National Scholar Updates

Generosity of Spirit: Thoughts for Parashat Pinehas

 

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Pinehas

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

As Moses’s life draws to a close, he asks the Almighty to appoint a successor who will lead the people into the Promised Land. God tells him to place his hand (singular) on Joshua’s head as a means of transferring authority to him in the presence of the people. But the Torah states (Bemidbar 27:23): “He laid his hands (plural) upon him.”

In his book, “An Adventure in Torah,” Rabbi Isaac Sassoon draws our attention to a midrash, quoted by Rashi: “Moses showed generosity; God had said lay one hand but he laid both.” Although it is generally forbidden to add or subtract from God’s commandments, Rabbi Sassoon notes that Moses “had no compunction allowing his generous impulse to broaden the one-hand command into a two-handed gesture” (p. 335).

What exactly is the difference between laying one or both hands on Joshua? In either case, the public understood that leadership was being transferred. Why does the midrash view Moses’s action as reflecting generosity?

The issue revolves around how we understand fulfilling our duties.

A person can meet an obligation in an accurate way but without necessarily feeling any special feeling about it. One does what one is supposed to do and no more is required. On the other hand, a person might fulfill an obligation not merely as a duty but as a meaningful gesture. If Moses had laid one hand on Joshua, that would have been fine. The deed would have been accomplished appropriately. But Moses went beyond duty; he demonstrated generosity of soul. He overflowed with a spirit of love and selflessness. 

People can go through life performing correctly but perfunctorily. They say “good morning” from habit and good manners, not because their heart prods them to reach out in friendship. They do their work honestly, day by day, but without any particular enthusiasm. They “lay one hand” on their labors, not “both hands.” Even in religious life, they perform the mitzvoth precisely but without “generosity of spirit.” They do what they have to do but no more.  They pay their dues, write their charitable checks simply as duties and not as expressions of real emotional commitment.

We show “generosity” when we go beyond what is merely expected of us, when we put heart into our deeds. 

And that is what Moses taught us when he laid both hands on Joshua. He truly wanted Joshua to succeed. He loved and respected his successor. He spontaneously went beyond what God had required of him. 

Our lives are enriched and enlivened when we live with generosity of spirit. This is a blessing…and a challenge.

 

Does Anyone Hear?: Thoughts for Parashat Korah

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Korah

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

Some years ago, I officiated at a wedding in a very upscale venue. Before the ceremony, I asked the wedding planner to check that the microphone was on. After being assured that everything was in good order, the wedding procession began.

It was a large wedding with many hundreds of guests. The bride and groom and their parents stood under the Huppa with me, and family members sat in the first few rows. I chanted the blessings, delivered an address to the bride and groom, and continued the ceremony until the breaking of the glass. Everything went very well.

Almost everything.

It turned out that the microphone wasn’t on after all. Thus, no one other than those under the Huppa and the first row or two of guests heard any of the blessings or my wedding speech. 

I was understandably annoyed. I had done my best to do a nice wedding but very few even heard my words. 

But then I had a flash of insight! This was a parable of a rabbi’s life!!. We work hard to find the right words, to convey the right message…but only those closest to us even hear us. Most don’t hear, don’t listen, and don’t really care. The “microphone” isn’t on, the words don’t reach them no matter how hard we try.

But then I realized that the problem doesn’t only face rabbis; it faces everyone who has a positive message to convey. It confronts all who speak for righteousness against evil; for truth against falsehood; for Israel against its enemies.  Those nearby hear the message but so many beyond our immediate audience don’t hear what we are saying.

It can be frustrating. It can cause one to lose heart. 

In pondering this dilemma, we can find room for optimism in this week’s Torah portion. Parashat Korah actually can be a depressing read: rebellion against Moses and Aaron; discontent among the masses of Israelites; deaths and plagues. Moses must have felt as though he was speaking without a “microphone.” Most of the people did not seem to hear his message and did not internalize his teachings. 

But remarkably, the Torah notes that the sons of Korah did not perish along with their father and his fellow rebels. Rabbinic tradition has it that the sons repented; they actually listened to Moses’ words and realized the truth of his message.

The Talmud teaches that the words of those who have fear of Heaven will ultimately be heard. Kohelet concludes: “In the end, when all is heard, fear the Lord…” This is interpreted to mean that even though one’s words are not “heard” now, they will be heard in the end…if not by this generation, then by future generations. Righteous words do not die. They take effect even if we don’t see results immediately.  Although Korah wickedly defied the words of Moses, Korah’s sons listened to Moses.

So this is the message: good words ultimately prevail even if so many people don’t hear them right now. Truth overcomes falsehood. Love overcomes hatred. Righteousness defeats evil.  We may not see immediate results, but we can hope that our words will eventually take root.

Sometimes (often!) we speak but the microphone isn’t on. Most people don’t hear our words. But we trust that ultimately the words will be transmitted into the back rows, little by little, until they take root in the hearts, minds and souls of the people.

Sof davar hakol nishma…In the end, the true message of love, peace and faith will be heard.

Hazak: Thoughts for Matot/Masei

Angel for Shabbat: Matot/Masei

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

Many years ago, my beloved teacher Rabbi Meyer Simcha Feldblum gave me advice based on a rabbinic teaching. That advice continues to be relevant.

The Talmud cites the opinion of Rabbi Nathan, who taught: when the priest ground the incense in the Temple, the one superintending would say: “grind it very fine, very fine grind it,” because the voice is good for preparing the spices. The question is: what does a voice have to do with grinding spices? The answer: when the priest is grinding the spices, he may not feel that he is making any progress. It seems like rote work that does not improve the spices. A voice of encouragement reminds the priest: you are making progress, your work is not in vain. Keep grinding, you will see positive results from your labors.

The lesson goes beyond the priest grinding spices. It relates to all of us. We work hard to advance our lives and our ideas and ideals; but it often can feel frustrating. No matter how hard we labor, it often seems that we are not making real progress. We can come to feel that our efforts are futile and unproductive. But then someone comes along and says: hazak uvarukh, you are doing something important, you have impacted positively on us. The voice is good! The words of encouragement re-energize us; we go back to our “grinding” work with a new feeling of purpose. Our work isn’t in vain after all.

Words of encouragement have a profound impact. When positive words are accompanied by supportive and loving actions, then we have ingredients for happiness and progress. Critics and fault-finders are readily available. But genuine friends and supporters are the ones who validate and enhance life.

Just as we need to hear voices of encouragement for our own strivings, we also need to be the voices of encouragement to those who are doing good and important work. Just as a nasty comment can undermine someone’s feeling of self-worth, so a positive comment can provide the encouragement a person needs to move ahead in a positive way.

This week's Torah reading brings us to the end of the book of Bemidbar. It is customary in many congregations for congregants to call out at the conclusion of the Parasha: Hazak ve-nit-hazak,  Be strong, and let us strengthen ourselves. As we’ve reached this milestone, may we merit to continue onward in our studies and in our lives. This communal custom is a way to demonstrate solidarity with others, to encourage all of us to be strong and determined to move forward.

Unfortunately, our world has no shortage of people—Jews as well as non-Jews—who cast aspersions on the Jewish People, on the Jewish Homeland, on Jewish ideas and ideals. To the nay-sayers, we reply proudly and confidently: hazak ve-nit-hazak, we are strong and we will strengthen each other. We will keep working faithfully and steadily for the values that we cherish. We will not be discouraged. We will be strong…and we will strengthen others. 

.

 

 

Bernice Angel Schotten: In Memoriam

Bernice Angel Schotten: In Memoriam

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

As we mark the end of the "sheloshim" mourning period for my sister Bernice, here are some words in her memory.

   Bernice Angel Schotten passed away unexpectedly at the age of 77. She had been active pretty much until the day she died. She and her late husband Peter lived in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, for 50 years, where Peter taught Political Science at Augustana College. After Peter's death a few years ago, Bernice decided to relocate to Brookline, MA, to live closer to her daughter. 
   Bernice was one of four siblings in our family, the only daughter. Although third-born, she was the first of us to pass away. The mourning symbol of "Keriah" comes to mind. We tear a garment as a sign of grief--but really as a sign of a tear in the fabric of our lives. The deceased has gone on to the world beyond, but the survivors feel the loss. Mourners learn to heal, but the tear leaves a permanent scar. 
    We grew up together in Seattle with wonderful parents, grandparents, uncles and aunts, cousins--a large network of family and friends. From her earliest years, Bernice was bright, energetic, thoughtful, and independent. She attended the Seattle Hebrew Day School, Franklin High School and the University of Washington and was a leader and activist in various school clubs and youth groups.  She met Peter at U of W.  Peter continued his PhD studies in Claremont, Ca., and he and Bernice lived there for a while before moving to Sioux Falls.
   Although she lived much of her life far away from us, she maintained ongoing relationships with her siblings and other family members.  She remembered birthdays; she loved when family members visited her in Sioux Falls; and she enjoyed traveling to join us for family celebrations and reunions. The last time I saw Bernice in person was in January 2024 when she came from Brookline to attend the wedding of our grandson Max and Rena.
    But the Jewish mourning practices go beyond Keriah. Mourners recite Kaddish. Significantly, the Kaddish prayer has nothing whatsoever to do with death. Rather it is a dramatic expression of God's greatness, beyond any words of praise we can possibly utter.  In praising God, we are acknowledging our faith in the ultimate wisdom of God's ways. When we tear Keriah, we bless God as the dayan ha-emet, the True Judge. It is a blessing of resignation. We don't understand the mysteries of life and death, the passing of the generations, the ongoing meaning of life in the face of death. But we bow our heads and praise God. At a time when we sense our own mortality and vulnerability, we express trust in the ultimate value of our God-given existence.
   When we observe the "shiva" and "sheloshim" mourning periods, we reminisce. We remember the wonderful times--the family celebrations, picnics, vacations, parties of all kinds. Bernice had so much for which to be grateful--and she was truly grateful. When she had to face some difficult times and troubles, she demonstrated an amazing strength of character. In one of my last phone conversations with Bernice, I told her she was gutsy and resilient in adjusting to her new life in Brookline. But she was gutsy and resilient throughout her life.
    In her years in Sioux Falls, she was an active leader of the small Jewish community there. She taught in the Sunday School. She was part of an ongoing Torah study group with the Chabad rabbi of Sioux Falls. She was a proud and active Jewish leader...principled, generous, loving, devoted.
   Her memory will be a blessing, source of strength and happiness to her daughter, her siblings, her extended family, her many friends in Sioux Falls, Seattle, Brookline and around the country.
    "The Lord has given, and the Lord has taken away; may the Name of the Lord be blessed."

On Local Responsibility

 

“Messy,” “chaos,” “broken,” and “dysfunctional.” According to a July 2023 survey by the Pew Institute, nearly 80 percent of Americans express a negative sentiment when asked to describe politics in the United States. The top 15 cited words include those previously listed as well as more depressing descriptions such as the top two—“divisive” and “corrupt”—along with “disgrace” and the vivid expression “dumpster fire.” For those unfamiliar with this phrase, suffice it to say many can at the very least agree on something: this situation is not good. 

For people across the political, racial, ethnic, and religious spectrums, regardless of where they live, it is hard not to see the brokenness of so much of society. The same Pew study also found that the most politically engaged people report feeling the highest levels of exhaustion and anger. The more people are involved, the more draining and upsetting the experience. Is anyone surprised? What are the options? Agree with the overwhelming majority that there are massive problems but disengage to avoid unpleasant feelings?

This essay does not aim to expand on the many troubles in society or to identify their varied causes. This essay endeavors to encourage people to take responsibility in small ways in local communities. Maybe it is possible to share the burden of some of those aforementioned adverse emotions and in the process make things close to home a little brighter. 

Looking at the modern world through the lens of Tanakh is not an attempt to redefine the holy texts or distill their divine meaning. Rather Tanakh can help provide eternal wisdom and guidance to confront today’s colossal challenges. I see variations of my own struggles and challenges throughout Tanakh and find the narratives intensely helpful for the lessons and especially the knowledge that God has seen us through so much so many times.

The story of Jonah offers tremendous insight and inspiration when thinking about how to address, albeit reluctantly, societal problems. The task is unfathomable. We know this. On the best days it promises to be frustrating and exhausting. Literally no one wants to take this on. Who doesn’t want to flee to Tarshish instead of face the mob in Nineveh? Yet, Jonah teaches us avoidance is worse. Problems follow us.

God calls to Jonah to go to Nineveh, a city whose tremendous greatness is referenced four times in the short book. Nineveh became the capital of Assyria and was home to 120,000 people as well as an untold number of animals. It held hundreds of years of history and cultural riches. It would later include the Royal Library of Ashurbanipal which contained among its vast collection of 30,000 tablets such treasures as the Epic of Gilgamesh, one of the oldest fairy tales in the world. 

Despite its greatness as a city, Nineveh was a wicked society. God had planned to bring destruction there, but first summoned Jonah to proclaim judgement upon it. Jonah famously makes a run for it. Not only does Jonah not want to do the job God called him to do, he was initially willing to risk more than his own safety to avoid taking responsibility. 

The story gets better with each retelling. Jonah boards a ship. God casts a powerful storm on the sea. The God-fearing sailors finally agree to toss Jonah overboard after trying in vain to row to shore. The whole while Jonah knows he was the cause of the storm. A monstrous fish the likes of which none of us can possibly imagine takes Jonah to an experience worse than death. At the depths of the ocean, Jonah calls out to God in a prayer whose beautiful and inspired echoes we can hear in the book of Psalms. God instructs the fish to release Jonah on dry land. God commands Jonah a second time. Jonah went at once and proclaimed what God had said, “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” 

That’s it. Jonah had to deliver one simple but powerful message. The message traveled through the people and found its way to the king, inspiring belief, repentance, commitment to God, and an abandonment of evil ways and injustice. The people of Nineveh genuinely atoned, and God renounced the punishment that had been planned. 

            However, Jonah was not pleased. After completing his task of informing Nineveh of its impending doom, which led to the salvation of the great city, he was despondent. Rashi suggested Jonah knew Nineveh would repent and be saved and therefore might lead to Jonah being called a liar. This certainly could have been part of the explanation for Jonah’s gloom. Is it possible this is also an illustration of the findings Pew would publish some 3,000 years later? The more engaged individuals report the greatest levels of exhaustion and anger. Who was more engaged than Jonah? 

The only source of comfort and joy Jonah finds under the shade of a vine miraculously grown overnight. God then appoints a worm to destroy the beloved plant and the shade Jonah had quickly grown to love. God rebukes Jonah for mourning the loss of the plant, stating he did not grow the plant himself and therefore has no share in the sorrow. God further asks if Jonah thinks God should not take pity on a great city like Nineveh. 

For anyone who has ever grown even the smallest plant, the experience can be a source of great joy. Especially true if the plant grows successfully. For anyone who has lost special plants to deer, garden rodents, or other pests, this loss can be downright painful. I remember too well the cabbages that disappeared seemingly overnight thanks to insidious cabbage worms and the many promising seedlings eviscerated by a wily groundhog. However, my family worked hard to plant and care for these lost crops. Our pain is justified!

What about Jonah? No offense to a glorious shade in the hot sun, but what about the great city God just saved? What about the responsibility Jonah attempted to run from and the reality that all he had to do was show up and say one thing that led to a great miracle? What about the glory to God? Then the short book is over, and we hear no more from Jonah.

Over and over, the Torah lays it out for us. God, family, community, nation, world. Take as much responsibility for the relationships and institutions closest to you and work toward your goals. What is the responsibility the Torah wants us to take? Which step do we take first? From Jonah, it is possible we learn the first step we don’t take. We should not step away. We cannot avoid the problem. We have to do the work to show up, and perhaps we have to speak, but we might not have to say as much as we fear. When our work is done, we might feel exhausted, angry, and despondent. So, who wants to sign up and get involved?

What is happening in my small world that I am overlaying the narrative of Jonah? I live with my husband and our children in Teaneck, NJ. Teaneck has about 41,000 residents. Not quite Nineveh, but a great town in its own right. Due to countless circumstances, especially the pace and demands of life, many decent and upstanding citizens have simply not gotten involved in local matters. Less involvement begets less involvement. We paid our copious taxes faithfully but had little knowledge and even less oversight of where this money went. 

In Teaneck, as it is in many towns, there are ample opportunities for individuals to step forward and get involved civically. It is sometimes as easy as signing onto a Zoom to watch a local town or board of education meeting to see what our tax dollars are funding. My husband Hayyim and I are grateful to have had opportunities to engage civically over the past few years. We hope to contribute to a high quality of life for all our neighbors and aspire to sanctify God with our actions. Our experiences have been steady streams of learning about numerous local issues, showing up to various meetings, and meeting all kinds of people. We also started sharing our experiences with friends and neighbors, encouraging others to get informed. 

This was before the atrocities of October 7 and the ensuing aftermath. October 7 shone a blinding light on many problems in our town and as a result, many concerned citizens have taken it upon themselves to engage, despite the very real exhaustion identified by Jonah and Pew. Particularly noteworthy is the recent election of a slate of three phenomenal, qualified men to the Teaneck Board of Education thanks to a massive turnout of Jewish voters organized by the newly formed Bergen County Jewish Action Committee. Since then, BCJAC volunteers have worked tirelessly to advocate for thoughtful Jewish civic engagement.

