National Scholar Updates

Nineteenth century Livorno was home to a unique thinker whose life work centered on unity. Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh (1822-1900), whose parents were natives of Fez, Morocco, was orphaned at an early age. His guardians saw to it that this precocious child received a well-rounded education in Jewish and general subjects. Although as a young man he entered a business career, his real love was for religious and scientific thought. He went on to devote himself to a life of learning and communal leadership, including his tenure as professor of theology in Livorno’s rabbinical school. He published works in Hebrew, Italian and French.

R. Benamozegh was deeply steeped in Jewish sacred texts; he was also a scholar who sought wisdom in the general world of scholarship—history, archeology, theology, science. His commentary on the Torah, Em leMikra, drew on sources well beyond the classic rabbinic cannon. He incurred the ire of prominent traditionalist rabbis who declared his work to be heretical. R. Benamozegh wrote a humble reply to his critics, defending his piety and loyalty to Jewish religious tradition. Truth (with a capital T) is not confined to only one tradition. If we are to serve God and seek God’s unity, we must open our minds to wisdom and insights from many sources.

Although he was a modern, scientifically-inclined scholar, he was an ardent devotee of Kabbala, Jewish mysticism. While traditionalists blasted his modernity, modern scholars sharply criticized his devotion to Kabbala. How could an enlightened, rational thinker give credence to the esoteric, non-rational corpus of religious mysticism?

R. Benamozegh was—and still remains—an enigma to many. He was a traditional rabbi…with a mind open to the untraditional. He was a rational, modern thinker…who fully embraced the truths of Kabbala. He was devoted to Jewish particularism…while fostering a remarkably universalistic worldview. To some, his views are eclectic, eccentric, and even self-contradictory. But, in fact, he thirsted for the ultimate unity, the primordial Aleph of reality. He would not be constrained or confined by artificial intellectual categories. The ultimate unity could only be sought through all the available avenues of human thought.

In the introduction to his book, Israel and Humanity, Rabbi Benamozegh states his concern bluntly:  “Everyone agrees that we are in the midst of a great religious crisis. This reveals itself in three ways. The conflict between religion and science is in an acute state, and therefore occupies us the most; but to this must be added the antagonism among religions themselves; and the evolutionary changes which are occurring simultaneously at the heart of each religion” (Israel and Humanity, p. 39).

As to the perceived conflict between religion and science, R. Benamozegh makes it clear that these two areas are actually in harmony. Both express truths that lead to a fuller understanding of God and His creations. “Everyone who is deeply concerned with the future of mankind dreams of a religious life which fully respects both the needs of faith and the essential principles of modern reason” (Idid., p. 49). Sophisticated moderns will not succumb to a religious worldview that is riddled with superstition and obscurantism. On the contrary, religionists must view scientific advances as positive steps in the human quest for God.

The various religions all found themselves in confrontation with science and the scientific method. Yet, instead of forming a unified front against excessive rationalism and secularization, religions were busy fighting against one another. The major Western/Middle Eastern religions—Christianity and Islam—presented themselves as the sole purveyors of Truth. They disdained their older ancestor—Judaism. But for R. Benamozegh, Judaism was the most universal of religions, the only religion with a realistic message for all humanity.

          In his book, Jewish and Christian Ethics, he noted that Judaism encompassed two factors: the national (mediniyut) and the ethical (mussar). Jewish ethics is grounded in practical reality. It is not ethereal or over-idealized but is based on the considerations of a real nation. In contrast, Christian ethics is not applicable to national life in the same way. Christians speak of humility, suffering, compassion, and other such concepts in unrealistic ways. Which nation on earth would allow itself to be attacked and not defend itself or strike back? Which nation would forgive debts or ignore insults and cruelties committed against its people? Christianity cannot adequately satisfy the natural human need and attachment for a homeland. On the other hand, Judaism is realistic in linking ethical teachings to national and practical concerns. Religion and nationality cannot be separated.

            In his elaboration of the Jewish ethical tradition, Rabbi Benamozegh stressed the universalism of Judaism. The Torah described humanity as deriving from common ancestors, Adam and Eve. Humanity has a common destiny—the messianic time. Jewish ethics shows respect for non-Jews and does not preclude them from God’s love and salvation. Judaism’s goal is not to punish the wicked but to bring them back to righteousness. Since Jewish faith is necessarily contingent on the performance of practical works, it provides the most realistic framework for the creation of an ethical society.

     In his view, only Judaism relates to all humanity, not merely to its own group of believers. Rabbinic tradition teaches that Noah and his descendants were given seven basic categories of law, and that "Noahides" fulfill their religious obligations through these Noahide laws. The Talmud (Yevamot 47a) states: "Our sages have said that seven commandments have been prescribed for the Sons of Noah: the first requires them to have judges; the other six forbid sacrilege, idolatry, incest, homicide, theft, and the consumption of a limb taken from a living animal.” While Jews are obligated to observe all the commandments of the Torah due to their covenant with God, non-Jews are bound by a divine covenant through the specific commandments given to them as Noahides.

          Because non-Jews have access to God through the Noahide covenant, they are under no obligation to convert to Judaism in order to be "saved".   "The authentic spirit of Judaism appears unambiguously when we find it affirming that there exist just men among the Gentiles, men loved by God, whose merits are responsible for the prosperity of the nations" (Israel and Humanity, p. 349). Those non-Jews who wish to convert to Judaism are welcome--but Jews have generally avoided active proselytization, since non-Jews do not have to become Jewish in order to serve God properly. They need only adhere to the seven Noahide laws (and their derivatives), thereby living morally upright lives. Judaism presents a religious message for humanity. It does not demand or expect that everyone convert to Judaism. It respects non-Jews' spiritual integrity, and offers a religious worldview which is remarkably universal and humane.  It only asks that all human beings--Jewish and non-Jewish--conduct their lives on a high moral level, based on recognition of One God who loves all humanity.

          Maimonides (Hilkhot Shemitah veYovel 13:13) underscored the universal vision of Judaism: Not only the tribe of Levi but every single individual from among the world's inhabitants could rise to the highest spiritual levels and could become "totally consecrated, and God will be his portion and inheritance forever and ever."

          Rabbi Benamozegh noted the irony: Christianity and Islam are considered to be universal religions; and yet they have historically been quite intolerant of those not adhering to their particular religion. They engaged in forced conversion of "infidels," crusades, and religious wars in order to force others to accept their creeds. They have taught that only their religious adherents fulfill God's will and can share in the blessings of the world-to-come. Judaism, which is often (unfairly) portrayed as being parochial and particularistic, actually is the most universal religion--it teaches that God blesses all righteous people, that the world-to-come is available to all good people whether Jewish or non-Jewish.

          God's covenant with humanity--the Noahide laws--create the foundation for a world governed by justice and morality.  Humanity still has a very long way to go to fulfill this covenant properly.

          Rabbi Benamozegh’s religious vision attracted the interest of a profound Catholic thinker, Aime Palliere, who expressed an interest in converting to Judaism. But R. Benamozegh guided him in the direction of being a righteous Noahide. “This is the path which lies open before your efforts, before mine as well, to spread the knowledge [of Noahism], as it is my duty to do. And it lies open to the efforts of any one, whosoever believes in Revelation, without necessarily adhering to Mosaism…” (The Unknown Sanctuary, p. 135).

            Rabbi Benamozegh called on Aime Palliere to become a spokesman of the universal Noahide religion. “If you come to convince yourself of it, you will be much more precious to Israel than if you submit to the Law of Israel. You will be the instrument of the Providence of God to humanity (Ibid., p. 137). For R. Benamozegh, Israel serves as the priesthood for humanity; Jews are commanded to bring God’s word to all humanity just as priests are to be religious guides to their flocks. If a non-Jew truly wishes to join the “priesthood” of Israel, conversion is available. But Jews do not have a monopoly on truth or on God’s love.

            Recognizing that Palliere was raised as a believing Catholic, R. Benamozegh informed him that he need not renounce Jesus in order to be a proper Noahide. “Let us understand one another well: on condition that you see in Jesus only a just man, a prophet, only a man, however lofty you may wish to imagine him. And it will be the easier for you to reconcile this with conceptions of Judaism which you well know were in the teachings of Jesus most sympathetic to the conservation of Mosaism. And who can tell if you are not destined to become the bond of union between Christianity and Judaism?” (Ibid., p. 161).

            Palliere concludes his book with a fundamental teaching of Rabbi Benamozegh:  “Mankind cannot rise to the essential principles on which society must rest unless it meet with Israel. And Israel cannot fathom the deeps of its own national and religious tradition, unless it meet with mankind” (Ibid., p. 243).

                                                                *      *     *

            I began serving Congregation Shearith Israel in New York in 1969, while I was still a rabbinical student at Yeshiva University’s rabbinic seminary. I was ordained a year later. Along with my rabbinic studies, I was working toward a PhD degree in Jewish history and a Master’s degree in English literature.

            While I contemplated a lifetime of service as an Orthodox rabbi, I was seeking an Orthodoxy that was faithful to tradition, that was intellectually challenging, inclusive…universalistic. I found some role models among my teachers; but I also felt that Orthodoxy was growing increasingly narrow, stilted…functioning almost like a sect rather than as a world religion. I experienced a certain spiritual restlessness.

            The clergy of Shearith Israel used to don their clerical robes in a room that had been the office of Rabbi David de Sola Pool. The office was lined with bookcases filled with an assortment of volumes. One that caught my eye was a Hebrew book entitled Bishvilei Musar (In Ethical Paths). I opened it and found that it was a translation by Simon Marcus of a book by Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh, Jewish and Christian Ethics. I had never heard of Rabbi Benamozegh; I borrowed the volume and studied it carefully during the course of the coming months. I quickly realized that Rabbi Benamozegh was a profound thinker with a grand religious worldview. He was just the intellectual figure I needed at that point in my life…a staunchly traditional Orthodox Jew who viewed Judaism as a world religion with a message for all of humanity. As I later studied more of his writings, I came to see him as an Aleph…a thinker who sought—and perceived—an ultimate unity, and who opened one’s mind to a quest for Truth.

References:

Israel and Humanity, trans. Maxwell Luria, Paulist Press, New York, 1995.

