National Scholar Updates

Introduction

On the first of September, Yael (not her real name), a 10-yearold
student at a Beit Ya’acov elementary school for girls,
arrived at what had been her school for the past four years.
However, upon arrival this time, she was told to enter her school through
a new gate. “From now on,” the teacher told her, “this is going to be your
entrance to the school.” Later that day, she discovered that her classmates
were all of Sephardic extraction. She was also told she should have no contact
whatsoever with any of her former Ashkenazi classmates. At the end
of this first sad day of school, making her way home full of shame and
hurt, she encountered Sarah (not her real name), her beloved friend for
the past four years, and was shocked to learn that they had different uniforms
and different timetables for arriving at school. Yael’s life, as she knew
it, had changed forever.

Yael is one of 180 Sephardic pupils attending the separate school for
Sephardim in the city of Emanuel in Israel. Her story sheds light on the
shocking facts regarding segregation in education within Jewish communities
in Israel. I write this article to call attention to this segregation and
to propose innovative ways to combat it, from my unique perspective as a
public-interest attorney representing disenfranchised communities and as
a legal scholar criticizing discriminatory mechanisms through the law.

Ethnic discrimination has been a continual struggle for Sephardim in
Israeli society since the establishment of the state of Israel. Upon arrival
from their countries of origin, Sephardic Jews were categorized as
“Mizrahim” (“Easterners”, or Jews from Arab or Muslim countries), a
social and cultural category that was invented just for them at that time.
However, though established in the past, this category is still meaningful
sixty years later. Mizrahim in Israel continue to suffer from structural
injustices. Statistics prove they have a high unemployment rate, comprise
a disproportionate percentage of Israel’s prison and social welfare populations,
and suffer substantial underachievement in education. These deficiencies
have held steady or even increased over Israel’s six decades of
statehood. (See Oren Yiftachel, Nation-Building or Ethnic Fragmentation?
Ashkenazim, Mizrahim and Arabs in the Israeli Frontier, 1 Space and Polity
2, 149-169 (1997); Hubert Lu-Yon and Rachel Kalush, Housing in Israel:
Policy and Inequality (1994). Although Mizrahim today comprise a larger
share of formally educated society, recent research indicates that the gap
itself between Mizrahim and Ashkenazim in education has grown in the
last decades. See Momi Dahan, “He is (Not) Entitled—Has the Gap in
Education Narrowed?” in Education and Social Justice in Israel—On Equal
Opportunities in Education 19 (Samuel Shay et al, 2003).)

A clear example of ethnic discrimination is revealed in the story that
began this article. Yael’s experience exposes the reality of ethnic segregation
that is currently being practiced at a religious elementary school for
girls in the city of Emanuel. The students have been physically separated
within this school based solely on ethnicity. The school, which was once
one school, has now been virtually divided into two schools, with the
Sephardic students separated from the Ashkenazi students and the two
groups housed in two isolated buildings. The school administration has
taken steps to further separate these buildings, using such shocking tactics
as building a concrete wall to prevent any form of interaction between
the two groups. Furthermore, the school enclosed the Sephardic students’
playground area behind a plastic cloth fence (Cloth of Utah), to conceal
any view of them as they played outside. This shunning treatment recalls
the historical treatment of leprosy patients who were sent to live in separate
colonies, or the racial segregation of black students from white stu-
dents in the United States, which was one of the main triggers for the civil
rights movement. The school’s administration has rationalized its actions
by going so far as to stigmatize Mizrahi culture and individuals as suffering
from “lower spiritual levels” than the Ashkenazim.

This repulsive and mentally abusive treatment towards Mizrahi students
has already inflicted profound damage. The students have expressed
deep feelings of pain, discrimination, shame, confusion, poor self-esteem,
and inferiority to their Ashkenazi fellows.

However, the elementary school in Emanuel is only one of many in
the Beit Ya’acov chain of schools which discriminate, on a regular basis,
against their Sephardic students vis-à-vis their Ashkenazi classmates.
Moreover, similar allegations have recently been made, and confirmed,
concerning other ultra-Orthodox schools in such places as Beitar-Elit,
Elad and Jerusalem, where students were required, in their registration
forms, to supply seemingly irrelevant details regarding the ethnic origin of
their parents and similar data clearly aimed at collecting as much information
as possible to enable the school administration to build an ethnic profile
of prospective students. There are even cases where students who had
an Ashkenazi father and, consequently, an Ashkenazi surname, but who
physically resembled their Sephardic mother, were not admitted to the
Ashkenazi class, whilst their friends with similar ethnic profile who bore
a more “European”-like appearance were found eligible to attend this
same Ashkenazi class.

This “separate but equal” mentality—which was long ago declared
unconstitutional by the U.S. Supreme Court—tries to justify giving different
groups of people separate facilities or services by claiming that each
group still receives an equal quality of service. However, this mentality and
practice are far from being equal; on the contrary, it promotes a distorted
perception of the ‘other’ and only perpetuates separation, racism, abusive
treatment, culturally-based notions of ethnic hierarchy and, most of all,
immense pain.

One of the most troubling facts about this discriminatory apparatus is
its institutionalized character. Although Beit Ya’acov schools are considered
an informal independent school system, separate and different from
Israel’s formal state school system and operating with educational autonomy,
the Beit Ya’acov schools in fact enjoy official recognition by Israel’s
Ministry of Education and receive a substantial portion of their annual
budget from the state’s coffers. In other words, not only does the Ministry
of Education refrain from interfering with the discriminatory practices of
these schools—on the excuse of reluctance to interfere with these communities’
autonomy—the Ministry even finances this discrimination with
Israeli taxpayers’ money.

The Legal Battle against Discrimination in Ultra-Orthodox
Education. The Traditional Path—Too Little, Too Late

The phenomenon of ethnic-based discrimination in Israel’s education system
has yet to receive appropriate public or legal attention, as would be
expected of a society that clings to the ideal of equality as Israel does. The
few legal battles fought thus far on this issue have centered on Israel’s
administrative courts, where the defendants were the local authorities
where the discriminating school was located, and the plaintiffs had asked
the court to declare the criteria for admission to these schools as being
discriminatory. Based on facts proved before it, the administrative high
court has ruled in the past that the quota system which then governed Beit
Ya’acov Schools (permitting no more than 30% of students to be of
Mizrahi origin) was in fact prohibited by law, and that the local authorities
should be held responsible for enforcing the anti-discrimination laws
in their community.

In response, the schools eliminated the quota practice as a formal one,
and embraced a new practice based on meritocracy alone, which “miraculously”
resulted in no more than 30% of Beit Ya’acov students being of
Sephardic origin,

It was obvious that a different legal course of action needed to be
taken. That is where the Tmura Center, joined by the Achoti organization,
stepped in.

The New Legal Agenda

Tmura (means both “change” and “exchange” in Hebrew) is a nonprofit
organization that offers pro-bono legal representation to disenfranchised
minorities in Israel, including women, Ethiopian Jews, and Mizrahim, on
issues ranging from education to housing and land distribution, to rape,
sexual offenses and violence against women. Achoti (My Sister) was
founded by Mizrahi feminist social activists seeking to bring social justice
issues to the center of public discourse and to enhance women’s solidarity.
Tmura—which was founded by and employs only attorneys who are
graduates of ISEF’s scholarship and leadership training programs—has an
agenda of reform.(ISEF—the International Sephardic Educational
Foundation, seeks to narrow Israel’s wide social and economic gaps by
providing equal access to higher education for capable young Israelis from
disadvantaged communities.)

The organization maintains that Israel’s social wealth should be redistributed
using private market principles, internalizing the high costs of
discrimination and reframing it as financially unprofitable behavior for the
discriminating parties. Using the private tort law mechanism, Tmura compels
governmental organizations and corporate bodies to face the individual
who has suffered discrimination in the courtroom, to acknowledge the
unfairness of its policy, and to pay for its harmful consequences—thus
ultimately inducing these organizations to seek a better, non-discriminatory
solution.

In the Beit Ya’acov school case, the purpose of our intervention is to
stop the discrimination immediately, so that all students may learn fairly
and equally together in the same classroom. Additionally, we seek compensation
for the school’s Mizrahi students for the shame and disgrace
they have endured.

We are therefore working on several simultaneous legal planes. First,
we have sought an immediate injunction against the school, to compel it
to eliminate all sorts of discrimination to which the girls are subjugated.
Second, we have asked for immediate government intervention to reassign
government funds allocated to the school; those funds would henceforth
be administered by a nondiscriminatory professional committee appointed
by the Ministry of Education. Additionally, a formal complaint was filed
with the police, demanding the immediate enforcement of laws strictly
and clearly banning any discriminatory practices at the school.

In my opinion, it is the duty of Israeli courts to set a precedent in such
cases and bring about systemic change with the goal of abolishing discrimination
of this kind. Such rulings would encourage others from this community
to come forward and fight this discrimination, which has gone on
far too long. The religious community should no longer feel its practices
are beyond the reach of Israel’s legal system.

The Main Difficulties in Using the Legal System

The main problem in combating anti-Mizrahi discrimination in the education
system is that this discrimination is largely hidden, and there is little
or no public awareness of this issue. While the situation at the Beit
Ya’acov school in Emanuel has supplied concrete evidence of the larger
problems within the education system, using this case as a “model case”
imposes some other difficulties which are unique to this specific case.

The ultra-Orthodox community is usually an extremely closed society,
with many issues kept inside the community and not addressed in
Israel’s state secular courts—especially issues of discrimination against
minorities (women and Sephardim). In the past, Tmura representatives
have proposed to the leading rabbis of this community to take these issues
to court; however, these suggestions were repeatedly rejected, as this community
regards Israel’s courts as illegitimate agents of a secular system
whose very existence this community opposes. However, in the Emanuel
case, Tmura and Achoti have, for the first time, been given permission by
Sephardic rabbinical authorities to take this very disturbing issue to a secular
court due to its severe circumstances. It is indeed rare for the rabbis
of the community to grant permission to take this issue before a secular
court. Therefore, it is obvious that this opportunity for an action is rare
and precious.

One last objection to legal recourse as a solution to discrimination is
its inherently limited social impact. No single court case can change such
deeply embedded practices. Therefore, in addition to taking legal action,
public awareness about this situation has also been raised through a strategic
campaign, which climaxed with a demonstration against both the
Ministry of Education and the leadership of the Beit Ya’acov Schools, held
in the very heart of Jerusalem’s ultra-Orthodox neighborhood.

Epilogue

Yael’s story is not hers alone; it is not even the story of her 180 classmates;
it is rather the story of many Sephardic pupils in Israel today.
Discriminatory practices against them within the educational system are
not limited to the ultra-Orthodox community. The mainstream Orthodox
educational system is also regularly accused of discriminatory practices,
mainly vis-à-vis Ethiopians but also Sephardim. With Ethiopians, the segregation
is more blatant, as was recently demonstrated in the case of
Yeshurun School in Petach Tikva, where four Ethiopian girls were totally
separated from the rest of the students. Yet with regard to Mizrahim,
more subtle practices are also common. For example, the Zeitlin Middle
and High School for Girls in Ramat-Gan maintains de facto separate
classes for the “different” girls. At the prestigious Netiv Meir Yeshiva in
Jerusalem for boys, the number of Mizrahi students never exceeds a certain
low percentage. Similar practices have even been found at some of
the top schools in the state secular school system, where such discriminatory
practices are truly impossible to trace and combat effectively, since
from a legal perspective, it is of course easier to fight against the more blatant
and traceable ones.

Within Israel’s education system, the Mizrahi community has been
deprived over the decades of full and equal opportunity for education,
resulting in low achievements and an absence of leadership within the
community. This reality calls for concerted action to ensure that future generations
of young Mizrahi Jews in Israel do not grow up with the negative
impact of discrimination on their future; rather, we need to educate and
cultivate strong leaders within their communities and ensure that they
enjoy the true equal protection of the law. This struggle can serve as another
breach in the wall, leading to an equal and fair society for all Israel’s citizens
and strengthening Israel’s long-term sustainability as a whole.

But when Moses’ father-in-law saw how much he had to do for the people, he said, “What is this thing that you are doing to the people? Why do you act alone, while all the people stand about you from morning until evening?”

—Shemot 18:14

As spiritual leaders, it is often our instinct to act alone. Even if we are trained to be collaboratively minded and value the importance of teamwork, many of us still are drawn to the enticing option of getting things done ourselves, with our own rules and on our own time. The research on leadership that has emerged recently has shown, however, that good leadership is characterized by collaboration and the coming together of shared strengths.

We want to present the unique case of shared leadership in the context of Orthodox synagogue life. In 2016, Beth Sholom Congregation in Potomac, Maryland, hired a female professional, a graduate of Yeshivat Maharat, (the co-author of this article) to serve on its clergy staff. We have learned a tremendous amount in the two years since this decision was made, and one of most striking lessons was around the importance of a shared-gender leadership team in Orthodox shuls.

We have several goals in this article. First, while it won’t be a comprehensive review, we will present the idea of shared leadership. We will then move on to a discussion of our own experiences, highlighting an argument for the responsibility of shared-gender leadership in Orthodox synagogues. Finally, we will offer a case study on how our approach generated a dynamic response to an American moment around women coming forward in cases of sexual harassment and assault.  

