National Scholar Updates

Yearning: Thoughts for Parashat Eikev

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Eikev

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

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

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

I have been pondering this response ever since.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Embracing Tradition and Modernity: Rabbi Benzion Meir Hai Uziel

 

Introduction

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

Rabbi Uziel and Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook[7]

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Conclusion

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

[2] Ibid., pp. 11–13.

[3] Ibid., pp. 14–15.

[4] Ibid., pp. 59–60.

[5] Ibid., p. 64.

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

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

[8] See also Mishnah Sanhedrin 37a.

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

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

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

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

Modern Monarchy?

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

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

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

Judges

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

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

Samuel

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

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

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

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

Kings

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

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

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

Deuteronomy

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

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

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

Summary and Discussion

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

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

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

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

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

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

==

Comments to: [email protected]


 


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

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

 

Agree to Disagree


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

Love the Ger: A Biblical Perspective

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

The Ger in the Torah

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

The Oral Law

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

Explaining the Gap between the Written and Oral Law

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

           

Conclusion

 

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Notes

 

 

[1] For a summary of the relevant issues, as well as references to many of the articles in previous issues of Conversations, see Hayyim Angel, “Conversion: Halakha and Public Policy, Primary Sources,” and “Conversion: Halakha and Public Policy, Contemporary Applications,” Conversations 32 (New York: Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, 2018), pp. 2840, 4151. See also the YouTube video of the Institute’s symposium on conversion in October, 2018, which featured Rabbi Marc Angel, Rabbi Hayyim Angel, and Rabbi Yona Reiss, at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GG17aaahdPQ&t=16s.

[2] This term is used regularly throughout the Torah in reference to Israel’s sojourn in Egypt. See Exodus 22:20; 23:9; Leviticus 19:3334; Deuteronomy 10:19; 23:8; 24:1722.

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

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

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

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

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

[8] Nehama Leibowitz went so far as to suggest that the reason God wanted the Israelites to be enslaved in Egypt was so that they would develop a sensitivity toward the underprivileged (New Studies in Shemot: Exodus, pp. 111).

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

[10]They also must be in a state of ritual purity like any Israelite (see Numbers 9:67, 1314).

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

[12] Jacob Milgrom (Anchor Bible: Leviticus 1722 [New York: Doubleday, 2000], pp. 14961499) maintains that the ger must refrain from prohibitions since violation of negative commandments pollutes the land, whereas the ger is exempt from positive commandments. Milgrom explains the anomalous permission for the ger to eat carrion in Deuteronomy 14:21 as a means of preserving some distinction between Israelites and gerim. This explanation, however, is unconvincing, given the Torah’s equation of Israelites and gerim in every other arena.

[13] For a survey of Jewish views through the ages, with emphasis on a sea change in interpretation toward viewing “Love your neighbor” as a reference to all humanity in more recent times, see Reinhard Neudecker (“‘And You Shall Love Your Neighbor as Yourself—I Am the Lord’ (Lev 19,18) in Jewish Interpretation,” Biblica 73 (1992), pp. 496517. See also the illuminating moral debate between Ernst Simon, “The Neighbor (Re’a) Whom We Shall Love,” and the response of Harold Fisch, in Modern Jewish Ethics: Theory and Practice, ed. Marvin Fox (Ohio: Ohio State University Press, 1975), pp. 2961.

[14] The Septuagint reflects the same distinction. Jacob Milgrom notes, “[T]he Septuagint [invented] a new word, proselutos ‘proselyte,’ for the convert, a term they consistently use for ger in all legal contexts. The sole exception is Exod 12:19, where they use the transliterated (Aramaic) form geioras, and Deut 14:21, where, in order to prevent concluding that the convert may eat of a nebela, they translate ger as paroikos ‘alien’ (Anchor Bible: Leviticus 1722, p. 1501).

[15] Rambam (Hilkhot Issurei Bi’ah 14:78) rules that the ger toshav must renounce idolatry and commit to observe the Seven Noahide Laws. Rambam rules further that the laws of ger toshav are inapplicable today, since halakhah links those laws to the laws of the Jubilee Year. Rabbi Saul Zucker (unpublished essay, emailed to author May 5, 2020) explains that the ger toshav accepts a connection to Israel as a nation, in contrast to the ger tzedek who accepts a connection to Israel’s religion. Therefore, a halakhic ger toshav does not exist at a time when Israel is insufficiently constituted in its land to observe the Jubilee year. I am grateful to Rabbi Zucker for sharing his piece with me.

[16] See also Deuteronomy 12:31; 18:912.

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

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

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

 

A Renaissance Man--At What Price?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Independent Thinking is Indispensable


Intellectual Freedom
I recently had some correspondence with a rabbinic colleague in which we discussed
ideas relating to the role of women in halakha. I had offered some thoughts on how I imagined
things would be in messianic times. He found my ideas somewhat interesting and then asked: Do
you have a source for them?
I replied: The source is my own thinking.
Our dialogue then reached a cordial conclusion.
I mulled over this conversation, and realized that it reflects some of the problems I have
with much discussion within the Orthodox world. It is increasingly difficult to express an idea
without pinning it to an “authority” or a reliable “source.” Independent thinking is not considered
to be good form.
If I had told my colleague that I had found my idea in a midrash, or a classic rabbinic
work, or even in the writings of an obscure kabbalist, he would have taken my words more
seriously. After all, I had a source!
But shouldn’t ideas be evaluated on their own merit? A statement isn’t truer if someone
said it a few hundred years ago, even if that someone was a great scholar and sage. A statement
is not less true if it is espoused by someone today, who has no “source” to substantiate his or her
views.
Yes, certainly, we have a proper tendency to give more weight to the opinion of sages
such as Rambam than the opinion of a person who is far less learned than Rambam.  We assume
that Rambam (or other “authority”) was surely wiser and more knowledgeable than we are; if
early sources didn’t come up with our idea, then it must be that our idea is wrong—otherwise the
previous “authorities” would have said it first.
But this line of thinking keeps us focused on the past, and doesn’t allow enough freedom
to break new ground, to come up with novel ideas and approaches. It has been said that reliance
on the authority of Aristotle kept philosophy from developing for a thousand years; reliance on
the medical teachings of Galen kept medicine from advancing for many centuries. Whether in
the sciences, arts, or philosophy, innovation is a key to progress. An atmosphere of intellectual
freedom allows ideas to be generated, evaluated, rejected, accepted; it provides the framework
for human advancement.
It is intellectually deadening to read articles/responsa or hear lectures/shiurim that are
essentially collections of the opinions of early “sources” and “authorities.” Although it is vital
for rabbis and scholars to be aware of the earlier rabbinic literature, it is also vital that they not be
hemmed in by those opinions. One needs the intellectual freedom to evaluate sources, to accept
what is deemed acceptable, to reject what is objectionable—and to offer one’s own views on the
topic, even if no earlier source/authority exists.

Oh, and yes, I have a source for these views! Rambam wrote (Guide of the Perplexed,
2:13):
For when something has been demonstrated, the correctness of the matter is not
increased, and certainty regarding it is not strengthened by the consensus of all men of
knowledge with regard to it. Nor could its correctness be diminished and certainty
regarding it be weakened even if all the people on earth disagreed with it.
Rambam also noted (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Kiddush haHodesh 17:24):
Since all these rules have been established by sound and clear proofs, free from any flaw
and irrefutable, we need not be concerned about the identity of their authors, whether
they be Hebrew prophets or gentile sages.
We rely on the proofs, not on the credentials of the author.
Some years ago, I wrote an article “Orthodoxy and Diversity,” in which I expressed my
concerns:

Orthodoxy needs to foster the love of truth. It must be alive to different
intellectual currents, and receptive to open discussion. How do we, as a Modern
Orthodox community, combat the tendency toward blind authoritarianism and
obscurantism?
First, we must stand up and be counted on the side of freedom of expression. We,
as a community, must give encouragement to all who have legitimate opinions to share.
We must not tolerate intolerance. We must not yield to the tactics of coercion and
intimidation.
Our schools and institutions must foster legitimate diversity within Orthodoxy.
We must insist on intellectual openness, and resist efforts to impose conformity: We will
not be fitted into the bed of Sodom. We must give communal support to diversity within
the halakhic framework, so that people will not feel intimidated to say things publicly or
sign their names to public documents. (Here’s the link to that
article: https://www.jewishideas.org/article/orthodoxy-and-diversity)
When well-reasoned views are expressed, they should be evaluated fairly. Quoting
“sources/authorities” does not in itself validate an opinion. Not quoting “sources/authorities”
does not invalidate an opinion.
We certainly should draw on the wisdom and scholarship of others, and we should give
them due credit when we learn from them and quote their words. But we should not shut off our
own brains, nor feel unable to express an opinion without basing it on an earlier source. A
thinking Judaism makes us better Jews—and better human beings.
***
        
Crowd Instinct, Personality Instinct

In his memoir, The Torch in My Ear, the Sephardic Jewish writer Elias Canetti (who won
the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1981) reflects on an insight that came to him as a young man: “I
realized that there is such a thing as a crowd instinct, which is always in conflict with the
personality instinct, and that the struggle between the two of them can explain the course of
human history” (387). This idea became central to Canetti’s life, ultimately resulting in his
classic book Crowds and Power.
What is the “crowd instinct?” It is the desire to blend into a crowd, to dissolve one’s
personality into a large mass of people. The crowd instinct can be witnessed in sports arenas,
where fans become one with each other and with the players on the field. It can be experienced
in mass rallies where fiery orators fire up the crowd, or at rock concerts where fans lose
themselves in their wild admiration of the singers and their music. People have a deep desire to
be part of such crowds.
Yet, crowds can become dangerous. When individuals succumb to crowds, demagogues
can control them, can drive them to do terrible things, can turn them into lynch mobs or
murderous gangs, can push them into terrorism and war.
And so, there is also a “personality instinct,” a deep desire to retain our own ideas and
values, to resist the mesmerizing power of crowds.  Although we at times want to share in the
enthusiasms and griefs of crowds, we simultaneously want to maintain our inner freedom from
the crowds. We want to blend in—but not to blend in.
In the Almighty’s blessing of Abraham, we can detect both the crowd instinct and the
personality instinct. God apparently wanted Abraham to keep aware of these conflicting pulls,
and to maintain spiritual balance.
God promised that He would multiply Abraham’s seed “as the stars of the heaven.” 
Stars, although there are so many of them, are essentially alone; light years separate one star
from the next. Stars symbolize the personality instinct, the unique separateness of each one.
Although part of a galaxy, each star is separate and distinct, never losing its particular identity.
But God also promised that Abraham’s seed would be “as the sand that is upon the
seashore.” Sand represents an entirely different kind of multitude than stars. While each star is
alone and separate, each grain of sand is surrounded by many other grains of sand. Whereas stars
evoke separateness, sand evokes incredible closeness; it is almost impossible to take only one
grain of sand in your hand. Sand symbolizes the crowd instinct.
Abraham was to found a new nation, and nations need to have adequate numbers in order
to thrive. Nation-building entails working with crowds, striving to create consensus among
various factions.  Nations demand patriotism, national symbols that inspire citizens to feel united
with each other. But nations can become dangerous crowds. Demagogues can manipulate the
crowd’s emotions and can control information that they share with the masses. Crowds can
become dangerous; crowds can be turned into murdering, war-mongering and hateful entities.
How can one resist the power of crowds? For this we need the personality instinct. Each
person needs to understand the crowd, but keep enough independence not to totally succumb to
the power of the crowd. Each person literally has to be a hero, has to be willing to stand up and
stand out—and possibly take terrible risks in order to maintain personal integrity.
This was God’s blessing to Abraham: Your seed will learn how to form positive, helpful,
cooperative crowds that will enhance human civilization. Your seed will be composed of
individuals who will have the wisdom and the courage to remain separate, to resist those who
would try to manipulate the crowd into wickedness. Your seed—like the stars—will be