Jewish and Christian Ethics, The Perfect Library (no date and no place of publication)

Aime Palliere, The Unknown Sanctuary, Bloch Publishing Company, New York, 1930.

In the early 1970s, shortly after I had begun my rabbinical service to Congregation Shearith Israel, the historic Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of New York City, I attended a shiur, a lecture, at Yeshiva University given by the recently elected Rishon leZion, Rabbi Ovadya Yosef. As a young Sephardic rabbi, I was eager to hear the words of this prominent and erudite Sephardic rabbinic leader. The message of that shiur made a great impression on me and has remained with me to this day.

Rabbi Yosef, drawing on a passage from the Hidah (Rabbi Hayyim Yosef David Azulai), suggested a distinction between the Ashkenazic and Sephardic approaches to halakha. Historically, the Hidah noted, the Ashkenazim tended toward the quality of “gevurah,” strength. They viewed halakhic stringencies as a positive expression of love of God. The stricter the demands of halakha, the more self-sacrifice and heroism were entailed in fulfilling the commandments. In contrast, the Sephardim tended toward the quality of “hessed,” compassion. They viewed halakha as a loving means of serving God. Whereas Ashkenazim veered toward halakhic stringency, Sephardim tilted toward halakhic leniency. As Rabbi Yosef said: “The Sephardic rabbis are of the school of Hillel, tending toward hessed, and they do not have stringencies; they walk on the ‘king’s highway.’ However, Ashkenazic rabbis tend toward gevurah, and are from the school of Shammai who were strict.” Rabbi Yosef assured his audience that he himself was of the school of Hillel, and wished that “the Ashkenazim would be in order as we are.”[i]

Rabbi Yosef’s description of Sephardic and Ashkenazic halakhic attitudes was surely stereotypical. Throughout the ages, Ashkenazic sages could be counted among those who ruled leniently; and Sephardic sages could be included among those who favored stringencies. Still, the generalized view of Rabbi Yosef is important because it sheds light on how Sephardic sages (and Ashkenazic sages) viewed themselves and their roles. If a rabbi saw himself as part of a tradition that had a particular halakhic tendency, he was more likely to adopt that tendency himself. Rabbis whose tradition stressed a gevurah approach would consciously or unconsciously tilt toward stringent rulings and interpretations; rabbis whose tradition placed a premium on hessed would consciously or unconsciously tilt toward lenient rulings and interpretations.

Justice Benjamin Nathan Cardozo, in a lecture he delivered at Yale University, observed that no judge can be entirely objective and impartial. He said,

There is in each of us a stream of tendency, whether you choose to call it philosophy or not, which gives coherence and direction to thought and action. Judges cannot escape that current any more than other mortals. All their lives, forces which they do not recognize and cannot name, have been tugging at them—inherited instincts, traditional beliefs, acquired convictions; and the resultant is an outlook on life, a conception of social needs…which, when reasons are nicely balanced, must determine where choice shall fall….We may try to see things as objectively as we please. None the less, we can never see them with any eyes except our own.[ii]

Part of the “stream of tendency” within the Sephardic rabbinic tradition is the emphasis on hessed. Sephardic rabbis and laity alike have the general feeling that the Sephardic tradition is compassionate, tolerant, and sympathetic to the human predicament. This self-image serves as a self-fulfilling prophecy; because we have this view of our tradition, this leads us to conduct ourselves and make decisions staying true to this idealized self-image. When Rabbi Ovadya Yosef, echoing earlier generations of Sephardic sages, stated that Sephardim are followers of the school of Hillel, then the new generations of Sephardic rabbis absorb this attitude from the very civilization of which they are part. They see themselves as agents of hessed—and thus they internalize the value of hessed in their views on life and law.

I pondered the words of Rabbi Yosef in the context of my own upbringing in the Sephardic community of Seattle, Washington, among Jews of Judeo-Spanish background. It seemed eminently true to me that the Sephardic approach to religion and life was characterized by hessed, optimism, and a spirit of inclusiveness and hospitality. This is what I learned from my parents and grandparents; this is what I learned from my elders and my rabbis.

After hearing Rabbi Yosef’s shiur, I decided to move beyond personal reminiscences and to try to address this issue in a more objective, scholarly fashion. I wrote an article for Midstream Magazine (August/September, 1975) entitled “A Sephardic Approach to Halakhah,” in which I drew on the comments by Rabbi Yosef and on responsa by a number of Sephardic sages. I noted:

The Sephardic approach to halakhah stressed the idea that the law is a practical guide to human behavior. It is not an ivory tower subject, not a metaphysical system, not the preserve of an intellectual elite….Since Sephardic scholars studied texts with the goal of applying their rules directly to actual situations, they had to remain sensitive to the needs of people. This very sensitivity kept the quality of hessed alive.[iii]

As I continued my studies on this topic—especially through the writings of Rabbis Eliyahu Hazan, Benzion Uziel, and Haim David Halevy—I conceived of two ways for a rabbi to answer a halakhic question.[iv] In one scenario, the rabbi hears the question and then goes to his library of halakhic volumes to do research and to seek an answer. In the other scenario, the rabbi hears the question and then looks carefully into the eyes of the person who has asked the question. What is this person’s situation? How will the rabbi’s answer impact on his/her life? What are the broader ramifications of the answer on his/her family and community? In the first case, the rabbi views a halakhic question as an abstract search for truth; the books have the answer. In the second case, the rabbi views a halakhic question in the context of the questioner’s life, and only then goes to his halakhic tomes. The sages who are my models of halakhic integrity and hessed would, I imagine, first look into the eyes of the questioners, and only then consult the halakhic books.

In this essay, I elaborate on models of Sephardic rabbinic leadership—models that have so much to say to contemporary rabbis and laypeople of all backgrounds. This is not an “ethnic study,” but an exploration of a vital aspect of Jewish religious life relevant to the entire Jewish people. I draw on my own observations as a Sephardic rabbi with over 41 years of experience, as well as on what I have learned from my years of research and writing in the field.

The late Professor Meir Benayahu published a book on the nature of the rabbinate in the Sephardic world.[v] He listed various titles by which Sephardic rabbis were known, and described the rabbinic functions and responsibilities.

One of the rabbinic titles was Marbitz Torah—a disseminator of Torah. The rabbi was expected to be thoroughly steeped in rabbinic literature, to be competent to serve as a decisor of halakhic questions, to serve on the local rabbinical court (Bet Din), to be responsible for matters relating to kashruth, mikvah, eruv, and so forth. He was expected to teach Torah to the community and to oversee the community’s education system. The function of rabbi as Marbitz Torah was well-described by Rabbi Benzion Uziel:

Every Jewish community is obligated to appoint a distinguished rabbi, an expert in legal opinions and rulings, to teach them the law of the Torah in all questions of what is forbidden and permitted, impure and pure, right and wrong; to teach them the ways of Torah and mitzvah, kindness and generosity in their personal and communal lives; to bring them closer to Torah and to the love of God, His Torah, the people and land of Israel; and to dedicate himself body and soul to all the spiritual possessions of the people, so that the name of Heaven and the name of Israel will be sanctified by his work; to unify the entire community and to gather them together for Torah study and prayer in the synagogue and study hall; and to work with the public on behalf of all communal needs and charitable institutions.[vi]

Another title applied to Sephardic rabbis was “Hakham.” A Hakham was certainly expected to be learned in the sacred texts of Judaism—but the title implies more than mere erudition. It implies wisdom. The Hakham was a wise man who had keen insight into human psychology; he could draw on the Bible, Talmud, Midrash, Kabbalah, and Mussar literature, but he also had the innate sense to know how to apply these texts to real-life situations. He had a rational bent and a mystical bent; he was aware of the larger problems and issues confronting his society. People knew they could turn to the Hakham for proper guidance, for counseling on matters of deep concern.

Sephardic rabbis were also known as “Haver haIr,” literally, “friend of the city.” While “haver” has the talmudic connotation of someone known for punctiliousness in the laws of ritual purity and impurity, the word also reflects the popular usage—a friend. The rabbi was not to be an aloof scholar, but a person of the people and with the people. His life was bound up with the lives of his community. In a very real and direct sense, the rabbi was a friend to his community; he cared for them, looked out for their wellbeing, and identified with their needs and aspirations.

In 1968, when I was still a rabbinical student, my wife and I travelled to Europe and Israel. One of our stops was Istanbul. We had the honor of spending Shabbat with Rabbi Nissim Behar, one of the community’s outstanding rabbinic personalities. Rabbi Behar, although earning his living in business, devoted numerous hours to teaching young and old. He wrote books in Ladino, presenting the teachings, laws and customs of Judaism in a language that was accessible to his community. He taught young men who aspired to become learned in Torah, some of whom went on to become rabbis in their own rights.

Rabbi Behar asked my wife and me to accompany him on Friday as he shopped for Shabbat groceries. He stopped at one produce stand and bought some potatoes and onions. He stopped at another shop to buy apples and pears. He stopped yet again at another little market to buy tomatoes and cucumbers. I asked him, “Why are you stopping at so many stores? You could have bought all these things at the first place and saved a lot of time and trouble?” Rabbi Behar looked at me kindly and replied, “All these merchants are members of our community. They all need parnasah (income). They all need to know that the rabbi supports their work.” Rabbi Nissim Behar was not just a “Marbitz Torah,” and not merely a “Hakham;” he was a “Haver haIr,” a friend, a person who genuinely cared about his community members. He worried not only about their spiritual needs, but also about their material well-being.

As a young rabbi, I learned much from my teacher Haham Solomon Gaon, with whom I studied at Yeshiva University, and to whom I turned for guidance for many years thereafter. I once complained to Haham Gaon that I was called upon by various organizations and committees to attend their events and meetings. I felt I should be exempt from these communal responsibilities, so that I could devote more time to my studies. I thought the Haham would support my request. Instead, he gently rebuked me. He said: the people who devote their time and effort on behalf of the community need to know that the rabbi is with them. They need to see the rabbi, to hear the rabbi’s suggestions, to know that the rabbi appreciates and participates in their work. Yes, you need time to study; but you also need to devote time to working with members of the community. Haham Gaon, like Rabbi Behar, was a Haver haIr, a friend of the community.

