National Scholar Updates

America, Jews, and a Dream in Progress

excerpts of a sermon delivered by Rabbi Marc D. Angel, September 12, 2004

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights,that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.” These words from the American Declaration of Independence reflect the deepest ideals and aspirations of the American people. America is not merely a country, vast and powerful; America is an idea, a vision of life as it could be.

When these words were first proclaimed on July 4, 1776, Congregation Shearith Israel was almost 122 years old. It was a venerable community, with an impressive history--a bastion of Jewish faith and tradition,and an integral part of the American experience.

When the British invaded New York in 1776, a large group of congregants, including our Hazan Rev. Gershom Mendes Seixas,left the city rather than live under British rule. Many joined the Revolutionary army and fought for American independence.

Some remained in New York, and conducted services in our synagogue building on Mill Street. Early in the war, British soldiers broke into the synagogue and desecrated two Torah scrolls. This was not just an attack on scrolls, but was a symbolic assault on the spiritual foundations of Judaism, the self-same foundations upon which the American republic has been built.

In our service today, we read from one of these Torah scrolls as a symbolic response to those soldiers, and to all those who would seek to undermine the eternal teachings of Torah and the principles of American democracy: we are not intimidated, we are not afraid. Generation by generation, we will continue to live by our ideals and by our faith. Generation by generation, we will lend our strength to the great American enterprise that promises hope and freedom, one nation under God, with liberty and justice for all.

Our story in America is not built on historical abstractions, but on generations of Jews who have played their roles in the unfolding of this nation. It is a very personal history, ingrained in our collective memory.

We have just read from the Revolutionary Period Torah scroll, from the section known as “Kedoshim”, only a few columns from where the British soldiers damaged the scroll. Kedoshim opens with a challenge to the people of Israel to be a holy nation, to live according to the commandments of God, to have the courage and inner strength to maintain Torah ideals in a world that is not always receptive to such lofty teachings. The portion goes on to specify how we are to manifest holiness: through charity; honesty; commitment to truth and justice; through the avoidance of gossip and hatred. It culminates with the words: ve-ahavta le-re-aha kamokha, and you shall love your neighbor as yourself. The very principles enjoined by this passage are the spiritual foundations of the United States of America. These teachings are constant reminders of how to live a good life and build a righteous society; they also are prods to make us realize how far short we fall from these ideals, how much more work remains to be done.

On this 350th anniversary of the American Jewish community, we reflect on the courage and heroic efforts of our forebears who have maintained Judaism as a vibrant and living force in our lives. We express gratitude to America for having given us—and all citizens—the freedom to practice our faith. This very freedom has energized and strengthened America.

Within Congregation Shearith Israel, we have been blessed with men and women who have helped articulate Jewish ideals and American ideals. Their voices have blended in with the voices of fellow Americans of various religions and races, to help shape the dream and reality of America.

The American Declaration of Independence pronounced that all men are created equal. In his famous letter to the Jewish community of Newport, in August 1790, President George Washington hailed the United States for allowing its citizens freedom—not as a favor bestowed by one group on another—but in recognition of the inherent natural rights of all human beings. This country, wrote President Washington, “gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance.”

And yet, if equality and human dignity are at the core of American ideals, the fulfillment of these ideals have required—and still require—sacrifice and devotion. Reality has not always kept up with the ideals. In 1855, Shearith Israel member Uriah Phillips Levy—who rose to the rank of Commodore in the U.S. Navy—was dropped from the Navy’s active duty list. He was convinced that anti-Semitism was at the root of this demotion. He appealed the ruling and demanded justice. He asked: are people “now to learn to their sorrow and dismay that we too have sunk into the mire of religious intolerance and bigotry?... What is my case today, if you yield to this injustice, may tomorrow be that of the Roman Catholic or the Unitarian, the Presbyterian or the Methodist, the Episcopalian or the Baptist. There is but one safeguard: that is to be found in an honest, whole-hearted, inflexible support of the wise, the just, the impartial guarantee of the Constitution.” Levy won his case. He helped the United States remain true to its principles.

Shearith Israel member Moses Judah (1735-1822) believed that all men were created equal—including black men. In 1799, he was elected to the New York Society for Promoting the Manumission of Slaves. During his tenure on the standing committee between 1806 and 1809, about fifty slaves were freed. Through his efforts, many other slaves achieved freedom. He exerted himself to fight injustice, to expand the American ideals of freedom and equality regardless of race or religion.

Another of our members, Maud Nathan, believed that all men were created equal—but so were all women created equal. She was a fiery, internationally renowned suffragette, who worked tirelessly to advance a vision of America that indeed recognized the equality of all its citizens—men and women. As President of the Consumers’ League of New York from 1897-1917, Maud Nathan was a pioneer in social activism, working for the improvement of working conditions of employees in New York’s department stores. Equality and human dignity were the rights of all Americans, rich and poor, men and women.

The Declaration of Independence proclaimed that human beings have unalienable rights, among them are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. These words express the hope and optimism of America. They are a repudiation of the tyranny and oppression that prevailed—and still prevail—in so many lands. America is a land of opportunity, where people can live in freedom. The pursuit of happiness really signifies the pursuit of self-fulfillment, of a meaningful way of life. America’s challenge was—and still is—to create a harmonious society that allows us to fulfill our potentials.

President George Washington declared a day of national Thanksgiving for November 26, 1789. Shearith Israel held a service, at which Hazan Gershom Mendes Seixas called on this congregation “to unite, with cheerfulness and uprightness…to promote that which has a tendency to the public good.” Hazzan Seixas believed that Jews, in being faithful to Jewish tradition, would be constructive and active participants in American society.

Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness were not reserved only for those born in America; they are the rights of all human beings everywhere. This notion underlies the idealism of the American dream, calling for a sense of responsibility for all suffering people, whether at home or abroad. American Jews have been particularly sensitive and responsive to this ideal.

On March 8,1847, Hazan Jacques Judah Lyons addressed a gathering at Shearith Israel for the purpose of raising funds for Irish famine relief. The potato crop in Ireland had failed in 1846, resulting in widespread famine. Hazan Lyons well realized that the Jewish community needed charitable dollars for its own internal needs; and yet he insisted that Jews reach out and help the people of Ireland. He said that there was one indestructible and all-powerful link between us and the Irish sufferers: “That link, my brethren, is HUMANITY! Its appeal to the heart surmounts every obstacle. Clime, color, sect are barriers which impede not its progress thither.” In assisting with Irish famine relief, the Jewish community reflected its commitment to the well-being of all suffering human beings. American Jewry grew into—and has continued to be—a great philanthropic community perhaps unmatched in history. Never have so few given so much to so many. In this, we have been true to our Jewish tradition, and true to the spirit of America.

Who articulated the hope and promise of America more eloquently than Emma Lazarus? “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” How appropriate it is that her poem is affixed to the great symbol of American freedom, the Statue of Liberty.

Alice Menken, (for many years President of our Sisterhood) did remarkable work to help immigrants, to assist young women who ran into trouble with the law, to promote reform of the American prison system. She wrote: “We must seek a balanced philosophy of life. We must live to make the world worth living in, with new ideals, less suffering, and more joy.”

Americans see ourselves as one nation, indivisible, under God, with liberty and justice for all. Yet, liberty and justice are not automatically attained. They have required—and still require—wisdom, vigilance, and active participation. America prides itself on being a nation of laws, with no one above the law. The American legal tradition has been enriched by the insights and the work of many American Jews.

In one of his essays, Justice Benjamin Nathan Cardozo—a devoted member of Shearith Israel--referred to a Talmudic passage which has been incorporated into our prayer book. It asks that the Almighty let His mercy prevail over strict justice. Justice Cardozo reminded us that the American system relies not only on justice—but on mercy. Mercy entails not merely an understanding of laws, but an understanding of the human predicament, of human nature, of the circumstances prevailing inhuman society. Another of our members, Federal Judge William Herlands, echoed this sentiment when he stated that Justice without Mercy—is just ice!

Our late rabbis Henry Pereira Mendes, David de Sola Pool and Louis C. Gerstein, were singularly devoted to social welfare, to religious education, to the land of Israel. They distinguished themselves for their devotion to Zionism, and played their parts in the remarkable unfolding of the State of Israel. They, along with so many American Jews, have keenly understood how much unites Israel and the United States—two beacons of democracy and idealism in a very troubled world.

These individuals—along with so many other American Jews—were exponents of the American ideals and the American dream. During the past 350 years, the American Jewish community has accomplished much and contributed valiantly to all aspects of American life. We have cherished our participation in American life. We have been free to practice our faith and teach our Torah. We have worked with Americans of other faiths and traditions to mold a better, stronger, more idealistic nation.

America today is not just a powerful and vast country. It is also an idea, a compelling idea that has a message for all people in all lands. As American Jews, we are committed to the ideals of freedom and equality, human dignity and security, to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, the pursuit of harmony among ourselves and throughout the world. We have come far as a nation, but very much remains to be done. May God give us the strength and resolve to carry on, to work proudly as Jews to bring the American dream to many more generations of humanity.

I close with a prayer spoken by Mordecai Manuel Noah at the consecration of our second Mill Street Synagogue on April 17, 1818: “May we prove ever worthy of His blessing; may He look down from His heavenly abode, and send us peace and comfort; may He instill in our minds a love of country, of friends, and of all mankind. Be just, therefore, and fear not. That God who brought us out of the land of Egypt, who walked before us like ‘a cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night,’ will never desert his people Israel.”

          Our Spring 2023 issue of Conversations will be dedicated to standing up for our core principles. This value is paramount for us at the Institute.

          Over the summer, I will be writing a series of reflections on biblical stories that speak to this topic.

Lot: Compromising Principle for Comfort

          Lot is one of the most fascinating figures in the Torah. As the nephew of Abraham and Sarah (known as Abram and Sarai during the first stages of the narrative), he joins them on their long journey to the Land of Canaan.

          From the very beginning, God repeatedly promises the Land to Abraham’s descendants. As Abraham sees no possibility of biological descendants as he and Sarah are barren, Lot seems like the obvious heir.

          Then, famine strikes, and Abraham, Sarah, and Lot descend to Egypt to obtain food. It is a traumatic experience, as Pharaoh takes Sarah as a wife. The episode ends well thanks to God’s direct intervention. Abraham and Lot emerge from Egypt much wealthier, as a result of Pharaoh’s gifts (Genesis 12).

          While Abraham and Sarah rebuilt their lives in Canaan afterwards, Lot never forgot the fact that the Nile provided material stability for Egypt. Canaan precariously depended on rainfall, leaving its inhabitants prone for future famines.

          When the shepherds of Abraham and Lot quarreled over room for pasture, Lot chose to move to Sodom. The Torah describes Sodom’s appeal: “Lot looked about him and saw how well watered was the whole plain of the Jordan, all of it—this was before the Lord had destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah—all the way to Zoar, like the garden of the Lord, like the land of Egypt” (Genesis 13:10). The steady rise of the Jordan River resembled that of the Garden of Eden and Egypt. Lot wanted that stability and comfort.

