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Recognition Hunger: Thoughts for Parashat Ki Tetsei

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Ki Tetsei

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

In his book, “Games People Play,” Dr. Eric Berne wrote of a phenomenon that he described as recognition hunger. Humans have a deep psychological need to be recognized, to be validated. It is a natural desire to want to be loved and appreciated. These signs of affirmative recognition convey a message: your life matters, you are good, you make a difference. When someone sincerely praises or thanks us, we feel better about ourselves.

While all people have recognition hunger, it manifests itself in different ways. Dr. Berne notes: “A movie actor may require hundreds of strokes each week from anonymous and undifferentiated admirers to keep his spinal cord from shriveling, while a scientist may keep physically and mentally healthy on one stroke a year from a respected master.” (p. 15)

While all humans need affirmation from others, different people have different sorts of recognition hunger. Some are so internally weak, they need constant validation and applause. They seek publicity for themselves. They want to be noticed, and they ache when they are not noticed. The hungrier they are for recognition, the weaker they are within themselves. They don’t think their life matters unless they receive constant attention, however superficial or ephemeral. It may seem odd, but it is often very true, that the most “popular” and “powerful” people are also the most lonely and insecure people.

There are others, like the scientist in Dr. Berne’s statement, whose lives are validated by affirmation from an esteemed master. Such people are very strong within themselves. They don’t pander to the crowd, they don’t strive to call undue attention to themselves. They work diligently and humbly without seeking the limelight. They feel personally validated if one respected person loves them, admires them, or compliments their work. They don’t measure their internal success and happiness by how many people praise or clap for them; rather, they find contentment and validation from the love, admiration and respect of a few--or even one—special individuals.

Generally, the saddest human beings are those who receive little or no recognition from anyone. They are ignored, unloved, unappreciated. Others see them as being inconsequential; they come to see themselves as being inconsequential. Perhaps this is why the Torah constantly reminds us—and commands us—to care for the widow and orphan, to treat the poor with kindness and charity, to respect the elderly. The Torah wants us to be sources of validation for those who might otherwise feel neglected and abandoned.

People with excessive recognition hunger are so worried about their own egos, that they are callous when it comes to caring about others. They want praise aimed at themselves; they are self-centered and self-serving. They will step on anyone and do almost anything in order to advance themselves and gain more recognition. The Torah urges us not to be this kind of person.

It is precisely the psychologically strong people who are best able to care for others. Only the most secure people can give generous compliments. Only those who receive admiration, respect and love can properly convey admiration, respect and love for others. The Torah guides us to become this kind of person.

The outstanding figure in the Torah is Moses; what do we know about his recognition hunger?

The Torah describes many episodes in the life of Moses. It seems that he received very little positive validation from others. In one story after the other, Moses is rebuked, threatened, betrayed, and challenged. Jethro appreciated Moses’ kindness to his daughters, but we never find an Israelite who says to Moses: thank you, you’ve done a good job, you’ve been a strong leader, you’ve helped us live better lives. It is truly amazing that a man could have served his people so long and so effectively…and yet receive next to no gratitude, appreciation or words of kindness.

So how did Moses maintain his inner strength and composure?

The book of Devarim, including this week’s parasha Ki Tetsei, represents Moses’s recap of his career as leader of his people. He recounts the historical events; he underscores and expands upon the commandments; he offers a religious vision imparted to him by the Almighty. As a servant of God, he drew his validation from God, not human beings. If Moses ever lost heart or if he ever wondered whether his life meant anything, God’s voice reassured him: I love you, Moses, you are accomplishing great things, don’t lose heart, don’t give up on yourself.

Moses, of course, was in a category of his own. He is the only one to have spoken with God “face to face” and to have had such a close relationship with God. And yet, his example can inspire all of us.

Moses reminds us that recognition hunger can be satisfied to a great extent by our own internal validation. When we feel that our work is meaningful, we feel validated even if others do not praise us. When we act righteously, we feel that we are serving the Lord, we are strong even if no one knows of our righteousness. When our own consciences validate us, we can live happily and securely even without receiving applause and public recognition.

This does not preclude our psychological need for being loved, appreciated, and thanked. Recognition hunger is a real factor in human life. Yet, the finest and most secure people are those who are internally validated, who understand that ultimately the validity of their lives is a matter between themselves and God. It is as though God speaks to them and no one else hears.

Without that validation, life is empty. With that validation, life is a blessing.

Walking Humbly: A Brief Interpretive History of Micah 6:8

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Dr. Erica Brown is an associate professor of curriculum and pedagogy at The George Washington University and the director of its Mayberg Center for Education and Leadership. She is the author of 12 books. Her latest is Esther: Power, Fate and Fragility in Exile. This article appears in issue 36 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

In Gustav Dore’s etching, “Micah Exhorting the Israelites,” the prophet stands against a decaying wall with his arms raised and his eyes lowered. Few people targeted in Micah’s immediate sightline look directly at the prophet. Bowed in shame, they turn away. Those who do look have either fear or skepticism in their eyes, just the sort of facial expressions one would expect from a group reminded of their wrongdoings and the attendant consequences. A cursory examination of the eight chapters of Micah help us understand the issues the prophet might be bringing to the attention of his flock that would have received this mixed response. Many of Micah’s prophecies were standard tropes for Hebrew prophets waging a moral and theological battle with their constituents: idol worship, the destruction of Jerusalem, the ravaging of Samaria, the dishonesty of the privileged. Micah also predicted the eventual restoration of Judea with a salvific postscript that is also common to our darkest prophetic and apocalyptic narratives.

We know almost nothing about Micah as an individual.[1] His parables and chastisements offer little insight into his character. The book reads like a string of small exhortations and observations without a uniting theme. The Sages of the Talmud do little to fill in this picture; they merely identify the broad time period in which Micah lived and performed his holy work: “Rabbi Yoḥanan said: He was the first of the four prophets who prophesied during that period, and these are they: Hosea, Isaiah, Amos, and Micah.”[2]

What we do know about the book of Micah is the popularity and influence of, arguably, its most significant verse: “He (God) has told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: Only to do justice and to love goodness, and to walk modestly with your God” (Micah 6:8). We may have a tiny indication of the verse’s importance in Dore’s etching: a right foot sticks out from the fold of Micah’s tunic, suggesting that he will soon leave the small platform, perhaps to walk modestly with his God.

