National Scholar Updates

Review by Israel Drazin

Peshat Isn’t so Simple
By Rabbi Hayyim Angel
Kodesh Press, 2014, 311 pages

For over two millennia most Jewish Bible commentators did not explain the Bible’s plain meaning, called “peshat” in Hebrew, but used the biblical verses and events as sources for homiletical lessons. Some exceptions existed, such as the writings of Maimonides, Abraham ibn Ezra, and Rashbam. Unfortunately many people thought that what rabbis told them in sermons was what the Bible actually states. They believed imaginative stories, such as Abraham destroying his father’s idols, are events told in the Torah.

Today, there are some yeshivot that are teaching peshat and new books are appearing with peshat. Hayyim Angel, a clear-thinker and author of six splendid books and over a hundred learned articles, all written in interesting and easy language, is in the forefront of such scholars. People who want to know what the Torah actually says – distinguishing “between text and interpretation” - will learn much from his writings. (All the quotes in this review are from Rabbi Angel’s book.)

Rabbi Angel devotes eleven of his twenty-one chapters to discussing the methods of peshat, and offers many eye-opening fascinating examples in ten chapters. He states that the best peshat “captures the language or the spirit of a passage more fully.” This is not easy. Also, although there are many rabbis and scholars who seek the peshat today, they do not always agree how it should be done or what the peshat is.

Understanding the simple meaning of the biblical text is influenced by the commentator’s worldview. Rabbi Angel mentions Maimonides who “maintained that if logic or scientific knowledge contradicts the literal sense of the biblical text, that text must not be taken literally,” but understood figuratively or allegorically. Maimonides understood “that nature will not be altered fundamentally in the messianic era” and interpreted messianic prophecies such as Isaiah’s view that at that time “the wolf shall dwell with the lamb” as a poetic description indicating that all nations will live together in peace. Maimonides felt that humans are unable to see angels while in a waking state and therefore interpreted Abraham’s meeting with three angels as a vision. He felt that the prophet Hosea “did not actually marry a prostitute, nor did Isaiah walk around naked in public,” nor did Ezekiel “lie on his sides for a total of 430 days” even though the text states that they did. These and many other events, according to Maimonides, should be understood as the prophets’ visions, parables, or allegories.

“Although the divinely revealed Torah is an eternal covenant (Maimonides believed that) it was given to a certain society at a particular time.” Maimonides “attempted to understand how the ancient setting in which the Torah was given influenced the narrative and style of the Torah, and even the mitzvot (the divine commands).” While
God had no need of sacrifices, for example, since “the Israelites had a strong predilection to offer animal sacrifices,” God allowed the practice. The Torah contains many passages concerning sacrifices and Maimonides taught that these passages should be understood as showing that God “prescribed specific boundaries for this form of worship by insisting that animals could be sacrificed only in authorized shrines” and only certain animals could be used, and then only in a restricted manner.

While Maimonides interpreted the Torah with rationalistic eyes, Nachmanides saw the Torah through mystic lenses. Nachmanides attacked Maimonides: “Behold, these words (about sacrifices) are worthless; they make a great breach, raise big question, and pollute the table of God.” Nachmanides maintained that sacrifices “were the ideal means of communing with God, and not concessions to the ancient Israelites’ historical condition.”

Rabbi Angel describes seekers for peshat who drew the meaning of words and events from a wide variety of sources and were able to explain biblical events based upon what other cultures and nations were doing at the time. Maimonides “believed that were we to have access to more documents from the ancient world, we would be able to determine the reasons behind all of the commandments” (Angel’s emphasis). But others, such as Nehama Leibowitz “avoided ancient Near Eastern sources.”

Rabbi Angel describes the interpretation methodologies of many other famous commentators, such as Saadiah Gaon, Rashi, Abraham ibn Ezra, Abarbanel, and Obadiah Sforno, as well as modern thinkers such as Binyamin Lau, Yoel Bin-Nun, Moshe Shamah, Leon Kass, and many others. He lists a host of these thinkers in his appendix together with their dates and home country.

Many of these peshat interpretations that Rabbi Angel tells us are fascinating and enlightening; others are thought-provoking but unreasonable to modern thinkers. For example Moshe Shamah points out that “Esau in the Bible was nothing like (the derogatory way) he is portrayed in (midrashic) sources.” Abarbanel notes that God instructed Moses to have his brother Aaron perform the first three of the ten plagues because God knew that the Egyptian magicians would duplicate these three plagues and God did not want to embarrass Moses; once the magicians conceded defeat during the plague of lice, God transferred the actions to Moses. Rabbi Shamah “understands the narratives of the Creation, Eden, Cain and Abel. Abraham’s encounters with the angels in Genesis 18, and Balaam’s talking donkey as allegories or parables.” Rabbis Shamah and Sassoon understood the Bible’s large tribal counts as being symbolic. Yehuda Kiel argues that the story of the tower of Babel “need not refer to the people literally to all humanity; it may refer simply to the people living in the region.” Leon Kass suggested that Abraham was arguing that the city of Sodom be spared in Genesis 18 because of objective justice and because he cared for his nephew Lot. While he was concerned for Lot, he made his plea in general terms and stopped at ten because if he “reduced the argument to (will you save the city for) one (person) it would have been too obvious that he was asking God to save Lot.”

In contrast, Sforno argued that the Israelite worship of the golden calf “permanently damaged Israel’s ideal spiritual level. “As a consequence of this sin, later prophets did not prophesy in the waking state attained by Moses. This comment is difficult to support from the text.” It is also contrary to current thinking that descendants are not punished for their forbearer’s misdeeds. Additionally, there were commentators who were willing to criticize the patriarchs for their behavior. Nachmanides, for instance, wrote that Abraham committed a great sin when he tried to save his life by saying that his wife Sarah was his sister. Rabbi Elhanan Samet insisted that Jacob’s decision to remain with his father-in-law Laban for a half dozen years to earn a living rather than returning home to Canaan to do so was a terrible mistake; it “aroused the jealousy of Laban’s family, and led him (Jacob) to unwittingly curse (his wife) Rachel.”

Rabbi Angel includes entire chapters discussing the Towel of Babel; Sarah’s treatment of Abraham’s concubine Hagar; Joseph’s bones; comparing the judge Gideon to the patriarch Abraham; mixing love and politics as seen in the relationships of David with King Saul, his son Jonathan, and his wife Michal; Ezekiel’s prophecy about the war of Gog; and the tale of Solomon determining true justice for child custody with his shocking ruse in suggesting to cut the baby in half. Readers will be surprised, delighted, and enlightened by the information in these chapters.

In summary, this book contains a wealth of intriguing ideas, what the Bible is actually saying rather than imaginary sermons built out of biblical words.

The Torah records the reaction of Aaron when he learned the sad news of the tragic deaths of his sons: “Aaron was silent,” vayidom Aharon. Commentators have offered various explanations of Aaron’s silence. He may have been speechless due to shock; he may have had angry thoughts in his heart, but he controlled himself from uttering them; he may have been silent as a sign of acceptance of God’s judgment.

Within biblical tradition, there are a number of phrases relating to confrontation with tragedy.

“Min haMetsar Karati Y-ah,” I call out to God from distress. When in pain, it is natural to cry out to God, to shed tears, to lament our sufferings and our losses. To cry out when we are in distress is a first step in the grieving process.

“Tefillah leHabakuk haNavi al Shigyonoth.” Dr. David de Sola Pool has translated this passage: “A prayer of Habakuk the prophet, in perplexity.” After crying out at our initial grief, we move to another level of mourning. We are perplexed. We want to know why this tragedy has happened? We want to understand how to reconcile this disaster with our belief in God’s goodness. We are in a state of emotional and spiritual confusion.

“Mima-amakim keratikha Ado-nai.” I call out to God from the depths of my being. This introduces the next stage in confronting tragedy. It is a profound recognition, from the deepest recesses of our being, that we turn to—and depend upon—God. It is a depth of understanding that transcends tears, words, perplexity. It is a depth of understanding and acceptance that places our lives in complete context with the Almighty. We may be heart-broken; we may be perplexed; we may be angry—but at the very root of who we are, we feel the solace of being in God’s presence. When we reach this deepest level of understanding, we find that we don’t have words or sounds that can articulate this inner clarity. We fall silent.

“And Aaron was silent.” Aaron was on a very high spiritual plane. While he surely felt the anguish of “Min haMetsar,” and experienced the perplexity of “Shigyonoth,” he experienced the tragedy “Mima-amakim,” from the very depths of his being. His silence reflected a profound inner wisdom that was too deep for tears and too deep for words.

All the people of Israel, and all good people everywhere, mourn the tragic deaths of three Israeli teenagers who were kidnapped and murdered by Palestinian terrorists. We all experience the anguish and the perplexity. We all have feelings of anger. Yet, we also need to reach out to the Almighty “mima-amakim,” from the depths of who we are. We know that God, in His infinite wisdom, will punish the murderers and their sympathizers. We know that God, in His infinite love, will bring healing to the mourners of these Israeli teenagers. Right now, the deepest response is silence. We need time to let this tragedy sink in, to absorb its impact on our lives, and to find a positive way of moving forward.

“May happiness multiply in Israel, and may sadness be driven away.”

The October 2013 Pew Report underscored the fragility of the Jewish future in North America and has led to anguished discussions and debates regarding "continuity", i.e., how to reduce the number of Jews relinquishing Judaism and Jewish identification in favor of other options.

But given the nature of the American religious scene, as I will present below, it is simply impossible to assure Jewish continuity by such a strategy alone. Rather, only if a strategy of easing the path of conversion is joined with current educational efforts and programs do we stand a chance of achieving continuity.

Such a strategy is of course at odds with the notion that conversion should be discouraged and difficult. However, that notion itself was not the primordial position of our tradition but rather historically conditioned. Encouragement of would-be converts and the intentional application of the more lenient positions found in our sources can be fully justified from within the halakhic tradition -- particularly in times of crisis such as ours.

