Failure...and Success: Thoughts for Parashat Re'eh

Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Re'eh
by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Some time ago, I met with a friend who is a very successful entrepreneur who deals with top people at leading high-tech companies such as Microsoft, Google and Amazon. He told me that when these companies look to hire new employees, they especially value applicants with entrepreneurial experience—even if these applicants had run their own businesses and failed!

Why would they want to hire “failed” entrepreneurs?

My friend explained: a high percentage of start-up companies fail. To start such businesses requires imagination, risk-taking ability, creativity, hard work. These are exactly the qualities the big high-tech companies are looking for. Even if the entrepreneurs failed in their own businesses, yet they have demonstrated unique courage and willingness to think “out of the box.” They showed that they were willing to try something new and to invest their lives in it.

If people are willing to think imaginatively and to work hard at developing their plans, they increase their odds of success. Even if their original businesses did not turn out well, they eventually can find the right framework for their talents and energies.

It is not “failure” to have high aspirations that one has not fulfilled. It is failure for one not to have had high aspirations in the first place.

This week’s Torah portion begins with the words, “behold I set before you this day…” Rabbi Hayyim Benattar, in his Torah commentary “Ohr Hahayyim,” offers an interesting interpretation based on the words “Re’eh anokhi.” He suggests that these words might be understood in the sense of Moses telling the people of Israel: “behold me” i.e. see how high I’ve been able to rise, to have related to God “face to face.” In setting himself as a model, Moses was reminding the Israelites that each of them could rise to great spiritual heights. If they would each strive to the best of their abilities, they could achieve great things.

Moses was calling on the Israelites to have high religious aspirations. Even if they experienced many failures along the way, they ultimately would maximize their opportunities for spiritual growth if they kept striving to attain their ideals. It is not “failure” to have been unable to fulfill all one’s aspirations: it is failure not to have aspired in the first place.

Religious life is not static. Indeed, the hallmark of religion at its best is an ongoing sense of striving, failing, growing, falling back, moving forward. Religion at its best is dynamic and life-transforming. Those who are masters of religious life are precisely those who demonstrate “entrepreneurial” spirit: the willingness to try, to take risks, to invest oneself totally in a set of grand ideas and ideals, to fail but then to pick oneself up and try again.

Religious life is deficient when it lacks enthusiasm and energy. Unless we are growing and developing, we are stagnating or regressing. Religion isn’t about maintaining a dull status quo: it is about dynamic self-transformation and spiritual growth. It is looking to the example of Moses and other great men and women—and aspiring to raise ourselves to their models.

Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, who was Ashkenazic Chief Rabbi of Israel in the early 20th century, once compared religious life to being on a ladder. Was someone on a higher rung more “religious” than one on a lower rung? Rabbi Kook answered: it depends which direction the people were going. A person might be on a higher rung—with more knowledge and greater level of mitzvah observance—and yet be stagnant or actually on the way down the ladder. Another person might be on a lower rung of religious knowledge and observance, and yet be ascending, moving up with each passing day. So the one who is ascending is experiencing a dynamic and growing religious life, while the one on the higher rung is experiencing a dry and diminishing religious life. The one on the lower rung is aspiring to grow, while the one on the higher rung has surrendered to rote and dullness.

Religion is not a part time sideline, or something to do in our spare time. It isn’t a collection of laws and customs for us to perform in a mechanical way. It is, at root, a framework for striving toward a dynamic relationship with the Almighty. It is not so much a pattern of life as an attitude toward living, of reaching beyond ourselves, of aspiring to raise ourselves above the mundane, of climbing one more rung in our quest for self-understanding and confrontation with the Divine.

Yes, we will surely experience failures along the way. But it is not these failures that define who we are. What defines us is our aspirations…and our willingness to strive to attain them.

The Rabbi, the Professor and the Pope on Family Values in the Book of Genesis

View PDF

Rabbi Hayyim Angel is the National Scholar of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals and editor of its journal, Conversations. He teaches advanced undergraduate Bible courses at Yeshiva University. This article appears in issue 43 of Conversations and was reprinted in issue 44.

Introduction

The unique dignity of humanity lies at the root of all Western morality. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks considers this concept to be one of the greatest transformational ideas of the Torah.[1]

Sadly, this foundational premise of Western culture is under assault. Some contemporary ideologies assail God, the Bible, family, morality, merit-based opportunity, and human equality. With these assaults comes the erosion of biblical family values.

We need a common language to teach human uniqueness and morality as we explore what we have in common with all other organisms and what distinguishes us from them. The Book of Genesis is that common language. For observant Jews, we have the additional language of halakha.

In this essay, we will focus on three different voices who have appealed to Genesis to teach human dignity and morality.

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik gave a series of lectures in the 1950s, which have been published as a book, Family Redeemed.[2] In these lectures, Rabbi Soloveitchik distinguishes between Natural Man and Redeemed Man. Humans may redeem themselves through the building of a family, elevating themselves from being merely biological organisms that reproduce like all other creatures. More broadly, halakha elevates all physical-biological acts to the realm of the sacred when we follow God’s revealed laws.

Professor Leon Kass, a prominent bioethicist at the University of Chicago for many years, describes his journey. He was a secular Jew, uninterested in the Bible. He came to the Bible as an adult by asking why so many people have been interested in it. He fell in love with the Bible and published an important work on Genesis (among other books).[3] He believes that strong family values are an essential building block of a moral society.

Pope John Paul II gave a series of 129 sermons from 1979 to1984 on the religious significance of family (I don’t think too many rabbis could get away with giving so many consecutive sermons on the same theme). He was responding to the so-called sexual revolution that began in 1968.[4]

Before considering these three disparate thinkers, it must be stressed that although the strong nuclear traditional family is the ideal of the Torah, it does not always work out this way. People may remain single, get divorced, confront infertility, or have homosexual tendencies, to name a few. The Torah promotes family values as the ideal, but this value does not negate the value of full participation in the community when people do not have a traditional family for one reason or another.

Professor Leon Kass

Given the centrality of family relationships in Genesis, Kass regularly explores the notions of patriarchy and matriarchy. Because of their unique role in producing a new life, women may become arrogant by viewing their children as their possessions. God therefore teaches humility to the matriarchs through their initial barrenness.[5]

Males need to be acculturated to become interested in child rearing. Virility and potency are far less important to the Torah than decency, righteousness, and holiness. Male circumcision was widely practiced in ancient world as a puberty ritual. It generally was viewed as a sign of sexual potency and an initiation into the society of men, ending a boy’s primary attachment to his mother and household, the society of women and children.

The Torah transforms circumcision into a father’s religious duty toward his son. Circumcision celebrates not male potency but rather procreation and perpetuation. Immediately after the birth of a son, a father must begin the transmission of the covenant. The Torah’s ideal of manhood is defined by those who remember God and transmit the covenant rather than those who fight, rule, and make their name great (consider whom Western histories label “the Great” vs. whom the Torah idealizes as great).

Circumcision also profoundly affects the mother of the child, as it reminds her that her son is not fully hers. God therefore renames Sarai to Sarah at the time of God’s command of circumcision to Abraham.[6]

Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik

One underdeveloped area in Kass’ analysis is the role of motherhood. For Kass, women need less religious guidance than men in order to stand properly before God. Once they overcome the potential arrogance of considering their children as their own possessions, they are well on their way to living a life of holiness.

In contrast, Rabbi Soloveitchik offers a more nuanced view of motherhood through his typology of Natural and Redeemed Man. In the natural community, a father’s role is minimal whereas motherhood is central to a woman’s life. Similar to Kass, Rabbi Soloveitchik outlines ways that the Torah teaches men that they must educate their children in the covenant to be worthy of a redeemed fatherhood.

Rabbi Soloveitchik also develops the central role of the mother in partnering with her husband in the religious upbringing of her children. Abraham—and not Adam—was called av hamon goyim, a father of many nations (Genesis 17:5), because redeemed fatherhood begins only with a father’s commitment to his children’s religious education.[7]

Unlike Adam, Eve received her new name because she was em kol hai, the mother of all living beings (Genesis 3:20). Natural motherhood involves true sacrifice. However, Sarai was renamed Sarah at the same time as Abraham’s name change in the context of circumcision (Genesis 17:15), since she did more than raise biological progeny—she became a full partner with Abraham in transmitting the covenant. Both Abraham and Sarah understood that serving God involves personal behavior but also comes with a commitment to teaching righteousness to one’s family and society:

In the natural community, the woman is involved in her motherhood-destiny; father is a distant figure who stands on the periphery. In the covenantal community, father moves to the center where mother has been all along, and both together take on a new commitment, universal in substance: to teach, to train the child to hear the faint echoes which keep on tapping at our gates and which disturb the complacent, comfortable, gracious society (Family Redeemed, p. 114).

Pope John Paul II

Before we consider Pope John Paul’s discourses, we must address two concerns: First, and not surprisingly, many elements in Pope John Paul II’s sermons connect to Trinitarian theology and the Incarnation. After all, the Pope was Catholic. Consequently, strikingly few elements of his discussions of Genesis can be translated into Jewish language. Second, it is irrelevant to this discussion that Catholics maintain an ideal of non-marriage for their priesthood. The Pope focused on the majority of society and believed in the sanctity of the family.

Pope John Paul II links the idea of people’s being created in God’s Image (Genesis 1:26) to marriage. The Image of God should be interpreted as human perfection, and the ultimate fulfillment of that human perfection is through marriage.[8] In his reading of Genesis, the first two chapters should be read as a single unit, since marriage appears only in chapter 2:

The Lord God said, “It is not good for man to be alone; I will make a fitting helper for him”… So the Lord God cast a deep sleep upon the man; and, while he slept, He took one of his ribs and closed up the flesh at that spot. And the Lord God fashioned the rib that He had taken from the man into a woman; and He brought her to the man. Then the man said, “This one at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh. This one shall be called Woman, for from man was she taken.” Hence a man leaves his father and mother and clings to his wife, so that they become one flesh. (Genesis 2:18–24)

To support Pope John Paul II’s reading, humans are not explicitly called “good” in chapter 1. Rabbi Yosef Albo (Ikkarim III:2) maintains that unlike most of God’s creations, people are left incomplete so that we may use our free will to become good. Most creations simply are programmed to do what God wants, making them “complete” and good. Genesis 2:18 has God reflecting on man’s single state as being “not good,” and therefore creates Eve as a wife for him.

Several rabbinic sources likewise consider the commandment “love your neighbor as yourself” (Leviticus 19:18) fulfilled through marriage (Tosefta Sotah 5:6; Kiddushin 41a).

In contrast to the Pope’s reading of Genesis chapters 1–2 as a single unit, Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik[9] considers each chapter as reflecting different aspects of divine truth. The narrative in chapter 2 focuses exclusively on the relationship between man and woman and does not mention God’s Image or childbearing. In contrast, Genesis chapter 1, which mentions humankind’s being created in God’s Image, goes on to bless people to procreate:

And God said, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. They shall rule the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, the cattle, the whole earth, and all the creeping things that creep on earth.” And God created man in His image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them. God blessed them and God said to them, “Be fertile and increase, fill the earth and master it; and rule the fish of the sea, the birds of the sky, and all the living things that creep on earth.” (Genesis 1:26–28)

Long before Rabbi Soloveitchik and Pope John Paul II, two of the greatest medieval rabbinic commentators debated whether Genesis chapters 1–2 should be read as one or two units. This disagreement is manifest over the proper understanding of Genesis 2:24: “Hence a man leaves his father and mother and clings to his wife, so that they become one flesh.”

Ramban explains that “becoming one flesh” refers to the uniqueness of human sexual intimacy and marriage. There are sexual relations throughout the animal world. However, there is no emotional attachment or commitment except in the human realm.

In contrast, Rashi interprets “becoming one flesh” to mean that when men and women have a child, they have created this one flesh together. Rashi thereby links the marriage in chapter 2 to the commandment to be fruitful and multiply in chapter 1.

Rabbi Soloveitchik’s analysis of chapters 1 and 2 as separate units resembles Ramban’s approach to this verse. Pope John Paul II is methodologically closer to Rashi in reading chapters 1–2 as an integrated, harmonious sequence.

All three perspectives address the same fundamental issue: We are created in the Image of God, humanity can elevate itself above animals through a life of Godliness. Marriage-parenthood-family are sacred. The Torah thus provides keys to understanding the facets of our complex nature and guides us to work toward achieving the ideal balance of our biology and religious commitments for ourselves and our families.

