National Scholar Updates

It is well known that all mitzvoth fall into two major categories: those between humans are God-bein adam laMakom, and those between humans and their fellows-bein adam leHaveiro. The question we wish to discuss here is which of these two categories is, as it were, more weighty. Formulated differently: If there were to be a clash between two different mitzvoth from these two categories, which one would prevail?

At first blush one might well assume that our relationship toward our Maker is clearly of such primal importance, that in all such cases we must give mitzvoth directed toward God our first priority. Indeed this seems to have been a common presumption among some people during the Second Temple times, as we learn from the very disturbing story in B. Yoma 23a:

It once happened that there were two Kohanim who had equal [rights to carry out a sacrifice], and they were running up the gangway [to the altar]. One of them got ahead of his fellow by within four cubits, and he took a knife and stabbed it into his fellow kohen's heart.... The father of the young kohen came and found his son convulsing. He said: May he be your atonement, for my son is still convulsing (i.e., still alive), and the knife has not been made ritually impure. This comes to teach you that the purity of [Temple] vessels was more serious for them than bloodshed....

This very shocking story reflects a not uncommon notion as the scale of priorities to be found in certain sectors of Jewish religious society.
But the fact that we find this episode so shocking and unacceptable indicates that we must reconsider the moral and halakhic presumptions underlying the tale. And indeed, when we examine this issue more closely we shall see that the opposite is the case, namely, that interpersonal mitzvoth have a priority over those between humans and God. So formulates R. Meir ben Raphael Plotzky, in his classic K'lei Hemdah to Deuteronomy 25:26 (sect. 5, subsection 4, Pietrokow 1902. KiTetze p. 228):

Concerning the issue of one who is engaged in one mitzvah that he is exempt from another if he is engaged in a mitzvah between man and his Maker-he is not exempt from a mitzvah between a person and his fellow. ... However, this is only the case with regard a mitzvah between a person and his Maker. We have not heard that this would exempt him from a mitzvah between a person and his fellow, for the ultimate end that would serve his fellow cannot be pushed aside because one is engaged in a mitzvah directed toward one's Maker.

We see then, that when there is a clash between these two categories, it is the "social" mitzvah that overrides the "ritual" one.
We find this principle also in the S'dei Hemed of R. Hayyim Hezkiahu Medini (vol. 5, p. 233b, Klal 45) in the name of the Shem Aryeh, by R. Aryeh Leibush Bolhauer [Vilna 1873-1874], in the additional response at the end of the book sect. 3. There, he solves a certain question raised by the Tosafot to Shevuot 44b in the following manner:

In B. Rosh haShanah 28a we learn that someone who takes upon himself by a vow not to receive any sort of benefit or enjoyment from a spring, is permitted to bathe in that spring for a ritual ablution, for mitzvoth are not for personal benefit. The Tosafot ad loc. ask as follows: Surely in doing so, he will benefit according to the view of Rav Yosef in that he is a paid guardian (shomer sakhar)?

Let me explain this in greater detail. Rav Yosef is of the opinion that if someone finds a lost object and keeps it until the owner comes to claim it, his legal status is that of a paid guardian; the reason being that while he is engaged in looking after the object, making sure it is in no way damaged, he will be exempt from giving a poor man who comes to his door a small gift of charity. This is called peruta deRav Yosef, Rav Yosef's penny. In that he does not have to give out a penny, it is as if he has earned it. Hence, he is a paid guardian. According to this view, if, while the person is having his ritual oblution, a poor man would come begging for a donation, he would be exempt, since he is already engaged in a mitzvah, and there he would be having a monetary benefit from not giving the "penny." How then, ask the Tosafot, can he be permitted to bathe in the spring when he has vowed to have no sort of benefit from it? The answer that the P'nei Aryeh gives is that such exemption from charitable giving is only the case when the mitzvah he was engaged in was toward his fellow man, looking after the lost object. But if he is engaged in a ritual mitzvah, toward his Maker, he is in no way exempt from the mitzvah of giving charity, which is one directed to his fellow man. This then is fully in line with what we saw to be the principle in the K'lei Hemdah.

Although this may appear to be a rather radical view formulated by later authorities, it is actually already to be found in the Rosh (Rabbenu Asher), in his commentary to Peah 1:2. He wrote (ed. Samuel Edwin, Marlborough, Australia, no date):

For the Holy One blessed be He is more desirous of mitzvoth that are done to the satisfaction of human beings, than those that are between a person and his Maker.

See on this what Rabbi Elhanan Wasserman wrote in his Kovetz Maamarim (ed. R. Eliezer Simchah Wasserman, his son, Jerusalem 1963, pp. 42-43):

For "among two hundred is to be found a hundred" (a common rabbinic idiom), meaning that in all mitzvoth between a person and his fellow there is also a component between a person and God. Why then should they be lessened by being between a person and his fellow? And it is for this reason that the Rosh saw interpersonal mitzvoth as being weightier, for they contain both elements.

I believe this notion is also to be found in the Ramban. On the verse in Leviticus 23:22-"And when ye reap the harvest of your land, thou shalt not make clean riddance of the corners of thy field when thou reapest, neither shalt thou gather any gleanings of thy havrvest; thou shalt leave them unto the poor and to the stranger: I am the Lord your God"-he writes as follows:

Rashi wrote [not in our Rashi] The Scripture repeated itself to make a person transgress two prohibitions.... Rashi seeks to answer the question why this verse appears after the section dealing with the bringing of the omer. Moreover, these commandments of Peah etc. have already appeared in Leviticus 19:9-10, in a very similar formulation.

However, Ramban rejects Rashi's explanation, and suggests:

In my view, the correct interpretation is that the harvesting mentioned refers to what is brought at the beginning of the section (verse 10), namely that when you come into the land and reap the harvest and bring a sheaf of the first fruits of the harvest, you should not reap the corner of your field for the omer, nor glean the gleanings, meaning that the mitzvah [of the omer] does not supersede those prohibitions.

The Ramban here is teaching us that the mitzvah of bringing the omer before the altar of God cannot push aside those mitzvoth aimed at helping the poor. (R. Hayyim ibn Atar, in his Orah Hayyim ad loc., follows this interpretation.)

In light of the above we can perhaps better understand the well-known rabbinic statement that whereas sins against God are expiated on Yom haKippurim, those against fellow humans are not expiated on Yom haKippurim until the sinner appeases the person against whom one sinned (B. Yoma 85b, and cf. Numbers Rabbah 11:7). [1]

My grandfather, Rabbi David Sperber, of blessed memory, in his commentary to tractate Avot 3 (Mikhtam leDavid, Brooklyn 1997, p. 64) linked this concept to the statement of Rabbi Haninah ben Dosa (Avot 3:11):

He in whom the spirit of mankind finds pleasure, in him the spirit of God finds pleasure; but he in whom the spirit of mankind finds no pleasure, in him the spirit of God finds no pleasure.

And in this context we should recall the famous difference of opinion among the later authorities, some of whom hold that if the sinner does not appease his fellow, than those sins against God will also not be expiated by Yom haKippurim.[2]

I cannot restrain myself from recalling the wonderful story that R. Yehudah Leib Maimon records in his Toledot haGra, Jerusalem 1970, p. 7, concerning the Rabbi of Frankfurt R. Avraham-Abush, a contemporary of the Gaon of Vilna:

They relate that once the shohetim of Frankfurt came before him with a query concerning [the kashruth of] a lung, a matter on which the Rama and the rest of the Polish authorities ruled most stringently. The incident took place on the eve of a festival, and the matter was one potentially involving a very considerable monetary loss for the impoverished slaughterer. The members of the Bet Din wished to rule stringently and declare the meat not kosher, but R. Avraham-Abush began to search for ways of finding it kosher. The judges of the Bet Din insisted on their position that it is impossible to rule leniently against the view of the Rama and his colleagues, but R. Avraham-Abush argued with them, discussing the halakhic issues involved, and finally ruled that the meat was kosher. The members of the Bet Din were astonished, asking him: How could one possibly rule leniently, declaring the meat kosher against the ruling of the Rama and the great authorities of Poland who held the same opinion?!

R. Avraham-Abush replied to them as follows: I prefer at the end of my days that [before the Heavenly Court] I will argue my case with the Rama and his colleagues, rather than with this poor slaughterer. The slaughterer is a simple man, and it will be very difficult for me to argue my case with him before the Heavenly Court, if he brings me to court claiming that I declared his animal tareif, and that in doing so I caused him great monetary loss [3], and that I damaged his business on the eve of the festival. But I am sure that when I lay out my arguments before the Rama and his colleagues, we will reach an agreement....

The logic in R. Avraham-Abush's position is clarified in a similar tale told by Yaakov Rimon and Yosef Zundel Wasserman in the book, Shemuel beDoro:
R. Shmuel Salant z"l Rabbah shel Yerushalayim 1841-1909, Hayyav uPoalav, Tel Aviv 1961, pp. 122-126:

Once upon a time some learned rabbis were arguing with him (R. Shmuel Salanter) on a case where he had ruled "kosher," and needless to say he refuted their counter-arguments. One of them turned to him and said to him: You have refuted our arguments, but what will happen when you come before the Heavenly Court and have to argue with the Bet Yosef and the Rama? He replied as follows: Surely you will agree with me that it will be better for me to argue my case with them, since I believe that I understood in depth their opinion, rather than having a claim against me on the part of the ox [i.e. on the part of the owner of the ox] that I incorrectly declared tareif....

Both of these tales have a common denominator: namely, that if the rabbi ruled incorrectly, declaring tareif meat kosher, he has sinned against God, and Yom haKippurim will atone for this sin. But should he have ruled kosher meat as tareif, he will have caused damage, hurt, and monetary loss to the slaughterer, and this is a sin against his fellow human, a sin for which Yom haKippurim does not automatically atone. He thus preferred to err on the side of leniency rather than risk erring on the side of stringency. (See my discussion in Darkah Shel Torah pp. 140-141.)
We find much the same idea reflected in the Netziv (R. Naftali Zvi Berlin), in his HaEmek Davar to Genesis 20:7, "[Now therefore restore the man his wife; for he is a prophet], and he shall pray for thee, and thou shalt live":

According to what we have explained... that the sin was that [Avimelech] caused grief to our forefather Abraham, surely he only needed to appease him, and there was no need for prayer. However, from here we may learn that one who sins against his neighbor also sins against God, and it is not sufficient to appease one's neighbor alone. One must also beg foregiveness from God. And for this reason he needed Abraham's prayer, in order to be completely expiated.

Perhaps we may here add that which we find in Sefer haRokeah sect. 369 ad fin., namely that a person who is sitting in the synagogue, wrapped in his tallit and with his tefilin on his head and who is reciting liturgical songs, must, nonetheless, rise up before his teacher, since he can carry out both actions simultaneously. Now there are early authorities who held that the principle that one who is engaged in one mitzvah is exempt from another is also the case when both could be carried out. (See Shulhan Arukh Orah Hayyim 38:8, and in the Beur Halakha ibid., and also R. Yaakov Hayyim Sofer, Brit Yaakov, Jerusalem 1985, sect. 2, p. 36.) The author of the Rokeah, R. Elazar of Germaiza was a disciple of R. Yehudah (b. R. Shmuel) he-Hassid, the author of Sefer Hassidim. It is the view of R. Yehudah he-Hassid that even if one can carry out both mitzvoth, one is exempt from doing so, if one is engaged in a prior mitzvah; and this, indeed, is the view of R. Elazar Rokeah himself (Rokeah, Hilkhot Sukkah sect. 299; see Sofer ibid.). Why then should one engaged in praising the Lord in the synagogue have to rise up before his teacher? He is already engaged in a mitzvah, and therefore exempt from others! Surely, this is only because ritual synagogue worship is directed toward God, but respect for one's teacher is between a person and his fellow, and he is not exempt from it. This, too, is the ruling of the Hidah, R. Hayyim Yosef David Azulai, that even in the hour of prayer one rises before a Torah scholar, (Birkei Yosef Orah Hayyim sect. 244:1; and see Sofer ibid. note 8 on p. 37).

It would then appear that this is a basic principle in halakhic and ethical thought, that interpersonal mitzvoth have some kind of greater virtue that those directed toward God.

We find this principle reflected in a passage in Rambam, Hilkhot Rotzeah 4:9. There he writes as follows (and is also quoted in the Semag [Sefer Mitzvot-Gaddol], negative commandment no. 163):

Even though there are more serious sins than murder, they do not destroy the order of society like murder. Even idolatry...and the desecration of the Sabbath are not as [serious] as murder; for these sins are of the [category of sins] between humans and the Holy One blessed be He, whereas murder is of [the category of] sins between a person and his fellow.

There is a tradition in the name of the late R. Aharon Soloveitchik that when he was asked concerning the gravity of the sin of homosexuality he replied "It is terrible. It is almost as great a sin as cheating in business."[4]

Indeed, the same R. Levi (B. Baba Batra ibid.) states that "theft from an individual is more serious than theft from that which has been dedicated to God..." Here again we see the relative weight of these two categories of mitzvoth, and conversely aveirot-sins.

We may perhaps add yet another possible insight. The Kolbo, Hilkhot Evel veTumat haGuf, ed., David Avraham, vol. 7, Jerusalem 2002, 71, raises what he calls "a very weighty question"- namely that "there are two mitzvoth that contradict one another" (or, as the Orhot Hayyim emended: "seem to contradict one another," ibid. note 314), namely: the seriousness of coming into contact with corpse-related uncleanness, and the very important mitzvah of burying an untended corpse-a met mitzvah.[5] He goes to considerable depths to solve this apparent contradiction (ibid. 71-75, and the editor's notes ad loc.). However, we would suggest that the laws of impurity are basically ritual laws, and hence God-related laws, whereas the burial of an untended body is a person-related law, since the dead were thought to be sensitive to their state, and certainly live people would wish themselves to be properly buried. Hence, the mitzvah of burying a met mitzvah has priority over the laws warning us against becoming impure by contact with the dead.

We may also call our attention to what is related in Numbers 9:6-7:

And there were certain men, who were defiled by the dead body of a man, that they could not keep the Passover on that day; and they came before Moses and before Aaron on that day: And these men said unto him: We were defiled by the dead body of a man: wherefore were we kept back, that we may not offer our offering of the Lord in his appointed season among the children of Israel?...

On this the Talmud in B. Sukkah 25b asks:

Who were these people who were dealing with a met mitzvah, a dead person that no one else was dealing with?

Rashi, ad loc., comments that this was not necessarily a met mitzvah (who has a special status), for even it if were their own dead... they would have been obligated to deal with them. See the Torah Temimah ibid. (pp. 109-110 note 4), from whose discussion it emerges that carrying out a relatively minor mitzvah would obviate the carrying out of a more serious one-and in this case, one should nonetheless carry out the minor one. We would add that seeing to the burial of a dead person is seen as an interpersonal mitzvah, and is called by the rabbis Hessed shel Emet, true benevolence, in that it is one for which one receives no recompense. Within a person's lifetime he knows that someone will always see to his last rites and burial. Hence, this is a person-directed mitzvah, whereas the sacrifice of the paschal lamb is a God-directed mitzvah; hence, the former overrode the latter.

