National Scholar Updates

Creating Space between Peshat and Derash

A Collection of Studies on Tanakh

By Hayyim J. Angel

(Ktav Publishing House and Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2011, 229 pages)

This very informative, easy to read book contains twenty essays that introduce readers to the truth about quite a few biblical matters, as well as many facts about Jewish history and famous Bible commentators. Rabbi Hayyim Angel, the author, is a Bible professor at Yeshiva University, the rabbi of the prestigious New York Spanish-Portuguese Synagogue, and the author of three books and over seventy very good articles. He has the ability to raise interesting questions and answer them with fascinating, informative, and thought-provoking information. The word “peshat” in his title means the plain meaning of the biblical text, while “derash” denotes the various sermonic meanings that rabbis derived from the text, frequently to teach moral lessons or highlight rabbinic laws, even if they are not the plain sense of the text. The essays address peshat and derash, along with other subjects.

His first essay, for example, gives a wealth of information about the famous Bible commentator Don Isaac Abarbanel (1437-1508). Some scholars disparage Abarbanel’s work – “On the whole, [Abarbanel’s] commentaries are not of the highest caliber.” Others extol his writings – “both in his methods and in the nature of his commentary [Abarbanel] stands alone and without equal.” Angel explains what prompted the disagreement. He tells Abarbanel’s view on whether the Torah commands Jews to have a monarchy, and why he, who had served as a highly respected court official in a monarchy, opposed this political concept. Angel also divulges Abarbanel’s views on the coming of the messiah after he experienced expulsion from Spain with the rest of the Jews in 1492, and his understanding of prophecy, especially why the Talmud has a different order of the books of the prophets than the currently-used sequence in Jewish Bibles. Angel also addresses the critique of some critics that Abarbanel does not offer original commentaries and Abarbanel’s view on whether biblical figures such as King David did wrong. As a result of his analysis of these and other issues in this essay, readers not only obtain a good insight into the mind of Abarbanel, but the views of other Bible commentators who opposed him and interpreted the Bible differently, and much other information.

In his second essay, as another example, Angel examines the controversial subject of Jews being a chosen people: do all Jews agree on an answer to this question; are non-Jews also chosen; if the Jews were chosen, what were they chosen for; is there a reciprocal agreement requiring something from the Jews; is chosenness guaranteed forever; is it biological; is it a religious or a moral issue; and more. This example shows how Rabbi Angel is capable of exploring a host of issues in depth in a single essay.

Angel also analyzes the legends about Hur, who is mentioned in the Bible for joining Joshua in helping hold up Moses’ hands while the Israelites fought against the people of Amalek who attacked the Israelites marching in the rear, and Pharaoh’s daughter who drew the infant Moses from the sea and named him. He explores why God forbade Moses from entering Canaan with the people he was leading. Did Moses really do something wrong? And, if so, what was it? Is it reasonable to think that he was punished, as some say, because he hit a rock instead of speaking to it? Drawing water from a rock by speaking or hitting are both unnatural. Does this episode illustrate the principle that even the greatest human being is not perfect?

In another essay, he notes that Maimonides (1138-1204) and other traditional interpreters taught that people are permitted to interpret Scripture as they think proper as long as they do not deviate in their behavior from the rules established in the Halakhah, the law. In still another he explores the life of the biblical Ruth as described in the book named after her. He shows how many of the episodes are purposely presented in an ambiguous manner, and he explains how the ambiguity helps readers gain more from the tale.

In summary, these examples show the high caliber of Rabbi Hayyim Angel’s contribution, its depth, wide scope, and interesting questions and ideas.   

The very term “Spirituality” has in recent years acquired negative connotations. In Judaism, it is often associated with an expression of religious fervor devoid of halakhic content or commitment. It conjures up New Age pseudo-religion, unreliable, inconsistent, flaky sentimentality. To borrow a Christian bon mot, “Mysticism,” it is often asserted, “starts in a mist and ends in a schism.” Nevertheless both rationalism and mysticism are equally integral elements in Jewish, indeed all, religious life. It is the relationship between them that I want to explore in this essay.

It is probably true to say we can all distinguish between someone we consider religiously observant (perhaps the correct Hebrew term is “Aduk” or perhaps “Shomer Mitzvot”) and one we consider to be a person “of Spirit,” someone with “Ruhniut.” Some might even want to use this as a way of differentiating the Lithuanian tradition from the Hassidic. Yet that would not be completely fair. And both may be combined in the same person.

On the one hand, we may point to the rigorous, Germanic approach of the late Professor Yeshayahu Leibovitz, who considered religion a matter of duty, a commitment to fulfill obligations, a purely rational phenomenon. And on the other hand, we may consider the late Nazir of Jerusalem who was lost in an ethereal world of “deveikut.” Halakha is clearly defined and empirically verifiable. The test for a witness in a Jewish Court of Law is not theology, but whether one adheres to the laws of Shabbat in public. The personal encounter with God—deveikut—is the essential element in any mystical tradition. Deveikut is not something anyone else can verify. What is its origin?

In the Bible

The biblical narratives distinguish between those personalities who have a reciprocal relationship with God and those who are loyal to the traditions of the tribe and the people but whose engagement with a divine supernatural force is their defining characteristic. Aharon, the functionary, with his emphasis on inter human relations is an example of the first. The second was initiated by Avraham. Moshe is the archetype of a person who encounters God face to face. Only “The Fathers” and Moshe are described as struggling to “know” who and what God was and to feel God’s presence on a personal level.

The Torah itself allows for different paradigms, the priest and the judge (Deut. 18:8 and 19:18) and the prophet and the king (Deut. 18:14,18 and Deut. 17:14) one might also add “the elders” both national (Num. 11:16) and local (Deut. 21:4). All are overshadowed by the unique leadership of Moshe and then certain Judges. After Samuel, the king emerges as the typical leader. In the unique cases of both David and Shelomo can one say that the political and the spiritual were combined. Otherwise it seems throughout the first commonwealth it was the prophet who preserved the mystical tradition. Often he was in conflict with the monarch. The priesthood usually allied itself with the ruling power, what we would call the establishment. Its primary role was to make sure the National Sanctuary ran according to its rules. I cannot think of one example in the Bible of a priest communing or pouring his heart out to God in the way for example that David does. And this is precisely why it is Eliyahu the Prophet and his Chariot of Fire that is seen as the forerunner of the great mystical tradition. It is fire throughout the Bible that is used as the dominant (though not exclusive) symbol of the divine presence. What better metaphor for passion could there be?

 Furthermore the Bible, being a pre-philosophical text, is not concerned with the rational arguments for faith. There is no explicit command to believe. The first of the Ten Commandments is phrased as a given, not as something one needs to find proofs of. Rather it is an assumption of involvement and commitment. Indeed the biblical use of the word emunah, faith, is quite removed from the Aristotelian idea of intellectual belief. It is more a matter of being convinced, firm, secure, like the arms of Moses during the battle at Rephidim against Amalek.

In the Talmud

The Talmud continues this distinction of approaches, most obviously in the persona of Honi HaMa’agel (Mishna Taanit 3:2 and Gemara). His intimate relationship with God is recognized and yet challenged by Shimon Ben Shetah, the leader of the mainstream Pharisaic community. Shimon can recognize the unique contribution of Honi and his ability to go beyond the normal constraints of public religion. And yet he also recognizes the danger of what he sees as “Lese Majesty.” That particular talmudic passage goes on to give examples of the dangers of “wonder rabbis” using mystical powers in ways that normative halakha would not approve, as in the case of R.Yosi Ben Yokeret (Taanit 23b).

The ambiguity is there. One might think that the talmudic opposition to Greek culture and thought would place the whole of the rabbinic world firmly in the non-rational, mystical camp. The highlighting of Elisha Ben Abuya’s apostasy, only hinted at as being because of his following Greek rational thought, might lead one to think that rationalism was simply not a talmudic value. Yet those rabbis who follow in the Honi tradition are not always regarded as being correct. Hanina (Berakhot 17b), who sustains the whole world, is contrasted with the Gabeans, who might not be as mystically advanced but produced no heretics. The hint is clear. Similarly it is precisely the strange exceptions such as Shimon bar Yohai, who is valued for his obvious spiritual greatness, nevertheless is implicitly criticized for going beyond the boundaries of halakha when he puts working men to death for not spending their time in study (Shabbat 33b). It is the very objection to Shimon Bar Yohai’s absolutism that highlights the difference between an exceptional degree of spirituality that is inevitably the realm of a few, as opposed to the normative, if less exciting Judaism of the masses. Still Shimon Bar Yohai, Pinehas Ben Yair, Hanina, and the others are regarded as being exceptional precisely because of their spiritual relationship with God rather than as being in the first rank of scholars. They contrast with such personalities as Shimon Ben Gamliel as a man of authority rather than spirit.

In Medieval Theology

It was the dominance of theology in first millennial Christianity and Islam that exercised such a powerful influence on Jewish thought. The Aristotelian bifurcation between spirit and matter led almost inevitably to the distinction taken for granted until the late nineteenth century. It was precisely against this over emphasis on rationalism that Kabbalah emerged as such a potent force at the very time when mysticism in Christianity began to challenge established norms, and similarly Sufism in Islam. Kabbalah’s creation of the system of sefirot integrated all “parts of the human, from the creative, reproductive sefira of yesod, to the intellectual sefira of hokhma and the intuitive of bina that challenged a rational world view. The human was a holistic reflection of God beyond. Nevertheless the distinction remained deeply rooted as evidenced in the persistence in some circles of the “gartel,” which divided the holier upper body from the more suspect lower regions.

The Ghost in the Machine, Arthur Koestler’s 1967 book, was based on the work of English philosopher Gilbert Ryle. It illustrated the fallacy of how we had all come to think of the mind as good and the body as bad. Since Aristotle, we in the West have seen the intellect as the purest expression of humanity. In the world of ideas that Judaism lived, mind was good, body was bad.

It is possible that Maimonides himself understood the problem of the distinction between the “rationalism” of which he was a devotee, and the “emotion of mysticism” in his subtle distinction between the expression “to believe in,” a process more dependent on intuition and feeling, rather than the more rational “to believe that.” In Sefer HaMitzvot and The Yad, describing the command to believe in God, he uses the words “SheNa’amin sheYesh,” “we should believe that there is,” as opposed to “LeHa’amin Be-” ‘to believe in.’ But when it comes to his Ikkarim, his principles of faith, there is no command to believe that God exists. The usage of belief there, is “in” and the principle is that God is the creator and director of the Universe. Perhaps Maimonides intentionally allowed for a different way of encountering the divine.

Mysticism has always been an antidote to intellectualism. And yet it would be inaccurate to transpose the rational and the mystical in Judaism too rigidly. The greatest of Lithuanian rabbis such as the Vilna Gaon, studied the Zohar and even the Mussar Movement took its main text, The Paths of the Righteous, from a Kabbalist. Perhaps it was no different from the Talmud referring to those who specialized in Aggada as opposed to Talmud (Hagigah 14a). Still, there is a difference because the personality that devotes itself to one is usually very different from the one who gives himself to the other.

In Current Times

And so it seems that the choices of rational or mystical depend more on personal preference than some intrinsic bias within Judaism. The modern quandary stems from the inescapable fact that formal, behavioral religion and its commitment to strict practice of the minutiae of halakha can be arid without the passion that mysticism can bring to it. This explains why a diet of Western religion that emerged with the Enlightenment has left so many people feeling uninspired and alienated. It explains why the mysticism of the orient has found such fertile ground in alienated Jews and Israelis. Jewish mysticism was until recently locked away in a well-guarded world where established rabbis held the keys and made sure only suitable initiates were permitted in.

The reaction to this in our free and open world has been the popular appeal of an ersatz Kabbalah that is hardly distinguishable from self-help panaceas but bears little resemblance to the high degree of devotion, commitment, and religious observance that genuine Kabbalah requires. Judaism, I would argue, in its ideal form requires the holistic combination of all aspects of the human being. It should not be a matter of deciding whether at the Shabbat table one sings zemirot or tells divrei Torah. One should do both. It is just that some people are tone deaf just as others are intellectually challenged.