composed of strong, luminous and separate beings. Your seed—like the sand—will come
together to form healthy, strong and moral communities and societies.
Throughout human history, there has been an ongoing tension between the crowd instinct
and the personality instinct. Too often, the crowd instinct has prevailed. Masses of people have
been whipped up to commit the worst atrocities, to murder innocents, to vent hatred. Too seldom
have the masses acted like stars who can and do resist the power of dangerous crowds.
In our time, like throughout history, there are those who seek to manipulate crowds in
dangerous, murderous and hateful ways. There are those who play on the fears and gullibility of
the masses, who dissolve individuality and turn people into frenzied sheep.
But there are also those who refuse to become part of such crowds, who resist the crowd
instinct and maintain the personality instinct. These are the stars who will form a new kind of
crowd, a crowd that will bring human beings together in harmony and mutual respect. God’s
blessing to Abraham is a blessing that we all need to internalize.
***
Politicians or Statesmen
Henry Adams, a nineteenth-century American historian and author, distinguished
between a politician and a statesman. A politician is someone who listens to what people are
saying, and then molds his/her agenda accordingly. A statesman is someone who thinks carefully
and arrives at intelligent conclusions—and then works to persuade the public to adopt his/her
policies.
Politicians are essentially petty self-promoters who will say what people want to hear,
who will pander to the whims of the masses. They say one thing today, another thing tomorrow;
one thing to this audience and another thing to a different audience. They tell jokes, hug children,
spout off truisms. Their goal is to be popular enough to get elected and stay in office. They can
be bullies, buffoons, or big mouths: It doesn’t matter to them as long as they can get people to
talk about them and vote for them.
Statesmen are a much rarer breed. They actually take the time and trouble to think
carefully. They have a long range vision of what is best for society. They espouse ideas and
ideals that the masses may—or may not—readily understand or appreciate. They try to remain
above the fray, and to guide people to a better, larger view of what is at stake. They are people
who avoid sound bites and photo ops.
Political campaigns of our time often seem to be in the province of politicians, not
statesmen. People run to become President of the United States, but many of them sound as
though they are running for president of their high school class. Instead of contests for who
provides the soundest and most intelligent vision for the future of the nation, the political battles
seem to be popularity contests.
Will Rogers once said: When I was a boy I was told that anyone could become President
of the United States; now I’m beginning to believe it.
People in all generations complain that their political leaders are politicians rather than
statesmen. But it is the people who elect them! Apparently, the public does not demand or need
anything more than glib showmen for their leaders.
People deserve exactly the leadership that they choose for themselves, whether for good
or ill. This applies not only to political leaders, but to leaders of all sorts. It’s easy enough to

complain that our leaders are mere politicians and panderers; but we somehow seem to forget
that we are the ones who have elected them or have allowed them to stay in office.
As long as the public will laugh at the politicians’ jokes and rejoice in the politicians’
one-liners, then the politicians will continue their reign. Until the public will demand more of
their leaders and more of themselves, we will have politicians, not statesmen. And we will all be
the worse for it.
***
Kamtsa, Bar Kamtsa and Contemporary Parallels
R. Johanan said: The destruction of Jerusalem came through Kamtsa and Bar Kamtsa in
this way: A certain man had a friend Kamtsa and an enemy Bar Kamtsa. He once made a
party and said to his servant, Go and bring Kamtsa. The man went and brought Bar
Kamtsa. When the man [who gave the party] found him there he said, See, you tell tales
about me; what are you doing here? Get out. Said the other: Since I am here, let me stay
and I will pay you for whatever I eat and drink. He said, I won't. Then let me give you
half the cost of the party. No, said the other. Then let me pay for the whole party. He still
said, No, and he took him by the hand and put him out. Said the other, Since the rabbis
were sitting there and did not stop him, this shows that they agreed with him. I will go
and inform against them to the Government. He went and said to the Emperor, The Jews
are rebelling against you. He said, How can I tell? He said to him: Send them an offering
and see whether they will offer it [on the altar]. So he sent with him a fine calf. While on
the way he [Bar Kamtsa] made a blemish on its upper lip, or as some say on the white of
its eye, in a place where we [Jews] count it a blemish but they [the Romans] do not. The
rabbis were inclined to offer it in order not to offend the Government. Said R. Zechariah
b. Abkulas to them: People will say that blemished animals are offered on the altar. They
then proposed to kill Bar Kamtsa so that he should not go and inform against them, but R.
Zechariah b. Abkulas said to them, Is one who makes a blemish on consecrated animals
to be put to death? R. Johanan thereupon remarked: Through the scrupulousness of R.
Zechariah b. Abkulas our House has been destroyed, our Temple burnt and we ourselves
exiled from our land. (Gittin 55b–56a)
The story tells of a host—apparently a wealthy man—who throws a party and wants his
friend Kamtsa to be brought to it. The servant makes a mistake and brings Bar Kamtsa—a person
the host despises. When the host sees Bar Kamtsa, he orders him to leave. Even though Bar
Kamtsa pleads not to be humiliated by being sent away, the host is unbending. Bar Kamtsa offers
to pay for whatever he eats, for half the expenses of the entire party, for the entire party—but the
host unceremoniously leads Bar Kamtsa out of his home.
The story reflects a lack of peace among the Jewish community in Jerusalem. The
antagonism between the host and Bar Kamtsa is palpable. The unpleasant scene at the party was
witnessed by others—including “the rabbis”; obviously, “the rabbis” were included on the
party’s guest list. They were part of the host’s social network. When Bar Kamtsa was ejected
from the party, he did not express rage at the host. Rather, he was deeply wounded by the fact
that rabbis had been silent in the face of the humiliation he had suffered: “Since the rabbis were
sitting there and did not stop him, this shows that they agreed with him.” He might have

understood the host’s uncouth behavior, since the host hated him. But he could not understand
why the rabbis, through their silence, would go along with the host. Why didn’t they stand up
and protest on behalf of Bar Kamtsa? Why didn’t they attempt to increase peace? Bar Kamtsa
was so disgusted with the rabbis that he decided to stir up the Roman Emperor against the Jewish
people. If the rabbinic leadership itself was corrupt, then the entire community had to suffer.
Why didn’t the rabbis speak up on behalf of Bar Kamtsa?
Apparently, the rabbis kept silent because they did not want to offend their host. If the
host wanted to expel a mistakenly invited person, that was his business—not theirs. The host
seems to have been a wealthy patron of the rabbis; he obviously wanted them included on his
invitation list. Why should the rabbis offend their patron, in defense of an enemy of their patron?
That might jeopardize their relationship with the host and could cost them future patronage.
The rabbis kept silent because they thought it socially and economically prudent for their
own interests. They could not muster the courage to confront the host and try to intervene on
behalf of Bar Kamtsa. By looking out for their own selfish interests, the rabbis chose to look the
other way when Bar Kamtsa was publicly humiliated.
Rabbi Binyamin Lau, in his review of the rabbinical and historical sources of that period,
came to the inescapable conclusion that
the rabbis were supported by the wealthy [members of the community], and consequently
were unable to oppose their deeds. There is here a situation of economic pressure that
enslaved the elders of the generation to the officials and the wealthy…. The Torah
infrastructure depended on the generosity of the rich.
When rabbis lost the spirit of independence, they also lost their moral compass. They
were beholden to the rich, and could not afford to antagonize their patrons. They remained silent
even when their patrons behaved badly, even when their silence allowed their patrons to
humiliate others. Bar Kamtsa was outraged by the moral cowardice of the rabbis to such an
extent that he turned traitor against the entire Jewish people.
The story goes on to say that Bar Kamtsa told the Emperor that the Jews were rebelling.
To verify this, the Emperor sent an offering to be sacrificed in the Temple. If the Jews offered it
up, that proved they were not rebelling. If the Jews refused to offer it up, this meant that they
were defying the Emperor and were rising in rebellion. Bar Kamtsa took a fine calf on behalf of
the Emperor, and put a slight blemish on it. He was learned enough to know that this
blemish—while of no consequence to the Romans—would disqualify the animal from being
offered according to Jewish law.
When Bar Kamtsa presented the offering at the Temple, the rabbis were inclined to allow
it to be offered. They fully realized that if they rejected it, this would be construed by the
Emperor as a sign of disloyalty and rebellion. Since there was so much at stake, the rabbis
preferred to offer a blemished animal rather than incur the Emperor’s wrath. This was a sound,
prudent course of action. But one of the rabbis, Zecharyah b. Abkulas, objected. He insisted that
the rabbis follow the letter of the law and not allow the offering of a blemished animal. He cited
public opinion (“people will say”) that the rabbis did not adhere to the law and therefore allowed
a forbidden offering. The rabbis then considered the extreme possibility of murdering Bar
Kamtsa, so that this traitor would not be able to return to the Emperor to report that the offering
had been refused. Again, Zecharyah b. Abkulas objected. The halakha does not allow the death
penalty for one who brings a blemished offering for sacrifice in the Temple. Murdering Bar