Dr. Jordan Peterson says, “Every responsibility you cede to others can be taken up by tyrants and used against you.” While it might seem unlikely to escalate rapidly, it certainly can. The good news is things can turn around quickly if good people pay attention, stand up, show up, and say what needs to be said. Like it states in Pirkei Avot 2:21: "It is not incumbent upon you to complete the work, but neither are you at liberty to desist from it." 

Sephardim, Sephardism and Jewish Peoplehood

Sephardim, Sephardism, and Jewish Peoplehood

(This article was originally written for Re-forming Judaism: Moments of Disruption in JewishThought, edited by Stanley Davids and Leah Hochman, New York, CCAR Press, 2023, and is reprinted by permission of the Central Conference of American Rabbis. The article was reprinted in Marc D. Angel, Sephardim, Sephardism and Jewish Peoplehood, published by the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, 2022).

            My grandfather, Marco Romey, used to tell us of his experiences as a young Sephardic bachelor newly arrived from Turkey to Seattle. He and the few other young Sephardim had arrived during the first decade of the 20th century. They went to an existing Ashkenazic synagogue, assuming they would find welcome among fellow Jews; but instead of welcome, they were greeted with suspicion. Were they really Jews? They didn’t have “Jewish” names; they didn’t speak or understand Yiddish; they never heard of gefilte fish! Even when the Sephardim showed their prayer shawls and recited Hebrew prayers, the Ashkenazim were not convinced.

            It took a generation or two for Ashkenazim and Sephardim to begin to re-connect after centuries of separation during the long diasporic exile. Until the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the Ashkenazic world of Europe had little interaction with living Sephardim. And the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic world, concentrated for the most part in Muslim lands, lived in its own cultural bubble. The two communities developed along different historic lines; although sharing the same religion and peoplehood, they were, to a large extent, strangers to each other.

Sephardim: Preliminary Definitions

            My grandparents were members of the Sephardic communities of Turkey and the Island of Rhodes. Those communities harked back to the Jews of medieval Spain (Sepharad in Hebrew), many of whom found haven in the Ottoman Empire following the expulsion of Jews from the Iberian Peninsula in the late fifteenth century. Their language was Judeo-Spanish. Their religious practices and customs followed the Sephardic traditions as codified by Rabbi Joseph Karo in his Shulhan Arukh and other great Sephardic halachic authorities. They prayed according to the classic Sephardic rite, including the kabbalistic texts that were incorporated over the centuries.

            While most of the Sephardim lived in the lands of the Ottoman Empire, a smaller group settled in Western Europe and the Americas. These “Western Sephardim” were Jews or descendants of Jews who had been forcibly converted to Catholicism in Spain and Portugal, but who eventually were able to return to Judaism. They established communities in such places as Amsterdam, Paris, Bordeaux, Bayonne, London, Hamburg, and, beginning in the seventeenth century, in the Americas. The Western Sephardim were quick to adapt to the lands of their dispersion, and developed their own distinctive patterns of Jewish life.

            Although the term “Sephardic” literally refers to Jews of medieval Spanish background, it has more generally come to include those communities that followed the patterns of Sephardim, e.g. halakhic practice, liturgical rituals, and religious customs. Thus, Jews of the Middle East and North Africa—even those not “Sephardic” genetically—have become part of the Sephardic world culturally. The late Dr. Henry Toledano referred to these communities as “pan-Sephardic.” This article will be considering disruptions in the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic world as of the mid-nineteenth century and will be using the term “Sephardic” to refer to the entire pan-Sephardic diaspora.

Disruption One: Confronting Modernity and Westernization

            The Western Sephardic experience was unique among the Sephardic communities. Western Sephardim have been described as the first “modern” Jews, in that they generally flourished in relatively free societies. They valued general as well as Jewish religious education. They spoke the languages of the lands in which they lived. They advanced economically and professionally. Their synagogues were marked by a high sense of aesthetics and decorum. 

            The Western Sephardic communities were governed by rabbis and lay people who strove to maintain classic religious traditions. But as members became increasingly receptive to the freedoms of Western culture, individuals strayed from halakhic observance. The “establishment” had to deal with growing numbers of Jews who were lax in their observance, and others who left Judaism altogether. Notorious examples of defectors included Benedict Spinoza of seventeenth century Amsterdam and Benjamin Disraeli of nineteenth century London.

            Western Sephardic leadership worked diligently to adapt religious traditionalism with the challenges of modernity. In seventeenth century Amsterdam, Rabbi Menasseh ben Israel published books in Spanish and Portuguese in order to provide religious guidance to newly returning conversos. Dr. Isaac Cardoso of eighteenth century Verona wrote powerful tracts defending Judaism from Christian attacks and misrepresentations. Grace Aguilar of nineteenth century London wrote important works stressing the spiritual qualities of Judaism, and refuting pervasive anti-Jewish stereotypes fostered by Christian society. Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh of nineteenth century Livorno wrote extensively on Jewish ethics, the universal messages of Judaism, and on spiritual foundations of Judaism. In twentieth century America, the Western Sephardic religious leadership included such figures as Rabbis Henry Pereira Mendes and David de Sola Pool of New York, and Sabato Morais of Philadelphia.

            Yet, for a variety of reasons the Western Sephardic communities have diminished in numbers and influence. Over the centuries, many Western Sephardim became acculturated in their adopted societies. While the traditionalists succeeded in maintaining their communities for centuries, a gradual erosion in membership and commitment set in. The Sephardim, along with their fellow European Jews, suffered catastrophic losses during the Holocaust, and have been unable to regain their former vitality.

The Western Sephardic congregations in South America and the Caribbean declined due to assimilation, migration out of the region, and other factors. In North America, the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogues of New York and Philadelphia continue to adhere to the Western Sephardic rite in prayer, but very few members are actually of Western Sephardic birth. The synagogue in Newport is basically an Ashkenazic congregation, and the synagogues in Charleston and Savannah have joined the Reform Movement. Overall, until the mid-nineteenth century, the Western Sephardic congregations were the mainstream of American Jewry, but they were eclipsed by Ashkenazic influences beginning in 1840 with the dramatic increase of immigration of Ashkenazic Jews. Thus, the Western Sephardim today form a miniscule percentage of Sephardic Jewry, and in spite of their many historic achievements, the disruptions of modernity and Westernization have reduced this group dramatically.

Sephardim in Muslim Lands

            The Sephardic/pan-Sephardic communities of the Muslim world are not monolithic and each community has a history of its own. Until the mid-nineteenth century, most of these Jews lived in self-contained communities governed by traditional Jewish law. They were a tolerated minority sometimes enjoying relative freedom and prosperity, and sometimes suffering discrimination and poverty. 

            The forces of Westernization and modernization began to emerge in the mid-nineteenth century. The Ottoman Empire made a series of reforms, known as Tanzimat, between 1839 and 1876. These reforms aimed at adopting European style government and stimulating the economy. Jews in the Ottoman Empire gained new freedoms, and the educated and affluent classes were drawn to the progressive policies. Although the masses of Jews lived within the traditional framework, cracks in the old system began to develop. 

During the course of the nineteenth century, the Ottoman Empire was in the throes of decline, ceding much territory in the process. Greek independence brought significant changes for the Sephardim of Greece. 

            In the early twentieth century, with the rise of Kemal Ataturk, Turkey experienced a strong surge of nationalism. As the century progressed, the Jews of Turkey—along with other minorities—were drawn into the Turkification process, moving away from former traditional patterns that had characterized their communities for centuries.

            In the 1860s, the Alliance Israelite Universelle[1] began a major educational endeavor that aimed to bring modern, French-style schools to communities throughout the Middle East and North Africa. Between 1862 and 1914, Alliance schools could be found in Morocco, Tunisia, Libya, Egypt, Syria, Turkey, Iraq and Iran. By 1900, Alliance Israelite Universelle was operating one hundred schools with a combined student population of 26,000. In 1912 the Alliance had seventy-one schools for boys and forty-four for girls, with schools in such places as Baghdad, Jerusalem, Tangiers, Istanbul, Beirut, Cairo, Damascus, Salonika, and Rhodes. 

            The impact of these schools was significant. While the existing traditional schools were almost exclusively open to boys, the Alliance provided education to thousands of girls. While existing traditional schools focused heavily on teaching religious texts, the Alliance schools offered an expansive general education. Parents who wanted their children to advance socially and economically were attracted to the opportunities that the Alliance schools offered.

            The Alliance schools were met with mixed responses. Some strongly opposed them as a threat to traditional religious life. The emphasis on French language, literature and culture was seen as undermining Hebrew and religious Jewish studies. But for others, these schools offered a path for educational and economic progress. Graduates of the Alliance schools played increasing roles in transforming and modernizing their communities. 

            Some Alliance students went on to pursue advanced studies in Paris and elsewhere. Many had their eyes opened to the possibility of emigration where new opportunities beckoned. For the female students, the Alliance provided a framework for life beyond the role of wife, mother, and homemaker. Students were often taught by highly educated female teachers, who themselves served as role models. Subtly, and not so subtly, the patterns of traditional life were undergoing change.

            The success of the Alliance schools led the existing traditional schools to upgrade their own educational program. In order to attract students, the communal schools began to offer classes in languages and general studies; they also improved their methods of teaching Hebrew and religious studies.

            While the forces for Westernization and modernization were seeping into the Jewish communities of Muslim lands, larger external factors also came into play. Many of the lands in which these Jews lived were coming under the control and influence of European colonial powers. Egypt was under British control from 1882 until 1956. Sudan was a British colony from 1899 to 1956. Britain also was the Colonial power for Jordan, Palestine and gulf nations. French colonies included Tunisia (1881-1956), Algeria (1830-1963), Morocco (1912-1956), Syria (1918-1946), and Lebanon (1918-1943). Italy controlled Libya (1911-1951) and the Island of Rhodes (1911-1944). 

            Many of the Jews living in these lands identified with the European powers. They worked in their consulates; learned their languages; adopted their style of dress etc. To the often-downtrodden Jews, the European colonizers seemed to offer a higher culture with more opportunities for advancement. But as Jews “Europeanized,” they also tended to move further away from traditional religious observance. The rabbinic establishment which had governed the Jewish communities for centuries was gradually losing the adherence of modernizing Jews.

                From the early twentieth century, migration of Sephardim from their native lands grew significantly. The spirit of change had taken hold. Many were drawn to the land of Israel. Many others were attracted to the United States. Some found their ways to Western Europe, the south of Africa, and cities of Latin America. The migration pattern was not only a result of the confrontation with modernity, but was also stimulated by the desire to escape the dire conditions in their homelands—poverty, natural disasters, and wars.

Reactions to the Disruptions of Modernity

            Rabbinic leadership in the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic communities reflected different attitudes. The traditionalists—steeped in a kabbalistic/midrashic Judaism—felt deeply threatened by the Westernizing/modernizing influences. They sought to maintain the pre-modern ways of their communities. They were intellectually and emotionally unequipped to provide enlightened guidance to the growing numbers of Jews who were becoming alienated from the status quo and who were attracted to the freedoms and opportunities of modernity.

            Albert Memmi, one of the great intellectual figures of twentieth century France, grew up in the Jewish ghetto in Tunis. After attending a French high school, he went on to Paris for advanced studies. He eventually sought to identify with the Tunisian national movement, but was rejected because he was a Jew. In his book, The Liberation of the Jew, he described his malaise:  “When we graduated from the lycee in Tunis many of us decided to cut ourselves off from the past, the ghetto and our native land, to breathe fresh air and set off on the most beautiful of adventures. I no longer wanted to be that invalid called a Jew, mostly because I wanted to be a man; and because I wanted to join with all men to reconquer the humanity which was denied me.”[2] Memmi, who died in 2020 at the age of 99, seemed never to have been able to make peace with his Jewishness.

            Elias Canetti (1905-1976) was a Bulgarian-born Sephardic Jew of the Judeo-Spanish tradition. Yet his upbringing was far from traditional and his mother went so far as to feed him ham as a way of ridding him of past claims of Judaism. Through his various writings and teachings, he had a significant impact on general intellectual life, and was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1981, largely in recognition of his major work Crowds and Power.

            Rene Cassin (1887-1976) was born into the Sephardic community in Bayonne, France, and grew up in Nice. He became a political activist and was co-author of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights issued by the United Nations. He was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1968. He identified strongly with the work of the Alliance Israelite Universelle and served as its President from 1943 to 1976. Yet his personal life was well removed from traditional religious belief and observance.

            Memmi, Canetti, and Cassin represent a Sephardic intellectual class that contributed greatly to general society, but who removed themselves from the traditional life of Sephardic Judaism. With the rise of modernity, acculturated Sephardim advanced in many fields and in many lands; but in the process, many drifted away from traditional Jewish living.

            The Sephardic rabbinic establishment could not hold back the forces of modernity and Westernization. But there were important religious leaders who responded creatively and intelligently to the new challenges, and who succeeded in maintaining tradition-based communities.[3]  The rabbis of Morocco maintained close ties and held rabbinic conferences in which they dealt with the issues facing their communities. Rabbi Benzion Uziel (1880‒1953) was the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel from 1939 until his death in 1953. His extensive writings, including impressive volumes of responsa (Mishp’tei Uziel), had considerable influence throughout the Sephardic world and beyond.

            Rabbi Uziel’s religious worldview, characteristic of much of the Sephardic rabbinic community, was reflected in a letter he wrote to the leadership of the Alliance Israelite Universelle.[4] While recognizing the importance of students learning both religious subjects and general studies, he stressed the need to master Hebrew as well as the language of the land in which they lived and at least one European language. The goal of Jewish education should be clear: to raise children faithful to their people and to their Torah, people who would be useful to their families, their people, and society. Rabbi Uziel insisted that general subjects be taught by religious teachers. Otherwise, a spirit of secularism would enter the children's hearts, leading them away from the very principles for which Jewish schools stood. If modern-day Jews thought that their children could achieve success only by receiving an exclusively secular education, they were in fact sacrificing their children's spiritual lives. There was no necessity to do so, since one could attain worldly success while remaining deeply steeped in Torah tradition. 

 

Traditional Communal Framework

            Religious leaders throughout the Sephardic Diaspora felt that the Jewish people could best be served by remaining faithful to its own distinctive way of life. To them, Reform was a surrender to the whims of European modernity, and it could only lead to a breakdown in Jewish religious life.

            Whereas the issues of emancipation and enlightenment led to the formation of religious movements within Ashkenazic Jewry, Sephardic Jewry did not fragment itself into Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, or other movements. Ashkenazic Jewry was torn by feuding among the ideological movements. It established separate communities, institutions, even cemeteries. Sephardic Jewry was spared this internecine denominational struggle.

            Certainly, not all Sephardic Jews adhered to the details of traditional halakhah. Laxity in observance was growing. A lessening of reverence for rabbinic authority was apparent in many communities. Yet, the religious intellectuals, as well as the masses, were desirous of maintaining a traditional framework for their communities. The Sephardim found a modus vivendi characterized by respect for tradition and tolerance for those whose observance of halakhah fell short. Whereas some individuals might not be personally observant, the synagogue and community structure were to operate according to halakhah.

 

 

Disruption Two: Confronting the Ashkenazim

            The Sephardic/pan-Sephardic communities were learning to cope with the challenges of modernity and Westernization. They were dealing with the influences of the Alliance schools; the impact of the Colonial European powers; the changes in their educational system; the new opportunities for girls and women; the growing laxity in religious observance; and the alienation of some of the best and brightest intellectuals.

            But the Jewish communities of the Muslim world were to undergo massive disruptions over which they had little or no control. Large-scale migration from these communities was evident from the early twentieth century. Thousands of young people were seeking new opportunities in the United States. Many others were attracted to the idealism of returning to the Jewish homeland. With the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, vast numbers of Jews from North Africa and the Middle East migrated there—often driven from their homes by anti-Israel Muslim governments. Indeed, Jews of the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic world came to be the majority of Jews in Israel. In 2021, there are very few Jews still living in the former communities in North Africa and the Middle East.

            As Sephardim came into contact with the Ashkenazic-dominated communities in the United States, Israel and elsewhere, they now had to face a new set of disruptions. Among their problems was dealing with negative stereotypes prevalent in the Ashkenazic community. 

            When Sephardim were arriving in the United States in the early decades of the twentieth century, they came to be labeled as Oriental Jews. Indeed, they themselves assumed this designation and some of their early organizations were the Federation of Oriental Jews, Oriental Hebrew Association, Oriental Israelite Fraternity and others. Moise Gadol, editor of the Ladino newspaper, La America, established the Oriental Bureau of HIAS in 1911.[5] 

            Why would the term “Oriental” be applied to Jews from Turkey, the Balkans, Greece and Syria? Apparently, it was to distinguish this group of Jews from the more cultured “Western” (also referred to as Occidental) Jews. After all, Western civilization was deemed to be the most advanced. The “Orientals” were eastern, backward, uncultured by Western standards. So Ashkenazim (and Western Sephardim, too) could separate themselves from the lower-status newcomers by applying a term that then had negative connotations.

