National Scholar Updates

To our members and friends,

I have a busy fall semester in my role as National Scholar, as we continue to promote the values of our Institute in communities, schools, and beyond.

On Shabbat, November 3-4, I will be scholar-in-residence at the Young Israel of Oak Park, Michigan, 15140 W 10 Mile Rd. For more information, go to their website, https://www.yiop.org.

On Shabbat, November 17-18, I will be a shared scholar-in-residence at Congregation Bais Torah and Community Synagogue in Rockland County, New York. Congregation Bais Torah is located at 89 West Carlton Rd. Suffern, NY. Community Synagogue is located at 89 W Maple Ave, Monsey, NY. For more information, please go to their websites: http://www.baistorah.org/ http://comsyn.org/.

On five Mondays, November 20, 27, December 4, 11, 18, from 1:00-2:15 pm, I will give a series at Lamdeinu Teaneck (at Congregation Beth Aaron, 950 Queen Anne Road, Teaneck, New Jersey):

The Second Temple Biblical Books: The Transition from Prophecy to the Rabbinate, and Lessons for Today

An in-depth look at some of the least studied, but most relevant books of the Bible. By considering the books of Ezra-Nehemiah, Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi in context, we will derive some lessons that are uncanny and pertinent to us today.
 

1. Ezra Chapters 1-6: A Miracle of History?
2. Haggai: Imminent Potential for Redemption
3. Zechariah: God is Hidden, but Ready to Reveal Himself
4. Ezra and Nehemiah: Different Models of Leadership
5. Malachi: End of Prophecy and Transition to the Rabbinate

On Wednesday, December 20, from 1:00-2:15 pm, I will give an additional lecture at Lamdeinu Teaneck:

The Books of the Maccabees and Rabbinic Thought: Getting to the Roots of Hanukkah
 

For more information and to register, go to http://www.lamdeinu.org/.

Since the beginning of September, I have served as the Tanakh Education Scholar at Ben Porat Yeshiva Day School, in Paramus, New Jersey. We are developing a new Tanakh curriculum for grades 1-8, that reflects our core religious values at the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

Our University Network, which I now coordinate, is off to a terrific start. Please see my October report on our Campus Fellows on our website: https://www.jewishideas.org/article/campus-fellows-report-fall-2017.

I am coming out with a new collection of twenty essays on the Bible, to be published by Kodesh Press. Thanks to the generosity of Yael Cohen, the Levy Family Foundation, Charles and Rochelle Moche, and the Sephardic Publication Foundation, we hope to distribute copies to members of our University Network to help them navigate the relationship between traditional and academic Bible study.

As always, I thank you for your support and encouragement, and look forward to promoting our core values through these and many more venues in the coming year.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

National Scholar

Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals

Introduction

There is a naïve belief that traditional Jewish religious communities have preserved pristine models of uninfluenced integrity. The reality is that all Jewish communities have been and are influenced to a greater or lesser degree by the cultures and norms of the host countries they live in. One of the most obvious examples is the variation in culture and custom as between communities who have lived under Christianity and those under Islam.

For all that, the purely halakhic differences between Ashkenazic and Sephardic communities are minimal. No greater than between say, different Hassidic sects. The most well-known halakhic differences between the two worlds are kitniyot on Pesah and whether one accepts Bet Yosef rather than the Remah. But even that is no longer the case in reality.

Once it was thought (stereotypically) that superstition and simplistic Kabbalah were what distinguished the two wings of Judaism. But Orthodoxy in the Ashkenazic world has become so dominated by superstition, miracle workers, miracle rabbis, miracle spells and cures that such distinctions no longer hold true. So why are we so fixated on the differences?

I believe it is one of the tragedies of our age that, in some circles, the Jews of Muslim societies are often regarded as somehow less authentic. This essay is an attempt to bring a different perspective from someone who has worked in both worlds.

History

My first encounter with the Sephardim was in Israel in the 1950s. Arriving as a teenager, from Britain, to study in yeshiva. The Israelis I first met when I arrived in Haifa were tense, left-wing, anti-religious Ashkenazim, bent on establishing a socialist paradise, closer to Marx than Moses.

I don’t want to dwell here on the depressing issue of Ashkenazic discrimination directed at the Sephardic communities that persists particularly in Israeli Hareidi Orthodoxy. And the last thing I want is to sound condescending or patronizing. I am wary of generalizations, even my own. But I saw the disadvantages and the discrimination that so many Sephardic immigrants experienced in their early years. Some of it admittedly, simply because of a lack of resources and planning. But it disturbed me.

Those Sephardim I met in Israel (in my day we did not call them Mizrahim, for that was the name of a Religious Party then) were in general so much warmer, softer, and caring. They did not have the animus toward religion that the Left did. They were more traditional and inclusive religiously than their Ashkenazic colleagues.

In the yeshivot I attended, students from Yemen, Iraq, and Morocco were more emotional and less arrogant than their Ashkenazic colleagues. When I went to spend a Shabbat at home with my Sephardic friends, quite apart from the food, there was a welcoming atmosphere that was unforgettable. In the Bet HaMidrash, they were every bit as learned and brilliant. Yet because they were studying in Ashkenazic yeshivot with Ashkenazic Rashei Yeshiva there was a palpable sense of being on the fringe.

I began to search for the factors that made those Sephardic Jews I met so positively different. Was it the warmer Oriental, Islamic mentality? The emphasis on hospitality in contrast to the Western Christian colder tendency to withdraw into privacy? Was it the fact that in the Sephardic world there was no denominational divide, as we had, between Orthodox and Reform? Sephardim gathered not by denomination or degree of observance, so much as by city or country of origin. Perhaps it was a matter of historical evolution.

The Muslim world that most of the Sephardim lived in was still almost pre-industrial. Those Sephardim who had lived in Western societies such as the Spanish and Portuguese, had moved on and up. In Israel, old established and wealthy Sephardic families formed an elite. Most of the new immigrants, on the other hand, were poor in material goods and education and had been living under Islamic restrictions as second-class citizens. The Sephardic fear of returning to Muslim rule has always made them more proudly nationalist and more right-wing than left.

So why the discrimination? What was it I wondered that made Jews seemed infected with the almost universal disease of wanting to find others to whom we could feel superior? It wasn’t just the Sephardim of course; the early Eastern European Zionists despised the Germans, who looked down on the Sephardim, who in turn marginalized the Ethiopians and then felt superior to the Russians. Perhaps it is the same primitive human nature that feeds prejudice the world over.

I have even wondered if my sense of kinship was a reaction against my Imperialist, Colonialist British education that led me to feel sympathy for the underdog and disadvantaged, as indeed I did at a very early age for those who suffered under Apartheid. The Ashkenazic world seemed to have no notion of the grandeur and the wealth of Sephardic culture or history. They saw the great Sephardic authorities as closet Ashkenazim. Eastern European talmudic study was regarded as superior to the Sephardic methodologies. As a result, a new generation of Sephardic rabbis and leaders in Israel began to ape the dress and mentality, sometimes even the Yiddish, of the Ashkenazic rabbinical elite.

It was when I came across Rav Ovadia Yosef’s “Yabia Omer” that I realized that here was a different, approach, a broader vista, a more lenient and even more scholarly approach to those of the Lithuanian rabbis and followers of the Hazon Ish. Of course, I was under no illusion that there are almost always different opinions. But why was I taught only one and not the other? It was only my personal initiative that opened another world to me.

England

Years later, I was the Principal of Carmel College, the Jewish English residential school near Oxford that attracted a lot of students from outside the UK, particularly from Israel, Iran, Spain, and Gibraltar. The school cultivated a very English academic atmosphere and combined it with an officially Orthodox lifestyle. It was like a Yeshiva High School except that most pupils did not come from Orthodox families. There was certainly a dissonance between the demands of the school religiously and the way the pupils lived Jewishly at home. Parents tended to send their children there for the academics and the social Jewish atmosphere rather than the religious environment.

There, too, I detected a different dimension in the Sephardic pupils. They were much more attached to family life, respectful of parents and tradition. I sensed their need for validation for their Sephardic Judaism in an atmosphere where all the Jewish teachers were Ashkenazic. Years later, I heard New York Sephardim who had gone to elite Ashkenazic schools complain that they were made to feel inferior and that their traditions and rabbis were not as valid as those of the Ashkenazim. And I have noticed over the years how those of my former pupils who have become much more religious after they left the school, regardless of how uninterested they seemed to be in school, were almost all Sephardic. They seemed to have a more spiritual gene!

Yet at Carmel I encountered some parental resistance to these pupils on the spurious grounds that they would lower the academic and social standards. I reacted furiously. I was already sensitized by my experiences in Israel. And I assured anyone who asked that the Sephardic pupils raised the social and academic level of the school. This snobbery offended me to my core. All the more so, since I was brought up in a home where my parents went out of their way to excoriate any kind of racism or discrimination. Once one is inured to such feelings toward outsiders, it inevitably metastasizes into hatred of one’s own.

After the Shah of Persia fell in 1997, Chabad brought almost a thousand Iranian children to Britain, where they awaited American visas. Chabad in London had a humanitarian crisis on its hands. It is one thing to find temporary homes for a handful, quite another to do so for hundreds. Our school, with its huge campus, was able to put up hundreds of Iranian youngsters for months, and we tried our best to teach and integrate them until they were able to rejoin their families. Here, too, I had to field complaints and agitation from non-Jewish teachers as well as parents against “flooding the school with foreigners.” In the end, the process took over, and it went smoothly for everyone. Once again, the attitudes of the Iranian children were impressive on almost every level. They bore the uncertainty and pain of separation with dignity and equanimity. It was a salutary experience for everyone involved. It endeared them even more to me.

Manhattan

Many years later, I retired to New York, where I had no intention of getting involved in the rabbinate. Although most Iranian Jews on the East Coast had gravitated toward Brooklyn or Great Neck, several families of my former pupils from Iran were now living in Manhattan. They had gotten together with other Iranians to establish a small religious community that met only on Shabbat mornings and Festivals. After moving from place to place, they had finally rented space in Park East synagogue on East 68^th Street. They had employed a rabbi from Iran who had served them well for many years but had now retired; and they were looking for a replacement.

My pupils remembered my authoritarian streak and liked my English oratory as well as my open and tolerant approach. They approached me about taking on the assignment. I told them I was not interested in taking on a rabbinic position. But they assured me this was no full-time position, and the community was more like a boutique than a full-service congregation. It was not formally constituted: no board or membership fees; just an informal collection of Iranian Jews; some wealthy, some not. Naturally it is the voluntary contributions of those who can afford it that keep the community alive.

Initially there was some resistance from those who did not know me, to the appointment of an English Ashkenazi, even if several Sephardic communities in New York over the years have had Ashkenazic rabbis. They were anxious to preserve their Persian customs and traditions and feared I might try to Anglicize them. They were worried that my more liberal outlook on life might come into conflict with their more authoritarian mentality. We finally came to an informal understanding that has now lasted for almost 10 years.

There is mutual respect despite our differences. Above all, I have come to enjoy a warmer, more informal relationship than those I experienced in European Ashkenazic communities. And I can indulge my semi-retirement without feeling completely guilty about giving up rabbinical work altogether.

Customs

But what are differences? I found the transition from Ashkenazic customs to Sephardic ones to be unproblematic. The variations in traditional texts and Nushaot are really minor. I was brought up on the Havarah Sephardit, the Sephardic Israeli pronunciation. Besides, even within Sephardic communities, there are differences in the way Hebrew is vocalized between different cities and countries. There are some juxtapositions and additions of Tehilim and different Piyutim. But the core of every service, the Amidah, the Birkhot Keriat Shema, and of course Keriat HaTorah remain the same. The Priestly Blessings are not confined exclusively to Festivals.

What is most obvious is the sound, the music, which is predominantly oriental. If once it was rare to hear oriental music in Western societies, now it is a much more common and familiar choice. Even so, Yemenite and Syrian sounds are different; the influence of Israeli music has spread across almost all communities; and at least half of our Persian music now includes such favorites as Yerushalim Shel Zahav, Eytz HaRimon, Al Kol Eleh, as well as Ta’am HaMan and other popular ethnic songs. Israeli religious singers span the differences, and there is much cross-cultural influence. Our Hazzan, proudly Yemenite, integrates Persian folk songs into the service.

In our Persian services, there is a marked informality and rowdy enthusiasm, ululations of celebration. Women make much more of the Torah, passing additional decorations of the Torah around, holding hands up to kiss, pressing them to their eyes. Men kiss the Parohet and gather round the Reader’s desk for Birkhot HaHodesh. After the services, men and women approach the curtains to pray for some personal reason. Otherwise services are similar. I am too often forced to intervene to stop the chatting and redirect the congregation to the service at hand. But that was equally true of my Ashkenazic communities.

Although Persians like to be well-dressed and elegant, informality of dress is accepted. Head covering for women is what differentiates the more Orthodox from the less. Wigs are more of a rarity in Sephardic communities than in Ashkenazic ones. Very few of the women in our community are comfortable with Hebrew or the services. We try our best to help them navigate. We naturally retain a mehitza, but it splits the small sanctuary down the middle into equal sections.