Kamtsa, thus, would be unjustified and illegal. This was “check mate.” The rabbis offered no
further ideas on how to avoid antagonizing the Emperor. The offering was rejected, and Bar
Kamtsa reported this to the Emperor. The result was the Roman destruction of Jerusalem and
razing of the Temple. “R. Johanan thereupon remarked: Through the scrupulousness of R.
Zechariah b. Abkulas our House has been destroyed, our Temple burnt and we ourselves exiled
from our land.”
Rabbi Johanan casts R. Zecharyah b. Abkulas as the villain of the story. R. Zecharyah
was overly scrupulous in insisting on the letter of the law, and he lost sight of the larger issues
involved. He did not factor in the consequences of his halakhic ruling; or if he did, he thought it
was better to suffer the consequences rather than to violate the halakha. Rabbi Johanan blames R.
Zecharyah’s “scrupulousness” for the destruction of Jerusalem, the razing of the Temple, and the
exile of the Jewish people. The moral of the story, according to Rabbi Johanan, is that rabbis
need to have a grander vision when making halakhic decisions. It is not proper—and can be very
dangerous—to rule purely on the basis of the letter of the law, without taking into consideration
the larger issues and the consequences of these decisions. Technical correctness does not always
make a halakhic ruling correct. On the contrary, technical correctness can lead to catastrophic
results. To follow the precedent of Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas is a dangerous mistake.
Yes, Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas was overly scrupulous in his application of halakha,
when other larger considerations should have been factored in. His narrow commitment to legal
technicalities caused inexpressible suffering and destruction for the Jewish people. But is he the
real villain of the story?
Rabbi Zecharyah was only one man. The other rabbis formed the majority. Why didn’t
they overrule Rabbi Zecharyah? The rabbis surely realized the implications of rejecting the
Emperor’s offering. They were even willing to commit murder to keep Bar Kamtsa from
returning to the Emperor with a negative report. Why did the majority of the rabbis submit to
Rabbi Zecharyah’s “scrupulousness”?
The story is teaching not only about the mistaken attitude of Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas,
but about the weakness and cowardice of the rest of the rabbis. The other rabbis were intimidated
by Rabbi Zecharyah. They were afraid that people would accuse them of being laxer in halakha
than Rabbi Zecharyah. They worried lest their halakhic credibility would be called into question.
Rabbi Zecharyah might be perceived by the public as the “really religious” rabbi, or the
“fervently religious” rabbi; the other rabbis would be perceived as compromisers, as religiously
defective. They recognized that Rabbi Zecharyah, after all, had technical halakhic justification
for his positions. On the other hand, they would have to be innovative and utilize meta-halakhic
considerations to justify their rulings. That approach—even if ultimately correct—requires
considerable confidence in one’s ability to make rulings that go beyond the letter of the law.
Rabbi Zecharyah’s position was safe: it had support in the halakhic texts and traditions. The
rabbis’ position was risky: it required breaking new ground, making innovative rulings based on
extreme circumstances. The rabbis simply were not up to the challenge. They deferred to Rabbi
Zecharyah because they lacked the courage and confidence to take responsibility for bold
halakhic decision-making.
When rabbis lose sight of their core responsibility to bring peace into the world, the
consequences are profoundly troubling. The public’s respect for religion and religious leadership
decreases. The rabbis themselves become narrower in outlook, more authoritarian, more

identified with a rabbinic/political bureaucracy than with idealistic rabbinic service. They
become agents of the status quo, curriers of favor from the rich and politically well-connected.
When rabbis lack independence and moral courage, the tendencies toward conformity and
extremism arise. They adopt the strictest and most fundamentalist positions, because they do not
want to appear “less fervent” than the extremist rabbinic authorities.
When rabbis fear to express moral indignation so as not to jeopardize their financial or
political situation, then the forces of injustice and disharmony increase. When rabbis adopt the
narrow halakhic vision of Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas, they invite catastrophe on the
community. When the “silent majority” of rabbis allow the R. Zecharyahs to prevail, they forfeit
their responsibility as religious leaders.
The contemporary Hareidization of Orthodox Judaism, both in Israel and the Diaspora,
has tended to foster a narrow and extreme approach to halakha. This phenomenon has been
accompanied by a widespread acquiescence on the part of Orthodox rabbis who are afraid to
stand up against the growing extremism.
In the summer of 1984, I met with Rabbi Haim David Halevy, then Sephardic Chief
Rabbi of Tel Aviv. He was a particularly independent thinker, who much regretted the
narrowness and extremism that had arisen within Orthodox rabbinic circles. He lamented what
he called the rabbinic “mafia” that served as a thought police, rooting out and ostracizing rabbis
who did not go along with the official policies of a small group of “gedolim,” rabbinic authorities
who are thought to have the ultimate power to decide halakhic policies. When honest discussion
and diversity of opinion are quashed, the religious enterprise suffers.
The Orthodox rabbinic establishment in Israel, through the offices of the Chief
Rabbinate, has had the sole official religious authority to determine matters relating to Jewish
identity, conversion, marriage, and divorce. It has also wielded its authority in kashruth
supervision and other areas of religious law relating to Jewish life in the State of Israel. This
religious “monopoly” has been in place since the State of Israel was established in 1948. With so
much power at their disposal, one would have expected—and might have hoped—that the
rabbinate would have won a warm and respectful attitude among the population at large. The
rabbis, after all, are charged with increasing peace between the people of Israel and their God;
with applying halakha in a spirit of love, compassion, and understanding; with creating within
the Jewish public a recognition that the rabbis are public servants working in the public’s
interest.
Regrettably, these things have not transpired. Although the Chief Rabbinate began with
the creative leadership of Rabbis Benzion Uziel and Yitzchak Herzog, it gradually sank into a
bureaucratic mire, in which rabbis struggled to gain political power and financial reward for
themselves and/or for the institutions they represent. The Chief Rabbinate is not held as the
ultimate religious authority in Israel by the Hareidi population. It is not respected by the non-
Orthodox public. It has scant support within the Religious Zionist camp, since the Chief
Rabbinate seems more interested in pandering to Hareidi interests than in promoting a genuine
Religious Zionist vision and program for the Jewish State.
Recent polls in Israel have reflected a growing backlash against the Hareidization of
religious life and against the political/social/religious coercion that has been fostered by Hareidi
leadership. Seventy percent of Jewish Israelis are opposed to new religious legislation. Fifty-
three percent oppose all religiously coercive legislation. Forty-two percent believe that the
tension between the Hareidim and the general public is the most serious internal schism in Israeli
Jewish society—nearly twice as many as those who think the most serious tension is between the

political left and political right. Sixty-five percent think the tensions between Hareidim and the
general public are the most serious, or second most serious, problem facing the Israeli Jewish
community. An increasing number of Israelis are in favor of a complete separation of religion
and State, reflecting growing frustration with the religious status quo.
In recent decades, Orthodox Judaism has become increasingly narrow, authoritarian, and
sectarian. We have argued that the Modern Orthodox/Religious Zionist communities must
energize themselves to reclaim Orthodoxy as an intellectually vibrant, compassionate, and
inclusive lifestyle that has a meaningful message for all Jews—and for humanity as a whole.
While working to improve the spiritual climate in Israel and the Diaspora, we must
concurrently foster specific policies that increase our representation in rabbinic roles, in lay
leadership, in Jewish education—and indeed in general involvement in our societies. We must
demonstrate our unflinching determination to resolve the halakhic controversies surrounding
conversion, agunot, and other problems—by employing the full range of halakhic options, and
by keeping in mind the ethical and national dimensions of our decisions.
The ways of the Torah are ways of pleasantness; all its pathways are peace. Orthodox
Judaism must cling to this principle and demonstrate to itself and to the world that the Torah way
of life is sweet and beautiful, and that Torah scholars indeed increase peace and harmony in the
world.

***
Resisting the Bullies
When the Israelites pressed Aaron to make them an idol of gold, the Torah informs us:
“And all the people broke off the golden rings which were in their ears and brought them unto
Aaron” (Shemoth 32:3). It seems that “all the people” participated in idolatrous behavior.
Yet, when it came to contributing to the building of the Mishkan, the sanctuary of God,
the Torah states that donations were to be given only by those with generous hearts, “of every
person whose heart was willing” (Shemoth 25:2).  The donations came not from “all the people”
but from a smaller group of willing donors.
Professor Yeshaya Leibowitz, in his book Yoke of Torah, offers his interpretation as to
why these events differed. Simply stated, it is much easier to get drawn into doing evil than into
doing something righteous. Once the Israelites went into a frenzy to make an idol, “all the
people” were swept up in the excitement; all of them contributed quickly and generously. But
when it came to building the Mishkan, many were reluctant to part with their valuables. There
are mental obstacles to contributing to a worthy cause. Donors need to battle with internal
resistance. They need to let their generosity overcome their possessiveness.
Professor Leibowitz’ observation is bolstered by the Midrash. At the time of the golden
calf, the Israelites had two main leaders in the absence of Moses: Aaron and Hur. The Midrash
posits that Hur resisted the idolatrous masses, and they murdered him! Seeing this, Aaron
decided it was safer to go along with the crowd rather than to stand up against them. Hur, who
stood for courageous righteousness, died a martyr’s death. Aaron, who went along with the
sinning crowd, survived and even went on to serve as High Priest.
Yet, I wonder if “all the people” who contributed their gold earrings really were
ideologically convinced to engage in idolatry. I suspect that a rather small group made the

decision and usurped the leadership. When no one (other than Hur) stood up against them, they
became increasingly arrogant. They murdered Hur to set an example: Resistance doesn’t pay.
They cowed the masses of Israelites, who handed in their gold earrings because they were too
afraid to resist—or because they were too apathetic to fight the in-group. Their participation
wasn’t enthusiastic and ideologically motivated; it was more like a passive going along with the
tide.
It is easier to go along with evil than to stand up defiantly against evil.
It is easier to join with bullies or to look the other way, rather than to confront them.
A recent study has reported that severe bullying is quite common for many students.
Forty-one percent of middle school and high school students in the United States report that they
were bullied at least once during their current school term. About eleven percent of boys report
that they are bullied once a week or more. Of the boys who report being bullied, nearly eighteen
percent are hit, slapped or pushed once a week or more. (Michael E. McCullough, Beyond
Revenge, Jossey-Bass, San Francisco, 2008, p. 35)
The easier it is for bullies to cow their victims, the easier it is for them to continue their
bullying. If the victims are too weak or too afraid to resist, the bullies are emboldened to increase
their arrogance and their violence.
But it’s not just the inability of victims to resist: it’s the inability or unwillingness of all
the witnesses to come to the aid of the victims. The masses, by their passivity, allow the bullies
to flourish and to create an environment of fear. Some attempt to befriend the bullies, so as to
protect themselves from being bullied themselves. Others feel too weak to confront the bullies,
so they look the other way. Those who stand up to the bullies run the risk of being beaten up and
humiliated in the eyes of others.
It is easier to go along with the tide than to stand up in righteous opposition. It is easier to
donate gold earrings for a golden calf than to incur the wrath of the bullies who are leading the
idolatrous movement.
From the days of the golden calf to our own times, bullies have attempted to assert their
leadership by means of violence and the instilling of fear. They have depended on the weakness
of the victims to resist. Even more, they have depended on the “silent majority” that lacks the
courage to stand tall.
Bullying takes many forms in our society. Sometimes it is overtly violent. Sometimes it is
the surreptitious usurpation of power by undermining all opposition. Sometimes it shows itself in
tyrants and dictators; and sometimes it shows itself in power hungry individuals in all walks of
life. The common denominator is that bullies prevail by crushing or intimidating opposition.
There are many people today, in all walks of life, who call on us to donate our “gold
earrings” to create all sorts of “golden calves.”  Are we donating or are we rallying our courage
and our morality so that we can resist?
***
The Dangers of Groupthink
Several years ago, Professor Eliezer Schnall of Yeshiva University and his student
Michael Greenberg, presented a paper at the annual convention of the American Psychological
Association in which they discussed an influential theory developed by the psychologist Irving
Janis, known as “groupthink.” Janis posited that tight-knit, smart, and well-informed cliques can