            A similar situation arose in Israel. Jews from Muslim lands were termed edot hamizrach, “eastern tribes.” It is as though normative Jews are simply Jews, i.e. Ashkenazim; but Sephardim/pan-Sephardim are broken into eastern compartments—interesting (and sometimes troublesome) Jewish exotica. The late Dr. Daniel Elazar noted the prejudicial use of the term. He pointed out that the Jews of North Africa should hardly be referred to as “easterners” when all of Morocco is farther west than London, and most of North Africa is farther west than Poland. The appellation is obviously not related to geography, but to “the mobilization of loaded terms to advance a convenient Ashkenazic myth in a situation where to be Western is often synonymous with being modern. And since virtually everyone wants to be modern, this myth gives the Ashkenazim a significant psychological advantage over the Sephardim.”[6] 

            I remember as a student at Yeshiva College in the early 1960s that an emissary from Israel addressed us about the need for us to make aliyah. He spoke with dread about the possibility of Israel being overtaken by the “Mizrachim” (eastern) immigrants from Arab lands. He urged Western aliyah in order to maintain Israel as a modern democracy. He verbalized a common fear/prejudice: the Sephardim/pan-Sephardim were not “us”; they were foreigners with low eastern culture. They could not be trusted to become Westernized, certainly not right away.

            These anti-Sephardic notions were held in spite of the fact that many of the Sephardim spoke Spanish, French, Italian and other European languages; that many had received "western” education in the schools of the Alliance Israelite Universelle and in the general schools run by the European Colonial powers in their lands; that many, even of the less educated and less affluent classes, had a rich religious and cultural heritage that had sustained their communities for centuries.  Were the poorer and less educated Sephardim in worse conditions than the Ashkenazim of the shtetls of Eastern Europe?

            The pervasive prejudice against the “Oriental” Jews, the “edot hamizrach,” was not always overt and conscious. It was not necessarily meant to be malicious. But, in fact, it served to undermine the status of Sephardic/pan-Sephardic Jews. The Jewish schools almost totally ignored the existence of Sephardim, their history, culture, traditions. At best, they would introduce a Sephardic song or describe a Sephardic food. Generally, Sephardic tradition was either ignored, misrepresented, or confined to the areas of folklore/music/food.

            Sephardic rabbis in Israel were relegated to lower positions with lower pay than their Ashkenazic peers. Rabbi Haim David Halevy, late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv, was active in an association of Sephardic rabbis between 1953 and 1959, known as Agudat haRabbanim haSephardiyim b’Yisrael. The group fought for proper recognition by the Ashkenazic rabbinic establishment. In those days, Sephardic rabbis were not allowed to sign simple documents attesting that a person was married or single. While Ashkenazic rabbis were appointed as chief rabbis of cities and received commensurate compensation, Sephardic rabbis, for the most part, were only appointed as rabbis of communities (rabbanei ha’eidah) and received lower salaries. Once the basic objectives of the Sephardic rabbinic group were achieved (by 1959), the group disbanded.

            The frustrations of the Middle Eastern/North African immigrants were many. They were often settled in remote towns and villages. Many lived in ma’abarot, tent cities, until real housing could be found for them. Their children were not expected to attend academically advanced schools or universities. Their economic situation was problematic, since many positions in government and business were granted by proteksia, favoritism by those in power to people of their own backgrounds.

            While the Sephardim did indeed make considerable progress in adapting to life in Israel, the underlying social and economic problems could not be ignored. In 1971, a group of Israeli-born Jews of North African and Middle Eastern backgrounds created the Black Panthers party. Its goal was to promote social justice for their communities and to combat their perception of widespread discrimination against them. They brought their concerns to public attention through demonstrations, media events, and political action. 

            Early in the 1970s, Soviet Jews began to arrive in Israel in large numbers. The Israeli government worked energetically to absorb these new immigrants who needed housing, jobs, social services, education for their children, etc. The North African and Middle Eastern Jews could not help but note the difference between how poorly they were treated in comparison with the Soviet immigrants.  In spite of general progress, frustration and discontent persisted.

            Sensing an anti-Sephardic attitude among the Ashkenazic rabbinate, especially in Hareidi circles, Rabbi Ovadia Yosef spearheaded the establishment of the Shas political party in 1984. The goal was to assert Sephardic rights throughout Israel, and especially in the religious realm. Shas became a political power with the election of its party members to the Israeli Knesset. Shas expanded its network of schools and yeshivot, and won the support of many Sephardic/Middle Eastern voters—even those who were not themselves Hareidi in outlook or observance.

            In the United States, Canada, Europe—where ever they settled in the diaspora-- North African and Middle Eastern Jews faced the usual challenges of immigrants; but they also faced problems in their relations with the existing Ashkenazic establishment. Their Jewishness was questioned; their “oriental” or “eastern” backgrounds were depreciated; their traditions were ignored or relegated to the domain of folklore. But within several generations, most of these Jews progressed professionally, economically and socially. As Sephardim and Ashkenazim grew more accustomed to each other—and married each other—the old alienations and stereotypes diminished.

            The situation in Israel has also improved over the generations, especially given the advancement of Sephardim in all areas of Israeli life. Marriages between Sephardim and Ashkenazim have become much more common, and the merger of cultures has become more prevalent especially in the non-Hareidi segment of the population. Yet, Jews of North African and Middle Eastern backgrounds still feel pangs of discrimination and negative stereotyping.

            Sephardic immigrants, whether in Israel or the diaspora, had to deal with serious disruptions as a result of moving into new lands. Their former communal structures and religious patterns were dislocated and not fully or easily replicated in their new homes. The Jewish establishment operated on the assumption that normative Jews and Judaism were Ashkenazic, that Sephardim needed to “Ashkenazify” in order to become modern and acceptable. It was as though Sephardic history came to an end hundreds of years ago, and that nothing of real significance occurred among them for the past few centuries.

            Whether in Israel or the diaspora, Sephardim had to deal with a sort of identity crisis. They no longer had the calm confidence of living in societies that accepted and valued them and their traditions. If their children attended Jewish schools, they were taught normative Ashkenazic Judaism. Their own rabbis—especially those of the new generations—were becoming “Ashkenazified.” They adopted Ashkenazic practices and even dressed in the black hats and frock coats of the Ashkenazic rabbinic establishment.

            In responding to the challenges, some Jews of North African and Middle Eastern background literally changed their names so as not to be identifiable as Sephardim. Others tried to blend into the Ashkenazic majority in whatever ways they could. Sephardic yeshiva students and rabbis began to identify with the Hareidi Ashkenazic rabbinic leadership. Rabbi Ovadia Yosef was a strong voice on behalf of maintaining Sephardic halakhic teachings; yet, much of the Shas leadership dress and speak pretty much like Ashkenazic Hareidi rabbis.

            Another trend has also emerged in which Sephardim fully accept their backgrounds and embrace an almost “tribal” devotion to the particular customs of their past communities. These Jews take pride in being loyal to the rites and practices of the Jews of Morocco, Syria, Turkey, Iraq, Yemen etc. Instead of backing away from these traditions, they proclaim them proudly and energetically.

            Even the term “mizrachim” has been turned on its head by some of the more militantly Sephardic group. Instead of being a source of derision, being “eastern” has become a positive value in modern times. Eastern Jews can claim an indigenous connection to the land of Israel, even more than Jews of European background. With the growing intellectual trend toward multi-culturalism and diversity, the “mizrachim” are feeling a new sense of importance in the Jewish world, and especially in Israel. Being “Western” is not necessarily viewed as an asset.

 

Disruption Three: Confronting the Future

            At present, the Sephardic/Ashkenazic rift is still evident, especially in Israel. The Jerusalem Post (August 15, 2021) reported that Miri Regev, a member of the Israeli Parliament for the Likud party, is seeking to become the party leader and to move on to become Prime Minister. Regev was born in the southern development town of Kiryat Gat to immigrants from Morocco, Felix and Marcelle Siboni. She declared that “the time has come to have a Sephardi Prime Minister and that the Likud rank and file must vote this time for someone who represents their class, their ethnicity and their agenda.” Regev, as well as the leadership of the Shas party, continue to stoke the ethnic pride of the Sephardim and position themselves as alternatives to the Ashkenazic establishment. 

            “Ethnic” politics is obviously still a factor in Israel. This is not only evident among Jews of North African and Middle Eastern descent, but also among others including Russian Jews and Anglo-Jews. In the short term—at least for another generation—ethnic divisions and divisiveness will flourish.

But will these ethnic divisions continue indefinitely?  What will the terms Sephardic and Ashkenazic mean one hundred years from now? How many Jews will be “pure-blooded” Sephardim or Ashkenazim?

            The Ashkenazic world, although still tending to emphasize Sephardic folk qualities, is also coming to appreciate Sephardic intellectual traditions, rabbinic teachings, and religious worldview. Scholars are increasingly researching and publishing articles and books, exploring the Sephardic experience in the lands of North Africa and the Middle East.

            Change is inevitable. Although we are not prophets, we can envision a Jewish world a century from now that has moved beyond ethnicity. Our great-great grandchildren will descend from Jews of many diasporic backgrounds. They will have a mixture of Sephardic/Ashkenazic genes (and other genetic components drawn from converts to Judaism, and from Jews who do not neatly fit into Sephardic/pan-Sephardic or Ashkenazic compartments). Aside from genetics, they will also be drawing on a wide range of intellectual and cultural traditions. Hopefully, they will draw on the best of all our traditions and live a happy, wholesome Jewish life free from ethnic strife.

            I suspect that 100 years from now there will still be groups of tightly knit Hareidim and Hasidim. There may also be groups of ethno-centered Jews who tenaciously cling to particular traditions. But most Jews, whether in Israel or the diaspora, will be sharing in a more general Jewish culture that combines elements from many traditions.

            The Sephardic/pan-Sephardic Jews of today need to identify and promote positive elements of their history and culture that are worthy to be transmitted to future generations. The day will surely come when all Jews—of whatever background—will come to view each other as “us”—as one people with a shared history and shared destiny. Instead of ethnic rivalries, prejudices and stereotypes, we will ultimately emerge as a “homogenized” Jewish people, proudly and happily composed of many diverse elements.

            (If I may dare to add, I think that not only will ethnic divisions become increasingly irrelevant, but the division of Jews into religious “streams” will also decline. A century from now, I don’t think it will be important for Jews to identify as Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionist, Renewal or any other such sub-division. Rather, Jews will make their own free and independent decisions as to what to believe and observe, where and how to pray etc. We will still have a wide range of opinions and plenty of controversy—but it will be in the realm of personal choice rather than institutional rivalries.)

            Thus, the third disruption of the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic world is actually a disruption for all Jewry. It is a disruption—or rather a transformation—brought about by the coming together of Jews of all backgrounds, by inter-group marriage, by growing understanding and appreciation of the history and cultures of each of our diverse communities. 

Our goal as a Jewish People should be to draw on all the strengths of all our communities and to work toward a Jewish Peoplehood that is inclusive, diverse, strong and healthy.

For Further Reading:

Angel, Marc D., Foundations of Sephardic Spirituality: The Inner Life of Jews of the Ottoman Empire, Jewish Lights, Woodstock, 2006.

______________La America: The Sephardic Experience in the United States, Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia, 1982.

______________Loving Truth and Peace: The Grand Religious Worldview of Rabbi Benzion Uziel, Jason Aronson, Northvale, 1999.

_____________Voices in Exile: A Study in Sephardic Intellectual History, Ktav Publishers, Hoboken, 1991.

Chouraqui, Andre, Between East and West, Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia, 1968.

Elazar, Daniel, The Other Jews: The Sephardim Today, Basic Books, New York, 1989.

Kaspi, Andre, ed., Histoire de l’Alliance Israelite Universelle: De 1860 a Nos Jours, Armand Colin, Paris, 2010.

Laskier, Michael, North African Jewry in the Twentieth Century, New York University Press, New York, 1997.

Stillman, Norman, The Jews of Arab Lands in Modern Times, Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia, 2003.

Zohar, Zvi, Rabbinic Creativity in the Modern Middle East, Bloomsbury Press, London, 2013.

 

 

 

 

            


 


[1] See Andre Kaspi, ed., Histoire de l’Alliance Israelite Universelle: De 1860 a Nos Jours (Paris: Armand Colin, 2010).

 

[2] Albert Memmi, The Liberation of the Jew, trans. Judy Hyun (New York: Orion Press, 1966), 22.

[3] Among this group were Rabbi Israel Moshe Hazan (1808‒1963), born in Izmir, who served Sephardic communities in Rome, Corfu and Alexandria; Rabbi Yehuda Yaacov Nehama (1825‒1899) of Salonika; Rabbi Yosef Hayyim (1835‒1909) of Baghdad; Rabbi Eliyahu Hazzan (1846‒1908) who served the communities of Tripoli and Alexandria; Rabbi Reuven Eliyahu Israel (1856‒1932), last Chief Rabbi of the Island of Rhodes.

[4] Uziel, Mikhmanei Uziel, Tel Aviv, 5699, p. 517, 5699 (1938/1939)), 505.

 

[5] Gadol later abandoned the term “Oriental” not only because he thought it was pejorative, but because he thought the public used the term specifically to relate to Asians.

[6]Daniel Elazar, The Other Jews: The Sephardim Today (New York: Basic Books, 1988), 24.

 

The Hareidi Option

 

Many students from Modern Orthodox homes learn from Hareidi teachers at some point in their educational journey, an influence that plays a role in the “move to the right.” There are frequently not enough Modern Orthodox educators available, especially in schools outside of the American Northeast, such as those in Memphis and Chicago. Secondly, parents often lack the ideological awareness required to identify subtler Hareidi positions held by staff members. How many parents understand hashkafic differences among yeshivot and seminaries?[i]

            Beyond the above factors, some do understand the choice and make a pragmatic calculation. In the challenging times of our postmodern condition, a more Hareidi institution may be a safer bet for keeping children in the Orthodox orbit. Though the Hareidi dropout rate is larger than often acknowledged, we will assume here that Modern Orthodoxy has an inferior batting average. Understandably, parents and educators think that the Hareidi voice will keep their children more religiously observant. 

            Children who turn Hareidi will still share our love of Shabbat and Talmud Torah; they will appreciate the solemnity of Neilah and the joy of Purim. They can support one of the many Hareidi hessed organizations, such as those that provide meals at hospitals. If one lives in America, issues of avoiding army service and not receiving a secular high school education cease to be problems.[ii] Why not adopt this strategy?

            The ensuing pages will explain potential perils in this plan; indeed, no risk-free options exist in this world. We will explore various Hareidi positions that many Modern Orthodox Jews will find extremely problematic. I admit at the outset that some of this essay's examples highlight more extreme ideas in the Hareidi world. To counter the critique that I am cherry picking, I offer the following responses.

            I am not actually utilizing the most extreme voices such as Neturei Karta, Satmar hassidut, R. Menashe Klein, and the like. The voices I do cite are usually either significant rabbinic authorities (such as R. Wasserman, Hazon Ish, the Steipler, R. Dessler) or teachers at mainstream institutions (such as Chaim Berlin, Toras Moshe). The ideas surveyed have a place in conventional Hareidi discourse. Even if competing visions exist in the Hareidi orbit, someone joining the Hareidi world may not adopt more moderate versions. Furthermore, one cannot find other Hareidi leaders explicitly criticizing the positions outlined here. Thus, the risk of our children becoming attached to a harsher Hareidi view remains quite real. 

            A second critique of this essay could claim that the surveyed opinions have a basis in ma’amarei Hazal (talmudic and midrashic statements) and can be justified as is. I think that this will be true for some examples and not for others. In any case, my argument is not that none of this has rabbinic backing but that these are not positions congenial to Modern Orthodox Jews. For example, one can find traditional sources stating that, after a thousand years, the edict against polygamy has run out but we would think poorly of someone who relied upon that position. 

            Many of the sources involve disciples or family members citing prominent rabbis. I assert at the outset that I do not assume the accuracy of all of these stories. If the stories are true, my argument becomes stronger since it turns out that famous rabbis affirmed these ideas. If the stories are false, they still reflect a mode of discourse in the Hareidi world that goes unchallenged. Thus, the problem remains intact, albeit in less-intense form. We shall now explore Hareidi attitudes toward women, gentiles, Zionism, divine providence, faith, as well as other categories. This exploration reveals dramatic difference between communities. 

 

Women

 

Modern Orthodox Jews resist the notion that men bear a higher ontological worth than women, but this idea appears in Hareidi literature. R. Dovid Kastel, a Rosh Kollel in Yerushalayim, writes that “a big portion of a woman’s purpose is to be a helpmate; therefore, men are more fundamental than women.”[iii] In his portrayal of the ideal Jewish family structure, R. Avigdor Miller, mashgiah in Yeshivas Chaim Berlin for 20 years, writes, “There cannot be two kings.…The wife is submissive…. He is the captain, but she is the First Mate whose counsel is respected.”[iv] When Rav Michel Shurkin, longtime rebbe at Toras Moshe, was disappointed about the birth of a daughter, R. Moshe Feinstein consoled him by saying, “What difference does it make to you if someone else raises the iluy (talmudic prodigy) who marries your daughter?"[v] Note that the consolation relates not to the worth of the daughter but to the cognitive capabilities of the son-in-law. 

