National Scholar Updates

Jewish Law and the Delicate Balance Between Meaning and Authority

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Rabbi David Silverstein is the Sgan (Assistant) Rosh Yeshiva at Yeshivat Orayta, located in the Old City of Jerusalem, and previously served as the Director of the Overseas Program at Yeshivat Hesder, Petach Tikva. Rabbi Silverstein lectures widely on the philosophy and meaning of Jewish law. Originally from New Jersey, Rabbi Silverstein lives with his wife and four children in Modiin, Israel. This article is the Introduction to his book, Jewish Law as a Journey: Finding Meaning in Daily Jewish Practice, published by Menorah, an imprint of Koren Publishers Ltd. ©2017. This article appears in issue 33 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

Framing the Conversation

 

One of the most dramatic episodes in the Torah describes the Israelites in a state of panic when their leader, Moshe, doesn’t return from Mount Sinai as early as they expected him. In their haste to fill the void in leadership, the Israelites embark on the theologically disastrous venture of building a golden calf to serve as Moshe’s replacement.

Using this story as a philosophical springboard, Ibn Ezra[1] notes that some “empty-minded” people wondered why it took so long for Moshe to descend from the mountain.[2] What could he possibly have been doing for 40 days and 40 nights? Should it really take that long to receive a list of 613 commandments?

In Ibn Ezra’s view, the people who asked such questions were “empty-minded” because their wonderment was based on a faulty premise. They erroneously assumed that God’s mitzvoth (commandments) are simply a list of rules to be observed solely out of a commitment to divine obedience. As a result, it should not have taken Moshe so long to receive a list of arbitrary statutes. They failed to realize, of course, that mitzvoth are not a random list of actions that the Jewish people are intended to follow simply by virtue of God’s authority. On the contrary, mitzvoth are complex regulations that represent the physical actualization of a divine set of values and ideals.[3] In theory, Moshe could have spent a lifetime on Mount Sinai learning the secrets of divine providence, as well as the philosophical and theological meanings that underlie God’s commandments.

In the view that Ibn Ezra criticizes, observance of the law is an end in itself. Obedience and compliance are God’s ultimate goals for humankind. The spiritual meanings of the mitzvoth are at best secondary, or at worst irrelevant. Ibn Ezra, on the other hand, argues passionately that the primary concern of halakha (Jewish law), is that our hearts are affected by the physical performance of mitzvoth. Performance of mitzvoth without an awareness of the larger philosophical vision of the commandments may be legally effective, at least ex post facto. However, in its ideal vision, Jewish law demands that a person understand the rationale behind the mitzvoth, and therefore be spiritually transformed by the divine messages embedded in mitzvah observance.

 

The Preference for an Obedience-Based Model

 

The tension that Ibn Ezra highlights is not new. The question of whether Jewish law should be observed primarily from a place of obedience, or from a vision of halakha that is rooted in deeper meaning and understanding, has been debated since the talmudic period. In the medieval era, for example, rabbinic scholars engaged in vigorous debates about the religious appropriateness of searching for rationales behind divine legislation. Some rabbinic voices expressed strong condemnation of this quest, while others conveyed enthusiastic support. Rabbi Avraham Yitzhak HaKohen Kook,[4] however, notes that although many rabbinic scholars have strongly encouraged the search for ta’amei haMitzvoth (reasons for the commandments), throughout Jewish history, there has been an asymmetry between the small number of books devoted to the meaning behind the law, and the amount of published scholarship devoted to outlining the legal and practical contours of the law itself.[5] This trend has continued into the twenty-first century, which has seen a literary explosion of books dedicated to detailed discussion of practical areas of Jewish law that were rarely given such extensive treatment in earlier eras in Jewish history.[6]

 

The Disadvantages of Excessive Focus on Obedience

 

While the increased focus on practical halakha certainly helps to make halakhic observance more accessible and facilitates greater commitment to halakhic detail, it generates its own set of challenges as well. After all, a commitment to Jewish law without a parallel commitment to the meaning behind Jewish ritual runs the risk of turning halakha into a formulaic set of laws without any larger spiritual vision. Moreover, overemphasis on authority without a corresponding focus on meaning creates a fundamental disconnect between the practitioner of the law and the law itself. How can we truly feel a sense of pride in our observance of God’s commandments if we cannot articulate and appreciate the underlying messages of the halakha?

This attitude can also have serious effects on the way in which people observe Jewish law. After all, blind obedience can feel burdensome, and there is a natural tendency to look for ways to lighten the burden. When the focus of halakha is heavily tilted in the direction of obedience, practitioners of Jewish law will naturally seek out ways to avoid the technical violation of halakhic mandates while neglecting to keep in mind the law’s spiritual purpose. One example of this is the current effort to create gadgets that circumvent Shabbat laws. Certain trends in contemporary synagogue life, such as talking throughout services or leaving early for “kiddush clubs,” may also be reflections of this disconnect.

Increased focus on the spiritual substance of halakha will hopefully help to address some of these challenges. If we were to truly understand the religiously transcendent messages that prayer and the Torah reading convey, would we be tempted to talk during the service or leave early in order to gain an additional few minutes of socializing with friends? If we had clarity about the spiritual goals of the details of Shabbat observance, would the possibility of an iPhone app that claims to permit the use of a smartphone on Shabbat sound religiously appealing? Readjusting the delicate balance between meaning and authority, with an added focus on understanding the religious messages of halakha, will not only facilitate a more mindful and meaningful observance of Jewish law, but will also promote a more intense commitment to the details of halakha.

Ta’amei haMitzvoth as the Source of Jewish Pride

 

Maimonides (the Rambam),[7] one of the most important thinkers of his time, affirmed the need to understand the reasons for God’s commandments (ta’amei haMitzvoth). He argues forcefully that all mitzvoth have some rational basis and serve some ethical, societal, or personal religious function.[8] To substantiate his view, he cites the verse from Deuteronomy that tells of the Gentile nations when they “hear all those statutes (hukkim),” they will respond by saying, “Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people!” (Deut. 4:6). The Rambam notes that if a significant number of the 613 mitzvoth have no rational basis, what would compel the Gentile world to find beauty in a life dedicated to God’s commandments?

The Maharal[9] goes one step further, utilizing the same proof-text cited by the Rambam to argue that not only do the general categories of mitzvoth have some clearly explicable inherent meaning, but even the seemingly arbitrary details of Jewish practice are rooted in divine ideals.[10] According to the Maharal, just as God has a specific reason for instituting the laws of sacrifices, for example, there must similarly be some religious message inherent in the obligation to use certain animals for specific sacrifices.

According to this model, the quest to find the rationale behind the laws facilitates a greater identification with the divine messages that the laws attempt to convey. The Torah imagines that the gentile world will look at the laws of the Torah and marvel at its wisdom. Understanding the transcendent values that the law embodies affirms this vision of the Torah’s self-identity and allows the Jewish people to similarly understand how their God-given set of laws transforms them into a “great nation.”

 

Ta’amei haMitzvoth as the Vehicle for Accessing the Spiritual Messages of the Law

 

Articulating a sophisticated vision of ta’amei haMitzvoth affirms the spiritual significance of Jewish law and the critical function of mitzvoth in actualizing these values in the real world. This position is eloquently expressed by the Shela.[11]

In order to fully understand the position of the Shela, let’s imagine what Jewish law would look like if certain physical objects simply never came into existence. For example, Jewish civil law deals with injury cases involving pits, animals, and fire. Imagine for a moment that these things were never created. What would happen to their accompanying halakhot? The Shela answers that the spiritual messages of the halakha exist independently of their physical manifestations. In such a scenario, therefore, these divine ideals would simply find expression through some other physical medium.[12]

The Shela takes this idea even further, arguing that the spiritual substance of the law existed even during the time of Adam and Eve. Since they lived in the spiritual bliss of the Garden of Eden, halakha expressed itself at that time exclusively in spiritual terms. However, as humanity moved away from the intense spirituality of that time towards a more physically-oriented existence, the expression of Jewish law shifted and the practical performance of mitzvoth became the most effective medium to experience divine values in a physical space. The laws themselves thus serve as “spiritual entry points” to experience God. Since halakha is rooted in transcendental divine virtues, each time we observe Jewish law, we also act as a conduit for bringing divine energy into the world.