Stating the Problem Honestly

Even if 100 percent of all children born to Jews in the United States were to remain Jewish, the Jewish population would decline significantly over time, because of the simple fact reported by Pew that Jewish adults aged 40-59 have an average of 1.9 children– while 2.1 children in a family represents the minimum fertility replacement level, that is, the level at which births equal deaths in a society with good health services. Although I am Orthodox, the fact that Orthodox Jewish families have an average of 4.1 children is no consolation to me. My concern is for the future of the entire community and not for any particular sub-group alone. Indeed, I believe that religiously and morally, such horizons of concern are befitting all Jews – and especially the Orthodox.

But even if Jewish fertility in the U.S. were to rise and become on par with that of the general public – 2.2 children per family – Jewish continuity would not be ensured. The reason is that many persons born as Jews do not currently regard themselves as such. The Pew report is based on interviews with 3,475 Jews (of whom 20 percent identified themselves as “Jews of no religion”). In order to reach those 3,475 Jews – a total needed for statistically significant findings – the Pew surveyors conducted more than 70,000 screening interviews. By the time they had located 3,475 individuals who said they were Jewish, they had come across 1,190 persons who stated that they had been Jews – but were currently not Jewish in any way.

In other words, of 4,665 persons born Jewish, only 75 percent regarded themselves as Jewish in any way, while 25 percent regarded themselves as totally non-Jewish. Thus, even if the Jewish fertility rate were to reach 2.2, with this outflow of 25 percent, the effective Jewish fertility rate would be 1.65 – well below the fertility replacement level. As it now stands, the effective fertility rate is 1.425 percent. Because younger age cohorts are increasingly less affiliated and more intermarried, it stands to reason that the actual fertility rate is dropping even lower.

But why are 25 percent leaving us? Surely, something must be wrong with our schools, our synagogues, our community, for so many born Jews to choose to totally opt out? Not necessarily. While nothing in this world is perfect, it seems to me, as an Israeli, that the schools, synagogues, and communal activities of American Jewry are admirable and dynamic institutions, staffed by caring professionals sincerely committed to preserving Jewish continuity.

Indeed, the 25 percent attrition rate of born Jews is significantly below that of the American public in general – as emerges from another report of the Pew foundation. In 2008, Pew published its landmark "U.S. Religious Landscape Survey." A key finding relating to our topic was:

More than one-quarter of American adults (28 percent) have left the faith in which they were raised in favor of another religion - or no religion at all. If change in affiliation from one type of Protestantism to another is included, 44 percent of adults have either switched religious affiliation, moved from being unaffiliated with any religion to being affiliated with a particular faith, or dropped any connection to a specific religious tradition altogether.

Note that the 25 percent of born Jews who now say they are not Jewish at all is below the national average of 28 percent of those who have left the faith in which they were raised. Even if we add to those 25 percent the additional 15 percent of born Jews who say that they are Jewish but not at all religious, this is less than the national average of 44 percent cited above.

The fact that Jews have a retention rate better than the national average indicates that there is a significant return on the tremendous efforts of our schools, synagogues and community centers to encourage born Jews to remain within the fold. While this may be comforting on one level, on another level the comparison with general overall trends in the U.S. religious landscape leads us to realize just how serious the challenge to Jewish continuity is. This is because the 2008 Pew survey enables us to realize the tremendous flux of all religions in the contemporary United States.

Indeed, one might ask: if not only Jews but all religions are losing such a high percentage of those raised in the faith, how is it that any religious group continues to exist? The answer to this is found in what I regard to be the most crucial finding of that survey for our current discussion. In a paragraph titled, "A Very Competitive Religious Marketplace," the authors of the 2008 survey wrote:

The survey finds that constant movement characterizes the American religious marketplace, as every major religious group is simultaneously gaining and losing adherents. Those that are growing as a result of religious change are simply gaining new members at a faster rate than they are losing members. Conversely, those that are declining in number because of religious change simply are not attracting enough new members to offset the number of adherents who are leaving those particular faiths.

It may well be the case that other countries in the world are not characterized by such “constant movement” among religions. For a variety of reasons, such movement is certainly not characteristic of Israel. In Israel, it is almost universally acknowledged that Jewishness is first and foremost identification with and a sense of belonging to an extended kinship group, with some of the kin being more attached to the group's religion and some less so.

Such a sense of Jewish peoplehood was characteristic of Jews in Eastern Europe, the Ottoman Empire, and many other countries where Jews resided; it was also characteristic of most of the first-generation Jewish immigrants to the United States. However, with the passage of time and the deepening Americanization of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of those immigrants, the “given-ness” of peoplehood has receded.

American Jews have now become a “religious group”– not only in the eyes of the general public and analysts of the Pew foundation, but in the eyes of Jews themselves. This is well reflected in the similarity of “constant movement” characteristic of the affiliates of Judaism and other American religious groups. Comprehension of this constant is crucial to any strategic discussion of Jewish continuity in the United States.

Maimonides (Guide of the Perplexed 1:71, citing Themistius) stated that opinions must be grounded not in wishful thinking but in empirical reality. If Jews are now involved as actors in the field of American religious groups, they must comprehend the reality of that field. Specifically, they must realize that, wishful thinking to the contrary:

1. In the American religious landscape, despite all efforts to the contrary, a significant percentage of born Jews (25 percent at least) will choose to opt out of being Jewish.
2. There is no way in which that loss will be offset by internal fertility.

If Jewish continuity is predicated only upon those born as Jews, then a dramatic and continuous numerical contraction of American Jewry is the clear prognosis.However,for a religious group to predicate its future only upon those born into it is to blithely ignore a central characteristic of the U.S. religious landscape, in which "every major religious group is simultaneously gaining and losing adherents." The future of any specific religious group is contingent upon gaining at least as many adherents as it loses. This is true for all religious groups in America – and therefore also for the Jews. Yet from a comparative perspective, the Jews – such a talented community in many ways – have seemingly been outstandingly inept in this regard. We have lost many more adherents than we have gained.

Of course, as all Jews know, we have not really been inept at gaining converts. We have been intentionally adverse to receiving converts – not from time immemorial but since the ascent of Christianity and Islam. In medieval and early modern times, this policy was adopted in order to ensure our survival: the authorities of the dominant faiths reacted violently to members of their group opting for another religion, taking vengeance both upon the convert and those who accepted him.

Currently, however, the exact opposite is true: Jewish continuity is crucially contingent upon gaining many more adherents. Continuing to maintain the classic aversion toward accepting converts, or even following a more neutral or lukewarm policy toward persons seeking to become Jewish, is – in the current religious reality of the United States – a sure way to undermine and act against Jewish continuity.

Our only hope lies in a combination of two strategies: doing our utmost to maintain (as we have until now) a high retention rate of those born into our religious group, and simultaneously doing our utmost to be extremely warm and encouraging toward those seekers who, unhappy with their current affiliation, indicate interest in joining us.

However, coming as I do from the halakhic tradition, I know that it is not enough to argue on the basis of exigency alone. Rather, one must ask: is it halakhically possible, from within the tradition, to support and justify action that seems to be called for by a sober assessment of reality? Specifically:

Is it possible within traditional halakha to justify a policy under which rabbis will warmly encourage converts and follow the most lenient possible halakhic opinions, in a manner that will be most conducive to widespread giyyur (conversion)?

Answering the Question Honestly

In order to answer in the affirmative, we do not need to seek unanimity – for halakha is characterized by a wide range of legitimate views. Rather, we must see if we can find within halakhic sources strong voices stating that in matters of conversion broad policy considerations must determine the choice of formal halakhic requirements. If such voices exist, then, even if they are numerically in the minority they should be followed in a time of crisis (she'at ha-dehaq). If the reader does not think that the recent Pew report reveals we are in a time of crisis, she can stop reading here.

In fact, ever since the time of the great scholar Hillel in late antiquity, quite a few rabbis have advocated that in matters of conversion, policy should guide which converts to accept and what to require of them. I would like to briefly give voice to three great twentieth century halakhic scholars – each no less learned than Rabbi Moshe Feinstein of blessed memory –who strongly advocated such a policy-guided strategy: Rabbi Ben-Zion Uzziel (1880-1953), Rabbi Joseph Mesas (1892-1974) and Rabbi Hayyim David HaLevi (1924-1998).

Rabbi Ben-Zion Uzziel, the first Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel, received a request in 1951 for halakhic guidance from Rabbi Judah Leon Khalfon, head of the rabbinic court of Tetuan (Spanish Morocco):Is it permissible, he was asked,to convert the children and wives of completely non-observant Jewish men, as they would presumably also be non-observant Jews?

Rabbi Uzziel’s response (published in responsa MishpeteiUzziel7:20)addressed both whether it is possible to convert someone who will subsequently not be religiously observant, and why rabbis should want to convert such persons.

With regard to the first question, Rabbi Uzziel was aware that certain East European rabbis had claimed that the halakhic requirement of “reception and acceptance of commandments” meant that the convert was required to sincerely promise observance of mitzvot; on that view, a person whom we think will not be observant could not be converted. Rabbi Uzziel pointed out that, to the contrary, no classic halakhic text – including the Shulhan Arukh-- specifically required such a promise. Indeed, this was not a chance omission, for if conversion were to be made contingent upon an inherently indeterminate future observance,"then no converts would ever be accepted in Israel. For who can guarantee that this non-Jew will be faithful to all of the Torah's commandments?”After undergoing conversion, all converts – whatever the degree of their religious observance – will be no less Jewish than a born Jew leading a similar lifestyle.

With regard to the second issue,Rabbi Uzziel’s response is of even greater relevance to us today. He points out that classic rabbinic texts teach us that God loves converts. Indeed, the Talmud (BT Pesahim 87b) teaches that God dispersed the Jews throughout the world so that non-Jews would have the opportunity to become acquainted with them and choose to convert! Therefore, it is a positive commandment to warmly accept proselytes, whenever this is possible.

