to be the same as wine that was touched by idolaters.

Rabbi Ettlinger responded to the inquirer with a revolutionary new way of framing non-Orthodox observance in the modern era. At first he suggested the category offered in several passages in the Talmud of omer mutar[v], one who thinks something is permissible when in actuality it is not. The status of the person who is within the parameters of omer mutar varies from karov le-meizid, ‘close to intentional sin’, to ones, someone ‘compelled’ or ‘forced’ into an action. However, Rabbi Ettlinger settles on the framework of tinok she-nishbah, one who has been captured and raised by idolaters – and thus not to be held responsible for his actions[vi]. By extension, those who had been raised in a household of Reformers were not to be blamed for their incorrect actions, and thus not to be placed within the categories of “public violators of Shabbat,” “heretics” or “deniers.” Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, the first Ashkenazic Chief Rabbi of British Mandatory Palestine, extended this ruling even to those raised within traditional homes[vii]. Rabbi Kook understood general society to be so utterly pervasive that it infiltrated even the most pious family. The end result of these rulings is that one would be hard-pressed in modern society to find any person who would fit the original categories deemed worthy of rejection.

In recent times, Rabbi Dov Linzer, the Rosh HaYeshivah and Dean of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah Rabbinical School, has argued that we look to operating with the omer mutar category more, and rely less on the tinok she-nishbah framework[viii]. He reasons that the omer mutar category allows for preserving the internal integrity of those who do not practice Orthodox Judaism while still maintaining our assertion that Orthodox Judaism is the correct and true form of Judaism:

Whether one agrees with Rabbi Linzer’s preference for the omer mutar framework, or prefers to remain with the more common tinok she-nishbah paradigm, the result of either category is that those people who were once excluded from counting towards a quorum and receiving honors in the synagogue are no longer treated in that manner. These people, in effect, are no longer classified as mumar le-khol ha-Torah kulah, ‘deniers of the entire Torah.’ The restrictions and limits that at one time were placed on them and towards them no longer apply[ix].

The Talmud[x] has a fascinating account of a complicated relationship between rabbinic Judaism’s most famous apostate, Elisha ben Abuyah (also known as Aher) and one of the most important Tannaitic figures, Rabbi Meir. The story is recorded of Rabbi Meir running after Elisha ben Abuyah while the latter is riding a horse on the Sabbath. The purpose of Rabbi Meir’s chase after Elisha ben Abuyah is, as the Talmud states, to “learn Torah from his mouth.” The fact that Elisha ben Abuyah was publicly violating the Sabbath did not give Rabbi Meir pause in his desire to gain from the wisdom and insight he had to offer. One can visualize the scenario of the exhausted Tanna, Rabbi Meir, literally chasing the apostate Elisha ben Abuyah to learn Torah from him.

I suggest that beside the obvious point about Rabbi Meir’s enthusiastic willingness to learn from Elisha ben Abuyah there is an important lesson to be learned about the environment necessary in which a Tanna can learn from an avowed heretic. It is when the pursuit seems to have no end that Elisha ben Abuyah turns to Rabbi Meir and states: “Meir, return from running after me; for I have measured the steps of my horse, and at this point is the tehum, the ‘boundary,’ of Shabbat.” The element that made their relationship possible was mutual respect. There was not one person during their generation or today who could assert with even a shred of credence that Rabbi Meir was legitimizing Elisha ben Abuyah’s violation of traditional practice. Similarly, Elisha ben Abuyah was able to find his own sense of self-worth not in attempting to disprove or insult traditional Judaism but rather in his own sense of self. In other words, Elisha ben Abuyah did not need to engage in harsh polemics with Rabbi Meir or need to convince him to follow his ways. Their dynamic relationship existed in a state of respectful interaction and dialogue. The permissibility to learn from a heretic like Elisha ben Abuyah was not just extended to Rabbi Meir but indeed generations of Jews for two millennia have learned from him and generations more will continue to do so[xi].

Rabbi Shlomo Kluger (b. 1783 d. 1869) was the dayan and rabbi of the town of Brody in Galicia (currently in western Ukraine) for more than 50 years.  He was also the teacher of Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, the author of the seminal work Beit HaLevi (and great-grandfather of the 20^th century American Modern Orthodox leader who shared his name). Rabbi Kluger was asked about the permissibility to study Moses Mendelssohn’s work Bi’ur[xii], which served as both a translation of Tanakh into High German and a commentary on it. Rabbi Kluger commented that the ability to learn with and from works of heretics all depends on “the circumstances of the time,” and cites the example of Elisha ben Abuyah as proof of his assertion. When, according to Rabbi Kluger, is it appropriate to distance ourselves from the teachings of non-Orthodox Jews? Rabbi Kluger recounted his personal experience with one such person to illustrate the conditions that would mandate a separation from them: “… and we saw that he was very wicked, and he used to make fun of liturgical poetry and penitential prayers, and turned penitential prayers into Purim; and in this way he mocked the Sages, and he turned their words into a laughingstock, and so in these [instances] it is obviously the circumstances of the time which causes one to distance from their writings, a very far distance…”

The circumstances that would warrant, in the opinion of Rabbi Kluger, one to “distance oneself from their writings” is an atmosphere of derision and mockery, where the non-Orthodox Jews attempted to make the words of the Sages “into a laughingstock.” Conversely,  the situation where one could learn from the teachings of non-Orthodox Jews, even those who are confirmed heretics, is similar to the encounter recorded between Elisha ben Abuyah and Rabbi Meir, i.e. a time and place where there exists an environment of respect for all those involved.

How do we Orthodox Jews today deal with current reality? Is this a time that calls for greater understanding and dialogue, or a time for distancing and a circling of the wagons? Rabbi Yehiel Yaakov Weinberg (1884-1966) was the Rosh HaYeshivah and Dean of the Hildesheimer Rabbinical Seminary in Berlin. In his youth he studied at both the Mir and Slobodka yeshivot. He received a PhD from the University of Giessen, having written his dissertation on the Masoretic Text. His students included Rabbi Menahem Mendel Schneerson and Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits. Rabbi Weinberg is considered one of the greatest and most authoritative posekim of the 20^th century.

