National Scholar Updates

The Unwritten Layer: Women’s Wisdom and the Future of Jewish Hope

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Aliza Lavie, PhD, is a former Member of Knesset, social entrepreneur, author, and scholar of Jewish culture. She founded the Women’s Prayer Project (https://tfilatnashim.com/en/),a cultural-spiritual initiative that brings Jewish women’s voices, prayers, and traditions into contemporary life. She is the author of several books, including A Jewish Women’s Prayer Book, winner of the National Jewish Book Award. A senior lecturer at Bar-Ilan University, her work explores identity, memory, and the role of women’s wisdom in shaping Jewish resilience and communal life. This article appears in issue 48 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

 

 

The Jewish story we tell ourselves is not complete. Essential parts of it have been preserved outside the written canon, within the rhythms of life itself, and especially in the voices of women. For the Jewish story to continue, it must also include what has been preserved beyond texts, the wisdom carried through women’s tradition.

In his influential work The Jewish Way, Rabbi Professor Irving Yitzhak Greenberg offers a profound and compelling interpretation of Jewish time in the modern era. His writing, which integrates theological depth, historical sensitivity, and a deep commitment to the Jewish future, has helped shape contemporary Jewish thought in the aftermath of the Holocaust and the founding of the State of Israel.

Alongside his contribution, the work and presence of Blu Greenberg have also deeply influenced me. Their home in Riverdale was, for me, a generous space of encounter, conversation, and inspiration, where I was invited to present my work on women’s prayer.

It was precisely this deep appreciation that I found myself pausing at the margins of his book, in an appendix titled “Outside the Historical Path.” There, among what were described as “minor holidays,” appeared Rosh Hodesh.

Perhaps it is within such a broad framework that we are invited to ask not only what is included in the story, but also what has remained outside it, and what can now be brought back. In a moment of fracture within Jewish life, this question is not only historical, but existential.

 

Rosh Hodesh: Not at the Margins, but at the Center

 

Rosh Hodesh is far more than a date on the calendar. It marks renewal, a new beginning, a moment of looking forward. In Jewish tradition, it has long been associated with women, with the waxing and waning moon, with cycles, with quiet wisdom, with hope, and with the ability to begin again.

For me, for the women in my family, and for many women across generations, Rosh Hodesh was never marginal. It was never an appendix. It was part of the path itself.

My grandmother, Hannah Mashiach of blessed memory, born in 1900 in Balkh, Afghanistan, who immigrated to Jerusalem in the early twentieth century, carried with her a living world of tradition. In Jerusalem’s Bukharan Quarter, a vibrant communal space filled with prayer, faith, and shared life, embodied a tradition that was both simple and profound.

She knew prayers by heart, like many women of her generation. She would often say, in her simple wisdom:
“We must learn how to live together.”

Each Rosh Hodesh, she dressed in festive clothes, lit a candle, refrained from work, and joined other women in prayer.

Across Jewish communities, similar practices emerged. Women refrained from certain forms of labor, gathered, prayed, and created spaces for reflection. In Ashkenazi communities, the eve of Rosh Hodesh was sometimes called Yom Kippur Katan, while in Sephardi and Middle Eastern communities it was known as Mishmeret Rosh Hodesh.

Despite geographical distance, a shared pattern emerges women, across cultures, preserved a distinct time for reflection, connection, and hope. And yet, despite its centrality in women’s lives, this world is largely absent from the written Jewish narrative.

 

A Partial Story

 

When I encountered descriptions of Rosh Hodesh as a “rediscovery” in 1970s America within feminist circles, I welcomed the awakening. Yet I also felt a deep dissonance. For many women, Rosh Hodesh was never rediscovered. It had never disappeared.

When I later asked Greenberg how such a living tradition could be placed “outside the historical path,” he responded candidly:
“I am an American Ashkenazi Jew. That is the world from which I write.”

This is not a mistake, but a perspective. Yet perspectives shape reality.

The Jewish story, even when expansive and thoughtful, is written within the limits of experience, language, and memory. Not exclusion, but human boundaries.

And so, the question remains: What other voices have remained outside the story we tell ourselves?

 

 The Missing Layer

 

Jewish tradition carefully preserves the written canon. Yet alongside it exists another world, rich and expansive, a world of women’s prayers, rituals, customs, and lived practices.

We have three daughters and a son. Only with our youngest did we celebrate a Zeved HaBat (celebration of the birth of a daughter), after I discovered an ancient text from Italian Jewish tradition. During the ceremony, my father-in-law, David Lavie of blessed memory, stood and said, “We also have a prayer for the birth of a daughter.” In an old family siddur from Tripoli, we found it.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” I asked.
“You didn’t ask,” he replied.

This is how women’s Jewish knowledge often appears: not lost, but unasked.

This knowledge has often been labeled “folklore,” marginal or secondary. But in truth, it is a complete system of meaning, resilience, and hope, born out of life itself. And it does not belong to women alone. It is a resource for the Jewish people.

 

Not a New Creation, but a Living Return

 

In recent years, a quiet yet clear movement has emerged. Women are returning to these spaces, creating circles, rituals, and practices.
This is not invention; it is return. Not imitation, but awakening. Not nostalgia, but a living movement from past to future. It is not only a response to crisis, but an awakening already unfolding. This return does not seek to import meaning from outside, but to uncover what has long existed within Jewish life itself.

 

A Crisis Searching for Language

 

We are living through a profound crisis of Jewish identity. Rising antisemitism, internal divisions, and exhaustion from ongoing struggles are accompanied by a deep search for meaning and belonging. Many are no longer asking only, “What obligates me as a Jew?” but “What does being Jewish mean to me?”

The answer may not lie only in expanding existing knowledge, but in restoring layers of wisdom that have been preserved differently.

 

From Fracture, Hope Emerges

 

This was the first Passover after October 7.

A festival of freedom, while hostages were still in captivity and many were once again called to reserve duty. Many told me they could not read the Haggadah this year. How can one speak of freedom when reality feels so distant from the words?

I found myself returning to the same question: what did Jewish women do in times of rupture, and how can this wisdom be brought into the present moment? I found testimonies of women in labor camps who refused to give up the Seder. They held it in their imagination, imagining matzah and charoset, lighting candles, reciting Kiddush, and singing “Next year in Jerusalem.” Others reconstructed rituals and recipes even under the harshest conditions.

I brought texts from times of crisis, from the Inquisition and beyond. I read from a Haggadah I compiled, Od Nachzor HaBayta (We Will Return Home), printed copies, and distributed them.

Among the pages, I shared a tiny Haggadah, six lines long, written in Auschwitz on toilet paper, the size of a matchbox, by Toby Trackeltaub of Munkatch:

 

Pesach, 5705, Auschwitz

Toby Trackeltaub

 

We long to celebrate, but we cannot.
We yearn to believe, and that is the one thing we still possess, the one thing they cannot take from us: memory.
Only this can give us hope for a better and more beautiful future, a future we hold in our minds without lowering our heads.

And just as God redeemed our ancestors from Egypt,
so too will He save us from our bitter bondage
and restore us to the land of our ancestors.

 

These words opened hearts.

This is what hope looks like in Jewish tradition: not a simple promise, but an act.

Not an escape from reality, but a refusal to surrender meaning within it. Perhaps it is precisely in such moments that we understand how the knowledge preserved in lived experience, and especially by women, is not marginal at all, but a living source of resilience and continuity.

 

A Source of Hope

 

Restoring women’s Jewish knowledge to the center is not only a correction of the past, but a possibility for the future. It expands our language at a moment when it is narrowing.

This knowledge offers another path, not to erase differences, but to connect across them.

 For me, this is not only a scholarly question. It is a life mission. Over the years, in encounters with women and men in Israel and across Jewish communities worldwide, I have repeatedly seen how knowledge preserved by women, in prayers, customs, and memory, carries a quiet yet persistent wisdom, one that sustains life even in times of uncertainty.

It has the capacity to repair, not as theory, but as a way of life: to heal fractures of identity, to reconnect individuals to tradition, and to bridge distances between people.

From this understanding, the Women’s Prayer Project (TfilatNashim.com) emerged, a cultural-spiritual initiative that brings women’s voices back into the center of Jewish life.

It is a living space of Jewish identity, where ancient prayers, customs, and stories rooted in Jewish life meet contemporary experience, offering tools for leadership, resilience, and meaning. Not nostalgia, but future.

This is not only a story to be told, but a voice to be encountered. Those who wish to listen more closely are invited to enter this living space, where these voices continue to speak, be shared, and be renewed.

The Jewish story will not be written only through what is preserved in books, but through the voices we choose to restore, and the ones we choose to hear.

 

How B’nai Mitzvah Options for People with Disabilities Can Expand Our Thinking About Marking this Rite of Passage More Meaningfully for Everyone

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Howard Blas is a social worker, special education teacher and inclusion specialist with over 40 years of experience in Jewish summer camps in inclusion and vocational training programs. He frequently leads Birthright trips for people with disabilities and is the author of a recent book on b’nai mitzvah and disabilities. He currently lives in Tel Aviv, Israel. This article appears in issue 48 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

 

The B’nai Mitzvah “Minimum”

 

As a social worker, special education teacher and disabilities inclusion specialist in the Jewish community, I receive many calls each year from parents of children with disabilities who worry their children will not be able to “get” bar or bat mitzvah-ed. Perhaps they are not members of a synagogue and have no idea how to meaningfully mark this rite of passage. Or, if they are members of a synagogue, they are aware of the high bar of expectations which may involve reading from the Torah, chanting the Haftarah, leading the congregation in prayer, and delivering a devar Torah. They “know” their children can’t do these things and wonder if there might be other options. As they are about to give up, they call for guidance.

The first thing I do is validate their concerns and frustrations—and suggest they discuss it with their rabbi. I then reassure them that their son will become bar mitzvah automatically when they turn 13 years, and their daughters will become bat mitzvah in the same way at age 12. I explain that bar mitzvah is not a verb and that their child won’t “get” or even “have” a bar mitzvah. To further make my point, I playfully take it to the “absurd” and explain that their child’s status will change from Jewish child to adult even if they stay in their pajamas, under the covers, on the day they turn 13 on the Hebrew calendar.

Families are incredulous at first. They (usually fathers) reflect on their own experience of preparing for and marking becoming a bar mitzvah—which is oftentimes not a positive memory. They are convinced that their child needs to publicly recite the Torah blessings, read from the Torah and chant the Haftarah; otherwise, “it doesn’t count.”

If they still don’t believe me, I bring forth the example of girls.  I remind them that, not too long ago, women didn’t celebrate becoming bat mitzvah, yet they somehow managed to became Jewish adults. 

Once they finally buy in to the fact that the status changes automatically, I begin a conversation about creative synagogue options they may have never witnessed before. I encourage them to dream of ways to mark their child’s special day in a way which is meaningful, special and appropriate—whether they are a person with autism, anxiety and other mental health issues, visual impairments, deafness, are non-speakers or have minimal speech, mobility issues, or deal with learning disabilities. 

I encourage them to think about the many options available. There are non-Shabbat morning and non-synagogue options which include making the bar/bat mitzvah on other days of the week, conducting the ceremony at a Jewish summer camp, in a restaurant or in one’s own backyard.

Our new book, A DIFFERENT SPIRIT: Creating Meaningful B’nai Mitzvah for Children with Disabilities, edited by myself and Ilana Trachtman—the filmmaker who told the story of the bar mitzvah of Lior, a young man with Down Syndrome in her 2008 award-winning film, “Praying with Lior”—includes a range of contributors including clergy, educators, psychologists and people with disabilities (among them a deaf rabbi and an autistic professor of special education). It is designed to help clergy and families navigate creating meaningful and inclusive celebration for everyone. 

The book’s chapters and essays include inspiration and practical guidance on planning celebrations, managing accommodations and settings, and teaching children with a wide range of disabilities, as well as personal stories and an exploration of the concept of inclusion.

 

Beyond the “Standard” Shabbat Morning B’nai Mitzvah 

 

One reason most families of children with disabilities cannot imagine their child marking becoming b’nai mitzvah at all is that they have only seen or attended b’nai mitzvah which take place on Shabbat (Saturday) mornings, in the context of a service which is long, formal, packed with attendees and where the bar or bat mitzvah student is expected to “do” a lot of the service.