Doing justice, loving goodness, and walking humbly with God are the desideratum of a strenuous religious life, and not nearly as easy to accomplish as the prophet’s simply-phrased request. Perhaps because of this, the verse has garnered a lot of attention from the Talmud onward. In fact, focusing only on this verse from Micah results in a disconnection of the verse from its biblical context, sometimes producing interpretations that veer very far from its literal context. We will travel through some well-known explanations of this expression, and then present a contextual understanding that emerges from a study of the entire book and its most prominent messages.

Our first stop is the Talmud. In BT Sukkah, R. Elazar takes apart each clause in Micah 6:8 in his search for the verses deeper meaning and legal implications.

And this is what Rabbi Elazar said: What is the meaning of that which is written: “It has been told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord does require of you; only to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8)? “To do justly”; this is justice. “To love mercy”; this is acts of kindness. “To walk humbly with your God”; this is referring to taking the indigent dead out for burial and accompanying a poor bride to her wedding canopy, both of which must be performed without fanfare. The Gemara summarizes: And are these matters not inferred a fortiori? If, with regard to matters that tend to be conducted in public, as the multitudes participate in funerals and weddings, the Torah says: Walk humbly, then in matters that tend to be conducted in private, e.g., giving charity and studying Torah, all the more so should they be conducted privately.[3]

R. Elazar moves from the generalized sense of justice and mercy to the very specific act of burying those who have no one else to do so, balancing public, communal activities with private acts of generosity. Modesty here is a reflection of commandment performance that is to be done privately lest it catalyze sanctimoniousness in the mind of the performer.

Another talmudic source references Micah 6:8 in the context of reducing 613 commandments to Jewish laws’ most essential demands. One opinion suggests that the Torah can be captured in the three requirements derived from the prophet’s wise advice.

Micah came and established the 613 mitzvoth upon three, as it is written: “It has been told to you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord does require of you; only to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8).[4]

It is no wonder this verse enjoyed such a long exegetical history. If 6:8 encapsulates all that the religious life is meant to be, it is easy to understand the verse’s importance.

Other understandings of Micah 6:8 narrow its interpretive scope to a specific observation or requirement. Rashi, for example, uses the popular talmudic framework of comparing human limitation with God’s expansiveness:

To walk modestly: The Holy One, blessed be He, is not like on of flesh and blood. A person who shames his friend and tries to pacify him. And he [the offended one] says, “I will not be pacified by you until so-and-so arrives since you embarrassed me before them but the Holy One, blessed be He, desires only that one returns to him privately.

Human beings need to make their repentance public after embarrassing or shaming someone in front of others. This is understandable and codified in Maimonides’ “Laws of Repentance.”[5] But God does not require such displays. Humility in this context is walking beside God in a simple, beautiful state of sinless friendship.

We now jump from the Talmud to a medieval biblical exegete to the library of Mussar literature. Moshe Chaim Luzzatto in his Path of the Just, first published in Amsterdam in 1738, presents Micah 6:8 as a prooftext that the pious must contract themselves in the presence of others:

There are some additional matters of piety, which if a person were to do before common people, they will laugh at him and ridicule him, thereby sinning and incurring punishment through him, and this is something he could have abstained from doing since these things are not complete obligations. Thus, for such things, it is certainly more proper for the Hassid to abstain from it than to do it. This is what scripture says: "and walk discreetly with your God" (Micah 6:8). Many great Hassidim abstained from their pious practices when in the presence of the common masses because it appears like arrogance.[6]

In what seems like the very opposite of Rashi’s reading, Luzzatto suggests that a person of particular piety withhold external expressions of religiosity when with others who will not only fail to understand them, but may regard them negatively. Modesty in this view is limiting spiritual gestures to communities of like-minded individuals. While we can appreciate the self-righteousness to which Luzzatto alerts us, he may have also inadvertently minimized the beneficiary aspect of role modeling such practices, thereby making religious observance unnecessarily binary.

We find an even further interpretive narrowing in a popular synopsis of Jewish law written more than a century later: the Kitzur Shulhan Arukh, written by R. Shlomo Gansfried in Hungary and published in 1864.

It is written: "You shall walk modestly with your God.” It is therefore necessary to be modest in all your ways. Thus when putting on or removing your shirt or any other garment from your body, you should be very careful not to uncover your body. You should put on and remove the garment while lying in bed under a cover. You should not say: "I am in a private, and dark place." "Who will see me?" Because the Holy One, Blessed is He, Whose glory fills the entire world [sees] and to Him darkness is like light, Blessed be His Name. Modesty and shame bring a person to submissiveness before Him, Blessed be His name.[7]

Walking modestly is, in this interpretation, taken very literally as an expression of physical modesty in comportment when getting dressed. One is to limit the view of the body not only to others but even to oneself. Modesty demands submissiveness before God, encapsulated by not revealing one’s skin when dressing, to the extent that this can be prevented.

R. Gansfried’s more literal reading achieved a great deal of influence among those who reduced Micah’s to a demand for modesty to clothing and appearance. Rashi and R. Luzzatto also discuss externalities in their respective readings, but R. Gansfried furthers this to suggest that when walking with God we do so with an intimacy informed by physical modesty.

In this brief exegetical summary that is in no way exhaustive, we’ve moved from a first-century understanding of Micah 6:8 as a summation of the entire Torah to a nineteenth-century recommendation to get dressed under one’s covers. None of these understandings, however, deals with the verse in the context of its appearance in the Book of Micah. It is to this we now turn.

To understand 6:8 from the prophet’s general worldview, we must examine a symbol from an earlier chapter. Chapter four opens with a picture of the “days to come” and provides psychic relief from the images of the book’s grim introduction and Dore’s portrait:

The Mount of the Lord’s House shall stand firm above the mountains; and it shall tower above the hills. The peoples shall gaze on it with joy, and the many nations shall go and shall say: “Come, let us go up to the Mount of the Lord, to the House of the God of Jacob; that He may instruct us in His ways, and that we may walk in His paths.” For instruction shall come forth from Zion, the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. Thus He will judge among the many peoples, and arbitrate for the multitude of nations, however distant; and they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation shall not take up sword against nation; they shall never again know war. But every man shall sit under his grapevine or fig tree with no one to disturb him…. (Micah 4:1–4)

One day, all of Israel will see in the distance the Temple’s radiance, and it will reflect their own. Not only will the Temple attract the Israelites, but it will also serve as a beacon for other nations who wish to seek its comforts and benefit from its powers of expiation.