Rabbi Behar and Haham Gaon were living examples of a Sephardic rabbinic tradition that placed high value on the rabbi’s role as a participant in the life of the community. Rabbi Eliyahu Zini of Haifa wrote an important article in which he lamented the gradual disappearance of this kind of rabbinic model. He referred to his grandfather, who had been a rabbi in various Sephardic communities, who would “visit each Jew of the community in his place of work, in order to become familiar with his problems and needs, and to guide him accordingly.”[vii] Rabbi Zini pointed out that many Sephardic rabbis earned their livings in businesses and trades, and did not rely on the rabbinate for their incomes. When rabbis are engaged in business, or when they at least become familiar with the business lives of the members of their community, they have a better grasp of reality than those rabbis who spend their days in the study hall. They are better able to reflect hessed in their halakhic rulings, in their interpersonal relationships, in their outlook on life.[viii] Rabbi Zini noted that the contemporary trend in the “yeshiva world” idealizes the rabbinic scholar who studies Torah day and night, who is provided sustenance from charity rather than from his own labor. Such rabbis are disconnected from the “real world” and from the general public. They may become learned in the ancient texts, but they do not naturally achieve the insights of a Hakham or the loving-kindness of a Haver haIr. When Torah is divorced from life, it becomes an artificial construct relevant only to self-selected scholars who function within a narrow, self-contained society of their own.

Whereas Sephardic models of rabbinic leadership stressed involvement in all aspects of the life of the community, non-Sephardic models have often followed a different track. In some circles, it was considered to be beneath the rabbi’s dignity to engage in business, to spend time on the nitty-gritty details of communal life. Rather, the rabbi was supposed to devote himself to Torah study, and to be above the fray of public life. Dr. Isidore Epstein reflects this attitude in his description of the role of rabbi in fourteenth-century Algeria. Dr. Epstein noted that the rabbis had multifarious functions, and this fact testifies

to the low standard of Jewish culture of North African Jewry. In adverting to Jewish past and present day history, we cannot fail to notice that wherever there is a strong, virile, and advanced Jewish life, there the tendency is to keep the rabbinical office distinct from other callings; and the combination of rabbinical charges with other functions is a sign of decadence and of lack of appreciation of learning as such.[ix]

Dr. Epstein thought it was a sign of spiritual decadence if the rabbi had to function as a school teacher, ritual slaughterer, and leader of prayers, and that such a rabbi suffered from “a consequent lowering in his prestige and rabbinical authority.”

Yet, viewed from a different perspective, Dr. Epstein’s comments might be paraphrased in an entirely different manner. The rabbis of North Africa were not an insulated, isolated elite who dwelled in ivory towers. Rather, they were involved in all facets of their community’s life, and therefore were close to the people and their needs. A virtue of these rabbis was that they were not aloof from the people, but they were the ones who taught school, who prepared kasher meat, who led the synagogue prayers and read the Torah portions to the public. It is no shame to be in the model of Haver haIr; on the contrary, this model helps the rabbi attain the qualities of Hakham and Marbitz Torah on a more profound level.

In recent years, the classic nature of Sephardic rabbinic leadership has lost much of its historic luster. For a variety of sociological and psychological reasons, there has been a sea change in Orthodox rabbinic leadership in general—and an even more profound change in Sephardic rabbinic leadership. The upsurge in the influence of extreme Hareidi religious authorities has dragged much of Orthodoxy “to the right.” The so-called Modern Orthodox or Religious Zionist rabbis have all but ceded total authority to the Hareidi rabbinate in almost every area of religious life. Modern Orthodox/Religious Zionist rabbinic figures have increasingly adopted Hareidi halakhic positions, styles of leadership—even Hareidi styles of dress. Israel’s Chief Rabbinate, long a bastion of Religious Zionism, has become “hareidized” to a significant extent, and no longer can be said to represent a Modern Orthodox/Religious Zionist agenda. On the contrary, it constantly seems to seek approval from the Hareidi world, rather than strengthening and promoting its Religious Zionist base.

The Sephardic rabbinic world has been strongly affected by the general shift to the right. Indeed, many (most?) Sephardic rabbis have been trained in Ashkenazic yeshivot; have adopted Ashkenazic modes of Torah study and halakhic decision-making, and even have adopted Ashkenazic garb. They have moved more and more away from “hessed” and more and more toward “gevurah.” They have come to stress the rabbinic role of Marbitz Torah, and to under-appreciate the roles of Hakham and Haver haIr.

Over the years, many Sephardic rabbis from Israel have visited my community in New York in order to raise funds for their institutions. Often, these rabbis have come dressed in long black coats and black hats, in the Ashkenazic Hareidi style. When I have asked them about their garb, invariably they have responded: we wear these clothes because this is the uniform of rabbinic scholars; if we dressed differently, we wouldn’t be taken seriously. In the early 1990s, I met with the Sephardic Chief Rabbi Mordecai Eliyahu, and I asked him why the Sephardic rabbis in Israel tend to dress in the Ashkenazic style. He smiled benevolently, and said that this was the generally accepted mode of dress for rabbis. When I urged him to raise his voice on this issue and to encourage Sephardic rabbis not to capitulate to Ashkenazic fashion dictates, he indicated that the battle was already lost and it would be a waste of time to try to fight the status quo.

The Sephardic adoption of external Hareidi garb is a reflection of the adoption of Hareidi attitudes as well. This includes the glorification of the “Kollel” system, where students receive stipends to study Torah day and night rather than find gainful employment; where they receive little or no general education outside of Torah study; where they avoid military service in Israel; where they become isolated from the life and concerns of the general public. I have been visited by Israeli Sephardic rabbis who have wanted donations to their Hareidi-type yeshivot, including one who asked for money for his “Sefardishe Koylel.”

Rabbi Ovadya Yosef, although surely still a representative of the hessed tradition of Sephardic sages in matters of halakha, became a political figure with the establishment of the Shas party in Israel. Political life often entails getting one’s hands dirty with compromises, with back-room maneuvering and negotiating. In order to gain positions of power and government funding for the institutions of Shas, trade-offs had to be made. These political dealings have tended to tarnish Rabbi Yosef’s reputation among segments of the population who have come to view him as another political hack fighting for his own piece of the political pie. Moreover, he has made many public statements reflecting a very narrow worldview, for example, that women’s place is in the kitchen; that Israeli soldiers died in Lebanon because of sins; that non-Jews were created to serve Jews, and so forth. He has promoted an educational approach that stresses Torah study and the Kollel system, rather than an educational system that seriously teaches general subjects and trains students for future university study and and/or gainful employment.

Rabbi Yosef’s example has been followed by many Sephardic rabbis in Israel and the Diaspora. Sephardic Hareidim, no less than Ashkenazic Hareidim, have promoted an obscurantist, authoritarian, and fundamentalist view of religion.

Some popular Sephardic rabbis have taken on the roles of wonder workers—ready to write magical amulets, to bless water or whiskey with healing powers, to recite kabbalistic incantations for the benefit of those who patronize them. They have promoted a folk religion steeped in superstition. While attracting a following among some elements of the population, they have repelled thinking, rational Jews, and have alienated the educated classes from religion.

At a time when the Jewish people in Israel and the Diaspora desperately need intellectually sophisticated rabbinic leadership, the current trends in Orthodox—Ashkenazic and Sephardic—rabbinic circles are moving in the wrong direction. While stressing the role of Marbitz Torah, the roles of Hakham and Haver haIr have been downplayed—much to the detriment of the rabbinate and the spiritual health of the Jewish people. Rabbis have increasingly tilted toward gevurah instead of hessed; stringency in Jewish law has become fashionable even among Sephardic rabbis. Instead of Hakhamim and Havrei haIr who feel close to the people, and who strive to understand the real world in which people live, modern-day rabbis have grown more distant from the general public outside their own immediate group of followers and their financial supporters (whether or not these wealthy people are religious themselves). They seem to feel that they have the Truth, and they sense little affection or responsibility for those who do not share this Truth. They preach a midrashic/kabbalistic/authoritarian brand of religion that appeals to those satisfied with a simplistic religious worldview—but that alienates thinking, independent, and educated Jews. They are raising a generation of intellectual sheep, fostering a religious way of life that is divorced from the greater needs of society. They are encouraging a way of life that leads young men to study in a Kollel rather than to earn a livelihood in the market place, and are sheltering students from serving in the Israeli military. They limit intellectual and social options for women by insisting on the narrowest interpretations of Jewish law and custom. They create a Judaism that is more like a sect than a world religion.

To change the deficiencies in the status quo of Sephardic rabbinic leadership, the community as a whole needs to take action and responsibility. We need to support and encourage those rabbis who personify the best in our tradition, rabbis who fulfill the roles of Marbitz Torah, Hakham and Haver haIr. We need to give strength to those rabbis who stand for hessed, rather than gevurah; who devote themselves to the well-being of their communities in a loving and inclusive manner; who espouse an intellectually vibrant and compassionate Judaism. We ought not support those rabbis and institutions which seek to “hareidize” the Sephardic community, nor ought we donate our funds or lend credibility to wonder-working rabbis who foster a pseudo-kabbalistic, superstition-prone brand of religion. Are we up to this historic responsibility, or will we allow ourselves and our coming generations to continue the slide into an obscurantist, authoritarian, superstition-ridden Judaism?

When I was a young rabbi, I believed that the classic models of Sephardic rabbinic leadership provided a responsible and meaningful example for all of world Jewry. Nearly fifty years later, I still believe this to be true. In spite of all the negative signs that abound, I still believe this to be true.

[i] Rabbi Yosef’s words, which were later published in the Hebrew journal, BaMa’arakha, Adar I, 5733, are quoted by Rabbi Binyamin Lau, Hakhamim, vol. 1, Beit Morasha, Jerusalem, 2007, p. 196.

[ii] Benjamin Nathan Cardozo,The Nature of the Judicial Process, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1921, pp. 12–13.