We may move one stage further, quoting a passage from the Hidah, in his book Yair Ozen, (Lemberg 1865, 109a):

That which is written in the Yerushalmi Berakhot chapter 2 ad fin., and Shabbat 1:1, that he who is exempt from something and does it is considered an ignorant person, while in many other cases our decisors said that he who takes upon himself additional stringency, may he be blessed. (See Shulhan Arukh Orah Hayyim sect. 639:2, and compare with subsection 7 ibid.) One may explain [this difference] by stating that "he is considered ignorant" only with regard mitzvoth directed toward his Maker. But there is never an exemption from mitzvoth directed toward his fellow humans, for we have been directed in a generic fashion to go beyond the letter of the law, as we learned in B. Baba Metsia 30b....

In this way the Hidah resolved a question against the Rambam (Hilkhot Gezelah veAvedah 11:17), who wrote that: "He who goes on the straight and virtuous path and acts beyond the letter of the law, will return a lost object wherever it be, even if this is not in accordance with his dignity." According to the Hidah, even though this person is not obligated to return the lost object, because it is beneath his dignity to do so, he should nonetheless do so, and is not to be considered an ignorant one, since this is an interpersonal mitzvah.

And this, indeed, is the simple and deep understanding of the statement found in B. Shabbat 127a:

R. Yehudah in the name of Rav said: Greater is the hosting of guests than the hosting of the Shekhinah, as it is said (Gen. 18:3), "And he [Abraham] said: My Lord, if now I have found favor in Thy sight, pass not away, I pray thee, from Thy servant."[6]

Here I would recall the tradition related by R. Yaakov Tavshonsky, in his Imrei Haskel, Vilna 1909, p. 57 (cited in Dov Eliach's Avi haYeshivot, vol. 1, Jerusalem 1991, pp. 265-266), concerning R. Hayyim of Volozin:

Once R. Hayyim Voloziner, who made it a rule to come regularly to the Bet Midrash at prayer times, was late for prayer. The beadle went to call him to come and found him seated at his table happily in discussion with a group of distinguished guests who had come to visit him. Noting the expression of surprise on the beadle's face, R. Hayyim explained himself in the form of a question: "Is the issue of the importance of hosting guests, which is said to be greater than hosting the Shekhinah, of little importance in your eyes?!"

I would further suggest that it is this basic principle that is behind the well-known halakhic ruling that the danger to life takes precedence over the laws of Shabbat (B. Shabbat 132a), and indeed over other laws of great gravitas (see B. Yoma 82a). It is well known that R. Hayyim Brisker took an extreme position of leniency in matters where he saw even a hint of a life-endangering situation. Thus it is related (Aharon Sorasky, Marbitzei Torah uMusar beYeshivot Nusah Lita miTekufat Volozin veAd Yameinu, vol. 1, Israel 1976, p. 112) that:

Once a Jew from Brisk came to him with a question: His son, who had been drafted to the army, was sick and in the hospital in the nearby town of Sidlitz. On the following day, which was Shabbat, the doctors would examine him to decide whether or not he was fit enough to join the army. And so, asked the father, was it permitted for him to travel that night on Shabbat, to Sidlitz in order to intercede on his son's behalf. R. Hayyim did not hesitate for one moment, but ordered the man to do all in his power to save his son, since there was a danger to his life.

The people who were present were puzzled by his unusual ruling, and after the man had left, R. Hayyim explained his response:

If this young man will have to serve five years in the army, it is not unlikely that during this period a war will break out and he will be sent to the front and possibly be killed. And even the slightest suspicion of a life-endangering situation overrules the laws of Shabbat.

R. Hayyim's position on a sick person fasting on Yom haKippurim shows similar concern for human life. Sorasky relates (ibid. pp. 112-113) that shortly before his death, R. Hayyim dwelled in Otbosk, a place near Warsaw where people sick with tuberculosis (TB) would come for treatment in the pure fresh air. On Tisha beAv, twelve days before he died, a woman came to him weeping that her son lay sick with TB in the house next door, in a life-threatening condition, and the doctor forbade him to fast. However, the young man refused to listen to the doctor. R. Hayyim hurried to the young man's house and entreated him to listen to the doctor's directions, but despite his entreaties the young man adamantly refused. Then R. Hayyim said: "If I eat today, will you join me?" The youth replied: "If you eat, I'll eat with you."

Such tales relating to R. Hayyim are legion (see Sorasky, ibid.). R. Hayyim was wont to explain his position saying: "I do not rule leniently concerning Yom haKippurim, but stringently concerning the law 'Take ye therefore good heed unto yourselves'" (Deut. 4:15).[7]

Similarly, we can well understand the rabbinic statement that "[so] great is the [need to] respect the dignity of individuals that it has precedence over a negative commandment of biblical authority (B. Berakhot 19b, B. Menahot 36b, B. Megillah 3b, B. Eruvin 41b). I have discussed this concept in detail in my Darkah shel Halakhah, Jerusalem 2007, pp. 34-43, 67-84, and again in my Netivot Pesikah, Jerusalem 2008, pp. 150-159, with numerous examples, a rich bibliography, and a discussion as to the parameters of this principle. An examination of these sources will show that the principle of Kevod haBeriyot, the dignity of the individual, takes precedence over mitzvoth between humans and God, so that, for example, if one finds oneself wearing shaatnez of rabbinic status, one need not disrobe to remove it in a public place, because one's nakedness would be shameful in public. (Rambam, Hilkhot Kilayim 70:19).

I would like to show how this was actually practiced by one of the latter-day Gedolim, Rav Chaim Soloveitchik, the Brisker Rav. This I learned from an article R. Aharon Hersh Fried, published in Hakirah 6, 2008, pp. 49-50:

Late on a Wednesday night, a traveling Jew arrived in Brisk. The lights were out in all the homes, and he did not want to awaken the people with whom he had meant to be staying. Noticing one house in which the lights were still on, he decided to knock on the door and ask whether he could possibly stay the night. The homeowner opened the door and graciously welcomed him to stay the night. The homeowner remarked that coming from the road, the traveler must also be hungry, and went into the kitchen to prepare him something to eat. While the host was in the kitchen, the guest had a chance to look around and he noticed that he was in a a house filled with rabbinic books, and quickly surmised that he was in the home of a rav or at least a rabbinic judge. At this point he became uncomfortable with this revered personage preparing a meal for him, and he voiced his protestations, saying to the host, "You needn't trouble yourself." The host did not answer him, continued preparing the meal, and served it to him, amidst his continued protestations. The host then began to prepare a bed for the guest, who again protested, "You needn't trouble yourself. Just put the bedding down and I'll arrange the bed myself. Please, you needn't trouble yourself." Again, the host did not answer, but continued to make the bed. The next morning, the host took the man to synagogue. Being that it was Thursday morning and there was a public Torah reading, the host told the gabbai to give the guest the honor of lifting the Torah scroll. As the guest was about to lift the Sefer Torah, Rav Chaim (who was the host) tapped him on the shoulder and said, "You needn't trouble yourself."

The author writes of Rav Chaim that his "greatness in hessed was possibly even greater than his greatness in learning," and that this anecdote encapsulates the point beautifully.
This general thesis is reflected in yet a different halakhic area. The Sheiltot (to Terumah, Sheilta 62) writes:

The house of Israel is obligated to give charity from their monies to whosoever is in need thereof. And he who shows pity for the impoverished is likened by the Holy One blessed be He as if he did good deeds to God himself, as it is stated, (Exodus 25:2), "that they should bring to Me an offering," (i.e. if they give charity to the poor, it is as though they are giving it to God himself).

In B. Baba Batra 10a we read in the name of R. Yohanan:

What is the meaning of the verse in Proverbs 19:17, "He who hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord"? If it were not written, it would be impossible to say it, namely that "the borrower is servant to the lender" (ibid. 22:7).

Rashi explains that he who has pity for the poor, it is as though he is lending to God, and "the borrower"-God-becomes, as it were, "servant to the lender."

The Netziv, returning to the Sheiltot (in his Haamek Sheelah p. 413) notes that the author of the Sheiltot derived his ruling from a biblical verse relating to donations made to the tabernacle, and nonetheless, he learned from it that charity given to the poor is of greater virtue than money given to the Temple itself.

Furthermore, this is also the view of the Tosafot in B. Baba Batra 9a, who learn this from Rav Asi's statement ibid., that: "Charity may be weighed against all other mitzvoth, as it is said (Nehemiah 10:33), 'Also we made ordinances (mitzvoth) for us to charge ourselves yearly with the third of a shekel for the service of the house of our God.'" Even though this verse is talking of money for the Temple, Rav Asi learned from it-and from the plural "mitzvoth" that charity is even weightier than donations to the Temple.

This triggered a discussion among the decisors, summarized in Shulhan Arukh Yoreh Deah 249:16:

There is an opinion that the mitzvah [to give to] the synagogue is greater than the mitzvah of charity, and the mitzvah of charity to youths or to the sick is greater than that of the synagogue. (Mahri Kolon, Shoresh 128, in the name of the Tashbetz in the name of the Rosh to Yerushalmi Zeraim).

But the Gaon of Vilna (252:2) stated explicitly that charity is greater than the building of a synagogue.

This also seems to be reflected in a passage in Pesikta Rabbati chapter 6, (25b), where the question is raised: Why did Solomon not build the Temple with his father David's treasures? For the verse in 1 Kings 1:51 states:

"So was ended all the works that King Solomon made for the house of the Lord. And Solomon brought in the things which David his father had dedicated: even the silver, and the gold, and the vessels, did he put among the treasures of the house of the Lord." There are those who explain this... negatively... For there was a famine in the days of David for three years, and David had several treasure houses of silver and gold that had been dedicated to the building of the Temple. And he should have used them to save lives, and he did not do so. God said to him: My children are dying of starvation and you are hoarding money to build a Temple. Should you not have [used it to] save lives? Since you did not do so, by your life, your son Solomon will make no use of it [when building the Temple]...

Hence the verse states that only when "was ended all the works" did Solomon bring these treasures to the house of God. So charity, and certainly saving the lives of the hungry, have greater priority even than building God's Temple.

In Yerushalmi Shekalim chapter 2 ad fin., we read that "Rabbi Avun (=Avin) made these gates "for the great synagogue (in Tiberias). "Rabbi Mana (mid-fourth century C.E.) came to him, and he said (boastingly): "See what I have done." To which Rabbi Mana responded by quoting the verse in Hosea 8:14: "For Israel hath forgotten his Maker, and buildeth Temples..." Are there no [poor] people who are studying Torah?" The Tashbetz has an additional reading: "Or sick people who lie among the rubbish." The Korban haEdah further elaborates: He should have used his money to help people's livelihood... It would be better to give to poor Torah scholars who are involved in mitzvoth at all times than building edifices. The Rambam summarizes in Hilkhot Matnot Aniyim 1:2:

One is obligated to be more careful with the mitzvah of charity more than all other mitzvoth, for charity-tsedakah-is a sign of the righteousness-tsedek-of the offspring of Abraham our forefather.

In view of all that has been said above, it is surely clear that charity, as an interpersonal mitzvah, must be seen as preferential to building a synagogue or even the Temple, which is a mitzvah between humans and God.

We have discussed rather extensively the premise that people-directed mitzvoth have a preferential status over God-directed mitzvoth. And this view may be found among numerous authorities, as referred to in Sedei Hemed vol. 3. pp. 164-177, where the issue is dealt with at length and in depth.

Perhaps we can link this with an interesting observation made by R. Yosef Hayyim Sofer (in his Menuhat Shalom. Part II, Jerusalem 2003, p. 22):

It is very clear that the Tanna of [Mishnah] Peah 1:1, who listed "those things that a person eats their fruits in this world...," only listed those acts that serve well both to God and to humans, where human beings also have real material benefit therefrom, such as honoring one's parents, righteous deeds to one's fellows; while those [mitzvoth] that are only good toward heaven, such as sending away the mother bird, are not listed.

He bases his comments on the passage in B. Kiddushin 40a, which elaborates on the verse in Isaiah 3:10, "Say to the righteous, that it shall be well with him: for they shall eat the fruits of their doings." The Talmud homiletically understood the verse to mean "Say to the righteous for [he is] good," and then asks:

And is there a righteous person who is not good? This means he is good toward heaven and good to humankind-this is a good and righteous person. Good to heaven and bad to humankind-this is a righteous person who is not good. And so similarly you may say [on the verse 11 ibid.]: "Woe unto the wicked! It shall be ill with him: for the reward of his hands shall be given him." And is there a wicked man who is bad, and one who is wicked and not bad? Yes, if he is bad toward heaven and toward humans, this is a bad wicked person. But if he is bad toward heaven but good toward humans, then he is a wicked person who is not bad.

So here again we see that a greater preference given to one who is virtuous both to God and humankind, the inference being that piety toward God alone is not sufficient, and makes for a righteous person who is nonetheless considered "not good."

Indeed, this concept, of a righteous person who is not necessarily good, is found in the Netziv's introduction (Petiha) to Genesis. There he writes that:

There were Tsaddikim and Hassidim, righteous and virtuous men, who toiled in the learning of Torah, but who had no integrity in the ways of the world .... And the Holy One blessed be He, who is integrity personified, cannot bear righteous people of this nature, but only those who walk the paths of integrity in the ways of the world, and not in a distorted manner...

Admittedly, here we do not clearly see the relative weight of the two categories, but this aspect of the issue has been discussed above. (See further the discussion of R. Aharon Lichtenstein, in his By His Light: Character and Values in the service of God, adapted by R. Reuven Ziegler, Yeshivat Har Etzion 2002, pp. 113-118, section entitled "Frumkeit Devoid of Goodness.")

Many years ago, when my late father of blessed memory was in a hospital, recovering from an operation, he shared a room with an elderly gentleman who had had a stroke and could no longer speak. This man could only make unintelligible noises. His wife and children took turns sitting by his bed, and as I also spent many hours with my father, we got to talking to one another. His wife told me that she had married at the age of fourteen, and that her husband was considerably older than she. She had brought up the family, supported it by working as a maid in various houses, while her husband sat and learned Torah. He would get up at about 3:30 in the morning [8], go to the synagogue, sit in his corner and learn all day, interrupting only for the prayers. After Shaharit, the members of the synagogue would give him some breakfast, and at midday his wife, or a child, would bring him some lunch. In the evening he would come home, and his wife would give him supper, and he would go to bed early, so as to be able to get up at 3:30. He never gave a lesson in the synagogue, nor even a sermon; in fact he never talked to the other congregants; he just set in his corner and studied. He never taught his children, and no one really knew what he was studying or how much he really knew. And now he was incapable of speaking, or even communicating in an understandable fashion, so that his "Torah" could serve no others. The members of the synagogue held him in awe as a supremely righteous person; his family held him in great respect. But I remember wondering all the while, and being not a little troubled by my thoughts, that perhaps he was not really a good person-a righteous man who, in fact, was not good; and that it was his wife, an illiterate woman, who had shouldered the burden of educating and maintaining the whole family for so many years, who was really the righteous person, righteous and good!