Rabbi Weinberg maintained a deep friendship with Professor Samuel Atlas, who taught at the Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion. The Hebrew Union College is the flagship rabbinical seminary of Reform Judaism, and Professor Atlas was an active and important figure in the development of Reform Judaism in America. Rabbi Weinberg corresponded with Professor Atlas over the course of many years through the medium of the written letter. These letters were stored for safekeeping in the library of the Jewish Theological Seminary and were recently translated into English by Rabbi Dr. Marc Shapiro of the University of Scranton[xiii]. These letters portray a rabbinic gadol who is deeply troubled by trends occurring in the Orthodox community, particularly in its relationship to both non-Orthodox Jewry and to the larger world. Rabbi Weinberg wrote:

September, 19, 1957

I am very distressed at the great fanaticism which has increased in strength in the Orthodox camp. Read the last issue of Ha-Ma’or [Tamuz, 5717] and see the blindness which is afflicting it. The Satmar rebbe forbids studying Hebrew and others say the formation of the Hebrew state was a sin which cannot be repented for. In She’arim [30 Av, 5717, p. 2] one writer protested that R. Saul Lieberman was given the Rav Kook prize, due to the fact that he works with the Reformers. See the article; you will enjoy it. On the one hand, they proclaim every “rebbe,” whom everyone knows is not outstanding in Torah knowledge, as gaon and rosh kol benei ha-golah. For the members of the Agudah, every unimportant rabbi who joins them is considered a great gaon.

In She’arim, they proclaimed a ban against participation in the Congress for Jewish Studies in Jerusalem. On the other hand, they argued, why didn’t they [the organizers] invite the geonim in Israel and the Diaspora, who know so much more than all the academic scholars of Israel and the Diaspora? They made this argument to Professor [Ben-Zion] Dinur, and he responded that the rabbis are not involved with academic studies of Judaism. They poured ignorant scorn on this answer. I see that in the end there will be a split in the body of the nation. They also invited me to come to the Congress and sent me an airplane ticket, but due to my weak health I was prevented from going. However, in Jerusalem it was publicized that I intended to come, and I was flooded with letters strongly urging me not to come and participate in a gathering of deniers and heretics. I did not pay attention to these warnings and sent a letter of blessing and apology that I could not come. This letter was read in public.      

He also wrote about a particular “Liberal rabbi” whom he had met:

October 16, 1959

I visited this Liberal rabbi in his hotel and was thrilled to see that he is a wonderful man, honest in his heart and mouth. I have already quipped before the men who surround me that this Liberal rabbi causes a “hillul ha-shem,” because in him we see that one can be an upstanding and noble man, full of the spirit of love for Israel, its Torah, and its language, even if one does not belong to the community of zealous Hasidim and is not punctilious about laws and customs. Yet with those fervent zealots we see the opposite.  

These letters need no further comment. They clearly demonstrate a great concern on behalf of Rabbi Weinberg for a “split in the body of the nation,” due to the unwillingness of the “fervent zealots” to engage with the academic, and more broadly, non-Orthodox Jewish communities. He affirms the integrity of non-Orthodox rabbis as people who can be “upstanding… full of the spirit of love for Israel, its Torah, and its language...”

In our own time and on our own shores, Rabbi Shmuel Goldin has eloquently addressed the question of pluralism from an Orthodox perspective. Rabbi Goldin is the rabbi of Congregation Ahavath Torah, an Orthodox synagogue of 700 families in Englewood, New Jersey. He is an instructor of Bible and Philosophy at Yeshiva University. He is also the past president of Rabbinic Alumni of Yeshiva University and the past president of the Rabbinical Council of Bergen County[xiv]. Rabbi Goldin addressed members of the academic community at the Jewish Theological Seminary, the flagship rabbinical seminary of the Conservative movement in 2000 on the subject of pluralism from an Orthodox orientation[xv]. A key paragraph in his talk is the following:

At the opposite end of the spectrum, to reach this point of valuing without validating, my own Orthodox community is going to have to make major changes. It is going to have to learn not to be afraid of the non-Orthodox and to stop seeing the Conservative and Reform movements as a threat to its own existence. Sometimes in my own frustration I feel that the Orthodox community is living in the past. Decades ago sociologists were predicting the demise of Orthodoxy in America. The Orthodox community was told that we were not going to last and that we were soon going to be a mere memory, while the Conservative and Reform would inherit the mantle of leadership and existence in America. Because those were the predictions, we within the Orthodox community hunkered down behind the barricades. We said, "We’ve got to defend our turf; we can’t do anything that might appear as legitimizing anyone else. We can’t in any way legitimize the Conservative movement. We can’t legitimize the Reform movement because otherwise we’re going to lose." Well, things have changed. The Orthodox community is strong. It’s not perfect—take my word for it—but it is thriving and self-perpetuating. The Conservative and Reform movements are no longer a threat to our existence. Yet, we are still acting as if we are afraid of you. As far as I’m concerned, we within the Orthodox community have to reach the point where not only are we not afraid, but where we are confident enough in ourselves to admit that we have something to learn from you. Most importantly we must learn that this admission does not entail legitimization of all your religious views. Just as I believe you have much to learn from us. If we can become confident enough to say this without feeling that we are threatening our own existence, we will have moved much closer to the position of valuing without validating.

I believe we are indeed in the era that Rabbi Goldin described. It is quite possible to value some of the opinions and teachings of a person or a movement without validating or legitimizing all the opinions and teachings of that person or movement. Furthermore, the walls of absolute separation that some in the Orthodox community have built to protect themselves from the non-Orthodox and the larger world have bred distrust, misunderstanding and hatred within the Jewish people. I believe that Orthodox Judaism, when represented properly within the marketplace of ideas, will not only survive but thrive and demonstrate its spiritual and intellectual integrity. I argue that learning with non-Orthodox Jews will not cause the masses of Orthodox Judaism to defect. In fact, the opposite is true. The transformation of non-Orthodox forms of Judaism into the unreachable “forbidden fruit” only serves to heighten its seductive power and allure. Furthermore, as Rabbi Goldin suggested, “we have something to learn” from the non-Orthodox just as they can learn from us. When a Jew cannot sit down with another Jew to learn our sacred texts together, the Jewish people, as a whole, is at a profound loss[xvi].

The Underlying Question of Health Reform

The origins of the current acrimonious Health Reform debate of 2009 can be understood in the context of a comparison between two biblical brothers: Kayin and Yosef. As Jews and as human beings, we are expected to work for Tikkun Olam-to heal the world. We are provided with the means to do so: mitzvoth (commandments and acts of kindness) and tsedakah (acts of charity). Modern science has provided many tools to support these efforts, including epidemiology, which is the basic science of public health and health-care planning. Two inter-related issues that have not received adequate attention during the debates around health-care reform relate to public health and preventive medicine, and the underlying assumptions about whether health care is a universal right or a commodity purchasable in proportion to one's financial means.

This essay will explore some of the contributions to this discussion of epidemiology, and will seek insights from examples drawn from Torah and Ketubim. In particular, we will examine the different attitudes of Kayin and Yosef toward their brothers. This contrast can be best seen by examining Kayin's immortalized response, "Am I my brother's keeper?" to God's question, "Where is your brother, Hevel?" I believe that this is the fundamental question underlying the Health Reform debate, and unless we reveal and resolve these competing visions of health care-as a right and responsibility-or as a commodity-we will be unable to resolve this dilemma.