This call to be physically present in Zion is matched, in the prophet’s words, by the adjuration to have Zion’s spiritual power move externally with the predictive image that has come true in our days: Torah leaving the environs of Jerusalem and touching the world. Micah echoes Isaiah 2:4 in wishing for a universe free of violence. In offering the inspiring picture of individual serenity of fig and vine immediately after his reassuring portrait of global security, Micah uses an expression found in two other places, I Kings 4:25 and Zechariah 3:10. Sitting without disturbance under one’s own grapevine or fig tree was so potent an image of peace and freedom, it was cited by George Washington over 50 times, once significantly in his response to the Jews of Touro Synagogue in Rhode Island (August 18, 1790) as a guarantee of their political freedom.[8]

The fig image repeats itself later in Micah, but not in a particularly positive way:

Woe is me! I am become like leavings of a fig harvest, like gleanings when the vintage is over, there is not a cluster to eat, not a ripe fig I could desire. The pious are vanished from the land. None upright are left among men; all lie in wait to commit crimes. One traps the other in his net. They are eager to do evil: The magistrate makes demands, and the judge [judges] for a fee. The rich man makes his crooked plea, and they grant it. The best of them is like a prickly shrub; the [most] upright, worse than a barrier of thorns. On the day you waited for, your doom has come—now their confusion shall come to pass. (Micah 7:1–4)

The warm and loving image of sitting beneath a vine or tree that produces shade and fruit is fast replaced by an image of hunger and want, of the withering of vegetation that takes place at harvest’s end. This depletion, however, is not created by natural seasonal changes but by the wickedness of injustice. The pious are nowhere to be found. Rich men bend justice. Judges are influenced by bribes. All live in confusion. This must be the human landscape Dore saw fit to engrave from the book’s seven chapters.

The book’s last lines continue with a harsh judgment of a world punctured by unnatural suspicion.

Trust no friend, rely on no intimate; be guarded in speech with her who lies in your bosom. For son spurns father, daughter rises up against mother, daughter-in-law against mother-in-law—a man’s own household are his enemies. (7:5–6)

The family unit is not cohesive, loyal, or loving. The shade of Micah’s fig tree has been replaced by a black cloud of misgiving and wariness. The prophet offers a bleak picture of daily life. From here, Micah quickly turns to God, in whom all trust must be placed: “Yet I will look to the Lord, I will wait for the God who saves me. My God will hear me” (7:7). In this moment, Micah prays that failure will build resilience, that darkness will give way to cracks of light:

Do not rejoice over me, O my enemy! Though I have fallen, I rise again; though I sit in darkness, the Lord is my light. I must bear the anger of the Lord, since I have sinned against Him, until He champions my cause and upholds my claim. He will let me out into the light; I will enjoy vindication by Him. (7:8–9)

The prophet believes that there will be healing—“a day for mending your walls”—but sadly reckons that it “is a far-off day” (7:11). The chapter and book conclude with the wish that God will take the Israelites back in love, disregard their iniquity, and hurl their sins far away, keeping the oath and covenant made to the patriarchs long before.

Micah, like many other Hebrew prophets, was concerned with the cycle of goodness and evil that affects both nations and individuals. The fig tree that is the symbol of peace and prosperity can easily become shriveled without proper nourishment—when injustice becomes normative and arrogance demeans society’s most vulnerable. It is in this context that 6:8 should be read, as a moral demand for a society built of individuals robed in charity and goodness, humbled by their God, walking beside the divine to imitate sacred ways of being.

It is human nature to create social hierarchies that benefit the most powerful. By suggesting that humans walk with God, it is actually God who models modesty by deigning to walk beside us. If God can walk with us, then we can and must walk beside those less strong, those less competent, those less fortunate. In this spirit, R. A. J. Heschel’s words about the prophetic impulse take on a deeper hue:

The more deeply immersed I became in the thinking of the prophets, the more powerfully it became clear to me what the lives of the Prophets sought to convey: that morally speaking, there is no limit to the concern one must feel for the suffering of human beings, that indifference to evil is worse than evil itself, that in a free society, some are guilty, but all are responsible.[9]

Walking modestly for the prophet is walking with eyes wide open to the presence of anyone in need, waiting to perform acts of mercy, justice, and lovingkindness. Looking at a glimpse of the exegetical history of Micah 6:8 and its contextual meaning takes us straight back to the Talmud’s expansive understanding. Religion stripped to its most essential elements asks both very little and a great deal of us: to return to a state of simplicity, broken and small in God’s presence, able, in a state of vulnerability, to make those invisible visible, to create a society where we walk beside others because God is willing to walk beside us.

[1] For resources on the structure and meaning of the book, see Kenneth L. Barker, “A Literary Analysis of the Book of Micah,” Bibliotheca Sacra, 155 (October–December 1998): 437–448, Delbert R. Hillers, Micah: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Micah, ed. by Paul D. Hanson (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress Publishers, 1984), Bruce K. Waltke, A Commentary on Micah (Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 2008), Arvid S. Kapelrud, “Eschatology in the Book of Micah,” Vetus Testamentum, Vol. 11, Fasc. 4 (Oct., 1961): 392–405.

[2] BT Pesakhim 87a. Text translations from Sefaria.com.

[3] BT Sukkah 49b. For ease of reading, I have left in the explanations offered by the Koren Noe edition.

[4] BT Makkot 24a.

[5] Maimonides, “Laws of Repentance,” Mishneh Torah 2:5.

[6] Messilat Yesharim, 20:19.

[7] Kitzur Shulkhan Aruch 3:1.

[8] See Michael and Jana Novak, Washington's God: Religion, Liberty, and the Father of Our Country (New York: Basic Books, 2006), 239; Walter Brueggemann, "'Vine and Fig Tree': A Case Study in Imagination and Criticism," Catholic Biblical Quarterly 43, no. 2 (April 1981): 199, and Daniel L. Dreisbach, "'The ‘Vine and Fig Tree' in George Washington's Letters: Reflections on a Biblical Motif in the Literature of the American Founding Era," Anglican and Episcopal History 76, no.3 (September 2007): 299–326, 301.

[9] Abraham Joshua Heschel, Moral Grandeur and Spiritual Audacity, ed. Susannah Heschel (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1996): 224.

Scammers and Their Victims: Thoughts for Parashat Shofetim

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Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Shofetim

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Like a great many people these days, my wife and I have been victims of a scam. Unscrupulous doctors have reported to Medicare that they’ve sent us covid tests, and Medicare has paid them. We don’t know these doctors; we never ordered covid tests; and most of the doctors who were reimbursed for the covid tests never even sent us the tests.

