National Scholar Updates

The Israel Advocacy Force: Jewish, Muslim and Christian Voices for Israel

In today's global battle of narratives, advocating for Israel's right to exist and thrive is a task too crucial to be left solely to Israelis and Jews in the diaspora. As we navigate the complex and often hostile international landscape, it becomes increasingly clear that some of the most compelling voices in this struggle are those of non-Jews. Their involvement in advocating for Israel is not just beneficial—it is essential.

"In the face of extreme jihadism and the influence of organizations like the Muslim Brotherhood, Israel's advocacy needs to transition from a defensive posture to an offensive strategy" says Adv. Ariel Averbuch, the Founder and Chairman of TIAF – "The Israel Advocacy Force", a unique project aimed at providing non-Israelis with the tools and means for an effective advocacy for Israel and the free world, especially in battling extreme jihadist ideology.

TIAF is not just another advocacy group; it is a pioneering initiative that seeks to fundamentally shift the way Israel's narrative is communicated on the global stage. TIAF was created to empower non-Jewish voices, particularly Muslims, in advocating for Israel. This approach not only broadens the base of support for Israel but also challenges the prevailing narratives that often pit Israel against the Muslim world.

The organization currently involves a diverse network of over 150 dedicated advocates from around the world, including influential Jewish, Muslim, Christian, and other non-Jewish supporters. These individuals are trained and equipped with the tools and resources necessary to effectively communicate Israel's story, counter misinformation, and promote a message of peace and coexistence. By focusing on non-Jewish advocates, TIAF taps into a powerful reservoir of voices that can resonate in communities and regions where traditional pro-Israel messaging may not have the same impact.

One of TIAF's key projects is the development of a specialized messaging toolkit that its advocates use to address various audiences. This toolkit is tailored to resonate with different cultural, religious, and social contexts, ensuring that our messages are not only heard but also understood and embraced. This strategic approach has already yielded significant results, with the advocates making inroads in regions traditionally hostile to Israel and successfully shifting public opinion in a more favorable direction.

TIAF's work is not without challenges, but the impact it's making is undeniable. By mobilizing non-Jewish voices, especially those of Muslims, TIAF is creating a ripple effect that has the potential to transform the global discourse on Israel. The success of TIAF lies in its ability to unite people of different faiths and backgrounds around a common cause—supporting Israel and standing against extremism.

TIAF is focused on showing that the battle against extreme jihadism is not just Israel's fight; it is a fight for all who value peace, tolerance, and coexistence. By empowering non-Jewish voices, especially Muslims and Christians, to take a leading role in this advocacy, we can create a broader, more inclusive movement that transcends national and religious boundaries.

For too long, Israel and its supporters have focused on countering accusations and justifying Israel's actions. This defensive stance, while necessary at times, is not sufficient to win the ideological battle against those who seek to delegitimize the Jewish state.

When Muslims speak out in favor of Israel, they challenge the prevailing narrative that pits Israel against the Muslim world. Their advocacy sends a powerful message: support for Israel is not a betrayal of Muslim identity, but rather an affirmation of shared values such as peace, coexistence, and the rejection of extremism.

"What the Arab world needs most right now are courageous local voices championing the cause of peace. In these challenging times, it's essential for these brave individuals to step forward and articulate the vital importance of peace within their communities. Their message has never been more crucial." says Bassam Aldoseri, a Muslim Bahraini activist and a team member in TIAF.

The influence of extreme jihadism and the Muslim Brotherhood has long been a source of tension between Israel and many Muslim communities. These groups have successfully propagated a narrative of enmity that has been difficult to counter. However, by elevating the voices of Muslims who reject this narrative, we can begin to dismantle the ideological foundation of jihadism. These advocates can expose the true nature of extremist ideologies—how they manipulate religious beliefs for political gain and spread hatred and division.

And not only Muslims are vital in this battle. From a Christian perspective, the involvement of Christians in advocating for Israel is equally significant. Christians share a deep historical and spiritual connection to the land of Israel. Their voices in support of Israel underscore the universal values of peace, religious freedom, and mutual respect. When Christians advocate for Israel, they reinforce the idea that Israel's right to exist is not merely a political issue but a moral one, deeply rooted in shared Abrahamic traditions.

"As a Christian, I believe our destiny is deeply intertwined with Israel and the Jewish people," says Bill Litster, founder of Better Biz Info and a dedicated member of TIAF. "We have a sacred obligation to stand with our brothers and sisters in Israel, who serve the same God as we do."

In conclusion, the future of Israel’s advocacy must go beyond merely defending the state against its detractors. It lies in actively promoting a proactive vision of peace and cooperation, drawing on the support of all people of goodwill, regardless of their background. By transitioning from defense to offense and by amplifying the non-Jewish voices, we can forge a new path forward—one where Israel's right to exist is not just defended, but celebrated by a diverse and united global community.

 

Remembering the Anonymous: Thoughts for Parashat Noah

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Noah

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

Dr. Roger Mesznik, a longtime friend and member of our Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, recently gave me two books in which he traced his family’s genealogy—with both Sephardic and Ashkenazic roots. In the Prologue to his book on the Mesznik family, he notes that “in some cases we know more about their deaths than about their lives. History has conspired to leave more records about how and when they died than about who they were, what they dreamed of, and what they were about to become, or aspired to be.”

This profound observation is true of so many human beings who have lived and died, and who left only faint—if any—traces of who they actually were. Indeed, over the past thousands of years, billions of people have died and have sunk into eternal anonymity. 

And yet, all of these anonymous ancestors played their roles on the stage of human history. They had families and friends; they worked, played, dreamt, struggled, rejoiced, mourned, hoped. Although we have little trace of who they were, they impacted in some way on the progression of human history. 

This week’s Torah portion relates the story of Noah, the great flood, the survival of Noah’s family, the beginning of a new chapter of humanity. The Torah tells us that Noah took his wife, sons and daughters-in-law onto the ark with him. But it doesn’t give us the names of Mrs. Noah, Mrs. Shem, Mrs. Ham or Mrs. Yafeth. These women are left in anonymity. Yet, according to Biblical tradition, these women were the matriarchs of all later humanity, including us! Why don’t we know anything about them, even their names?

Tradition attempts to fill in historical vacuums so that the Midrash in Bereishith Rabba refers to Noah’s wife as Naamah. In the Dead Sea Scrolls her name is given as Emzara. Other sources have provided her with other names. These sources were uncomfortable leaving Mrs. Noah without a name of her own. Giving a name, even if fictitious, is an attempt to ascribe an identity to an otherwise anonymous individual.

Let us try to imagine something about the life of Noah’s wife. Her husband was righteous; he defied the immoral society in which his family lived. He must have been a social outcast, being viewed as a self-righteous trouble maker. He spent years building the ark and must have been subjected to scorn and abuse by the public. Noah obviously had moral strength but he must have been pained and isolated. It was his wife who stood by him and with him, who gave him the courage and confidence to persist. Without her support, Noah may well have failed in his mission. Mrs. Noah was a heroic person who shared the trials of her husband.

By omitting reference to Mrs. Noah’s name, perhaps the Torah is thereby imparting a vital lesson. Some of the most important people in history—and in our own times—are people who may be entirely unknown to us. Their behind the scenes sacrifices, courage and faith have helped shape and strengthen the moral fabric of society.  Thank you Mrs. Noah!

From Moshe’s Torah to Moshe’s Mishneh Torah: Maintaining the Integrity of Law in Exile

 

The process of law-making in any nation is a complex task. In most legal systems, the creation of law usually involves a structured process anchored in the nation’s foundational legal documents, or constitution. For example, in the United States, the process of lawmaking involves both the legislative[1] and judicial[2] branches of government, each playing distinct but complementary roles.[3] 

However, this process presupposes the physical and institutional integrity of a nation. For example, if we were to imagine a hypothetical scenario where a nation such as America is forced into exile with the doors of the Congress and Supreme Court shut, the standard legislative and judicial processes would be disrupted. Such a situation poses a significant question: How does a nation uphold the integrity of its legal system when the required mechanisms of law-making are rendered inoperative? The journey of the Nation of Israel through its period of exile offers a unique perspective on such a scenario.

In Jerusalem, the Sanhedrin functioned similarly to a combination of the U.S. Congress and the Supreme Court. As an assembly of Sages (comparable to Supreme Court judges), it interpreted the Torah (akin to the U.S. Constitution), shaping the laws and setting legal precedents. Members of the Sanhedrin were instrumental in transmitting and shaping the Oral Law. However, the destruction of the Second Temple marked a profound transition in Jewish history, leading eventually to the cessation of the Sanhedrin’s activities.[4] The Jewish community faced a crisis with this loss of this central institution.[5]

In response, the Bet Din HaGadol (Great Court)[6] was established in Yavne, functioning as a new type of Supreme Court. This period marked a significant shift from a Temple-centered worship to a rabbinic and textual tradition. This decentralization was a direct consequence of the Jewish people’s geographical dispersion and the ensuing fragmentation of their society, leading to the closure of the oral tradition. 