An article in the Harvard Business Review, In Praise of the Incomplete Leader (2007), pushes back against the idea that puts a single leader on a pedestal. Rather, the authors suggest that it is time to move away from the idea that one person has it all “figured out.”  A changing world, they argue, requires us to lead differently, and it is only “when leaders come to see themselves as incomplete—as having both strengths and weaknesses—will they be able to make up for their missing skills by relying on others.” In addition to a concrete benefit, there is also an important spiritual value to leading with your strengths and letting others lead with theirs. When Avraham responds “hineini,” Rashi comments that he responds with humility. A tremendous insight is brought forth through Rashi’s comment: Humility does not mean making oneself so small to the point of disappearance; it means realizing what gifts you have and saying hineini—you’re present and ready to use them. Other models of collaboration—Moshe, Aharon, and Miriam being the prime examples—teach us this same lesson. One cannot, and should not, lead alone. Each leader’s skills were important to transition a group of slaves to becoming Am Yisrael.

        If possible, it is an incredible thing for a community to be managed by more than one clergy member. A good collaborative team should include leaders of diverse interests, background, and life positions, holding each other accountable, all bringing their strengths to the table. Upon reflection, however, the two of us want to suggest that while considering the approach of shared leadership in Orthodox synagogues, gender should be take a front seat when considering diversity. Women should be a part of synagogue spiritual leadership in matters of organizational participation, Torah scholarship, spiritual mentorship, halakhic guidance, and pastoral care.  Neither of us believes that there should be a model of male spiritual leaders for the men only and female spiritual leaders for the women only. All congregants benefit from the perspective and guidance of male and female spiritual leaders with their distinct gendered experience and background.

      That said, at the most basic level, much of shul action happens when the community is separated by a mehitza. Families celebrate semahot, men and women come to say Kaddish for the first or last time, or they show up to shul for the first time after an extended illness or joyous milestone. These moments often happen during communal prayer, when men and women are already sitting on their respective sides of a mehitza. A spiritual leader on one side, though able to offer a supportive glance from afar, may have a difficult time really being present and addressing the emotional and spiritual needs of congregants on the other side. Furthermore, while some community members who feel comfortable addressing all issues with their clergy members, others feel more comfortable when they can choose the gender of their clergy member, particularly on deeply intimate matters.

        In two years, there have been more moments than we can count that underscore this approach. A few months ago, a woman came to shul at the end of 11 months to say her final Kaddish. Had the male clergy co-author been the only clergy member present, he would have had no idea that this was her last Kaddish because of the mehitza, unless she had told him in advance. The female clergy was present, saw the nuance in the woman’s emotional presence, and learned that she was showing up for the final Kaddish for her father. She quickly arranged and guided the mourner in reciting a tefillah that we say on completion of the Kaddish. Imagine the scene: The female clergy member, holding and guiding her through the tefillah, clutching her hand as she navigated this important transition. The male clergy member, able to get up right after and see what was happening, announced the deceased relative’s name before sharing a Mishna in his memory. There are countless times we have a feeling after minyan, as we walk into our respective offices, that what we just accomplished needed to be done together. This very holy and special moment demonstrates the unique need for a mixed gender clergy partnership in Orthodoxy.

While the anecdote above is primarily about female spiritual leaders assisting those on the women’s side of the mehitza, there have been many times after our female spiritual leader gave a sermon on a given Torah topic that men in the shul have commented how important it was for them to hear Torah from a woman filtered through her experience and learning background.     Because of our partnership, the issue of sexual harassment and assault came to the foreground. A few months ago, as a result of much deliberation and planning, we started a conversation around sexual harassment and assault. To the two of us, a typical sermon did not seem to be the right approach to engage in meaningful conversation about such an urgent and sensitive subject, one that is—for good reason—so central to media discourse right now.

While it is a complex discussion and we went back and forth on the particulars, we came to three conclusions: First, we must speak about it and bring the conversation to our community. This is not just an issue of “them,” but also of “us.” Sexual harassment and violence happens in our Jewish community; it includes both victims and perpetrators, and we too are implicated and impacted by the discussions that are happening.  Part of being a Kehilla Kedosha (a holy community) means that we provide support and strength for people who are struggling and in pain on an entire range of issues, including victims of sexual harassment and assault. Our spiritual communities should be places where we can bring our anxieties and full selves, regardless of how challenging the conversations are.

Second, for the two of us, a male-female clergy team, it was important to give a sermon together, to model what conversations on this topic can look like between men and women. The conversations between the two of us leading up to the sermon were very significant as they enabled us to better understand the way that many men and women were struggling with these issues. Therefore, our presentation began with a shared sermon where amidst words of Torah about the weekly Torah portion, the female clergy member shared a story of her own sexual trauma, while the senior male clergy member modeled listening and response.

Third, in the spirit of collaboration and shared leadership, we believed that our talk should be followed by a community driven space for discussion, reflection, and action. We were fortunate to collaborate with the Jewish Coalition Against Domestic Abuse (JCADA) and mental health professionals within our community to facilitate three breakout groups after the sermon. One group for men only, one for women only, and a mixed gendered group facilitated by JCADA that was about asking difficult questions and getting more information and resources. Our deep hope was that anyone who wants to ask hard questions was able to feel like they can—that in our spiritual community, there would be room to hold nuance in a world increasingly unable to do so. Therefore, we provided the types of spaces that can model what asking hard questions in a patient, gentle, and curious way can look like.

While we certainly did not have all the answers, we knew that it was critically important to create a space that would provide support for those affected by harassment and assault, encourage victims and bystanders to find their voice to protect themselves and others, and enable all of to grapple with these challenging questions together, as a community. In order for this unique model to come to fruition, the two of us needed to work as a unit, bringing forward our honest perspectives as we grappled with the issues.

Conclusion

Joseph Raelin (2005), leadership scholar, encourages practitioners to move from conceptions of leadership that are serial, individual, controlling, and dispassionate to what he calls “leaderful” organizations, which champion leadership that almost sounds virtue based—it is concurrent, collective, collaborative, and compassionate. We believe that it is time to move in that direction. Most Orthodox settings are exclusively led by men. In the last century or so, we have seen a dramatic change in attitudes and practices throughout different types of Orthodox communities when it comes to the role and participation of women in various aspects of Jewish intellectual, communal, and, in many instances, ritual life. Our communities will grow stronger in Torah observance and vibrancy with the introduction of mixed-gender communal and spiritual leadership models. We are fully aware that this is only the beginning of the conversation. The examples and stories for why it is important to have mixed-gender leadership teams are now rushing in. We look forward to being in partnership with our larger community in thinking about these issues.

Since the end of
World War II, both in America and Israel, Jews
have been at odds with one another for political, ethnic, ideological,
religious and/or denominational reasons.
That different groups have divergent worldviews has been the case since
Biblical times. But the competing
factions today appear more hostile than ever before. The Orthodox -- particularly the
ultra-Orthodox with their high birth rates, expanding schools systems, and
increased political clout, coupled with a sense of triumphalism -- are often perceived as the most vociferous
and intolerant participants in these internecine squabbles of our people.

I believe that
the Orthodox, who have contributed their fair share of the hostility that
prevails among the different groups, could and should lead a healing process,
and lead all of kelal yisrael (the
people of Israel) to a
shared vision. Because of our adherence
to halakha (Jewish Law), our connection
to traditional learning, our historical authenticity, and our success, modern
Orthodoxy should be providing guidance, leadership, and direction -- not only
to its own enclave but to a much wider berth of Jewry. Regrettably, modern Orthodoxy has shrunk from
this task.

However, I
believe that in order for this essential healing and unity to occur, the modern
Orthodox may need to distance themselves from the ultra-Orthodox. Orthodoxy
must shift back to the center, a center that addresses the pluralistic needs
of, and provides the leadership for, all of Jewry. To accomplish this, we have to reconsider our
historic allegiances to the halakhic hegemony of the Lithuanian roshei yeshiva, (revered terms for heads
of yeshivot) and the Hassidic leaders. In
most instances, they view the modern Orthodox as Hellenizers. We are really not part of their world, yet
they seek to dictate our philosophy and political thought. Hence there is a need to create a distance
between us, to enable us to act independently of their authority, yet be able
to work together when called for.

Before I
continue, let me state that I do not refer to myself as Orthodox. Nevertheless, an Orthodox synagogue is the
locus of my spiritual aspirations, the hub of my communal activities, it’s
where I go to prayer services and where I go to say kaddish (mourner’s prayer), and to celebrate my family semahot (life cycle events). Though my lifestyle falls within the
parameters of the modern Orthodox gestalt,
I believe that the term “orthodox” is misunderstood, and limits one’s ability
to interact positively with the rest of the Jewish world. Hence, like a good number of us who came of
age in observant homes during the decades after the war, I consider myself a
post-denominational Jew. However, for
purposes of this article, I include myself when using “we” to refer to the
modern Orthodox.

While I respect
and admire certain individual leaders for their scholarship and attributes, I
do not consider myself at all under the guidance of the ultra-Orthodox. By freeing myself from the dictates of the “gedolei hador” (giants of the
generation), I am at liberty to interact with Jews of all denominations. My tsedaka
(charity) is targeted to organizations and projects based on their merit and
not their affiliations. I can praise and
accept the teachings of those in all movements and can ignore what I see as the
arbitrariness and narrowness of the ultra-Orthodox or others when warranted.

What I also see is a Jewish educational
system that is lacking, day schools and congregational schools that are short
in funding and teachers, assimilation at an all time high, and enemies who pose
true threats -- and yet we obsess over minutiae. With
all of these issues engulfing us, the Orthodox most often do not have dialogue
or interaction with over 80% of our fellow Jews to find common ground.

At one level, our
problems are the reverse of the rest of modern Jewry. Outside of the Orthodox,
most leaders are plutocrats; that is, the moneyed class that contributes the
largest donations has most of the seats at the ruling tables. In the Haredi
world, in contrast, it is only the roshei yeshiva who call the shots. Very few businessmen, almost no women, and no
independent thinkers play a role. There is
very little challenge to the Torah scholars who believe, and have convinced
many of us, that they are infallible and that their interpretation of halakhic
decisions overrides all other considerations.

Menachem Kellner,
in the November 2006 issue of Covenant,
notes the fallacy of the prevailing concept of Maimonides’ influence on modern
Judaism. Maimonides, the rationalist,
the physician, envisioned a “remarkably naturalist religion of radical
responsibility.” It was Judaism that was
“deeply elitist and profoundly universalist.”
Kellner points out, as many of us have already observed, that Orthodox
Judaism of today does not adhere to a Maimonidean rationality, but rather to a
Kabbalistic worldview in which, Kellner says, “spiritual guides provide indispensible
intercession.” In such a mystical world
the “gedolei hador” relying on daat Torah
(knowledge of Torah) are deemed infallible, and their word is binding. This belief is held by the Orthodox masses
despite the fact that they advised the pre-war Jewish populations of Europe not to
escape to Palestine or
other parts. Most offensive to the
sensibilities of modern Orthodox constituency are the outrageous comments made
by certain haredi leaders. The former
chief rabbi of Israel and
spiritual leader of the Shas party, Rabbi Ovadia Yosef has said on various
occasions that the Holocaust victims are the reincarnated souls of sinners and
that Hurricane Katrina was retribution for President Bush’s support of
disengagement from Gaza.

The influence of
the haredi world has penetrated and continues to affect an ever larger swath of
traditional Jewry, primarily through teaching in modern Jewish day
schools. For the most part, the
haredim’s children do not get a higher education, or go to trade school. They learn in the kollel (advanced study institute) until it’s time to make a
living. One profession that is open and
welcoming to them is teaching in the modern Jewish day school, which suffers a
shortage of teachers because our own children are encouraged to seek more
lucrative careers. So our students have,
for two generations, been subject to the influence of these teachers and their
haredi visions. As the haredi community
has shifted to the right, they have dragged the modern Orthodox along. Very few leaders speak out against the newest
“humra (restriction) of the week,”
for fear that they, or their children, will be ostracized. The children, for
their own part, have bought into the haredi thinking because of the influence
of their teachers and peer pressure.
Such ostracization is not trivial, and can be harmful to their prospects
for jobs and marriage.

II

I suggest that a
new leadership of enlightened rabbinical and lay leaders be formed and assert
their leadership. If the modern Orthodox
are to provide guidance and direction to the entire House of Israel, we must
find common ground and work with the Conservative, Reform, and the
unaffiliated. While Orthodoxy has veered
to the right over the last half century under the spell of the haredim, the
Conservative shifted even further on the scale to the left (widening a gap that
was extremely narrow from the 1930s to the early 1960s) and the Reform movement
has dropped off the halakhic charts. We
need to formulate a weltanschauung to
Jewry that acknowledges that the majority of the Jews in the United
States, or the world for that matter,
are not, and for the foreseeable future, will not be traditionally observant.
Once that fact is accepted by the Orthodox, policies can be implemented that
will allow the modern Orthodox to influence, provide leadership for, and
participate in the governing of all of Jewry.