It is interesting to note what Rashi writes in his commentary to the book of Leviticus. This book, as is well known, deals to a large extent with ritual laws, i.e., with laws relating to the relationship between humans and God and indeed begins with them. The first verse in this book reads as follows:

"And the Lord called unto Moses, and spake unto him out of the tabernacle of the congregation, saying"...

On these first words "And [the Lord] called unto Moses," Rashi comments as follows:

All oral communications of the Lord to Moses, whether they are introduced by dabber or by emor or by tsav, were preceded by a call (to prepare him for the forthcoming address). It is a way of expressing affection, the mode used by the ministering angels when addressing each other, as is said, "And one called unto another [and said holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts]" (Isaiah 6:3)....[9]

Rashi is teaching us, basing himself on the Sifra ad loc., that before one begins to shower a spate of commandments (upon a community or an individual), one must prepare the recipient with words of affection.

It is surely significant that Rashi begins his commentary on this book of ritual with words of advice on matters of etiquette and decent behavior toward one's fellow man.

And from these same initial words of that verse, the Talmud in B. Yoma 4b comments as follows:

Tanya: Why did God "call" before he "spoke"? The Torah teaches us good behavior, that a person should not speak to his neighbor without first calling (i.e., preparing) him.

The Torah Temimah ad loc. elaborates as follows:

The reason for this is so that the audience can prepare itself to listen [to the commandments]. And this is similar to what we have learned from B. Nidah 16b, that the Holy One blessed be He hates a person who enters his neighbor's house suddenly (i.e., without knocking). And in Tractate Derekh erets [Rabba] chapter 5 we read: And all people should learn good behavior from God, who stood at the gate of the garden (of Eden) and called unto Adam, as it is said, "And the Lord God called unto Adam and said unto him, where art thou?" (Genesis 3:9). And the reason that our Gemara (in Yoma) did not cite that verse, may be explained as follows: to teach us an additional lesson, that even in the case of one who one knows intimately and loves with a deep love, even so one should not speak to him suddenly. And it is for this reason that [the Talmud] brought its proof from Moses, concerning whom God himself testified," [My servant Moses is not so], who is faithful in all Mine home. With him I speak mouth to mouth, even apparently, and not in dark speeches..." (Numbers 12:7-8)-And even so God prepared him before he actually spoke with him, (and gave him commandments).

Here too, the Talmud teaches us lessons in decency and good behavior from the first words in the book of Leviticus. Perhaps this is yet another indication that proper behavior takes precedence to Torah. As R. Yishmael ben R. Nahman said: Derekh erets came 26 generations before Torah (Leviticus Rabbah 9:3, ed. Margaliot p. 179).

Let us recall the words of the Maharal of Prague, in his Netivot Olam, Netiv Derekh Erets:

Therefore, a person should not view lightly those matters that are derekh erets, for derekh erets came before Torah... and it is impossible to read a Torah situation without derekh erets, as they said, "If there is no derekh erets there is no Torah" (Avot 3:17), for derekh erets is the basis of Torah which is the way of the Tree of Life.

To this we may add the remarkable statement of R. Simlai in B. Sota 14a:

The Torah begins with an act of kindness, and ends with an act of kindness. It begins with an act of kindness, as it is written, "Unto Adam also and to his wife did the Lord God make coats of skins, and clothed them" (Genesis 3:21). And it ends with an act of kindness, as it is written, "And He buried him [i.e., Moses] in a valley...". (Deuteronomy 34:6)[10]

Elsewhere, I have elaborated on this theme, and brought additional sources to underscore my premise, and to show how it is borne out in a variety of halakhic contexts.[11]

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How do these ideas translate themselves into everyday life, and what may we learn from the behavior of pious sages of bygone years, who may serve as role models for us in the present day?
We already related an anecdote about Reb Chaim Brisker. We shall now continue by quoting a passage from Rabbi Yehudah Leib Maimon's Sarei haMeah, vol. 2, Jerusalem 1961, pp. 272-273:

It once happened that Reb Yisrael Salanter, during his stay in Kovno, lived for a while in the house of a wealthy pious man, Reb Yaakov Karpas, and would dine at his table. Members of the household noted that when he washed his hands before the meal, he would do so with a minimal amount of water, even though a bucket full of water was prepared for him. They wondered in amazement: Should not a tsaddik like Reb Yisrael rule more stringently (mehadrin) to wash his hands with a plentiful amount of water! They went and spoke to Reb Karpas, who examined the matter and found that indeed Reb Yisrael would wash his hands with no more than a reviit haLog and no more. He too was most surprised, and when they sat together at a meal, he asked Reb Yisrael: "Forgive me, our Master, but this is a matter of Torah and I must learn about it. Why then does it suffice you to wash your hands with a reviit? Surely, it is a clear ruling in the Shulhan Arukh (Orah Hayyim 155:10), "even though the amount (for hand-washing) is a reviit, one should wash more plentifully." Why then do you, sir, not do so?"

Reb Yisrael answered as follows:

"I have seen that the maid brings the water from afar, from a well in the valley. Your house is situated high on the hill, and the maid almost collapses under the weight of her burden. And it is forbidden for a person to be overly religious at the expense of others" (emphasis added).
Indeed Reb Yisrael was wont to say:

"At times, out of excessive zeal to carry out a mitzvah between a person and his Maker, people err and transgress a much more serious interpersonal mitzvah, as for example is the case of the days of Selihot: If someone rises very early to recite the Selihot in the synagogue, and in doing so causes discomfort to the maid in his house, who, generally speaking, is a poor orphan girl who hires herself out to serve in the house of strangers, and she has to get up early in order to prepare a hot drink in the morning, then the sin of "distressing an orphan" outweighs all the mitzvah of reciting the Selihot..."

Indeed, in his own synagogue, he ruled that the Friday-night and festival services should begin early, even before the true time of reading the Shema, justifying this as follows:

"The maid in your house, just as other women, are not obliged to say the Shema, but they are obligated to hear the Kiddush, (see B. Berakhot 20ab), and they will not eat until they have partaken of the Kiddush-wine. Therefore, one should not take the stringent position to recite the Shema at the right time, thereby causing distress to the maid, who after a long day's work with much toil in preparing for Shabbat, waits eagerly to eat and satisfy her hunger.

In this context, it is worth retelling what I saw related in the Newspaper BeSheva, for Hannukah 2008: A group of yeshiva students came to Rav Steinman and asked him whether it was right that they should take the strict path of eating their meals on Hannukah in their dormitory rooms, so that the place they lit their candles would also be the place of their meals. His reply was that they do not need to do so, for their eating outside of the yeshiva cafeteria would create additional work for the yeshiva's kitchen staff. Their counter-claim was that they would use disposable dishes which they themselves would clear and clean up after their meals. But he answered that "One cannot rely on the boys to clear away the food," and, therefore, if their eating in their rooms would cause extra work for the kitchen staff, it would be better for them not to take the stringent path.

Yet another wonderful testimony about that great Torah luminary and paragon of true piety, from Rabbi Dov Katz's Rabbi Yisrael Salanter, Jerusalem 1975. pp. 45-46:

While he was living in Salant, it once happened that Reb Yisrael did not appear in the synagogue on Yom haKippurim night. The congregation waited for the Kol Nidrei prayer, and after a while they again waited for the Maariv service. They looked for him in his house; they sent out people to search for him throughout the town, but they could not find him. People were greatly surprised, and the congregation in the synagogue began to be worried about him.

After they finished citing all the piyyutim and were about to end the Maariv service, he suddenly appeared.... He wrapped himself in his tallit and began to pray. After he finished praying, he related innocently that on his way to the synagogue he heard a child crying. When he entered the house from which the crying was heard, he found a baby, some two months old, lying in a cradle and weeping. Next to the baby was a bottle of milk. By the baby on the bed slept a young girl of about six. He understood that the baby's mother had wished to go to hear the Kol Nidrei prayer and had prepared milk for her infant, whom she left under the care of his sister (who had fallen asleep and did not hear the baby's cries). Reb Yisrael took the bottle, fed the baby and put it to sleep, and afterward woke up the sister, so he could leave for the synagogue. But the young girl entreated him not to leave her, for she was afraid to remain alone. So he agreed, and stayed with her until her mother came back from the synagogue, and then left them and went to pray.

After Reb Yisrael finished his story, he expressed great joy that on this holy night he was privileged to carry out a great mitzvah of benevolence toward these children. Reb Yisrael regarded the act of benevolence as a means to cling to the ways of God, who is "abundant in goodness" [Exod. 34:6], and we have been commanded to walk in his ways: Just as He does deeds of benevolence, so too must you do deeds of benevolence."

We see then how Reb Yisrael's extreme sensitivity to the needs of the poor, the orphan maids, and small children, overrode any ritual requirement of a more complete nature, and any more stringent attachment to halakhic requirements. The needs of his fellow creatures were far more committal to him than those of his Maker.

Similar such stories are legion, and we could fill many folios with such maasei hessed. However, I believe the above will suffice to make our point clear and meaningful.
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Earlier, I referred to an article published in Hakirah by R. Aharon Hersh Fried, entitled "Is there a Disconnect between Torah Learning and Torah Living?" He argues persuasively that in our education a greater stress must be put on interpersonal mitzvoth. On pp. 48-49 he writes:

The Sefer HaBerit [part 2, section 13, chapter 3] too, writes that "the love of friends and the mitzvoth and behaviors between man and his neighbor are the main facets of the "holy path" and the foundation of the entire Holy Torah...

The Alshekh [Sefer Torat Mosheh, Shemot chapter 19, verses 1-2] writes similarly that the reason the High Court, the Sanhedrin, had its seat in the Bet HaMikdash, close to the mizbeah (altar), was to show that in Hashem's eyes the mizbeah, which represents the peace between God and man, and the Sanhedrin, which represents the law bringing peace between a person and his fellow, were both equal.

He continues in this vein, as follows:

The words of the Rishonim and the sifrei mussar are thus clear....Unfortunately, they receive little "press" in our homes and/or our schools. Thus, as far as our children are concerned, being nice and being frum are not related.

In some circles I have heard it said that "there is too much talk about ahavat yisrael, and they suggest that those who talk about ahavat yisrael and interpersonal mitzvoth are being motivated by secular humanism rather than Torah. This is a sure way to kill the message. It also places those who advocate doing more about middot on the defensive. The bizarre and twisted message becomes that the true Haredi and the true Torah Jew are not overly concerned about middot and interpersonal mitzvoth.

In seeking to explain this phenomenon, he directs our attention (pp. 44-45) to an article by Reb Shlomoh Wolbe, published in haBe'er 15, 1977, which he calls "a shmuess." The article is entitled "On Frumkeit":

In this shmuess he puts forth the thesis that there is a basic instinct, inborn in all creatures, each according to its level of soul, to be "frum," i.e. to want to come close to one's Creator. Frumkeit is not fear of heaven, it is not a quality of piety, nor is it punctiliousness in observing mitzvoth. It is simply an instinct, and like all instincts it is egotistical, i.e., concerned only with its own satisfaction, unthinking, and given to satisfaction through fantasy. The satisfaction of this instinctual drive, he writes, serves as the force behind many people's mitzvah activities, and in a positive way, serves to help us carry out mitzvoth in spite of hardships. However, because of its egotistical and unthinking nature, one cannot build one's service to Hashem on this instinct. The frum instinct, no less than any other instinct, must be harnessed, and must be guided by rational thought, i.e., by Torah knowledge and halakha. If not, it will seek satisfaction in inappropriate ways. A person driven by the need to satisfy this instinct will engage in activities that he imagines will lead to a "spiritual high," even if in the process he transgresses very real Torah prohibitions. He will push his way through a throng in a shul to get close to a visiting tsaddik, pushing one person, jabbing another, and tearing off a button from a third person's jacket, all in the pursuit of attaining imagined proximity to holiness, i.e., attaining a frum "high." He does not consider that his violation of interpersonal mitzvoth may remove him from holiness . Nor does the performance of interpersonal mitzvoth attract him; it does not make him feel more spiritual or holy, it does not satisfy his instinctual need for a frum "high."

He summarizes as follows:

Yes, this is an age-old, deeply ingrained and intractable problem, but we cannot declare ourselves free of the obligation of trying to tackle it and change it. If we don't, we will not succeed in changing the attitudes and behaviors of our children in the area of interpersonal mitzvoth. The only way we can do this is by concerted and unrelenting educational programs aimed at the entire community. Parents need to learn the sources with their children, teachers with students, rabbanim with their congregants, and each one of us with our havrutot and friends.

I believe that our message must be clear and unambiguous. We must lay a far greater emphasis on our norms of social behavior-not for humanistic reasons-but out of the true understanding of halakha. Our piety and "frumkeit" should be directed toward our fellow human beings, and our piety cannot be limited to our ritual behavior alone.

[1] In Yoma, ibid. we find the following statement:

Sins between man and his Maker Yom haKippurim atones; sins between man and his fellow Yom haKippurim does not atone until he appeases his fellow. This is what R. Eleazar ben Azariah taught: "that ye be clean from all your sins before the Lord" (Leviticus 16:30)—sins between man and his Maker Yom haKippurim atones; sins between man and his fellow Yom haKippurim does not atone until he appeases his fellow. Said R. Akiva: Blessed are you, Israel, before whom do you purify yourself and who purifies you? Your father in Heaven.

And in Numbers Rabbah, ibid. we read:

R. Akiva said: One that says "and that will clear [the guilty]," and another text says "that will by no means clear [the guilty], (Exodus 34:7; Numbers 14:18)! But [the meaning is that] something between you and your Maker "will clear," and something between you and your fellow "will by no means clear"…

[2] There is a well-known controversy among the later authorities whether according to R. Eleazar ben Azariah sins between man and his fellow where there was no appeasement also present the atonement of sins between man his Maker. This is the view of R. Yishayah Pinto in his commentary to R. Isaac Alfasi (the Rif) apud the Ein yaakov, and so too R. Hayyim Palache (in Birkat Moadim leHayyim), and Yaavetz, in a responsum Shetei haLehem sect. 31). On the other hand, the Hidah, in Birkei Yosef to sect. …..subsect. 1, is of the opposite opinion. See R. Yosef Engel's note to Yoma ibid., Peri Hadash sect. 606:1, Shoel uMeshiv Reviata, vol. 3, sect. 64; Responsa Yehaveh Daat, by R. Ovadiah Yosef, vol. 5, sect. 44.