In most synagogues, the student is expected to learn the complete Haftarah or selections from the Haftarah (weekly prophetic portion), prepare one or several aliyot from the weekly parashah[ja1]  (Torah reading) which will be chanted from the scroll (with no vowels, punctation or musical notes) on the actual day, lead parts of the service and write and publicly deliver a devar Torah. Young women may prepare to read Torah in a woman’s tefillah group, though they more commonly mark their becoming bat mitzvah by learning a text or subject in depth and preparing a devar Torah or conducting a siyyum (celebratory conclusion) of a biblical or rabbinic book.

This process of preparation is rigorous and challenging for many learners—especially those with a wide range of learning challenges.  

For those learning to read Torah, the teacher usually begins by teaching the system of biblical cantillation or “trope,” which requires learning a system of musical notation. In general, the key to successful Torah reading is good auditory and visual memories and the ability to decode Hebrew. For students with deficits in any or all of these areas, the learning process can be very challenging.  

Even for those who master the learning, public performance—especially in front of a large crowd on a Saturday morning—can also be challenging and intimidating.

 

Non-Shabbat Morning B’nai Mitzvah Options, Why They Aren’t Offered More Often, and the Issue of Equality versus Equity

 

Synagogues may have understandable reasons for only offering b’nai mitzvah on Saturday mornings. In many communities, this is the big day or only day for the community to come together.  

Some synagogues offer a Shabbat afternoon and havdalah service—which is a relatively short service featuring three short torah readings. While marking b’nai mitzvah at this much shorter, less formal service may be a good option for some learners, some synagogues worry that it is not “fair” to offer this option as this would mean that these students would prepare much less than those celebrating b’nai mitzvah on Shabbat morning.

This raises an important issue of equality versus equity. While it may seem admirable to treat everyone equally or “the same” when it comes to setting expectations for b’nai mitzvah, equity means treating people differently based on their specific needs and circumstances.  Equality assumes everyone starts at the same place and equity acknowledges individual differences. B’nai mitzvah options should reflect differences among learners.

Other less stressful, non-Shabbat options for marking bar or bat mitzvah include Mondays and Thursdays (days when the Torah is traditionally read), Rosh Hodesh (the new Jewish month), or holidays (Hanukkah, the middle days of Sukkot, Purim, etc).  All of these options also allow for the use of technology (microphones, Power Point, Dynavox augmented speech) and musical accompaniment as there are no Sabbath-observance restrictions on using electronics on these days. 

In my 40-plus years of working with families to find suitable options and preparing students and in many cases, officiating such services, and in a lifetime of visiting synagogues of all sizes and denominations around the world, I have seen many creative solutions that were “just right” for each student and family. 

Max, a minimally verbal student with autism, marked his bar mitzvah on the Sunday of Sukkot. He did not recite Torah blessings, but spent the service on the bimah, next to the cantor, banging out rhythms on a drum. He was very comfortably dressed in clothes which did not upset his sensory issues. A very small brunch followed in his New York City apartment.

Adam celebrated his bar mitzvah on the Sunday of Hanukkah. The rabbi wisely pointed out that the Torah reading for that day follows a repetitive and predictive pattern; once Adam learned “the pattern,” he was able to master the entire Torah reading. A festive brunch followed in the synagogue.

Ruby did not want to mark his bar mitzvah on Shabbat morning in his synagogue. He eventually agreed to read the maftir, the final three lines of the Torah reading. Not having to face the congregation was a big help. He refused to deliver a devar Torah as this was too “scary.” Instead, he was happy to push “play” on the computer at the Sunday brunch reception, where guests were treated to a very thoughtful 10-minute pre-recorded devar Torah.

I have worked with several students who celebrated bar or bat mitzvah on Purim evening—they were able to learn a few verses of the Purim megillah (scroll) which they recited in costume, with all guests clad in costumes as well—this helped keep the day relaxed and festive.

Many years ago, I attended morning minyan in a Manhattan shul on a Thursday morning. A 13-year-old boy and his father, new immigrants from Russia and not well-versed in Hebrew, prayers or traditional Jewish practice, came to minyan. The boy was called to the Torah to recite the blessings before and after the reading of the third Torah aliyah. The rabbi congratulated him on becoming bar mitzvah. None of the regular minyan goers were expecting to attend a bar mitzvah and therefore did not have candy for showering the boy with their warm wishes—they simply congratulated him with the singing of “Siman Tov u’Mazal Tov.”

 

Beyond Alternative Days and Dates: Alternative Venues, Service Formats and Non-Service B’nai Mitzvah

 

Some synagogues are sensitive to just how intimidating the “big shul” can be for some students and may offer a chapel bar/bat mitzvah or, in “extreme cases,” a rabbi’s study bar or bat mitzvah. Many years ago, Corey marked his bar mitzvah with his divorced parents, the rabbi and me in the rabbi’s study. Corey had mental health and behavioral issues, and this was the right venue; while it would not accord with the traditional practice of being called to the Torah in the presence of a minyan, it was the perfect option in his situation.

For other families, out of synagogue b’nai mitzvahs are the best option. They include one’s backyard, a beach or country house, a small conference room at a hotel, restaurant, or out in nature.

Our book shares the story of Lisa, a Jewish Day School student with learning disabilities and anxiety and amazing artistic ability. Lisa marked her becoming a bat mitzvah literally without saying a word. 

Lisa spent the year leading up to bat mitzvah studying Jewish texts and illustrating and painting scenes of scenes which she found meaningful. Her art served as interpretation and commentary of her understanding of these stories. The bat mitzvah—held in an art gallery—was an opportunity for her guests to view her art and read her explanations while sipping wine and eating d’oeuvres.

There is an entire chapter in the book “By a Lake or in a Tree: Celebrating in a Camp Setting” which shares the how’s and why’s of holding b’nai mitzvah at a summer camp. This relaxed, outdoor option is perfect for some students and families.

I worked with a family who made b’nai mitzvah for triplets at their beach house—close to where the mother and father spent their childhood summers. Another family rented a Torah and marked their only child’s bar mitzvah in the living room of their large Manhattan apartment, overlooking Central Park. Another family used the large outdoor property of their country house in Western Massachusetts.

 

More About Why “A Different Spirit” May Be Useful in Creating Meaningful B’nai Mitzvah for Children with Disabilities

 

When Ilana and I set out to write our book, we imagined a book for families, clergy and teachers which would offer guidance on how to navigate creating meaningful and inclusive celebrations for everyone.  The book would provide inspiring essays and practical guidance on planning celebrations, managing accommodations and teaching children with a range of support needs.

The first two essays demonstrate how inclusion elevates and creates a sense of belonging, and how b’nai mitzvah affirms the essential tenet of Judaism of being created in God’s image.

Part I, which has 10 chapters, looks at creating inclusive communities, building supports along the journey, dreaming and imagining and planning, the role of siblings, an essay on invoking the arts in the b’nai mitzvah process, b’nai mitzvah in summer camps, and a very thoughtful dialogue on if/when b’nai mitzvah should be off the table. 

Part II offers specific tools to teachers including multi-sensory approaches to teaching Hebrew, using Braille, and teaching students who are deaf and hard of hearing. These latter two chapters are written by people with disabilities including a bat mitzvah student who is blind (along with her mother who is a clergy member), and a chapter by a deaf rabbi and his hearing sister. There are also chapters on learning disabilities and mental health challenges and references to speech impairments and mobility challenges. An essay in this section, “What if I bark on the bimah?” is by Jewish educator and comedian Paula Schuller. She speaks openly and with humor about having Tourette’s Syndrome. 

 

A Final Word: Why A Book About B’nai Mitzvah and Disabilities Just Might Revolutionize B’nai Mitzvah for EVERYONE!

 

The intended audience for our book is the Jewish disabilities community. Perhaps somewhat surprisingly, members of other faith communities are finding the book useful—while life cycle events vary, the issues faced by people with disabilities in houses of worship are similar.

We are also finding that parents of non-disabled students are excited that there may be options for marking b’nai mitzvah that they had not considered in the past.  Perhaps a less stressful, non-Shabbat morning, outdoor bat mitzvah in nature is just right for their daughter?!

We are all familiar with the history of curb cuts on public sidewalks. They were initially intended for users of wheelchairs and other mobility assist devices. Once the curb cuts were built, parents with strollers and delivery people with carts found them to be useful as well. So with “non-traditional” b’nai mitzvah.

We hope and pray that synagogues and temples will begin by offering non-Shabbat b’nai mitzvahs to students with disabilities, and that they will see the benefit of this offering for all students. Some families will favor Shabbat morning in the main synagogue; others will enjoy Havdalah in the chapel and others will love the Monday, Thursday, Rosh Hodesh or holiday option. There is no downside, since, after all, everyone becomes b’nai mitzvah regardless of what they do to mark it and when they choose to mark it!

 

 

 [ja1]Italicize?

Positive Thinking, Positive Action

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Rabbi Elie Weinstock is Senior Rabbi of the Jewish Center of Atlantic Beach on Long Island and serves as a Nassau County Police Chaplain. A graduate of Yeshiva University with ordination from the Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary, he is a Senior Rabbinic Fellow of the Shalom Hartman Institute, active in AIPAC and UJA-Federation of New York, and is Immediate Past President of the New York Board of Rabbis.

 

There’s no honest way to look at the Jewish moment we’re living in and pretend everything is easy. It isn’t. The rise in anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism is real, visible, and often unsettling. But there’s also no honest way to look at the Jewish story—past or present—and conclude anything other than this: we are far more powerful, resilient, and capable than the noise would have us believe.

We need to start by telling the truth about what we’re seeing. Hatred of Jews is not new. What is new is the amplification system. Social media has taken what once simmered on the margins and handed it a megaphone. As Abe Foxman memorably said, "The rats are out of the sewer." It creates the illusion that hatred is everywhere, overwhelming, unstoppable. It isn’t. It’s louder, not necessarily larger.

And not all hostility is the same. Some people hate. Others simply don’t know. That distinction matters. Ignorance can be educated; hatred must be confronted differently. The tragedy of our moment is that fewer people meaningfully encounter those who are different from them. When there is no relationship, misinformation fills the vacuum. Add a media ecosystem that rewards outrage over nuance, and you get a distorted picture of Jews, Israel, and Zionism.

Take anti-Zionism. Much of the rhetoric is passionately delivered and intellectually empty. Many chanting slogans couldn’t tell you which river or which sea, let alone articulate what Zionism actually is. And here’s the uncomfortable truth: many Jews can’t either. Yet studies and real-life experience show that when people are actually taught what Zionism means—the right of the Jewish people to self-determination in their historic homeland—opinions soften. People often oppose a caricature, not a reality.

That insight should shape our response. We spend far too much time chasing terminology and arguing with abstractions. A healthier metric is simpler: how do people actually treat Jews? How do they speak? How do they act? The macro conversation is loud, but our lived experience is often far more nuanced and far more hopeful.

Because alongside the challenges is a remarkable story of Jewish strength.

Since October 7, the Jewish community has shown itself at its best. Whether or not the phrase “the October 8 Jew” fully captures it, something real has happened. Jews are showing up—for each other, for Israel, for Jewish life—with renewed seriousness and pride. Communities are gathering, learning, giving, building. That doesn’t make headlines, but it is the headline of our lives. We would do well to focus there.

Jews have never survived let alone thrived by obsessing over those who oppose us. We succeed when we invest in what is ours: our Torah, our communities, our values, our sense of purpose. As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks taught so powerfully, non-Jews respect Jews who respect their Judaism. The most compelling response to hostility is not insecurity, it is dignity.

And that brings us to what we can actually control.

We cannot singlehandedly reshape the media landscape. We cannot eliminate hatred. But we can live visibly, proudly, intelligently Jewish lives. We can educate patiently and persistently. We can be ambassadors in everyday encounters that will never trend online but shape how people understand Jews in the real world.

Every interaction matters.

In my own experience serving as a police chaplain in a predominantly Catholic department, I’m often the only Jew many officers truly know. They don’t come in with deep knowledge of Judaism or Israel but they come with openness. Over time, through conversation and presence, respect is built. That is not unique to one role or population; it’s a model. Every Jew is, whether we like it or not, a representative of our people. And that is not a burden; it is an opportunity.

The same principle applies when we think about Israel. It is natural to have opinions, even strong ones. But we need to be thoughtful about how and where those opinions are expressed. There is a difference between constructive engagement and unintentionally strengthening those who seek to delegitimize Israel altogether. Wisdom, not just passion, must guide us.