So if some of us are drawn to one and others to the other, how can one explain the obvious preferences that some of us have? In recent years a lot has been written about the physiological aspects of religion. One of the pioneers in the new field of neurotheology is Andrew Newberg, a physician at the University of Pennsylvania and director of the Center for Spirituality and the Mind. He has published a book, Why We Believe What We Believe: Uncovering Our Biological Need for Meaning, Spirituality, and Truth, written with his colleague Mark Robert Waldman.[1] Carl Zimmer’s research [2] and Dean Hamer’s book [3] have both highlighted the genetic basis for spirituality. Psychology Today has published articles linking spiritual experiences to serotonin. [4] The NPR website has an article on research showing the changes in the brain of those who meditate and pray, as does Wired Science. [5] Of course none of this tells us anything about God. But it does tell us something about ourselves. It does confirm what we see with our own eyes, that some people seem more naturally spiritual and conversely many people who are outwardly religious seem to show little interest in or propensity for spirituality. Clearly there is a need to encounter the divine as much as there is to express other parts of our intellectual and emotional makeup and some human brains seem to have a greater need than others.

The genius of our religion is that it provides for the very wide spectrum of human needs in terms of experience and intellect. The fact that it insists on behavioral detail while leaving the theological requirements loosely defined, enables the range of human minds to find their places within the religious spectrum. Provided one adheres to the common denominator of halakhic behavior, the room for individual spiritual experience is left up to each one of us to either indulge or neglect. Maimonides thought that through neglect we could totally eradicate the soul gene, or the soul element within us (Hilkhot Teshuva 8:5). Mysticism on the other hand regards the souls as eternal, transcendental, indestructible. So long as you and I both keep Shabbat, what we think about our soul is, is subjective.

The sad fact is that in too many parts of the Jewish world such freedom of thought is too rarely accorded.

For centuries, rabbis steeped in Torah and Halacha have served as the gatekeepers of the Jewish people. They have determined which non-Jews may join the Jewish people as converts.

Halachic literature provides a wide array of opinions and attitudes relating to conversion. In recent years, however, the more extreme views espoused by the Haredi rabbinic establishment have gained predominance — and those Orthodox rabbis who do not share these views have been increasingly marginalized.

In 2006, Israel’s chief rabbinate announced that it would no longer accept conversions performed by Orthodox rabbis in the Diaspora, unless these rabbis were on a pre-approved list (i.e., they were deemed sufficiently Haredi in their approach). The mainstream Orthodox rabbinic group in the United States, the Rabbinical Council of America, essentially went along with the dictates of the chief rabbinate. The RCA set up regional rabbinic courts to oversee conversions. The individual Orthodox rabbi — even if a member in good standing of the RCA — generally will not have his conversions accepted by the rabbinate in Israel, unless the convert has gone through the RCA’s conversion bureaucracy.

The result of this shift in authority has been profound. Good, talented and well-intentioned Orthodox rabbis in the Diaspora have been eliminated as recognized gatekeepers to the Jewish people. Power has been concentrated in fewer hands. The more restrictive views on conversion have become universalized, leaving rabbis with little leeway in dealing with candidates for conversion who are not ready to become fully Orthodox Jews. Rabbi Ben-Zion Uziel, who was the first chief Sephardic rabbi of the State of Israel, sought halachically valid ways to bring such individuals into Judaism and the Jewish people. The current rabbinic hierarchy shuts the door on them.

At a time when many thousands of people in Israel and the Diaspora want to become Jewish, the Orthodox rabbinic gatekeepers are becoming ever more restrictive. They adopt new stringencies not required by the Talmud, the Rambam or the Shulchan Aruch. There are women whose conversions have been denied because they wear pants — loose-fitting, modest pants. I know a woman whose conversion was rejected because the rabbinic court did not think her boyfriend was sufficiently Orthodox. A number of would-be converts have been told that they will not be accepted for conversion unless they first move to more religious neighborhoods — even though they currently attend an Orthodox synagogue in the neighborhood where they presently reside. Meanwhile, rabbinic courts in Israel have annulled conversions when converts lapse from a stringent observance of mitzvot.

These restrictive policies are not mandated by Halacha. They reflect a deep xenophobia and a narrow view of Jewish peoplehood. These policies prevent and deter many people from converting to Judaism according to Halacha. They cause unspeakable pain and frustration to numerous individuals who want to cast their destiny with the Jewish people — but who are rejected, humiliated or threatened by the rabbinic bureaucracy.

In recent months, we have witnessed scandal after scandal involving Haredi rabbis. In a particularly notorious case, Rabbi Leib Tropper — who set himself up as the head of an influential Haredi conversion authority, the Eternal Jewish Family — has resigned his position due to allegations of particularly heinous and repulsive behavior, reportedly involving sexual coercion of a prospective convert.

These high-profile scandals should be cause for alarm. But we should also be concerned about the scandal of what is being foisted upon the public as “true Judaism.” At an Eternal Jewish Family conference, Rabbi Nachum Eisenstein stated that Rabbi Yosef Sholom Elyashiv, one of the Haredi world’s leading authorities, holds that any rabbi who believes the world is more than approximately 6,000 years old should not serve on the rabbinic courts that perform conversions. (Elyashiv is not known to have disputed this characterization of his views.) Indeed, the Eternal Jewish Family includes a question on “the Torah view of the age of the universe” in its testing of would-be converts. Knowing that we have perfectly legitimate traditions in Torah Judaism that allow for belief in a universe billions of years old, should we allow the obscurantists to disqualify all rabbis who dare to accept the clear findings of science? Do we want such people as the gatekeepers of Jewish identity?

The Orthodox rabbinate has become narrower and more extreme, exactly at a time when world Jewry is very much in need of responsible, creative, sensitive and inclusive religious leadership. Can the State of Israel afford to have a bureaucracy of rabbinic gatekeepers who seem more interested in keeping people out than in letting them in? Can world Jewry afford to leave halachic conversion in the hands of a rabbinic hierarchy that refuses to draw on the inclusive opinions within Halacha, that insists on creating higher and higher barriers, that values restrictiveness as a sign of religiosity? Can we really trust a Haredi-dominated rabbinic establishment that does not inspire our respect as a model of morality, idealism and intellectual vitality?

The Jewish people needs and deserves an effective and inclusive halachic framework for accepting converts. The current gatekeepers have not served us well, and there is no sign that they will change their ways if left to their own devices. We would do much better by dismantling the current rabbinic bureaucracy and leaving conversion in the hands of local Orthodox rabbis — as had been the practice for centuries. Let each rabbi draw on the halachic sources that best apply to each situation and not have his hands tied by an inflexible and restrictive hierarchy. Let each halachic convert be fully accepted as a Jew in the State of Israel and throughout the Diaspora.

If some in the Haredi world will not accept the Jewishness of such converts, then that is a problem for the Haredim. The Jewish people as a whole should not be held hostage to the extreme views of the rejectionists.

Halachic conversions performed by local Orthodox rabbis will draw many more converts into the Jewish people more efficiently, more compassionately and with more halachic integrity. Every bona fide member of a reputable national or international Orthodox rabbinic body should be empowered to perform conversions. Each rabbinic organization must ensure that its members conduct conversions according to Halacha, with the highest ethical standards, and without financial remuneration.

The Torah describes the people of Israel as a wise people; let us, then, act wisely.

One of the most painful problems facing our community is the "Agunah" issue. An Agunah is a "chained" woman: she is legally married, but her husband has either gone missing, or is unwilling to grant her a divorce ("get") even when the marriage has collapsed. She is put in the untenable situation of being unable to move forward with her life; she cannot marry anyone else, since she is still tied to her missing or recalcitrant husband.

Throughout the generations, our rabbis have worked diligently to relieve the plight of a woman whose husband has disappeared. They operated on the principle: "in the case of an agunah, the rabbis find leniencies"; they were willing to suspend the usual laws of evidence in ascertaining that the missing husband had died. During the years following the Holocaust, for example, rabbis went to great efforts to find ways of permitting female survivors to remarry, on the assumption that their former husbands had indeed been murdered by the Nazis.

In the case of recalcitrant husbands, rabbinic tradition also manifests tremendous concern for the plight of women. It has various provisions that enable the rabbinic courts to punish such men; and in rare cases, rabbinic courts have found legal provisions for annulling the original marriage so that the woman would not need a "get".

In recent times, though, rabbinic courts generally have been reluctant to act forcefully in cases where husbands refuse to grant a "get" to their estranged wives. Such men use the "get" as a means of vindictive punishment of their wives; some use it as a bargaining chip in a divorce settlement, demanding that the wife pay a large sum for the "get" or that she give up property rights or child custody rights. This situation is not only cruel to the women involved, but is a moral stain on the halakhic system itself. Why do the rabbinic courts continue to tolerate such a heinous injustice? Why are husbands allowed to extort money from their wives, with the tacit approval of the rabbinic courts?

Some years ago, I was called by a family in the New York area whose daughter was married to a "hareidi" man in Jerusalem. The man was a terrible husband, beating his wife physically and torturing her emotionally. She finally could not tolerate this situation and she left him; she went to the rabbinic court and asked for a "get" from her husband. The court learned from the husband that he would give the "get" if she agreed to pay him $100,000. Her parents called me in horror: first, they couldn't easily afford the $100,000 blackmail; second, why should an abusive husband be "rewarded" for granting a divorce to which his wife was entitled? I phoned leading rabbis in Israel and gave them details of the case, as well as the specific case number. They consistently answered: why doesn't she just pay the money and be done with it? When I asked how they could tolerate such a bizarre injustice, they simpled replied: that's the way the system works. Let her pay, and she'll have her "get".

In another case that came to me, a prominent Israeli rabbi advised a husband not to grant a "get" to his wife unless she agreed to give him custody of the children. I told the man that he could not use a "get" as a bargaining tool, but was obligated to give the "get" without preconditions. The marriage was over. The couple would have to settle its custody and property disputes in court--but these disputes had nothing to do with the "get". The man hesitated: after all, his rabbi in Israel told him not to give the "get" until he won the terms he wanted in the divorce settlement. Fortunately, he agreed to listen to me, and did give the "get" in a timely manner, with no strings attached.

There are, unfortunately, numerous horror stories where husbands have maliciously and immorally used the "get" as a weapon against their wives. These cases have dragged on for years, causing immeasurable grief to the women involved, as well as to their families. The problem is: why does the rabbinic court system allow such a corrupt situation to continue? Why haven't means been found to protect women from this cruel victimization? Why has the "system" essentially turned a blind eye to blackmail and extortion?

To be sure, many of the "Agunah" cases are solved by individual rabbis, without public notice or fanfare. Moreover, the Rabbinical Council of America developed a pre-nuptial agreement that diminishes the likelihood of "Agunah" situations arising in the future. There are activist groups that speak out on behalf of Agunot and try to foster change in the current rabbinic court system.

Yet, there needs to be systemic change in the rabbinic court system. Halakha must not be hijacked, nor lose its moral stature. Why aren't the obvious problems relating to the "Agunah" issue being addressed? Here are some typical responses/alibis presented by the rabbinic establishment: 1) we are doing everything possible to help, but we must work within the halakhic framework. (Fact: no, they are not doing everything possible to help. The halakhic framework itself has far greater latitude in dealing with the issue than most rabbinic courts are willing to entertain. Also, much can be done by teaching young men in yeshivot about proper marriage and divorce ethics; and by creating a strong environment of public censure for recalcitrant husbands.) 2) we cannot solve this problem individually, but need the consensus of the "gedolim", the great sages of our generation. (Fact: if we wait for consensus of the "gedolim", we'll be waiting a long time; we've already been waiting a great many years, with no solution in sight. Moreover, why don't the "gedolim" themselves meet, lock themselves in a room, and not emerge until they have some workable solutions? If they wanted to address this issue, they could do so.) 3) we can't introduce procedures that earlier generations of sages did not introduce; we are not more learned or more compassionate than they were? (Fact: we can introduce new procedures, especially if it can be demonstrated that our situation today is different from that which prevailed in earlier generations. Rabbis of previous eras introduced ordinances and practices, and did not shirk responsibility by saying that they were not as great as the rabbis of earlier times.)