Kayin, who was described as an "oved adama," a servant of the land, refused to take care of his brother, and his actions were directly responsible for Hevel's death. In contrast, Yosef proposed and implemented food, land and crop management, and tax policies that took care of his brothers, their families, his adopted nation and all the nations of the world. Thus, Yosef serves as a model for public-health leadership and an exemplar of universal access to care and responsible environmental management. We need to look more closely at the two narratives [emphasis added]:

Kayin and Yosef: Two Models of Public-Health Leadership?

Kayin:
And God said to Kayin, ‘Why are you angry, and why has your countenance fallen? Is it not so that if you improve, it will be forgiven you? If you do not improve, however, at the entrance, sin is lying, and to you is its longing, but you can rule over it.' (Genesis 4:6-7).
And God said to Kayin: 'Where is your brother, Hevel?' And [Kayin] said: 'I don't know; am I my brother's keeper?' And God said: 'What have you done? The voice of your brother's blood cries unto Me from the ground. (Genesis 4:9-11)

Yosef:
And [Yisrael] said to [Yosef]: Go now, look after your brothers' welfare, and the well-being of the flock; and bring me back word. (Genesis 37:14)
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Let Pharaoh do this, and let him appoint overseers over the land, and take up the fifth part of the land of Egypt in the seven years of plenty. And let them gather all the food of these good years that come, and lay up corn under the hand of Pharaoh for food in the cities, and let them keep it. And the food shall be for a store to the land against the seven years of famine, which shall be in the land of Egypt; that the land perish not through the famine." (Genesis 41:34-36)
And Yosef went out from the presence of Pharaoh, and went throughout all the land of Egypt. And in the seven years of plenty the earth brought forth in heaps. And he gathered up all the food of the seven years which were in the land of Egypt, and laid up the food in the cities; the food of the field, which was round about every city, laid he up in the same. And Yosef laid up corn as the sand of the sea, very much, until they left off numbering; for it was without number. (Genesis 41:46-49)
And the famine was over all the face of the earth; and Yosef opened all the storehouses, and sold unto the Egyptians; and the famine was sore in the land of Egypt. And all countries came into Egypt to Yosef to buy corn; because the famine was sore in all the earth. (Genesis 41:56-57)
And it shall come to pass at the ingatherings, that you shall give a fifth unto Pharaoh, and four parts shall be your own, for seed of the field, and for your food, and for them of your households, and for food for your little ones.' And they said: 'You have saved our lives.' (Genesis 49:24-25)
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And now be not grieved, nor angry with yourselves, that you sold me; for God did send me [to Egypt] before you to preserve life. For these two years there has been famine in the land; and there are still five years, in which there shall be neither plowing nor harvest. And God sent me before you to give you a remnant on the earth, and to save you alive for a great deliverance. So now it was not you that sent me hither, but God. (Genesis 45:5-8)
And Yosef sustained his father, and his brothers, and all his father's household with bread, according to the want of their little ones. (Genesis 47:12)
And Yosef said unto them: 'Do not be afraid for am I in the place of God? And as for you, you did mean evil against me; but God meant it for good, to bring to pass, as it is this day, to save much people alive. Now therefore do not be afraid; I will sustain you, and your little ones.' And he comforted them, and spoke kindly unto them. (Genesis 50:19-21)

Competing Visions of Health Reform

Perhaps the most heated political debates surround the topic of "Health Reform," where the different sides of the often agitated discussions argue over various visions of improving access to health-care services, controlling costs, improving health-care quality, and eliminating disparities in clinical and public-health (population-health) outcomes. Competing visions of health-care reform range from universal access with a single-payer system, to a hybrid of private insurance companies, either with or without the so-called "public option," which may take the form of a government-run insurance program that competes with private insurers. The inclusion of a public option has been one of the more controversial aspects of the debate. Critics of the public option suggest that government-run health care "will offer the level of service of the Department of Motor Vehicles and the level of quality of the U.S. Post Office," or is a "step on the way to socialized medicine." Supporters of the public option argue that this is a necessary element to provide sufficient competitive pressure for the private insurers to keep premium costs affordable, or alternatively, to provide coverage in markets where no private insurers offer coverage. In a U.S. population of approximately 308 million, it is estimated that at least 50 million people-one in six-are currently uninsured, and a significant multiple of that figure are underinsured or one paycheck away from being uninsured, with over 80 million having been without insurance at some point in the previous year. Nevertheless, a significant proportion of U.S. citizens are already covered by some form of public option. If we consider the combined U.S. populations already served by Medicare (age 65+ or disabled), Medicaid (poor children and adults), Child Health Plus (low-income children), Veterans Administration (former military), TriCare (Department of Defense), Indian Health Service (Native Americans), Federal Employees Health Benefits Program (Congress and Federal Employees), Prison Health Services (incarcerated) and Federally Qualified Health Centers (low-income uninsured/working poor), an estimated 150 million Americans or nearly 50 percent of the U.S. population of over 307 million are currently covered entirely or part by a public
insurance program supported through taxes.

A second area of dissent surrounds the decisions about coverage of specific services, and the fear of "health-care rationing," as if rationing is not already taking place -either by income, ethnicity, age or geography. The emerging scientific discipline of "comparative effectiveness research" has been offered as the basis to be used for identifying which health-care services to cover-and is really a scientific basis for rationing health-care services. The evolving definition of comparative effectiveness research describes this as "... the conduct and synthesis of systematic research comparing different interventions and strategies to prevent, diagnose, treat and monitor health conditions ... to inform patients, providers, and decision-makers... about which interventions are most effective for which patients under specific circumstances" (Federal Coordinating Council for Comparative Effectiveness Research, U.S. Department of Health and Human Services). The methodological infrastructure of clinical effectiveness research is drawn from the science of epidemiology.

Epidemiology, Clinical Trials, Comparative Effectiveness Research and the Book of Daniel
Epidemiology is variously defined as the study of health and illness in populations, and is both a tool for understanding the etiology (causes) of disease, and a body of methods for evaluating differences in the health-care status of groups of people (referred to as population subgroups), as well as differences in outcomes for people who receive various health-care interventions. Epidemiologic research can be purely descriptive or observational, and it can also be experimental, such as in randomized clinical trials or randomized controlled trials (RCTs). An important aspect of health reform draws upon epidemiologic methods in support of the evolving science of "comparative effective research," whereby experimental studies, in which people are assigned to two (or more) different treatments by the "flip of a coin" (randomization or random assignment), and then they are then followed up over time to one or more pre-determined clinical outcomes (for example, first heart attack, remission from cancer, disease-free survival, death, and so forth).
The key component of clinical trials is that they compare two or more treatments, usually a new, active treatment versus a comparison or control treatment, using structured observations following a formal and uniform schedule of observations and follow-up intervals. The differences in outcomes between the treatment groups are quantified and tested for statistical significance, and are described as the "effect size." The effect size is a comparative probabilistic statement, and is often reported as the "relative risk" (ratio of two risks) or "attributable risk" (difference between two risks). Relative risks that are significantly different from 1.0 and attributable risks that are significantly different from 0, and are clinically meaningful, are taken to be indicative of an association or even causality.