We of course share biological components with many other organisms, but interpersonal love is sacred—loving our neighbor as oneself, husband and wife becoming one flesh, and through being covenantal partners in child rearing. We connect ourselves and families to eternity through God and covenant.

We need to develop a shared language with like-minded people of different backgrounds, since our belief in family as the cornerstone of a righteous community and society is relevant to everyone. The Book of Genesis lies at the heart of that language.

Notes

[1] Jonathan Sacks, The Great Partnership: Science, Religion, and the Search for Meaning (New York: Schocken Books, 2011), pp. 289–290.

[2] Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Family Redeemed: Essays on Family Relationships, ed. David Shatz and Joel B. Wolowelsky (New York: Toras HoRav Foundation-Ktav, 2000).

[3] Leon R. Kass, The Beginning of Wisdom: Reading Genesis (New York: Free Press, 2003). See also my review of his book, “An Unorthodox Step Toward Revelation: Leon Kass on Genesis Revisited,” in Angel, Peshat Isn’t So Simple: Essays on Developing a Religious Methodology to Bible Study (New York: Kodesh Press, 2014), pp. 173–185.

[4] Pope John Paul II, Man and Woman He Created Them: A Theology of the Body, trans. Michael Waldstein (Boston: Pauline Books and Media, 2006).

[5] The Beginning of Wisdom, p. 270.

[6] The Beginning of Wisdom, pp. 313–315.

[7] Family Redeemed, p. 58.

[8] Man and Woman He Created Them, p. 20. Spousal love and intimacy are acts of the purest giving of oneself (p. 24). Cf. the comments of Rabbi Yaakov Zvi Mecklenburg (HaKetav VehaKabbalah, late eighteenth-century Germany): Man’s inner capacity for good never can be realized until he has someone on whom to shower affection. Mature love is expressed through giving, and through giving comes even greater love.

[9] Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, The Emergence of Ethical Man, ed. Michael S. Berger (Jersey City: KTAV, 2005), p. 92.

The Chosen People: An Ethical Challenge

View PDF

Rabbi Hayyim Angel is National Scholar of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, and Rabbinic Scholar at Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun. He teaches advanced Tanakh at Yeshiva University. This article appears in issue 8 and 27 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. It was also reprinted in Issue 44.

“The Chosen People”: An Ethical Challenge[1]

The concept of the Chosen People is fraught with difficulties. Historically, it has brought much grief upon the Jewish people. It also has led some Jews to develop chauvinistic attitudes toward non-Jews. Nonetheless, it is a central axiom in the Torah and rabbinic tradition, and we therefore have a responsibility to approach the subject forthrightly. This essay will briefly consider the biblical and rabbinic evidence.

The Book of Genesis

A major theme of the Book of Genesis is the refining process of the Chosen People. The Torah begins its narrative of humanity with Adam and Eve, created in the Image of God. The Torah’s conception of humanity includes the potential of every person to connect to God, and an expectation that living a moral life necessarily flows from that relationship with God.

Cain and Abel, the generation of Enosh, Noah, and the Patriarchs spontaneously brought offerings and prayed without any divine commandments to do so. God held people responsible for their immoral acts without having warned them against such behaviors. Cain and the generation of the Flood could not defend themselves by appealing to the fact that they never received explicit divine commandments.[2] They naturally should have known that their conduct was unacceptable and punishable.

At the time of Noah, God rejected most of humanity for their wickedness and restarted human history with Noah. After the Flood, God explicitly commanded certain moral laws (Genesis 9), which the Talmud understands as the “seven Noahide laws” (ethical monotheism). Noah should have taught these principles to his descendants, creating an ideal humanity. Instead, the only recorded story of Noah’s final 350 years relates that he got drunk and cursed his grandson Canaan. Although Noah was a righteous man, he did not transmit his values to succeeding generations.

Only one narrative spans the 10 generations between Noah and Abraham, namely, the Tower of Babel. This story represents a societal break from God, marking the beginnings of paganism and unbridled human arrogance.[3] At this point, God chose Abraham and his descendants to model ethical monotheism and teach it to humanity.

This synopsis of the first twelve chapters of Genesis is encapsulated by Rabbi Obadiah Sforno (sixteenth-century Italy) in his introduction to Genesis:

It then teaches that when hope for the return of all humanity was removed, as it had successfully destroyed God’s constructive intent three times already, God selected the most pious of the species and chose Abraham and his descendants to achieve His desired purpose for all humanity.[4]

There is no genetic superiority ascribed to Abraham and his descendants. To the contrary, the common descent of all humanity from Adam and Eve precludes any racial differentiation, as understood by the Mishnah:

Furthermore, [Adam was created alone] for the sake of peace among men, that one might not say to his fellow, my father was greater than yours. (Sanhedrin 37a)

Abraham and his descendants thus became the Chosen People—a nation expected to do and teach what all nations ideally should do. Abraham is singled out in the Torah as the first teacher of these values:

The Lord said, Shall I hide from Abraham that thing which I do, seeing that Abraham shall surely become a great and mighty nation, and all the nations of the earth shall be blessed in him? For I know him, that he will command his children and his household after him, and they shall keep the way of the Lord, to do justice and judgment; that the Lord may bring upon Abraham that which he has spoken of him. (Genesis 18:17–19)

The remainder of Genesis revolves around the selection process within Abraham’s family. Not all branches would become Abraham’s spiritual heirs. By the end of Genesis, it is evident that the Chosen People is comprised specifically of Jacob’s sons and their future generations.

Although Genesis specifies the role and identity of the Chosen People, two difficult questions remain. (1) Once Israel was chosen, was this chosenness guaranteed forever, or was it contingent on the religious-ethical behavior of later generations? Could a sinful Israel be rejected as were the builders of the Tower of Babel? (2) Is chosenness exclusively limited to Israel (either biological descendants or converts), or can non-Jews become chosen by becoming ethical monotheists, observing the seven Noahide laws?

Israel’s Eternal Chosenness

God addressed the first question as He was giving the Torah to Israel:

Now therefore, if you will obey My voice indeed, and keep My covenant, then you shall be My own treasure among all peoples; for all the earth is Mine; And you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation. These are the words which you shall speak to the people of Israel. (Exodus 19:5–6)

God’s covenant with Israel is a reciprocal agreement. If Israel does not uphold its side of the covenant, it appears that Israel would cease to be God’s treasure. The very beginning of Israel’s national covenantal identity is defined as conditional rather than absolute.

Later prophets highlight this message as well. Amos states that Israel’s chosenness adds an element of responsibility and accountability. Infidelity to the covenant makes chosenness more dangerous than beneficial:

Hear this word that the Lord has spoken against you, O people of Israel, against the whole family which I brought up from the land of Egypt, saying: Only you have I known of all the families of the earth; therefore I will punish you for all your iniquities. (Amos 3:1–2)

Amos’s contemporary, Hosea, employed marriage imagery to demonstrate that Israel’s special relationship with God is contingent on its faithfulness to the covenant. As the Israelites were unfaithful in his time, God rejected them:

She conceived and bore a son. Then He said, “Name him “Lo‑ammi,” for you are not My people, and I will not be your God. (Hosea 1:8–9)

However, this was not a permanent rejection from the eternal covenant. Rather, alienation would approximate a separation for the sake of rehabilitating the marriage rather than being a permanent divorce. The ongoing prophecy in the Book of Hosea makes clear that God perpetually longs for Israel’s return to an ideal restored marriage:

And I will espouse you forever: I will espouse you with righteousness and justice, and with goodness and mercy, and I will espouse you with faithfulness; then you shall be devoted to the Lord. (Hosea 2:21–22)

The Book of Isaiah makes this point even more explicit as God insists that there was no bill of divorce:

Thus says the Lord, Where is the bill of your mother’s divorcement, with which I have put her away? Or which of My creditors is it to whom I have sold you? Behold, for your iniquities have you sold yourselves, and for your transgressions your mother was put away. (Isaiah 50:1)

At the time of the destruction of the Temple, Jeremiah took this imagery to a new level. There was a divorce, yet God will take Israel back:

It is said, If a man sends away his wife, and she goes from him, and becomes another man’s, shall he return to her again? Shall not that land be greatly polluted? You have played the harlot with many lovers; yet return to me! says the Lord. (Jeremiah 3:1)

Jeremiah elsewhere stressed the eternality of the God–Israel relationship:

Thus said the Lord, Who established the sun for light by day, the laws of moon and stars for light by night, Who stirs up the sea into roaring waves, Whose name is Lord of Hosts: If these laws should ever be annulled by Me—declares the Lord—only then would the offspring of Israel cease to be a nation before Me for all time. (Jeremiah 31:5–6)

To summarize, Israel’s chosenness is conditional on its faithfulness to the covenant. However, Israel’s failure to abide by God’s covenant leads to separation rather than divorce, and the door always remains open for Israel to return to God. The special covenantal relationship between God and Israel is eternal.

This conclusion harks back to God’s original choosing of Abraham. It is unclear in the Torah why God chose him to carry the religious torch for humanity. One could argue that Abraham’s religiosity evidenced after God singled him out can be projected back as the reason for God’s choosing him. From this perspective, God chose Abraham because of his righteousness.[5] Alternatively, Rabbi Judah Leib Lowe of Prague (Maharal) in his Netzah Yisrael maintains that God’s initial act of choosing Abraham was not explicitly based on his righteousness, making that choice unconditional.[6] Therefore, God never will cancel His covenant with Abraham’s descendants even when they sin.[7] As we have seen, there is truth in both positions. Israel’s chosenness is contingent on faithful behavior, but simultaneously it is eternal.

Righteous Gentiles Can Be Chosen

Let us now turn to the second question, pertaining to God’s rejection of the other nations after the Tower of Babel. Can these nations be chosen again by reaccepting ethical monotheism? The answer is a resounding “yes.” Prophets look to an ideal future when all nations can again become chosen:

In that day five cities in the land of Egypt shall speak the language of Canaan, and swear by the Lord of hosts; one shall be called, The city of destruction. In that day there shall be an altar to the Lord in the midst of the land of Egypt, and a pillar at its border to the Lord.... In that day shall Israel be the third with Egypt and with Assyria, a blessing in the midst of the land; Whom the Lord of hosts shall bless, saying, Blessed be Egypt My people, and Assyria the work of My hands, and Israel My inheritance. (Isaiah 19:18–25)

Similarly, Zephaniah envisions a time when all nations will speak “a clear language,” thereby undoing the damage of the Tower of Babel:

For then I will convert the peoples to a clear language, that they may all call upon the name of the Lord, to serve Him with one accord. (Zephaniah 3:9)

God’s rejection of the nations at the time of the Tower of Babel was a separation for rehabilitation, not a permanent divorce. Were the nations to reaccept ethical monotheism, they, too, would be chosen. In halakhic terminology, non-Jews who practice ethical monotheism are called “Righteous Gentiles” and have a share in the World to Come (see Hullin 92a).

To summarize, one is chosen if one chooses God. For a Jew, that means commitment to the Torah and its commandments. For a non-Jew, that means commitment to the seven Noahide laws. Righteous Gentiles are chosen without needing to convert to Judaism. God longs for the return of all humanity, and the messianic visions of the prophets constantly reiterate that aspiration.

Israel as a Kingdom of Priests

Although the door remains open for all descendants of Adam and Eve to choose God and therefore be chosen, Israel occupies a unique role. Israel was the first nation to recognize God in this way. Using the marriage imagery, Israel is God’s first wife (Isaiah 54:6), a status that carries with it a special relationship. God calls Israel His “firstborn” (Exodus 4:22). That said, all of the nations are God’s children. Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik explains that the firstborn child must serve as a role model to the younger children.[8]

Perhaps the most fitting analogy that summarizes the evidence is Non-Jew : Jew :: Jew : Priest. God employs this terminology at the Revelation at Sinai:

Now therefore, if you will obey My voice indeed, and keep My covenant, then you shall be My own treasure among all peoples; for all the earth is Mine; and you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation. These are the words which you shall speak to the people of Israel. (Exodus 19:5–6)

Commenting on these verses, Sforno remarks:

“And you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests”: and in this manner you will be a treasure, for you will be a kingdom of priests to teach the entire human race to call in God’s Name and to serve Him alike. As it is written “you shall be called God’s priests” (Isaiah 61:6), and as it is written, “for Torah will come from Zion” (Isaiah 2:3).