          The Torah immediately reports the price of that comfort: “Now the inhabitants of Sodom were very wicked sinners against the Lord” (Genesis 13:13). By moving to the depraved city of Sodom, Lot abandoned the lifestyle Abraham and Sarah exemplified.

          Over the next several years, Lot married a woman of Sodom, and two of his daughters later married men of Sodom. Deeply entrenched as he was, he still maintained a sense of Abraham and Sarah’s hospitality. He invited the angels to his home when the other inhabitants of Sodom ignored the visitors (Genesis 19).

          Lot remained head and shoulders above the people of Sodom. Nevertheless, he compromised the dearest principles of the household of Abraham and Sarah by moving to the wicked city, all in the name of comfort. In the final analysis, he never won the respect of his neighbors, he lost his home, his two married daughters, and his wife. On a different plane, Lot also forfeited his position as the potential heir of Abraham and Sarah.

          Lot’s descendants, the nations of Ammon and Moab, were characterized by Sodom’s anti-hospitality culture: “No Ammonite or Moabite shall be admitted into the congregation of the Lord; none of their descendants, even in the tenth generation, shall ever be admitted into the congregation of the Lord, because they did not meet you with food and water on your journey after you left Egypt, and because they hired Balaam son of Beor, from Pethor of Aramnaharaim, to curse you.—But the Lord your God refused to heed Balaam; instead, the Lord your God turned the curse into a blessing for you, for the Lord your God loves you.—You shall never concern yourself with their welfare or benefit as long as you live” (Deuteronomy 23:4-7).

          Yet, some trace of good remained in Lot, and that streak of hospitality was manifest in Lot’s stellar descendant, Ruth the Moabite. Ruth married Boaz, and became the great-grandmother of King David.

          The Lot saga reminds us of how easy it is for generally good people or institutions to be overly tempted by financial gain and comfort to the point where they compromise their integrity and core principles. Today’s Lots may rationalize this behavior on the grounds that everyone needs financial security. Nonetheless, the price they pay in compromising their values far outweighs whatever temporary gains they obtain.

The Torah enjoins us to emulate Abraham and Sarah—righteous, hospitable, principled individuals who stood firm in their faith and ideals. With all of their struggles, they worked hard to build a righteous family with authentic values, and they prospered among their neighbors.

This past Shabbat (July 9, 2022), I had the privilege to lead the newly-created Foundations Minyan at Congregation Beth Aaron in Teaneck, New Jersey. It is an intermediate service--one that adds learning and discussion to a full Shabbat morning prayer service. Approximately 100 people were in attendance, demonstrating the deep thirst so many people have for an enhancement of their prayer and synagogue experience. The service was created by Michelle Diamond and her friends and family in memory of her late husband, Andy Diamond.

Here is a written-up version of the sermon on prayer I gave.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel, National Scholar

THE PARADOX OF PRAYER

The Talmud reports an unusual and somewhat troubling anecdote about petitionary prayer that contains important insight into the nature of asking things of God:

         

Rabbi Mani often used to attend [the discourses] of Rabbi Yitzhak ben Eliashab, and he complained: The rich members of the family of my father-in-law are annoying me. The latter exclaimed: May they become poor! They became poor. Later on [Rabbi Mani] complained: Now they press me [for support], and Rabbi Isaac exclaimed: Let them become rich! They became rich.

[On another occasion] he complained: My wife is no longer attractive to me. Rabbi Isaac asked: What is her name? He replied: Hannah. Whereupon Rabbi Isaac exclaimed: May Hannah become beautiful! And she became beautiful. He then complained: She now has become too arrogant [from her beauty], whereupon Rabbi Isaac exclaimed: If that is so, let Hannah revert to her [former] ugliness! And she became once again ugly.

Two disciples used to attend [the discourses of] Rabbi Isaac ben Eliashab, and they said to him, Master, pray that we may become very wise. He replied: Once I had the power to do this, but now I no longer possess this power. (Ta’anit 23b)

          Rabbi Yitzchak Blau addresses different levels of this story. At its surface, the Talmud teaches that we often want things that contain mixed blessings. What initially seems best for us in one area often comes at high price in another.

          At another level, the final component of the narrative—the disciples who requested a prayer for wisdom and were rebuffed—teaches that even matters that are truly important cannot be corrected with the use of prayer as a magic wand. To attain wisdom, one must devote oneself to study, rather than praying for instant knowledge and judgment. The talmudic anecdote, then, teaches that first, we must be careful what we pray for, and second, that we must look inward and work to achieve genuine change, rather than depending exclusively on prayer (Fresh Fruit & Vintage Wine: The Ethics and Wisdom of the Aggada [Jersey City, NJ: Ktav, 2009], pp. 219–221).

*****

This story triggers a far more powerful question regarding prayer. Do we really hope to influence God? God knows what we lack without our needing to inform Him. Moreover, God will not necessarily respond to our petitions, and certainly does not need our words of praise.

A rationalist would say that we cannot influence God at all; prayer is primarily intended to remind us of our complete reliance on God, to transform us, and to hold ourselves up to the ideals contained in the prayers. A kabbalist would say that God allows human prayer to change the course of events. Many biblical narratives give this impression as well, as God often responds to prayers.

A shortcoming of the rationalist view is the dissonance that ensues, since our prayers are in fact largely comprised of praise and petition. In the kabbalistic approach, it is all too easy for prayer to take on a pagan character where we think we are manipulating God, treating Him like an unusually well-stocked vending machine. Additionally, many prayers are not answered as one would have liked. The false expectation that prayer achieves direct positive results may cause one to lose faith.

The Talmud (Berakhot 32a) presents a healthier approach: “Rabbi Simlai expounded: One should always first recount the praise of the Holy One, blessed be He, and then pray. From where do we know this? From Moses’ plea to enter the Land” (Deuteronomy 3:23–24). Ironically, the Talmud cites the classic example of a prayer that was not accepted! And of all people, Moses was praying! As heartbreaking as that episode is, it presents a vital lesson showing that even Moses did not always get what he wanted when he prayed.

Following this lead, Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik explains that “The foundation of prayer is not the conviction of its effectiveness but the belief that through it we approach God intimately and the miraculous community embracing finite man and his Creator is born. The basic function of prayer is not its practical consequences but the metaphysical formation of a fellowship consisting of God and man” (Worship of the Heart, p. 35).

Ahab and His Yes Men

          In the 9^th century BCE, the wicked King Ahab and Queen Jezebel began a reign of terror in the Northern Kingdom of Israel. They made the worship of Baal into the official religion of Israel. Although people worshipped God also, they constantly wavered between God and Baal. Jezebel massacred the prophets of God and others who spoke up for the truth.

          King Ahab struck an alliance with the righteous King Jehoshaphat of the Southern Kingdom of Judah. Ahab’s daughter Athaliah married Jehoshaphat’s son Jehoram. Although the alliance united the two kingdoms on the political level, it caused terrible religious and physical harm to the Southern Kingdom.

          The fiery Elijah served as the primary prophet who courageously opposed the wicked regime of Ahab and Jezebel. In one of the Ahab narratives (I Kings chapter 22), a lesser-known prophet named Micaiah shines by maintaining his integrity against a powerful and corrupt establishment.

          Following a three-year lull in an ongoing conflict between Israel and Aram, Ahab decides to attempt to regain control of Ramoth-gilead, which Aram had captured in earlier battles. Ahab invites his ally, King Jehoshaphat, to join him: “And [Ahab] said to Jehoshaphat, ‘Will you come with me to battle at Ramoth-gilead?’ Jehoshaphat answered the king of Israel, ‘I will do what you do; my troops shall be your troops, my horses shall be your horses’” (22:4).

          However, the righteous Jehoshaphat insists that they first consult the prophets to obtain the word of God: “But Jehoshaphat said further to the king of Israel, ‘Please, first inquire of the Lord’” (22:5). Ahab had some 400 prophets at the ready, and they offered a unified positive response to go to war: “So the king of Israel gathered the prophets, about four hundred men, and asked them, ‘Shall I march upon Ramoth-gilead for battle, or shall I not?’ ‘March,’ they said, ‘and the Lord will deliver [it] into Your Majesty’s hands’” (22:6).

          With such a unanimous prophetic response, one might have expected Jehoshaphat to enter the war without further hesitation. However, the prophetic response somehow convinced Jehoshaphat that something was wrong: “Then Jehoshaphat asked, ‘Isn’t there another prophet of the Lord here through whom we can inquire?’” (22:7).

          What signaled the need for a second opinion? The 400 prophets spoke in God’s Name! Radak and Abarbanel consider this narrative in light of the overall Ahab narrative. Ahab and Jezebel supported Baal worship, and therefore these prophets must have been prophets of Baal. These idolaters tried to deceive Jehoshaphat by using God’s Name, but the righteous king saw through their evil ruse. Although reasonable, this interpretation goes beyond the local text and requires interpretation from the global narrative.

          It appears that the most likely approach requires a different way of thinking. Like the prophets of many ancient Near Eastern pagan nations, these 400 men were court prophets, on the king’s payroll. Receiving large salary packages and great royal honor, they understood that they must always support the king’s wishes. In this instance, Ahab clearly desired to go to war. Therefore, the 400 prophets repackaged the king’s intent into prophetic words. Any other message would have resulted in their getting fired, or worse.

          Jehoshaphat understood that these 400 “prophets” were like pagan prophets, under their king’s thumb. True prophets of Israel served God alone. They regularly confronted kings and other powerful figures when they strayed from God’s ways. Therefore, Jehoshaphat demanded a true prophet, one who would honestly reflect God’s will.

          There was indeed another prophet, Micaiah son of Imlah, available for consultation. The wicked Ahab despised him, and did all he could to cancel Micaiah and silence him.

          First, Ahab expressed displeasure at the mere need to invite him: “And the king of Israel answered Jehoshaphat, ‘There is one more man through whom we can inquire of the Lord; but I hate him, because he never prophesies anything good for me, but only misfortune—Micaiah son of Imlah.’ But King Jehoshaphat said, ‘Don’t say that, Your Majesty’” (22:8).

          When that strategy failed, Ahab let his henchmen intimidate the true prophet: “The messenger who had gone to summon Micaiah said to him: ‘Look, the words of the prophets are with one accord favorable to the king. Let your word be like that of the rest of them; speak a favorable word’” (22:13). Of course, the true prophet refused to kowtow to this pressure: “‘As the Lord lives,’ Micaiah answered, ‘I will speak only what the Lord tells me’” (22:14).

          When he arrives at the palace, Micaiah sarcastically mimics the false prophets. Irritated by the sarcasm, Ahab demands that Micaiah state God’s true prophetic message: “When he came before the king, the king said to him, ‘Micaiah, shall we march upon Ramoth-gilead for battle, or shall we not?’ He answered him, ‘March and triumph! The Lord will deliver [it] into Your Majesty’s hands.’ The king said to him, ‘How many times must I adjure you to tell me nothing but the truth in the name of the Lord?’” (22:15-16).