suppress dissent and create a “groupthink” phenomenon—where the general public goes along
with the ideas of the inner power group. People either come to accept the dictates of the power
group, or they are de-legitimized or ostracized. Dissent is crushed. Open and free discussion is
not tolerated.
Dr. Schnall demonstrated how the deleterious effects of “groupthink” were consciously
counteracted by the methods of operation of the Sanhedrin, the classic judicial system of ancient
Israel. For example, when discussing cases in the Sanhedrin, the judges of lesser authority spoke
first. The more senior judges offered their own opinions later. This system was adopted in order
to ensure free and open discussion. If the veteran “expert” judges spoke first, the other judges
might be reluctant to express disagreement with them. The result would be
“groupthink”—control of discussion by a small, powerful clique.
The Sanhedrin sought to avoid becoming insular. Outside experts were consulted.
Disciples who watched the proceedings were allowed to offer their opinions. If the Sanhedrin
reached a unanimous guilty verdict in capital cases, the defendant was acquitted! It was assumed
that absence of dissension meant that group conformity was operating and that the defendant did
not have a fair trial.
“Groupthink” is a highly dangerous phenomenon. It arrogates considerable authority into
the hands of a small inner circle, and essentially causes the public to conform to the views of this
power clique. This is the method employed by tyrannies. This is the method that enables small
elite groups to impose their views on a passive or frightened public. “Groupthink” is quite
evident in anti-Jewish and anti-Israel propaganda and in the “politically correct” movement.
Individuals stop thinking for themselves, stop demanding facts, stop evaluating the “truths” that
are imposed on them. If they resist the pressures of “groupthink,” they risk being branded as
social and intellectual outcasts. They risk being isolated and ostracized.
In this week’s Torah portion, we read that the courts are to pursue justice, tsedek tsedek
tirdof. Many commentators have understood this phrase to mean: You must pursue justice in a
just way. The search for truth must be conducted in an open and free environment, without
coercion or intimidation. People must feel free to offer their insights and opinions, and must not
succumb to “groupthink.” Discussion and dissension are to be encouraged, not stifled.
Manifestations of “groupthink” are ubiquitous in our society, and it requires considerable
astuteness and courage to resist its pressures. “Groupthink” is increasingly evident in religious
life, where small groups of clerics/intellectuals seek to impose their narrow views on the public.
They state what is “true” and expect the public to go along with their pronouncements. Those
who don’t follow the dictates of the power group are branded as heretics. The tyranny of
“groupthink” is rampant in religious fundamentalist circles of whatever religion. Small cliques of
“authorities” are granted incredible status, bordering on or including infallibility, and they
proclaim what is “true” and what is “heresy.” Discussion, debate, and dissent are ruled out. Woe
unto the person who does not conform in thought or behavior to the dictates of the “authorities.”
If “groupthink” is highly dangerous for society at large, it is perhaps even more
pernicious for religious life. It injects a spiritual poison into religion, gradually sapping religious
life of vitality, creativity, dynamism. Instead of fostering a spirit of discussion and free inquiry, it
demands a ruthless conformity. Instead of empowering religious people to think and analyze and
debate, it forces religious people to stop thinking independently, to refrain from analysis and
debate, and to suppress any ideas that do not conform to the framework of “groupthink.” It
insists on abject obedience to “authorities”—even when we don’t agree with them, even when

we don’t acknowledge them as our “authorities,” even when we are convinced that these
“authorities” are leading the public in an entirely incorrect direction.
If we are to be responsible individuals, we must resist the tyranny of “groupthink.” We
must insist on the freedom to think for ourselves, to evaluate ideas independently, to stand up
against coercion and intimidation. We must strive for a religious life that is alive and dynamic.

We must pursue truth and justice in a true and just way.

Pressures Faced by Posekim: A Personal Reflection

 

 

Pressures Faced by Posekim: A Personal Reflection 1
by Michael J. Broyde
 


When someone poses a halakhic question, the authority offering an answer or issuing a
decision—the posek, or decisor, and in plural, posekim or decisors—is faced with five important
considerations (or pressures, if you prefer) that can incline them to answer the question in
different ways. These considerations are as follows:
1. Is the Jewish law in this case clear or indeterminate? If indeterminate, what presses one to
pick this option over another?
2. How will the person who asks the question respond to the answer? Is this something that
the decisor needs to consider when resolving the issue at hand?
3. How will the community respond to the question and the answer? Is this a pressing
matter for the community, one in which an answer will likely bring a swift and vocal
communal response? Or, rather, is this of relative insignificance to the broader
community?
4. Are there reasons to answer publicly so that others will see both the question and the
answer?
5. Will people misunderstand the answer to permit something that the posek does not intend
to permit, or prohibit what was not intended to prohibit?
Each of these considerations generates complexities worth exploring—and I am sure there
are others that I am not considering here. My hope is that those who ask and answer questions of
Jewish law will be girded and guided by this short essay. May both those who ask and those who
answer remain virtuous and determined to stand for the authentic values one needs to stand for,
resisting the social tides that can dilute our observance.


The Starting Point: Is Applied Jewish Law Clear or Indeterminate?


The first question is very basic, but also the most important because it asks: “What really
is the halakha in this case?” There are two possible scenarios that the decisor might find
themselves in. First, in some matters of halakha, Jewish law accepts the possible propriety of
more than one answer. Thus, the job of the decisor in those cases is to decide not only what the
ideal halakhic answer is in that particular case, but also which answer best fits the needs of
person asking the question. This, of course, differs sharply from the second scenario, where only
one answer is consistent with Jewish Law—and there are many cases where this is true. But, this
essay focuses on cases where more than one answer is possible.


Importantly, halakha has deep doctrines of indeterminacy in ritual law. Broadly speaking,
Jewish law considers minority opinions that are not proven wrong as possibly correct. Thus, they
may be relied on in a time of need. In fact, even opinions of just one significant authority can be

relied on in cases of urgent need. 2 This principle impacts the role of the decisor as follows:
Sometimes one is asked a question regarding a matter for which one does not have a firm and
clear view of the halakha, nor can one find a single correct answer that is supported by both
custom and practice. I will give an example of such a case later in this article. Nevertheless, the
decisor is called upon to figure out which approach is the correct one for the matter at hand. 3
Based on my conversations with others, this question—how many disputes are still open and
how much discretion does an individual decisor have—is the single most important point of
disparity among authorities who answer questions of halakha. 4


Some claim that most legal disputes in Jewish law (maybe all, at least in theory) can be
resolved internally and textually by reference to certain talmudic logical rules that are universally
accepted within traditional Jewish jurisprudence. While this is not the case (this group of
decisors concedes) for secondary matters of ritual custom or theology, it is for matters of
functional Jewish law. Indeed, for this school of decisors, properly applied logic will resolve
almost all the disputes of previous generations. Furthermore, many decisors have a deep trust of
their own logic and comfortably consider disputes closed because they have thought about a
matter in detail and have determined what they consider to be the correct answer.


A second, separate school of thought reaches essentially the same outcome—nearly all
disputes can be conclusively resolved—but does so from a very different starting point. These
decisors posit that almost no dispute can actually be resolved by reference to first tier rules of
Jewish jurisprudence (unlike school one, above), since—at least among giants of Jewish law—it
is exceedingly rare that one view is demonstrably incorrect. Instead, they resolve disputes by
resorting to binding second tier rules which resolve disputes, rules such as “follow the current
majority” or “be strict on matters of biblical law.” Ashkenazim, for instance, follow Rabbi
Moshe Isserless (Rama), and Orthodox Jews in America accept the authority of Rabbi Moshe
Feinstein. All such rules are to be followed. Disputes are thus functionally closed by reference to
the customs around us.


A third school of thought argues that the two approaches outlined above are functionally
correct with respect to how people and communities ought to function on a regular basis. They
give power to custom (minhag) both in ritual, commercial, and family law matters, since in the
real world, law needs consistency of outcomes and certainty of results. These rules are thus
binding because they are followed and not the other way around. This is the way (argues this
school of thought) that Jewish legal theory has evolved over time, and it allows (if you will
excuse me for saying this) Jewish law to be considered a legal system rather than merely a
personal ethical system. Yet what this means practically is that if you live in a place with a well-
established ritual practice, that practice is the halakha for all intents and purposes, even as one
can agree in theory that it is no better than a different outcome and is no more correct in God’s
eyes.


The final school of thought rejects all of this, both as a matter of legal theory and also as
a matter of actual practice, at least in a time of need, certainly for personal questions that impact
no one else. 5 Instead they construct Jewish law as a spectrum of opinions from the ideal view to
keep to one that is minimally acceptable in time of urgent need. This school of thought proposes
three basic ideas. First, very few opinions are ever truly and completely rejected as definitively
wrong. 6 Second, in a time of need, any opinion can be relied on unless it is one of those opinions
that is distinctly considered wrong. Third, this matter is left to the judgment of individual Jewish
law authorities who may decide for themselves and their followers what the rules ought to be,
both as an ideal and in a time of need. There is no formal hierarchy at all. In this model, Jewish

law is much more open, and the customs mentioned in school three above are social and not
jurisprudential. 7


As I have noted elsewhere, 8 I am inclined to think that the dominant model of Jewish
ritual law follows the final school of thought because any halakhic authority who confronts a
real-world problem of ritual law has many more choices and options than we might give them
credit for at first glance.


Allow me to give you a simple illustrative example (which I will return to at the end of this
paper). How many days of Yom Tov should a tourist from the Diaspora observe when in Israel?
Is the answer one (as they do in Israel) or two (as they do in America)? This matter was the focal
point of a dispute between Rabbi Yosef Karo and Rabbi Tzvi Ashkenazi many centuries ago.
Rabbi Karo (d. 1575) adopts the view that a tourist in Israel keeps two days, as this is a matter of
personal practice, and argues that, so long as one is a resident of the Diaspora, wherever one
is—even in Israel—one keeps two days. Rabbi Ashkenazi (d. 1718) maintains the opposite, that
one who is in Israel only observes one day of Yom Tov. To him, this is not a personal custom, but
a geographical one—and everyone in Israel keeps one day only. Most classical Jewish law
authorities adopt the view of Rabbi Karo, and only a minority adopt the view of Rabbi
Ashkenazi. So, how do different decisors resolve this matter for their communities?


1. Some examine the talmudic and other sources and determine the correct answer on their
own, using the logical and textual tools of rabbinics.
2. Some argue that this matter is settled by the rulings of the previous generations, and one
should follow the majority view.
3. Some argue that this matter is in doubt, and one should follow the view of Rabbi Karo
and be strict for Rabbi Ashkenazi, and some reverse this and adopt the view of Rabbi
Ashkenazi while being strict for Rabbi Karo. Some treat this as a matter of full doubt and
are strict for both views.
4. Some rule that this matter is in doubt, and one should follow the custom of the
community they are in and the rabbi(s) who established those rules. 9


Of course, one should not be surprised to discover that some think it is best to follow Rabbi
Karo, but posit that, in a time of need, one can follow Rabbi Ashkenazi. 10


This example offers an important takeaway: Jewish law is a somewhat flexible legal
system vis-a-vis ritual matters. While there might be an ideal answer to a question, there are also
less-than-ideal answers that are also viable. Practitioners of Jewish law know this, and that is
why different communities of followers of halakha exist and one of the reasons decisors differ
from each other. Anyone who has learned any substantive area of halakha knows that cases of
urgent need are treated differently. The idea that in some ideal world all authorities of halakha
would answer all questions identically for all people misses exactly that one person’s
circumstances are not the same as another’s, and one community’s situation is not identical to
another’s.