[3] On this halakhic concept, see what I wrote in Darkah shel Halakhah. Pp. 117–118, 140–141, 175–177; Minhagei Yisrael vol. 3, Jerusalem 1994, pp. 53–54; idem vol. 8, Jerusalem 2007 p. 263; Entzaiklopedia Talmudit, vol. 10, Jerusalem 1961, 32–41.

[4] See further ir Tamari, Kesef Kasher: Sugyot Mussar beMishar, Jerusalem 2005, pp. 49–50; Edward Zipperstein, Business Ethics in Jewish Law, New York 1983, pp. 49–53.

[5] On the status of met mitzvah see what I wrote in my commentary to Derekh Erets Zuta, Chapters Five to Eight, Ramat-Gan 1990, pp. 179–182.

[6] And see what my father, Rabbi Samuel Sperber, wrote on this in his Maamarot, Jerusalem 1978 pp. 189–191.

[7] As to the inner-halakhic logic of this position, it was explained by his son R. Velvele, as related by R. Shlomo Yosef Zevin, in his Ishim veShitot, third edition, Tel Aviv 1966, p. 64). And see further the response of the Radbaz, no. 287.

[8] I might here remark that my grandfather, Rabbi David Sperber, of blessed memory, used to get up every night at about three in the morning to begin learning. This was in accordance with the kabbalistic view that at the middle of the night, when the sun begins to come close to sunrise, that is the time when the attribute of Mercy comes into force, (the Arizal, cited in Shaar haMitzvot, Elhanan, Birkei Yosef Orah Hayyim 236:1, based on Zohar, Hayyei Sarah 1326).

[9] Rosenbaum and Silbermann translation; see also their note 1, in the Appendix on p. 136.

[10] And see what I wrote on this in my Darkah shel Halakhah, Jerusalem 2007, p. 62 note 78, 79.

[11] For those readers who may wish to delve more deeply into this sugya, I would refer them to my book, Netivot Pesikah, Jerusalem 2008, pp. 181–192, where I dedicated a special appendix to this subject.

“And Moses saw the entire work [of the Mishkan], and behold, they [the Israelites] had accomplished it; as God had commanded them, so had they done; and Moses blessed them.” (Shemot 39:43)

The great 18th century economist and thinker, Adam Smith, distinguished between praise and praiseworthiness. In his book, “The Theory of Moral Sentiments,” (III.I.32) he noted that “the love of praise is the desire of obtaining the favorable sentiments of our brethren. The love of praiseworthiness is the desire of rendering ourselves the proper objects of those sentiments.”

One should act in a praiseworthy manner and this should result in receiving praise from others. An example of this is found in this week’s Torah portion. The Israelites completed the building of the Mishkan just as God had commanded—i.e. they performed in a praiseworthy fashion. Moses then offered them a blessing—i.e. he praised their work.

Adam Smith observes, however, that praise and praiseworthiness do not always go together. There are people who seek and receive praise even though they have not acted in a praiseworthy fashion. Charlatans, fakers, and egotists may behave in unseemly ways, and yet they receive praise from hangers-on or from a misguided, misinformed public. Such people, though, must know that they are not deserving of the praise. If they would be honest with themselves, they would recognize their own hypocrisy. Yet, since they are egotists after all, they rarely will give themselves an honest evaluation. They want praise, even if they are not praiseworthy. Such people are to be pitied, not praised.

Adam Smith also notes that there are those who behave in a praiseworthy manner, but who receive no adequate praise for their good work. While this may well be frustrating to these individuals, they have the satisfaction of knowing that they performed admirably and correctly, even if they did not receive proper acknowledgment for their deeds. Indeed, one should behave in a praiseworthy manner without expecting or demanding anyone’s compliments or blessings. Still, isn’t it nice to actually be thanked and appreciated!?

Moses well understood the importance of being praiseworthy…and of giving praise to those who have conducted themselves well. In blessing the Israelites, he acknowledged their good work and their sacrifices. He let them know that their efforts were appreciated. In so doing, he validated their efforts; he praised their praiseworthiness; he gave them the satisfaction of being recognized and thanked for their work.

What blessing did Moses actually utter to the Israelites? The Torah does not record his words. The Midrash, though, offers a suggestion: “He said to them: May it be the will of God that the Shekhinah may rest upon the work of your hands, and may the bliss of God, our God, be upon us.” (Tanhuma, Pekudei, 11)

Moses prayed that the Israelites would merit to experience God’s presence in their work, and that the Divine presence would be a source of bliss and inner satisfaction.

If people act in a praiseworthy fashion, they should—ideally—feel the presence of God in their work. They should realize that their thoughts, words and deeds are inspired by a Higher truth, by a Higher source of ideas and ideals. They behave in a praiseworthy fashion not for the sake of personal glory, and not in the hope of attaining fame and fortune. They behave admirably because they feel the presence of God in all that they do. While it may be nice to receive praise in return for praiseworthiness, one seeks to be praiseworthy by feeling God’s presence in one’s life and in one’s work. That feeling of spiritual bliss is the ultimate human fulfillment.

May the Shekhinah rest upon the work of our hands…that is a blessing for which all good people aspire.

Rabbis Hayyim and Marc Angel recently gave Zoom classes, and each class has been posted on our Institute's website: youtube.com/jewishideasorg  Below are brief descriptions of the classes. This enables you to learn from the classes at your own convenience. Enjoy...and Learn!

Israel in the Bible

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

In this series, we get to the heart of the central values in the Torah
and the rest of the Bible pertaining to the people of Israel and the
Land of Israel. Through the study of key biblical texts and rabbinic
interpretations, we build a foundation that informs all later
discussions of the religious significance of the Land of Israel for
the Jewish people. This series focuses on biblical values, not
contemporary politics.

Israel in the Torah
Israel in the Prophets
Israel in the Early Second Temple Period

Literature and Religion

Rabbi Marc D. Angel

This series deals with important literary works with themes that impact on religious ideas and ideals. Each class connects these themes to teachings in Judaism.

1. Ralph Waldo Emerson: Personal Religion
2. Matthew Arnold: Hebraism, Hellenism, Biblical Righteousness
3. Nathaniel Hawthorne: Sin, Guilt, Punishment
4. Miguel de Unamuno: Faith/Doubt/Piety
5. George Eliot: “Daniel Deronda” and the Jewish Question
6. Henrik Ibsen: Ethics and Religion

Many are struggling today, in different ways, with Shabbat observance. This challenge is an issue for us to be sensitive to and to be responsive to in all ways possible. One dimension of the challenge for many observant Jews today (or those working to become more observant) is where they can live. Homes that are very close to the shul that they can (or want) to go to are often out of their financial reach. Given the option of driving a car to shul, it seems far more halachically responsible to ride a bike to shul[i]. This can make Shabbat observance far more palatable for many people. And we must be concerned with people being stretched financially. Our halakhic tradition teaches “Chas HaKadosh Baruch Hu al Mamonam Shel Yisrael” (G-d cares about our financial stress)!^[ii]

This is most important for rising costs in observant Jewish life in America[iii]. Homes in close walking distance to shul are often unaffordable for countless people. What if one could choose to live 2-5 miles away from shul instead of just half a mile (or one mile at most)? A family living 2-5 miles away, yet still within the eruv[iv], most certainly should consider biking to shul instead of just staying home, and certainly instead of making an imprudent decision to buy a home well out of their budget. In addition to the financial concerns, there are many who need other types of pleasurable (personal or familial) experiences on Shabbat for the day to be deeply fulfilling and we should not judge those ways but enable deeper options, where halakha can allow it.

Some suggest that it is prohibited to bike on Shabbat^[v]. Four possible reasons^[vi]:

1. Shema yitaken (lest you come to fix a broken chain or a flat tire – i.e., a problem of makeh b’patish)^[vii] and as such, it may also be marit ayin – that the act is permitted but it may be mistaken by an onlooker to be an impermissible action[viii].
2. Uvdin d’chol[ix] (it’s what we do on weekdays – i.e., it’s not Shabbosdik).^[x] Further, some suggest that one should move slowly on Shabbat, and not even walk briskly.^[xi]
3. One might leave the eruv or the borders of Shabbat accidentally^[xii][xiii] and because of this, it may be a muktzah[xiv] object^[xv]
4. One might make grooves in the dirt with the wheels[xvi], which could be a violation of the melacha[xvii] of plowing (charisha)^[xviii]

These positions have heavy-weight poskim behind them and should be taken very seriously.  But these are reasons for a beit din ha-gadol to enact new legislation. But these are not halakhic principles that can obviously, easily, and stringently, be applied to a new case in our day.^[xix] We did not have bikes in ancient times, of course, and the power to create new prohibitions was reserved for the rabbis of the Talmud. We don’t simply say that because we haven’t seen an act being done[xx] that it cannot be permitted.^[xxi] Without an explicit prohibition in the Talmud[xxii], we need not create new prohibitions. [xxiii] The Maharshag wrote that we don’t create new gezeirot about uvdin d’chol,^[xxiv] and Rabbi Chaim Zimmerman[xxv] was upset by new arguments about why biking shouldn’t be allowed also arguing that we don’t create new gezeirot.[xxvi]  

Of course, it will be a breach of the contemporary Orthodox norms if one bikes and that is something to take seriously. Just because something is technically permitted, doesn’t mean that everyone should do it. We must be sensitive to the norms of our tradition and to the norms of our religious community. So, if one were to choose to bike, they should be aware of the social implications of that choice as we should generally seek to limit areas where we diverge from communal norms to foster communal harmony. Further, for those merely looking for enjoyment, Shabbat should be meaningful and pleasurable but we should remember that the primary goal is not fun.

If one is going to bike, one should take certain precautions. Firstly, they should service their bike regularly and only use bikes that are in good reliable shape. Secondly, they should be willing and able to continue travel with a broken bike rather than repair it if some rare event occurs[xxvii]. Thirdly, they should be clear on the boundaries of the eruv and techum[xxviii] and be sure to stay inside. This should only be done with an eruv.^[xxix] Fourthly, one should use the bicycle as a means to perform a mitzvah (go to shul, attend a seudah^[xxx], teach Torah and other mitzvot such as bonding with one’s children) but not for physical exercise goals as that would indeed be uvdin d’chol.^[xxxi] Fifthly, one should focus on biking on roads, sidewalks[xxxii], and bike paths and try to avoid dirt roads. Of course, we must note the importance of safety precautions as well.^[xxxiii]

It is very common for observant Jews to push strollers, often with inflatable tires, on Shabbat. The issues one could raise with such a stroller are almost identical to issues of biking (Will one leave the eruv? What if a tire is flat? What if it makes grooves in the dirt?) and so almost all of the potential challenges of biking have already been addressed through the permission of using strollers.

The reasoning that biking is not officially prohibited should be enough. But if one’s norm is to ensure that a major rabbi has officially permitted a practice then they can rely on the Ben Ish Hai. Rav Yosef Hayyim[xxxiv] of Baghdad^[xxxv] fully permitted riding a bicycle in the streets of the walled city of Baghdad on Shabbat.^[xxxvi]

"It is allowed to ride…on both Shabbat and Yom Tov, in a city where there is an Eruv. It is not considered a non-Shabbat activity… since the rider only moves his feet and the bicycle moves by itself, it is not like being carried in a chair by other people [which is forbidden] … it is allowed without doubt in a city with Eruv even for recreational purposes, and even more so if one is going to perform a Mitzvah…"

Rav Ovadia Yosef is sympathetic with the position of the Ben Ish Hai.^[xxxvii] In regards to inflating bike tires on Shabbat, Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach[xxxviii] rules that it is allowed to inflate a ball on Shabbat[xxxix]. The same reasoning should apply to inflate a bike tire. So, fixing a bike, in some ways, may not be a problem in the first place. In any case, the concerns around biking are not about any prohibition at all, just that it may end up leading to a prohibition.

Orthodoxy continues to demand more conformity to new stringencies. There is often a pervasive fear of suggesting approaches outside that mainstream. But we can take a more halakhically-pluralistic approach to Shabbat observance. Once something is permitted as a matter of halacha, then if some don’t find it enjoyable, meaningful, helpful, or in the spirit of the day to ride a bike on Shabbat, that’s great. If others find it meaningful or helpful, then they should embrace the opportunity. Observant Syrian Jews in Brooklyn, today, ride their bikes on Shabbat[xl]. We should not encourage people to refrain from the permitted absent sufficient religious concern.

If some prefer not to bike for whatever reason, there are other options in addition to biking such as non-electric scootering and rollerblading[xli] that may be more appealing to some. Just as Modern Orthodox synagogues open their parking lots to those who choose to drive (while driving is a halakhic violation of Shabbat), shuls should start offering bike racks (since biking is not a halakhic violation of Shabbat) and it could encourage more people to attend.

In many Asian cities and in some European cities, biking is closely connected to work and thus uvda d’chol may indeed be a concern[xlii]. But biking in America is not work related and thus not uvda d’chol in the classical sense of work conduct. Poskim in Europe (and perhaps Israel) who don’t allow biking have different concerns whereas biking in America is for recreation, not work. It seems that the minhag not to ride a bike came from a time when bikes were connected to work, perhaps like watches. This has changed and thus the practice should change in America (but perhaps not in Israel, China, or Europe). In this model though, perhaps someone in America who bikes to work (or uses a bike for work) should not bike on Shabbat.

What is the goal of Shabbat? To pray? To relax? To serve God? To eat and sleep? To learn Torah? To recharge? So many different explanations emerge. Many suggest some leisurely activities are not prohibited but are simply “not shabbosdik.” I believe in an approach where we empower people to make their own religious choices based upon their own religious worldviews, within the confines of halakha[xliii]. To be a religious person is to take responsibility for one’s religious life[xliv]. In an era, where the high majority of the Jewish people are not interested (and even offended by) Jewish law, we need to invoke more urgency[xlv] on making observance accessible and meaningful.^[xlvi]

“Whoever delights the Shabbat, is given all their heart’s desires!”[xlvii] May we do all we can to preserve the beautiful sanctity of the day. And do all we can to find joy in the gift of Shabbat and come closer to God and to actualize our unique life missions in service of God.

The truth is that Orthodox (i.e. halakhic) conversions require an initial acceptance of mitzvoth [kabalat mitzvoth] as a necessary element in the conversion. But the definition of “kabalat mitzvoth” is not what they [the rabbinic establishment in Israel] say, but [their view] is based on a limited group of rabbinic authorities, mainly from the Ashkenazic sector. The intention of “kabalat mitzvoth”actually entails a basic acceptance of the Jewish religion and what is implied by that acceptance: acceptance of the mitzvoth without specific connection to the degree of acceptance of mitzvoth. Even with acceptance of some of the mitzvoth, the convert is a valid convert even initially.

Isn’t complete acceptance of mitzvoth essential for conversion?

There are several answers to this.