Over and above the general positive attitude cited above, Rabbi Uzziel added that special reasons exist in modern times to accept candidates for conversion in cases linked to intermarriage:

And in our generation we bear special and heavy responsibility, because if we lock the door before converts we are thereby opening wide the gates of exit, pushing Jewish men and women to change their religion and to leave Judaism entirely or to assimilate among the gentiles…. (rabbis have special responsibility to accept such converts so as to promote the Jewishness of their children).Even if they are the children of a non-Jewish mother -- they are Seed of Israel. And they are therefore “lost sheep.” And I fear that if we push them away completely by not accepting their parents for conversion we will be accused (by God) and it will be said of us: "neither have ye brought back the strays, nor have ye sought those which were lost" (Ezekiel 34:4).

Rabbi Uzziel stated that avoidance of such Divine rebuke should clearly outweigh the concern of receiving unworthy proselytes.

In 1965, Rabbi Joseph Mesas, then Chief Rabbi of Haifa, stated that in matters of conversion, the general policy to be followed is that of the rabbis of Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia – who accepted all persons seeking to convert (responsa Mayyim Hayyim, vol. 2, #108). Rejection of persons seeking to become Jewish achieves no positive results, and frequently leads to unhappiness, resentment and bitterness, both of the candidate himself and of individual Jews, families and communities affected by that rejection, he said. He noted that if the rejected candidate really wants to become a Jew, s/he would simply turn to another rabbi, and ultimately be accepted. What then has the first court achieved, except to cause anguish and hatred?

Indeed, the notion that the rabbis have control over the consequences generated by rejecting converts is an illusion. To illustrate this, Rabbi Mesas related a case (one of several that he personally knew of) in which rabbis refused to convert a woman who then proceeded to move with her Jewish husband to another location where they “passed” as Jews. Fifty years later, it was discovered that the family's matriarch was not Jewish; ipso facto, neither were her daughters or their children – although all of them had grown up thinking they were Jews. Several members of the family agreed to convert, while others were so upset and distraught that they left Judaism entirely.

Rabbi Mesas did not blame the matriarch. He said that the rabbis who rejected her were responsible for the tragic outcome, because they lacked the foresight or the will to comprehend the cost to present and future generations of their rejectionist policy. Indeed, he said, under contemporary conditions, rejecting candidates for conversion was not a sign of true religious commitment but rather a manifestation of a sanctimonious pseudo-piety.

Because rabbis have a responsibility to further the well-being of the entire Jewish community, they should follow the halakhic policy that leads to the most positive overall results:“When a conversion to Judaism takes place, then a light shines in the darkness and everything is forgotten and joy dwells in their home.”

Rabbi Hayyim David HaLevi (Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv 1973- 1998) cited with great approval the position on conversion policy expressed by the great Rabbi Israel Joshua Trunk (1820-1893) of Kutno. Rabbi Trunk had been told that in the early Middle Ages the King of Kiev negotiated with the leaders of Israel in his generation.He wanted to convert and to convert all of his people with him, but he proposed just one condition – and because of this condition the agreement fell through and did not take place.He wanted them [the rabbis] to waive circumcision of the elderly; that they should convert by immersion only, and die uncircumcised.And the newborns would be circumcised.And this way in the next generation they would all be fully Jewish. The rabbis refused to agree to this condition [and the King and his nation did not convert].

Rabbi Yehoshele(Trunk)criticized them, saying that it was wrong of them to reject a populous great nation and to prevent them from joining the Lord's estate… the Talmud (Nedarim 32b) says:

"Why was our Father Abraham punished and his children doomed to Egyptian servitude for two hundred and ten years? Rabbi Johanan said: Because he prevented people from entering beneath the wings of the Shekhina, as it is written (Genesis 14:21), "Give me the persons, and take the goods to thyself"[…]
Allies are crucial!

Rabbi Trunk regarded the rabbis' refusal as a strategic mistake of the highest degree: the long-term positive implications of the king's proposal for the Jewish future were so momentous that they could (and should) have ruled according to the minority opinion of Rabbi Joshua ben Hananiah, who held that conversion without circumcision is valid (BT Yevamot 46a). The idea that numbers are of no significance for the Jews is absolutely misguided: "Allies are crucial!", declared Rabbi Trunk.

In this context, Rabbi Trunk cited Rabbi Johanan, who held that the reason for Israel's fate in Egypt may be found in a close reading of Genesis 14:21. As related earlier in that chapter, the populace of Sodom had been captured as prisoners of war, and Abraham had overcome their captors. The king of Sodom proposed that Abraham keep the booty, and return the populace to his (the king's) rule. But implicit in that very request was the king's acknowledgement that the people of Sodom were at that point in time legitimately under Abraham's domain. Abraham (notes Rabbi Johanan) could (and should) have retained them and converted them, i.e., brought them into Abraham's covenant with God.Abraham's failure to seize this opportunity to dramatically expand God's flock was a strategic blunder – and the ultimate cause of Israel's servitude in Egypt. So too, declared Rabbi Trunk, with regard to the rabbis who rejected the king of Kiev's proposal: had they accepted it, the Russian people would all have become adherents of Judaism – and how different would have been the fate of Jews in Eastern Europe in medieval and early modern times!

Rabbi HaLevi explained that Rabbi Joshua ben Hananiah, who Rabbi Trunk thought should have been followed in the Kiev case, was himself articulating halakhic policy in response to the conditions prevailing in his own times (the first century C.E.):

An extremely widespread movement of conversion developed towards the end of the Second Temple period.At the time there were about a million Jews in Egypt, about a million and a half in Syria and Asia Minor, about a million in Europe and North Africa, and about a million in Babylonia.These numbers did not stem from emigration, as at the time there were not so many Jews in the land of Israel itself.According to historical experts, these numbers reflect a broad movement of conversion…. This was the era in which idolatry lost its appeal, and Judaism captured the hearts of many… [but most converts were women]; It seems apparent that the obstacle that kept many men from joining the house of Israel was circumcision.

It could be, that we hear in the Talmud a faint echo of this severe problem … the Talmud states: "all [i.e., Rabbi Joshua and Rabbi Eliezer] agree, that immersion without circumcision is effective."(Yevamot 46b) It is simple, that the Halakhah is according to the [other] Sages [who required both rites].But it seems that there were indeed proselytes for whom circumcision was an obstacle - who sought to enter under the wings of the Shekhina by immersion only […].And indeed Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Joshua considered their conversion to be valid.

Who today could imagine the possibility of accepting masses of converts without circumcision?Yet this was possible, at least theoretically [also in post-Talmudic times;after quoting Rabbi Trunk's position cited above, Rabbi HaLevi concludes].

From all of the above we can learn the depth and breadth of the halakhic maxim relating to conversion: "Everything can be in accordance with the judge's view." Note this well.

Rabbi Hayyim David HaLevi argued that a serious discussion of giyyur must comprehend halakhic statements in their real-life context. At the outset it must be realized that the basic position of Jewish tradition is very much in favor of accepting converts. This positive attitude, encouraged by the rabbinic leadership in the centuries before and after the beginning of the Common Era, proved extremely successful. However, women were more prone to actually convert than were men – because conversion of a man required circumcision, to which many men were averse. Having established this general background, Rabbi HaLevi proceeded to a contextual reading of the late first century rabbinic debate. Heproposed that those rabbis who were willing to convert without requiring circumcision were able to advocate such a position because they knew well that the Torah affords rabbis a tremendous amount of latitude in deciding what to require of a proselyte – and they also knew that Torah is very much interested in the acceptance of converts.

Rabbi HaLevi further stated that one should not imagine that such leeway was available only to rabbis of ancient times. He pointed out that Rabbi Trunk obviously thought that post-talmudic rabbis also possess such prerogative – and that they should have employed it to facilitate the conversion of the king of Kiev and his nation.

Returning to this issue in 1989 (responsa 'AsehLekhaRav Vol. 9:30). Rabbi HaLevi wrote:

Judaism is not a missionary religion, and it does not relate at all [in a missionary way] to any other religion, including Christianity.[…] But in a broad historical view, Christianity caused tremendous damage to the spread of Judaism.This is because the entire yearning of the idolatrous world for a new faith (after the ancient world became tired of idolatry which was about to disappear from the world) caused many to flock to Judaism – until Christianity appeared and preached an easy religion devoid of any practical commandments.
[At this point, rabbi HaLevi inserts the following footnote:]

It is possible that we find an echo of these matters in the disagreement among the Tannaim … [citing Yevamot 46ab, HaLevi writes]: And perhaps Rabbi Joshua thought to be lenient by accepting proselytes on the basis of immersion alone, because that would open the door to conversion of masses of people and their entry into Judaism, something that circumcision -- which was so difficult for them -- prevented.It goes without saying that it did not cross Rabbi Joshua's mind to nullify the commandment of circumcision among the proselytes.Rather, his intent was only with regard to the older members of the first generation of proselytes. The children who would be born to them would be circumcised in accordance with the law, with the waiver applying only to those who themselves converted. Had Rabbi Joshua's opinion had been accepted in the Beit Hamidrash – the face of history might have looked very different!

Rabbi Joshua's position was not followed. The tidal wave of conversion to Judaism was diverted, and the great masses of non-Jews seeking religious fulfillment in a relationship with the God of Israel chose to do so via Christianity. Over the course of time, rabbis and other Jews forgot that Judaism had ever been interested in attracting adherents. But Rabbi HaLevi was well aware of the path not taken, and of what might have been had those rabbis responded otherwise to the strategic significance of the early Christian challenge: "Had Rabbi Joshua's opinion had been accepted in the Beit Hamidrash – the face of history might have looked very different!"