          Micaiah then replies with the true prophecy, suggesting that Ahab will perish if he goes to war against Aram: “Then he said, ‘I saw all Israel scattered over the hills like sheep without a shepherd; and the Lord said, “These have no master; let everyone return to his home in safety”’” (22:17).

After dismissing the 400 prophets as false prophets who mislead Ahab, the prophets attempt to intimidate Micaiah: “Thereupon Zedekiah son of Chenaanah stepped up and struck Micaiah on the cheek, and demanded, ‘Which way did the spirit of the Lord pass from me to speak with you?’” (22:24). Micaiah stood his ground despite the insult and the overwhelming numerical superiority of the opposition.

Ahab had hoped his yes-men would convince Jehoshaphat. He attempted to discourage Jehoshaphat from inviting Micaiah. His emissary pressured Micaiah to join the 400 court prophets. Zedekiah struck Micaiah, attempting to intimidate the prophet. All of these strategies failed.

Unable to escape the truth of Micaiah’s prophecy, Ahab therefore ordered that the prophet be imprisoned: “Then the king of Israel said… ‘Put this fellow in prison, and let his fare be scant bread and scant water until I come home safe’” (22:26-27).

The process of cancelling Micaiah was complete. Ahab followed his initial decision and went to war, and met his fate on the battlefront as prophesied by Micaiah. What happened to the imprisoned prophet? We never find out. Perhaps he was released after Ahab’s death, perhaps he was forgotten and died in prison.

In addition to the tragic conclusions to the story, it is worth focusing on King Jehoshaphat’s role. He initially demanded a true, God-fearing prophet to convey God’s word. He knew Ahab’s 400 court prophets were fraudulent. He witnessed Ahab’s shameless intimidation of Micaiah. He heard Micaiah’s prophetic words. And despite all that, Jehoshaphat joined Ahab in war, almost losing his own life (see the rest of the chapter). He was a king and a powerful ally, and certainly could have opposed Ahab with greater force. However, Jehoshaphat demonstrates that he no longer has the strength to stand by God’s prophet against Ahab and his powerful establishment.

Ahab thus developed a self-serving and well-financed system of court prophets; he intimidated, silenced, and cancelled true prophets; and he kept righteous voices like those of Jehoshaphat adequately silent so that he could achieve whatever he wanted. If Jehoshaphat had shown more resolve, perhaps the story could have turned out differently.

Jeremiah and the False Prophets

          Jeremiah began his prophetic career in 627 BCE, and gained national notoriety when he first prophesied the destruction of the Temple during the wicked King Jehoiakim’s reign in 609 BCE. He warned that if the Judeans would not improve their religious behavior, the destruction of the Temple and exile would follow. Unwilling to listen, the wicked king, the nobility, and the priesthood persecuted Jeremiah and attempted to have him executed.

          After the traumatic exile of Jehoiachin (Jehoiakim’s son) and 10,000 other leading Judeans twelve years later, there was widespread concern. Suddenly, Jeremiah’s bleak prophecies appeared to be materializing. Nebuchadnezzar of Babylonia was rapidly conquering the world, and the tiny nation of Judah was extremely vulnerable. However, a group of false prophets arose in Judah who predicted a miraculous downfall of Babylonia followed by the return of Jehoiachin and the other exiles.

          On the political front, Egypt fanned the flames of revolt against Babylonia. This led King Zedekiah to host an international summit in 593 BCE to discuss the formation of an anti-Babylonian coalition. The religious and political establishments opposed Jeremiah’s message of submission.

Jeremiah appeared at Zedekiah’s summit wearing a yoke, symbolizing that all the nations should submit to the yoke of Babylonia:

Thus said the Lord to me: Make for yourself thongs and bars of a yoke, and put them on your neck. And send them to the king of Edom, the king of Moab, the king of the Ammonites, the king of Tyre, and the king of Sidon, by envoys who have come to King Zedekiah of Judah in Jerusalem…The nation or kingdom that does not serve him—King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon—and does not put its neck under the yoke of the king of Babylon, that nation I will visit—declares the Lord —with sword, famine, and pestilence, until I have destroyed it by his hands. As for you, give no heed to your prophets, augurs, dreamers, diviners, and sorcerers, who say to you, “Do not serve the king of Babylon.” For they prophesy falsely to you—with the result that you shall be banished from your land; I will drive you out and you shall perish. But the nation that puts its neck under the yoke of the king of Babylon, and serves him, will be left by Me on its own soil—declares the Lord—to till it and dwell on it (Jeremiah 27:2-11).

          After Jeremiah’s dramatic presentation, the false prophet Hananiah son of Azzur publicly confronted Jeremiah, breaking his yoke and announcing that Babylonia would fall in two years (Jeremiah chapter 28). Of course, we are privy to the course of history. Jeremiah was indeed the true prophet, and Hananiah was false.

However, in the real time of the story, one must ask: How were the people—even the most sincerely religious ones—to distinguish between true and false prophets? This question was not merely a matter of academic interest. Jeremiah’s forecast of seventy years of Babylonian rule (Jeremiah 25:10-11; 29:10) came with political ramifications: remain faithful to Babylonia or they will destroy the country. By predicting the miraculous demise of Babylonia, the false prophets supported revolt against Babylonia. These debates were a matter of national policy and survival.

Some false prophets were easier to detect than others. Their flagrant disregard for the Torah discredited them as true prophets—at least for God-fearing individuals who were confused as to whom they should follow. However, Hananiah son of Azzur and Shemaiah the Nehelamite (Jeremiah 29:24-32) both sounded righteous. Neither preached idolatry or laxity in Torah observance, and both spoke in the name of God. After each prophet made his case, Jeremiah “went on his way” (Jeremiah 28:11). There was no way for the people to know who was right, and therefore the nation would have to wait to see whose prediction would be fulfilled. Waiting, however, was not a helpful option. The false prophets were calling for revolt now, and Jeremiah was calling for loyalty to Babylonia now.

Elsewhere, Jeremiah bemoaned the mockery he endured for the non-fulfillment of his own predictions: “See, they say to me: ‘Where is the prediction of the Lord? Let it come to pass!’” (Jeremiah 17:15). Although Jeremiah ultimately was vindicated by the destruction, the prediction test of prophetic veracity was difficult to apply.

To address these difficulties, Jeremiah presented alternative criteria by which to ascertain false prophets. He staked his argument in the Torah’s assertion that a wonder worker who preaches idolatry is a false prophet regardless of successful predictions or signs:

As for that prophet or dream-diviner, he shall be put to death; for he urged disloyalty to the Lord your God (ki dibber sarah al A-donai Elohekhem)—who freed you from the land of Egypt and who redeemed you from the house of bondage—to make you stray from the path that the Lord your God commanded you to follow. Thus you will sweep out evil from your midst (Deuteronomy 13:6).

Strikingly, Jeremiah extended the Torah’s example of idolatry to include anyone who did not actively promote repentance. Since the false prophets predicted the unconditional downfall of Babylonia irrespective of any repentance on Israel’s part, they must be fraudulent:

In the prophets of Samaria I saw a repulsive thing (tiflah): They prophesied by Baal and led My people Israel astray. But what I see in the prophets of Jerusalem is something horrifying (sha’arurah): adultery and false dealing. They encourage evildoers, so that no one turns back from his wickedness. To Me they are all like Sodom, and [all] its inhabitants like Gomorrah (Jeremiah 23:13-14).

More subtly, the Torah uses the expression, “for he urged disloyalty to the Lord your God” (ki dibber sarah al A-donai Elohekhem). This phraseology is used to refer to specific prophets only twice in Tanakh—when Jeremiah censured Hananiah and Shemaiah, the two false prophets who appeared the most righteous:

Assuredly, thus said the Lord: I am going to banish you from off the earth. This year you shall die, for you have urged disloyalty to the Lord (ki sarah dibbarta el A-donai) (Jeremiah 28:16).

Assuredly, thus said the Lord: I am going to punish Shemaiah the Nehelamite and his offspring. There shall be no man of his line dwelling among this people or seeing the good things I am going to do for My people—declares the Lord—for he has urged disloyalty toward the Lord (ki sarah dibber al A-donai) (Jeremiah 29:32).

Thus Jeremiah singled out the most undetectable false prophets so that those who genuinely wanted to follow God’s word would understand that they were as good as idolaters as they led the nation away from God by predicting unconditional salvation for undeserving people.

           Hananiah and Shemaiah may have been sincere dreamers who loved Israel. However, they were not driven to improve their society, and therefore necessarily were false prophets. In the end, their feel-good predictions contributed directly to the nation’s doom. King Zedekiah eventually capitulated to his nobles’ demands and revolted against the Babylonians, bringing about the destruction of the Temple and exile of the nation. During the final siege of Jerusalem, Jeremiah scolded Zedekiah for having ignored his counsel:

And Jeremiah said to King Zedekiah, “What wrong have I done to you, to your courtiers, and to this people, that you have put me in jail? And where are those prophets of yours who prophesied to you that the king of Babylon would never move against you and against this land?” (Jeremiah 37:18-19).

          Though some false prophets may have been sincere, there possibly also was some deficiency in that sincerity. While condemning false prophets, Jeremiah urged the Jews not to listen to them:

For thus said the Lord of Hosts, the God of Israel: Let not the prophets and diviners in your midst deceive you, and pay no heed to the dreams they [Heb. “you”] dream (ve-al tishme’u el halomotekhem asher attem mahlemim) (Jeremiah 29:8).

The expression at the end of the verse is difficult to interpret, as is evidenced in the NJPS translation above. Radak submits the following:

Mahlemim: this means that they cause them to dream … i.e., you [the people] cause [the false prophets] to dream, for if you did not listen to their dreams, they would not dream these things (Radak on Jeremiah 29:8).

Following Radak’s interpretation, Jeremiah’s critique of the false prophets includes an accusation of their being at least partially driven by a desire to please the people. A vicious cycle was created between the false prophets, the political leadership, and the masses. In contrast, Jeremiah was committed to God’s word no matter how unpopular that made him.

          Tragically, the Judeans failed to listen to Jeremiah, did not improve their religious behavior, and rebelled against Babylonia. Although he failed during his lifetime, Jeremiah’s staggering prophetic integrity, pitted against every echelon of society, remains immortalized in Tanakh as a shining model of standing against immorality and tyranny.

Is it proper to frequently post photos of your life on Facebook or Instagram for anyone to see? What about just for your friends and acquaintances to see?

I begin with a disclaimer: I don’t personally do Facebook or Instagram. I very much enjoy photos from our children and grandchildren, which we receive via WhatsApp and Nixplay, but I have no interest at all in sharing photographs beyond our immediate family.

Although Facebook and Instagram are not part of my own life, I know relatives and friends who find these social media to be very worthwhile, especially when it comes to keeping up with family and friends who live in other towns. If people find these things to be of real value, they have a right to opt in to these social media.

I’m not sure what positive value there is in posting photos beyond one’s immediate circle of family and friends. To me, it smacks of inappropriate exhibitionism. I find it strange that people want total strangers to follow their lives; I find it even stranger that people actually find satisfaction in following the lives of total strangers.