Randomization is necessary to reduce or eliminate the possibility of bias (or an alternative explanation) in selecting (or self-selecting) who receives which treatment, and is considered the "gold-standard" by which new treatments (drugs, devices, procedures, preventive services, bundles of services) are evaluated. RCTs are controlled human experiments based upon accumulated observational studies, and begin from the principle of "equipoise" which asserts that in order to conduct an ethical clinical trial, there must be insufficient existing evidence of either harm or benefit of one treatment over the other. Treatment is allocated purely by chance (randomization), rather than by the selection of either the physician or by patient, who has provided his/her "informed consent" to participate.

Informed consent is critical to any health-care treatment decision, including participation in a clinical trial, and the consent process (ideally) takes the form of an unpressured conversation, and presumes autonomy (the health-care provider needs to give the respect, time, and the opportunity for a potential participant to make an informed and non-coerced decision), beneficence (the health care provided should ensure the patient's well-being, do no harm, and should simultaneously maximize benefits and minimize risk of harm), and justice (ensure an equitable selection of participants-who is offered the opportunity to participate and who is not offered the opportunity to participate). The key element here requires the full disclosure of all risks and benefits of participation (including the risk of not receiving treatment), and the ability of the patient to make an independent decision to participate.

RCTs are designed to determine the effect(s) of exposure to treatment on the clinical outcome(s) that are being studied, and RCTs provide the strongest, most direct evidence of cause and effect by eliminating potential confounding variables which are other factors which may be the true cause of observed differences in outcomes. The theory behind randomization asserts that the random assignment of treatments evenly distributes all known and unknown "factors" or "causes" to the treatment groups. Many studies have demonstrated that in the absence of randomization, differences in outcomes are often associated with selections of treatments that may reflect more complex lifestyle decisions that result in selecting a given treatment (for example, taking vitamins; going for screening tests, deciding to smoke or to quit smoking) rather than the treatment itself.
Blinding of observers and participants is an important component of many (but not all) clinical trials, where often the participant is unaware as to which treatment he/she is receiving ("single-blinded"), or for an even stronger design, neither the health-care staff nor the patient know which treatment is being received ("double-blinded"). It is also important that the measurements are made by staff who are unaware of which treatment is actually being received by the patient ("blinded"). Blinding strategies are important for minimizing biases and subjective opinions about which treatment is better, and many RCTs compare a new drug either to an inert substance ("placebo-controlled studies") or to a standard, already approved medicine ("comparator"). However, blinding is not always feasible to implement in studies, particularly either where an invasive procedure is involved, or where a drug may have recognizable main effects or side effects (e.g., causing flushing, increased urination, fast or slow heart beat, etc.) that are easily identified by the patient and the staff. The designers of all clinical trials need to balance the need for methodological rigor with real-world considerations of safety and feasibility, and recognize that no perfect clinical trial exists. While experimental evidence is considered the most rigorous, there are ethical and practical situations that often require alternatives to randomization, all of which fall back on careful, well-structured observations and comparisons.

The Origin of Clinical Trials

Most medical historians attribute the first recorded clinical trial to Dr. James Lind of the British Royal Navy in 1753. Dr. Lind observed that scurvy "...killed thousands of people every year and had caused many more deaths in the Royal Navy than conflicts." So he selected twelve men from the ship, all of whom were suffering from scurvy, and divided them into six pairs, giving each group different additions to their basic diet (cider; seawater; garlic; mustard and horseradish; spoonfuls of vinegar; two oranges and lemons). Dr. Lind observed that "[t]hose fed citrus fruits (oranges and lemons) experienced a remarkable recovery" and concluded that, while there was nothing new about his discovery as the benefits of lime juice had been known for centuries, citrus fruits were better than all other "remedies" for the treatment of scurvy (and also for the prevention of Vitamin C deficiency). Although the importance of Lind's findings on scurvy were recognized at the time, it was not until more than 40 years later that the British Admiralty ordered the routine supply of lemon juice to all Naval ships, virtually eliminating scurvy from the Royal Navy (www.JamesLindLibrary.org & BBC History). About a century later, in 1847, the Hungarian-born obstetrician, Dr. Ignaz Semmelweis, tested the effects of physicians' hand-washing after leaving the autopsy room and before entering the labor and delivery room on reducing fatal puerperal fever (also called "childbed fever"-a fatal blood-borne infection) among pregnant women in Vienna. Although the statistical results of this clinical trial were entirely conclusive, there was significant resistance to adopting this innovation (so much that it eventually drove Semmelweis to insanity and a premature death at age 47).

While these eighteenth- and nineteenth-century examples provide a glimpse into the origins of modern clinical trials (and also illustrate the delays associated with translating research into practice), an earlier nutritional clinical trial of following a Kosher diet compared to the local food was recorded in the Book of Daniel (Chapter 1:1-20). This Babylonian clinical trial was conducted and reported some 2,400 years earlier (605-562 BCE), by Daniel, another adept dream-interpreter who, as was the case for Yosef and Pharaoh in Egypt, also won favor from the king who ruled over the Jews then living in exile in Babylonia. Daniel's clinical trial contains many of the elements of modern clinical trials, with many of the associated modern challenges to causal inference. The text follows here with the corresponding clinical trials elements indicated [in brackets]:

Daniel's Nutritional Clinical Trial (1:3-20)

3. Then the king said to Ashpenaz, his chief officer, to bring from the Children of Israel, from the royal seed, and from the nobles [population subgroup; eligibility criteria].
4. Youths in whom there is no blemish, of handsome appearance, who understand all wisdom, erudite in knowledge, who understand how to express their thoughts, and who have strength to stand in the king's palace [inclusion/exclusion criteria], and to teach them the script and the language of the Chaldeans.
5. The king allotted them a daily portion of the king's food and of the wine that he drank, and to train them for three years [trial duration], and at the end thereof, they would stand before the king [follow-up period; outcome evaluation].
8. Daniel resolved not to be defiled by the king's food or by the wine he drank; so he requested of the king's chief officer that he should not be defiled.
9. God granted Daniel kindness and mercy before the chief officer.
10. And the chief officer replied to Daniel, "I fear my lord the king, who allotted your food and your drink, for why should he see your [experimental group] faces troubled [clinical outcome] more than the youths like you [control group]? And you will forfeit my head to the king."
11. And Daniel answered the steward whom the chief officer had appointed for Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah.
12. "Now test [pre-specified comparison] your servants for ten days [trial duration], and let them give us some vegetables that we should eat, and water that we should drink [experimental intervention].
13. And let our [experimental group] appearance [clinical outcome], and the appearance [clinical outcome], of the youths who eat the king's food [control group], be seen [follow-up; outcome evaluation] by you [not blinded] and as you will see, so do with your servants."
14. He heeded them in this matter and tested [experimental intervention] them for ten days [trial duration].
15. And at the end of the ten days [trial duration], they [experimental group] looked handsomer and fatter [clinical outcomes] than all the youths who ate the king's food [control group].
16. And the steward would carry away their food and the wine they were to drink and give them vegetables [experimental intervention].
17. And to these youths, the four of them [sample size], God gave knowledge and understanding in every script and wisdom, and Daniel understood all visions and dreams.
18. And at the end of the days that the king ordered to bring them, the chief officer brought them before Nebuchadnezzar.
19. And the king spoke with them, and of all of them, no one was found to equal Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah [effect size or relative risk]; and they stood before the king.
20. And in every matter of the wisdom of understanding that the king requested of them, he found them ten times better [effect size or relative risk], than all the necromancers and astrologers in all his kingdom.