In reality, rabbinic courts are afraid to "innovate" because they fear the censure of other rabbinic courts. They don't want to allow procedures that will not be "universally recognized". This is a code phrase; it means: we aren't going to take chances and endanger our reputations among the more right-wing rabbinical leaders.

Here are two ways to address the "Agunah" issue in a constructive manner.

1) The Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals has been devoting much time, effort and money to establish a new Orthodox rabbinical group, known as the Rabbinic Fellowship. We had an initial conference in October, convened by Rabbi Avi Weiss and me, to launch this project. Rabbis from throughout North America attended. We are scheduling another, larger conference at the end of April. Our goal is to establish a credible Orthodox rabbinical group, with members throughout the world, to foster an intellectually vibrant, compassionate, open and inclusive Orthodox Judaism. We hope to establish an independent, international beth din that will address such issues as the "Agunah" problem, and conversion to Judaism. We are working with like-minded colleagues here and in Israel. This is a hugely important undertaking that can have a significant impact in shaping the future of Orthodoxy. It is also a hugely expensive undertaking. We welcome your support of the Rabbinic Fellowship. Contributions can be made on the Institute's website, or by mailing checks to the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, 8 West 70th Street, New York, NY 10023.

Your support is needed and important.

2) The Center for Women's Justice, in Israel, is doing remarkable work to advance the cause of Agunot. It not only engages in important public education work, but fights for women's rights through the Israeli court system. It has achieved important victories, and is a growing force in confronting the inadequacies and injustices of the rabbinic court system. The following material describes the Center's work, and provides a link so that you can learn more about the Center and become a supporter and advocate.

CWJ

"...And I will betroth you to Me with righteousness, with justice, with kindness and with mercy." (Hosea: 2:21)

The Center for Women's Justice (CWJ) is an Israeli non-profit organization dedicated to upholding a woman's right to just treatment in the rabbinic courts.

By filing strategic law suits, working creatively within Jewish law, and writing in the Israeli press, CWJ leads the quest for comprehensive solutions to the complex religious dilemmas facing Jewish women world-wide: the agunah, get refusal, the mamzer, conversion.

Our vision holds forth the possibility of reconciling our religious tradition with democratic principles. At CWJ, we think that tikkun olam is a communal imperative. Our strategy is to engage the entire public in our discourse of social change.

Strategic Litigation

The focal point of CWJ's activity is in the courtroom.

We choose our clients carefully, with an eye for cases that have the potential to set precedents that will have a broad impact on Israeli society. For example, we have sued: recalcitrant husbands for damages for get refusal; the justice department for damages for the rabbinic courts' negligent handling of divorce cases; ex-husbands who use the get to force their wives to sign unfair divorce agreements; the state to repeal discriminatory work tenders issued by the rabbinic court; the rabbinic courts for violating rules of natural law (tzedek ha'tivi); the rabbinic court to revoke their decision to repeal a conversion; the rabbinic court to revoke their decision to declare a person a mamzer.

Influencing Public Policy

CWJ seeks to guide public policy to require the full disclosure of marital assets; void divorce agreements signed under pressure of the get; and invalidate limitations made to child support payments.

Public Awareness

CWJ believes that public awareness is significant in facilitating change. Each of the members of our small staff (three lawyers and a rabbinic pleader) speaks in community and academic forums and writes in the print and electronic media.

Rabbinic pleader Rivkah Lubitch writes a weekly column for the website of a leading Israeli newspaper (Ynet) (in Hebrew) in which she often describes the injustices suffered by Jewish women in the rabbinic courts. Her column is read by 30,000 readers a week.

Campaigns

CWJ conducts periodic symposia, conferences, campaigns, and projects to educate both the professional and lay audience to our ideas and solutions.

This year we have embarked on a campaign to encourage the signing of a "Contract for a Just and Fair Marriage." The Contract is a prenuptial agreement that will enable our children to marry both in accordance with the laws of Moses and Israel, as well as in accordance with modern notions of marital partnership. In addition to alleviating the problem of get extortion (the mesurevet get), the Contract's provide a solution for the problem of the husband who is absent or incapacitated and cannot give a get (the agunah). We seek the support of the public and our religious leaders for this contract.

Recent Highlights

In September 2007, CWJ sued on behalf of Rachel Abraham for damages in the amount of 4.5 million (well over one million US dollars). Rachel had spent 18 years in Israel's rabbinic courts trying to get a divorce from her husband. Read about it in the Jerusalem Post (Dan Izenburg, October 29, 2007

In December 2007, La'Isha, an Israeli women's magazine, featured Susan Weiss (CWJ's founder and executive director) and CWJ for their contribution to Israeli society (in Hebrew).

Our Board: Our board includes men and women, academics, rabbis, and lay-people who take an active role in supporting our work.

Perspectives on the work of CWJ:

The Center for Women's Justice is addressing sensitive and important issues of religion and state in Israel with creativity and integrity.

Dr. Neta Ziv, attorney

Lecturer, Tel Aviv University Law School

and director of legal clinics

Terrible injury is done to women whose religious divorces are delayed or denied, and to women who suffer extortion by their husbands in the name of Jewish law. This is a severe blow to the Torah and its just ways. Attorney Susan Weiss' establishment of the Center for Women's Justice offers a ray of light and hope to these women.

CWJ Board Member Rabbi Dr. Ariel Picard

The Center for Advanced Studies

The Shalom Hartman Institute

Jerusalem

We welcome you to support our work: you can play a role:

for more information: www.cwj.org.il

or contact us: [email protected]

Gifts to CWJ may be made through the offices of the PEF Israel Endowment Fund and the New Israel Fund, and are tax-deductible to the full extent permitted by U.S. law.

The Nazi menace decimated European Jewry, and its tentacles of hatred and violence reached even to North Africa and the Middle East. Jews of all backgrounds were victimized, and many stories about murdered family members remain as the heritage of Jews throughout the world. In our family-whose roots were in the Sephardic community of the Island of Rhodes-we also have a story.

My grandfather, Bohor Yehuda Angel, left the Island of Rhodes in 1908 to settle in Seattle, Washington. He and his older son, Moshe, worked tirelessly to save enough money to bring the rest of the family to Seattle-my grandmother, Bulissa Esther Angel, and the children Ralph, Victoria, Luna, Abner, Joseph and Rahamim.

During the early 20th century, the Jewish community of Rhodes numbered about 5000 souls. They formed a classic Judeo-Spanish Sephardic enclave, with an impressive cadre of rabbinic scholars, business people and intellectuals. The masses of Sephardim, though, were poor, and many began to consider leaving Rhodes to improve their lots. The favored destination was the United States, with others also leaving for Rhodesia and the Congo, Europe and the land of Israel.

It took three years for my grandfather and uncle to save enough money to bring the rest of the family to Seattle. In 1911, my grandmother bravely set sail with her children, eager to be re-united with her husband and elder son. When their ship arrived in New York harbor, they were confronted by United States immigration officials. It turned out that Joseph, aged about eight years old, had a scalp infection known as tinias. The immigration officials told my grandmother that they would not admit Joseph into the U.S. My grandmother pleaded with the officials-but to no avail. What was she to do? It had taken three years of hard work for my grandfather to earn enough to bring the family to Seattle. If she returned to Rhodes now, how many more years would be needed to arrange for new tickets? But how could she bear sending little Joseph back to Rhodes by himself? As it happened, another Jew from Rhodes was not admitted into the United States. He volunteered to bring Joseph back to Rhodes to live with relatives until such time as he could be brought to Seattle to join the rest of his family. My grandmother had no real choice: she agreed to send Joseph back to Rhodes. She looked forward to the day when Joseph would be brought to Seattle.

Joseph never did make it to Seattle. He grew up in Rhodes. He was married in the late 1920s to Sinyoru Angel (not related), and they had four children. A son and daughter were named Yehuda Leon and Bulissa, after Joseph's parents; the other son and daughter were named Jacob and Sara, after Sinyoru's parents. My father, Victor Angel, who was born in Seattle, never met his brother Joseph and family.

The Jews of Rhodes had lived under the rule of the Ottoman Empire from 1522 until 1912, when Italian forces occupied the island. Italy officially took control of Rhodes in 1923, with the Treaty of Lausanne. When Italy aligned with Germany in June 1936, the Jewish community of Rhodes began to feel the bitter stings of government-sponsored anti-Semitism. The highly regarded Rabbinical College of Rhodes was forced to close. Jews were required to keep their stores open on Saturdays and Jewish holidays. In September 1938, anti-Jewish laws were announced: ritual slaughter of animals was prohibited; Jews could not buy property, employ non-Jewish servants, send their children to government schools. Non-Jews were not allowed to patronize Jewish doctors or pharmacists. Jews who had settled in Rhodes after 1919 were ordered to leave the island.

By September 1939, the Jewish community of Rhodes had shrunk to less than 2000 people. Those who remained faced ongoing discriminatory laws. Uncle Joseph and family must have suffered, and must have worried very much about their future. The anguish only grew with each passing year. In early 1944, Uncle Joseph died-we don't know the cause, although we can surmise that fear and anxiety played their roles in his early death. In August 1944, German troops took control of Rhodes. In short order, the historic Jewish community of Rhodes came to a tragic end. Almost all the Jews were deported to Auschwitz, and only about 150 survived. Among the victims were my Aunt Sinyoru and my cousins Yehudah Leon, Jacob, Bulissa and Sara-people I would never meet, but whose memory would never leave me.

Little Joseph had been turned away from the Unites States by an immigration official. That official did not realize that his action ultimately was a death sentence to the family of Joseph. Had Joseph been allowed to go to Seattle, he-like the rest of his siblings-would have lived. Life hangs by a thread. Perhaps a kinder official would have had pity on my grandmother and her children, and perhaps this story would have had a happier ending.

In 1939, the Jews of Rhodes were oppressed by anti-Semitic rulers: but few imagined that the Nazi deportations and concentration camps would actually include them. This situation prevailed in other Sephardic communities as well.

Mr. Isaac Gerson, now aged 96, was a merchant in Salonika in 1939. Salonika was one of the crown jewels of the Sephardic world, a bastion of Judeo-Spanish civilization. Mr. Gerson recalls that in 1939 the Jews were confused; they heard rumors about Nazi Germany, but could not actually believe that the "civilized" Germans could become vile murderers. Few Jews fled Salonika. Jewish leaders did not foresee the coming disaster, and did not encourage flight or active resistance on the part of the Jews. The approximately 50,000 Jews of Salonika began to recognize the gravity of their situation in April 1941, when the Germans occupied Greece. In March 1943, the Nazis deported the Jews to concentration camps-with very few coming out alive.

In 1939, Thea Gomes de Mesquita was a little girl growing up in the famed Sephardic community of Amsterdam. She had no premonition of danger. The family attended synagogue as usual; she attended the Talmud Torah as usual. Yet, the adults of the community must have sensed trouble. German Jews, fleeing the Nazis, sought safety in Amsterdam. They told their stories of woe to the local Dutch Jews. In 1939, though, the stories did not seem immediately threatening to the Jews of Amsterdam. With the German invasion in 1941, everything was suddenly to change for the worse. Anti-Jewish restrictions went into effect. In 1942, Jews were deported to concentration camps. Thea de Mesquita's family went into hiding, going from place to place, and ultimately survived the war. Yet, the vast majority of Amsterdam's Sephardim-along with the rest of Dutch Jewry-were ruthlessly murdered by the Nazis and their accomplices.

When Mussolini came to power in 1922, Silvano Arieti was a fourth grade pupil in a non-Jewish school in Pisa, Italy. The little Jewish boy-along with his teacher and classmates-were swept up with enthusiasm for their new leader who would bring Italy to new glory. Arieti even wrote a poem in honor of Mussolini. As he grew older, he came to learn that Mussolini was the personification of fascism, a tyrant and a war-monger. A fascist slogan was: The Duce is always right. In 1938 Mussolini, to strengthen Italy's alliance with Germany, declared that Italy would adopt anti-Jewish laws. Arieti, seeing the writing on the wall, fled Italy for the United States, and went on to become a world-renowned psychiatrist and author. Of the approximately 50,000 Jews in Italy, 8,000 Jews lost their lives to the Holocaust. That most Italian Jews survived the war is attributed to the generally good relations that existed between the Jews and Christians in Italy, even during the war years.