In many Sephardic communities, congregants who are not themselves Orthodox show above-average knowledge and expertise in Tefilla and Keriat HaTorah. This is less true of many Persian communities. Few of them are Orthodox in the strict sense of the word, but they are proud of their Persian Jewish identities and traditions. There remains a reluctance to identify with Conservative of Reform Judaism. This is of course much truer in Israel than in the United States. But for most Sephardic communities, those who are observant sit and mix with those who are not at all and a range in the middle.

I have succeeded with a few cross-cultural innovations. Services are shorter than the norm. Those who want to say more can do so at the start or the end. We leave out certain optional prayers. I interject in English to give page numbers and during Keriat HaTorah, between sections, to explain where we are and what we are reading. Sometimes when a service goes on for too long we omit the full repetition of the Amidah.

Family life is very strong. Traditional values of hospitality mean that Friday evenings and festivals are celebrated more as social events than as religious ones. Weddings are much more rowdy and enthusiastic and less restrained. And although mourning rituals are similar, there are more public memorials that start with the end of the Shiva. At funerals, spices and perfumed water are passed around. Whereas memorials for the dead are usually confined to the anniversary and Yizkor days in Ashkenazic synagogues, many Persians like to have a Hashkaba whenever they are called to the Torah. And diets, foods, and Kiddushim reflect Persian tastes rather than Ashkenazic ones. But to reiterate, the differences are minor, and are of style, rather than content.

Culture Clash

Persian Jewry, as the only community of Jews living under the Shiites, probably suffered more than any other Sephardic community. It was unable to sustain the range of intensive Jewish institutions that many other communities in the Muslim world could. The arrival of the Alliance Israelite Universelle over 100 years ago brought secular education to Iran’s Jews, and with it a weakening of rabbinic, religious authority. Under assault from Shiite clerics, Jews had been subject to constant pressure, humiliation, and forced conversions. Only under the Pahlavis had things improved significantly. But even so many Jews converted to Islam or to the Baha’i faith to try to escape their inferior position as Jews. Secularism had already made massive inroads, and this is reflected today in the United States, where many Iranians have left the Jewish fold. Almost all the Persians of my community have arrived during the past 50 years, some having come via Israel. And in some families the ties with Judaism were already weak in Persia. In fact, some of my community were and still are more attached to their Iranian heritage than they are to their Jewish heritage.

As in all immigrant communities, there are cultural dislocations and conflicts to be resolved. In the process of acculturation, tensions often erupt between observant and less observant members of the same family. Back home, the role of women was different. Men ruled the roost. Sons and daughters obeyed their parents—very different from the mores of a predominantly secular United States. They are challenged by the issues of how to balance loyalty to tradition with the demands of modernity. Does one retreat behind the security of ghetto walls, with a close support structure? Or does one venture forth into the secular world, with all its risks, and leave tradition behind? And there are all the gradations and varieties of any human society. Some still cling to the idea that one should remain strictly within one’s own ethnic community. Different towns and cities in Iran varied in degree of Orthodoxy and loyalty. Some are still reluctant to intermarry with Iranians who came from different communities back home. There is still a difference between those who came from urban communities as opposed to rural ones.

As with all immigrant groups, there are feelings of insecurity that drive them toward economic success and stability. Persians more than most communities are split between those who see education and academic and professional success as the route to security, and those who think only in terms of making money. In both areas, they have been very successful.

Like most religious communities, they are increasingly being pulled in different directions. One section is assimilating and marrying out. The other is abandoning Sephardic moderation for Hareidi attitudes. Simultaneously, one sector is moving toward rationalism and the other retreating into primitive superstition and credulity. Some are shedding their commitment to Judaism and Israel, and others are intensifying it without any moderation or criticism. Some are anxious to ensure that their children get a good Jewish education. Others prefer to send their children to non-Jewish schools, even with work and activities on Shabbat and Festivals. Some come to synagogue every Shabbat; others come only festivals (and then one day only), and still others only on High Holy Days.

Parents bring their young children to synagogue on Shabbat. But as soon as they become teenagers, the children no longer come regularly. Once the younger generation begin to study and then work, they come only for occasional social interaction. They throw themselves into the social singles whirl of Manhattan. They marry much later than they used to. But when they do, and have children of their own, that is when they begin to return. So, a community like mine sees very few millennials except for festive and social occasions, and goes through a demographic hiatus that denudes it of active young men and women until a later stage in life and circumstances. Yet for all that, there is a most definite sense of Persian and Sephardic identity and pride. Even if some are prepared to relinquish it (which actually includes some who went to Orthodox Jewish Day Schools but have now abandoned religious practice) just as many actively want to continue their specific Iranian heritage, customs, and have a much more tolerant and open-minded approach to difference and variation in degree of practice.

Almost all the members of the community are fiercely proud, positive and protective of Israel. Their views are strongly to the right. Having lived under the influence of the Mullahs, they are under no illusion as to how much better off they are in a free and open society. Together with their Persian heritage, they remain very much more in sync with Orthodox attitudes in the United States than with the more acculturated.

Although presiding over the services is the obvious role of a rabbi, one cannot be involved with a group of people without moving beyond the synagogue into their happy and sad occasions and the challenges of home and work and society that add an informal, pastoral dimension to community life. And this has inevitably brought me into contact with other Iranian communities of different dimensions and origins in Great Neck and Brooklyn, not to mention Los Angeles. The challenges everywhere are similar.

There is a degree of interconnection and intermarriage with other Sephardic communities, notably the longer established, larger, stronger, and some ways more successful Syrian communities. But even they face similar challenges. We have also attracted some Sephardim from Morocco, Egypt, and Iraq, who appreciate my more cerebral and cross-cultural sermons. But we remain small and personal. Perhaps this and the informality is precisely why I enjoy it so much! Everything I have learnt from my community has only confirmed my previous impressions of the strengths and weaknesses of Persian Jewry.

Prediction and Conclusion

The picture and the prognostications are good in parts. But it is clear, that as with American Jewry in general, only those families that stress and emphasize Jewish identity in practice as well as theory are the ones that will survive as Jews. I am often asked why we do not make life easier by lessening ritual demands. And my reply has always been that I very much doubt that would bring anyone closer to religious practice. The lower the expectation, the lower the bar, and the less the achievement. There is a difference between tolerating those who are unable or unwilling to do something, a feature of Sephardic congregations, and removing the idea and requirement of traditional halakha altogether. At least the ideal and tradition are retained de jure if not de facto.

As I listen to the opinions of my younger congregants, I am often worried and upset by the challenges. Many have gone away from home to study, and this has often weakened their ties to family traditions. Some seek partners outside the Jewish community. Others become even more appreciative of what home has to offer. Although in principle, I approve of genuine conversion out of religious conviction, my years of experience in the practical rabbinate have convinced me that those converts who end up living a committed life are very few. And there is a huge difference between someone converting out of conviction rather than for marriage. The attraction of less discipline and another part of the family seeming freer take their toll on the next generation. And that is why, although I would rather like to encourage rather than reject, I am ambivalent and disturbed by the rise in intermarriage I am encountering. At the same time, I often come across those who have drifted, coming back into the fold.

We have always gone for quality over quantity and Shear Yashuv, a remnant returns. I am optimistic about Sephardic Judaism precisely because most have still retained their more open inclusive approach to the way Jews dress, practice, and participate religiously. Religion in the west is more cerebral and theological. Islam shares with Judaism the emphasis on a way of life rather than a series of mental propositions supported by a thin veneer of ritual. The Sephardic approach to religion is more emotional, more mystical.

I believe the Sephardic world with its tolerance, inclusivity, and emphasis on the emotional, offers an important counter-narrative and paradigm for Jewish life in our times. It is better placed to deal with cynicism. It can help us get the most out of the scientific, secular society we live in, rather than fight against it.

According to psychoanalytic theory, emotional disconnection can be dangerous. When people deny their innermost negative feelings-- instead of protecting themselves from their impulses, they may be doubly in danger of acting out on them. If powerful feelings are repressed, they may burst out in a less controlled fashion at another time. Although this is a gross oversimplification, it can be understood via a simple metaphor of a boiler that has a safety valve. If the pressure builds up, it can be released in a controlled manner. However, without the safety valve, while the boiler may be able to contain the mounting pressure for an extended period of time, it will eventually blow up. [2]

An additional negative side effect that comes from repressing feelings is a general emotional antipathy and lack of empathy. Feelings are a two-way street. If a person denies his negative feelings, the mind will indiscriminately blunt all his feelings; the ability to sincerely care and respond to another person’s emotions is correspondingly stunted.

As a psychotherapist, it is my impression from the struggles that my clients experience, that certain methodologies of Orthodox Jewish chinuch and culture may inadvertently discourage the validity of emotional life. For example, I have heard people complain about “cookie cutter” biographies of Gedolim, where one gets the sense that their inner struggles and challenges have been sanitized for fear that they will be a bad influence on others. When the struggles are left out of the story it compounds feelings of inadequacy and guilt among the readers, leading some to give up on attaining anything worthwhile in comparison to the unnaturally saintly lives depicted in these stories.

This kind of approach that eschews discussion of emotional process does not help us or our children develop an accurate and realistic picture of the very human struggle that all of us have with our emotions and our character, from the simplest Jew to the greatest sage. Not only is no one born perfect, but even outstanding people who have achieved superlative levels of righteousness still must struggle with their dark sides. This is a fact of human nature, and is explicitly and repeatedly discussed in the Gemara as we shall see later in this article. Kohelet (7:20) tells us, “Among men, there is no righteous person who does only good without sinning.”

Young adults who naturally stumble and sin in ways that are even frightening to them, need to understand that this is a normal part of human development. Unfortunately, I fear some prevailing chinuch practices do not make that message clear, and in fact undermine it by eliminating discussion of the negative emotions and struggles experienced by great people. Children need real information in order to understand themselves and grow. When people feel there is no room for complex and conflicted feelings, it leads to despair. This despair leads people to give up on themselves and to abandon striving for greatness.

Double Lives

Another side effect that comes from denying the feelings and emotional process inherent in many stories, is that people can become split off from their emotions--allowing them to live double lives. When they are behaving and feeling frum they are one kind of person. But when they have negative and dangerous feelings, they disown them and perhaps disassociate from themselves. This allows them to sin in far worse ways, as they feel as if it is another person doing it.

Is it then any wonder that we sometimes hear disturbing news of a supposedly great rabbi or community pillar being caught committing horrible and reprehensible acts?

Thankfully, these situations are rare. And it is not my point to be outraged or surprised that even great people can stumble and sin. No one is perfect, and temptation is great. Hazal tell us, ein apotropos le’arayot. [3] However, how can we understand the psyche and conscience of a man who can give a moving and inspiring derasha at one moment, and in the next moment commit reprehensible acts? The answer is via this mechanism of emotional disconnect and disassociation. This kind of psychological problem can find fertile soil in a culture that denies and represses feelings.

I invite the reader to courageously study stories of sages and great people who indeed grappled with complex and conflictual inner emotions. Some succeeded in their struggles while others did not. Fortunately, our Torah is a Torah of truth and does not cover up the flaws and mistakes of its heroes. It is my hope that this study will inspire people to think about themselves in a more accepting manner, and transmit that self-respect to their children.

I do this not to inappropriately assuage the guilty conscience of the sinner, or to poke fun and demote great people from the high esteem they deserve. Instead, I am suggesting that working through and discussing the real challenges, interim failures and ultimate success of great people will help free children and adults from paralyzing shame and self-hatred that does nothing but lead to hopelessness and anguish.

Feelings are not Frum

Before we discuss any particular story, it is important to study the root of the problem. Discussions about negative feelings are often squelched because feelings are powerful and dangerous. Feelings are amoral; they are neither immoral nor moral, they just are. We do not choose our feelings initially, although how we handle them and what thoughts we have can definitely influence them. [4] Feelings are powerful and they influence our behavior often in ways we cannot control or recognize. The Torah tells us that a judge is blinded by even the smallest bribe, no matter how much he thinks he can be objective (Shemot 23:8). Therefore, it is easy to understand why recognizing and discussing the intense energy contained within human emotions is frightening to members of a culture that abide by a strict moral and behavioral code such as ours. Negative feelings such as lust, hate, and heretical rebellion are, quite possibly, in the back of many a person’s mind, but of course it is frightening and shameful to acknowledge them. Ignore them, and hopefully they will go away. No, they will not!

Of course indulging in these emotions is not a solution either, however to ignore them and act as if they do not exist puts a person in danger of disconnecting from himself and becoming emotionally stunted. The psychologically healthy approach is to accept and understand one’s inner feelings and drives while finding ways to use them positively instead of being filled with internal thoughts of condemnation or shame. This is also reflected in the words of Bereishith Rabbah (9:7):

“When God described His creation as very good, it implies that even the evil inclination is good. But how can this be? The answer is, if not for the evil inclination man would not build a home, marry a woman, have children, or engage in commerce."