The Problem of Translating Research into Practice

Thus, Daniel was responsible for the first recorded clinical trial, suggesting that the methodological template for clinical trials is considerably older than usually ascribed. In fact, the reporting of Daniel's (non-randomized) clinical trial conforms to modern standards (the "CONSORT criteria"), and in some ways is even more thorough than many contemporary trials published in rigorously peer-reviewed journals (perhaps because Daniel had to "... answer to a Higher Authority").
What is supposed to happen with the results of clinical trials? Decisions by physicians as to whether to adopt innovations, by insurers as to whether to pay for services, and by patients as to whether to follow their physicians' advice, are increasingly being made based on the results of these clinical trials, and the burgeoning field of "translational research" seeks to understand how scientific discoveries are moved from the laboratory to the patient ("bench to bedside") and beyond to the community. I would argue that the true measure of the effectiveness of translation of research into practice is reflected not only in utilization of services and individual health status outcomes, but also in public health statistics such as disability, disease incidence, and survival/mortality. Both the principles of social justice and Tikkun Olam would require that everybody benefit equally from access to improved health-care services.

The average duration of time it takes for scientific innovations to travel from research to practice is frequently cited to be 17 years, with many examples, such as those above, demonstrating even longer durations-and differential access to research results across groups defined by economic, ethnic, gender, and other parameters. The recent addition of hand-washing reminder signs and widespread placement of antibacterial liquids in health care and other public settings is a stark reminder that the adoption of even a simple innovation such as hand-washing can take decades or centuries. Even today, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention's (CDC) primary recommendation for preventing the transmission of influenza, including the much-feared H1N1 flu (and other communicable infections), is hand-washing.

Epidemiologic methods are often criticized for failing to provide adequate (or any) mechanisms or explanations as to "why" differences are observed. However, effective policy can often be made merely based on the observation of differences, rather than on a true understanding of the underlying reasons (or causes) of those differences. The example most often cited was the removal of the Broad Street water pump handle by nineteenth-century British anesthesiologist/surgeon-turned-epidemiologist, Dr. John Snow, whose statistical analyses led him to conclude in 1854 that water played a significant role in the spread of cholera, and his direct actions resulted in controlling a severe cholera outbreak in London.

Epidemiology has been particularly effective in studies of lifestyle and behavior, and numerous long-term community-based observational and experimental studies have demonstrated the significant contributions of a variety of behaviors, including diet composition (for example, calories; fat content; types of fat; salt/sodium content), physical activity, smoking, alcohol consumption, and even attendance at weekly religious services and prayer, to health and well-being. Although levels of biological evidence as to mechanisms are often lacking, and not all of these behaviors can be adequately studied in RCTs, these studies can still form the basis of informed government and health-care policies oriented toward improving public health.

Recent examples of such health and environmental policies in New York City include regulations to limit occupational and environmental exposures. These include increased tobacco taxes and bans on smoking in the workplace and other public settings. Other examples of current environmental public health legislation based on epidemiology include food labeling, which requires disclosure of food composition (calories, fat, salt/sodium content) at the point of sale in certain restaurants and for prepared foods, bans on trans-fats in food, and measures to reduce or eliminate the sale of soft drinks in public schools through bans and increased taxes.

One cannot help but be struck by these modern scientific analogues to the food labels of Kosher certification agencies or hekhsherim, and their designations of "meat" or "dairy (D)" or "pareve" and the parallels between the institutions of the mashgihim (Kosher food supervisors) and Food Inspectors of the U.S. Food and Drug Administration (FDA) and Department of Agriculture (USDA), as well as local municipal Health Department restaurant inspectors. Both sets of institutions are intended to ensure high levels of food purity and accurate disclosure of food contents, handling and preparation. Many other similar examples exist. While the health benefits of the primary covenantal sign of Jews, the berit milah or (male) circumcision, have been debated in Europe and the United States for over a century, two recent large randomized clinical trials conducted in Africa have demonstrated the effectiveness of male circumcision on reduction of HIV transmission to such a degree that thousands of African men have undergone voluntary adult circumcision (and mohelim, or ritual circumcisers, from Israel and elsewhere are in great demand now both to provide circumcisions and to train local community circumcisers in Africa).

Reason Beyond Reason

So how we can draw upon two sets of behavioral recommendations, one faith-based and one evidence-based, from the foregoing discussion, and bring together evidence-based medicine and ethical behavior? An important parallel exists between epidemiology and Torah in behavioral recommendations that take the form of behaviors to engage in and behaviors to avoid. In a sense, behavioral risk factors (and protective factors) can be seen to correspond to mitzvoth aseh ("positive commandments" to perform specific acts) and mitzvoth lo ta'aseh ("negative commandments" to abstain from certain acts), and reduced further to mishpatim ("judgments"), which have a rational (and potentially an epidemiologic) explanation and hukim ("decrees"), which transcend apparent reason, and include commandments about justice toward others and to the environment.

We have a mandate to "heal the world." Whether it is for reasons of enlightened self-interest, or for truly eleemosynary purposes, Kayin should have answered God's question differently: vayomer Kayin ‘keyn' (and Kayin said "yes"), as did Yosef. So our vision for effective public health and environmental leadership must combine the responsibility of Kayin to be an oved adama (a servant of the land), with the wisdom and compassion of Yosef, through whose command all people were nourished. Daniel demonstrated the health benefits of food and beverage, and provides epidemiologic methods as a valid tool to combine evidence and faith. However, it was Yosef who is the model public-health leader, who set aside his own self-interest, and took care of his brothers, their families, his (adopted) country and the whole world, also serving as an oved adama, perhaps in a more generalized sense, as a servant of man and a servant of the land. So in the face of this current debate over the transformation of the U.S. health-care system, we must answer God's question as Yosef did and as Kayin should have. Health care and a clean environment must be a right for all people in order for us to heal the world. We do have the means and resources to provide both a high standard of health care and a clean environment for all. But do we have the will do so?