In 1939, Jewish communities in French North Africa-Algeria, Morocco and Tunisia-began to feel the claws of Nazism. The Jews in Italian Libya likewise came under anti-Jewish legislation. Thousands of North African Jews were among those innocent victims who were murdered during the Holocaust period.
The Jews of Turkey and Bulgaria, though living in a state of anxiety and fear, were essentially spared deportation and murder. To the extent possible, they maintained their historic communities according to the traditions of the Judeo-Spanish Sephardim.

In 1939, Sephardic communities in Europe were living in the shadow of death, although few realized it at the time. Sephardic communities in the Middle East and North Africa-though less endangered than their European co-religionists-did not escape the brutalities of Nazism.
In 1939, Rabbi Benzion Uziel became the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of the land of Israel. He struggled mightily to save as many Jews as possible by arranging for them to come to Palestine. The Grand Mufti of Palestine was a vicious anti-Semite, and strove to stir up anti-Jewish sentiment among the Arabs. The British sharply limited the number of Jews who could enter the land of Israel legally.

In 1939 Jews throughout the world began to understand that their lives meant very little to the nations of the world, and that they could depend on few people to help them. The blind hatred aimed against them would lead to the deaths of millions of individuals, and the destruction of countless communities.
After the war, Rabbi Uziel was asked how Jews should memorialize those who died in the Holocaust. His answer was powerful: we must defy the Nazis and their collaborators who attempted to destroy Jews and Jewish civilization. We can best memorialize the Jewish victims by building synagogues and Torah academies named after the Jewish communities that were wiped out. We will create new, vital Jewish life. We will raise new generations of pious, learned and dedicated Jews. We will grow and flourish, and will never forget those Jews who lost their lives in the Holocaust. The Jewish people will live, and the souls of the departed will live on through the new Jewish generations.

Uncle Joseph and family would be pleased to know that they are remembered, that they have relatives who cherish their memory and who live according to the teachings and ideals of Judaism. Am yisrael hai. Od avinu hai: the people of Israel lives, our God lives.

"The heresy of one age becomes
the orthodoxy of the next."

-Helen
Keller, from an essay entitled "Optimism," 1903

Although Helen Keller was blind, she possessed great
insight. Her pithy statement, "the
heresy

[1]

of
one age becomes the orthodoxy of the next," rings as true today as when
first uttered, and aptly describes the story of the "Carlebach
Minyan," a neo-Hasidic Kabbalat
Shabbat prayer service that has spread throughout Modern Orthodoxy and
beyond to Conservative, Reconstructionist, Reform and Ultra-Orthodox synagogues.

During the 1960s, 1970s, and early 1980s, the Carlebach Shul
(on the upper West Side of Manhattan) and its unconventional Minyan charted a
new path, deviating from the practice of Modern Orthodox synagogues. Yet in the span of just one generation, the Carlebach
Minyan has become part of the accepted "orthodoxy" of the Modern
Orthodox synagogue, its "heretical" status a faded memory of the
past. This article examines the halakhic
issues raised by the Carlebach Minyan, challenging its adherents to explore new
vistas of spirituality and move beyond mimetic repetition of Carlebach's
singing and dance.

Three decades ago, an eclectic group of Jews coalesced at
the Carlebach Shul dressed in a wild array of attire. They danced in a circle, stamped their feet,
and sang wordless syllables over and over to the niggunim of Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach.
At the same hour and a short walk away, the rabbis and officers of
Manhattan's leading Modern Orthodox synagogues, Shearith Israel, The Jewish
Center, and Kehilat Jeshurun, adorned themselves with top hats and listened to
a traditional hazzan lead the
prayers. Just ten blocks south of the
Carlebach Shul, the members of Lincoln Square Synagogue, sported suits, ties,
and knitted kippot singing along to a
ba'al tefilla who embraced
traditional nusach and inserted
occasional melodies from the latest Israeli song festival. During the 1960s and 1970s, the thought that
formal synagogues with traditional cantors would one day host their own
Carlebach Minyan would likely have caused more than one top hat to tumble off a
head convulsed in laughter.

The man responsible for this neo-Hasidic incursion into
Modern Orthodoxy is less well-known than his music. Jews throughout the world sing the melodies
of Am Yisrael Chai, Borecheinu Avinu, and Adir Hu unaware of the unique life path
traveled by a musically-illiterate rabbi whose songs increasingly replace
traditional nusach.

Shlomo Carlebach descended from one of the oldest Orthodox
rabbinical dynasties in pre-Holocaust Germany. Born in Berlin
in 1925, Carlebach fled the Nazis in 1931 with his family, to Austria
and then Switzerland. When his family moved to New
York City, Carlebach remained in Lithuania
to study in yeshiva. He joined them in
1939, where his father served as the rabbi of a small synagogue on the Upper
West Side of Manhattan,
Congregation Kehilath Jacob.

Carlebach studied in the Orthodox rabbinical seminaries of
Yeshiva Torah Vodaas, Yeshiva Rabbi Chaim Berlin,
and Bais Medrash Gevoha of Lakewood,
under the tutelage of world-class scholars.
He later became a devoted hasid
of Rabbi Yosef Yitzchok Schneersohn, the sixth Rebbe of Chabad-Lubavitch. From 1951 through 1954, Carlebach worked as
one of the first outreach shelihim of
Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneersohn, the seventh Lubavitcher Rebbe.

Throughout his years in yeshiva, Carlebach was recognized
for his innate musical talent. He served
as hazzan, leading services. Carlebach began writing songs at the end of
the 1950s, setting verses from Tanakh to his own music. Although he became one of the most prolific
modern composers of Jewish liturgical music, Carlebach could not read musical
notes.

During the 1960s, Carlebach made the short trip from Manhattan's
Upper West Side, a traditional community of many
Orthodox Jews, downtown to Greenwich Village, a hot spot
for non-conformists and anti-establishment youth. Performing at folk clubs like the Village
Gate, Carlebach met and was influenced by Bob Dylan and other famous folk
singers.

In 1966, Carlebach performed at the Berkeley Folk
Festival. He decided to remain on the
West Coast, reaching out to those he called "lost Jewish souls"—
drug-addicted and disaffected youth. He
created a special center known as the House of Love and Prayer, which featured
song and communal gatherings. When their
father died in 1967, Carlebach and his twin brother assumed responsibility for
the rabbinate of the family synagogue.
Using his spiritual, folk music, Carlebach dedicated the remainder of
his life to inspire Jews of all different types around the world.

Four years after Carlebach's death in 1994, Lilith Magazine,
a Jewish feminist periodical, published detailed allegations of sexual
impropriety against him. The accusations
kicked off a fire-storm of controversy with no real resolution. Because the article was published after his
death, Carlebach had no way to address or refute these allegations.

Drawing from a life influenced by both insular Lithuanian yeshivot and the Free Love movement of
the Folk Music era, by both Torah luminaries and folk music icons, Shlomo
Carlebach embraced the values of spiritual spontaneity and self-expression to
tap into the inner recesses of the soul.
He prayed with a different nusach
influenced by secular folk artists, vigorous dancing and clapping, repetition
of syllables to his niggunim, long
periods of time spent in a service, and a predominance of music over the
content of the words.

The following questions explore halakhic issues related to the
Carlebach Minyan:

1) Should we associate the name of Rabbi Carlebach with
these types of prayer services as a tribute to his contribution to Jewish
prayer, or choose another name to avoid an association between an accused
sexual abuser and prayer?

2) Is it permissible to modify the liturgical music of a
community or synagogue?

3) If permissible, may we draw inspiration from non-Jewish
sources? And if so, from which ones?

4) Is it permissible to lengthen the time of prayer
services? And if so, by how much?

5)May music dominate the words of the tefillot, allowing
distortion and repetition?

Finally, curiosity inspires an additional question. Today's Carlebach Minyan has won wide-spread
acceptance in the Modern Orthodox world and beyond. As is common with "orthodox"
practices, many worshippers at today's Carlebach Minyan faithfully repeat the
same dance steps, sing the same niggunim,
and clap the same rhythms in the exact manner and in the same places of the prayers. Carlebach's spontaneity and self-expression
of inner recesses have become truly "orthodox," succumbing to
imitative, rote practice, albeit one which brings comfort and inspiration to
its participants. Were Shlomo Carlebach
to attend one of today's services bearing his name, would he join in or would
he move on to establish new spiritual "heresies"?

Question 1

Should we associate the name of Rabbi Carlebach with these types of
prayer services?

The Torah adjures us to avoid causing pain through
speech. In Vayikra 25:17 we read, "a person shall not oppress his
neighbor and you shall fear your God, because I am the Lord, your
God." In Bava Metzia 58b, Hazal expand the concept of oppression
beyond taking advantage of someone financially to include harmful speech. We may not remind the repentant individual
and the children of converts about past deeds.
We may not tell a convert who comes to learn Torah, "the mouth that
ate forbidden foods comes to learn."
We may not speak to a sick person, a person who has suffered, or one who
has lost a child in the same way Job's friends spoke to him, saying "Is
not your piety your confidence, your integrity your hope? Think now, what innocent man ever
perished?"

[2]

One may not inquire about the price of
an object if he does not intend to purchase it.
When a person asks about where to obtain an object, it is prohibited to
refer him or her to a person he knows has not sold the item before.

In a separate case, the Talmud prohibits the use of a
derogatory nickname, even though the person regularly answers to it.

[3]

Rashi explains that the name calling itself
does not harm; the Rabbis do not allow use of the name calling if the intent of
the speaker is to insult the individual.
Tur and R. Yosef Karo in the Shulhan Arukh, Hoshen Mishpat, 228:5, adopt this explanation and prohibit calling
one by a derogatory nickname.

A Jew violates the prohibition of harmful speech even
without malicious intent. In the cases
involving the repentant, the children of converts, the convert, the one who has
suffered, one who inquires about the price of an object without intent to buy,
or the person in quest of an object, the statements could be made without
malicious intent. Reminding the
repentant or children of converts of earlier deeds may be done to encourage
continued religious growth. According to
Ramban, Job's friends offered
support, telling him that he had nothing to fear because of his piety,
integrity, and innocence.

[4]

A person may not intend to buy now while
looking, but may change his mind after inquiring. Referring someone to a person who has not
previously sold an object can be done with a positive purpose if the one making
the statement thinks he may sell the item in the future or may know of another
seller. It is only in the case of the
derogatory nickname that the Talmud requires negative intent to violate the
prohibition of harmful speech, because the person who is the object of the
nickname is accustomed to hearing an unflattering appellation. The halakha
offers two insights: 1) speech is
prohibited if the listener could interpret it as insulting even when the
speaker lacks harmful intent, and 2) an act of intentionally harmful speech is
prohibited even if the individual will not be insulted.

Rav Yosef Karo incorporates the Talmud's insight about the
potential harm of oppressive speech. It
is a sin worse than taking advantage of someone's money. The latter can be returned; there is no just
recompense for harmful words. Financial
oppression affects a person's money; oppressive speech harms the individual
directly.

[5]

If we must protect the repentant, the children of converts,
converts, those who have suffered, sellers, and even purchasers from innocent
comments that may cause harm, we must extend the same concern to members of our
own prayer communities. By using
Carlebach's name, we reopen wounds for those claiming to be victims and all
other victims of sexual abuse, even without intent to do so. When they see Carlebach's name advertised in
synagogue prayer schedules on a regular basis, they relive their pain and
question why a faith community with high moral standards venerates an accused
abuser by elevating his name. Because
those listening could interpret the use of Carlebach's name as callous,
insensitive, and insulting, synagogues should refrain from its use. Substituting another name for the service
would minimize potential harm to any sensitive individual.