Interestingly, Rabbi Yehuda Amital[13] argues that the requirement to experience the eternal values of the law through the physical medium of practical halakha is the result of a historical shift that occurred after the Jewish people received the Torah at Sinai. Because of the spiritual greatness of our forefathers, they were able to tap into the religious messages of the Torah even without observing the practical halakha itself.[14] Rabbi Amital notes that “the avot did not observe the mitzvoth in the sense in which we observe them. They did not put on tefillin or shake the lulav. But they understood and appreciated the underlying messages of the mitzvoth.”[15] After the giving of the Torah, by contrast, God insisted that the spiritual messages underlying the law could be accessed only through firm commitment to halakhic detail.

Thus, Rabbi Amital writes:

 

Avraham, Yitzhak, and Yaakov were able to intuit these basic notions, which Chazal understand as being comparable to performing the mitzvoth in the time before the Torah was given. In the time after the giving of the Torah, these underlying ideas need to be integrated with practice.[16]

 

Beyond connecting us to the ideals rooted in God Himself, searching for the profound messages that the mitzvoth convey also ensures our connection to the world of the patriarchs and matriarchs and affirms our commitment to seeing our own halakhic identity as a natural outgrowth of their spiritual worldview.

 

Ta’amei haMitzvoth and the Legal Framework of Halakha

 

In addition to expressing the themes and messages that underlie observance of the law, analyzing the rationale behind the commandments also helps us to grasp the unique legal framework of Jewish law. For example, in multiple instances, the Torah refers to the requirement for the Jewish people to “be holy.” What is the legal force of this directive? Is this simply a biblical homily, or is there some halakhic consequence associated with this command? The Rambam writes that some codifiers erroneously counted the imperative to “be holy” as its own positive mitzvah.[17] In reality, the Rambam claims, “kedoshim tehiyu” is not an independent commandment, but is rather the meta-value that drives the entire system. The goal of halakhic living is to be holy, and the quest for holiness requires us to perform mitzvoth as if they are meant to be transformative.

Similarly, Rav Kook notes that one of the most distinct features of Mosaic legislation is its ability to link specific commandments to a larger spiritual vision that motivates the legal conversation.[18] According to Rav Kook, the prophets, by contrast, focused nearly exclusively on the overarching vision of the halakha, while neglecting to place a parallel emphasis on the mechanics of the law and how the details serve as an application of the larger vision. Reacting to the failure of the prophetic model of the law, the rabbis of the Talmud placed extraordinary emphasis on the details of halakha in order to ensure the preservation of Jewish identity and society. It is for this reason that the Talmud states, “A sage is preferable to a prophet.”[19] After all, while the prophet can clearly articulate the vision and message that governs the law, it is the sage who is able to guide the people and safeguard the observance of the law itself.

According to Rav Kook’s conception, the ideal model of adjudication is the Mosaic one. This paradigm places the details of the law in context and, as a result, presents a holistic vision of what the law is meant to facilitate. Nahmanides (the Ramban)[20] offers a powerful example of this model, noting that after listing details of biblical monetary law, the Torah concludes by stating that the overarching principle is “to be good and just in the eyes of God.”[21] Similarly, after delineating many of the details of the laws of Shabbat, the Torah articulates the larger directive of Shabbat as “a day of rest.”[22]

What these examples indicate is that the search for the larger religious messages inherent in traditional Jewish observance is not some external exercise imposed on the law itself. Rather, Jewish law is predicated on viewing the mitzvoth as the medium for religious transformation. Therefore, the search for additional clarity regarding the spiritual substance of halakha furthers the Torah’s self-declared goals.

 

Ta’amei haMitzvoth and the Balance of Meaning and Authority

 

While this book attempts to shift the contemporary conversation of halakha back toward an increased focus on the search for meaning in halakhic detail, this reorientation still validates the critical role of obedience and submission in forming a holistic commitment to halakha. Viewing halakha from a place of both meaning and authority is crucial in order to facilitate commitment to Jewish law in its entirety. On a pragmatic level, exclusive focus on the world of meaning can create challenges regarding mitzvoth whose rationale is simply not known. In a model devoted solely to the transformative messages of halakha, how are we supposed to be religiously moved by rules whose meaning we do not understand? It is precisely in these moments that our broader commitment to obedience becomes critical.

Understanding the rationale behind the commandments is crucial to ensure that Jewish law facilitates its goal of religious transformation. Nonetheless, the reasons themselves are not why we observe the law. In fact, despite being one of the greatest proponents of ta’amei haMitzvoth, the Rambam declares, “If [one] cannot find a reason or a motivating rationale for a practice, he should not regard it lightly.”[23]

Beyond the pragmatic problem, a halakhic approach that is exclusively committed to meaning is fundamentally compromised from a philosophical perspective. While excessive focus on obedience can create an observance paradigm that is formulaic and dry, overemphasis on meaning can generate a halakhic model that is self-centered and ultimately rooted in the ego. If we were to observe only those rituals that we fully understand and find personally meaningful, we would effectively be engaging in a commitment to ritual in which the self is the primary object of worship. Embracing the need for periodic submission by observing even those commandments that we do not understand ensures that our observance of halakha is truly a self-transcendent exercise.[24] As Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik[25] (“the Rav”) notes, “The religious act begins with the sacrifice of one’s self, and ends with the finding of that self. But man cannot find himself without sacrificing himself prior to the finding.”[26]

The quest to understand the rationale that underlies the mitzvoth assumes that we should strive to articulate the spiritual messages of the halakha. Ideally, we attempt to minimize the number of times that we need to invoke the submission model. Nonetheless, the presence of some laws whose meaning remains mysterious serves an important religious purpose. Such laws provide a periodic opportunity for us to surrender our intellectual capacities before the divine command and remind ourselves that halakha allows us to find our true selves by connecting to values that transcend our own egos. Moreover, by affirming our commitment to those laws whose reasons we may find personally or ethically challenging, we ensure that the Torah is, in fact, the source of our value system, and not simply an ancient text that validates the contemporary zeitgeist.

Additionally, a commitment to halakha that is exclusively rooted in meaning fails to affirm the central roles of trust and confidence in developing a meaningful relationship to God. It is possible to articulate the meaning and rationale behind the overwhelming majority of mitzvoth. The awareness of these ideals should ensure that a practitioner of Jewish law feels confident and proud of the divine values that the halakhic system represents. It is against this philosophical background that we approach those mitzvoth whose rationale is still a mystery. Here, a commitment to an ethic of submission and the observance of these currently inexplicable laws affirm our trust and confidence in God’s benevolence. After all, the same God who is the source of those mitzvoth that we understand is also the source of the mitzvoth that we do not yet fully comprehend. Refocusing our efforts on understanding the transcendent messages of the law, while ensuring that our commitments are not contingent on understanding these values, most authentically captures the spiritual vision of halakha.

           

 

 

 

[1] R. Avraham b. Meir Ibn Ezra, twelfth century, Spain.

[2] Ibn Ezra, Ex. 31:18.

[3] For additional perspectives on this topic see, Rabbi Ethan Tucker, “Halakhah and Values,” available at http://mechonhadar.s3.amazonaws.com/mh_torah_source_sheets/ CJLVHalakhahandValues.pdf?utm_source=CJLV+Ha%27azinu+5777&utm_campaign= CJLV+Ha%27azinu+5776&utm_medium=email; as well Rabbi Yuval Cherlow (in Hebrew), “The Image of a Prophetic Halakhah,” available at http://www.bmj.org.il/ userfiles/akdamot/12/serlo.pdf. See also, Rabbi Cherlow’s essay (in Hebrew), “The Thought of Nachmanides and its Influence on Halakhic Decision Making,” at http://asif. co.il/download/kitvey-et/zor/zhr%2033/zhr%2033%20(11).pdf

[4] Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook, twentieth century, Latvia/Pre-War Israel.

[5] Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook, Talelei Orot with Commentary from Haggai London (Eli: Machon Binyan Hatorah, 2011), 23–24.

[6] For an important sociological discussion of this trend, see Dr. Chayim Soloveitchik’s essay, “Rupture and Reconstruction,” available at http://www.lookstein.org/links/ orthodoxy.htm.

[7] Rabbi Moshe b. Maimon, twelfth century, Spain/Egypt.