One Shabbat, on which we read parashat toledot, I heard a talk-and was duly educated. "Don't be misled"-the speaker warned-"by your English translations that render the Hebrew word beMirmah (Genesis 27:35) as ‘guile' or ‘deceit.' Instead, to correctly convey the meaning of beMirmah one must paraphrase it as ‘not entirely in sync with halakha.'" He went on to explain that the Torah's words expressing disapproval or vilification, such as sheker, ra‘, resha‘, ‘avel, and so forth were basically synonymous-all denoting greater or lesser degrees of non-conformity to halakha. Conversely, the Torah's approbatory epithets-emet, tov, tsedek, and their like-denoted conformity; and were on no account to be confused with such non-halakhic notions as truth, goodness, and righteousness. He wrapped up with a general admonition to the effect that we must beware of projecting alien, subjective values onto Torah whose sole value is obedience to halakha.

At the time, and for many moons thereafter, I puzzled over that d'var torah. Because if biblical tov refers to halakhic adherence, how to understand its occurrence in Genesis 1:4 that says "God saw that the light was tov"? And as for its antonym ra‘, what to do about its verbal form leRa‘ot (Exodus 23:2)-especially as understood by the Oral Torah (Sanhedrin 2a and Rashi ad loc.)? Similarly with emet; how should we construe its meaning in, say, Deuteronomy 13:15 or 17:4-or for that matter sheker's meaning at Deuteronomy19:18?

To be sure, here and there solutions to some of these perplexities would turn up. A book entitled Melakhim Omenayikh (Bene Beraq 1992) dropped a hint as to how tov's use in regard to light (and to other of God's creations, as in Genesis 1:10, 31) might connote conformity to halakha:

Perhaps, since as the Zohar teaches, God looked into the Torah and created the world it follows that the world was made to conform to Torah-not vice versa. Thus, it is not because people need food that birkat haMazon [grace after meals] was given; on the contrary, because one of the commandments is birkat haMazon therefore humans were created with a need to eat. Similarly, once it was said "A mother for the first thirty days after giving birth shall have her needs attended to by non-Jews" (Shabbat 129a)-the world being subservient to Torah-it became inevitable that non-Jews should be present in Jewish homes to tend mothers, their babes and other sick Jews.

Accordingly, the light will have been deemed tov inasmuch as it corresponded to its Torah blueprint. As to the Torah's commandment that courts of law seek diligently after emet, more than one disciple of the "obedience only" persuasion offered enlightenment. You see, they urged, you misunderstand the text because you approach it with prejudices such as the assumption that cross-examination of witnesses is merely a means to the end of getting at the facts of a case. That's erroneous; the Talmud categorically affirms the arbitrariness of the ‘ed zomem law (Deuteronomy19:16-19) in its famous dictum "‘Ed zomem [law] is an anomaly [hiddush]; for why otherwise do we [mechanically] rely on the second pair of witnesses and dismiss the first?" (Sanhedrin 27a). Surely that dictum proves that the halakhot of testimony, like all other halakhot, are to be followed to the letter without teleological considerations. Thus emet used by the Torah in connection with testimony, far from refuting the "halakhic-conformity" thesis, ratifies it-once you shed your biases and accept the inscrutability of the Torah's testimony laws as indicated at Sanhedrin 27a and confirmed by Rashi who defines hiddush as gezerat haKatub. This latter argument is of course specious. For in singling out ‘ed zomem as anomalous (hiddush), the dictum makes ‘ed zomem the exception that proves the rule. Yet whether sound or specious, one has to marvel at such special pleading whose only perceivable purpose is the elimination of concepts such as truth and falsehood from the Torah.
Some good folks suggested that these seemingly tortuous arguments should be viewed as mutations of the "jural" theory of moral law; or, alternatively, of Divine Command Theory. Hastings' entry on the ancient debate between the teleological and jural schools was duly consulted:

[The teleological] was characteristic of Greek theories; the latter became dominant in Christian times. Their essential difference is this... [U]nder the teleological conception moral law is looked upon as a matter of self-expression ... and its laws are regarded as rules for the attainment of a good which every man [i.e. person] naturally seeks. In the jural system, on the other hand, it is not the natural value of an act that renders it moral, but its value as commanded by the law. It is not commanded because it is good, but it is good because commanded ... In the theological systems moral law is regarded as a rule of conduct which has its ground in the nature or will of God and not in the nature of man or in the consequences involved in obedience or disobedience to the law. The rule may be for the good of man, but it is for his good because it is the divine will, and not the divine will because it is for his good. (Encyclopoedia of Religion and Ethics, vol. 8 p. 833f.)

Obviously the jural shares with the anti-emet position its basic repudiation of the idea of right conduct being autonomously knowable. But beyond that point of convergence the two go their own sweet ways. For instance, the jural-even its theological version-does not preclude the possibility of a divine command recognizing human nature and working with it. Thus it would be quite feasible for a religious ‘juralist' to imagine God saying to human beings: "Behold I have created you with a capacity to distinguish life from death, truth from falsehood, good from evil, justice from injustice. Now unless I issue an explicit decree to the contrary, you are always to choose life over death, good over evil" and so on. On receiving such a divine command the religious "juralists" will diligently hone their God-given capabilities for distinguishing right from wrong. The scenario just described is not hypothetical, but rather the traditional Jewish understanding, from Abraham onwards, of what it means to accept Torah. Avraham avinu was so deeply convinced of God's demand for justice that he exclaimed "Will the Judge of all the earth not do justice!" Yet when equally convinced that the same God had told him explicitly, unequivocally and directly (not via another agent) to go and perform the out-of-character and seemingly unjust akeidah-he obeyed. In other words, there is no conflict in an Abrahamic-type faith between the belief in God's revealed "passion" for righteousness (see, for example, Deuteronomy16:20, Jeremiah 9:23, or Psalms 11:7) and a readiness to reverse course at God's specific and unmediated behest. Because for Judaism, God our Creator is also the Creator of Torah and its morality, all of which He can scrap or modify at will. Nevertheless, the suspension of Torah is not something even the most "jural" of Jews have to watch for on a daily basis. Instead, their focus is directed to making just and life-enhancing choices resignedly and joyously in submission to the divine will as they find it manifest in Torah. Those who would contrive to expunge truth and righteousness from Torah must be driven by something other than a commitment to jural theory.

As for Divine Command Theory (hereafter DCT), like the religious version of jural theory, it has no use for autonomous morality. Robert Merrihew Adams may seem to be pushing it, but is in reality only drawing the logical conclusions of a robust DCT: "Suppose God should ask me to make it my chief end in life to inflict suffering on other human beings, for no other reason than that he commanded it [...] Will it seriously be claimed that in that case it would be wrong for me not to practice cruelty...?" (The Virtue of Faith, 1987 pp. 98-99, quoted by Paul Rooney in Divine Command Morality, 1996, p. 102).