In an age when religion in general and Judaism in particular
has suffered a desecration of God's name because of tolerated sexual abusers,
we should err on the side of caution and choose another name for this
spiritually-meaningful minyan. We cannot deny that Carlebach never had the
opportunity to defend himself. Nor can
we deny that benefiting from his melodies without attribution seems unfair;
however, when faced with these conflicting issues, we should assume the
validity of the accusations against him for this question and protect those who
claim to be his and others' victims.

By siding with one side of this conflict, we do not pass
judgment on the guilt or innocence of Carlebach of the extensive accusations
leveled against him in the 1998 Lilith
article. We recognize that mere
accusations without proof and the opportunity for the accused to address them
may fall into the category of lashon hara,
tale bearing. The conclusion that his
name not be used for this type of minyan
seeks to avoid causing emotional distress through the application of shev v'al ta'aseh, of not taking
action. We do not suggest a conviction
of Carlebach in the court of public opinion; rather, we merely suggest finding
a more universal name to refer to the type of service he created.

From this point forward in this article, the term
Neo-Hasidic Minyan shall be used to refer to the Carlebach Minyan.

[6]

Question 2

Is it permissible to modify the liturgical music of a community or
synagogue?

In Shulhan Arukh, Orah
Hayyim, Section 619:1, Mehaber
and Rama describe the order of
prayers for the evening of Yom Kippur. Rama records the opinion of Maharil

[7]

: "One may not change the custom of a
community, even the melodies or liturgical poems they say there."

Rama offers only
the tersest statement of the following anecdote taken from Sefer Maharil, Laws of Yom
Kippur:

Our teacher, Rabbi Yaakov Seigel
[Maharil] said we do not change the
custom of the place for any matter, including for melodies they are
unaccustomed to sing. He told us the
story about himself that once he was the prayer leader in the community of
Ransburg for the High Holidays. He was
using the melodies of the custom for the Austrian community, because that was
the custom. He was bothered because they
used for the Haftara the tune of the
Reines community. He told us he recited
on that day the penitential prayer, "I, I am the One who speaks,"
which R. Ephraim set up to recite in Musaf. He thought it was a mitsva to say it there for the honor of R. Ephraim, the author, who
is buried there. The leaders of the
community said it was not their custom to say that penitential prayer. Because of [R. Yaakov's] desire to honor R.
Ephraim, he did not listen [to the leaders of the community]. A year later, [R. Yaakov's] daughter died on Yom Kippur. The Rav's statement [above that we do not
change the custom of the place for any matter] was shown to be just, for his
daughter was stricken, because he changed the custom of the place.

The full source reveals that Maharil prohibited changes that went against the wishes of the
leaders of the community. The leaders of
the congregation specifically told Maharil
they did not recite the Seliha he
felt appropriate. In his mind, the
tragic loss of Maharil's daughter
became a catalyst to preserve tradition.
Magen Avraham

[8]

offers an explanation for Maharil's
ruling, suggesting that changing tunes will confuse the congregation, in his
words, Da'at Ha'Kahal, presumably represented
by the leaders of the congregation.

[9]

Mishna Brura

[10]

records the prohibition and the reasoning of Magen Avraham.

[11]

Adding an alternative explanation, the Vilna
Ga'on

[12]

voices a concern that change may provoke controversy or mahloket in the community.

Without its full context, Maharil's
statement could be interpreted to prohibit all changes of custom and the
insertion of any new melodies for any prayer by either the congregation, its
leaders, or a temporary hazzan. There are those who argue nusach is a closed canon, and we may not
add at all to its musical idioms.

[13]

History and halakha (see Question 3 below) argue against this point of view.

[14]

After the period of Maharil, Jewish musical composition developed new idioms that have
been absorbed into prayer. New movements
in Jewish music include the Hasidism of the 18th century and German synagogue
music of the 19th century. History
denies the claim that Jewish liturgical music ceased development in the
mid-15th century when Maharil
enumerated the MiSinai tunes.

[15]

A restrictive reading of Maharil
ignores the original source and its focus on defying the will of the
congregation by contradicting its leaders.
In addition, Rama's citation
of Maharil only in the laws of Yom Kippur raises the question of whether
Rama intended to restrict change on
other holidays or Shabbat. The restriction of Maharil does not appear in the laws of Rosh HaShana and Shabbat.

Nothing in Maharil's original
source prohibits a congregation from choosing to adopt new melodies so long as
it avoids confusion (Magen Avraham)
or contention (Vilna Gaon).

Question 3

May we draw musical inspiration from non-Jewish sources? And if so, from which ones?

The debate over the use of non-Jewish music for prayer
reflects the wider differences of opinion over interaction with non-Jewish
society. Rejectionists advocate
cloistering off Judaism from outsiders to fight foreign influences, even that
of musical notes. At the other extreme,
integrationists support embracing the musical culture of the current
milieu. A third approach suggests
finding a middle ground between these two poles.

Rejectionists point to a statement of R. Yehuda HeHasid

[16]

in
his Sefer Hasidim where he
writes: "A person who has nice
pleasant voice should be careful not to sing the songs of gentiles, because it
is a sin. A pleasant voice was not given
to him except to praise the Creator, may He be blessed, and not for other
singing. Ma’aseh Rokeah

[17]

interprets R. Yehuda’s comment to mean that
even though the content of the words is holy, the “filthy” melody of the
gentiles will detract from the holiness of the prayers; hence, the use of non-Jewish
melodies is forbidden.

[18]

Moving away from total rejection,
the middle ground allows certain types of non-Jewish music. Bach
(Rabbi Yoel Sirkes, 1561-1640, Poland) in his Responsa (section 127) permits
non-Jewish liturgical music, what he calls "the melodies they play in
their houses of worship," so long as these melodies are not specifically
identified with idolatry. If they are not exclusively identified with
idolaters, then one could claim they are not derived from idolatry and
therefore permissible. Although Rama quotes Bach without
any clarification and says a community should prevent the shaliah tsibur
from singing the melodies of the gentiles, Magen Avraham (ibid.,
subsection 31)and Mishna Brura (ibid., subsection 82) both clarify that Rama
means only those melodies exclusively identified with idolatry.

Rav Ovadia Yosef explains that great Sephardi rabbis
throughout generations composed songs and liturgical poems for personal joyous
occasions and for Shabbat and the holidays, "based upon the composers of
Arabic songs."

[19]

Citing R.
Yisrael Moshe Hazan, the Chief Rabbi of Rome
in the mid-19th century, R. Yosef explains that the use of Arabic
romance ballad melodies was permitted, because the substance was holy and the
words of the romance ballads are not remembered during prayers.

[20]

R. Yosef offers an alternative middle position. He suggests the use of derivative melodies,
tunes that originate as romance ballads or secular songs and are applied to Shabbat zemirot or sentences from Tanakh.
Only after the songs have passed through a period of
"purification," cleansing the original association, should they be
used for prayers. R. Yosef reasons the
secular words are forgotten through the passage of time and the melodies become
sanctified.

[21]

Unlike the rejectionists and the middle position,
integrationists embrace unrestricted integration of gentile musical
culture. In Responsa Shel Romi, R.
Yisrael Moshe Hazan writes:

And I testify upon heaven and
earth that when I was in the great city of rabbis and scribes of Izmir, I saw
great rabbis who were also great cantors knowledgeable in musicology, and the
chief of them was the awesome rabbi Avraham HaCohen Arias, who would go behind
the Christian church on the [gentile] holidays to learn from them special
musical tunes, and to make those melodies fit the prayers of Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur, days which require great subjugation. And they set forth from [the gentile
religious tunes] inspiring songs for Kaddish
and Kedusha. And it is clear from here that we do not care
about the melody but the holy words,...

[22]

From the testimony of R. Hazan we learn that a tradition
existed for great Sephardi leaders to study Christian church music with the
express purpose to integrate church melodies into the liturgy of Yamim Noraim, even in light of the
famous ruling of the Rambam that Catholicism constitutes idolatry.

[23]

Assuming the Sephardi rabbinic
"eavesdroppers" accepted the Rambam's ruling, these rabbis used not
only music with multiple identities as approved by Bach, but even melodies specifically attributable to what they
considered idolatry.

Praying to music influenced by Bob Dylan and the folk era
has ample support based upon the opinions of the middle ground and those who
espouse integration with wider culture.

Question 4:

Is it permissible to lengthen the time of prayer services? And if so, by how much?

The Neo-Hasidic Minyan lasts considerably longer than other
services. With niggunim repeated numerous times and extended circle dancing, Kabbalat Shabbat services can last as
long as 90 minutes, exceeding a standard minyan
by up to an hour. Participants generally
sing the chapters of Tehillim with
the shaliah tsibur, breaking out into
Eastern European style dancing. The
great majority of the service is spent on Kabbalat
Shabbat with far less time invested in Arvit.

The length of a service raises two issues: Torah
HaTsibur, burdening the congregation, and Hetsyo LaShem, Hetsyo Lakhem, the proper celebration of Shabbat and Yom Tov.

Shulhan Arukh, Orah
Hayyim, 53:11, prohibits a shaliah
tsibur from lengthening a service to serve egotistical needs, because it
causes torah hatsibur. A hazzan
who shares his "pleasant" voice, instead of focusing on the joy he
feels to stand before God, reflects negatively on himself. Although R. Karo praises the shaliah tsibur whose heart is filled
with rejoicing, he should nevertheless limit the length of his prayer to avoid
burdening the congregation. Mishna B'rura cites Yam Shel Shelomo

[24]

who requires
the consent of the congregation to lengthen any service, even on Shabbat and the holidays.

[25]

According to some, a congregation can decide
to tolerate a burden.

[26]

In that case, participants in a Neo-Hasidic
Minyan who consent by their presence could pray as long as they like.

Objective requirements, however, limit the consent of a
congregation to pray without being conscious of passing time. Yam
Shel Shelomo restricts the length of a service even if the congregation
consents. A service that is too long
prevents a Jew from fulfilling neither Hetsyo
LaShem nor Hetsyo Lakhem,
"Half for God, Half for Man,"

[27]

specific requirements for the proper celebration of Shabbat and Yom Tov.

The concept of Hetsyo
LaShem, Hetsyo Lakhem appears in Pesahim
68b:

We learned in a Beraita: R.
Eliezer says: on Yom Tov a person either eats and drinks totally or sits and
learns totally. R. Yehoshua says: Divide it; half for eating and drinking and
half for the Beit Midrash. And R. Yohanan said: The two of them interpreted one text. One sentence says (Devarim 16) "A day of gathering to the Lord, your
God." A second sentence says (Bemidbar 29) "A day of gathering
for you." R. Eliezer held: either
all for God or all for you [Man]. R.
Yehoshua held: divide it; half for God
and half for you [Man]...Rabba said: Everyone agrees that Shabbat requires "for you" [Man]. What is the reason - Isaiah 58: "You
shall call Shabbat a pleasure.

To properly observe Yom
Tov and Shabbat, a Jew must
reserve enough time in the day for pleasures of eating, resting,
socializing. Remaining in synagogue too
long impedes the human enjoyment God intended for the day. The reasoning of Yam Shel Shelomo that an extended service interferes with enough
time to enjoy physical pleasures reflects the imposition on a person's time
outside the synagogue. His curious
remark that a lengthy service interferes with serving God imparts an
insight into the nature of tefilla. An over-extended prayer service becomes an
unauthorized burden on the congregants, even when they consent to the length,
perhaps because it breaches the attention span a person has for concentrating
on the meaning of the words of prayer.
In the case of the Neo-Hasidic Minyan, the diversion of lengthy dancing
and singing away from the words of tefilla
may take the experience outside the Hetsyo
LaShem of prayer and into a self-focused celebration of communal dancing
and singing. The experience ceases to
focus on the words of prayer and instead celebrates dancing and singing.

Question 5:

May we allow the music to dominate the tefillot, distorting the words
and diverting attention away from their meaning?

With its emphasis on niggunim
and dance, participants in a Neo-Hasidic Minyan often distort the words of the tefilla.
They lengthen and split words and emphasize an incorrect syllable in an
attempt to make the words conform to the melody.