I reported the fraud to Medicare and was told by the agent that many people throughout the country are also reporting the same kind of fraud. Once the government stopped providing free covid tests, individual doctors figured they could cash in by billing Medicare.

If we would ask these doctors: are you honest? Would you hold me up at gunpoint? I assume that all would think of themselves as being reasonably honest, and none would hold me up by gunpoint face to face. Why do they commit fraud? Because they don’t think they are robbing me directly, they are “only” robbing the system. Everything is done impersonally. They submit bills to a great bureaucracy that deals with billions of dollars of claims. The bureaucracy doesn’t have time or resources to investigate every claim…so they pay. Those, like us, who receive reports from Medicare are not charged anything out of pocket so it’s Medicare’s problem! The system is bilked of huge sums of money, all perpetrated impersonally from doctors’ offices to Medicare claims departments.

So many scams are committed by people who have no personal contact with their victims. Everything is done via technology. The criminals don’t see their victims; they only funnel money out of their bank accounts. People who would not think of robbing someone in person find it much easier to rob them electronically.

When robbery is committed impersonally, people somehow don’t feel guilty of being thieves. They justify themselves: we’re only taking money from the government or banks or credit card companies, overblown bureaucracies with lots of money available for anyone who can outsmart the system.

The depersonalization of finances warps the general morality of society. One of the words the Torah uses for money is “damim”—blood. The Torah recognizes that money isn’t an impersonal entity but is the result of personal labor, literally one’s blood. To steal money is to steal part of a person’s life. Each dollar represents the time it took for the person to earn it.

But in our days, we are accustomed to hearing astronomical numbers that are not connected to a person’s actual labor. We read of billionaires; athletes and entertainers who are paid millions and hundreds of millions of dollars; lawyers who bring lawsuits for millions of dollars; lottery drawings for massive amounts. We read of government budgets and debts in the trillions of dollars. Who is keeping an eye on each of these dollars? Who even connects these dollars to real human beings whose “blood” has gone into creating those dollars?

This week’s Torah reading gives instructions on appointing and operating a societal bureaucracy—judges, police, civil servants in various roles. Significantly, the instructions are all presented in the singular—not plural. The onus of responsibility is on each person to oversee the bureaucracy, and on each civil servant to pursue justice to the fullest extent possible. The “bureaucracy” is not a nameless, faceless entity: it is composed of real human beings. Society is not a nameless, faceless entity: it is a collection of very individual people with very individual needs and responsibilities.

Throughout the Torah, we are reminded of the vital importance of keeping the human element central to our thinking and our conduct. Depersonalization leads to a breakdown in societal wellbeing and morality.

When doctors cheat Medicare, they are cheating every American taxpayer who pays into the Medicare system. When people cheat on their taxes, they aren’t robbing an anonymous government; they are robbing all honest taxpayers. When scammers swindle banks and credit card agencies, they aren’t stealing from a neutral pot of money; they are stealing from real people.

The Torah teaches: tsedek, tsedek tirdof—you shall surely pursue justice. This isn’t just sermonic advice; it is at the very essence of what constitutes good people…and a good society.

New Publication on Rabbi Sabato Morais

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Rabbi Marc D. Angel is Founder and Director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

Rabbi Sabato Morais—Pioneer Sephardic Rabbi of Early American Judaism, by Rabbi Dov Peretz Elkins, Mazo Publishers, 2023, 65 pages.

Rabbi Sabato Morais (1823-1897) was one of the leading American rabbis of his time, although largely forgotten today. Born in Livorno to a prominent Italian/Sephardic family, he grew into an impressive scholar, communal leader and activist. He spent formative years serving in London before being invited to become spiritual leader of the historic Congregation Mikveh Israel in Philadelphia where he began in 1851.

Rabbi Dov Peretz Elkins has published a monograph on the life and work of Rabbi Morais. The study is “designed for teenagers and young families” to spread the legacy of Rabbi Morais. It considers Morais’ early life, his work in London, and his long tenure in Philadelphia.

Rabbi Morais was a staunch traditionalist, but was also a community-minded rabbi who worked with and respected those with different religious viewpoints. He was a great admirer of Abraham Lincoln and was an outspoken critic of slavery and other injustices in American society.

Rabbi Elkins notes that Rabbi Morais does not fit neatly into the religious denominational framework of Ashkenazic Jewry. He was Orthodox in belief and observance; he was highly cultured and open to modern scholarship; his thinking was in line with the “historical school” of Judaism—but not identical with it. In short, Rabbi Morais was representative of a different religious model: a Western Sephardic traditional rabbi.

In 1886, Rabbi Morais, together with Rabbi Henry Pereira Mendes of Shearith Israel in New York, spearheaded the establishment of the Jewish Theological Seminary Association. The Seminary, which originally held its classes at Shearith Israel, aimed to educate youths desirous of entering the ministry to be “thoroughly grounded in Jewish knowledge and inspired by the precept and the example of their instructors with the love of the Hebrew language and a spirit of fidelity and dedication to the Jewish Law.” Morais was the founding President and also taught classes as its Professor of Bible. After his death in November 1897, Solomon Schechter was called from England to reorganize the Seminary. He arrived in 1902. “At that point, the Jewish Theological Seminary, started by Sabato Morais, ceased to exist, and a new institution, called the Jewish Theological Seminary of America was established.” Rabbi Elkins, himself a graduate of the Jewish Theological Seminary, notes that it is generally felt that the Conservative Movement really began with the arrival of Solomon Schechter. Rabbi Elkins notes: “While some consider Morais to be the founder of the Conservative Movement, in thought and practice he considered himself Orthodox.”

When Rabbi Morais passed away in November 1897, his funeral was attended by thousands. “Historians note that his funeral was the first such mass funeral among Jews in America.” An Orthodox newspaper eulogized him as “without doubt…the greatest of all orthodox rabbis in the United States.” He was mourned by all factions of the Jewish community, a rare testimony to his involvement with and concern for the entire community.

Rabbi Elkins has done an important service in publishing his monograph on the life and work of Rabbi Morais. This publication offers us the opportunity of reconnecting with one of the important religious leaders of American Jewry.

And Moses Went...: Thoughts for Nitsavim/Vayelekh

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Angel for Shabbat, Nitsavim/Vayelekh

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

“And Moses went and spoke these words unto all Israel” (Devarim 31:1).

The verse states that Moses went…but does not tell us where he went! Commentators have made various suggestions: Moses went to the tent of meeting; Moses went to each individual tribe; Moses went to the study hall.