The Fifth Volume of Shulhan Arukh

Another one of the chinuch dangers of disconnection from feelings is an estrangement from our gut instincts in favor of strict adherence to technical ethical principles. This is an abandonment of what is sometimes referred to as “the fifth volume of Shulhan Arukh”. No system can function without using common sense to mediate and moderate between the dictates and principles of the system and how to apply them.

Related to this point, I have noticed a strange phenomenon in regard to certain inspirational stories. Typically, the story will go something like this: So and so, a great sage, despite his high stature did an amazing kindness for someone of lower perceived social status. For example, we have the famous story about Rav Yisrael Salanter who went to hold a crying baby on Yom Kippur eve during Kol Nidre, or the story of how Rav Moshe Feinstein ran after a gentile delivery boy to make sure he received his dollar tip.

Of course these stories model acts of compassion and decency, and deserve recognition. Sadly though, I fear there is a hidden and subtle message of surprise being conveyed along with these stories, as they suggest that basic human compassion and decency is an astounding ethical feat. After all, who would not show the basic decency of giving an expected tip, or who could be cold-hearted enough to ignore the cries of a baby on Kol Nidre night -- or any night for that matter? So what is the real message here? Either we are surprised to see great people behave in a human and kindhearted manner, or we consider it to be an act that only a true tzaddik can achieve.[5] Whichever message you choose, I submit for your consideration that this kind of thinking is a product of a culture that has difficulty embracing the full passion of its emotions when seen through the lens of Torah thought. Because, in the light of stone-cold Torah analysis without being informed by a sense of compassion, one might erroneously decide that praying is more important than responding to the cries of an infant, or that being sensitive to the needs of a poor delivery boy is irrelevant. And indeed, halakha must trump emotions. However no proper conclusion can be reached without consulting with all “five” volumes of Shulhan Arukh. Our chinuch messages must take that into account.

This recalls an incident that occurred when I was a yeshiva student, around the time that the Challenger Space Shuttle tragically blew up during liftoff. The mashgiah overheard one student callously commenting about the disaster, “It’s no big deal, after all, it’s just a bunch of goyim.” This spurred the mashgiah to deliver a fire and brimstone lecture, castigating the students for having so little empathy and regard for other humans who are b’tzelem elokim, in God’s image.

Since I was already one of the older students in the yeshiva at that time, I had the temerity to share with the mashgiah something that was troubling me about his talk. I told him the following: “This mussar is compelling and I certainly intend to heed your wise words. However, I am not sure why those students should be blamed for their attitude because I cannot recall many instances in my yeshiva career that persons in authority said a kind word about goyim.” The idea of basic decency and empathy for those outside our circle was simply not stressed in any of our learning, despite the mashgiah’s outrage and assumption that “we should all know better.” Of course, he was correct, but in fact, we did not know better.

Similarly, this brings to mind a humorous and fictitious story told about two devout yeshiva boys who were walking by a lake. They both noticed a young woman drowning and quickly dove into the water to save her. After they regained their composure, one sheepishly remarked to the other, “Presumably, this was a permissible act. Though we are ordinarily forbidden to have contact with women, of course to save a life takes precedence over other Torah considerations. Then again, perhaps it should be considered abizrayhu d’arayot (related to sexual matters that require martyrdom) and therefore not subject to the normative directive to save a life…” The second boy responded, “What, it was a woman? I had no idea.”

It is not that boy number one was incorrect in his halakhic concerns per se; rather his focus was incorrect. Boy number two upon hearing cries for help reacted out of basic human decency, without even noticing the gender of the person in distress, so he did not have any halakhic questions to answer.

Sometimes, the disconnection between emotional realities and Torah study can be quite startling. One studenttold me the following true story:

When I was in yeshiva ketana I told my rebbe I wanted to be a veterinarian when I grow up. He told me, “Why would you want to do something like that? It is not a Yiddishe profession?”

As providence would have it, the next day we learned the Midrash about why Moshe was chosen to lead the Jewish people, as he showed great compassion in caring for his sheep.

“My rebbe completely missed the obvious connection between this Midrash and our conversation the day before. That was the day I lost respect for my rebbe.”

How indeed could the rebbe have missed the clear connection and similarity between the young man’s desire to heal animals and Moshe Rabbeinu’s kindness as a shepherd? The answer is, the rebbe was teaching with his head -- but not with his heart. This underscores the danger of telling over even midrashic stories without paying attention to emotional process.

Even Great People Have Feelings

Passionate emotions can only be felt in the heart of a person who is honest with himself and feels all of his emotions, negative and positive. If we do not share this message with our youth, they may feel that they are expected to be perfect and then give up on themselves. In the words of one young man: “Sometimes I would like to go off the derekh, and then go back on again. This way, people will really accept me for who I am instead of over reacting whenever I don’t do the frummest things.” Dear readers, this is a chilling insight into how at least one young man experiences our chinuch and we must consider his words and think about what messages we give our children, despite our best intentions. Are we focused on adherence to the laws and forgetting about our children’s developmental and emotional needs?

Discussing the emotional lives of our Forefathers in a cavalier fashion would be inappropriate and, of course, we must tread carefully out of respect for their great characters that in many ways are beyond our comprehension. Nevertheless, some reflection on this topic is in order. No amount of tortured pilpul and darshanut can completely eliminate the reality of Yaakov’s emotions. When Yaakov sees Rachel for the first time, he kisses her and cries (Bereishith 29:11). True, it was a chaste kiss, perhaps the kind one gives to a young relative [6] but it was still an emotional embrace. Yaakov’s love for Rachel makes the seven years of labor feel as if it were a mere few days (ibid 29:20). You can call it any kind of love you want, love of her virtue or love out of gratitude that she will be one of the matriarchs-- but it was a strong and powerful emotion. Seforno (ibid) comments on this verse that “Love makes people think in a less than logical manner.”

Of course the point of this is not to suggest that we all become enslaved to our passions and be led around by them. However, we also should be a realistic in accepting our emotions. Love is powerful and real.

Rachel and Rabbi Akiva

One of the greatest stories of love in the history of the Jewish people occurs with another Rachel, the daughter of Calba Savua. Though the yet-to-be-Rabbi-Akiva was a mere lowly shepherd, Rachel recognizes his potential for greatness and offers to marry him on the condition that he study Torah. Rachel’s father was very wealthy but disowned them as he did not approve of the marriage. They endured great poverty and the Gemara Nedarim (50a) tells of how Rabbi Akiva expressed a wish that he could buy her a “City of Gold”, which was a fashionable item of jewelry at the time. When Rabbi Akiva finally returns after 24 years of study with an entourage of thousands of students, the Gemara Ketuvot (63a) tells of how she ran to kiss his feet in what must have been an emotional reunion. The Gemara Nedarim tells us that the rabbis wanted to push her back, perhaps scandalized by this display of affection. Rabbi Akiva told them, “Leave her be, for my Torah and your Torah all belong to her.” And by the way, Rabbi Akiva kept his word, as the Gemara Shabbat (59b) tells us that he indeed bought for her the “City of Gold.” Rachel managed for 24 years in crushing poverty, and she did not “need” this item of jewelry any more than any woman does, probably far less. Rabbi Akiva performed an act of gratitude and love.

No doubt, this love felt by our sages and Avot is not the same kind of lust glorified by popular notions of romance; however it still was love and it was passionate -- because that is good and right between a husband and wife. There is so much focus on the negative aspects and dangers of passion, such as the need to be modest and to guard one’s thoughts and one’s eyes, that it is easy to forget that we need to teach our children about proper forms of love and passion, such as occurs in a loving Jewish home.

Difficult Emotions and Mental Illness

Not every sage was successful in managing his emotions. Learning about this can be a great source of strength and comfort to young people and adults who struggle with this as well. The Gemara Bava Metzia (84a) discusses the great despondency felt by Rabbi Yohanan subsequent to the death of his star student and study partner, Resh Lakish. Rabbi Yohanan felt that he had a hand in causing Resh Lakish’s death as there was a disagreement between them involving decorum and respect, which may have incurred a Divine wrath. Rabbi Yohanan lost his sanity as a result of his intense unresolved grief for Resh Lakish. Despite all the efforts of his colleagues to soothe and comfort him, Rabbi Yohanan would tear his clothes crying, “Where are you, son of Lakish, where are you son of Lakish?” Ultimately, the rabbis prayed that Rabbi Yohanan die, possibly so he no longer suffer or perhaps to limit the disgrace of a talmid hakham. Whatever the reason, this was quite a scene.

Bava Metzia is a staple for any aspiring Torah scholar; so this illuminating aggada is not some obscure medrash pelia hiding in a rarely studied tome. Why is it then that this story is so rarely discussed? Is it threatening that a great sage could suffer from mental illness? Perhaps it is even more threatening to consider that this was not an illness brought on by some hidden disease or a “chemical imbalance”. Rather, it was due to no more and no less than the passionate longing and powerful emotions that beat within Rabbi Yohanan’s heart.

Of course, as Rabbi Yohanan was a great man, his passion and longing for his study partner came from a love of Torah. The Gemara tells of how no one could replace Resh Lakish in his ability to challenge Rabbi Yohanan with piercing questions and analysis. But whatever you want to call it, it was passion. And this passion was beyond reason and Rabbi Yohanan’s ability to manage, which eventually made Rabbi Yohanan insane with grief.

A frum person suffering from depression and mental illness could find much comfort in knowing that even the greatest of sages struggled with his emotions, and dare we say it, ultimately failed.

The Greater you are, the Greater Your Temptation

Abaye [7] warns that the temptation to sin is strongest among the talmidei hakhamim. This statement was not a mere intellectual abstraction, but came from personal knowledge as a result of a disturbing event in Abaye’s life. One time, Abaye surreptitiously followed a man and woman into an unpopulated area, thinking that they were up to no good. Abaye’s plan was that if they were to begin any immoral behavior, he would intervene and stop them. At a point when they believed themselves to be completely alone, they parted company in a chaste manner with a verbal farewell that was heartfelt and loving. Abaye marveled to himself, “Had I been in their place, I would not have been able to restrain myself!”

Abaye became depressed, and slumped gloomily against a doorpost, apparently feeling hopeless about his own spiritual state of affairs. The Gemara then tells of a “Certain Wise Old Man” (possibly Eliyahu HaNavi) who helped Abaye recover by offering the encouraging perspective of “The Greater you are, the Greater Your Temptation.” In Tzidkat HaTzaddik, Rav Tzadok develops this theme in great detail, tying the creative and powerful force of a great person’s character and mind directly to his heightened capacity for sin.

This story is instructive both in its recognition of the very real temptations that Abaye acknowledged, as well as his inability to cope with his feelings of despair. What would have happened to Abaye if he had not been comforted by the “Certain Wise Old Man”? Would he have given up hope on himself? We cannot know for sure, but this story unequivocally suggests that even a great sage is quite vulnerable to temptation as well as to feelings of hopelessness. [8]

This is information that people need to know in order to understand in a real way what our sages’ temptations and struggles were and how they coped with them. The chinuch message should be uplifting and inspiring: If they faced their struggles successfully, so can we! [9]

Concluding Thoughts

The purpose of this essay is to sensitize and encourage readers to treat their emotions and their children’s emotions with due respect and acceptance. Certainly, we must cultivate in ourselves and our children positive feelings such as empathy and kindness, while discouraging hate, greed and a whole host of other thoughts that can lead to sin. Yet, the chinuch process must also help our children internalize the character traits of love and patience and help them avoid loathing themselves for their human errors. This is done by walking the tightrope of providing instruction and guidance, while still conveying love and care for the person as he or she is “right now b’asher hu sham”. [10] Talking about feelings, and showing that everyone has them, is part of this process. When a person is alone with his thoughts, he is vulnerable to feeling shame. Humans have all kinds of negative and unseemly feelings, but many people feel they are depraved monsters for having these feelings and are filled with self-loathing and disgust. The Gemara Yoma (75a) tells us, “If one has worry in his heart, he should speak of it to others.” Not feeling alone is an important strategy in managing troubling emotions.

When we learn about the struggles of those who are far greater than we are, this lessens our shame and despair, for we realize that we are not alone. Our tradition has an enormous storehouse of collected wisdom about emotions and the very human nature of our struggles with them. There is temptation to either run away in fear when we encounter these frank and disturbing aggadot, or explain them away quickly and forget about them. However, we also can study them and share them with our children, helping them to become more confident and accepting of their own turbulent emotions as they grow into mature human beings.

[1] The author gratefully acknowledges the many people who were helpful in providing insight and feedback for this article. First and foremost, I thank my father Rabbi Chaim Feuerman, Ed.D, for providing me with caring and loving chinuch in all “five” volumes of Shulhan Arukh; my wife Chaya Feuerman, LCSW-R who taught me the wisdom of feelings; my brother and writing mentor Yisrael Feuerman, Psy.D.; and Dr. Michael Shmidman (Dean of the Touro College Graduate School of Jewish Studies) and many others who contributed their thoughts and ideas.