Time is precious and non-recoverable. Before deciding whether or not—or how much—to engage in social media, one needs to be sure that the investment of time is well worth it. Think carefully, and decide on your own what’s best for you.

Is it proper to go to a casino and play the slot machines or card games?

 The very first verse in Tehilim provides the answer to this question. The Psalmist declares that happy is the person who does not sit in the company of idlers…moshav leitsim. I think moshav leitsim is an apt term to apply to casinos.

Halakhic tradition views gambling in very negative terms. At worst, gambling involves financial dealings of dubious propriety deeming an inveterate gambler as someone with tarnished reputation. At best, gambling entails becoming part of a moshav leitsim, a group of people engaged in frivolous activity.

People go to casinos (or gamble online) not merely to pass a few hours of entertainment…but to win money. Although everyone knows that the odds are stacked in favor of the house, people think they will be lucky to win at card games or slot machines. The casinos offer many incentives to get people to gamble…and the casinos rake in many millions of dollars from gullible players.

Many patrons of casinos lose substantial amounts of money. Some have become “addicted” and keep betting their assets away in the hope that this time they’ll hit it big. But very few come out ahead and very many suffer serious losses.

It is best not to get started with gambling. If one already is a frequenter of casinos (or plays online gambling games) it would be best to stop.

Happy is the person who does not sit in the company of idlers, time wasters, gamblers.

 Is it proper not to wear sunscreen given the UVA/UVB exposure risks? Should a parent educate young children about the need for sunscreen and require them to wear it?

One of the basic responsibilities of parents is to keep their children as safe and healthy as possible. Would we think it proper for parents to feed children tainted food that can harm them? Would we think it proper for parents to let children play in traffic? Of course not. We would view this as highly irresponsible behavior.

Likewise, would we think it proper for parents to expose their children to bright sun without having protected them with sunscreen? Sunburn—especially severe sunburn—is not only painful but can have long term detrimental impact on health. Responsible parents will see to it that their children are properly covered with sunscreen. They will teach their children the importance of maintaining healthful practices.

Conveying the importance of good hygiene goes beyond the issue of sunscreen. It entails maintaining and teaching a healthy lifestyle. The goal is to inculcate our children and grandchildren with proper behaviors so that they will adopt these behaviors on their own…even when we aren’t there to nag them!

Identity, Royalty and Contentment: Breastfeeding in Tanakh[1]

                              
by Rabbi Hayyim Angel

The Bible relates that four of our greatest figures were breastfed: Isaac, Rebekah, Moses, and Samuel. In this essay, we shall explore these narratives as well as several poetic references to breastfeeding. Tanakh attributes meaning to breastfeeding that significantly transcends mere physical nourishment. There is a stress on nurturing religious identity, conferral of elevated status, and ultimate contentment through breastfeeding.

Narrative References to Breastfeeding

Isaac

When Abraham and Sarah miraculously become parents, Abraham circumcises Isaac as God had commanded him. The Torah shifts attention to Sarah’s nursing Isaac, and to the feast Abraham held when Isaac was weaned:[2]

Abraham gave his newborn son, whom Sarah had borne him, the name of Isaac. And when his son Isaac was eight days old, Abraham circumcised him, as God had commanded him. Now Abraham was a hundred years old when his son Isaac was born to him. Sarah said, “God has brought me laughter; everyone who hears will laugh with me.” And she added, “Who would have said to Abraham that Sarah would suckle children! Yet I have borne a son in his old age.” The child grew up and was weaned, and Abraham held a great feast on the day that Isaac was weaned. (Genesis 21:3–8)

Leon Kass[3] observes that male circumcision was widely practiced in the ancient world as a puberty ritual.[4] It was a sign of sexual potency and an initiation into the society of males, ending a boy’s primary attachment to his mother and household, the society of women and children. The Torah radically transforms the ritual of circumcision into a father’s religious duty toward his son. Circumcision in the Torah celebrates not male potency but rather procreation and perpetuation. Immediately after the birth of a son, a father must begin transmission of the covenant.

            More than women, males need extra inducement to take a parental role. They need to be acculturated to become interested in child rearing. Virility and potency are far less important to the Torah than decency, righteousness, and holiness. The society of males must be sanctified from birth. It is defined by those who remember God rather than those who fight, rule, and make their name great. Circumcision also profoundly affects the mother of the child, as it reminds her that her son is not fully hers. God therefore renames Sarai to Sarah at the time of God’s command of circumcision to Abraham.

            One underdeveloped area in Kass’ analysis is his treatment of motherhood. For Kass, women need far less religious guidance than men in order to stand properly before God. Once they overcome the potential arrogance of considering their children as their possessions, they are well on their way to living a life of holiness. In contrast, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik offers a more nuanced view of motherhood through his typology of Natural people and Redeemed people. In the natural community, a father’s role is minimal, whereas motherhood is central to a woman’s life. Similar to Kass, Rabbi Soloveitchik outlines ways the Torah teaches men they must educate their children in the covenant to be worthy of a redeemed fatherhood.

However, Rabbi Soloveitchik also develops the central role of the mother in partnering with her husband in the spiritual upbringing of her children.[5] God names Abraham—and not Adam—av hamon goyim, a father of many nations, because redeemed fatherhood begins with a father’s commitment to his children’s religious education: “Man’s involvement with God is only realizable if he is ready to commit his offspring to God by imbuing them with Torah knowledge and Torah ideals.”[6] Eve received her new name because she was em kol hai, the mother of all living beings, since natural motherhood involves true sacrifice. However, Sarai was renamed Sarah in the same discussion as Abraham’s name change in the context of circumcision, since she did more than raise biological progeny—she partnered with Abraham in transmitting the covenant:

In the natural community, the woman is involved in her motherhood-destiny; father is a distant figure who stands on the periphery. In the covenantal community, father moves to the center where mother has been all along, and both together take on a new commitment, universal in substance: to teach, to train the child to hear the faint echoes which keep on tapping at our gates and which disturb the complacent, comfortable, gracious society.[7]

            Given the Torah’s highlighting of both Isaac’s circumcision and breastfeeding-weaning, we may suggest that the religious partnership between father and mother described by Rabbi Soloveitchik is explicit in the text. Both elements establish the religious identity of the child.

Rebekah

            The Torah notes that Rebekah also was breastfed. When Rebekah agrees to accompany Abraham’s servant back to the Land of Canaan to marry Isaac, she is joined by her wet nurse:

So they sent off their sister Rebekah and her nurse along with Abraham’s servant and his men. (Genesis 24:59)

We learn of this nurse’s name—Deborah—only when she dies:

Deborah, Rebekah’s nurse, died, and was buried under the oak below Bethel; so it was named Allon-bacuth. (Genesis 35:8)

            The Torah provides no further details as to why Deborah should have been mentioned at all. Yet, she matters enough to warrant biblical notice. Addressing these anomalous references, Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik speculates that Deborah must have been a singular positive influence on Rebekah, who grew up in the pagan household of Bethuel and alongside her wicked brother Laban. Perhaps Deborah’s religious vision steered Rebekah onto the exceptional path of hospitality and righteousness that became hallmarks of the matriarch’s life.[8]

Moses

            The Torah relates that the greatest prophet, Moses, was breastfed by his mother Jochebed:

Then his sister said to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I go and get you a Hebrew nurse to suckle the child for you?” And Pharaoh’s daughter answered, “Yes.” So the girl went and called the child’s mother. And Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child and nurse it for me, and I will pay your wages.” So the woman took the child and nursed it. (Exodus 2:7–9)

At one level, the narrative highlights the cleverness of Moses’ sister,[9] who looked after her brother and then brilliantly was able to arrange for Moses’ own mother to nurse him and even receive payment for her services.

            However, there appears to be greater significance to highlighting that Moses was breastfed by his own mother, rather than by an Egyptian or by a slave of Pharaoh’s daughter. One talmudic passage surmises that God wanted to shield Moses from nursing from a pagan woman. The infant who would grow to become the greatest prophet should be breastfed by an Israelite:

Then said his sister to Pharaoh’s daughter, Shall I go and call thee a nurse of the Hebrew women? Why just “of the Hebrew women”?—It teaches that they handed Moses about to all the Egyptian women but he would not suck. He said: Shall a mouth which will speak with the Shekhinah suck what is unclean! (Sotah 12b)

A different Midrash (Exodus Rabbah 1:25) presents this view and also offers an alternative: Moses would become the greatest prophet, and God did not want the Egyptians to credit themselves for nursing him.

Common to both midrashic responses is the rabbinic assumption that breastfeeding helps form the identity and character of a child.[10]

Samuel

            The prophet Samuel was breastfed by his mother Hannah. In this narrative, Hannah’s maternal love shines forth and helps shape the exceptional personality of Samuel:

Hannah conceived, and at the turn of the year bore a son. She named him Samuel, meaning, “I asked the Lord for him.” And when the man Elkanah and all his household were going up to offer to the Lord the annual sacrifice and his votive sacrifice, Hannah did not go up. She said to her husband, “When the child is weaned, I will bring him. For when he has appeared before the Lord, he must remain there for good.” Her husband Elkanah said to her, “Do as you think best. Stay home until you have weaned him. May the Lord fulfill His word.” So the woman stayed home and nursed her son until she weaned him. When she had weaned him, she took him up with her, along with three bulls, one ephah of flour, and a jar of wine. And though the boy was still very young, she brought him to the House of the Lord at Shiloh. (I Samuel 1:20–24)

Hannah’s commitment to nursing Samuel also results in the delayed fulfillment of her vow to dedicate her son to God.[11] Hannah’s husband Elkanah supports Hannah’s decision.

            At one level, Hannah’s breastfeeding provides necessary nourishment for her child that the High Priest Eli would be unable to replace. However, it also symbolizes her love, nurturing, and religious influence.

            The text does not indicate Samuel’s age when Hannah weaned him and brought him to Shiloh to serve in the Tabernacle under Eli’s tutelage. Rabbinic sources discuss the age of weaning more broadly. Tosefta Niddah 2:2, quoted in Ketubot 60a, presents a debate. Rabbi Eliezer maintains that women breastfed for two years. Rabbi Joshua suggests that nursing could go up to four or five years. Mayer Gruber[12] observes that there is ancient Near Eastern evidence for weaning as late as 3, 7, 10, and even 15 years. Gruber links this survey to Samuel, as one must consider when he would be old enough to remain in Shiloh and serve God.

            Regardless, Hannah’s breastfeeding of Samuel plays a vital role in the narrative, and transcends mere nourishment in terms of Samuel’s development into a leading prophet of Israel.