A possible
strategy, in part, is to follow the example of Habad. Some of their emissaries sit on councils,
Federation Continuity Commissions, and the like under the guise of recognizing
non-Orthodox clergy not as clergy, but as leaders of the Jewish Community -- a
thin veil, that gives them some sort of halakhic cover. For those who look for precedents, the Ibn
Ezra admired a commentator on the Humash (Pentateuch), R. Jeshua b. Judah – a prolific 11th
century writer, religious teacher and philosopher who also happened to be a
Karaite – a sect that recognized only the Scriptures as the sole and direct
source of the law, and that excluded the Oral tradition of the Rabbis. Despite the fundamental theological
differences, Maimonides was of the “belief that the Karaites should be treated
with respect, honor and kindness… as long as they do not slander the Talmud
(that they did not believe in). They may
be associated with and one may enter their homes, teach their children, bury
their dead and comfort their mourners.”
This suggests that the Orthodox attitude for the past century to our
fellow Jews may have been a bit overdone.

A more recent
example is Marc Shapiro’s book “Saul Lieberman and the Orthodox”. He cites numerous
examples of prominent halakhic authorities quoting, corresponding and
socializing with Rabbis Saul Lieberman and Louis Ginsburg, the stalwarts of the
Conservative movement and exalted professors and directors at the Jewish
Theological Seminary. It is of interest
to note that in instances where the scholarship of Lieberman and Ginsburg was
indispensable, some haredi authorities quoted only their initials, others cited
their work anonymously, or plagiarized it in their own name.

If ahavat yisrael (love of the fellow Jew)
is not enough of an incentive to be creative in reaching out across
denominational lines (and to date it hasn’t been), and if kol yisrael arevim zeh lazeh, (all of Jewry is responsible one to
another) does not motivate Orthodox Jews to aspire to leadership of more than
just their 20 % of the house of Israel, then perhaps one should consider simple
survival. The fate of all Jews is one,
in many respects. If the numbers of Jews continue to decline over time
(assimilation and low birth rate) as the general population increases, the
influence of all Jews is bound to wane.
Within the United States, the American political process pays close
attention to the Jewish community partly because of the swing vote that Jews
may carry in key states and localities and because of the funding provided by
the wealthy and primarily non-Orthodox Democratic and Republican donors. (It is ironic that while the ultra-Orthodox
are the most vociferous opponents of pluralism, in some rapidly growing and
financially impoverished communities it is government assistance programs that
help to support the haredi lifestyle.)

However, it would
be naïve to believe that the ultra-Orthodox will amend their predispositions
for any practical purpose that would violate what they believe to be the halakhic
norm. Any creative solutions for
leadership and the future must come from the modern Orthodox world.

The cohabitation
of ultra-Orthodoxy with its modern cousin has endured for half a century. While there have been benefits for the
modernists, (more learning, more schools, more books, and more kosher
facilities) the disadvantages are significant.
The haredim are enclavist, the modernists are universalists, the former
are inward looking, the latter are outward looking. The modernists have had little influence on
the ultras, but the latter have shaped the former. As a result, many in the formerly modern
community have become less Zionistic, less tolerant, and less likely to get
involved outside their community. They
focus more on the minutiae heeding the latest humrot and less on the majesty of
our heritage. They shy away from the
national umbrella organizations and as a result get less in funding for Jewish
education. Finally, were it not for the
influence of the ultra-Orthodox, women’s issues regarding prayer and learning
would have advanced at a far more rapid pace.

We shall remain
respectful of our brethren on the right and continue to regard them as
standard-bearers of the thinking that emerged in late 19th century
yeshivas of Lithuania and
among the Hassidic leaders of Central and Eastern
Europe. We
learn from their Torah insights, pray at their shtibelich (houses of prayer) at times, eat from their shehita (kosher dietary products) if we
so desire, and, if one is so inclined, solicit a blessing from their holy
men. We may admire certain positive
traits. But if we continue to follow their leadership, we will continue to be
dragged into a microcosm where the modern Orthodox do not want to go.

III

Because of some
the charity work in which I engage, I interact with Jews and their
organizations across all spectrums. And
while there is some innovation in the modern Orthodox world, much of the
creativity is coming from outside it.
Prayer groups, technology innovators, and incubators for new ideas
operate primarily within the realm of the other denominations and the
unaffiliated; all the while the Orthodox are missing the boat. Unprecedented amounts of financial resources
are available now -- probably more than in any period in our history -- with
which to do good, and the modern Orthodox are not getting a substantial piece
of that pie. There is talent outside our
community that we are not tapping. Much
of the gene pool of yesterday’s towering Torah giants do not opt for the
cloistered world of a religious order, and are today’s hedge fund managers,
Goldman Sachs partners, chairmen of philosophy departments, and directors of
medical centers. If we are to thrive, we
must tap into their talents, not only their resources. For that to happen, we need a kinder,
gentler, more tolerant and flexible Orthodoxy.

With so much from
our rich heritage to offer, and with the knowledge and facility to promote an
authentic Judaism on an intellectual and emotional level, it is a travesty that
we have not been doing so at a more optimal level. We need to promote our message, one that is non-coercive,
to a much wider audience, without proselytizing. We should learn from the models that seem to
work. Habad, whose success has been
staggering in reaching out to thousands of previously unaffiliated Jews, has
catered very successfully to a particular segment of Jewish society, and aspects
of their work should be emulated. Yet a
much wider audience of young Jews would not find Habad appealing. Hence, we must go outside the comfort zone of
the Orthodox, and create a halakhic version of the West
Side’s B’nai Jeshurun. Whatever issues one may have with their
approach, about 2,500 young people are observing a form of Shabbat on 87th
Street on Friday nights who otherwise
would be partying at a club. If we
believe that our Judaic tradition is for the Jewish people, and that its
doctrine, morals and ethics are for all of humanity, then we need to muster the
will and creativity to overcome the halakhic obstacles to move forward in
reaching out to our Jewish brethren and all of humankind.

While I doubt
that the divisions of patrilineal descent and gay clergy will ever be resolved,
there have been overtures and positive steps taken to reverse the trend of
hostility and move forward toward recognizing a commonality among all
Jews. The Reform have been leaning
towards tradition, and in Israel the
Kinneret Declaration stated a core agreement on Israel’s
democratic values as a home to secular, traditional and religious Jews. Flashes
of creative leadership have begun to move a process along that many thought
impossible.

Those streams of
Judaism that differ with the modern Orthodox tradition, even those that ignore
fundamental aspects of traditional theology, do share a common language, an
affinity to a more majestic vision, and may share a common fate, if not
destiny, with the Jewish people. If we,
as modern Orthodox, could maintain a degree of flexibility and tolerance, we
could lead klal yisrael toward a
Jewish unity with bonds much stronger, deeper, and far more meaningful than
today’s vague notion of a tribal connection.

Let us move
forward. Let us rely on those leaders whose vision is shared by a large part of
the modern Orthodox world. Let the haredim
continue in their historical role, while we uphold our tradition looking
forward, relating to and tapping into the talents of all of Jewry, embracing
what is good in world culture, and accepting universalism within the bounds of
tradition. We have an immense amount to
offer world Jewry. If we succeed in
reducing the tensions among our people and help to reestablish a Judaism of all
Jews, we will have achieved a major accomplishment. If our destiny is to be a light unto the
nations, then getting our house in order is a good first step on the road
toward doing our share in saving the world.

Living as an observant Jew in Israel is comfortable - almost too comfortable .  The comfort level stems from the reality that Israel is, indeed, a Jewish state.  Its culture, its calendar, its rhythm of life is fundamentally Jewish.  These are the elements that express our national personality and which contribute to the feeling that “we are at home.”  The special atmosphere on Shabbat and holidays is felt in most Israeli cities.  Offices and shops are closed, the buses do not run and most people are at leisure.  These are the elements, which contribute to this sense having created a Jewish society.    Language, greetings - Shabbat shalom, hag sameach, tzom kal, mazal tov, b’sha-ah tova, b’ezrat ha-shem, baruch ha-shem, shevah la-el, all  contirubute to the sense that this place is truly ours – our culture is the culture of the land.  All shops have a mezuzah.  Every hospital room, every government office and virtually every home has a mezuzah on its door.  These elements of life are reinforcing and comforting to the observant public and indeed, to all Jews who feel a connection to tradition.   There is no word in Hebrew for Saturday other than Shabbat.  Language influences behavior.

But I worry about feeling such comfort.  It creates complacency.  It seems to me that this warm and fuzzy feeling of “Jewishness” also contributes to a sense of superiority and arrogance.  It is this arrogance, which angers those amongst us who are not observant.  The religious community in Israel knows what is right.  Those who don’t comply, who don’t observe, who don’t tow the line are simply misguided.  They are more than misguided   They lack values which obviously stem from a halachic way of life and so it quickly follows that those who are not religious are simply wrong.    The non-observant population hears this and responds with anger and with considerable resentment. 

 If the religious population often engenders anger I would like to say that there are. thankfully, those individuals who serve as superior   role models encouraging and even inspiring others to greater observance in their personal lives.   It is interesting, however,  to see how fluid the lines of religious observance are in Israel.  There are many many people who are seeking to deepen their observance (hozrei b’tshuvah) as there are many who are in the process or have already completed the process of leaving their religious life style behind them (hozrei b’sha-ala) and so, it seems, that there is quite a lot of movement in religious terms.  The continuum of religious observance is great and subtle; It is, therefore, difficult to label people as orthodox or not orthodox.   It seems to me that the term shomer mitzvoth (religiously observant)  or yir’at shamayim (God fearing) are more accurate. 

 We often hear that the largest numbers of Jews in Israel identify themselves as traditional – they observe mitzvot within a long continuum - Jews who pray every morning but ride on Shabbat, those who observe kashrut but not Shabbat, those who believe in God but do not observe Kashrut or Shabbat.  Nonetheless, Shabbat is part of their week.  Indeed, Shabbat is undoubtedly the focus of their week as it is for all of us.  

Religious sensitivities are delicate.  I once described a close relative of mine as being secular - hiloni.  I wasn’t using the term as an insult, only as a description.  He was furious   “ Me?  How can you call me   secular?  I believe in God, I light candles on Hanukkah, I fast on Yom Kippur, Me?  Secular?  God forbid. “

The people with whom I work – my electrician, plumber, painter and others – define themselves alternately as hilonim, secular or mesortiim, traditional.  Most of them put on tefillin every morning, go to the synagogue Friday evening and perhaps in the morning as well, observe the  holidays ,  but they go to the beach on Shabbat morning.  They always have a kippah in their back pocket or at least in the glove compartment of their car and they are consistently pleased to be asked to be counted in a minyan when needed.  They certainly observe kashrut although they may not wait the requisite hours between meat and milk.  These people are, for the most part, Jews whose origins are from North Africa – sepharadim.     Sepharadim most typically don’t discard their religious practices with the same vengeance as their  ashkenazi counterparts.  This very large segment of the population is most often ignored by the conventionally orthodox specifically by the American orthodox, the olim, who seem to have an even greater sense of “knowing what God wants” than the home grown variety of religious Jews.  The orthodox world doesn’t take these Sephardi Jews seriously.  I see this as a tragedy.  This community is in danger of losing their very close ties to tradition and if we don’t somehow reach out to them with reasonable alternatives, with open tolerant acceptance of their life style and without arrogance I believe that we will see a greatly diminished   observance of   Jewish traditions.  There are those who are working hard to relate to these issues.  More power to them!   

\ 

Lastly, I would like to discuss the issue of kfiah datit, religious coercion, a subject that  alienates a significant portion of the population here.  It’s a tough one.  It may be a problem to which there is no just solution.  How is it possible to preserve the very Jewish atmosphere which we so cherish without depriving the non-observing population of their rights to live their lives without religious coercion?   The issue of marriage is at the top of the list of what is regarded by many as religious coercion. There is a significant number of Jews who do not want to marry in an orthodox religious ceremony.  The only approved marriage is the one authorized by the offices of the Chief Rabbinate.   What are they to do?  I would hope that there could be an alternative to getting married in Cyprus for people who are alienated from Jewish life.     Is it better for them not to be married in any formal ceremony at all?  The topic of civil marriage in Israel has been around for years.  On the one hand, a system of civil marriage seems civilized.  On the other hand, for observing Jews, it  is  divisive and   potentially dangerous to say nothing of halachically treacherous.  Who will be able to marry whom?   The question of civil marriage has been bantered around for years with no good solution. 

And how can people get around on Shabbat to visit their friends and relatives if there are no buses running?  Not everyone has a car and taxis are prohibitive for most of the population.  But buses would surely harm our Shabbat atmosphere.  Someone is going to be the object of discrimination.. 

 There is much more: conversion, burial rites, divorce …We know that there are inequalities.   And we also know that there are no good solutions.

On the upside, allow me to tell you about the superior Jewish education- free!! or nearly free - that my children received and the equally fine education that  my grandchildren are enjoying. They are, as Jews and as Israelis, comfortable in their skins.  They don’t need to be defensive.  They are good Jews who have a strong sense of identity and responsibility to their people and their country.   Their “Jewishness” is as natural to them as breathing.  I suppose that that makes all the strife, the stress, the security dangers, the economic difficulties, the dreadful driving culture, the political instability and all the rest, worth it.  We truly are at home.

            To our members and friends,

            I now have completed my fifth year of working as the National Scholar of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. It has been an honor and privilege working to promote our vision nationwide primarily through teaching and teacher training, and also through writing and online classes. This report summarizes my various projects and activities over the past year.