So where does this leave us? Not in denial. Not in despair. But in focus. Focus on building Jewish life that is deep, serious, and joyful. Focus on educating ourselves so we can educate others. Focus on relationships that turn strangers into allies. Focus on the quiet, steady work that never makes headlines but changes hearts.

The Jewish story has never been written by those who shouted the loudest about us. It has always been written by those who lived most powerfully as us.

The future? Onward and upward.

You Will be Defined. The Question Is: By Whom?

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Maxine Angel lives in Teaneck, NJ, with her husband Rabbi Hayyim and their four children. They are a long-time homeschool family, among other things. This article appears in issue 48 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

 

I grew up in Tampa, Florida. It is a wonderful place. I was raised in a secular family with a strong sense of Jewish identity, but I did not understand what that identity meant or why being Jewish was something distinct. From a young age, my public-school classmates told me, “You’re not white. You’re Jewish.” I didn’t quite grasp this. It created a sense of otherness, but it also felt like something special, even precious. While I thought I looked like most of my classmates, they saw something else. There were not many of us Jewish students, and we were all told the same thing, very matter of factly. It was simply accepted, along with whatever difference it meant to be Jewish.

As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks observed, if you do not define your identity, others will define it for you and not always kindly. My experience at the time was benign and I did not yet appreciate what being Jewish meant, but the world had already begun to tell me. 

Before I came to understand Judaism, I came to antisemitism. I learned how Jews were seen long before I understood who Jews were. That is not a stable way to build identity. It would be many years before I began to internalize what it means to be Jewish and observe our practices. I remember hearing phrases like “Jewish values,” but I did not know what those values were. I was fortunate to have strong history teachers, and we learned about World War II and the Holocaust, but I had no real sense of the thousands of years that came before. Years later, I encountered Tanakh, tefillot, and mitzvot, along with the teachings of Rabbi Sacks and other giants. I began to see the difference between an identity shaped by others’ hatred and one rooted in knowledge, practice, a tradition of strength, and most importantly a connection with HaShem.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks warned that Jews would be defined by others whether they chose it or not. This has been the pattern for centuries. Antisemitism has taken many forms, a dynamic hatred that adapts to the weaknesses of each society in which it takes hold. The writer Vasily Grossman, who witnessed both Nazi and Soviet brutality, understood something essential about antisemitism. It is not simply hatred of Jews. It reveals something about the society that produces it and the individuals who perpetuate it.

It often presents itself in acceptable, even noble terms, cloaking hostility in the language of morality, whether as opposition to a religion, a race, or, as we see today, a country in the popular form of anti-Zionism. It is all too easy for a sacred religious identity to become defined in response to hatred, rather than grounded in its own inheritance. When those who hate you define you, the result is an unstable and uncertain identity. It pulls you away from the stable foundation laid millennia before and fills the space of faith and practice.

I thought I could recognize propaganda. I thought it was something obvious, something you could spot and reject. But over time I came to see that it is often far more subtle. It does not always announce itself. It adapts. It shifts language. And when it comes to Jews, it has done this for centuries. Antisemitism has followed a familiar pattern throughout history. Whatever a society fears or resents, Jews are blamed. This is why the accusations can be contradictory. Jews are cast as outsiders and, at the same time, as wielding hidden influence. Too weak and too powerful. The claims do not need to make sense. They only need to serve a purpose. When identity is shaped in response to those claims, it becomes unstable and uncertain, dependent on those who deny your place and, at times, your right to exist. The contradictions do not cancel each other out. They coexist. That is part of the point. I experienced this firsthand recently.

I ran for the Teaneck Board of Education this past fall. It was an all-consuming experience for myself and my family. My running mate and I ran on a platform of accountability, community, and excellence and we ran a campaign of integrity. We expected a tough race. What we did not expect was the level of personal attack. There were six candidates. I was the only one identified by religion. I was labeled a “Jewish activist.”  While I don’t object to the term, it was not how I would describe myself. More importantly, it immediately marked me as different. Throughout the campaign, I encountered a familiar contradiction: I was cast simultaneously as an outsider and as someone connected to powerful groups exercising insider control. My running mate, who is not Jewish, was also targeted. He was portrayed as having compromised himself by aligning with the Jews.

This is part of the power of antisemitism. Some dismiss it as politics, a dirty sport if there ever was one. But these attacks went beyond policy or disagreement. They became personal and drew on popular tropes. On election day, a box truck drove through town with a large screen displaying the message “Stop the non-public school takeover.” The message reduced complex public issues to a simple threat and the messaging was effective. I did not win, though the race was close. My running mate came even closer. I accept the result. What I do not accept are methods that moved beyond policy and into something more personal and troubling.

The challenges we face today are new in form but familiar in substance. The language and setting change, but the pattern remains. A grounded Jewish identity, shaped by our sacred texts, faith, practices, and history, and strengthened by our families and communities, provides stability where none exists in the accusations of others. It is not a shield against hatred, but it allows us to withstand it without being defined or destroyed by it. That kind of identity does not emerge on its own. It must be taught, learned, and lived. It is the responsibility of each individual to embody it with gratitude and strength, of parents to teach it to their children, and of each generation to pass it on. 

Responsiveness as a Greatmaking Property

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Dr. Andrew Arking wrote this essay as an undergraduate at Princeton University. A native of Baltimore, he attended Beth Tfiloh Community School and Yeshivat Orayta in Jerusalem. He is doing his residency at the Childrens' Hospital of Philadelphia. This article appeared in issue 36 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. This year, Dr. Arking is serving as Hatan Bereishith at Congregation Shearith Israel in New York.

When we talk about “God,” we intuitively think of a powerful, nonphysical entity that somehow created and runs the universe. To clarify this vague conception and set a more concrete groundwork for discussions about the nature of God, classical theologians have posited the Greatest Possible Being (GPB) thesis as the primary mode of understanding God.[i]After expounding upon the definition and implications of the GPB construct, this article will argue that a GPB identifiable as the God of religious tradition by said definition will contain responsiveness as one of its attributes rather than complete immutability as the Greeks and other classical theologians have posited.

The GPB concept requires both an intuitive and a more robust definition. Intuitively, the term “greatest possible being” accurately portrays God as “the being than which none greater can be conceived.”[ii] If one can conceive of a being greater than the working conception of the GPB, then the conception is wrong. Augustine explains the experience of thinking about a GPB conception of God as one where “one’s thought strains to reach something than which there is nothing higher or more sublime.”[iii] Experientially, in the process of thinking about God, the human intellect reaches its limits; Adams asserts that “Divine nature is permanently partially beyond our cognitive grasp” when grappling with the GPB.[iv]

The concept still needs a robust definition to make it comprehensible. Morris provides a clear framework of how one would construct a maximally perfect being a priori by explaining that “God is thought of as exemplifying necessarily a maximally perfect set of compossible greatmaking properties.”[v] Morris defines perfections as “Properties which are constituted by the logical maximum of an upwardly bounded, degreed great-making property,” which are “Properties it is intrinsically better to have than to lack.”[vi] These properties must also have a theoretical limit that can be maxed out for the GPB. For example, God can know everything, but God cannot be infinitely rich; therefore, knowledge is a greatmaking property and wealth is not. The maximally perfect set of these properties thus has room for flexibility; people can disagree about which properties are optimal for God to have while still agreeing on the general GPB framework.

There are two different approaches to a God that can both lead to the belief in a GPB. Morris outlines an a priorist tradition, which “begins with a purportedly self-evident conception of God as the greatest possible being” and uses this “exalted yet simple conception of deity to entail all the divine attributes.”[vii] An Anselmian theologian could construct a GPB without ever leaving the ivory tower. In contrast, an a posteriorist approach builds from empirical and experiential facts to a conception of God. Morris argues that rather than “contrast[ing] starkly the God of faith with the God of reason, the God of history with the God of the academy, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob with the God of the philosophers,” we can argue that these are one and the same.[viii] Because the GPB is a “proper object of religious devotion” due to its maximal perfection, religious individuals can certainly worship such a being.[ix]

The hinge of this claim that the GPB is the God of religious traditions is that the GPB is worthy of our worship. If our notion of God was only pretty good, and the possibility of a GPB existed, then it would not be logical to worship the PDGB (Pretty Darn Good Being).[x] However, if “we know that if there is a highest one, it deserves our fealty, not arbitrarily, but because of its perfections.”[xi] This move not only allows the GPB to be the God of religious traditions, but even more so argues that the GPB is the best candidate for the job.

With this in mind, I would like to shift to one specific greatmaking property, immutability, and analyze whether it belongs in the maximally perfect set of greatmaking properties, which belong to a GPB that is also the God of religious traditions. Morris asserts that “traditionally, the Anselmian description has been understood to entail that God is, among other things, omnipotent, immutable, eternal...”.[xii] Immutability is certainly a greatmaking property by definition; the question is if a GPB would possess this property or its competitor, responsiveness, in its maximally perfect set. Despite the philosophical tradition in favor of divine immutability, rejecting immutability would not pose a problem to Anselmian GPB construction. “The specific properties an Anselmian God must have are under-determined by the Anselmian formula and by the basic intuitions by means of which it is applied.”[xiii] So long as we can assert that responsiveness is preferable to immutability for religious observance or that immutability is not coherent, we can still uphold Morris’s claim that the GPB is the God of religion.

We must first analyze arguments for immutability to better understand its definition and implications. Relying on God’s assertion to Moses that God’s name is “I will be that which I shall be,”[xiv] Augustine argues that “a God who gave His very name as “I am” and is perfect must be the perfect case of being. But what can change is not a perfect case of being: it does not have its being so securely that it cannot cease to be what it is.”[xv] Since the perfect form of being is immutability, God, who engages in this process of being, must do so in a perfect way, and therefore is immutable. Boethius argues for divine timelessness along similar lines: “Temporal beings no longer live the past parts of their lives. They do not yet live the future parts of their lives.”[xvi] Under the premise that these are both defects, God must have “no past or future. What has no past or future does not change.”[xvii] Classical philosophers thus believe God cannot change for better or for worse because even improving is an imperfection in the state of being for these philosophers.

Such assertions are validated in the Jewish tradition as well. Malachi quotes a prophecy from God in which God asserts; “I am the LORD; I have not changed.”[xviii] Maimonides hones in on this verse in his Guide for the Perplexed, where he asserts that “[God] is immutable in every respect, as He expressly declares, ‘I, the Lord, do not change;’ i.e., in Me there is not any change whatever.”[xix] Similarly, Rabbi Abraham ibn Ezra responds harshly when the Bible says that “God renounced the punishment God had planned to bring upon God’s people” following the sin of the Golden Calf, which seems to imply that God changed God’s mind about the punishment.[xx] Ibn Ezra emphatically declares “God forbid that Hashem should repent! No, the Torah is merely speaking in a language that human beings can understand!”[xxi] Clearly, the intuitive objection against divine mutability of any form influenced some of the greatest biblical commentators.

However, despite the tradition in favor of Divine immutability, there are several philosophical objections to divine immutability, including that of Norman Kretzmann:

 

  1. If God is omniscient, God knows what time it is now.
  2. What time it is now is constantly changing.
  3. What God knows is constantly changing. (First, He knows that it is now t and not now t+1; later He knows that it is now t+1 and not now t.)
  4. God is constantly changing.[xxii]

 

The primary objection to this is that God does not need to know directly what time it is now; rather, the timeless God knows what humans know the present time to be, at all times. The discussion on this objection extends far beyond the scope of the paper, but it introduces complexity into the concept of immutability from a purely philosophical standpoint without even invoking religious experience.