The competitive religious marketplace of the 21st century United States is significantly analogous to the religious marketplace of late antiquity: tens of millions of people are dissatisfied with the faith into which they were born, are seeking alternatives – and are changing adherences. The 2013 Pew report reveals that born Jews are also part of this landscape, with 25 percent of them having left. But all faith groups are in a similar situation; because Jews are less than 2 percent of the population, that means that for every Jew who opts out, there are 50 non-Jews seeking fulfillment outside of the group into which they were born.

Judaism possesses a rich and diverse religious-cultural tradition, woven together from ancient times to the present by talented and creative individuals and communities. Furthermore, Jews have developed a strong and vibrant sense of togetherness, kinship and family – a resource increasingly valuable in times such as ours. Is it not reasonable to assume that of all the tens of millions of non-Jews seeking fulfillment, many could find meaning and fulfillment in Judaism?

Whatever the Israeli rabbinate's policy on giyyur in Israel may be, this has no relevance for the reality in which United States Jewry exists. If they are indeed (as they see themselves) the true keepers of the halakhic tradition, Orthodox rabbis are especially called upon to acknowledge all of the above, and to respond to the strategic call of responsibility for the future not only of Orthodox Jews, but of all God's flock.

Does halakhic tradition contain the resources that can enable Orthodox rabbis to rise to that call, to warmly encourage converts and to follow the most lenient possible halakhic opinions that will be most conducive to widespread giyyur? Yes, it does.

The halakhic tradition contains many strands and many voices. That same tradition also teaches that in times of urgency (she'at ha-dhaq), the most lenient options should be followed. The Pew reports prove unequivocally how great that urgency is.

The views of the great halakhic scholars cited above are crucial to the contemporary discussion of Jewish continuity. Relying upon earlier sources and applying them in contemporary reality, they teach that within the heart of the halakhic tradition there is a clear voice calling out: At all times, and in all places, God loves converts. Conversion is a mitzvah. Over and above that general rule, there are times in which conversion is crucial to Jewish continuity, and inclusion of non-Jews into God's flock is a strategic imperative.

Ours is such a time. Will future generations look back in regret and say "Had Rabbi Uzziel's, and Rabbi Mesas' and Rabbi HaLevi's opinions been accepted in the Beit Hamidrash, the face of history might have looked very different.” Or will they say: "How great were the Torah leaders of those times, who chose the halakhic path most appropriate to the American religious landscape, and led the entire American Jewish community from seemingly inevitable numerical decline to numerical and spiritual growth."

The prophet Amos warns the Jewish people, "Behold, days are coming, says the Lord, and I will send a famine in the land, not a hunger for bread nor a thirst for water, but to hear the word of God... and they will run about to seek the word of the Lord and shall not find it" (Amos, 8:11,12). Rav Shimon Bar Yohai commented: "Heaven forbid that Torah will ever be forgotten from Israel." If so, then what is the meaning of the above verse? It means that a time will come when Halakha will not be monolithic. There will be no definitive Halakha. There will be diversity (Shabbat 38b-39a).

The Maharal of Prague makes the following incisive comment: "Israel and Torah are one. Each impacts the other. The status of Israel - the Jewish people - is reflected in the status of Torah. Just as Jews are not physically united but scattered throughout the world, so too is Torah not monolithic. It too is not unified. (Tiferet Yisrael, Chapter 56, see also Pahad Yitzhak Purim, No. 31). As such, Galut - the exile - has a spiritual component. As long as Jews are not physically united in Israel, diversity is a normal feature of the halakhic process. As long as the Galut exists, so too does diversity.

The Talmud records that Honi HaMe'agel was a Jewish Rip Van Winkle. After his legendary sleep, he visited the Beit Hamidrash and heard the scholars bemoan his death, contending that Honi had the ability to clearly resolve halakhic problems: "Ah, if only Honi were alive!", they sighed. Honi approached them and identified himself, but the rabbis disbelieved him and he departed dispirited (Taanit 23a). Rav Hayyim Schmuelevitch, Dean of the Mir Yeshiva in Jerusalem, made the following poignant remarks: What is a Toran sage? Is he not one who has mastered Torah knowledge? Accordingly, Honi should have requested the rabbis to pose halakhic questions to him. Honi's ability to resolve difficult Torah problems would have verified his status. Perhaps, suggests R. Hayyim, certain problems cannot be resolved by sages of previous generations. Each scholar, in each era, must rule on the problems of the day. There must be a charismatic relationship between master and disciple. For this reason Pirkei Avot delineates the chain of tradition. Moshe, having received the Torah at Sinai, transferred it to Yehoshua, Yehoshua to the Elders, they to the Prophets, and they to the men of the Great Assembly. No era relied totally on the leadership of the previous generation. Each had its own leadership (Sihot Musar, 5731, p 19). Accordingly, differences may emerge due to different personalities and concerns of each era.

It should be noted that halakhic diversity is not synonymous with deviance. The latter is aberrant behavior outside the perimeter of halakhic guidelines. Of interest is the halakhic reaction to institutionalized deviant worship. The Talmud notes that in Alexandria, Egypt, contrary to halakhic rules prohibiting animal sacrifice outside the Temple in Jerusalem, the kohanim practiced the ritual. The Mishnah cites Scriptures to prohibit those kohanim who ministered in the House of Onias from ministering in the Holy Temple. (Menahot 109a) The implication is that such kohanim, though deviant, were devout Jews otherwise qualified to minister in Jerusalem. They were outlawed from serving in the Holy Temple The congregants, or worshippers in the House of Onias, were not ostracized. The position seems to be the model for traditional rabbinic reactions to non-halakhic Jewish clergy; their rabbis are not deemed rabbinic leaders, their services are ruled deviant, but the ordinary people (the worshippers) are not excluded nor condemned. The door is constantly open to all Jews to pray together and observe mitzvot.

Of major concern, therefore, is a question that goes to the root of religious power and influence, -- namely, who has the authority to establish halakha? This question has two major components.

Who has the right to go through the intellectual process of creatively providing the research, precedent and logic to formulate halakha on specific issues?
Who has the authority to establish policy?

To set policy requires a concern not only for the legal religious issues, but also for the ramifications of the decision upon the community. Indeed, should a particular ruling be viewed as generating a negative impact upon the sphere of Torah, the observance of mitzvoth or the future status of the people - many rabbinic authorities would refrain from establishing a halakhic practice. This suggests that an issue or practice that may be even legally (halakhically) permissible - may be prohibited as a policy. Thus it is evident that the formulators of halakhic policy influence the contours of religious life. Who are these people? We know that they are rabbis. But, what type of rabbis? This suggests a brief analysis of the Galut rabbinate and, in particular, the pulpit rabbinate; namely, those Rabbis who serve as leaders of congregations.

The Galut pulpit Rabbi is not controlled by any formal hierarchical structure. There is no regional or national Rabbinic supervisor to impact his freedom of action. Theoretically his authority to formulate halakha is inherent in his position as a Jewish leader. He is equal to anyone. Yet, from a pragmatic viewpoint, the pulpit Rabbi (especially in the U.S.A.) until recently has been perceived as the lowest figure of authority for the establishment of halakhic policy. He may implement or execute halakha, but was not deemed the proper vehicle to set policy itself. It was generally assumed that halakhic policy was simply beyond the scope of such rabbis.

A popular maxim from Pirke Avot (1:2) will help clarify the issue. It is reported that Shimon Hatzadik frequently said: "The world stands (or is based) upon three principles: Torah, Avodah, U'gemilut Hasadim. Torah is self understood; Avodah is religious, pious service or prayer and Gemilut Hasadim - is loving kindness. It should be noted that Jewish life has developed institutions to carry out (and, in a way, serve as the specialists of) each of the three endeavors.

1. The Yeshiva serves as the bastion of Torah learning. It is in the Yeshiva where one finds the greatest concentration of Torah scholarship and creative Torah excitement. As such, the Rosh HaYeshiva - the head of the Yeshiva, logically should serve as the final decisor for Torah questions. He simply is the greatest reservoir of Torah knowledge. The head teacher of Torah and Rabbis is assumed to know more than others.
Accordingly, halakhic policy has legitimacy when it emanates from such a source.

2. The Hassidic Shtibel generally serves as an example for the manifestation of fervent pious prayer. The Hassidic Rebbe need not necessarily be the greatest Torah scholar, but certainly he excels in praying. He is considered a holy Jew. He is, perhaps, a specialist in Avodah - religious service. Service to God has legitimacy, therefore, where it emanates from such specialists in piety.

3. Hesed and Tzedakah - Charity. In the Diaspora, synagogues are a major religious source for the collection and disbursement of charity. The rabbis serve as leaders of congregations of which a number among their midst may be philanthropists. Thus, pulpit rabbis are courted by Roshei Yeshivot and Hassidic Rebbes not because of the fact that such rabbis are great Torahs scholars, but - because of the potential influence such pulpit rabbis may have over directing lay leaders to support specific Torah or Hassidic institutions.

To the extent that the normal functions of synagogue life do not, by their very nature, require their rabbis to be great Torah scholars, the pulpit rabbis were by general understanding deemed not the proper legitimate source for formulating halakha. As such, a new dimension was added to halakhic policy.

The quality of research or the scintillating creativity of logic was of no paramount issue. The major question was the source of a halakhic ruling. Who said it? The name of the Rabbi who proclaimed policy was essential to engender acceptance.

Concomitant to this was the emergence of a "yardstick" to measure the validity or legitimacy of halakhic decisions. Is is called "Daat Torah". This principle projects the concept that a group of rabbinic sages imbued with the sanctity of Torah are the sole, authentic interpreters of our religion and spokesmen for daily decisions. Accordingly, all decisions require the imprimatur of great scholars. No one else has the Torah authority for halakhic policy. Thus, a decision which several great rabbis in unison promulgate has validity even if sources are not delineated. As long as a group is recognized as "Daat Torah", all decisions must be abided regardless of rationale or scholarship.