What this means is that in the “real world” of answering questions from people—rather
than in writing a “Code of Jewish Law for all times and all places” like the Rambam’s Mishneh
Torah—one learns to listen closely to the person asking the question. Placing the question in
context and in a situation is important, and recognizing the range of options that are present is
crucial. On the other hand, there are questions that presuppose a value system that is outside the
pale of Torah Judaism—one that reflects a set of values that are rejected by the overwhelming

consensus of halakhic decisions of the centuries. Determining what is the range of viable
halakhic opinions helps one understand both what is in and what is outside the range of Torah
values.


The Next Step: Objectively Correct versus Subjectively Right


The next set of questions that a decisor always asks concerns a common set of problems
dealing with responses to the decisor’s decision. These questions are:
1. How will the person who asks the question respond to the answer? Is this another
consequence that needs to be considered?
2. How will the community respond to the question and the answer?
Another equally important question—one unstated (and virtually undiscussed) in the halakhic
literature—is, “What gives a decisor the right to consider people’s (and community’s) responses
to the decisor’s decisions—decisions based on the truth as the decisor sees it?”


I suspect that the ability of a decisor to ask these questions is also unique to halakha as a
legal system. 11 Sometimes, decisors decline to answer questions and affirmatively refer
questioners to someone who will provide them with the lenient answer that the questioner needed
but that the original answerer was unwilling to provide. This "punting" is a way that a posek
deals with pressure of "I need this answer" from a questioner, even where the decisor thinks that
the answer they want is not the correct answer, but nevertheless recognizes the real need for the
questioner. The posek therefore sends the question to another authoritative decisor who is
prepared to rule as the questioner senses they need.


Consider, for example, the practice of the late great Jewish law authority, Rabbi Shlomo
Zalman Auerbach, with regard to a subset of questions relating to aborting fetuses with certain
types of defects. 12 He would refer such people to Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg [Tzitiz Eliezer] who
permitted those abortions, although Rabbi Auerbach himself thought that such abortions were
prohibited and perhaps even tantamount to murder. Nevertheless, he recognized that the
consequences of his answer would be difficult or bad for this individual person, and, since there
was a legitimate view found among recognized halakhic decisors, he would send such questions
to those recognized decisors.


His practice teaches a vital point about issuing decisions [pesak]: One decisor can (but need
not) send a person to a decisor who can provide a person with the answer they need. But what
right does one posek have to send the case to a different posek?


The justification is revealing about the role and practice of Jewish law decisors generally.
First and most importantly, it demonstrates that these authorities are meant to safeguard the
community; they consider the impact of their answers on the people around them. Second, it
demonstrates that the decisor is aware that there are clearly cases where not seeking the
objectively right answer is proper. Rather, the decisor may (and perhaps should) find the answer
that fits the needs of the questioner and their community as a valid expression of Jewish law. 13
There are at least six different approaches to “punting” that are worth noting, each of which
points to a different aspect of the decisor’s role. The first is derived from a talmudic story in
Hullin 99b:

When people would come before Rabbi Ami to ask about the halakha of a thigh that was
cooked with the sciatic nerve inside, he would send them before Rabbi Yitzḥak ben Ḥalov,
who would rule leniently about this issue and say that is was permitted, in the name of
Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi. Rabbi Ami himself did not hold accordingly, but he did not
wish to rule stringently for others. And the halakha is that sciatic nerves do not impart
flavor at all. (Translation from Sefaria.)


This story suggests the following guidance on “punting” (similar to what was discussed
above): One decisor many decline to answer a question and send it to another of equal status and
authority. This is permitted even when the first is sure that the second view is wrong. Now, why
Rabbi Ami did this, and how he was justified in doing so, are good questions and not explained
by the Talmud. Rashi implies that Rabbi Ami was justified in punting simply because the
questioner was expecting a more liberal view. In other words, according to Rashi, decisors can
generally punt matters where they do not want to impose their stricter standards on those seeking
more liberal answers.


A second approach to punting can be construed as an example of “soft pluralism.” In other
words, Jewish law recognizes many questions has three (or more) answers: the right one, the
wrong one, and the one (or ones) that one can accept in a time of need. The Talmud sometimes
even acknowledges that in times of urgent need, one can accept any view as legitimate so long as
it is plausible. 14 Halakhic authorities frequently concede that views other than their own (even as
they think their view is most correct) are plausible, and in a time of need, these other views can
be accepted as correct. In this model, halakhic authorities decide what views besides their own
are subjectively right even if they are not objectively correct. 15


There is a corollary to this notion. A decisor may consider another’s subjectively right
decision as completely wrong, and yet still be comfortable in allowing the questioner to rely on
that decision because it is based on the holdings of a scholar or rabbi who himself is reliable (bar
samcha). I would go even further and say that although this second view is incomprehensibly
wrong to the first decisor, he may direct people to that second view simply because the one who
is articulating it is a respected authority of Jewish law. 16


A third way of conceptualizing punting, and of understanding the talmudic source above, is
to maintain that the only time an authority may refer a questioner to another authority is when
the first truly believes the second authority’s view of Jewish law is correct. This issue, rather, is
merely that his own view is stricter than the minimal legal standard. That is a possible reading of
the above passage, particularly if one understands that the normative Jewish law codified in the
last line of the page rejects the view of Rabbi Ami. 17


A fourth view—taken from the talmudic recounting in Hullin 48a—seems to be that that one
can “punt” a questioner to another decisor only when he is uncertain as to what the correct legal
ruling ought to be. That Talmudic source states:


The Gemara relates that Rabbi Yitzḥak bar Yosef was walking after Rabbi Yirmeya in
the butchers’ market. He saw these lungs that were full of cysts, and he wished to
determine the halakha with regard to them. He said to Rabbi Yirmeya: Doesn’t the Master
desire a piece of meat? If so, meat from those animals is for sale. Rabbi Yirmeya, not
wanting to issue a ruling with regard to the meat, said to him: I have no money. Rabbi
Yitzḥak bar Yosef said to him: I will buy them for you on credit. Rabbi Yirmeya realized
that he could not avoid issuing a ruling, so he said to him: What can I do for you? As

when people came before Rabbi Yoḥanan with such lungs, he would send them before
Rabbi Yehuda, son of Rabbi Shimon, who would instruct them in such cases in the name
of Rabbi Elazar, son of Rabbi Shimon, to permit the meat for consumption. But Rabbi
Yoḥanan himself does not hold accordingly and does not permit the meat. I practice
stringency in accordance with his opinion. (Translation from Sefaria.)
The narrative here seems to limit referrals to cases of uncertainty. 18


A fifth view involves hierarchical authority. The work Vealayhu Lo Yuval, which is about
questions asked to the great Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, recounts the following incident: 19
Sending the Questioner to the Chief Rabbis: Rabbi Ephraim Greenfeld told me that a
relative of his suffered a brain hemorrhage. The doctors were certain that he had no
chance of survival and asked the family’s permission to donate his organs to other
patients. Rabbi Ephraim spoke with his relatives and knew that whatever ruling the Rabbi
[Shlomo Zalman Auerbach] would give on this matter would be accepted by them, so he
approached with a religious doctor from the hospital during the late-night hours to ask
Rabbi Auerbach what to do. Rabbi Auerbach told them: In my opinion, it is forbidden to
take organs from him to save other patients, but I am aware that the Chief Rabbis of
Israel [Rabbi Avraham Elkana Kahana Shapira and the Rishon LeZion Rabbi Mordechai
Eliyahu] permit in such a situation to take organs to save other patients—you should go
and ask them!


It is possible to read this story as permitting only referrals to the “chief rabbis” or maybe only to
decisors viewed by oneself as superior, and even so only on communal questions. 20
A final view on punting, this anecdote notwithstanding, a close read of the article “Mah
Enosh: Reflections on the Relation between Judaism and Humanism” by Rabbi Aharon
Lichtenstein inclines one to think that maybe this phenomenon is simply another example of
Jewish law’s desire to accommodate the humanity of people, without a deep specific unique
jurisprudential basis. In other words, “punting” reflects the desire of Jewish law to allow people
to function in a time of need, with a variety of tools, not each of which is fully individually
jurisprudentially based, but more reflective of human necessity and the desire of halakha to
function than any other idea. 21


Whatever the reason is, there is no doubt that sometimes decisors refer questions to other
authorities, and that this is part of the job. It is consistent with how authorities of Jewish law help
people find the right answer for a person without personally saying things that the decisor thinks
are mistaken. In this process, the decisor considers how the questioner would respond to their
answer, as well as how the community will understand and respond. 22


A Final Consideration and a Caveat: Will the Decision Be Properly Understood?


There are two final, but no less important, factors that a decisor must consider before offering
their legal decision:
1. Are there reasons to answer this question publicly to bring this discussion to broader
attention?

2. Will people misunderstand the answer to permit something that the decisor does not
intend to permit, or else prohibit something that the decisor does not intend to prohibit?
Both questions are more sociological than legal. Consider, for instance, the following
illustrative example: Over the last decade, decisors have seen increasingly more questions on
what role a person who is in a same-sex relationship (SSR) can play in an Orthodox community.
At some point, these questions need to be addressed not on an ad-hoc basis, but in a more
systemic way. This is true for three reasons. First, reasoned written material allows people to
understand the logic of the decision-maker and thereby the Jewish legal process. Second, written
material creates communal and general expectations so that people are not put in a situation in
which they are unaware of what is expected of them as a matter of Jewish law (whether they
follow the law or not) and thereby made to be unexpectedly embarrassed. Third, written
discussion allows many authorities to see what others are doing and modify their public (and
private) expectations considering the norms of other communities.