However, the most important objection to immutability and argument in favor of responsiveness is that a robust religious tradition which believes in a human’s ability to have a dynamic relationship with God must allow for modifications to Divine immutability. This need not reject all forms of immutability. One can argue that God possesses time-indexed attributes, that it is always true that at time X God does Y. But this does necessarily reject the Augustinian and Maimonidean notion of perfect being as described above, which refuses to allow God to change at all. Thus, “responsiveness” could be comprised of preordained responses of an immutable God rather than pure reactions to events as open theism posits.[xxiii] Either way, responsiveness means that God’s behaviors and actions can vary over time (even if God is not intrinsically changing). Being in a dynamic, loving relationship demands that God’s actions change over time in accordance with a person’s actions and state of mind. It could be preordained in that since God has foreknowledge of a person’s actions and states of mind, God could eternally have time-indexed responses to each person.[xxiv] However, these specific actions are always tailored to respond to the person in his/her present state.[xxv]

Responsiveness also has a place in religious traditions. The Bible raises several cases where God regrets a decision or changes God’s mind. For example, in Genesis, God “regrets that God created humankind.”[xxvi] God’s attitude toward humanity seems to change in response to humanity’s free choice to sin. The Akeidat Yitzhak, a fifteenth-century Spanish rabbi, explains that Divine regret

 

is a re-consideration of one's plans and attitudes based on a changed set of circumstances … it is an admission that one had erred in one's assessment of the facts which one's promise had been based on. A changed attitude then becomes an act of wisdom, a rejection of foolishness.[xxvii]

 

Of course, this is not to imply that God erred in original judgment and plan. Rather, “when the Bible describes God as having reconsidered, it tells us that God continued to desire that He could carry out what He had originally planned, but what had now become impossible due to the conduct of the other half of the partnership between God and Man.”[xxviii] The preservation of free will demands a God who can change God’s attitudes and actions in response to human choices. Thus, the language of regret can still apply to God, who is “saddened” in having to resort to the alternative plan even though God knew it would happen all along. As such, we can still preserve a perfect but responsive God at all moments in time: when the circumstances change, the most perfect God responds perfectly to those changes to remain perfect for each specific moment.

Similarly, Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav uses this verse to argue that God feels emotion, so to speak, in response to human actions.[xxix] He writes that “We find, therefore, that if there is any misfortune or harsh decree affecting [the world], then certainly the joy of the Holy One is lessened, as in, ‘He grieved in His heart.’26 As the Sages taught: When a person sins, what does the Shekhinah [God] say? ‘My head is heavy! My arms are heavy!”’[xxx] The notion of a responsive God provides a model for religious experience where God deeply cares about our actions, rejoicing in our successes and lamenting our failures.

This concept of a responsive, dynamic God allows for some of the most important elements of religion, including Divine action and a personal God. For God to act in history, this requires that God not act the same way in all times, implying that God acts in relation to the world in a time-dependent manner, either through actual mutability or time-indexed immutability. William Mann provides an example from the Ten Plagues in Exodus: At time t1, God willed that there be locusts in Egypt; at time t2, God willed that there be neither locusts nor darkness; and at time t3, God willed that there be darkness.[xxxi] Such a proposition contradicts the Augustinian notion of divine immutability, which would claim that God is timeless and remains the same at all times. Yet, for religions that believe that God intervenes in a temporal world and speaks to temporal beings, they must concede this point. Even more powerful is the notion of a personal God. The Old Testament emphasizes how God has a close relationship with each person. Performing good deeds strengthens one’s connection to God, sinning weakens it.[xxxii] The Bible asserts that God provides reward and punishment commensurate with one’s actions;[xxxiii] that God listens to prayers and responds to them;[xxxiv] that God comforts us in our pain and cares for us when we are vulnerable and downtrodden.[xxxv] One of the most poignant elements of religious experience is repentance. A person can change his/her ways, and ask God for forgiveness; Jewish tradition asserts that God responds to true acts of repentance by turning past sins into merits.[xxxvi] A GPB of religious experience has personal relationships and therefore must be responsive; an immutable being in such a circumstance would not be as great as one who responded and could engage in dynamic relationships with people.

A potential solution that saves divine immutability while sustaining religious experience rests on a metaphor taught by Rabbi David Aaron, founder and teacher at Yeshivat Orayta, an Orthodox Jewish learning institution in Jerusalem for American gap-year students. Rabbi Aaron would tell his classes that there is music in the room and fall silent as the students looked at each other, not hearing anything. Rabbi Aaron would continue and explain that there are radio waves constantly moving through the room. If one would just have the right equipment and tune to the correct frequency, s/he would be able to experience the music that had been in the room all along. So too with God, if one views God’s will as constantly flowing, we just “tune in” to different aspects of God through our various actions. God is always immutable; we just experience God differently at different times because we access God in different ways.[xxxvii] For a Christian example, one can argue for immutability even in the act of incarnation by asserting that “God was eternally ready to be incarnate, and eternally had those experiences of the earthly Christ which the Incarnation makes part of his life. Through changes in Mary and the infant she bore, what was eternally in God eventually took place on earth.”[xxxviii] God’s essential will and presence is constant and immutable while its earthly manifestation changes in accordance with human actions.

Yet, this approach fails to truly comprehend the nuances of a relationship of love between God and humans that forms the foundation for religious experience. Cobb and Griffin, in arguing for God as responsive love, assert that “responsiveness includes a sympathetic feeling with the worldly beings.”[xxxix] For God to perfectly engage in loving relationships, God must possess “sympathetic compassion” for the other. An ideal relationship transcends “active goodwill”; it entails truly caring for the other and remaining sensitive and present through all circumstances.[xl] For something like repentance to truly have religious significance, it must entail a change in the individual and a response from God, a repair in this mutual relationship. The music metaphor does not adequately provide meaning to this process, because this relationship is one-sided: The penitent could change what aspect of God s/he accesses, but no mutual transformation occurs. This would be a flaw in the relationship, and as such, Divine responsiveness is a property that should replace immutability in the maximally perfect set of properties that the GPB would have to validate Morris’s claim that the GPB is the God of religion.

 

Bibliography

 

"A Living Library of Jewish Texts." Sefaria. Accessed Jan 12, 2020. www.sefaria.org/.

Adams, Marilyn McCord, and The Society of Christian Philosophers. “Fides Quaerens Intellectum: St. Anselm’s Method in Philosophical Theology.” Faith and Philosophy 9, no. 4 (1992): 409–35. https://doi.org/10.5840/faithphil19929434.

Chignell, Andrew and Daniel Rubio. "Religion and Reason." Lectures at Princeton

University, Sep.–Dec. 2019. Notes by Andrew Arking.

Cobb, John B. and David R. Griffin, “God is Creative-Responsive Love” in Process

Theology: An Introductory Exposition. Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1976.

Johnston, Mark. “Process Panentheism” in Saving God: Religion after Idolatry.

Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009.

Leftow, Brian. “Immutability.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy, edited by Edward N. Zalta, Winter 2016. Metaphysics Research Lab, Stanford University, 2016. https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/win2016/entries/immutability/.

Mann, William E. God, Modality, and Morality. Oxford University Press, 2015. https://doi.org/10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199370764.001.0001.

Morris, Thomas V. “The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Anselm.” Faith and Philosophy 1, no. 2 (1984): 177–187.

 

Acknowledgments     

 

            I would like to acknowledge Professors Chignell and Rubio for an excellent and thought-provoking course that has enhanced the way I think about and discuss my religious faith. I would further like to thank my teachers from Yeshivat Orayta for giving me feedback on these ideas, including Rabbi David Aaron for his teachings. Finally, I would like to appreciate Izzy Zaller for his conversations and for clarifying my understanding of many important topics.

Notes

 

 

 

[i] Andrew Chignell, “Religion and Reason,” 9/16/19.

[ii] Anselm, Proslogion 2, quoted in “Religion and Reason” lecture notes, 9/16/19.

[iii] Augustine, De Doctrina Christiana I,vi,6-vii, 7, quoted in “Religion and Reason” lecture notes, 9/16/19.

[iv] Adams and The Society of Christian Philosophers, “Fides Quaerens Intellectum.” 410.

[v] Morris, “The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Anselm.” 178.

[vi] Morris. 184.

[vii] Morris. 177.

[viii] Morris. 177.

[ix] Morris. 185.

[x] Chignell, 9/16/19.

[xi] Johnston, “Process Panentheism.” 195.

[xii] Morris, “The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Anselm.” 178.

[xiii] Morris. 186.

[xiv] Exodus 3:14.

[xv] Leftow, “Immutability.”

[xvi] Leftow.

[xvii] Ibid.

[xviii] Malachi 3:6.

[xix] Maimonides, Guide for the Perplexed Part 1, Chapter 11. www.sefaria.org.

[xx] Exodus 32:14.

[xxi] Ibn Ezra on Exodus 32:14. www.sefaria.org

[xxii] Kretzmann quoted in Leftow.

[xxiii] Daniel Rubio, 11/25/19.

[xxiv] Ibid.

[xxv] An allusion to Genesis 21:17: “God heard the cry of the boy [Ishmael], and an angel of God called to Hagar from heaven and said to her, “What troubles you, Hagar? Fear not, for God has heeded the cry of the boy in his present state.” The Talmud (Rosh Hashana 16b) learns from this verse the general principle that God judges a person according to his/her present state.

[xxvi] Genesis 6:6.

[xxvii] Akeidat Yitzhak 11:1.

[xxviii] Ibid.

[xxix] This may not be embodied emotions like humans possess, but God does change attitudes and actions based on our decisions.

[xxx] Talmud Sanhedrin 46a. Likutei Moharan 5. www.sefaria.org

[xxxi] Mann, God, Modality, and Morality.

[xxxii] Maimonides, Laws of Repentance Chapter 7.

[xxxiii] Deuteronomy 11.

[xxxiv] Exodus 3.

[xxxv] Isaiah 57:15.

[xxxvi] Yoma 86b.

[xxxvii] Rabbi David Aaron, The Secret Life of God; Seeing God; Lecture notes by Andrew Arking on classes from Nov. 2018.

[xxxviii] Leftow.

[xxxix] Cobb and Griffin, 378.

[xl] Ibid., 379.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel's New Book: The Heart of Joshua

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Rabbi Hayyim Angel

We are thrilled to announce that Rabbi Hayyim Angel has published the second volume of his new commentary series, The Heart of Tanakh. The Heart of Joshua joins the Heart of the Five Megillot. 

 

On the way over the next several months: Judges, 1 Samuel, 2 Samuel, 1 Kings, and 2 Kings (and then more to follow after that!). 

In The Heart of Joshua, Rabbi Hayyim Angel draws on classical rabbinic interpretation, literary analysis, and contemporary scholarship to illuminate the enduring power of the first book of the Prophets.

Written for thoughtful readers, students, educators, clergy, and synagogue study groups, this volume invites readers to engage the Book of Joshua with intellectual rigor, spiritual sensitivity, and a deep appreciation for the richness of the Jewish interpretive tradition.

 

 

Available at amazon.com

 

 

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HJD2VY4L/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1XWH0J6ECVCB3&dib=eyJ2IjoiMSJ9.vQ7BXEIlShrrcUruBSwBN-_UISmOKX0iobElLtg5jAkfpTV4inCL3A-Fq50…

 

When Will the Glass Overflow?

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David Olivestone retired to Jerusalem in 2013 after serving as director of communications of the Orthodox Union. A contributing editor of the OU’s Jewish Action magazine, he has written many articles on Jewish cultural topics, and has been the publisher of the journal Conversations since its inception.

 

“In a world where everything is seen, nothing is known. 
In a world where everything is known, nothing is understood.”

 — Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

 

Living in Israel in an era that surely lays claim to bringing us closer to redemption than previous generations could have imagined, I see the glass as very much more than half full. Yet the upper part remains to be filled, and there are many issues to be faced—some propitious, some daunting—before we can hope to see it overflow.

Depending on how you count, it is probable that more than half of the world’s Jews now live in Israel. This has some implications in halakha, specifically regarding laws relating to the Land of Israel, such as yovel and shemittah, which revert from their lesser status as rabbinic obligations (de-rabbanan),  and once again take on the character of biblical obligations (de-oraita), “as in days of old.” 

Looking ahead to the coming years, we will increasingly see Israel as the powerhouse of Jewish life. That is not to say that Jewish life in the diaspora will wither away. But with the dwindling numbers of grassroots adherents of the non-Orthodox movements, national Jewish institutions will more often be led by members of the Modern Orthodox community. The Haredi world, even as it continues to grow in numbers, is likely to stubbornly persist in isolating itself from Jewish issues outside of its own enclaves and will steadfastly focus its attention and resources only on its own educational systems and communal structures.

The pervasive and unabated anti-Semitism in the diaspora, combined with the relentless attacks on Israel, have already motivated many unaffiliated Jews to search for more spiritual meaning in their Judaism, and this is gradually leading increasing numbers to embrace more observances and to seek more knowledge. As it is, the amount of Torah being learned today far eclipses any other time in history. With online programs already connecting hundreds of thousands to the study of Jewish sources, the opportunities for Torah learning on every level will become even more extensive with the still uncharted capabilities of artificial intelligence. 

On the other hand, it is exceedingly worrisome that a recent survey found that as many as 32 percent of Jewish Americans aged 18 to 34 call themselves anti-Zionists or non-Zionists. Given that, it’s unclear how connected they will remain to their Jewish heritage. Sadly, these young people, together with those who intermarry or those who are raised with no Jewish content in their lives—and together with all their descendants—may well be lost to the future of the Jewish people.