Being Jewish and being a priest both are genetic. A priest is a bridge between the people and God and serves in the Temple on behalf of the people. Similarly, Israel is expected to guard the Temple and teach the word of God. Just as priests have more commandments than most Israelites, Israelites have more commandments than the nations of the world. The one critical distinction is that a non-Jew may convert to Judaism and is then viewed as though he or she were born into the nation. Nobody can convert to become a priest.

When dedicating the first Temple, King Solomon understood that the Temple was intended for all who seek God, and not only Israelites:

Or if a foreigner who is not of Your people Israel comes from a distant land for the sake of Your name—for they shall hear about Your great name and Your mighty hand and Your outstretched arm—when he comes to pray toward this House, oh, hear in Your heavenly abode and grant all that the foreigner asks You for. Thus all the peoples of the earth will know Your name and revere You, as does Your people Israel; and they will recognize that Your name is attached to this House that I have built. (I Kings 8:41–43)

In their messianic visions, the prophets similarly emphasized that Israel would occupy a central role in worship and in teaching the nations. All are invited to serve God at the Temple:

In the days to come, the Mount of the Lord’s House shall stand firm above the mountains and tower above the hills; and all the nations shall gaze on it with joy. And the many peoples shall go and say: “Come, let us go up to the Mount of the Lord, to the House of the God of Jacob; that He may instruct us in His ways, and that we may walk in His paths.” For instruction shall come forth from Zion, the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. (Isaiah 2:2–3)

Rather than serving primarily as an ethnic description, the Chosen People concept is deeply rooted in religious ethics. It is a constant prod to faithfulness to God and the Torah, and it contains a universalistic message that Israel belongs to the community of nations. All are descendants of Adam and Eve, created in God’s Image. God waits with open arms to choose all those who choose to pursue that sacred relationship with Him.

Dr. Norman Lamm observes that “a truly religious Jew, devoted to his own people in keen attachment to both their physical and spiritual welfare, must at the same time be deeply concerned with all human beings. Paradoxically, the more particularistic a Jew is, the more universal must be his concerns.”[9]

Conclusion: Jews and Non-Jews

The Torah embraces universalistic values that apply to humanity. All people are descended from one couple so there is no room for racism (Sanhedrin 37a). All people are created in God’s image (Genesis 1:26). There is a universal morality demanded by the Torah, codified in the Talmud as the Seven Noahide Laws. The messianic visions of the prophets foresee that all humanity will one day live in harmony by accepting God and the requisite moral life demanded by the Torah.

Simultaneously, God made a singular covenant with the people of Israel through the Torah. Israel plays a unique role as a “kingdom of priests and holy nation” (Exodus 19:6), has a separate set of laws revealed by God, and occupies a central role in the covenantal history between God and humanity.

Some within the Jewish community focus almost exclusively on the particularistic elements of tradition, and consequently think less of non-Jews and non-observant Jews. Other Jews focus almost exclusively on the universalistic vision of Judaism, ignoring Jewish belief, law, and values in favor of modern Western values. Needless to say, the respective espousing of half-truths distorts the Torah and leads to rifts within the community.

Tradition teaches a sensitive balance of universalism and particularism. The Torah has a special vision for Jews and simultaneously embraces all of humanity in an effort to perfect society.

For further study:

Rabbi Marc D. Angel, “The Universalistic Vision of Judaism,” Conversations 12 (Winter 2012), pp. 95–100.
Rabbi Marc D. Angel, Voices in Exile: A Study in Sephardic Intellectual History (Hoboken, NJ: Ktav, 1991), pp. 197–207.
Rabbi Marc D. Angel with Hayyim Angel, Rabbi Haim David Halevi: Gentle Scholar, Courageous Thinker (Jerusalem: Urim, 2006), pp. 189–198.
Rabbi Elijah Benamozegh, Israel and Humanity, trans. Maxwell Luria (New York: Paulist Press, 1995).
Alan Brill, Judaism and Other Religions: Models of Understanding (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010).
Alan Brill, Judaism and World Religions: Encountering Christianity, Islam, and Eastern Traditions (New York: Palgrave MacMillan, 2012).
Alan Brill, “Many Nations Under God: Judaism and Other Religions,” Conversations 2 (Autumn 2008), pp. 39-49.
Moshe Greenberg, “Mankind, Israel, and the Nations in the Hebraic Heritage,” in Studies in the Bible and Jewish Thought (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1995), pp. 369–393.
Rabbi Haim David Halevi, Asei Lekha Rav 8:69.
Menachem Kellner, “On Universalism and Particularism in Judaism,” Da’at 36 (1996), pp. v–xv.
Menachem Kellner, “Rashi and Maimonides on the Relationship between Torah and the Cosmos,” in Between Rashi and Maimonides: Themes in Medieval Jewish Thought, Literature and Exegesis, ed. Ephraim Kanarfogel and Moshe Sokolow (New York: Yeshiva University Press, 2010), pp. 23-58.
Jon D. Levenson, “The Universal Horizon of Biblical Particularism,” in Ethnicity and the Bible, ed. Mark G. Brett (Boston: Brill, 1996), pp. 143–169.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, The Dignity of Difference: How to Avoid the Clash of Civilizations (London: Continuum, 2002).
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, “Jewish Identity: The Concept of a Chosen People,” at www.chiefrabbi.org/ReadArtical.aspx?id=454.
Symposium on “You Have Chosen Us from Amongst the Nations,” Jewish Action 65:1 (Fall 2004), especially the articles of Rabbis Chaim Eisen and Norman Lamm.
Symposium on “The State of Jewish Belief,” Commentary 42:2 (August 1966), pp. 71–160, especially the articles of Rabbis Eliezer Berkovits, Marvin Fox, Immanuel Jacobovits, Norman Lamm, and Aharon Lichtenstein.

[1] This article appeared originally in Conversations 8 (Fall 2010), pp. 52–60; reprinted in Angel, Creating Space between Peshat and Derash: A Collection of Studies on Tanakh (Jersey City, NJ: Ktav-Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2011), pp. 25–34.

[2] Several Midrashim maintain that God commanded Adam six of the seven Noahide Laws, with the exclusion of eating limbs torn from live animals (since eating meat was not permitted until after the Flood). See, for example, Genesis Rabbah 16:6; 24:5. We are following the account as it appears in the Torah.

[3] See Hayyim Angel, “The Tower of Babel: A Case Study in Combining Traditional and Academic Bible Methodologies,” in Where the Yeshiva Meets the University: Traditional and Academic Approaches to Tanakh Study, ed. Hayyim Angel, Conversations 15 (Winter 2013), pp. 135–143; reprinted in Angel, Peshat Isn’t So Simple: Essays on Developing a Religious Methodology to Bible Study (New York: Kodesh Press, 2014), pp. 201–212.

[4] Genesis Rabbah 39:5 suggests a similar approach, that God told Abraham to go to Israel after the failings of the generation of Enosh, the Flood, and the Tower of Babel.

[5] Nehama Leibowitz quotes Ramban and Genesis Rabbah 32:3 in support of this position (New Studies in Bereshit-Genesis [Jerusalem: Eliner Library], pp. 116–119). The many Midrashim that fill in Abraham’s righteous behavior prior to the Torah’s account of him likewise cast God’s choosing him as a result of his righteousness.

[6] See further discussion of Maharal’s position in Byron Sherwin, Mystical Theology and Social Dissent: The Life and Works of Judah Loew of Prague (Teaneck, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 1982), pp. 83–93.

[7] See also Jon D. Levenson, The Love of God: Divine Gift, Human Gratitude, and Mutual Faithfulness in Judaism (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2016), pp. 43–44, 115–116.

[8] Chumash Mesoras HaRav: Shemos, compiled and edited by Dr. Arnold Lustiger (New York: OU Press, 2014), p. 39.

[9] Dr. Norman Lamm, The Shema: Spirituality and Law in Judaism (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1998), p. 35.

Yearning: Thoughts for Parashat Eikev

View PDF

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Eikev

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Some years ago, I attended Shabbat morning services at a synagogue that was having a "Carlebach Shabbat." A group of "Carlebachians" led the services and sang many of the prayers to music composed by the late Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach.

I happened to be sitting next to one of the organizers of this Shabbat event, and I asked him: what does a "Carlebach Shabbat" service provide, that seems to be lacking in the "regular" synagogue service? He pondered for a few moments and then answered in one word: "Yearning".

I have been pondering this response ever since.

Yearning: a desire to come closer to God, a desire to transcend ourselves, a desire to let our souls be moved by the music so that we might reach a higher level of awareness. Yearning: an awareness that we ache to feel God's presence. Yearning: a recognition that something is profoundly lacking in a world of routine, materialism, technological gadgetry.

In last week's Torah portion and this week's Torah portion, we are instructed to love God with all our hearts and souls i.e. to have a sense of yearning for God. Ramban explains that "hearts" refers to our desires/emotions; "souls" refers to our minds/intelligence. We are taught, therefore, that proper service of God entails a full commitment of our emotions and our reason, our hearts and our minds.

If we tilt too far to the side of emotion, we run the risk of falling into a pseudo-religious experience that is akin to superstition and primitive religion. If we tilt too far to the side of intellect, we run the risk of sapping our religious experience of warmth and personal meaning.

Yearning for God requires us to maintain a delicate balance--allowing our emotions to flow, while allowing our intellects to maintain integrity.

This week's Torah portion informs us of a serious obstacle to spiritual health: thinking that "my strength, and the power of my hands, have achieved this victory." The human ego can be its own worst enemy. The more people succeed in worldly matters, the more they attribute their success to their own talents; the more highly they think of themselves, the less they may think of God. They lose the sense of spiritual yearning. They become self-satisfied and content. They luxuriate in their material success, not realizing that in the process they undermine their own souls. They set the wrong values for themselves and for their families. Nothing is more antithetical to genuine religious experience than complacency and self-satisfaction.

Yearning: the power to love God with all our hearts and all our souls; the power to overcome our egotism; the power to maintain spiritual focus; the humility to live our lives in constant striving to experience God's presence. It is not easy to attain the highest levels of spiritual growth: this requires a deep and abiding sense of yearning.

We yearn to be able to yearn sincerely, with full heart, soul and mind.

Embracing Tradition and Modernity: Rabbi Benzion Meir Hai Uziel

View PDF

Rabbi Hayyim Angel is National Scholar of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, and this article appears in issue 27 of Conversations. It is re-printed in issue 44 of Conversations, (Fall 2024/5785) pp. 32-37.

Introduction

One of the great rabbinic lights of the twentieth century was Rabbi Benzion Meir Hai Uziel (1880–1953). Born in Jerusalem, he served as Chief Rabbi of Tel-Aviv from 1911 to 1921, and then was Chief Rabbi of Salonika for two years. In 1923, he returned to Israel and assumed the post of Chief Rabbi of Tel-Aviv. From 1939 until his death in 1953, he was the Sephardic Chief Rabbi, the Rishon le-Tzion, of Israel. He served as Chief Rabbi during the founding of the State of Israel and wrote extensively on the halakhic ramifications of the State and the staggering changes in Jewish life it would bring.

Rabbi Uziel believed that the purpose of the State of Israel on the world scene is to serve as a model nation, characterized by moral excellence. Just as individuals are religiously required to participate in the life of society, the Jewish people as a nation must participate in the life of the community of nations.

Tanakh and rabbinic Judaism have a universalistic grand vision that sees Judaism as a great world religion. Unfortunately, too many religious Jews overemphasize the particularistic aspects of Judaism, and lose sight of the universalistic mission of the Torah. We cannot be a light unto the nations unless nations see that light through Jewish involvement.[1]

Rabbi Uziel stressed the need for Jews to remain committed to Torah and the commandments. If Jews abandon their commitment to Torah, then they no longer are united under their national charter. Any vision not solidly rooted in the Torah and halakhah is untrue to Jewish experience. People who speak about “Jewish values” without commitment to Torah and halakhah misrepresent the Torah.[2]

Simultaneously, Rabbi Uziel was absolutely committed to Jewish unity. In 1948–1949, he joined many other rabbis to protest against Shabbat desecration in Israel. At a large rally, Rabbi Uziel gave an impassioned speech urging Shabbat observance. After the rally, he hailed a taxi to take him home. In those days there was a fuel shortage in Israel, so Israeli taxi drivers were allowed to drive only six days a week. On one’s windshield, a sticker would indicate which day the person would not drive. The particular taxi that Rabbi Uziel hailed did not have a shin (for Shabbat), meaning that this driver drove on Shabbat. Some of Rabbi Uziel’s followers were shocked that he would ride with this Shabbat-desecrating driver, especially only minutes after he spoke so passionately in favor of Shabbat at the rally. Without flinching, Rabbi Uziel got into the taxi and said, “I do not excommunicate any Jew personally, even if he is a Shabbat desecrator.”[3]

Rabbi Uziel craved peace with Israel’s Arab neighbors. In 1921, a group of Arabs were attacking Jews. Rabbi Uziel appeared, dressed in his rabbinic garb, and told the Jews to hold their fire. He then walked out and spoke to the Arabs in Arabic. He reminded them that the land had been desolate and disease-ridden for centuries, and now Jews were dramatically improving conditions as they rebuilt their homeland. These were all signs of God’s providence, and the improved conditions would benefit everyone.