An enigmatic interpretation has been suggested: Moses went into the souls of each Israelite. Poetically, the spirit of Moses—who is about to die—was to live on eternally in the hearts and minds of all Israel for all time. Moses went…and continues forever to speak his words unto all Israel.

How would this work?

One of the famous songs of Simon and Garfunkel is “The Sound of Silence.” This is an intriguing phrase, since by definition silence has no sound. But perhaps the phrase suggests something profound: there are sounds we don’t hear with our ears, but that are deep within us “in the wells of silence.”

The great composer, Beethoven, was completely deaf at the age of forty, and yet this is when he wrote his famous Symphony No. 9. He could not hear the sounds of the music he composed with his ears, but he was able to “hear” the entire symphony as he composed it while deaf. There is an inner music, very real and very powerful, that can exist within the mind even if the ears do not hear it.

When we ponder that Moses’s words entered the souls of each Israelite, we think of the sound of silence, the inner music within each of us that is unheard externally. If we listen carefully enough, the words of Moses echo deep within us.

This week’s Torah reading occurs just before Rosh Hashana and the Ten Days of Repentance. The Hebrew word for repentance—teshuvah—means return or answer. We are called upon to listen to the sound of silence within us, the ongoing voice of Moses; we are urged to return to our spiritual roots.

Moses came and went; and he continues to ask us and to prod us. Do we hear his voice? Are we ready to answer?

Obscure Serah's Ongoing Message

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Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Pinehas

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Some time ago, my wife and I attended a synagogue where the Rabbi was celebrating his 36th anniversary with the congregation. In the middle of his sermon, he stopped and looked around the room. He pointed to one seat, and then another, and then yet another. “I remember who sat there,” he said, “and who sat there, and who sat there.” In his 36 years with the congregation, he shared life with so many congregants, and he remembered all those who had passed on to their eternal reward. The congregation had texture, a historical memory. The rabbi and other long-standing members remembered the voices of all those congregants who had been part of the community during their lifetimes. As long as they were remembered, they still mattered to the congregation. They still were part of the living texture and tradition of the community. Shared memory fosters a sense of togetherness, the linking of generations.

People need and want a sense of community and continuity. Yet, our world seems to be increasingly obsessed with undermining societal wellbeing. The contemporary catchwords are “new,” “change,” “technological innovation.” While these terms reflect much that is valuable, they also reflect social malaise, breakdowns of families and communities, increasing alienation from the past, from historic social texture.

Communities and congregations change. Some people move away. Some die. New people join. Elders often become strangers in the synagogues they’ve attended for many years. The sense of continuity fractures.

We need to find the formula for being receptive to the “new” without losing the continuity and strength of the “old.”

This week’s Torah portion mentions Serah bat Asher, an enigmatic figure who is mentioned just twice in the Torah. She is listed among those of Jacob’s family who came to Egypt where Joseph had become a powerful leader (Bereishith 46:17). And here (Bemidbar26:46), she is listed again as the Israelites are counted in advance of entering the Promised Land. The Torah gives no details about her.

Since Serah is mentioned these two times—spanning over 250 years—tradition has it that she lived a very long life. She was with the Israelites when they first entered Egypt; she was with them throughout the centuries of slavery; she was with them when they ultimately entered the Promised Land.

Why would the Torah mention this obscure figure in such a way as to suggest her incredible presence throughout the formative years of the People of Israel?

Perhaps the Torah lists Serah as a symbol of continuity and social context. By spanning the generations, she had a unique role to play in keeping the Israelites united. Her memories bound the people together. Presumably, people could come to her and learn about the “old days”, the earlier experiences of slavery and redemption. They could draw on the wisdom she had gained through many years of an eventful life.

Wouldn’t it be special to have a cup of coffee with Serah, to hear stories from her long life, to gain her insights and to share her dreams for the future? Wouldn’t we all be stronger and happier by feeling the personal presence of someone whose life has spanned so many years, who connects personally with so many generations?

Actually, our communities and congregations today have their own Serah figures, people who have lived long and active lives, who remember the “old days” and the personalities of earlier generations. Wouldn’t it be special for us to have a cup of coffee with them, hear their stories, learn from their experiences, share their dreams for the future? Wouldn’t it be wonderful for our elders of today to be valued for the continuity they represent, rather than have them feel as strangers or relics?

The obscure figure of Serah continues to remind us of the mystery of the generations, the need for intergenerational continuity and communication. The Torah only mentions her twice, but in a way that underscores the importance of linking the generations with a shared historical memory, a shared social context, a shared destiny. Even today, the obscure Serah continues to lead the way for us.

Eternal Torah: Thoughts for Parashat Ekev

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Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Ekev

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

“And I took hold of the two tables and cast them out of my two hands, and broke them before your eyes” (Devarim 9:17)

In this week’s parasha, Moses recounts the episode when he came down the mountain with the tablets of stone and found the Israelites worshiping a golden calf. He cast the tablets to the earth and shattered them.

A Hasidic gloss on this episode notes that the stone was smashed to pieces…but the letters floated in the air. Moses could destroy the physical tablets but their spiritual power endured.

This interpretation harks back to the Talmudic description of the death of Rabbi Hanina ben Teradyon who was executed by the Romans (Avoda Zara 17b). During the Hadrianic persecutions, it was forbidden to teach Torah in public; but Rabbi Hanina ben Teradyon continued to gather large crowds to impart the teachings of Torah. He was arrested and condemned to death. The Romans wrapped him in a Torah scroll and set him and the scroll on fire. But before he succumbed to the flames, Rabbi Hanina called out: “the parchment is on fire but the letters are floating in the air.” It was—and is—impossible to destroy the spirit and meaning of Torah.

Over the centuries, and including our own time, the Torah has been subjected to vilification, desecration, and even threats of physical burnings. The enemies of Torah do not realize that the Torah will long outlast their evil. Any act against Torah is, in fact, against the best interest of humanity.

A source of anti-Jewish hatred, I believe, is the deep-seated feeling that Jews represent the ideals of Torah. The haters resent Jews who symbolize—knowingly or unknowingly—the commitment to righteousness, morality, respect for God and for fellow human beings. The haters of Jews—consciously or subconsciously—are also haters of God. They don’t want to be held morally accountable to God. But whatever they do to Jews or to the Torah, the spirit of Torah will endure.