 

The Formulation of the Mishna

 

The monumental shift toward writing down the oral tradition[7] and publishing it in oral texts begins with the formulation of the Mishna, primarily spearheaded by Rabbi Aqiba, and completed by Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi in the second century ce. This transformation was necessitated by the precarious situation of the Jewish people following the destruction of the Second Temple and subsequent Roman persecution. The dispersal of Jewish communities and the erosion of traditional learning centers heightened the risk of losing the rich oral traditions that had been meticulously preserved and transmitted through generations.

Recognizing the urgency to safeguard these traditions, Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi embarked on the formidable task of compiling, editing, and organizing the Oral Law. This was not simply a work of transcription, but rather a selective process that involved synthesising various oral teachings, laws, debates, and interpretations that our Sages had been discussing for centuries. The Mishna emerged as a strategic effort to retain Jewish oral tradition captured across six orders (sedarim), and it laid the foundation for subsequent rabbinic discussions and commentaries, leading to the creation of the Talmud.

 

The Formulation of the Talmud

 

In the aftermath of the Mishna's completion around 200 ce, our Sages recognized the need for further elucidation. The Mishna was often succinct and enigmatic, calling for extensive interpretation and clarification. This necessity was heightened by the diverse living conditions and challenges faced by Jewish communities dispersed after the Second Temple's destruction, as well as the emergence of varied practices and interpretations within these dispersed communities.

Babylonia, now modern-day Iraq, emerged as a key center for Jewish learning. It was mainly here that the Jewish legal scholars of the era, known as the Amoraim, engaged in rigorous oral discussions and debates, delving into the Mishna.[8] As these oral deliberations evolved, they were gradually recorded, forming what is known as the Gemara. This crucial addition to the Mishna offered not only interpretations but also legal precedents, ethical teachings, and historical narratives. This period of intensive scholarship led to the creation of the Babylonian Talmud (Talmud Babli),[9] which came to represent a significant link in the chain of nationally recognized rabbinic scholarship and authority.

 

The End of New Rulings

 

There are two key figures of this period that are traditionally credited with the final editing and organizing of the Talmud Babli: Ravina and Rav Ashi.[10] Their contributions to the compilation and codification of the Talmud were instrumental in preserving and transmitting our authorized legal tradition. This newly compiled Talmud thus came to represent a culmination of centuries of authoritative rabbinic scholarship, including decrees, customs, and judicial decisions derived through the application of authorized Torah exegesis. In other words, this Babylonian Talmud contained the last agreed-upon rulings of our last-sitting national and authorized legal bodies (the Sanhedrin and Bet Din HaGadol). The doors of Israel’s Supreme Court were now shut. With this compilation of Ravina and Rav Ashi, we arrive in the era of “sof hora’a” (end of ruling),[11] marking the end of new law creation.

 

Recommended or Binding?

 

Given the reality of an exilic existence without a Sanhedrin or Bet Din HaGadol, our dispersed legal decisors (posekim) have since turned to the Babylonian Talmud in order to analyze and apply its laws in the context of new challenges arising in exile. However—and this is key—without a Sanhedrin or Bet Din HaGadol, the posek’s role is limited to offering legal recommendations based on their analysis of talmudic law. These post-talmudic posekim lack the authority to create new laws or customs that are legally binding.[12] This remains a key point of contention between the Geonic-Sephardic tradition and the Ashkenazic-Tosafist tradition.[13]

Ultimately, this inability of post-talmudic posekim to establish new binding laws (or annul earlier ones) in the absence of the national and authorized legal processes and institutions ensures the very continuity and integrity of our legal system.[14] It underlines the need for a formal and national legal body to create binding laws, and such limitations serve as a motivation to rebuild our nation and our legal institutions. 

 

The Mishneh Torah: Restatement of National Law

 

With the lack of national and authoritative legal structures and the ensuing diasporic dispersion, the Jewish people encountered a void, necessitating a unifying judicial anchor. The Rambam’s Mishneh Torah emerged as this anchor, offering a comprehensive presentation of the entirety of talmudic law and, therefore, of the Oral Law. Rambam meticulously examined the Talmud and the juridical traditions of the Geonim (who were both the students of the Talmud and the predecessors to the Sephardic tradition[15]). His work not only collated the legal rulings of Talmud, it also engaged in a critical analysis, addressing the gaps and ambiguities left by its dialectical style and the whimsical alterations introduced by generations of scribes.[16] 

Rabbi Yosef Karo, in his Kesef Mishneh, notes that “Rambam’s practice is known, in that he simply records the law as it emerges from the Talmud.”[17] Therefore, the Mishneh Torah is essentially the restatement of the Law of Israel. No other project of such magnitude existed then or now. This body of work remains our prime portal to access an unadulterated and concise version of our people’s National Law.[18] Further, its accessibility in Hebrew, as opposed to the Aramaic of the Talmud, democratised legal knowledge for Jews around the world. 

However, the Mishneh Torah, with its exceptional clarity and transparency of Israel’s national law, was bound to challenge entrenched customs and opinions formed in exile. Indeed, many in the Ashkenazic community, which constituted merely ~10 percent of the global Jewish population at the time, viewed the Mishneh Torah as a potential disruption to their worldview. In the words Rabbi Ratson Arussi, the foremost rabbinic authority of the Yemenite Jewish community today:

 

Opponents rose up against the Mishneh Torah, whether against his teachings or against Rambam himself. Amongst the circles of Ashkenaz…there were those who perceived his halakhic writings as challenging their world of Torah. For their world of Torah was characterized by pilpulic talmudic study, digging deep, inquiring—[but] not halakhic. The legal component was very heavy among Ashkenaz Jewry. It rested upon customs (minhagim). It rested upon various approaches. It rested upon stringencies (humrot). For this reason, when they saw Rambam’s halakhic work [Mishneh Torah], first they were worried that his work may shove aside their halakhic tradition. For this reason, from the Bet Midrash of MaHaRa”M of Rottenburg, who is one of the great early scholars of Ashkenaz, one of his students, Hagahot Maimoniyyot, immediately wrote an amendatory commentary to Rambam’s Mishneh Torah, i.e. to indicate the positions of the sages of Ashkenaz and the customs (minhagim) of Ashkenaz, in order to show, “we are on the map!”[19]

 

A How-To Guide to Post-Talmudic Opinions

 

Thus far, we have presented the following chain of logic: the Sanhedrin/Bet Din HaGadol shaped the Oral Law, and the primary method of preserving and transmitting their rulings was through oral tradition. This body of knowledge was eventually compiled into a structured written form known as the Mishna. The Talmud subsequently emerged as a detailed analysis and expansion of the Mishna. The Mishneh Torah, produced by Rambam, distills the Talmud's broad discussions into clear conclusions and practical applications, thereby serving as a concise restatement of the Oral Law.

So, what are we missing? After all, when we have clear guidance from the Mishneh Torah on a particular law, managing our diasporic existence seems feasible. But what happens when new questions arise that the Talmud (and therefore the Mishneh Torah) did not specifically address, and there is no Sanhedrin or Bet Din HaGadol around for us to call upon?

The answer lies in a pivotal talmudic rule,[20] incorporated into the Mishneh Torah.[21] It dictates that where the law is uncertain in Scriptural Law (de’oraita) matters, we should adhere to the more stringent post-talmudic view. On the other hand, where the law is uncertain for Rabbinic Law (derabbanan) issues, the more lenient post-talmudic stance is advisable. This approach implies that in the post-talmudic era, decision-making is not as straightforward as simply siding with the majority or minority opinion. After all, the principle of “majority rule” is legally relevant only in the context of judges sitting on an authoritative legal body, such as a Sanhedrin or Bet Din HaGadol.[22]

 

Deviating from Due Legal Process

 

The principle of updating and adapting Jewish law to contemporary life is not just a desirable goal but a biblically mandated one, as evidenced in Deuteronomy 17:9: “And you shall come to the Kohanim, the Levi’im, and to the Judge that will be in those days.” This verse highlights the necessity of seeking guidance from the legally authorized representatives of our era, emphasising the interpretation of God’s law in a manner relevant to the current context. The evolution and application of God’s eternal law, adapted to contemporary life, is the very essence of the Oral Law and the Rabbinic enterprise.