            My major areas of focus have been:

• Teacher Training:

• • One of our central goals is to train rabbis and educators to spread our vision of Torah to schools and communities. We build bridges with people in the field to work together, and have a greater impact on students and communities across the country and beyond.

• • My primary area of expansion has been working this year as the Tanakh Education Scholar of Ben Porat Yosef Yeshiva Day School in Paramus, New Jersey. I have worked closely with the senior administration and faculty to develop a more rigorous Tanakh curriculum that encapsulates our Institute’s core values.

• • I also gave nine adult education lectures in conjunction with this curriculum for parents to see how these values can be applied.

• • Our Institute is expanding its teacher training significantly. The new Sephardic Initiative saw two very successful programs this past year, one in New York and one in Los Angeles. Our initiative has brought educators together to discuss means of incorporating the best of Sephardic and Ashkenazic teachings in a robust way. We provide materials and are creating a network of educators. We look forward to expanding this program in the coming years so that educators throughout the country and beyond will help further our work.

• • I worked with the faculty and administration at the Community Hebrew Academy of Toronto (CHAT) on developing a new Tanakh curriculum.

• • I participate annually at Yeshivat Chovevei Torah’s Bible Study days in June.

• Community Education:

• • There is a serious thirst for the kind of learning represented by our Institute, and a sizable number of communities have invited me to give lectures, Shabbat scholar-in-residence programs, and classes in Tanakh and Jewish Thought. Through a combination these programs, we reach thousands of adults directly each year.

Below is an itemized listing of the various classes and programs I have given over the past year in my capacity as National Scholar of the Institute.

• June 25-26: Four talks at the Yeshivat Chovevei Torah annual Yemei Iyyun on Tanakh and Jewish Thought.

• July 10-24: Three-part series on Biblical Scandals at the Young Israel of Fair Lawn (New Jersey).

• July 12-26: Three-part series on Parashat HaShavua at Lamdeinu Teaneck.

• July 12-26: Three-part series on The Interface of Traditional and Academic Bible Study at the Young Israel of Fort Lee (New Jersey).

• August 12: Lecture on the Chosen People for Congregation Arzei Darom in Teaneck, New Jersey.

• September 20-30: High Holiday scholar at the Lincoln Park Jewish Center in Yonkers, New York.

• September 27: Lecture on the Book of Jonah at Lamdeinu Teaneck.

• November 3-4: Shabbat scholar-in-residence at the Young Israel of Oak Park, Michigan.

• November 17-18: Shabbat scholar-in-residence at Congregation Bais Torah and Community Synagogue in Rockland County, New York.

• November 20-December 18: Five-part series on the Second Temple Biblical Books at Lamdeinu Teaneck.

• December 20: Lecture on the Books of the Maccabees and Rabbinic Thought at Lamdeinu Teaneck.

• January 8-24: Three-part series on Torah Study in a Modern World: Conflict & Resolution, at the Young Israel of Scarsdale, New York.

• February 5-March 19: Six-part series on the book of Chronicles at Lamdeinu Teaneck.

• February 9-10: Shabbat scholar-in-residence at the Baron Hirsch Synagogue in Memphis, Tennessee.

• February 14: Book reception for my latest book, The Keys to the Palace: Essays Exploring the Religious Value of Reading the Bible, at Ben Porat Yosef Yeshiva Day School, Paramus, New Jersey. Lecture on “Building Bridges and Mending Rifts through Tanakh Scholarship.”

• February 18, 25: Two-part series on the Book of Esther at the Young Israel of Jamaica Estates in Queens, New York.

• March 30-April 1: Pesah scholar at Congregation Beit Edmond in Manhattan, New York.

• April 23-May 7: Three-part series on the Book of Ruth at Lamdeinu Teaneck.

• May 18-21: Shavuot scholar-in-residence at Yeshiva University’s Shavuot program.

• I also continue to teach courses to advanced undergraduates at Yeshiva University, something I have done since 1996.

• Publications:

• • This year, I published a new book: The Keys to the Palace: Essays Exploring the Religious Value of Reading the Bible.

• • I thank my dear friends for their support of the publication of this book: Yael Cohen, in memory of Rabbi Daniel Beller; Levy Family Foundation, in memory of Elsi Levy; Charles and Rochelle Moche, in memory of Rochelle’s father Chaim Nasan ben Meir v’Charna; and the Sephardic Publication Foundation.

• • Rabbi Yaakov Beasley, a prominent Bible Educator who coordinates Tanakh at Yeshivat Lev HaTorah, wrote a review of my work that explores the key values of the integration of tradition and contemporary academic Bible study; the literary-theological approach to Tanakh; and other critical issues at the heart of modern Tanakh education. See his review at https://www.thelehrhaus.com/culture/the-tension-that-is-tanakh/.

            University Network

I had the privilege of coordinating the University Network and the Campus Fellowship this year. You can read the latest about our campus fellows and their contributions on our website,

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/campus-fellows-report-april-2018

            Looking Ahead

We reach thousands of people each year with our many classes and programs, teacher trainings, Conversations, our website, and our University Network. Looking forward, we will be expanding and streamlining our focus more into teacher trainings through our Sephardic Initiative—where we will work with Jewish Studies teachers to teach a more holistic picture of the Jewish People and their ideas.

We also are developing larger symposia and conferences where we can promote greater conversation and dialogue within our community as we build bridges between people who hold different religious viewpoints.

Our view is that we always must keep conversations alive, rather than allowing those who dogmatically espouse one or the other side of a debate to shut down dissent or alternative viewpoints from within tradition.

I am personally very excited about these developments and believe we will greatly increase our impact in the Jewish community through these new focused efforts. Stay tuned for upcoming reports!

As always, I am grateful to all our members and supporters, who generously make our work possible and who give so much hope for a better Jewish community of tomorrow.

Thank you all for your support and enthusiasm, and I look forward to promoting our Torah vision for many years to come.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

National Scholar

Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals

The Yeshiva or “Metivta”

The institution of yeshiva, or metivta, is a national Jewish treasure in which the soul of the nation resides, a source of living waters for the preservation of the Jewish nation in the form and character unique to it alone. It behooves us therefore to delve into the inner essence of the yeshiva (or metivta[1]) in order to understand its nature and composition, thus enabling us to promote its further development and perpetuation in that unique form that has no analogue among any other nation…..

The Yeshiva of Eretz Yisrael

This yeshiva that was born with Israel and followed it everywhere is the yeshiva of the Sanhedrin located in the lishkat haGazit. It was the nerve center of the nation, holding session even on the eve of Shabbat and of Jewish holidays, as the sages homiletically interpreted the verse (Shir haShirim 7:3) “Thy navel is like a round goblet [aggan haSahar] wherein no mingled wine is wanting”: “Thy navel”—this is the Sanhedrin. Why was it called ‘navel’?—Because it sat at the navel-point of the world” (Sanhedrin 37b). It is to this yeshiva that the Torah refers when it says, “then you shall arise, and go up unto the place which the Lord your God shall choose ... According to the law which they shall teach you, and according to the judgment which they shall tell you, shall you do; you shall not turn aside from the sentence which they shall declare unto you, to the right nor to the left.” That yeshiva was the heart of the nation, the very life source whence all derived benefit. “Your belly is like a heap of wheat” (Shir haShirim, ibid.)—just as all can benefit from a heap of wheat, so did all benefit from the deliberations of the Sanhedrin.[2] This yeshiva was like a promontory whence the Sanhedrin gazed down upon every aspect of the lives of the people, with all of life’s problems that newly arise from day to day. Like faithful sentries, the Sanhedrin remained perpetually on their watch, never straying from it—just as life and its affairs in all their ramifications never cease in their movements and currents, thus requiring those watchmen to stand guard at their posts with ready and constant vigilance.

The supreme Bet Din, the legislative body of the nation, called “yeshiva” because of its permanence, united the people into a single monolithic unit for all Torah rulings and everything affecting the nation. So long as that Bet Din existed, there never was any dispute in Israel on any matter of halakha. However, when the supreme Sanhedrin went into exile—disbanded and relegated to storefronts, as it were—it lost its power and its acknowledged importance, from which time onward disputes of halakha were rampant, and the Torah became more like two or multiple Torahs, in the yeshivot of Shammai and Hillel, and later in the courts and study halls of the greats of each generation, “each in his respective location” (ibid.), but each of which was essentially equivalent in composition and form to the central yeshiva that had resided in the lishkat haGazit. All those yeshivot were united and concentrated around the yeshiva of Hillel and the family dynasty of the Nasi,[3] which, so long as it existed, was the yeshiva that legislated for the Jewish nation, and gave us the Mishna—the legal codex for the entire Jewish people.

The Babylonian Metivta

On the basis of an aggadic tradition passed down by our sages of blessed memory—that since the time of our patriarchs the yeshiva never ceased to exist among the Jewish people—we can assert with absolute certainty that after the destruction of the first Temple, the metivta was established in Babylonia with the same structure and character as the yeshiva in Eretz Yisrael had had. For it would never occur to us to imagine that the Jewish community that was exiled from Eretz Yisrael to Babylonia resided there with no leader or legislator of its own to preserve its continuity of existence and its character.

We find support for this position in a different aggada of our sages, which states,

The Holy One, blessed be He, did a charitable thing for Israel in that he anticipated the exile of Zedekiah while the exile of Jeconiah was yet in being, for it is written (Melakhim II 24:16) with reference to the latter, “And the craftsmen [heHarash] and the smiths [masger], a thousand.” Harash implies that as soon as they opened a learned discussion, all the others became as though deaf; and masger, that when they closed the discussion of a halakha, it was not reopened. (Sanhedrin 38a).

The harash and the masger were the Sanhedrin, legislators and guardians of the nation, and it was they who founded and perpetuated the metivta during the first Babylonian exile.

The evidence is persuasive: The ascent of Ezra the Scribe, who was among the first wave of repatriates gone up to Eretz Yisrael to build the Second Temple, and about whom Scripture says (Ezra 7:10): “For Ezra had set his heart to seek the law of God, and to do it, and to teach in Israel statutes and ordinances.” King Artaxerxes too called him (ibid. 7:12): “the priest, the scribe of the Law of the God of heaven.” There can be no doubt that Ezra received his Torah traditions in Babylonia, where he served as the head-of-metivta. And this is evident also from Hillel’s ascent to Eretz Yisrael. For although he was a disciple of Shemaiah and Avtalyon[4] in Eretz Yisrael, he certainly received his foundational learning from the yeshiva of Babylonia. Likewise, when Rav ascended from Babylonia he found the metivta in Pumbeditha headed by Samuel, who had been known also in Eretz Yisrael as among the greatest of his generation, and the leader of the Babylonian community.

After Rav's arrival yet another metivta was founded under his leadership, from which time onward there existed two metivtot with their respective titular heads—Geonim who banded together and rendered decisions in all aspects of halakha and communal practice. Those rulings were publicized to all enquirers, signed by one or the other of the Geonim of Pumbeditha or Sura. They issued decisions regarding halakha, communal leadership, Torah learning, and interpretation to the entire Diaspora.

The Yeshivot of the Diaspora

With the destruction of the metivtot of Babylonia the final central authority of the metivtot disintegrated, except that their brilliance was not extinguished entirely; rather, the metivtot splintered into rays of illumination that were dispersed to the length and breadth of the Diaspora—each community with its own yeshiva, which continue to exist even in our own day, both in Eretz Yisrael and the Diaspora. These yeshivot bear the stamp of the yeshiva of Eretz Yisrael and the metivtot of Babylonia, under the leadership and direction of the metivta heads who can be described as “dammesek eliezer,”[5] homiletically interpreted by our sages (Yoma 25a) as one who draws of his master’s teachings and gives of it to others to drink. He draws water from deep wells and gives drink to all his disciples, quenching their thirst, refreshing and invigorating them by spreading the words of Torah that he has received from his own teachers. Thus, he imparts the life spirit to the entire nation, like rain from heaven that falls in timely fashion and just where it is needed, satisfying the thirst of the earth and causing it to bring forth its produce in a great multitude of variations of blossoms and flowers, bringing healthy and verdant life and eternal youthful vigor to all who reside there.

The Internal Structure of the Yeshivot

Now that we understand the essence of the yeshivot as called by their proper name, and their enormous influence on the Jewish people generation after generation and in every community, let us probe into the inner nature of the yeshivot, in order to perceive the hidden illumination that is stored within them.

We learn from the extant written sources that the later yeshivot were copies, in miniature, of the central Yeshiva that served all of Israel from the lishkat haGazit in Jerusalem, from the earliest periods of Jewish history and through all its ten exiles in Eretz Yisrael (Rosh Hashanah 31).

Each yeshiva had its head-of-yeshiva or head-of-metivta, who would draw pure, lucid waters from the depths of the living Torah wellspring—water clarified and purified of any clod of clay or other dross that could cloud its appearance or impair its quality. The master would draw from these wellsprings of living waters and give drink to his students, taking a graded approach in accordance with their ability to assimilate the material, until such time that the students would themselves become, as the result of their master’s efforts, “inexhaustible founts” in their own right. But that was not all. The head of the metivta, being a compassionate father as well, would be wholeheartedly solicitous, even anxious, for the future of his yeshiva and the material upkeep of its permanent students. Sustaining Talmudic scholars and their disciples was the perpetual concern of the head of the metivta, who bore upon his own shoulders the full burden of their support, because he clearly understood that yeshivot like his were the citadels for preserving the Jewish nation in its unique form and character, and the wellspring whence flowed those vital waters that freshen the nation’s dry bones, and infuse it with renewed youthful vigor. Moreover, the head-of-yeshiva stood guard for the preservation of Judaism’s unity and inner integrity, while the Jewish nation, in turn, acknowledging him as their faithful leader overseeing the house of Israel, accepted his authority and obeyed him implicitly.