Modern Orthodox Jews would not denigrate the intellectual capabilities of women in the way that some Hareidi literature does. R. Yisrael Eliyahu Weintraub, a one-time mashgiah in Yeshivas Chaim Berlin who moved to Israel and became a close confidant of Rav Eliezer Menachem Shach, writes that “men need to develop their knowledge and wisdom” but women were not given this role; rather, they have the ability “to be fully dedicated to someone higher than them.”[vi] He counsels husbands not to explain deep matters to their wives but to go with simplicity. A little fear of judgment never hurt anyone.”[vii] R. Miller concurs. He advises women to look good for their husbands and not talk too much: “Talking and talking, you’re advertising that you have nothing in your head at all.”[viii]

These themes find powerful expression in additional stories told by R. Shurkin. He relates a story from his youth in which his older sister asked their father to learn some gemara together. His father’s face turned white and then the father gave his daughter a 10-dollar bill and told her to go buy a new dress. Note that he did not distract the sister with Tanakh or with works of Jewish thought but with clothing. Men study the depths of Torah whereas women like pretty dresses. R. Shurkin subsequently asked why the sister could not learn and his father told the following story. The father met a European Rav with a single daughter to whom he taught Torah. However, this learned daughter was unable to find a shiddukh since she considered every fellow too weak in learning for her. According to the elder R. Shurkin, this episode shows the perils of educating women.[ix] What kind of world makes their peace with the idea that bright and educated women cannot forge a healthy relationship with a husband?            

More extreme versions of the need for tzeniut are rampant in the Hareidi world with the inability to show women’s pictures a prominent contemporary example. A book recording practices of the Steipler provides numerous examples. In his later years, he refused to read notes handwritten by women and would insist that the husbands write out the requests.[x] He would be careful not to walk between little girls in the street.[xi] He cites the Hazon Ish as saying that, in the times of the Sanhedrin, they would have killed women who wear pants.[xii] I think we can safely say that these sayings and practices convey an exaggerated sense of women as sexually charged individuals. 

 

Gentiles

 

R. Kastel writes that “gentiles only have seven mitzvot because they are truly nothing but only as a drop in the bucket and [exist] to help Israel.”[xiii] R. Miller affirms that the function of the nations is “to supply Israel with opportunities to gain Perfection.”[xiv] Many mainstream Hareidi works assume that gentiles are incapable of great acts. R. Itamar Schwartz’s popular Bilvavi Mishkan Evneh states that non-Jews never perform acts of selfless love.[xv] Similarly, R. Moshe Dan Kestenbaum’s impressive Olam Ha-Middot affirms that gentile acts of compassion are truly self-serving.[xvi] The same attitude spills over into approaches to secular studies. If gentiles bear such little worth, they would obviously not produce great works of wisdom. Rav Shurkin relates that a discussion once broke out in his shul questioning if culture has any value. His father overheard the conversation, lifted his eyes, and said “Culture, nivul peh” and the debate ended.[xvii] R. Shurkin cites a Maimonidean ruling that the gentiles hate us and pursue us and, his father wondered, given such animosity, how even secular Jews could involve themselves in gentile culture.[xviii] The irony of basing such opposition on Rambam, who wrote that Aristotle almost achieved the level of prophecy, is lost on Rav Shurkin. I think this approach to gentiles and their wisdom is quite foreign to Modern Orthodox Jewry.

 

Zionism and Secularism 

 

Both R. Elchanan Wasserman[xix] and the Steipler associate Zionist leaders with Amalek.[xx] According to R. Shurkin, a yeshiva fellow considering army service consulted with R. Moshe Feinstein who cited a tradition in the name of R. Chayim Soloveitchik that the Zionists are suspect of murder and one should not enlist.[xxi] The Klozenberger Rebbe sketched a contrast between the rest of Jewish history and the modern era. For some 1,900 years of exile, great rabbis led Am Yisrael and the Jewish people did not face total destruction. Since secularists took over the leadership, we lost 6 million Jews in the Holocaust, Russian and American Jewry face major assimilation, and the Jews in Israel are living as if in the Warsaw ghetto albeit with some weapons.[xxii] His account glosses over the Crusades, the Inquisition, the Chmielnicki massacres and the extensive suffering of Jews at many points in the long exile. Furthermore, granting that the Holocaust is a tragedy of greater proportions (something the Hareidi world tends to downplay), it is unfair to blame it on secular Jewish leadership without a clear causal connection. 

R. Weintraub is quite extreme in this regard. He forcefully rejected an initiative to pair yeshiva students studying with Israeli soldiers in which the yeshiva fellows would learn and pray on behalf of their brethren in combat. His objections include the fact that earlier gedolim (the foremost rabbinic authorities of a generation) did not create such projects, that this initiative comes from a false feeling of inferiority on the part of the yeshiva students, and that he does not want any form of partnership or relationship with the secularists.[xxiii] He cites Rav Velvel Soloveitchik’s reaction to the 1956 Sinai Campaign. 

 

Those who were saved were due to the merit of the bnei Torah because the merit of Torah causes wondrous salvation. Those who were killed, may the merciful one protect us, were because they (the Zionists) were involved in this and if they had not been involved, no one would have been killed. It emerges that only those killed are on the government’s account but they have no connection to the great salvation that occurred for that goes to the account of those toiling in Torah.[xxiv]                              

 

Let us survey the past 75 years of Jewish history. A Hareidi community decimated by the Holocaust was able to rebuild Itself and the world of yeshivot largely by reestablishing yeshivot and communities in the land of Israel due to the Israeli government allowing them to manage their own school system with a minimum of interference, offering health care and other services, and granting them an exemption from army service while other Israelis patrolled the Lebanese, Syrian, Egyptian, and Jordanian borders and fought in multiple wars. Is this citation of Rav Velvel Soloveitchik the Hareidi reaction? Actually, we saved all the lives, and you did nothing! The lack of hakarat haTov (thankfulness) and the desecration of God’s name (observant Jews repaying generosity with animosity) are frightening. No Modern Orthodox Jew would advance such positions. 

This attitude generates some revisionist history. Let us hear again from R. Miller.

 

The Zionists (also “religious Zionists”) delight in accusing the East-European Torah-leaders as “responsible” for the destruction of the Six Million, because they were not enthusiastic over the Zionist settlement of Eretz Yisrael. But it is common knowledge that the Torah-scholars founded the Jewish community in the Holy Land, and that the Zionists refused immigration for the orthodox.[xxv]   

 

We appreciate a declaration about not blaming the Torah leaders but that is no excuse for blaming the Zionists. His “common knowledge” is based on Ben Hecht’s Perfidy about which Deborah Lipstadt has said “he makes claims in there about the Labor Party, about Ben Gurion, not caring about what was going on in Europe, which is, again, historians now show, has simply not stood the test of time."[xxvi]                                                                                                               

 

Providence

 

The previous discussion leads us to different conceptions of providence. What is the balance between human activity and divine governance in how the world runs? R. Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler, mashgiach at Ponevezh yeshiva, states that human endeavor actually produces nothing since God truly directs the world. The natural order is an illusion which the pious can overcome and thereby function in a more miraculous fashion. One classic formulation of this mode of thought says that humans must engage in hishtadlut (proper human effort), but they should realize that the effort does not truly bring about the desired result.[xxvii] I suggest that most Modern Orthodox Jews function with a worldview rooted in Rambam[xxviii] and Abravanel,[xxix] which recognizes the reality of the natural order and the ability of humanity to impact within that order.

R. Hayim Shmulevitz, Rosh Yeshiva at the Mir Yeshiva in Yerushlayim, cites two potential hashkafic positions. One says that the faithful can flourish with no efforts in the natural realm at all. The other disagrees and demands effort but everyone agrees that the effort has no direct impact. Hazal said “Greater is the one who enjoys the work of his hands more than the God fearer” (Berakhot 8a). I would have thought that this statement endorses human efforts. R. Shmulevitz explains that working individuals clearly experience how efforts play no role in achieving success and that realization is a major advantage.[xxx] He does not identify a possibility found in rishonim affirming the natural order and the human ability to manipulate the resources within it.[xxxi]       

Let us see where a R. Dessler or R. Shmulevitz style starting point can lead. R. Nosson Sherman cites R. Shimon Schwab as saying, “I am convinced that what protects our brothers and sisters in Israel is the merit of the kollel families that endure poverty and hunger for the sake of Torah.”[xxxii] Even ignoring the over-romanticizing of the kollel lifestyle, note how the soldiers receive no mention. The Hazon Ish writes that prayer accomplishes more than hishtadlut.[xxxiii] According to Rav Shurkin, when Rav Moshe Feinstein heard of a fellow working on a cure for cancer, he responded that “Even if he found the cure for cancer, it would not be worth the bittul Torah (distraction from Torah study).”[xxxiv] We end up in a place where heroic human efforts to better the lives of others lose their worth.  Only such a vantage point could explain the complete lack of gratitude toward the Israel Defense Forces.

Another factor may also play a role in downplaying the helpful efforts of secular Zionists. Earlier. we encountered the idea that gentiles are incapable of authentic benevolence. Secular Jews may not fare better. R. Avigdor Miller asserts that “Atheists, and disbelievers in a Torah from Sinai, are obviously insincere in any declarations of principles of any kind; they can have no more principle than birds or insects.”[xxxv] Such a perspective makes it very difficult to give credit to secularists.      

A more intensive conception of divine providence often leads to a more simplistic application of reward and punishment models. After a terrorist attack on a bus returning from the kotel in the summer of 2002, R. Weintraub explained that the mixture of women and men on the bus violated principles of tzeniut which is why the merit of prayer at the kotel did not save the passengers.[xxxvi] To be fair, he does not claim that the attack was a direct punishment for the lack of tzeniut but it still seems an extreme reaction to coed bussing. 

Matters get much more extreme when we turn to R. Avigdor Miller. R. Miller thinks we can understand the Holocaust due to the unprecedented level of assimilation in Germany. He finds various “measure for measure” items bolstering his theory:

 

Because the German Jews had spiritually destroyed their synagogues by Reform and by imitation of Churches, the Germans wrecked and burned the synagogues in the “Crystal Night.” German Jews bore gentile names; therefore the Nazis restored their Jewish identity by issuing a decree that every Jew must add the word “Israel” to his name and every Jewess the word “Sarah.”            

Because, for the first time in Jewish history, women had ceased to cover their hair, the Germans shaved them bald in the death camps. Because the virtues of chaste dress and behavior were diminished in imitation of the gentiles, they were marched naked to the gas chambers, and Jewish women were subjected to every barbarous indecency before being killed.     

Because they had so revered the physicians, especially the German specialists, they were subjected to the malicious experiments and torments which the German physicians imposed upon them.[xxxvii]

 

I believe no comment is necessary.   

 

Extreme Application of Values

 

R. Miller was likely led astray by his intense desire to justify God. When certain positive values become pushed to an extreme, other important values get unjustifiably shunted aside. The same phenomenon may explain how one could suggest that finding a cure for cancer does not excuse interrupting Torah study. The Hareidi world prizes Talmud Torah in a very impressive fashion; however, this may also prove to be an Achilles’ heel when taken to an extreme. R. Shurkin reports that when R. Elchanan Wasserman was learning in the Radin kollel, he received a telegram that his wife had given birth to a son. When he asked the Hafetz Hayim if he should return home, the latter answered, “Are you a mohel?”[xxxviii] I fully realize that travel was harder and infrequent in that era but perhaps rejoicing with one’s family in the birth of a child justifies missing some yeshiva time. 

A biography of R. Yosef Shalom Elyashiv cites the childhood recollections of his daughter Bat Sheva, wife of R. Haim Kanievsky:

 

When we were children, he did not know us at all. He never spoke to us from good to bad. Only once a week, Shabbat afternoon, when he could not learn from a sefer because it was dark and he did not use the electricity, he would go out for a walk, and the children took turns accompanying their father. Do not think that he spoke to us; he consistently thought about learning, but it was an honor for the child to walk with father.[xxxix] 

 

Inconceivable that such a story would appear in a biography of R. Lichtenstein or R. Amital. I suggest that becoming a gadol actually involves the crucible of child rearing. 

According to R. Itamar Schwartz, a well-known story relates that R. Hayim Sanzer looked happy on the way back from his son's funeral. When questioned about this surprising mood, he answered with a parable. "A man waking in the street is struck in the back. He recoils backward to see who did it, and discovers that it was his good friend who clapped him on the back as a sign of affection."[xl] Here too, justifying God creates an idealization of a degree of indifference to the loss of one's child.   

An equally frightening tale appears in Shimusha Shel Torah, a work of stories from Rav Shach collected by R. Asher Bergman. R. Yosel Slutzker, later Rav of Slutzk, was orphaned from his father and was one of the best students in the Volozhin yeshiva. A letter arrived from his mother asking him to come home because she was struggling to maintain the family business. R. Hayim Volozhin hid the letter from his student. A second letter complained that she received no response to her first letter and R. Hayim hid that one as well. The third letter said that a fire had left them destitute. The fourth letter, from a sister, related that the mother was dying. The fifth letter reported that the mother had passed away and begged the brother to return home and care for younger siblings orphaned from both parents. R. Hayim hid all the letters and only showed them to his student years later. He explained that all these distractions were the Satan trying to prevent the development of a Gadol haDor (the greatest rabbinic authority of a generation).[xli] In contrast, Modern Orthodox Jews would say that caring for your mother and siblings in times of need is a crucial part of cultivating greatness.         

 

Faith

 

It is commonly assumed in Hareidi literature that the existence of God is obvious to any fair-minded person. Therefore, skeptics and heretics function dishonestly by allowing desires to influence their judgment. Hedonistic impulses distort their analysis. Rav Wasserman, [xlii] R. Dessler,[xliii] and others adopt this position. This interpretation of kofrim (heretics) allows religious individuals to both assume they are clearly correct while accusing their opponents of bad faith. The only drawback is that the position is false. Some atheists may have ulterior motives but certainly not all of them. I personally have gone through stages when it seemed difficult to affirm Rambam’s 13 principles. Many students, desperately wanting to believe, have approached me with their theological questions. Some ultimately found their place within Orthodoxy while others did not. To accuse them all of simply hungering for cheeseburgers would be cruel and unjustified.   

 

Intellectual Understanding

 

Modern Orthodox Jews prize the use of the intellect even when confronting issues of Jewish theology. Some Hareidi voices prefer a simple faith which eschews analysis. R. Schwartz’s Bilvavi Mishkan Evneh says that we should only be asking “what” and never “why.” 

 

The attempt to understand God’s works—the very thought of this—shows the lowliness of a created being, who thinks he has the ability to understand. One cannot understand anything!! Not why we need to wash hands and not why we need to learn Torah. We only know what we have to do, and we do it because we were commanded.[xliv]

 

R. Schwartz does not address the fact that the majority of rishonim endorsed the endeavor of offering rationales for mitzvot. Interestingly, some rabbis apply this anti-intellectual orientation even to human behavior. R. Shurkin relates how R. Mendel Zaks contrasted two biographies of the Hafetz Hayim in order to convey a preference for the one penned by R. Moshe Meir Yosher. The other volume tries to explain the Hafetz Hayim’s actions, whereas R. Yosher simply records them.[xlv] Apparently, even human guidance should be taken on authority alone. I suggest that one could not possibly apply modeled behavior to novel situations unless one knows the rationale for the behavior. 

 

The Role of Gedolim

 

The Hareidi world puts much more emphasis on its rabbinic leadership than Modern Orthodoxy does. This includes granting them authority in political matters (Daas Torah), telling stories about their otherworldly qualities, and making them a consistent and central focus of religious discourse. Several prominent Hareidi voices explain that yeshivot exist to produce gedolei Torah, and the curriculum should reflect that even if it does not serve the needs of the bulk of students. R. Dessler famously preferred the Lithuanian model of Jewish education over the German one because it was more likely to generate great sages even if the German method more successfully produced committed ba'al haBatim. He justifies such a strategy despite his understanding that it will cause some to "separate from the Torah path" and he identifies with Rambam's elitism: "Let a thousand fools die and one sage enjoy."[xlvi] Modern Orthodox Jews will be wary of attributing that much stature to gedolim.

 

Hashkafic Diversity

 

R. Dessler writes that Hazal only argue in halakhic matters but not with regard to aggadic material since both positions convey aspects of the truth. Even when the gemara uses the word "u-pligi (and they disagree)" in an aggadic context, R. Dessler explains that it refers to portraying different angles on the matter rather than to actual dispute.[xlvii] Now, I do consider finding the truth in every side a valuable endeavor, but that does not mean that no disputes exist. For example, R. Dessler contends that Rambam and Ramban truly agree about Judaism's attitude toward medicine. Ramban states that, ideally the sick would turn to God and not to doctors but once people chose the natural order, they need to function within it and go to the doctor. According to R. Dessler, Rambam agrees and the medieval giant's robust endorsement of medicine is only for those who abandon the ideal path.[xlviii] The problem with his theory is that Rambam gives no hint of such a position, and it flies in the face of Rambam's consistent endorsement of the natural order.      