The underlying energizing legitimate aspect of this concept is the perception that "Daat Torah" is not solely the viewpoint of one or but a few of our great rabbis, but rather, the consensus position of a goodly number of rabbinic sages. If a practice appears to project the position of the world of scholarship and piety it becomes the "in and approved" rabbinic concern.

Though, in theory, such a position appears to have great merit, pragmatically, it generated a number of dysfunctional manifestations.

1. Torah Judaism is based on scholarship. Pronouncements and policies are traditionally rooted inTalmudic and halakhic expertise. Yet, in the era of "Daat Torah", the source or quality of scholarly research became secondary to the name of the person and position of the Rav who formulated it. This permeated within the rabbinic community a tendency to dismiss the findings of scholarship. It was necessary to acquire a "Gadol" - a sage who would back a specific policy. Such a position, moreover, would have respect regardless of the quality of the scholarship serving as the pinions for such a ruling. Torah discourse became exercises in futility, for nothing would become policy until a proper "Gadol" sanctioned it. This crystallized the approach of scurrying around for a "Gadol" to approve halakhic policies.

2. The concept "Daat Torah" gives the impression that it is a consensus position of numerous sages. Its dysfunction is that the process of seeking consensus generally tends to promote "humrot" or extreme orientations. It is generally easier for those who seek lenient rulings to agree to stringent positions than for extremists to accept lenient rulings. Accordingly, lenient positions do not emanate from a "Daat Torah" philosophy. It simply does not take place. There appears to be, moreover, a built-in negative response to any creative moderation or "loophole", even if such is halakhically correct. This generates public denunciation and scathing criticism of innovative halakhic rulings. Thus independent, objective halakhic inquiry is stifled by political pressure. Most scholars are simply not at all interested in incurring criticism or controversy and generally favor discretion over valor.

This projects the image that Torah policy is basically a movement to cater to right wing ideology. As "Daat Torah" became more popular, it became evident that no one was serving as the halakhic leaders for the vast numbers of Orthodox laymen in modern Orthodox synagogues. No one was the spokesman for the moderates. Indeed, it became necessary for Rabbis of congregations who deal daily with major problems to once again assume responsibility for establishing halakhic policy. Chaucer once wrote, "Truth will out." So too with halakha. It is not and cannot be the esoteric domain of a few select leaders. All Jews must be aware of its methodology and principles. Its logical system must be tested in the open sphere of dialogue and debate. Halakhic policy is the result of positions finely honed through Torah scholarship. That is the way it used to be. That is the way it should be again. Rabbis should have the ability to openly develop halakhic policy whether or not it is innovative or stringent or lenient or not part of a consensus - the issue is and should be - is it halakhically sound? And if it is sound, will the rabbinate implement the position?

There are changes in the pulpit rabbinate, changes that alter the role of pulpit rabbis and their ability to formulate halakha.

As a result of the phenomenal growth of Torah and Yeshiva education in America, most major congregations have large numbers of former Yeshiva students as part of their membership. These individuals are demanding that pulpit rabbis manifest Torah scholarship and erudition. As such, a new breed of scholars is occupying the leadership of pulpits. No longer may they be dismissed for lack of Torah standing.

In addition, many Rabbis of pulpits and Rashei Yeshiva are more or less around the same age level. This generates a new, mutual respect. When the Rabbis were aged in their twenties and thirties and the Rashei Yeshiva were venerable sages in their seventies, eighties or above - the pulpit rabbis would subordinate themselves to others. But, when the rabbis in the major congregations are more or less the same age or older than the Rashei Yeshiva - a different relationship applies. Indeed, many pulpit Rabbis even recall learning together as equals or peers with a number of Rashei Yeshiva while both were students.

Accordingly, both groups feel a sense of kinship and do not simply defer to the opinions of others.
Some time ago a noted Israeli Rosh Yeshiva and Member of Knesset visited with me. In an attempt to asses his character and religious hierarchical orientations, I asked him, "Who is your Rebbe? Who's your Rabbi for serious ideological problems?" His response was simple, matter of fact, yet quite astute. "You know, Reb Simcha, that those of us over forty years of age have no living Rebbe. We, sadly, are our own Rebbe." He's right. As a result of all of the above noted dynamic factors: namely, the concern for Halakhic policy to represent the needs of congregations - the desire to re-assert the stature and role of the pulpit rabbi - the concern that stringency is not necessarily the raison d'etre of halakha- the distaste for vilification of alternate policies - the simple lack of any commanding imposing giant to coalesce action - the concern for a moderate view - all these issues generated a support system for pulpit Rabbis to reassert their role in formulating halakhic policy.

A professor of mine, Albert Salamon, a noted scholar at the Graduate faculty of the NewSchool for Social Research, once said, "The image of the King topples before his throne." So too with halakhic policy. The dysfunctions in the current system supported a need for change. Congregations wished that Torah leadership should reflect the consensus views of Torah layman. This view may not be heeded by the Yeshiva or Hassidic worlds of influence. Such spheres of thought may seek out their own decisors of Jewish law. That is their right. The modern Orthodox have the right to seek out rabbinic scholars to espouse their viewpoint. Hopefully, halakhic policy will be the result of creative scholarship finely honed through the corridors of halakhic discourse - where ideas and Talmudic and halakhic guidelines are the issues - not personalities or political machinations. In fact, that's what Torah is all about.
 

In Pirkei Avot, it is written (chapter 1:2)
"Shimon Hatzadik was one of the last survivors of the Men of the Great Assembly." He lived with greatness and grandeur. He was a member of the Great Assembly. Thus he personally knew the top leaders of a previous generation, among whom were numbered several prophets who spoke in the name of God. He was a Kohen Gadol. Legend has it that he influenced Alexander the Great, and the Abarbanel writes that he communicated with Aristotle. What a pedigree! Yet, after his death, the leadership of Torah passed to Antigonos Ish Soho. He was not a High Priest; not a man of Jerusalem. He was a new leader who came out of the woodwork to become the singular spokesman for religion and the emissary to pass on the tradition to yet another generation. This teaches us again the old maxim that "Torah Tsiva Lanu Moshe, Morasha Kehilat Yaakov. The Torah that Moses commanded us is an inheritance to the children of Jacob." (Deut. 33:4)
Torah is not the sole repository of any one group. It belongs to all. All Jews are to learn Torah. Every Jew is a potential Hillel or Beruria. Pirke Avot delineates the transmission of Torah from one generation to another. Moshe and Yehoshua each served as the ultimate leader for their generations. Yet, afterward, no one person emerged to be so acclaimed by the Jewish people. There was a group called the "Elders" (wise men). Torah leadership was transformed from a single Master to a group of scholars; each lacking the ability to represent the totality of Kelal Yisrael - Maybe that is what will now take place again.

On this coming Rosh HaShana the Shmita (Sabbatical) year (5775 – 2014-15) will begin. According to its laws, routine agricultural activities are prohibited and its produce is ownerless, free to be taken by all. At the end of the year, Shmitat Kesafim (the remission of debts) also takes effect. If we look at this also in the context of the (currently inapplicable) Yovel (Jubilee) year, which in addition to the Shmita laws also frees the slaves and includes massive agrarian reform as all land that had been bought and sold in the previous fifty years reverts to its original owners, we witness a massive societal change with utopian overtones. Before returning to this topic I would like to present two inverse parallel stories of utopian redemption, Rebbe Nachman of Breslov’s “The Master of Prayer” and Ayn Rand’s “Atlas Shrugged” . Their tales are surprisingly similar in structure and yet opposites in the values that they promote and in their respective visions of society, redemption and utopia.

Rebbe Nachman (1772-1810) witnessed the beginnings of modernization, the industrial revolution, capitalism and the enlightenment. He saw these trends as posing a grave threat to people of religion and struggled to empower his followers and readers with tools to maintain their faith and values. He told the story "The Master of Prayer" to his followers on Saturday night, January 6, 1810, less than a year before his untimely death from tuberculosis. This story which is based upon Kabbalistic motifs regarding the process of the future redemption, focuses primarily on the charismatic and revolutionary Master of Prayer (perhaps alluding to Rebbe Nachman himself), who leads a secret counter culture group that lives on the edge of a general society that is increasingly alienated from spiritual values. This group was dedicated to the worship of God and was based upon a clear set of values and goals: “He would explain that the only true goal was to serve God all the days of one’s life, spending one’s time praying to God and singing His praise” (280). This spiritual goal stands in stark contrast to the materialistic values of the rest of society, which are clearly seen as mistaken: “Wealth is not the goal of life at all…the only goal is the Creator, may His name be blessed” (297). In Rebbe Nachman’s tale, the society at large is that of extreme capitalism, whereas the revolutionary counter culture group is spiritual. It is not clear whether the group was run as a collectivist commune or not, but we shall shortly be exposed to their position regarding the accumulation of wealth.

The Master is not content to merely minister to his flock. He and his followers actively engage in recruiting members of the general society to run away and join their secret band. “It was the custom of [the Master of Prayer] to visit inhabited areas, convincing people to emulate him, serving God and constantly praying. Whenever people wanted to join him, he would take them to his place away from civilization, where their only activities would be praying, singing praise to God, confession, self-mortification, repentance, and similar occupations…Eventually his teachings began to make an impression, and his activities became well known. People would suddenly vanish without a trace; no one know where they were…people began to realize that all of this was due to the Master of Prayer, who was attracting people to serve God” (281-282). He is well-known and highly feared by the society at large, who could not succeed in capturing him due to his ability to cleverly disguise himself: “It was impossible to recognize or capture him, since he would always appear in a different disguise. He would appear to one person as a merchant, and to another as a pauper” (292).

