Min haMuvhar

Angel for Shabbat--Shavuoth
by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

The Revelation at Mount Sinai was a national experience for all the people of Israel—but it also was very personal. Each Israelite heard the same words—but in different ways!

The Midrash teaches (Shemot Rabba 29:1) that God spoke “bekoho shel kol ehad ve-ehad,” according to the individual abilities of each listener. The universal message of Torah was made direct and personal. The miracle at Mount Sinai was not only the Revelation of God to the nation of Israel, but the individualized Revelation to each and every Israelite man, woman and child.

The message of this rabbinic teaching goes further. It does not merely refer to the receptivity and ability of Israelites at the moment of Revelation at Mount Sinai. It also recognizes that each individual’s koah—strength of understanding—is not stagnant. As we grow, deepen our knowledge, expand our sensitivities and open our minds and hearts—our koah evolves. In a sense, we receive the Revelation anew at each stage in life—actually, every day and every moment of life. This is the wonder and glory of Torah: it speaks to us directly and personally throughout our lives.

The foundational experience of the Revelation has an ongoing impact on how we confront life. Among the lessons is the importance of interiority, of being strong within ourselves.

The Me'am Lo'ez, the classic Ladino biblical commentary (Turkey, 18th century), notes that the original Revelation on Mount Sinai was a highly dramatic episode. Moses ascended the mountain as the people of Israel gathered below with great anticipation. The scene was marked by thunder and lightning and the sound of the shofar. The voice of God was heard by all. Yet, shortly afterward, the Israelites were dancing around a golden calf! When Moses came down the mountain and witnessed this idolatrous behavior, he threw down and shattered the tablets of the law.

Later, Moses ascended the mountain again. This time, there was no public fanfare, no miraculous sounds and lights. God told Moses that he himself would have to carve out the stone on which the Ten Commandments would be inscribed. The second set of the tablets of the law--received by Moses alone and through his own hard labor--was preserved.

The first tablets of the Ten Commandments, given with so much drama, were destroyed. The second tablets, given privately and quietly, survived and became the spiritual foundation of the people of Israel.

The Me'am Lo'ez points to the moral of this story: the really important and lasting things in life are often done by individuals in privacy, through their own exertions. Things done with much publicity may not be as permanent. We ought not judge the value of a person or an event based on external glitter and fame. Rather, we ought to realize that greatness and permanent value are often found in obscurity, in seemingly small and unnoticed acts of kindness or spiritual insight.

External fame, power, and popularity do not necessarily correlate to internal worth. What is truly important is what we do through the sweat of our own brow, quietly, without seeking publicity or glory. What is valuable and lasting in us are those things which are authentic, honest and good in the eyes of God, and which bring goodness and kindness to our fellow human beings.

Another lesson of the Revelation is that the Torah provides a grand and universal religious vision. A famous Midrash teaches that the Revelation at Sinai was split into 70 languages i.e. contained a message for the 70 nations of the world (understood to refer to all humanity). The Torah is not to be understood or limited as being a narrow message intended for a small sect. The Torah is not to be limited to a reclusive people living in self-contained ghettoes; rather, it is to provide spiritual insight to all humanity. The great 19th century Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh stressed Israel’s role as the most universal of religions, a religion that provides the moral framework for civilization a whole.

The Revelation accounts in the Torah also provide guidance on how to live as full, real people, with a healthy and wholesome sense of self. The Talmud reports (Berakhot 8b) that the holy ark in the Tabernacle contained the two sets of the Tablets of the law: the broken pieces of the first set, and the complete tablets of the second set. “Luhot veshivrei luhot munahot ba-aron.”

A lesson from this is: we each have “complete” and “broken” tablets within ourselves. We have our greatest strengths and achievements; and we also have our failures and shortcomings. If we only focus on the “complete” aspects of our lives, we may tend to become arrogant and egotistical. If we focus on the “broken” aspects of our lives, we may become demoralized and crushed. To be whole and strong human beings, we need to value both sets of tablets within us. We need to draw on our strengths and learn from our failings. We need to balance self-confidence with honest awareness of our limitations and weaknesses.

On Shavuoth, as we celebrate the anniversary of the Revelation at Mount Sinai, we should direct our thoughts to that special moment in the history of Israel and to the ongoing lessons it provides to us in our own lives.

Religion produces the very best type of people: saintly, humble, compassionate, and genuinely pious. I think we have all come across or read about such individuals, and we are inspired by their goodness and sweetness.

            But we cannot help but notice that religion also produces—or at least harbors—the very worst type of people: terrorists, bigoted zealots, and self-righteous egotists. I think we have all come across or read about such individuals, and we are repelled by their ugly and corrupt misuse of religion.

            So religion has two faces: one that is righteous and compassionate; and one that is self-righteous and hate-filled. But we may be fairly confident that all (or nearly all) religionists believe that they are serving God in the best possible way. The righteous certainly aspire to walk in God’s ways, as manifested in the thirteen Divine attributes of mercy. The zealots, though, also think they act for the glory of God. In their eyes, their extremism for the sake of God is no vice. On the contrary, it is evidence that they alone have the true faith and courage to fight for God against all enemies.

            One basic truth about human nature is that we tend to see ourselves as being basically good and upstanding. Yes, we know we commit sins—that is why we have the laws of repentance that is why we have Yom Kippur.  We know we have some character flaws and some religious shortcomings. Yet, overall, we think of ourselves as being good people. On the other hand, we can point to others who are really bad, non-religious, and even sacrilegious. We walk in God’s ways, but they don’t.

            Let us focus on us, not on them.  We want to know honestly and candidly how to evaluate our own religious levels. What are the criteria by which we can determine whether we represent the sweet, gentle and righteous face of religion, or the harsh, self-righteous face of religion? How can we improve ourselves?  Essentially, this is a study in musar, the development of Jewish ethical qualities.

We will begin by studying a short, insightful text from the Talmud (Berakhot 4a):

 “A prayer of David…Keep my soul, for I am pious (ki hasid ani)  [Psalm 86].  Levi and R. Isaac [offer interpretations]. The one says: Thus spoke David before the Holy One blessed be He: ‘Master of the universe, am I not pious (hasid)? All the kings of the East and West sleep to the third hour [of the day], but I—at midnight I rise to give thanks unto You.’”

This passage appears jarred by a presumptuous statement by King David. David asks God to guard his soul because, David asserts, “I am hasid.” The word hasid connotes genuine piety; it is religion at its best. How could David dare to present himself before God in this manner? How could he be so sure of his blameless piety?

The passage offers an interpretation. David proves that he is genuinely pious by the fact that all other kings sleep late, while he arises in the middle of the night to sing praises to the Almighty. David was a king. He could have behaved like all other kings, pampering himself, sleeping late, focusing on his own honor and glory. But David was not that way. He demonstrated that his commitment to God was his primary concern. He was hasid because he was theocentric, not egocentric. This is an essential ingredient in genuine piety.

The Talmudic passage continues:  “The other one says: Thus spoke David before the Holy One blessed be He: ‘Master of the universe, am I not hasid? All the kings of the East and the West sit with all their pomp among their company, whereas my hands are soiled with the blood, with the fetus and the placenta, in order to declare a woman pure for her husband.’”

According to this interpretation, David proves his piety by the fact that all other kings insist on pomp and self-adulation; they like people to surround them and praise them and heed their words. But David is different. He deals with complicated halakhic questions, very technical issues that involve the laws of ritual purity and impurity. David gets his own hands dirty. He takes personal responsibility for others. As a king, David surely could have ordered his underlings to attend to such questions. He could have avoided issuing rulings and kept his own hands clean. But he did not shirk responsibility. He was hasid because he did not think it was beneath his dignity to serve his people, even in sensitive matters of ritual purity.

The Talmudic passage continues: “And what is more, in all that I do I consult my teacher, Mefiboshet, and I say to him: “my teacher Mefiboshet, is my decision right? Did I correctly convict, correctly acquit, correctly declare pure, correctly declare impure?  And I am not ashamed….”

David was a king. He had the right to issue rulings and decrees without asking anyone else for permission or approval. As a king, he might have felt embarrassed submitting his decisions for the approval of others. Yet David was not that way. He was interested in achieving a true judgment, a ruling faithful to the Torah. He was not ashamed to ask Mefiboshet to review his decisions and to correct them. What awesome qualities are displayed here by David: the quality of pursuing truth at any cost, the quality of humility in the presence of one who may know more, the quality of being able to admit error. A king did not have to subject himself to judicial review, but David did! The truth was more important to him than his own honor.

Thus, the Talmud suggests three characteristics of being hasid, three qualities necessary for those who would represent religion at its best. First, David was theocentric rather than egocentric, and did not insist on his own comfort and privilege. Second, David was not afraid to take responsibility, to get his hands dirty. He did not try to take the easy way out by letting others make the tough decisions. Third, he was not ashamed to ask for advice, and not ashamed to admit that he had erred. He did not believe in being authoritarian, although—as king—he was certainly invested with great authority.

The Talmudic passage, I believe, is telling us the criteria of genuine piety: love of God, humility, the assumption of personal responsibility and commitment to truth, willingness to learn from others. Our egos must not get in the way of our service to God. We must never feel that we have everything right; rather, we must be honest enough to admit failings. We must strive to be authoritative, without being authoritarian.

Even though we acknowledge these criteria of being hasid, it is still fairly easy and fairly common to assume that we, in fact, do fulfill these qualities. And although all of us, no doubt, do see these virtues in ourselves, we must always be wary of being complacent in our levels of religiosity. We all have room for improvement and personal spiritual growth. None of us has yet reached the level of King David!

One of the problems in religious development is embodied in a concept known in rabbinic literature as yuhara, presumptuousness. Is our behavior genuinely religious, or are we simply acting as though we are religious?  Is our motive in fulfilling Torah the pure desire to serve God, or is our motive tainted by egotistic considerations? For some people, religion is a framework for spiritual growth; for others, religion is a place to hide. It is not uncommon for people with bad character traits to try to pass themselves off as servants of the Lord. They delude themselves. What they find in religion is not humble devotion to God, but a framework for self-aggrandizement, influence over others, an outlet for aggression. They use religion to build themselves up. Our rabbis may have had such individuals in mind when they referred to the angel of Esau as being dressed in the garb of a talmid hakham, a rabbinic sage.

Yuhara is an important concept for us because it explores the line—often a fine line—between genuine and counterfeit piety. And it deals with the self-deception that may (and probably does) affect all of us.

Let us consider another Talmudic passage (Bava Kama 81b). The Talmud records that Joshua, on his entry into the land of Israel, instituted rules to govern the use of private and public property. One of the rules was that it was permitted to turn aside and walk on private sidewalks in order to avoid road-pegs on the public roads. Thus, travelers had the right to walk on private property if the public road was not easily passable; the owners of the private property had no right to stop these travelers. The Talmud tells us the following story:

“As Rabbi [Yehuda haNasi] and Rabbi Hiyya were once walking on the road, they turned aside to the private sidewalks, while Rabbi Yehuda ben Kenosa went striding along the main road in front of them. Rabbi thereupon said to Rabbi Hiyya: Who is that man who wants to show off in front of us? Rabbi Hiyya replied: He might perhaps be Rabbi Yehuda ben Kenosa who is my disciple and does all his deeds out of pure piety.  When they drew near to him they saw him and Rabbi Hiyya said to him: Had you not been Yeuda be Kenosa, I would have sawed your joints with an iron saw [I,e, excommunicated you].”