Therefore, the problem with various reformist Jewish movements that emerged during exile is not their intention to evolve and update talmudic law. Rather, the issue lies in their approach to it, which attempts to implement changes without the rigorous legal scholarship and national authoritative bodies like a Sanhedrin or Bet Din HaGadol.[23]

Indeed, the absence of authoritative institutions in our times makes many of our talmudic laws appear outdated or less relevant.[24] Just imagine living in the United States in the year 2024 and adhering to legal rulings from a Supreme Court that last convened in the year 1924…let alone following rulings from the year 500 in exile! Yet, our commitment to the Talmud—our most recent nationally recognized legal rulebook—has been crucial in preserving the integrity of our legal system across generations. Ultimately, however, this unmoving commitment represents more than just legal adherence. It symbolizes an aspiration to rebuild our land, reconvene our assembly of Sages, and govern according to our days, in Covenant with God. 

May we witness this realisation in our times.


 


* I would like to thank Freddie Grunsfeld, Eli Shaubi, and Vedat Levi for their assistance and advice.

[1] The legislative branch of a government is responsible for making laws, often consisting of elected representatives who debate and vote on new laws and policies.

[2] The judicial branch interprets and applies the law, handling disputes and ensuring justice is served according to the constitution of the nation.

[3] For an overview of the various legal systems around the world, see Legal Rules in Practice by Max Travers. 

[4] For a detailed presentation of these developments in the Jewish legal tradition, see Rabbi Dr. Jose Faur’s, Horizontal Society. 

[5] For a traditional presentation of these events, see Introduction, Mishneh Torah.

[6] The Bet Din HaGadol, established by Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai in circa 70 ce, filled the judicial gap left by the Sanhedrin’s dissolution post-Temple destruction. The Bet Din HaGadol continued the judicial and legislative functions of the Sanhedrin, playing a critical role in the preservation and interpretation of Jewish law. The Bet Din HaGadol was intertwined with the Yeshibot, more accurately “plenary sessions” rather than mere “academies.” These sessions, presided over by the ‘Nasi’ (Prince), were unique in structure, and engaged the general public in legal and theological discourse. The Yeshiba’s role as a national institution was crucial in collecting, authenticating, and cataloguing Jewish tradition. For a detailed analysis of this, see Section IV of Rabbi Dr. Jose Faur’s Horizontal Society.

[7] There were always written notes and archives of the oral tradition, but they were not published officially until the compilation of the Mishna. In the words of Rabbi Dr. Jose Faur, “Originally, the doctrines and minutes of the Supreme Court of Israel, beginning with Moses, were not published. Although basic legal instruction was offered to all, the archival material of the Court was unavailable to the general public” (Horizontal Society, p. 262).

[8] This scholarly endeavour also took place in the Land of Israel, where the local Amoraim were also delving into and expanding the Mishna. This ultimately led to the formulation of the Jerusalem Talmud (Talmud Yerushalmi).

[9]The Talmud Babli emerged not merely as a book but as a virtual society, encapsulating the collective wisdom and deliberations of a multitude of Jewish scholars in Babylonia. It was during the Kalla gatherings in Babylonia that the Talmud was meticulously compiled. These assemblies, where sages and disciples came together, were pivotal in studying, finalising, and revising the Talmud’s content. The authority of the Babylonian Talmud derived from the fact that it was crafted and approved by a broad consensus of the nation’s sages, making it an essential and binding legal framework for Jewish communities around the world. For a detailed analysis of this, see Section IV of Rabbi Dr. Jose Faur’s Horizontal Society.

[10] See Introduction, Mishneh Torah.

[11] Baba Metzia 86a.

[12] Further evidenced by the fact that there is not a single unified legal code (or its accompanying gloss) that is followed by all practicing Jews.

[13] In the post-talmudic era, divergent approaches emerged regarding the role and authority of legal decisors (posekim). The Sephardic approach, as exemplified by Rambam and Rif as a continuation of the Geonic tradition, posited that post-talmudic rabbis should primarily clarify and restate the conclusions of the Talmud, leaving limited scope for Rabbinic authority and novel rulings. In contrast, the later Ashkenazic-Tosafist approach granted decisors greater autonomy, allowing for creative interpretations of talmudic passages in response to evolving social and religious contexts. This led to a transformation in the concept of binding legal authority and precedent, with the Tosafist era seeing legal decisors increasingly regarding themselves as “bound by Rishonim,” effectively conferring a new form of legal authority akin to that of the Sanhedrin. The codification of rulings, notably in the Tur and Shulhan Arukh, further cemented this authoritative status of medieval scholars. Culturally, this divergence manifested in different practices between Ashkenazic and Sephardic communities, with Ashkenazim showing a greater tendency to revere medieval Rabbinic customs/minhagim as legally binding, a trend less pronounced among Sephardaim. This period also marked an increased role of creativity and novel solutions in legal rulings, particularly under the Ashkenazic/Tosafist approach, contrasting with the Sephardic framework’s emphasis on adherence to talmudic conclusions. For more on this often-overlooked area, see Talmud Reclaimed by Rabbi Shmuel Phillips.

[14] However, beyond a National Bet Din, a Local Bet Din can also possess its own power to implement gezerot (decrees), takanot (enactments), and establish minhagim (customs). The jurisdiction and authority of a Local Bet Din are confined to its specific geographical location. The legitimacy and authorisation of a Local Bet Din are derived from its recognition and acceptance by the community within its locale. However, the primary function of a Local Bet Din is to adjudicate civil or criminal cases.

[15] The Talmud Babli was compiled in the halls of the Babylonian Yeshibot of the Geonim. The deep connections between these academies of the Geonim in Babylonia and the academies of the Sepharadim in southern Spain/Andalusia (and the resultant conveyance of tradition and methodology between them) has been examined and established in numerous places. For a foundational presentation of this topic, see Sefer HaQabbala by Abraham ibn Daud. For a more recent and general presentation, see Chapter 6 of Talmud Reclaimed by Rabbi Shmuel Phillips. For an Ashkenazic perspective on this, we can turn to Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin (the Netziv), who notes that the Rambam followed the Geonic methodology for determining law from the Talmud. He goes on to state that the Tosafists lacked this Geonic tradition, and therefore had to fill resultant gaps in tradition with “analogies, reconciliations, and logical deductions.” (Hakdamot Kidmat Ha’Emek 1:12–16).

[16] As an example, see Hilkhot Gerushin, Mishneh Torah, 9:31: 

 

When [a man] tells two [colleagues]: "Write [a get], sign it and give it to so and so to bring to my wife," or "...give it to [my] agent to bring to her," one of them should write it, and they should both sign it and give it to the agent. If they bring it to the woman themselves, the divorce is not effective, for they were not appointed as agents to effect the divorce. What should they do [if in error they gave it to the woman]? They should take it back from her and give it to the agent, who should in turn give it back to the woman in their presence or in the presence of other [witnesses]. My teachers issued a ruling with regard to such a get that does not appear to be appropriate, because of a flaw that existed in the versions [of the Talmud] that they possessed.

[17] Hilkhot Keriat Shema 4:7

[18] Or as close as we can get to such a place, given (1) the shared methodology of Rambam and the students of the Talmud (the Geonim), and (2) that all other legal compilations contain many post-talmudic influences and opinions.

[19] English translation of a Hebrew clip from Rabbi Ratson Arussi’s class to TheHabura.com, available in full on YouTube at: https://youtu.be/RdrBK45raaE?si=w6S9mrl3Twbaj8MZ.

[20] Betzah 3b.

[21] Hilkhot Mamrim, Mishneh Torah, Chapter 4.

[22] For a thorough analysis of the legal parameters of “following the majority”, see Freddie Grunsfeld’s essay in Shabuot: Insights from the Past, Present, and Future, published by TheHabura.com

[23] For the laws relating to the scope, limitations, and processes of developing Jewish law, see Hilkhot Mamrim, Mishneh Torah.

[24] We can take a moment to explore an example, such as the observance of a second day of Yom Tov. This practice was initially instituted by our Sages due to uncertainties in calendar calculations in ancient times. While this observance has been maintained in the Diaspora, it raises questions about its relevance in the modern era, where calendar precision is no longer a concern. However, this issue cannot be addressed without a legal authoritative body (i.e., Sanhedrin or Bet Din HaGadol) to re-evaluate and potentially update such laws. This is, unfortunately, a reality of an exile that our people were warned about repeatedly and brought upon ourselves. In the wise words of an early Duke of Norfolk, “a man cannot have his cake and eat it too.”

Refining our Messaging on Anti-Semitism

(This op ed piece by Rabbi Marc D. Angel appeared in the Jewish Journal of Los Angeles, August 20, 2024.)

 

We are rightfully concerned with anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism and we are quick to publicize every instance of malice and injustice against our people. Our media decry the spread of Jew-hatred. Our various spokespeople lament the increase in anti-Semitic acts, especially since October 7.