[2] While psychoanalysis has been largely discredited as a cost-effective effective form of treatment, conceptually, psychodynamic related theories are still often used to explain behavior. For example, many therapists would find it plausible to explain that a person who behaves in a passive-aggressive manner is acting out unconscious repressed impulses, although the treatment may take forms other than interpreting the underlying psychodynamic conflict. Furthermore, there are similar ideas in Hazal which also suggest that excessive repression is harmful. For example, Rashi (Gittin 90a “Papus”) warns that a husband who is too controlling will lead his wife to rebel. While this is not unconscious repression, it is nonetheless a warning about the dangers of repression. Perhaps more clearly stated, we find the Gemara Shabbat (156a) that advises persons who were born with various tendencies to channel them toward constructive purposes instead of repressing them (such as a bloodthirsty person becoming a mohel instead of murderer). In psychoanalytic terms, when an instinct or drive is diverted for positive use, it is known as sublimation. Another possible source comes from the Gemara Yoma (78b) which tells us Rabbah bought cheap vessels for his children to break, apparently to allow them to vent off steam in a healthy way. This suggests that it would be unhealthy to try to repress a child’s natural exuberance and force him to “sit still and behave.”

[3] Ketuvot 13b. Also see Rambam Mishne Torah, at the end of Hilkhot Isurei Biah, where he stresses that when it comes to sexual matters, there will always be some in every community who succumb to temptation.

[4] See Ezer Mikodesh, Even Haezer 23:3 where he discusses at length the difference between a random thought which cannot be controlled, and purposefully dwelling on a fantasy.

[5] Echoes of this sentiment can be found in R. Kook’s words in Shemonah Kevatzim 1:463, (translation mine):

“The folk who live according to their instincts, and are not learned, are actually superior in many respects to the learned folk. In particular, their instinctive common sense decency and morality was not corrupted by the intricate, wearying and too-clever burdens of scholarship.” (I thank Marc B. Shapiro and the Seforim Blog for this reference.)

[6] Ramban on Bereishith 29:9. Related to seeing Biblical figures as human, I personally heard an interesting piece of Torah Sheb’al Peh from Rabbi Avigdor Miller, ZT’L, who was my wife’s great uncle, affording me the privilege of an occasional meeting. According to my memory, here is what Rav Miller said: “Without being disrespectful, I would like you to understand that when Moshe Rabbeinu ate a sandwich, he experienced hunger, desire to eat, and enjoyment of eating. It is a scientific impossibility to eat a sandwich unless you enjoy it because the food goes down the throat and is digested as a result of the salivary glands. A person does not produce saliva unless he feels desire for the food. If Moshe Rabbeinu tried to eat a sandwich without desiring it, the food would go down into his stomach like a bunch of rocks.”

[7] Succah 52a

[8]Not limiting ourselves to Amoraim who are susceptible to feelings of despair, in more recent times there is a historical account of the Fifth Lubavitcher Rebbe seeking a consultation from Dr. Sigmund Freud for a bout of depression:

In the winter of 1902-1903, Rabbi Shalom Dov-Ber Schneersohn, the 5th Lubavitcher Rebbe1 (known by the acronym RaSHaB), from a scion of Chassidic Rabbis, travelled from Russia to Vienna to consult with 'the famous Professor Sigmund Freud.' He was accompanied by his son, Rabbi Josef Yitzchak Schneersohn (known by the acronym RaYaTZ). At that time the Rebbe RaSHaB was forty two years old his son was twenty two years old.

While various details of this visit to Vienna had been known in Lubavitch circles for some years, the name of the famous doctor was not revealed in print until 1997 when the private Diaries (R'Shimos) of the late Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson were published. The diary for the period spring 1932 relates a conversation that Rabbi Menachem Mendel (the 7th Rabbi in the dynasty known as Lubavitch Chassidim) had with his predecessor in Riga, Latvia, about the three month visit (6 January - 5 April 1903) that he had made with his father (the RaSHaB, the 5th Lubavitcher Rabbi) to Vienna. In this conversation the name of the famous professor is specifically identified. 2After a further unspecified exchange between Freud and the Rebbe, his son recalls that Freud made the following 'diagnosis:' "The head grasps what the heart is unable to contain, and the heart cannot tolerate." (SIGMUND FREUD AND THE LUBAVITCHER REBBE, STANLEY SCHNEIDER, Jerusalem & JOSEPH H. BERKE, London.

Published in Psychoanalytic Review, 87(1), 2000.)

[9] Rav Yitzchak Hutner, ZT’L, in a letter to a talmid who was depressed from his failures, was highly critical of gedolim stories that only spoke of their great stature, without relating any of their personal struggles and missteps on their way to greatness. See Pahad Yitzhak, Igrot U'khtavim, #128.

[10] Treating our children as Hashem treats his, see Bereishith 21:17 and Bereishith Rabbah 53 quoted by Rashi, Op. Cit.

Rav Ben-Zion Meir Hai Uziel (1880–1953) was a visionary rabbinic leader, a strong promoter of Jewish unity, and the twentieth century’s most authentic embodiment of the classic Sephardic rabbinic tradition. His leadership was characterized, on the one hand, by a burning desire to abolish divisions between Jews, yet at the same time as promoting Sephardic Judaism. How did he reconcile these seemingly conflicting agendas?

As the Haham Bashi (Ottoman-appointed Chief Rabbi) of Jaffa-Tel Aviv (1911–1939), and then as the Rishon L’Zion of the pre-State Yishuv (1939–1947) and of the State of Israel (1948–1953), Rav Uziel was officially the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of the Land of Israel. But despite holding an official title and position that seems to have ethnic and particularistic overtones, Rav Uziel was an outspoken proponent of Jewish unity. He passionately sought to abolish the traditional ethnic divisions amongst Jews, especially in Israel. His push for Jewish unity was persistent and thorough, and he articulated his vision of Jewish unity in many forums, including public addresses, written position papers, and halakhic rulings. From his earliest moments as a young rabbinic leader, all the way through to his famous “Spiritual Will to the Jewish People” written a few weeks before his death in 1953, Rav Uziel advocated Jewish unity as an ideal position.

            If Rav Uziel so actively sought Jewish unity as an ideal, then what was his understanding of his own particular title and role as a Sephardic Chief Rabbi? What was Rav Uziel’s definition of Sephardic Judaism within the context of a Jewish community that, in his own view, should no longer express these ethnic divisions?

In order to answer this question, it is helpful to begin in 1911, when, upon being appointed Haham Bashi of Jaffa, Rav Uziel articulated a grand vision of unity for the Jewish people:

It is my tremendous desire to unify all of the divisions that the Diaspora tore us into, the separate communities of Sephardim, Ashkenazim, Temanim (Yemenites), etc. This should not be a difficult task, for unity is in our nature and our national character as a people. These divisions amongst us are not natural. The particular linguistic and communal divisions that exist amongst us were created due to our dispersion throughout the Diaspora. As we now return to our natural homeland, there is absolutely no reason to continue living by these communal and linguistic divisions imported from the Diaspora. Instead, we will be one unified community. Should I succeed in helping to quickly realize and fulfill this unity amongst us, great will be my merit.  

This was Rav Uziel’s “I have a dream” speech. Fully aware of the 1,900-year history in which Jews lived as separate and distinct communities throughout the Diaspora—with different rabbis, customs, languages, prayer rituals, and halakhic rulings dividing them—Rav Uziel nonetheless believes that unifying the Jewish people “should not be a difficult task” because the divisions born in the Diaspora are alien to the essence of the Jewish people. He does not consider his desire to abolish the Diaspora’s divisions into Sephardim and Ashkenazim to be a new or radical idea but a return to our true nature. He declares that unity “is in our national character,” and by becoming “one unified community” we are returning to our original essence as a people.

The most remarkable part of this speech is the context in which it was delivered—an acceptance speech upon becoming the Haham Bashi of Jaffa. As he accepted a title and position traditionally associated with the Sephardic community in the Land of Israel, Rav Uziel boldly declared that, as Haham Bashi, he would serve the entire community and work tirelessly to abolish the divisions among all Jews. Rav Uziel did not see his position as a Sephardic rabbi in the narrowly ethnic sense, rather as a potentially unifying force within the Jewish world. This being the case, what, if anything, did being a “Sephardic Rabbi” mean to Rav Uziel?

In 1930, at a gathering celebrating his 50^th birthday, Rav Uziel addressed the apparent contradiction between preaching unity while maintaining Sephardic Judaism. Responding to the several friends who spoke his praises that night, Rav Uziel began by re-affirming his passion for Jewish unity:

In his address tonight, my friend and colleague Rabbi Fishman touched upon the Sephardic and Ashkenazic elements within me. I have already expressed on many occasions that I do not relate to any distinctions or separations between Sephardim and Ashkenazim. It is not the countries of Spain (Sepharad) or Germany (Ashkenaz) that gave us great Torah scholars, rather the Torah itself—regardless of locale—that has inspired generation after generation of Torah learning.

To my childhood friend, the honorable author A. Elmaleh, I say: I love the concept of unity for our people, and my goal is to see the elimination of the unnatural divisions amongst us that were created by the diaspora. I absolutely hate divisiveness, and I sharply condemn and reject all divisiveness masked as religion.

These words bear a striking resemblance to the vision Rav Uziel articulated in his inaugural address as Haham Bashi of Jaffa in 1911. Except this time, in addition to his well-known love for Jewish unity, Rav Uziel added some personal reflections on Sephardic Judaism:

However, hand in hand with my love for unity, I want to draw the distinction between unity and self-belittlement. It is my goal to see unity amongst us in the field of work and [my emphasis] in the field of literary creations. Therefore, may it come to pass that from the descendants of the great rabbis from Spain, once again will emerge posekim (halakhic decisors) and darshanim (homiletical preachers), hokrim (philosophers) and meshorerim (poets), parshanim (biblical commentators) and mekubalim (mystics/kabbalists). This is my goal, and this is my prayer. It is from this ideological worldview that I lent a hand to strengthen the World Federation of Sephardim, but from the very first moment, I told them that their most important mission lies in the areas of culture and Torah. More than once, I asked to create, under their umbrella, a Bet Midrash L’Rabbanim (a Rabbinical School), because I believe that Torah and higher intellectual education are the foundations for peace and unity amongst us.

In a bold expression of his own identity, mission and purpose as a Sephardic rabbi, Rav Uziel articulates an intellectual definition of Sephardic Judaism. He distinguishes between “unity and self-belittlement” in order to ensure that unity does not suppress the voices of his own Sephardic rabbinic forebears. Rav Uziel’s goal of unity would not come at the expense of his own classic Sephardic tradition. Rather than abolish Sephardic Judaism, he sought to redefine its purpose within the larger context and goal of national revival and Jewish unity.

In Rav Uziel’s broad vision, Sephardic Judaism would no longer reflect an ethnic definition but instead would offer an intellectual-spiritual framework for the entire Jewish people. To this end, Rav Uziel envisioned the establishment of a Sephardic Bet Midrash that would revive the unique curriculum that characterized the yeshivot and academies in Spain and, in turn, produce a new generation of Sephardic-style but universally Jewish, “posekim (halakhic decisors) and darshanim (homiletical preachers), hokrim (philosophers) and meshorerim (poets), parshanim (biblical commentators) and mekubalim (mystics/kabbalists).” This would be a “Sephardic” Bet Midrash thanks to its approach to Torah study, not because of the ethnic background of its students.

What was that approach to Torah study? In a lengthy article tracing the historical development of yeshivot and Batei Midrash, Rav Uziel articulates some of the key historical differences between Sephardic and Ashkenazic yeshivot. This is yet another expression of his unique understanding of Sephardic Judaism:

Yeshivot were divided into two centers of learning, known by their general name of Sefarad (Spain) and Ashkenaz (Germany). This division does not only reflect a geographic divide, rather it primarily reflects a difference in curriculum and methodology.

The Sephardic Geonim (scholars) engaged in talmudic study and composed many works of talmudic interpretation, but the primary purpose of these works was to clearly explain talmudic sections in depth, to link these sections to other relevant sections within the Talmud, with the ultimate goal of arriving at practical halakhic decisions. This is different than the yeshivot of France and Ashkenaz, who limited their scope of talmudic study to analysis of the text.

Furthermore, the Sephardic rabbis widened the spectrum of the yeshiva curriculum to include philosophical inquiry, as well as a wide range of sciences and general knowledge that they studied from non-Torah literature. The rabbis of France and Ashkenaz fenced themselves into the exclusive world of Talmud and Midrash, fearing that the penetration of external knowledge would create theological confusion amongst its students. For this reason, they feared the study of Maimonides’ Guide for the Perplexed.