Rabbi Uziel then addressed the Arab attackers: “Our cousins! Our mutual ancestor, Abraham, father of Isaac and Ishmael, when he saw that his nephew Lot felt constricted and complained that they could no longer live together… said to him: Let there be no feud between me and you nor between my shepherds and your shepherds, for we are brothers. So, too, do we say to you: The land will carry us all, will sustain us all. Let us stop the feuds between us. We are brothers.” For that moment, Rabbi Uziel won the day, and the Arabs stopped their attack.[4]

In 1939, when Rabbi Uziel was appointed as Chief Rabbi, he gave a radio address calling for peace and unity in the nation. He then addressed the Arab population:

We reach our hands out to you in peace, pure and trustworthy. We say: The land is stretched out before us, and with joined hands we will work it; we will uncover its treasures; and we will live on it as brothers who dwell together. Know and trust that the word of our God will rise forever. Make peace with us and we will make peace with you. Together all of us will benefit from the blessing of God on His land; with quiet and peace, with love and fellowship, with goodwill and pure heart we will find the way of peace.[5]

Rabbi Uziel was an ardent religious Zionist who believed that rabbis had to apply halakhah in ways that would allow the fledgling State of Israel to thrive. When there were halakhic debates, he relied on lenient opinions when they would build industry and serve society. For example, he permitted grafted etrogim (citrons) grown in Israel since he wanted all Jews to use Israeli etrogim on Sukkot. He similarly relied on a minority halakhic opinion to permit milk from cows who receive inoculations to prevent stomach disease. If he did not rely on those permissive opinions, the cows would be considered terefah, non-kosher, and there would not be a dairy industry in Israel.

Of course, Rabbi Uziel found halakhic precedents for his permissive rulings, and relied on those positions in order to protect Israeli agriculture. He was not always lenient in his halakhic rulings, but in the case of building the State of Israel, Rabbi Uziel had a clear value system that guided his decision-making to the extent that he could improve life in Israel within the parameters of halakhah.[6]

Rabbi Uziel and Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook[7]

It is instructive to contrast the rulings of Rabbi Uziel with another exceptional rabbinic leader of the early twentieth century, Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, the first Ashkenazic Chief Rabbi of Israel.

Rambam espoused a non-essentialist understanding of a Jew. There is nothing inherent in a Jewish soul that distinguishes it from a non-Jewish soul. Jews are a covenantal nation with a unique set of laws from God in the Torah, and also are part of the community of nations. There is no room for racism, since all humans are created in God’s Image, and all people are part of one family.[8] In contrast, some Jewish mystical teachings espouse an essentialist position, maintaining that Jewish souls are fundamentally different from (and superior to) non-Jewish souls.[9]

Aside from the possibility of negative attitudes toward non-Jews that the essentialist position often promotes, it also has practical halakhic ramifications. For example, someone asked Rabbi Kook in 1931 whether Jews can perform autopsies in medical school since this process will help them save lives when they become doctors. Halakhah generally prohibits the desecration of a human body, but perhaps this concern should be waived on account of the future saving of lives. Rabbi Kook ruled that medical schools should obtain bodies of non-Jews. He argued that even though everyone is created in God’s Image, this Image is particularly manifest in Jews because of the holiness of the Torah. Jewish attachment to the Torah not only characterizes the Jewish soul but also infuses a Jew’s body with additional sanctity.

Rabbi Uziel vehemently disagreed with Rabbi Kook’s ruling. Autopsies for medical school are not a desecration of human bodies if the cadavers are treated with care and the purpose is to help save lives. When asked whether it was preferable to use non-Jewish bodies, Rabbi Uziel retorted, “Certainly this should not even be said and more certainly should not be written, since the prohibition of desecration stems from the humiliation caused to all humans. That is to say, it is a humiliation to desecrate the body of a human being—created in the image of God.”

Rabbi Uziel thereby advanced two arguments: An essentialist position is fundamentally wrong, and an essentialist position is shameful to publicize in any forum.

In another discussion over the interface between Torah and democracy, rabbis debated whether women were halakhically permitted to vote or hold public office. Rabbi Kook ruled in the negative, insisting that this behavior was immodest and would threaten Jewish family values and morality. Offering a broader context for Rabbi Kook’s ruling, Dov Schwartz explains that Rabbi Kook opposed women’s voting and holding office since the British government recognized the right for a Jewish homeland based on the authority of Tanakh. Rabbi Kook insisted that Jews had to behave according to Torah values—not only because that is God’s will, but also because it was essential for continued British recognition of Israel. If Jews are not behaving modestly in accordance with Torah values, opponents of Israel would argue that Jews do not deserve their homeland.[10]

In contrast, Rabbi Uziel maintained that women may vote and hold office. We allow interactions between men and women in so many public areas, so there is no valid halakhic argument for the absolute separation of the sexes specifically in the realm of voting. Additionally, women should be allowed to vote for the people who will make the laws that they must obey. In terms of women holding office, classical sources indicate that halakhic objections to women holding positions of authority (serarah) apply only when the community objects to women holding office. However, if women are democratically elected, that means that the public accepts them.[11]

Conclusion

Before he died, Rabbi Uziel composed a spiritual testament, describing his ultimate life goals:

To spread Torah among students, to love the Torah and its mitzvot, to love the land of Israel and its holiness, to love absolutely every Jewish man and woman and the people of Israel in its entirety; to love God, the Lord of Israel; to bring peace among all Jews physically and spiritually, in their words and actions, in their thoughts and in the ruminations of their hearts, in all their steps and deeds, at home and in the street, in the village and in the city; to bring true peace in the house of Israel, to the entire congregation of Israel in all its subdivisions and groupings; and between Israel and their Father in heaven. These goals are actually only one, since they stem from one source, namely the Torah of the living God and the King of the universe, Who is the King of Israel and its Holy One Who gave the true Torah to His people, a Torah all of whose ways are pleasantness and all of whose paths are peace.[12]

[1] R. Marc D. Angel, Loving Truth and Peace: The Grand Religious Worldview of Rabbi Benzion Uziel (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1999), pp. 7, 46–47.

[2] Ibid., pp. 11–13.

[3] Ibid., pp. 14–15.

[4] Ibid., pp. 59–60.

[5] Ibid., p. 64.

[6] Ibid., pp. 102–105, 213–239. See also R. Marc D. Angel’s translation of R. Haim David Halevi, Asei Lekha Rav 8:97 into English, “The Love of Israel as a Factor in Halakhic Decision-Making in the Works of Rabbi Benzion Uziel,” Tradition 24:3 (Spring 1989), pp. 1–20.

[7] See R. Marc D. Angel, “A Discussion of the Nature of Jewishness in the Teachings of Rabbi Kook and Rabbi Uziel,” in Seeking Good, Speaking Peace: Collected Essays of Rabbi Marc D. Angel, ed. Hayyim Angel (Hoboken, NJ: Ktav, 1994), pp. 112–123.

[8] See also Mishnah Sanhedrin 37a.

[9] See Menachem Kellner, Maimonides’ Confrontation with Mysticism (Portland, OR: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2006); and Menachem Kellner, Maimonides on Judaism and the Jewish People (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1991).

[10] Dov Schwartz, Religious-Zionism: History and Ideology (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2009), p. 36.

[11] See further in Loving Truth and Peace, pp. 204–209; Zvi Zohar, “Traditional Flexibility and Modern Strictness: A Comparative Analysis of the Halakhic Positions of Rabbi Kook and Rabbi Uziel on Women’s Suffrage,” in Sephardi and Middle Eastern Jewries: History and Culture, ed. Harvey E. Goldberg (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1996), pp. 119–133.

[12] Loving Truth and Peace, p. 244.

Modern Monarchy?

View PDF

Dr. Murray Mizrachi is a Lecturer at Baruch College in New York City.

Should observant Jews pray for a king to lead modern Israel? It seems anachronistic and out of place in modern times, but something that Jews pray for three times a day, every holiday and at every meal. The below considers the complex biblical record and advances the necessity of an ethical, constitutional ‘monarchy’ interpreted for contemporary times.

As modern Israel grapples with many open-ended issues in its governing, understanding the Bible’s position for the future of the Jewish State is more relevant than ever. Weak governments have consequences- invasion, abduction, murder and anarchy as witnessed on October 7^th. It seems even small disagreements within the delicate legislative coalition can trigger immediate elections, with many important decisions being continually deferred for fear of civil war or disruptive protests. An activist judiciary increasingly referendums elections and a legislature which questions the legitimacy of a court without constitution.

Several thinkers from Israel’s intellectual elite have recently proposed the Biblical vision as a decentralized system with the lack of a sovereign. Proponents of this decentralization point to the book of Judges and read the well-known refrain “In those days there was no king in Israel; everyone did as they pleased”[1] as a positive statement. This is not the common interpretation, although an alluring observation as it emphasizes freedom of the individual. This school additionally points to the Prophet Samuel’s opposition along with the subsequent failures and abuses found in the book of Kings. We explore this record below.

Judges

Proponents of decentralization point to the nation’s ability to mobilize in crisis despite the lack of a sovereign in the book of Judges. One can counter that this was precisely the reason why the King is needed in the first place. Only after massive death and oppression by enemies on all sides do the tribes rise to action. Indeed “an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure” holds true when it comes to human life on the national scale. The period of Judges crescendos in anarchy with the cult of Michah, the gang- rape- murder of a concubine and another bloody civil war in which the tribe of Benjamin is nearly wiped out.

To suggest that the period of judges is successful, is to abrogate the importance of borders, security and sovereignty. Such a reality when ancient Israel was invaded dozens of times and occupied by eight different nations leaves little room for Israel to reach its potential as a light onto nations. Individuals may have prospered, or experienced freedom but only temporarily. In a situation akin to the newly founded United States under the Articles of Confederation, the tribes ultimately opt for Federalism with a strong centralized leadership and standing army.

Samuel

An outstanding personality, Samuel reinvigorates the monotheistic mission of Israel after decades of foreign subjection, civil war and failed direction. Samuel represents a leadership style reminiscent of Moses and Joshua, where the religious leader’s authority is combined as the supreme political power. The people reject this leadership recipe and demand an independent political sovereign with a standing army.

Samuel warns the people of Israel of the cardinal sins of all monarchs: coercion of property and conscription of citizenry. The people reject Samuel’s advice and insist on a sovereign. God therefore instructs Samuel to proceed as it is ultimately the people who have referendum and self- determination of their destiny.

After Samuel, the Prophet becomes a secondary figure in ancient Israel. This new separation of powers is a shifting of authority. The Prophet’s role is now a voice of morality and counterbalances to power of the monarch. Nathan’s reproach of David or Elijah’s rebuke of Ahab are prime examples of outstanding religious figures who fulfill an essential but non- political role.

We might understand the ultimate social contract stuck in Samuel’s time as the people willing to accept the principle of “absolute power corrupts absolutely” in exchange for security. The book of Samuel links security as a necessity to establishing a more just society explicitly: “I will establish a home for My people Israel and will plant them firm, so that they shall dwell secure and shall tremble no more. Evil men shall not oppress them any more as in the past” (Samuel II 7:10).

Kings

The period of the Kings is presented with King David and King Solomon as the Pinnacle of achievement. It is the paradigm for which Jews pray three times a day and the underpinnings of messianic yearnings. Solomon centralizes worship, builds a capital with infrastructure throughout the land while the common people experience peace and unprecedented prosperity. “All the days of Solomon, Judah and Israel from Dan to Beer-Sheba dwelt in safety, every family under its own vine and fig tree.” (Kings 5:5)[2]. Surrounding nations pay tribute and visit Solomon in envy of the society he has created. Cyrus Gordon remarks that the Davidic Dynasty is the second longest ruling hereditary kingdom from Antiquity in the Middle East.