R. Ovadia Yosef cautions shelihei
tsibur, and presumably participants in the congregation, against these
practices. Lengthening a particular word
to match the meter of a melody causes the word to lose its meaning. The longer a word is lengthened, the more is
lost. Splitting words should be
avoided. Taking a breath in the middle
of a word divides it in two. R. Yosef
cites the Noda B'Yehuda, who wrote
that prayer leaders take the foolish path when, for the sake of the melody,
they split a word into sections. When a hazzan emphasizes the wrong syllable,
writes R. Yosef, he enslaves holy words to a secular melody. The outcome is that the "maid
servant" rules over her "mistress".

[28]

To give vocal expression to the niggunim, participants in Neo-Hasidic Minyanim utilize sounds, such
as Ni or Yi (as in the word "night"),
in effect singing meaningless words.
They repeat these words to the melody, singing for several minutes at a
time. These repetitions occur in the
Psalms of Kabbalat Shabbat.

R. Yosef records the case for and against the repetition of
words in tefilla. Those against argue that repeating words is
an unauthorized interruption, hefsek gamur,
and completely disturbs the required kavana,
or intention, of tefilla, even if
there is no express prohibition of interrupting at that place in the tefilla.

[29]

Those who permit repeating words reason that
based upon Berakhot 33b we are only
concerned about a cantor who says "Shema, Shema" or "Modim,
Modim" because it appears as if he believes in Zoroastrianism. Because the Talmud only mentions these two
instances, we deduce that with other words there is no prohibition. Moreover, repeating words intensifies the
expression of praise for God; it does not detract from the intention of the one
praying. One could repeat the words of kedusha even though we are forbidden
from extraneous interruptions at that point.

[30]

Conclusion

When Shlomo Carlebach's Neo-Hasidic services first emerged on the New York scene, they reflected the emphasis on
spirituality and inner feelings that captivated the Love and Peace generation of
the 1960s and 1970s. Despite that
generation's desire to break out of the restrictions imposed by the
Establishment, Carlebach remained within the Orthodox world and the
restrictions imposed by halakha on
prayer.
Carlebach found within the limits of halakha considerable freedom of expression.

The praying public swiftly adopted Carlebach's Neo-Hasidic Minyan, a
testimony to his musical and spiritual insight.
Although the chord he struck in the heart of Jews around the world still
stands, his model for defining decisive new expressions of spirituality within halakha will disappear unless his
adherents continue to follow in his footsteps.
Seeking out new modes of worship need not mean the abandonment of
Carlebach's melodies, dancing, and singing.
Enough opportunities exist to preserve his popular prayer services yet
explore new vistas.

For those souls adventurous and willing to experiment, the sky's the
limit; melodies wafting heavenward from any of God's houses of worship could be
converted and brought into the fold of Jewish liturgical music. To truly follow in the footsteps of their
beloved Reb Shlomo and his quest for greater spirituality, those comfortable
with his new "orthodoxy" might consider creating new
"heresies," ones which he could join in on and embrace.

[1]

In this instance, I use the
term "heresy" to mean an opinion at variance with the commonly
accepted doctrine. I do not intend to
imply an unauthorized doctrinal opinion tending to promote a schism.

[2]

Job 4:6-7.

[3]

Bava Metsia, 58b.

[4]

Kitvei Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, Shaval, Hayyim Dov, Mossad HaRav Kook, 1963, p.
37.

[5]

Shulhan Aruch, Hoshen Mishpat, 228:1.

[6]

An alternative suggestion
offered by a colleague who regularly participates in this type of service is to
call them "Happy Clappy Minyanim," an apt description.

[7]

R. Yaakov HaLevi Mollin,
also known as Mahari Segal, 1356-1427, Rhineland. Maharil was not only the Chief Rabbi of the Rhineland, he was one of the great
prayer leaders of his time. Following
the example of great rabbinical leaders since Gaonic times, Maharil acted as a
Chazzan. He traveled throughout the Rhineland and Europe leading services and
listening to liturgy sung over many years.
Maharil sought authentic traditional melodies and elevated them to the
status of tunes MiSinai, a term used
to establish their venerable source and unchanging quality. Through his efforts, Maharil contributed
enormously to the establishment of the Ashkenazi prayer rite. Goffin, Sherwood,
"The Music of the Yamim
Noraim," Yeshiva University, Rosh Hashana To-Go,
Tishrei 5769, pp. 35-36.

[8]

R. Abraham Gumbiner, 1633-1683, Poland.

[9]

Shulhan Aruch, Orah Hayyim, 619:7.

[10]

R. Yisrael Meir Kagan, 1838-1933, Poland.

[11]

Shulhan Aruch, Orah Hayyim, 619:7.

[12]

R. Elijah ben Shlomo Zalman, 1720-1797, Lithuania.

[13]

See
Goffin, p. 36, fn. 27, in which he records the opinion of Rav Hershel Schachter
of Yeshiva University who conflates Magen Avraham, Orach Hayyim 68:1 and Maharil's restriction cited by Rama. Magen
Avraham O.C. 68:1 says that one may
not change any of the essential minhagim in prayer that is traditional with a
congregation. Applying that restriction
with that of Maharil would limit any
musical change in any service.

[14]

Bodoff, Lippman, "Innovation in Synagogue
Music," Tradition, 23(4), Summer 1988, pp. 90-101, 90-91.

[15]

Bodoff, p. 92.

[16]

12th century, Germany.

[17]

R. Masoud Hai Rokeah, mid-18th century, Tripoli.

[18]

Sefer Ma'aseh
Rokeah, Chapter 8 from Laws of Prayer
11. See also, Tsits Eliezer, 13:12
who prohibits the use of romance ballads.

[19]

Responsa Yeheva
Da'at, Vol. II, Section 5.

[20]

Responsa Yabia
Omer, Vol. VI, Orah Hayyim,
Section 7.

[21]

Responsa Yeheva
Da'at, Vol. II, Section 5.

[22]

Ibid.

[23]

For example, see
Laws of Idolatry, Chapter 9, Law 4: In
many original manuscripts before censorship: "[Christians] (Edommites) are idolators and Sunday is their
festival." Rambam Mishneh Torah, Kushta, Jerusalem, 1964, pg. 265.

[24]

R. Shlomo Luria, 1510-1574,
Brisk.

[25]

Mishna Brura,
Section 53, Subsection 36.

[26]

Magen Avraham,
Orah Hayyim, 144:7.

[27]

Mishneh
Brura, Section 53, Subsection 36.

[28]

Responsa
Yabia Omer, Vol. VI, Orah Hayyim, Section 7.

[29]

Ibid.

[30]

Ibid, citing,
Responsa Ziknei Yehuda (131) of R.
Yehuda D'Modina (1574-1648, Venice),
who permitted repetition of the word "crown" in kedusha of Musaf.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights,that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.” These words from the American Declaration of Independence reflect the deepest ideals and aspirations of the American people. America is not merely a country, vast and powerful; America is an idea, a vision of life as it could be.

When these words were first proclaimed on July 4, 1776, Congregation Shearith Israel was almost 122 years old. It was a venerable community, with an impressive history--a bastion of Jewish faith and tradition,and an integral part of the American experience.

When the British invaded New York in 1776, a large group of congregants, including our Hazan Rev. Gershom Mendes Seixas,left the city rather than live under British rule. Many joined the Revolutionary army and fought for American independence.

Some remained in New York, and conducted services in our synagogue building on Mill Street. Early in the war, British soldiers broke into the synagogue and desecrated two Torah scrolls. This was not just an attack on scrolls, but was a symbolic assault on the spiritual foundations of Judaism, the self-same foundations upon which the American republic has been built.

In our service today, we read from one of these Torah scrolls as a symbolic response to those soldiers, and to all those who would seek to undermine the eternal teachings of Torah and the principles of American democracy: we are not intimidated, we are not afraid. Generation by generation, we will continue to live by our ideals and by our faith. Generation by generation, we will lend our strength to the great American enterprise that promises hope and freedom, one nation under God, withliberty and justice for all.

Our story in America is not built on historical abstractions, but on generations of Jews who have played their roles in the unfolding of this nation. It is a very personal history, ingrained in our collective memory.

Attending this service today are descendants of Jews of the Colonial period, whose ancestors served in the American Revolution; descendants of families including de Lucena, Gomez, Nathan,Hendricks, Phillips, Franks, Cardozo, Seixas. We welcome descendants of Rev.Johannes Polhemus, minister of the Dutch Reformed Church, who was on the same ship as the first group of 23 Jews who arrived in New Amsterdam in September 1654.

We welcome representatives of our sister congregations that date back to the Colonial period: from the Touro Synagogue in Newport; from Mikveh Israel in Philadelphia; we have representatives or words of congratulations from the historic congregations in Savannah, Charleston and Richmond. We welcome members of our sister congregation, the Spanish and Portuguese community of London.

We welcome elected officials and their representatives. We welcome officers of the 20th precinct, who serve our community with courage and dedication. We welcome leaders of the American Jewish community, and those who have worked so hard for Celebrate 350, the national umbrella group commemorating the 350th anniversary of American Jewry. Indeed we welcome all congregants and friends who have gathered here today on this historic occasion.

A number of those present today participated in the Tercentenary celebrations of 1954. We have a member here today whose mother—now 107 years old—was part of our community during the 250th anniversary celebrations in 1904/5.

Among us are descendants of Jews from all parts of the world, Jews who came to America at different times and under different circumstances; including those who are themselves first generation Americans and first generation Jews. For 350 years, our generations have been part of the American experience, and have striven to make this a better nation.

We have just read from the Revolutionary Period Torah scroll, from the section known as “Kedoshim”, only a few columns from where the British soldiers damaged the scroll. Kedoshim opens with a challenge to the people of Israel to be a holy nation, to live according to the commandments of God, to have the courage and inner strength to maintain Torah ideals in a world that is not always receptive to such lofty teachings. The portion goes on to specify how we are to manifest holiness: through charity;honesty; commitment to truth and justice; through the avoidance of gossip and hatred. It culminates with the words: ve-ahavta le-re-aha kamokha, and you shall love your neighbor as yourself. The very principles enjoined by this passage are the spiritual foundations of the United States of America. These teachings are constant reminders of howto live a good life and build a righteous society; they also are prods to make us realize how far short we fall from these ideals, how much more work remains to be done.

On this 350th anniversary of the American Jewish community,we reflect on the courage and heroic efforts of our forebears who have maintained Judaism as a vibrant and living force in our lives. We express gratitude to America for having given us—and all citizens—the freedom to practice our faith. This very freedom has energized and strengthened America.

Within Congregation Shearith Israel, we have been blessed with men and women who have helped articulate Jewish ideals and American ideals. Their voices have blended in with the voices of fellow Americans of various religions and races,to help shape the dream and reality of America.

The American Declaration of Independence pronounced that all men are created equal. In his famous letter to the Jewish community of Newport, in August 1790, President George Washington hailed the United States for allowing its citizens freedom—not as a favor bestowed by one group on another—but in recognition of the inherent natural rights of all human beings. This country, wrote President Washington, “gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance.”

And yet, if equality and human dignity are at the core of American ideals, the fulfillment of these ideals have required—and still require—sacrifice and devotion. Reality has not always kept up with the ideals. In 1855, Shearith Israel member Uriah Phillips Levy—who rose to the rank of Commodore in the U.S. Navy—was dropped from the Navy’s active duty list. He was convinced that anti-Semitism was at the root of this demotion. He appealed the ruling and demanded justice.He asked: are people “now to learn to their sorrow and dismay that we too have sunk into the mire of religious intolerance and bigotry?... What is my case today, if you yield to this injustice, may tomorrow be that of the Roman Catholic or the Unitarian, the Presbyterian or the Methodist, the Episcopalian or the Baptist. There is but one safeguard: that is to be found in an honest,whole-hearted, inflexible support of the wise, the just, the impartial guarantee of the Constitution.” Levy won his case. He helped the United States remain true to its principles.