DCT is thought to have been adumbrated by William of Ockham (d. 1347), the earliest known philosopher to explicitly reject an immutable natural law on the grounds of its incompatibility with revelation. This is how Frederick Copleston summarizes Ockham:

A created free will is subject to moral obligation ... [man] is morally obliged to will what God orders him to will and not to will what God orders him not to will ... "Evil is nothing else than to do something when one is under an obligation to do the opposite..." For St. Thomas [Aquinas] ... there are acts which are intrinsically evil and which are forbidden because they are evil; they are not evil simply because they are forbidden. For Ockham, however, the divine will is the ultimate norm of morality: the moral law is founded on the free divine choice rather than ultimately on the divine essence. Moreover, he did not hesitate to draw the logical consequences from this position ... "By the very fact that God wills something, it is right for it to be done ... Hatred of God, stealing, committing adultery, are forbidden by God. But they could be ordered by God; and if they were, they would be meritorious acts." (A History of Philosophy, vol. 3, pp. 103-105)

Rabbi Michael J. Harris's 2003 Divine Command Ethics also deals with Ockham, but Harris' main enterprise is to discover DCT in Jewish sources. The only unambiguous examples he is able to muster come from the writings of Yeshayahu Leibowitz (d. 1994).

Leibowitz repeatedly emphasizes ... that human needs, interests and values have no legitimate place whatsoever in Judaism. Characteristic is the following statement: "Judaism is not a programme for the solution of the problems of humanity but [a programme for] the service of God." And in one of Leibowitz's sharpest formulations: "The essence of religion as service of God is that it conflicts with the needs and nature of man"... [He] frequently stresses that ‘the needs and nature of man' includes human moral needs. The service of God is at odds with human ethical perceptions. (Divine Command Ethics, p. 118)

These quotations encapsulate Leibowitz's definition of the Jewish faith-a definition he concocted dogmatically, making scant appeal to classical Jewish sources. So how, in fact, did he get round those countless sources that others take to be the ethical teachings of Scripture and Talmud? Harris does record that Leibowitz was once asked where "Love your neighbor as yourself" (Leviticus 19:18) fit into his scheme. He quipped that the verse continues "I am the Lord," words that call for nothing more than servile compliance. Too bad he was not pressed on the emet and tsedek Scriptures that lack the phrase "I am the Lord"! In any case, there is no evidence that he invested them with the one-fits-all meaning of "halakhic compatibility."

With Leibowitz we have exhausted all the standard "suspects" at whose door might have been laid the severing of Torah from its moral moorings. Thus all eyes are turned to our last hope: the enigmatic, so-called Analytic System (also Method or Movement; hereafter AM). Originally developed by Rabbi Hayim Soloveitchik of Brisk (or Bresc, d. 1918), it is perpetuated, mutatis mutandis, in several American and Israeli yeshivot. The system's practical ramifications that relate to Talmud study are familiar enough and doubtless less recondite than its "metaphysics." But that too may be glimpsed thanks to the research of a number of scholars. Let us cite two of the most incisive studies. First, R. Norman Solomon's pioneering monograph The Analytic Movement: Hayyim Soloveitchik and his Circle (Atlanta, 1993):

The Analytic Movement is an important key for understanding contemporary Orthodoxy. The reification of halakha points directly to J. D. Soloveitchik's philosophy in which the world of halakha is seen as an a priori realm that confronts the worlds of science and religion. This underlies the absolutization of halakha and its sundering from its roots in social reality... (p. XI)

The basic requirement of this [the Analytic] approach is that the Law be upheld at all costs. If there is a contradiction between law and any other source of knowledge, the other source must yield. Thus we read of [R. Baruch Dov] Leibowitz that "he always said the Torah cannot be understood by the logic of human reason, but by the ways and principles of the Torah; therefore one should adapt one's understanding to the Torah, not the Torah to one's understanding." This is indeed a far cry from the contention of the medieval philosophers that the Divine will was in conformity with reason ... This attitude has recently been referred to by the appropriate name of "Pan-Halakhism"... Pan-Halakhism must be distinguished from the traditional Jewish belief in the comprehensiveness of Torah. It differs in two ways. 1) The Analytic concept of Torah is a far narrower one than that of earlier rabbis, or of the Hassidim. It is law in its most restrictive sense, the "four ells of Halakhah," which constitute Torah for most of the analysts... 2) As we have seen, the traditional belief in the infallibility and comprehensiveness of Torah did not imply mistrust of reason... Analytical Pan-Halakhism, however... is associated with the denigration of unaided human reason and a conviction, or at least a fear, that Reason and Revelation are contradictory. (pp. 227-228)

The second is Be-Torato Yehgeh by the late Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg (ShaGaR), published in 5769 under the editorship of Zohar Maor. Roughly two chapters of the book are devoted to AM. The following excerpts seem signally germane and are therefore reproduced here in English translation.

For the Brisk method of study a healthy human reason is not a prerequisite. Neither is experience in the topic of study nor any particular concept of values. On the contrary, it totally negates any idea of the Torah giving vent to a moral message. Human evaluations of morality are irrelevant to Torah discourse. Taking as his starting point the midrashic-zoharic statement "God looked into the Torah and created the world," R. Hayim of Brisk commented: Behold, the Torah's laws appear to accord with a proper functioning of society. Thus, murder and theft ... that the Torah prohibits are destructive of society and one might assume the reason for this prohibition to be the preservation of society. However, that assumption would be wrong. The opposite is true: only because it is written in the Torah "Thou shalt not kill" did murder turn into a destructive act. (p. 86; cf. Melakhim Omenayikh cited earlier)

In the first place, he [R. Hayim of Brisk] purified halakha of everything external to itself. According to his method, all psychologizing and historicizing must be rejected totally ... halakhic thought travels on its own unique track. Its laws and principles are not psychological-existential but rather ideal and normative like logic and mathematics. (p.118)

The above characterization of halakha agrees entirely with the formalistic Brisk method of learning: it is not our duty to understand but to define because Torah is mind divine [and] super-human. Whoever studies the halakhic lectures (shiurim) of the GRY"D [Gaon R. Yoseph Dov Soloveitchik, grandson and intellectual heir of R. Hayim] discovers that this approach describes also his halakhic discourse. This is what enables the GRY"D to continue with his Brisk method of learning and to ignore in his lectures all talmudic research as well as the historic aspect of halakha. The concept of the halakha as a norm without meaning-being derived from the supreme will and existing as an a priori, ideal entity-means that it is immune to all criticism whether value-based, historical or any other. This [concept of halakha] constitutes Orthodoxy's main line of defence against modern enlightenment and scholarship. (ibid.)