[8] Guide of the Perplexed 3:31. Cf. Hilkhot Temura 4:13, where the Rambam writes that the majority of the mitzvoth are intended to “improve one’s character and make one’s conduct upright.” Translation from: https://yaakovbieler.wordpress. com/2016/02/14/a-possible-explanation-for-rambams-curious-turn-of-phrase/

[9] Rabbi Yehudah Loew b. Betzalel, sixteenth century, Prague.

[10] Tiferet Yisrael ch. 7.

[11] Rabbi Yeshaya Horowitz, sixteenth/seventeenth centuries, Prague.

[12] Shaar HaOtiot, Shaar Aleph, Emet VeEmuna, pp. 48b, 70a.

[13] Rabbi Yehuda Amital, twentieth/twenty-first centuries, Israel.

[14] See also the comments of the Nefesh HaChayim 1:21, cited in Minchat Asher Bereishit

(Jerusalem: Machon Minchat Asher, 2007), 273.

[15] Rabbi Yehudah Amital, “Yaakov Was Reciting the Shema, a Sicha for Shabbat from the Roshei Yeshiva Yeshivat Har Etzion,” adapted by Dov Karoll, http://etzion.org.il/en/ yaakov-was-reciting-shema.

[16] Ibid.

[17] Book of Mitzvot, shoresh 4.

[18] Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak Hakohen Kook, “Hakham Adif MiNavi,” cited in Orot

(Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 2005), 120–121.

[19] Bava Batra 12a.

[20] Rabbi Moshe b. Nachman, twelfth/thirteenth centuries, Spain/Israel.

[21] Deut. 6:18.

[22] Ex. 34:21; Ramban, Lev. 19:2.

[23] Laws of Me’ila 8:8, translation at http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/ aid/1062936/jewish/Meilah-Perek-8.htm.

[24] For alternative suggestions regarding the role of submission in halakhic discourse, see Rabbi Hertzl Hefter, “Surrender or Struggle: The Akeidah Reconsidered,” at http://www.thelehrhaus.com/timely-thoughts/surrender-or-struggle-akeidah. See also the response of Rabbi Tzvi Sinetsky, “There’s No Need to Sacrifice Sacrifice: A Response to Rabbi Hertzl Hefter,” at http://www.thelehrhaus.com/ timely-thoughts/2016/12/18/theres-no-need-to-sacrifice-sacrifice-a-response- to-rabbi-herzl-hefter. See also Rabbi Ethan Tucker, “Halakhah and Values,” at http://mechonhadar.s3.amazonaws.com/mh_torah_source_sheets/ CJLVHalakhahandValues.pdf?utm_source=CJLV+Ha%27azinu+5777&utm_cam paign=CJLV+Ha%27azinu+5776&utm_medium=email.

[25] Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, twentieth century, United States.

[26] Divrei Hashkafa, 254–255, cited in Lecture #24: The Akeida by Rabbi Chayim Navon, http://etzion.org.il/en/akeida.

Remembering Stephen Neuwirth

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Stephen Neuwirth passed away in January 2023 and we remember him with great affection and respect.  He was a board member and major supporter of our Institute since its inception in 2007. He was a well-respected attorney, a community leader, philanthropist…a really fine human being. His wife Nataly and their four sons were the center of Steve’s life and were the sources of his greatest happiness and fulfillment.

Steve studied Torah every day and was an exemplar of a life committed to the ideals of Torah. He had high ideals, a keen sense of justice, a heart filled with compassion.

During his bout with pancreatic cancer, Steve 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 the memory of Stephen Neuwirth continue to be a source of strength, blessing and happiness to his family, friends and all who mourn his passing.

 

 

THE EVER GROWING TORAH MODEL: A portrait of Moses as a young man, national leader, and teaching model

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Rabbi Alan Yuter, a highly respected American Orthodox rabbi, went on Aliyah with his wife upon his retirement. They currently reside in Jerusalem. Rabbi Yuter is associated with the Center for Jewish-Christian Understanding, affiliated with Ohr Torah Stone, Efrat, Israel.
 
 
 

This engaging monograph is a deceptively simple read. Written in a disciplined, clear diction, Rabbi Zvi Grumet writes and teaches like a High School Yeshiva rebbe, unflinchingly focusing on the received Torah’s text and message[s], as lucidly and probingly as he can, so that his student/reader may understand his content and internalize the Torah’s normative message. The superficially scholarly reader will likely be disappointed because Grumet avoids all jargon, esotericisms, and technical terms that might confuse, distract, or otherwise disturb the targeted “non-academic” Orthodox reader. He is not writing to, or for, the secular scholarly community, at least as his first audience. As such, Grumet’s Moses and the Path to Leadership’s literary genre is Talmud Torah, not Academic Bible scholarship.

Grumet’s monograph presents Moses not as a human superhero, but as a great person, with flaws and limits, struggling to master himself as he is commissioned to lead God’s people, Israel. Moses the prophet evolves into Moses the teacher; over his career Moses struggles with, and eventually overcomes, his propensity to rage. We initially find Moses the moral agent as a young man who leaves the Pharaonic palace to join his enslaved Israelite brethren, and whose first act is to kill, in righteous indignation, an Egyptian who is beating an Israelite. But he also intervenes when an Israelite bully beats/is about to beat a fellow Israelite, and he saves Midianite women from Midianite male shepherds. Moses is the man of morality, courage, and strength. God calls on Moses because of these prior dispositions, as well as the “management” skill that Moses acquires during his years as a Midianite shepherd.

The monograph precisely—and convincingly traces how Moses grows and falters, directs his zeal to and for God as well as to and for Israel, and concludes with showing how Moses negotiates with the two tribes who wish to possess Transjordan land for their heritage. By the end of his career, Moses has developed an emotional as well as intellectual intelligence; he is able to hear the words and peer into the heart of the “other,” and to respond appropriately. In his Deuteronomic valedictory, Moses reviews his own career, but from a human rather than Divine perspective, providing the first instance of a retold Bible, a genre that will become more popular in Second Commonwealth Judaism. By stressing the difference between Moses’ human memory and God’s divine record, Grumet documents and legitimates the propriety of the Midrashic method, that he expertly applies.

Because he is writing to/for an intelligent, informed modern Orthodox lay audience, Grumet assumes zero Academic training on the part of his readers, but he does focus on the religious, existential questions that confront his target population: (a) what does it mean to be a good human being, (b) how do we confront ourselves and our weaknesses, (c) what should we expect from our leaders—and followers, (d) how do we continue to learn, grow, and mature in the course of our adult lives, and (e) how does the modern Orthodox Jewish reader confront the Jewish sacred canon?

Unlike the Academic Biblicist, Grumet starts with a priori assumptions. For Grumet, the Torah is a literary whole, it reveals a literary, and ideological coherence, and has a critically important message, from God, to proclaim. In this regard, Grumet’s Moses and the Path to Leadership is foremost an exemplar of Orthodox Jewish Bible scholarship, called “Talmud Torah.”

But unlike the conventional approach to Bible common to many Orthodox synagogues and schools, where the Bible text is read and revered, but subtly actually rejected because it is too “holy” to be understood or to be applied in everyday life, Grumet believes that the Torah text is readable, approachable, understandable, and applicable to everyday life. He dares to subject Moses to Torah review; in most Orthodox settings, the student is forbidden to dare to assess those who are greater than oneself on the Political-Theological socially accepted Orthodox food chain. Failing to find this restraining norm, that elites are immune to assessment, in Israel’s sacred canon, Grumet the educator subjects each Jew to mutual self-evaluation, with the “hidden curricular” aim to mold and nurture better Torah informed human beings. Like the great medieval Jewish scholars whose words are memorialized in the “Rabbinic Bible,” Grumet asserts the very same intellectual freedom that his medieval forbearers exercised, and refuses to allow the Torah to be reduced to an oracle understandable only to a self-select, theologically correct clique. After all, the Torah was given to all Israel, i.e. the collective “us,” and not to any self-selecting elite. Because Grumet correctly, astutely, and courageously asserts his right to read and offer his own reasoned judgment, a right not forbidden in and therefore implicitly authorized by the Torah, Grumet’s Moses and the Path to Leadership is also a modern as well as Orthodox book.