1. According to most Rishonim (medieval rabbinic authorities), a total acceptance to observe all mitzvoth is not required. This is the opinion of Maimonides.
2. According to the great Posek, Radbaz, acceptance of mitzvoth is ideal [but not mandatory]. The requirement is rabbinic, as was written [also] by Rabbi Shlomo Kluger.
3. The Rambam and Shulhan Arukh rule that if the process of kabalat hamitzvoth was omitted, the conversion is still halakhically valid after the fact.
4. Even those who argue that kabalat hamitzvoth is essential for conversion, the intention is that this is part of the process of conversion, whose basic requirement is circumcision [for males] and immersion in a mikvah in the presence of bet din.

Is there validity to a conversion that does not include an obligation to observe the mitzvoth?

Here we must expand the discussion. One first has to understand the Talmudic discussions relating to those who come to convert. Circumcision and immersion in the mikvah, with a bet din, are requirements that are clear and well-understood. But when it comes to kabalat hamitzvoth, we must clarify that the Talmud itself does not have this phrase; it only mentions informing the candidate of the mitzvoth and the acceptance, namely the person is informed of “some of the mitzvoth” in the words of the Gemara, and if he/she “accepts” then he/she is a convert. His/her acceptance means agreement to what he/she was informed. This informing [about the mitzvoth] is not a sine qua non of the process, but is a way to let the convert know what he/she is entering into in becoming a Jew.

From the Talmuidic passages, we learn that the essential matter in becoming Jewish is to identify with the Jewish collective in all respects, “to suffer in their sorrows.” Certainly, one who wishes to become Jewish must follow the entire process, but there was never a contingency between observing the mitzvoth and getting converted. The proof is from clear Talmudic passages relating to a convert who, following conversion, reverts to his/her previous religion and way of life, that such a person is still deemed a Jew in every way. We learn that there is no requirement to demand that the would-be convert accept to observe the mitzvoth, and [a lack of such acceptance] does not invalidate the conversion.

Isn’t it the duty of the bet din to ascertain that the candidate for conversion intends to observe the mitzvoth?

This was never the responsibility of the bet din. However, there is a rule that the bet din must initially determine why the person wishes to convert; but if this was not done, such a person is a valid convert even if he/she came for an ulterior purpose e.g. to marry a Jew or for some other motive. This is a clear Talmudic position.

What are the boundaries for conversion?

Clearly, one who wishes to join the Jewish people is obligated in the basic mitzvoth that are fundamental to Judaism. The process includes circumcision and ritual immersion; faith in God and entrance into the traditions of the Jewish people.

What are these traditions of the Jewish people?

This varies depending on the times. In the past, when most Jews observed mitzvoth, then there would be an assumption that the convert be like all the other Jews i.e. fully observant of mitzvoth.  In our times, though, most Jews do not observe the mitzvoth; today, though, and especially here in the land of Israel, most Jews are “traditional.” And this blessed situation is improving. For example, a great many Jews are careful to observe the laws of mezuzah; they rest from work on Shabbat; they recite Kiddush on Shabbat and holidays; they light candles for Shabbat and holidays; they observe basic kashruth; they fast on Kippur; they avoid bread on Pessah; they observe Succoth, Hanukkah, Purim; they love fellow Jews; they guard the land of Israel; they participate in helping others and giving charity. Even if sometimes they sin and fail to observe all the mitzvoth, as a rule they understand and keep [many mitzvoth].

Is a person who converts by accepting the traditions of the Jewish people as outlined above, is such a person a valid convert according to halakha?

One must understand that there is a huge gap between our viewpoint—which is the long-held halakhic approach of Sephardic rabbis over the generations—who never required a would-be convert to transform into a meticulous observer of mitzvoth, because they knew that this would be nearly impossible or usual; but they strove to emphasize the basics i.e. that the candidate truly wants to adopt Judaism, has faith, and wants to be and live like all the other Jews. In our times, when most Jews are not scrupulously devoted to mitzvah observance, it is not reasonable to demand of a convert more than what most Jews are observing. Would that all Jews would be observant of the general traditions outlined above.

Where did the erroneous stringent approach arise?

We have explained that entering Judaism entails identification with the Jewish collective. In our times, most Jews are not fully observant of mitzvoth. One who wishes to join this majority should be accepted according to halakha, and with the hope that with time the person will advance in keeping mitzvoth. But [those who hold the stringent view] question the Jewishness of those who are not like them, thinking them Jewish only after the fact. According to them, they certainly don’t want to add non-Jews to these [non-observant] Jews, who see such converts as a burden and scab; they love the [Talmudic phrase] that “converts are as difficult for Jews as a scab.”

Are the conversions performed by the rabbis of the Israel Defense Forces and similar conversions only valid “after the fact”?

First, would that these converts would be accepted even after the fact! This would mean that the conversion was done and is accepted, following the halakhic rule that all such conversions are valid. But they [that espouse the stringent view] twist the halakhic sources so that [for them] such converts are not accepted even after the fact.

Would you expand on the position of Sephardic rabbis and their halakhic traditions?

Without going into all the details that I’ve explained in my books, we know from the rulings and protocols for conversion and from the entire spectrum of their writings, that in practice they followed the approach I’ve described above. In fact they converted all who came to convert even when most came with an ulterior motive such as in order to marry a Jew. Rabbi Benzion Uziel ruled that “the condition of accepting the mitzvoth is not a sine qua non for conversion.” Thus ruled Rabbi Yitzhak Nissim who was Rishon leTsiyon, and so ruled Rabbi Unterman, and so ruled in practice Rabbi Ovadya Yosef even though his writings sometimes point one way and sometimes another way, all depending on the situation.  It is clear that historians who will evaluate his views on conversion will see that he validated the conversions of 5000 male and female soldiers who were converted under the auspices of the Israel Defense Forces.  This was the practice of the Chief Rabbinate in the past until the predominance of the extreme position.

Since there are stringent positions, why should the halakha follow the lenient view?

First, the halakha generally follows Bet Hillel who are lenient, rather than Bet Shammai who are stringent. Second, when there is a serious crisis within the Jewish people, when assimilation is frightening, when there are people of Jewish ancestry such as the benei anousim who seek conversion but are turned away—it is a mistake to be stringent and alienate them by making unrealistically high demands that are not required by the halakha. It is a mistake not to follow the lenient position. Moreover, even if the Sephardic approach was only “after the fact”, at a time of crisis like the present it is proper to adopt this position even initially. An emergency situation is in the category of “after the fact,” as is well known.

Does the stringent position sin against would-be converts?

Definitely. Not only is it a perversion of halakha as we’ve demonstrated, it is oppression of converts which is a serious violation of the Torah, and an oppression of those who have already converted “bedi-avad”. The stringent position needlessly alienates those who wish to join the Jewish people, and this is a sin. It makes converts [who were converted according to the lenient view] question the validity of their conversions, as though they are turned back into non-Jews; this is a sin and a travesty. Stringency in matters of conversion today implies leniency when it comes to assimilation.

Is a conversion final or can it be annulled?

It is clear from the Talmud and halakhic sources that once a person has converted—and even if the conversion was dubious--the conversion is fully valid. Rabbi Yosef Karo in his Beit Yosef truly stated that “all depends on the evaluation of the bet din” that performs the conversion. This means that before a conversion, the bet din must decide whether to accept or reject the candidate for conversion; but once the conversion has taken place, it is unquestionably valid.

Is there a chance to free the State of Israel from the dilemma it confronts today?

As long as the dominant stringent approach of the rabbinic establishment is in place, there will never be a solution to the conversion problem, assimilation, and the return of those of Jewish ancestry who wish to return to their Jewish roots and faith.

What about the Chief Rabbinate of Israel?

If things do not change and the decision is to leave things in their hand, the result will be destruction, sin and divisiveness in society, hatred of religion—these will only increase in Israel.

What is the hope for the future?

The hope is that the Jewish people will understand the critical situation and will cast off the yoke of the extremists.

We are pleased to announce that Rabbi Hayyim Angel's recent three-part series on Israel and the Bible now is available on our YouTube channel.

Here are the links:

Part 1: Israel in the Torah

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YT9yD9WfjsM&t=9s

Part 2: Israel in Prophecy

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hKVsVDX8Tpk&t=3s

Part 3: The Second Temple Period

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4xxJm22vFdU&t=12s

We have many other classes and symposia on our YouTube channel, as well.

https://www.youtube.com/user/jewishideasorg/videos

Please enjoy and share with your friends!

Thank you

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

Memorable Sephardi Voices, compiled by Lucien Gubbay

(London: Montefiore Endowment, 2020)

Reviewed by Rabbi Hayyim Angel

National Scholar, Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals

            Moderate voices often are hard to come by in any arena these days, and the sphere of traditional Judaism is no exception. At the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals (jewishideas.org), we are dedicated to promoting the rich diversity of Jewish voices throughout the ages, which open avenues of conversation that lead to a passionate, sensible, and intellectually vibrant commitment to Jewish life and growth.

            Sharing many of our core values, the Montefiore Endowment in London recently has published a small volume which compiles many teachings of (primarily) Sephardic rabbis which promote a traditional Jewish vision characterized by love and moderation, rather than extremism and exclusivity.

            Lucien Gubbay, the Chairman of the Montefiore Endowment, has excerpted dozens of passages from the extensive teachings of Sephardic rabbis—primarily (but not at all exclusively) from the 19^th-21^st centuries. These voices often are overlooked or even downright ignored in contemporary discourse, yet they have much to add in terms of practical halakhic ruling and broader perspective toward the vital religious issues of our time.

            As Rabbi Dr. Abraham Levy writes in his foreword, “The differing and often more lenient legal interpretations of Sephardi rabbis and others need not always be accepted; but they should be respected and not, as often happens today, be suppressed and even deleted from reissues of standard halakhic books.”

            To this value, I would add the incalculable positive significance in citing the voices of so many members of the Sephardic rabbinate—some very well-known, but others quite obscure. This volume enables the entire Jewish world to be informed of these learned perspectives. There are many legitimate traditional avenues into Jewish thought and law, and it is essential for rabbis and the wider community to be aware of these possibilities. Who knows how many more Jews would connect more strongly to tradition were they to be knowledgeable of such formidable voices presenting outlooks and rulings different from what the popular media present?

            An additional beneficial feature of this anthology is the biographical information about the rabbis who are quoted. Many communities of the Sephardic Diaspora are represented.

As with any anthology drawn from a vast database of rabbinic teachings, this book reflects the religious values of the compiler and the partnering institutions. There is a conscious effort made to present compassionate, flexible, and lenient rulings of Sephardic rabbis. Tellingly, Gubbay prefaces his book on the inner title page with two statements found in the book:

“Flexible and progressive halachic rulings will ensure the continuation of Judaism in perpetuity.”

“Leniency in halachic ruling is a better principle than stressing what is forbidden.”

            Although there is some effort to cast these perspectives as characteristic of the Sephardic world, Gubbay admits that there are more extreme voices in the Sephardic world, and more moderate voices in the Ashkenazic world as well. One of the great contributions of this volume is the addition of so many moderate Sephardic voices to the panoply of contemporary opinions. When more extreme voices garner headlines, and this phenomenon is coupled with the suppression and ignoring of the more moderate voices, we are impoverished as individuals and as a community.

            Some of the foremost points stressed in this anthology are:

• Diversity in opinion is a built-in feature of Torah learning. Different people bring their own unique perspectives, and we never should demand or expect conformity.

• Although we accept tradition and recognize the limitations of human wisdom and understanding, it is vital to critically examine issues rather than blindly accepting everything. We must evaluate each issue in light of the primary sources, rather than automatically deferring to decisions made by previous generations of rabbis.

• The volume presents lenient rulings on a wide array of critical contemporary issues. While of course there are dissenting and more restrictive opinions, it is critical to present these permissive voices as well.

• There are less restrictive roads to welcome converts into Judaism. Once someone converts halakhically, there is no annulling the conversion.

• There are several rulings allowing women greater participation in several areas of religious life.

• Torah scholarship must be fundamentally linked to ethical behavior, or it falsifies the Torah.

• Torah scholars must deeply respect all Jews, including those unlearned in Torah. Additionally, we are one Jewish community, and must remain united and inclusive even when many contemporary Jews are not fully observant of the Torah and Jewish Law.

• Jews must love and respect non-Jews who live ethically. This is a religious-moral principle, rather than simply a concession to living in harmony among others.

• There is value to the study of secular subjects, both for having the wherewithal to find a profession, and also because there is educational value to this study.

This enlightening volume should be in the hands of rabbis, educators, and interested laypeople worldwide. These precious voices should be incorporated into discourse in communities and schools. The more Jews are exposed to the treasures of our tradition, the more they are enabled to religiously connect and find their own individual paths into tradition.

Shalom, I recently reviewed Professor Yoel Elitzur's enlightening book, Places in the Parasha (Maggid Press, 2020). I also wrote the Foreword in the book.

Tradition Online has posted the review, you may read it here

https://traditiononline.org/review-places-in-the-parasha/

I highly recommend the book!

best,

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

Some time ago, I had a long talk with Dr. Jacques Lopes Cardozo, my only brother, age 66 and two years my junior. We spoke about our early years, growing up in our parents’ home in the Netherlands. Although we were children of a mixed marriage (Jewish father, non-Jewish mother), we took a keen interest in Judaism. Our father was a very proud Jew, and our mother was raised in a strong Jewish cultural milieu in Amsterdam where she felt completely at home. If not for her “Jewishness,” my father would probably not have married her. In fact, our mother was in many ways more Jewish than some members of my father’s family who were halakhically Jewish but completely disconnected. I decided to do giyur[1] at the age of 16, and my mother followed suit many years later. After 27 years of married life our parents remarried, this time by the same rabbi who officiated at my wedding three months later. Both hupot took place in the famous Esnoga, the Portuguese Synagogue in Amsterdam.

This put my brother in a very strange position. From then on, all members of his immediate family were Jewish, and while he did not have the halakhic status of a Jew, he continued to feel very Jewish. This was, to say the least, an atypical Jewish family.

During our conversation, my brother referred to a particular Pesah seder that I conducted at our parents’ home when I was about 17. An incident took place that profoundly shocked him and caused one of the most painful moments in his life. Fifty years later, with great emotion and tears in his eyes, he told me that he had taken a bottle of kosher wine to pour for our many guests. He felt very much a part of the Jewish tradition and immersed himself in this religious experience, wanting to participate fully. After all, those who had left the bondage of Egypt that very night and would cross the Red Sea a few days later were also his ancestors! But instead of realizing my brother’s enormous religious dedication to that experience, I snatched the wine bottle from his hands and told him he should not touch it since he was not Jewish, and that when a non-Jew touches the wine, according to Jewish law it could be cursed. The latter statement proved my complete ignorance. As a newcomer to Judaism, I had been told that the halakha determines that non-Jews should not touch our wine, and I probably concluded that this meant the wine would be cursed. Our sources state nothing of the sort. The only thing indicated is that the wine is no longer permissible to drink. [2]

My brother froze, and then sat down without uttering a word.