The great Victorian writer, Matthew Arnold, wrote appreciatively of the eternal message of the Bible and of the religious genius of ancient Israel. He believed that Israel taught the world the ultimate value of righteousness. That teaching, wrote Arnold, was essential to humanity for all time. In his book “Literature and Dogma” he asserted: “As long as the world lasts, all who want to make progress in righteousness will come to Israel for inspiration, as to the people who have had the sense for righteousness most glowing and strongest; and in hearing and reading the words Israel has uttered for us, carers for conduct will find a glow and force they could find nowhere else.”

Arnold stressed the central role of righteousness in the teachings of the Bible. The Hebrew prophets left an impressive spiritual legacy, “and foresaw and foretold this inevitable triumph of righteousness.”

The spirit of our Bible and biblical tradition is a source of eternal optimism for humanity. As bad as things sometimes seem, righteousness will ultimately prevail. Humanity will learn the virtue and happiness of living righteously, honestly, respectfully.

As the prophet Amos taught: “Behold the days are coming, declares the Lord God, that I will send a famine in the land, not a famine for bread nor a thirst for water—but for hearing the words of the Lord” (8:11).

Discussing Politics on Shabbat; Military Service in America; Tuition/Day Camp Expenses: Rabbi Marc Angel Replies to Questions from the Jewish Press

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Rabbi Marc D. Angel is Director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

Is it appropriate to discuss politics at the Shabbos table?

Response of Rabbi Marc D. Angel, Director, Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals

Ideally, Shabbat should be sanctified by devoting ourselves to religious fulfillment. We are to avoid discussing business and other mundane matters. To engage in conversations/debates about politics would seem to be in the category of divrei hol (secular matters) that should be avoided at the Shabbat table.

However, political discussion often is interrelated with moral issues e.g. abortion, assistance to immigrants, anti-Semitism. Since we are deeply affected by the political process, we feel a need to discuss relevant issues, to gain new insights, to learn more details about projected laws. If such conversations are carried on in good faith as a means of exploring moral implications of various policies, then these are not strictly in the category of divrei hol.

The problem with talking politics in general—as well as on Shabbat—is that people may come to the discussion with strong opinions. Instead of useful conversation, the discussion becomes acrimonious. Arguments about this candidate or that candidate can quickly deteriorate into name-calling and other unpleasantness.

It is fine to discuss moral issues that are impacted by the political process, as long as the conversation is for the sake of gaining clarity and sharing views. But if discussing politics ends up being a shouting match, then this clearly crosses the line of what is appropriate on Shabbat (or any other time!).

Torah observant Jews need to understand political issues that impact on our religious way of life. We have the right and obligation to discuss relevant issues in a responsible way to clarify our thinking and determining how we can best promote the ideas and ideals for which we stand.

Should a parent encourage a child who wants to join the U.S. Army?

It has long been observed that parents must give their children roots…and wings. We want our children to be deeply attached to our traditions, our family’s values and ideals. We also want them to grow into strong, healthy human beings who will live as responsible adults.

If a child has reached the age and maturity level where he/she wants to join the U.S. army, parents would want to know what has motivated this decision. Is it from idealism and patriotism? Is it due to peer pressure? Is it an escape from current life patterns? Has the child given full thought to how army service will impact on religious observance?

It is right and proper for parents to have candid discussions with a child who wants to join the army. It is important to listen to the child…and listen very carefully. It is important to share one’s pride, concerns, and fears. But ultimately, it is important to let the child make his/her own decision.

If after serious thought the child has decided to join the army, parents should be supportive. American military history includes many Jewish soldiers and officers who have served their country with distinction and courage. They have brought honor to their families and to their country.

Grown children have the right and responsibility to make decisions that will impact their own lives. We pray that they will be faithful to their roots and family traditions; and that they will spread their own wings in ways that will bring blessing to themselves and others.

Is it proper to send your kids to sleepaway camp if they receive tuition assistance?

It is proper to be an honest, upstanding person, who provides as best as possible for the upbringing of one’s children.

Parents are faced with many challenges in raising their families, including the enormous financial pressures relating to yeshiva/day school tuitions and the high cost of sleepaway camp. The ideal from a practical and religious point of view is to live within one’s means. Children need to understand the possibilities—and limitations—of their parents’ financial situation.

If parents are in fact financially unable to pay full tuition so that it’s necessary to apply for financial aid, then they are not in a financial condition to afford sleepaway camp for their children. The children need to be given affordable options e.g. day camps, summer groups, summer school. Yes, there are social pressures to send kids to sleepaway camps—but parents and kids need to overcome these pressures and do what is financially appropriate for them.

There are cases, unfortunately, where people live well beyond their means but then apply for tuition assistance and expect charity dollars to cover the difference. Aside from being a morally and financially problematic practice, this is unfair to all others who struggle to pay full fare. When it becomes “normal” to evade full payment, then the whole system suffers. People falsify their financial records in order to let others defray tuition and/or camp costs.

It would be best if tuition and camp costs were kept at reasonable levels so that most people could actually afford to pay full fare without going deep into debt. It would also be best if everyone paid what they honestly can afford, and not apply for tuition or camp assistance unless absolutely necessary. If the day school/yeshiva/camp system could rely on everyone living up to the highest religious and financial standards, life would be better for all families…and for the entire system.

Chosen: Thoughts for Parashat Ki Tavo

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Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Ki Tavo

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

“You have avouched the Lord this day to be your God and that you would walk in His ways and keep His statutes and commandments and ordinances and hearken to His voice. And the Lord has avouched you this day to be His own treasure…and to make you high above all nations that He has made…” (Devarim 26:17-19).

The Torah repeatedly emphasizes the special relationship between God and the children of Israel. This covenant marks Israel as “the chosen people” of God, a very high honor and great responsibility.

Years ago, a member of my congregation did not want to recite the blessing when called to the Torah, praising God Who has chosen us from among all nations. He was a “universalist” and was uncomfortable with the notion of God singling out one people for His special attention. I replied that one could take the blessing as a historical fact rather than a theological principle. The people of Israel alone received the Torah at Mount Sinai. Our blessing acknowledges the historical fact that God did indeed single out one people to receive the Torah. This does not mean that God doesn’t also care about all other humans, only that Israel received a particular revelation.

While this answer satisfied my congregant, it didn’t fully address the issue at hand. Yes, God gave the Torah uniquely to Israel. But how does the rest of humanity fit into the Divine plan?

Modern Jewish thinkers have tried to balance the particular religious reality of Israel/Judaism, and the universal impulse to relate to all human beings and their faiths. Alon Goshen-Gottstein recently published a book dealing with Rabbis Irving Greenberg and Jonathan Sacks: Covenant and World Religions, Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2023. He points to three approaches.