            Rav Uziel envisioned that all Jews, irrespective of their ethnic origins, would be able to study in such an academy, and its rabbinical graduates would serve the entire Jewish community. Rav Uziel believed that the uniquely Sephardic approach that was developed in Golden Age Andalusia, where yeshivot seamlessly merged talmudic scholarship, practical halakhic decision-making, philosophical inquiry, poetic creativity, Torah interpretation, and mystical speculation, all under one roof, could serve as an exemplary model and unifying force for the Jewish people.

Far from being mutually exclusive, Rav Uziel believed that Jewish unity and the Sephardic intellectual tradition are complementary. He specifically wanted to open a Sephardic Bet Midrash, because he believed that its broad worldview would benefit the entire Jewish people. His unique philosophy presents an opportunity for today’s Jewish world to adopt and apply the teachings of Sephardic Judaism to a broad cross section of the Jewish community. Not only is the term “Sephardic” not divisive, but in Rav Uziel’s worldview and own words, it has the potential to serve as a foundation, “for peace and unity amongst us.”

To our members and friends,

It is a exciting new chapter in my role as National Scholar of the Institute, as I now manage the University Network and Campus Fellowship as well. We currently have 23 Campus Fellows at 20 schools across the United States and Canada, and look forward to growing that number.

Campus Fellows run at least two programs per semester on their campuses, with the goal of promoting our Institute’s vision and enlisting participants in their programs in our University Network.

As you will see below, our Fellows have initiated a wide range of programs and events on their campuses, and we will report on their work as it progresses. To see the Fellows’ photos and bios, please go to https://www.jewishideas.org/current-campus-fellows.

Thank you for your support,

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

National Scholar

SUNY Binghamton: Sarah Pincus and Marc Generowicz

Last year I ran this program called "Machloket with Marc". It was always a great turnout, with around 15-20 attendees. We generally read an article from your website or from Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo's and discussed it.

For this year's programming, I plan on continuing the "Machloket with Marc", as well as creating a larger program dealing with Mental Disorders in Judaism. It will be a joint effort with my partner/ ambassador Sarah Pincus. We plan on signing students up for the network (especially freshmen).

Brandeis University: Yael Jaffe

BOO Senior Mishmar: Each Thursday night in the Brandeis Beit Midrash, we have Senior Mishmar! "Mishmar" is traditionally a late-night study session/class, often done on Thursday nights in preparation for Shabbat. At BOO's (Brandeis Orthodox Organization) Mishmar, a different senior student speaks to the community each week. This platform offers seniors the opportunity to share words of Torah as well as some reflection on their time here at Brandeis and in BOO, and allows all students to learn from their peers' knowledge, insight, and experiences. I have been committed to increasing the turnout, broadening the accessibility, and maximizing the quality of Mishmar, and so far I've seen really great results! I have been pushing seniors to incorporate more concrete text study into their Mishmars, and pushing diverse students to take the opportunity who may not have considered it otherwise.

The Joy of Text LIVE: On January 21, 2018, The Joy of Text will be doing a live recording at Brandeis! The Joy of Text is a monthly podcast about Judaism, sexuality, and the intersection of the two. Co-hosted by Rabbi Dov Linzer and Dr. Bat Sheva Marcus and moderated by Ramie Smith, this podcast features in-depth conversations by rabbinic and medical experts about subjects that you’ll almost never hear discussed anywhere else. This event is a collaboration between BOO (Brandeis Orthodox Organization) and JFAB (Jewish Feminist Association of Brandeis).

University of Chicago: Raina Weinstein

First, we will hold a screening of the Israeli film, The Women's Balcony on a Saturday night in November, followed by a discussion of gender separation and roles in Judaism -- and how they are currently changing in the Modern Orthodox world. Our JLIC couple will then hold a shiur on halakhic perspectives on feminism later in the week.

Second, we will have a panel discussion between a local Modern Orthodox rabbi and our Israeli JLIC about religious Zionism in the Diaspora and the relationship between the American Modern Orthodox community and the Israeli Religious Zionist community.

Harvard: Corey Gold

For the first event, we hosted a lunch and learn last Sunday with Rabbi Aryeh Klapper. The class topic was "Does Physical Disability Mean Anything? A Model Discussion About Halakhah & Values.” Rabbi Klapper was greeted by a strong crowd of about 25 people - both Harvard undergraduates and community members. We ordered pizza for everyone in attendance.

The second event will be over Simchat Torah. We will be hosting Tzipporah Klapper as a female educator in residence. She will also help with ruach on the women’s side of the mechitza. A rising star in Torah learning, Tzipporah will give a 20 minute shiur during the drasha slot on Shabbat, a shiur for those not getting aliyot on Simchat Torah day, and a shiur at seuda shlishit.

Harvard Law School: Ezra Newman

I'm running bi-weekly learning programs at Harvard Law School with lunch. So far we've had 2, one on Eruv Tavshilin and one on Halakhot surrounding Transactional Law. We had 13 people at each of the first two.

Johns Hopkins University: Raymond Braha

For this semester I've been coordinating a nightly Bet Midrash program, putting out some snacks while people learn on their own. This follows the shiurim that are run by Hillel and OU/JLIC during the evenings.

I also organize a pretty much bi-weekly student-led shiur on Shabbat afternoons. Due to the holidays we've only had two thus far this semester, but they've been excellent. 

I'm also considering bringing in a guest speaker or organizing a big Mishmar type event to provide a better forum for getting people to sign up for the University Network.

University of Maryland: Tova Rosenthal and Eitan Zecher

Our first event for this semester was Partner Up which happened last night. A sheet was distributed with various sources and discussion questions about Sukkot and repentance from a place of love, and students formed smaller discussion groups to learn and talk with. It went really well and the students enjoyed it!

McGill: Zac Tankel

The main program I will be focusing on initially is our 'Thursday Night Torah' program, abbreviated 'TNT'.  This is a program which some other students and I started last year with OU-JLIC.  Every Thursday evening, a different student prepares a discussion on a topic relevant to modern Orthodoxy, with textual sources.  Our conversations have included questions about topics such as the theory of evolution, secular education, or homosexuality, and how we approach these questions in the Jewish community.  In addition, JLIC sponsors subsidized kosher takeout for the program (since obtaining kosher food is a challenge in our community).  We'll be holding our first TNT of the year on October 19, then every Thursday thereafter until our exam period in December begins, after which we will resume in January, and continue until the subsequent exam period in April.  

Princeton University: Ricki Heicklen

Mental Health and Judaism: A Shabbat devoted to discussions of mental health, halacha, and the Jewish community. This will include a shiur Friday night and a panel of students Shabbat afternoon discussing their personal experiences, and we are looking into bringing in a professional educator as well. 

Pride Shabbat: A Shabbat devoted to discussions of LGBTQ issues and activism and Judaism. This will be during one of the Shabbatot in December, and we are still figuring out who our speaker will be. This will definitely include a student panel as we had one last year and it was very successful.

Rutgers: Raffi Levi and Benjamin Nechmad

At Rutgers, we have already initiated our first event, the Hillel Open Beit Midrash. We hope to have this event twice a month. For the first session, the focus topic was a Pirkei Avot Shiur with commentary by Rabbi Marc Angel. We had about ten people and we definitely can do better once the holidays pass. 

University of Toronto: Ari Barbalat

"Was Habakkuk a Hero?: Interpretations of Habakkuk's Protest"

Is it more righteous to resist evil or to suffer it? In brief, this lecture-discussion would offer a reading of the Book of Habakkuk in the Bible in light of Midrashic, commentarial and literary perspectives on the book and its teachings. 

"Judith and Hosea: A Dialogue of Perspectives"

There is an intriguing medieval text known as Maaseh Yehudit. It tells the story of Judith and Holofernes from "Rabbinic" perspective, with some differences from the Book of Judith narrative found in the Apocrypha. In this lecture-discussion, we will compare and contrast the messages of the Book of Hosea and the Book of Judith. In what ways are they in dialogue with one another? How do they challenge one another? How do they complement one another?

Queens College: Devora Chait

The first program that I am planning this semester is a talk regarding Temple Mount. The talk is scheduled to be given by Rabbi Chaim Ozer Chait, Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Migdal HaTorah in Modiin, Israel. The talk would discuss what current obligations concern Temple Mount for Orthodox Judaism, the theoretical Halachic ideal for Temple Mount and the Jewish people, its feasibility today, and what action one could take towards this ideal in the modern political climate. 

The second program that I am planning is a student-run mishmar, with the Divrei Torah given exclusively by students to their peers. The structure would be a mixture of prepared speaking and discussion. Two students would be asked to prepare words of Torah, and in addition, there would be time set aside for students to read and discuss an article regarding a current topic in Judaism. This focus on the students in leading mishmar would encourage students to become more actively involved in their Torah learning, and would allow students to learn in a manner that most excites them. 

UCLA: Asher Naghi

On Shmini Atzeret, the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals brought UCLA’s Jewish community Rabbi Menachem Leibtag, one of the world’s foremost Tanakh experts. He spoke multiple times, mainly addressing the meaning behind the holiday. In a small in-depth Chabura after dinner, he delved into broader questions on Parshat Bereshit and on the mission of the Jewish nation.

UMass: Kalila Courban

For my first event I am bringing a woman I met over the summer while interning at the Shalom Hartman Institute to speak. Her name is Rabbi Lilah Kageden and she is the first Modern Orthodox Jewish American woman to assume the title of rabbi. She will be talking about her journey towards assuming this position and the obstacles she faced. My next event will be later in the semester will be a more informal chevruta style discussion. Topic to be determined.

UPenn: Sigal Spitzer

We are having our first program over Simchat Torah. It is about happiness on chag and the meta-theme of simcha in our daily lives. A student is leading the conversation and it will be hosted in a community sukka on campus. I am very excited and have a list of about 15 students attending. 

The next program is still up for debate. Students on campus are interested in Jewish medical ethics and halachic organ donation so I am in touch with someone about that topic and waiting to hear back if the final logistics are going to work out. 

Sir Herbert Samuel, later Lord Samuel of Mount Carmel and Toxteth, was the first Jewish governor of Palestine since the fall of the Bar Kokhba regime some 1800 years earlier. In many respects, however, it was Nehemiah, rather than Bar Kokhba, who was Samuel’s ancient precursor. Bar Kokhba led an independent Jewish state, however short-lived it might have been. Nehemiah, on the other hand, was, like Samuel, a senior official in the administration of a major superpower, appointed by its ruler to govern the mixed population of one of its outlying possessions.

Nehemiah served as cupbearer to King Artaxerxes I, the absolute ruler of the Persian Empire. That he could taste non-kosher wine was a result of his official position; so, at least, was how the Rabbis of the Talmud justified what appeared to be a violation of Jewish law.[1] The cupbearer was a key advisor to the king; he was one of the most powerful men in the Empire. As a Jew, Nehemiah was especially valuable to Artaxerxes, since he posed no threat to the king’s person. Xerxes, the king’s father, had been murdered by Artabanus, the commander of the royal bodyguard. Artaxerxes himself had survived an assassination attempt by two other bodyguards, who, according to the Book of Esther, were Bigtan and Teresh. The Talmud asserts that the plot involved poisoning Xerxes’s food; the Aramaic Targum has them poisoning Esther’s wine and then stabbing Xerxes with a sword.[2] Nehemiah, the outsider with no pretensions to the throne, could be trusted not to adulterate the royal drink. Moreover, Nehemiah, precisely because he was not a Persian, could stand aloof from the intrigues that convulsed the Persian royal court, as they did all oriental despotisms. In this regard as well, it was easier for Nehemiah to win the king’s trust.

That a Jew could rise so high in the Persian Court was not as surprising as it might seem. The substantial Jewish community that descended from the exile to Babylonia had assimilated well into the Persian economy, becoming land holders and financiers, as well as tenant farmers. They also served in the Persian military, including its navy.[3] Jews also held senior positions in the Persian bureaucracy; one such individual was a Jew named Asaph, keeper of the king’s forests, a not unimportant post in those times. Presumably, those Jews like Nehemiah who did function as Persian officials needed to possess a degree of secular knowledge, at a minimum, the ability to speak Persian, the language of the royal court.

Despite, or perhaps because of, its having adapted so comfortably to the Persian environment, the Jewish community suffered from a trend toward intermarriage, foreshadowing a situation that continues to plague contemporary Jewry. Perhaps as a result of his awareness of the deleterious consequences of intermarriage in the Persian/Babylonian Jewish community, Nehemiah was strongly opposed to intermarriage. His opposition would manifest itself when he became Governor of Judah. 