R. Shimshon Pincus' popular Shearim beTefila shares the same tendency. The Vilna Gaon on Tehillim says that a wicked man with full bitahon in God will receive divine benevolence. This idea seems to clash with both Hovot Halevavot and Hazon Ish. The former says that bitahon only works for someone free of sin, whereas the latter says bitahon never meant that things will work out the way I want. Rather than just taking note of an important debate, R. Pincus asserts that they all agree; it just depends on the level of trust. The highest level of bitahon guarantees good results even for the wicked.[xlix]

 The approach is not only incorrect; it is also harmful. We will not be able to adequately analyze the strengths and weaknesses of two positions when I start out by flattening them into one identical stance. Secondly, it leaves all Jews bereft of a hashkafic range of opinions with which to select from and identify with. We need to present our students with different views of providence so that they can connect with the position that coheres with their experiences. Hareidi minimizing of hashkafic variance hurts the community. 

 

A Contemporary Example

 

Perhaps some readers will think that all the sources I cite remain in the abstract realm of theory and do not seriously impact on current Hareidi decision-making. Investigation of Hareidi responses to the war currently going on between Israel and Hamas reveals otherwise. A small number of Hareidi men did enlist in the IDF, and a larger number of Hareidim participated in providing food and other services for those called up to the armed forces. However, public statements by the leadership strike a very different note.   

R. Dov Landau, Rosh Yeshiva of Slobodka in Bnei Brak and currently considered one of the gedolim, said that R. Shai Graucher, a man tirelessly dedicated to hessed for IDF soldiers, is a mazzik gamur (fully destructive person) for distracting time and resources away from Talmud Torah. R. Meir Kessler, Rav of Kiryat Sefer, wrote against taking time from Talmud Torah to engage in hessed initiatives for the war. R. Yaakov Hillel advised not to siphon funds away from supporting yeshiva learning toward the war effort. R. Yitzchak Meir Morgenstern allowed volunteering drives to help the soldiers but only on condition that the observant Jews not identify and feel connected to the erev rav of secular Jewry. R. Simcha Bunim Schreiber, a Rosh Yeshiva of Nesiv Hatorah appointed by Rav Shteinman said in a siha (brief discourse) that we need not feel greater gratitude to IDF soldiers than to garbage men. Furthermore, he contended that almost no one serves in Tzahal (Israel Defense Forces) willingly. The last claim is empirically false; witness the many reservists who showed up for duty without receiving a tzav shemoneh (draft order). Lest one think that such sentiments only find expression in the Israeli Hareidi rabbinate, R. Aharon Feldman, Rosh Yeshiva of Ner Yisrael, explained why he is not in favor of special prayers for soldiers at the front. "I am afraid that if you start to be mispallel (pray) for soldiers, this will glorify tzahal and will create problems later when they start passing laws to draft yeshiva bochurim into the army."   

How did these rabbis arrive at a position with such minimal sympathy for the major sacrifices made and personal risks taken by Israeli soldiers? The categories outlined in this essay provide the explanation. If one thinks that the Torah study of kollel fellows provides greater protection than those physically protecting our borders, then it becomes easier to downplay gratitude to hayyalim (Israeli soldiers). If a community adopts one value as supreme and excludes other important values, then no breaks in Talmud Torah are allowed to help those in the field. Making sure that Torah study continues becomes so important that we cannot even recite individualized prayers for soldiers in danger lest the community come to glorify soldiers more than yeshiva fellows. Finally, other Hareidi rabbanim who might disagree with these positions are not able to publicly criticize them so that it will not seem that real hashkafic debates exist or to avoid saying that a gadol made a serious error in judgment. R. Schreiber did receive some pushback, but there was no public argument made against the comments of R. Landau or R. Feldman.    

 

Conclusion

 

We could discuss other issues dividing between Hareidim and Modern Orthodoxy such as Da’as Torah, the relationship between peshat and derash, Hazal’s knowledge of science, the value of human ethical intuitions, and potential misbehavior of biblical heroes, but this will suffice for now. My list even leaves out certain additional communal flaws such as protecting abusers from the government and dishonest portrayals of Jewish history. Thus, I did not paint the blackest possible picture. 

I myself benefitted from learning in Hareidi yeshivot yet would not send my children to such institutions and think that I have adequately explained why. Those considering such a move should mull over the many concerns raised in this essay. Perhaps one can minimize the dangers by identifying with more temperate Hareidi voices such as R. Aaron Lopiansky. Additionally, Hareidim who live in the United States can count on the reality that moderate voices have greater influence in America than in Israel. On the other hand, the three most extreme voices surveyed in this essay are R. Avigdor Miller, R. Elya Weintraub, and R. Michel Shurkin. The first spent his entire rabbinic career in America and the other two studied and taught in the United States before moving to Israel. No risk-free options exist in life, and the Hareidi lifestyle involves difficulties and dangers.

            Some opponents of this essay will undoubtedly state that I have no right to write critically about gedolim. In a world of hashkafic debate, there is no substitute for evaluating different positions and seeing which ones make the most sense. This is what I have tried to do above, and it seems to me that most Modern Orthodox Jews would identify with my preferences. In fact, limiting ideological discussion to citing rabbinical authorities rather than analyzing issues is another significant weakness of the Hareidi community.

            What are the potential practical ramifications of this essay? If one lives in an “out of town community,” there may not be non-Hareidi educators available. However, one may live in a city with various hashkafic educational options, and these factors could influence decision-making. These ideas could impact on choices of yeshivot and seminaries. Perhaps parents should investigate whether or not staff members send their boys to the army and their girls to sherut leumi (National Service) or the army. If not, these teachers are falling short in their ethical commitment to Am Yisrael, and their students are much more likely to be exposed to institutional staffs dominated by Hareidi ideology.       

Although my main target audience is the Modern Orthodox readership, I would like to also address any Hareidi readers. No one likes criticism, and I imagine your instinctive reaction will be defensive. Please write a strong defense, but also consider the possibility of points worth admitting to. For example, perhaps clearly state that you utterly reject R. Miller's explanation for the Holocaust and that the portrayal of R. Haim Volozhin's hiding emotional wrought family letters from his student does not cohere with your worldview. 

I have mixed feelings about publishing this essay. At the Mesivta of Long Beach, at Toras Moshe, and especially at Camp Munk, I encountered many fellows of outstanding character from a Hareidi background who would not identify with the worldview of R. Shurkin or R. Miller. I have no desire to insult them or hurt their feelings. At the same time, these ideas exist in the Hareidi world, and it seems worthy to confront them. Furthermore, even my old friends have been influenced by these currents. It may manifest in discourse about women and gentiles, in failing to acknowledge that soldiers protect Medinat Yisrael more than kollel students, or in attributing excessive knowledge or authority to the gedolim.  I think it important to argue for a different style yahadut.   

Modern Orthodoxy has many shortcomings, which I have written about in several other forums, and our community needs to focus the bulk of its energies on self-improvement.[l] We must encourage more of our talented sons and daughters to consider Jewish education as a career and find ways to make that more financially feasible. If we generated communities with more powerful religious commitment, fewer would look elsewhere in search of spiritual authenticity. Even given all of that, this essay suggests that the Hareidi option is not a viable solution.
 


[i] See the comments of Joel B. Wolowelsky in his Letter to the Editor, The Torah U-Madda Journal 8 (1998–1999), pp. 329–331.

[ii] Some object to my using the term "Hareidi" for the American version. If readers prefers to substitute "yeshivish" or "black hat," it will not change the basic argument. 

[iii] R. David Kastel, Darkei David Sotah Vol. 2 (Jerusalem, 5752) p. 313.

[iv] R. Avigdor Miller, Awake My Glory: Aspects of Jewish Theology (New York, 1980), pp. 339–340.

[v] R. Michel Shurkin, Meged Givot Olam (Jerusalem 5762) 1:60. 

[vi] R. Yisrael Elyiahu Weintraub, Iggerot Daat (5771) p. 168. 

[vii] Iggerot Daat, p. 200.

[viii] Q and A: Thursday Nights with Rabbi Avigdor Miller Volume 3 (2014) p. 314. 

[ix] Meged Givot Olam  I:15–16. 

[x] Orhot Rabbenu (Bnei Brak 5756), 1:197.

[xi] Orhot Rabbenu 1:197.

[xii] Orhot Rabbenu 1:226.

[xiii] Darkei David p. 314. 

[xiv] Awake My Glory, p. 147.

[xv] R. Itamar Schwartz, Bilvavi Mishkan Evneh Volume 1 p. 119. 

[xvi] R. Dan Kestenbaum, Olam ha-Middot (5772), p. 174.

[xvii] Meged Givot Olam 1:79. 

[xviii] R. Michel Shurkin, Meged GIvot Olam Volume 2 (Jersualem, 5775) p. 56.

[xix] Kovetz Ma'amarim (Jerusalem 5765) p. 202.

[xx] Orhot Rabbenu 3:147. 

[xxi] Meged Givot Olam 1:60.

[xxii] Cited in ki-she-Yahadut Pogeshet Medina ed. Yedidya Stern et. al (Tel Aviv 2015) pp. 238–239. 

[xxiii] R. Yisrael Eliyahu Weintraub, Einei Yisrael, (Bnei Brak 5770) pp. 433–434.

[xxiv] Einei Yisrael, p. 434. 

[xxv] Awake My Glory, p. 151.

[xxvi] BBC Documentary on Rudolf Kastner "Setting the Past Free." Lipstadt's comments are at the 20-minute mark. 

[xxvii] Mikhtav me-Eliyahu 1 pp. 187–206.

[xxviii] Moreh Nevukhim 2:29, 48. 

[xxix] Commentary on Devarim (Jerusalem 5744) p. 92. 

[xxx] R. Hayim Shmulevitz, Sihot Mussar (Israel 2013) Vayikra 69 pp. 301–303.

[xxxi] For an excellent analysis of these issues, see David Shatz, "Practical Endeavor and the Torah u-Madda Debate," The Torah U-Madda Journal 3 (1991–1992), pp. 98–149. 

[xxxii] R. Nosson Scherman, "Finding God in the Rubble," Jewish Action (Winter 2001) p. 20. 

[xxxiii] Kovetz MIkhtavim me'et Maran Ba'al ha-Hazon Ish (Bnei Brak 5741) p. 5. 

[xxxiv] Meged Givot Olam 1:23.

[xxxv] Awake My Glory, p. 104.

[xxxvi] Iggerot Daat pp. 271–272. 

[xxxvii] R. Avigdor Miller, Rejoice O Youth (New York, 1962) pp. 349–351.

[xxxviii] Meged Givot Olam, 1:27.

[xxxix] Ha-Shakdan: Pirkei Mofet Odot Yegiah, u-Peirot mi-Shkedato beTorah shel Rabbenu..R. Elyashiv  (Jerusalem 5770/5771) p. 63.

[xl] Bilvavi Mishkan Eveneh Volume 2 p. 179. 

[xli] Asher Bergman, Shimusha Shel Torah (Bnei Brak 5758) pp. 24–25.

[xlii] See his Ma'amar al Haemunah in Kovetz Ma'amarim (Jerusalem 5765) pp. 1–6. 

[xliii] R. Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler, Mikhtav me-Eliyahu 1 (Israel 1990) pp. 173–174.

[xliv] Bilvavi MIshkan Evneh Volume 2, p. 294.

[xlv] Meged Givot Olam i:48–49.

[xlvi] Mikhtav me-Eliyahu 3 (Israel 2002) pp. 355–358.

[xlvii] Mikhtav me-Eliyahu 3 pp. 353–354.

[xlviii] Mikhtav m-Eliyahu 3 pp. 170–172.

[xlix] R. Shimshon Pincus, Shearim be-Tefila (Israel 5755) p. 80. 

[l] See my "Contemporary Challenges for Modern Orthodoxy," The Next Generation of Modern Orthodoxy ed. Shmuel Hain (New York 2012) pp. 299–317 and "Modern Orthodoxy and Discriminating Judgment," Conversations (Fall 2023) p. 1–6. 

Education, Morality, and Our Children

 

I must have been nine or ten the first time I learned about the Wannsee Conference. Wandering through the small Holocaust museum at our local JCC, I noticed the photo of the magnificent lakeside mansion where, in January 1942, 15 Nazi leaders sipped aged cognac and agreed on protocols for the deportation and systematic murder of 11 million European Jews. I recall reading the biographies of the men, and my mother pointing out that most held doctorate degrees. Years of academic study, the highest levels of intellectual achievement at Europe’s top universities, served to refine plans for the most barbaric plot in human history. The message was clear: Education does not ensure Morality.

I have thought about Wannsee often these last few months, as we have seen American college campuses ablaze with anti-Jew demonstrations, and administrators willfully blind to the meaning of slogans that call once again for Jewish genocide. I thought about it while I saw students lock themselves in libraries, fearful of their classmates banging and chanting while police directed the Jews to hide. Gone are last year’s trigger warnings, micro-aggressions, and anti-harassment policies. Absent are “diversity” officers paid to ensure a balmy “campus climate.” The most enviable institutions cannot or will not enforce their own rules, not when it comes to Jews.

I thought about the morality of those German PhDs as I read posts from my own college classmates calling Israeli soldiers “bloodthirsty” while dismissing Go-Pro videos of terrorist atrocities as “questionable.” And I wondered if education might actually destroy our moral sensitivity as I watched, live, the entirety of the December 5 congressional hearings, gripped with tension and wondering if the presidents of three of America’s most elite universities would come to their senses and plainly affirm their opposition to genocide. This was not supposed to be the hard question. It took years of education to buff away the ability to recognize a simple truth—screaming for Jewish genocide harasses Jewish students. 

And that simple truth leads me to ask a complicated question: Should Jewish parents send their sons and daughters to these schools? What is the impact on their own morality to be steeped in these environments for their formative years? What will this type of education do to them as human beings and as Jews? 

I’ve had the opportunity to speak with many students over the last several years. October 7 brought into the open dynamics that existed long before but were rarely discussed. But there is no doubt the outbreak of blatant Jew hatred, and the accompanying lack of visible effort to reduce or even condemn it, has had a profound impact on Jewish student life. 

Recent conversations with students break my heart. I heard from several how it’s “not that bad” on campus, yet they change their behavior anyway. Some remove the Jewish stars or kippah or summer camp t-shirts they’ve worn for years in order to erase their visible Jewish identity, hoping this will lessen harassment from classmates, or allow them to avoid discussions with unsympathetic “neutral” students and professors. Others complained about faculty excusing the massacres as “resistance,” canceling class to attend protests, allowing megaphone-bearing students to disrupt lectures, even having a Jewish student stand in the corner as a representative Jew.

One Jewish student talked about avoiding the grand front entrances of class buildings; she goes to class through the service entrances rather than cross the screaming crowds blocking the main doors. Another avoided class altogether because he couldn’t bear to face the classmate with whom he had spent endless hours working on problem sets; she was part of the groups that had sent the infamous letter blaming Israel while the massacres were still underway. What could he say to her? What if others agreed? Other students shared social media posts from classmates; one had posted “Let them burn!” on October 7, as gasoline-fueled fires were quite literally consuming entire families. To attend Harvard today, you must endure blatant Jew-hatred from classmates. 

Many will dissect how we got here, and how we can get out. But Jewish parents have a more immediate question to answer: 

Do we want this for our children? 

Jewish parents with children considering elite American colleges must ask themselves whether the pedigree is worth the price. The Jewish community has invested heavily in the Ivy League by every measure. We have built these elite institutions with our students, our faculty, our donations, and our scholarship. We have built Hillels and Chabads and dozens of other programs to support our Jewish students. And we have benefitted from the education and pedigree these universities provide, which have allowed American Jews to rise to the top of nearly every profession where education or social network matters. The benefits of these brand names on your resume last a lifetime. It’s a lot to give up.

As one whose life has been shaped by these connections, and whose children might potentially be as well, I nonetheless feel the temptation to abandon elite academia. Among the thousands of items I’ve seen since October 7, few stayed with me as much as the blunt honesty of Rabbi Yotav Eliach, Principal of Rambam Mesivta. As the world watched, NYU students tore down posters bearing the names and faces of the hostages, posted support for the atrocities on social media, and disrupted class with protests and chants to eliminate Israel “From the River to the Sea.” When an NYU admissions office sent a form email offering advice to early admission applicants, Rabbi Eliach wrote:

 

You sent me an email inviting my Orthodox Zionist Jewish students to apply early decision to NYU. Really?

Let me get to the point. You have too many faculty members and students who support Islamo-Nazi Hamas and Islamic Jihad Terror organizations. The slogans: Free Palestine, and From the River to the Sea Palestine will be free all mean one thing: GENOCIDE. Real Genocide of my People. Not imagined Genocide like the one that the protesters say happened or is happening to the Arabs of Gaza or the Arabs of Judea and Samaria. Since 1967 their populations have quadrupled … Your professors and students can chant that you want to throw us into ovens or the sea. I know: Free Speech. I guess all your “progressive” ideas of “Hate Speech” and “Microaggressions” don’t apply to Jews … You really expect us to send our sons and daughters to your school? … So they can be threatened and told that they should be burned, gassed, shot, raped, tortured? Really? And we should pay for the privilege of exposing our children to what you believe is “Education.” Think again.