Yet, in writing decisions down, there is always the concern of misunderstanding. Every
authority worries that rulings will be misunderstood beyond their proper parameters and will be
taken to permit something that the writer did not intend to permit or to prohibit something that
they did not intend to prohibit. This fear of misunderstanding—or sometimes understanding all
too well what is on the authority’s mind, but what they are (in fact) unwilling to permit—is
critically important in understanding when one chooses to write an answer (teshuva) or an
article, or, why a decisor might issue a resolution with no firm reason that clearly addresses the
situation, thus leaving the explanation of “why” somewhat unresolved. A desire to contain, or
better still, avoid misunderstandings will often dictate much of what one writes and in what
language one writes and even in what style one chooses to speak. Writing about SSRs is an
excellent example of that. Sometimes one wants to convey a complex idea, namely, that while
this conduct is a violation of Jewish law, one does not want to see these violators treated any
differently than any other violators of comparable matters of Jewish law. 23


Let me add an important caveat: We are discussing in this article the pressures on the
decisor who is answering question, and not on the questioner, a topic certainly worthy of another
article. Jewish law has a clear rule prohibiting a petitioner from asking the same question to more
than one authority; once a person directly asks a question to an authority and the question is
answered, the questioner is bound by the answer. The authority can punt, but the questioner
cannot. The ability to choose which opinion is the correct one is left to the person who answers
the question and not to the person who asks it. The questioner has one—and only
one—enormous decision: to whom should they ask the question. Indeed, to a great extent, this is
the most fundamental question all Jews have—one that shapes the Jewish law as they actually
practice it: What community should they join, and to whom should they direct questions of
Jewish law and ethics? 24


Six Examples that Highlight the Complexities Faced by Authorities


Let us move away from the abstract toward six concrete examples that provide insight into
the complexities decisors regularly face. 25
1. End of Shabbat

The first example deals with an oft-asked question: When is the earliest time one can end
Shabbat? I was recently asked by a congregational rabbi, on behalf of a congregant in a dire
financial-legal situation, when was the earliest time they could sign a document on a Saturday
night to avoid a significant financial problem. Sunset in New York City is at 4:28 pm on
December 9, and, for reasons that are beyond the scope of this paragraph, the congregant needed
to personally sign a document in front of a judge before 5:00 pm on Saturday. The person
worshipped in a Chabad synagogue, which ends Shabbat at 5:15, 45 minutes after sunset. Jewish
law here is far from clear, with opinions permitting Shabbat violations 13.5 minutes (relative) a
mil after sunset, as early as 4:46 pm (Gra), and some being even more strict, arguing that Shabbat
ends at 5:57 (Rabbenu Tam). 26 Yet, it is also clear that the normative custom in America does not
follow either the minimalist understanding of the Gra, or the maximalist understand of Rabbenu
Tam. Nearly all synagogues end Shabbat no earlier than 35 minutes after sunset and no later than
50 or 72 minutes after sunset. Chabad synagogues uniformly ended Shabbat 45 minutes after
sunset, as is their custom. 27 This person needed to be in a judge’s chambers to sign no later than
32 minute before sunset and also needed some time to prepare to do so. Given the indeterminacy
of the law, the fact that most American communities adopt the view of the Gra, treating
additional waiting as fulfilling the special mitzvah of adding additional time for Shabbat, and
that this question could be answered without setting any general policy, I told the rabbi to tell his
congregant that he could walk to the location in question with his identification in hand (in a
place where there was an eruv) and sign the form any time after 4:51 pm. 28


2. SSM Kohen Performing the Priestly Blessing


Over the past few years, I have been occasionally asked about whether a man who is in a same-
sex marriage (SSM) and is a kohen can engage in the priestly blessing (duchen). Although at first
glance one might intuit that this is prohibited, actually the law is reasonable clear
that—anomalously and unusually for sexual sins by kohanim—same-sex relations are not the
type of sexual sin that prevent a kohen from blessing the people. This is in accordance with the
Mishnah Berurah, Arukh haShulhan, Kaf haHaim, and Yalkut Yosef, and is unlike many other
serious sexual sins. The exact reason for this is set out in the note below. 29 Yet, as Rabbi Feinstein
notes in his answer on whether a kohen who violates Shabbat can engage in the priestly blessing
(where there is some basis, although far from controlling, to prohibit such), there is an argument
that a synagogue rabbi can ask kohanim to leave the sanctuary and not engage in the blessing to
protect other values. 30 For a long time, I answered similarly. However, after engaging different
questions over time, I set out a few months ago to lay out my views in an article, so that (1)
leniently permitting a kohen in a SSM to engage in the priestly blessing should not be
misunderstood as lenient in other areas related to SSRs or other sexual sins by kohanim; (2) these
types of questions are relatively recent and community-wide guidance is needed; and (3) I
thought it was good to combat the sense that halakha was always unduly strict in this area which
was preventing people from doing a mitzvah.


3. Second Day Yom Tov in Israel


A regular question asked of almost all American rabbis—including me—involves what to do as a
tourist in Israel during a holy day. Should one observe one day of the holy day, two days, or
some combination? Many views abound. I personally try very hard to follow the view of Rabbi
Aharon Lichtenstein and observe the second day as a stricture (lehumra); I do not observe the
second day of Yom Tov prayer and ritual when in Israel, though I abstain from work in general

and from what would be biblically prohibited work on the first day. 31 Even my own family thinks
my view is difficult to implement and hard to understand. Yet, after due consideration, it is my
view that correctly balances the views of the Rabbis Karo and Ashkenazi. Nonetheless, when
people who are not uniquely my students ask me this question, I tend to send them to one of my
many friends who are Chabad rabbis—some of whom even were my students—who tell them to
observe only one day, since that is the common custom in fact in our community. I recognize that
what I think the best legal decision might be is viewed by many as burdensome, complex, and
intellectually indeterminant. Sometimes, one does not have to share one’s view, and one can send
people to decisors that provide them with answers that resonate with their expectations and allow
them to function.


4. Error in the Creation of Marriage


Many years ago, I wrote an article on the rare situation in which a woman can leave her marriage
without a divorce (and yet where her husband is still alive) entitled “Error in the Creation of
Jewish Marriages: Under what Circumstances Can Error in the Creation of a Marriage Void the
Marriage without Requiring a Get according to halakha.” 32 The piece explains Rabbi Moshe
Feinstein’s views on this matter. For many years, I was privileged to have assisted Rabbi Gedalia
Dov Schwartz zt”l on some matters in which a woman was permitted to remarry without a
religious divorce decree (get) based on an error in the creation of the marriage, and I have been
involved in other such matters since his passing. Such cases are rare and complex, and one easily
worries that they will be subject to abuse by some in our community who are sincerely seeking
to solve very sad agunah cases (cases where one spouse has left but the other cannot remarry
with a religious divorce), yet lack the firm legal foundation to validly argue for a marriage to be
void in its creation. 33 In addition, determinations of this type are very public and are subject to
review by many great authorities. While my view is that cases like these are worthy of ending
without a religious divorce decree, others do not agree, and the child that results might be labeled
a mamzer—born of a forbidden union—by their community. Based on all these factors, I only
issue decision letters when they are endorsed by great Jewish law authorities, and I abstain from
merely voicing my personal opinions unsupported by a leading scholar. I do work exceedingly
hard to find giants of Jewish law to agree in cases as needed. In some areas of legal decision-
making, consensus is needed, and idiosyncratic views are unwise for a community.


5. Tripartite Prenuptial Agreement


The same can be said for the tripartite prenuptial agreement I authored many years ago. Solutions
to the agunah problems abound. However, we all recognize that “solutions” that are not accepted
by the Orthodox community are functionally ineffective, since the woman will think she is free
of her Jewish marriage, but the community will not. This is a bad place to be in; thinking oneself
as single and yet being married is unwise, and so too is thinking of oneself as single when most
Jewish law authorities deny it. Even if some rabbis think an individual is single, it might be just
as bad a status. Thus, in terms of my decision-making, I am swayed by the force of the question,
“How will the person asking the question respond to the answer? Is there another consequence
that one must consider?” This drives me to conclude that until a critical mass of significant legal
authorities endorses this tripartite prenuptial agreement, it ought to remain something I think is
correct, but not something I instruct people to use. Even so, I am aware of the fact that many,
many couples in Israel and America actually are using this document, 34 and that it has many
advantages in cases of spousal death (especially halitza procedures), men in a permanent

vegetative state, 35 and in terms of its independence from secular law. So, I share the document
with the community, uncertain of the legal consequences and without instructing people to use it
or not.


6. Hair Covering


Our final example is, at some level, the one that is most complex. Many years ago, I wrote an
article in Tradition explaining the legal basis for married women to not cover their hair, and it
provided what I considered then (and my sense that this is correct has only increased) an
excellent justification for conduct, without endorsing it as a legal determination (limud zekhut). 36
My abstract view is that Jewish law here is indeterminate—there are numerous pre-modern
decisors who rule that in a society where modest women do not cover their hair, Jewish law does
not require it—and thus a person who comes from a family where married women do not cover
their hair need not start. I am also aware that none of the great legal decisors with whom I
regularly consult actually agrees with my view, and the same is true for nearly all authorities of
the last century. Furthermore, many women view this matter as a critical one; some do not want
to be part of a community in which women think they need to cover their hair, and others have
the exact opposite view. Furthermore, I worry that people will understand any permissive ruling
with regard to hair to apply to many other situations of modesty, a uniquely problematic issue in
an immodest society. Based on these factors, I wrote the article only as a thought exercise.
Nevertheless, I regularly get asked questions from women about hair covering. I have
three basic approaches to these questions. First, I try my hardest to avoid directly answering
them. I say things like, “In the article I explain the basis for not covering,” or “Read the article,”
or “The Ben Ish Hai permits women not to cover their hair when modest women generally do
not,” or “There certainly are Jewish law authorities who think married women need not cover
their hair when modest women do not,” and other such comments that do not directly speak in
my own name. Second, I appreciate the public complexity associated with these
questions—being liberal on issues of modesty in immodest times is hard. Third, I do not answer
these questions in writing having already written once.


But, truth be told, sometimes rules are meant to be broken—I was recently called by a
great Jewish law authority in Brooklyn who told me “Mrs. X will be calling you shortly to speak
with you about hair covering, and you should tell her that she does not have to cover her hair.”
So, I asked this great Jewish law authority, “If that is the right answer to this question, why don’t
you tell, after all, you are a Torah giant!” He responded, “I am Rabbi Ami and you are Rabbi
Yitzḥak ben Ḥalov in this question.” [See Hullin 99b, cited above at page 13 .] So, I did as I was
told and directed this woman that she need not continue to cover her hair.


Conclusions


The process of answering Jewish legal questions starts with knowing the answer, but it
does not end there. It moves from there to knowing what other answers are possible and who
provides those other answers. It then moves on to formulating answers in a way that works for
the community that one is serving, including sending questions to others. Nuance, complexity,
and sensitivity to the community are part of the tools used by those who answer questions of
Jewish law.