Also under the leadership of the head-of-metivta were the municipal judges, the heads of the kallah,[6] and the rows of students from the general audience who were not permanent students of the metivta but only informal participants.[7] For both the yeshiva of Eretz Yisrael and the metivta of Babylonia followed the model of the great Sanhedrin with its rows of disciples in the lishkat haGazit, and the lesser Sanhedrin that presided in the Temple courtyard with its rows of both permanent disciples and informal participants.

Such are the general outlines of the image of the yeshiva that have survived in the sources still extant. No one knows, however, what actual curriculum was followed in those stately yeshiva halls, nor do we have any reliable source of information on that subject. We can judge, however, from the wealth of Torah and its abundance of variations that the yeshivot have bequeathed to us, that although the yeshivot dedicated themselves primarily to the study of the Torah of Israel, clearly the Torah consists not only of laws and statutes; rather, the Torah is the “eshkol haKofer”[8] that is all-encompassing. It is impossible to understand the Torah at all, let alone to penetrate to its nethermost depths, without having profound and wide-ranging knowledge of the sciences and worldly disciplines, all of which are hidden in the depths of God's creation and its mysteries.

How so? The Torah of Israel begins with the account of the Creation, which is not mere cosmological information, but an extremely profound philosophical inquiry that takes us to supernal realms that normal thought processes are not equipped to grasp: the enigma of tzimtzum,[9] the purpose of the Creation and its final mission, the unification of all aspects of the Creation into a single monolithic unit, in which each underlying component is both the cause and the effect of all others, all being equivalent, even while each differs according to its powers of reception; God’s celestial and earthly ministers, celestial worlds and our own as well, all united under this crown of Creation, which includes man himself, made in God’s image, and carrying within him a Divine soul, and upon his countenance the likeness of God. In this account of the creation of man and the beginnings of humankind can be found that theoretical foundation which is the basis of the entire Torah, and of mankind’s completion, namely, the fundamental principles of our faith—human understanding and our capacity to choose between right and wrong, the wonders of Divine Providence on the individual, personal level, the role of Divine predetermination versus the nature of everything theoretically possible, and of sin and repentance.

These topics, all of which find allusion in those first chapters of the account of the Creation, comprise what our sages of blessed memory called ma‘aseh bereishith, the Works (Mysteries) of Creation, and ma‘aseh merkavah, the Mystical Speculations of the Chariot.[10] Indeed, those topics would not be discussed with students until they had reached a specified age and were able to satisfy certain other conditions (Ḥagigah 11b), but there can be no doubt whatsoever that the study of those profound topics, which lie at the very heart and foundation of Judaism's worldview—tightly integrated on the one hand with the mysteries of natural creation, and on the other with knowledge of the True God Who alone rules the world—were secreted in the innermost recesses of the yeshiva and studied there. We find allusions to those subjects in the form of the abundant mystical Aggada that has come down to us. Those subjects are the renowned “crowns adorning the letters of the Torah.”[11]

But that is not all. The Jewish sages also studied the latest discoveries of non-Jewish savants and philosophers in the domain of these recondite questions. The Jewish sages acquired eminent familiarity with those, even while demonstrating superlative ability to discard the chaff and to retain only those kernels of truth that could serve the Torah as “apothecaries and cooks,”[12] for the sake of arriving at sound views and untainted beliefs.

The Torah of Israel, with its detailed historical accounts, also encompasses within it the knowledge of the history of mankind, and not only concerning the Jewish nation itself, its genealogical record, and the wondrous events that have befallen it. Rather, the Torah concerns itself with world history—that of all nations and races, and their vicissitudes—for from those accounts are evident the enigma of Divine Providence that is integral to all of humanity, but to Israel and its prophets in particular. This too is one of those things that requires serious study and profound, penetrating insight.

As concerns the commandments of the Torah, the very first mitzvah in the Torah is (Shemot 12:2): “This month shall be unto you the beginning of months,” that is, the mitzvah of establishing the Jewish calendar, which is impossible to know and understand without an in-depth and comprehensive knowledge of astronomy. In fact, acquiring that knowledge is a distinct mitzvah in its own right, as our sages of blessed memory have stated (Shabbat 75b): “How do we know that it is one's duty to calculate the cycles and planetary courses? Because it is written (Devarim 4:6), ‘for this is your wisdom and understanding in the sight of the nations’: what wisdom and understanding is in the sight of the nations? Say, that it is the science of cycles and planets.”

The mitzvah of observing Shabbat includes the topic of the extension of teḥumin beyond the city limits,[13] the coverage of which by our sages of blessed memory demonstrates their in-depth and comprehensive knowledge of the science of measurements and measuring, which does not cease to amaze even in our own day.

The laws prohibiting kil’ayim (forbidden mixtures) are stated in the written Torah only with extreme terseness (Vayikra 19:19): “Thou shalt not let thy cattle gender with diverse kinds; thou shalt not sow thy field with two kinds of seed.” Knowing the interpretation thereof requires thorough knowledge of zoology and agronomy, respectively, as well as knowledge of mathematics for computing the configurations of the garden-beds.[14] Similarly, the laws of tereifot[15] testify to our sages’ broad knowledge of physiology—the structure, composition, and interconnections, as well as the manner that man’s body and soul are affected by the food he eats.

Civil law, even when taken in isolation, is an extensively ramified discipline, interwoven with knowledge of human psychology, by which means one can distinguish cases involving fraud from those that are genuine. Here too our sages of blessed memory were not satisfied to restrict themselves to the foundations of the Oral and Written Torahs; rather, they studied political and economic theory as well, subjects upon which all human civilization depends, as well as the civil law of the world nations that had evolved as the result of dynamic value systems. Our sages implemented new concepts of commercial and political life, evaluating those concepts with reference to the foundations of Jewish civil law—righteousness, justice, truth, and peace. Alternatively, they implemented those new concepts with the objective of promoting dina de-malkhuta dina—upholding the law of the state (but always emphasizing the law of the state, as opposed to the “law” of banditry).

Moreover, the sages studied alien rulings from non-Jewish sources, not for the sake of acquiring mere academic knowledge, but for understanding and rendering halakhic decisions based on that knowledge (Shabbat 78). When we read the two Talmuds and the Midrashim as elaborated by our sages generation after generation, covering in their investigative works and their responsa every aspect of the problems that arise in daily life, and all fields of knowledge in their manifold, variegated forms, we are must accept that internally the yeshivot taught all these branches of knowledge, received via the chain of tradition, and passed from master to disciple, generation after generation, but ultimately derived from the greatest of all books, namely, from God's Torah.

The Yeshivot in Our Times

The yeshivot of our day, ever since the destruction of the metivtot of Babylonia, share none of the latter's brilliance or grandeur, by which we mean not only their exemplary organization, which resembled nothing less than that of a monarchy, but also their rich and highly diversified constitution, and the authoritative prestige they enjoyed among the entire Jewish nation. This was inevitable: Since the yeshivot had splintered apart, becoming only isolated beacons of illumination throughout the dark corners of the Diaspora, it was natural that they would suffer that loss of prestige and authority with the people. The result was that the metivtot first split into two axes, generically familiar to us as the Sephardic and Ashkenazic yeshivot. This division refers not only to the primary geographic locations of the yeshivot, but also to their inner makeup, and—more significantly—to their respective methodologies.

For their part, the great Sephardic rabbis occupied themselves with elaborating the Talmud, and composed methods—per tractate or on the entire Talmud—whose purpose was to precisely clarify the sugyot[16] in depth, showing how they are interconnected and intertwined with other sugyot, in order to arrive at conclusions of practical halakha. Contrarily, the rabbis of France, and later Germany, who studied the Talmud with the focus on its investigative interpretation, both in depth and breadth, uncovered with their commentaries gateways of illumination for the halakhic decisors who came after them. Practically determined halakha, with its precisely refined language, encompasses in a general sense, as it were, all those details that become intermingled with it in the course of the analytical give-and-take, such that one who knows all the details can refine and unify them, so as to derive from them a unified general principle, and other such principles that follow from it in turn. As Rabbi Ḥiyya said (Bava Metzia 85): “If the Torah were forgotten in Israel, I would restore it by my argumentative powers.” Conversely, however, if one has a command of the general principles without knowing the details and how they fit together, then even the general principles will be to him of very limited value, or will lead him to err in his judgment. This explains the staunchly adamant opposition of the rabbis of France and Germany to the methodology of Rambam in his Mishneh Torah.

And so too can we explain the approach of Ravad,[17] who, for all his humility on the one hand, and all his extreme admiration for Rambam on the other, as we can discern from many of his hassagot[18], nonetheless also spouted words of provocation and abuse toward Rambam in many of those hassagot. It would be wrong to suggest that Ravad specifically intended to negate or weaken Rambam’s rulings that were based on the latter’s methodology; rather, he only wanted to point out the dangerous fallacy lying at the very foundation of that methodology. Thus, in order to negate the method itself, Ravad deemed it necessary to attack its originator, on the principle that by negating the cause one can negate its effects as well.

Moreover, when the Sephardic rabbis extended the curriculum of the yeshivot to include the study of philosophy, they did so in the spirit of the dictum, “Know how to respond to a heretic.”[19] Likewise, when they studied other branches of knowledge from alien books, they did so with the recognition that all branches of knowledge have their origins in Jewish wisdom, but have been lost to the Jews because of their centuries of exile and the peripatetic fate that they have endured. Thus, the Sephardic rabbis endeavored to employ those branches of knowledge in the manner of a person who has lost all his possessions, but manages to purchase a candle for a pittance, to enable him to locate all the rest of his lost possessions. The French and German rabbis, on the other hand, drew a line in the sand, restricting themselves to the study of sacred texts exclusively—the Talmud and the Midrashim—motivated as they were by their fear that the influence of foreign literature might prove overwhelming, and lead to corruption of the words of the Torah or to perversion of the halakha. Indeed, their vehement opposition to Rambam’s Guide for the Perplexed was similarly motivated.

The Sephardic rabbis were strong-minded in their resolve to abolish those customs which they saw as having no basis in halakha, as opposed to the Ashkenazic rabbis, who upheld minhag (custom) and sought to find support for it even when it seemed to them strange or unfounded. See, for example, regarding the custom of kapparot[20] in Shulḥan Arukh O.H. §605, also Hilkhot Tereifot 33:9 and 39:13. Many of the glosses of ReMA[21] to the Shulḥan Arukh derive from minhag collections or received customs. ReMA will write, “Some have the custom,” or “Such is the custom in these lands,” or “It has become customary,” or “One should conduct himself accordingly,” or “Such is our custom,” or “We should uphold the custom,” or “One must not veer from the accepted custom,” or “One must not veer from the accepted custom, venerated as it is.”

Such differences between the Sephardic and Ashkenazic authorities were the basis for a certain attitude of disrespect among the rabbis of France and Germany toward the Sephardic rabbinate and its halakhic approach. But the Sephardic rabbis themselves found there an opportunity for accentuating their own sense of pride by often appending to their names the word “haSefaradi,” which they viewed as a kind of honorific title, and an adjective suggesting a particularly distinguished pedigree.

The result of all the foregoing is that our Torah has become more like two different Torahs, and the Jewish people like two distinct tribes, a situation that will persist until such time as (Yeshayah 32:15) “a spirit from on high shall be poured out on us,” and we shall behold with our own eyes the fulfillment of God’s promise, His sacred words from the mouth of the prophet (Yeḥezkel 37:22): “And I will make them one nation in the land, upon the mountains of Israel, and one king shall be king to them all; and they shall be no more two nations, neither shall they be divided into two kingdoms any more at all.”

The Yeshivot of Eretz Yisrael

In the recent period, the grand yeshivot of the Diaspora, one after the next, are either going completely to ruin, or experiencing gradual but steady decline. This is the result of the dispersive effect of our exile that only gets worse with the passage of time, and of anti-Semitic decrees that brutally eradicate ancient Jewish communities and scatter them in every direction. The institution of the rabbinate therefore likewise continues to decline in stature, in many Jewish communities growing weaker and weaker in its influence. Rabbinical positions are filled not by men who have sacrificed their lives entirely to Torah study, but by individuals whose education has given them schoolbook familiarity with aggadic material, while their Talmudic knowledge is exceedingly weak.