Nehemiah appears to have been the scion of a prominent family, though in his eponymous Biblical book he only relates his father’s name. Unlike Ezra and many other Biblical figures, he does not give the names of his earlier forbears. The Midrash of the Ten Kings relates that Nehemiah was descended from the Davidic line of kings that ruled over ancient Judah. Another Talmudic assertion identifies him as the son of King Jeconiah, whom Nebuchadnezzar had exiled to Babylon. Various kabbalistic traditions claim that Nehemiah was actually the reincarnation of the child that had been born out of wedlock to David and Bathsheba; or that he was the reincarnation of Rabban Gamaliel, leader of the Sanhedrin, prince of Judah, and himself a scion of the kings of Judah. Whatever Nehemiah’s connection to the royal Judean house, it is clear that Nehemiah’s family was a prominent one. His father, Hakhaliah, appears to have been of Egyptian-Jewish background who together with his family moved to Jerusalem, where he and his wife were buried.  Nehemiah’s relative Hanani, whom he termed his brother, led the delegation to Susa from Judah (as the sub-province of the Persian province of Abar Nahara was called) that, upon Nehemiah’s request for news of the city and the Jewish community, relayed to him the sorry state of Jerusalem. Its walls had been breached; its gates had been burnt; and its residents lived in terror of the indigenous non-Jewish peoples, from whom they were subjected to frequent attacks.

The political context in which Herbert Samuel served his government was obviously very different from that of the Persian Court. Samuel was a minister in a democratic government, not in an absolute monarchy, where the shifting whims of the king often meant life or death for his courtiers. Again unlike Nehemiah, who served one king and had no true peers, Samuel interfaced with two Liberal Prime Ministers, Herbert H. Asquith, in whose cabinet he served with other ministers, and David Lloyd George, upon whose ascent to the prime ministership Samuel returned to the Parliamentary back benches. Even when serving in cabinet, Samuel’s relationship with Herbert Asquith was nothing like that of Nehemiah to Artaxerxes, whose confidant he was; Asquith certainly thought sufficiently highly of Samuel to appoint him Home Secretary, but he rose no further.

Herbert Louis Samuel’s background was neither a secret nor mystical. His family was among the most prominent in the Anglo-Jewish community. His father was a wealthy banker, who partnered with Samuel’s more famous uncle, Lord Swaythling, the one-time Liberal Member of Parliament known as Samuel Montagu, who had earlier changed his name from Montagu Samuel. Herbert’s brother, Sir Stuart Samuel, was also a prominent Liberal politician, who succeeded Swaythling as M.P. for Whitechapel and in 1917 was elected chairman of the Board of Deputies of British Jews.

The prominence of Samuel’s family was an indicator of how far the Jews of Britain had risen in the preceding hundred years. Having returned to England in 1656 to live openly as Jews, members of the community soon became prominent in British economic circles. Jews continued to suffer from a variety of discriminatory restrictions until the mid-nineteenth century, however, when a series of legislative acts enabled them to serve in Parliament, hold Cabinet positions, including Lord Chancellor, and attend the “ancient universities” of Oxford, Cambridge and Durham. Thus, just as the prosperous Jewish community served as a backdrop to Nehemiah’s position at court, so too did the increasingly wealthy and influential Jewish community bolster the prospects and status of Herbert Samuel and other Jews, who like him, had entered British politics. 

Samuel was not a particularly religious man, as Nehemiah certainly was. Nevertheless, Samuel was a traditional Jew. He kept a kosher home, maintained membership in his Orthodox synagogue, which his wife, Beatrice, and their children attended every Shabbat  (he attended on major festivals), and gave his children a religious upbringing.  Importantly, Samuel also shared Nehemiah’s abhorrence of intermarriage, considering a Jew who married out of his faith as a “renegade.”  When some of his grandchildren married non-Jews, he broke off contact with them until shortly before his passing.[4]

Most important, however, was the concern that Nehemiah and Herbert Samuel shared in common for their Jewish brethren, especially for those in Palestine. Both men, when serving as governors, also faced challenges not only from the majority indigenous peoples, but from elements in the Jewish community itself.

Finally, both men did not receive anything like the recognition they deserved for their efforts to better the lives of the Jewish people. Nehemiah was criticized in the Talmud for arrogating too much credit to himself.[5] For more than a millennium after it was written, his memoir was not treated as a separate book of the Tanach, the Biblical canon. For his part, Samuel to this day is seen by many of his co-religionists as a Jew who did offer sufficiently strong support for Zionist interests once he became Governor of Palestine. Only in the past few decades have historians reconsidered his position and recognize him for what he was:  a strong advocate for a Jewish National Home in Palestine, and ultimately for a Jewish state there. Indeed, as world Jewry commemorates the centenary of the 1917 Balfour Declaration, which codified the principle of a Jewish National Home, Samuel’s role in the formulation of that document should, like Nehemiah and his memoir, receive recognition that is long overdue. 

Nehemiah at Court

Nehemiah was deeply distressed when he was told about the state of affairs in Judah in general and Jerusalem in particular. He felt keenly for the community and for the country, even though he had chosen not to make Aliyah. Perhaps he had not done so because, like many wealthy and prominent Jews of later generations, he felt that he could be of more assistance to his brethren by remaining where he was. After all, Persia was the regional hegemon, and Judah was under its control.

Indeed, when Nehemiah inquired after what he termed “the remnant who survived the captivity,”[6] he was specifically referring to the lower economic and social classes of pre-exilic Judean society that the Babylonians had not even bothered to expel. That he did so was an indication of Nehemiah’s concern for those Jews less fortunate than himself, and his determination to better their lot. 

Nehemiah did not immediately petition Artaxerxes, although the king was known to have what Plutarch later described as “a gentle and noble spirit.”[7] Still Nehemiah recognized that timing was everything, and that if he caught the absolute monarch at a bad moment, not only would his petition be rejected, but his life could be in danger. Esther had recognized the same risk when she had responded to Mordecai’s request that she intercede with the king by pointing out that “if any person, man or woman, enters the king’s court without having been summoned, there is but one law for him—that he be put to death.”[8] Accordingly, Nehemiah spent several months in prayer and contemplation, and perhaps suffered from depression as well.

When Nehemiah finally did seek the king’s permission to travel to Judah, he did so in response to the latter’s concern that Nehemiah seemed out of sorts. But he also seized upon the fact that it was Persian New year, a time when the king was likely to grant requests put to him. To strengthen his appeal, Nehemiah enlisted the support of the queen, and, recognizing the Middle Eastern respect for ancestral tombs, astutely formulated his request in terms of his concern for the condition of his forebears’ graves.

Nehemiah did not mention Jerusalem at all. He was concerned that Artaxerxes, having recently put down a revolt by a local satrap (in which Jews might have participated), would not have been accepting of the notion of an emergent Jewish political entity. Persia tolerated other religions, including Judaism and its Temple in Jerusalem. Artaxerxes himself had authorized Ezra, some thirteen years earlier, to lead what was clearly a religious mission to Jerusalem. Nationalism was entirely different matter, however, and anything that smacked of establishing Jerusalem as the capital of an independent state was certain to provoke a hostile reaction from the king. 

In the event, Artaxerxes granted Nehemiah’s request for a leave of absence, after the latter uttered yet another prayer, this time a silent one. Seizing the moment, Nehemiah pressed his advantage and also requested permission to rebuild the city, again couching his request in terms of “the city of the graveyard of my ancestors.”[9] In so doing, Nehemiah no longer was merely advocating a policy; he was seeking to implement it himself.

Moreover, Nehemiah was fully aware of the fact that his request was consistent with Persian strategic policy. Having endured multiple revolts in Egypt, and faced with an ongoing threat from Greece, Persia’s superpower rival, Artaxerxes had begun to fortify towns in the western part of his empire. A fortified Jerusalem, under the guidance of his loyal cupbearer, dovetailed well with the king’s objectives in that part of his empire.

Artaxerxes therefore acceded to Nehemiah’s request. Not only did he issue him a laissez passer through the empire, but he ordered Asaph, the Jewish keeper of his forest, to provide Nehemiah with whatever supplies of wood that the latter required. In addition, and unlike Ezra, Nehemiah was accompanied by an armed guard, signifying that his entry into Judah was as a Persian official, not as a Jewish religious leader.

Nehemiah’s approach to the king, the nature of his proposal, and his official appointment, all foreshadowed to a great extent what Sir Herbert Samuel attempted to do more than two millennia later. And, like Nehemiah, Samuel’s efforts met with success, at least until he actually took office as Governor of Palestine.

Samuel in Cabinet

On October 28, 1914, Turkey bombed Russia’s Black Sea ports, thereby formally entering World War I. Less than two weeks later, on November 9th, Prime Minister Asquith announced that “the Turkish Empire has committed suicide.”[10] Later that month, Herbert Samuel, then serving in the cabinet as President of the Local Government Board, proposed to both Chancellor of the Exchequer David Lloyd George and Sir Edward Grey, the Foreign Secretary, the “establishment of as Jewish State in Palestine under Jewish protection.[11] The following month Samuel met with Chaim Weitzmann, at his request. Weitzmann came away convinced that Samuel was a supporter of the Zionist cause. Both Samuel’s proposal, and the meeting with Weitzmann marked a sea-change for Samuel, who had not been a Zionist, took little interest in Zionist matters, and came from a Jewish milieu that was at best apathetic and at worst hostile to the Zionist cause.[12]

In January 1915, anticipating the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, Samuel circulated two Cabinet memoranda urging British sponsorship of a Jewish entity in Palestine. He argued in his second memorandum entitled “The Future of Palestine” that “the course of events opens a prospect of change, at the end of the war, in the status of Palestine…A feeling is spreading that now, at last, some advance may be made…for the restoration of the Jews to the land to which they are attached by ties almost as ancient as history itself.”[13]

Samuel backtracked from his support of a sovereign Jewish state in Palestine; his proposal was now far more modest. He felt that the fact that the Jewish population was but a sixth of the land’s Arab inhabitants rendered “the time…not ripe for the establishment thereof an independent autonomous Jewish state.” Nevertheless, he “hoped…that Jewish immigration, carefully regulated, would be given preference so that in the course of time the Jewish people, grown into a majority and settled in the land, may be conceded a degree of self-government as the conditions of that day may justify.”

Finally, whereas Nehemiah implicitly recognized the strategic importance of Jerusalem to Artaxerxes and Persian security, Samuel was explicit about the benefits that control of Palestine, with support for a growing Jewish population, would confer on British strategic interests. Clearly assuming that the allies would defeat Turkey, and that Britain could seek to control Palestine, Samuel asserted that “from the standpoint of British interests there are several arguments for this policy.” These included “enabl[ing] England to fulfill in yet another sphere her historic part of civilizer of backward countries;….add[ing]…lustre…to the British Crown; ….obtain[ing] the compensations, which public opinion will demand, in Mesopotamia and Palestine;” and providing a buffer against the French in the Middle East.

Lastly, Samuel asserted that implementation of his proposal  would “win for England the lasting gratitude of the Jews throughout the world…In the United States…they would form the body of opinion whose bias…would be favourable to the British Empire.”[14] Indeed, at the time Samuel wrote his memorandum, British officials considered American Jewry to be pro-German, in no small part because the Central Powers were fighting anti-Semitic Russia.

Samuel’s memoranda, and his subsequent lobbying, whether out of Cabinet beginning in May 1915, during his relatively brief tenure as Chancellor of the Duchy of Lancaster later that year and then Home Secretary in 1916, or once again out of the Cabinet, may have helped sway the British Government. To the extent that his efforts met with success, however, it was his strategic arguments, rather than support for the Zionist cause, that resonated with Sir Mark Sykes, Britain’s Middle East negotiator—and co-author of the Sykes-Picot Treaty—and other British decision-makers. Britain feared a French presence abutting Egypt and the strategic Suez Canal; control of Palestine obviated that possibility.[15]  If support for a Jewish National Home, and the sympathy such a position generated among world Jewry, buttressed the British case in negotiations with France, so much the better.

Samuel’s support for the Zionist project did play a major role in the years 1915-20 in another respect, however. It was critical in gaining support for the cause among the Anglo-Jewish leadership, some of whom, like Claude Montefiore, President of the Anglo-Jewish Association, and Samuel’s nephew, Edwin Montagu, himself a member of the Cabinet under both Asquith and Lloyd George, were bitterly anti-Zionist. [16] Moreover, when the War Cabinet elected to consult Zionist leaders in the run-up to a decision as to whether to issue what became known as the Balfour Declaration, Samuel, now no longer in the Cabinet but clearly still influential, joined Weitzmann, Lord Rothschild, Chief Rabbi J.H. Hertz, and Nahum Sokolow in appearing before the cabinet to make the case for a declaration.

In many ways, the plea that the five men put forward was as crucial for the Jewish people in its time as Nehemiah’s request to Artaxerxes so many years before. And, like Nehemiah’s request, the Zionist entreaty met with success. On October 31, 1917, the War Cabinet decided to issue a declaration regarding the future status of Palestine; two days later, Foreign Secretary Arthur James Balfour relayed its contents to Baron Rothschild, for transmission to the Zionist Federation of Great Britain and Ireland.

Governing Judah; Governing Palestine

Once Nehemiah and Herbert Samuel assumed their respective roles as governor of the territory that the Persians called Judah and the British Palestine, the parallels between them faded away. For Nehemiah, providing for the military, economic, and social security of the small, weak Jewish community was paramount. For Samuel, it was the need to propitiate the Arab majority even as he supported the aspirations of the Jewish minority.