What exactly was the nature of the society that the Master of Prayer was trying to overthrow? While there were actually several different lands that he was undermining, it is clear in the story that the most misguided and most difficult of all to fight against was “the Land of Wealth”. In this super capitalistic society men are judged solely upon the amount of wealth that they own and are assigned hierarchical status based upon their financial worth alone, with the richest individuals proclaimed as “gods” and the poorest as “animals”. The result is a never ending spiral of fierce competition for one’s life literally depended upon moving up the societal ladder. According to their religion there were even “animal” (human) sacrifices to the “gods” and not surprisingly theft and murder abounded. Not only that, but “Charity was a very great sin. They believed that if a person gave charity, it would diminish the influx of wealth that God had given him…It was therefore forbidden in the strongest terms to give charity” (289-290). This society, which strongly reminds us of Sodom, the biblical town of horrors, is the greatest challenge for the Master of Prayer. Not only is the society rampant with violence and idolatry (including human sacrifice), but the belief in wealth also constituted the most difficult theological error to combat, for: “it was possible to get a person out of any desire except for the desire for wealth” (337). This topic of the desire for wealth and its inherent spiritual dangers was addressed by Rebbe Nachman in numerous places in his writings and he must have seen its rampant negative effects all around him. The rectification for this disorder was only possible if the person were to be brought to a special place (“the path of the sword”) where he would be miraculously cured from his desire for wealth: “In that place money is the greatest shame. If someone wants to insult another, he says that the other has money. Money is so great a shame, that the more money a person has, the greater his shame…Now it was revealed that wealth is the main thing of which to be ashamed” (349-350). In the end the Land of Wealth falls as its inhabitants repent their evil ways and spirituality replaces material values as the essential definition of human activity. The entire world is redeemed and the eschatological utopia is ushered in.

A century and a half after Rebbe Nachman told the tale of the Master of Prayer, a remarkably similar tale with the opposite message was published, “Atlas Shrugged”, the magnum opus of the American novelist and philosopher Ayn Rand (1905-1982). Born Alisa Zinov'yevna Rosenbaum to a fairly assimilated bourgeois Jewish family in St. Petersburg, Rand and her family suffered greatly during the Communist revolution and in its aftermath. Arriving in the United States in 1926 she developed an extreme capitalist and libertine philosophy that she called “objectivism” and used the heroes in her books as her ideology’s mouthpieces. She also promoted an atheistic and rationalistic world view portraying her socialist anti-heroes as “mystics”. She considered herself a writer of the “Romantic Realist” school.

Her self-identification with her positive characters was nearly total, as she wrote in “About the Author” at the end of "Atlas Shrugged": “I have always lived by the philosophy I present in my books – and it has worked for me, as it works for my characters”. Atlas Shrugged represented the pinnacle of her literary career. Simply stated, in a mere 1168 pages she had managed to state her philosophy in its most highly developed form and it would seem that from then on it was all downhill in both her literary career and her personal life.

Like the Master of Prayer in Rebbe Nachman’s tale, "Atlas Shrugged" is also about a mysterious revolutionary figure living on the edge of society. John Galt is a brilliant individualistic inventor who has disappeared from the oppressive socialistic society that America has become and he strikes fear into the hearts of that society, whose slang refrain to almost anything is “who is John Galt?”. He too lures people from the general society to his secret utopian hideaway. However, the scenes are completely reversed, as the general society is an oppressive America ruled by socialist dictators who trample individual and economic rights. Galt steals away the leading minds of the country. Rugged individualists like himself, these elite "industrialists" join him in “going on strike” against a society that takes advantage of their brains and productivity in order to serve one of mediocrity and passivity. Galt and his friends know that eventually America will implode (and they also help it along the way here and there) and then they will take over, and their capitalist utopia will again rule America and the world, and people will once again have the ultimate freedom – to produce and to make money.

As stated above Rand’s heroes are all great orators who expound her beliefs to her readers. We are thus treated to such gems as: “When I die I hope to go to heaven…I want to be able to afford the price of admission… to claim the greatest virtue of all – that I was a man who made money” (96). “To the glory of mankind, there was, for the first and only time in history, a country of money – and I have no higher, more reverent tribute to pay to America…If you ask me to name the proudest distinction of Americans, I would choose…the fact that they were the people to create the phrase ‘to make money.’…The words ‘to make money’ hold the essence of human morality” (414). “I am rich and I am proud of every penny that I own…I refuse to apologize for my money” (480). (emphasis in original).

Moving on to Galt’s secret utopian society we find that even the most rugged individualists must live by some rules. So when railroad magnate Miss Dagny Taggart accidently arrives on her first visit Galt explains: “We have no laws in this valley, no rules, no formal organization of any kind…But we have certain customs, which we all observe…So I’ll warn you now that there is one word which is forbidden in this valley: the word ‘give’” (714). Inscribed above the building that houses the revolutionary motor that Galt has invented to power the village is the following motto: “I swear by my life and my love for it that I will never live for the sake of another man, nor ask another man to live for mine” (731). While it is true that the group members work hard and live relatively modestly, their long-term vision obviously extends way beyond their temporary mountain hideout.

What would be an appropriate symbol for such a society? Dagny receives the answer upon her arrival: “But close before her, rising on a slender granite column from a ledge below to the level of her eyes, blinding her by its glare, dimming the rest, stood a dollar sign three feet tall, made of solid gold. It hung in space above the town, as its coat-of-arms, its trademark, its beacon – and it caught the sunrays, like some transmitter of energy that sent them in shining blessing to stretch horizontally through the air above the roofs” (706). The dollar sign also appears upon their locally produced cigarettes and was used by Dagny when she finally leaves her railroad terminal for the last time: “she glanced at the statue of [her grandfather] Nathaniel Taggert…she took the lipstick from her bag and, smiling…drew a large sign of the dollar on the pedestal under his feet” (1138).

If in the "Master of Prayer" the redemption was signaled when the inhabitants of the Land of Wealth became disgusted by money, Atlas Shrugged ends with the following messianic vision: “’The road is cleared,’ said Galt. ‘We are going back to the world.’ He raised his hand and over the desolate earth he traced in space the sign of the dollar” (1168). We should not be surprised that at Rand’s funeral her friends placed a six foot high floral bouquet on her grave – in the shape of a dollar sign.

In summation, if we compare the utopian visions of our two authors, it is clear that for Rand state socialism (and spirituality that she rather strangely connects it with) undermine all that is good and noble in humanity, destroying human motivation, individuality and freedom, and ultimately, society itself. The solution is in absolute Laissez-faire capitalism and the freedom to invent, produce, trade and most importantly - to make money.

In Rebbe Nachman’s view it is faithless capitalism that leads to idolatry and violence. The solution is faith, and it would seem that ultimately the nature of the particular economic system is secondary as the emphasis is upon Divine service combined with a great deal of compassion. It suffices us to note again in Rand’s utopia even the use of the word “give” is prohibited, whereas one of the greatest signs of corruption in Rebbe Nachman’s despicable Sodom-like Land of Wealth is the prohibition on charity.

Did Ayn Rand model her hero John Galt (gelt?) upon the Master of Prayer? It is possible that she had read Martin Buber's 1906 German translation of the story, but it seems unlikely and at the end of the day, it isn't really so significant. The question that interests me is what does Judaism, via the mitzva of Shmita, have to teach us about utopian beliefs?

Historically it can be argued that the modern state of Israel began with a heavy-handed socialist economic model which led to bureaucracy, inefficiency and corruption. We later moved to a capitalist free market model, based on individualism which led to both economic growth and a massive gap between the wealthiest and poorest members of our society. Some say it is the largest in the Western world. We also suffer from a situation in which a significant percentage of our population lives below the poverty line. It seems clear that there is a need for balance. Alexander Dub?ek said in the Prague Spring of 1968 that Czechoslovakia was in need of "socialism with a human face" and perhaps Israel in 2014 is in need of "capitalism with a human face". The social-economic model of Shmita, seen in its broader context including Shmitat Kesafim and Yovel can provide us with the proper model. Let us briefly examine some of the explanations given by the classic commentators to this mitzva and their relevance to our question. While it is clear from their words that Shmita contains multiple elements including personal and national spiritual growth and renewal (such as providing the opportunity for a year of Torah study) as well as addressing ecological and agricultural concerns, I will focus primarily on those perspectives which pertain to social and economic issues.

Maimonides, in the Guide for the Perplexed (3:39), writes as follows: "This [mitzva] expresses mercy and compassion for human beings as it says “and the poor of your people will eat”…and it also strengthens the land and increases the harvest by allowing the land to rest". We see here an emphasis on social justice as the poor now have equal access to food supplies. It may be that the agricultural aspect is not to be seen only in light of increasing future profits for the landowner, but as part of a plan to maximize food production in the Land of Israel for the ultimate benefit of all of the inhabitants.

In addition to additional “religious” messages the Sefer HaChinuch (Mishpatim, mitzva 84) teaches: "There is an advantage to this, for us to acquire the trait of forgoing. One should also remember that the land which gives him fruit…doesn’t produce through its own power, but there is a Master over it and over its masters”. Here it is apparent that one cannot clearly distinguish between the ritual and the interpersonal aspects of Shmita. For if it comes to instill within us the character trait of forgoing one’s property and financial rights for the good of society, this must be coupled with an increase in ones faith that ultimately it is God Himself who rules over the land and provides for our needs. One who internalizes this spiritual message will find it easier to share his wealth with others while learning to take his own losses in stride.