Poetic References to Breastfeeding

Cynthia Chapman[13] explores several poetic biblical references to breastfeeding. In Isaiah 60, the prophet envisions the rebuilding of the Temple and return of Israel’s exiles. The prophet portrays redemption in royal terms, as kings and nations will bow to Israel. Israel then will suck the milk from the royalty of nations:

Bowing before you, shall come the children of those who tormented you; prostrate at the soles of your feet shall be all those who reviled you; and you shall be called “City of the Lord, Zion of the Holy One of Israel.” Whereas you have been forsaken, rejected, with none passing through, I will make you a pride everlasting, a joy for age after age. You shall suck the milk of the nations, suckle at royal breasts. And you shall know that I the Lord am your Savior, I, The Mighty One of Jacob, am your Redeemer. (Isaiah 60:14–16)

Similarly, the prophet portrays Israel’s redemption in terms of their being nurtured by foreign kings and queens:

Kings shall tend your children, their queens shall serve you as nurses. They shall bow to you, face to the ground, and lick the dust of your feet. And you shall know that I am the Lord—those who trust in Me shall not be shamed. (Isaiah 49:23)

Chapman explains that the symbolic “breastfeeding” from foreign kings and queens confers royal status onto the people of Israel.

            In Isaiah 66, the ingathered exiles will drink the milk of God and Jerusalem, who co-parent Israel in their rebirth to ethnic status and glory:

Rejoice with Jerusalem and be glad for her, all you who love her! Join in her jubilation, all you who mourned over her—That you may suck from her breast consolation to the full, that you may draw from her bosom glory to your delight. For thus said the Lord: I will extend to her prosperity like a stream, the wealth of nations like a wadi in flood; and you shall drink of it. You shall be carried on shoulders and dandled upon knees. As a mother comforts her son so I will comfort you; you shall find comfort in Jerusalem. (Isaiah 66:10–13)

Chapman concludes that breastfeeding confers identity and elevated status. She applies this thesis to explain why the Torah highlights Sarah’s breastfeeding Isaac and Jochebed nursing Moses. In both instances, it would have been plausible for non-Israelites to nurse the infants, but the Torah stresses the full Israelite identity of these figures.

Chapman proposes further significance for Naomi’s holding the baby Obed after Ruth and Boaz give birth to him:

Naomi took the child and held it to her bosom. She became its foster mother (omenet), and the women neighbors gave him a name, saying, “A son is born to Naomi!” They named him Obed; he was the father of Jesse, father of David. (Ruth 4:16–17)

The Hebrew term meneket, nurse, is used exclusively with women, and refers to breastfeeding. Omen-omenet is less clear, since it is used both for men and women. The wet nurse of Mephibosheth (II Samuel 4:4) is the only other biblical occurrence aside from Naomi where omenet refers to a woman. For a man, the term omen generally means “guardian” or “foster father” (II Kings 10:1; Esther 2:7, 20).

            Whether Naomi literally or symbolically breastfeeds Obed, she confers support for Obed’s Judean identity since Ruth still is identified as a Moabite. This identity legitimizes Obed’s grandson, David.

Contentment and Security

In the course of expressing concern over God’s abandonment of Israel to its enemies, the psalmist in Psalm 22 draws consolation from God’s helping the nation in birth, and offering security at its mother’s breast:

You drew me from the womb, made me secure at my mother’s breast. I became Your charge at birth; from my mother’s womb You have been my God. Do not be far from me, for trouble is near, and there is none to help. (Psalm 22:10–12)

            One of the most beautiful poetic references to breastfeeding is expressed by the psalmist of Psalm 131. He is able to ward off the natural human feelings of greed by developing a deep sense of being satisfied, like a weaned child with its mother:

A song of ascents. Of David. O Lord, my heart is not proud nor my look haughty; I do not aspire to great things or to what is beyond me; but I have taught myself to be contented like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child am I in my mind. O Israel, wait for the Lord now and forever. (Psalm 131)

Breastfeeding becomes a symbol of the ultimate sense of security and contentment.

            On the reverse side, Moses despairs when the people demand meat in the wilderness. He is unable to supply the malcontent people’s needs:

And Moses said to the Lord, “Why have You dealt ill with Your servant, and why have I not enjoyed Your favor, that You have laid the burden of all this people upon me? Did I conceive all this people, did I bear them, that You should say to me, ‘Carry them in your bosom as a nurse (omen) carries an infant,’ to the land that You have promised on oath to their fathers? Where am I to get meat to give to all this people, when they whine before me and say, ‘Give us meat to eat!’ I cannot carry all this people by myself, for it is too much for me. If You would deal thus with me, kill me rather, I beg You, and let me see no more of my wretchedness!” (Numbers 11:11–15)

Moses likens himself to a nurse (omen) who is unable to provide for an infant. Abarbanel explains that Moses feels like a man holding a crying infant who needs to be breastfed. Moses is paralyzed since of course he has no milk for his baby. So too he has no ability to provide meat for the complaining people.

Conclusion

            Far beyond physical nourishment, breastfeeding highlights the mother’s role in shaping a child’s religious identity. Prophets and psalmists draw further inferences through poetic usage of the imagery to describe how breastfeeding confers identity and status onto a child. Finally, a religious relationship with God ideally is characterized by humility and contentment, paralleled to a weaned child with its mother.

Notes

The abortion rhetoric provides the hermeneutic key whereby the contemporary contenders to the faith franchise called "Orthodox Juism" reveal the moral essences of their alternative constructions of religious reality. At stake in this conversation is the meaning of Masorah, a culturally encrusted code word. According to the Judaism of the Rabbinic canon, or book-based Orthodox Judaism, it is the transmitted oral Torah as preserved for the collective of Israel in the public, vetted literature of the rabbis up to and including the Babylonian Talmud. Masorah is however also invoked as the retort of last resort to resolve the often occurring conflicts between the canonical Torah library and the living culture of affiliating Orthodox Jews. While in theory, the Orthodox Jew consults the canon, the literary trove of which is both necessary and sufficient source of normative value, in practice this trove is mediated by rabbis, known as gedolim, great ones, or hakhmei ha-Mesorah, Masoretic sages, whose divinely inspired intuition is empowered to parse divine intent and to preserve the cohesiveness of culture based Orthodox Judaism.
This study contrasts the legal rhetoric regarding the abortion issue. What does the plain sense of the canonical library actually prescribe? And what is the view of that version of Orthodox Judaism that bases itself on the intuitive consensus of an elite group of rabbis through a kind of "continuous revelation?"

To accomplish this goal, we examine:

1. the apologia and rhetoric of "pro-life" Orthodox Judaism
2. the actual values encoded in the Judaism of the canonical documents regarding [a] fetal life and [b] the grounds for authorizing an abortion
3. the actual position of the Judaism of the canonical documents regarding abortions
4. the self-understandings of the two Orthodox Judaisms that compete with each other, in pre-modern and in modern times

1. The apologia and rhetoric of "pro-life" Orthodox Judaism

This version of Orthodox Judaism reflects the publicly proclaimed consensus of those who are self-authorized, empowered, and emboldened to speak as spokesmen [women have no voice in this Judaism] for Torah. The pronouncements of this dialect of Orthodox culture are apodictic, dogmatic, authoritative and authoritarian. For this Orthodox Judaism, conversation is condemned as disrespectful to God because God's vicarious spokesmen alone are authorized to speak--because they are intuitively endowed-- on God's behalf. Persuasion of peers is for this Orthodox Judaism pointless because those issuing bold, culture conservative apodictic rulings are, by their own account, without peer. According to Rabbi Herschel Schachter's understanding of his teacher, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, great rabbis may rule from intuition or "from the gut," but most other Orthodox rabbis may not even entertain the right to articulate a reasoned, dissenting opinion. After all, these second tier rabbis do not understand Torah deeply and intimately because they [1] have not been vetted as great rabbis by the clique of great rabbis and [2] these second rate Orthodox rabbis, by dint of their corrosive exposure to non-Jewish and non-ultra-Orthodox culture, are presumably under the influence or spell of un-Jewish heretical ideas, ideologies, and sensibilities. Therefore, in order to be considered to be legitimate Orthodox rabbis, second tier rabbis are required to defer to the pious policies of the truly great rabbis, those untainted by secularity, forgoing the role of poseq [religious authority] and assuming the role of police, who deferentially and piously enforce the policies, positions, and proclamations of the truly authentic great rabbis. To this view, citing relevant sources is insufficient, and otherwise compelling logic is spiritually inadequate. Only those accepted as great rabbis are authorized as Masoretic sages to preserve the ethic, ethos and spirit of authentic Judaism. In this Judaism, authentic Torah opinion, Da’as Torah, resides primarily in the charismatic person, rather than in the canonical object, which is the revealed, canonical text. In this Judaism, the sacred Torah serves as the rhetorical resource trove which is sifted, shifted, and manipulated in order to justify the apodictic rulings of the actual and ultimate source of living Torah, the inspired intuition of great rabbis, the actual word of the Lord that applies in contemporary times.

The Judaism "of the canonical documents" is the alternative Orthodox Judaism that challenges the claims of the charisma-led Orthodoxy described above. According to Rabbi Marc Angel, this is the Judaism of the Oral Torah applied appropriately to current settings. And according to Prof. Jacob Neusner, this is the Judaism of the Dual, i.e., Oral and Written Torah, which alone expresses God's will as it was proclaimed at Sinai, in the wilderness sojourn, in the Prophetic writings and Hagiographa, and in the Oral Torah library. Contemporary Orthodox Judaism has undergone change in modernity because it is self-conscious about its religious choice and identity, which is not the case for pre-modern Traditional Jewish religious communities. Modern Orthodoxy's adherents and advocates, this writer included, believe that God is revealed in the sacred, canonized Torah text as explained persuasively by whoever makes the most reasonable, persuasive, and compelling reading of that canon. Apodictic rulings, declaratory judgments, and ex cathedra decrees are not recognized to be legitimate value statements according to the version of Jewish Orthodoxy that is encoded in the Oral Torah canon. These apodictic rulings may only issue with authority from a Sanhedrin sitting in plenum, but not from post-Talmudic self-selective clerics sitting in clergy conclaves, whose intuition is taken to represent God's will.

The charismatic Orthodox Judaism opposes an expanded abortion license by appealing to the sanctity of life and human humility, a code term intended to intimidate ethical initiatives, demean the rectitude of the individual moral conscience, and to foster legal passivity

by besmirching and delegitimating those who would dare to revisit classical texts in order to reconsider and perhaps revise practices and policies, based upon a philological reading of the sacred canon. While for the Judaism of the Oral Torah, halakhic discourse rejects mysteries and vague platitudes out of hand, [Dt. 29:28] "pro-life" culture conservative Judaism, representing what it takes to be the moral high ground, with its accompanying legitimating stringency, cannot tolerate a conversation regarding what the canon actually records because with conversation comes the moral demand for accountability.
2. The actual values encoded in the Judaism of the canonical documents regarding [a] fetal life and [b] the grounds for authorizing an abortion
The most relevant Biblical passage informing the abortion controversy is:

“When [at least two] men fight and [inadvertently] strike a pregnant woman and [as a consequence of the blow] the fetuses abort but there is no calamity [i.e. the pregnant woman survives the blow] [the offending culprit] must assuredly be punished as to be mandated by the woman's husband in court.” [Ex. 21:22-23]

In this passage, the incidence of unintentional feticide is punished by a fine, but the offending culprit is not consigned to a city of refuge, which would be the case were this accidental abortion to be viewed as a homicide [Ex. 21:23]. Therefore, the assault upon the fetus is, according to the Pentateuchal document that every version of Orthodox Judaism accepts to be the will and word of God, the human fetus carries the status of property, but not person.
However, the canonical library of the Oral Torah, the foundation documents of which are also sacred canon for Orthodox Judaism, provides the literary, theological, and legal filter whereby Biblical norms are legally processed and culturally applied. The approaches of our two contending Orthodox Judaisms to this canonical legal filter reveals, en passant, that there are two competing and ideologically incompatible Orthodox Judaisms contending for recruits, recognition, and the collective soul of the Orthodox affiliating community.