Nehemiah gave top priority to rebuilding and restoring the walls and gates of Jerusalem. He organized a militia to defend the city during its restoration, and subsequently maintained a force to deter any possible attacks from the indigenous peoples—Samaritans, Arabs and others—who rightly viewed Nehemiah and his Jewish supporters as a threat to their overlordship of the sub-satrapy of Judah. He followed these efforts by drawing up and implementing a plan to populate the near-empty city with Jews, based on a census that he organized.

The census revealed that there were many returnees who were undocumented; their names did not appear on the genealogical register. A significant proportion of these people claimed to be priests, yet their inability to substantiate their claim rendered them susceptible to exclusion from the Jewish community. In a move that should serve as a lesson for today, and that reflected both his political realism and his desire not to undermine communal unity, Nehemiah did not disqualify these families from the priesthood. Instead he barred them from partaking of sacrifices for the foreseeable future. He did not, however, prohibit them from eating teruma, the grain allotment reserved for priests, which could be eaten outside the Temple and, for that matter, outside Jerusalem. In effect, therefore, Nehemiah treated undocumented priests as priests with blemishes, who were permitted to eat teruma, whose pedigree was not challenged, but who could not partake of the sacrifices. It was a brilliant solution to a potentially explosive political problem.

Having dealt with repopulating the city, and with associated genealogical issues, Nehemiah undertook to inject the community with a new degree of religious fervor. He conducted special services to celebrate holidays, notably Sukkot and its successor holiday, Shemini Atzeret, that despite the presence of the Temple  had not been properly commemorated “since the days of Joshua bin Nun.”[17] Together with Ezra he led the community in two special days of prayer and fasting immediately after it had celebrated Shemini Atzeret.

Nehemiah was a proponent of economic and social reform within the Jewish community. He chastised the rich for exploiting the hardships of the poor, forcing the latter to sell their fields and, in the worst case, their children as slaves. He entertained, rather than dismissed, the protests of the community’s women, many of whom had been left to look after farms while their husbands were working to restore the city walls and gates or serving in the militia. Indeed, Nehemiah went even further; he had no issue with women working alongside the men in the completing the city’s restoration.

Nehemiah faced opposition from within the community as well as without. Leaders such as Eliashib the High Priest and Tobiah, a Jew who was an Ammonite official, had made common cause with the Sanballat and other indigenous leaders who resented Nehemiah as an interloper seeking to upend the ruling order. Nehemiah also had to cope with accusations both in Judah and at the Persian royal court that he was seeking to establish an independent Jewish polity with himself as king. Worse still, he was the target of assassination plots, which both his non-Jewish and Jewish opponents sought to carry out.

By means of shrewd political leadership, Nehemiah was able to outsmart his enemies. He elevated the status of the Levites, establishing them as a political counterweight to the priests, many of whom, like the High Priest Eliashib, were allied to the non-Jewish elites. His generous treatment of undocumented priests assured him of support from that segment of the population. His economic and social reforms won him the allegiance of the lower classes. Finally, he appointed his allies and kinsmen to govern Jerusalem's districts and to command the militia, the core of which was the force that had accompanied him from Persia.

At the same time, Nehemiah revived the morale of what had been a downtrodden, depressed and vulnerable Jewish community. By choreographing major quasi-religious ceremonies, one of which was led by Ezra, he stimulated both the people’s religious conscience and their long-dormant nationalist emotions. Moreover, by overseeing, and probably drafting, the first-ever Jewish constitution, perhaps the first such document anywhere, he codified the community's national and religious character.

The Amana, as it was called, bore the signatures of the polity’s leading citizens, not just its religious elite. The Amana was a secular document that nevertheless bound its signatories to a series of religious commitments. It sought to prevent intermarriage in the younger generation—Nehemiah deliberately did not attempt to break up mixed marriages that already existed. It adjured the community to avoid conducting business on Shabbat. It called for rigorous enforcement of the laws of Shemitta, the final year of the seven year cycle when the land was to lie fallow and debts were forgiven. It also dealt with non-ritualistic, practical issues, such as managing contributions for both theTemple ritual and its operations and maintenance. The Amana thereby reflected Nehemiah’s own predilection for blending religious rigor with practical concerns.

It should be recognized that Nehemiah had virtually total freedom of action when he arrived in Judah, at least insofar as Artaxerxes was concerned. This was not at all the case in April 1920 when Lloyd George appointed Samuel as High Commissioner of Palestine, which the League of Nations had designated to Britain as a Mandated territory.  To all appearances, the High Commissioner had all the powers of a colonial governor. Not surprisingly, many concluded that "Britain had assumed the role of Persia in Jewish history, Balfour of Cyrus [sic--actually Artaxerxes] and Samuel, prophet and courtier, Nehemiah."[18] Not long after he arrived in Palestine in June 1920, when he was welcomed by a seventeen-gun salute, Samuel walked two miles on Shabbat Nahamu from Government House to the Hurva synagogue. Called up to the Torah as Maftir, which he then followed by chanting Isaiah's stirring call to "comfort ye, comfort ye my people,"[19] Samuel only reinforced the impression among the Jewish community, both within Palestine and throughout the Diaspora that he was the "Nehemiah of our times.".

The reality was quite different, however.  Samuel was answerable to the British Colonial Office, itself subject to pressure from the local Arab population. He also was subordinate to a Cabinet not all of whose members liked the idea of a Jew governing Palestine. Samuel himself recognized the limitations of his position. He warned Lloyd George that his appointment "was open to the dangers that measures, which the non-Jewish population would accept from a British Christian governor, might be objected to if offered by a Jew."[20]

Samuel's warning was based on his first visit to Palestine in January 1920, when "the over-riding impression he received was of the strength and seriousness of Arab nationalist hostility to Zionism."[21] Initially, he pushed back against Arab critics whom he met on that trip and who warned of a "terrible revolution" if Zionist immigration were to continue. His rejoinder that "the Jews...have historic rights in the country,"[22] echoed Nehemiah's refrain to Sanballat and his supporters who opposed any change in the status quo that had enabled them to dominate Judah. Nevertheless, the depth of Arab hostility almost led Samuel to decline Lloyd George's offer of the governorship.

Once in office, Samuel confronted not only Arab hostility, but also opposition from the British military both in London within his own administration, from civilians within his administration, at times from the Colonial Office, and, after a brief honeymoon, from the Jewish community as well. The military leadership in Palestine, including General Allenby who had liberated the territory from the Turks, opposed the appointment of a Jew, whether Zionist or not, to be the civil head of the Mandate. Equally adamant was General Thwaites, Director of Military Intelligence, who returned to Britain from a visit to Palestine with the view that the governor should be a "good Christian."[23] Once Samuel took office, the military continued to lobby against him and to argue for "curbing" the Zionists; some officials were at least somewhat sympathetic to their view.[24] Though he generally had the support of the Colonial Office, Samuel found that his plans for integrating the "Jewish home" into the Arab Middle East by creating "a loose confederation of the Arab-speaking states" that included a Jewish Palestine were repeatedly rejected by the Colonial Office.[25] Similarly, the Colonial Office rebuffed Samuel's support of a 1924 request by Jewish leaders that the Government formally recognize the community as a religious national body.[26] Samuel was also undermined by some of his own staff. Ernest Richmond, who served as Samuel's chief advisor on Arab affairs, was viewed in Whitehall as a counterweight to the Zionist Organization. Indeed, one official described Richmond as not only "a declared enemy of the Zionist policy and almost as frankly declared an enemy of the Jewish policy of H.M.G.”[27]

At the same time, it was opposition from the Arabs of Palestine, not from the Colonial Office, that undermined Samuel's efforts to create a "constitutional government of partially representative character," which by definition would have granted official recognition of the Jewish community's role in the governance of the Mandate.[28] Samuel actively sought to win the support of the Arab population to no avail. In 1921, he pardoned Amin el-Husseini, who had been sentenced to ten years in prison after instigating the anti-Jewish Nebi Musa riots in April 1920 and was a leading opponent of Jewish immigration to Palestine. He supported el-Husseini appointment to succeed his elder brother as Mufti of Jerusalem in 1921. Two years later he resolved a major dispute between the Jewish and Arab communities by ruling in favor of Bedouin claims to state land between the Sea of Galilee and Beisan, which the Zionists had hoped to cultivate. Nevertheless, as early as March 1921, an Arab deputation met with the visiting Colonial Secretary, Winston Churchill, to protest against the Zionist enterprise. The following May, what began with an Arab attack on a Jewish hostel in Jaffa evolve into widespread attacks on Jewish settlements that were finally brought to an end when  the rioters were bombed by British aircraft.

Arab lobbying, like the riots, did not end in 1921. As the British Government wrestled with the question of how to give the Jewish and Arab communities some role in the governance of Palestine, the Arabs sought to reverse the Balfour Declaration. For example, when the Government met in the summer of 1923 to consider whether it should continue to adhere to the Declaration, an Arab delegation travelled to London to argue for its complete abrogation. It was a scene reminiscent of the efforts by paid lobbyists, including--according to the medieval commentator Rashi--a son of Haman, who sought to convince Artaxerxes both to put a halt to any construction in Jerusalem and to destroy the Temple.[29] Samuel actively sought to embed the Jewish community into the fabric of Palestine. It was during his tenure that Hebrew became the third official language of Palestine. This development hearkened back to Nehemiah’s command that Hebrew be the spoken language of Judah’s Jewish community. Again, like Nehemiah, Samuel employed his secular authority to promote religious leadership: the Chief Rabbinate was formally established during Samuel’s term of office. Finally, and critically, the annual rate of Jewish immigration continued to rise through 1925 when Samuel relinquished his post.

Nevertheless, just as he failed to assuage the Arabs of Palestine, Samuel also disappointed the Zionist leadership. Speaking of Samuel's appointment of the new Mufti, a bitter David Ben Gurion told the 1921 Zionist Congress, "we regarded him [Samuel] with reverence when he came...but what did he give us? Haj Amin El Husseini as Mufti of Jerusalem."[30] He upset the Zionists even more when he chose to suspend Jewish immigration after the 1921 riots (in which 47 Jews were killed and 146 wounded) in the face of Arab threats of more violence if immigration were to continue. He antagonized the Zionist leadership even more when in June 1921, he reinterpreted the Balfour Declaration by emphasizing that it did not mean the establishment of a Jewish government that might rule over the Arab majority.  Even though his suspension of immigration lasted only a few months Samuel was never again able to restore Zionist confidence in his leadership.

AFTERMATH: NEHEMIAH'S LEGACY; SAMUEL'S FRUSTRATION

Having served for twelve years as governor of Judah, Nehemiah was recalled to Susa. He left without much fanfare, perhaps because, despite all his efforts to strengthen the position of the Jewish community vis a vis its non-Jewish neighbors, many in that community may have harbored resentments of various kinds. Some may have opposed his strictures against intermarriage. The elites no doubt were angered by his social reforms. The indigenous population certainly was happy to see him go.

After an unspecified time in Susa, however, Nehemiah returned, only to find that in his absence, many of his reforms had been overturned. Eliashib, who was a relative of Tobiah, not only arrogated to himself rooms in the Temple, but assigned to Tobiah a large room that had been a Temple storehouse; he gave a room to Sanballat as well. By having so prominent a position in the Temple, Tobiah and Sanballat, Nehemiah's long-time nemeses, were in a position to rally the people against the governor's reforms and restore the status quo ante.

Nehemiah found that the Levites had once more been relegated to lower class status, having been deprived of the gifts mandated for them.  Worse still, he found that the people were once again violating Shabbat, either by working themselves, or by purchasing goods from non-Jewish vendors. Equally troubling was his realization that intermarriage was again rife throughout the community, with as many as half the children of mixed marriages speaking languages other than Hebrew.

Nehemiah, ever the man of action, responded quickly and forcefully. He drove Tobiah and Sanballat out of the Temple, purified their rooms, and restored the giving of the meal offering and frankincense that had fallen into abeyance when his opponents had moved in. He restored the Levites' privileges. He reinforced the holiness of Shabbat by shutting the city's gates Friday at sundown and by issuing decrees, in what came to be termed rabbinical legislation, that prevented both commercial transactions and the treading of winepresses on the day of rest. Finally, while retaining his policy of not breaking up families that included a non-Jewish spouse, he insisted that the children speak Hebrew (as opposed to Aramaic, the Yiddish or Ladino of the era) and that no further intermarriages would be tolerated. To enforce the latter edict, and to make an example of his determination to root out the problem, he first expelled a son of Eliashib, who had married a non-Jewish woman. He then turned on others who had already intermarried and "cursed them, flogged them tore out their hair and adjured them by God”[31] that neither their children, nor they, were to marry non-Jews.

Having reinforced his earlier mandates, Nehemiah ruled in Judah for a further unspecified period before returning to Persia to write his memoirs. Rabbinical annoyance at his plea to God to remember his good deeds led to his relegation to being merely an adjunct to Ezra, whom the rabbis of the Talmud venerated as saving the Torah and enacting a host of laws that prevail to this day.