Rabbi Zvi Hirsch Kalisher (Sefer HaBrit, Behar s.v. Derech HaSheni, U’Sefarta Lecha) explains that "the wealthy man will learn not to look down upon the poor man, for the Torah said that in the seventh year everyone is equal, both rich and poor have permission to enter gardens and fields and eat”. An additional reason is “so that he will not always be burdened with physical pursuits…and when he throws off the yoke of labor he will engage in [the study of] Torah and wisdom. And those who don't know how to study will build houses and buildings so that the Land of Israel will not be lacking them either…for the need and perfection of the world". Rabbi Kalisher, the great 19th century proto-Zionist, openly stresses the equality of rich and poor during the Sabbatical year, both in terms of economic opportunity and in terms of consciousness. While he stresses that the rich will cease to look down on the poor there will no doubt be an additional benefit – that for a change the poor will be endowed with dignity and self-respect. This new consciousness, especially when combined with the reforms of the remittance of debts and the freeing of the slaves and returning of property in the Jubilee year will serve to level the socio-economic playing field as we shall discuss shortly. Even his caveat that those farmers not suited to a year of Torah study will engage in construction work for the good of society is part of a harmonious and utopian vision of a righteous society predicated upon spiritual values, physical labor and equality. It is of little wonder that elsewhere in his commentary he quotes an opinion to the effect that the Shmita year is meant to recreate the reality of the Garden of Eden before Adam and Eve sinned. This is of course, a well-known vision in Jewish eschatology.

Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook, writing in the introduction to his classic exposition on the laws of Shmita (Shabbat HaAretz), explains that "The individual shakes off his profane existence often, on every Shabbat…the same effect that Shabbat has on the individual, Shmita has on the entire nation…whose inner Divine light is occasionally revealed in its entire splendor, which cannot be annulled by ongoing social life…by rage and competition". What is of interest to us here is not Rabbi Kook’s beautiful description of the well-known comparison between Shmita and Shabbat, but rather his characterization of the atmosphere that characterizes the workweek and non-Shmita reality as one of “rage and competition”. The endless fight to get ahead financially at the expense of one’s “competitors” must occasionally give way to the atmosphere of compassion and equality that we have seen above.

Rabbi Yaacov Ariel, the chief rabbi of the Israeli city of Ramat-Gan explains as follows (Zeh Dvar HaShmita): "The mitzva of Shmita is built upon two foundations: the public and the private…the mitzva’s central idea is to remove one from his egocentric perspective and develop his feelings for his fellow man, public responsibility and a “majestic” perspective". While the end of Rabbi Ariel’s words here hint at certain aspects of Halachic debate and public policy regarding the proper observance of Shmita’s legal aspects, his first comment is crucial. We are dealing with a law which is to have a very specific moral and psychological impact on us. If Rabbi Kalisher spoke of the cessation of the superiority complex of the wealthy, Rabbi Ariel broadens it to include a general cleansing from our usual egocentricity in favor of a much broader perspective that centers upon our concern for the individual other and for society as a whole. I recall that during the previous Shmita year of 2007-8 I heard him quip that whereas in general the Torah leans towards capitalism, during the Shmita year it is decidedly communistic!

In the fall of 2001, just as the Shmita year was ending and the remission of debts was about to take effect, I was privileged to study the topic of Shmita Kesafim with my late teacher Rav Shagar (Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg zt”l). He too stressed that with the overall package of Shmita, Shmitat Kesafim and Yovel the Torah was presenting us with clear socio-economic imperatives. In his view what we see here is a periodic attempt to reset economic reality and level the playing field. Debts are cancelled, land is returned and slaves are emancipated. He pointed out that in ancient time one of the main reasons why a person would become a “Hebrew slave” (what we would call an “indentured servant”), was his inability to pay off his debts. Thus the combination of the economic measures listed above together with the availability of free produce during an entire year would be sufficient to return society, at least temporarily, to a harmonious balance. This, when combined with a heightened consciousness of faith in God’s providence as the true provider, the cessation of the usual competitiveness and the arrogance built into the economic system, would provide us with a taste of the revolutionary changes in store for the world when the true messianic utopia comes to pass. I can only hope that our proper observance of the Shmita year in all of its aspects will hasten that great day.

Rabbi Zvi Leshem was ordained by the Chief Rabbinate of Israel and holds a PhD in Jewish Philosophy from Bar-Ilan University. He served for several decades in senior educational and rabbinic positions before assuming his current role directing the Gershom Scholem Collection for Kabbalah Research at the National Library of Israel. He is the author of "Redemptions: Contemporary Chassidic Essays on the Parsha and the Festivals".

Campus Fellows dinner meeting at the home of Rabbi and Mrs. Marc Angel, December 24, 2014

Stern/YU: God Save me from Your Opinion-Dec 25, 2014

What makes one a Jew? Being born to a Jewish mother? Converting to Judaism? Not really. It is living by the spiritual order of Judaism that makes one a Jew; living through the Jews of the past and with the Jews of the present and future. We are Jews when we choose to be so; when we have discovered Jewishness on our own, through our search for the sacred; when we fight the never-ending spiritual struggle to find God, realize that the world needs a moral conscience, and carry that exalted burden so as to save the world and provide it with a mission.

One becomes a bit Jewish when one realizes that there cannot be nature without spirit and there is no neutrality in matters of moral conscience. But all this is not enough. We have a long way to go before we grow into full-fledged Jews. We must recognize the noble in the commonplace; endow the world with majestic beauty; acknowledge that mankind has not been the same since God overwhelmed us at Sinai; and accept that mankind without Sinai is not viable.

To create in ourselves Jewish vibrations we need to see the world sub specie aeternitatis (from the perspective of eternity). We must be able to step out of the box of our small lives and hold the cosmic view, while at the same time not losing the ground under our feet but dealing with our trivial day-to-day endeavors and sanctifying them. Not by escaping them through denial or declaring them of no importance, but by actually engaging them and using them as great opportunities to grow. As one painstakingly discovers this, one slowly becomes a Jew.

Some of us have to struggle to attain this; others seem to be born with it. They possess a mysterious Jewish soul that nobody can identify, but everyone recognizes it is there. It has something to do with destiny, certain feelings that no one can verbalize. What is at work is the internalization of the covenant between God, Abraham and, later, Sinai. It is in one’s blood even when one is not religious. It murmurs from the waves beyond the shore of our souls and overtakes our very being, expanding our Jewishness wherever we go.

Most Jews “have it,” but so do some non-Jews. They know they have it. It is thoroughly authentic. They are touched by it as every part of one’s body is touched by water when swimming, its molecules penetrating every fiber of one’s being. Nothing can deny it.

These are the authentic Jews, but not all of them belong to the people of Israel. Some are gentiles with gentile parents; others are children of mixed marriages. If they should wish to join the Jewish people they would have to convert in accordance with Halacha, although they have been “soul Jews” since birth.

But why are they not already full-fledged Jews, without a requirement to convert? All the ingredients are present! Why the need for the biological component of a Jewish mother, or the physical act of immersing in a mikveh (ritual bath)?

The reason must be that Halacha is not just about religious authenticity and quality of the soul. It is also about the down-to-earth reality of life. It asks a most important question: How shall we recognize who is Jewish and who is not? Can we read someone’s soul? How can one know for sure whether one is really Jewish? Can one read one’s own soul and perceive it? How do we know that our believed authenticity is genuine?

The world is a complex mixture of the ideal and the practical, where genuineness can easily and unknowingly be confused with pretentiousness. To live one’s life means to live in a manner that the physical constitution and the inner spirit of man interact, but also clash. There is total pandemonium when only the ideal reigns while the realistic and the workable are ignored.

Tension, even contradiction, between the ideal and the workable is the great challenge to Halacha. It therefore needs to make tradeoffs: How much authenticity and how much down-to-earth realism? How much should it function according to the dream and the spirit, and how much in deference to the needs of our physical world?

As much as Halacha would like to grant full dominion to the ideal, it must compromise by deferring to indispensable rules that allow the world to function. Just as it must come to terms with authenticity versus conformity (see Thoughts to Ponder 275), so it must deal with authentic Jewishness and the necessity to set external and even biological parameters for defining Jewish identity. And just as in the case of authenticity and conformity, here too, there will be victims and unpleasant consequences.

Some “soul Jews” will pay the price and be identified as non-Jews, despite the fact that “ideal” Halacha would have liked to include them. However unfortunate, Halacha must sometimes compromise the “Jewish soul” quality of an individual who because of these rules cannot be recognized as Jewish. Were we not to apply these imperatives, chaos would reign.

But there is more to it than that. There needs to be a nation of Israel, a physical entity able to carry the message of Judaism to the world. All members of this nation must have a common historical experience that has affected its spiritual and emotional makeup. There need to be root experiences, as Emil Fackenheim calls them, such as the exodus from Egypt, the crossing of the Red Sea and the revelation at Sinai. The impact of these events crafted this people into a most unusual nation ready to take on the world and transform it. For Jews to send their message to the world they need to have a historical experience – as a family and later on as a nation – in which people inherit a commitment to a specific way of living even when some of its members object to it.

The fact that Judaism allows outsiders to join, though they were not part of this experience, is not only a wondrous thing but is also based on the fact that not all souls need these root experiences to become Jewish. They have other qualities that are as powerful and transforming, and that allow them to convert as long as they are absorbed into a strong core group whose very identity is embedded in these root experiences.

In terms of a pure and uncompromised religious ideal, this means that some Jews should not be Jews and some non-Jews should be Jews. Authenticity, after all, cannot be inherited; it can only be nurtured. Ideally, only those who consciously take on the Jewish mission, and live accordingly, should be considered Jews. If not for the need for a Jewish people, it would have been better to have a Jewish faith community where people can come and go depending on their willingness to commit to the Jewish religious way and its mission – just as other religions conduct themselves.

So, the demands of Halacha create victims when some “soul Jews” are left out of the fold, as is the case with children of mixed marriages who have non-Jewish mothers, or children of Jewish grandparents but non-Jewish parents. Similarly, with gentiles who have Jewish souls but no Jewish forefathers at all. All of these are casualties.

This is the price to be paid for the tension between the ideal and the need for compliance; for the paradox between the spirit and the law. That Halacha even allows any non-Jew to become Jewish through proper conversion is a most powerful expression of its humanity. In fact, it is a miracle.

There are probably billions of people who are full-fledged “soul Jews” but don’t know it, and very likely never will. Perhaps it is these Jews whom God had in mind when He blessed Avraham and told him that he would be the father of all nations and that his descendants would be as numerous as the stars in the sky and the grains of sand on the seashore.