Those yeshivot that still exist according to the original, ancient model are now teetering on the brink of death. Nonetheless, our faith in the Holy Rock of Israel, who through Moses gave us His guarantee (Devarim 31:21) that the Torah would never be forgotten in Israel, remains sturdy and sound. But a different biblical prophecy now passes before our eyes, that prophecy which states that the Torah will be forgotten in Israel, as it is written (Amos 8:12): “And they shall wander from sea to sea, and from the north even to the east; they shall run to and fro to seek the word of God, and shall not find it.” This is interpreted (Shabbat 138b) to mean that there will be no clear halakha or clear Mishna to be had anywhere. A vision so menacing and horrific makes our blood run cold, and obligates us to head off this calamity by assuring the survival of yeshivot in Israel in their authentic character and stature. Only our yeshivot can guarantee the eternity of the Jewish people in their grandest form, as Scripture states: “For I God have set you apart from the nations, that you should be Mine.” The sole anchor and life preserver for escaping total annihilation—a “living death” where the soul is already dead and only the body lives on—is Eretz Yisrael.

This was foreseen by one of our ancients, Ramban, who, after moving to Eretz Yisrael at the end of his life, founded there a yeshiva for Torah study in the fullest sense, and took pains to assure its continued existence. He did so by making it an institution that would be supported by the entire nation, who would uphold its foundations with their perpetual contributions in the form of the Ramban Fund, in a manner resembling the enactment of Rabban Yoḥanan be Zakkai in his time, who petitioned Vespasian, destroyer of our Temple, to be given Yavneh and its sages and the family dynasty of the Nasi (Gittin 56)—that is, he was asking for nothing less than the means to perpetuate the yeshiva as a place of Torah learning and the center of halakhic decision-making in Israel, and the authority of its president. In his lucid vision Rabban Yoḥanan ben Zakkai perceived that the memory of the physical Temple that had been destroyed could be perpetuated through the performance of symbolic acts, whereas the lishkat haGazit in the Temple, that had served as a source of guidance for all of Judaism, could not be perpetuated with a mere remembrance. Rather, for that it would have to survive in its original, living form, uniting within it the wellsprings of living waters that guarantee the nation’s eternal survival, and demonstrating the essential royal nature that preserves the character of the nation. In this manner Rabban Yoḥanan ben Zakkai gave the yeshiva at Yavneh the full force of the lishkat haGazit, whence Torah and halakhic decision-making emanate to all of Israel, and in which the entire nation is concentrated even in its state of dispersion, because it is a talpiyyot[22]—that place to which all mouths and eyes are lifted, to hear its decisions that illuminate the darkness of the exile.

Rabban Yoḥanan ben Zakkai's successes in the period of the destruction of the Second Temple must guide us in our own building process.

In Jerusalem and in other cities and localities of Eretz Yisrael there do exist yeshivot for Torah study that either have been founded anew, or have been uprooted and relocated from the Diaspora. These are institutions created by individuals whose faithful dedication, along with that of the personnel who manage these yeshivot, I value and revere. But these institutions, which differ markedly one from another, both in the manner that they are managed, and in their scholastic approaches, are hemorrhaging because of their external condition which gives them the appearance of paupers begging for alms. Moreover, they lack the high-level authority that would oversee and direct, unite and organize, so as to give each such yeshiva its unique imprint and form, and to make those yeshivot national institutions for whose continued existence the entire nation would bear responsibility. For the people would see in those yeshivot a kind of supreme institution whence Torah and halakhic decisions emanate to the entire population, and which all gaze upon with the distinguished honor of which such yeshivot are worthy, being the image of the ancient yeshivot in the Land of Israel, and the metivtot of Babylonia.

Our duty at this time, the fulfillment of which will determine the ultimate success of our future in Eretz Yisrael, is to first restore the supreme institution of the yeshiva on the model of the lishkat haGazit of ancient Israel. And that yeshiva will then further subdivide, creating yet other yeshivot for Torah learning in its broadest and fullest sense, united in their methodology and curriculum, and centralized under the ownership and influence of the supreme yeshiva, which will be like an aqueduct that channels water to its tributaries, the yeshivot, by which we mean their means for material upkeep and, more important, their internal makeup.

Realizing this vision will require a great deal of deliberation and effort, in all their ramifications and details that are too numerous to be specified here. But I see in that realization a renewal of the character of our nation, and the fulfillment of the mission of our Redemption (Yeshayah 1:26): “And I will restore your magistrates as of old, and your counselors as of yore; after that you shall be called City of Righteousness, Faithful City.”

This article begins with a brief history of the Syrian Jewish community and their settlement in New York in the twentieth century. As other Arab Jewish immigrants joined, this united group of people has come to be identified as the Sephardic community of Brooklyn. These Jews of Sephardic and Middle Eastern heritage also hail from from Arab lands such as Lebanon, Egypt, Morocco, and Israel, to name a few.

            The unique characteristics of the Syrian Jewish community in America today are vestiges of the ways these particular Jews lived their lives in Syria, primarily in the cities of Aleppo and Damascus, over a thousand years ago. Their views on education, their societal constructs, their business pursuits, their search for homes in which to raise their families, and their refusal to accept converts are current practices rooted in the ways these Jews lived life in Syria, which were and still are tightly controlled by their communal and rabbinic opinions.          

The most important values of Syrian Jewish men were to live a life dedicated to learning and practicing Torah and to provide for their families. For women, the top priority was to raise a family in the Syrian Sephardic tradition. For both genders, their goals could only be attained through fealty to the nuclear family and community while being insulated from outside influences. These expectations have largely been maintained through the present day.

The Flow of Jews in and out of Syria 

The proximity of Syria and Israel allowed for the continued movement of Jews between these regions. According to biblical tradition, Jews began to live in Syria since the time of King David, when he defeated the Arameans at Soba or Aram Soba, which is Aleppo, and Aram Dameseq, which is Damascus. The second biblical reference to the region is from the book of Ezra, when Atarxerxes, the Persian king, ordered Ezra to appoint judges “beyond the river,” or Aram Soba. Throughout that time, and continuing during the Babylonian and Roman conquests of Israel, Jews have lived in Syria.

Substantial immigration of Jews to Syria began in 1492 after the expulsion of the Jews from the Iberian Peninsula followed by the expulsion of Jews from Italy during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Additionally, in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, European Jewish merchants, who planned only to visit Syria for economic purposes, found Syrian life suitable for communal as well as economic opportunities, and so remained in the Syrian communities of Aleppo and Damascus. 

Emigration of Jews from Syria

The decline of the Jewish population in Syria began in the last part of the nineteenth century with several waves of emigration. As characteristic of other Arab countries at that time, Syrian Jews left for several reasons: Economic decline in Syria made it difficult to earn a living; Jews were being conscripted by Young Turks, who overthrew the Ottoman sultan and sought to strengthen the Turkish Empire; riots and persecution against Jews became increasingly frequent preceding and following the declaration of Israeli Statehood. Jews left Syria to settle in Israel, England, the United States, Mexico, Central and South America, and Jamaica (by way of Lebanon).

Emigration out of Syria persisted throughout the twentieth century. As the political situation of Syrian Jews continued to deteriorate under the French mandated region, followed by government instability, Jewish life was under continued threat from Arab riots. Jews were specifically forbidden to immigrate to Israel. Those who tried to escape the death and poverty in Syria faced prison or execution by the Assad regime. Attempts to escape were at the peril of the young men and women who dared; some who were caught and turned over to authorities were murdered after terrible abuse and torture.

American champions, such as Judy Feld Carr, Congressman Steven Solarz, and many community members who donated time and money to aid in the escape of Syrian Jews, managed to reduce the number of Jews trapped in Syria. The last wave of immigrants arrived in the 1990s. Most of the 50 or so Jews that remained since the civil war began in 2011 have left, and the number of Jews in Syria today is five or fewer persons. 

Education

In the late nineteenth century, Alliance Israelite Universelle schools were established in Syria, as well as in other Arab countries, with the goal “to uplift and modernize Jews of the Middle East by imbuing them with French education and culture.” Prior to that time, schooling for Syrian Jews was limited to the k’tab, the Talmud Torah for boys. Girls did not attend yeshivot. Although some rabbis were in favor of a more practical education, most preached against the predominantly secular education of the Alliance schools, preferring boys to continue to learn under the auspices of local rabbis and train as future Torah scholars. 

Wealthy Jewish families of the bourgeoisie class moved to better neighborhoods and lived among Christian neighbors. The few Jews who could afford to pay for their sons’ and daughters’ private school education, taught by nuns and priests, did so over their rabbis’ objections. Because the rabbis were beholden to benefactors for their subsistence, rabbinic objections that were ignored by the wealthier class of Jews eventually dissipated, and the rabbis’ words went unheeded.

However, among the average Syrian Jewish businessmen, education was only valued as a pathway to economic mobility. Prompted by the rabbis, laymen pushed administrators at the Alliance schools to incorporate religious studies in the program. Under threats of reduced enrollments, most schools complied to some degree.

Although Syria was not recognized as an independent country until 1941, public schools were built in the early decades of the twentieth century. Children of all denominations could attend. However, by this time, the majority of Syria’s Jews began emigrating, and the importance of education was not imprinted in the norms of the Syrian Sephardic community once they were settled in America. For the very few young men who sought a secular education either for professional purposes or for academia’s sake, their only options were to pursue those goals outside their community’s sphere and settle elsewhere. 

In America, school attendance by first-generation Syrian Jews was mandatory. However, marriages of young brides, boys entering their fathers’ businesses or pursuing independent economic opportunities, and strict adherence to Torah values while shunning secular life limited the opportunities to follow through with a secondary education or college degree. 

Over the last century, as the general finances of the Syrian community increased from peddlers’ salaries and for some, to owners of million dollar corporations, private schools and higher education became options for all the community’s children. As the number of sons outgrew their opportunities to earn a living in family businesses, the Syrian males started to seek employment as professionals in medicine and law. For the academically inclined, these career options have expanded to include areas in banking, accounting, and education.

When the national movements for equal rights and women’s equality began to take root in America, the ideas permeated into the community, resulting in Syrian Jewish women joining the pursuit of a higher education. 

Today, many young members are encouraged by their parents to strive for attendance at Ivy League institutions. On the other hand, there are parents who identify with opinions of some rabbis, wary of the problems associated with leaving the community and integrating into the American life found on college campuses. 

As a teacher, I have heard the opinions of parents, adamantly opposed to their very capable high school student applying to an out-of-town college. In one specific instance, when I mentioned to parents that their child was a contender for an Ivy League acceptance, they were vehemently against the idea of him living on a college campus where Shabbat, prayer attendance, observance of mitzvoth and association with community members would be compromised. 

At first I was surprised and even dismayed by the parents’ refusal to consider sending their child to a highly regarded but non-local college. However, after more than 10 years of watching our community’s children’s increasing attendance to post-high school institutions, I am not certain the parents’ decisions were disadvantageous to the students, at least on a spiritual level. 

As endemic to American culture in general, strong dedication to religious and traditional observance by our community’s youth is waning. To the degree that children’s mindsets become more academic and scientific, their connection to the belief and practices of the traditions weakens. For this reason, it is imperative that Jewish educators focus on strengthening a genuine love for the values of Torah and at the same time, educate these children honestly and rationally.

Business Pursuits

Those in the community who do not pursue a college education are as financially driven as their academic counterparts. Men are motivated to work long and hard hours by the high value the community places on providing for their families, which today includes doing so to extravagant degrees: owning two homes; going away on luxury vacations; hosting highly attended and elaborate celebrations; and having domestic help at home.

As the pursuit of this expensive lifestyle persists and as the community increasingly faces tremendous financial strains to privately educate their children, dual income families are becoming more common for average community members.

Many women with or without a college degree are as ambitious as their husbands. Some have started their own businesses at home, often expanding into retail and wholesale operations to mass market their products and services, such as clothing, specialty foods, party planning, and more. In these cases, the role of the wife has evolved to include earning a salary that in some instances, may be competitive with or greater than that of her husband.

Her professional aspirations notwithstanding, the Syrian Jewish wife remains primarily dedicated to her family’s religious and personal needs, holiday and Shabbat preparations, and community outreach.

Socialization

Arguably one of the most defining characteristics of the Syrian Sephardic Jew has been dedication to its community, to the exclusion of all others, Jews and non-Jews alike. The separation of Damascene, Shamie, and Aleppan, Halabi, Jews led to separate schools, synagogues, and marriages in Syria and in the first century of immigrants in America. However, after a short time, second-generation Syrian immigrants, though aware of their different origins, mingled and married. Today, among all American Syrian Jews, there are few if any qualms about marrying people with different ancestral countries of origin.

Moreover, the greater Syrian Jewish community has begun to embrace their Ashkenazic brethren and progressively more of these diverse unions are taking place. Community rabbis have acknowledged the benefits of diversifying the gene pool and increasing the prospects of marriage for our children. This new approach is a result of the outward looking younger generation who are college educated, less insular, and more open-minded toward different hashkafot, leaving behind the very insular ways practiced by their ancestors less than a century ago. 

Although parents in the Syrian Jewish community may have grown to be more accepting of marriages for their children to people less similar to them, often enormous resources and efforts are spent to ensure their children remain living close to home. Typically, married children will search for homes that are as close to their parents as they can find, and when financially capable, parents will purchase homes as near as possible to keep the family unit intact. If the two sets of parents live far from each other, the synagogue will usually be the deciding factor of where to settle.

Expansion of the Brooklyn Community

In the 1950s, the Syrian Jewish community began spending summers in Bradley Beach at the Jersey shore. Some people bought summer homes, and a few settled there permanently.