Yet, there are many abuses – even during David and Solomon’s rule. A careful analysis of the Solomon narrative demonstrates an intertextual play between Solomon’s abuses and those predicted by Samuel and the book of Deuteronomy. In a nuanced manner, the intertext reminds the careful reader, though political power may be necessity, it leads inevitably to abuses if not performed within the prescriptions of Deuteronomy.

There are several “good” kings such as Hezekiah or Josiah who fully repent and uphold the covenant while the people lapse, and there are many “bad” kings like Menashe that murder his own subjects. The existence of corruption is ubiquitous to all societies. This reality does not negate the benefits of centralized authority and bureaucracy or a government. The exile is ultimately caused by failed leadership and failure of the people. It would be an oversimplification of the narrative to suggest that only abuses of the monarch caused the exile.

Deuteronomy

In the Biblical Cannon, The Pentateuch outranks in the hierarchy of authoritative texts followed by the Prophets, Writings and Rabbinic tradition. Being a part of the Pentateuch, Deuteronomy dictates a sovereign king. While non- traditionalists will argue this portion as a later addition, one can counter that the redactor ultimately included this version in this final form that has been received in the Masoretic tradition. Regardless, on face value Deuteronomy’s canonical authority still outranks Judges, Samuel and Jeremiah.

From a modern democratic point of view the people’s election of a king in the book of Samuel presents a paradox. The request highlights the shortcomings of a democratic system- what happens when citizens democratically elect a despotic king? This is perhaps the anxiety of modern Israel’s judiciary. As Modern Israel’s traditional labor left loses election after election the same party headed by the longest reigning premier in modern Israel history continues to win majority after majority in the county’s legislative branch. This lack of a defined executive branch in modern Israel carries risk.

Deuteronomy provides a balanced vision. A limited, constitutional monarchy which bounds the king is required to be hand copied by the sovereign and always kept with him. The King is beholden to the Almighty and covenant embedded in the Hebrew scriptures. In other words, the sovereign’s power is limited by a constitution. This social contract must be recited publicly by the people every seven years. Additional safeguards such as holiday readings of the constitution and public posting of laws serve as principles to which the King must serve.

Summary and Discussion

On October 6^th It seemed all at once that Israel was on the brink of success and failure all at once. The cutting edge of technological innovations and peace with Saudia Arabia on one hand and endless protests of judicial reform and legislative dysfunction on the other. To add onto the contentious environment, we also find ourselves in a US election year marked by particularly vitriolic partisanship when it comes to Israel.

There is something romantic about a society free of political class, executive branch or formal leadership. Perhaps the allure of unbounded freedom and frontier living fosters nostalgia of America’s West or modern Israel’s pioneering kibbutzim. Practically, creating such a society builds silos and a culture without shared values. Individuals must agree to limit personal freedom for overarching social contracts of fidelity and accountability to ensure peace, prosperity and nation building. We would like to not limit our personal freedom and drive as we please without red lights or stop signs, but realize the value in creating a system that recognizes the needs of others. Without a strong central government capable of enforcing law and order, no great project- spiritual of physical are possible.

In the same manner that a company cannot function by committee and requires a single executive leader, so too with a country. In the United States, a balance was stuck by hard compromises of competing interests to establish a federalist system with an executive branch. This system is one very much based on the Bible and emerged out of the failed Articles of Confederation. The main innovation of the constitution is the adoption of a President. In an ironic way, it is now modern Israel which must take a cue from Untied States history to connect to its biblical precedent.

As modern Israel continues to face existential threats, we pray that a superior system will emerge that prioritizes the human rights of her own citizens and her own legitimacy above all else. Israel’s current parliamentary system is modeled upon a watered-down version of England’s, but notably without a king or magna carta. These aspects could be incorporated in an Israeli national constitution and carried out by an executive branch with proper checks and balances to promote law and order, sovereignty and justice.

Externally a unique society such as Israel requires a strong border and national security to safeguard her interests. Internally a centralized system with a strong executive branch prevents tribalism, relegates the other branches of power and thwarts special interest groups that can dominate a legislature. An executive branch protects against tyranny of the majority in the legislature by building bridges amongst interests and holding the power to veto and execute. The Bible’s prescription to promote law and order, sovereignty, peace and prosperity to Israel and her people: constitution and an executive branch.

This election season let’s strive to elevate the political discourse amongst our friends and families. The American system’s architects understood the value of reading the Bible to guide their intentions. When we pray, we do so with the intent that Israel’s leaders will merit divine enlightenment to emerge victorious and stronger from the current conflict.

Comments to: [email protected]

[1] This is the final verse in the Book of judges. It appears prior to the cult of Micha (18:1) and again before the raping of the concubine in 19:1

[2] CF “Judah and Israel were as numerous as the sands of the sea; they ate and drank and were content.” Kings 4:19

Agree to Disagree

View PDF

Yonah Lavery-Yisraeli lives in Queens, NY, and learns and teaches at Bet Midrash Hukkim
Hakhamim. This article appears in issue 43 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

Why, in our days, do we disagree so badly? Perhaps it is more accurate to say we do not dare
to disagree at all. To disagree means to take another perspective seriously, to accept its challenge to
re-evaluate ourselves, and yet, at the end of this intense process, decide to maintain our difference.
We might even say that disagreement and concession are the same journey, with a fork at the end of
the road. Such a journey, difficult though it may be, enriches both travelers who turn to the right and
who turn to the left with equally improved insight. But true disagreement is rather scarce, and the
more important the issue, the rarer the disagreement. What takes its place is a kind of argumentative
chatter that is empty because neither side is really interested in what the other has to say. The
function of such an argument is not to allow ourselves to be transformed by a new perspective. It is
to preserve our status, and our relationships with others who expect us to affirm the locally relevant
status quo.
Many arguments in the Jewish world amount to little more than expressions of dismay at
being challenged. Nostalgia for a time when everyone agreed can be heard in both Hareidi
Ashkenazic and Modern Orthodox Sephardic circles. We imagine that our ancestors did not have to
put up with the kind of foolishness we do today.
But is this true? The proliferation of sects in the Second Temple period easily rivals the
diversity of present-day Judaism, so we have always had to put up with irritating neighbors. But
surely, despite the warnings of Kohelet, some issues genuinely are new? What, for example, of
feminism? Is it not safe to say that ancient rabbis did not have to deal with that? In fact, the world of
our Sages shows an interesting encounter with gender equality, one that is rarely described. Equally
as interesting is the way in which the sages disagreed about it: a full, thoughtful disagreement,
without the panic we associate with gender issues in our own days.
Many students are surprised to discover a tannaitic opinion that women and men are equally
obligated in tefillin (Shabbat 62a, Eruvin 96b). Far from being a fringe position, it was held by R.
Meir and R. Yehudah, two of the most prominent students of R. Akiva. Those who say that women
are exempt from tefillin do so on the basis that they hold that women are exempt from Torah study
(Kiddushin 34b), and it seems clear that R. Meir and R. Yehudah also saw a link between these
mitsvot, holding that women are obligated in Torah study. In the Yerushalmi, we see a female
student of R. Meir:
R. Meir used to teach in the synagogue every Shabbat evening. A woman used to come to
learn from his teaching. Once, he taught a long time. She arrived late to her house and found
the candles already extinguished. Her husband said to her, “Where have you been?” She
said, “Listening to the lecturer.” He said, “I vow this woman won’t come home until she
spits in the eye of that lecturer!” R. Meir saw it happen with ruah hakodesh (divine
inspiration) and caused himself an eye problem. He [went around] saying, “Any woman who
knows the healing arts of the eye, come and spit [in my eye].” [The woman’s] neighbor said,
“Here’s the solution for your problem! Go make a cure for him and spit in his eye.” She
approached him. He said, “Are you a wise woman who knows eye cures?” She was afraid
and didn’t answer. He said “Spit seven times in my eye and it will cure it.” After she spat, he
said to her, “Go tell your husband: you said just once, but I spat seven times!” His students
said to him, “Our teacher, aren’t you disgracing the Torah? If only you told us, we would
have grabbed [the husband] and beaten him up on his couch and made him concede to his
wife.” He said to them, “Shouldn’t the honor of Meir be no greater than that of his Creator?
For the name of the Holy One, which is written in holiness, at the verse’s instruction is
erased in water [i.e. the Sotah ceremony] in order to bring peace between a man and his wife—the honor of Meir, all the more so [should it be waived to bring peace]!” (Yerushalmi
Sotah 1:4)
There is so much in this story beyond the simple information that at least one of R. Meir’s
students was a woman. We also learn much from the fact that the story does not express any
surprise over the fact that she is female. It is presented as utterly routine. Since Hebrew grammar
does not distinguish between all-male and mixed-gender groups, we are not sure how many other
women are included in R. Meir’s “talmidim.” What we do see is that they like the protagonist of our
story, and are willing to exercise violence to protect her access to learning (a rambunctiousness
which is, incidentally, another well-noted characteristic of R. Meir’s bet midrash; see Kiddushin
33a, Sanhedrin 11a). And what about those teaching in this social circle? In Eruvin 53b, R. Meir’s
wife Beruriah instructs—and physically disciplines–a student. The picture is clear that in at least
one corner of the tannaitic world, men and women were not only putting on tefillin, but teaching
and learning alongside one another.
It is fascinating to see how little defensive political chatter was generated by R. Meir,
Beruriah, and R. Yehudah, in contrast to our own times. We know, of course, that others disagreed,
and indeed outlasted them in the history of halakhic practice. In Sukkah 2b, we see R. Yehudah
citing the example of Queen Helene’s sukkah to derive a maximum halakhic height. Other sages,
who do not believe women to be obligated, reject the validity of any observations about women’s
sukkot, and say so frankly. But it is fascinating that they are listening, and taking part in the same
conversation: It is enough for them that everyone is learned and committed to Torah. They do not
need to add political conformity to this requirement. Equally of note is R. Yehudah’s reply to them,
in which he does not chastise them for their non-egalitarian position, but rather explains why his
observations are significant no matter what one’s stance in this matter: “She has seven sons; and
besides that, never acted except in accordance with the sages.”
The debate between R. Yehudah and his colleagues illustrates the importance of true
disagreement. It does not necessarily have anything to do with converting others to one’s viewpoint.
Neither side in Sukkah 2b puts energy into getting the other to concede. Rather, R. Yehudah
understands their lack of agreement as an opportunity to enrich his own teaching, to see if he can
express it in a way that will be heard even by those outside his echo chamber. For their part, R.
Yehudah’s interlocutors are enriched by information they would have otherwise discarded, because
they did not previously consider it significant.
Imagine what richness of information we can consider when we, too, take disagreement
seriously. When we are presented with an opinion from an outlandish person, or from a sector of
Jewish practice we typically shun, we could choose to disagree rather than to argue—to give
ourselves the gift of absorbing and processing an unfamiliar perspective. A precondition for
engaging in quality disagreement would be to abandon the wishful thinking that the diversity of
thought which occurs in our own times is so absurd, so out of line that we have no precedent to
advise us to engage in meaningful dialogue. We must remind ourselves, not just of Kohelet’s
famous statement that nothing is new, but that we constantly misdiagnose ancient things as modern:
“Sometimes there is a phenomenon of which they say, ‘Look, this one is new!’—it occurred long
since, in ages that went by before us” (Kohelet 1:10).

Love the Ger: A Biblical Perspective

View PDF

Rabbi Hayyim Angel is the National Scholar of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals (jewishideas.org). He has taught advanced Bible courses to undergraduate, graduate, and rabbinical students at Yeshiva University since 1996. He lives in Teaneck, New Jersey, with his wife and four children. This article appears in issue 36 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. This article was reprinted in issue 44 of Conversations.

Throughout the first 35 issues of Conversations, we have presented a considerable number of articles on the subject of conversion to Judaism in modern times. The general thrust of these articles is that there are strong halakhic positions that advocate greater latitude for the acceptance of converts than the restrictive positions often conveyed in the contemporary Orthodox world. There also are many commandments to love converts and to make them feel absolutely welcome as permanent members of the Jewish community.