In this text, Rabbi and Rabbi Hiyya were following the rule set by Joshua. They moved to the private sidewalks as was allowed. But then they noticed that Rabbi Yehuda ben Kenosa did not follow Joshua’s rule, but rather continued to walk on the main public road in spite of the apparent obstacles. Rabbi took offense at the behavior of Rabbi Yehuda ben Kenosa, annoyed by the latter’s show of public piety. If Rabbi and Rabbi Hiyya—who were both great sages—walked on the private sidewalks in compliance with Joshua’s rule, why did Rabbi Yehuda ben Kenosa refuse to do so? Did he think himself more pious than the others?  In fact, Rabbi Yehuda ben Kenosa’s offense was so great that he deserved to be excommunicated!

Rabbi Hiyya pointed out to Rabbi that Rabbi Yehuda ben Kenosa was his student and was genuinely a pious person. He was not trying to show off. Everything he did was for the sake of Heaven, without ulterior motives, without egocentric considerations. Hence excommunication was not warranted.

The assumption of this passage is that, while Rabbi Yehuda ben Kenosa was an exceptional person, everyone else (i.e. all those not as absolutely pious as Rabbi Yehuda ben Kenosa) would have been worthy of excommunication in that situation. But what would be their sin? They simply chose to walk on the public road rather than to turn off to the private sidewalk. Is that a transgression worthy of excommunication?

Here we come to the issue of yuhara. The law allows one to walk on the private sidewalks. Two great sages, indeed, were doing just that. Now comes another person who declines to take advantage of Joshua’s ruling. He does not want to follow that “leniency.” Yes, he knows that other pious and righteous people follow Joshua’s rule; but he wants to take the “stringent” view by staying on the public road.

We must ask: What is this person thinking? What are his inner psychological motives?  We are told that Rabbi Yehuda ben Kenosa had pure motives, but implied is that almost everyone else lacks such pure motives. For almost everyone else, such behavior is presumptuous and worthy of excommunication. Why? Because the person is guilty of false piety! He takes upon himself an unnecessary stringency, as though to show that he is more conscientious than everyone else. In so doing, he insults everyone else—including Joshua, who instituted the rule. Moreover, he shows disdain to those sages who rely on Joshua’s rule, by presenting himself as being more scrupulous in his religious observance than they are. While the person does not openly say those things, his behavior implies a certain arrogance and presumptuousness. In subtle ways, the person sees himself as better, more pious than others. This attitude, though, is a sure sign of counterfeit religion. It reflects contentment with oneself and a desire to show off one’s piety, rather than a humble, self-effacing religiosity. This is the danger of yuhara. On the surface it appears “religious,” but in essence it reflects egotism.

Let me offer another illustration. It is customary in most Sephardic congregations for congregants to remain seated when the Ten Commandments are read as part of the morning’s Torah reading. The logic of this custom is that the entire Torah is holy; to stand up for this particular section would imply that the rest of the Torah is of lesser status. On the other hand, the usual custom among Ashkenazim is for the congregation to rise for the reading of the Ten Commandments. This custom calls for the symbolic re-enactment of the original revelation at Mt. Sinai, when the people of Israel were standing. Both customs are perfectly legitimate and deeply rooted in Jewish tradition.

During the eighteenth century, a question came to Rabbi Eliyahu Israel. Rabbi Israel, who was raised in the community of the Island of Rhodes—his father Rabbi Moshe Israel was its Chief Rabbi—served as rabbi in Alexandria, Egypt. The question involved several young men who decided to stand up for the reading of the Ten Commandments, even though the congregation’s custom was to remain seated. These young men obviously felt they were demonstrating respect to the Torah. Rabbi Israel, though, ruled that these individuals were guilty of haughtiness and disrespect for the congregation. They were worthy of excommunication, and should desist from these shows of false piety. (See Kol Eliyahu, Livorno, 5552, no. 5).

If we could ask these young men if they had intended to demonstrate false piety, if they had meant to show disrespect to the congregation—they would surely reply in the negative. They would say that they were simply trying to perform a pious deed, honoring the Ten Commandments by rising to their feet. But Rabbi Israel, drawing on the concept of yuhara, cut through their rationalizations. In disregarding the community’s custom they were saying (through their action) that they showed more respect to the Ten Commandments than did everyone else in the synagogue, that they knew better and were more religiously observant than the rabbis and were more religiously observant than the rabbis and sages of all the communities that remained seated for the reading of the Decalogue. Their motives, thus, were not essentially for the sake of Heaven. They were driven, rather, by some inner need to display their piety. This is not genuine religion; this is counterfeit religion.

Rabbi Eliezer Papo, in his classic book of moral guidance Pele Yo’ets, identifies three guidelines relating to yuhara:

• If one is performing a mitzvah, even one that most people ignore, it is not considered presumptuousness on his part. After all, he is following the law and need not be ashamed of this.
• But if most authorities permit an activity and some forbid it, one should not follow the stricter view in public, unless he is well known for genuine piety. (Very few, if any, should so consider themselves!) One may, though, observe the stringency in private.
• If one wishes to adopt a practice that the law does not require, then he should do so privately. This is especially true of one who is not stringent in all his observances; people will ridicule his hypocritical behavior, and this will lead to desecration of God’s name.

          Rabbi Papo reminds us: God knows a person’s heart. If one acts piously in secret, God will judge him favorably. Even a person known to be pious should not perform acts of excessive piety that the leaders of the generation do not do. One should not behave in such a way as to call attention to his piety in contrast to that of other pious and learned individuals.

            Here is the nub of the matter: God knows our inner thoughts, our real intentions. We may fool others, we may even fool ourselves, but we certainly cannot fool God. We are supposed to conduct ourselves with this idea constantly in mind. Our goal must be to achieve the highest level of purity in our service of God, to make all our deeds for the sake of Heaven. We need to be absolutely honest with ourselves, constantly cutting through our own rationalizations and egocentric concerns. We should strive to be genuinely in the category of hasid and always keep in mind that religious life entails a constant striving for further spiritual growth. If we think we are hasidim, if we think we do everything for the sake of Heaven—we can be fairly certain that we are spiritually deficient! We are very likely guilty of yuhara.

            The following question is discussed in halakhic literature (see Sedei Hemed 3:28): May a person perform an act of excessive piety when he is alone in his own home, when no one else can possibly see him? The general opinion is that such behavior is permissible, since no one else witnesses it. Howe can it be in the category of showing off if no one sees it? Yet, there is an opinion that even in such a case a person is guilty of yuhara. How can this be? Evidently such activity is likely to fill the person with feelings of self-righteousness—even if no one else knows about his actions. Even if a person’s behavior does not involve showing off to others, it may still involve showing off to oneself! This, too, is presumptuousness and arrogance. It feeds a feeling of self-importance and self-righteousness. This frame of mind reflects egocentrism, self-satisfaction, and a sense of ultra-piety; thus, it is not reflective of religion at its best.

            Our discussion of the qualities that made King David hasid, and out discussion of the concept of yuhara, should help each of us focus more clearly on our missions as religious personalities. There is a fine line between genuine righteousness and self-righteousness. Our judgment is easily clouded by self-delusion, rationalizations, and feelings of contentment with ourselves. Our constant task is to guide our actions for the sake of Heaven, not for our own sakes. Ultimately, we are not answerable for our lives to other people, not even to ourselves; we are answerable to the Almighty.

     In 1990, I met with the Chief Rabbi of a major city in Israel, a man who was known for his great erudition and who authored a number of volumes of halakhic responsa. He told me that a military leader of Israel had asked him to encourage yeshiva students to serve in the army. He had responded to the general:  instead of getting yeshiva students to serve in the army, all the soldiers should put down their weapons and start studying Torah.  He quoted a Midrash that God will protect the Jewish people if they all study Torah. I asked the rabbi if he would risk the security of Israel based on that Midrash. He told me without hesitation: “yes, of course! We don’t need an army, we need everyone to study Torah. We have the words of hazal, and our Sages spoke truth.”
 

     When I expressed my astonishment that he actually thought Israel did not need military defense, he expressed his astonishment that I doubted the truthfulness of the words of the Midrash. The two of us were operating on different sets of assumptions.

     The Chief Rabbi was living in a pre-modern spiritual/intellectual bubble. He relied faithfully on the words of our ancient Sages; they knew the real truth. Their words were uttered in pure holiness. The teachings of our Sages are absolutely reliable, far more trustworthy than anything that could be said or taught by military, political, or governmental experts—especially those who were not religiously observant.

     The Chief Rabbi thought it was a lack of faith on my part to give more credibility to the experts than to statements made by our Sages. For my part, I was horrified that an intelligent and pious Chief Rabbi would genuinely think that Israel did not need military defenses if everyone simply studied Torah and kept the mitzvoth. We sat in the same room, we believed in and observed the same Torah…but we were in different spiritual/intellectual worlds.

     This rabbi and others of similar mindset are advocates of their version of emunat hakhamim, requiring us to have absolute faith in our Sages and their teachings. For them, all genuine truth exists within the ken of our Sages. All “outside” information is not credible…unless the Sages themselves gave it credibility.

     This kind of thinking has gained traction within Orthodox Judaism in recent decades. It has led to an Orthodoxy that fosters authoritarianism and obscurantism. It has relegated immense power to gedolim who are supposed to have a monopoly on truth. It has fostered negative attitudes toward secular sources of knowledge, since the Sages have the keys to all real knowledge themselves. It discredits those fine Orthodox Jews who do not share their worldview, and ostracizes Orthodox rabbis who do not fall into line with their faith in the almost infallible wisdom of the gedolim.

     A venerable exponent of the emunat hakhamim view was Rabbi Avraham Karelitz,(1878-1953) popularly known as the Hazon Ish. He taught that “everything written in the Talmud, whether in the Mishnah or in the Gemara, whether in halakha or in aggadah, were things revealed to us through prophetic powers…and whoever deviates from this tenet is as one who denies the words of our Rabbis, and his ritual slaughtering is invalid and he is disqualified from giving testimony. (Kovetz Iggerot 1:59. This is cited by David Weiss Halivni, in The Midrashic Imagination: Jewish Exegesis, Thought and History, ed. Michael Fishbane (Albany: State University of NY Press, 1993, p. 40, n. 13)
 

     Not only are we instructed to believe in the prophetic powers of ancient Talmudic sages (even though they never claimed these powers for themselves), we are asked to suppress our own minds to the opinions of the sages. Even if we think their statements are unreasonable, we should assume they are right and we are wrong. Thus taught Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler, an influential Hareidi leader of the 20^th century:   “Our rabbis have told us to listen to the words of the Sages, even if they tell us that right is left and not to say, heaven forbid, that they certainly erred because little I can see their error with my own eyes. Rather, my seeing is null and void compared with the clarity of intellect and the divine aid they receive….This is the Torah view [daas Torah] concerning faith in the Sages. The absence of self-negation toward our rabbis is the root of all sin and the beginning of all destruction, while all merits are as naught compared with the root of all—faith in the Sages.” (Mikhtav me-Eliyahu 1:75-77, cited by Lawrence Kaplan “Daas Torah; A Modern Conception of Rabbinic Authority,” Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy, ed. M. Sokol Northvale, NJ, Jason Aronson, 1992, pp. 16-17).

     Proponents of emunat hakhamim ascribe divine powers to the sages of all generations, including our own. They not only know Torah better than anyone else; their Torah knowledge gives them the right and authority to guide the Jewish people in all areas of life. In the words of Rabbi Bernard Weinberger:  “Gedolei Yisrael possess a special endowment or capacity to penetrate objective reality, recognize the facts as they really are and apply the pertinent halakhic principles. This endowment is a form of ru’ah haKodesh [Divine inspiration], as it were, bordering, if only, remotely, on the periphery of prophecy. ….Gedolei Yisrael inherently ought to be the final and sole arbiters of all aspects of Jewish communal policy and questions of hashkafa.” Cited by Lawrence Kaplan, p. 17).