[iii] Ibid., p. 68

[iv] I have written about a Sephardic approach to halakha and life in my books, The Rhythms of Jewish Living: A Sephardic Approach, Sepher-Hermon Press, New York, 1986; Voices in Exile: A Study in Sephardic Intellectual History, Ktav Publishing House, Hoboken, 1991; Loving Truth and Peace: The Grand Religious Worldview of Rabbi Benzion Uziel, Jason Aronson, Northvale, 1999; Rabbi Haim David Halevy: Gentle Scholar and Courageous Thinker, Urim Publications, Jerusalem, 2006; and Foundations of Sephardic Spirituality: The Inner Life of Jews of the Ottoman Empire, Jewish Lights, Woodstock, 2006. On Rabbi Eliyahu Hazan and other Sephardic sages, see Norman A. Stillman, Sephardi Religious Responses to Modernity, University of Oklahoma Press, 1995; and Zvi Zohar, He’iru Penei haMizrah, HaKibbutz HaMeuchad, Israel, 2001.

[v] Meir Benayahu, Marbitz Torah, Jerusalem, 1953. Although I refer to rabbinic titles cited by Prof. Benayahu, the elaborations in this essay are my own.

[vi] Benzion Uziel, Shaarei Uziel, vol. 1, Jerusalem, 5751, pp. 51–52. See also my book on Rabbi Uziel, chapter 4.

[vii] Eliyahu Zini, “Kera’ beAhdut,” in Yehuda Shaviv, ed., Mamlekhet Kohanim veGoy Kaddosh, Jerusalem, 5749, p. 72.

[viii] Rabbi Haim Amsalem wrote an important monograph, Gadol haNehene miYegio, Jerusalem, 5770, in which he cites numerous rabbinic sources lauding the virtue of working for a living. Rabbi Amsalem opposes the Kollel system, which encourages men to study Torah day and night, and not earn their livelihoods through work in the marketplace. Although some especially gifted students might be maintained in the Kollelim, the majority of the students should be encouraged to find gainful employment. Because of this “radical” position, Rabbi Amsalem has been vilified by the Hareidi world, Sephardic and Ashkenazic!

[ix] Isidore Epstein, The Responsa of Rabbi Simon b. Zemah Duran as a Source of the History of the Jews in North Africa, Hermon Press, New York, 1968, pp. 58–59.

(This article originally appeared in “Sephardica: Hommage a Haim Vidal Sephiha,” Peter Lang Publishers, Berne, 1996.)

Professor Sephiha has made monumental contributions to the study of Judeo-Spanish civilization. It is a pleasure to dedicate this essay to him, in recognition of his singular accomplishments.

When thinking about Judeo-Spanish culture, many people naturally tend to focus on the folk elements. Indeed, the Judeo-Spanish tradition is rich in folk traditions, as manifested in proverbs, stories, songs, and customs.

Folk tradition, by definition, is the domain of the common people. It reflects their wit and wisdom, their way of comprehending life. But along with the folk culture, the Sephardim maintained a vital intellectual life. An intellectual elite produced a sophisticated literature which reflected the best thinking of the best educated members of the community. In order to understand Sephardic culture, one must be attuned to the contributions both of the folk and of the elite.

The folk wisdom and the intellectual wisdom of the Sephardim derive from the same roots. While differing in expression, they articulate many similar ideas. A culture is a living organism. It is to be expected that all who are part of it - whether tending more to the folk or to the intellectuals – will share in the culture's general worldview.

In this essay, I will consider three themes in Sephardic culture, seeing how they reflect themselves in the folk wisdom and intellectual wisdom of our people.

1. Inwardness

A dominant feature in Sephardic culture is the respect for inwardness. A strong inner life is expected to develop self-confidence and self-respect; these lead to self-reliance. On the folk level, this value expresses itself in a number of proverbs:

"Consejo de tu companiero toma y el de tu corason non dexes. " (Take the advice of your companion—but do not leave behind that of your heart.)

"Poco que sea, mio que sea." (Let it be small, but let it be mine.)

"El diamente briya, pero al fin y at cavo es una piedra. " (A diamond glitters, but ultimately it is only a rock.)

These popular sentiments found expression in the Me 'am Lo'ez, the classic Judeo-Spanish biblical anthology initiated by Rabbi Yaacov Huli. In recounting the story of Moses receiving the Ten Commandments, the Me 'am Lo 'ez cites a relevant rabbinic teaching. When Moses first received the Ten Commandments, he ascended Mount Sinai alone. The people of Israel were gathered around the mountain. The revelation was accompanied by thunder, lightning and the sound of the ram’s horn. This was a highly dramatic event. Yet, when Moses came down the mountain and found the Israelites dancing around the golden calf, he threw the tablets of the law from his hands, and they were shattered. Moses then ascended the mountain a second time. On this occasion, there was no public fanfare, no miraculous sounds and lights. God told Moses that he himself would have to carve out the stone on which the Ten Commandments were to be inscribed. This second set of the Ten Commandments, which Moses received alone and through his own labor, was preserved. The first tablets which were given with much dramatic flare were destroyed, while the second tablets, which were given privately and quietly, survived. From this, the Me 'am Lo 'ez teaches that the private exertions of an individual are greater and more effective than things done with much publicity and sensationalism. This lesson underscores the need for each person to have self-respect and self-reliance (Me 'am Lo'ez on Exodus 34: 1–3).

This idea also is developed in the teachings of Rabbi Yitzhak Luria of sixteenth century Safed. A central theme in his kabbalistic system was tikun 'correction'. Each Jew participates in the correction of the world by liberating sparks of holiness and lessening the forces of impurity. By performing the commandments of the Torah, Jews thus play a major role in preserving the cosmos. Regardless of one's degree of wealth or wisdom or social status, one is able to participate in the correction of the universe. This idea, widely adopted among Sephardim, inculcates a sense of self-worth and personal responsibility.[1]

Another element in the quality of inwardness is the awareness of holiness. Even simple and relatively uneducated Sephardim recognized the dimension of holiness in life. This very recognition has led to an inner spiritual humility, a sense of connection with the Eternal God.

On the folk level, this recognition of holiness was manifested in various ways. It was a wide-spread practice to read from the Zohar, the classic book of kabbalah. The Zohar was read with great devotion even by those who could not understand the words, nor even pronounce them correctly. Rabbi Hayyim Yosef David Azulai, a great 18^th century Sephardic sage, praised the value of reading the Zohar even by people who could not read it properly. The very reading of this holy text was a way of deepening a person's awareness of the holy (Azulai 1879: 6).

In many communities, it was customary to kiss the hand of the rabbi as a sign of respect. In turn, the rabbi would offer his blessing. This custom reflects respect for what the rabbi represents i.e. Torah, God, holiness. Reverence shown to the rabbi was symbolic of reverence felt toward all that is sacred in Judaism. The outward fulfillment of this custom inculcated an inward respect for holiness.

On the intellectual level, this thirst for holiness showed itself in a number of ways. The great scholars of halakha saw in their study a direct link between themselves and the will of God. Rabbi Yosef Karo, author of the classic Shulhan Arukh, reported receiving angelic messages, prodding him to utilize his talents to study and teach halakha.

Throughout the generations, Sephardic intellectuals produced significant works of Jewish ethics and moral guidance. Among the classic authors in this genre were such figures as Rabbis Eliezer Azicri, Eliyahu de Vidas, Hayyim Yosef David Azulai, Moshe Hayyim Luzzatto, Eliyahu ha-Cohen, and Eliezer Papo. A chief characteristic of this moral literature is its stress on spiritual inwardness.

Each person has the possibility of improving himself spiritually. One may not be able to control the world, or his society, or even his own family: but he does have the possibility of learning to control himself. The ethical literature emphasizes the need for each individual to be strong from within.

 One of the concepts in kabbalah and ethical literature is known as hitbodedut-- 'meditation'. This principle teaches that an individual must intellectually and spiritually isolate himself periodically, in order to focus completely on the ultimate truths. If the kabbalistic elite were able to master this practice, the masses were at least able to appreciate its value.

The folk wisdom and intellectual wisdom of the Sephardim were interrelated, each influencing the other, and both reflecting shared ideas and values.

2. Optimism, Joy in Life

The Sephardic spirit is generally optimistic, valuing the joy of life. On the

folk level, this shows itself in the many celebrations held among Sephardic families, for almost any occasion. These celebrations include a wonderful variety of foods, fragrances, songs, dances. The Sephardic aesthetic sense appreciates a variety of colors. Even in food presentation, Sephardim utilize many vegetables of different colors.

The Sephardic attitude is reflected in an incident which occurred in the latter part of the eighteenth century. An Ashkenazic rabbi, Simhah ben Joshua of Zalozhtsy, made a pilgrimage to Israel. Many Sephardic Jews were on the same ship with him. The trip took place during the month of Ellul, just prior to Rosh Hashanah. This, of course, is the month when Jews recite selihot, special prayers seeking repentance for our sins. The month of Ellul is devoted to serious thought, prayers, and acts of repentance. The Ashkenazic rabbi noted, apparently with surprise, that the pious Sephardim awoke each morning before daybreak in order to chant the selihot prayers. Yet, "during the day, they eat and rejoice and are happy at heart" (Eisenstein 1969: 241). Even during this relatively serious season, the religious Sephardic Jews maintained the spirit of optimism and celebration.

This attitude is also evident in the synagogue melodies for the High Holy Days. In general, the music is upbeat and optimistic. The services almost totally lack music which sounds melancholy or tearful.

This attitude of optimism is reflected in an important work by Rabbi Eliyahu ha-Cohen of eighteenth century Izmir. In his book, Midrash Talpiot, Rabbi ha-Cohen explains a Talmudic passage which lauds two jokesters who were said to have been granted eternal reward in the world to come. Rabbi haCohen wrote:

"Anyone who is happy all his days thereby indicates the greatness of his trust in God. This is why they (the jokesters) were always happy .... This quality (of accepting life with happiness) is enough to give a person merit to have a place in the world to come; for great is trust (in the Lord), even if a person is not perfect in all other moral perfections" (Ha-Cohen 1860: 73a).

3. Gracefulness, Good Manners

Many customs and practices underscore the importance of gracefulness and good manners. When a man is called to the Torah during synagogue services, his younger relatives stand in his honor. Youngsters kiss the hand of their parents and grandparents as a sign of respect. In return, they are given words of blessing. It is not polite for younger people to look directly into the eyes of older people. Rather, the younger person should keep his eyes lowered, as a sign of respect.