The tendentious reading of this passage advanced by pro-life Orthodoxy cites the following Talmudic comment, with its accompanying ideological spin, to be the final, exhaustive, and to its view unquestionable will and word of God:

[In the case of] a woman in hard labor [the court mandates] the cutting of the unborn fetus and removing it [from the womb] limb by limb because her [i.e. the mother's] life takes precedence over its [i.e. the fetal] life. [bSan 72a]

According to Rabbi J. David Bleich, only in this case, where the fetus endangers the life of the gestating mother, may an abortion be condoned, and in other cases, i.e., when the gestating mother is not in mortal danger, the abortion procedure is by implication forbidden. [Contemporary Halachic Problems, New York, 1977, 327) But the Talmudic context cited here only refers to a legally mandated abortion. Philologically parsed, this canonical statement prescribes that in a case in which the maternal life, i.e., a legally defined person carrying moral rights, is endangered by a life threatening fetus, which prior to birth is considered to be not a person but property, Oral Torah law mandates the destruction of the fetus, which is property, in order to spare the actual living human person, the gestating mother. The claim, advanced by R. Bleich and others, that an abortion is in fact forbidden by statutory implication, reflects the a priori ideology of the exegete but neither the philological sense of the statute nor the actual norm encoded in that statute. Maimonides astutely and precisely ruled [Laws of the Murderer and Life Preservation 1:9] that this case, when the gestating mother is herself endangered by the fetus she carries, is akin [but not identical] to that of the pursuer, when it appears that one person pursues another person with apparent intention to commit rape or murder, a bystander may take the requisite vigilante action to stop the pursuer, even by killing the presumptive culprit, should circumstances so require.

3. The actual position of the Judaism of the canonical documents.

According to what Orthodox Jewish believers, committed to the Written Law as filtered by the Oral Law, are supposed to maintain, the penalty for fetal destruction is a fine, indicating that in Israel's canon, feticide is a tort, not a crime, an assault upon property, not person. The identical definition recorded in Israel's sacred canon also appears in Hammurabi's code. [CH 210, ANET 17-19] The only, but critical, difference between the ethic of the Torah and the ethos of Hammurabi's code is that for the latter, human and property worth inhabit the same moral universe, while for the Torah ethic the human person carries moral rights because s/he carries the image of God and may not be reduced to or treated as property.
Orthodox Judaism ignores the astonishing fact that the religiously canonical bArakhin 7a-b actually fills the gap of the wrongly and ideologically imputed silence of bSanhedrin 72a. The claim that non-therapeutic abortions “must” be halakhically forbidden is based [or biased] upon an ideological reading of a passage that only and explicitly deals with a mandated abortion. In bArakhin 7a-b, a woman about to be executed by the court is, if pregnant, aborted, [a] even though the biological father has property rights to the unborn, because the court is empowered to confiscate property, in this case, the fetus for which there is a paternal claim of property interest, and [b] the grounds for taking this action, the destruction of the fetus, is the shame that the condemned woman would endure if executed while pregnant. Therefore, the condemned woman's shame provides sufficient warrant to confiscate what Jewish law in its canonical statement defines as property. We have in this passage an explicit warrant for discretionary abortion.

In search of an anti-abortion argument, Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein ["Abortion: a Halakhic Perspective," Tradition 25 (Summer 1991), 4] contends that [a] since the Israelite law must be more rigorous for an Israelite than non-Israelite, [bHullin 33a], and [b] a non-Israelite is executed for the crime of feticide, [ bSan 57a] , R. Lichtenstein concludes syllogistically, abortion "must" be forbidden to Jews by implication because it is forbidden explicitly to non-Jews. Like R. Bleich, R. Lichtenstein is ideologically predisposed to justify a restrictive abortion ruling and not to read the canon as an objective text scholar applying philological controls, going where the data leads, being disinterested in the resultant findings, and to use R. Bleich's very felicitous idiom, letting "the chips fall where they may." R. Lichtenstein's very clever construction is however parried by the legal fact that non-Israelites suffer execution for assaults on property, while Israelites are not so sanctioned. Thus, the claims that Israelite law "must" be stricter than other legal systems and that only therapeutic abortions are by implication licit, must be addressed philologically, not ideologically. Therefore, in its canonical version, Orthodox Judaism requires an abortion when there is a danger to human life, and considers shame to be a ground to authorize other, i.e., discretionary abortions. Were Jewish law to outlaw abortions undertaken to avoid shame, then the bArakhin 7a-b passage would not appear in the Talmudic canon. In the case of a woman pregnant with an illegitimate fetus, R. Yair Bacharch [Havot Ya’ir 31] was restrictive on public policy grounds, conceding that a lenient ruling might be justified if the letter of the law were the only relevant consideration. Jewish law does allow for policy strictures, but not for ideologically driven misrepresentations of the evidence, here evidence of the popular refusal to deal with or address the implications of the bArakhin 7a-b evidence. Furthermore, the Lichtensteinian position, that stricture is per se a quality of Torah ethic, while finding roots in Tosafot, does not seem to reflect the religion of sacred canon. After all, Nadab and Abihu were both extra strict and extra wrong. [Leviticus 10:1-7]

4. The self-understandings of the two Orthodox Judaisms that compete with each other, in pre-modern and in modern times

While taken in amazement with the creative, innovative, and dazzling apologias for the pro-life position, argued brilliantly by Rabbis Bleich and Lichtenstein, both nevertheless seem to arrive at their respective conclusions prior to their investigation of the data. Neither rabbi advocates a strict construction reading of the canonical law but both appeal to "morality," derived from culture bias, a self-defined "spirit of the law," and what appears to be culture conservative subjective taste. R. Lichtenstein also suggests that there is a normative morality that is beyond the halakhah that is nevertheless binding. Pro-life culture traditionalist Orthodox rabbis read the canonical documents as if their intuitions reflect God's intentions, and accordingly read the sacred canon selectively, finding in the Torah that ethic which they are programmed, conditioned, and expected to find, and will ignore and, in the case of bArakhin 7a-b, suppress facts, however canonical those facts may be, when those facts fly in the face of deeply revered sensibilities, self-evident intuition, and consensus social policy. According to the Orthodoxy encoded in the Oral Torah library, God transmitted a textual Torah book to all Israel but did not transmit a secret, private, hidden interpretation code entrusted only to a special self-select elite. By allowing the book/text of the Jewish sacred canon to be superseded by policy driven poseqim, albeit with the best of intentions and moral instincts, pro-life Orthodox Judaism de jure claims that God's Torah, while divine and from Heaven, is transferred to their human hands and authority and is no longer in Heaven. According to the Judaism of the Oral Torah, only the Great Sanhedrin is invested with this power, and without this legislative/judicial institution, Torah is entrusted to all Israel and is read with literary and historical tools and with a public conversation, not with intuitive explanations bereft of review, dialogue, and persuasion.

The abortion debate has a long history in Jewish law. One Tosafist view allows abortion, and another does not, arguing that Judaism cannot be less strict than non-Jewish religions. The restrictive view is often cited, the lenient view is not. While to his abiding moral credit, Rabbi Feinstein unflinchingly cited and addressed the lenient Tosafist view. He argued from conjecture and without a shred of supporting evidence that the lenient view must be rejected because the Tosafist text is corrupt. Maimonides argues that the claim "Judaism must be stricter than other religions," is inadmissible, that Judaism’s canonical documents alone defines Judaism, and we do not spin texts in order to find what we wish to find. [Iggeret ha-Shemad] So for Maimonides, [1] Torah religion is about obeying God's law and not being reflexively strict, and we argue that [2] before one claims that a given text should be discarded because it is corrupt, that corruption must be identified and defined, and not merely proclaimed because the textual content conflicts with the interpreter's positions.

The pro-life Orthodox culture conservatives are what Professor Jeffery Gurock calls modernity "resisters," while the scientific modern Orthodox who are committed to a philological parsing of the canon, seek to "accommodate" modernity. For the former, Halakha is not primarily what the Jew must do, it is the lomdus/conceptualism that the rabbinic elite imposes upon the canon so that religious culture not change, the cohesiveness of Orthodox society not become unglued, and its leadership status not be challenged. But lomdus, or "learningness," is a term unattested in Israel's canonical library; it is an invented culture construct created to empower an exclusive rabbinic elite to monopolize the interpretive access to the canon in order to make theologically correct normative judgments. This elite is unabashedly and passionately opposed to the philological reading of the canon because, in the words of the late R. Ahron Soloveichik, academic, philological readings of the canon undermine "the sanctity of Torah." To this view, allowing public access to parse the divine word is a recipe for theological, communal, and sectarian anarchy.

Tellingly, ultra-Orthodoxy denies the “great rabbi” credential to modern Orthodox rabbinic elite rabbis simply because they are "modern." When determining religious legitimacy is ideas based upon political rather than exegetical considerations, it is power rather than persuasion that invests theologically correct ideas with normative, religious valence. Thus, being a "great rabbi" is determined not only by expertise and scholarship, but by politics, culture taste, and social policy. Thus, for Haredi Judaism, Rabbis Lichtenstein and Joseph Soloveitchik cannot be great rabbis because [a] they are Zionists and [b] earned secular doctorates in English and Philosophy, respectively. Furthermore, the reading presented here reflects the influence of Responsa Pisqei Ben Zion Uzziel 52, that has been ignored but not refuted by the popular rabbinic consensus. The Arakhin passage quoted above is in culture conservative Orthodox circles vocalized "erkhin" [sic]. According to Hebrew grammar, the singular erekh, value, in the plural becomes arakhin, not erkhin. And the form erkhin is also grammatically improper because were the form to exist--which it does not--it would be vocalized erkin, with a "k.” In order to condition its affiliating community not to read Israel's sacred canon philologically, like the early authorities, i.e., the rishonim, and in our time, R. Uzziel, there may be no applied study of grammar, syntax, semantics, or hermeneutics in culture conservative, pro-life, modernity resisting Orthodoxy. By obfuscating the tradition/masora of canonically correct Hebrew, the Tradition of canonical text is replaced with and is superseded by the "tradition" of culture conservatives who are singularly endowed to divine God's true intentions.