It is important to expose and combat anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism with all our might.

But is our messaging unwittingly actually leading to an increase in Jew-hatred?

In his book, Subliminal, Dr. Leonard Mlodinow discusses a surprising phenomenon. Public service announcements sometimes backfire. For example, some ads urge visitors to national parks not to litter. In one controlled study, an ad denounced littering and this resulted in less littering. But another ad included the phrase “Americans will produce more litter than ever.” This ad actually led to an increase in littering. Dr. Mlodinow points out that the subliminal message of the latter ad is that it’s really okay to litter; everyone is doing it! (pp. 170-171).

When people are constantly told that anti-Israel sentiment is rampant, subliminally at least some of them will think: it’s okay to hate Israel, lots of people do.  If people are given statistics that anti-Semitic or anti-Israel acts are increasing dramatically, at least some of them will conclude: if so many people hate Jews and Israel, it’s okay for me to do so also. 

Publicizing anti-Israel and anti-Jewish behavior can be a double edged sword. We need the world to know what’s happening and rally good people to fight the injustices against us. But by highlighting how many people hate us, we actually may be encouraging closet anti-Semites to come out into the open with their venom. The more visibility anti-Semites have, the more they create a snowball effect drawing others into the hatred syndrome.

In another of his books (Emotional), Dr. Mlodinow writes about psychological contagion. Research is being done about “the spread of emotion from person to person or throughout an organization or even an entire society” (p. 184). When crowds get fired up against Israel and against Jews, the hatred can become “contagious.” It is difficult to combat this type of psychological contagion; but just condemning it will not make it disappear.

We fight the anti-Semites and anti-Zionists by strengthening our own communities; by insisting on prosecution of hate crimes; be electing pro-Israel officials; by working with good people to foster civil society. But we also have to promote positive messaging to the general public.

Instead of constantly publicizing the increase in anti-Jewish words and deeds, we ought to be emphasizing the many millions of people who admire and support Israel and Jews. Instead of giving front page attention to anti-Israel “celebrities” we ought to highlight the pro-Israel voices and reserve the bad actors for the back pages. 

The overwhelming majority of the public abhors terrorism. They resent “activists” i.e. haters who block highways, disrupt college campuses, vandalize businesses, attack innocent individuals on the basis of religion, race, nationality or other reasons. Instead of the media showering so much attention on the haters, we should be demanding even more attention on those who promote civility, mutual respect, and intergroup cooperation.

We certainly must condemn and fight anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism. But our messaging must be positive and must draw on the goodwill of millions of people who appreciate the values of Israel and the Jewish People. 

 

Standing before the Almighty: Thoughts for Nitsavim/Vayelekh

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Nitsavim

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

"You are all standing today before the Lord your God..." (Devarim 29:9)

Moses reminds the entire people of Israel that they are each standing before God. Whether one is the head of a tribe or a water-carrier, all are ultimately judged by God. Rabbi Moshe Alsheikh, the great 16th century mystic and commentator, notes that we humans do not know how to evaluate each other properly--this is only known by God. There are people who may seem important to us--but who are deficient in the eyes of God. There are people who may seem insignificant to us--but who are highly regarded by the Almighty.

Not only may we be deceived in our evaluation of others, we also may be deceived in our evaluation of our own selves. We may either over exaggerate our virtues or underestimate our good qualities. If we remind ourselves that we are standing before God, we can hope to come to a truer understanding of ourselves and others.

Rabbi Haim David Halevy, late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv, offered a poignant insight into the season of holy days we are about to observe. A dominant symbol of Rosh HaShana is the Shofar. The law is that a Shofar must be bent. The moral lesson is that we, too, should bow ourselves in penitence and contrition. We come before the Almighty, humbly asking forgiveness for our sins and shortcomings. Indeed, the theme of the period between Rosh HaShana and Yom Kippur is repentance.

Shortly after Yom Kippur, we observe the Festival of Succoth. A dominant symbol of that holiday is the Lulav. According to halakha, a Lulav must have a straight spine--if it is bent over, then it is not valid for the performance of the mitzvah. The Lulav reminds us that we must stand tall, that there are times when contrition and meekness are not appropriate. We must conduct ourselves with principled commitment to our ideas and ideals, being straight and upright in our words and deeds.

Rabbi Halevy notes that we each need to learn from the Shofar and the Lulav. We need the humility symbolized by the Shofar, and the strength symbolized by the Lulav. We need to balance these qualities to reach a realistic and proper approach to life.

As we enter the holy day season, it is important for us to remember that we each stand before the Almighty, who Alone knows the essence of who we are. The ultimate Arbiter of the value of our lives is the One to whom we are answerable. There is no point in pretending to be what we aren't, or in posturing to make ourselves more important in the eyes of others--God always knows the Truth about who we are.

So let us come before the Almighty with honesty and humility, bent over like the Shofar. Let us note our errors and weaknesses, and let us resolve to do better with our lives. But let us also come before the Almighty as a Lulav--upright and straight, strong in our commitment to the teachings of Torah. Let us neither over-estimate--nor under-estimate--who we are, and what our lives mean.

Dogma, Heresy, and Classical Debates: Creating Jewish Unity in an Age of Confusion

            Judaism includes the basic tenets of belief in one God, divine revelation of the Torah including an Oral Law, divine providence, reward-punishment, and a messianic redemption. Although there have been debates over the precise definitions and boundaries of Jewish belief, these core beliefs have been universally accepted as part of our tradition.[1]

            The question for believing Jews today is, how should we relate to the overwhelming majority of contemporary Jews, who likely do not fully believe in classical Jewish beliefs? Two medieval models shed light on this question.

 

Rambam: Dogmatic Approach

 

            Rambam insists that proper belief is essential. Whether one intentionally rejects Jewish beliefs, or is simply mistaken or uninformed, non-belief leads to one’s exclusion from the Jewish community and from the World to Come:

 

When a person affirms all these Principles, and clarifies his faith in them, he becomes part of the Jewish People. It is a mitzvah to love him, have mercy on him, and show him all the love and brotherhood that God has instructed us to show our fellow Jews. Even if he has transgressed out of desire and the overpowering influence of his base nature, he will be punished accordingly but he will have a share in the World to Come. But one who denies any of these Principles has excluded himself from the Jewish People and denied the essence [of Judaism]. He is called a heretic, an epikoros, and “one who has cut off the seedlings.” It is a mitzvah to hate and destroy such a person, as it says (Psalms 139:21), “Those who hate You, God, I shall hate.” (Rambam, Introduction to Perek Helek)

 

Scholars of Rambam generally explain that Rambam did not think of afterlife as a reward. Rather, it is a natural consequence of one’s religious-intellectual development. Only one prepared for afterlife may gain acceptance. Although Rambam did not invent Jewish beliefs, he did innovate this position of Judaism being primarily a community of believers in a set of dogmas.[2]

Professor Menachem Kellner explains that prior to Rambam, Jewish faith was defined by an experiential relationship with God and the Torah. There were of course underlying beliefs in God, the revelation of the Torah, the Oral Law, God’s personal involvement and providence, and the Messiah; but these beliefs were not commanded, nor were they too precisely defined. Kellner suggests that Rambam’s innovative view arose from the surrounding Muslim culture. During that period, Muslims asked, (a) who is a Muslim and who is an unbeliever? (b) Who will achieve salvation and who is damned? To be a Muslim in good standing and achieve salvation requires one to have proper beliefs, regardless of one’s actions. Therefore, the need to define proper belief was a central concern in Rambam’s world.[3] Judaism also needed to be distinguished from Islam since both are monotheistic faiths, and Jews faced intense pressure to convert to Islam in order to attain better social status.[4]

Rambam’s attempt to define the tenets of Jewish faith follows in the footsteps of the Mishnah in Sanhedrin 90a, which is the only place in the Talmud where beliefs are presented in dogmatic form:

 

All Israel have a portion in the World to Come, for it is written, “Your people are all righteous; they shall inherit the land forever, the branch of My planting, the work of My hands, that I be glorified.” But the following have no portion therein: He who maintains that resurrection is not a biblical doctrine, the Torah was not divinely revealed, and an epikoros

 

Clearly, this Mishnah is not a roster of all Jewish belief, but rather focuses on the issues that fractured the Jewish community during that period. The Sages stressed these particular tenets of faith in order to distinguish the faithful rabbinic community from Sadducees and other sectarian groups.[5]

Although these efforts by the Mishnah are significant in terms of expressing proper Jewish belief, Rambam goes much further than the Mishnah by defining Jews as a communion of true believers. This innovative position opened the door to heretical exclusions even when one was not trying to exclude himself or herself from the Jewish community.[6]

 

Ra’avad-Duran-Albo: Mistaken, Not Heretics

 

            Rambam (Laws of Repentance 3:7) rules that there are several categories of heretics. One of those is the person who believes that God has a body. Yet, Ra’avad (Rabbi Abraham b. David, 1125–1198) disagrees, since even some great rabbis mistakenly concluded that God does have a body:[7]

 

Why did [Rambam] call such a person a heretic? Several greater and better rabbis than he thought [that God does have a body and likeness] based on what they see in biblical verses and even more so from rabbinic teachings that can confuse the thoughts.