Now a dental surgeon of fame and a man of great integrity, my brother told me that to this day he is deeply hurt by the incident, and although he forgave me for what I had done, he could not emotionally make peace with it. Not only because he considered himself to be very Jewish and could not imagine that this law would apply to him, but also because he could not believe that such a law would be part of this beautiful tradition called Judaism, which he dearly loved.[3] My gut feeling tells me that this incident played a huge role in his decision not to convert, though he came very close to doing so.

Although I studied for more than 12 years in Hareidi yeshivot, which are hardly, if at all, concerned with the non-Jewish world, I admit that I may be more sensitive than others about matters relating to non-Jews. After all, how could I not be? My own background, as well as my brother’s situation, forces me to confront this issue on an almost daily basis. [4] At the same time, I am fully aware of the fact that more and more thinking religious Jews are becoming highly uncomfortable with this and similar laws and are asking why these rulings are necessary. What is it about non-Jews that makes their touching kosher wine forbidden for us to drink?

During the almost 40 years that I have been living in Yerushalayim, I have discussed this law with yeshiva students, both Hareidi and dati-leumi (Modern Orthodox). Most of them were born in Israel and have had almost no exposure to non-Jews besides the Arab population. When I challenge them and ask whether they are uncomfortable with this law, and whether they feel that it is discriminatory and perhaps racist, they do not understand my question. Their argument is straightforward: Since according to Judaism non-Jews are secondary inhabitants of this world, and most if not all are anti-Semitic, they should definitely not touch our wine. On top of that, it is their task to serve the Jews, and the law makes it clear who are the servants and who are the masters. When I tell them that billions of non-Jews around the world are living in countries where they never meet a Jew and therefore cannot serve Jews, their response is either complete silence or that these non-Jews have nothing to live for and are sadly unable to fulfill their mission on earth. When I press them further and ask whether they believe that God treats all His creatures fairly and whether His failure to allow these non-Jews to fulfill their mission would not highly compromise this belief, they are dumbfounded. Their astonishment increases when I explain that since there are so few Jews and there are billions of non-Jews, it would mean that every Jew would have a few thousand non-Jews as servants and that I wonder whether this would not be a little overdone! Moreover, doesn’t our tradition teach us that one of the functions of the Jewish people is to aid Gentiles and be concerned about their spiritual and physical welfare? [5]

Surely some readers will argue that when I snatched the wine bottle from my brother’s hand, I did the right thing halakhically. After all, this law appears in the Shulhan Arukh: One may not drink kosher wine that was handled by a non-Jew. This prohibition is called issur yayin nesekh or, more accurately, issur maga nokhri—loosely translated as the prohibition of using wine that has been handled by a non-Jew, meaning the bottle is not only touched but moved as well. The law applies only when the bottle has already been opened. [6]

The big question is: How did this law ever become a part of Judaism?
Looking into the history of this prohibition, we can clearly see that the reason why the talmudic Sages forbade the drinking of wine after it was handled by a non-Jew is that most non-Jews of that time were idol worshippers. This worship is identified with evil and immoral behavior, not much different from that of the Nazis, or the terrorists of today. In fact, the same law applies to a wicked Jew; we are also forbidden to drink wine that he/she handled. [7]

It is clear, then, that the motive for this prohibition was one of the great principles behind Judaism: protest—protest against the kind of abomination that was an integral part of idol worship. The Sages wanted to ensure that Jews would never come close to this sort of behavior or to these kinds of people, and as a protest they forbade the drinking of wine that had been handled by them. It reminds me of the Dutch who after World War II refused to have anything to do with Germans, or even bring German-made products into their homes. It was taboo.

It is important to understand that the Sages were not so much concerned with idol worship per se. Had idolatry not led to such excessive abominations, they would most likely not have made such an exacting decree concerning wine. What really prompted them to issue these rulings were the accompanying loathsome and abhorrent acts, particularly gluttony and orgies. [8]

Yet another reason for this prohibition is that drinking wine with non-Jews increases familiarity, which could then lead to assimilation. It seems, though, that the proscription was more symbolic than practical, since other drinks, even alcoholic, are not included in this prohibition.[9] In the olden days, wine was by far the most popular alcoholic drink, and was used specifically in religious settings. The fact that a person could become intoxicated and lose control increased the possibility that boundaries between Jews and non-Jews would be blurred.[10] The Sages decided to apply this law only to bona fide wine, not to kosher wine that was pasteurized or cooked (known in halakhic literature as yayin mevushal), because once wine was boiled[11] it was no longer used for idol worship and therefore no longer considered “real” wine.[12] The fact that the blessing “al peri ha-gefen” is still recited over yayin mevushal, and it remains an alcoholic drink that could still lead to familiarity in social settings, clearly indicates that this law is mostly symbolic. [13]

While too much familiarity is still one of the primary causes of assimilation, one can hardly argue today that drinking wine plays any role in this unfortunate situation. Religious Jews would not marry non-Jews even if they would drink wine with them, while those who run the chance of assimilating are the ones who don’t care about this law. So what does this prohibition really accomplish? It would seem that its only claim is to remind us Jews of our special status.

Over the years, however, this law has taken on a life of its own. It has created a psychological condition among many religious Jews that exceeds by far what the Sages wanted to accomplish. Since the law was never officially abolished, it created an ontological view of non-Jews. No matter what their beliefs, non-Jews are by definition idol worshippers and depraved people. This is their very nature, and they cannot escape it. This view on the part of many religious Jews is not conscious and deliberate, but it is deeply ingrained in the Jewish religious psyche. It points to a kind of Jungian archetype. What this means is that many religious Jews believe not only that the law concerning wine should not be changed but also that non-Jews are not meant to and are unable to change. After all, this law reflects Judaism’s authentic view of non-Jews. In other words, there is nothing wrong with the Jewish tradition for still applying this law. On the contrary, there is something wrong with the non-Jewish world for changing and no longer fitting the description that the Jewish tradition attributes to them.

While all this may sound very foreign to those living in hutz la’aretz, this view is widespread in Israeli religious communities, whether Hareidi or dati-leumi, with few exceptions. [14]

This attitude is tragic and extremely dangerous. It completely contradicts one of the most important teachings of the Jewish tradition, that man—both Jew and Gentile—can and must change. In fact, this belief is not only a misrepresentation of Judaism; it is the very antithesis of all that Judaism stands for. If non-Jews will always be looked upon as idol worshippers, no matter how far behind they have left that world, then Jews cannot be a light unto the nations, nor do they have anything to offer them. That would mean that Judaism was doomed to fail from the start.

To understand the danger of this unfortunate development, we need to take a broad look at Judaism and its vital mission. Several questions come to mind. Why does the world need a Jewish nation and what is its purpose? Why do the Jews need to be separate, and why is assimilation seen as one of the most destructive forces within Judaism throughout the ages? What lies at the very core of Judaism?

While many opinions prevail, there are some basic beliefs concerning the very existence of the Jewish People and its mission. With perhaps the exception of Maimonides,[15] all the classic Jewish philosophers claim that the ultimate reason for Israel’s existence is to be part of the unifying thread in a kind of Heilsgeschichte (redemptive history). Its purpose is to move humankind forward on its spiritual journey both to full recognition of God as the ultimate Master of all existence and to supreme ethical behavior. This noble role demands exemplary conduct on the part of the Jews. To fully understand this, we must realize that God is not merely the Creator and God of the universe but primarily the God Who is deeply involved in human history. God is not a philosophical idea advanced by Greek philosophers, totally separate from and beyond all human existence. He is an almost touchable Being Who dresses Himself in human emotions to make His point known to mankind.

God appears to experience all the human emotions: love, anger, involvement, indignation, regret, sadness, and so on. By so doing, He gives the seal of divinity to the very essence of our humanity. He implicitly says to man: “You cannot know what is above and what is below, but you can know what is in your hearts and in the world. These feelings and reactions and emotions that make up human existence are, if illumined by faith and rationality, all the divinity you can hope for. To be humane is to be divine: as I am holy, so you shall be holy; as I am merciful, so you shall be merciful.” Thus, there is only one kind of knowledge that is open to man, the knowledge of God’s humanity. [16]

God, then, becomes a specific and historic personality. He becomes a player in the history of humanity, together with all the players in the human race. This makes Him the most tragic figure in all of human history, because He cannot appear in His authentic form, which would require Him to be far beyond all human limitations and characteristics. Would He do so, He would be meaningless to humankind. He must appear in opposition to His very Self. Not as a philosophical idea beyond all human resemblance, but as a Redemptive God within history. This means that He had to become a God of compromise for the sake of man’s limitations. Precisely for that reason He often fails in His ultimate goals. He has to fail so as to connect with humans. His objective is to allow humans to fail so that redemptive history becomes a reality. Nothing can be redeemed if all is perfect.

To achieve His goal, God requires a specific people who are destined to carry out the redemptive nature of history. Universal ideas cannot be relied upon, because they are impersonal, and what is impersonal is beyond history. Furthermore, an impersonal entity cannot carry a commitment, a moral assignment; for if all are committed to a particular mission, there is no one to be persuaded and therefore no mission to implement. Redemptive history then becomes impossible.

More important, however, is that the God of history can work only within time and space. This allows for a personal encounter with Him solely in the context of life and history. And only in that way can there be a mission of redemptive and God-centered history. It is through particularism that this universal mission can be accomplished.

And yet, those who are called on to carry out this mission must have an element of universality and eternity. They cannot be completely distinct, as that would lead them to becoming self-absorbed and unable to redeem and help humankind on its spiritual journey. So, paradoxically, this group must to some degree be ahistorical. It must be unique and incapable of being sociologically or ethnologically categorized. It cannot belong to a particular race, culture, or even a conventional religious domination. Nor can it be a nation in the traditional sense of the word. It must transcend all these definitions and represent something that is a mystery, an anomaly and even a contradiction, so that it can stand at the center of history. Through its uniqueness, all of human history must be expressed. It has to carry the true history of mankind in a world that has an origin and a divine goal. This group of people, then, must identify with all of mankind while remaining separate.

Only “Israel” fits this description, for Israel is neither a race nor a nation nor a religion, in the conventional sense. It violates all the criteria that “race,” “nation,” and “religion” stand for. Indeed, it is religion that determines its nationality, and it is nationality that determines its religion. It includes members of all races, and everyone can join to become a genuine child of Avraham and Sarah.

In addition, there is such a wide range of language, culture, and belief among Jews that no definition of these terms can accurately describe this unusual people. Yet the Jews do represent a surviving historic continuum, identifiable but consisting of constantly shifting groups.

This perplexing notion of “redemptive history” stands at the very core of the mission of Jews and halakha. For halakha to be meaningful and eternal, it must be redemptive halakha, constantly deriving its vitality and its guidelines from this notion. Redemptive history must move forward in order to be redemptive, and halakha must therefore move with it. Once it has accomplished a certain goal, it must abandon the means by which it achieved this goal and move to the next stage of its redemptive goals. If, instead, it adheres to the means by which it achieved its goal, it undermines itself and becomes destructive. Instead of being redemptive, it becomes confining and harmful, turning progress into regression and reversing everything that it wants to achieve.

It is for this reason that the law of yayin nesekh is counter-productive. Its objective has already been achieved. It fulfilled its purpose and has become obsolete. As long as a good part of the non-Jewish world was deeply committed to idol worship and abominable acts, it was important and made a powerful point. But since by now, a very large percentage of humankind has abandoned idol worship, is no longer dedicated to repugnant deeds, and has accepted values such as human rights, equity, and equality, we can no longer ignore these developments and look the other way.

In fact, by continuing to observe this law, we deny that Judaism has had a powerful influence on our world. As a protest movement in the face of great evil, it has done extremely well. Many of its redemptive goals have been fulfilled. Franz Rosenzweig’s thoughts on this subject have been right on the mark. He points out that it is not so much Judaism itself that is directly responsible for these achievements.[17] It required a more extroverted monotheistic religion to take on its ideals and expose them to the world. This, says Rosenzweig, is what Christianity did. With all its mistakes and anti-Semitic overtones, it paradoxically made monotheism into a powerful force throughout the world, and many Jewish values are now well known, while conventional idol worship has ceased to exist. Rosenzweig adds that Judaism gave birth to Christianity for this very purpose, and Christianity can only fulfill its purpose if Israel is in its midst. It must take its inspiration from Israel. It cannot stand on its own feet. Christian philosopher and theologian Paul Tillich suggested that there would always be a need for Judaism because “it is the corrective against the paganism that goes along with Christianity.” [18]

That is the reason why there is no point in continuing to observe a law that forbids non-Jews to touch our wine.

To argue that idol worship is still alive and well and that there is still a lot of evil around is missing the point. First of all, it is questionable whether idol worship is indeed still around. Hinduism and Buddhism may very well not fall into this category, and even if they would, they are definitely not prone to immorality and evil.[19] Secondly, evil behavior is no longer acceptable by any law-abiding society. This is the indirect result of Judaism’s influence on civilization. In fact, Judaism introduced many other ethical laws that are not found in the Torah itself. Its redemptive qualities, which the law of yayin nesekh symbolizes, did the job.

The same is true about assimilation, which is no longer affected by the law of yayin nesekh. Now that there are so many alcoholic drinks that are not forbidden after they’ve been touched by non-Jews, the law is meaningless. If anything, we should forbid non-Jews to touch whiskey or beer. But to do so would be ineffective. If we want to fight assimilation, we need totally different strategies. That phenomenon has undergone a shift and it can be countered only by ideology. To believe that the law of yayin nesekh still has anything to do with assimilation is to bury one’s head in the sand.

For Jews to remain separate, other strategies will have to be developed. It will require a novel attempt to stir a strong feeling of mission among our youth, combined with a very compelling ideology and education that would be irresistible. Paradoxically, as long as this law exists, it sends a message that the mission rooted in the concept of redemptive history is a fake, and an effective ideology cannot be developed. So the law, which should be building a strong, compelling Jewish identity, in fact does the reverse.