Moses and the Path to Leadership is however much more than an Orthodox reading of Torah. The untrained lay eye will miss the monograph’s academic depth because it is written in the idiom of Talmud Torah and not Wissenschaft des Judentums. Grumet is nevertheless keenly aware of Academic Bible scholarship, and uses its tools, and cites its findings very well. Like Drs. Yael Ziegler, Meir Weiss, Gavriel Cohen, Ernst Simon, and Nehama Leibowitz, Grumet reads the Torah as a literary critic. In Grumet’s case, the American New Criticism is the “Bible Criticism” he applies adeptly, appropriately, and insightfully. This academic approach assumes that the given text creates a world, and that every word in the document is a datum waiting to be decoded, which then serves as a window into the mind and world of the author. By comparing different Biblical narratives synoptically, one beside the other as opposed to a superficial linear reading, the critic need not and indeed dare not posit different sources, but instead discovers, by dint of juxtaposition, different moods, contending points of view, and conflicting insights into the art and ethic presented by the writer.

By finding literary, and therefore theological coherence in the Torah in general, and from this reviewer’s perspective, the book of Numbers in particular, Zvi Grumet has offered a very important secondary source of Bible exegesis and an even more significantly, a primary source proclaiming what it means to be “modern Orthodox.” An aspiring Bible scholar who never finished his Ph.D., who taught me in Hebrew High School [c.a. 1960], failed to find meaningful coherence in his research on “The Redaction of Numbers.” Another leading contemporary Jewish Bible critic told me that “Numbers is where the stories that have no other place in the Torah were placed.” If one reads Torah (a) with philology and (b) the academic culture’s dogma that inconsistencies and discrepancies testify to a haphazard composition that is by definition bereft of coherency, one is not programmed to entertain the possibility of coherency or literary unity. But Grumet has found coherency in the Torah, with this coherency expressing itself with the moral message of Bildung, that sees education as a life-long enterprise that, if engaged, sanctifies those who partake in and of it. Unlike Nehama Leibowitz, Grumet never criticizes Bible Criticism. He merely avoids discussing its concerns in his Orthodox context because, since he is doing Talmud Torah and not secular research, such conversation is, by dint of genre and audience, epistemologically inappropriate.

Grumet is however suggesting a radical re-consideration of Bible Criticism’s findings. Rather than dismiss the Academic Bible study enterprise as a “heresy,” a concern that entered Judaism in response to the Christian critique of Judaism, he suggests that aspects of Academic Bible study are incompatible with his enterprise, Talmud Torah, because it denies the possibility of textual Torah coherency. Those familiar with Academic Bible study will discover that Grumet is not unaware of their writings and findings, but that he actually employs many of its tools, albeit selectively. Grumet does summon the critical literature on psychology and education in order to explicate Moses’ development as a round and developing character.

Thus, there is much more than meets the untrained lay modern Orthodox eye in this intellectually engaging work. Grumet addresses, with respect and with acuity, the challenge of Academic Bible study. Like R. Joseph Soloveitchik, who in “Confrontation” finds two alternative, inconsistent, and juxtaposed Creation Narratives, and who views these narratives as complimentary literary typologies rather than as two historically verifiable records, Grumet’s Moses is a typological ideal who has become “the” Jewish hero. In “Confrontation,” R. Soloveitchik offers an alternative to the Academic Biblicist consensus that Genesis’ first creation narrative is a late P(riestly) composition that was placed before an earlier JE creation, without raising eyebrows and theological doubts, of his believing, Orthodox target audience. And like R. Soloveitchik, Grumet is religiously responsible to his audience community because Jewish scholarship is not intellectually neutral; one does not study Torah with scholarly disinterest. The Orthodox Jew studies Torah “to hear the word of the Lord,” and not to merely satisfy one’s curiosity.

While written with footnotes and academic rigor, Moses and the Path to Leadership remains an Orthodox exercise in Talmud Torah. And by daring to probe, explore, question, and search, working within the epistemological constrains of historically accepted Jewish definitions, Grumet’s modesty, simplicity, and pedagogically sensitive narrative commentary is a masked polemic couched in strategic, unmistakable understatement. Following his teacher R. Soloveitchik, he filters information, academically processed, so that it is presented in a pedagogic and pastoral format that his audience community is conditioned to accept. But following his own conscience, professional skills, academic proclivities, and intellectual curiosity, Grumet affirms his God-given right to learn Torah on his own, to make up his mind, and to arrive at his own reasoned conclusions. For Grumet, Torah is not merely a political franchise of institutionally endorsed great rabbis; it is, after all, the “possession of the Congregation of Jacob.” He, and his reader, share the right to an informed opinion, and their own finite portion in that infinite enterprise called Torah.

It is this mindset that marks Rabbi Zvi Grumet as a worthy link in the Mosaic chain, who not only carries the courage to be both modern and Orthodox, but who shares and teaches this mindset to others.

         

Strength and Tears: Thoughts for Parashat Vayhi

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Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Vayhi

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

As Joseph rose to a position of power in Egypt, we imagine him to have been a clear-headed, pragmatic official. He had to develop a plan for gathering and storing seven years worth of produce. He then needed a plan for responsible distribution of food during the seven years of famine. He had to create a vast bureaucracy to implement fourteen years of complicated management of resources. As the years of famine continued, Joseph centralized government control so that Egypt’s land became nationalized under Pharaoh.

This amazing work would have required a strong, efficient and single-minded leader, one who would not let emotion get in the way of pragmatism. Yet, Joseph is the character in the book of Bereishith who displays the most emotion!

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks noted that the Torah records seven acts of Joseph weeping. “They span the full spectrum of emotion, from painful memory to the joy of being reunited, first with his brother Benjamin, then with his father Jacob. There are the complex tears immediately before and after he discloses his identity to his brothers, and there are the tears of bereavement at Jacob’s deathbed. But the most intriguing are the last, the tears he sheds when he hears that his brothers fear that he will take revenge on them now that their father is no longer alive.”

Joseph was not only a strong-minded official; he was also a soft-hearted human being. By stressing Joseph’s weeping, the Torah is reminding us that ideal leaders must not only be strong and pragmatic, they also need to be sensitive human beings.

Some people are efficient but hard-hearted. Some are compassionate but inept. Some are neither efficient nor compassionate. And some are in the Joseph model. They work hard; they are single-minded in getting things done; they are clear-headed and pragmatic; but they are also kind, empathetic and sensitive human beings. 

Years ago, I met with a congregant who was chairman of a huge company. I imagined it would have been impossible to rise so high without being very tough and competitive. Yet, this congregant was very affable, kind, generous, thoughtful. I asked him: how did you become chairman of the company when you are such a nice man? He answered: to succeed, one needs good judgment and the ability to work effectively with others. One can be a strong leader and a nice person at the same time.  This congregant followed the Joseph model!

We all can learn from the Joseph model. We can strive to be efficient and pragmatic while also being compassionate and considerate. It’s good to be strong…and emotionally healthy.

 

 

 

Rabbi Joseph Messas

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Dr. Marc B. Shapiro holds the Weinberg Chair in Judaic Studies at theUniversity of Scranton. His most recent book is Studies in Maimonidesand His Interpreters. This article appears in issue 7 and 21 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

Orthodox Jews like to claim that they adhere to an unchanging tradition of laws and beliefs. Based on this understanding, it becomes possible to decide who "is in" and who "is out;" that is, who is part of the Orthodox camp and who must be placed in a different denomination. The term "Orthodox" itself, which is not part of traditional Jewish vocabulary but actually comes from the Christian lexicon, was adopted in order to distinguish different types of Jews. Yet what exactly defines so-called Orthodoxy is not so easy to pin down.

To illustrate the problem, let me give a few examples. When I was younger everyone knew that according to Orthodoxy, Jews were not permitted to ascend the Temple mount. Yet today many Orthodox Jews do precisely that, encouraged by great rabbis. A generation ago, the notion that women could read the Torah or get aliyot in an Orthodox synagogue would have been laughed at. In fact, it was precisely because of this that some women came up with the idea of a women's prayer group, at which women would be permitted to read the Torah. Yet today we have Orthodox minyanim in which women are, in fact, called to the Torah. When I was younger it was axiomatic that Orthodoxy could not accept women rabbis. Every Orthodox Jew knew that this was an impossibility. Seeing all the changes that have occurred in my lifetime, I don't think that I am going out on too much of a limb to predict that it will not be long before we have Orthodox women rabbis.