     Rabbi Nachum Rabinovich has pointed out that emunat hakhamim actually has a very different meaning and intent (“Emunat Hakhamim, Mah Hi?”, in Darka shel Torah, Maaliyot Press, Jerusalem, 1998, pp. 206-214). We are expected to respect the wisdom of our sages, but not to assume their infallibility or their quasi-prophetic status. Rather than blindly following their words, we are expected to examine their comments carefully; to try to understand their intent; to accept or reject them only after careful consideration. “True emunat hakhamim requires deep analysis to seek the reasons for the words of the sages; this entails an obligation on the part of the student or questioner to a very careful and critical examination, to determine if there is place to dissent. Certainly their words have reason, but one is still obligated to clarify whether to follow [their words] in actual practice” (p. 213).   

     It is up to each individual to make informed decisions; it is wise to consult the advice and teachings of sages. But one is not allowed to suspend personal judgment. “There is a difference between one who seeks advice and then ultimately acts based on personal responsibility, and one who relies on a “great tree” without independent thought. There are those who ascribe this childish behavior under the name emunat hakhamim, whereas this is a perversion of this important virtue. Instead of acquiring true Torah, people who cling to this mistaken notion of emunat hakhamim thereby distance themselves from the light of Torah, and in the end don’t know their right from their left” (p. 214).

     For Rabbi Rabinovich, emunat hakhamim does not foster an attitude of blind obedience. On the contrary, it demands careful attention to the words of our sages…followed by a personal evaluation of whether those statements ought or ought not to be accepted. His views are very much in line with a long rabbinic tradition that calls for respect for the words of our sages, but not a belief in the infallibility or divine inspiration of their words.

     The Talmud and Midrashim are replete with statements by great sages on various topics…medical cures, demons, seemingly far-fetched interpretations of biblical verses. It is not a religious virtue to ascribe “truth” to all their statements, although it is important to try to understand the context of their words.

     Rabbi Hai Gaon taught that the aggada should not be considered as divinely revealed tradition. The authors of aggada were merely stating their own opinions, and "each one interpreted whatever came to his heart." Therefore, "we do not rely on them (the words of aggada)." Rabbi Hai Gaon maintained that aggadot recorded in the Talmud have more status than those not so recorded—but even these aggadot need not be relied upon (See Otsar Ha-Geonim, ed. B. M. Lewin. Jerusalem, 5692, vol. 4 (Hagigah), pp. 59–60).

Rabbi Sherira Gaon taught that aggada, Midrash, and homiletical interpretations of biblical verses were in the category of umdena, personal opinion, speculation (Ibid., p. 60). Another of the Gaonim, Rabbi Shemuel ben Hofni, stated: "If the words of the ancients contradict reason, we are not obligated to accept them" (Ibid., pp. 4-5).

     Rabbi Abraham, son of Maimonides, in an important essay concerning aggada, maintained that one may not accept an opinion without first examining it carefully. (See his Ma-amar Odot Derashot Hazal, printed in the introductory section of the EinYaacov.) To accept the truth of a statement simply on the authority of the person who stated it is both against reason and against the method of Torah itself. The Torah forbids us to accept someone's statement based on his status, whether rich or poor, whether prominent or otherwise. Each case must be evaluated by our own reason. Rabbi Abraham stated that this method also applies to the statements of our sages. It is intellectually unsound to accept blindly the teachings of our rabbis in matters of medicine, natural science, astronomy. He noted: "We, and every intelligent and wise person, are obligated to evaluate each idea and each statement, to find the way in which to understand it; to prove the truth and establish that which is worthy of being established, and to annul that which is worthy of being annulled; and to refrain from deciding a law which was not established by one of the two opposing opinions, no matter who the author of the opinion was. We see that our sages themselves said: if it is a halakha (universally accepted legal tradition) we will accept it; but if it is a ruling (based on individual opinion), there is room for discussion."

     This is not to say that the words of our sages should not be taken seriously. On the contrary, statements of great scholars must be carefully weighed and respected. But they may also be disputed, especially in non-halakhic areas. In his introduction to Perek Helek, Maimonides delineates three groups, each having a different approach to the words of our sages. The majority group, according to Rambam, accepts the words of our sages literally, without imagining any deeper meanings. By taking everything literally—even when the words of the sages violate our sense of reason—they actually disparage our rabbis. Intelligent people who are told that they must accept all the midrashim as being literally true will come to reject rabbinic teaching altogether, since no reasonable person could accept all these teachings in their literal sense. "This group of impoverished understanding—one must pity their foolishness. According to their understanding, they are honoring and elevating our sages; in fact they are lowering them to the end of lowliness. They do not even understand this. By Heaven! This group is dissipating the glory of the Torah and clouding its lights, placing the Torah of God opposite of its intention."

     Maimonides described the second group as also taking the words of the sages literally. But since so many of the statements of the rabbis are not reasonable if taken literally, this group assumes that the rabbis must not have been so great in the first place. This group dismisses rabbinic teachings as being irrelevant, even silly. Rambam rejected this point of view outright.

     The third group, which is so small that it hardly deserves to be called a group, recognizes the greatness of our sages and seeks the deeper meanings of their teachings. This group realizes that the sages hid profound wisdom in their statements, and often spoke symbolically or in riddles. When one discovers a rabbinic statement that seems irrational, one should seek its deeper meaning. While Rambam argued forcefully for a profound understanding of aggada and Midrash, he did not argue that all rabbinic statements are of divine origin. When one finds rabbinic statements to be unreasonable or incorrect—even after much thought and investigation—he is not bound to uphold them.

     Following Maimonides’ line of thinking, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch wrote that "aggadic sayings do not have Sinaitic origin . . . they reflect the independent view of an individual sage" (See Joseph Munk, "Two Letters of Samson Raphael Hirsch, a Translation," L'Eylah, April, 1989, pp. 30–35). Rabbi Hirsch went on: "Nor must someone whose opinion differs from that of our sages in a matter of aggada be deemed a heretic, especially as the sages themselves frequently differ. . . ." He rejected the opinion that the authority of aggada is equal to the orally transmitted halakha. Indeed, he thought this was "a dangerous view to present to our pupils and could even lead to heresy."

     The Hareidi-promoted understanding of emunat hakhamim is not only rejected by significant rabbinic authorities, but is deeply offensive to those who insist on the right to think for themselves and make their own decisions. To ascribe quasi-prophetic powers to a small clique of Talmudic scholars is intellectually unsound. It undermines a thinking faith and condemns the public to sheepishly follow the opinions of an unelected group of “gedolim.”

     Aside from the untenable intellectual position, the Hareidi approach has serious practical flaws. Many questions arise. Who qualifies to be listed among the gedolim who are deemed to have divine insight? Why do different groups of Hareidim rely on different authorities? Why are gedolim often at odds with each other, sometimes bitterly opposed to each other? Why is it assumed that a Hassidic Rebbe or a Rosh Yeshiva has perfect judgment on all topics by virtue of being considered a gadol among his followers?

     Many gedolim in 20^th century Europe did not foresee the Nazi onslaught and did not warn their communities to flee or fight back. Many gedolim did not lend a hand in the establishment of the State of Israel; many continue to deny or downplay the religious significance of the return of Jews to their ancient homeland. Some gedolim encourage followers to rely on (and pay for!) their blessings, red strings and amulets. Many gedolim may have expertise in Talmud, but have little or no general knowledge in science, medicine, politics, economics, literature, history etc. Why should people be expected to trust narrowly educated men to pass judgment in areas where they have no particular expertise?

     In my article, “Reclaiming Orthodox Judaism,” (Conversations, no. 12, Winter 2012, pp.1-23), I pointed to the vital need for revitalization of a modern, intellectually vibrant Orthodox Judaism that repudiates the Hareidi notion of emunat hakhamim. How can we promote a Judaism that is faithful to tradition, and that also respects the autonomy and critical thinking of its adherents?

     In my article, I wrote: “To reclaim Orthodox Judaism, we first need to transform the intellectual climate within Orthodoxy—to foster an intellectually vibrant, compassionate, and inclusive Orthodoxy that sees Judaism as a world religion with world responsibilities. We need to halt the slide to the right, and to battle fundamentalism, authoritarianism, and obscurantism in our homes, our schools, in our communal life.”

     While it is a virtue to respect the wisdom and insights of our sages, it is not a virtue to forfeit our own individual judgment. Orthodox Judaism, at its best, challenges us to think, to take responsibility, and to act wisely. Let us rise to the challenge.

Is it appropriate for just anyone to get drunk on Purim?

The Talmud (Megillah 7b) quotes Rava’s opinion that one must become drunk on Purim so as to be unable to tell the difference between “cursed be Haman” and “blessed be Mordecai.” But the same passage goes on to report that Rabba and Rav Zeira became so drunk on Purim that Rabba slaughtered Rav Zeira with a knife. The latter was revived only by a miracle. When Rabba invited Rav Zeira to a Purim celebration the following year, Rav Zeira wisely declined.

Some people read this passage but stop right after Rava’s opinion that one must become drunk on Purim. Others correctly read the entire passage and recognize that the anecdote is a blatant refutation of Rava. The Talmud’s lesson is: don’t get drunk; terrible things can happen if you become intoxicated.

Drunkenness is a shameful state. Maimonides (Hilkhot De’ot 5:3) states: “One who becomes intoxicated is a sinner and is despicable, and loses his wisdom. If he [a wise person] becomes drunk in the presence of common folk, he has thereby desecrated the Name.” In his section on the Laws of Holiday Rest (6:20), Maimonides rules: “When one eats, drinks and celebrates on a festival, he should not allow himself to become overly drawn to drinking wine, amusement and silliness…for drunkenness and excessive amusement and silliness are not rejoicing; they are frivolity and foolishness.”

Not only does drunkenness impair one’s judgment, it demeans a person in the eyes of others and in the eyes of God. Drunkenness is an affront to one’s own dignity and an affront to the ideals of Torah.

Is Torah-true Judaism inherently aligned with conservative politics, liberal politics, a combination, or neither -- or is this the wrong way to think about the Torah? 

Torah-true Judaism is inherently aligned with policies that foster love of God, respect for fellow human beings, and the wellbeing of society as a whole. We strive for a world of honesty, justice, peace, a world in which the ideals of our prophets can be realized.

Rabbi Benzion Uziel (1880-1953), late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel, wrote of our responsibility for yishuvo shel olam, the proper functioning of a moral society. Judaism demands that its adherents live ethical and upright lives. Religious Jews must feel troubled by any injustice in society and must strive to defend and protect the oppressed. Striving to create a harmonious society is not merely a reflection of social idealism; it is a religious mandate.

Sometimes Torah values are more aligned with conservative politics, and sometimes they are more aligned with liberal politics. Our real concern isn’t with political labels, but with the over-arching values that conduce to a more righteous society.

Although our concerns need to relate to society in general, we can’t ignore issues that specifically impinge on Jewish life and on the State of Israel. If conservatives or liberals promote policies that are detrimental to our physical and spiritual welfare, we obviously must oppose them. If they advance bills that weaken or endanger Israel, we have the right and responsibility to object. Our universal commitment to society does not negate our particular commitment to our own wellbeing.

In spite of the many problems Torah-true Jews face, we are optimists.  We believe, with the prophet Amos (8:11), that righteousness will prevail: “Behold, the days are coming, says the Lord God, when I will send a famine in the land; not a famine for food nor a thirst for water, but for hearing the words of the Lord.” Amen, Kein Yehi Ratson!!

Is it proper to eat kosher l'Pesach rolls, pasta, cakes, pizza and "bread" on Pesach?

It’s best to leave it up to people to decide for themselves what they do or don’t want to eat on Pessah, as long as all the ingredients are kasher for Pessah. For those who want to add stringencies to the already stringent rules of Pessah, that’s their business. But no one should stand in judgment of others who choose not to add unnecessary stringencies. We should each worry about what’s on our own plates, not on what’s on the plates of others.