These viewpoints are vital for addressing a plethora of halakhic and social issues pertaining to conversion and converts, and it is imperative for the rabbinic world and the broader community to weigh these positions when making decisions. This issue has been a central concern of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals since its founding in 2007.[1]

In this article, we will step back into the biblical world, and explore the Torah’s attitude toward the ger. Before proceeding, we must understand that in the Oral Law, there are two categories of gerim: What we call a convert today is the ger tzedek, righteous convert, who becomes a permanent member of the Jewish people. There also is a category of ger toshav, resident alien. These are non-Jewish individuals who live in Israel and adopt certain standards of belief and practice (to be discussed below), but do not become Jewish through a formal process of conversion.

The plain sense of the Torah does not have these two categories. Rather, a ger always is a resident alien and refers to non-Israelites who permanently live in Israel. The biblical term ger more broadly refers to people living in a land that is not theirs (see Rashi on Exodus 22:20). God tells Abraham that his descendants will be gerim in a land that is not theirs (Genesis 15:13).[2] Abraham refers to himself as a ger ve-toshav to the Hittites when he attempts to purchase a burial site for Sarah (Genesis 23:4).[3] Israelites even have the status of gerim ve-toshavim in their own land, since the land belongs to God (Leviticus 25:23).[4] When the Israelites lived in Egypt, the idea that they were gerim has nothing to do with converting to Egyptian religion.[5] The same conversely applies to gerim living in Israel—they do not adopt Israelite religion, but live permanently in the land.

When the Written Law differs from the Oral Law, we apply the Oral Law in practice, but the Written Law still teaches central values of the Torah. This essay focuses on these values.

The Ger in the Torah

The Torah assumes that most gerim require the support of the community, and regularly lists them among the vulnerable members of society.[6] Gerim were not landowners (women like Ruth had an easier time integrating into Israelite society, since they could marry Israelite landowners), and often had no family network nearby for support.[7] The Torah exhorts Israel to care for gerim and to love them. God loves them, and Israel should love them and have compassion on them since the Israelites were gerim themselves in Egypt:

When a stranger resides with you in your land, you shall not wrong him. The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers (gerim) in the land of Egypt: I the Lord am your God. (Leviticus 19:33–34)

For the Lord your God is God supreme and Lord supreme, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God, who shows no favor and takes no bribe, but upholds the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and befriends the stranger, providing him with food and clothing. You too must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers (gerim) in the land of Egypt. (Deuteronomy 10:17–19)

The Talmud (Bava Metzia 59b) counts 36 references to treating the ger fairly, making it one of the most frequently reiterated commandments of the Torah.[8]

Civil law treats Israelites and gerim equally (Leviticus 24:22).[9] Strikingly, the Torah also obligates the ger to observe many ritual commandments. For example:

Gerim may not eat leaven (hametz) on Passover (Exodus 12:19).
Gerim may not do work on Shabbat (Exodus 20:10; Deuteronomy 5:13; cf. Exodus 23:12).
Gerim may not do work on Yom Kippur (Leviticus 16:29).
Gerim may not eat blood (Leviticus 17:10–13).
Gerim must refrain from all prohibited sexual relationships and Molekh worship (Leviticus 18:26).
Gerim must attend the public Torah reading (hakhel) every seven years (Deuteronomy 31:12). This law is similar to the acceptance of the covenant in Deuteronomy 29:10, which includes the ger.
Gerim may bring sacrifices in the Tabernacle (Numbers 15:14–16).
Gerim incur the severe punishment of karet (excision) if they commit severe intentional sins (Numbers 15:29–31).

There are exceptions which exempt gerim from certain laws binding on Israelites:

Gerim may eat carrion (nevelah) (Deuteronomy 14:21).
Gerim may become permanent slaves, unlike Israelites, who must go free at the Jubilee year (Leviticus 25:45–46).

The laws of the Passover sacrifice similarly suggest differences between Israelites and gerim:

If a stranger who dwells with you would offer the Passover to the Lord, all his males must be circumcised; then he shall be admitted to offer it; he shall then be as a citizen of the country. But no uncircumcised person may eat of it. There shall be one law for the citizen and for the stranger who dwells among you. (Exodus 12:48–49)

Ibn Ezra explains that gerim are not required to bring the Passover sacrifice. However, those who wish to may do so, if they first circumcise their males.[10] This law also implies that gerim are not required to be circumcised unless they choose to participate in the Passover sacrifice.[11]

The commandment to dwell in booths on Sukkot applies to Israelite citizens (ezrah) without reference to the ger:

You shall live in booths seven days; all citizens in Israel shall live in booths, in order that future generations may know that I made the Israelite people live in booths when I brought them out of the land of Egypt, I the Lord your God. (Leviticus 23:42–43)

Rashbam explains that Israelite citizens must remember their humble origins as a nation in the desert so they do not become arrogant with their homes and wealth in Israel. This reasoning does not apply to gerim.[12]

The Oral Law

The Oral Law redefines the meaning of ger in the Torah by applying the two concepts of ger tzedek and ger toshav. Any equations of ezrah and ger in the Torah are understood in the Oral Law as referring exclusively to the ger tzedek. Therefore, a ger toshav is not obligated to observe the Torah’s commandments directed at the ger.

The commandment to love gerim likewise is understood in the Oral Law as referring exclusively to the ger tzedek, and not to the ger toshav. The gap between the peshat of the Torah and the Oral Law is particularly conspicuous in Leviticus, where we find separate commandments to love one’s neighbor and gerim:

You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against your countrymen. Love your fellow as yourself: I am the Lord. (Leviticus 19:18)

The stranger who resides with you shall be to you as one of your citizens; you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt: I the Lord am your God. (Leviticus 19:34)

The plain sense of the text appears to refer to two groups of people. “Neighbor” likely refers to fellow Israelites (Sifra Kedoshim 8:4, Mishnat Rabbi Eliezer 16),[13] whereas the “stranger” likely refers to the ger toshav, resident alien. However, the Oral Law understands the law of loving the stranger to refer to the righteous convert, the ger tzedek. Wouldn’t that commandment already be included under the commandment to love one’s neighbor? Rambam (Hilkhot De’ot 6:4) explains that there is a double-commandment to love converts. We must love them as we love any fellow Jew, and we also have an additional commandment to love converts.

To summarize: There are two fundamental discrepancies between the peshat understanding of the Torah’s use of ger (which always refers to the ger toshav) and the Oral Law (which almost always understands the ger in the Torah as a ger tzedek): (1) Proper treatment: We must love, care for, and not oppress the ger. All of these commandments refer exclusively to the righteous convert and not the resident alien. (2) The ger obligated to observe commandments like Israelite citizens is the righteous convert, and not the resident alien.

There is one verse that the Oral Law must interpret as referring to ger toshav:

You shall not eat anything that has died a natural death; give it to the stranger in your community to eat, or you may sell it to a foreigner. For you are a people consecrated to the Lord your God. You shall not boil a kid in its mother’s milk. (Deuteronomy 14:21)

Since Israelites are prohibited from eating carrion (nevelah), righteous converts obviously are prohibited, as well. Therefore, this ger must be a ger toshav.[14]

By interpreting most Torah references to gerim as referring to the ger tzedek, there is little left for the Oral Law to define the Torah’s requirements of a ger toshav. They are permitted to eat carrion, but what obligations or restrictions do they have?

A talmudic debate supplies a range of views, from minimalist to maximalist (Avodah Zarah 64b). Some suggest that if carrion is permitted, most other Torah laws likewise are not applicable to the ger toshav. One Sage rules that the ger toshav must refrain from idolatry. Others maintain that they must observe the Seven Noahide Laws, making them ethical monotheists.[15] Leviticus 18:28 supports this position, stating that the Canaanites forfeited their right to live in the Land of Israel because of their sexual immorality and Molekh worship, which includes child sacrifice (=idolatry and murder): “So let not the land spew you out for defiling it, as it spewed out the nation that came before you.”[16]

A third view in the Talmud suggests that the ger toshav is permitted carrion, but is obligated by all other laws of the Torah. This view is much closer to the peshat of the Torah, which indeed applies many laws equally to Israelite citizens and the ger, i.e., the ger toshav.

Explaining the Gap between the Written and Oral Law

In his analysis of this topic, Rabbi Yehuda Rock[17] observes that there are two competing values within the Torah for the one category of ger toshav: (1) There is a goal of the unification of everyone living in the land of Israel under God and the Torah, so there is one equal law for everyone. (2) Israel is a holy nation and has a unique relationship with God. The permission for a ger to eat carrion in Deuteronomy 14:21 is stated in the context of Israel’s special holiness, “for you are a people consecrated to the Lord your God.”

We may add to Rabbi Rock’s analysis by reviewing the other explicit distinctions between the Israelite citizen and the ger in the Torah. In Ibn Ezra’s reading of Exodus 12:48 cited above, gerim are not obligated in the Passover Sacrifice (nor in circumcision), but those who wish to participate must circumcise their males. Both of these commandments are unique covenantal laws that govern the God-Israel relationship and therefore do not pertain to the ger.

The same applies to the reason Israelites cannot have permanent slavery (Leviticus 25:45–46). Through their singular covenantal relationship with God, they are God’s servants and cannot be slaves of humans forever.

Finally, the Torah singles out an obligation for Israelites to dwell in booths on Sukkot (Leviticus 23:42–43), since they alone have the historical narrative of the sojourn in the wilderness.

To summarize: In general, all who live in Israel must observe the laws of the land, be cared for and loved, and receive equal treatment. In covenantal laws that highlight the unique God-Israel relationship, the ger is exempt and distinguished from Israelite citizens.

The Oral Law distinguishes between the ger tzedek who is bound by all of the Torah’s laws and is loved and cared for by Israelites, and the ger toshav who must accept certain minimal standards to live in Israel. Since the Oral Law understands the commandments to love the ger as referring exclusively to the ger tzedek, it concludes that regarding the ger toshav, “you are obligated to sustain him” (Pesahim 21b).[18]

Conclusion

The Oral Law teaches that a core Jewish value is to love converts to Judaism. The Written Law teaches that same love and inclusion of the resident alien, complete with rights and responsibilities. The Torah teaches a remarkable love, sensitivity, and fair treatment of all people living in the Land of Israel.

The Torah commands the ger to participate in the hakhel ceremony every seven years, to participate in the acceptance of the Torah (Deuteronomy 31:12). In this spirit, Joshua executes a public Torah acceptance after crossing into the Land of Israel, and there are gerim present:

All Israel—stranger and citizen alike—with their elders, officials, and magistrates, stood on either side of the Ark…. There was not a word of all that Moses had commanded that Joshua failed to read in the presence of the entire assembly of Israel, including the women and children and the strangers who accompanied them (Joshua 8:33–35).

That God-fearing non-Israelites may serve God in the Temple traces its roots to Numbers 15:14–16:

And when, throughout the ages, a stranger who has taken up residence with you, or one who lives among you, would present an offering by fire of pleasing odor to the Lord—as you do, so shall it be done by the rest of the congregation. There shall be one law for you and for the resident stranger; it shall be a law for all time throughout the ages. You and the stranger shall be alike before the Lord; the same ritual and the same rule shall apply to you and to the stranger who resides among you.

King Solomon proclaimed this welcome message at the dedication of the First Temple:

This ideal carries over into the exalted messianic visions in the Book of Isaiah:

As for the foreigners who attach themselves to the Lord, to minister to Him, and to love the name of the Lord, to be His servants—all who keep the Sabbath and do not profane it, and who hold fast to My covenant—I will bring them to My sacred mount and let them rejoice in My house of prayer. Their burnt offerings and sacrifices shall be welcome on My altar; for My House shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples. (Isaiah 56:6–7)

In a novel extension of these values, Ezekiel prophesies that in the ideal future, gerim even will own land in Israel:

You shall allot it as a heritage for yourselves and for the strangers who reside among you, who have begotten children among you. You shall treat them as Israelite citizens; they shall receive allotments along with you among the tribes of Israel. You shall give the stranger an allotment within the tribe where he resides—declares the Lord God (Ezekiel 47:22–23).

One cannot envision greater integration of the ger than this.[19]

Notes

[1] For a summary of the relevant issues, as well as references to many of the articles in previous issues of Conversations, see Hayyim Angel, “Conversion: Halakha and Public Policy, Primary Sources,” and “Conversion: Halakha and Public Policy, Contemporary Applications,” Conversations 32 (New York: Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, 2018), pp. 28–40, 41–51. See also the YouTube video of the Institute’s symposium on conversion in October, 2018, which featured Rabbi Marc Angel, Rabbi Hayyim Angel, and Rabbi Yona Reiss, at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GG17aaahdPQ&t=16s.