 

Think again indeed. Even those without strong Jewish connection, or any at all, have come to doubt the value of an elite education. Harvard reported a 17 percent drop in early applications this year; a friend of mine who interviews for Harvard estimated that in the New York area, the numbers of early applications were more like 30 percent down. College advisors have reported that even those admitted to Harvard early are applying to other schools, something never seen before. Apparently, there are many who don’t find the current atmosphere attractive. 

In determining whether the benefits outweigh the costs, parents should consider the impact on identity, personality, and character of spending time in this environment.

First, what is the cost to everyday existence? The constant drumbeat of antisemitism prevents our kids from having a normal college experience. Indeed, the protestors acknowledge this as a goal—several hundred protestors storming Harvard’s main library during final exams brandished signs threatening “No Normal During Genocide.” This matters to all who want the best for their sons and daughters, who have worked hard to earn a spot at institutions and deserve equal, fair treatment. They deserve to feel welcome at their universities. They deserve the typical college experiences of making friends and attending class and pursuing extracurriculars without running a gauntlet of screaming accusers.

Even more important than their day-to-day experience, their fundamental character and identity transforms under these conditions. Since they attend college in late adolescence and early adulthood, as one’s ultimate values are forged, the situation many Jewish students now face will impact their outlook on Jewish identity for years to come. When students claim things are “not that bad,” they have learned to accept the abuse. They’ve accepted that their Jewish identity is risky to display and learned to manage, to understand the new reality. They may be as engaged as ever in their hearts, and enjoy celebrating their identity in Jewish spaces, but they hide their true identity in other environments.

Thankfully, some students continue to speak out, taking personal risk to appear in the media under their own names, calling out their professors, administrators, and classmates for allowing antisemitism to thrive. Most do not. Or they speak out anonymously. Even if they manage to resist actually believing the dominant propaganda excusing or justifying the attacks, they learn to speak the language of inaccurately explaining the outrageous antisemitism—not as menacing conduct that all decent humans should condemn, but as “free speech” reflecting a core principle of free society. When administrators fail to stem the tide of hatred, Jewish students adapt by inappropriately excusing those who threaten them with violence.

After a time, the antisemitic cancer may push to stage 2, where the students question their own beliefs. Jewish students (and faculty) repeatedly hear the message that in order to be on the side of good, to support human rights and freedom and minority rights, you must take a side, and that side is anti-Zionist and pro-Palestinian. Any decent person would at least question their beliefs if everyone around them tells them repeatedly that they are not only incorrect but deeply immoral. At elite colleges, in an environment where students naturally admire professors and trust their perspective on the material, they are even more likely to doubt themselves. Similarly, students assume a level of integrity and intelligence in their peers, who also had to qualify for admission. When students hear day after day that Israel commits genocide, expulsion, and mass punishment, it becomes nearly impossible to feel confident in support for Israel and identification with fellow Jews who express such support. The insidious nature of this process by which “being a nice person” requires doubting your own fundamental beliefs and group affiliation has long term impact. Are our students learning to stand up for themselves and others? To take risks? To be willing to express unpopular beliefs? These are not just important for their Jewish identity, but for their success in life. 

Some students take this a step further and fully internalize the message that to be good means to oppose Israel. This takes root so deeply that they join one of the many virulently anti-Israel groups that deliberately seek Jewish membership. Jewish Voices for Peace, IfNotNow, and other groups recruit Jewish students to divide the Jewish community and support the lie that hatred for Israel can be separated from hatred for Jews. The profound idiocy of this position should be obvious. Roughly half of world Jewry lives in Israel, a proportion that is growing all the time. Targeting Israelis means directly targeting half of all Jews. Moreover, Jews the world over have ties of kinship and friendship with Israeli Jews. You can’t support those who murder, rape, behead, and burn alive Israeli Jews and claim you don’t hate Jews. Campus activists try to rebrand a sadistic massacre of Jews as “justifiable resistance” and claim they don’t hate Jews. They chant slogans that are known euphemisms for killing all Jews (“globalize the intifada”) and eliminating the Jewish state (“from the river to the sea”) and claim they don’t hate Jews. And it doesn’t matter if they are Jewish. Some Jews collaborated with the Nazis, too.

Contrast this progression with the attitudes of Israeli Jews their same age, called upon to fight for their very survival while coping with unimaginable losses. I want my children to know what they stand for and to be willing to defend it. I want them to inhabit the spirit of Sergeant First-Class Joseph Gitarts z”l, a computer science student who served in the Tank Corps, in a note to his parents: “I lived a good and interesting life, at the same time I was never afraid of death. I could have hidden and stayed away. But it would go against everything I believe and value and who I consider myself to be.” 

American college students need not risk their lives in their Ivy League dorms, but parents do take risks in sending their children to institutions that allow antisemitism to shape their character. To ensure their students’ moral compass remains intact, parents must continue guiding their sons and daughters throughout their college years. By encouraging them to courageously represent their Jewish identity, beware of internalizing the hatred, and deepen their connection to Jewish values seeking truth and independent thought, our actions can help our students preserve their values while acquiring an education.

 

 

Saadia Gaon’s Solution to Anthropomorphisms in His Tafsîr

Saadia Gaon was born in 882 CE near the Upper-Egyptian city of Fayyúm as Se3adyah ben Yosef, or, in Arabic, Sa3îd ibn Yūsuf.  Already from an early age, Saadia was a prolific writer and the author of important works such as several dictionaries, a polemic work against the Jewish sect of the Qara’ites, a work on the Jewish calendar, and one of the first Jewish prayer books, to name a few. 

At the age of 36, Saadia was noticed by the leaders of the great Jewish community of Babylonia (present-day Iraq) and was invited to assume the title of Gaon and, as that title implies, to head one of the world’s two most prestigious Talmud academies, which was then located in Baghdad. Incidentally, Saadia was the first person from outside Babylonia ever to be appointed as Gaon.  Saadia Gaon would remain in Baghdad until his death in 942. 

In this article, I want to discuss his influential Arabic Bible translation, which he named the Tafsîr[1], and specifically how he deals with the problem of divine anthropomorphisms. At the same time, we cannot avoid looking at his certainly most famous work, Kitāb al-‘Amānāt wa’l-I3tiqādāt, better known under its Hebrew name Sēfer ‘Èmūnōt we-D­­ē3ōt, or in English The Book of Beliefs and Opinions.  The reason for discussing certain aspects of The Book of Beliefs and Opinions is that it sheds important light on Saadia’s philosophy underlying his Bible translation; the Tafsîr which, by the way, does not include the entire Hebrew Bible but merely the Five Books of Moses, and the books of Isaiah, the Psalms, Proverbs, Job, Song of Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, Esther, and Daniel.

Let us now discuss those elements of Saadia Gaon’s philosophical outlook that impacted the wording of his Tafsîr, and how his perceptions are rooted in the intellectual trends of his time and environment.

In Saadia’s days, the Muslim world was rife with philosophical activity, and the city of Baghdad was its buzzling epicenter.  With the Muslim conquest of the Middle East, North Africa, and Spain, these vast territories had been brought under one cultural umbrella and with Arabic as the common lingua franca, communication and exchange of ideas had become a reality. Once a growing corpus of ancient Greek philosophic and scientific texts became available in Arabic translation, a considerable section of the intellectual elite developed an appetite for all things classic, philosophy being among the top tier topics.

This embrace of philosophy took place across the religious spectrum of Islam, Christianity, and Judaism. People from all over the Arabic world and from all three religions came together to discuss matters of philosophy in interdenominational groups, often even including Zoroastrians, Hindus, and Buddhists. 

One of the new insights that had taken root was that Divine revelation was not the only path to knowledge and truth. The God-given human faculty of Reason was another way to acquire truthful insights. And as both strategies are tools bestowed by the same Almighty God to achieve knowledge, if applied correctly, both Reason and Revelation should lead to the one, same truth. In other words, accurate reasoning should lead one to the same insights as presented by Holy Scripture while a correct understanding of Scripture cannot not contradict Reason

The idea that true Revelation cannot contradict Reason, must necessarily have an impact on the way religious traditions are understood. Sometimes Reason may yield to Revelation, for instance when scientific insights are rejected based on a traditional understanding of holy texts, and at other times Scripture is reinterpreted to match contemporary rational, scientific, or philosophical insights. 

In the process of reaching conclusions on issues of truth, such as the existence of God, eternity, justice, free will, reward and punishment, etc., in many cases Reason or Revelation – or both – must be redefined for the two to harmoniously meet.  Naturally, regarding the precedence that either Reason or Revelation receives in this process, there is a continuum of approaches. When faced with an apparent conflict between text and logic, on one end of the spectrum some thinkers may have no scruples to reconsider established textual interpretations, while for people on the opposite end, this would be an outrageous notion. 

At this point, the exercise of defining the relationship between Revelation and Reason, is called Kalām, an Arabic translation of the Greek word Logos (logic, reason, and speech). This choice of terminology is interesting in more than one way.  When according to the Bible and the Qur’an God creates the world through speech (Gen. 1:3 “Wayyōmer ‘Elohîm yehî ‘ōr, wàyhi ‘ōr” – God spoke: ‘Let there be light!’, and there was light”; Sura 36:82 “Innamā ‘amruhū ‘idhā ‘arāda ‘an yaqūla lahū kun, fa-yakūn” – “All it takes when He wants something, is to say to it: ‘Be!’, and it is.”), the implication for Kalāmists would be that He also creates it with logic, wisdom, and according to reason.

Let us now turn to the most relevant motive within Kalām thought that impacted Saadia Gaon’s Tafsîr, i.e. the notion that God is One. For Kalāmists, this notion meant much more than simply the belief that there is only One God.  The word One can be a quantitative numeral in the sense of ‘only one god’ (and no more): not four gods, not three, not two, but only One God. However, those involved in Kalām took the notion of God’s Oneness to a much deeper level as to mean that God’s essence is One, and that there is no oneness like God’s Oneness. Nothing is as one as God is One.  For instance, if – let’s say – you hold an apple in your hand, that is one apple. However, the apple is not inherently one… it consists of parts: its core, its flesh, its peel, etc. God, on the other hand, being essentially One, cannot be subdivided into parts.  Naturally, this presented some contention between Jewish and Muslims Kalāmists on the one hand, and Christians on the other, concerning the dogma of the Trinity.

Furthermore, anything in the physical world, including all objects and bodies, firstly consists of parts and secondly has certain limitations and confinements. Physical bodies have a top and a bottom, arms, legs, a head, a torso, etc. Therefore, most Kalāmist thinkers concluded that God cannot be or have a body. Furthermore, while God is Unlimited and Omnipresent, an apple is only one in its state of being separate from other apples, which is only possible because of its limited character. Certainly, an apple can be in your hand, on the table, in the fridge, hanging in a tree, and floating in a river. All these positions are possible, but they cannot be possible at the same time. These locations are possible due to a change in location, change being the key term here. God, on the other hand can be everywhere at the same time without change. 

How does not changing relate to the notion of Oneness?  According to many Kalāmist thinkers, something that changes is by definition not consistent, and is therefore not one. According to this line of thinking, an apple that starts out green and hard, then turns red and juicy, and later becomes brown and putrid, shows different configurations and is therefore not inherently one. 

As anything in the created, physical world goes through some kind of change, it follows that only God is truly One.  When we let this train of thought sink in, we will soon discover that this philosophical notion of Oneness must cause a plethora of problems when it comes to reading, interpreting, and translating the Bible. In Scripture, God is frequently described both with physical features and as going through changes. Let’s start with some examples of physical features scripturally ascribed to God. 

In Genesis, God is described as walking through the Garden of Eden. We are informed that God led out His people with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, His eyes traverse the entire world, His ears may hear our prayers, we are told about the words of His mouth, and that the earth is His footstool. Such human-like descriptions of God are called “anthropomorphisms”.

An often-utilized solution to solve such discrepancies between the literal reading of Holy Scripture on the one hand, and rational insights on the other, is the application of metaphor. According to this approach, Scripture is given to imperfect people, some of whom are unable to conceive of God in more abstract ways. For this reason, God revealed His word “in the language of men”, meaning in the way that most people are used to speaking and understanding. Such anthropomorphic descriptions should however be understood as metaphorical references to underlying, less physical truths. 

As alluded to before, different approaches emerged within the wider Kalām movement. At one end of the spectrum, there were thinkers that showed an inclination to give precedence to logical insights and reinterpret their Holy Scriptures and traditions accordingly.  Within the Muslim community, this approach was represented by a school called the Mu3tazila. Mu3tazilites rejected any notion of divine physicality and took every anthropomorphic reference to God in Scripture as a metaphor.  On the opposite end of the spectrum were the traditionalists who postulated that everything in Scripture must be taken at face value. An intermediate position was taught by the school of the so-called Ash3arites who asserted that God is not physical while all scriptural descriptions of God are nonetheless true in a literal sense. However, one should not try to solve this contradiction through philosophizing, but instead accept the Quranic statements as a divine mystery.  If we want to place Saadia Gaon in one of these three categories, we clearly find him in the camp of the Mu3tazilites. In his Book of Beliefs and Opinions, he clearly and avidly rejects the notion of divine anthropomorphisms. 

In Saadia’s days, many Kalāmist thinkers believed that the time had come, at least for an evolved group of people to understand these deeper meanings behind such physical descriptions. Saadia tried to facilitate this higher understanding in his Tafsîr.  Let’s look at some examples.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God’s hand. Ex. 9:3 “Behold, the hand of the Lord will bring a terrible plague on your livestock.”  In line with his philosophy, Saadia translates this into Arabic as fa-‘inna ‘āfat Allāh kā’ina fî mawāshîka[2]  (“Behold, the plague of God is present in your livestock”).  
Saadia is however not always consistent in avoiding the use of the Arabic word ‘hand’ (yad).  Deut. 26:8 for instance is translated very literally as “God (Allah) brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand (bi-yad shadîd) and an outstretched arm (dhirā3 mamdūda)...”  It is worth noting though that the Arabic word yad can also mean ‘power’, ‘authority’, ‘control’, or even ‘favor’.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God’s mouth.  Ex. 17:1  The Israelites traveled from place to place “according to the mouth of the Lord”, is translated by Saadia as 3alā qawl Allāh (“…according to the word/speech of God”).

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God’s ears. Num. 11:18  “For you have wept in the ears of the Lord” is translated in the Tafsîr as (“For you have wept before the Lord”).

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God’s eyes. Deut. 11:12   “The eyes of the Lord are always upon it (upon the Land)” is rendered in Arabic as wa-dā’iman 3inâyatuhu bihā.  Even though the Arabic word 3inâya is directly related to the word for eye (3ayn), it is not to be understood as eyes. The meaning is rather a bit less physical, instead meaning ‘seeing’, ‘inspecting’, ‘surveying’.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God’s face. Deut. 34:10  “There has not arisen a prophet since in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face.”  First, a comment on ‘the Lord knew’. Many who are familiar with Biblical Hebrew will know that the verb yā3 ‘to know’ means more than merely being acquainted with someone. Instead, it denotes a very intimate kind of knowing, one that is usually reserved for spousal interactions. Concerning the phrase ‘face to face’, Saadia could have chosen a literal translation of the word “face”, which would not necessarily constitute an anthropomorphism. Just like the Hebrew word panîm can mean several things besides ‘face’, so too the Arabic word wajh Saadia could have chosen the phrase wajhan bi-wajh which means both ‘face to face’ as well as ‘in private’, or ‘directly’.  Nonetheless, Saadia Gaon chose something else instead, but the different manuscripts are not in agreement on what that something else was. A 1893 Paris publication of the Tafsîr by Joseph Derenbourg has Saadia’s version as li-‘anna Allāh 3arrafahu mushāfihanwhich means “For God orally (verbally) made known to him; informed him.”  Two observations are in order here: By using the expression mushāfihan (‘orally’ or ‘verbally’, i.e. not via dreams or visions), Saadia avoids any anthropomorphic perception that could be caused by the expression face-to-face. Secondly, he renders the word ‘to know’ into Arabic as a causative verb (3arrafa/informed instead of 3arafa/knew), meaning, instead of ‘He knew him’, he translates ‘He made him know’, ‘He informed him’.  We will see Saadia resorting to a causative understanding of verbs in other examples as well.  However, in the 2015 printed and vocalized edition of Rabbi Yantob Chaim haCohen[3], which no doubt is based on a different manuscript as Derenbourg’s, the Tafsîr reads “Li-‘anna Allāh nājāhu shifāhan”  (For God verbally entrusted in him; confided in him). 

Num. 6: 25  “May the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you.”
In this case, Saadia applies a literal translation of the word “face” (wajh), which as we already mentioned does not need to be an anthropomorphism. In addition to face, wajh also can mean ‘intention’, ‘direction’, or ‘reputation’.

Remarkably however, in the next verse: Num. 6: 26, the Gaon does not render panîm as wajh.  “May the Lord lift up His face (countenance) over you and give you peace” is rendered as “wa-yaqbal bi-qadihi wa-yuayyir laka salām”. This phrase makes for a somewhat puzzling Arabic, but I believe it can be best translated as “May He kindly direct His good intentions towards you and give you peace.”