Moadim leSimha.

Is it proper to listen to a cappella music during Sefiras Ha'Omer?

The real question is: why would it not be proper to listen to such music during the Sefirah period? Although the Talmud (Yevamot 62b) reports a tradition that 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva died between Pessah and Lag L’Omer, no formal mourning prohibitions are indicated for this period. Sefirah mourning practices are first reported in a Gaonic collection, Sha’arei Teshuva 278. The Shulhan Arukh (O.H. 493: 1-2) refers to the customs of restricting weddings and haircuts, but mentions no prohibition relating to music.

It seems that restrictions relating to music only developed in the Middle Ages, and not consistently throughout the Jewish world. In recent centuries, various stringencies have been added including the limitation of dancing, music, and even recorded music. Some now also wish to prohibit a cappella music. These prohibitions do not go back to the Talmud, Rambam or Shulhan Arukh. If people wish to adopt these stringencies, or if they are part of communities that consider these stringencies as obligatory minhagim, then that is their right.

But there is no fundamental halakhic prohibition to listening to music, let alone a cappella music, unless one has adopted this stringency as a minhag; or unless one follows posekim who rule stringently on this.

In her landmark book, The Feminine Mystique, Betty Friedan asserted that “American women no longer know who they are. They are sorely in need of a new image to help them find their identity.” Originally published in 1963, her book became a rallying cry for the feminist movement. Friedan lamented the fact that women were expected (and expected themselves) to model themselves after the stereotypical image of mother and home-maker; that their self-image was vastly influenced by images of women in glossy magazines and the movies.

Friedan argued that woman needed to become equal partners in society—socially, politically and economically. “There is only one way for women to reach full human potential—by participating in the mainstream of society, by exercising their own voice in all the decisions shaping that society. For women to have full identity and freedom, they must have economic independence….Equality and human dignity are not possible for women if they are not able to earn.”

The Feminine Mystique played an important role in triggering a re-evaluation of the role of women in society. The feminist movement has achieved monumental changes since 1963. When the book was reprinted in the 1990s, Friedan wrote an epilogue in which she rejoiced over past progress, and foresaw an era of true equality. “We may now begin to glimpse the new human possibilities when women and men are finally free to be themselves, know each other for who they really are, and define the terms and measures of success, failure, joy, triumph, power, and the common good, together” (from her epilogue, written April 1997).

Friedan’s hopes are reminiscent of Martin Buber’s philosophy of “I and Thou.” Ideally, people should relate to each other as full, dignified human beings. Relationships between an I and a Thou are characterized by respect, sympathy, sensitivity. When relationships operate on an I-It level, the “It” is reduced to an object, someone whose full humanity is not encountered.

When it comes to relationships between men and women, things can become complicated. Regardless of the ideals of human equality and mutual respect, we also have to deal with the reality of sexuality. Human beings are not pure spiritual beings; physical appearance and sexual drives must be taken into account.

Some communities/societies attempt to curtail male/female relationships so as to avoid sexual improprieties and abuses. The most extreme example of this is in Muslim societies where women are expected to stay out of the public domain to the extent possible, and only to appear in public while totally covered from head to toe, including the face (except for the eyes). Less extreme examples can be found in other communities—including the so-called ultra-Orthodox Jewish community—where women are restricted to wearing clothing deemed to be modest by their rabbinic leaders and are limited in their social interactions with men. The goal is not to foster equal and dignified relationships between men and women, but to keep the genders as separated as possible for fear of falling into temptation and sin.

On the other extreme are societies that foster sexual promiscuity, where women and men interact according to their own feelings rather than by norms of religious modesty. While such societies ostensibly foster equality between men and women, the ubiquitous sexual component can tend to foster relationships of the I-It mode, rather than the I-Thou ideal. Since the bars of religious or cultural morality have been dropped, men and women may see each other as potential objects of sexual pleasure rather than as dignified human beings.

Betty Friedan believed that our society was beginning “to glimpse the new human possibilities when women and men are finally free to be themselves, know each other for who they really are.”  But is this really so? With all the permissiveness and freedom in our society, have relationships between men and women actually become I-Thou?

Although it is argued (correctly) that women should be viewed as human beings rather than as objects, in fact much of our popular culture promotes women as objects of sexual attraction. Female models, movie stars, and television personalities often are dressed in highly provocative clothing. Even women reporters on local television news programs wear sleeveless, or low-neckline, or overly tight clothing. Whether they are required to dress in this fashion, or whether they do so on their own, the fact is that women present themselves in immodest dress (or undress!).  The goal—stated or unstated—seems to be: I need to be sexually attractive.

Popular women’s fashions promote the view of women as objects. Women’s clothing is often too revealing or too tightly fit to be classified as modest. Why do women wear such clothes? Why do designers keep designing such clothes, unless there is a market for them?

For men and women to operate on an I-Thou basis rather than an I-It basis, we need to avoid the extremes of prudery and promiscuity. We need to focus on the nature of modesty--tseniut.

Tseniut is not simply a system of prevention from sin. Rather, it encompasses a positive philosophy relating to the nature of human beings. While acknowledging the power of human sexuality, tseniut teaches that human beings are more than mere sexual beings.  By insisting on modest dress and behavior, tseniut promotes a framework for human relationships that transcends the physical/sexual aspects.

Non-tseniut behavior signals a person’s desire to be seen as an object of sexual attraction. When people dress provocatively, what they are communicating is: notice me, I crave your attention, please don’t ignore me. Underlying this non-vocalized plea is the feeling that one will not be noticed unless prepared to become an object of attention or unless one conforms to the prevailing fashions, even if those fashions violate one’s sense of decency and propriety.

It is normal and natural for people to want to appear pleasing to others. That is why they spend so much time and money on clothing and grooming. Dressing nicely, neatly, and modestly is a sign of self-respect as well as respect for others. If, though, one specifically dresses or behaves in a manner that is aimed at arousing sexual attention, this crosses into the non-tseniut mode. One has chosen to be an It rather than a Thou.

Human beings all have feelings of insecurity; we need to be needed, appreciated, and loved. Although these tendencies are often exacerbated in teenagers, they continue to exist throughout adult life. Exhibitionism is a short-cut to gaining the attention—and hopefully the affection—of others. Yet, underneath the veneer of showiness is a layer of essential insecurity, loneliness, and dissatisfaction with self. Exhibitionism may gain the attention of others, but it does not gain their respect and love.

Tseniut should be understood as a framework for maintaining our human dignity. It teaches us to treat ourselves and others as valuable human beings, not as objects. Non-tseniut behavior and dress serve to diminish our full humanity, reducing us to the level of objects of sexuality. Tseniut is a manifestation of holiness. Exhibitionism is a manifestation of crudeness and feelings of insecurity.

Genuine modesty avoids the extremes of prudery or promiscuity. It fosters self-respect and respect for others. In a real sense, tseniut is not “old fashioned;” it is the avant garde of those who wish to live as dignified human beings.

(For a fuller discussion of tseniut, please see my article, “A Modesty Proposal: Rethinking Tseniut,” on the website of jewishideas.org   The direct link is: https://www.jewishideas.org/article/modesty-proposal-rethinking-tseniut)

The Talmud (Hagiga 12b) records an enigmatic statement by Rabbi Yosei: “Woe unto people, who see but do not know what they see; who stand, but do not know on what they stand.”

This passage came to mind as we observe the 75th anniversary of the State of Israel.

We often see Israel without realizing what we are actually seeing. The State of Israel is an amazing historical phenomenon. It is the unique story of the Jewish People, robbed of sovereignty, plundered and exiled by the Romans nearly 2000 years ago. It is the story of a people who never gave up hope of return to their historic homeland. It is the story of faith and heroism rarely if ever matched in human history. Many people see Israel but don’t know what they are seeing: the State of Israel is a modern day miracle.

We often stand for Israel but don’t know on what we stand. The State of Israel stands on foundations established in the Bible, in God’s promises to Abraham, Isaac, Jacob and their descendants. Israel stands on the prayers of millions of Jews in hundreds of lands spanning twenty centuries. Many people see Israel as just another country; they do not know the foundations upon which Israel stands.

In its 75 years of statehood, Israel has absorbed millions of new immigrants from around the world; it has become a first rate power in culture, science, agriculture, medicine, the arts, the military and so much more. It has created a dynamic, vibrant democracy. It has accomplished really amazing things in spite of ongoing Palestinian terrorism, boycotts, threats from Iran etc.  It has forged ahead with remarkable diplomatic achievements in the Arab world, in Africa, and with many nations throughout the world.

And yet, in spite all these many reasons to feel joy and pride on Israel’s 75th anniversary, we also feel uneasy. The ugly divisions within Israeli society have been rocking the country. Animosity between the extremes on the left and right has been seething. Tensions between religious and secular extremists are heart-breaking. The situation has become so volatile, that the Prime Minister of Israel felt compelled to pull out of a speaking engagement in Tel Aviv, sponsored by the Jewish Federations of North America. Fears of demonstrations and rowdiness cast a pall on the occasion.

As Israeli society tears itself apart, its enemies are heartened. The Palestinian terrorists become emboldened. Iran makes ominous threats and works to arm Israel’s enemies. Anti-Israel media rejoice in slandering Israel in every possible way. Anti-Israel politicians add their hatred and lies to the ongoing campaign to vilify and isolate Israel.

Many people—Jews and non-Jews alike—see Israel, but don’t know what they are seeing. They make stands for or against Israel without knowing upon what Israel stands. When Israel is viewed through the lenses of vitriol, extremism, hatred, idealization or self-righteousness, the real Israel is not seen. When the historic and spiritual foundations of Israel are not understood and respected, then the State of Israel is not properly appreciated.

Everyone needs to calm down, take a step back, and realize what is at stake for the State of Israel.  Hatred and extremism are our real enemies and we must confront them with wisdom and courage.

We have confidence that the State of Israel will overcome the many challenges it faces. It is an amazingly creative and resilient nation.

“Woe unto people, who see but do not know what they see; who stand, but do not know on what they stand.” Blessed are those who see the greatness and promise of Israel, who see clearly and stand firmly with the State of Israel.

“When the Lord turned back the captivity of Zion we were as in a dream. Then was our mouth filled with laughter and our tongue with joyous song” (Psalm 126).

When addressing a halakhic question, each posek (halakhic decisor) attempts to arrive at a decision that is objectively true. The posek will study and analyze the available halakhic literature, with the goal of understanding the halakha as clearly and accurately as possible.

At the same time, halakhic literature is characterized by a variety of decisions regarding the same questions. Different posekim arrive at different conclusions—even though they generally rely on the same source literature. Sometimes these differences are based on alternate readings or interpretations of the source texts. Or, one posek may attribute greater authority to certain halakhists, while another may prefer to depend on others. Differences in local conditions, halakhic traditions, educational backgrounds, hashkafa (religious worldview)—these and many other factors may also result in different decisions from different posekim.

The interrelationship of hashkafa and halakha may be illustrated in how two recent posekim—Rabbi Avraham Yitzhak Kook and Rabbi Bentzion Meir Hai Uziel—dealt with issues involving the understanding of the nature of Jewishness.

Rabbi Kook (1865–1935) was born in Latvia and studied at the yeshiva of Volozhin. In 1904, he emigrated to Israel, where he became the Chief Rabbi of Jaffa. In 1919 he was appointed as the Ashkenazic Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem, and in 1921 he became the first Ashkenazic Chief Rabbi of Erets Yisrael. Rabbi Uziel (1880–1953) was born in Jerusalem and studied under the Torah scholars of the city, including his own father, Rabbi Yosef Raphael Uziel, who was the Av Bet Din (chief justice) of the Sephardic community. In 1911, Rabbi Uziel became Chief Rabbi of Jaffa, where he worked closely with Rabbi Kook. In 1921 he became Chief Rabbi of Salonika; in 1923 he returned to Israel to serve as Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv; and in 1939 he became Rishon leTzion, the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Erets Yisrael.