 

Ra’avad agrees with Rambam that God does not have physical attributes. However, he insists that it is incorrect to label as heretics those who mistakenly believe otherwise. They are believing Jews who made an honest error based on an overly literal reading of Tanakh and Midrash.

            Following Ra’avad’s approach, Rabbi Shimon b. Tzemah Duran and Rabbi Yosef Albo maintained that one should be considered a heretic only if one willfully denies a principle of faith or willfully affirms a principle denied by the Torah.[8] Duran even cites statements by Rambam that Duran considers to be beyond the pale of Jewish belief. He concludes that Rambam is not a heretic for holding these views, but reached mistaken views out of purity of motive. It should be stressed that Duran agrees that there are correct beliefs, and rabbis should correct the errors of those Jews who have mistaken beliefs. However, this does not mean excluding them from the community as heretics, but rather embracing and teaching them.

In his extensive survey of medieval thinkers, Professor Menachem Kellner concludes that the decisive majority support this latter view, rather than the exclusionary dogmatic position of Rambam.[9]

Halakhah defines Jewishness by birth and nationhood, and not by belief. We ideally want all Jews to learn, observe, and believe in the Torah and tradition. However, we should not exclude as heretics those who fall short unless they intentionally wish to exclude themselves from the community.[10] Jews who make honest mistakes or who are ignorant of proper Jewish belief are not to be labeled as heretics. Rather, we should do what we can to educate them.

It is important to note that Rambam himself differentiated between the original Karaites, who were true heretics who broke from the Jewish community, and their followers and descendants who did not know better because they grew up as Karaites (Laws of Rebellious Ones 3:3). After stating that one who denies the Oral Law is a heretic (Laws of Rebellious Ones 3:1–2), Rambam exonerates the Karaites of his day for having been raised with erroneous beliefs. Menachem Kellner explains that in Rambam’s system of thought, there was no latitude for someone who makes an innocent error regarding Rambam’s first five principles of faith that pertain to the essence of God. In that arena, if a Jew believes that God has a body, that person is a heretic. However, the Karaite error is within Rambam’s eighth principle, as they deny the revelation of an Oral Law revealed to Moses along with the Written Torah. In this respect, those Karaites who actively denied this principle of faith are heretics, but later generations who grew up with miseducation should be deemed as ignorant against their will, rather than as heretics.[11]

 

Conclusion

 

            Moving this discussion to a contemporary communal level, Menachem Kellner contends that Orthodox society must properly frame the question in terms of its relationship with non-Orthodox society. If we ask how much we should tolerate heresy, we already have lost the battle. Pluralism, in the sense of saying that non-Orthodox and non-halakhic positions are legitimate within Torah and halakhah, is an impossible position. Declaring that most non-Orthodox Jews are in the category of “tinok she-nishbah”—one who was kidnapped and raised among heathens and therefore no longer accountable for one’s religious behavior—may promote greater tolerance, but is insulting.

            Kellner concludes that one should ask instead: What can we do to enhance the future of the Jewish people? A healthy family can survive disputes. We should not ignore the disputes; but areas of agreement, our shared past, and a shared concern for our future as a people, should bring us together despite fundamental differences in belief and observance.[12]

            We may define the question differently. If we view ourselves as a community of believers inside a box, and everyone else as outside that box, then Rambam gives us an objective standard of who is in our group and who is excluded. If, however, we define ourselves more positively as believing Jews who embrace God, Torah, and all Jews, then we would espouse the view of Ra’avad-Duran-Albo, who maintain proper belief while considering those who reject or do not know these beliefs as wrong or ignorant rather than as heretics.

The halakhic definition of a Jew is one who has Jewish mother or who is a halakhic convert. Not every Jew lives a full Jewish life, but there is a continuum with more and less committed Jews, rather than insiders and outsiders. The approach espoused by Ra’avad-Duran-Albo, which appears closer to the original concept of Jewish belief, also represents a more productive means of addressing today’s fragmented society from within tradition. We stand for an eternal set of beliefs and practices, and we embrace and teach all Jews as we build our community together.[13]

No less significantly, it is critical for believing Jews to understand that there are many legitimate paths within Jewish tradition. Many rifts are created when rabbis and others insist that their path is the only true path, while others are considered wrong or not even acknowledged. One of the great nineteenth-century rabbis, Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehudah Berlin (Netziv), expressed his fear based on the realities of his time that faithful Jews may brand other faithful Jews as heretics for following other legitimate paths within tradition:

 

It is not difficult to imagine reaching this situation in our time, Heaven forbid, that if one of the faithful thinks that a certain person does not follow his way in the service of God, then he will judge him as a heretic…the people of God will be destroyed, Heaven forfend. (Meshiv Davar, I:44)

 

 

The Sephardic-Inclusive Communal Model

 

One of the beacons of light emanating from the Sephardic world in the modern age is its inclusive communal model. Rather than creating separate synagogues for the devoutly Orthodox, or splintering into movements or denominations that fracture the Jewish community, this model calls for synagogues to be faithful to Jewish tradition and to welcome Jews from the entire spectrum of religious observance.

In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Jews of Germany, America, and several other major communities splintered into denominations and movements. They led us to today’s painful fragmentation with no easy resolutions presenting themselves going forward. The Sephardic inclusive communal model provides a desperately needed alternative to the realities of today.[14]

So why did so much of the Jewish world miss this point? In addition to the historical circumstances, there is a good conceptual answer to that question, explored by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks in his book, Community of Faith.[15] Rabbi Sacks observes that there is a great challenge in the inclusive model: It is the least consistent, and we greatly value consistency. Some people asked: Why belong to a traditional synagogue that preaches ideals so different from my lifestyle? Why not build synagogue communities that espouse messages more consistent with my values?

Others criticized the institutions and their rabbis. How can an Orthodox synagogue be a welcoming home to people who do not live by Orthodox standards? We should build separate synagogues and schools exclusively for those who are entirely faithful to tradition. This desire for greater consistency contributed to the fracturing of the Jewish community.

These are genuine challenges to the inclusive communal model. Our response to these challenges is the positive agenda of a unified faith community. Those who join it do not necessarily adhere to all of the mitzvot or Jewish beliefs in the traditional sense. However, they want to belong to a congregation that in its public and collective expressions remains loyal to the principles by which Jews have always lived. As a result of this model, Jews who personally do not observe many mitzvot can develop a profound respect for their synagogue and community, because they correctly understand that it faithfully represents Jewish tradition.

Aside from the commitment their own members, rabbis and communal leadership also need to be open to all Jews, and work to create a welcoming environment where that attitude is fostered throughout the community. Our challenge is to the build an ideal communal setting, faithful to tradition, and welcoming to all Jews. We need to set the standard by which all participants are encouraged to bridge the gaps between their lives and the ideals of the Torah.

This vision may be easier said than done in today’s climate, but it is critical to advance it as a productive alternative to the unfortunate reality we currently experience.

Judaism is both a peoplehood and a religious covenant. Ideally, all Jews should be committed to both dimensions of the Torah. In an age when many Jews have lost or diminished their religious connection, however, our commitment to peoplehood must prevail to include Jews who are not fully committed to the Torah or Jewish belief. The winners will be the Torah and the Jewish people.

 

 

[1] See Marc B. Shapiro, The Limits of Orthodox Theology: Maimonides’ Thirteen Principles Reappraised (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2004). Review Essay, R. Yitzchak Blau, “Flexibility with a Firm Foundation: On Maintaining Jewish Dogma,” Torah U-Madda Journal 12 (2004), pp. 179–191.

[2] See Menachem Kellner, Dogma in Medieval Jewish Thought: From Maimonides to Abravanel (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1986); Menachem Kellner, Must a Jew Believe Anything? (London: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1999). Review Essay, David Berger, Tradition 33:4 (Summer 1999), pp. 81–89. Menachem Kellner’s second edition of Must a Jew Believe Anything? (2006) contains a response to David Berger’s review. See also Seth (Avi) Kadish (“Jewish Dogma after Maimonides: Semantics or Substance?” Hebrew Union College Annual 86 [2015], pp. 195–263), who discusses the need to understand Rambam’s dogmas in the broader context of Rambam’s writings and religious outlook, rather than in a vacuum.