Among the women, it was common to have visitas, little social gatherings during the course of the week. The hostess would invite some of her relatives and friends. She would prepare a good variety of baked goods and other specialties, and would serve everything on her best set of dishes. The ladies would attend, dressed in their best clothes, as though they were going to a formal party, rather than to the home of a friend or relative.

My mother explained to us the custom that when the hostess wanted the guests to leave, she offered them a certain confection made of marzipan. In popular parlance, this confection was known as the passoporto and was a signal to the guests that the party was over. This was a polite and respectful way to deal with a difficult social situation.

On the intellectual level, the importance of good manners and gracefulness was emphasized in works of Jewish law and especially in works of Jewish ethical behavior. A classic sixteenth century work, Regimiento de La Vida by Rabbi Moshe Almosnino, gives specific rules of etiquette which must govern one's life. Good manners were not seen as a superficial frill, but as a basic component of proper living.

The Sephardic model was idealized among nineteenth century German Jewish intellectuals.[2] Moritz Kayserling asserted that the religious behavior of Sephardim

was always so pure, so free of all hypocrisy, remaining forever one and the same, far removed from all incursions of vapid rationalizing, because it emerged united with science, which in turn kept it from ever losing its way. We must constantly acknowledge the benefit that wherever Spanish and Portuguese Jews settled, they spread culture, knowledge and solid learning.

Eduard Gans believed that Sephardim "are marked by less discrepancy in morality, purer speech, greater order in the synagogue, and in fact better taste".

Indeed, as a general rule it can be stated that Sephardim did lay stress on aesthetic considerations and orderliness. They have always taken pride in the beauty of their synagogues. Even the simplest and poorest synagogues are maintained with devotion; they are neat, clean, and pleasing to behold.

Concern for etiquette and aesthetics reflects the deeper concern for self-respect and respect of others. And, of course, it reflects respect for God.

This general tendency underlies the notion that Jews must function as ethical human beings, models of excellence who can be emulated by others. This idea found full expression in the writings of Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh, one of the important Sephardic intellectuals of the nineteenth century. In one of his books, In Ethical Paths, Rabbi Benamozegh demonstrates the profundity of the Jewish ethical system. In his work, Israel and Humanity, he thoughtfully argues on behalf of the universalism of Judaism. The ultimate teachings of the Torah are relevant to all peoples, not only to the Jews.

Rabbi Benzion Uziel, in his various writings, also articulates the ethical teachings of Judaism. All human beings, whether Jewish or not, are created in the image of God, and are therefore entitled to respect and dignity. Jewish teachings imbue the Jewish people with a strong ethical sense, enabling them to inspire others similarly to strive to live their lives on a high ethical plane.

Another related idea is the Sephardic discomfort with ideological confrontations. The natural tendency has been to try to maintain harmony, peacefulness and balance.

Sephardim, whether belonging to the world of intellectuals or the world of the folk, have tended to see the Sephardic approach to life as being imbued with compassion and tolerance. Rabbi Michael Molho, in his study of the customs and practices of the Sephardim of Salonika, has noted that Sephardic religious life shuns extremism and showy displays of religious observance (Molho 1950: 155).

This Sephardic attitude led to the maintenance of cohesive, traditional communities. At a time when the Enlightenment and Emancipation were tearing the fabric of Jewish life in Europe, the Sephardim maintained themselves as islands of respectful traditionalism. Whereas Ashkenazic Jewry divided itself into ideological movements -- Orthodox, Conservative, Reform and others—Sephardim rejected this approach. Rather, they stressed the importance of maintaining a united community, avoiding ideological confrontation and divisiveness. For the sake of keeping harmony and balance in the community, individuals recognized the need to reject ideological factionalism.

The above examples illustrate how basic ideas imbued the masses of Sephardim as well as the intellectual elite. They cannot be understood as peripheral ideas held only by one group or the other. Rather, they can be seen to be basic ingredients in Sephardic culture as a whole. These attitudes and ideas, which have been fostered by our ancestors for generations, are still vitally relevant to us and to future generations. Our task is to understand Sephardic culture at its best and to convey its message to Sephardim and non-Sephardim alike.

Bibliography:

Angel, Marc D. (1991): Voices In Exile: A Study in Sephardic Intellectual History.

Hoboken, New Jersey.

Azulai, Hayyim Y. D. (1879): Avodat ha-Kodesh [Holy Service]. Warsaw.

Eisenstein. J. D. (1969): Ozar ha-Masaot [Anthology of Travel Accountsl. Tel Aviv.

Ha-Cohen. Eliyahu (1869): Midrash Talpiot [Collection of rabbinic homilies and

interpretations]. Tchernowitz.

Molho. Michael (1950): Usos y costumbres de los Sefardies de Sal6nika. Madrid.

C.S.I.C. Instituto "Arias Montano.”

Scholem. Gershom (1964): On the Kabbalah and its Symbolism. New York.

Schorsch. Ismar (1989): "The Myth of Sephardic Supremacy.” Yearbook of the Leo

Baeck Institute 34: 47–66.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel (1907-1972) was one of the major voices in Jewish thought and philosophy during the 20th century. Born in Poland, he received a traditional yeshiva education and rabbinic ordination. He then pursued his doctoral work at the University of Berlin, and also studied at the Hochschule fur die Wissenschaft des Judentums. In October 1938 he was deported to Poland by the Germans. He was able to escape the Nazi onslaught by obtaining a visa to teach in the United States where he arrived in 1940. His mother and two sisters were among the millions of Jews who perished during the Holocaust.

Heschel taught for five years at the Hebrew Union College; in 1946 he joined the faculty of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, in New York City. Along with his academic work, he devoted himself to activism on behalf of social justice. On January 14, 1963, he gave a speech, “Religion and Race,” at a conference in Chicago. There he met Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King and the two became friends. Rabbi Heschel marched with Dr. King at a demonstration in Selma, Alabama in 1965.

Heschel was a descendant of Hassidic masters; he was thoroughly trained as a rabbi and a modern scholar. While drawing on the spiritual foundations of Hassidism and Jewish mysticism, he sought to engage modern day Jews with a vibrant spirituality and a sophisticated religious worldview. When he reminisced about the warm religious life in which he was raised, he contrasted it with the often cold and barren religious experience of many modern Jews.

Why was religion losing its hold among moderns? Heschel pointed to a number of problems. “It is customary to blame secular science and antireligious philosophy for the eclipse of religion in modern society. It would be more honest to blame religion for its own defeats. Religion declined not because it was refuted, but because it became irrelevant, dull, oppressive, insipid.  When faith is completely replaced by creed, worship by discipline, love by habit; when the crisis of today is ignored because of the splendor of the past; when faith becomes an heirloom rather than a living fountain; when religion speaks only in the name of authority rather than with the voice of compassion—its message becomes meaningless” (A. J. Heschel: Essential Writings, p. 49).

            For some Jews, religion became a matter of rote. People followed the rules by habit, not by inner spiritual connection. For others, Judaism was honored for its past, but not granted a serious role in life today. And yet for others, religion became disconnected from the ongoing crises of everyday living, the challenges facing society at large.

One of Heschel’s recurring themes was that moderns have lost the sense of awe, wonder, radical amazement, confrontation with the Eternal. “Awe is an intuition for the creaturely dignity of all things and their preciousness to God; a realization that things not only are what they are but also stand, however remotely, for something absolute. Awe is a sense for the transcendence, for the reference everywhere to Him who is beyond all things” (God in Search of Man, p. 75). And again: “It is not utility that we seek in religion, but eternity. The criterion of religion is not in its being in agreement with our common sense but in its being compatible with our sense of the ineffable. The purpose of religion is not to satisfy the needs we feel but to create in us the need of serving ends, of which we otherwise remain oblivious” (Ibid., p. 351).

In an address to the Rabbinical Assembly in 1953, Rabbi Heschel lamented the diminishing spiritual experience in modern synagogues. “Of course, people still attend services—but what does this attendance mean to them? Outpouring of the soul? Worship? Prayer? Synagogue attendance has become a benefaction to the synagogue, a service to the community rather than service of God….Spiritual issues cannot be solved by administrative techniques. The issue is not how to fill buildings but how to inspire hearts. The issue is not synagogue attendance but one of spiritual attendance. The issue is not how to attract bodies to enter the space of a temple but how to inspire souls to enter an hour of spiritual concentration in the presence of God.”

Do moderns feel the presence of God? Has our secularized world robbed us of the gift of spiritual insight, radical amazement? “God is not an explanation of the world’s enigmas or a guarantee for our salvation. He is an eternal challenge, an urgent demand. He is not a problem to be solved but a question addressed to us as individuals, as nations, as mankind. God is of no importance unless He is of supreme importance, which means a deep certainty that it is better to be defeated with Him than be victorious without Him” (Man is Not Alone, p. 92).

In a trenchant critique of the modern dilemma, Rabbi Heschel notes: “The joys of inner living are denied to most of us. Sensitivity is a luxury, but entertainment is becoming a compulsion…The Greeks learned in order to comprehend. The Hebrews learned in order to revere. The modern man learns in order to use” (The Insecurity of Freedom, pp. 40-41). Utilitarianism and hedonism obstruct the path to the Almighty.

One of R. Heschel’s religious heroes was the Hassidic master, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Morgensztern (1787-1859) of Kotzk. In his book about the Kotzker Rebbe, Heschel highlights the struggle for integrity. The Kotzker was famous for his clear-headed thinking and for his abhorrence of sham, of pseudo-piety. He stressed that each individual had to find his and her own road to God, and that the religious quest demanded an open mind and a receptive heart. There were no short cuts. The Kotzker commented on the biblical passage in Genesis: “And God appeared to him (Abraham) and he was sitting at the entrance to the tent.” Why does the verse mention that our forefather Abraham was sitting at the entrance to his tent when God appeared to him? This teaches that even in the presence of God, Abraham felt as though he were sitting at the door and not within the center of the tent.  He—as all truly religious people—understood that he was always standing at the beginning, at a starting point, still outside the center. Religious feeling requires humility and a sense of tentativeness (Kotzk, p. 113).

Rabbi Heschel wrote a book about the Hebrew prophets in which his own prophetic voice found expression. “The prophet disdains those for whom God’s presence is comfort and security; to him it is a challenge, an incessant demand. God is compassion, not compromise; justice, though not inclemency. …The prophet’s word is a scream in the night. While the world is at ease and asleep, the prophet feels the blast from heaven” (A. J. Heschel: Essential Writings, p. 63).