In Israel, the schisms that plague society will regrettably grow in intensity. As the Haredi sector defiantly pursues its intransigence and refuses to play its part in the support and defense of the nation, the patience of Israel’s secular citizens will inevitably run out. While it will probably be short of actual civil war, the conflict is likely to become increasingly ugly and confrontational, with the government, as now, unwilling or unable to exert control.

Unfortunately, Yehoram Gaon’s poignant promise in song following the 1973 Yom Kippur War that “this will be the last war” is unlikely ever to become true. Israel’s enemies plot and attack it at every opportunity because of an unwavering religious belief that one day they will be able to destroy it. They can fight and lose a hundred wars, they say, while Israel cannot afford to lose even one. 

With all this, Israelis consistently rank in the top five or ten on the UN World Happiness Report. This is often attributed to their strong social cohesion and sense of purpose, and there is no reason to think that this will change. Despite the too-frequent runs to the safe rooms and bomb shelters, despite the huge disruptions in family life and income due to the extended periods spent in the army, despite the tumultuous way in which the nation is governed, Israelis are proud of their country and will assuredly continue to walk around with their heads high and their spirits even higher.

With all of its existential challenges, or perhaps because of them, Israel’s extraordinary success as a world leader in innovative technology will continue undiminished. The abundant income generated by the nation’s multitudinous start-ups will go on helping to underwrite the costs of Israel’s infrastructure and innumerable other construction projects, and indeed its wars. Transferring ownership of these assets out of Israel by means of “exits” is not ideal and presents a challenge to the country’s long-term economic stability, but the Israeli genius will not be suppressed and will continue to attract the attention and investment of other countries and multinational conglomerates.

The disparity among Israel’s various subcultures will increasingly blur as marriages between Ashkenazic and Sephardic families proliferate. One might hope that this would lead to the merging of minhagim into one universal Israeli set of religious customs and practices, but the religious establishment is extremely unlikely to brook any formalized change. Similarly, a logical consequence of Israel’s astounding, God-given rebirth as a nation would be a creative rethinking of parts of the siddur to reflect the enormous theological implications of this new status. Again, the religious authorities will not even contemplate such a notion. Yet there are pockets of creative religious thinkers whose influence may slowly spread.

As we cross the threshold where the majority of our people now live once again in our ancestral land, we continue to see the evolution from a rabbinically-led existence, concerned largely about survival in often hostile foreign countries, to the complex realities of a modern, self-governing state. This will inevitably contribute to the already growing gap between Israeli Jews and those in the diaspora. Yet Israel will never abandon its efforts to bolster Jewish communities and to further Jewish education in other lands as best it can.

The road ahead, both in Israel and in the diaspora, is full of hurdles due to the threats from external enemies on the one hand, and the stubbornness of established institutions and religious extremists on the other. Yet it is precisely within these tensions that the next chapter of Jewish history is being written—not in the margins of other nations, but at the center of our own. 

Living in our own land offers us a glimpse of a glass that is revayah—full, dynamic and, eventually, running over.

 

Rabbi Yosef Hayyim of Baghdad on the Religious Importance of General and Jewish Studies

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Dr. Zvi Zohar is Chauncey Stillman Professor Emeritus of Sephardic Law and Ethics at Bar Ilan University. A Senior Research Fellow at the Shalom Hartman Institute of Advanced Judaic Studies in Jerusalem, he heads the Alan A. and Loraine Fischer Family Center for Contemporary Halakha. This article appears in issue 39 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

 

Introduction

 

Rabbi Yosef Hayyim (1834–1909), grandson of Rabbi Moshe Hayyim (Chief Rabbi of Baghdad at the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth centuries), was an extraordinary and unique spiritual figure. He was a person of rare intellectual talents, including a phenomenal memory and eloquence in both speech and writing, who took an interest in all branches of Torah scholarship. For those acquainted with great Ashkenazic rabbis of modern times, Rabbi Yosef Hayyim (henceforth: RYH) may be characterized as combining within himself outstanding qualities of both the Gaon of Vilna and the Maggid of Dubno: On the one hand, he was extraordinarily devoted to study and in full command of all branches of traditional Judaic knowledge, and, on the other, he was directly engaged in efforts to bring the Torah to the broad public by delivering public sermons and by composing texts specifically oriented toward a lay readership. The following pages are devoted to an exposition of his views regarding a curriculum for Jewish children and youth that includes both secular and Judaic studies.[1]

Obviously, the number of class hours in a school’s curriculum are finite. In a Jewish Day School, any hour devoted to secular studies therefore necessarily constricts the amount of hours devoted to the study of Torah. Since Torah studies are a mitzvah, many Hareidi rabbis hold that ideally, a curriculum should be totally devoid of secular studies (‘al taharat haQodesh).[2] However, RYH held that this is not the position of Torah itself; while study of Torah is a mitzvah, secular topics are in the halakhic category of “permitted activities” (mutar):

 

Study of writing, arithmetic and languages is defined as “permitted” (mutar).[3] And what is the point of such a definition? To tell you: “Do not say: In this hour, when I am studying writing and arithmetic, it is better that I instead study matters of Torah; why should I waste my time learning writing and arithmetic?” Therefore, these studies were categorized as “permitted,” i.e., you are permitted to devote several hours of the day to such study.[4]

 

What justifies this permission to devote time to the study of non-Torah topics? RYH was aware of the answer given by Rabbi Yitzhaq Bengualid (Tetuan, 1777–1870), that such studies would ensure that “when they grow up they will find a secure livelihood for their entire life.”[5] However, he did not consider this very convincing: If the goal is to ensure the future economic well-being of today’s children, it would be better for them to learn “the profession of tailors or weavers … from such crafts a person can earn more than by the craft of writing and languages [i.e., clerking].”[6] According to RYH, the primary justifications for engaging in secular studies in parallel with the study of Torah are not pragmatic but rather an expression of Jewish principles and values. These include:

 

  1. Formation of the Students’ Personalities and Character

 

Rabbi Yosef Hayyim writes:

 

It is worthy to teach both these types of learning to the youth while they are still young in age: study of our holy Torah and study of Derekh Eretz, i.e. languages, writing and suchlike. The teachers should engage them in both types of study at the same time, when they are young, and their mind is clear. And it is with regard to this that the Tanna states in Pirqei Avot: “Study of Torah together with Derekh Eretz is fine, for toil in the two of them drives away sin,”[7] meaning: it is worthy and appropriate that one should engage in these two types of study, Torah and Derekh Eretz, at the same time. Because toil in the two of them together drives away sin—that is: the evil force that is stored in a person’s heart because of his murky physicality—for he will be engaged in matters of the mind/intellect (muskalot) and the evil impulse within him will not actualize its potential in the performance of evil deeds.[8]

 

Torah study and secular learning are both matters of the mind/intellect, and therefore a student’s involvement in both together has a positive effect, enabling a student to suppress one’s negative impulses and overcome them. This formative influence is especially required when the student is young of age; RYH teaches that this is the thrust of the well-known verse in Mishlei 22:6: hanokh laNa’ar ‘al pi darko, gam ki yazqin lo yasur mimenna.

 

This is what is meant by hanokh laNa’ar—to guide him in a good, straight path by means of words of wisdom, piety, and matters of intellect; one should thus teach and guide him while he is ‘al pi darko—i.e., at the verge and beginning of his path, before he has entered and become set in it. For at that time, you can easily turn him from one path and lead him on another that is good and straight. And as a result gam ki yazqin lo yasur mimenna—even when he grows old he will not deviate from the path into which you lead him and he embraced.[9]

 

This creative reading of ‘al pi darko as “on the verge of his path,” i.e., when the young person is about to set out on his or her life’s path—seems to be an original interpretation by RYH. It fits well with his position that tandem study of Torah and secular learning should begin already at the earliest stage of a child’s education:

 

Therefore, the time when it is appropriate to bring children to the hall of study, to teach them Torah and its various branches by worthy and important teachers, and to teach them derekh eretz, i.e., other external topics that we shall soon specify—is from the time that the child is seven years of age, until the child is thirteen. But if these studies are only begun once the child is thirteen or more, it will be hard to receive them, unless the child has…a tremendous urge and great desire to study these topics.[10]

 

  1. Acquaintance with Fields of Knowledge beyond Torah Is Mandated by Reason

 

One of the realms of knowledge that Rabbi Yosef Hayyim considers important to acquire is—geography:

 

A person has a great need to study geography. As we see in the words of our Rabbis of Blessed Memory (Hagiga 12b):

                        Rabbi Yosse says:

Woe to those persons who see—and do not comprehend what they see; who stand—and do not comprehend on what they stand!

Thus, a person is obligated to know and understand the qualities of the earth, and regarding those who lack this knowledge Rabbi Yose exclaims “Woe!” saying: “Woe to those persons who see—and do not comprehend what they see, etc.” From this we learn, that these and other similar facts—a person is required to set his mind upon them and to know them.[11]

 

However, RYH does not ground the requirement to engage in secular study only this creative interpretation of Rabbi Yosse’s apodictic statement.[12] Rather, he grounds that requirement in a completely non-textual source—straight thinking:

 

Truth be told, even without that text, Reason obligates this! For how can one hear the sound of thunder, and see lightning, and not understand what they are? And how can one see thunder, and clouds going and coming, and rain pouring down upon the earth—and not understand their quality, and what makes them happen? So too: How can one stand in the city of Baghdad, and now know where is Eretz Israel? And where is India? And where is Europe?—Whether ahead of him or behind him, to his right or to his left? Most certainly, a person lacking knowledge of these matters is degraded and lacking even in his own eyes! But if all Jewish persons will be perfect in knowledge of such things, their honor will be great in the eyes of all humans, and all will say of them: “This great nation is a wise and sagacious People” [Devarim 4:6].[13]

 

            As other great rabbis from talmudic times onward, RYH holds that a Jew’s obligations derive not only from holy texts but also from human rationality.[14] Any intelligent person realizes that a person lacking understanding of the physical and energetic world in which he lives is degraded and lacking in the eyes of others—and rightly so! Furthermore, in human socio-cultural reality, a common criterion for recognizing a person as “wise and sagacious” is his command of knowledge regarding the world in which he lives. Torah speaks of an ideal situation in which all humans will praise Israel, saying “This great nation is a wise and sagacious People.” How can Jews in Baghdad (and elsewhere) merit such praise from other peoples? “If all Jewish persons will be perfect in knowledge of such things!”[15]

            Details of the realms of knowledge that a Jew should engage in, and attribution of mastery of these topics to a great talmudic sage, are included in Rabbi Yosef Hayyim’s reading of another talmudic passage. In Bava Qama 66 it is told that Rabbi Ami and Rabbi Assi were sitting and studying under their Master, Rabbi Yitzhaq Nafha. One of them asked Rabbi Yitzhaq to teach them halakha, and the other asked Rabbi Yitzhaq to teach them aggada. RYH explains:

 

The meaning of this seems to be, that one wanted him to teach them matters of tradition, i.e., important halakhot, and talmudic explanations of the reasons underlying mishnayot and baraitot. And the other wanted aggada. For Rabbi Yitzhaq was perfect in his command of worldly knowledge: natural science, geometry, medicine, astronomy, knowledge regarding the nature of creation—inert, plant, and animal—as well as geography, et al. And since all these realms of wisdom are not part of Torah, they are called “aggada.”[16]

 

            On this reading, the terms “halakha” and “aggada” do not indicate a subdivision of Torah into normative vs. ideational matters. Rather, they indicate a division of human knowledge into a realm that is unique to the Torah of Israel, and a realm that is universal to all human beings. For Jews, involvement in both realms is important, and therefore, Jewish schools should divide the students’ hours of study accordingly:

 

For this reason it says: hanokh laNa’ar ‘al pi darko gam ki yazqin lo yasur mimmena: i.e., do not say: “I will heap a heavy load upon the young person, and teach him only Torah day and night. And I will not teach him writing, and Hebrew, and grammar, and math, and knowledge of nature, and worldly matters such as geography etc., so that he will not waste his time on such things but rather study only the complete and perfect Torah!” Do not do that! Rather, educate the young person also “in matters of his Way”—i.e., in matters of this world that is called “Way” […] For although education should be mainly in study of Torah, you should “grasp the one without letting go of the other” (Qohelet 7:18).[17]

 