In the 1970s, the relaxed atmosphere, more sparsely populated areas, and more spacious homes lured tens of families to buy homes in the Deal area of New Jersey and live there year-round. Synagogues were established, and although Hillel Yeshivah had been founded in 1950, many pioneer children were educated in public schools. 

Over the last 40 years, Syrian families have moved either temporarily or permanently to New Jersey and continue to do so. Young couples today are increasingly considering the move to Jersey to ease the financial burdens facing growing families. Buying or renting there year-round eliminates the summer home expenses, in addition to the much more affordable housing options. Moreover, the Jewish Day Schools in New Jersey are less expensive, as is the suburban lifestyle. By rough estimates, this satellite community has grown to hundreds of families in the winter months and thousands in the summer. 

In the past 10 years, a small number of the community's families have chosen to live in Manhattan for expanded school options, the easier commute to work, and the cosmopolitan lifestyle. The Safra Synagogue and the relatively new Magen David of Manhattan Synagogue are the largest and most frequented Sephardic congregations. Additionally, the Sephardic Academy of Manhattan Preschool was recently founded to serve the academic and traditional specifications of the community’s youngest students.

Views on Israel

When Syrian Jews began emigrating from Aleppo over 100 years ago, some chose Israel as their new home, although this choice was relatively uncommon for Damascene Jews. In the Sephardic community today, one of the most unifying factors is a commitment to the State of Israel and its people. Sadly, some of the community’s Hareidi rabbis, while supporting learning in Israel, do not support the State of Israel. Thankfully, this is not common and not a strongly voiced opinion.

In the 1970s, there were very few mainstream post-high-school students who spent a year abroad studying in Israel, and almost all were males. However, with each subsequent decade, enrollment by Brooklyn’s Syrian Jewish students has steadily increased. In the last 10 years, the community has seen a surge in the number of males and females taking a gap year to study abroad in yeshiva in Israel. While most mainstream students attend for one year, some stay two years, a practice more common for the Hareidi students. Some graduates are choosing to complete their secular college education in Israel, and others are making aliya as singles and as young families.

A surge in support and solidarity for Israel started during the intifadas. Beginning in the 1990s, community trips were organized in which adult males went to Israel to serve in some capacity in the army and to visit soldiers and patients in hospitals. Additionally, vendors were invited to bring their wares to sell at community boutique shows. All the while, community families were increasingly traveling to Israel with their immediate and extended families for bar and bat mitzvah celebrations.

The most impressive expression of fealty to Israel are the cases of young men leaving America to serve in the IDF for two to three years. One such man, when asked why he committed to such a grueling experience, as a lone soldier, and where the language barrier is a tremendous impediment, he replied, “I want to help Israel because I believe this our home; this is where we should be.” 

A female who plans to join the IDF at the end of this year explains, “I can’t keep saying I care without actually doing something. I can’t, in good conscience, treat Israel like just another tourist destination."

Encouraged by the values, educational institutions and synagogues, by recent olim and by continued visits to Israel, the community can expect more of its members to make aliya in the future.

Religious Trends

One of the most radical religious changes in the history of the Syrian Jewish community has been the hareidization of the worldwide Sephardic Jewish community. Why did this proud community abandon its hashkafah? How did the transition to extremism take place? There are some explanations for this phenomenon. 

In the old countries, there were enough hakhamim and yeshivot to teach the children and to train the generations that followed in each community’s unique traditions and halakhot. However, following emigration from their ancestral origins, that was no longer the case. After establishing their private yeshivot in America and other countries to where they migrated, schools had to find teachers who were well-versed in Torah and Hebrew language. When there were not enough educators from their own communities, school leaders looked to the more “religious” communities in Israel and Lakewood to recruit teachers. This was also true for the small number of adults who sought to pursue their religious education in the Ashkenazic learning centers of Lakewood and Baltimore. 

Additionally, Hareidi-trained males needed to find wives who would at least tolerate and at most appreciate their alternate path. This was unlikely in their own Sephardic community and more easily accomplished in the Ashkenazic communities. Imparted with a Hareidi education and non-Sephardic wives, these teachers and rabbis have hareidified traditional Sephardic hashkafah and values, affecting a significant portion of the community. 

This religious evolution is true not only of the Brooklyn community, but of Sephardic communities worldwide. The last half-century has witnessed a shift among groups within Sephardic communities towards an extremist view and practice of religion. 

Many of Brooklyn’s Sephardic Jews are not content with the traditional, more practical approach to observance as taught by the rabbis of the Syrian communities in twentieth-century Brooklyn: Hakham Haim Tawil (b. 1860 d. 1942), Hakham Matloub Abadi (b. 1887, d. 1970), and Hakham Jacob Kassin (b. 1900, d. 1994). Sephardic communities have embraced Hareidi practices, such as full-time learning in kollel, women using wigs for hair covering instead of the traditional snood, and males donning black hats, white shirts, and black pants suits. Although the majority populations of the Sephardic communities worldwide are not living a Hareidi lifestyle, some view that way of life as the religious ideal. 

In some cases, community families are no longer compatible as Hareidi rabbis impose greater stringencies and practices, such as dietary restrictions and Shabbat and fast observances, precluding their congregants from eating in other family members’ homes, parents included. Despite intelligent arguments against the relatively new stringencies and their violation of the spirit of Torah—and in many cases, actual halakha—extremist followers retort with the insistence that their rabbi’s word is final, after which the discussion is terminated and attempts to reconnect with family members collapse. 

On the other hand, there are numbers of Syrian rabbis and their congregants who are committed to a relevant approach to Orthodox observance. They call themselves Modern Orthodox and are often more comfortable socializing with like-minded Ashkenazic Jews than with their Hareidi and intolerant Sephardic relatives. 

Opposition to Outside Influences

Throughout Jewish history, financial, academic, and professional sacrifices have been made to protect and prevent the individual from leaving his/her community. In the Syrian Jewish community of Brooklyn, no action underscores this point more than the 1935 Proclamation on Converts issued by Chief Rabbi Jacob Kassin and signed by four other prominent rabbis of Brooklyn’s Syrian Jewish community, including the head of the Bet Din, Rabbi Haim Tawil. The proclamation states,

… no male or female member of our community has the right to intermarry with non- Jews; this law covers conversions, which we consider to be fictitious and valueless. We further decree that no future rabbinic court of the community should have the right or authority to convert male or female non-Jews who seek to marry into our community.

Rabbi Jacob Kassin clarified this statement in 1946 and in 1972. It was reaffirmed in 1984.

The wording of the proclamation, conversations with the signatories, and the historical backdrop of its institution indicate that the letter was intended to prevent conversions for the purpose of marriages taking place after the proclamation. This point is more clearly defined in The Subsequent Clarification of the Original Confirmation issued in 1946, which states, “Our community will never accept any converts, male or female, for marriage. The rabbi will not perform any religious ceremonies for such couples, i.e., marriages, circumcisions, bar mitzvahs, etc.”

The Subsequent Clarification states that the ban was issued against conversions for marriage, and ceremonies will not be performed for couples of those unions. The statement does not mention a ban on conversions li’shma, for their own sake. Additionally, Rabbi Zevulun Lieberman wrote in 1988, “Our ban …does not apply to descendants of people who underwent a legitimate conversion prior to 1935.”

A community rabbi who was a disciple and colleague of Rabbi Jacob Kassin stated that Rabbi Kassin approved of and even performed marriages for those he considered sincere converts, such as children of converts raised as Jews and who had “come under the wings of the Shekhinah.” 

Despite these factors, today the practice of the Syrian community in Brooklyn is a complete ban on acceptance of any converts, even descendants of those whose children were married by Rabbi Jacob Kassin.

At times, this practice and extension of the proclamation seem excessive and have resulted in the alienation of sincere Jews, who all of their lives observed the mitzvoth and considered themselves part of the community. When it came time to date, these individuals were rebuffed by prospects and considered unacceptable. Sadly, these shunned members left the community, and most married non-Jews.

There remain a few third- and fourth-generation converts living in the community. As this article is being written, there is a young couple being denied a marriage performed and accepted by the majority of the community’s rabbinical authorities, despite the fact that Rabbi Jacob Kassin approved of the marriage of the grandparents, one of whom was the child of a convert who became Jewish prior to 1935.  

Many of the community’s members are troubled by the tensions and obvious discrimination of the proclamation; however, it is difficult to argue the efficacy of the decree and the binding power it has over the community’s people regardless of the degree of religious observance. As Rabbi Lieberman wrote, “The current situation in America regarding conversions, whereby most gerut is done for the purpose of marriage, represents a sham and travesty of the Jewish tradition. But the Sephardic community's approach is proof of the power of a kehilla to protect its heritage and traditions.”

With the rate of Jewish assimilation in America at 50 percent and many Jews unaffiliated with the religion or its practices, there are enough legitimate arguments to prevent any community-wide amendments to the proclamation, especially with the varying hashkafot of the Syrian Jewish community.

Conclusion

The Syrian Jewish community of Brooklyn is most unique, with a strong identity and pride in its values, traditions, and observances. As the community increases in size, educational pursuits, and places of residence, its characteristics become subject to outside influences, which affect the behaviors of its members. Over time, these forces have tugged at the tethers that restrain the community and keep it close-knit and uniform in its practices. One’s tendency may be to think back longingly on the simple life of simple people who lived less complicated lives. However, we must appreciate the successes of the Syrian community: the establishment and growth of businesses; the founding of worldwide communities; many educational institutions and community outreach organizations; and the power that has resulted from these achievements. 

With these accomplishments, we have much to look forward to as we broaden our commitments to Torah values and bringing about tikun olam beyond our borders. 

May it be His will and let us say, Amen.

The camera pans across golden fields of plump wheat stalks so abundant they dwarf Michael Landon, in the guise of Charles Ingalls, American farmer extraordinaire. As Mr. Ingalls surveys the abundance before him, he reaches out to pluck a single robust stalk, spilling the wheat grains onto his open palm. Closing his fist over the treasure, he turns his eyes heavenward. "Thank you, Lord," he says plainly.

Those familiar with Little House on the Prairie, the television drama based on the historical account of a pioneer family's life in the late 1800s American West, know how rare it is for Mr. Ingalls to experience such a moment of hodu l'Hashem ki tov, thanks to God for the goodness in front of him. The life of the Ingalls family as pioneers on the American prairie was not filled with many moments of bountiful good. The television Ingalls notoriously faced hardship of every natural, financial, and social dimension in their small town of Walnut Grove, and although they gave thanks each morning and evening before meals, bounty such as this rarely came their way for long. In fact, in just a matter of moments would follow a hail storm that would wipe out this glorious crop, on the verge of its cash-out.

But let us linger for a moment with Charles in the midst of his golden plenty. Take in the way in which he so prosaically lifts his eyes to the heavens as though addressing a familiar friend, offering his thanks in a manner that is so rare and so moving in its simplicity. What we know from this scene is that Charles Ingalls walks with God. That is, he carries an awareness of his creator with him so closely, at all times, so that when events transpire in his life he is quickly able to put them in perspective vis-a-vis God, the source of all.

This is true for Mr. Ingalls, whether come good or bad. Some episodes after this harvest comes the most joyful birth of Charles' son, the first after three daughters, followed by the child's desperate failure to thrive and imminent demise, as his parents and doctors stand by helpless. When the child does slip away, Charles' immediate response is to embrace his wife and begin to recite: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," while blinking back tears. Instinctively, he extols God or leans on Him in times of duress, talks with him as though he were by his side at any moment.

I feel grateful to have grown up with Little House running in prime time. By the grace of cable television, I also have the satisfaction of introducing my own children to it and thus offering them a visual of what walking with God might look like. Family and friends who know of my intimate knowledge of this series joke that I hold as guides Torat Moshe, Moshe's teaching, the Torah, and Torat Little House, the teaching of Little House. As a mother and school counselor, I believe the show to be of outstanding quality in the sensitive and accurate treatment of social ills and the child's worldview, but also because at the base of it all lies Charles and Caroline's clearly held values of trust in and awareness of God, honest work, and standing for what is right. Perhaps to me, these values are the commonalities between my two "teachings."

***

The Torah tells of righteous figures, such as Noah and Abraham, who "walked with God." What could that look or feel like? Would it mean to have Him near at all times, whether good or bad, prosaic or exquisite?

We call the traditional precepts of Torah lived in practical life, halakha, the path. Do we think about walking with God as we follow traditional Jewish mores?

In order to walk—or live—with awareness of God, one first must be able to cultivate what is trendily called mindfulness, or awareness of one's self and surroundings. Such mindfulness requires sensitivity, honesty, and calm of spirit that may not come naturally, particularly in our frenzied first-world lives, but can be cultivated. In counseling terms, mindfulness is often proffered as a counterbalance to stress, whose byproducts can be chaos, anxiety, or neurosis. By calming the mind and cultivating an awareness of what is happening in one's body and mind, one will be able to slow and bring some order to the chaos or neurosis, as well as promote an outlook that emphasizes "glass half-full" rather than half-empty.

Reverence assumes the ability to be still—for without calm and a measure of emptiness one cannot be filled with awe—and must incorporate a measure of gratitude, for one cannot give honor while in the same moment complaining about one's condition. Our sages considered the state of gratitude to lead to reverence; for this reason, we are called Yehudim, named for Jacob's son Yehuda, the root of whose name means "to give thanks." As the Psalmist wrote, and many Jews recite daily, Tov l'hodot l'Hashem, it is good to give thanks to Hashem. A Jew's state in the world is to represent the energy of giving thanks, hoda'a, for when one appreciates what one has, one grows in reverence to the source of the gifts.