My position has been alluded to by several halakhic authorities. As is well known, the famous Menahem Meiri (1249–1316, France) already stated his opinion that non-Jews are moral people who have left idol worship behind them. He therefore concluded that many discriminating talmudic laws concerning non-Jews are no longer applicable. [20] He was clearly a believer in redemptive halakha. However, Meiri did not go so far as to abolish the law of yayin nesekh. The person who came closest to doing so was none other than the Rama (1520–1572), Rabbi Moshe Isserles, the foremost Ashkenazic sub-commentator on Rabbi Yosef Karo’s Shulhan Arukh. He brings a view that if a ger toshav (a non-Jewish resident) touches a bottle of wine, it is still permitted to drink that wine. Whether or not today’s non-Jew, who is no longer an idol worshipper, fits the definition of a ger toshav is a matter of debate. [21] Another great halakhic authority who came very close to doing this was the eminent Rabbi Yosef Messas (1892–1974) from Algeria, Morocco, and later chief rabbi of Haifa. He was one of the most daring halakhic authorities of our days. Dr. Marc Shapiro writes about Rabbi Messas:

…[H]e defends drinking alcohol which contains wine that had been handled by Muslims. He quotes a responsum by an earlier Moroccan rabbi who even permitted drinking the wine itself—[Rabbi] Messas didn’t go this far—and who had justified this decision as follows: “There is no unity [of God] like the unity found in Islam; therefore, one who forbids them to handle [wine] turns holy into profane by regarding worshippers of God as worshippers of idols, God forbid.” [22]

But there is more. The famous philosopher, Talmudist, and halakhic expert Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits argues that over the last 2,000 years halakha has become increasingly defensive.[23] It has had to deal with aggressive anti-Semitism, as Judaism and Jews were constantly attacked in the Diaspora. Under those circumstances, rabbinical authorities built many walls between us and the Gentiles. This was very understandable; it was the only way to survive. But it also meant that halakha became stagnant. It couldn’t develop naturally because it had to constantly look over its shoulder to make sure that Jews wouldn’t be affected by the non-Jewish world whose practices and ideologies might oppose Jewish ethical values. It had to ensure that in no way, either directly or indirectly, would Jews be influenced by or support non-Jewish idolatrous traditions and immoral acts. During all of these 2,000 years in exile, halakha was forced into a waiting mode, in anticipation of redeeming itself when Jews would again return to their homeland and live in freedom.

Although Rabbi Berkovits does not discuss the issue of yayin nesekh, it is very clear that the law prohibiting it originated under these circumstances. It’s a law that is based on fear.

But times have changed. The waiting mode has come to an end. Halakha’s longtime dream, to liberate itself from its defensiveness and fear, is being fulfilled in our own days! The Jews’ situation has drastically changed, specifically since the establishment of the State of Israel. We no longer have to be defensive, as we were in the ghettos. The State has given us our long-awaited independence. We run our own affairs and are no longer afraid of the anti-Semitic world. If attacked, we will strike back. And just as the Jewish State has freed the Jews from defenselessness by building a powerful army with tens of thousands of soldiers and the most sophisticated weaponry, which has made the Israeli army into the world’s best, so must halakha abandon its fear, take a courageous, assertive approach, and make a radical turnabout.

Instead of fearing the corrupt influence of the non-Jewish world, we should now show ourselves and the world the enormous spiritual and moral power of Judaism. Instead of building high walls around us, we should create transparent partitions. It’s time for the world to be awestruck by the power of Judaism. It’s time for exposure, and the export of Jewish spirituality and ethics. The world needs it. The world is ready for it. Jews would find great meaning in religious Judaism, and non-Jews would be astonished and impressed. Assimilation will not come to an end by enacting laws rooted in fear and weakness, but by a halakhic ideology of strength and courage. Judaism has more than enough strength to face head-on the many negative powers that surround us and win the war. Yes, there will be victims, as we have in any Israeli war, but war can only be won if you take that risk, no matter how painful. Today’s weak approach creates more victims, by far.

Even more important is the fact that all of this will have an immediate effect on our own youth. Judaism will be something people want to be part of. It will again become a mission to fight for and be proud of.

One of the great tasks of Jewish education is to deliberately create an atmosphere of rebellion among its students. Rebellion, after all, is the great emancipator. To paraphrase English writer Charles Caleb Colton (1780–1832): We owe almost all our knowledge and achievements not to those who agreed but to those who differed. It was this quality that brought Judaism into existence. Avraham was the first great rebel, destroying idols, and he was followed by his children, by Moshe, and by the Jewish people.

What has been entirely forgotten is that the Torah was the first rebellious text to appear in world history. Its purpose was to protest. It set in motion a rebellious movement of universal proportions second to none. The text includes all the heresies of the past, present, and future. It calls idol worship an abomination, immorality a scandal, and the worship of man a catastrophe. It protests against complacency, imitation, and negation of the spirit. It calls for radical thinking and radical action, without compromise, even if it means standing alone and being condemned or ridiculed.

This reality seems lost on our religious establishment. We are teaching our students and children to obey, to fit in, to conform and not stand out. We teach them that their religious leaders are great people because they don’t want to rock the boat. They would never think of disturbing the established religious or social norm. But these teachers don’t realize that they are teaching a tradition of protest, and if they want to succeed they must communicate that message.

By using clichés instead of the language of opposition, we deny our students the excitement of being Jewish. Excitement, after all, comes from the knowledge that you make a difference, and you take pride in it, whatever the cost. It comes from being aware that you are part of a great mission for which you are prepared to die, knowing that it will make the world a better place.

When we tell our children to eat kosher, we need to tell them that this is an act of disobedience against self-indulgence, by which human beings are prepared to eat anything as long as it tastes good. When we go to synagogue, it is a protest against man’s arrogance in thinking that he can do it all himself. When young couples are asked to observe the law of family purity, it is a rebellion against the obsession with sex. The celebration of Shabbat must be taught as an enormous challenge to our contemporary world, which believes that happiness depends on how much we can produce.

As long as our religious teachers continue to teach Jewish texts as models of approval, instead of manifestations of protest against the mediocrity of our world, we will lose more and more of our young people to that very mediocrity.

Judaism is in essence an act of dissent, not of consent. Dissent means renewal. It creates loyalty. It is the stuff that world growth is made of.

But all of this can be achieved only if we reestablish halakha as an ideology and practice by which courage and determination will lead to great pride and a strong feeling of mission.

We must now make sure that halakha can once again develop in its original, innovative way and come back to itself. We don’t need to reform or update it. We need to simply take it back to the point where it had to turn against its own self because of our galut experience, and we must get it back on track. We have to cut off the many foreign branches that have for centuries concealed its ancient roots. It requires a purifying process so as to bring it to complete spiritual fulfillment.

Yes, it has to be done slowly, with great care, and in a way that doesn’t harm the core. I haven’t the slightest doubt that we’ll discover a beautiful canvas with many diverse but harmonious colors that will deeply impress our fellow Jews and make Judaism irresistible.

To achieve this goal, we have to de-codify Jewish law and dispense with the official codes of law by which Judaism was able to survive in past centuries. Codification stagnates.[24] While it was necessary in order to overcome the enormous challenges of exile, it has now become an obstacle, outdated and unhealthy, which to a great extent blocks the natural development of halakha. Jewish law must move and grow, taking into account various developments in our world and giving them guidance. And that can happen only if it is fluid and allows for a great amount of flexibility, which codification cannot offer. Certainly, some conformity is necessary, such as in the case of civil law, but unlike non-Jewish codifications, Jewish law is foremost a religious and spiritual tradition. As such, it can never be translated into immutable rules to be applied at all times, under all conditions, and for everyone, without considering the personal, religious and practical components. These elements vary drastically, as can be seen by the many differing and even opposing opinions in the Talmud, which the Sages were not only aware of but seem to have actually encouraged. [25]

What we need now is prophetic, New Age halakha, dedicated to the great, authentic, ethical mission of the Jewish people as conveyed by the prophets, and combined with the demands of the Torah. The prophets preached a rare combination of particularism and universalism. They strongly advocated Jewish particularism, so as to keep the Jews separated from the rest of the nations. But they always viewed this in terms of universalism. [26] There was a need for a central driving force, full of spiritual and moral energy, that would enable the Jews to inspire all of mankind and be “a light unto the nations,” conveying the oneness of God and the significance of justice.

We must continue to be different and marry only among ourselves, or with those who have joined our people. We should make our own wines and not drink those produced by our Gentile friends, because wine is a sacred drink that needs to be sanctified by the beliefs of different religious communities. I would even suggest that each monotheistic religion produce its own wine, since it is not the liquid itself that is sacred but the winemaker’s intentions that have suffused the wine.

It is nonsensical to believe that the world would be a better place if all differences would be eliminated. Distinctiveness is a most important aspect of our society. It gives it color and allows people to belong. But it should not lead to a form of separation, which serves no real goal and is the outgrowth of something that was meant for a different time.

Should the law of yayin nesekh be abolished altogether? Definitely not! We should not drink kosher wine that has been handled by anti-Semites, terrorists, rapists, financial swindlers, men who refuse to grant divorces to their wives, self-hating Jews, and the like.

After all, the purpose of the law is to protest, not to discriminate.

It is high time that the rabbis consider revisiting this ancient law and adapting it to our new reality.

My brother would agree.

Notes

Thanks to Channa Shapiro, Jerusalem, for her editorial assistance.

[1] See my essay, “Lonely but Not Alone: An Autobiography by a Jew Who Should Not Have Been,” Conversations, Spring 2013/5773, pp. 1–35.
[2] Shulhan Arukh Yoreh De’ah 124:11; Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Ma’akhalot Asurot 11:4.
[3] Once my brother told me about this incident, I realized there are other laws as well that are very disturbing, such as bishul akum (the prohibition of eating food that was cooked by Gentiles), the saving of non-Jews on Shabbat, the institution of the “shabbes goy,” and the prohibition of doing a favor for a non-Jew. This is not the place to discuss each one of them, but it will become clear to the reader that all of these laws, or customs, are the result of circumstances that prevailed in ancient times, and they should no longer apply today.
[4] Human subjectivity is a major factor in halakhic decision making. See Dr. Aaron Kirschenbaum, “Subjectivity in Rabbinic Decision Making,” Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy by Moshe Z. Sokol, ed. (Northvale, NJ, London: Jason Aronson, 1992) pp. 93–123.
[5] It’s true that certain sources, many of them kabalistic, seem to point out that non-Jews should serve the Jews, but such notions are much debated and not generally accepted. These beliefs may be the result of historical developments. When the Talmud states that Gentiles will serve the Jews in the messianic age, it means they will do it voluntary, out of respect for the Jews, but not because it is their duty. See Yeshayahu 49: 22, 23; Eruvin 43b, Ben Yehoyada’s commentary. See also Nathan Lopes Cardozo, “On Jewish Identity and the Chosen People,” Between Silence and Speech (Northvale, NJ, London: Jason Aronson, 1995) pp. 35–75.
[6] See Shulhan Arukh Yoreh De’ah 124:11. Wine that has merely been touched by a non-Jew is not prohibited. Maga means handling. Two actions have to take place: touch and movement. See Yoreh De’ah, ad loc. When the non-Jew touches the bottle without intent, the wine is permitted for the purpose of drinking. Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Ma’akhalot Asurot 13:11; Yoreh De’ah 124: 7, 24.
[7] The wicked Jew is foremost identified as a mumar (an apostate), one who deliberately rejects Judaism and violates its demands. Nowadays, many authorities are of the opinion that this term no longer applies, since it is not malice that motivates him but ignorance, as well as the lack of revealed divine providence, which would convince him of the Torah’s truth. See Chazon Ish on Yoreh De’ah, Hilkhot Shehita 2:16, 28. See also Yaakov Ettlinger, Responsa Binyan Tzion Hahadashot, no. 23; David Zvi Hoffman, Responsa Melamed Leho’il, no. 29; Rav Ovadia Yosef, Yabi’a Omer, vol. 1, Yoreh De’ah no. 11.
[8] Some of my halakhic “opponents” may claim that I am overstating the case of wickedness and immorality as the reason for the law concerning yayin nesekh, while the only real reason is idol-worship and its libations. However, this seems to me incorrect. What really bothered the Torah and Sages about idol worship were the abominable, immoral acts that were inherent to paganism and their accompanying libations. Under those circumstances, ethical monotheism could never succeed and flourish. For a careful study of this topic, see Menachem Meiri (1249–1316, France), Beit HaBehirah on Avodah Zarah, 15b, 22a and 26a. Much literature has been published on the Meiri’s understanding of the Gentile world. See Dr. Marc Shapiro, “Islam and the Halakhah,” Judaism: A Quarterly Journal of Jewish Life and Thought, vol. 42, no. 3, Summer 1993. See also Dr. David Berger, “Jews, Gentiles and the Modern Egalitarian Ethos: Some Tentative Thoughts,” in Formulating Responses in an Egalitarian Age by Marc D. Stern, ed. (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2005) pp. 83–108. Whether or not ongoing libations and immoral acts actually took place is a matter of dispute. See Sacha Stern, “Compulsive Libationers: Non-Jews and Wine in Early Rabbinic Sources,” Journal of Jewish Studies, vol. 64, no. 1 (Spring 2013). See also Sanhedrin 63b.
[9] It is most revealing that several early commentators on the Talmud were at one time not concerned about mixed marriages, since the non-Jews prohibited such marriages. See Ramban on Avoda Zara 35b. See also Encyclopedia Talmudit, vol. 18, s.v. “Hatnut,” pp. 362–366.
[10] There was some discussion about beer, which was also very popular in ancient times, but the Sages did not prohibit it probably because it was a life sustainer and safer than water! See Encyclopedia Talmudit, ibid.
[11] See Avodah Zarah 29a. For a discussion on when wine is considered to be yayin mevushal, see RaN on Avodah Zarah 30a; Yoreh De’ah 123:3; Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, Igrot Moshe Yoreh De’ah 2:55 and 3:31.
[12] On whether boiled wine is permitted for Kiddush, see Shulhan Arukh Orah Hayim, 275:8.
[13] For a general overview, see Encyclopedia Talmudit, vol. 24, s.v. “Yayin Shel Goyim,” pp. 330–498 and vol. 18, s.v. “Hatnut,” pp. 362–366. See also the following three works by Prof. Haym Soloveitchik: Yeinam: Sachar Be-Yeinam Shel Goyim al Gilgulah shel Halakha Ba’Olam Hama’aseh (Tel Aviv: Alma, 2003, Hebrew); HaYayin BiMei HaBeinayim: Yayin Nesekh [Wine in Ashkenaz in the Middle Ages: Yayin Nesekh– A Study in the History of Halakha] (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center for Jewish History, 2008, Hebrew); “Can Halakhic Texts Talk History?” AJS Review, vol. 3 (1978), pp. 153–196.
[14] I refer here to native Israelis, not to those who came on aliyah from Western countries.
[15] See David Hartman, Israelis and the Jewish Tradition: An Ancient People Debating Its Future (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2000).
[16] Dr. Yochanan Muffs, “A Jewish View of God’s Relation to the World,” The Personhood of God (Woodstock, VT: Jewish Lights Publishing, 2009) p. 177.
[17] Franz Rosenzweig, Briefe (Berlin: Schocken, 1935) p. 100. See also Jacob Agus, Modern Philosophies of Judaism (New York: Behrman’s, 1941) pp. 191–194.
[18] Quoted by A. Roy Eckardt in Christianity and the Children of Israel (New York: Columbia University, 1948) pp. 146–147.
[19] See Alon Goshen-Gottstein and Eugene Korn, eds., Jewish Theology and World Religions (Oxford, England and Portland, Oregon: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2012) Part 3.
[20] See Note 8.
[21] See Shulhan Arukh, Yoreh De’ah 124:2. And especially 124, 24. See also Dr. Asher Ziv, ed., Shu”t HaRama 124, where Rabbi Moshe Isserles is melamed zekhut (judges favorably) those who drink wine produced by non-Jews.
[22] See Rabbi Yosef Messas, Otzar HaMikhtavim vol. 1, nos. 454, 462; Shu”t Mayim Hayim vol. 2, Yoreh De’ah no. 66. Rabbi Messas expresses a similar opinion concerning bishul akum (kosher food cooked by non-Jews). See Dr. Marc B. Shapiro, “Rabbi Joseph Messas,” Conversations – The Journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, Spring 2010/5770, pp. 100–101. See also Rabbi Ovadiah Hadaya, Responsa Yaskil Avdi, vol. 1, Yoreh De’ah, No. 4.
[23] Eliezer Berkovits, HaHalakha, Kokha V’Tafkida (Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1981). A shortened English version is Not in Heaven: The Nature and Function of Halakha (NY: Ktav Publishing House, 1984) ch. 4.
[24] See Rabbi Shlomo Luria (Maharshal), Yam Shel Shlomo, introduction to Bava Kama and Hulin; Rabbi Yehudah Löw ben Betzalel (Maharal), Netivot Olam 16, end; Rabbi Haim ben Betzalel, Vikuah Mayim Chaim, 7. See also Eliezer Berkovits, ibid., and my essay “On the Nature and Future of Halakha in Relation to Autonomous Religiosity,” Conversations, Spring, 2010/5770, pp. 66–82.
[25] See Eruvin 13b.
[26] See, for example, Shemot 19:5–6; Yeshayahu 42:6. See my book Between Silence and Speech: Essays on Jewish Thought (Northvale, NJ and London: Jason Aronson, 1995) chapters 3 and 5.