The other Orthodoxy, populated by the militant moderates of Modern Orthodoxy, are committed to philology because this Orthodoxy pines to hear and obey the actual voice of the living God as it is revealed in the Torah's living words. God did not entrust the Torah to any sacred synod of Torah sages, but to the collective of Israel, Morasha kehillat Ya'aqob. Maimonides ruled not based on human charisma, but the best reasoning based upon the best rendering of the canonical reading. Culture conservative modernity- resisting Orthodoxy prizes conformity in practice, dress, thought and attitude; the moderate militants of Modern Orthodoxy culture accommodators believe that God's unchanging principles apply to ever changing social realities. The culture conservative Orthodox looks to the sociology of the community and is therefore ironically similar to the Reconstructionist approach, which claims that ultimate religious normativity is grounded in social rather than in theological and covenantal concerns.
R. Ya'ir Bachrach [Responsum 31] ruled restrictively regarding the termination of a fetus conceived in adultery on policy grounds. Policy claims must persuade but may not intimidate. They certainly may not claim that their voice is God's voice. God gave the Torah to "us," the collective called Israel, not to an elite, save the Great Sanhedrin; not to a clique, however convinced it may be by its self- selecting consensus, and not by partisans of any party. Like the statutes/mishpatim that are rational and are intended to persuade, we welcome conversation, not coercion, reason, not reproach, and ideas, not ideology.

The abortion debate within Orthodox Judaism reveals that there are two contenders for the mantle of Orthodoxy. The modernists read the sacred canon and its law literally, the Biblical and rabbinic narratives figuratively, and find God in the sacred text. Orthodoxy's culture conservatives read the law figuratively and the narratives literally so that critical thinking be suppressed, so that God's presence is transferred from the holy text to the holy person. The modernists read texts critically because they want to know how to think and practice; Orthodoxy's anti-modernists read their agenda into the canonical text because [1] the Jew is taught what to think and [2] challenging those who tell others what to think is akin to challenging God. Which version of Orthodoxy do you, the reader, believe to be the true seeker of God's will?

We stand at the mass grave of men, women and children—
Indians who were massacred at Wounded Knee in the
bitter winter of 1890. Pondering the tragedy that
occurred at Wounded Knee fills the heart with crying and with silence.

The great Sioux holy man, Black Elk, was still a child when he saw the
dead bodies of his people strewn throughout this area. As an old man, he
reflected on what he had seen: “I did not know then how much was
ended. When I look back now from this high hill of my old age, I can still
see the butchered women and children lying heaped and scattered all
along the crooked gulch as plain as when I saw them with eyes still young.
And I can see that something else died there in the bloody mud and was
buried in the blizzard. A people’s dream died there. It was a beautiful
dream. For the nation’s hoop is broken and scattered. There is no center
any longer, and the sacred tree is dead.”

Indeed, the massacre at Wounded Knee was the culmination of
decades of destruction and transformation for the American Indian. The
decades of suffering somehow are encapsulated and symbolized by the
tragedy at Wounded Knee. Well-armed American soldiers slaughtered
freezing, almost defenseless, Indians—including women and children.
Many of the soldiers were awarded medals of honor for their heroism, as
if there could be any heroism in wiping out helpless people.

How did this tragedy happen? How was it possible for the soldiers—
who no doubt thought of themselves as good men—to participate in a
deed of such savagery? How was it possible that the United States government
awarded medals of honor to so many of the soldiers?

The answer is found in one word: dehumanization. For the
Americans, the Indians were not people at all, only wild savages. It was no
different killing Indians than killing buffaloes or wild dogs. If an American
general taught that “the only good Indian is a dead Indian,” it means that
he did not view Indians as human beings.

When you look a person in the eye and see him as a person, you simply
can’t kill him or hurt him. Human sympathy and compassion will be
aroused. Doesn’t he have feelings like you? Doesn’t he love, fear, cry,
laugh? Doesn’t he want to protect his loved ones?

The tragedy of Wounded Knee is a tragedy of the American Indians.
But it is also more than that. It is a profound tragedy of humanity. It is the
tragedy of dehumanization. It is the tragedy that recurs again and again,
and that is still with us today. Isn’t our society still riddled with hatred,
where groups are hated because of their religion, race, national origin?

Don’t we still experience the pervasive depersonalization process where
people are made into objects, robbed of their essential human dignity?

When Black Elk spoke, he lamented the broken hoop of his nation.
The hoop was the symbol of wholeness, togetherness, harmony. Black Elk
cried that the hoop of his nation had been broken at Wounded Knee.

But we might also add that the hoop of American life was also broken
by the hatred and prejudice exemplified by Wounded Knee. And the hoop
of our nation continues to be torn apart by the hatred that festers in our
society.

Our task, the task of every American, is to do our share to mend the
hoop, to repair the breaches.

The poet Stephen Vincent Benet, in his profound empathy, wrote:
“Bury my heart at Wounded Knee.” This phrase reflects the pathos of this
place and the tragedy of this place.

But if we are to be faithful to Black Elk’s vision, we must add:
Revitalize our hearts at Wounded Knee. Awaken our hearts to the depths
of this human tragedy. Let us devote our revitalized hearts toward mending
the hoop of America, the hoop of all humanity That hoop is made of
love; that hoop depends on respect for each other, for human dignity.

We cry at this mass grave at Wounded Knee. We cry for the victims.
We cry for the recurrent pattern of hatred and dehumanization that
continues to separate people, that continues to foster hatred and violence
and murder.

Let us put the hoop of our nation back in order. For the sake of those
who have suffered and for the sake of those who are suffering, let us put
the hoop of our nation back in order.

             It isn’t easy to pray from the heart every day. It isn’t easy to teach about it either. As for a great many things, the hardest thing is often to decide how to start. What is the very best “trigger” to use at the outset, to engage other people in meaningful study?

When I began to teach “Directing the Heart in Jewish Prayer” (kavvanah) almost 30 years ago, I found a powerful trigger that proved effective over and over again. I used it many times in the past to initiate study, and sometimes I still do today. But in more recent years I shifted to a different trigger at the very beginning. Now I use the older trigger later on in the course of study.

The switch derives in part from a change in the audience over the past few decades, and in part from a change in the order of study. Both parts are related, because the change in the audience motivated a change in the sequence. Yet it seems to me that the newer trigger and order of study might have been best for the original audience, too. Finally, and most recently, the coronavirus pandemic forced synagogues to shut and millions of Jews to suddenly change how they pray. This turned out to be yet a third trigger for discussing kavvanah. In this paper I will describe these three triggers one by one.

The First Trigger: Kavvanah as an Obligation to God

The first trigger is a story:

A friend of mine was hired by a successful corporation. He was thrilled about his new job, not only because it was lucrative, but also because his new boss had a reputation for being fair and easy to work with. The boss was also known to cultivate warm, friendly relationships with his employees.

Not long after my friend began working, his boss told him that he’d like to get to know him better and meet his family. So my friend invited the boss to his home for dinner with his family the very next week. As soon as he came home that night, he asked his wife and children to help get things ready for the big visit. They all made plans together to shop and cook and clean up the house. Each of his kids had a special job to do: One was to mow the lawn, another to vacuum, and another to clean out the garage. Everything had to be perfect when the boss arrived for dinner.

But when the big night arrived, my friend decided to leave everything to his wife and children. He himself drove off to spend the evening at a basketball game! When the boss arrived, my friend’s wife had no good way to explain why her husband wasn’t home. The boss was furious (despite the wonderful dinner that was ready to be served) and fired the man on the spot in his own home, right in front of his family.

The most embarrassing thing about the story above is that it isn’t really about a friend of mine. It’s about me. It is also about pretty much every Jew, male or female, young or old, Sephardic or Ashkenazic, who has ever attempted to say the daily prayers found in the siddur with regularity. It was first written down as a parable in Spain nearly 1,000 years ago by Rabbenu Baḥya ibn Pakuda in his classic Duties of the Heart:[1]

When one prays with his tongue, but his heart is distracted by matters other than prayer, his prayer will be like a body without a soul, or an empty shell, because his body is present but his mind is absent when he prays. Of those like him the verse says: “Inasmuch as this people approached with its mouth, and with its lips honored Me, but kept its heart far from Me, and their reverence for Me was a commandment of men learned by rote…” (Isaiah 29:13).

This has been compared to a servant whose master was his guest. He charged his wife and the members of his household to serve the master and attend to all his needs, while he left to occupy himself with pleasures and games. He didn’t serve his master personally, and he didn’t strive to honor him and do what was proper for him. The master was angry with him and refused his honors and service. He threw everything back in his face.

Likewise for one who prays while his heart and mind are devoid of the matter of prayer: God will not accept the prayer of his limbs nor the movement of his tongue. You can see this from what we say at the end of our prayers: “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing before You, O Lord, my Stronghold and my Redeemer” (Psalms 19:15). But when a man occupies himself with any matter in the world, whether it is permitted or forbidden, and afterward he finishes his prayer and says “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing before You,” is it not a great disgrace that he claims to have spoken to his God with his heart and his mind when his heart was not with him, and then he asks God to accept it from him with pleasure? He is like those of whom it was said, “As a nation that pretends to show righteousness…” (Isaiah 58:2).

According to the parable above, the “master of the house” within each of us is the mind, and when we pray it sets tasks for the other parts of the body: It tells the eyes to scan the text of the siddur, the tongue and lips to pronounce the words, the spine to hold us up straight for the Amidah (the silent standing prayer) and bend when it is time to bow. It tells our hands to hold the siddur and our feet step back and forth three times before and after the Amidah. Although I don’t do it myself, many others find that swaying (“shuckling”) helps them concentrate better during prayer: For these people their hips are also involved in the action when they pray.  All these parts of the body do the tasks they are given by the mind during prayer, and sometimes they do their jobs well. But if one’s conscious mind is absent when one prays, occupied instead with business, friends, or a basketball game, then neither the words of one’s mouth nor the other movements of one’s body have any value to God.

This trigger provokes serious discussion because it makes a very firm demand. That demand is made in personal terms, as a moral obligation toward God. But it is also clearly binding on a halakhic level: All the codes of Jewish law have always required kavvanah for prayer. The personal demand and the formal requirement coincide, but it is the former that gives rise to the latter. Rabbenu Baḥya’s Duties of the Heart is a pietistic work, and Jewish pietism has ever refused to admit a distinction between ritual and morality as separate realms.[2] For Rabbenu Baḥya, the “religious” order and the “social” order are one and the same, because God is a personality and a relationship with God can be understood (at least partially) in human terms. No human being could fail to be insulted in the face of such behavior, and the very same is true of God.

Yet the discussion of Rabbenu Baḥya’s parable can sometimes get heated precisely because the obligation is halakhic as well. The parable makes sense on an interpersonal level precisely because we don’t recite fixed texts to other people three times a day! Since our conversation with other people is extemporaneous and unique—as opposed to being fixed and highly repetitive—it is indeed insulting to talk to a person without paying any attention to what you are saying. But how can the same thing be said of prayer? Isn’t the very demand both unfair and impossible?