Shearith Israel member Moses Judah (1735-1822) believed that all men were created equal—including black men. In 1799, he was elected to the New York Society for Promoting the Manumission of Slaves. During his tenure on the standing committee between 1806 and 1809, about fifty slaves were freed.Through his efforts, many other slaves achieved freedom. He exerted himself to fight injustice, to expand the American ideals of freedom and equality regardless of race or religion.

Another of our members, Maud Nathan, believed that all men were created equal—but so were all women created equal. She was a fiery, internationally renowned suffragette, who worked tirelessly to advance a vision of America that indeed recognized the equality of all its citizens—men and women. As President of the Consumers’ League of New York from 1897-1917, Maud Nathan was a pioneer in social activism, working for the improvement of working conditions of employees in New York’s department stores. Equality and human dignity were the rights of all Americans,rich and poor, men and women.

The Declaration of Independence proclaimed that human beings have unalienable rights, among them are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.These words express the hope and optimism of America. They area repudiation of the tyranny and oppression that prevailed—and still prevail—in so many lands. America is a land of opportunity, where people can live in freedom. The pursuit of happiness really signifies the pursuit of self-fulfillment, of a meaningful way of life. America’s challenge was—and still is—to create a harmonious society that allows us to fulfill our potentials.

President George Washington declared a day of national Thanksgiving for November 26, 1789. Shearith Israel held a service, at which Hazan Gershom Mendes Seixas called on this congregation “to unite, with cheerfulness and uprightness…to promote that which has a tendency to the public good.” Hazzan Seixas believed that Jews, in being faithful to Jewish tradition, would be constructive and active participants in American society.

Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness were not reserved only for those born in America; they are the rights of all human beings everywhere. This notion underlies the idealism of the American dream, calling for a sense of responsibility for all suffering people, whether at home or abroad. American Jews have been particularly sensitive and responsive to this ideal.

On March 8,1847, Hazan Jacques Judah Lyons addressed a gathering at Shearith Israel for the purpose of raising funds for Irish famine relief. The potato crop in Ireland had failed in 1846, resulting in widespread famine. Hazan Lyons well realized that the Jewish community needed charitable dollars for its own internal needs; and yet he insisted that Jews reach out and help the people of Ireland. He said that there was one indestructible and all-powerful link between us and the Irish sufferers: “That link, my brethren,is HUMANITY! Its appeal to the heart surmounts every obstacle. Clime, color, sect are barriers which impede not its progress thither.” In assisting with Irish famine relief, the Jewish community reflected its commitment to the well-being of all suffering human beings.American Jewry grew into—and has continued to be—a great philanthropic community perhaps unmatched in history. Never have so few given so much to so many. In this, we have been true to our Jewish tradition, and true to the spirit of America.

Who articulated the hope and promise of America more eloquently than Emma Lazarus? “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” How appropriate it is that her poem is affixed to the great symbol of American freedom, the Statue of Liberty.

Alice Menken, (for many years President of our Sisterhood) did remarkable work to help immigrants, to assist young women who ran into trouble with the law, to promote reform of the American prison system. She wrote: “We must seek a balanced philosophy of life. We must live to make the world worth living in, with new ideals, less suffering, and more joy.”

Americans see ourselves as one nation, indivisible, under God, with liberty and justice for all. Yet, liberty and justice are not automatically attained. They have required—and still require—wisdom, vigilance, and active participation. America prides itself on being a nation of laws, with no one above the law. The American legal tradition has been enriched by the insights and the work of many American Jews.

In one of his essays, Justice Benjamin Nathan Cardozo—a devoted member of Shearith Israel--referred to a Talmudic passage which has been incorporated into our prayer book. It asks that the Almighty let His mercy prevail over strict justice. Justice Cardozo reminded us that the American system relies not only on justice—but on mercy. Mercy entails not merely an understanding of laws, but an understanding of the human predicament, of human nature, of the circumstances prevailing inhuman society. Another of our members,Federal Judge William Herlands, echoed this sentiment when he stated that Justice without Mercy—is just ice!

Our late rabbis Henry Pereira Mendes, David de Sola Pool and Louis C.Gerstein, were singularly devoted to social welfare, to religious education, to the land of Israel. They distinguished themselves for their devotion to Zionism, and played their parts in the remarkable unfolding of the State of Israel. They, along with so many American Jews, have keenly understood how much unites Israel and the United States—two beacons of democracy and idealism in a very troubled world.

These individuals—along with so many other American Jews—were exponents of the American ideals and the American dream. During the past 350 years, the American Jewish community has accomplished much and contributed valiantly to all aspects of American life. We have cherished our participation in American life. We have been free to practice our faith and teach our Torah. We have worked with Americans of other faiths and traditions to mold a better,stronger, more idealistic nation.

America today is not just a powerful and vast country. It is also an idea, a compelling idea that has a message for all people in all lands. As American Jews, we are committed to the ideals of freedom and equality, human dignity and security, to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, the pursuit of harmony among ourselves and throughout the world. We have come far as a nation, but very much remains to be done. May God give us the strength and resolve to carry on, to work proudly as Jews to bring the American dream to many more generations of humanity.

I close with a prayer spoken by Mordecai Manuel Noah at the consecration of our second Mill Street Synagogue on April 17, 1818: “May we prove ever worthy of His blessing; may He look down from His heavenly abode, and send us peace and comfort; may He instill in our minds a love of country, of friends,and of all mankind. Be just, therefore,and fear not. That God who brought us out of the land of Egypt, who walked before us like ‘a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night,’ will never desert his people Israel.”

During the middle ages, Jews lived in the island of Mallorca (Majorca) as in many other parts of Spain. With the vicious anti-Jewish persecutions of 1391 and shortly thereafter, open Jewish life came to an end in Mallorca. Those Jews who remained were forced to accept Catholicism.

In spite of their having converted to Catholicism, these "new Christians" were subject to ongoing humiliations. The "old Christians" referred to them with the pejorative term "Chuetas". The Chuetas were disdained because of their Jewish blood. No matter that they were now Catholics, the Chuetas were assumed to maintain Judaism in private; the old Christians shunned them, and certainly did not want to marry them.

During the late 17th century, the Inquisition tortured, murdered and plundered the property of hundreds of Chuetas. During the 18th, 19th and 20th centuries, Chuetas continued to suffer periodic outbursts of hatred and violence against them from their Christian neighbors.

While many Mallorcans of Jewish ancestry did eventually find ways to marry into old Christian families, fifteen Chueta families retained their "Jewishness" and married only within their own group. It is estimated that there may be 15-20,000 Chuetas in present-day Mallorca, with many of them stemming from these 15 families.

Some months ago, I received an email from my friend, Michael Freund, head of Shavei Yisrael. Shavei Yisrael is an organization that seeks to find "lost Jews" and bring them back to Judaism and re-connect them with the land and State of Israel. Among the groups that Shavei Yisrael has been interested in are the Chuetas. Indeed, Shavei Yisrael has brought a group of Chuetas to visit Israel and to renew their ties to their ancestral faith and people.

Michael told me of a Chueta gentleman who was making public his Jewishness, and was inspiring other Chuetas to come out openly as Jews. He has published books in Spanish about the Chueta experience, and has lectured widely in the Spanish-speaking world. His message: we are Jews; we want to come back to our people; we want to reclaim the Jewish heritage that was robbed from us by a fanatical Church. We have suffered abuse and humiliation for centuries because of our Jewish blood. We are proud of our Jewish blood. We want to live in freedom and dignity as Jews.

This gentleman, now in his 60s, is named Miquel Segura. Segura is one of the 15 families that retained their separateness from the old Christian society. Miguel's mother's maiden name was Aguilo--also a name of one of the 15 families. He meticulously researched his family tree (which includes an ancestor murdered by the Inquisition in the late 1600s), and it is clear that he is, in fact, of pure Jewish descent.

Michael Freund told me that Miquel Segura wants some formal recognition that he is Jewish. He wants the Jewish community to accept him--and other Chuetas with similar genealogical evidence--as a Jew. It would seem that the Jewish community, led by its rabbis, would rush to embrace Miquel and those Chuetas who wish to return to the faith and people of Israel. Yet, while some have indeed shown warmth and happiness, it seems that many have been suspicious, skeptical, unwelcoming. Do we really want to embrace people who have lived as Catholics for the past 5 centuries, and accept them as fellow Jews?

My response to Michael was: based on the information given to me, Miquel Segura is Jewish according to halakha. He does not need to convert, because he is already Jewish, and he can prove it with his family tree. Michael agreed with me, but said Miquel needs something more than a simple affirmation of his Jewishness. I suggested (and Michael cleared this with a rabbinic authority in Israel with whom he works) that Miquel Segura come to New York, to my synagogue--the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of New York City--which was founded in 1654 by Jews whose ancestors had lived for a period as crypto-Jews in Spain and Portugal. Let him come to this, the oldest Jewish congregation in North America, whose founders well understood the ordeals of crypto-Judaism and the fear of the Inquisition.

On December 17, 2009, Miquel Segura came to Shearith Israel, the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of New York City. Michael Freund flew in from Israel to be with us. I invited a member of our congregation, Bentsi Cohen, to join us as well, since he is fluent in Spanish and could help us if we had problems communicating. Following morning prayer services, the four of us--along with Miquel's wife and several friends--walked to the Mikvah on West 74th Street. Miquel immersed in the Mikvah--not as an act of conversion, and not in the presence of a beth din--but as an act of purification. It was a symbolic rebirth into the faith and peoplehood of Israel. We gave him a certificate with his Hebrew name, and welcomed him back to his ancestral people.

All of us felt that this was a sacred moment. Here was a Jew returning to his Jewishness, after generations of his ancestors had been forced to live outside of Judaism; after generations of humiliations and tortures and indignities. Here was a Jew coming home, proudly, defiantly, faithfully. It was as though the voices of all his ancestors were with us at the Mikvah that morning; we could almost feel their presence and hear their words of congratulations.

We could imagine the dismay of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella; we could sense the bitter frustration of the Inquisitors and haters and persecutors. They did not win. They did not crush the Jewish soul or spirit. After 500 years, Miquel Segura was living proof that Judaism has overcome its oppressors, that Judaism cannot be crushed out, that the people of Israel and the God of Israel live.

The ceremony of return for Miquel Segura took place on Hanukkah--a holiday celebrating the power of the Jewish spirit, when God gave victory to the few over the many. It was also Rosh Hodesh, the beginning of a new month. Rosh Hodesh symbolizes renewal and hope.

Miquel Sequra still has a long road in front of him to win full acceptance as a Jew within the Jewish community at large. He still has much work to do to bring his fellow Chuetas back to Judaism and the Jewish people. But Hanukkah is a celebration of a miracle and Rosh Hodesh is a reminder of renewal...and the day will come, speedily and soon, when all the lost Jews of the world will find their way back to the God of Israel, the Torah of Israel, the people of Israel, the land of Israel.

Our heritage is rich and vast and we claim that we teach it. But do we truly understand the wholeness of the Jewish people, or is our knowledge really limited and fragmented? Do we, can we, inculcate the concept of Jewish unity in our students?  If we as educators are unaware of or disinterested in Jews who have had different historic experiences than we have had, how can we convey the richness of Judaism? How can we, in fact, demonstrate the sheer wonder of halakhic Jewry without a sense of awe at the halakhic contributions of all our diverse communities throughout the world, thoughout the ages?

We may study the Talmud of Babylonia and Israel; the codes of sages in Spain; the commentaries of scholars of France, Germany, Italy; the responsa of rabbis of Turkey, the Middle East and North Africa; the novellae of sages of Eastern Europe; the traditions and customs of Jewish communities throughout the world.  We study this diverse and rich literature and confront the phenomenon that all these Jewish sages and their communities operated with the identical assumptions--that God gave the Torah to the people of Israel, that halakha is our way of following God's ways. As we contemplate the vast scope of the halakhic enterprise--and its essential unity--we begin to sense the wholeness of the Jewish people.

If, for example, we were to study only the contributions and history of the Jews of America, we would have a narrow view of Judaism.  If we limited our Jewish sources only to a particular century or to a particular geographic location, we would be parochial. We would be experts in a segment of Jewish experience; but we would be ignorant of everything outside our narrow focus.