            Many rabbis who allowed time to be set aside from Torah study for the sake of other topics held it to be self-evident that only Torah study is of value per se. On this view, study of secular topics is permitted only because of their ability to enable better comprehension of Torah. Thus Rabbi Jonathan Eybeshutz (1694–1764) wrote:

 

All wisdom is of value only as providing support for our understanding of Torah. Thus, geometry is the wisdom of measuring [….] it is very much required for the sake of measurements concerning the ‘eglah ‘arufa, and the cities of the Levites and of Refuge, and the tracts surrounding cities … Astronomy is an Israelite science because of “the Secret of [determining] Leap Years,” to know the movements of the seasons and constellations and to sanctify [new] months.[18]

 

However, Rabbi Yosef Hayyim unequivocally rejected this view:

 

We see that the Master of the Talmud, the great Sh’muel of blessed memory, devoted great toil and effort to delve deeply into the science of astronomy, to the extent that we find him declaring: “The paths of the sky are as clear to me as the paths of [my city] Neharde’a” (Berakhot 58b). Now, if he was so proficient in the wisdom of astronomy, it is easy to imagine how much time he had to spend on the study of this wisdom, that is exceedingly deep and great. And if it was merely to learn how to calculate leap years—what need for him to delve so deeply into this wisdom, to the extent that he was as proficient in the paths of the sky as he was in the paths of Neharde’a ?! Rather, it is certainly incumbent upon a person to acquire knowledge and to understand other wisdoms that are not part of Torah wisdom.[19]

 

           Just as RYH dismissed the explanation that study of secular topics is justified because it facilitates earning a livelihood, he rejects the idea that such study is justified because it facilitates understanding and application of Torah. However, we have seen that he did validate other reasons for engaging in such learning:

 

  1. Fulfilling the obligation (mandated by reason) for a person to know and understand the world in which one lives
  2. Realizing the goal that the Jewish People be (correctly) perceived by all humans as “wise and sagacious”

 

We now turn to two additional rationales for study of non-Torah realms of knowledge, which are validated by RYH.

 

  1. Study of Realms of Knowledge beyond Torah—Enabling Tikkun ‘Olam

 

A third valid reason for engaging in general (non-Torah) studies is given by Rabbi Yosef Hayyim in the following passage:

 

With God’s help, It seems to me that an additional explanation of scripture’s intent in the phrase hanokh laNa’ar ‘al pi darko is, that King Solomon of blessed memory sought to teach us, that a person should not reject any of the kinds of knowledge that are required for the improvement of the world (tikkun ‘olam) and the for human perfection (sh’leimut haAdam), even though it may seem that this is knowledge of mundane/physical things.[20]

 

           It seems that the characterization of such studies as contributing to “human perfection” relates to an idea that we have already seen in RYH’s writing, i.e., that secular knowledge contributes to the formation of a positive and worthy character. However, the justification of general knowledge because of its contribution to tikkun ‘olam is an expansion of the list of rationales that he provides for engaging in such studies.

           It is important to note the meaning of this phrase as employed in the above quotation from Imrei Binah. In the kabbalistic worldview of Rabbi Yitzhaq Luria Ashkenazi (ha-ARI) and most subsequent kabbalists, the terms “tikkun” and “tikkun ‘olam” relate to the idea that engagement by Jews in activities such as observance of mitzvoth, prayer, and study of Torah—especially if done with appropriate “intention” (kavvanah)—causes the release of “holy sparks” that had been captive in the realm of negative dark cosmic reality. Upon release, these sparks return to their original, positive place in the Cosmic scheme; this weakens the negative realm and strengthens the positive, holy side—thus contributing to the repair (“tikkun”) of the entire Cosmic system. When this process will be completed, Cosmic reality will return to its original intended state—and this, ipso facto, is the ultimate Redemption. Rabbi Yosef Hayyim was a great kabbalist in the Lurianic tradition, and the term “tikkun” appears frequently in his writing. Thus, for instance, he was asked by his disciple, Rabbi Shim’on Agassi: “When a person performs “tikkun” by engaging in Torah, mitzvoth, and prayer—does this affect also what was prior to the Sin of Adam, or not?” [21]

            Specifically in light of RYH’s extensive employment of this term in its kabbalistic meaning, it is important to realize that when he extols general knowledge as conducive to “tikkun ‘olam” he is employing this term in an alternate manner, that became prevalent in the nineteenth century, to indicate human activity that has a positive impact on mundane this-worldly reality. In a related passage in Imrei Binah he explains that in an improved social-political reality such as that prevailing in his own time, practical application of knowledge acquired from study of natural sciences brings blessing to the world:

 

God did not enable the minds of those who are wise in the natural sciences to be attentive and to observe these sciences until the recent years, close to our time, when the kings made a covenant via ordinances that they enacted to improve the world (ba’avur tikkun ha-’olam) that are called Tanzimat.[22] And by virtue of this enablement [by God], from these sciences of steam-ships and telegraph there resulted good and benefit for humanity, in several matters … thus, the revealing of these wisdoms in recent generations was good for the world, and is “a good thing rightly timed” (Mishlei 15:23).[23]

 

It is worthy of note that when praising tikkun ‘olam in the above paragraph, RYH explicitly validates activities for the benefit of humanity in general (rather than to specifically improve only the lot of Jews). By pointing out a causal link between application of general knowledge and tikkun ‘olam, RYH validates devotion of time by students and teachers in Jewish schools to the study of a wide range of topics in addition to Torah—and implicitly encourages the possibility that as a result, these students will then become empowered to facilitate the well-being of all humankind.

 

  1. Engaging in Acquisition of General Knowledge as a Path to Deepening Our Connection to God

 

            Over and above the three justifications for general studies that we have seen until this point, Rabbi Yosef Hayyim adds a fourth—theological—justification: a person’s deep religious and spiritual impulse to become close to God cannot be fully achieved without knowing and understanding the world in which we live. In a manner akin to Rambam’s determination that knowledge of the Divine is impossible without knowledge of the sciences that are the necessary basis for such knowledge (Guide 1:34), RYH writes that it is irrational that a person who

 

Desires and yearns to learn what is in the heavens above, does not know the quality and state and condition of the earth underneath upon which he dwells, and what is happening upon it and what is taking place therein before his very eyes.[24]

 

He stresses that the realm of those matters defined as “permitted,”[25] that are worthy of study in addition and in parallel to Torah, extends far beyond what some persons think:

 

One might think that this sector defined as “permitted” includes merely writing and arithmetic. That is incorrect! Rather, there are additional kinds of study that are very much required for a person, i.e., a person should know something of natural science, such as—what is the nature of lightning, and what is the nature of thunder, and what is the nature of the rainbow, and the nature of earthquakes, and of clouds and rain, and other similar matters of the creation that the Creator (may He be praised) created in the world. With regard to some of these matters we bless Him (may He be praised) and say: “His strength and power fill the world.”[26]

 

            Several of the phenomena mentioned by RYH—lightning, thunder, earthquakes, and rainbows—are characterized in the last chapter of Tractate Berakhot as phenomena that, when experienced, should elicit recitation of a blessing, i.e., should be recognized as a religious experience. It follows that a person engaged in study of the natural world—and understanding of the matters mentioned by RYH requires acquisition of elements of meteorology, physics, electricity, optics, and geology inter alia—is engaged in study of matters of religious significance. God created the world and therefore, the deeper our understanding of nature, the deeper is our understanding and appreciation of the “strength and power”—and wisdom—of the Creator.[27]

           It follows, that there are two complimentary paths to knowledge of God: engaging in study of Torah, and engaging in study of aspects of creation. This idea finds clear expression in the following passage written by RYH:

 

This is indicated by the verse: “His left hand is under my head, and His right hand caresses me” (Shir haShirim 8:3). For the world is indicated by the letter Vav, that has the numerical value of six, and the world has six extensions: up, down, and the four directions …. And it is known that study of Torah is called "right,” for it is strong and dexterous. While matters of Derekh Eretz, that are those of this world, are called "left,” i.e., the weaker hand. And thus he says: “His left hand is under my head,” meaning: “His left” …. i.e., matters of Derekh Eretz, “is under my head”—i.e., I engage in this. In addition, “His right hand” … i.e., matters of Torah—“caresses me”; [indicating] that I should engage in it [Torah study] at the same time I am engaged in Derekh Eretz. For “grasp the one and the other” together, at the same time. For it augurs well for a person when he studies in this manner.[28]

 

            According to traditional interpretation, Shir haShirim presents the loving relationship and the enduring connection between God (the male figure in the Song) and the People of Israel (the female). The verse “His left hand is under my head, and His right hand caresses me” thus expresses the experience of the People of Israel, who feel embraced by the two arms of the Divine. As interpreted by RYH, the closeness of God and His embrace are experienced by Israel thanks to Israel’s simultaneous engagement in two realms of study: Study of Torah (= embrace by God’s right arm) and study of general knowledge and wisdom (= embrace by His left arm). In other words: Torah (on the one hand) and the created world (on the other hand) are two complimentary modes by which God reveals Himself to us. The ideal path for us as Jews is, to experience God both via study/understanding of His Torah and via study/understanding of His creation in all its richness and diversity.

 

Conclusion

 

            Rabbi Yosef Hayyim unequivocally endorses and supports a curriculum for Jewish education in which from the earliest age onward the student devotes hours of study to Torah and to general knowledge in parallel. He does not agree with the view, advocated by some rabbis, that the rationale for engagement in study of general subjects is to enhance the students’ future income from work. Similarly, he rejects the view that the rationale for such study is, to enhance understanding of Torah. Rather, he presents and endorses four valid rationales for study and acquisition of general knowledge:

  1. Fulfilling the obligation (mandated by reason) for a person to know and understand the world in which one lives;
  2. Realizing the goal that the Jewish People be a “wise and sagacious” people, and (as a result) correctly perceived as such by all humans;
  3. Empowering (Jewish) students to facilitate “tikkun ‘olam, i.e., to advance the well-being of all humankind;
  4. Enabling (Jewish) students to experience enhanced closeness and connection to God by study/understanding of His self-revelation via Torah as well as by study/understanding of His self-revelation via Creation in all its richness and diversity.

 

 

[1] His views on this issue were expounded in several places in his oeuvre, especially in two sermons delivered c. 1903 relating to the inauguration of a new building for the Baghdad branch of an elementary school affiliated with the Alliance Israelite Universelle. The sermons were first published a year before Rabbi Yosef Hayyim”s death in Imrei Binah (Jerusalem 1908) and have since been reprinted several times. The page numbers provided in this article’s footnotes follow the 1973 edition, which is relatively accessible (e.g., via Otzar haHokhma).

[2] Inter alia, this is the official position of Chabad (see e.g., http://www.chabad.org.il/Magazines/Article.asp?ArticleID=270&CategoryID=373). If local law requires secular studies, only the absolute minimum of hours may be diverted from study of Torah. Many such institutions exist. For the U.S. see e.g., https://www.nytimes.com/2018/07/23/nyregion/yeshivas-lawsuit-secular-education.html; for Israel see e.g https://www.haaretz.com/israel-news/ex-haredim-sue-israel-for-lack-of-education-1.5380446

[3] RYH attributes this definition to Rambam, but does not provide a reference to a specific source.

[4] Imrei Binah p. 249.

[5] Responsa vaYomer Yitzhaq, vol. 1 (Livorno 1876), #99. This responsum was composed in 1855.

[6] Responsa Rav Pe’alim, vol. 2 (Jerusalem 1903), Orah Hayyim #22.

[7] Tractate Avot 2:2.

[8] Imrei Binah, p. 236.

[9] Imrei Binah, p. 247.

[10] Imrei Binah, p. 248.

[11] Imrei Binah, p. 250.

[12] A perusal of the continuation of Rabbi Yosse’s statement in tractate Hagiga will enable the reader to appreciate just how creative RYH’s interpretation is!

[13] Imrei Binah, p. 250.

[14] E.g., Ketubot 22a: “What need is there to cite a verse [to ground a norm], if it can be derived from Reason?!”

[15] Rabbi Yosef Hayyim’s use of this verse to support Jewish study of natural science and geography is yet another instance of his remarkable independence of mind. For Torah itself ad. loc. offers a different path for Jews to earn the admiration and respect of others: life according to the norms of Torah!

[16] Imrei Binah, p. 252.

[17] Imrei Binah, p. 251.

[18] Ya’arot Devash (Jerusalem 1988), vol. 2, p. 122.