Over 25 years ago, it was a guide on a teen tour to Israel who first left me questioning whether Jews might be uniquely challenged by reverence. Our sabra guide led us on a hike through a pristine nature preserve, and then had us take a seat by the side of a stream. He asked us to listen silently to the water, the sounds of the birds, the air whistling in the rushes. To be mindful, in other words. Inevitably, one teenager fell prey to the temptation to fill the momentary quiet by cracking a joke and someone else had a rebound. The tour guide threw up his hands and said, "You see? You can't get a Jew to shut up for more than ten seconds!"

It may be the case that many teenagers would be challenged by sitting silently at the edge of a stream. But as I grew older and more aware of cultural differences (and the Jewish predilection for self-expression in particular), I better understood what the guide may have been getting at. I paid closer attention to the very detailed biblical descriptions of our people wandering in the wilderness of Sinai. "Stiff-necked," obstinate, complaining about the lack of cucumbers and leeks after being redeemed from bondage by the very hand of God: the visceral recounting in Exodus is stark. Sadly, this very pointed national characterization of our people closes thousands of years in a heartbeat to a quotation from a Nazi general I once read: "You Jews, you complain about the shoe that has gone missing...what you don't recognize is that you are about to lose both your legs."

To our credit, it may be that our many injunctions to stand up for the oppressed and pursue justice have cultivated a national character that favors action and expression. We are even commanded to speak out if we see our peer involved in a wrong—something I took for granted, until I began working and living more closely with other cultural groups, some of whom may tend toward the reticent, frown upon opinions, or see minding someone else's business as meddling. Traditional Jewish ways of being may naturally lend themselves better to righteous chutzpah than to meditative calm.

***

As a school counselor for more than 15 years, I have mainly worked in the most challenging of public schools (by this I mean the schools where resources and family agency are scarce, poverty is commonplace, and high school graduation is pay dirt). When I came to work at one particular elementary school in Harlem, I was in my early 30s and a typical New York Jew: somewhat skeptical, prizing intellect, and Jewishly observant, apart from this. I began to notice that many of my colleagues drew upon their faith to retain a hopeful outlook in the dire circumstances in which we toiled—and sometimes, to get through the day. They began each morning by holding hands in a circle and having one of them lead them in a prayer for strength and guidance.

At first, I was taken aback. I questioned the appropriateness of bringing religion into a public institution. Soon I reasoned that no students were present, so perhaps it was fine. I found, upon reflection, that it was the ease with which these women incorporated God into their daily life that was disconcerting. Gradually, I came to realize that my colleagues were authentic people who were drawing on their trust in divine providence to get them through the trials of each challenging day of our work. They were walking with God. What's more, they were not some stereotype of a church lady, spouting platitudes about grace or laying judgment, but women who chose to labor authentically in one of the most challenging environments. When faced with grave adversity, the most base conditions and crudest of human behavior, they chose not to isolate, or sink and respond at that level, but to lean on God in order to rise above.

This recognition opened the door for me to see the utility of that morning prayer in bringing God, in a practical and real way, into daily life. The earnest prayer of my colleagues had led me to question what purpose my cynicism served and whether it was compatible with a religio-spiritual way of life.

It was similar with my reaction to "I'm blessed" as a common response to "How are you?" Initially, I thought this quaint, or at times, irrelevant. But slowly, I began to recognize this evidence of the power of language to create reality, much like an affirmation works on one's subconscious. Too, I saw the verbalization as a reminder, amid the temptation to complain, that actually, we are, here in the first world, all blessed. Where I had dismissed the similar tendency of some Jews to answer similarly with a barukh HaShem, bless God, I saw the power of such an utterance to affect one's spiritual standing in that moment.

I am in touch with these colleagues from time to time and one of them in particular has become a close friend. She and I have had many a heart-to-heart about God and the purpose of religion. Once, I shared with her my struggle to find a synagogue in which a palpable sense of reverence was the norm. I asked her if there was any issue surrounding congregants talking during the service at her church. She had to clarify the question, before she could even begin to answer it.

L: You mean talking when they come in to the service?

R: Possibly. Or during. Just sitting there in the pews having a good chat during the service.

L: (Long pause.) Well, if you come in and did the hug and greeting thing before taking your seat I guess that could be considered fellowship, so it might be okay...

R: But what if you sat and kept on talking?

L: (clearly having trouble envisioning what is sadly commonplace on the Modern Orthodox front) Like, when the congregation is praying?

R: (nod)

L: I mean, I might think that person was new to the path and didn't yet know better. Otherwise, I'd have to wonder...why'd they come?

This little exchange left me with a twinge in my chest, as the implicit sense that one would comport oneself reverently in the house of God made me nothing less than jealous. I will spare the reader a litany of synagogues in which talking is the status quo; suffice it to say that I have yet to discover a sanctuary in which there seems to be awareness of the root of that word: sanctus, holy. Let me share only that on one occasion, a Friday night about a decade ago, I was verbally accosted after services on Manhattan's Upper West Side, after I had gently shushed a middle-aged man through the mehitza when his personal conversation turned into a coffee klatch without the hot drinks. Wearing my then-infant son in a snuggly, I was waiting for my husband in the foyer when this man approached me and berated me for quieting him. "Don't you ever tell me to be quiet in shul again!" he said in threatening tone. I haven't been back to that particular shul, but, threats apart, I haven't found it much different wherever I go. The sense of entitlement to do as one pleases in a holy place, in the midst of addressing one's maker, bears out the sense in which reverence holds no quarter in the typical Modern Orthodox sphere.

I believe the absence of reverence in observant Jewish life to be nothing less than a tragedy that is costing the Jewish people in more ways than may be recognized. Without reverence, our customs and mores lose their spiritual core and we revert to a tribe. This leaves us, as a community, with little of substance to offer our young people—to say nothing of our mature members. There is no argument to stay in the tribe for the sake of the tribe alone. In the open marketplace of ideas and spiritual pathways, Judaism without reverence is junk food and we cannot blame our numbers for recognizing this or turning to more sustaining spiritual fare. For, as the sardonic wit of one synagogue posting goes, "If you come here to talk, where do you go to daven?"

I would challenge us to ask ourselves: Is a synagogue a social club or a spiritual home? Is Jewish education for teaching content and behavior—now bend here, now say this—or for imbuing children with the sense that we go in the presence of the Almighty, that He has gifted us the rule book to best play this game of life and tasked us with a life's mission? Are we walking a path through life, like our forefathers, like Charles and Caroline Ingalls, with God at our sides, or are we showing up at shul out of a sense of duty to parents or community? And if the latter, is that enough to sustain us?

 In his magnum opus, Ha’amek Davar, Rabbi
Naftali Tzvi Berlin, (also called 
Netziv, 1817-93), the last leader of the illustrious  yeshiva of Volozhin, Russia, asks why the
first book of the Torah, Bereshith  is
also called: Sefer Hayashar, “the book of those who are upright”. In his own
unusual way, Netziv responds that this is due to the fact that the three
patriarchs, Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaacov, the main figures in this book, were
men of uncompromising straightforwardness, justice and mercy.

 While there are many people who are
perhaps righteous and even pious, the “Avoth” were even greater: Their concern
for their fellow men, even those who were immoral idolaters, was almost
unlimited. Avraham challenged and even bargained with God not to destroy the
people of Sodom who had fallen to
the lowest possible level of moral behavior. Although by the law of God they
were liable to lose their lives, still Avraham did not let up and kept pleading
with God to save them. (Bereshith, chapters 18-19). Yitzhak showed tremendous
patience with his depraved opponents who did everything to make his life
miserable but in the end he did even more to appease them than what they had
even asked for (Ibid. chapter 26). Yaacov went out of his way not to hurt and
even to please his father in law Laban, who had broken all the rules of decent
behavior toward his son in law and had exploited him in ways which not even the
pious would be able to bear (Ibid. chapters 29-31).

This, says the Netziv, is the great
trademark of the patriarchs, and as a result the book of Bereshith is also
called Sefer Hayashar. True Judaism is not the kind of tradition which asks its
followers to turn the other cheek, but it does demand concern for even the most
foul among men as long as this does not lead to disastrous consequences. This,
says Netziv, is because we have to realize that without such compassion mankind
will not survive.

When contemplating the terrible disaster
which struck China,
and some years ago South East Asia, and the number of
people killed and wounded as well as the millions of people left homeless, one
is reminded of the words of Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Berlin:
The obligation of Jews to shower infinite mercy on the world. This is also
borne out by the fact that God  commands
Avraham  to be “a father to all the
nations” (Ibid. 17:4) which means nothing less than being a man who shows great
compassion for God’s creations and to be the one to whom the nations can always
turn for spiritual if not for physical help. And just like Avraham is asked to
be a “father to the nations” so are all Jews.  

 The State of Israel has gone out of its
way to help victims of the tsumani and earthquake catastrophes. Besides sending
rescue workers, doctors and nurses, money and food, it has asked its citizens
to help financially and to do anything in their power to help out. Israelis have
responded in unprecedented ways. In fact Israel’s
aid to tsunami victims is the highest per capita donation of any country in the
world. This is even more remarkable taking into account what Israeli Jews have
been through in the last years. Whatever our own tragedies, we will not forget
the world at large, although a good part of the world seems to forget us--
including those who now are in need of our help.

What is missing, however, is a massive and
nationwide religious response. 
As a nation which is committed to the commandment to sanctify God’s
name, the religious establishment, including the Chief Rabbinate, heads of
Yeshivoth and other religious Institutions are obligated to call on their
people to pray for  all those who are
still missing, who have lost  their homes
and material possessions  as well as for
the sick and the poor.

Synagogues should add special prayers to
the daily service. Yeshivoth should organize special study sessions dedicated
to all those who are suffering, and their leaders should invoke feelings of
deep compassion through their sermons and mussar (ethics) sessions. A public
fast day should be seriously considered, and calls for an increase in our moral
and religious obligations should be heard around the country and in Jewish
communities around the world.   When Rabbi
Israel Meir Hacohen learned of the devastating earthquake that rocked Japan
in September 1923, killing many thousands of people, he took upon himself a
private fast day and called on others likewise to engage in prayer and
repentance.

Statements of sympathy should be published,
and above all large prayer gatherings should be organized throughout the land
and in communities worldwide.  This is
the minimum obligation of the religious community.

After all, what happened was not just a
local event but a global disaster which will live on for many more years. In
many ways it has already transformed our basic notions concerning our lives.
For one, our conviction that we are secure in our homes and that nature is a
reliable companion has been utterly shattered. There is no way we can be
assured that we will still be alive in the next five minutes. A veil has been
ripped away and we stand bare in front of ourselves. Ultimately our emunah,
faith, has been challenged but also enhanced. From now on, we are aware that we
live by Divine mercy only. As such, we are able to re-discover why many of us
have decided to opt for a religious life. Religion, after all, is the art of
living in wonder. It is a call to protest against taking things for granted.

The fact that parts of  the world community have shown unprecedented
concern for the well being of the victims is even more reason that world Jewry
and even more so religious Jewry, should stand up. That this has not yet
(fully) happened is disappointing and we call on all those in power to turn the
tide.

Religious Jewry cannot permit itself to
make the slightest impression of indifference even when it concerns those who
have little in common with us and are no lovers of Israel.
Religious Jews should be at the forefront of humanitarian concern  notwithstanding the attitudes of the people
who are in need of our help.  Just as Avraham
could have turned his back on the upcoming disaster in Sodom
but did not do so, so religious Jewry should demonstrate its religious duty to
help and show compassion in every way possible. To do anything else is contrary
to Jewish authentic teachings.

Jewish religious leaders should send a message
to all of the people of Israel
and not less to all of mankind, that the time has come to realize that the
world is a different place than we imagine it to be. While there are moral and
religious values which are worth fighting for, we often focus on our physical
pleasures, our need for honor and often extreme comfort, our hates and loves,
that are not worth the time and energy that we spend on them. In our
vulnerability, we mature and become aware of what is important and what is not.
To make ourselves and others aware of this is also our task as “a father to the
nations”.

Instead of trying to discover textual
hints for these disasters in biblical or kabbalistic texts, (which mostly is
fanciful speculation and wishful thinking), religious Jewry should act with
great responsibility and show that we have not forgotten their duty toward all
of mankind. This would increase respect for the Jewish Tradition throughout the
world, and no greater sanctification of God’s name could be achieved.

We have not yet fully understood our
responsibility in this matter. We are still too much stuck in the sandbank in
which we have maneuvered ourselves. This is not only true about hareidi
Orthodoxy but also about modern Orthodoxy. It is time that in an unprecedented
move, our religious leadership should lead the ship of the Torah and its moral
teachings into the center of the world community. What is needed is a moral
religious uproar which will shake mankind’s and our own indifference. It is the
task of the Jewish people and its religious leadership together to join with
others to make this  happen. Only then
can we properly call ourselves the children of Avraham Avinu.  May the Holy One blessed be He have mercy
on all victims and may He bring healing to all human suffering.