Both Rabbi Kook and Rabbi Uziel were strong advocates of religious Zionism. They were outstanding communal leaders, teachers, and scholars. Both were prolific writers who made major contributions in the fields of halakha and hashkafa.

But despite these external similarities, their attitudes toward several vital issues are radically different. Their disparate understandings of the nature of Jewish peoplehood are manifested in a number of their halakhic decisions.

Conversion

Let us begin with a discussion of how they dealt with the question of conversion to Judaism. How does a non-Jew enter the Jewish fold? What is the nature of the Jewishness which the convert accepts?

Rabbi Kook and Rabbi Uziel studied the same talmudic and rabbinic sources. That their rulings were diametrically opposed to each other reflects their different hashkafot, their different understanding of the nature of Jewish peoplehood.

Both dealt with the serious problem of what to do with individuals who requested conversion to Judaism, even when it was believed that the converts were not likely to observe all of the mitzvoth. For the most part, such converts were interested in gerut (conversion) for the sake of marrying a Jewish person, and were not motivated by theological concerns. Obviously, neither Rabbi Kook nor Rabbi Uziel thought that such converts represented the ideal. On the contrary, everyone would agree that it was preferable for converts to choose to join the Jewish people from a belief in the truth of Judaism and a total commitment to observe the mitzvoth. However, a great many converts do not come with these ideal credentials.

Rabbi Kook was adamant in his opposition to accepting converts who did not accept to observe all the mitzvoth. Even if a convert followed the technical procedure for conversion, but lacked the absolute intention to observe the mitzvoth, his conversion is not valid. When the Talmud states (Yebamoth 24b) that kulam gerim hem (“they are all converts”; this passage refers to individuals who converted for the sake of marriage or because of other external factors), this refers only to those who did have the intention to accept the mitzvoth in full. Rabbis who accept for conversion those candidates who come for worldly reasons, but who will not fulfill the mitzvoth, are making an error. Much evil will befall such rabbis. They are guilty of bringing thorns into the house of Israel.

Rabbi Kook argues that rabbis who accept such converts are transgressing the prohibition of lifnei ivver (placing a stumbling block in the path of a blind person; by extension, this prohibition includes acts of misleading others). If the conversions are not halakhically valid, then the rabbis are misleading the Jewish public by calling such individuals Jews when in fact they are not Jewish. Such negligence will lead to many problems, including possible intermarriage. On the other hand, if these individuals are to be considered valid converts, then the rabbis are misleading them by not stressing how they will be subject to punishment for violating the mitzvoth.1

In another Responsum, Rabbi Kook again emphasizes that converts who do not commit themselves to keep the mitzvoth should not be accepted. If unqualified individuals (hedyotot) accepted them, no rabbi should perform weddings for them even after they have been converted in this way. “And happy is the one who stands in the breach to guard the purity of Israel, may a good blessing come to him.”2

For Rabbi Kook, then, the acceptance of mitzvoth is the essential ingredient in Jewishness. One who does not accept to observe the mitzvoth simply cannot become part of the Jewish people, even if he or she were to go through the technical rituals of conversion. And even if one were to find halakhic justification to validate these conversions, we still should not allow such converts to marry Jews.

Rabbi Uziel also wrote a number of Responsa dealing with would-be converts whose commitment to observance of mitzvoth was deficient. While acknowledging that it was most desirable that converts accept all the mitzvoth, Rabbi Uziel noted that in our times many individuals seek conversion for the sake of marriage. Instead of disqualifying such conversions, however, Rabbi Uziel actually encouraged them. He felt that it was necessary for us to be stringent in matters of intermarriage, i.e., we should do everything possible to prevent a situation where a marriage involves a Jew and a non-Jew. If we can convert the non-Jewish partner to Judaism, then we have preserved the wholeness of that family for the Jewish people, and we can hope that their children will be raised as Jews. Given the choice of having an intermarried couple or performing such a conversion, Rabbi Uziel ruled that it is better to perform the conversion. He, of course, believed that rabbis should do everything in their power to break off the projected intermarriage. They should resort to conversion only when it is clear that the couple would not be dissuaded from marriage to each other.3

In another Responsum, Rabbi Uziel explains that the obligation of rabbis is to inform candidates for conversion of some, not all, of the mitzvoth (Yoreh De’ah 268:2). It is impossible for a bet din to know with certainty that any convert will keep all the mitzvoth. Conversion, even initially, does not require that the convert accept to observe all the mitzvoth. Indeed, the procedure of informing a non-Jew about the basic beliefs and mitzvoth is required initially. But if this procedure were not followed, and the non-Jew was converted ritually (circumcision and ritual immersion) without such information, the conversion is valid notwithstanding (Yoreh De’ah 268:2, 12).

Rabbi Uziel concludes that it is permissible—and a mitzvah—to accept such converts, even when it is expected that they would not observe all the mitzvoth. Our hope is that they will come to observe the mitzvoth in the future. We are obligated to give them this opportunity. If they fail to observe the mitzvoth, the iniquity is on their own shoulders, not ours. Rabbi Uziel rejects the argument that since a vast majority of converts do not observe the mitzvoth, we should not accept converts at all. On the contrary, he argues that it is a mitzvah to accept these converts. We are obligated not only to do these conversions to prevent intermarriage, but we have a special responsibility to the children who will be born of these marriages. Since they are of Jewish stock, even if only one parent is Jewish, they should be reclaimed for our people. Rabbi Uziel writes:

"And I fear that if we push them [children] away completely by not accepting their parents for conversion, we shall be brought to judgment and they shall say to us: 'You did not bring back those who were driven away, and those who were lost you did not seek'" (Yehezkel 34:4).4

Whereas Rabbi Kook saw the acceptance of mitzvoth as the sine qua non of entering the Jewish fold, Rabbi Uziel thought it was not an absolute requirement at all. Whereas Rabbi Kook believed that the mitzvoth are the defining feature of the Jewish people, Rabbi Uziel stressed the importance of maintaining the wholeness of the Jewish people, even when the observance of mitzvoth was deficient. The halakhic difference between them can be apprehended on a deeper level if we consider their difference in hashkafa.

The act of conversion, according to Rabbi Kook, requires the convert to join the soul of Kenesset Yisrael (a metaphysical representation of the “congregation of Israel”). This can be accomplished only via total acceptance of the mitzvoth, which are the essence of the Jewish soul. Rabbi Kook sees Kenesset Yisrael as the highest spiritual manifestation of human existence. He propounds a notion found in kabbalah that there is an essential difference between Jews and non-Jews. Rabbi Kook writes:

"The difference between the Jewish soul, its self, its inner desires, aspirations, character and status, and that of all nations, at all their levels, is greater and deeper than the difference between the human soul and the animal soul; between the latter there is merely a quantitative distinction, but between the former an essential qualitative distinction pertains."5

Each Jew is connected spiritually to Kenesset Yisrael through the fulfillment of mitzvoth and the ethical demands of Torah. The nourishment of the Jewish soul “is the study of Torah in all its aspects, which also includes historical study in its fullness, and the observance of the commandments with deep faith illuminated by the light of knowledge and clear awareness.” 6

In stressing the distinctiveness of the Jewish people and its essential difference from all other nations, Rabbi Kook appears to downplay the ethical universalism implicit in the classic Jewish teaching that human beings were created in the image of God. Instead of focusing on the universal spiritual dignity of all people, Rabbi Kook asserts a radical distinction between Israel and the nations.

On the other hand, Rabbi Kook did recognize the existence of select individuals among the nations who can reach great spiritual heights. Whereas the supreme holiness specific to Israel is not shared by the nations, it is possible for individual non-Jews to imbue themselves with the holiness of Torah and to join the people of Israel.7

Rabbi Kook’s hashkafa, thus, plays itself out in the halakhic issue of conversion. For him, a non-Jew needs to undergo a transformation of his soul in order to become part of Kenesset Yisrael. Conversion is not just a matter of following a set of prescribed rules and guidelines; rather, it is an all-encompassing spiritual transformation, possible only for a select few spiritually gifted individuals.

Rabbi Kook’s hashkafa is imbued with mystical elements. Given his understanding of the nature of the Jewish soul, it follows that he takes an elitist position vis-à-vis accepting converts. Only those who are truly qualified spiritually may enter the fold of Israel. To accept converts who are not absolutely committed to mitzvah observance is, for Rabbi Kook, a travesty.

Rabbi Uziel, too, stressed the distinctiveness of the people of Israel. Indeed, his hashkafa is close to Rabbi Kook’s in that he also saw the people of Israel as the ideal model of humanity, embodying the highest form of harmony and spiritual unity.8

Although Rabbi Uziel recognized the distinctiveness of the people of Israel, he did not make the same sharp distinction between Jews and non-Jews as did Rabbi Kook. Rather, Rabbi Uziel stressed the connection between Jews and non-Jews, and the responsibility of Jews to set a good example from which the non-Jewish world can learn.

Rabbi Uziel was critical of those Jews who taught that one’s Jewishness should be a private matter observed in the home, and who said that one should be a “human being” when in public. He rejected such a notion as being absurd, “since Judaism and humanity are connected and attached to each other like a flame and its coal.” The goal of Judaism is to have Jews be the finest possible human beings so that they could influence humanity for the better. Judaism was not a private matter, but was for application in the world at large.9

Rabbi Uziel also rejects the position of those who claimed that Judaism was merely a faith. Clearly, the people of Israel constitute a nation with a distinctive national character. Neither the Torah nor our sages ever divorced Jewish faith from Jewish peoplehood.10

Rabbi Uziel rejects the notion that Judaism could survive only if Jews isolated themselves from the rest of society. Those who limited Jewish life to synagogues and study halls thereby were constricting the real message of Judaism. Rabbi Uziel argues that the Torah was quite capable of confronting all cultures and all peoples, without needing to surrender or hide. A living culture has no fear of borrowing and integrating concepts from other cultures, and it can do so without losing its own identity. Jews can learn from the non-Jewish world and still remain faithful to their own distinctive mission of holiness and righteousness. Moreover, as a living culture, Judaism has a message to teach others as well. To constrict Judaism into a spiritual and intellectual ghetto is not true to the mission of Israel. The Torah contains within it a full worldview on the individual and the nation; therefore it is our obligation to recognize and teach our spiritual ideal, and to try to increase our spiritual influence on humanity as a whole.11

For Rabbi Uziel, then, the distinctiveness of the Jewish people is not seen as a mystical concept which separates Jews ontologically from non-Jews. Rather, the Jewish people have a positive responsibility of reaching out to the non-Jewish world, to bring them closer to the religious ideals of Judaism.

This hashkafa manifests itself in a greater tolerance and openness when it comes to the halakhic question of conversion. Certainly, it would be best if all Jews and all converts to Judaism observed the mitzvoth in full. But since we do not live in an ideal world, we need to strive to attain the best results possible. Our first concern has to be to maintain the integrity of the Jewish people, Jewish families. Non-Jews who wish to become part of the Jewish people are thereby testifying that they wish to come closer to our teachings and traditions. Since Jews and non-Jews are all created in the image of God, the conversion process does not entail an absolute spiritual transformation of the convert’s soul, but rather a pragmatic decision to join the Jewish people and to come closer to the ideals and teachings of the Torah. This hashkafa gives greater leeway to the rabbis who must make specific decisions regarding conversion, based on the particular situation of each case. Universalism and pragmatism on behalf of the Jewish people, rather than mystical and metaphysical considerations, should guide the conversion process.