1 Thank you to Rabbi Hayyim Angel, editor of Conversations, for inviting me to prepare this article. His posing of
the thoughtful question to me of “I thought it would be a very valuable contribution for you to reflect on what it is
like to be a posek [one who answers questions of Jewish Law], the pressures you face to conform, other communal
issues that you think the public should be aware of, etc. Given your expertise and integrity to stand up for your own
principles, I think it would be a very worthwhile perspective to bring to the public” framed this article. I attempt to
answer the questions he poses, aware of my limitations. Thank you as well to Rabbi Reuven Travis for his editorial
help.
In this article, I do not discuss the pressures—actually very different—as a dayan in commercial matters where one
is adjudicating between two parties or pressures faced by dayanim generally in many matters. The pressures in those
situations are different, and much more governed by technical halakha, as found in Shulhan Arukh Hoshen Mishpat
9, 10, 12 25 and other places.
2 See, for example, Encyclopedia Talmudit, Hefsed Merubeh 10:36 around notes 44–50.
3 I am aware of Rav Aharon Lichtenstein’s insightful presentation of the difference between a rule [pesak] and a
ruling [pseika], as explained in “The Human and Social Factor in Halakha” (Tradition 36:1 1–25 (2002). If Rav
Aharon (truly one of the greatest minds our community has ever produced) is arguing that pesak [in the sense of
writing a rule] is the idealized form of Jewish law, and pseika is the practical application of these idealized rules to
the reality that we live in, then I think almost all halakhic authorities are engaging in pseika when they answer
questions, and this distinction is not valuable, even as it is true. On the other hand, if Rav Aharon means that halakha
in less-than-ideal situations is pseika and halakha in a perfect word is pesak, then I think this distinction is over-
stated in the real world. Even the real world of talmudic, medieval, and early pre-modern authorities, these sages
considered the hard and complex nature of reality in which they lived when they wrote rules. Therefore, all is just
pseika, other than just a few works of idealized Jewish law, like the Mishneh Torah. For example, is instructing
someone to use a heter iska [pro-forma document than permits charging interest] an act of pesak or pseika? Is
instructing a woman that birth control is proper in any particular situation pesak or pseika? Is permitting carrying a
gun on Shabbat pesak or pseika? Sadly enough, we live in a less than ideal world—where it does not rain gold coins,
raising children is complex, and antisemitism abounds—so many challenges are present. Let me add that there is
palpable tension between the above article and another article of Rav Aharon on halakhic process entitled “Mah
Enosh,” to be discussed later.
4 To be clear, there are times when one might have a clear view of the halakha or can answer the question based on
both custom and practice but declines to do so. Later in this article, I will discuss “punting”—the Jewish law
phenomenon in which a halakhic authority is certain what the answer is, and yet will decline to answer the question
because it provides the questioner an answer that they do not want in a case that is important to them. Needless to
say, this phenomenon requires that there be an authentic posek who is comfortable providing the answer the party is
seeking.
5 This is in contrast to question where even though this is actually a personal ritual matter as a matter of fact, it is a
communal matter since the community actually adjudicates by its conduct whether the result is accepted. For
example, whether a woman needs a Jewish divorce or not is a personal ritual question only she may ask about
herself—but a determination by a rabbi that she does not is, in fact, second guessed by anyone who she wishes to
marry.
6 When I say “wrong” in this context, I mean that the view cannot be relied on in any circumstances, even though of
course the view is well within the umbrella of Torah, and one fulfills the mitzvah of Torah study by studying them.
The views of Beit Shammai in the Mishnah are one such as example, as the talmudic rabbis themselves note.
7 The contrast between Jewish law and American law here is complete: Minority opinions in American law are just
for study, but are of no legal value at all, whereas in Jewish law, most minority opinions are validly used in
situations of need.
8 I do not discuss this issue here at great length, but I have a few books that do discuss this issue in various forms.
See Setting the Table: An Introduction to the Jurisprudence of Rabbi Yechiel Mikhel Epstein’s Arukh haShulhan,
Academic Studies Press (2021) (co-author: Shlomo Pill) and The Codification of Jewish Law and an Introduction to
the Jurisprudence of the Mishna Berura, Brighton, Mass.: Academic Studies Press (2013). (co-author: Ira Bedzow)
and Innovation in Jewish Law: A Case Study of Chiddush in Havineinu Jerusalem, Urim Publications (2010). The
reality of legal indeterminacy helps explain why works of Jewish Jurisprudence are of less common in Jewish law,
since if legal indeterminacy governs, jurisprudence is less significant.
9 See Rabbi Joseph Karo, Avkot Rochel 26 and Rabbi Tzvi Ashkenazi, Chachmat Tzvi 167. For more on this, see the
excellent discussion by my friend and former co-author Rabbi Howard Jachter, in Gray Matter I at 217–224 at
https://www.sefaria.org.il/Gray_Matter_I%2C_Laws_of_Holidays%2C_The_Second_Day_of_Yom_Tov_for_Visito

rs_to_Israel.10?lang=he and Rabbi Dr. David Horowitz, “Visitors in Israel and Yom Tov Sheni,” JHCS 6:79–92
(1983) at https://www.yutorah.org/lectures/735671/ . Of course, within the views that compromise between the two
views there is much nuance on issues.
10 See for example Rabbi Hershel Schachter, “Regarding the Second Day Yom Tov for Visitors in Eretz Yisroel” on
Torahweb.org.
11 American law and the common law from which it descends certainly does not allow this question to be asked. See
Code of Conduct for United States Judges, Canon 3.
12 See for example “Abortion in halakha” https://www.yutorah.org/lectures/lecture.cfm/1021843/rabbi-hershel-
schachter/abortion-in- halakha/ at minute 22:30 to 23:10 for Rabbi Hershel Schachter recounting such. If you listen
closely, you see that Rabbi Auerbach recognized that the consequences of his answer for this person was bad for this
person, and since there was a different legitimate view found among recognized posekim, he would send such
questions to that recognized halakhic authority. I was told that Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein also had this approach to
abortion as I note in “What Does Jewish Law Think American Abortion Law Ought to Be?” at note 16. I was told that it
was the practice of the Lubavitcher Rebbe with regard to some questions related to Jewish law and adoption to
instruct people to ask Rabbi Soloveitchik; See R. Tzvi Schachter, Penina HaRav page 268 which notes one such
story.
13 It is clear that there are some halakhic authorities who did not think this correct. For example, the great Rabbi
Moshe Feinstein in Iggrot Moshe OC 5:20:16 prohibits declining to answer questions when both the facts and the
law are clear to the person who is being asked. He states, “But, when one is asked on a clearly defined set of facts
what he thinks the Jewish law is, it is obvious that he must respond as is proper for this person and it is prohibited to
decline to answer and send them to other experts …”. Furthermore, this idea is found rather directly and
unmistakably in the penultimate paragraph of his introduction to volume 1 of the same work as well. There are two
possible ways to explain Rav Moshe: One is that if he felt that if a leniency was needed, he would find it and give it
himself, and the second that a Jewish law authority when asked is called upon to answer and not punt even if this
authority is stricter than others. Furthermore, it seems clear that Rabbi Feinstein felt this was the rule even if others
around one was more eminent authorities. See Iggrot Moshe YD 1:101. Let me add as support to this view, and
maybe as an explanation of what this dispute is about, that the core question might be whether the formulation found
in Shulhan Arukh YD 242:14, which notes that “Any scholar who is eligible to rule and does not rule, is depriving
people of Torah and putting a stumbling block in front of the masses” is rule of law, or a rule of reason, or simply
ethical advice, or limited to the situations where the scholar solves the problem. Rabbi Feinstein understands this as
a rule of law, and others as a practical application to help people.
14 In the words of the Talmud “It is proper to accept the rule of Rabbi X in a time of need.”
15 See, for example, Ktav Sofer YD 77, who in parts of the teshuva formulates the rule this way.
16 In the above Ktav Sofer, other parts of the same teshuva can be read this way.
17 This seems to be the view of Rama. See YD 228:21 in the name of some say and Rama OC 472:7 and Responsa of
Rashba 3:304 and others. This is part of the discussion of why—in cases of urgent economic need—we are lenient
in ritual matters. See also Pri Megadim, Formulation of the Question (first order).
18 That seems to be the view supported by the above Iggrot Moshe in OC 5:20:16, which denies the right to send a
question to another who will provide a different answer when the initial person asked is sure of the answer.
19 See Nachum Stepansky, Ve’alayhu Lo Yuval: The Insights and Practices of Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, YD
58 at page 91. A thoughtful reader of this article suggested that in cases in which the person will do the sin anyway,
it is better to find them some authority who will permit this action, since it is better pastorally that a person not view
themselves as a sinner, and this is a rationale for punting, as well.
20 The next story (59) in this work involves a similar referral, but on a communal matter to the Chief Rabbi. It seems
to this writer unlikely that Rabbi Auerbach viewed himself as intellectually subordinate to either of the Chief Rabbis
mentioned although one never knows for certain. At some level, the question posed is whether this is a punt or a
lateral, or a forward pass, to continue the football metaphor.
21 See Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein “Mah Enosh: Reflections on the Relation between Judaism and Humanism” The
Torah Umaddah Journal 14:1–61 (2006/7) also at https://www.etzion.org.il/sites/default/files/2021-01/RAL-
Mah%20Enosh-%20Judaism%20and%20Humanism.pdf particularly in section VI, from pages 29 to 42 as well as
crucial paragraphs on the bottom of page 43 and the top of page 44.

By contrast, the principle to be explored presently—that normative standards may be compromised in
straitened circumstances—does concern the clash of human and halakhic factors. It suggests that, within
limits, extraneous factors may validly intrude upon halakhic judgments; that, for the posek or his
respondent, non-normative considerations may properly enter into normative decision. Clearly,
however—as regards the respondent, certainly—the consideration of such factors must be, at best, a matter
of license. If one may, as a concession to his condition, take certain liberties, these can hardly be elevated
into duties. And even if one argues correctly that it is the halakha itself, which has sanctioned these
liberties—so that they be rightfully regarded as grounded in principle rather than convenience—it has
sanctioned them only as such, as an option of which one may avail himself rather than as an imperative
duty. Hence, the humanistic moment implicit in such permissiveness must be regarded as more significant
than that reflected in pikuach. nefesh or kevod haBeriyyot. Whereas they constitute particular halakhic
concepts relevant to specific areas of halakha, this principle represents a broad flexibility within the
halakhic process generally; and whereas they remain genuinely internal elements, it can, in a very real
sense, be construed as an extraneous factor.
Translating this into the idea of one posek looking for another posek who permits this conduct is not so hard.
22 Not explicitly addressed here, and certainly worthy of more analysis is when should a posek decide to provide a
simple verbal answer, a simple written answer or write a clear explanation. There is no doubt that the same factors
that are considered when deciding to send the question to another are at play in these decisions as well. Of course,
the temperament of the posek is also important, with some extremely hesitant to write, and other more comfortable.
23 See the examples section for more.
24 Forum shopping, prior to asking a question, is abstractly permitted; indeed, many people make very important
religious choices by examining diverse religious communities, considering their views on important matter, and
deciding to join one of them, and then asking the rabbi or rabbis of that community their questions, tempered by the
important idea found in Eruvin 6b that a person who forum shops for both the leniencies of the Shammai school and
the leniencies of the Hillel School is called evil. Of course, people can switch communities when they decide that
such is proper and change who they ask questions to. What they cannot do, however, is ask a question to a rabbi, be
given an answer, decide that this answer does not fit what they want and ask another rabbi the same question, hoping
for a better answer. This article does not explain the unique role and responsibility of a posek who is the rebbe
muvhak—a teacher who one has personally committed to following lockstep—since I think such relationships are
exceedingly rare among readers of this journal, even if it is more common, perhaps, among Belzer Chassidim. For
more on these issues, see Shulhan Arukh YD 242 and the elaborate discussion there among the commentators there
as well as the comments of Shach on SA CM 25:5.
25 I have slightly changed the facts of each of the cases relevant to preserve the anonymity of the questioners. The
details of the questioners hardly matters for the examples.
26 See https://www.myzmanim.com/day.aspx?vars=68949485/12-9-2023/elab///////////////3b6def for a recitation of the
various possible halakhic times. For an excellent new book on the various view, see Rabbi Ahron Notis, The Great
Z’manim Debate (2022). It is worth noting that the above link gives 11 different answers to when Shabbat ends,
from 4:45 to 5:56 and notes on the top of the page that Shabbat ends at 5:14 and others wait until 5:41.
27 See https://www.chabad.org/calendar/candlelighting_cdo/aid/6226/locationid/370/locationtype/1/save/1/tdate/12-
09-2023/jewish/Shabbat-Candle-Lighting-Times.htm which notes that on December 9, 2023, shabbat ends at 5:13,
45 minutes after sunset in New York.
28 Let me contrast this approach with one that I think is rejected by modern posekim nearly universally. Ra'avya
(cited by the Ohr Zarua, Shabbat 76) limiting the torah prohibition of writing to Hebrew and Greek [neither the
language of use in this case]. Although Rama cites this view in SA OC 306:11 as thus only prohibiting writing in the
vernacular rabbinically, there is a distinct sense among the posekim (as noted by Mishna Berurah 306:47 and Arukh
haShulhan OC 306:21) that this view of the Rama is either wrong or a typo and not to be followed as the view of the
Ra’avya is incorrect or alone. If that view were correct, one could have addressed this issue—which would then be a
rabbinic prohibition—in many other different ways. Indeed, I have no doubt that if the Ra’avya were alive today and
still held to his view, it is possible that I would have sent this questioner to the Ra’avya to have him answer this
question. But, in the current generation, I am unaware of any halakhic authority who thinks the Ra’avya is correct.
29 A prepublication version of the article can be found at
https://www.broydeblog.net/uploads/8/0/4/0/80408218/allowing_a_kohein_in_a_same_sex_marriage_to_duchen_fo
r_publication_review_with_ai_appendix_includeded_near_final_for_sharing.pdf and in essence this article
highlights that a kohen in a SSR or SSM is not in a prohibited relationship with anyone uniquely prohibited to marry