Rabbi Heschel believed that spirituality was not simply an ethereal experience of the transcendence. Rather, it is a power that makes claims on us. It expects us to work for righteousness. In his essay “What is Sin?” he offers these words:  “There is an evil which most of us condone and are even guilty of: indifference to evil. We remain neutral, impartial, and not easily moved by the wrongs done unto other people. Indifference to evil is more insidious than evil itself; it is more universal, more contagious, more dangerous” (Ibid., p. 86).

                                          *     *     *

            During my student days at Yeshiva College and then later in Yeshiva’s rabbinical school (1963-1970) I was attracted to the writings of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. I bought his books and read them eagerly. He articulated ideas that resonated strongly with me, as with so many others.

            But I never actually met him in person, nor did I hear him lecture. Indeed, I read his books and was an avid member of his reading audience…but he was, in some sense, considered “off limits” to students at our Yeshiva. After all, we were an Orthodox institution, and our spiritual guides were expected to be fully identified with Orthodoxy. Rabbi Heschel taught at the Jewish Theological Seminary, the rabbinical school of the Conservative movement.

            We students at Yeshiva lost an amazing opportunity to be in the presence of Rabbi Heschel. And he was deprived of the opportunity to interact directly with Orthodox rabbinical students. I believe he knew that his words, through his writings, were reaching us along with a much larger general readership. The breath of his voice continues to resonate.

References:

Abraham Joshua Heschel: Essential Writings, ed. Susannah Heschel, Orbis Books, Maryknoll, 2011.

God in Search of Man, Harper Torchbooks, New York, 1955.

Kotzk: The Struggle for Integrity, Maggid Press, Jerusalem, 2015 (Hebrew).

Man is Not Alone, Jewish Publication Society of America, Philadelphia, 1951.

The Insecurity of Freedom: Essays on Human Existence, Farrar, Straus And Giroux, New York, 1967.

nce, Farrar, Straus And Giroux, New York, 1967.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks’ Legacy

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, who was born in 1948 and died on November 7, 2020, was a British Orthodox rabbi, philosopher, theologian, award-winning author, an international religious leader, respected moral voice, and public figure. He served as the Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth from 1991 to 2013. He held a number of professorships at several academic institutions including Yeshiva University, in New York, and King’s College in London. He was a frequent contributor to radio, television and the press around the world. Former British Prime Minister Tony Blair called him “an intellectual giant.” He was awarded the 2016 Templeton Prize for his “exceptional contributions to affirming life’s spiritual dimension.” He received 18 honorary doctorates. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Lord Carey, conferred him a Doctor of Divinity for his remarkable work. But it was not only politicians and intellectuals who read his brilliant writings. Average Jews and non-Jews read what he wrote and found them enjoyable, eye-opening, and inspiring. Therefore the 2021 publication of his book “Studies in Spirituality: A Weekly Reading of the Jewish Bible” by Maggid Books and OU Press will please many audiences.

Rabbi Sacks tells us that there is in Judaism an authoritative code of Jewish law, but no single spiritual dimension. Every individual can follow his and her own path to God. Maimonides says this in Mishna, Sanhedrin 10:3. There have been and always will be many Jewish philosophers with different views as to what is important in life. There have been Jewish rationalists in the past who disagreed strongly with fellow Jewish mystics, and vice versa, and this continues today. This is fine. Rabbi Sacks writes about his book: “I hope the very personal nature of these essays helps you find your own way to the Divine Presence, which is always there: the music beneath the noise, the call beneath the clamour, the voice of God within the human soul.”

There is much in Rabbi Sacks' essays to make us think. He tells us in his introduction that spirituality is not the same as religion, though the two are related. Spirituality happens when we open ourselves to something greater than ourselves. Different people find it in different places, the beauty of nature, art, music, prayer, doing a good deed, learning a sacred text, in helping people, in friendship, in love. He says that he decided to write about spirituality because he saw that so many people search for it but are unable to find it.

In his first essay he asks, what was the tree of knowledge of good and evil? Why was it forbidden? Don’t people need to know the difference between good and evil? Didn’t Adam have this knowledge before he ate the fruit of the tree since he was created in the image and likeness of God? He explains that the tale is about the kind of morality we are called upon to live, and he explains that it has to do with the requirement to learn to listen. He tells us that there is much in this world we must listen to.

In his second essay he speaks about Judaism’s teaching that we must exercise the power to pioneer, to do something new, to take the road less travelled, to venture out into the unknown.

Later he speaks about not crying out to God in anger or anguish, but, instead, hearing the still small voice saying, “The next step depends on you.”

When he spoke about the patriarch Isaac, he asked, didn’t he see that his son Esau was not a man of God? And he replies, “A father must love his son because he is his son…. Unconditional love is not uncritical, but it is unbreakable. This is how we should love our children – for it is how God loves us.”

He raises many other questions in other essays and answers them, many. Why are Jews defined as the descendants of Jacob, the children of Israel? Jacob is the man who has the deepest spiritual experiences alone, at night, in the face of danger and far from home. He gives us the remarkable, indeed brilliant, interpretation of Rashi’s grandson Rashbam about Jacob wrestling with a stranger. About having fear and overcoming it.

He advises us to have the courage to admit mistakes while telling us the observation of a politician who told him that politicians never admit their mistakes.

He repeats his lesson about listening near the end of his excellent book. The most important word in Judaism is shema, “hear,” “listen,” “pay attention.” It is the motif-word of the book of Deuteronomy. Time and time again in the last month of his life, Moses told his people shema. It appears in the book 92 times.

We will gain much by listening to Rabbi Sacks.

Benjamin Disraeli (1804-1881) was one of the most illustrious and powerful men in 19th century England (and the world), and yet he remains an enigma. Was he a proud Jew? Was he a sincere Christian? Was he a brilliant politician? Was he a buffoon? Was he a great and visionary leader of the British Empire? Was he a party hack who was mostly interested in advancing himself and his loyalists?

            The answer to all these questions seems to be: yes, no, perhaps, we are not sure.

            Disraeli’s family had been members of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of London. His father, Isaac—for a variety of reasons—decided to have his children baptized and raised as Christians. In July 1817, shortly before Benjamin would have celebrated his Bar Mitzvah, the young boy was brought to church and was baptized.

            Now that he was a Christian, he could blend in better with English society, right? In a way yes, but in a way no. He was still identified as a Jew. His very name gave him away. His appearance was described as being “oriental,” not really a pure English Christian. Benjamin dressed flamboyantly and acted accordingly. After completing his studies, he spent a few years with a firm of solicitors in London, and then he tried his hand at journalism. He made some disastrous investments that put him in serious financial trouble. Heavily in debt, he tried to salvage the situation by writing popular novels that would pay him decent royalties.

            He turned to politics but lost his first several attempts to get elected to Parliament. At last, in 1837 he won an election and became a member of Parliament. In 1839, he married a prosperous widow (although not as wealthy as he had expected), and went on to live a happy married life with her until her passing in 1872. Benjamin Disraeli was a gifted orator and a very able debater. He came to lead the “Young England Party” in Parliament. He rose to various high positions in government, and became Prime Minister in 1868 for a short spell. He again rose to become Prime Minister in 1874 and served in that position into 1880. He held the title of Earl of Beaconsfield.

            Although Disraeli was a Christian, a member of Parliament, a popular author, a confidant of Queen Victoria…his detractors never stopped seeing him as a Jew, an outsider, an interloper. He had to struggle against unceasing political malice and anti-Jewish malevolence. He climbed to the top of the “slippery pole” of political power by dint of his genius, his political prowess, and his ability to outshine all his rivals.

            Instead of denying or de-emphasizing his Jewish roots, Disraeli flaunted his Jewishness. His public posture was that Christianity was an outgrowth and broader expression of Judaism. “Everything gentle and sublime in the religious code of the New Testament is a mere transcript from the so-called oral law of the Jews” (Weintraub, p. 453). In his novel, Tancred, one of his Jewish characters taunts the English nobleman by pointing out that “half Christendom worships a Jewess, and the other half a Jew….Which is the superior race, the worshipped or the worshippers?” The Christian world owed the Jews an immense debt.

            In his novel, Coningsby, Disraeli idealized a wise man by name of Sidonia. “All of us encounter, at least once in our life, some individual who utters words that make us think forever. There are men whose phrases are oracles; who condense in a sentence the secrets of life; who blurt out an aphorism that forms a character or illustrates an existence. A great thing is a great book; but greater than all is the talk of a great man” (Coningsby, p.149). Sidonia the Jew was such a man, one who had “exhausted all the sources of human knowledge.” Sidonia propounded the greatness of the Jews.  “And at this moment, in spite of centuries, of tens of centuries, of degradation, the Jewish mind exercises a vast influence on the affairs of Europe. I speak not of their laws, which you still obey; of their literature, with which your minds are saturated; but of the living Hebrew intellect. You never observe a great intellectual movement in Europe in which the Jews do not greatly participate” (p. 271). Sidonia reminds Coningsby that Europe owes the Jews “the best part of its laws, a fine portion of its literature, all its religion” (p. 273).

Anti-Semites never forgave Disraeli’s Jewishness and constantly identified him as a Jew in spite of his conversion to Anglicanism. In response to a vicious anti-Semitic comment made in the British parliament, Disraeli famously retorted: “Yes, I am a Jew, and when the ancestors of the Right Honourable Gentleman were brutal savages in an unknown island, mine were priests in the Temple of Solomon.”

Disraeli’s novel, Tancred, originally published in 1847, tells of a young British nobleman who had a spiritual longing to visit the Holy Land. When he arrived, he spent time with a Jewish family and became acquainted with Jewish religious life. His visit coincided with Succoth, and he was told that this is a great national festival celebrating the harvest. He was shown the lulav and etrog, symbols of the autumn harvest. Tancred was deeply impressed.

Disraeli writes: “The vineyards of Israel have ceased to exist, but the eternal law enjoins the children of Israel still to celebrate the vintage. A race that persist in celebrating their vintage, although they have no fruits to gather, will regain their vineyards. What sublime inexorability in the law! But what indomitable spirit in the people!”