Autopsies

The hashkafic difference between Rabbi Kook and Rabbi Uziel concerning the nature of Jewishness also may be demonstrated in another halakhic area: autopsies. In 1931, Rabbi Kook was asked whether it was permissible to perform autopsies as part of the training of doctors in medical schools. With the expanding Jewish settlement in the land of Israel, there certainly was a need to train Jewish doctors.
Medical training entailed autopsies.

Rabbi Kook ruled that disgracing a dead body (nivul haMet) is a prohibition unique to the Jewish people, since the Almighty commanded us to maintain the holiness of the body. He then went on to say that there is a sharp difference between Jews and non-Jews with regard to their bodies. Non-Jews consider their bodies only as biological structures. They eat whatever they wish, without restriction. They have no reason to be concerned with the issue of disgracing the dead body, so long as the autopsy was done for a reasonable purpose such as medical study. Rabbi Kook, therefore, recommended that the medical programs purchase non-Jewish bodies for the purpose of scientific research. He then stated that the whole category of disgrace of the dead body stems from the fact that humans were created in the image of God. But this image of God is manifested particularly in Jews due to the holiness of the Torah.12 The Jewish attachment to Torah and mitzvoth, thus, not only characterizes the Jewish soul, but also imparts holiness to the Jewish body.

Rabbi Uziel wrote a lengthy Responsum on the subject of autopsies, although he specified that his Responsum was theoretical rather than a formal legal ruling (leHalakha veLo leMa’aseh). In reviewing the halakhic literature on nivul haMet, Rabbi Uziel concluded that this category applies only when a dead body is treated disrespectfully. Autopsies performed in a respectful manner for the sake of medical knowledge do not constitute, according to Rabbi Uziel, nivul haMet. He points out that there have been many rabbinical sages throughout Jewish history who were also medical doctors. They could not have learned their profession without having performed autopsies. Rabbi Uziel states that “in a situation of great benefit to everyone, where there is an issue of saving lives, we have not found any reason to prohibit [and on the contrary, there are proofs to permit].

Rabbi Uziel considers the question of whether it would be preferable to obtain non-Jewish bodies for the purpose of autopsies. His response is sharp and unequivocal:

"Certainly this should not even be said and more certainly should not be written, since the prohibition of nivul stems from the humiliation caused to all humans. That is to say, it is a humiliation to cause the body of a human—created in the image of God and graced with knowledge and understanding to master and rule over all creation—to be left disgraced and rotting in public. There is no difference between Jews and non-Jews, in the sense that all are created in the image of God. The Jew has no claim to higher status in this regard. If one were to prohibit autopsies, then no autopsies could be performed on any body—Jewish or non-Jewish. The result would be that no doctors could be trained, with a consequent result of an increase in illness, suffering, and death."13

It is clear, then, that Rabbi Kook understood the nature of Jewishness in kabbalistic, metaphysical terms. For him, there is a definite and almost unbridgeable gap between the people of Israel and the non-Jewish nations. This hashkafa influenced his halakhic decisions in the areas of conversion and autopsy. On the other hand, Rabbi Uziel stressed the human quality of the Jewish people, the essential Godliness of all people. His generally universalistic outlook recognized the distinctiveness of the Jewish people. But the distinctiveness of Israel is manifested not by separating Jews absolutely from everyone else; rather, it is shown when Jews serve as models to draw others closer to the ideals of the Torah. This hashkafa pervades his discussions of conversion and autopsy.

Women in Civic Life

Rabbi Kook and Rabbi Uziel also differed in matters pertaining to the role of women in civic life. Their halakhic decisions reflected their different attitudes toward the role of women in a traditional society.

Women’s rights to vote and to be elected to public office were the subject of heated controversy among the Jewish community in the land of Israel in the early part of the twentieth century. In the struggle over women’s suffrage (1918–1921), the rabbinical leadership of the old Yishuv generally opposed extending to women the right to vote and hold public office. In contrast, the Sephardic rabbinic leadership generally favored granting women those rights.

Rabbi Kook, the leading Ashkenazic rabbinic personality in this debate, argued that the Torah tradition relegated civic authority only to men, and that women were to remain in the private, domestic domain. He rejected the “modern innovation” calling for an expansion of women’s role, believing this was a threat to traditional morality and family life.14

Rabbi Uziel, the leading Sephardic voice in this debate, argued that innovation was not necessarily bad. On the contrary, it was fine to innovate where there was no clear Torah prohibition involved. On the question of whether women should be permitted to vote, Rabbi Uziel stated that

"We have not found any clear foundation to forbid. It is unreasonable to deprive women of this human right, since in these elections we choose our leaders and give our elected representatives the power to speak in our names, to arrange the affairs of our settlement and to tax our property. Women, directly or indirectly, accept the authority of those elected, and obey their rulings and communal and national laws.”15

Rabbi Uziel thought it was unjust to expect women to be bound to decisions over which they had no say.
Some opponents of women’s suffrage suggested that women’s understanding was limited, and they were not competent to vote. To this, Rabbi Uziel noted that many men had limited understanding: Should they, too, be deprived of the right to vote? Moreover, Rabbi Uziel wrote that women were endowed with intelligence and sound judgment, no less than men. Experience demonstrates this to be true.

Rabbi Uziel rejected the argument that letting women vote would be a threat to morality and family life. This is a baseless claim and should carry no weight in this debate. One opponent thought that women should be excluded from voting or holding office, based on women’s status in biblical times. Rabbi Uziel brushed this objection aside, noting that it had no bearing on the question at hand. Women, as well as men, were created in God’s image. They had a basic right to be able to vote for those who would have authority to pass laws which would affect them. Not only was there no prohibition to women’s suffrage, but depriving women of this right would be unjust and would cause them humiliation and pain.

Having concluded that women had the right to vote, Rabbi Uziel then turned to the question of whether women had the right to be elected to public office. Halakhic literature includes the notion that women should not hold positions of authority over men. After analyzing these sources carefully,
Rabbi Uziel found that there was no objection to women being in positions of authority—if the community willingly accepted them in these offices. Therefore, women who were elected to office exert authority on the basis of communal approval. Rabbi Uziel stated that although men and women would be sitting together during the public deliberations, this was no breach of modesty or morality. These were not social events, but serious discussions and debates in which participants would participate with all due propriety.

In another Responsum, Rabbi Uziel offered halakhic grounds to allow women to serve as civil judges, as long as the community accepted their authority to judge. He did not personally think it was a good idea for women to serve as judges because of their innately compassionate natures, but he presented the halakhic justification for them to be judges.16

In presenting the opinions and decisions of Rabbi Kook and Rabbi Uziel, it has not been our purpose to determine who is right or who is wrong, or if both are right—ellu veEllu divrei Elokim hayyim (“both positions are acceptable in the eyes of God”). Rather, it has been our purpose to illustrate the interrelationship between hashkafa and halakha. The philosophy and worldview of a posek are not only reflected in halakhic decisions—they help shape those halakhic decisions.

Notes
1. Da’at Kohen, Jerusalem, 5745, no. 154. The discussion on conversion and autopsies is drawn from my article, “A Discussion of the Nature of Jewishness in the Teachings of Rabbi Kook and Rabbi Uziel,” in Seeking Good, Speaking Peace: Collected Essays of Rabbi Marc D. Angel, edited by Rabbi Hayyim Angel, Ktav, Hoboken, 1994, pp. 112–123.
2. Ibid., no. 155.
3. Mishpetei Uziel, Jerusalem, 5724, no. 18.
4. Ibid., no. 20. For a discussion of Rabbi Uziel’s rulings on conversion, see my article, “Another Halakhic Approach to Conversions,” Tradition, 12 (Winter–Spring 1972), 107–113.
5. Orot, Jerusalem, 5745, p. 156. See the article by Rabbi Yoel Ben-Nun, “Nationalism, Humanity and Kenesset Yisrael,” in The World of Ray Kook’s Thought, published by the Avi Chai Foundation, New York, 1991, pp. 210 f.
6. Orot, p. 145; Rabbi Yoel Ben-Nun’s article, p. 224.
7. Rabbi Yoel Ben-Nun’s article, p. 227.
8. A series of articles by Nissim Yosha, under the title “Yahid ve Umah,” appeared in the journal ba-Ma ‘arakhah, nos. 300–306, dealing with Rabbi Uziel’s understanding of Jewish peoplehood. See also my book, Voices in Exile, Ktav, Hoboken, 1991, pp. 202 f.
9. Hegyonei Uziel, vol. 2, Jerusalem, 5714, p. 122.
10. Ibid.
11. Ibid., p. 125
12. Da’at Kohen, no. 199.
13. Piskei Uziel, Jerusalem 5737, no. 32, especially pp. 178-179.
14. Ma’amarei ha-RaAy’aH, Jerusalem, 1984, pp. 189-194. See Zvi Zohar’s article, “Two Halakhic Positions on Women’s Suffrage,” pp. 119-133, in Sephardi and Middle Eastern Jewries, ed. Harvey E. Goldberg, Indiana University Press, Bloomington, 1996. See also the discussion in my book, Loving Truth and Peace: The Grand Religious Worldview of Rabbi Benzion Uziel, Jason Aronson, Northvale, 1999, pp. 204f.
15. Piskei Uziel, Mossad haRav Kook, Jerusalem, 5737, no. 44.
16. Ibid., no 43.

Simone Veil (1927-2017) was born in Nice, France, into a secular middle class Jewish family. Her pleasant childhood was abruptly ended by the rise of the Nazis and the fall of France to German control. In 1944 she was deported to Auschwitz. Her father and brother were deported and murdered. Her mother died of typhus before the concentration camp was liberated in April 1945. She and two sisters survived.

Veil considered herself to be French; she felt betrayed that France allowed its Jewish citizens to be oppressed, deported and murdered. Yes, there were good French people who saved Jews, who spoke up for their Jewish neighbors. But too many did not. Moreover, after Jewish survivors began to return to their homes in France, they were not greeted with the warmth and understanding that Veil expected. Even the government remained aloof. “From top to bottom of the government, the same attitude prevailed: no one felt concerned by what the Jews had suffered. You can imagine how shocking this was for everyone whose lives had been disrupted by the Holocaust” (A Life: A Memoir by Simon Veil, p. 87).

After the liberation, she decided to study law at the University of Paris, where she met her future husband Antoine Veil. They were married in October 1946, and had three sons. She practiced law for several years, and in 1956 she passed the national examination to become a magistrate. She received a senior position at the National Penitentiary Administration, under the Ministry of Justice. From May 1974 to March 1977, she served as Minister of Health, and was responsible for advocating a number of significant laws, including legalizing abortion in France.

In 1979 she was elected as a member of the European Parliament; in the first European parliamentary election she was elected President, a position she held until 1982. She continued with her active political life, including years of service in the cabinet of France’s Prime Minister. During the course of her remarkable career, she won many awards and honors. When she died, her funeral was conducted as a national ceremony. It was attended by President Macron and many dignitaries, along with Holocaust survivors. President Macron announced the decision to rebury Veil and her husband in the Pantheon, a rare honor, and this was done on July 1, 2018.

Veil devoted her career to efforts to improve society. “No doubt what I suffered in the camps developed my extreme sensitivity to anything in human relations that generates humiliation and loss of human dignity” (Ibid. p. 101). She worked for prison reform; she advocated for women’s rights; she was a champion of environmental issues. Her devotion to France was central to her life…even though France had betrayed her and its Jewish citizens during World War II. She was sympathetic to Israel and saw its role as “a home for people who no longer had one, to provide a haven of peace for all those who had been displaced and lost families, houses and professions, and to give them a piece of land where they could finally put down roots” (Ibid., p. 118).