a kohen which is the central test for whether a kohen should be prohibited from the priestly blessing (duchaning).
Please read the article if you wish.
30 See Iggrot Moshe OC 1:33 and this discussion in the above article on pages 13–14.
31 See above for more information. For more background see Rabbi David Brofsky, Yom Tov Sheni. who notes "This
position has been adopted by numerous Posekim, although they differ as to the extent to which one should observe
Yom Tov Sheni. While some suggest that one should merely refrain from melakhot [work], others recommend that
one should fulfill the positive commandments, such as the mitzvot of the second seder, hearing the berakhot
[blessings] from another person. R. Soloveitchik and R. Aharon Lichtenstein also rule that one visiting Eretz Yisrael,
including students who come to study but intend to return, should refrain from performing melakhot [work] on the
second day of Yom Tov."
32 https://www.jlaw.com/Articles/KidusheiTaut.html
33 See for example, https://www.torahmusings.com/wp-content/uploads/2005/08/4_2_Broyde.pdf
34 See https://jewishprenup.org/ and see "Tripartite Agreement is Jewish Law" Techumin 37:228–240 (2017). For an
excellent criticism of this agreement, see the thoughtful recording by Rabbi Yona Reiss at
https://www.yutorah.org/sidebar/lecturedata/867961/Response-to-Tripartite-Solution-for-Agunos and his article in
Techumin 37:240-247 (2017) entitled “Veim Shlosh Ayla Lo Ye’aseh La.” For a more sympathetic review, see
Rabbi Mordechai Torczyner, “The Tripartite Agreement: A Prenup Like No Other” at
https://www.yutorah.org/sidebar/lecturedata/918245/The-Tripartite-Agreement:-A-Prenup-Like-No-Other.
35 See my article “Plonit v. Ploni: The Get from the Man in a Permanent Vegetative State,” Hakirah: The Flatbush
Journal of Jewish Law and Thought 18 (2014), 59–90.
36 See Hair Covering and Jewish Law: Biblical and Objective (Dat Moshe) or Rabbinic and Subjective (Dat
Yehudit)? Published in: Tradition: A Journal of Jewish Thought 42:3 (Fall 2009), 95–179.

Rabbi Marc D. Angel's 80th Birthday (IYH) Project: Please Join Us

Thanks very much for your support of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. As we are approaching Rabbi Marc Angel’s 80th birthday IYH (July 25, 2025), our Institute is planning a special publication in commemoration of the occasion.

Rabbi Angel has been writing his weekly “Angel for Shabbat” column for many years. The 80th birthday volume will be a collection of these thoughts on the Torah portions, holy days and festivals. Preparations on the book are underway with the goal of publishing it by summer 2025.

This is an opportunity to celebrate Rabbi Angel’s many years of service to our community and to strengthen the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals so it can continue its work in the years ahead. The Institute works for an intellectually vibrant, compassionate and inclusive Orthodox Judaism…much in the spirit of the classic Sephardic tradition. Thousands of people have gained wisdom, inspiration and guidance through the Institute’s work.

The 80th birthday volume will include a Scroll of Honor listing contributors to this project. You may contribute by mailing your check to the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, 2 West 70th Street, New York, NY 10023; or by making a contribution on our website jewishideas.org and then emailing [email protected] to let us know the donation is for this project. If you wish to contribute securities, please contact us at [email protected]   The due date for inclusion in the Scroll of Honor is September 1, 2024. Thanks for your support.

                                                                      

SCROLL OF HONOR FOR RABBI MARC D. ANGEL’S 80TH BIRTHDAY VOLUME

                                                                           

INSTITUTE ANGELS                     $18,080

SPONSORS                                      $15,080

PATRONS                                        $10,080

BENEFACTORS                              $5,080

FRIENDS                                          $2580

CONTRIBUTORS                            $1880

DONORS                                          $880

WELL WISHERS                             $180

 

To Heal America, Take the Liberty Bell on Tour

              Lady Gaga, Green Day, Celine Dion, and Guns N’ Roses are back on tour this summer. Hey, hey, even the Monkees are launching a farewell jaunt. But this July 4, America’s biblically inspired greatest draw ever should take another loop across the country.

The Liberty Bell should go back on tour.

The Liberty Bell’s first road trip in over 100 years would mark a powerful effort to heal our nation’s fractures. While despite popular myth, it does not appear that it was rung on July 4, 1776, to mark the adoption of the Declaration of Independence, the bell, inscribed with a verse from the Hebrew Bible, has long galvanized countless Americans, bridging racial, social, and political fissures.

Between 1885 and 1904, the bell went on six trips to capacity crowds, drawing onlookers from across the widest divides. In 1885, it headed to the World’s Industrial and Cotton Centennial Exposition in New Orleans. There, the trip’s organizers made it a point to ask Jefferson Davis, the former president of the Confederacy, to pay homage to the bell in a show of national unity. After all, as the organizers put it, the bell was “so generously loaned to us by the City of Brotherly Love.”

Davis obliged. Addressing the crowd, and the bell, he exclaimed, “I think the time has come when reason should be substituted for passion and when men who have fought in support of their honest convictions, shall be able and willing to do justice to each other.… Glorious old Bell, the son of a revolutionary soldier bows in reverence to you, worn by time, but increasing in sacred memories.”

Roughly two decades earlier, Frederick Douglass invoked the bell in his remarks to the Southern Loyalists’ Convention in Philadelphia. “I ask you,” he implored attendees, “to adopt the principles proclaimed by yourselves, by your revolutionary fathers, and by the old bell in Independence Hall.”

Two million people viewed the Liberty Bell during a 1902 trip to Charleston, South Carolina, as it passed through Pennsylvania, Virginia, North Carolina, and Georgia. Other treks, each of which drew millions, included the World’s Fair in Chicago and the Louisiana Purchase Exposition.

Growing concern by the public and metallurgical engineers over the bell’s fragility was thought to have put an end to its touring. But pleading by Mayor Jim Rolph of San Francisco, the petitioning of hundreds of thousands of California children, and William Randolph Hearst’s endorsement led to what amounted to a 10,000-mile farewell tour from Philadelphia to the West Coast.

A quarter of the U.S. population at the time came to view the bell on this journey in 1915. While officials originally permitted only the blind to touch it, countless children kissed it along the way, while adults handed jewelry and whatever was in their pockets to guards willing to tap the bell’s surface with it, symbolically connecting their personal aspirations to America’s symbol of freedom.

Originally commissioned in 1751 by the Pennsylvania Provincial Assembly to mark the 50th, or jubilee, anniversary of William Penn’s composition of the Charter of Privileges, the bell has served as the de facto Ark of the Covenant of what Robert Bellah called America’s “civil religion.” Engraved on its surface is the King James translation of a verse from Leviticus, “Proclaim Liberty Throughout All the Land Unto All the Inhabitants thereof,” a promise of liberation from servitude and debt granted to the ancient Israelites every jubilee year. Originally referred to as the “State Bell” or the “Old Bell,” abolitionists popularized the name “Liberty Bell,” by which it has been referred to since.

Even when not on tour, the Liberty Bell has served to galvanize Americans around social justice, freedom, and even health. On D-Day, it was tapped 12 times with a rubber mallet by the mayor of Philadelphia to mark a renewed sense of “Independence.” During the Cold War, it was tapped to show solidarity with the East Germans. During the Civil Rights movement, the bell was a common motif, best encapsulated in Martin Luther King Jr.’s call to “let freedom ring!” And in 1976, Muhammad Ali, controversial for his having refused to serve in the Vietnam War, celebrated the country’s bicentennial by recording an album meant to inspire America’s children to take better care of their teeth. The album, titled Ali and His Gang vs. Mr. Tooth Decay, kicks off by the boxer asking, “Who knocked the crack in the Liberty Bell?” To which a choir responds, “Ali! Ali!”

Recent years have seen protests on behalf of the DREAM Act, in favor of gay rights, and against racism outside the bell’s current home in Independence National Historical Park.

Like the ark that led the Israelites through their desert wanderings—in front of which Moses would proclaim, “Rise up, O Lord! May your enemies be scattered, and may those who hate you flee before you!”—Americans have viewed the bell’s promise of liberty as leveling hatred and drawing us closer to both safety and societal flourishing.

Of course, the Liberty Bell’s heading back out on tour won’t solve our country’s political, legal, and social challenges. But it can serve to remind Americans of the faith in our country’s unifying symbols and biblically inspired values, which have survived eras more fractious and violent than our own. As John R. Vile writes in his encyclopedia of the bell’s legacy: “The Bell remains imperfect, and yet its silent plea for liberty continues to ring metaphorically throughout the land.”

Obeying Lady Gaga’s command to “just dance” or Monkee-ing around with ageless musical wonders will no doubt be a delight this summer. But it’s the return of an icon inspired by the world’s best seller that would give Americans the biggest reason to cheer.