[2] This term is used regularly throughout the Torah in reference to Israel’s sojourn in Egypt. See Exodus 22:20; 23:9; Leviticus 19:33–34; Deuteronomy 10:19; 23:8; 24:17–22.

[3] See also Exodus 2:22, referring to Zipporah’s birth of Moses’ son Gershom: “She bore a son whom he named Gershom, for he said, ‘I have been a stranger in a foreign land.’” Cf. Exodus 18:3.

[4] See also Psalm 39:13; I Chronicles 29:15.

[5] A different term, nokhri, tends to refer to non-Israelites who come to Israel on a temporary basis, such as merchants.

[6] See, for example, Leviticus 19:10; 23:22; 25:6; Deuteronomy 14:29; 16:11, 14; 24:17; 26:11; 27:19.

[7] The Torah acknowledges the possibility that some gerim will become wealthy (Leviticus 25:47), and it is a curse if Israelites sin and decline while the ger rises (Deuteronomy 28:43).

[8] Nehama Leibowitz went so far as to suggest that the reason God wanted the Israelites to be enslaved in Egypt was so that they would develop a sensitivity toward the underprivileged (New Studies in Shemot: Exodus, pp. 1–11).

[9] See also Numbers 35:15; Deuteronomy 24:17; 27:19.

[10]They also must be in a state of ritual purity like any Israelite (see Numbers 9:6–7, 13–14).

[11] The Oral Law interprets this passage as referring to the ger tzedek, the righteous convert. It therefore understands the verse as requiring the ger to bring the Passover Sacrifice (Rambam, Hilkhot Korban Pesah 9:7).

[12] Jacob Milgrom (Anchor Bible: Leviticus 17–22 [New York: Doubleday, 2000], pp. 1496–1499) maintains that the ger must refrain from prohibitions since violation of negative commandments pollutes the land, whereas the ger is exempt from positive commandments. Milgrom explains the anomalous permission for the ger to eat carrion in Deuteronomy 14:21 as a means of preserving some distinction between Israelites and gerim. This explanation, however, is unconvincing, given the Torah’s equation of Israelites and gerim in every other arena.

[13] For a survey of Jewish views through the ages, with emphasis on a sea change in interpretation toward viewing “Love your neighbor” as a reference to all humanity in more recent times, see Reinhard Neudecker (“‘And You Shall Love Your Neighbor as Yourself—I Am the Lord’ (Lev 19,18) in Jewish Interpretation,” Biblica 73 (1992), pp. 496–517. See also the illuminating moral debate between Ernst Simon, “The Neighbor (Re’a) Whom We Shall Love,” and the response of Harold Fisch, in Modern Jewish Ethics: Theory and Practice, ed. Marvin Fox (Ohio: Ohio State University Press, 1975), pp. 29–61.

[14] The Septuagint reflects the same distinction. Jacob Milgrom notes, “[T]he Septuagint [invented] a new word, proselutos ‘proselyte,’ for the convert, a term they consistently use for ger in all legal contexts. The sole exception is Exod 12:19, where they use the transliterated (Aramaic) form geioras, and Deut 14:21, where, in order to prevent concluding that the convert may eat of a nebela, they translate ger as paroikos ‘alien’ (Anchor Bible: Leviticus 17–22, p. 1501).

[15] Rambam (Hilkhot Issurei Bi’ah 14:7–8) rules that the ger toshav must renounce idolatry and commit to observe the Seven Noahide Laws. Rambam rules further that the laws of ger toshav are inapplicable today, since halakhah links those laws to the laws of the Jubilee Year. Rabbi Saul Zucker (unpublished essay, emailed to author May 5, 2020) explains that the ger toshav accepts a connection to Israel as a nation, in contrast to the ger tzedek who accepts a connection to Israel’s religion. Therefore, a halakhic ger toshav does not exist at a time when Israel is insufficiently constituted in its land to observe the Jubilee year. I am grateful to Rabbi Zucker for sharing his piece with me.

[16] See also Deuteronomy 12:31; 18:9–12.

[17]Yehuda Rock, “Love for the Ger,” at https://www.etzion.org.il/en/love-ger. Accessed April 24, 2020.

[18] Yehuda Rock analyzes that talmudic law. Here are his words (see reference in previous note), with minor modifications: “The substance of this requirement is a matter of debate among the Rishonim (medieval rabbinic authorities). According to Ramban (Gloss to Sefer Ha-mitzvot, Positive 16; Commentary, Leviticus 25:35), it refers to saving his life… Rambam views this requirement as the provision of support – i.e., communal responsibility that facilitates the conduct of life, including also basic manners and acts of kindness (Hilkhot Melakhim 10:12). The Gemara does not state explicitly the source for this command “to sustain him,” but the Rishonim (Rashi, ad loc; Rambam, Hilkhot Zekhiyya 3:11; Ramban, ibid.) point to Leviticus 25:35: “If your brother grows poor, and his means fail with you, you shall support him—a stranger (ger) or a resident (toshav)—that he may survive with you.” The structure of this verse is somewhat opaque, but the message seems to be that the command to support and sustain a brother extends to include a “ger or toshav.” The Sages explain (Torat Kohanim, ad loc), “‘Ger’—this means a ger tzedek; ‘toshav’—this means a ger who eats carcasses.” In other words, the ger mentioned in the verse is a convert, as the word is usually used by the Sages; the toshav mentioned in the verse is actually a ger toshav. This, then, is the source of the requirement to support and sustain even a ger toshav.

[19] Sifri Beha’alotekha 78 reinterprets Ezekiel to refer to atonement rather than land inheritance. Several classical commentators interpret the passage as referring to the ger tzedek who will inherit land (see, e.g., Rashi, Radak, Abarbanel, Malbim).

Drawing on the Wisdom of Isaiah Berlin

View PDF

Rabbi Marc D. Angel is Director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals and Senior Editor of its journal, Conversations. This article appears in issue 38 of Conversations.

Isaiah Berlin was one of the intellectual wonders of 20th century England. Born in Riga in 1909, his family emigrated to England in 1921. Isaiah quickly adapted to life in his new land, attending St. Paul’s School and Corpus Christi College, Oxford. He studied classical languages, ancient history, philosophy, politics and economics; he was a top student and a voracious reader. In 1932 he was appointed to a lectureship at New College, and he became the first Jew to be elected to a Prize Fellowship at All Souls, considered to be among the highest honors in British academic life.

During the 1930s, he was one of a group that developed “the Oxford philosophy,” a movement that also included premier Oxford scholars J. L. Austin, A. J. Ayer and Stuart Hampshire. During the Second World War, Berlin was stationed in New York serving in the British Information Services (1940-42), and then at the British Embassy in Washington DC (1942-46). In 1945-46, he spent four months in the Soviet Union, meeting with persecuted members of the Russian intelligentsia, including Anna Akhmatova and Boris Pasternak. His stay in the Soviet Union deepened his staunch opposition to communism.

After the war, Berlin returned to Oxford where his interests turned to the area of intellectual history. In 1950, he received a research fellowship at All Souls, allowing him to pursue his academic interests which were outside the mainstream of philosophy as it was then taught at Oxford. He made regular visits to American universities, where his lectures impacted on the development of intellectual history as an area for academic research.

In 1957 Berlin was elected Chichele Professor of Social and Political Theory at Oxford. Also in 1957, he was knighted. In 1967, he resigned his chair upon becoming the founding President of Wolfson College at Oxford, a position he held until retiring in 1975. He continued to teach, write and lecture, and passed away in 1997.

That a Jewish immigrant boy from Riga became one of the foremost intellectuals of England is a tribute to Isaiah Berlin’s brilliance, as well as to the receptivity of Oxford and the English academic community. He rose to great intellectual heights, and did so as a British Jew.

In his biography of Isaiah Berlin, Michael Ignatieff reports that Berlin’s mother taught him in his Riga childhood: “We were Jews….We were not Russian. We were not Letts. We were something else. We had to have a home. There was no point living in a perpetual qui vive. Above all, there was no point denying it, concealing it. To do so was undignified and unsuccessful” (Isaiah Berlin: A Life, p. 30). This early lesson stayed with Berlin throughout his life. Even as he adapted and “belonged” within English academic life, he was always aware of his being, in some sense, an “outsider.” He understood the need to belong and therefore sympathized with Zionism, the movement that promoted the right of Jews to live their own lives and to be fully accepted as Jews. Berlin explained that to be a Jew “was to know how deeply men and women needed to be at home somewhere in the world. Belonging was more than possession of land and statehood; it was the condition of being understood itself” (Ibid. p. 292).

When he served in New York in the early 1940s, he was drawn to public Jews such as Rabbi Stephen Wise and Justice Louis Brandeis. He could not bear “apologetic American Jews” such as Walter Lippmann and Arthur Hays Sulzberger and saw them, in the words of Lewis Namier, as “trembling amateur gentiles” (Ibid., p. 105). Berlin and a colleague coined the acronym OTAG, Order of the Trembling Amateur Gentiles.

Berlin was not religiously observant in the Orthodox sense, but he never took his Judaism in the direction of Reform. “Berlin was adamant that if there was to be observance, it had to be as authentic, as traditional, as close to the ancient faith as possible….For all his skepticism, his respect for the religious content of the ritual was unfeigned” (Ibid. p. 294).

Berlin’s Jewishness may have played a role in a central aspect of his thinking. Jewish tradition teaches that all human beings are created in the image of God; all have access to God; the righteous of all nations have a place in the world-to-come. Whereas other religions and ideologies have claimed exclusive possession of truth (and eternal salvation), Judaism makes room for others. This recognition of “truths” among all people is uniquely important.

In his essay, “The Pursuit of the Ideal,” Berlin developed his understanding of pluralism. He rejected the view that “all genuine questions must have one true answer and one only, all the rest being necessarily errors.” He dismissed the notion that there was one dependable route to attaining this “one true answer.” He argued against the idea that “the true answers, when found, must necessarily be compatible with one another and form a single whole, for one truth cannot be incompatible with another—that we knew a priori” (The Proper Study of Mankind, p. 5).

Indeed, those who have posited one correct truth to the exclusion of any others—such people have fostered totalitarian societies, inquisitions, religious persecutions etc. They have been so certain that they alone have truth, that they disdain—and often punish—those who do not share their truth. And they commit their atrocities with self-righteousness! “To force people into the neat uniforms demanded by dogmatically believed-in schemes is almost always the road to inhumanity” (Ibid., p. 16).

Berlin’s idea of pluralism is elegant. It differs from relativism that calls on us to accept all views as being equally valid. Rather, pluralism is “the conception that there are many different ends that men may seek and still be fully rational, fully men, capable of understanding each other and sympathizing and deriving light from each other…..Intercommunication between cultures in time and space is possible only because what makes men human is common to them, and acts as a bridge between them. But our values are ours, and there are theirs” (Ibid., p. 8).

In his essay, “Two Concepts of Liberty,” Berlin directed his attention to the predicament of oppressed classes or nationalities. “What they want, as often as not, is simply recognition (of their class or nation or color or race) as an independent source of human activity, as an entity with a will of its own, intending to act in accordance with it (whether it is good or legitimate, or not), and not to be ruled, educated, guided, with however light a hand, as being not quite fully human, and therefore not quite free.” Berlin repudiated paternalism “not because it is more oppressive than naked, brutal, unenlightened tyranny, nor merely because it ignores the transcendental reason embodied in me, but because it is an insult to my conception of myself as a human being, determined to make my own life in accordance with my own (not necessarily rational or benevolent) purposes, and, above all, entitled to be recognized as such by others. For if I am not so recognized, then I may fail to recognize, I may doubt, my own claim to be a fully independent human being” (Ibid., p. 228).

Berlin underscored these thoughts in his essay, “Nationalism.” He pointed out the obvious: the thought of 19th and early 20th centuries was “astonishingly Europocentric.” When even the most imaginative and radical political thinkers spoke of Africans or Asians, there was “as a rule, something curiously remote and abstract about their ideas….The peoples of Africa and Asia were discussed either as wards or as victims of Europeans, but seldom, if ever, in their own right as peoples with histories and cultures of their own; with a past and present and future which must be understood in terms of their own actual character and circumstances” (Ibid., p. 603).

Isaiah Berlin, steeped in academic studies, was not an “ivory tower” scholar. He thought deeply and cared deeply about politics and society. He thought deeply and cared deeply about the Jewish predicament as an oppressed and misunderstood minority group; he thought deeply and cared deeply about how humanity might be more respectful, thoughtful, and fairer.