In 2003, she accepted the Presidency of the International Victims’ Claims Fund in the International Criminal Court. She made it clear that she was doing so in defense of the rights of victims, not to pose as a judge of actions from which they had suffered. “After the war, when the survivors of the Holocaust returned to France, they had to provide proof of the expropriations they had suffered. Even so, they were poorly compensated and only after a struggle. Seldom did money deposited in banks or contracts underwritten by insurance companies result in the payment of damages” (Ibid., p. 171).

It was not until 1995 that France officially recognized its complicity in the crimes against its Jewish citizens during the Second World War. President Jacque Chirac, on July 16, 1995, called on France to face its past and to make amends to the extent possible. A commission was established to deal with the immense losses of Jews whose property was expropriated during the war. The commission found that 50,000 Jewish businesses had been “Aryanized” and 90,000 Jewish bank accounts and insurance contracts had never been honored; 38,000 Jewish apartments had been looted of their furniture. Restoration of assets to Jewish families was arranged, to the extent possible. The commission pointed to France’s responsibility to perpetuate the memory of the Holocaust, and Simone Veil was asked to serve as the first President of the Foundation for the Memory of the Holocaust.

On January 27, 2005, she spoke at Auschwitz on the sixtieth anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz-Birkenau. To an audience including survivors of the Nazi concentration camps, she recounted the horrors of those days; she remembered the more than one and a half million people murdered here, simply because they were born Jewish. “Today, sixty years later, a new pledge must be made for people to unite at least to combat hatred of other people, anti-Semitism and racism, and intolerance….It is the right and duty of us, the last survivors, to put you on your guard and to ask you to turn our companions’ cry ‘never again’ into reality” (Ibid., pp. 248-49).

            She not only worked to foster an understanding of the Holocaust and its victims; she also strove to highlight the heroism of those righteous people who fought against Nazism, who saved Jewish lives, who behaved honestly and admirably during a very difficult period of time. On January 18, 2007, she spoke as President of the Foundation for the Memory of the Holocaust at a ceremony honoring the righteous of France. “All of you, the Righteous of France, to whom we pay tribute today, illustrate the honor of our country which thanks to you, found a sense of fraternity, justice and courage….For those of us still haunted by the memory of our loved ones who vanished in smoke and have no gravestone, for all those who want a better world, more just and more fraternal, cleansed of the poison of anti-Semitism, racism and hatred, these walls will resonate now and forever with the echo of your voices, you, the Righteous of France, who give us reasons to hope” (Ibid., pp. 284-85).

Although she was fully and personally aware of human viciousness and cruelty, Simone Veil wanted very much to believe in the ultimate victory of a righteous, compassionate and humane society. She stressed the role of righteous French non-Jews who acted nobly during the war years. “I am convinced that there will always be men and women, of all origins and in all countries, capable of doing what is right and just. Based on the example of the Righteous, I should like to believe that moral strength and individual conscience can win out” (Ibid.,  p.295).

                                              *     *     *

Although Simone Veil did not identify herself as being religious, her life embodied significant elements of a religious worldview. If faith in God was not part of her mindset, her faith in humanity was remarkable. After all she witnessed in Auschwitz, it might have been expected that she could no longer trust the goodness of human beings. After the cold reception she and other survivors experienced upon returning to France after the war, it would have been natural for her to feel alienation from France and the French people. But she did not lose faith in humanity, in the French people, in France. This faith was—in religious terms—messianic. She believed in a future age when humanity would overcome its hatreds and prejudices, when people of all nations, religions, races would live in peace and mutual respect.

But her faith was not merely a matter of lip-service to high ideals. She devoted her life to working for the betterment of her society. She strove to enact policies that enhanced human rights and human dignity.

In my more than fifty years of rabbinic service, I’ve learned to pay more attention to what people do rather than to what they say. Professions of faith and pious preachments may be fine, but they do not define one’s religiosity. Righteous action is the true test.

Reference

A Life: A Memoir by Simone Veil, Haus Publishing, London, 2007.

Among the titles that rabbinic literature ascribes to Torah scholars is Haver Ha-Ir. This phrase denotes someone of great learning, integrity and commitment to the welfare of the community.[1] Rabbi Benzion Uziel noted: “The rabbi of a community is called by our Sages Haver Ir because he tends to the needs of the public and gathers them for prayer and Torah study.”[2]

The Haver Ha-Ir model of rabbinic leadership deserves careful attention. The rabbi is literally to be a “friend” of the city, a person who is engaged in people’s lives, who strives to make society a better place. He is to feel personal responsibility for the spiritual and material wellbeing of the community. The Haver Ha-Ir is not an aloof scholar nor an otherworldly mystic, but is with the people and for the people.

We may explore the Haver Ha-Ir model by considering the teachings of four rabbinic figures of the modern period: Rabbi Benzion Uziel (1880–1953); Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik (1903–1993); Rabbi Haim David Halevy (1924–1998); and Rabbi Nahum Rabinovitch (1928–).

Rabbi Benzion Uziel: Yishuvo shel Olam

Rabbi Uziel was the pre-eminent Sephardic rabbi and posek of his generation. Born and raised in Jerusalem, he distinguished himself as an outstanding Torah scholar and communal leader. He was the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel from 1939 until his death in 1953. A prolific author, he is well known for his volumes of responsa, Mishpetei Uziel.[3]

At a rabbinic conference held in Jerusalem in 1919, Rabbi Uziel urged his colleagues to take an active role in the development of Jewish life in the land of Israel. He called on them to live and work among the people, to share their worries and aspirations, and to be an integral part of their lives: “This is our duty to our God and to our nation: to walk in the midst of the people, in the work of the people, to join ourselves in the task of building in all its forms, very carefully watching for the soul of the nation.” It is incumbent upon rabbis to conduct themselves “with words of pleasantness and with love for each individual Jew.” The religious message is best conveyed by establishing rapport with the public, by working with them and respecting them. “Let us walk on our path together with all the people, to love and appreciate, to learn and to teach the Torah of Israel and its tradition in the presence of all.”[4]

During Israel’s War of Independence in 1948, a group of yeshiva students approached Rabbi Uziel and asked him to arrange exemptions for them from military service. They claimed that their study of Torah should take priority to serving as soldiers. Rabbi Uziel rebuked the students sharply. He told them that religious Jews, including yeshiva students, were obligated to share in the defense of the nation. If they were to influence society to live according to Torah, they themselves had to set an example that the public would respect and wish to emulate.[5]

Among the concepts that Rabbi Uziel emphasized in his teachings was the imperative to work for the general wellbeing of society—yishuvo shel olam. Judaism demands that its adherents live moral and upright lives. Religious Jews must feel troubled by any injustice in society and must strive to defend and protect the oppressed. Striving to create a harmonious society is not merely a reflection of social idealism; it is a religious mandate:

We are all workers and employees, each person according to his physical and intellectual abilities and talents; we are workers in the workplace to improve human life, to raise the level of culture and to fulfill the human charter for which we have been created and through which we live: to bring peace and truth, and the love of compassion and truth, throughout our world.”[6]

Each person who works honestly and efficiently is thereby helping to build a better world and is participating in yishuvo shel olam. Individuals who only seek their own interests, even if they are honest in their dealings, are not living up to the proper religious standard. A religious person should be constructive, honest, and concerned for the welfare of others.

The concept of fostering yishuvo shel olam not only relates to individuals; it is also a responsibility of the Jewish people as a whole. Just as we learn and benefit from other nations, so we are to contribute our own talents and energies for the advancement of humankind. Rabbi Uziel wrote:

Each country and each nation that respects itself does not and cannot be satisfied with its narrow boundaries and limited domains. Rather, they desire to bring in all that is good and beautiful, that is helpful and glorious to their national [cultural] treasury. And they wish to impart the maximum flow of their own blessings to the [cultural] treasury of humanity as a whole….Happy is the country and happy is the nation that can give itself an accounting of what it has taken from others; and more importantly, of what it has given of its own to the repository of all humanity. Woe unto that country and nation that encloses itself in its own four cubits and limits itself to its own narrow boundaries, lacking anything of its own to contribute [to humanity] and lacking the tools to receive [cultural] contributions from others.[7]

Rabbi Uziel noted that the Jewish people have contributed vastly to the idealism and morality of the world. Likewise, Jews have learned much from other nations. On balance, though, we have given far more than we have received.

As much as Israel drew from others…far, far more did it give of its own to others: Torah and light, purity of heart and the holiness of life, righteous justice and true ethics; love and appreciation of its Torah, a Torah for the world; the words of its prophets and sages from generation to generation, all of whom were imbued with an elevated love of the God of the universe and all who were created in His image, of all His creations of nature, a wise ethics, words of peace and truth.[8]

Yishuvo shel olam is an obligation to seek the benefit of humanity. This entails not only a responsibility for the physical wellbeing of others, but also a commitment to expand human knowledge, technology, and general culture. Yishuvo shel olam is

a precondition and vital need for our attaining our proper way in life. In the settlement and building of the world, knowledge is increased. From our knowledge of the mysteries of nature, our eyes are opened to new and very wide horizons, from which we will arise and announce the wonders of God, Creator of the universe, and the ways of His wondrous and hidden providence, all of which are love, justice, kindness and compassion.[9]

When Rabbi Uziel became Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel in 1939, he delivered a radio address to the nation. He stressed the need for all residents of the land to work together in harmony:

Our first task is the establishment of true peace and strong unity among all segments of the people, its communities and ethnic groups, its organizations and parties; to call “peace, peace to those who are far and near” among ourselves; and peace with all our neighbors in the land, of all religions and peoples.[10]

Later in his address, he spoke in Arabic to the Arab population:

We reach our hands out to you in peace, pure and trustworthy. We say: the land is stretched out before us, and with joined hands we will work it, we will uncover its treasures, and we will live on it as brothers who dwell together. Know and trust that the word of God will rise forever. Make peace with us and we will make peace with you. Together all of us will benefit from the blessing of God on His land; with quiet and peace, with love and fellowship, with goodwill and pure heart we will find the way of peace.[11]

In his role as a Haver Ha-Ir, Rabbi Uziel was a role model of rabbinic leadership that was imbued with a keen sense of responsibility to individuals, to society, to people of all backgrounds. His grand religious vision sought unity and harmony in a world often characterized by dissension and violence.

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik: Moral Courage

Rabbi Soloveitchik, the Rav, was the pre-eminent Orthodox rabbinic thinker of twentieth-century America. For many years, he taught Talmud at Yeshiva University and signed the rabbinic ordinations of thousands of disciples. He was the posek of the Rabbinical Council of America, the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations and the Religious Zionists of America. He was the founder of the Maimonides Day School in Boston. Through his classes, public lectures and writings, he has had singular impact on the recent generations of Modern Orthodox Jews.