[3] Kellner, Dogma in Medieval Jewish Thought, pp. 7–9.

[4] Menachem Kellner, Must a Jew Believe Anything?, pp. 49–50.

[5] R. Jonathan Sacks observes that instead of writing treatises or systematic lists of beliefs, the Sages included central Jewish beliefs in the prayer liturgy. The emphasis in the second blessing of the Amidah on God for His future resurrection of the dead, for example, ensured that sectarians who denied the resurrection would be unable to lead the prayer service, and would be discouraged from attending synagogue altogether (“The Siddur: Book of Jewish Faith,” in Mi-Tokh Ha-Ohel: The Weekday Prayers, ed. Daniel Z. Feldman and Stuart W. Halpern [New Milford, CT: Maggid, 2014], pp. xiii–xxi).

[6] Menachem Kellner, Must a Jew Believe Anything?, p. 2.

[7] For a survey of rabbinic positions on God’s incorporeality, see Marc B. Shapiro, The Limits of Orthodox Theology, pp. 45–70.

[8] Menachem Kellner, Dogma in Medieval Jewish Thought, pp. 99–107.

[9] Menachem Kellner, Must a Jew Believe Anything?, p. 68. Aside from Rambam, only R. Abraham Bibago and Abarbanel disallowed error in belief and considered people making those errors heretics.

[10] Menachem Kellner, Must a Jew Believe Anything?, pp. 111–126.

[11] Ibid., pp. 84–85.

[12] Ibid., pp. 98–99, 111–126.

[13] See also R. Dov Linzer, “The Discourse of Halakhic Inclusiveness,” Conversations 1 (Spring 2008), pp. 1–5; Menachem Kellner, “Must We Have Heretics?” Conversations 1 (Spring 2008), pp. 6–10.

[14] See further discussion in R. Marc D. Angel, “Other Thoughts about Jewish Pluralism,” in Angel, Seeking Good, Speaking Peace: Collected Essays of Rabbi Marc D. Angel, ed. Hayyim Angel (Hoboken, NJ: Ktav, 1994), pp. 24–35.

[15] R. Jonathan Sacks, Community of Faith (London: Peter Halban, 1995).

Intellectual humility: Thoughts for Parashat Bereishith

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Bereishith

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

Our sages contemplated why the Torah begins with the letter bet, the second letter of the Hebrew alphabet. We might have expected it to have opened with an aleph, the first letter.

Rabbi Mel Gottlieb, in his new book “Torah Travels,” offers his insight. “The Torah begins with the second letter in the Hebrew alphabet to teach us that this world is one of bet—two-ness, a world filled with disparate energies and opposites that must be integrated into a unity-based consciousness.”  Life confronts us with numerous conflicts between good and evil, righteousness and wickedness, truth and illusion. Our task is to recognize the various forces within us and our world—and to seek to achieve as harmonious and wholesome a life as possible. 

The letter bet also teaches humility. No matter how much Torah we know, we only start from the second letter as if to say we don’t even know the first thing, the aleph. Interestingly, the first page of every Talmudic tractate is bet; those who established the pagination were thereby hinting that we don’t know everything and can’t know everything. We start from page 2; page 1 is missing altogether, it’s not available, it’s beyond us.  The lesson: study hard, learn as much as possible; but recognize that there is much that will be out of reach.

 Intellectual humility is the first step in the acquisition of wisdom. This does not mean that one should be intellectually timid.  One should think carefully and uphold principles of truth…but not be so dogmatic as to shut off other points of view. 

The Talmud (Taanit 4a) cites the opinion of Rav Ashi that any rabbinic scholar who is not hard as iron is no rabbinic scholar! A Talmid Hakham must hold strong convictions and must not bend under pressure. Yet, a few lines later, the Talmud reports the opinion of Ravina: “even so, a person must teach himself the quality of gentleness.” Yes, commitment to principles is very important; but so is maintaining a compassionate and loving attitude. We must be strong in upholding truth as we understand it; but we must also have the gentleness and humility to take into consideration the views and needs of others. 

Dr. Fred Hoyle, an English astronomer of the 20th century, made an astute observation. “It seems to be characteristic of all great work, in every field, that it arises spontaneously and unpretentiously, and that its creators wear a cloak of imprecision…The man who voyages strange seas must of necessity be a little unsure of himself. It is the man with the flashy air of knowing everything, who is always on the ball, always with it, that we should beware of. (“Of Men and Galaxies,” Prometheus Books, NY, 2005, p. 28).

The letter bet that opens the Torah is a reminder that no matter how much we may know, there is so much more that we do not know. Intellectual humility is the first step in the acquisition of wisdom.

 

 

 

 

Erich Neumann and the Quest for a Jewish Psychology

             

   “In reality, this actual world is full of secrets just as it full of the divine. Its outwardness

should not disguise its radiant, hidden inwardness.”

—Erich Neumann 

 

 

Among the greatest Jewish psychological thinkers of the twentieth century was German-

born Erich Neumann. Because he resided in Tel Aviv from 1934 onward and traveled little, he never attained the popular fame of such pioneering Jewish colleagues as Sigmund Freud and Alfred Adler, and later, Erich Fromm and Abraham Maslow. However, Neumann’s global influence has skyrocketed in recent years, particularly after a centennial celebration of his birth was held in Israel in 2005 with the active support of his two adult children. 

In this article, I’d like to highlight Neumann’s life and key notions in building a psychology based on authentically Jewish foundations. 

 

Erich Neumann: A Biographical Sketch 

 

The youngest of three children, Neumann was born in 1905, in a Jewish section of Berlin. 

He was raised in a secular, affluent family, yet felt a strong affinity for Judaism. As a teenager, he became an ardent Zionist, inspired too by Martin Buber’s stylized writings on Hasidism as a pathway for Jewish spiritual renewal. “I feel God in everything…,” young Neumann wrote in his diary, “I feel it in my essence that my ancestors must have had an intimate selectness with God for thousands of years. All Jews must (still) have that” (Lowe, 2020, p. 15).

By the age of 16, young Neumann had already begun forging a Jewish identity for 

himself. He joined a Jewish debating society, which discussed philosophy and politics, 

and he privately studied modern Hebrew. Upon graduating from gymnasium in 1923, 

Neumann enrolled at Friedrich-Alexander University in Erlangen, where he took courses in education, philosophy, psychology, the history of art and literature, and Semitic studies. Upon receiving his doctorate in philosophy in 1928, Neumann enrolled in medicine at Berlin’s Friedrich Wilhelm University with the goal of a psychiatric career. That same year, he married Julie Blumenfeld, a Zionist activist and nurse. 

Coincidentally, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson was an officially visiting student at 

Friedrich Wilhelm University from 1928 to 1930—and it’s fascinating to speculate whether Neumann ever met the future Lubavitcher Rebbe due to their mutual interests in Hasidic thought. Clearly, however, Buber’s writings were still intellectually vital to Neumann, and the two exchanged correspondence in the early 1930s concerning his unpublished essay on Franz Kafka’s surrealist fiction. Buber warmly wrote, “Your clear and precise methodology does remarkable justice to some of (Kafka’s) references and contexts” (Ibid., p. 50). 

Neumann finished his medical coursework in 1933, while also pursuing Kabbalah 

and Hasidism at the University of Berlin. However, soon after Hitler came to power, Jewish medical students were barred from internships and thereby prevented from gaining licensure. Unlike many of their Jewish compatriots, he and Julie sensed that events would get much worse under the Nazis—and they departed Germany to settle permanently in Tel Aviv in 1934. 

At the time, Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, and Alfred Adler were the most celebrated psychological thinkers in the world—each with sizable international professional and lay followings. Their public statements on cultural, social, and even political matters were eagerly sought by journalists for European and American newspapers and were read by millions of people. Both Adler and Jung had originally been the most venerated members of Freud’s inner circle based in Vienna, but first Adler (in 1911) and then Jung (in 1913) had decisively broken with Freud due to his overriding emphasis on sexuality in the human psyche. Jung’s more optimistic writings on personality growth (which he called “individuation”) as well as mythology and symbolism appealed to Neumann. As a result, he studied with Jung for eight months before joining Julie and their infant son Micha in Tel Aviv. 

There Neumann became an analytic therapist and an independent scholar whose influential books included The Origins of Consciousness, Depth Psychology and the New Ethic

and The Great Mother. Because Neumann held no academic position and most of his Israeli 

colleagues were loyal Freudians, he was isolated professionally. However, along with the 

Kabbalah scholar Gershom Scholem at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem whom he knew collegially, Neumann in the late 1940s–1950s became an esteemed presenter at the prestigious Eranos conferences held annually in scenic Asconia-Moscia, Switzerland. Neumann’s lectures were subsequently published as articles on such diverse topics as art and creativity, mystical experience, ritual, and healthy child development. Many decades ahead of their time, these articles are still read by psychologists today. 