[19] Imrei Binah, p. 250-251.

[20] Imrei Binah, p. 249.

[21] Rabbi Yosef Hayyim, responsa Rav Pe’alim, vol. 1, Jerusalem 1901, section Sod Yesharim #17. Rabbi Agassi had thought that the reply was negative, but RYH rejected this opinion and explained at length why the correct answer was in the affirmative.

[22] Tanzimat was the term for wide-ranging changes and reforms in the administrative and legal realms of the Ottoman Empire, enacted in the nineteenth century.

[23] Imrei Binah p. 229.

[24] Imrei Binah, p. 250.

[25] See text above, near note 3.

[26] Imrei Binah, p. 249–250.

[27] Rabbi Yosef Hayyim here echoes the religious worldview of Rambam, who writes:

There is a commandment to love and to be in awe of this Glorious and Awesome God, as it is said: "Thou shalt love the Lord thy God" (Deut. 6:5); and it is said: "The Lord thy God thou shalt fear" (Ibid. 6:13). But how may one discover the way to love and fear Him? When a person will contemplate His works and His great and wonderful creatures, and will behold through them His wonderful, matchless and infinite wisdom, he will spontaneously be filled with love, praise and exaltation and become possessed of a great longing to know the Great Name, as David said: "My soul thirsts for God, for the living God" (Ps. 42:2); and when he will consider all these very matters, he will be taken aback in a moment and stricken with fear/awe, and realize that he is an infinitesimal creature, humble and dark, standing with an insignificant and slight knowledge in the presence of the All Wise, as David said: "When I see Thy heavens, the works of Thy fingers [….] what is man that Thou should pay attention to him?" (Ibid. 8:4). (Mishne Torah, Hilkhot Yesodei haTorah, 2:1–2)

[28] Imrei Binah, p. 236.

Conference of Sephardic Rabbis

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A remarkable conference of Sephardic rabbis was held in New York City on August 17-18, 2026. Approximately 150 rabbis and communal leaders from throughout the United States and six countries gathered to study together, share ideas, establish friendships for future networking.  The program sessions were held at the UJA-Federation building in midtown Manhattan.

The co-chairs were Avi Garson of Habura and Ethan Marcus of the Sephardic Brotherhood of America. These young leaders spearheaded the organization and implementation of this historic conference. Our Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals served as one of the co-sponsors of the event.

The Monday night program, open to the public, was held at Congregation Shearith Israel and featured the keynote address by Rabbi Marc D. Angel.  His address was followed by dinner and a concert of Sephardic hazzanim.

Rabbi Angel's address focused on what Sephardic life might look like in 50 or 100 years, in Israel and the Diaspora. Will "ethnicity" matter in the future, when so many Sephardim and Ashkenazim are marrying each other and when traditions will inevitably evolve? What are the qualities of Sephardic civilization that will be relevant to future generations, whatever their particular ethnic backgrounds may be. We hope to post a video of the address on our Institute's YouTube channel in the near future. Below are excerpts from Rabbi Angel's address.

People speak of preserving the Sephardic Heritage. I do not agree. You preserve fish, you preserve fruit, you preserve things that are dead. Something alive grows and evolves. We don't want to "preserve" a Sephardic Heritage; we want it to live; we want to draw on our past and bring it to life in new ways, to breath wisdom and spirituality that can continue to fill our lives and inspire our future generations.

 
The Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of New York traces itself back to 1654, the oldest Jewish congregation in North America. People admire our history, as do I.  But when I look at our synagogue I don't only see the past   I see a taste of the future of the Jewish People. We thrive as a synagogue in the Western Sephardic tradition, a tradition of formality, elegance, supreme  reverence for God...but we are not an "ethnic" congregation. When I served as rabbi (1969--2007) at least half of our congregation was composed of Ashkenazim. And most of the Sephardim were themselves either married to Ashkenazim or their children were married to Ashkenazim. In other words, our congregation flourished as a Sephardic congregation because it attracted those of various backgrounds who found the Western Sephardic traditions to be spiritually compelling to them.  In three or four generations from now, there will be very few--if any--purely "ethnic" congregations. Rather, Jews of many backgrounds will be found within the Sephardic orbit. What will draw them to the Sephardic traditions? What are basic ingredients in Sephardic civilization that are relevant and meaningful to all thinking Jews, regardless of ethnicity. Actually, we have a lot of powerful traditions--intellectual, cultural, synagogal--that will attract a great many people. I like to speak of "Sephardism"--Sephardic civilization beyond ethnicity.
 
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Sephardic Rabbinic Conference; Sephardic Civilization

The Meaning of the Book of Jonah

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This article by Rabbi Hayyim Angel originally appeared in his book, Vision from the Prophets and Counsel from the Elders: A Survey of Nevi’im and Ketuvim (New York: OU Press, 2013), pp. 163-172.

 

THE MEANING OF THE BOOK OF JONAH[1]

 

The Talmud ascribes the composition of the Twelve Prophets to the Men of the Great Assembly (Bava Batra 15a). Rashi explains that the books were bound together in one scroll because each was so short that some might get lost if not combined into a scroll of greater size.

 

Together they span a period of some 250-300 years. Jonah, Hosea, Amos, and Micah were eighth century prophets; Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah, and Obadiah prophesied in the seventh-early sixth century; and Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi prophesied in the late sixth century. Of the twelve, Joel is the most difficult to date, and we will discuss him in the fourth chapter on the Twelve Prophets.

 

INTRODUCTION

It is difficult to find a comprehensive theory to explain the purpose of the book, or why Jonah fled from his mission. For millennia, great interpreters have scoured the Book of Jonah’s forty-eight verses for their fundamental messages.

One midrashic line suggests that unrepentant Israel would look bad by comparison were non-Israelites to repent.[2] Another proposes that Jonah was convinced that the Ninevites would repent and God would pardon them. Jonah feared that he then would be called a false prophet once his prediction of Nineveh’s destruction went unfulfilled.[3]

Abarbanel does not find either answer persuasive. Perhaps Israel would be inspired to repent in light of Nineveh’s repentance. Moreover, since the Ninevites did repent, they obviously believed Jonah to be a true prophet. Nowhere is there evidence of Jonah’s being upset about his or Israel’s reputation. It is unlikely that Jonah would have violated God’s commandment for the reasons given by these midrashim.

 

Abarbanel (followed by Malbim) submits that Jonah feared the future destruction of Israel by Assyria, of which Nineveh was the capital (cf. Ibn Ezra on 1:1). Rather than obey God’s directive, Jonah elected to martyr himself on behalf of his people. However, the Book of Jonah portrays Nineveh as a typological Sodom-like city-state, not as the historical capital of Assyria. Jonah’s name appears eighteen times in the book, but nobody else—not even the king of Nineveh – is named. Additionally, there is no mention of Israel or its king in the story. The Book of Jonah appears to have a self-contained message that transcends its historical context.[4]

Seeking another approach, the twentieth century scholars Yehoshua Bachrach,[5] Elyakim Ben-Menahem,[6] and Uriel Simon[7] cite Jonah’s protest from the end of the book:

He prayed to the Lord, saying, “O Lord! Isn’t this just what I said when I was still in my own country? That is why I fled beforehand to Tarshish. For I know that You are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in kindness, renouncing punishment. (Jon. 4:2)

 

These scholars understand Jonah’s protest as a rejection of the very idea of repentance. To support their reading, they cite a passage from the Jerusalem Talmud:

It was asked of wisdom: what is the punishment for a sinner? She replied, Misfortune pursues sinners (Prov. 13:21). It was asked of prophecy: what is the punishment for a sinner? She replied, The person who sins, only he shall die (Ezek. 18:4, 20). It was asked of God: what is the punishment for a sinner? He replied, let him repent and gain atonement. (J.T. Makkot 2:6 [31d])

 

From this point of view, there is a fundamental struggle between God on the one hand and wisdom and prophecy on the other. Jonah was not caught up in the details of this specific prophecy; rather, he was protesting the very existence of repentance, preferring instead that God mete out immediate punishment to sinners.

Although this approach is more comprehensive than the earlier interpretations, it remains incomplete. Much of the book has little to do with repentance or God’s mercy – particularly Jonah’s lengthy encounter with the sailors in chapter 1 who never needed to repent, and his prayer in chapter 2 where Jonah likely did not repent. Aside from downplaying the role of the sailors in chapter 1, Uriel Simon sidesteps Jonah’s prayer by contending that it was not an original part of the story.[8] Regardless of its origins, however, Jonah’s prayer appears integral to the book, and likely contains one of the keys to unlocking the overall purposes of the narrative.[9] Finally, most prophets appear to have accepted the ideas of repentance and God’s mercy. Why should Jonah alone have fled from his mission?

 

Although these interpreters are correct in stressing Jonah’s protest against God’s attribute of mercy in 4:2, Jonah also disapproved of that attribute particularly when God applies it to pagans. It appears that this theme lies at the heart of the book, creating an insurmountable conflict between Jonah and God. Jonah was unwilling to accept God’s mercy even to the most ethically perfected pagans because that manifestation of mercy was antithetical to Jonah’s desired conception of God.

 

CHAPTER 1

Although they were pagans, the sailors were superior people. They prayed to their deities during the storm, treated Jonah with respect even after he had been selected by the lottery as the cause of their troubles, and went to remarkable lengths to avoid throwing him overboard even after he confessed. They implored God for mercy. When they finally did throw Jonah into the sea, they made vows to God.

 

Jonah, on the other hand, displays none of these lofty qualities. He rebelled against God by fleeing and then slept while the terrified sailors prayed. Remarkably, the captain sounds like a prophet when addressing Jonah— “How can you be sleeping so soundly! Up, call upon your god! Perhaps the god will be kind to us and we will not perish” (1:6)—while Jonah sounds like the inattentive audience a prophet typically must rebuke. The captain even uses the same words in 1:6 (kum kera) that God had in commanding Jonah to go to Nineveh in 1:2 (kum lekh…u-kera).

 

When Jonah finally does speak in the text, the narrator divides the prophet’s words between a direct quotation and narrative:

“I am a Hebrew! (Ivri anokhi),” he replied. “I worship the Lord, the God of Heaven, who made both sea and land.” The men were greatly terrified, and they asked him, “What have you done?” And when the men learned that he was fleeing from the service of the Lord – for so he told them . . . (1:9-10)

 

Although Jonah told the sailors what they wanted to know, that his flight from God had caused the storm, it is the narrator who relates those crucial words rather than placing them into Jonah’s direct speech. Moreover, Jonah’s statement that he was a Hebrew who worshipped the true God appears tangential to the terrified sailors’ concerns. Why would the narrator frame Jonah’s statement this way?

The term “Ivri (Hebrew)” often is used when contrasting Israelites with non-Israelites.[10] In this vein, Elyakim Ben-Menahem notes that Jonah’s usage of Ivri in 1:9 is fitting, since he was contrasting himself with pagans. Jonah’s perceived dissimilarity to the pagan sailors is the main emphasis of chapter 1. Ben-Menahem further suggests that the text does not report Jonah’s response to the captain so that his dramatic proclamation in 1:9 could appear as his first words recorded in the book.[11] This contrast with the sailors was most important to Jonah; therefore, the narrator placed only these words in his direct quotation.

 

To explain the bifurcation of Jonah’s statement, Abarbanel advances a midrashic-style comment: “The intent [of the word Ivri] is not only that he was from the Land of the Hebrews; rather, he was a sinner [avaryan] who was transgressing God’s commandment.” Abarbanel surmises that the sailors deduced from this wordplay on Ivri that Jonah was fleeing! For Abarbanel’s suggestion to work as the primary meaning of the text, of course, the sailors would have to have known Hebrew and to have been as ingenious as Abarbanel to have caught that wordplay. Though not a compelling peshat comment, Abarbanel’s insight is conceptually illuminating regarding the overall purpose of chapter 1. Jonah emphatically contrasted himself with the pagan sailors; however, the narrator instead has contrasted Jonah with God. In chapter 1, Jonah was indeed Abarbanel’s Ivri—a prophetic hero of true faith contrasting himself with pagans, and an avaryan—a sinner against God.

 

CHAPTER 2

After waiting three days inside the fish, Jonah finally prayed to God. Some (for example, Ibn Ezra, Abarbanel and Malbim) conclude that Jonah must have repented, since God ordered the fish to spew Jonah out, and Jonah subsequently went to Nineveh. However, there is no indication of repentance in Jonah’s prayer.[12] One might argue further that God’s enjoining Jonah to return to Nineveh in 3:1-2 indicates that Jonah had indeed not repented.[13] In his prayer, Jonah was more concerned with being saved and serving God in the Temple than he was in the reasons God was punishing him (2:5, 8).