The ideal for prayer... is kedusha or holiness... If ten women so desire, they may organize a minyan and conduct tefillah betzibur, public services; and in such a case, if men straggle in to such a synagogue, it is they who are guests sitting behind the mehitzah. I am told that in Boston there is a group of young Orthodox students, all girls, who are highly concerned about their role in Judaism, and have decided to pray every morning while donning the tefillin. I have no objection to that, and would encourage them. There was a time that (according to Rema) such behavior was frowned upon as yuharah, or arrogance, but that was because it was an act of exhibitionism by an individual. However, the case is far different when a whole community of women has decided to accept such a mitzvah. More power to them![1]

Who said this and when? It surely sounds like a quote from a rabbi on the fringes of Orthodoxy in 2013. Think again. This quotation is from a sermon delivered and written by Rabbi Norman Lamm in April 1972, as he courageously railed against 1,200 Orthodox rabbis who condemned the passing of the Equal Rights Amendment. His original vision was correct—that equal rights in the workplace did not undermine a synagogue's right to a mehitza or pose a threat to single-gender religious schools. More importantly, Rabbi Lamm posited that according to the Torah, "Men and women are of equal metaphysical value." He goes on to say:

We have not yet worked out sufficiently all the issues with the role of women in Judaism....There are times when Jewish law does reveal what seems to be a discriminatory attitude against women. What we must do is research, and find out to what extent such problems can be ameliorated.

Ten years later, Israeli intellectual, Yeshayahu Liebowitz wrote:

The question of women and Judaism is more crucial than all the political problems of the people and its state. Failure to deal with it seriously threatens the viability of the Judaism of Torah and Mitzvoth in the contemporary world. [2]

Over 30 years have passed since these words were written. Have we come a long way or are we stumbling along?

I guess that depends on your perspective. Unlike in Israel, the synagogue in North America is a center for the Jewish community, not only a place to pray, which is why a woman’s experience in her synagogue is such a significant issue here. Since 1972, Women's Tefillah groups have proliferated; women's learning has expanded beyond Sarah Schenirer's [3] dreams; Rabba Sarah Hurwitz fully functions as clergy in an Orthodox shul; and there are several female congregational interns in Modern Orthodox shuls. Although we continue to debate whether or not women can or should be rabbis, it seems that this ship is sailing. The Orthodox community calls their female leaders Maharat, Rabba, or congregational intern, while the rest of the world calls them rabbis. Much like the rabbi of a synagogue who delegates leadership of prayer services to male congregants or the cantor, these women do what most pulpit rabbis do: They deliver sermons, teach, counsel, officiate at life cycle events, and give advice regarding Jewish law.

Outside synagogue walls, there is a movement within Israel proposing greater female religious leadership. Aliza Lavie, a member of the Yesh Atid political party, is calling for a “female religious figure to serve alongside” the Chief Rabbis of Israel.[4] As these positions and possibilities expand, female clergy members provide women congregants with a positive role model and a source of Jewish authority with whom to connect, and from whom they can learn and draw personal inspiration. Whether a woman’s ability to serve in this capacity is a halakhic issue or a sociological one will have to be solved by courageous and serious scholars. As for expanding roles for female congregants, many synagogues have taken small steps to find ways to include women in the Shabbat morning services, by adding a prayer for the agunah once a month—even designating a woman to read it for the congregation—or inviting women to deliver a devar Torah. For some, these developments represent a radical and "slippery slope" to some ambiguous evil at the end of the slide—as if having more committed, learned, and observant women is dangerous—but for others, it is too little, too slow, too late.

When the former Chief Rabbi of France (1981–1988), Rabbi Rene-Samuel Sirat, spoke in Stamford, Connecticut over a decade ago, he called for the removal of the blessing, “she-lo asani isha”—thanking God for not making me a woman—from the liturgy and by extension, from shuls. I approached him afterward and asked him why he would suggest something that would face strong objections and thereby hinder its consideration, not to mention its implementation. He asked me what I would suggest. I thought that people would be more willing to agree that it should be said silently. And then he said something that changed my perspective forever: “Maspik Bishvilech?” (Is that enough for you?) “Yes,” I answered. He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Lo Bishvili.” (Not for me.) He was willing to go the extra mile for what he believed to be right, and I was resigned to asking for less for fear of a negative response. Rabbi Sirat’s suggestion (made before and since by many others) is just one example of some of the ways that Modern Orthodox synagogues may be more inclusive of women. For example, women can be invited to say the Prayer for the Government, The Prayer for the State of Israel, the Prayer for the Israel Defense Forces, and new mothers should be able to recite the gomel blessing in their own voices. There are suggestions that the space for women in shul should be more accommodating—space for children to play quietly, comfortable chairs with adequate room. In the shul I belong to, the chapel where Kabbalat Shabbat, the daily minyan, and Shabbat morning early minyan take place has tables for some men to sit at: Other men sit around a large table in a room off the women’s section. The women have no tables, no space for children, and can’t even use that room on their own side of the mehitzah. It is no wonder that articles titled, “Why Women Don’t Go to Shul” are popping up in Times of Israel and on the Web.

And, Shabbat is not the only time we can be more inclusive of women. More and more women are reciting Kaddish; they need to be welcomed. In fact, there are longstanding halakhic opinions that expressly support women who want to recite Kaddish with a minyan. [5] The women’s section has to be ready, with the lights on, at every service. In addition, the wedding ceremony is ripe with opportunity, from having a woman read the Ketubah, to reading the English translation of the sheva berakhot. For a more balanced experience, I have heard of having the groom encircle the bride either at the bedeken or during the celebration after the huppa; I have personally seen two female friends of the bride called up along with two male witnesses. While it was made quietly clear under the huppa that then men were the witnesses, this is another way to share the public roles (if not responsibilities) with women.

There is so much more that we could do—within the framework of halakha—but it is demoralizing to continually have to ask to be included, to wait for rabbis to “get back to us” with either their own ruling on these ideas or to be put on hold by the veiled delay of having to discuss it with the ritual committee. I once heard of a therapist training other therapists about treating couples in a situation where one partner is engaged in the dance of the relationship while the other was not. He illustrated this by having one student throw a ball at him, which he let hit his chest as the ball dropped to the ground. The student repeated this three or four times until the teacher’s point was made: It takes two to engage. It is clear that when women keep throwing the ball waiting for someone to catch it and the synagogue rabbis just metaphorically stand there, women will eventually stop participating too.

Is this what we want for committed women who want an active role in the synagogue experience to stop participating? That would be a major crisis in the Modern Orthodox community. Right now, the bleachers (and the balcony) have fewer and fewer people sitting in them. The thinning attendance may be imperceptible because as rabbis have told me, “The davening is not technically different at all if women are not present.” And while I am aware that many are quite content as quiet spectators in the synagogue theater, the minority opinion has always mattered in Judaism, and this growing minority cannot be ignored. It may well be the case that by now, this discontent represents the majority opinion. Consider this from Shira Hecht Koller’s article in The Jewish Week, February 15, 2013:

When professional and intellectual women are barred from any meaningful role in shul, it is not the women who suffer, but the integrity of the shul experience. Women have never found a real place within Orthodox shuls, because Orthodox shuls have never found a real place for women. Increasingly, women choose to disengage rather than attend as passive observers. I experience this on Friday nights when my daughter and I are among the few women in the women’s section. As she grows more intelligent and sensitive, it is becoming more challenging to convince her that this is worthwhile. Is it better for women to stay at home and read contemporary magazines on the couch rather than take part in a meaningful religious experience?

Women are staying home in greater numbers, despite a number of steps that could be implemented to enrich women’s experiences and create a culture of inclusion. After speaking to women across the country and in Israel, and scouring articles on the internet, it is clear that rather than spending intellectual capital on what we can do, our rabbis are investing their time and scholarship on what is forbidden, what cannot be done, and almost no time whatsoever on the alternatives. In turn, the rabbis who advocate for innovative halakhic solutions spend their time defending their positions—and sadly, few, if any of them, are pulpit rabbis where they can implement the very views they support.

I believe that both an institutional and grassroots response to this looming crisis is an imperative. In a world where women are still barred from officially serving as synagogue presidents by the National Council of Young Israel, and all senior rabbis of Orthodox synagogues are men, maybe it is unreasonable to keep asking them to rethink their position, their power, and their comfort. Maybe it is unreasonable to expect that in the absence of heavy pressure from major donors and multiple community influencers that any of the suggestions for a change in culture will happen. Women, as Sheryl Sandberg has reminded us, have neglected to “lean in,” to ask for the permissible to be to be permitted. And neither have many of the men. It seems to me to bring about change we need a dual course of action: Pressing for change in the synagogue by and for those men and women who are comfortable with small, incremental modifications in synagogue and ritual services as well as a full court press to build new spaces for congregations whose “tzibur” not only tolerates but seeks out inclusion and empowerment for both men and women, such as the Partnership Minyan model. This congregation is lay-led, with a commitment to halakha and joint spiritual leadership between men and women. It is not an egalitarian service, as women do not lead shaharit, minha, musaf, or maariv. Women do lead pesukei deZimra, kabbalat Shabbat, and the end of the Shabbat morning service, and both men and women receive aliyot and read from the Torah—each from their own side of the mehitzah. It is one of the only current viable scenarios for the women who are slowly disappearing from shul as regular attendees or others, who begrudgingly attend, feeling uninspired and irrelevant.

To move forward we need to stop waiting for the blessing of a particular rabbi, and stop bowing to their criticism on this matter. I cannot enter the legal debate on partnership minyanim, which is taking place in blogs, in newspapers, and from synagogue pulpits. The issues extend from kol isha, modesty, obligation vs. no obligation, kavod haTzibur and kavod haBeriot, to the rulings on what is halakhically forbidden and what is permissible. I choose to abide by the rabbinic charge to “Make for yourself a rabbi and acquire for yourself a friend” (Pirkei Avot). Well-respected rabbis such as Daniel Sperber, David Hartman, z”l, Zev Farber, and many more who were ordained at Orthodox institutions support this paradigm. All of these men qualify as good choices when making for oneself a rabbi. In fact, I have prayed at partnership minyanim with many rabbis ordained by both Yeshiva University and Yeshivat Chovevei Torah. As is always the case, there is a long list of others who oppose, who forbid, who say no; rabbis who weigh in with stringency on this issue, deciding law about women without really involving or consulting with the women over whom they exert control. It is frustrating to note that all the rabbis who weigh in with stringency on this issue are deciding law about women without really involving the women over whom they exert control. Our tradition has always valued these kinds of debates for the sake of heaven, and the minority opinion is not necessarily wrong.

It is a moving experience to pray with hundreds of people at Shira Hadasha in Jerusalem, Darchei Noam in Modi’in, Darkhei Noam in New York City, and even with the dozens at the small start-up minyan in Stamford, Connecticut. These minyanim maximize the participation of women within the framework of halakha, and in fact, maximize the participation of the men, as well. Those who attend are committed and observant Jews, passionate about halakha, meaningful, participatory prayer, and ritual observance. Partnership minyanim are growing, which one can see on the list that JOFA has published listing over 20 in North America and beyond. While the debate rages in print, people are voting with their presence. Let’s remember that Sarah Schenirer started her movement for Torah study for women with fewer than 20 girls in 1917. In just 20 years, that number grew to over 25,000. I have no doubt that she initially faced criticism in an uphill battle. The attacks on partnership minyan and its credibility reflect more on the emotional threat these minyanim pose rather than the halakhic issues. We know that traditional Judaism experiences much fear and anxiety when faced with a new model that it perceives as a threat or as being inauthentic. When Hassidism was emerging, it was widely condemned and criticized by great scholars, such as the Vilna Gaon. He could not or did not want to imagine the kind of future that Hassidut has come to realize. Similarly, these minyanim are viewed as a threat as they represent a shift in the existing power structure of institutional synagogues and in addition, openly reveal women as deeply spiritual, scholarly, and religiously passionate. In reality, they do not represent a threat or real change at all; partnership minyanim and broadening roles for women within traditional synagogues is not a call for equality or egalitarianism. It is a call for increased choices and greater accessibility, as is currently provided by teen minyanim, Sephardic minyanim and women’s tefillah groups. It is a call for halakhic and spiritual justice.

We’ve come a long way. We can’t be discouraged by the rabbis who won’t catch the ball. There is too much at stake for the Jewish people. As the Midrash stated, “If it were not for the righteous women (in Egypt), we would never have been redeemed.” The same is true for us and future generations.

[1] “As If Things Weren’t Bad Enough”, April 8, 1972,
available from http://brussels.mc.yu.edu/gsdl/collect/lammserm/index/assoc/HASH5498.dir/doc.pdf
[2] Yeshayahu Liebowitz, Judaism, Human Values and the Jewish State, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995), p.128.
[3] Sarah Schenirer was the founder of the Bais Yakov schools for girls.
[4] April 18, 2013, available from
http://blogs.forward.com/forward-thinking/175051/a-woman-among-the-chief-rabbis/
[5] For an exploration of sources see A Daughter’s Recitation of Mourner’s Kaddish, (NY: JOFA, 2011).