In order to teach the wholeness of the Jewish people, we need to have a broad knowledge and vision of the Jewish people. We cannot limit ourselves to sources only from Europe, just as we cannot limit ourselves to sources only from Asia or Africa.  Often enough, however, Jewish education today fails to include in a serious way the Jewish experiences in Asia and Africa. How many educators can name ten great Jewish personalities who lived in Turkey, Morocco or Syria during the 17th, 18th and 19th centuries? How many have studied any works of authors who lived in Muslim lands over the past four to five centuries? And how many have taught this information to their students? And have they learned?

There is a vital need to teach "whole-istic" Judaism, drawing on the great teachings of our people in all the lands and periods of their dispersion. To do this, we ourselves need to study, to think very seriously, to feel genuine excitement in gathering the exiles of our people into our minds and consciousnesses.  When we are engaged in this process, we can help our students share the excitement with us.  Jews who are "not like us," whose families came from countries other than "ours", should not be viewed as being exotic or quaint. There is more to a Jewish community than a set of interesting customs or folkways.  We need to be able to speak of the Jews of Vilna and of Istanbul and of Berlin and of Tangiers with the same degree of naturalness, with no change in the inflection of our voices.  We need to see Jews of all these--and all the other--communities as though they are part of "our" community.

Consider the standard Mikraot Gedolot, a common edition of the Bible. There are commenaries by Rashi (France); Ibn Ezra and Ramban (Spain); R. Hayyim ben Attar, the Ohr haHayyim (Morocco); R. Ovadia Seforno (Italy), and many others. The commentaries of the Talmud, Rambam, Shulhan Arukh are also a diverse group, stemming from different places and times. It is important for teachers to make their students aware of the backgrounds of the various commentators. In this relatively simple way, students are introduced to the vastness of the Torah enterprise, and of the value of all communities which have engaged in maintaining the Torah. To quote Sephardic sages together with Ashkenazic sages, naturally and easily, is to achieve an important goal in the teaching of wholeness of the Jewish people.

Most teachers teach what they themselves have learned. They tend to draw heavily on the sources which their teachers valued. It is difficult and challenging to try to reach out into new sources, to gain knowledge and inspiration from Jewish communities which one originally had not considered to be one's own.

The majority of Jews living in Israel are of African and Asian backgrounds. Students who gain no knowledge of the history and culture of the Jews of Africa and Asia are being seriously deprived. They will be unable to grasp the cultural context of the majority of Jews in Israel, or they will trivialize it or think it exotic. But if Jews are to be a whole people, then all Jews need to understand, in a deep and serious way, about other Jews. This is not for "enrichment" programs or for special "Sephardic days"; this is basic Jewish teaching, basic Jewish learning.

I am saddened by the general narrowness I have seen in some schools. There is a reluctance to grasp the need for wholeness on a serious level. Time is too short. Teachers don't want more responsibilities. But Judaism goes far beyond the sources of Europe and America. Giving lip service to the beauty of Sephardic culture; or singing a Yemenite tune with the school choir; or explaining a custom now and then--these don't represent a genuine openness, a positive education.

Standard textbooks don't teach much about the Jews of Africa and Asia, their vast cultural and spiritual achievements, their contributions to Jewish life and to Torah scholarship. Schools often do not make the effort to incorporate serious study of these topics, and so our children grow up with a fragmented Jewish education.

To raise awareness and sensitivity, teachers should utilize the resources within the community--including students, community members and synagogues representing diverse backgrounds, customs and history that can enlighten students. Spending Shabbat with diverse communities, within the United States as well as when visiting Israel, can be a moving way of sharing cultures and customs.

To attain wholeness in Jewish education entails considerable work on the part of administrators, teachers and students. It may cost time and money. But can we really afford to continue to deprive our children and our people of wholeness?

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cytotec

(This article is reprinted from Hadassah Magazine, November 2008.)

Great news.
Many thousands of people in Israel want to convert to Judaism. Most are from the former Soviet Union and have Jewish ancestry or spouses. Many others, of various national and religious backgrounds, have come to Israel to study Judaism and to become Jewish.

Thousands of people throughout the diaspora want to become Jews. They are attracted to the teachings of Torah; or they’ve discovered Jewish roots; or they want to marry a Jewish spouse. Judaism has a profound message for people of all backgrounds. The Jewish people, with all its problems, is attractive. The fact that so many wish to become Jewish should be a source of tremendous pride and happiness to Jews.

Troubling news.

Not everyone is eager to help these would-be converts enter the Jewish fold. Instead of offering a compassionate and inclusive approach, the Israeli Chief Rabbinate has erected ever higher barriers to discourage conversion to Judaism. Diaspora rabbinic groups have essentially fallen into line behind the Chief Rabbinate’s stringent positions, fearing that their own rabbinic status will be undermined if they do not conform to the Chief Rabbinate’s dictates.

In May 2008, the Israeli Rabbinic High Court under the leadership of Rabbi Abraham Sherman issued a horrifying decision that actually rescinds the conversion of a woman who had converted (under Orthodox auspices) fifteen years ago. Since the Court felt the woman was not religiously observant enough, it declared her and her children—born after her conversion-- to be non-Jewish. The Chief Rabbinate and the Rabbinic High Court have equated conversion with total acceptance to observe all the mitzvoth; those who are deficient in religious observance are either not accepted in the first place, or now run the risk of having their conversions invalidated retroactively. Thousands of individuals have been thrown into spiritual turmoil, wondering about their Jewish identities and the Jewish identities of their children.

This is precisely the time for a visionary Orthodox rabbinic leadership to win the respect and admiration of the Jewish public by providing inspired, meaningful leadership. Yet, the Orthodox rabbinic establishment in Israel and the diaspora has chosen the path of retreat, restriction, and exclusion. Their policies have alienated thousands of potential converts, as well as thousands of born Jews who find these rabbinic attitudes reprehensible, narrow-minded and xenophobic.

Great news.

The classic sources in halakha—the Talmud, Maimonides, the Shulhan Aruh—are actually far more “liberal” than the contemporary Orthodox rabbinic bureaucracy. The Talmud (Yevamot 47a-b) records the procedure to be followed in accepting converts: we tell them of the dangers inherent in being a member of a persecuted community. If they are willing to accept these risks, we offer instruction “in some of the minor and some of the major commandments”. We are not to persuade or dissuade too much. The Shulhan Arukh (Yoreh Deah 268:2), drawing on Maimonides’ formulation in the Mishneh Torah (Issurei Biah 14:2), rules that we must also explain to the would-be convert the basic beliefs of Judaism. The procedure for conversion is sensible and straightforward.

The classic codes of Jewish law leave considerable latitude when it comes to informing converts of the mitzvoth. Converts are expected to give a general acceptance to observe mitzvoth—but there is no indication that they first must study Judaism for years nor that they must answer very specific questions relating to the observance of all mitzvoth--requirements that now have become standard within the Orthodox rabbinic establishment. Some of my Orthodox colleagues have retorted: we don’t need to rely on those texts, since we follow the opinions of the great sages (invariably of the hareidi ilk) of our generation. Or, they have disingenuously argued that the Talmud, Rambam and Shulhan Arukh didn’t need to specify the requirement for converts to accept all mitzvoth in detail, since they took it for granted that converts would be required to observe every law of Shabbat, kashruth, mikvah etc. In other words, these rabbis ignore, or read their own views into, the classic sources of halakha, seriously changing the meaning of what conversion has meant historically.

The notion that conversion entails 100% commitment to observe all mitzvoth seems to have first emerged in the late 19th century among Eastern European rabbis. According to Dr. Zvi Zohar and Dr. Avi Sagi, Israeli scholars who have thoroughly researched the conversion issue in halakhic literature, Rabbi Yitzchak Shmelkes (Beit Yitzchak 2:100) introduced this idea in 1876. (See their book, “Transforming Identity”, Continuum, New York, 2007.) This was a reaction to the growing number of Jews who were defecting from mitzvah observance. Rabbi Shmelkes and others apparently believed that by equating Judaism with mitzvah observance, they were defending the Torah from its spiritual enemies. This equation, though an understandable strategy, was of course not literally true. Even the most extreme right-wing rabbis admitted that a born Jew is Jewish, even if he/she repudiates Judaism and violates every law in the Torah. But when it came to accepting converts, they upheld the most rigorous policy—a policy not dictated by classical halakha, but by their own reading of the circumstances of their times.

We are living in different times. We are not in 19th century Eastern Europe. We have the right to revisit the classic halakhic sources, and apply them honestly, compassionately and intelligently to our new circumstances. The rabbinate in Israel exists within a vibrant, modern Jewish sovereign State. If rabbis in the shtetls dealt with conversions stringently in light of their historical circumstances, the Rabbinate in Israel must recognize a broader responsibility; it must have the vision to create national policies that will serve the needs and interests of the Jewish State and the Jewish people at large. Instead of locking itself into the most extreme and narrow positions of halakha, it needs to draw on the broad wellsprings of Jewish legal and ethical traditions, demonstrating the halakha’s ability to address contemporary issues in a spiritually, morally and intellectually sound manner. The rabbis of the diaspora must not fall into the trap of creating their own rabbinic bureaucracies; rather they must also have the vision and sense of responsibility to help converts enter the Jewish fold in a proper, non-intimidating manner.

As an Orthodox rabbi myself, I believe that those who wish to enter the Jewish fold should do so in a halakhically valid manner. The halakha provides a meaningful and accessible way for non-Jews to become Jewish. Instead of erecting higher barriers to discourage conversion, the Orthodox rabbinate should be expanding opportunities for those who sincerely wish to become full members of the Jewish people.

The great Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel, Rabbi Benzion Uziel (1880-1953) argued for an inclusive approach to conversion. In one of his responsa, he urged rabbis to perform conversions, even under less than ideal circumstances, in order to maintain Jewish families and keep children in the Jewish fold. Those rabbis who adopted restrictive policies were doing a tremendous disservice to the would-be converts, to their families, and to the Jewish people. Rabbi Uziel wrote: “And I fear that if we push them [the children] away completely by not accepting their parents for conversion, we shall be brought to judgment, and they shall say to us: ‘You did not bring back those who were driven away, and those who were lost you did not seek’ (Ezekiel 34:4).” Rabbi Uziel was not alone among modern sages who allowed conversions even in non-ideal situations. (See Professor Shmuel Shilo’s article in the Israel Law Review, 22:3, 1988, where he discusses the lenient views of various halakhic authorities including Rabbis Benzion Uziel, Shlomo Kluger, David Zvi Hoffman, Haim Ozer Grodzinski, Yehiel Weinberg and Ovadia Yosef.)

Important news.

Rabbi Avi Weiss of the Hebrew Institute of Riverdale and President of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah has joined me in founding the International Rabbinic Fellowship to bring together like-minded Orthodox rabbis who will promote an intellectually vibrant, compassionate and inclusive Orthodoxy—an Orthodoxy that will address the issues of our time in an open, non-authoritarian, and halakhically proper manner. We have been working with Rabbi Shlomo Riskin, Chief Rabbi of Efrat, and other rabbis here and in Israel to establish a beth din for the International Rabbinic Fellowship—with offices in New York and Jerusalem-- that will deal with conversion, agunah questions and other serious problems. We are heartened by the many Orthodox rabbis (the IRF already has about 150 members and is growing day by day) who have joined with us in this historic effort to create an engaged and engaging Orthodoxy that can provide leadership for the entire Jewish people. We are grateful to lay leadership for their financial and moral support.

Every one of us, Orthodox or not, can play a role in creating a better future for converts and for the entire Jewish people. We can support those individuals and groups within Orthodoxy that are working to change the rabbinic status quo. We can voice our opinion to policy makers here and in Israel. We can work in our own communities to foster a positive, inclusive approach to converts and their children. We can remind ourselves that we will one day be standing before the Almighty and will have to explain what we did—or did not do—to address one of the most dramatic challenges of our time. Let us be very sure that we can honestly say that we did seek to bring back those who were driven away, and that we did seek those who might otherwise have been lost.