 

Jonah concluded his prayer with two triumphant verses:

They who cling to empty folly forsake their own welfare, but I, with loud thanksgiving, will sacrifice to You; what I have vowed I will perform. Deliverance is the Lord’s! (2:9-10)

 

Ibn Ezra and Radak believe that Jonah was contrasting himself with the sailors who had made vows in 1:16. Unlike their insincere (in Jonah’s opinion) vows, Jonah intended to keep his vow to serve God in the Temple. Abarbanel and Malbim, however, do not think that Jonah would allude to the sailors. In their reading of the book, the sailors are only tangential to their understanding of the story, which specifically concerns Nineveh as the Assyrian capital. Instead, they maintain that Jonah was forecasting the insincere (in Jonah’s opinion) repentance of the Ninevites.

 

One may combine their opinions: the sailors and Ninevites both are central to the book of Jonah, each receiving a chapter of coverage. They were superior people—the sailors all along, and the Ninevites after their repentance—but Jonah despised them because they were pagans. Jonah’s prayer ties the episodes with the sailors and Ninevites together, creating a unified theme for the book, namely, that Jonah contrasts himself with truly impressive pagans. It seems that Rashi has the smoothest reading:

They who cling to empty folly: those who worship idols; forsake their own welfare: their fear of God, from whom all kindness emanates. But I, in contrast, am not like this; I, with loud thanksgiving, will sacrifice to You. (Rashi on Jon. 2:9-10)

 

As in chapter 1, Jonah’s contrasting himself with pagans is the climactic theme of his prayer in chapter 2. To paraphrase the prayer in chapter 2, Jonah was saying “Ivri anokhi [I am a Hebrew]” (1:9)! I worship the true God in contrast to all pagans—illustrated by the sailors, and later by the Ninevites. At the same time, Jonah still remained in his rebellion against God; he still was an avaryan [sinner]. According to this view, God allowed Jonah out of the fish to teach him a lesson, not because he had repented.

 

CHAPTER 3

Did Jonah obey God when he went to Nineveh? Radak assumes that he did. In contrast, Malbim believes that Jonah rebelled even as he walked through the wicked city. He should have explicitly offered repentance as an option, instead of proclaiming the unqualified doom of the Ninevites.

 

The Ninevites, on the other hand, effected one of the greatest repentance movements in biblical history. The king of Nineveh even said what one might have expected Jonah to say: “Let everyone turn back from his evil ways and from the injustice of which he is guilty. Who knows but that God may turn and relent? He may turn back from His wrath, so that we do not perish” (3:8-9). We noted earlier that the same contrast may be said of the captain of the ship, who sounded like a prophet while Jonah rebelled against God.

 

Nineveh’s repentance might amaze the reader, but it did not impress Jonah. Abarbanel and Malbim (on 4:1-2) suggest that Jonah was outraged that God spared the Ninevites after their repentance for social crimes, since they remained pagans. This interpretation seems to lie close to the heart of the book. Jonah did not care about the outstandingly ethical behavior of the sailors nor the impressively penitent Ninevites. Jonah still was the Ivri he proclaimed himself to be in 1:9, sharply contrasting himself with the pagans he encountered, and thereby remaining distanced from the God he knew would have compassion on them.

 

CHAPTER 4

This displeased Jonah greatly, and he was grieved. He prayed to the Lord, saying, “O Lord! Isn’t this just what I said when I was still in my own country? That is why I fled beforehand to Tarshish. For I know that You are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in kindness, renouncing punishment. Please, Lord, take my life, for I would rather die than live.” (4:1-3)

 

Outraged by God’s sparing of Nineveh, Jonah revealed that he had fled initially because he knew that God would not punish the Ninevites. In his protest, Jonah appealed to God’s attributes of mercy, but with a significant deviation from the classical formula in the aftermath of the Golden Calf:

The Lord! The Lord! A God compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness . . . (Exod. 34:6)

 

For I know that You are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in kindness, renouncing punishment. (Jon. 4:2)[14]

 

Jonah substituted “renouncing punishment (ve-niham al ha-ra’ah)” for “faithfulness (ve-emet).” Jonah’s God of truth would not spare pagans, yet God Himself had charged Jonah with a mission to save pagans! Thus, God’s prophecy at the outset of the narrative challenged Jonah’s very conception of God. Jonah would rather die than live with a God who did not conform to his religious outlook. Ironically, then, Jonah’s profound fear and love of God are what caused him to flee initially, and to demand that God take his life.

 

In an attempt to expose the fallacy of Jonah’s argument, God demonstrated Jonah’s willingness to die stemmed not only from idealistic motives, but also from physical discomfort:

“O Lord! Isn’t this just what I said when I was still in my own country? That is why I fled beforehand to Tarshish . . . . Please, Lord, take my life, for I would rather die than live.” The Lord replied, “Are you that deeply grieved?” (4:1-4)

And when the sun rose, God provided a sultry east wind; the sun beat down on Jonah’s head, and he became faint. He begged for death, saying, “I would rather die than live.” Then God said to Jonah, “Are you so deeply grieved about the plant?” “Yes,” he replied, “so deeply that I want to die” (4:8-9)

 

God added a surprising variable when explaining His sparing of the Ninevites. Although it had seemed from chapter 3 that the Ninevites had saved themselves with their repentance, God suddenly offered a different reason[15]:

Then the Lord said: “You cared about the plant, which you did not work for and which you did not grow, which appeared overnight and perished overnight. And should I not care about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not yet know their right hand from their left, and many beasts as well!” (4:10-11)

 

God had been willing to destroy the Ninevites for their immorality, but forgave them once they repented. Although the Ninevites had misguided beliefs, God had compassion on them without expecting that they become monotheists. After all, they could not distinguish their right from their left in the sense that they served false deities. For Jonah, however, true justice required punishing even the penitent Ninevites because they still were pagans.

 

To paraphrase God’s response: You, Jonah, wanted to die for the highest of ideals. However, you also were willing to die rather than face heat. Your human limitations are now fully exposed. How, then, can you expect to understand God’s attributes?[16] God has little patience for human immorality, but can tolerate moral people with misguided beliefs. Jonah’s stark silence at the end of the book reflects the gulf between God and himself. He remained an “Ivri” to the very end.

 

CONCLUSION

The story of Jonah is about prophecy, the pinnacle of love of God, and the highest human spiritual achievement. But prophecy also causes increased anguish, as the prophet apprehends the infinite gap between God and humanity more intensely than anyone else. Jonah’s spiritual attainments were obviously far superior to those of the sailors or the people of Nineveh – he most certainly could tell his right hand from his left. The closer he came to God, the more he simultaneously gained recognition of how little he truly knew of God’s ways. This realization tortured him to the point of death.

 

God taught Jonah that he did not need to wish for death. He had influenced others for the better and had attained a deeper level of understanding of God and of his own place in this world. Despite his passionate commitment to God, Jonah needed to learn to appreciate moral people and to bring them guidance. He had a vital role to play in allowing God’s mercy to be manifest.

 

The Book of Jonah is a larger-than-life story of every individual who seeks closeness with God. There is a paradoxical recognition that the closer one comes to God, the more one becomes conscious of the chasm separating God’s wisdom from our own. There is a further challenge in being absolutely committed to God, while still respecting moral people who espouse different beliefs. A midrash places one final line in Jonah’s mouth: “Conduct Your world according to the attribute of mercy!”[17] This midrash pinpoints the humbling lesson Jonah should have learned from this remarkable episode, and that every reader must learn.

 

 

 

[1] This chapter is adapted from Hayyim Angel, “‘I am a Hebrew!’: Jonah’s Conflict with God’s Mercy Toward Even the Most Worthy of Pagans,” Jewish Bible Quarterly 34:1 (2006), pp. 3-11; reprinted in Angel, Through an Opaque Lens (New York: Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2006), pp. 259-269. It also appeared in Yom Kippur Reader (New York: Tebah, 2008), pp. 59-70.

 

[2] See, for example, Mekhilta Bo, J.T. Sanhedrin 11:5, Pesahim 87b, cited by Rashi, Kara, Ibn Ezra, and Radak.

 

[3] Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer 9, cited by R. Saadyah (Emunot ve-De’ot 3:5), Rashi, Kara, Radak, and R. Isaiah of Trani.

 

[4] See further discussion and critique of the aforementioned views in Uriel Simon, The JPS Bible Commentary: Jonah (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 1999), introduction pp. 7-12.

 

[5] Yehoshua Bachrach, Yonah ben Amitai ve-Eliyahu: le-Hora’at Sefer Yonah al pi ha-Mekorot (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: The Religious Department of the Youth and Pioneering Division of the Zionist Organization, 1967), p. 51.

 

[6] Elyakim Ben-Menahem, Da’at Mikra: Jonah, in Twelve Prophets vol. 1 (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1973), introduction pp. 7-9.

 

[7] Simon, JPS Bible Commentary: Jonah, introduction pp. 12-13.

 

[8] Simon, JPS Bible Commentary: Jonah, introduction pp. 33-35; commentary pp. 15-17.

 

[9] See further critique of Simon in David Henshke, “The Meaning of the Book of Jonah and Its Relationship to Yom Kippur,” (Hebrew) Megadim 29 (1998), pp. 77-78; and see response of Uriel Simon to Henshke, “True Prayer and True Repentance,” (Hebrew), Megadim 31 (2000), pp. 127-131.

 

[10] See, e.g., Gen. 39:14, 17; 40:15; 41:12; 43:32; Exod. 1:15, 16, 19; 2:7, 11, 13; 3:18; 5:3; 7:16; 9:1, 13; 10:3. Cf. Gen. Rabbah 42:13: R. Judah said: [ha-Ivri signifies that] the whole world was on one side (ever) while [Abraham] was on the other side (ever).

 

[11] Ben-Menahem, Da’at Mikra: Jonah, pp. 6-7. In his introduction, pp. 3-4, Ben-Menahem adds that chapter 1 is arranged chiastically and Jonah’s proclamation in v. 9 lies at the center of that structure, further highlighting its centrality to the chapter.

 

[12] Cf. Rashi, Kara, and R. Eliezer of Beaugency. Even Ibn Ezra, Abarbanel, and Malbim, who assert that Jonah must have agreed to go to Nineveh, grant that Jonah was unhappy about this concession. Adopting a middle position, Sforno suggests that Jonah repented, but the prayer included in the book is a psalm of gratitude after Jonah already was saved. Rob Barrett (“Meaning More than They Say: The Conflict between Y-H-W-H and Jonah,” JSOT 37:2 (2012), p. 244) suggests additional ironies in Jonah’s prayer: Jonah proclaims that he has called out to God (2:3), but in fact has refused to call out to Nineveh or to God while on the boat. Jonah states that God saved him because he turned to God, while he is fleeing God’s command.

 

[13] Ibn Ezra counters that Jonah specifically stayed near Nineveh so that he would be ready to go with a second command. Alternatively, Ben-Menahem (Da’at Mikra: Jonah, p. 13) suggests that Jonah might have thought that God had sent someone else.

 

[14] For further analysis of the interrelationship between Joel, Jonah, and Exodus 34, see Thomas B. Dozeman, “Inner Biblical Interpretation of Y-H-W-H’s Gracious and Compassionate Character,” JBL 108 (1989), pp. 207-223.

 

[15] For fuller exploration of this and related disparities, see Hayyim Angel, “The Uncertainty Principle of Repentance in the Books of Jonah and Joel,” in Angel, Revealed Texts, Hidden Meanings: Finding the Religious Significance in Tanakh (Jersey City, NJ: Ktav-Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2009), pp. 148-161.

 

[16] See further discussion in Bachrach, Yonah ben Amitai ve-Eliyahu, pp. 66-68.

 

[17] Midrash Jonah, ed. Jellinek, p. 102, quoted in Simon, JPS Bible Commentary: Jonah, introduction p. 12. R. Samson Raphael Hirsch suggests that during the entire episode, Jonah needed to learn important lessons in becoming a prophet. God therefore sent him on this initial mission to Nineveh. Only after this episode did God send him on a more favorable prophetic mission to Israel (II Kings 14:23-27). “Commentary on Jonah” (Hebrew), HaMa’ayan 51:1 (Tishri 5771-2010), pp. 8-9.