In his own rabbinic career, he drew inspiration from the teachings of his illustrious grandfather, Rabbi Hayyim of Brisk. When R. Hayyim was asked to describe the function of a rabbi, he replied: “To redress the grievances of those who are abandoned and alone, to protect the dignity of the poor, and to save the oppressed from the hands of his oppressor.”[12] In reporting these words of his grandfather, Rabbi Soloveitchik notes:

Neither ritual decisions nor political leadership constitutes the main task of halakhic man. Far from it. The actualization of the ideals of justice and righteousness is the pillar of fire which halakhic man follows, when he, as a rabbi and teacher in Israel, serves his community.[13]

Whereas some religions have an otherworldly focus, Judaism—as represented by halakhic man—is concerned primarily with this world. The goal is to bring comfort to those who suffer, justice to those who are oppressed, and kindness to those who are neglected:

Halakhic man is characterized by a powerful stiff-neckedness [sic] and stubbornness. He fights against life’s evil and struggles relentlessly with the wicked kingdom and with all the hosts of iniquity in the cosmos. His goal is not flight to another world that is wholly good, but rather bringing down that eternal world into the midst of our world.[14]

To wage a battle for righteousness requires tremendous courage. One must be prepared to confront powerful opponents, people who wish to maintain their own control over others. “Halakhic man does not quiver before any man; he does not seek out compliments, nor does he require public approval.”[15]

Rabbi Soloveitchik refers to an incident in the life of his grandfather, R. Hayyim of Brisk. It happened once that two Jews died in Brisk on the same day. In the morning, a poor shoemaker died. Later, a wealthy and prominent member of the community passed away. According to halakha, the one who dies first must be buried first. However, the members of the burial society decided (after they had apparently been given a handsome sum from the rich man’s heirs) to attend to the rich man’s burial first. When R. Hayyim learned of this, he sent a message to the burial society to desist from their disgraceful behavior. The members of the burial society refused to heed R. Hayyim’s directive, and they continued to prepare for the burial of the wealthy man.

R. Hayyim then arose, took his walking stick, trudged over to the house of the deceased, and chased all the attendants outside. R. Hayyim prevailed—the poor man was buried before the rich man. R. Hayyim’s enemies multiplied and increased. Thus have true halakhic men always acted, for their study and their deeds have blended together beautifully, truly beautifully.[16]

Halakha is unequivocally dedicated to fostering righteousness. The hallmark of great halakhic sages has been their lofty ethical standards and their deep respect for the dignity of others.

To recognize a person is not just to identify him physically. It is more than that: It is an act of identifying him existentially, as a person who has a job to do, that only he can do properly. To recognize a person means to affirm that he is irreplaceable. To hurt a person means to tell him that he is expendable, that there is no need for him. The Halakhah equated the act of publicly embarrassing a person with murder.[17]

Halakhic Judaism is the antithesis of mystical quietism that views pain and suffering in a passive, fatalistic manner. Rather, the halakha “wants man to cry out aloud against any kind of pain, to react indignantly to all kinds of injustice or unfairness.”[18]

In one of his teshuvah lectures, the Rav elaborated on the connection a Jew must feel toward Knesset Israel, the community of Israel that transcends time and place.

The Jew who believes in Knesset Israel is the Jew who lives as part of it wherever it is and is willing to give his life for it, feels its pain, rejoices with it, fights in its wars, groans at its defeats and celebrates its victories.[19]

The Haver Ha-Ir must have moral courage so as to set an example to others. For Rabbi Soloveitchik, “heroism is the central category in practical Judaism.”[20]

Rabbi Haim David Halevy: Kevod HaBeriyot

Rabbi Haim David Halevy was a prolific author and teacher, a gifted halakhic scholar, a devotee of kabbalah, and a creative thinker who applied Torah wisdom to the dilemmas of the modern world. From 1972 until his death in 1998, he served as Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv.

For a number of years, Rabbi Halevy conducted a popular Israeli radio program, Asei Lekha Rav, in which he answered a wide range of questions posed to him by listeners. He later wrote up and elaborated on his responses, publishing them in a series of volumes also entitled Asei Lekha Rav. In the first responsum in Volume One of this series, Rabbi Halevy noted that a rabbi was not simply a decisor of rabbinic law who ruled on what was forbidden and what was permitted. “Rather he is also—and perhaps mainly—an advisor to everyone in his community for all questions, small and large.”[21]

A recurring theme in his voluminous writings was the respect due to fellow human beings. Sensitivity to the needs and feelings of others is a basic feature of proper religious life. An example of this sensitivity is evident in a responsum he wrote relating to wedding ceremonies.

Some rabbis had the practice of reciting the wedding blessings and then taking a sip of wine themselves. They then gave the wine to the groom and bride for them to drink from the wine cup. Rabbi Halevy ruled that rabbis should not drink from the cup before giving it to the couple. Some people feel uncomfortable drinking from a glass from which someone else has drunk. Even if many people do not mind drinking from the cup of others, “Aren’t we obligated to worry about even the one in a thousand who is particular, and who will drink the wine and feel hurt?”[22] Rabbi Halevy added that when he recited Kiddush at home, he would pass it to family members who did not mind drinking from a shared cup. But whenever he had a guest at the table, he poured from the Kiddush cup into a separate cup from which he drank. He would then pass the Kiddush cup to the others so that they could pour a bit of wine into their own clean cups.

In another case, Rabbi Halevy dealt with the following situation. On a Shabbat, a large group of family and friends attended a synagogue to celebrate with a bridegroom. Among the guests was a young man, who had become blind through an injury in battle while serving in the Israel Defense Forces. The family requested that this blind young man be given an aliya, but the rabbi of the synagogue cited the Shulhan Arukh, who ruled that a blind person may not be called to the Torah. The blind soldier told the rabbi that he was called to the Torah in his regular synagogue, but the rabbi was not swayed. Feeling angry and humiliated, the soldier and some members of his family left the synagogue.

When Rabbi Halevy heard of this case, he was deeply pained. The young soldier, who had sacrificed so much on behalf of his country, was treated shabbily. If the soldier told the rabbi that he had been receiving aliyot in his regular synagogue, the rabbi should have given credence to this. “How careful one must be when it comes to kevod haBeriyot, who were created in the image of God.” Rabbi Halevy noted that the Sephardic community generally did not accept the ruling of the Shulhan Arukh (Orah Hayyim 139:3) forbidding aliyot to blind people, but rather followed the opinion of other rabbinic authorities permitting this practice.[23]

Rabbi Halevy was asked if non-observant Jews should be allowed to participate in the celebration of finishing the writing of a Torah scroll. Usually, a qualified scribe would write the entire Torah, leaving the last few letters to be filled in by the sponsors or donors of the writing of the scroll. Rabbi Halevy permitted non-observant Jews to participate in this happy occasion. “If we prevent them from doing this, there is a fear of complaints, Heaven forbid, since the general practice [is to let non-observant Jews participate].” How embarrassing it would be for the non-observant people to be turned away from participating in this mitzvah. It would be a public humiliation that could deepen their alienation from religious observance.[24]

Rabbi Halevy criticized a practice of some religiously observant Jews to publicly scream at those who were violating Shabbat or other ritual laws. These pietists are vocal in their protest of laxities in ritual observances, yet “they remain quiet and take things in normal stride when they see social and ethical breakdowns in many areas of our public life, when people swallow each other alive, and the moral thread of our life is broken.”[25] For Rabbi Halevy, religious Jews should demonstrate concern for all society and for the general moral health of society.

Rabbi Halevy’s concern for society included his concern for the wellbeing of non-Jews. He argued that Christians and Muslims were not to be considered as “idolaters,” nor were they to be subjected to talmudic rulings that related to idolaters. “Providing their sustenance, visiting their sick, burying their dead, comforting their mourners are all to be performed because of the human ethical imperative, not specifically [only] for the sake of peace.”[26] Relationships between Jews and non-Jews, whether in Israel or the Diaspora, were to be governed by the moral obligations that bound all human beings.

Rabbi Nahum Rabinovich: Shutafut

Rabbi Nahum Rabinovich has served as Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Birkat Moshe in Maale Adumim for many years. A respected posek and thinker, his teachings provide important insight into the role of a Haver Ha-Ir.

Rabbi Rabinovich draws on the halakhic idea that members of a community are in a partnership relationship. They each share equally in rights and obligations. Since societies include members with different views, the notion of shutafut, partnership, is very important. Instead of each individual or group struggling in an adversarial manner against those with different opinions, all members of society should recognize that they are partners in the same venture. In spite of differences, they need to find ways of working together for the betterment of society as a whole.

In order to reach a practical agreement and cooperation among various groups of society, it is necessary to open doors of genuine dialogue among these groups. Dialogue among the various groups in society will enable them to overcome the deep rifts and conflicts that exist and that are growing.[27]

Rabbi Rabinovich pointed out that the religiously observant community had a responsibility to society as a whole, not merely to their own religious enclaves. Since the religious, along with all other citizens, are partners with equal rights and obligations, they need to be concerned with issues beyond their own neighborhoods. For example, since the Torah was given to all Jews, it is incumbent upon the religious education leaders to recognize their responsibility to the entire public. They should work in harmony with the general education system in order to meet the needs of all students, not only the students in the religious school system. They need to work for the inclusion of Torah values, without diminishing the need for students to study science and technology and other subjects that are essential for the social and economic life of the nation.

We must create religious schools not only for children [from religious families] but also for children whose parents want them to excel in computers, mathematics, vocations and other fields. In these schools children will also learn Torah…. Religious education can draw to itself a large portion of children in Israel, if only it would know how to approach the various groupings of society.[28]

As another example of how the religious community should be working in partnership with other segments of society, Rabbi Rabinovich points to economic issues. All society is impacted negatively by rampant inflation. Why then are the religious parties not front and center in dealing with this problem? Shouldn’t rabbis throughout the land be preaching and teaching about the ills of inflation, the sufferings of the poor, and so forth? Why should economic issues be relegated to the domain of the “secular” community, when this is an area that impacts on society as a whole?[29]

Another striking example: seat belts. Many Israelis are killed or injured in automobile accidents each year. Some years ago, a suggestion was made to make wearing seat belts a legal requirement. This would save lives and reduce injuries. Yet, before a seat belt law was enacted in Israel, there were delays so that studies could be made to determine the effectiveness of seat belts. Yet, such studies had already been made in other countries and the evidence was clear that seat belts are an important safety feature. Why was so much time lost before enacting the law in Israel? Why wasn’t this issue high among the priorities of the religious community? “The time has come for us to recognize that confronting such issues is a moral and religious obligation, and we must be the acute prodders in confronting situations which involve safety to life.”[30]

   Rabbi Rabinovich notes that

the light of Torah cannot be revealed or shown as long as Torah manifests itself as the Torah of a particular group, but only when the Torah is the Torah for all society. The challenge at the door of the sages of Torah is to demonstrate how great is the power of Torah for arranging the life of the community at large….We have the genuine opportunity to spread Torah among large segments of the Israeli public, and ultimately to almost all the residents of the State, if only we can succeed to break the sectarian or religious party muzzle. This will not be an easy task, and there are those on all sides who wish to protect their narrow interests and who strive to strengthen those muzzles. Nevertheless, we must undertake this task.[31]

For Rabbi Rabinovich, the principle of shutafut is at the heart of creating a vibrant and healthy society. Each member of society needs to feel a sense of partnership with all other members of society. Breaking into small self-contained “interest groups” undermines the general harmony of society.

The Haver Ha-Ir model of leadership entails a grand religious vision, courage, respect and a sense of partnership with all members of society. The rabbi, as an exemplar of this model of leadership, must strive not merely to study and teach Torah, but to live Torah.

It is with great sadness that we record the untimely passing of Stephen Neuwirth, board member and major supporter of our Institute since its inception in 2007. Stephen was a well-respected attorney, a community leader, philanthropist…a really fine human being. We extend condolences to his wife, Nataly, and their four sons; to Stephen’s father, siblings and extended family.

Within the Jewish tradition, we find insights on how to confront and cope with tragedies.

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

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

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

During his bout with pancreatic cancer, Stephen Neuwirth demonstrated profound faith and immense courage. He maintained a spiritual composure. He went beyond feelings of sadness and despair, beyond perplexity at his situation: he reached to the Almighty “mima-amakim”, from the very depths of who he was. His faith and strength of character inspired everyone who came into contact with him during his illness.

It is said that when a loved one dies, part of us dies too. But it is also said that when a beloved person dies, part of his life continues through us…through family, friends, associates, all who benefited from the person’s life energy. 

May Stephen’s memory be a source of strength, blessing and happiness to his family and to all who mourn his passing.