Pluralism: this posits that all religions are equally connected to God and each has its own particular contribution to make to human progress. Jews have their own covenant, but so do other religions. While thinkers like Rabbi Irving Greenberg have identified with this approach, many others—certainly those within Orthodox Judaism—have not been comfortable with pluralism. For many, Judaism has a unique relationship with God above and beyond other nations/religions.

Exclusivism: this posits that only one religion has ultimate truth. This view was widely held by Christian and Muslim theology for centuries i.e. only their religion is true and everyone needs to convert to it in order to be in proper relationship with God. Within Judaism, many thinkers promoted the exclusivist view, although recognizing that all righteous people have a place in the world to come. For Jewish exclusivists, only Judaism has the ultimate Truth.

Inclusivism: this posits that while our religion/people is chosen, God loves all of humanity. Rabbi Sacks essentially adopts this approach. We have the Torah and our unique covenant with God. But we make room for all good people, whatever their religion. We can work fruitfully with people of other religions as long as we all see ourselves as working for the betterment of humanity. Instead of debating theological points, we should be joining hands to foster justice, respect, kindness, peace etc.

The Torah makes it clear that the people of Israel have a unique relationship with the Almighty and a unique mission to fulfill. This does not preclude God’s relationship with all humanity and love for all who seek to live righteous lives.

A grand religious vision must necessarily entail a grand perception of God: God is great enough to create and love all human beings. God sees the whole canvas of humanity in its fulness.

Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn - The Forgotten Sage Who Was Rediscovered

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Dr. David Zohar, a clinical psychologist from Tel Aviv, Israel, founded a project to republish an updated version of Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn's writings. The objective is to bring these works to the public's knowledge, as they can offer a modern religious Jew ways in which one can combine modern values together with Jewish Values. This new version which contains comments and explanations to better understand the writings and their context, by Dr. David Zohar, was published in 2006. Dr. Zohar is currently working on the second book, Malki Bakodesh Part II. Copies of the books can be obtained from the Shalom Hartman Institute, Jerusalem or from the Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies, Jerusalem. This article appeared in the first issue of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn (1856-1935), who lived and worked in Jerusalem and in the United States at the beginning of the Twentieth Century, was born in Tzfat. His thought has intrigued many Jews who strive to combine Judaism and modernity, religion and life, thereby seeking to resolve the conflict between their firm commitment to Halakha and their growing openness to the modern world.

R. Hayyim Hirschensohn was one of the few among the Religious- Zionist thinkers who confronted the challenges of modernity and grappled with the intricate halakhic problems inherent in the establishment of a modern Jewish state. For the first time, a systematic attempt was made to answer the question whether it is possible to establish a modern and democratic Jewish state on the very foundations of the Halakha; whether a state that empowers the people with legislative authority, embraces modern values and develops modern social, cultural, and economic order is compatible with the Halakha. This question is not restricted to the political realm. R. Hirschensohn would argue that the Torah goes hand in hand with the realities of life. In his view, within the Torah there are inherent mechanisms that make it possible, in principle, to accommodate the Torah to the ever-changing needs of life. His teaching entertains the possibility that the Torah is not opposed to most of the values that modernity offers to the believer. On the contrary, it is possible to re-establish full Jewish life by responding and opening up to the surrounding modern world.

His parents, among the founders of the Hibat Zion movement, emigrated to Israel from Pinsk in Belarus in 1847. When he was 8, the family moved to Jerusalem and became one of the dominant families in their contribution to the Jewish Yishuv there. When he grew older, Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn was extremely active with Ben Yehuda in introducing the Hebrew language as the living language of the Jewish people. He established a magazine which researched Judaism, and was dedicated to current issues. Rabbi Hirschensohn also taught Judaism in the Lemel School. Due to his unconventional views and progressive educational methods, he was boycotted by the ultra-Orthodox stream in Israel. He emigrated to the United States and in 1903, settled in Hoboken, New Jersey, where he wrote most of his books. Almost all of his books deal with the question of how the Torah can be relevant and integrated into the modern life of a modern Jewish state.

Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn was much admired by Jews of all streams in Hudson County. Upon his arrival in the United States, he became involved in public life. He invested a great deal of effort in Jewish education, and as Head of the Education Committee of the Union of Rabbis, he established the first Hebrew Kindergarten. He was among the first members of Mizrachi, and established deep friendships with Rabbi Reines, and Rabbi Dov Abramowitz of Saint Louis, and Rabbi Shafer of Baltimore among others. Rabbi Hirschensohn was very involved in the American Zionist movements, was aware of prevalent thought at the time, and he was influenced by American thought and culture on the issue of a Jewish State.

R. Hirschensohn stands out as a halakhist par excellence. Most of the thinkers of his generation dealt with the questions of their time in journalistic, contemplative, philosophical, and prosaic ways. A case in point is the thought of Rabbi Abraham Isaac Hakohen Kook, R. Hirschensohn's contemporary. Rav Kook, too, saw himself as a member of the Jewish Renaissance Generation, the generation that witnessed the national revival of the Jewish people. As is well known, he was active in the renewed Jewish Yishuv in the land of Israel, and his initiatives often stirred a heated debate. He addressed contemporary issues by writing poetical philosophy unique in its kind, but his thoughts do not provide concrete answers to the question whether a modern, halakhically oriented Jewish state is possible; whether the religious-Zionist linkage between the Torah and modernity is viable.

R. Hirschensohn undertook the challenge to demonstrate that Halakha is potentially capable of coming to grips with contemporary questions. As a rule, he perceived the essence of the "trouble of Judaism" in modern times in the apprehensive reluctance of the Rabbis to deal with these urgent questions. In his opinion, this conservatism had a detrimental effect. It distanced the young generation from the Torah, while at the same time reinforced the feeling of the Orthodox and the secular public alike that the Torah was incapable of meeting the challenges of the new era. In writing his books, R. Hirschensohn was not motivated by the desire to cater to the wider public. Rather, he aimed at the halakhic scholars of his generation. By introducing a halakhic debate on modern problems that was conveyed in conventional rabbinical language, he was striving to convince them of the ability of the Halakha to resolve such intricate problems.

In 1918 Rabbi Hirschensohn participated in 21st Zionist Conference in Pittsburgh chaired by Judge Louis Brandeis, where all communities were represented, and outlined a plan for the establishment of the State of Israel on the basis of justice and equality. This American Zionist thought was based on the similarity they saw between the writings of the Jewish prophets and the basis of American freedoms and equalities, which attracted Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn.