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God smelling.  In Gen. 8:21 Saadia transforms two anthropomorphisms in one verse (i.e. God smelling and God having a heart) by rendering the text “The Lord smelled the pleasing aroma and said in His heart, never again will I curse the earth because of humans” as “God accepted the pleasing offering and said out of His own accord, ‘I shall not again…”

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God sitting.  Ps. 29:10   “The Lord sat enthroned at the flood; yea He sits enthroned as King forever.” When read physically, sitting involves a bodily posture, which then implies a body and a certain part of the body, instrumental for sitting. The Tafsîr has “Inna Allāh, kamā naaba al-3ālam li--ṭūfān waqtan, ka-dhālika naaba mulk ‘ummatihi ‘abadan”; (Just like God once upheld the world during the flood, so too does He uphold the dominion of his nation forever.)

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God rising. Num. 10:35 “Rise up, O Lord, and let Your enemies be scattered.”  Naturally, if God is to rise up in a literal way, it would seem like a change, a transition from either sitting to standing, or less physically, from inaction to action. Saadia Gaon’s solution is quite interesting. He has: “Qum yā Rabb, bi-naṣrinā!” Even though the Arabic imperative “qum!”, like its Hebrew equivalent, means ‘get up’, or ‘rise up!’, in combination with the preposition bi-, the meaning becomes ‘being concerned with something’, ‘undertaking’ or ‘executing something’.  By adding the preposition bi- and the object naṣrinā (our victory), this changes the meaning exactly to what Saadia would consider to be the deeper, underlying message of the verse: “O Lord, help us!”, and at the same time: “Accomplish our triumph!”

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God resting.  Gen. 2: 2-3   God created the world in six days and rested on the seventh day.  It is worth noting that Islamic polemicists frequently bring up such Biblical verses as proof that the People of the Book (Jews and Christians) have corrupted their Holy Scriptures. Because – thus goes the argument – it is preposterous to believe that God can become tired and in need of rest. While I personally have encountered this argument many times in my interactions with Muslims, I know of no proof that this line of reasoning was already used in Saadia’s days, but I believe it to be likely. Assuming that Saadia knew of this argument, it becomes especially interesting to see how he interprets these texts.

In his Book of Beliefs and Opinions, in his Treatise on God (II), Chapter XII, he writes (let me paraphrase): “Concerning anything involving God’s action, even though we call the Creator “Maker”, the meaning of such a term must not be understood in a corporeal sense. A physical agent cannot produce an effect upon anything before first acting upon himself. He must first himself move. Only then can he generate motion in something else. However, for God, He only needs to entertain the will to have a thing come into being.” (…)  Therefore, when Scripture speaks of the works of God, this must all be understood in this light, namely that when God creates something, He brings it into being without taking it in hand. Scripture may mention a Divine act (as in “And God made” - Gen. 1:7)  and sometimes the opposite of acting (as in “And He rested”).  However, just as “He made” was accomplished without movement or work, when it is said “He rested”, this was not a rejuvenation after labor or exertion. When the Scriptures say that God “rested”, it merely means that He discontinued His work of creation and production.  In other words, Saadia explains that the Hebrew verb shāvàt means the interruption of an activity: for God the interruption of creation; for humans the interruption of their daily work; every seven years, for the land the interruption of agricultural production. 

Gen. 2:2  “On the seventh day, God discontinued (wayyishbōt) all the work He had done.”  Saadia translates this as “wa-3aṭṭala fîhi shay’an ‘an yukhlaq[4]…” (“On it, He made anything discontinue from being created”). This translation exactly reflects the underlying meaning as explained by Saadia in his Book of Beliefs and Opinions, namely not that God took a break from working, but that He made His creation take a break on the seventh day. Instead of translating the intransitive verb wayyishbōas 3aṭila (‘to take a break‘), he rendered the verb as transitive (equivalent to a pi33ēl), meaning ‘to make something take a break[5].’ 

Ex. 20:11  For in six days, the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but He rested on the seventh day. Therefore, the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy.”  Saadia has wa-‘arāḥahā fî l-yawm as-sābi3 (“and He gave it rest on the seventh day”).Here we see Gaon’s resort to a strategy we encountered before, namely assigning a transitive meaning to an intransitive verb. 

Ex. 31:17   “…And on the seventh day, He rested and was refreshed (shāvàt wayyinnāfàsh).”  The Hebrew word nèfesh is used for both soul and breath, and the verb le-hinnāfēsh can be translated as catching your breath or as restoring one’s soul or spirit).  Here too, Saadia uses Arabic verbs with transitive meanings: wa-fî l-yawm as-sabt, 3aṭṭalahā wa-‘arāḥahā: “…on the seventh day, He interrupted IT (i.e. His work) and gave IT (i.e. creation) rest.”)

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God speaking.  Num 1:1 “And the Lord spoke to Moses…”):  When studying the Tafsîr, we see that Saadia treats God’s speaking in two different ways, depending on the context.  When God speaks to someone, for example Abraham or Moses, he uses the regular expression kallama, such as here: Thumma kallama Allāh Mūsā.  It seems that Saadia Gaon does not consider this an objectionable anthropomorphism.  Indeed, when we read what Saadia says about God’s speech in his Book of Beliefs and Opinions, (paraphrasing Treatise II, Chapter 12): “When Scripture uses the expression ‘The Lord spoke’, the meaning of this statement is that God created speech, which He conveyed through the medium of air to the hearing of the prophet or the people in question. The Arabic language permits God’s speech to be characterized in accordance with our interpretation.”  On a sidenote, according to Saadia explanationthe Arabic does not cover a correct philosophical understanding of the opposite of speech, i.e. of silence.  Having said this, it is no surprise that we see throughout his Tafsîr the use of the verb kallama.  However, when the speech of God is mentioned in another context, not to address humans, but instead as the pronouncement of a decree, as in the story of creation: “God said, ‘Let there be light’, and there was light”, a different strategy is applied. There, Saadia writes “Shā’a Allāh ‘an yakūn nur, fa-kāna nūr” (“God wanted that there should be light, and there was light.”)

__________________________________

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God being jealous.  In his Beliefs and Opinions, Saadia Gaon also takes issue with human-like functions, mental states, and emotions, such as:  God being jealous, God remembering, God regretting, etc. Some examples:  
Ex. 20:5  “For I, the Lord, your God am a jealous God.”  Saadia has here: “A-Ṭā’iq al-Mu3āqib” (“Powerful and Inflicting punishment”). 
God remembering.  Saadia Gaon explains in the Book of Beliefs and Opinions that Scripture’s description of God as ‘recollecting’, ‘remembering’, alludes to the deliverance of humans from a painful situation. He mentions  “God remembered Noah” (Gen. 8:1) and “God remembered Rachel” (Gen. 30:22).  Saadia claims that this both Hebrew (zākhàr) and Arabic (dhakara) have this same implication. That God’s ‘remembering’ is not to be understood in the human sense of the word becomes clear when we consider that the opposite word for remembering (forgetting) is never applied to God. When God desists from delivering His creatures, an expression is used as in Lamentations 2:1: “He remembered not His footstool.”
God regretting.   Gen. 6: 5-6  “The Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great on the earth, and that all the impulse of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continuously. And the Lord regretted that He had made humankind, and it grieved Him in His heart.”  This last verse has no less than two striking anthropomorphisms, namely God regretting and God grieving.  By again using the strategy of making verbs transitive, Saadia comes with a remarkable interpretation:  “Fa-tawa33adahum Allāh ba3damā ana3ahum fi l-‘ar, wa-‘awala l-mashaqqa ‘ilā qulūbihim”  (“Then, after having created them on the earth, God distressed them and deposited hardship in their hearts.”) In other words, God Himself was not distressed by regrets, which would be a characteristic of mortal creatures, but gave the people distress as a punishment for their evil. Likewise, God was not grieved in His heart, but instead placed grief in the hearts of the wicked.
Seeing God.   We have seen how Saadia tackled anthropomorphisms rather successfully by translating physical descriptions with the allegedly underlying deeper meaning behind expressions like God’s heart, God’s ears, God’s eyes, God’s mouth, etc., as well as applying transitive translations to verbs that seem to be intransitive. However, this alone could not solve every case of anthropomorphism. 
The most difficult passages where people are described as having actually seen God would need a different approach. These are references such as “They saw the God of Israel” (Ex. 24:10).

Saadia Gaon explains in his Book of Beliefs and Opinions that what people saw was not God Himself, in His true essence, but rather God’s Glory (in Hebrew: the Kavōof God). This Kavōd is some kind of representation of God, created by God Himself, to allow people to perceive some Divine imagery. This Kavōd is also God’s messenger, and His exalted angel called “the Angel of God”. (N.b., the Angel of God is different from an angel of God.)  Some other names for this Kavōd are the Light of God, the Throne of Glory, and the Divine Presence(“Shekhiná”).

Ex. 24:10 “They saw the God of Israel. Under His feet was something like a pavement of lapis lazuli, as bright blue as the sky.”  The phrase “They saw the God of Israel” is translated by Saadia as “They saw the Light of the God of Israel”, while he renders “Under His feet…”, as: “Below it” (i.e. below the light).

Ex. 24:17   [Torah:] “The appearance of the glory of the Lord was like devouring fire on the top of the mountain.” [Tafsîr:] “The sight of God’s light was like a devouring fire…”

Ex. 33:18   [Torah:] “Show me, please, Your glory.” [Tafsîr:] “Show me Your light.”

Ex. 33: 22-23  [Torah:] “When My glory passes by, I will place you in a cleft of the rock. I will cover you with My hand, until I have passed by. The, I will remove My hand so that you will see My back, but My face shall not be seen.” 
[Tafsîr:] When My light passes by you, I will have placed you in a cleft of a rock. I will shade you with My clouds until its beginning has passed. Then, I will remove My clouds so that you will see the last end of My light, but its beginnings, you shall not see.”

We have seen how and why Saadia Gaon was determined to render an explanation, a Tafsîr, in which anthropomorphisms were addressed in a philosophically sound manner, according to the ideals of Mu3tazila Kalām.  Saadia was convinced that believers should strive to understand the deeper meanings behind physical descriptions of God. Saadia rendered such portrayals with what he believed were the underlying deeper truths. Sometimes he solved textual difficulties by interpreting intransitive verbs as transitive. Finally, he presented the idea of a created entity called ‘the Glory of God’, ‘the Light of God’, or ‘the Angel of the Lord’ which would account for all Biblical reports of people who are said to have seen God. Later in the development of Jewish thought, especially within the movement of the medieval “German Pietists” (Ḥasidē Ashkenaz) Middle Ages, Saadia’s notion of the ‘Glory of God’ would inspire entirely new forms of spirituality and mysticism.

 


[1] Arabic for exegesis or explanation.

[2] As Saadia Gaon’s original does not have vowelsand as it is doubtful that he intended for it to be read with ‘I3rāb and tanwîn according to the rules of classical Arabic grammar, I have avoided it in my transliteration.

[3] Yantob ayim haCohen, Torah Saadia Gaon, Jerusalem 2015

[4] Yantob ayim vocalization reflects the active form yakhluq (that he would create). In my opinion, that would only make sense if the word order were different: ‘an yakhluq shay’an. It that case, the verb should be taken as intransitive (wa-3aila), rendering “God took a break from creating anything”.

[5] In grammatical terms, an intransitive verb has no object, meaning it happens in/to oneself (e.g. sitting, thinking, resting, etc.) while a transitive verb does have an object (e.g. seeing, creating, freeing something).

A “(Post-)Modern” Rabbinic Idea of Equality

 

In current popular discourse, various parts of the political spectrum are internally rupturing as they struggle to ascertain whether all human beings are indistinguishably identical or irreconcilably different, failing in their lack of nuance to comprehend that both are simultaneously true. On the political left, ironically, the very same criticism raised by Foucault of the Panopticon wielding “invisible power” could be leveled against those pledging fealty to thinkers like him; in their ideological zeal, they have created a world in which the individual must “virtue signal” and not step outside the groupthink. Meanwhile, on the right, the same jingoism that has ever fostered tribalism and sectarian violence has resurged in recent years with renewed vigor. The Jewish world has not been immune to these changes, but consider how traditionally, Judaism allowed for plurality of thought, although not plurality of action, in order that the Torah not be made into two torot. However, as early as the sixteenth century, it became apparent that there are not two torot, but many hundreds of different torot, shattering the Jewish unity of practice.[1] In stark contrast to this plurality has been the growing constriction of “permissible” Jewish thought, whether that be the book burnings of Maimonides’ works, or the excommunication of Elia Benamozegh. Increasingly, those who express opinions outside the “accepted mainstream” are considered dangerous, disruptive, and deviant, often emitting that distinctive, imperceptible-to-the-layperson yet perceptible-by-the-great-rabbi “waft of heresy” that has been the cause of so many bans and censors. I would like to therefore present an idea of equality, which, I believe, stems from rabbinic ideas found in our classical texts. This notion of equality, which draws on modern ideas as well as some post-modern thought, permits one to recognize the difference between individuals, and yet not feel afraid or threatened by their divergence. On the contrary, there is much to be learned from those with whom we disagree.

To begin, the Torah presents a model of society without hierarchy. This is seen in enactments such as the cancellation of debt (which amounts to no permanent loans), the inability to permanently lose ancestral land, as well as how acts of tzedaka are enshrined in law to create a culture of support and generosity. Those relationships of subordination that do still exist, such as master/slave, are steered away from the harsh Ancient Near Eastern parallels and humanized. This horizontal model is produced by an absolute equality under the law of Israel; Judaism functions much more as a legal system than as a religion, and all are equal subjects under the nomos. For example, distinct from other Ancient Near Eastern societies is how the king is subject to the law. Deuteronomy 17:15–20 enumerates how the king is appointed at the behest of the people (not self-appointed by the power of his own might), has additional laws limiting his position, and must write a copy of the Torah to be with him at all times.[2] Further, in the Ancient Near East the king was frequently a manifestation of the divine, considered to be in the literal “image of God.” In the Torah’s presentation of creation, not the king but rather all human beings are described as being in God’s image. Even more surprising than the king being bound to the law, is that God is likewise bound by the covenant of Torah God formed with Israel. The Talmud Yerushalmi[3] quotes a Greek saying: “For the king, the law is not written.” The Talmud contrasts the conduct of a human king, who does not fulfill his own decrees, with the conduct of God, who is first to fulfill his own decrees.[4] The completely infinite being who is utterly free has chosen to be bound in Its actions and relate to humans in a specific way, thus is a subject under the law. This covenant between God and Israel, through its bilateral nature, gives an unprecedented role to human beings in their relationship with the Sovereign Being.

God forms the covenant of Torah in much the same way as a sovereign king does with the representative of his suzerainty in the Late Bronze Age, usually the subordinate king.[5] However, this “treaty” with the subordinate king is formed not with Moses, the leader, nor with the group-entity Israel. It is formed with “the common man of Israel… every man in Israel is to view himself as having the status of a king conferred on him—a subordinate king who serves under the protection of, and in gratitude to, a divine sovereign.”[6] The option for relationship with the divine sovereign is open and available to all, regardless of class or status. This is echoed in the following statement of our Sages:

 

There are three crowns: The crown of Torah, the crown of priesthood, and the crown of kingship. The crown of priesthood—Aaron merited and took it. The crown of kingship—David merited and took it. The crown of Torah—behold, it is placed for [all] generations [to merit]; anyone who merits Torah, is as if he has merited all three [crowns], and anyone who does not merit Torah, is as if he has not merited a single one of them.[7]

 

What are ostensibly privileged classes of priests and royalty, are instantly undermined by the single authority for Jews—the Law. This democratization of the law was achieved even in biblical times. With the development of the alphabet, writing was removed from the sole province of the priests (hieroglyphs) or scribes (cuneiform), and instead transferred to the people, all of whom were charged with the writing of a scroll of the Law. 

            No fewer than 36 times does the Torah enjoin the people of Israel not to oppress the stranger, let alone the plethora of prophetic passages dealing with this idea. What marks out the prophets of the Hebrew Bible is their increased sensitivity to, and consequent decrying of, social injustices, not cultic ones. As Heschel writes:

 

We and the prophet have no language in common. To us the moral state of society, for all its stains and spots, seems fair and trim; to the prophet it is dreadful. So many deeds of charity are done, so much decency radiates day and night; yet to the prophet satiety of the conscience is prudery and flight from responsibility. Our standards are modest; our sense of injustice tolerable, timid; our moral indignation impermanent; yet human violence is interminable, unbearable, permanent… The prophet makes no concession to man’s capacity. Exhibiting little understanding for human weakness, he seems unable to extenuate the culpability of man.[8]

 

What makes this so significant? Why is ill-treatment of the stranger so highly criticized, above all else? Perhaps because the stranger is the paradigm of the “other.” Hebrew teaching has, since days of old, placed a premium on treatment of the stranger. In II Samuel 21, we read of the famine in the land on account of Saul’s mistreatment of the Gibeonites. The Talmud[9] greatly expands this story homiletically, portraying multiple points of interest. The story begins with a famine, brought about because of both the lack of honor given to Saul (he had not received proper burial) as well as Saul’s negative actions toward the Gibeonites—both are injustices that need to be addressed. When the Gibeonites demand their savage appeasement price of seven of Saul’s offspring to be publicly executed, David agrees. The Talmud notes how David considers this request to be particularly merciless, rendering the Gibeonites unfit to be a part of the Israelite nation and yet he still accedes! Finally, the text records how their bodies were left unburied, nailed atop the rock in Givat Shaul, exposed to the fowl and beasts. The Talmud challenges the idea that children can be put to death for the sin of the father, and that corpses can be left exposed overnight, based on verses in the Torah. To the first, the Talmud responds, “Better a letter of Torah be uprooted, than publicly desecrate God’s name,” and to the second, ‎‎"Better a letter of Torah be uprooted, in order that God’s name be publicly sanctified.” The Talmud explains that passers-by would inquire about the bodies, and thereby come to know what had happened. Which, as Levinas puts it, was that “in Israel, princes die a horrible death because strangers were injured by the sovereign.”[10] As we see, the treatment of the stranger is made equivalent to the sanctification of God’s name, because God is the ultimate other. In fact, the human relationship with God is frequently modeled in regard of human relationships with other humans, and thus our treatment of the stranger is an index for our relationship with God.