We have all heard the famous story of Esav returning from the field and seeing his twin brother, Jacob, sitting with a delicious bowl of soup in front of him. Esav decides that he needs to eat the soup and he is willing to go so far as to sell his birthright for it.
Later on in the story when Esav runs in from the field to receive the blessing from his father; upon realizing that he no longer had this option (as the blessing went to Jacob), he exclaims that this is the second time he has been tricked by Jacob (referring to selling the birthright as the first time). Obviously Esav is still bitter about the entire episode with him selling the birthright. This begs a very basic question: why would Esav sell his birthright for a simple bowl of soup? At first one might say that Esav himself gives us an answer when he states that he is “dying” of hunger but this seems to be the same type of exaggeration we are used to using on a daily basis. I think that the answer here is much deeper and has a connection to why we have come to known Esav as the typical Rasha.

The Talmud speaks about a concept called a “davar shelo bah leolam” or something that doesn’t exist yet. For many things in business some sort of “kinyan” or transaction needs to take place. The Talmud decides that one cannot do business with something that does not yet exist. For example one cannot marry a girl (something that needs a transaction to take place) with next year’s crops which have yet to grow. It seems that when something doesn’t exist yet, even though both people know that it will come, it isn’t considered like is something of value. We can relate this Halacha to human psychology in what is known as the need for instant gratification. People want to see results and benefits immediately or else they will try something else. This seemed to be Esav’s problem; although he may have known that the bechor was technically worth more than a bowl of soup, he wanted the instant gratification. When one is overcome by his desire for instant gratification he is at risk to throw away things worth much more in value. It is no coincidence that our Rabbis state that desire is able to remove a man from this world. This need for instant gratification is such a bad character trait that one who is overcome with it would be denoted by Chazal as the protype of the Rasha.

On the other end of the spectrum we have Jacob. Already from a young age he is described as a simple man, but this story with the soup is really the first time we see him in action. Just as Esav was ready to through away the Bechor for some soup, Jacob was willing to give his soup away. He probably went hungry that night but he had more important things to worry about; he had a vision.

When Jacob has to run away from his parent’s house he finds himself in the house of Lavan. He sees that his daughter, Rachel, is an amazing women and he sets out to marry her. He works 7 years straight just to marry her and in the end he is tricked! The 7 years here isn’t random, the 7 years represents an entire cycle of time or agricultural cycle (as we see with Shmitah). Jacob is able to work the entire first set of 7 years and it seemed very short in his eyes because of the passion and his ability to see the goal at the end of the road. Even after getting tricked he is able to pick himself back up and work another 7 years for his goal. Jacob internalized the fact that to acquire something of value one has to work hard and it doesn’t come instantly.

As current college students, it pains us to see how quickly Jews are becoming assimilated and distant from the Torah. People think that the Torah is an outdated book that holds little value in today’s practical world. We wish to show that Torah is a dynamic and interactive guidebook that provides us with the tools to build this world within the context of Hashem’s word and desires. We strive to show that Torah, in all its depth and beauty, is not something outdated and irrelevant, but clearly pertinent and timeless. Throughout or time here at UCLA, we have learned that being a Jew not only means that we must make these Torah lessons relevant to ourselves, but to wear our Jewish persona ‘on our sleeves’ and make sure to present ourselves as the advocates and representatives of God and his mission statement. We realize that being part of the secular world and studying history, recognizing other nations’ scientific contributions, and reading about other philosophies, does not detract from our mission—rather it augments the understanding that we should be involved in this world in order to make Torah relevant to any and every Jew whom may have a different approach in living his/her life. Thus, our goal is to work one day and one student at a time to try to fix this phenomenon. No one event and no one single conversation will be able to save the current situation in the Jewish community, it is the constant accumulation of such events and conversations that will ultimately help the Jewish future. With events such as a biweekly Mishmar, challah baking and learning, and just being there to talk to people about anything that is on their mind, we hope to change the Jewish people one student on one college campus at a time.

History was made on Sunday, November 30, when for the first time in the annals of the state, official recognition was given to Jewish refugees from Arab lands and Iran.

The event, hosted by President Reuven Rivlin at his official residence, was the continuum of legislation that was passed by the Knesset in June of this year designating November 30 as the national day of commemoration of the plight of Jewish refugees from Arab lands and Iran. The date was significant in that it commemorates the day after the anniversary of the November 29, 1947 United Nations resolution on the partition of Palestine, which led to an immediate flare up of anti-Zionist action and policy among Arab states, resulting in the killing, persecution, humiliation, oppression and expulsion of Jews, the sequestration of Jewish property and a war against the nascent State of Israel.

In 1948 close to a million Jews lived in Arab lands. Some were massacred in pogroms. Most fled or were expelled between 1948 and 1967. In 1948 there were 260,000 Jews in Morocco. Today there are less than 3,000. In the same time frame, the Jewish population of Algeria declined from 135,000 to zero, in Tunisia from 90,000 to a thousand, in Libya from 40,000 to zero, in Egypt from 75,000 to less than one hundred, in Iraq from 125,000 to zero, in Yemen from 45,000 to approximately 200, in Syria from 27,000 to 100, and in Lebanon from 10,000 in the 1950s to less than 100.

Although various attempts were made over the years by leaders of these communities in Israel and academics stemming from these communities to secure the same kind of recognition for the suffering of Jews in Arab lands as is accorded to the Jews of Europe, nothing of major substance was done until the bill proposed by MKs Shimon Ohayon of Yisrael Beiteinu and Nissim Zeev of Shas was placed on the national agenda.

The intention behind the bill said Ohayon on Sunday night, was to ensure that the stories of what happened to Jews in and from Arab lands and Iran should be part of the school curriculum, because most Israeli children are entirely ignorant of these chapters in the diverse aspects of Jewish heritage. Just as they learn about the history and fate of the Jews of Europe, they should also learn the history of the Jews of the region, he said. He placed great significance on national recognition, saying that this would lead to international acknowledgement so that Jews who left everything they owned behind, could be compensated. There were no words to describe his excitement that this day had come said Ohayon, but he was simultaneously pained that the Tel Aviv Cinematheque had chosen at this time to show films of the Arab Nakba (catastrophe) in 1948, while overlooking documentaries and feature films about the suffering of Jews from Arab lands and Iran. He related the story of a woman who had told him that her son, a university student, knows all about Nakba, but not about the travails endured by his grandfather before he came to Israel.

Zeev, the Jerusalem born son of Iraqi parents concurred with Ohayon and emphasized how important it was for the world to know about the tragedy that befell so many hundreds of thousands of people. Of the Jewish refugees from Arab lands and Iran, 650,000 came to Israel, he said, and the rest went mostly to Europe and America.

But before they became refugees, they and their forebears made great contributions to Jewish culture and to the cultures and economies of their host countries, and these must be acknowledged, he said

Meir Kahlon, chairman of the joint Associations of Jews from Arab Lands and Iran, noted that the world has long been talking about Arab refugees, but has ignored Jewish refugees from Arab lands. He also reminded those present that the Holocaust was not solely a European tragedy, but had spread to this part of the world. His mother had been killed in the Holocaust in Libya when he was only five months old.

Rivlin, who is a seventh generation Jerusalemite, does not know what it means to be expelled from one’s homeland, said Kahlon. Like Ohayon and Zeev, he questioned the lacuna in the Israeli curricula. As refugees, the Jews from Arab lands and Iran understand the plight of Palestinian refugees and will not allow their problems to be swept under the carpet said Kahlon, adding that the Palestinians must understand that this land also belongs to the Jews who yearned for it during centuries of exile. In this context, he quoted from Psalm 137: “By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept as we remembered Zion…”

He recommended that the compensation initiative for both sides proposed by former US President Bill Clinton be adopted and that a fund be set up to compensate and rehabilitate all the Palestinians living in refugee camps and all the Jews and their heirs who had been displaced from Arab lands and Iran. “We don’t seek war with anyone. We hold out our hand in peace,” he said.

Moderator Yossi Alfi, who is known for his marathon story telling festivals in which personalities from every immigrant group in Israel have the opportunity to share their stories with live audiences, radio listeners and television viewers, declared: “We are all excited today. It is indeed a holiday for us and others celebrating elsewhere. This day in Jerusalem is an important date in the story of the exodus of Jews from Arab Lands and Iran.”

Alfi, born in Basra Iraq, came to Israel in 1949 as a 3 year old refugee without his parents. Now, at age 69, he said he still feels the weight of what was left behind.

November 30 signifies not only the expulsion he said, but also the right to reparations. “It is also a day of love for Israel and for Zionism.”

Despite all that happened to them, these Jews who were expelled did not allow themselves to become dispirited, he said. “They did not forget where they came from, but they knew where they were going. Hardships not withstanding, they were able to maintain the heritage of a glorious past.”

Admitting that Jews from Arab lands and Iran had been subjected to a great injustice, and whose story had been pushed to the sidelines of the Zionist narrative, Rivlin commented that the designation of November 30 as a national day came too late and on too small a scale to impact on public consciousness, but declared that it was nevertheless important to correct this injustice “which should not be underestimated.”

The healing process, he said, begins with acknowledging the mistakes that were made, and for this reason he was proud as president of the state to host the inaugural November 30 commemoration. When his own ancestors came to the country from Lithuania in 1809, there were already immigrants from Yemen living here as well as Spanish families with ancient traditions. After the creation of the state when the refugees began arriving, their suffering was not taken into account and they were sent far away from the corridors of power to peripheral communities such as Dimona, Afikim, Beit She'an and Hatzor Haglilit where they developed cities out of nothing to be protective buffer zones for Israel’s borders, said Rivlin. It took a long time before these immigrants could give voice to their frustrations. Rivlin cited a list of writers and entertainment artists who paved the way for others to make their stories and their feelings known.