The delegates to the Conference adopted the resolution with respect to the establishment of a democratic government in Israel. Some of the delegates to the Conference felt embarrassed due to the difference between modern democratic political thought and the Historic Jewish ideal of a Kingdom.

In order to resolve this issue, Rabbi Hirschensohn volunteered to research "A discussion of questions regarding the conduct of a Jewish government in Palestine from the standpoint of the Halakha". In the introduction of Malki Bakodesh he writes:

There is nothing in biblical law and Halakha which contradicts in any way progress or common sense. The objective of my research is to show that Halakha does not pose any obstacle to the development of private life or the life of an entire nation.

His experience at the Zionist Conference motivated him to write his six volumes of Responsa, Malki Bakodesh, and in addition he wrote approximately 40 books in total.

R. Hirschensohn devotes his voluminous Responsa book Malki Bakodesh to a halakhic discussion on contemporary questions. In writing this work, he envisages the urgent problems that the Jewish public confronted at the beginning of the 20th century (and which are still engaging our attention, as if an entire century had not elapsed since).

Following are three examples:

1) What regime is suitable in the Jewish state - democracy or monarchy?

In R. Hirschensohn's words: "In these days of democracy when kings are toppling from their thrones and monarchy rightly seems to be doomed, when war is being waged against autocratic powers to make the world safe for democracy, how is it possible for us to consider the setting up of a hereditary king to reign over us in Palestine as Jewish tradition demands?" His answer was that:

There is a definite relation between the commandments of appointing a King and the eradication of Amalek, and the Building of the Temple for sacrificial offerings. The King was needed to accomplish the destruction of Amalek. After completing this task, his next duty was to build the Temple for sacrifices. Moreover, the King had to be appointed only through a Prophet. (Malki Bakodesh, Part I, p. 16 - Foreword).

As there is no longer Amalek, nor prophets, there is no longer the Mitzva of appointing a King. As such, Rabbi Hirschensohn argues that the Mitzva which would be appropriate in modern times would be to appoint a democratic government which would be elected by the people in their entirety, men and women equally. According to him, the desired from of government according to the Torah is a democracy.

2) How should the phenomenon of secularism and the secular Jews be treated?

Upon his arrival in the United States, Rabbi Hirschensohn understood that secularism was a fact of life. He understood that secularism could not be solved by thinking that it was merely a temporary state. He proposed a more tolerant approach towards secular Jews and sought Halakhic solutions which would justify the modern state of affairs where Jews who were not Torah observant would still be part of the Jewish nation.

The solution he proposed was that Jewish identity would be based on Jewish nationalism rather than religion. There is no doubt that religion in a major component of the Jewish identity, but not the only one. As long as a Jew retains a bond to his people, he will continue to be thought of as a Jew for all intents and purposes, even though he is not Torah observant. As a result, Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn established a common basis for both religious and secular Jews.

3) What should be the status of women in the modern Jewish state?

One of the burning questions posed by Orthodox Jewry in the modern era was that of the Status of Women.

At its inception, Orthodoxy imagined it could ignore the immense change that was to be felt on the issue of the Status of Women. However Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn understood that the change had already happened whether or not it was happily accepted. The major point of disagreement between Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn, and other Orthodox Rabbis was how the status of women was perceived. Does their inferior social status reflect an ontological stand which sees the woman as an inferior to man, or is it merely a result of historical, cultural and social norms? Whereas Rabbi Kook and the Ultra-Orthodox see the inferior status as stemming from her ontological state, Rabbi Hirschensohn viewed the inferior status as an outcome of the cultural and social-economic realities prevalent in the world until the modern era:

All the power of men over women in historic times was due to the economic situation and the underdeveloped moral state, where it was thought that it was possible to be religious without morality... Religion together with morality is our sacred Torah.....and we should infer Halakha from these historic situations.....just like we need not live in tents simply because our forefathers did...... (Malki Bakodesh Part II, p. 192)

This is a modern theory per se in keeping with the theory of equality between men and women. There is no difference - ontological or social-- between men and women and the differences are in the area of religious ritual only.

In his books, R. Hirschensohn attempts to give a Halakhic response to the new historic situation which was created as the result of the Balfour Declaration. He states that it is imperative that we deal with national issues and not with problems of individual Jews as had been prevalent until now. It is now important to deal with the issues of national leadership of the nation which will soon earn its independence. The Balfour Declaration is the basis for the establishment of a Jewish State. R. Hirschensohn wished to prepare the Halakhic tools in order to create a constitutional base for a modern democratic Jewish state. These new problems include economic, societal, cultural, scientific and philosophical questions.

He argued that the Torah strides side by side with the necessities of life and the Torah never conflicts with life and progress. Torah includes inherent mechanisms which enable it to suit changing needs:

There is nothing in Biblical Law and in the Halakha opposed in any way to the progress of civilization or to the rule of common sense. This is a fundamental principle by which we must be guided (Malki Bakodesh, Vol. I, p. 15 - Foreword).

One of the consequences of Rabbi Hirschensohn's school of thought is the argument that Judaism can be a full partner in the multicultural discourse in an open society in which a modern Jew finds himself. In addition to traditional religion, the modern Jew relates to a number of other contexts which may include cultural, societal, historic, moral and political components which build his world. In essence "Man" is a multicultural creature whose identity is created by the many worlds surrounding him. As such Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn nullifies the Haredi (Ultra-Orthodox) view which seeks to isolate the Jew from the modern world and live only within the four walls of the Halakha. In essence Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn is continuing the Rambam's approach which sees Judaism in a broader context - as a Judaism that is influenced by both external and internal sources.

Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn's thoughts present clear and positive positions towards modern values such as: democracy, status of women, the autonomy of the individual, rationalism and moral considerations. He argues that "a priori" it cannot be that Halakha would contradict the achievements of civilization. He states that God himself wants his people to choose Torah voluntarily and of free will. The type of approach enables one to adopt the modern humanistic consciousness, one in which "Man" determines and molds his fate.

The question of "church and state" in Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn's thoughts reflects his efforts to combine the commitment to Halakha and adoption of modern values with respect to a free, egalitarian, democratic country, governed and ruled by the people. Under the assumption that the Jewish nation has a national and ethnic infrastructure, rather than only a religious one, Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn grants a common identity to religious and secular Jews.

Rabbi Hayyim Hirschensohn found sources of inspiration in the model of freedom and democracy he saw in America. He felt that the model of a Democratic Republic would most suit the Jewish state. In this type of democracy, the common history of the people, nation, religion, and culture would mold the identity of the Jewish people in a Jewish State in Israel.