The reality is that Orthodoxy is not so much a concept as a social construct. With this understanding, it should not be surprising that what the Torah-true population regard as unacceptable in one era, could very well be regarded differently among at least some of this population at another time. It is vital to bear this in mind when considering the works of R. Joseph Messas (1892-1974). Messas served as a rabbi in Tlemcen, Algeria and Meknes, Morocco, and at the end of his life as Sephardic chief rabbi of Haifa. Although well known in the North African community, this very original thinker has only recently begun to catch the interest of both the broader Orthodox world as well as the scholarly community. Moshe Bar-Asher, Zvi Zohar, Avinoam Rosenack, David Biton, and Iti Moreyosef are among those who have written on different aspects of Messas' writings and worldview. From the rabbinic world, R. Zekhariah Zermati has recently published a collection of Messas' halakhic rulings, what he terms a Kitzur Shulhan Arukh. Even the Orthodox feminists have found what to be attracted to in Messas, as he provides the first testimony to women's prayer groups, complete with Torah reading and the donning of tefillin (Nahalat Avot, vol. 5, part 2, p. 268). He also shows great appreciation for women's learning, going so far as to sympathetically recount the stories of two women who declined marriage so that that they could devote themselves to Torah study.[1]

In order not to repeat what others have said, let me focus on the area of halakha, which is where I think one finds Messas' greatest significance. While Messas showed originality in every area he dealt with-and I don't think there was another North African rabbi who came close to his intellectual versatility-to apply this originality in matters of practical halakha required both a clear vision as well as an enormous amount of self-confidence. Messas was blessed with both of these qualities.

Some of his rulings are so far removed from the mainstream of halakhic thought that many might be tempted to regard him as outside the realm of Orthodoxy. Yet Messas was a central figure in the Moroccan Torah world and, as noted above, later served as chief rabbi of Haifa. His responsa are found in the writings of a number of his contemporaries, and his works continue to be widely cited by Sephardic halakhists. He is a good example of just how diverse Torah-true Judaism can be, especially when it is not confronted by non-Orthodox movements and thus not required to create artificial boundaries through denominational labels.

Messas grew up in Morocco where he absorbed the best of the Moroccan rabbinic tradition. This meant that he devoted himself not only to Talmud and halakha, but was also at home in philosophy, Jewish history (in particular the history of Moroccan Jewry), parshanut, and anything else that can be regarded as part of the traditional Jewish library. His three volume Otzar ha-Mikhtavim, recently reprinted, shows his great breadth of knowledge. In many ways, Messas is the Sephardic counterpart to R. Hayyim Hirschensohn. Both were incredibly original in their halakhic writings. They were also willing to investigate how much halakha could be adapted in order to take into account the realities of the modern world, when commitment to Jewish law is not absolute, even among those who identify with traditional Jewish values.

An example of this is seen in Messas' experience in Tlemcen. He arrived in the city in 1924 and found that although there was proper shehitah, the kosher butcher shops were all open on the Sabbath. At this time, there wasn't yet a system of mashgihim who would testify to the kashrut of an establishment. Instead, all of Morocco followed the old approach of relying on the personal religious observance of the butchers. This practice was based on the assumption that if you could eat in someone's house without questioning if the food was kosher, you could also purchase from his shop. Yet this principle only applies to observant Jews, and in this case the butchers were all public Sabbath violators. According to Jewish law, these people simply did not have the religious credibility that observant Jews need from their butchers.

At first glance, there appears to be no avoiding the conclusion that since the butchers were not religiously reliable, observant Jews were obligated to give up meat. (As Messas explains, it proved impossible to open a shomer Shabbat store to sell the meat.) Yet was this the only possible conclusion? Messas recognized the many problems that would arise if he declared the butchers not kosher, not least of which would be that many people would simply ignore his declaration, thus destroying any communal standards of kashrut observance. He was also concerned for the honor of his community, which was, as he tells us, being portrayed as a place where everyone ate non-kosher. He therefore offered a radical halakhic justification for the status quo. He argued that since, according to one approach in the medieval authorities, the butchers were not violating any biblical commands which in Temple days would be regarded as a capital offense, they could still be regarded as trustworthy with regard to the meat they prepared and sold. He also offered other reasons why the local butchers, despite being Sabbath violators, could be believed in matters of kashrut. Messas surely knew that he was going out on a limb with this ruling, but under the circumstances he believed that it was the only proper halakhic answer, one that dealt with the reality he was confronted with (Mayim Hayyim 1:143).

While in earlier times it was obvious that one must avoid patronizing non-shomer Shabbat butchers, Messas felt that in his era, when so many were not observant, it was important to find a leniency. This is just one of many examples where Messas shows how dynamic halakhic decision-making can be, and how it can lead to some surprising conclusions. In this particular case it was very hard for those outside of his community to agree with his conclusions. Yet as R. Nathan Neta Leiter wrote to Messas, after expressing his disagreement: "I can find one justification for you, and that is what our Sages said, ‘Don't judge your fellow until you are in his place,' and I do not know the nature of your country" (Tziyun le-Nefesh Hayah, no. 29).
This trend of Messas is seen in other responsa as well. His most famous halakhic ruling is that in an era when women generally go about with uncovered hair, it is no longer regarded as nakedness. As such, it is entirely permissible today for married women not to cover their hair (Otzar ha-Mikhtavim, vol. 3, no. 1884, Mayim Hayyim, vol. 2, Orah Hayyim no. 110). He defended this opinion at length, and a well-known Moroccan halakhist from the subsequent generation, R. Moshe Malka, later chief rabbi of Petah Tikvah, expressed complete agreement with Messas' view (Ve-Heshiv Moshe, nos. 33-34).

The approach of limud zekhut, that is, of finding justification for the practices of the masses, has a long history in Judaism. It is this approach that Messas adopts in his responsa on women uncovering their hair. Since, as he tells us, the wives of pious people do this, there was a great motivation to find it halakhically permissible.

There has always been a tension between the desire to follow the halakha as found in the books, and the competing desire to justify widespread behavior. I am not talking about justifying those who have abandoned Tradition. Rather, I am referring to the practices of the traditional community, which in the Sephardic world encompassed a much wider range of observance in modern times than that of the Ashkenazic world. In much of the Ashkenazic world those who didn't choose to be observant moved over to one of the other denominations. Lacking such denominations in the Sephardic world, the less observant found their place in the traditional community. As such, rabbis like Messas felt a sense of responsibility for these Jews. They would often bend over backwards in attempting to justify their practices, all in order that others not see them, and they not see themselves, as rejecting Jewish tradition. Some would say that Messas bent so much that he even fell backwards. This is what R. Matzliah Mazuz and R. Ovadiah Yosef had in mind when they wrote that one cannot rely on the rulings of Messas (Ish Matzliah, vol. 1, Orah Hayyim, nos. 3, 32; Yabia Omer, vol. 7, Orah Hayyim no. 44:3). Yet R. Moshe Malka states that anyone who speaks this way "will have to render an account." In other words, he has sinned against a learned and righteous man (Ve-Heshiv Moshe, no. 49).

The most radical of Messas' attempts at limud zekhut also relates to Sabbath observance. This time, however, the issue was that people were carrying on the Sabbath. This was not something new, even for otherwise traditional Jews. At that time, most cities in the world did not have an eruv, and plenty of people would carry, especially small items such as keys, as well as push baby carriages. In their minds, this was very different from driving a car or opening their stores.

Rather than regard the carrying as just another sin, Messas attempts an amazing justification, which he tells us was also shared by R. Hayyim Beliah (1832-1919), who had also served as rabbi of Tlemcen. He argued that there is no need for an eruv in order to be able to carry on Shabbat. To say that this is a radical position is an understatement, since the laws of eruv are found in all the standard codes from medieval times until Messas' day, and no one had ever suggested such a thing. In the words of R. Shalom Messas, R. Joseph Messas' younger cousin, this view is nothing less than "bal yeraeh u-val yematze" (Tevuot Shemesh, Orah Hayyim, p. 167).

Yet Messas was not one to be frightened by originality, and was thus willing to offer an incredible justification of the masses' carrying on the Sabbath. He pointed out that our cities do not have the status of a public thoroughfare (reshut ha-rabim), in which carrying is biblically forbidden. Rather, they are to be regarded as a karmelit, whose status is between that of a private dwelling and a public thoroughfare. The rabbis forbid carrying in a karmelit because of fear that one would be led to also carry in a reshut ha-rabim. But today, when we don't have such large areas that qualify as reshut ha-rabim, the decree against carrying in a karmelit is no longer applicable.