The penultimate sentence of this last quotation is among ShaGaR's most probing, inasmuch as it identifies the system's overarching objective which is to shield halakha-or rather its own model of halakha-from potential criticism "whether value-based, historical or any other." Of course, the greatest threat to the system is posed by Scripture and Talmud's ostensibly moral exhortations-which would explain the compulsion of so many AM apologists to neutralize those exhortations. Just imagine what would happen were Torah understood to have truth in mind when it demands emet; or to have injustice in mind when it proscribes every kind of avel. It would undermine the entire Analytic edifice.

At last the pieces were falling into place. It was indeed due to our preconceptions that the beMirmah homily had dismayed so many of us. Had we grown up on an AM diet, the homily might have seemed, at maximum, caricatural. But, for better or worse, our education left no room for the notion of a Torah ‘beyond good and evil'. We were not taught how to anesthetize scriptures such as Deuteronomy 4:8, let alone instructed so to do. Deuteronomy 4:8 reads "What great nation is there whose statutes and laws are righteous as is all this Torah which I am setting before you today?" The beMirmah homilist and his school, for whom the word righteousness denotes conformity to halakha, would presumably make this verse say, tautologously, that the Torah's laws and statutes are consonant with halakha-or else they would have to face the intolerable prospect of Torah recognizing, or worse still appealing to, righteousness as Rambam believed Deuteronomy 4:8 to be doing (see Guide 3:26).

But to be fair to AM, in its day theories challenging halakha (directly or indirectly) were on the march and had to be met. Even in innocent looking remarks there might lurk a latent threat. Take, for example, a famous passage from Benjamin Cardozo's essay Paradoxes of Legal Science. "When faced with a new situation," he wrote, "it is most tempting to maintain continuity merely by refusing to change the forms or formulas of the law. To think that is continuity is, however, sheer illusion. The similarity is verbal only; it no longer has the same relationship to reality-and cannot have the same function in society" (published in Selected Writings, p. 257). Cardozo obviously treats "the forms or formulas of the law" as subservient to a higher goal. Thus he declares himself a proponent of the teleological theory that allows one to view legal procedures as means to an end. And in the case of law the end is, presumably, the attainment of justice.
Transferred into a Jewish context, what would Cardozo say about a procedure such as migo (to pick a random example)? Would he retire it? Now migo literally means "since"; but in its technical sense denotes the rationale for believing someone who makes a modest claim before the court when a bigger claim could have been made without loss of credibility. The court figures "since" the claimant did not go great guns, chances are he/she is telling the truth. Hence migo is usually understood as a tool available to the courts in their pursuit of justice (for more on migo see Menachem Elon's Jewish Law, Vol. 2 p. 995). The problem arises when the general public learns of the migo. Because once that happens unscrupulous claimants, banking on judges believing a lesser claim, could be tempted to make that claim falsely. Such potential for manipulation must surely render the migo ineffective and therefore questionable for indiscriminate use, as noted by Asher Gulak (see Yesode haMishpat haIvri, Vol. 4, pp. 108-109). Needless to say, an extreme anti-teleological position would not allow considerations of migo's loss of efficacy to enter the picture, because migo is no more a means to an end than testimony itself. And remember, where there is no "end" or telos there is no "means" either; or put Jewishly, everything ordained by halakha is an end in itself. Only those who continue to esteem equity and justice as cornerstones of the Torah Revelation, as did our ancient sages, agonize over the robotic use of tactics such as migo-devised originally to further justice not to hinder it (cf. R. Samuel Uceda's Midrash Shemuel to Avoth 1:1).

But then our sages of old did not disdain lidrosh ta‘ama dikra [to seek out the reason underlying, or implicit in, Scripture]. Admittedly, ta‘ama dikra is associated primarily with the tanna R. Shim‘on, but that is not to say other tannaim negated it. Indeed the Talmud (Sanhedrin 21a) shows R. Yehudah to have applied ta‘ama to the law prohibiting the king to multiply wives. R. Shim‘on merely carries it to greater lengths as demonstrated by R. Mordecai ben Hillel Ha-kohen (d. 1298): "How come Rabbah interprets the Torah's reason for imposing an oath upon the defendant who concedes part of the claim against him (B.Q. 107a) if nobody but R. Shim‘on seeks out the reasons underlying Scripture? The answer is that anything surprising, such as the oath taken on a partial confession, elicits ta‘ama on all sides. Another example may be seen in tractate Sotah (3a), where the reason proposed for a single witness sufficing in the case of sotah is universally adopted; likewise the reason given at Sanhedrin 76b for the omission of the word yad in connection with metal" (Mordecai to B. Q. para. 138. See also Melo ha-Ro‘im by R. Jacob Sebi Jolles, Zolkiew 1838 part 2, folios 9b-10b; Warsaw ed. 1911 [reprint NY 1962] pp. 298-301).

AM, on the other hand, abjures ta‘ama as a dynamic for accessing Torah. Of course, its teleological character must render ta‘ama anathema to any full-fledged DCT. However, Jewish constructs of DCT cannot ignore the Talmud's invocation of ta‘ama. But AM, undaunted, explains away ta‘ama's talmudic presence no less deftly that it does other teleological indicators that rear their menacing heads in our canonical sources. Ta‘ama in the Talmud belongs to the original fabric of Torah itself and, as such, is inimitable and certainly unavailable for use by mere mortals.

The question ‘why' leads to the search for meaning-something that the lamdan [one who applies lomdus, i.e. Lithuanian-stlyle methodology, to sacred texts] avoids like fire. Any attempt to look for meaning is doubly insidious. For one thing, such attempts would eliminate the infinite chasm that exists between Torah and ourselves. (When asked how come the gemara does not hold back from inquiring into ta‘ama dikra, R. Hayim replied that the gemara is itself Torah. But for us such inquiry is entirely precluded.) Secondly, looking for meaning is an attack on halakha's status as a system hermetically sealed against everything extrinsic to it. The dread of infringing on this absoluteness is what impelled R. Hayim to say that it is not for us to solve kushiot [difficulties arising from apparent contradictions within the Talmud etc.] but rather to demonstrate that there are no kushiot to begin with. For there must never be a situation, even momentary, when the Torah's impeccability is in doubt. (Be-Torato Yehgeh, p. 84)

Once on the eve of Succoth a guest returned to his hotel with a large and beautiful etrog. He asked the management for the safest spot to keep it, explaining that an etrog is a delicate fruit and its steeple-like protruberance or style (pittom) even more so. Indeed, so vital is the style, he continued, that were it to get damaged all would be lost. Some conscientious personnel began to worry lest the maintenance or cleaning crew knock it when they go into the etrog owner's room. So they nipped off the pittom from the etrog, wrapped it carefully and locked it away in the safe.

Insofar as it drives a wedge between halakha and the rest of Torah, one has to wonder whether Brisk's well-intentioned and ambitious apologetic has been worth the prodigious cost.