A quiet man devoted to Julie (who also became a psychotherapist in Israel) and their two children (daughter Rali had been born in 1938), Neumann turned down an offer in the mid-1950s to direct the newly established psychology clinic at Tel Aviv University. Rather, he preferred to maintain his scholarly lifestyle—even refusing to own a telephone in an effort to minimize distractions. Their two-bedroom apartment on Gordon Street had a balcony overlooking the sea, and he felt continually inspired by the natural beauty of Israel. At the time of Neumann’s sudden death from illness at age 55, he left behind a host of unpublished articles and a seminal two-volume manuscript titled The Roots of Jewish Consciousness.                   

Neumann began writing this magnum opus in 1934. His goal was to apply concepts from the Kabbalah and early Hasidism to create a new model of personality structure and growth. It was a bold, unprecedented project in the history of modern psychology. All through the 1930s and World War II, Neumann worked dutifully on the dual manuscript. But after finally completing it in 1945, he decided not to publish this 11-year labor of love for reasons that are historically unclear. From the later recollections of Neumann’s family and friends, it seems that Gershom Scholem persuaded him that the work was too weak in its Judaic sources to be released. It’s also likely that Neumann felt that Roots was simply too unconventional for mainstream psychology of the time. 

When Neumann died in 1960, the two manuscripts were still unpublished. As the decades passed, perhaps few survivors in Neumann’s circle even remembered their existence. But thanks to a resurgence of interest in his work, initially spearheaded by a centennial celebration of his birth held in Israel in 2005 with the active support of his two adult children, these were translated from German into English—and with the aid of a team of prominent academicians and translators, published by Routledge in 2019. As evidence of its significance, the renowned Kabbalah scholar Moshe Idel wrote the Introduction to Neumann’s first volume, Revelation and Apocalypse. The second volume, Hasidism, will form the focus of my comments.   

 

The Roots of Jewish Consciousness

 

To provide a detailed analysis of Neumann’s far-reaching work lies beyond the scope of 

this article. Rather, I’d like to highlight three key features of Neumann’s thought. These all 

flowed from his conviction that the modern science of personality growth was badly inadequate—and that Jewish thought including the Talmud, midrash, and especially the

Kabbalah and early Hasidism provided a much-needed corrective. The extent to which Neumann at the time believed that these sources offered insights applicable to all individuals—and not solely Jews—is unclear. However, from his later writings, it seems that he felt that these insights had psychological universality. 

First, Neumann clearly viewed our individual essence (he used the German word 

translated into English as “soul,” so I will too) as connected to the divine—rather than 

comprising a wholly materialist entity. This notion was a radical break from all the secular psychological thinkers of his era—and in this regard, he relied heavily on the Kabbalistic conception of “Adam Kadmon” (the transcendental, primordial human being). Identifying the various levels of the soul posited by Kabbalists, Neuman asserted that through prayer and meditation, we’re able to elevate our being beyond the wholly physical. However, he emphasized, this process of inner transformation is never privatistic, but necessarily aimed outward. Neumann stated, “The human being’s exquisite task, (one’s) actual service, is to connect above and below, heaven and earth. This is an essentially Jewish idea, which predates the Kabbalah” (Neumann, 2019, vol. 2, p. 75).

            Presenting the classic Tree of Life diagram with its array of ten sefirot (divine energy-

essences) as a structure of the human soul, Neumann cited the Zohar and the Sefer Yetzirah. 

He gave particular importance to the sefira of Tiferet, positioned at the center of the 

kabbalistic Tree—and which he accurately related, has traditionally expressed a multiplicity of meanings. “Some associate Tiferet with volition; others represent it as the highest aspect of moral life or moral perfection. It is also depicted as beauty, through the perfection of the good” (Ibid., p.78). In this light, it’s fascinating to note that though Neumann died nearly 40 years before the emergence of positive psychology, he anticipated its discovery of moral elevation: namely, that witnessing, or even hearing about, an act of intense goodness evokes an experience associated with beauty. 

Second, Neumann posited that we have an innate capacity for altruism, central to our individual development. Alluding to Hasidic theology rooted in Lurianic Kabbalah, he called this capacity the “Elijah soul:” that is, a divine “spark” metaphysically connected to the prophet Elijah and existing within each person. Its purpose? To nurture, emotionally support, and uplift others. As Neumann well knew, Elijah had long been identified in Jewish belief as having been transformed into an angel who returns to earth in countless disguises to aid to those in need—and 

crucially for Neumann—harbors the messianic age. 

“Elijah is said to be the precursor of the Messiah,” Neumann wrote, “(Elijah’s) redemptive function is the crucial fact in the world, from which comes the emphasis on the individual, on the here-and-now…and to human service” (Ibid., p. 19). Depending on the individual’s soul, Neumann intimated, the “Elijah spark” varies in scope and intensity, but everyone has a vital part in bringing redemption to the world—and no one is immune from this responsibility.   

Neumann meant this notion literally, while others may prefer to view it metaphorically for productive value. However one chooses to accept it, for Neumann the issue was that inner 

growth is necessarily interpersonal, communal, and ultimately, messianic. He commented that with the rise of Hasidism, “Redemption (in Judaism) is now less than ever an event that comes 

from outside. It (rather) depends on whether every single person fulfills their messianic (unique 

capability)…at every moment and in every place, everywhere and at all times” (Op. cit.).

Intriguingly, Neumann contended that the “Elijah soul” within each of us is typically hidden: paradoxically, often most hidden from our self-awareness. Although it exists and possesses a divine essence, finding it requires that we trod a path “of darkness…through our own layers, our own casings and outwardness, through the conditionality of inauthenticity” (Ibid., p. 124). In this light, he emphasized the role of other people, exemplified by the tzaddik, to help us discover our intrinsic connection to the divine—and more broadly, our purpose or mission in this lifetime. 

Third, Neumann in Roots emphasized that “joy is a central Hasidic theme” (Ibid., p. 93) in its view of resplendent living in this world. Depicting this notion with Hasidic parables, he argued that joy is a “strengthening and life-enhancing principle” (Op. cit.) with both psychological and physical benefits. Although clinical evidence by the mid-1940s certainly suggested that chronic grief and depression had a harmful impact as Neumann also indicated, he was more than a half-century ahead of his time in affirming the mental and physical gains brought by joyfulness. Recently, researchers have begun to study this link empirically, and in my own published studies with colleagues on tears of joy, evidence supports these benefits from such experiences as the birth of a child, family togetherness, a long-awaited reunion, a major personal achievement, or moral elevation (mentioned earlier in this article). 

Crucially for Neumann, joy is not important only for its individualistic benefits, but because it “opens the heart” (Ibid., p. 95): a maxim attributed to the early Hasidic leader Rabbi Nachman of Breslov. And in this way, Neumann elegantly stated, “genuine kindness (becomes) possible and effective.” (Ibid., p. 94). In positing a positive relationship between joy and kindness to others, Neumann again anticipated recent scientific findings. Indeed, innovative psychologists have begun to recommend volunteerism as a means to ameliorate depression. Certainly, the notion that a joyful mindset makes caregiving more effective can be extended to a wide range of social relationships including parenting, teaching, and mentoring. In this domain and others, Erich Neumann’s far-sighted vision for a new psychology rooted in Jewish traditions is coming closer to full realization. 

 

References

 

Ballard, P. J., Daniel, S. S., Anderson, G., Nicolotti, L., Caballero Quinones, E., Lee, M., & Koehler, A. N. (2021). Incorporating volunteering into treatment for depression among adolescents: Developmental and clinical considerations. Frontiers in Psychology, 12, 642910.

 

Compton, W. C., & Hoffman, E. (2019). Positive psychology: The science of happiness and   flourishing, 3rd edition. Sage Publications.

 

Dreifuss, G. (1980). Erich Neumanns jüdisches Bewusstse. Analytische Psychologie, 11(3–4), 239–248.

 

Hoffman, E. (2007). The way of splendor: Jewish mysticism and modern psychology. Rowman & Littlefield. 

 

Hoffman, E. (2016). Paths to happiness: 50 ways to add joy to your life every day. Chronicle   Books.

 

Musick, M. A., & Wilson, J. (2003). Volunteering and depression: The role of psychological and   social resources in different age groups. Social science & medicine, 56(2), 259–269.

 

Löwe, A. (2020). Life and work of Erich Neumann: On the side of the inner voice. Routledge.

Neumann, E. (2019). The roots of Jewish consciousness, volumes one and two. Edited by A. C.   Lammers. Routledge.