While the logic makes good sense, one must agree with R. Shalom Messas that this opinion is without any real basis. After all, beginning in medieval times, many halakhists agreed that there are almost no places that are to be regarded as reshut ha-rabim, yet they all assumed that there is still a prohibition to carry in a karmelit. Yet as a limud zekhut, Messas thought that his approach was compelling. (Prof. Moshe Bar Asher has a copy of Messas' manuscript responsum which he hopes to publish. Messas' arguments can be seen in R. Shalom Messas, Tevuot Shemesh, Orah Hayyim, no. 65).

In another responsum, Messas did not go so far as advocating complete abolishment of the restrictions against carrying on the Sabbath. However, using the same logic we have seen, he declared that there is no longer any need to be concerned with an eruv hatzerot, which allows one to carry in a jointly owned courtyard. The only reason carrying is forbidden in such a courtyard is due to a rabbinic decree designed to prevent people from mistakenly concluding that just as it is permitted to carry from their home into the joint courtyard, so too they can carry into a reshut ha-rabim. It is the eruv hatzerot that changes the status of a joint courtyard to a single domain, allowing one to carry in it. Messas argued that since we no longer have any real reshut ha-rabim, the reason for the decree of an eruv hatzerot is no longer applicable, and thus one is permitted to carry on Shabbat in a joint courtyard (Mayim Hayyim, vol. 2, Orah Hayyim, no. 110).

Another example of a rabbinic decree that he thought was no longer relevant today, and which could therefore be ignored, was that of bishul akum (food cooked by non-Jews). This was a decree in order to prevent assimilation, but (reflecting his time and place) Messas argued that there is very little assimilation, and what there is does not come about because of eating non-Jewish cooking. Based upon the reason given for this decree by the early authorities, he infers that there is no reason for the rabbis to continue to insist upon it. Along the same lines, he defends drinking alcohol which contains wine that had been handled by Muslims. He quotes a responsum by an earlier Moroccan rabbi who even permitted drinking the wine itself-Messas didn't go this far-and who had justified this decision as follows: "There is no unity [of God] like the unity found in Islam, therefore one who forbids them to handle [wine] turns holy into profane by regarding worshippers of God as worshippers of idols, God forbid" (Otzar ha-Mikhtavim, vol. 1, nos. 454, 462, Mayim Hayyim, vol. 2, Yoreh Deah, no. 66).

Normally the rule is that even if the reason for a rabbinic decree is no longer applicable, the decree still stands. This would seem to undermine Messas' approach with regard to non-Jews' cooking and wine. Yet Messas' view was that this principle only applies where there is a fear that the original reason could be relevant in the future. Yet since there is no reason to think that idolatry will once again return to the civilized world, therefore this issue is no different from the talmudic prohibition against drinking from uncovered water. Since there is no longer a fear of poisonous snakes leaving their venom in this water, there is no prohibition to drink from it. Messas cites this example and applies its logic to the cases he deals with (Otzar ha-Mikhtavim, vol. 1, no. 454).

Often Messas' halakhic decisions can find support in earlier sources, but will be incomprehensible to many because of the meta-halakhic concerns that have affected the halakhic process. For example, he permits having a cemetery for all religions if the Jewish graves are kept separate by 4 cubits (Mayim Hayyim, vol. 2, Yoreh Deah, no. 106:1). He was asked if it is permitted to view the dead and to put flowers on the coffin. A posek in Europe would not even consider such questions, because it is obvious that viewing the dead and placing flowers on a coffin are non-Jewish practices. Yet was this always the case? Messas notes that in ancient days the dead were viewed, and the reasons why this was banned are no longer applicable. Therefore, he holds that there is no problem with having an open casket. Similarly, the custom of putting flowers on the coffin is also an ancient Jewish practice, and Messas adds that the flowers help in instilling belief in the resurrection of the dead (Mayim Hayyim, vol. 2, Yoreh Deah, no. 106:3-4).

Based upon what I have written, some readers might conclude that Messas was not a serious halakhist. Yet nothing could be further from the truth. His commitment to the halakhic process in all of its parameters was no different from any of his more "conventional" colleagues, and he was a venerated member of the Moroccan rabbinic elite. It is just that he saw halakha as able to respond to the contemporary reality in a way that others did not. It is true that he came to many lenient, even radical conclusions. Not for naught was he known as Yosef ha-Matir (Joseph the lenient), a play on the expression Yosef ha-Mashbir.[2] Yet the majority of his responsa show nothing out of the ordinary, and are exactly what one would expect from a posek. In fact, in a number of responsa Messas even rules le-humra in cases where other poskim were able to find grounds for leniency. For example, when asked about a mehitsah, he states that it should be constructed so that the men cannot see the women at all (Mayim Hayyim, vol. 2 Orah Hayyim, no. 140).

From our standpoint, the halakhic rulings of Messas are not of much practical significance. As has been the fate of many other poskim, the rabbinic community did not accord him the sort of significance that allows his rulings to exercise much influence after his passing. Yet the life and works of R. Joseph Messas remain of great importance for another reason. He showed that traditional Judaism can encompass a great diversity of thought, and that even in matters of halakha, often thought to be the most "closed" of all Jewish disciplines, there is a myriad of interpretive possibilities to which we can avail ourselves.

[1] See Zvi Zohar, "Kol haOseket beTorah liShmah Zokhah liDvarim Harbeh," Peamim 82 (2000), pp. 150-162.

[2] See Harvey E. Goldberg, "Sephardi Rabbinic Openness in 19th Century Tripoli", in Jack Wertheimer, ed., "Jewish Religious Leadership: Image and Reality" (New York, 2004), p. 699.

Modern and Pre-Modern Orthodoxy

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

 

In his book, The Perspective of Civilization, Fernand Braudel utilizes a concept that he calls “world-time.” Braudel notes that at any given point in history, all societies are not at the same level of advancement. The leading countries exist in world-time; that is, their level of advancement is correlated to the actual date in history.

However, there also are countries and civilizations which are far behind world-time, whose way of life may be centuries or even millennia behind the advanced societies. While the advanced technological countries exist in world-time, underdeveloped countries lag generations behind; some societies are still living as their ancestors did centuries ago. In short, everyone in the world may be living at the same chronological date, but different societies may be far from each other in terms of world-time.

Braudel's analysis also can be extended to the way people think. Even though people may be alive at the same time, their patterns of thinking may be separated by generations or even centuries. The characteristic of Modern Orthodoxy is that it is modern, that it is correlated to the contemporary world-time. Being part of contemporary world-time, it draws on the teachings of modern scholarship, it is open to modern philosophy and literature, and it relates Jewish law to contemporary world realities.

On the other hand, “non-modern” Orthodoxy does not operate in the present world-time. Its way of thinking and dealing with contemporary reality are pre-modern, generations behind contemporary world-time.

The differences between so-called right-wing Orthodoxy and Modern Orthodoxy are not differences in sincerity or in authentic commitment. Rather, the differences stem from different world views, from living in different world-times.

A Modern Orthodox Jew does not wish to think like a medieval rabbi, even though he wishes to fully understand what the medieval rabbi wrote and believed. The Modern Orthodox Jew wishes to draw on the wisdom of the past, not to be part of the past.

The philosophy of Modern Orthodoxy is not at all new. Rather, it is a basic feature of Jewish thought throughout the centuries. In matters of halakha, for example, it is axiomatic that contemporary authorities are obligated to evaluate halakhic questions from their own immediate perspective, rather than to rely exclusively on the opinions of rabbis of previous generations. The well-known phrase that “Yiftah in his generation is like Shemuel in his generation” (Rosh haShanah 25b) expresses the need to rely on contemporary authorities, even if they are not of the stature of the authorities of previous generations. We are obligated to be “Modern Orthodox,” to recognize present reality and to participate in contemporary world-time.

One of the weaknesses of contemporary Orthodoxy is that it is not “modern” in the sense just discussed. There is a prevailing attitude that teaches us to revere the opinions of the sages of previous generations, and to defer to those contemporary sages who occupy a world-time contemporary with those sages.