It is with this question that a serious discussion of kavvanah really begins. It gets right to the crux of the problem at the very heart of halakhic prayer: Should one pray to God when kavvanah is unlikely or impossible? Is that really what the halakha demands? It turns out that according to talmudic rules that were accepted by all of the great authorities, at least in principle, one simply must not. Rabbenu Baḥya himself accepted these rules in practice, not just in principle, and that lets us understand his parable anew in an entirely different light: His demand to pray with kavvanah is neither unfair nor impossible, because when kavvanah is not forthcoming one simply does not pray.[3] To be clear: It is not just that prayer isn’t obligatory when kavvanah isn’t forthcoming, but that it is forbidden. Maimonides ruled the very same way almost two centuries after Rabbenu Baḥya, also in practice and not just in theory.[4] Even according to those who said that these rules are no longer practical, kavvanah is still required and the obligation of prayer is not met without it.[5]

            The advantage of Rabbenu Baḥya’s parable as a trigger for discussing kavvanah is that it goes straight to the heart of prayer and kavvanah as obligations. That makes it highly effective with observant Jews who are committed to the halakha as binding. But there are millions of Jews today who don’t share that commitment. How can the topic be taught to them?

The Second Trigger: “Words from the Heart Enter the Heart”

            Teaching prayer to groups of Israelis from the entire spectrum of observance required a different trigger. I still use Rabbenu Baḥya’s parable for prayer without kavvanah with these groups, and we still study prayer as an obligation. Indeed, to study Jewish prayer without that idea would be to misrepresent it. But in more recent years, instead of starting right away with that trigger and its related topic, I begin with something else.

            The second trigger is a short prayer about prayer called Oḥilah la-El. It is sung by the prayer leader (shali'aḥ ẓibbur) on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. In the Sephardic tradition it is said before the prayer leader’s repetition of the Amidah for Musaf, and in the Ashkenazic tradition it is said before the special blessing of the holidays (within the repetition). Here are its words:

I firmly hope in God and plead with Him,

I ask Him to grant me the gift of expression,

That I may sing His praise among people,

And express His deeds in song.

A person has an inner world,

But the gift of expression comes from the Lord.[6]

Lord, open up my lips, and let my mouth declare Your praise![7]

To be sure, I don’t give my students this prayer as a text right away. First we listen to it sung in the tender yet stirring melody composed by Rabbi Hillel Peli, which has become quite popular in Israel and is widely used in synagogues.[8]

After listening, when we focus on its meaning, one sentence always stands out: “A person has an inner world, but the gift of expression comes from the Lord.” There is a contrast here between that which is shared and that which is special. Every person has an “inner world” and that is what makes him or her a human being. It is, of course, a blessing just to be, to exist, but that is a blessing shared by everyone alive. It is “the gift of expression” that is special, i.e. the ability to express one’s inner world in a way that means something to another person. This blessing is not shared equally by all.

Some of us express ourselves better than others. Even those who have some share in this blessing find that there are certain times or situations when they don’t find the right words from the heart that can enter the heart of another. One of the greatest tragedies in life is when we want to share our inner world with someone else, but cannot express it. Most poignant of all is when we want to create a connection or deepen a bond to another person, but we don’t know how to do it. It is then that we need to ask God for “the gift of expression.” And if it is God with whom we want a connection, then we pray: “Lord, open up my lips, and let my mouth declare Your praise!”

As for Rabbenu Baḥya above, the idea here is human. The gift of expression is perhaps the most precious quality that a human being can possess. It is needed in each and every interpersonal context, whether the other personality is God or a human being. Here, too, the artificial boundary between the “religious” realm and the “social” or “moral” realm blessedly collapses. This allows for discussion of prayer and its meaning for Jews across the entire spectrum of observance. I now think that even for observant Jews—those who are committed to halakha and obligatory prayer—this is where study of prayer should begin. With this trigger the very soul of prayer itself comes first, before discussing prayer as an obligation and the difficulties that it causes for kavvanah. At the same time it still puts kavvanah in the center of things, where it belongs, right at the start.

Furthermore, the fact that this prayer is said by the prayer leader (shali'aḥ ẓibbur) brings home other aspects of Jewish prayer in a way that can be meaningful to all. First of all, “the gift of expression” is a blessing not just for individuals, but for groups. How might a class in a school, as a group, approach a teacher or a principal? How might the employees in a company approach their senior manager? How might a community approach a governor or a president? They need to choose a representative to speak for them, because if they all spoke at once then they wouldn’t be speaking as one. The most important quality for such a representative will certainly be “the gift of expression,” and if he cares deeply about his mission then he might see fit to pray for that. That is exactly what Oḥilah la-El means for the prayer leader.

Finally, there is the matter of the fixed prayers as found in the prayer book. Is prayer really about talking to God in a way that requires “the gift of expression”? How can it be, if the prayer book already tells you what to say? What need is there for the prayer leader to ask for “the gift of expression” if he already knows what to say?

The prayer Oḥilah la-El implies that there is some degree of novel expression in what the prayer leader says to God, not just in tunes or intonations but in the very words themselves. While halakhic prayer is certainly structured, it was not meant to be fully fixed; there is a rich middle ground between reading a text that appears on a page and total improvisation.[9] This also touches upon the idea that halakhic prayer is public in essence, and that is why it must have a good deal of structure. But even private speech between individuals has more structure than it might seem, and part of “the gift of expression” lies in the ability to use inherited forms in new ways to touch the heart of the listener.[10]

A large part of what makes kavvanah so difficult derives from the built-in tension between personal sincerity and a structured public framework. That tension is suddenly eased when public prayer is not an option. This recently happened during the coronavirus pandemic, and it led to renewed focus on kavvanah.

The Third Trigger: Sudden Closure of Synagogues

            An extraordinary situation can sometimes call our attention to ordinary things that we tend to overlook.

The pandemic forced sudden, radical change upon observant Jews who are accustomed to praying with a minyan (quorum of ten). Many of these people are denizens of the yeshivot or yeshivah graduates. Others are classic “minyan-goers,” people who often make strenuous efforts to work community prayer into their busy lives every single day. On the fringes of the group that received this sudden shock are those Jews who usually only pray with a minyan on Shabbat and holidays, along with the kaddish-sayers. But the shock was the most severe for people who seek out a minyan every single day.

It is hard to predict the results of a sudden shock. To put its severity into perspective, this wasn’t just a jarring personal change in the lives of current minyan-goers. Rather, it is the first time since the destruction of the second Temple in Jerusalem that the daily public worship of God was suddenly silenced in the vast majority of synagogues around the world. In medieval Ashkenaz, the “holy congregation” and its public worship were thought to be the direct continuation of the Temple service, upon which the world stands.[11] That sentiment echoes to this very day in the many Ashkenazic communities that still contain the Hebrew abbreviation k”k (“kahal kadosh,” or “holy congregation”) in their names. But recently, the public worship of the nation that stands before God came to a sudden halt. In the long term, this may prove to be a deeper wound than the personal shock to people’s routines.

When it comes to individuals, a jarring event can sometimes bring change, even if that change is not immediately visible. But sometimes there is no real change and old habits quickly return. It is quite likely that prayer with a minyan will resume in its usual form once the current emergency ends. For most of the devoted people who try never to miss prayer with a minyan, the current crisis will remain a vivid memory, but not one that changed their lives. Many people, whether they are daily minyan-goers or not, may learn to cherish community prayer more deeply in the wake of recent events, and it is possible that synagogue attendance may even be strengthened. No virtual environment can fully replace the experience of a community where people meet regularly in person.

It is also possible that this shocking interruption to the age-old institution of community prayer will cause long-term harm that weakens future participation, or that there will be no change at all. One cannot presently know. It is quite possible that the result depends on our response.

It is tempting to measure strength or weakness in terms of attendance and participation, and to think about the possible effect of the pandemic on future synagogue life in those terms. But perhaps, if there is to be any long term change as a result of this crisis, it might better be in the quality of community prayer.

The pace of a minyan is far too fast for sincere speech (and certainly for “the gift of expression”), but that speed is a necessary function of the overwhelming amount of text that is said. At the very same time the demand for sincere speech is clear and uncompromising in the sources, and to pray without it is clearly called a transgression. This is a problem that cannot be resolved, it seems, unless prayer with a minyan becomes impossible due to an unforeseen crisis. Then we must pray at home, which suddenly makes sincere speech possible.

To pray publicly, with a minyan, is thought to be a sign of piety today, just as it has been for a great many centuries. At the very same time to pray with kavvanah is also an aspect of piety (an even greater one than prayer with a minyan according to the halakhic sources). But on a practical level, for so many people, these two related kinds of piety can be mutually exclusive!

It is not just that it is difficult to pray with kavvanah in a minyan. It is not just that it is a tremendous challenge. The real problem is that it can be impossible. It is simply a practical issue: The 100+ pages of a weekday Shaḥarit, recited in full in the synagogue, make sincerity impossible for a great many people. There are of course ways for the individual pray-sayer to abridge what he or she says. But someone who does so removes oneself from what is going on at the very same time in public: That person isn’t really praying with the community for most of Shaḥarit. The speed-reading game goes on simultaneously, but that is a losing game according to Rabbenu Baḥya and the halakhic codes. If that person is asked to be the prayer leader, such a person will need to play that losing game or else decline. The competition between public prayer and sincere prayer can be a zero sum game.

One might object that this is an age-old problem. We are told, after all, that it “was the custom of Rabbi Akiva, when he would pray with the congregation he would shorten his prayer and go up, so as to avoid being an encumbrance on the public. But when he prayed by himself, if a person would leave him in one corner he would find him [later still praying] in another corner. And why all of this? Because of his many bows and prostrations” (Berakhot 31a).

At first glance, this passage seems to reflect the same kind of tension we find today. In his great enthusiasm, Rabbi Akiva often extended his prayers, but not when he prayed with the community. Rabbi Akiva’s personal spirituality is praised in this passage, but the needs of the public come first.

Note, however, that the passage talks about Rabbi Akiva “shortening” his prayer in public or “extending” it privately. The prayer that is probably meant here is no more and no less than the Amidah (the Eighteen Blessings), probably along with personal supplications (taḥanunim) that are appropriate at its end. The person who witnessed Rabbi Akiva could not have imagined a daily Shaḥarit of 100+ printed pages in his wildest dreams (or nightmares). If Rabbi Akiva’s extended Amidah was “an encumbrance on the public,” then what are we to say of our order of public prayer today?

It is also important to point out that for Ḥazal, the question of “more” or “less” has little to do with kavvanah (Berakhot 5b, 17a). When the Talmud tells us that Rabbi Akiva “would shorten his prayer” in public, it doesn’t mean that he would pray without kavvanah. It rather means that his kavvanah was appropriate to a public setting.

In short, our condition today is the exact reverse of what the Talmud describes: It is the daily prayer of the community that encumbers the individual because of its excessive length and quantity and speed, not the individual who encumbers public prayer by taking longer.

Finally, Rabbi Akiva’s “short” public Amidah and his “long” private one probably had nothing to do with reading fast or slow. It is more likely that he was using his own words within the overall framework of the prayer. Sometimes he said more to God and sometimes he said less. In public he said less, so as not to encumber the community.

By forcing people to pray at home, alone or with their families, the coronavirus pandemic laid bare the conflict at the very heart of our daily community prayers. Never before was there a trigger for kavvanah that affected so many people directly and all at once. We would do well, when our daily minyanim resume, to find ways to make them far less encumbering and much more conducive to kavvanah, for individuals and communities alike.