Disraeli notes that it is easier for “the happier Sephardim, the Hebrews who have never quitted the sunny regions that are laved by the Midland Ocean,” to observe the festival, since they can identify with the climate and setting of the early generations of Israelites who celebrated Succoth. “But picture to yourself the child of Israel in the dingy suburb or the squalid quarter of some bleak northern town, where there is never a sun that can at any rate ripen grapes. Yet he must celebrate the vintage of purple Palestine! The law has told him, though a denizen in an icy clime, that he must dwell for seven days in a bower….”

He continues with a description of the ignominies which Jews suffer in their ghettos in Europe “living amid fogs and filth, never treated with kindness, seldom with justice....Conceive such a being, an object to you of prejudice, dislike, disgust, perhaps hatred. The season arrives, and the mind and heart of that being are filled with images and passions that have been ranked in all ages among the most beautiful and the most genial of human experience; filled with a subject the most vivid, the most graceful, the most joyous, and the most exuberant…the harvest of the grape in the native regions of the vine.”

The downtrodden Jews, in observance of Succoth, find real joy in life. They decorate their Succahs as beautifully as they can; their families gather together to eat festive meals in the Succah. The outside world may be cruel and ugly; but their inner life is joyous and noble. Their external conditions may not seem too happy, but their internal happiness is real. The Jews, while remembering the glories of the Israelite past, also dream of the future glories of the Israelites when their people will be restored to their ancient greatness.

            Was Disraeli a Zionist before there was an official Zionist movement? Yes…and no. Like so much about Disraeli, there is ambiguity. On the one hand, he spoke and wrote emotionally about the Jewish attachment to the holy land, and to their ultimate return to Israel. But on the other hand, he did not actively initiate or pursue any policies that would lead to a Jewish return to the land of Israel.

In his novel, Alroy, the Jewish hero states: “You ask me what I wish: my answer is, a national existence, which we have not. You ask me what I wish: my answer is, the Land of Promise. You ask me what I wish: my answer is, Jerusalem. You ask me what I wish: my answer is, the Temple, all we forfeited, all we have yearned after, all for which we have fought, our beauteous country, our holy creed, our simple manners, and our ancient customs.”

One of Disraeli’s political associates, Lord Stanley, wrote in his diary that on one occasion Disraeli spoke to him “with great apparent earnestness on the subject of restoring the Jews to their own land….The country, he said, had ample natural capabilities; all it wanted was labour, and protection for the labourer; the ownership of the soil might be bought from Turkey: money would be forthcoming: the Rothschilds and leading Hebrew capitalists would all help.” These words were spoken a half century before Herzl’s The Jewish State (1897). Yet, Stanley went on to note that Disraeli “never recurred to it again. I have heard of no practical step taken or attempted to be taken by him in the matter” (Kirsch pp.909-91).

Disraeli described himself as the blank page between the Old and New Testaments. He belonged to both Testaments in part, and to neither in full. He was born a Sephardic Jew and remained very proud of his Jewish roots. He was a member of the Anglican Church, and expressed loyalty to its teachings. But in spite of his being baptized as a child, he was still thought of as a Jew. Winston Churchill put it very well:  “I always believed in Dizzy, that old Jew. He saw into the future.”

                                         *     *     *

            Benjamin Disraeli’s family were members of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of London, a sister Congregation of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of New York—where I’ve been associated as rabbi since 1969. The two congregations share the Western Sephardic traditions and religious worldview. When I think of Benjamin Disraeli, I somehow imagine him as one of my own congregants…even though our lives are separated by many decades, and our actual religious commitments are very far apart.

            It is difficult for me to be “proud” of Disraeli, since he was, after all, a Jewish apostate who lived his entire adult life as a Christian. Yet, it is also difficult not to be “proud” of him.  He was, in spite of his being a Christian, very visible as a Jew, very identified as being a Jew. He spoke with tremendous pride of his Jewish antecedents and believed the Christian world owed an immense debt to Judaism and the Jewish people.

            If his father had not had Benjamin baptized, it would have been impossible for him to have risen within the British political system, and he never would have become Prime Minister. His entire success as a statesman was contingent on his being a Christian. Yet, this Christian political figure never stopped being a Jew. However hard his anti-Jewish detractors strove to undermine him, he outmaneuvered, outsmarted, and outlasted them.

            Fortunately, it is not our responsibility or right to judge Disraeli. That is entirely left up to the Almighty. But I admit, without apology, that I still regard this wayward son of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue as one of our own.

References

Disraeli, Benjamin, Coningsby, Penguin Books, New York, 1989.

_______________, Tancred, CreateSpace Publishing, Scotts Valley Ca., 2015.

Kirsch, Adam, Benjamin Disraeli, Schocken Books, New York, 2008.

Levine, Richard, Benjamin Disraeli, Twayne Publishers Inc., New York, 1968.

Weintraub, Stanley, Disraeli: A Biography, Truman Talley Books, New York, 1998.

Is it proper to tell someone you forgive them if you don't mean it?

In his “Laws of Repentance,” (2:10), Rambam writes: “When a sinner asks forgiveness, one should grant it with a full heart and willing soul. Even if the other has sinned greatly against him and caused him much anguish, he should not take revenge or bear a grudge.”

Rambam expects a lot of us! How can we forgive someone with a full heart when that person has wronged us grievously? How can we be expected to act in such a lofty, saintly manner?

The answer is: when we harbor grudges, we infect ourselves with negative emotions. We are expected to offer forgiveness not only for the sake of the sinner—but for our own sakes. If a person has the courage to apologize to us and admit past sins against us, we now have an opportunity to rid ourselves of negative, self-destructive feelings.

What if we cannot reach this high level of forgiving? Then we should forgive anyway, even if not sincerely. At least this is a step toward reconciliation with the offender. And it is also a step toward self-purification.

Is it good to fill one's sentences with "baruch Hashem," 'iyH," and "bli neder." How about when talking with non Jews?

Genuinely religious people feel the presence of Hashem. They naturally and spontaneously offer blessings. They know that future plans are contingent on the will of Hashem.  They often use such phrases as barukh Hashem or im yirtseh Hashem…and these are sincere expressions of a religiously sensitive person.

If these phrases are used “for show” or to impress others with one’s religiosity, then these phrases are counterfeit. Instead of reflecting genuine piety, they reflect hypocrisy.

Whether speaking with a Jew or non-Jew, one should use such phrases carefully and appropriately. One should neither flaunt one’s piety nor be ashamed to mention blessing and gratitude to the Almighty.

We learn from religious role models. My grandfather Marco Romey, of blessed memory, used to say “bendicho el Dio” (Ladino for barukh Hashem) on many occasions. When he said it, though, he tended to pause a moment so that the words were said with concentration, not merely mumbled as a formula. He set a good example that all of us would do well to follow.

Should parents encourage children to be tolerant of opposing political opinions?

Parents “encourage” their children to be tolerant and respectful by setting the example themselves. Children learn more from their parents’ behavior than from their preachments.

Unfortunately, we face growing divisions within society. The level of vitriol and outright hatred has risen dramatically in recent years. There is a tendency to stick to one’s own views, political or otherwise, and not give careful attention to those who differ. Instead of thoughtful discussion and dialogue, we too often are confronted with hostile shouting and name-calling.

Those who foster extreme divisiveness are part of the problem; we should strive for ourselves and our children to be part of the solution. The issue isn’t merely tolerance of opposing opinions, but actually listening to what the opponents are saying. If they have any truth on their side, admit it. If they are wrong, then refute their positions respectfully.

Some people are so opinionated, it’s not possible to discuss things with them in a calm way. So it’s best to articulate one’s own views without wasting time in useless arguing.

We want our children and grandchildren to grow into responsible, thinking and respectful citizens. Don’t preach at them: set the proper example.

    Elias Canetti (1905-1994), a Bulgarian-born Sephardic Jew, won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1981. He spent part of his youth in Manchester, England, but after the untimely death of his father, his mother took her three sons to Vienna. In 1938, Canetti escaped Europe and Nazi persecution and settled in England. Known as a modernist novelist, playwright, and memoirist, he was a keen observer of human behavior.

In his memoir, The Torch in My Ear, he reflected on an insight that came to him as a young man: “I realized that there is such a thing as a crowd instinct, which is always in conflict with the personality instinct, and that the struggle between the two of them can explain the course of human history” (The Memoirs of Elias Canetti, p. 387).This idea became central to Canetti’s life, ultimately resulting in his classic book Crowds and Power.

     What is the “crowd instinct?” It is the desire to blend into a crowd, to dissolve one’s personality into a large mass of people. The crowd instinct can be witnessed in sports’ arenas, where fans become one with each other and with the players on the field. It can be experienced in mass rallies where fiery orators fire up the crowd, or at rock concerts where fans lose themselves in their wild admiration of the singers and their music. People have a deep desire to be part of such crowds.

     Yet, crowds can become dangerous. When individuals succumb to crowds, demagogues can control them, can drive them to do terrible things, can turn them into lynch mobs or murderous gangs, and can push them into terrorism and war.

     So we also have a “personality instinct,” a deep desire to retain our own ideas and values, to resist the mesmerizing power of crowds.  Although we at times want to share in the enthusiasms and griefs of crowds, we simultaneously want to maintain our inner freedom from the crowds. We want to blend in…but not to blend in.

     Leadership entails working with crowds, striving to create consensus among various factions. Nations demand patriotism, national symbols that inspire citizens to feel united with each other. But nations can become dangerous crowds. Demagogues can manipulate the crowd’s emotions and can control information that they share with the masses.

     How can one resist the power of crowds? For this we need the personality instinct. Each person needs to understand the crowd, but keep enough independence not to totally succumb to the power of the crowd. Each person literally has to be a hero, has to be willing to stand up and stand out…and possibly take terrible risks in order to maintain personal integrity.

     Throughout human history, there has been an ongoing tension between the crowd instinct and the personality instinct.  Too often, the crowd instinct has prevailed. Masses of people have been whipped up to commit the worst atrocities, to murder innocents, to vent hatred.

     In our time, like throughout history, there are those who seek to manipulate crowds in dangerous, murderous and hateful ways. There are those who play on the fears and gullibility of the masses, who dissolve individuality and turn people into frenzied sheep.