Who are the sages of the present world-time, who absorb the contemporary reality, the contemporary ways of thinking and analyzing? To be Modern Orthodox Jews means to accept our limitations, but it also means that we must accept our responsibility to judge according to what our own eyes see, according to our own understanding. It means to have the self-respect to accept that responsibility.

Modern Orthodoxy and pre-Modern Orthodoxy do not engage in meaningful dialogue because they operate in separate world-times. The sages of each generation are influenced by the social and political realities of their time. If many of our sages in the past believed in demons and witches, if they thought that the sun revolved around the earth, or if they assigned inferior status to women and slaves—we can understand that they were part of a world that accepted these notions. We do not show disrespect for them by understanding the context in which they lived and thought. On the contrary, we are able to understand their words better, and thus we may determine how they may or may not be applied to our own contemporary situation. It is not disrespectful to our sages if we disagree with their understanding of physics, psychology, sociology, or politics. On the contrary, it would be foolish not to draw on the advances in these fields that have been made throughout the generations, including those of our own time.

There is no sense in forcing ourselves into an earlier world-time in order to mold our ways of thinking into harmony with modes of thought of sages who lived several hundred or even several thousand years ago.

One of the nagging problems that bothers many thoughtful Orthodox Jews is how Orthodoxy has become increasingly authoritarian and obscurantist—how it has seemed to lock itself into a pre-modern worldview. There is a palpable drive to conformity—in dress, in thought, in behavior. Independent thinking—especially if inspired by “secular” wisdom—is discouraged or forbidden. It is as though people wish to pretend that findings of modern science may be casually dismissed; that women and men of today must think and act as they did in pre-modern times; that Orthodox life demands a strongly negative posture vis a vis modernity.

Thinking Jews should be standing up for a genuine modern Orthodoxy that insists on functioning in contemporary world-time. While facing modernity has its real challenges, not facing modernity will lead Orthodoxy into a cult-like existence-- out of touch with reality, out of touch with the needs of thinking and feeling human beings…out of touch with Torah itself.

 

Book Review of Rabbi Dr. Moshe Sokolow's "Pursuing Peshat"

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Rabbi Hayyim Angel

Book Review

Dr. Moshe Sokolow, Pursuing Peshat: Tanakh, Parshanut, and Talmud Torah (Kodesh Press, 2024)

 

By Rabbi Hayyim Angel

 

Just as a bride is festooned with 24 trinkets and if she lacks even one, she is nothing, so must a scholar be familiar with all 24 books [of the Bible], and if he lacks even one, he is nothing (Song of Songs Rabbah 4:11).

 

          Rabbi Dr. Moshe Sokolow has taught Tanakh and Pedagogy for over 50 years, during which time he has made the case for the centrality of Tanakh in Jewish education. He introduces his latest book with the assertion that he is “a modern Orthodox Bible scholar and educator who firmly believes that no branch of knowledge in the domain of Jewish studies is as vital to Jewish religious development as Tanakh” (ix).

          In this volume, Dr. Sokolow takes a close-up look at some of the areas addressed in his earlier book, Tanakh: An Owner’s Manual (2015). There, he explores central issues in Jewish Bible interpretation, the use of modern scholarship, and pedagogy. In Pursuing Peshat, Dr. Sokolow builds more comprehensively upon that foundation with many more specific examples.

          The first section of this volume investigates the theoretical underpinnings of Tanakh learning, the peshat-derash relationship, and the debates over the role of Tanakh in a Jewish curriculum. Dr. Sokolow provides extensive surveys from the period of the Talmud, through the leading figures of the medieval period, down to the modern period. These lucid reviews provide the required background knowledge to appreciate what occurs on every page of a Mikraot Gedolot Tanakh, where commentaries throughout the ages surround the biblical text and provide their own interpretations.

          While expressing his preference for the centrality of Tanakh in the Jewish curriculum (one strongly shared by this writer), Dr. Sokolow also presents the debates over the millennia between those rabbinic thinkers who similarly stressed the need for deep learning of Tanakh, and others who downplayed Tanakh study in favor of Talmud and halakhah. Those who reduced emphasis on Tanakh generally emphasized Talmud and halakhah which lead to religious practice; some found Talmud study more rigorous; Talmud is uniquely Jewish, whereas Christians share our Bible; and improper study of Tanakh could lead to heresy. Of course, these concerns sadly led to the proverbial throwing the baby out with the bathwater. As Dr. Sokolow observes in his introduction, all branches of Jewish knowledge and study derive their authority from the divinely revealed texts of Tanakh. 

          After examining the theoretical underpinnings of Tanakh study, Dr. Sokolow moves into text learning. His section on pedagogy focuses on specific skills one should develop as a learner. Central to that pursuit is the appreciation of the polyphonous nature of the biblical text (i.e., it contains multiple meanings), the peshat–derash relationship, and the fact that many verses contain ambiguities that need to be interpreted.

          Perhaps the most illuminating discussion pertains to ambiguities that present a conflict between the syntax of a verse and the broader context of that verse. For example, Judah implores Joseph to take him prisoner instead of his younger brother Benjamin, who has been caught with Joseph’s cup. As a central part of his plea, Judah states: “We said to my lord: The young man cannot leave his father; were he to leave his father, he would die” (Genesis 44:22).

          Who would die? From a syntactical perspective, Benjamin is the subject of the verse. Therefore, Judah’s concern that “he would die” should likewise refer to Benjamin dying if he is taken prisoner. Contextually, however, it appears more likely that Judah is appealing to the potential death of their old, frail father Jacob, who would die of grief were Benjamin not to return (cf. 44:31). In this instance, the classical commentators are divided between those who favor the syntax (e.g., Rashi, Ramban, Ibn Kaspi) and those who interpret based on the context (e.g., Rashbam, Ibn Ezra, Bekhor Shor).

          In the book’s final section, Dr. Sokolow provides several text studies that apply the methodologies and tools discussed in the earlier chapters. For example, in his study of the Tower of Babel, Dr. Sokolow examines classical interpretations, mines historical considerations such as Babylonian ziqqurats and mythology, and also applies modern literary scholarship to the biblical passage. Demonstrating how each area contributes to our understanding, Dr. Sokolow arrives at a more comprehensive interpretation of the enigmatic narrative. It is an artistically presented condemnation of self-centeredness, as well as a polemic against the Mesopotamian tradition regarding the origins of Babylon.

          In a different study, Dr. Sokolow evaluates the opinions of Rashi, Ibn Ezra, and Ramban regarding the Torah’s laconic characterization of Nimrod: “He was a valiant hunter before the Lord (lifnei Hashem).” What does this cryptic phrase mean regarding this ancient king? 

Building off of midrashic traditions which vilify Nimrod as a tyrannical idolater who cast our Patriarch Abraham into a fiery furnace, Rashi interprets the verse to mean that Nimrod brought people into rebellion against God. Rejecting this midrashic approach, Ibn Ezra understands the expression in a positive light. Nimrod built altars and brought sacrifices to God. Ramban in turn rejects Ibn Ezra’s reading on the grounds that “he is vindicating a villain because our rabbis knew of his villainy through tradition.”

In this instance, one must decide whether to base one’s interpretation on a nexus of rabbinic Midrashim (as do Rashi and Ramban), or solely on the text (as does Ibn Ezra). Dr. Sokolow leads readers through a process of evaluating these opinions to reach resolution. He supports Rashi and Ramban’s position on the grounds that the talmudic Sages would not attack Nimrod unless they had a received tradition that he was wicked. Moreover, the Sages view the name Nimrod as deriving from mered, rebellion. Finally, Nimrod is mentioned as the king of Babylonia in Genesis chapter 10, and this narrative is immediately followed by the Tower of Babel in chapter 11. Perhaps Nimrod was the Tower’s instigator and builder. Despite his preference of the rabbinic interpretation, Dr. Sokolow continues to ask, “What if Ibn Ezra is right?” By giving each side a fair hearing, Dr. Sokolow carefully leads us through the learning process.

          Early in the volume, Dr. Sokolow quotes the eminent 20th century scholar Professor Yehuda Elitzur:

A contemporary exegete is required, of course, to examine things in the light of contemporary knowledge…If he does so, then he is following in the footsteps of the ancients even if he disagrees with them in a thousand details. However, one who only copies the ancients, shutting his eyes to newly discovered facts and knowledge, is abandoning the ways of the ancients and is rebelling against them (25).