 

Israel's Many Friends

 

“Together we will be victorious .” This slogan, which emerged in Israel in the wake of October 7, printed on signs all over the country, tacked on to the end of ordinary TV advertisements, and stated constantly by government officials, is less ubiquitous today as the war drags on and internal disagreements deepen. But we must still embrace this slogan. It encapsulates a profound truth: our success lies not only in military strength but in the unity of Israeli society. In the face of relentless enemies seeking our destruction, our most potent weapon is cohesion. Victory demands that we build bridges, not barricades, beyond our immediate circles, even beyond the Jewish people.

This war transcends Israel’s physical borders, extending into the global arena. That means that we absolutely cannot afford to isolate ourselves, to be “a people dwelling alone,” as the wicked prophet Balaam characterized the children of Israel in the Bible. Our path forward must include partnerships with other peoples. The ancient vision of the prophets, one of human fraternity including Jews and other nations, is more relevant than ever. In this era of heightened hatred and division, we are called to forge alliances, not withdraw into the dangerous assumption that the world is uniformly against us. Isolation only strengthens our enemies, who seek to broaden their own coalitions while we retreat.

Identifying our enemies, and also finding allies, is essential. Despite the global level of pervasive evil and rising hostility towards Israel, we must resist the dangerous narrative that “everyone is against us.” This, after all, is the story Hamas wishes to promote, a portrayal of themselves as leaders of a global religious war of Islam against Judaism.

 

Countless meetings with non-Jewish allies confirm that this dangerous narrative, one that is fed by Iran’s axis of evil through its support of Hamas and by certain parts of the global neo-Marxist left, is simply not true. As the alliance between parts of the global left with these terrorist groups seems more and more shocking and paradoxical, we must remember the unlikely partnership once formed between Hitler and Stalin. What binds these forces together, then as now, is a shared devotion to totalitarianism and a desire to uproot basic fundamental religious and human values, even while claiming to champion those the very values they trample upon.

This was poignantly illustrated during a deeply emotional gathering in Jerusalem shortly after the war began. A group of African Christian religious leaders had come to express their solidarity with Israel. As Rachel Goldberg-Polin shared the heart-wrenching story of her son Hersh, who had been kidnapped on Oct. 7, the room fell silent. When she finished, I recited verses from Jeremiah, describing Rachel weeping for her children and holding on to the hope for their return, a hope that did not materialize for Hersh who was brutally murdered by Hamas last month. The leaders, moved to tears, promised to continue to stand with Israel. They offered a powerful insight: “We ask ourselves why there is so much antisemitism from such disparate quarters. At its core, we believe this hatred is directed at God, and the Jewish people, as God’s representatives, bear the brunt of it.”

A Muslim fatwa against Hamas

The notion of an inherent conflict between Islam and Judaism is far from reality as many Muslims will attest. For instance, the Islamic Fatwa Council in Iraq issued a religious ruling well before October 7th, explicitly forbidding any support for Hamas, comparing them to ISIS, and condemning them and their crimes as a desecration of Islam. After the horrific attacks on October 7th, this council and many other Islamic groups have denounced Hamas.

Another indisputable fact stands out: the Abraham Accords, the 2020 agreements opening Israeli diplomatic relations with the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain, Morocco, and Sudan, have endured through nearly a year of the war. When asked about the impact of the war on these historic agreements, Dr. Ali Rashid Al Nuaimi, chairman of the Foreign Affairs and Defense Committee of the United Arab Emirates, was unequivocal: “We want everyone to acknowledge and accept that Israel is there to exist and that the roots of Jews and Christians are not in New York or Paris but here in our region. They are part of our history and they should be part of our future”.

The Abraham Accords and the war with Hamas represent two opposing poles in Israel’s relationship with the Muslim world. This contrast calls to mind Israeli peace activist Rabbi Menachem Froman’s insight that if religion is part of the problem in the conflict, it must also be part of the solution. Religious identity, though often a source of friction, can also foster connection and brotherhood. Indeed, respect and coexistence have always existed alongside criticism and violence in Islam’s relationship with Judaism.

The Quran refers to Jews as “the People of the Book” and contains verses praising Israel as a blessed nation. Yet, just as the Bible criticizes some actions of the Israelites, such as their worship of the golden calf, the Quran also includes criticism of Jews. A key question in Islamic-Jewish relations is how scriptures are interpreted. For example, the Quran describes the Jewish people’s return to the land of Israel:

We said thereafter unto the Children of Israel, ‘Dwell in the land. And when the promise of the Hereafter comes to pass, We shall bring you as a mixed assembly.’(17:104)

The simple meaning of this verse is a promise of ingathering in the end of days. Yet, Hamas distorts this teaching, claiming it to be a prophecy of Israel’s destruction.

Religious discourse can either amplify such distortions or promote the true meaning of these texts. It is our responsibility to advocate for the latter. Just as in the second half of the 20th century, there were profound positive developments in relations between Christianity and Judaism, a parallel and complementary process must now develop between Islam and Judaism. This is the mission I’ve taken up, working to build Jewish-Muslim religious fraternity across the Middle East and beyond.

For Jews, engaging with broader humanity is not only a social and political imperative, it is a spiritual one. I see this as part of my duty to serve God and work towards the vision of redemption. The Jewish people should not be passive bystanders in this prophetic vision. We must act to bring it to fruition. Central to this mission is a call for global fraternity and shared service of nations to God.

In the local and global arenastogether we will be victorious, for the sake of the Jewish people and for the sake of humanity.

Godliness and Fraudliness: Thoughts for Parashat Ki Tavo

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Ki Tavo

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

“…for you will keep the commandments of the Lord your God and walk in His ways.” (Devarim 28:9)

 

The Torah presents us with a remarkable challenge: to walk in God’s ways. But how does one do this? How are we to become Godly people?

The classic rabbinic interpretation is: Just as God is compassionate, you be compassionate. Just as God is gracious, you be gracious. Walking in God’s ways entails demonstrating empathy for others; being sincere and thoughtful. At the root of these qualities is: humility. A person must have self-respect, but not be egotistical. One should reflect a religious attitude that is internal, deep, and humble.

Rabbi Hayyim Palachi, a sage of 19th century Izmir, pointed out that to “walk in His ways” entails positive action. It is not enough to feel empathy for the poor, or to wait for a needy person to come to you to ask for help; rather, you must “walk” and actively pursue opportunities to help others. The hallmark of a religious person is good and upright action.

Think of the genuinely pious people you have known in your lives. Think of those special individuals who fulfilled the challenge of walking in God’s ways. When I recall such individuals, I am struck by their natural religiosity, their inconspicuous piety. They served God and their fellow human beings with simplicity, without expectation of thanks or reward. They shunned publicity. They were not “play actors,” but conducted themselves in a heartfelt, genuine manner.

Jewish folklore speaks of 36 hidden righteous people upon whom the world depends. These 36 are “hidden,” even to themselves. They do not think of themselves as being extraordinary and would blush to learn that they were indeed among these 36 special people. Genuinely righteous people do not seek the limelight, do not want their photographs plastered on billboards or published in the newspapers. If they are public personalities, they nevertheless shy away from self-aggrandizement and excessive publicity. They see themselves as servants of the Lord; they keep their egos in check.

Real Godliness is—real, honest, authentic. The opposite, though, is “fraudliness.” Religious “fraudliness” is characterized by ego-centrism, lack of empathy, lack of humility. “Fraudliness” is manifested in calling attention to one’s supposed religiosity, in using religion as a tool for self-promotion and ego-gratification. Just as Godliness inspires and elevates us, “fraudliness” repels us and offends us.

In his book, “A City in its Fullness,” the Israeli Nobel-prize winning author S. Y. Agnon writes of a conversation between two men who attended prayer services led by a reader with a beautiful voice. The marvel, though, wasn’t his voice. Both men had experienced something much deeper than the aesthetic pleasure of hearing a pleasant voice.  “It wasn’t a voice we heard; it was prayer.”

The leader of prayers with a beautiful voice impacted on worshippers because he was able to pray sincerely, to transcend the beauty of his own voice. His chanting inspired the congregation because it lifted them spiritually, it brought them to a higher dimension beyond the egotism of a good voice. His voice presented the words of prayer; but his prayer emerged not from his voice but from his soul.

Such is the nature of Godliness: to use our God-given talents to raise ourselves and others to a more spiritual level of perception.

“Fraudliness” is —fraudulent. It is pretend religion. It is egotism dressed in the cloak of religion.

Godliness is—Godly. It is genuine, humble, compassionate and honest.

The Torah challenges us:  “…for you will keep the commandments of the Lord your God and walk in His ways.” (Devarim 28:9)

This is a significant challenge. The way we respond defines whether we are on the road to Godliness or "fraudliness."