A mishna states: “A human being imprints one hundred imprints with a single seal, and all are similar to each other. But the King, King of kings, the holy One, blessed be He imprinted every human being with the seal of Adam the First, and yet not a single one of them is similar to his fellow.”[11] The singular imprint of God is expressed in the very diversity of humanity. To truly begin to see the signification of God in creation, one must learn to appreciate the other. As José Faur observed, this idea of God as the ultimate “other” is captured by the Hebrew term ot.[12] This term can mean a “sign” as well as a “distinctive mark” (and therefore letter of the alphabet) but also thereby “absolutely distinct.” Ot is thus used by the Talmud to refer to God as being an ot among His myriad angels,[13] i.e., absolutely distinct from them. Faur concludes, “As an ot, God is the absolute and unbounded difference.” He cites Derrida’s description: “Whether He is Being or is the master of beings, God himself is, and appears as what He is, within difference, that is to say, as difference and within dissimulation.”[14] As Sacks puts it:

 

We encounter God in the face of a stranger. That, I believe, is the Hebrew Bible's single greatest and counterintuitive contribution to ethics. God creates difference; therefore it is in one-who-is-different that we meet God. Abraham encounters God when he invites three strangers into his tent. Jacob meets God when he wrestles with an unnamed adversary alone at night. The Book of Ruth, which tells the prehistory of David, Israel's greatest king, reaches its climax when Ruth says to Boaz (her “redeemer”), “Why have I found favour in your eyes such that you recognise me, though I am a stranger” (2:10). The human other is a trace of the Divine Other.[15]

 

Given that this is the case, the respect shown for the other is a yardstick of measuring the development (some would say morality) of a society. Further, it is thus impossible for an individual or community to have a genuine relationship with God, if that individual or society mistreats the other. One’s relationship with God must be predicated on recognition of God’s ultimate otherness, hence Maimonides’ via negativa to remove all traces of one’s self-projection onto God. If one’s actions toward the stranger indicate that one is incapable of loving freely one who is different, then their relationship with God must also be called into question, for they must surely be incapable of loving one as supremely other as God. Instead, such a person has—consciously or unconsciously—recreated God in their own image, imputing to God the characteristics deemed positive in their subjective eyes.

Let us digress, for a moment, to the nature of existence. Thinkers from the kabbalistically inclined R’ Zadok HaKohen Rabinowitz of Lublin[16] to the philosophical Gersonides[17] have described the world as a book, authored by God. This means that the world is subject to interpretation through different lenses, as is the text of a book. This idea is captured by the Eastern parable of The Blind Men and the Elephant, in which a group of blind men encounter an elephant, each one feeling a different part of it, and therefore describing it differently. If creation is a book, then some discussion of linguistics is in order. Consider Saussure’s distinction between langue and parole. In the parole, or speech act, speakers draw on langue, a shared repository of a sign system with specific sign values. These sign values do not inherently contain “positive” value in the construction of sentences in an essentialist way, any more than individual phonemes do in the construction of words. Instead, the sign values are generated by the difference between the signs. Further, compare the sentences “I went to the bank of the river” and “I went to the bank near the river.” Despite ultimately deriving from a shared etymological source, the two “banks” in these sentences have completely different values. The specific value in each sentence is created by its standing in syntagmatic opposition to the other parts of the sentence, most pointedly “of” and “near.” Additionally, these sign-values can be exchanged for similar values without changing the meaning of the syntagm, and thus the specific sign chosen is not essential. For example, “I went to the bank near the brook/stream/flowing water” would all be acceptable, or even “I went to the bank near the post office” if the sign “river” serves only as a placeholder for a geographical indicator of proximity to the bank. A corollary of interpreting the world and existence as a book is that words in the book (by which I mean entities within creation) do not have inherent, essential value. Value derives only from standing in syntagmatic opposition to an other. There is no pre-existent, metaphysical self/other dichotomy in which cogito ergo sum, to the exclusion of all others. The presupposed metaphysical “I” does not exist. This idea, beyond Sartre’s regard or George Hebert Mead’s Symbolic Interactionism, postulates that the self is not just influenced, even formatively so, by the other, but that the very existence of a “self” is only created in its opposition to “other.” Sacks argues this point from the creation of the first two human beings:

 

God says about the first human, “It is not good for man to be alone.” He then creates the first woman, and the man, waking and seeing her, says: “This is now bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh; she shall be called woman [ishah], because she was taken from man [ish]”… Biblical Hebrew has two words for man, adam and ish. Adam (meaning, taken from the Earth, adama) signifies man, the biological species. Ish means roughly the same as the English word, “person.” The subtle point of the Biblical text is that this verse is the first in which the word ish appears. Adam must pronounce the name of his wife before he can pronounce his own. He must say “Thou” before he can say “I.”[18]

 

Human beings, existing solely as products of intersubjectivity, stand in syntagmatic opposition to each other – they are all equally as essential to the syntagm of existence. In a sentence such as “Abi is talking to Sam,” the value of “Sam” could arguably be substituted for another similar value, such as “Gideon,” as they stand in paradigmatic opposition to each other. However, in “I am talking to you,” the personal pronouns cannot be substituted for any similar term! There is no situation in which the unique dialectic interaction of “I” and “you” could be replicated by any others. This view of the world as a book gives unparalleled meaning to the existence of the other. It is not possible to have value or signification without the presence of the other, and the difference that emerges from the interaction between the self and the other.

Bearing this system in mind, Faur proposes a distinction between narcissistic love and selfless love.[19] Narcissistic love follows from the view that there is a metaphysical “I.” Since I and all my qualities are good, then in order for me to love the other, the other must be similar to me, and then incorporated into the I. “For [persecuting societies], the Biblical commandment to love others as ourselves is implemented by imposing their ego on others. Those refusing to let themselves be narcissistically absorbed, as in the case of the Jews, or when deemed unworthy of absorption, as the Native Americans, are void of human qualities.”[20] This love is also passive, where those who are the same are simply naturally part of the self and are absorbed. This type of love forms the basis of Sartre’s pessimistic outlook, that “one must either transcend the Other or allow oneself to be transcended by him. The essence of the relations between consciousness is not the Mitsein; it is conflict.”[21] Conversely, selfless love is offered from an “I” to a “you.” It only exists when both parties are present, and is an active form of love, where the “I” recognises the otherness of the “you.” In contrast to its fulfilment in persecuting societies, “The commandment to “love your fellow human as yourself” is grounded on the parallel I-you. Inter-subjectivity occurs when the “other” is accepted as a you—a fully autonomous person with his or her subjective perspective… you must be respected with the same intensity as the I.”[22]

As an aside, this distinction between subsuming the other within the self and the self and other standing in opposition to generate difference, is also present in the difference between Greek and Hebrew “logical” analysis. The Classical Greek syllogism seeks to identify X with Y: 

 

All men (A) are (=) mortal (X)
Socrates (B) is (=) a man (A)
Therefore Socrates (B) IS (=) mortal (X).

 

In broader terms, all A have quality X. B = A, therefore B also has quality X. “[The syllogism] depend[s] on a subject-predicate relation between two terms… wherein one tries to show that the predicate is included in the subject… Aristotle argues that all valid arguments involve syllogistic reasoning, and the syllogism is for him the ideal model of logic and thought.”[23] In contrast, rabbinic thought is much more focused on similarities and generated differences that exist between A and B when stood in opposition to each other. In the model of the kal vaḥomer (a fortiori argument), for example, the similarities between two things are used to imply that there should be a shared characteristic. When Moses is told again by God to request of Pharaoh that he let the Israelites free, he responds: If the children of Israel (A) [who lack good reason to ignore me (-X)] will not listen to me (Y), then Pharaoh (B) [who has good reason to ignore me (X)] will certainly not listen to me (Y)! Since A, which lacks X, has Y, then B, which has X, will certainly have Y. This form of reasoning “is relational rather than ontological,[24] dealing with propositions rather than predicates.”[25] “[It] depends on an if, not an is, and therefore conclusions are always relative and are subject to further interpretation and application… the coexisting predicates retain their independence and do not cancel each other out.”[26] Rabbinic thought never sought to collapse the distinctions between two entities when assessing their comparative similarities and differences.

Faur briefly mentions the connection between narcissistic love, in which the other is absorbed into the self, and Christianity, in which the good Christian is absorbed into the corpus Christi. However, there are additional points of connection. For example, when Jesus is asked the famous question regarding the so-called “Great Commandment,” the New Testament reports: 

 

And one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” He said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’” This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”[27]

 

And in Jesus’ interpretation of the second commandment, he instructs: “In everything, do unto others as you would have them do unto you; for this is the law and the prophets.”[28] Firstly, in this presentation, Jesus proposes a theocentric purpose to the fulfillment of the commandments. He does this by prioritizing a certain category of commandments between humans and God, over and above those that are between humans. Ultimately this means sacrificing the other in favor of divine worship—something unfathomable to rabbinic Judaism. Consider the mishnayot that caution against trying to deduce which commandments have greater weight than others,[29] or that teach that with whomever people are pleased, God is pleased, and with whomever people are not pleased, God is not pleased.[30] Additionally, consider the words of Maimonides: “[There are commandments which] they call “between man and God,” even though in reality they move [a person] toward matters that are between man and man.”[31] This clearly posits an anthropocentric focus to the commandments, which are intended to bring social cohesion and serve a societal function. Secondly, Hillel also reformulated the commandment to “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” However, his reformulation is markedly different: “That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow.”[32] This negative reformulation is essential to the discussion at hand. Jesus’ command necessitates projection of oneself onto the other. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” makes the assumption that what the self enjoys and wants, the other must also enjoy and want. One projects themselves onto the other in order to express this kind of love, narcissistically incorporating that other—whose desires are your desires—into the self. This implicitly relies on the following syllogism: I like X, you are like me, therefore you like X. As discussed above, like all classical syllogisms, this collapses the distinction and difference between two subjective entities in a stifling “love.” Conversely, Hillel does not make this projection. He only goes so far as asserting that something the self hates, may be hateful to the other, and so should not be perpetrated against the other. There is no scope to assume anything beyond that, as further assumptions require an active projection onto the other, rather than passive abstention from potentially hateful activities. This again returns to the idea of God as other. As mentioned above, one must remove all projections of the self onto God, the ultimate other. We can now see that the model to achieve this relationship with God is the removal of projections onto the human other, in order to engage in authentic intersubjectivity.

            We have thus established that there is absolute equality under the nomos of Israel, that every member of the polity forms a covenant with God and is invited to relationship with the divine. The stranger is also entitled to protection under the law, and ultimately the stranger who is different from us is where we may encounter the divine. In fact, the other is essential to the very existence of the self. Let us conclude with a few remarks regarding the relation between Judaism and other ways of life. The Torah is not universalist, in the sense that it is not intended to be kept by every member of humanity. It is thus not exclusivist—there is no claim that following the Torah is the “only way to achieve salvation,” whatever that may look like. The Torah is intended for the Jewish nation, in its homeland of Israel.

 

[Maimonides] refrained from defining “pious”… or what constitutes a “sin” for a gentile; cf. MT Teshuba 3:2. He defined a pious gentile in terms of the seven Noahide miṣvot in the section about Jewish governance and territory, concerning the status of non-Jewish residents in the Holy Land (MT Melakhim 9:2). The sense is obvious. An alien residing in Israel must respect Jewish standards and regulations as it would be expected from every alien to respect the laws and regulations of the host country.[33]

 

There is a tendency in interfaith settings to place the emphasis “on similarities and commonalities, as if the differences between faiths were superficial and trivial.”[34] However, not only does this greatly undermine the role of difference discussed heretofore, it is also insufficient for effectively living with those who are different from ourselves. “There is nothing so slight that it cannot, under pressure, be turned into a marker of identity and thus of mutual estrangement. We need, in other words, not only a theology of commonality… but also a theology of difference… why it represents the will of God.”[35] “We don’t rush… to simply contrast another religion with our own or to declare that its adherents are unknowingly our own coreligionists; instead we honor both the commonalities of another religion with our own and its differences.”[36] Sacks’ call is as relevant now as it was then, over twenty years ago: “Can I, a Jew, hear the echoes of God’s voice in that of a Hindu or Sikh or Christian or Muslim or in the words of an Eskimo from Greenland speaking about a melting glacier? Can I do so and feel not diminished but enlarged?”[37]

 

Notes


 


[1] See the comments of Maharshal, Introduction to Yam Shel Shelomo on Baba Kamma.

[2] See Ralbag ad loc., s.v. vehaya k’shibhto: ‘…the king was commanded in this in order that he watch diligently over the law, and that his entire conduct be according to the law.’

[3] yRosh HaShana 1:3 (57b).

[4] On this, see Saul Lieberman, Greek in Jewish Palestine (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 1942), 37–38.

[5] Joshua A. Berman, Created Equal: How the Bible Broke with Ancient Political Thought (New York: Oxford University Press, 2008), 28–40.

[6] Ibid. 41. On the use of the term man, see ibid. 13–14.

[7] Kohelet Rabba 7:1, 2 inter alia, each with slight variations.

[8] Abraham J. Heschel, The Prophets (New York: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1962), 9.

[9] bYevamot 78b–79a.

[10] Emmanuel Levinas, Nine Talmudic Readings, trans. Annette Aronowicz (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), 27. Levinas takes this idea in a specific direction that I do not wish to follow, referring to the “search for the spirit beyond the letter,” a notion that raises its own problems.

[11] mSanhedrin 4:13, Kaufmann Ms. Or, to quote Edmond Jabés, Tous les visages sont le Sien ; c’est pourquoi Il n’a pas de visage.

[12] José Faur, Golden Doves with Silver Dots: Semiotics and Textuality in Rabbinic Tradition (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1986), 83.

[13] b‎‎Ḥagiga 16a.

[14] Jacques Derrida, “Edmond Jabés and the Question of the Book” in Writing and Difference trans. Alan Bass (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1978), 74 (90 in the Routledge Edition).

[15] Sacks, Dignity of Difference, 59–60.

[16] In Tzidkat Hatzaddik 216.

[17] Ralbag in his commentary to Shemot 32:32.

[18] Sacks, Dignity of Difference, 150–151. See also Faur’s reformulation of cogito ergo sum as “I speak, therefore I am” (or dico ergo sum), based on José Faur, “Person and Subjectivity: A Linguistic Category,” Mentalities 6, 2 (1990), 15–18.

[19] José Faur, In the Shadow of History: Jews and Conversos at the Dawn of Modernity (Albany: SUNY Press, 1992), 6–7.

[20] Ibid, 6.

[21] Jean-Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness: An Essay on Phenomenological Ontology, trans. Hazel E. Barnes (New York: Philosophical Library, 1956), 429.

[22] Faur, In the Shadow of History, 6.

[23] Susan A. Handelman, The Slayers of Moses: The Emergence of Rabbinic Interpretation in Modern Literary Theory (Albany: SUNY Press, 1982), 6.

[24] Interestingly, Sacks also uses this description in referring to covenants, which, “because they are relational, not ontological—are inherently pluralistic” (Dignity of Difference, 203).

[25] Handelman, Slayers of Moses, 24.

[26] Ibid. 56.

[27] NRSV Matthew 22:35–40.

[28] Ibid. 7:12

[29]  Avot 2:1.

[30] Ibid. 3:13.

[31] Guide for the Perplexed III:35.

[32] bShabbat 31a. In addition to the following discussion, it is worth pointing out that Hillel also states that this is the entire Torah—loving one’s fellow, not loving God.

[33] José Faur, The Horizontal Society: Understanding the Covenant and Alphabetic Judaism (2 vols.), vol. 2 (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2010), 33.

[34] Sacks, Dignity of Difference, 21.

[35] Ibid.

[36] Miroslav Volf, Flourishing: Why we need Religion in a Globalized World (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2015), 123. I found some parts of Volf’s discussion difficult to map onto Judaism. He considers assessing and comparing religions in terms of their metaphysical structures and truth claims, ideas that I believe are not found, certainly in the classical sense, in rabbinic Judaism. Firstly, as mentioned, Judaism functions much more as a legal system than as a religion; secondly, viewing rabbinic mysticism as a metaphysic does not accord with the presentation cited above of the world as a book authored by God; and thirdly, Judaism does not present belief in its truth as reason for fulfillment of the commandments— rather, one of the commandments is to “believe” in God.

[37] Sacks, Dignity of Difference, 17–18.