With his extensive knowledge of classical commentary and their methodology, as well as a command of contemporary scholarship and its tools, Dr. Sokolow develops a comprehensive approach to learning to promote religious engagement and growth through Tanakh study. He thus epitomizes walking in the footsteps of our classical commentaries. More importantly, he shows readers how they, too, can and should walk in those venerable footsteps.

          Rabbis, educators, and advanced students stand to gain the most from Dr. Sokolow’s new volume. Because it is written in an accessible manner, those who study Tanakh who want a broader perspective from within a traditional framework also will benefit from reading this book.

 

Book Review of Rabbi Gil Student's "Articles of Faith"

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Rabbi Hayyim Angel

Book Review

By Rabbi Hayyim Angel

 

Rabbi Gil Student, Articles of Faith: Traditional Jewish Belief in the Internet Era (Kodesh Press, 2024)

 

          For the past 20 years, we have been treated to Rabbi Gil Student’s online presence. Through his website and blog, Hirhurim-Torah Musings, Rabbi Student addresses critical issues pertaining to Orthodoxy and the broader Jewish community. He tackles the most controversial issues from a balanced, erudite, and reverent perspective.

          Now, Rabbi Student has collected several of his seminal essays into a full-length book. The volume is an excellent investigation of many of the most important topics that engage various segments of the broader Modern Orthodox community: Torah and science, the role of the internet in the halakhic process, dogma, Bible criticism, women and the rabbinate, religious Zionism, and so much more. Agree or disagree with Rabbi Student’s conclusions, any thoughtful individual should read this formidable book and mine its wealth of sources and analysis.

          In his essays, “Faith in the Postmodern World” and “A Response to Biblical Criticism,” Rabbi Student develops the approach that new theories—philosophical or biblical—cannot be conclusively proven. Drawing from luminaries such as Rambam and Rabbi Tzvi Hirsch Kalischer (1795-1874), Rabbi Student asserts that unproven theories cannot replace faith. Rabbi Kalischer noted that the theories of great philosophers of the past have since been demolished. This historical reality should cause anyone who exhibits too much confidence in contemporary theories to pause before accepting them as dogma and rejecting our millennia-old faith. The same holds true for various hypotheses of biblical criticism, which, by definition, remain unproven.

          In that essay on philosophy, Rabbi Student articulates a cardinal principle of Jewish learning: “In order to reach the 19th century, we have to start in the 10th so we can see the past on which the present is built” (30). This elegant statement encapsulates the wisdom of Jewish tradition in every arena. Those who decontextualize contemporary ideas are likely to get swept up in them because they have no broader context. In contrast, Jewish thought, halakhah, and all other areas of scholarship and practice engage with the wisdom of earlier authorities, carefully evaluate their views, and then reach decisions fully rooted in the traditional process of Torah learning. Rabbi Student’s essays model that wisdom in the fullest sense.

          In his essay “Fundamentals of Faith: Debating the Boundaries,” Rabbi Student critiques a bedrock argument of Professor Marc Shapiro in his exceptional volume, The Limits of Orthodox Theology: Maimonides’ Thirteen Principles Reappraised (2004). Shapiro claims that halakhic authority is restricted to the area of halakhah, but not aggadah (rabbinic teachings without a halakhic ruling). 

Rabbi Student carefully demonstrates that Rambam, the Shulhan Arukh, and other leading halakhic authorities never drew that distinction. Rather, they distinguish between halakhah and aggadot that have practical halakhic ramifications, and aggadot that do not. That latter category in fact is non-binding, and people may choose from among many opinions. The former, however, is subject to the halakhic process since there are halakhic ramifications. Definitions of a heretic (one who denies fundamental tenets of Jewish belief, or who adopts beliefs foreign to Judaism), therefore, have halakhic significance. Individuals may choose to believe or not believe, of course, but halakhists should and do define the boundaries of authentic Jewish belief.

In his essay, “In Defense of the Local Rabbi,” Rabbi Student carefully asserts the role of community rabbis to make decisions for their own communities. Nobody else knows that particular community as intimately. Of course, community rabbis often must consult leading halakhic authorities to determine the range of halakhic possibilities. Ultimately, however, the local rabbi should make the most appropriate decision from within that range of opinion.

          Thoughtful individuals who take Modern Orthodoxy seriously will benefit immensely from Rabbi Student’s volume. On a personal level, I wish I had it when I was writing some of my earlier articles. Aside from the many sources that were new to me, Rabbi Student challenges several basic assumptions that I have since revisited (and have revised the drafts of those articles). That is the greatness of Torah, which encompasses a lifetime of learning and growth. 

Rabbi Student introduces his book, “The strongest force in the world is the power of an idea” (xxv). These ideas are what are needed to build a stronger and more vibrant community.

 

Reclaiming "Bible Zionism"

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This op ed piece by Rabbi Marc D. Angel appears in the Jewish Link, December 12, 2024.

 

 

What is Zionism after all?

The term seems to have originated in the 1890s by Nathan Birnbaum, founder of the Kadimah nationalist Jewish students’ movement. Theodor Herzl popularized the term as the expression of the Jewish People’s national aspiration to return to their historic homeland in Zion. 

The term “Zionism” is often used by friends and enemies of Israel without proper reference to its historic roots in biblical times. Zionism didn’t just pop up in a vacuum, as though it was a new and artificial framework for Jews to return to their land. Although the term as a political movement dates from the late 19th century, it in fact encapsulates thousands of years of Jewish attachment to their historic homeland. 

Zion is mentioned over 150 times in the Hebrew bible. While originally referring to Mount Zion, it came to refer to Jerusalem and then to all the land of Israel. 

Rabbi Dr. Henry Pereira Mendes, who was associated with the historic Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of New York from 1877 to 1937, advocated what he called “Bible Zionism.” He was proud of the fact that Theodor Herzl asked his cooperation in organizing the Zionist movement in the United States. Dr. Mendes was elected vice-president of the Federation of American Zionists and a member of the actions committee of the World Zionist Organization. He believed that Zionism had the goal of establishing a Jewish State founded upon the principles and ideals of the Jewish religious tradition.  In a letter to Haham Gaster of London (July 21, 1903), Dr. Mendes wrote: Here is true work for Zionists: to keep Hebrews true to Jewish life, Jewish law, Jewish sentiment.”

Dr. Mendes taught that “Bible Zionism” aspired to go beyond simply providing a homeland for Jews. It had a universal message and goal: “Peace for the world at last and the realization of reverence for God by all men. These are the essentials for human happiness. Zionism stands for them.”

We rarely hear about “Bible Zionism” from Israeli political leaders, media, or the various Zionist organizations worldwide. But wouldn’t it be nice if leaders and opinion makers reclaimed “Bible Zionism” and reminded the world at every opportunity of the biblical roots of Zionism?

“Bible Zionism,” as Rabbi Mendes pointed out, has a dual agenda. It stresses the national aspirations of the Jewish People to live in their own historic homeland and foster their religious and cultural traditions. The prophet Isaiah foresaw that Jews will “come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing will flee away” (Isaiah 35:10). He taught that “Zion will be redeemed with justice and those that return to her with righteousness” (1:27).

But “Bible Zionism” also points to the ultimate victory of justice and righteousness for Israel and the entire world. Isaiah taught that many people shall come to Zion “for out of Zion shall go forth Torah and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem” (Isaiah 2:3). Isaiah looked to the day when “the nations shall see your righteousness and all kings your glory” (62:1-2).  The prophet Zechariah (8:3) taught that the Lord has returned to Zion and that “Jerusalem shall be called the city of truth and the mountain of the Lord of hosts the holy mountain.” Zion was to be a bastion of truth, justice and wisdom for the entire world.

 

Recent months have seen ugly manifestations of anti-Zionism throughout the world. The haters have distorted the meaning and mission of Zionism. We need to embrace “Bible Zionism” in every forum to set the record straight.

 The Psalmist sang (122:6): “Pray for the peace of Jerusalem; they who love you will prosper; peace be within your walls, prosperity within your palaces.”  Just as those who love and support Zion will be blessed, the Psalmist warns (129:5): “May all who hate Zion be put to shame and turned back.”

As for us, we must heed the words of Isaiah (62:1-2): “For the sake of Zion I will not hold my peace, and for the sake of Jerusalem I will not be still, until her righteousness goes forth like radiance and her salvation like a burning torch.”