     But there are also those who refuse to become part of such crowds, who resist the crowd instinct and maintain the personality instinct. These are the stars who will form a new kind of crowd, a crowd that will bring human beings together in harmony and mutual respect.

     An ever-present problem for people is putting on symbolic masks, pretending to be what they are not. In their desire to blend in or to control, they take on artificial poses in order to manipulate others.

     In describing the impact of a mask on its wearer, Canetti notes: “As long as he wears it he is two things, himself and the mask…Because it can be torn away, its wearer is bound to fear for it. He must take care that he does not lose it; it must never be dropped and must never open. He feels every kind of anxiety about what may happen to it….He must manipulate it, remaining his everyday self, and, at the same time, must change into it as a performer. While he wears the mask he is thus two people and must remain two during the whole of his performance” (Crowds and Power, p. 377).

     One wearing a mask wishes to preserve the illusion of being someone else. Being unmasked would ruin everything. So the mask wearer tries to protect the illusion by staying in control of the mask. No one must be allowed to get past the mask.

     But what happens if the mask wearer comes to identify totally with the mask? Much human tragedy is the result of people forgetting who they are at root; they don various masks and personae. They may imagine that they can only be successful or happy if they adopt a certain persona, if they betray their selves for the sake of winning the approval of others.

     People, in their desire to be popular, often end up play-acting. They dress, speak, laugh, socialize—the way they expect that others want them to dress, speak, laugh and socialize. To gain approval, they will wear whatever mask they think will advance them. The mask-wearers are terrified by those who would unmask them.

     The great challenge for each human being is to be authentic, to resist wearing masks, and resist those who attempt to manipulate us by donning masks of their own. The great challenge to society are those whom Canetti terms “survivors.” These are individuals who cut down or out- maneuver all opponents; they survive the climb to the top of the social ladder ruthlessly. They are thirsty to rule, to control, to command. They demand total obeisance; they feel threatened by anyone who sees through their schemes.

     Canetti writes:  “What has radically changed in our time, however, is the situation of the survivor. …He has been glorified as a hero and obeyed as a ruler but fundamentally he is always the same. His most fantastic triumphs have taken place in our own time, among people who set great store by the idea of humanity. He is not yet extinct, nor ever will be until we have the strength to see him clearly, whatever disguise he assumes and whatever his halo of glory. The survivor is mankind’s worst evil, its curse and perhaps its doom. Is it possible for us to escape him, even now at this last moment?” (Ibid., p. 468).

     Even an observer less gifted than Canetti would have noticed the rise of Nazism and Fascism sweeping through Europe. The mobs were incited by ruthless megalomaniac leaders; ugly crowds were forming; almost unlimited power was granted to a few leaders. The recipe for society’s destruction was in place. Canetti identified the problem, but could do nothing to prevent the inevitable catastrophe. He fled to England where he survived the war.

     Although anti-Semites spoke about “the Jews” as if all Jews were cut of the same cloth, Canetti emphasized the tremendous diversity among Jews.  In recounting his visit to the Jewish Quarter in Marrakesh, Morocco, he wrote:  “ I walked past as slowly as possible and looked at the faces. Their heterogeneity was astonishing. There were faces that in other clothing I would have taken for Arab. There were luminous old Rembrandt Jews. There were Catholic priests of wily quietness and humility. There were Wandering Jews whose restlessness was written in every lineament. There were Frenchmen. There were Spaniards. There were ruddy-complexioned Russians. There was one you felt like hailing as the patriarch Abraham; he was haughtily addressing Napoleon, and a hot-tempered know-all who looked like Goebbels was trying to butt in.  I thought of the transmigration of souls. Perhaps, I wondered, every human soul has to be a Jew once, and here they all are: none remembers what he was before, and even when this is so clearly revealed in his features that I, a foreigner, can recognize it, every one of these people still firmly believes he stands in direct line of descent from the people of the Bible” (The Voices of Marrakesh, p. 40).

     In Crowds and Power, he made the same point. “No people is more difficult to understand than the Jews. Debarred from their country of origin, they have spread over the whole of the inhabited earth. Their talent for adaptation is well known, but the degree of their adaptation is immensely variable….Jews are different from other people, but, in reality, they are most different from each other” (Crowds and Power, pp. 178-9). Canetti points out that Jews are not a “racial” or monolithic group, but rather are united by a shared memory of the Exodus from Egypt of the ancient Israelites. That sense of being a crowd, a wandering crowd yearning for the Promised Land, has been the unifying symbol that binds Jews together.

     The victimization of Jews is an example of how tyranny can prevail in whipping up masses of people to commit horrific crimes against targeted individuals or groups. As long as there are such tyrants, and as long as the masses are willing to go along with them, that is how long it will be until humanity can be redeemed from its own evils.

                                                   *     *    *

     When I learned in 1981 that the Nobel Prize for Literature was awarded to a Sephardic Jew of Judeo-Spanish-speaking background, I was very pleased. Being myself of Judeo-Spanish background, I felt an immediate kinship with Canetti.  But after reading his various writings, I felt a huge distance between us. The “ethnic” link was shaken.

     Canetti wrote in German, the language of culture that his mother instilled in him in Vienna. His major writings are on general human themes, not with any particular “Sephardic” flavor. Even his memoirs left me feeling that his    Sephardic upbringing was far from traditional or representative of Sephardic civilization. But as the years have passed, I find myself feeling much closer to Canetti. I appreciate his keen insights into human motives and behaviors. I admire his close observation of people and places. With prophet-like clarity, he foresaw how humanity could destroy itself…or save itself from the brink.

References

Auto-da-Fe, Continuum, New York, 1974.

Crowds and Power, Seabury Press, NY, 1978.

Kafka’s Other Trial, Schocken Books, New York, 1974

The Memoirs of Elias Canetti, (The Tongue Set Free, The Torch in My Ear, The Play of the Eyes), Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York, 1999.

The Voices of Marrakesh, Continuum, New York, 1981

The Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals has published numerous articles and blogs relating to the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic experience. Here are links to some of them. For others, please use the Search feature on our website's homepage,  jewishideas.org

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/models-sephardic-rabbinic-leadership

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/minhagim-divinity-and-diversity

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/voices-western-sephardic-tradition-nineteenth-and-twentieth-century-america

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/did-you-hear-one-about-sephardic-boy-who-walks-orthodox-yeshiva

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/going-out-limb-joha

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/study-sephardic-and-ashkenazic-liturgy-rabbi-hayyim-angel

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/moroccan-rabbinic-conferences-0

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/broadening-our-vision-introduction-seven-interesting-middle-eastern-rabbis

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/leadership-and-traditions-sephardi-sages-modern-era

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/jewish-unity-vs-sephardic-particularism-rav-uziel%E2%80%99s-sephardic-vision-jewish-people

Please also visit youtube.com/jewishideasorg where you will find a number of lectures/shiurim dealing with Sephardic themes.

Our Institute has an unwavering commitment to the Torah tradition and to the Jewish people. We promote a vision of Orthodox Judaism that is intellectually sound, spiritually compelling, and emotionally satisfying.  Appreciating the amazing diversity within Orthodoxy,  the Institute encourages responsible discussion of issues in Jewish law, philosophy, religious world-view, and communal policy. It sees Judaism as a world religion with a profound message for Jews, and for non-Jews as well. It seeks to apply the ancient wisdom of Judaism to the challenges of contemporary society.

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About the Institute

The Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals was founded in October 2007 by Rabbi Dr. Marc D. Angel. Since 1969, Rabbi Angel has served Congregation Shearith Israel, the historic Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of New York City, and has been Rabbi Emeritus since 2007. He is now devoting himself full time to the work of the Institute, serving as its Director.

Rabbi Angel has a long career of service to his congregation and community. He has served as President of the Rabbinical Council of America, the Rabbinic Alumni of RIETS, Sephardic House, and various other organizations. He is co-founder of the International Rabbinic Fellowship and its first President. He has served as an officer and board member of UJA-Federation of New York, the HealthCare Chaplaincy, American Sephardi Federation, Cancer Care and other agencies. He has won national rabbinic awards from the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations and the United Jewish Communities, and the Finkle Award of the New York Board of Rabbis. Author and editor of 38 books and hundreds of articles, he has won a National Jewish Book Award in the category of Jewish Thought for his book,The Orphaned Adult, published by Human Sciences Press; and a National Jewish Book Finalist Award in the field of Sephardic Studies for his book, Foundations of Sephardic Spirituality: The Inner Life of Jews of the Ottoman Empire; and another National Jewish Book Finalist Award for Jewish Scholarship for his book Maimonides, Spinoza and Us: Toward an Intellectually Vibrant Judaism. The latter two books were published by Jewish Lights Publishers.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel joined the Institute's team in 2013 as our National Scholar. He teaches classes, serves as scholar-in-residence in many communities, arranges symposia on a wide range of topics, runs teacher training seminars, and offers many online shiurim on our website jewishideas.org. He teaches advanced Tanakh classes at Yeshiva University. He is author or editor of 19 books, and has published numerous articles. He lectures widely in synagogues and schools throughout North America, and consults with yeshivot worldwide to improve their Tanakh curricula. His most recent book, Cornerstones: The Bible and Jewish Ideology (Kodesh Press, 2020), contains a number of programmatic essays that reflect the ideology of our Institute.

The Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals serves the community through its active and informative website; publication of our journal, Conversations; public lectures and symposia; publication and distribution of books and educational materials; our youtube channel; zoom classes; University Network; Sephardic Initiative; online learning; workshops for rabbis, educators and laity; cooperation with like-minded individuals and organizations to advance the ideals of the Institute; resource for questions relating to Jewish law, worldview, communal policy...and more.

About our website

The Website provides articles, blogs and links to online classes and youtube programs, as well as an online store where you may order books of interest. The section Min haMuvhar includes selections from the writings of Rabbi Marc D. Angel, Founder and Director of the Institute. The Online Learning section includes many of the classes and lectures of Rabbi Hayyim Angel. The website includes articles, blogs, as well as Rabbi Marc Angel's weekly "Angel for Shabbat" column. We hope you will join us in advancing the important goals of the Institute. Your membership in the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals makes you a partner in fostering a more intelligent, compassionate, creative and diverse Orthodox Judaism. Thanks for your partnership in our work.