His teachings are as relevant today as they were when he first expounded them.

* * *

I was born and raised in Seattle, Washington, as were both of my parents. My grandparents had come to Seattle early in the 20th century from towns in Turkey and the Island of Rhodes. My ancestors had lived in the old Ottoman Empire since the expulsion of Jews from Spain in 1492. Spanish religious intolerance at that time was counter-balanced by Ottoman religious tolerance.

In Seattle, Jews were a tiny minority of the general population. Sephardic Jews were a small minority within the city’s Jewish population. My grandparents, like the other Sephardic immigrants, spoke Judeo-Spanish as their mother tongue. I thought it was perfectly natural and normal to grow up in Seattle with Turkish-born grandparents who spoke a medieval form of Spanish!

I strive to live according to the truth of my faith. Yet, I also am struck by a massive reality: I am part of a Sephardic Orthodox Jewish community that represents an infinitesimal percentage of humanity. There are at least seven billion other human beings who live according to their faiths, and who know little or nothing about mine. If I have the true way of life — one for which I am willing to live and die — how am I to relate to the overwhelming majority of human beings who do not share my faith?

Growing up as an Orthodox Sephardic Jew in Seattle, I learned very early in life that I had to be very strong in my faith and traditions in order to avoid being swallowed up by the overwhelming majority cultures. I also learned the importance of theological humility. It simply would make no sense to claim that I had God’s entire Truth and that seven billion human beings were living in spiritual darkness. I surely believed — and do believe — that I have a profound religious truth that guides my life. But I also believed — and do believe — that all human beings have equal access to God, since God has created each one of us in God’s image.

One of the great challenges facing religions is to see the full picture of humanity, not just our particular segment of it. While being fully committed to our faiths, we also need to make room for others. We need, in a sense, to see humanity from the perspective of God, to see the entire canvas not just individual segments of it.

Religious vision is faulty when it sees one, and only one, way to God. Religious vision is faulty when it promotes forced conversions, discrimination against “infidels,” violence and murder of those holding different views. How very tragic it is that much of the anti-religious persecution that takes place in our world is perpetrated by people who claim to be religious, who claim to be serving the glory of God.

While religion today should be the strongest force for a united, compassionate and tolerant humanity, it often appears in quite different garb. Religion is too often identified with terrorism, extremism, superstition, exploitation…and hypocrisy. People commit the most heinous crimes…and do so while claiming to be acting in the name of God.

Isaiah Berlin’s concept of pluralism provides a framework to be faithful to our own truths, while being genuinely respectful of the truths of others. Religion should unite humanity in a universal striving for Godliness and righteousness.

References

Isaiah Berlin: The Proper Study of Mankind, Eds. Henry Hardy and Roger Hausheer, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York, 1998.

Ignatieff, Michael, Isaiah Berlin: A Life, Henry Holt and Company, New York, 1998.

A Renaissance Man--At What Price?

View PDF

Elliot Resnick holds a PhD in Jewish History from Yeshiva University. He is the former chief editor of The Jewish Press, a podcast host, and the author/editor of seven books, including, most recently, America First: The Story of Sol Bloom, the Most Powerful Jew in Congress During the Holocaust. This article appears in issue 43 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

“Some of the most famous and important works of literature contain passages and themes that are immodest in nature. May a God-fearing Jew read these works for the good they contain, or must one forgo reading them entirely?”

That was the question I posed to several rabbis in 2017 for a feature I wanted to publish in The Jewish Press. I sought five answers of 100–300 words each. Much to my surprise, though, none of the rabbis I contacted agreed to respond. One said he wasn’t a posek (halakhic decisor), another said he had no time, and a third didn’t want to be quoted. I emailed a few other rabbis, hoping for better luck. Nothing doing.

I was perplexed. In my many years as a writer for The Jewish Press, I rarely had encountered a less cooperative group. I also couldn’t understand how so many rabbis—whose duty it is to lead the masses—could beg out of answering a question that surely must occur to every educated observant Jew at one point or another in his intellectual development. In Modern Orthodox circles, where dropping literary references is fashionable, the question is particularly important. Who among us, after all, isn’t impressed by someone who can quote both Rashi and Rousseau, the Netziv and Nietzsche, the Or HaHayyim and Orwell? But is reading an author like Orwell, in fact, permissible? His brilliant short novel Animal Farm is squeaky clean, but his longer, more famous novel 1984 certainly is not. Can a God-fearing Jew read this work nonetheless for the insight it provides on totalitarianism? Can one read Gulliver’s Travels, All Quiet on the Western Front, Brave New World, Atlas Shrugged? Can one watch classic movies like “The Godfather” or “The Graduate”? Or do the immodest scenes in these works disqualify them from being read or watched by a Torah-observant Jew?

A few months after failing to elicit any responses to my question, I tried again, determined to at least raise the issue in the pages of The Jewish Press. After much effort, I finally found five rabbis willing to go on record (Rabbi Marc Angel, Founder and Director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, was one of them) and I published their answers in The Jewish Press in February 2018 (see www.jewishpress.com/sections/books/on-the-bookshelf-23/2018/02/16/). In total, I had posed the question to roughly 15 to 20 rabbis. Thus, for every rabbi who responded, two or three ignored my email or begged out of the project.

I find this response rate unconscionable, and I believe it reflects a dereliction of rabbinic duty. If you encourage—or at least don’t actively discourage—engagement with general culture, you must provide guidance to the public. Right now, too many observant Jews go about their lives as if Torah U’madda or Torah im Derekh Eretz sanctions any and all engagement with general knowledge and society. They assume, for example, that they can go to the movies, cavalierly invoking the behavior of this or that famous rabbi who went to the movies in the 1940s. Movies, however, have changed over the last 70 years. Rabbis in the 1940s didn’t encounter nudity, profanity, or endless crude jokes at the movie theater. Our generation does.

I occasionally hear observant Jews quoting lines from famous sitcoms like Seinfeld or Friends and wonder why they aren’t embarrassed to effectively admit in public that they watch shows with off-color plots and jokes. I also wonder why Orthodox media outlets occasionally publish articles that implicitly encourage immoral behavior. A few years ago, for example, a Jewish publication celebrated a Modern Orthodox high-school boy who starred in a primetime TV show. I wouldn’t object except that this boy had a romantic interest on the show and expressed this interest by violating the laws of intimate physical contact before millions of viewers. Should such a kid be celebrated in an Orthodox publication?

The author of the article handled the young man’s violation of halakha by ignoring it. Presto. Problem solved. Another Jewish publication pulled off this same trick a decade ago. It interviewed an Orthodox Hollywood screenwriter at some length—clearly taking pride in the writer’s accomplishments—but never once asked him about the moral problems inherent in working as a screenwriter in Hollywood where virtually every script contains inappropriate material. The implicit message these two publications conveyed to readers was that participation and success in general society is a praiseworthy end unto itself. Don’t worry about the inconvenient details. We’ve wished them away for you.

Terence, an esteemed Roman playwright, famously declared, “I am human and consider nothing human alien to me.” But God wants some aspects of humanity to be—at least partially—alien to us. Rav Avraham Yitzhak Kook argues that certain elements of the human soul should be buried rather than explored in literature. He writes that we each possess a “spade” to fulfill this task, borrowing language from Deuteronomy 23:13, which requires Jewish soldiers in military camp to carry a spade with them with which to bury their human waste (Olat Re’iyah, section on Shir HaShirim). Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch, who enthusiastically promoted a life of Torah im Derekh Eretz, actually rejected the full gamut of German cultural expression. He delivered an encomium in 1859 on the centenary of the birth of Friedrich Schiller, a famous German poet (calling him a “messenger of God” for using “the gift of poetry to inspire the human mind with enthusiasm for all that is pure and true and godly”). Yet, he told a friend that had he been in Frankfurt in 1849 on the centenary of the birth of Goethe—another famous German poet—he would have left town so as to avoid honoring a writer many of whose ideas he believed were antithetical to those of the Torah.

Torah im Derekh Eretz and Torah U’madda encourage societal engagement and the attainment of knowledge, but not every society is created equal nor is every piece of knowledge kosher. Rav Hirsch notes that our patriarch, Abraham, far from seeking entry into mainstream society and culture, protested strenuously against it. The whole world stood on one side of the spiritual spectrum, and he stood on the other. The Maccabees, too, rejected the prevailing culture of their day, despite its allure. Their brethren embraced Hellenistic values; they were the “enlightened” ones. But Jewish history condemns them, and we celebrate their downfall every Hanukkah.

Rabbis know perfectly well that the Maimonidean model—excellence in both Torah and culture—can’t be realized in every era. Maimonides himself writes that a Jew in a decadent age may be required to escape to a cave or desert and live alone (Hilkhot De’ot 6:1). But most rabbis (save those in the most insular communities) are reluctant to publicly voice their reservations in our era of supreme tolerance. For example, many know that Orwell’s 1984 contains inappropriate passages, but they don’t necessarily want to go on record “banning” a book whose very plot revolves around the dangers of censorship. Nor do they wish to recommend desisting from reading other famous works of literature. Their reluctance is understandable but still regrettable. For without direction, the masses will undoubtedly take the path of least resistance. And that path will lead them to read, watch, and listen to practically anything in the name of “culture” and “education.”

I am not arguing that all literature with problematic material should be avoided. As several rabbis argued in response to my query, much might depend on the nature of the work and the person reading it. Is the person mature? Does the book have redeeming value? Perhaps the permissibility of reading such works depends on one’s age, background, gender, and marital status. An 18-year-old yeshiva boy reading 1984 may be affected in a way that a 38-year-old man might not. The nature and frequency of the inappropriate passages may be relevant factors as well.

I personally made a conscious decision a few years ago not to read an international bestseller by Michael Houellebecq called Submission. In it, Houellebecq imagines a future in which France, in order to avert a takeover by Marine Le Pen’s far-right party, elects a Muslim president who proceeds to Islamicize French society. The novel’s main character, Francois, leads a spiritually vacuous life and, at the end of the book, seeks escape from his empty existence by converting to Islam. I read a review of the novel and was intrigued. The ending in particular piqued my curiosity. Unfortunately, in an effort to illustrate the vacuousness of Francois’s life, Houellebecq depicts him engaging in highly inappropriate behavior. I tried convincing myself that the book reviews had exaggerated and that the inappropriate passages were brief. But every subsequent review I read led me to believe the very opposite. Indeed, I learned from a friend that Houellebecq is famous for saturating his novels with inappropriate material. I had no choice. I couldn’t read the novel.

I believe I made the right decision in this instance, but I don’t know if I’ve always made the right choice in the past, and I wish I had had the sage advice, in print, of others who had faced this dilemma before me. I attended classes at Yeshiva University for a decade and, during that period, regularly read its student newspapers and other popular Modern Orthodox literature. Surely, in those 10 years, I should have come across several articles addressing this topic. And yet, I don’t recall a single one.

I was left to my own devices, as are hundreds of thousands of others who face the question of abstaining from problematic elements of Western culture. So, as matters stand now, everyone just “does their own thing,” with most of us pretending the problem doesn’t exist. After all, who wants to be out of the cultural loop? Who wants to be the one staying home when everyone goes out to see the latest movie? Who wants to mingle in educated circles without having read the book on everyone’s lips?

And yet, at least some of us in some circumstances in regard to some famous works may have to do just that. The prophet Micah tells us to walk modestly with God (Micah 6:8). Modesty means not showing off. It means doing the right thing without fanfare. It means seeking God’s approval and caring little about human approval if that approval comes at the expense of truth and morality. It means avoiding rather than seeking the limelight. So I humbly suggest that we learn to take pride in living virtuously even if that means being unable to signal our educational prowess to others.

Exhibiting knowledge is exciting—often effective—but it shouldn’t come at the expense of virtue. I don’t know exactly where the boundaries lie. Rabbis should help us plot them. But these boundaries do exist, and we may not pretend they don’t. We have a mandate to study the Torah. According to many rabbinic greats, we also have a mandate to be productive and educated members of society. But we don’t have a mandate to read every book on The New York Times bestseller list (or watch every movie that wins Best Picture at the Oscars). We must be selective, opting for virtue, even if that means sometimes forgoing the pleasures of participating in literary discourse and impressing our friends and acquaintances.

National Scholar Updates

It then teaches that when hope for the return of all humanity was removed, as it had successfully destroyed God’s constructive intent three times already, God selected the most pious of the species and chose Abraham and his descendants to achieve His desired purpose for all humanity.[4]