Nehemiah's obscurity also continues to the present. It is indeed a shame that so few Jews, even Orthodox Jews well versed in Talmud, know little about this remarkable layman, who thousands of years ago embodied the combination of Torah and worldly experience. Indeed, by restoring the Jews' sense of identity and nationhood, in parallel with Ezra's religious leadership, Nehemiah is in fact a model for what both religious Zionism and Modern Orthodoxy are all about. HIs book remains required reading, and his role as a leading light of Jewish history will forever be secure.

Herbert Samuel's name is no longer as familiar to Jews as it was a century ago. Like Nehemiah, his role in Jewish history has been overshadowed by others. Having disappointed the Zionists while in office, he returned to England to hold various senior political positions, including a second stint as Home Secretary, and later leader of the Liberal Party from 1931-1935. Named a Viscount in 1936 after having lost his seat in Parliament the previous year, Samuel supported Chamberlain's appeasement policy and the Munich agreement on which it was based.

Nevertheless, Samuel became actively involved in helping Jews who were fleeing Europe when  the Nazis rose to power. He visited the US several times to establish an emergency fund and helped to raise 12 million pounds sterling, the equivalent of 546 million pounds today or $800 million at current rates. He also successfully lobbied the Home Office to ease visa regulations, which resulted in the admission of 10,000 Jewish children from Germany in a period of eight months. Finally, he lived long enough to see the creation of the State of Israel, which he supported,  and, despite the hostility of many Zionists, he maintained his friendship with Chaim  Weitzmann, who became Israel's first president. The Zionists saw him as "a false prophet,"[32] and by the time he died in 1963, at the age of 93, he was "a lonely figure." Like Nehemiah, he too deserves a far better place in Jewish memory than he has thus far received. And his son, the second Viscount, spoke Hebrew fluently--with an upper class English accent. Nehemiah would have been pleased.

[33]

The Balfour Declaration Changed How the Jews Viewed Themselves - Caroline B. Glick (Jerusalem Post)

• One hundred years ago, on November 2, 1917, Arthur Balfour, foreign secretary of Great Britain, issued the Balfour Declaration, announcing that the British Empire supported an end to the Jewish people's 1,800-year exile and its return as a free nation to its homeland - the Land of Israel. "His Majesty's government view with favor the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people, and will use their best endeavors to facilitate the achievement of this object."
• The Palestine Arab leadership at the time rejected his statement. Shortly thereafter, the Arabs initiated a terrorist onslaught against the Jewish community in the Land of Israel that has continued, more or less without interruption, ever since. Indeed, the Palestinians have not moved an inch in a hundred years. PLO chief and PA Chairman Mahmoud Abbas now demands that Britain officially renounce the Balfour Declaration and apologize for having issued it.
• The Balfour Declaration did not change the way the world viewed the Jews, but it changed how the Jews viewed themselves. After 1,800 years of dispersion and hopelessness, here was the British Empire saying that the time had come for the Jews to reconstitute themselves as a free nation in their land.
• Until Great Britain announced it supported Zionism, the vast majority of Jews thought the national liberation movement was doomed to fail just like all of its messianic predecessors. Now, under the League of Nations Mandate, Jews were given an international charter for the reconstitution of their national homeland.
• Just as important, the Balfour Declaration ignited the imaginations and passions of Jews throughout the world. For the first time, Jews, dispersed throughout the nations, dared to believe that the reconstitution of Israel could happen in their lifetimes.

Thirty-five years ago, when I was an attending physician in my hospital’s intensive care unit, I started to ponder the ethical issues involved in the use—and misuse—of increasingly powerful medical technology. Twelve years before that, in 1968, during my internship, there were few end-of-life ethical conundrums: We treated every patient as aggressively as possible—always. Death was the enemy, and we employed every medical intervention to avoid the demise of our patients. Our technology was primitive by today’s standards, and we could not prolong the process of dying significantly.

A mere 10 years later, when I was an attending physician in the intensive care unit, medical technology had advanced greatly, and the lives of many ICU patients were saved by respirators, dialysis machines, and powerful new drugs. I soon realized, however, that there was a group of patients who could not be cured with these interventions, but whose dying was prolonged significantly—with much suffering for both them and their families.

I needed guidance in how to deal with these ethical dilemmas. As someone who took his Jewish religion seriously, I began reading articles and books on Jewish medical ethics. In the course of my readings, I came across a curious and powerful statement written some 800 years ago by a Jewish scholar from the Bavarian town of Regensberg, Rabbi Judah the Pious. He wrote in Sefer HaHassidim, The Book of the Righteous: “We do not compel a person not to die quickly.” What a strange but insightful statement, I thought. The rabbi gave an example: If a person is a goses and someone near his house is chopping wood so that his soul cannot depart, one should remove the woodchopper. One does not put salt on his tongue in order to prevent his death….”

In Jewish law, a goses is someone who is moribund, someone who is actively dying. In the thirteenth century, people had fixed ideas about events surrounding death and felt that loud noises or the pungent taste of salt could delay that final moment when the soul departed the body. Removing the woodchopper was viewed as removing an impediment to one’s peaceful death.

I learned from yet another source written a thousand years before Rabbi Judah the Pious the same principle: that one should remove an impediment to a peaceful death. In the Talmud, the story is told of the death in the third century of Rabbi Judah the Prince. He was the foremost Jewish sage of his era and was suffering with an intestinal disease. His disciples, overcome with the dread of losing their beloved teacher—but seemingly unaware of the degree of his suffering and of the hopelessness of his terminal illness—continued to pray for his recovery. It was only the rabbi’s housemaid, who, seeing his torment and the inevitability of his imminent death, was determined to silence the prayers of his followers, which she believed were preventing him from dying peacefully. She cleverly threw an earthenware vessel to the ground. The noise of the shattering vessel stunned the praying crowd so that they ceased their prayers for an instant, during which time Rabbi Judah’s soul departed. Just as in the case of the woodchopper, the handmaid acted to remove an impediment to a peaceful and quick death: in this case, the prayers of his students.

When, as a young ICU attending, I first read these sources, I was intrigued by the idea that the wise Jewish scholar of 800 years ago, who could never have dreamed of our medical technology, had ruled that one must remove an impediment to imminent death, and that a compassionate handmaid a thousand years earlier, had intuited the same humane principle.

In today’s ICUs, the woodchopper and the prayers of devout followers have been replaced by ventilators, dialysis machines, ventricular assist devices, and extra corporeal membrane oxygenators. Might not Rabbi Judah the Pious, rounding in our ICUs today, be dismayed at how often his introductory principle—“we do not compel a person not to die quickly”—was being routinely violated by our modern-day incarnations of the woodchopper? Whether because of the understandable grief of families unable to let go, or the injunctions of some rabbis that every moment of life must be preserved, or the poor judgment of physicians who do not recognize when the battle for life is lost, aren’t patients too often compelled “not to die quickly?”

Take the case of my patient Ben. When he was 88 years old, he came to see me for mild chest pain, and brought with him an x-ray that showed a mass in his lung. His daughters requested that I not share with their elderly and frail father my diagnostic impression of cancer. They were a deeply religious Jewish family, and it was their custom not to share bad news with elderly parents. Indeed, Ben was too frail, with heart and kidney disease, to undergo surgery, chemotherapy, or radiotherapy. He and his daughters had agreed, however, to a needle biopsy of the mass in view of the possibility that it might be a treatable non-cancerous process. Unfortunately, my fears were realized; the lesion was malignant. Ben was uninterested in the biopsy result, and he was sent home with medication for pain.

I had not heard from him for a year when he returned to my office, accompanied by his daughters. He looked thin, drawn, and breathless, but he maintained his sweet smile and greeted me warmly.

His pain was now worse, and he had developed a large collection of fluid in his chest cavity. It was clear that he was near death. Given the absence of therapeutic options, I suggested to his daughters that their father return home with hospice care, which would maximize his comfort and treat symptoms as they arose. His daughters consulted with their Orthodox rabbi, who stated that all measures be taken to keep Ben alive and comfortable as long as possible. Every moment of life was considered sacred, and if hospitalization could prolong his life, he should remain hospitalized and be treated aggressively. I offered the option of discharging Ben home with follow-up by home hospice, but the family declined. Rather than have his shortness of breath treated with as-needed doses of morphine at home under the supervision of a team of home hospice professionals, his family requested that he stay in the hospital and have a chest tube inserted to remove as much fluid as possible and thereby alleviate his breathlessness and probably prolong his life. When asked about his preferences, Ben deferred to his daughters.

A chest tube was placed, and although his breathing temporarily eased, Ben remained uncomfortable and quickly became weaker. Despite the chest tube, his breathing soon became more labored and I suggested to his daughters that he be allowed to pass away peacefully without placing a breathing tube in his throat—intubation—and connecting him to a respirator. After a long discussion among themselves and with their rabbi, it was concluded that since intubation would prolong Ben’s life somewhat, they felt religiously compelled to request ICU transfer and ventilator support. At this point, I tried once again to gently ascertain Ben’s wishes but whenever the discussion became too specific, his response was, “ask my daughters.”

As Ben’s breathing became more labored and it was clear that he would die imminently, he was transferred to the ICU, intubated, and connected to a respirator. As we were intubating Ben, the thought occurred to me that he was a goses and that we were ignoring Rabbi Judah the Pious’ admonition to avoid compelling a person “not to die quickly.” Ben was sedated for comfort and, despite the ventilator, died a day later. His family agreed at the last moment not to attempt cardiac resuscitation when his heart stopped beating.

Although one might criticize under these circumstances the rabbi’s decision to preserve Ben’s life as long as possible—while attending to his pain and shortness of breath—the importance of the concept of the sanctity of life in the Jewish religion cannot be overstated. Judaism is a religion that treasures every second of life. Although Judaism accepts the notion of a hereafter, the entire corpus of Jewish law and lore focuses on life in this world, and stresses the importance of sanctifying every moment of existence by carrying out good deeds, adhering to God’s laws, and deriving as much happiness and pleasure as possible within the bounds of halakha. If a person can be kept alive for one more day, that person might use that time to do a mitzvah reflect on life, do teshuvah (repentance), or pray to God.

I also feel that the Holocaust continues to have a significant impact on the way rabbis and Jewish laypeople think about the sanctity of life, especially when confronting end-of-life issues. Because a mere 70 years ago one out of every three Jewish men, women, and children on earth was murdered by the Nazis and their henchmen, the notion of the sanctity of life has been reinforced, leading many rabbis to ordain that every moment of life, even as life is ebbing, be preserved by whatever means possible.

Returning to the concept of a goses: Although the classical sources I quoted above admonish us not to prolong the dying process of a moribund person—“we do not compel a person not to die quickly”—there is a very important flip side to this ancient concept. The Talmud prohibits actions that are intended to hasten the death of a goses, “who is regarded as a living person in all respects.” The Talmud enumerates such prohibited actions. One may not move the patient, close his eyelids, or bind his jaws—actions that should not be carried out until after death. The goses was likened to a flickering candle that becomes extinguished with the slightest perturbation. Clearly, the rabbis warn physicians to beware of the temptation to extinguish the flickering candle of life by, for example, administering a higher dose of morphine than is necessary to alleviate suffering. When such drugs are used with the intent to hasten death, regardless of the humane motives of the physician or the family, this is clearly prohibited.

It is a delicate balancing act indeed: Just as Rabbi Judah the Pious and the Talmud would seem to sanction, if not require, intentionally removing impediments to a peaceful death of a goses in order to avoid prolonging the dying process, that same goses should not have his or her death intentionally hastened by actions of the physician or family. The laws pertaining to a goses would seem to indicate that there is a definite, if subtle, distinction in Judaism between an action to remove or withhold treatment that prevents a peaceful death, and an action with the intent of hastening death such as administering a drug to the patient to accomplish this goal. The tension between respecting the sanctity of life by prohibiting actions intended to hasten the death of a moribund patient, and alleviating suffering by permitting the removal of machines or medicines that are impediments to a peaceful death, is a frequent concern of every ICU physician. Thus, the concept of a goses developed centuries ago by Jewish scholars would appear to be relevant and useful even today in end-of-life situations.

Judaism’s stance on physician-assisted suicide is clear given its attitude toward a goses. If a physician may not do anything that will hasten the death of a moribund patient, one is obviously prohibited from prescribing a lethal dose of medication to allow a terminally ill patient who may still live for months, to commit suicide. The changing values of our society, which are increasingly accepting of physician assisted suicide—it is now legal in 6 states—are clearly contrary to the teachings of traditional Judaism.

Many Orthodox rabbis, and Ben’s rabbi must be counted among them, feel that medical technology has rendered the idea of a goses obsolete. After all, they reason, if some patients who were formerly considered moribund can now have their moment of death delayed by medical technology, or even reversed, how, then, can we decide who is a goses? Is the concept still relevant in our technologically sophisticated ICUs?

Perhaps because of my decades of exposure to the sometimes painful realities of patients dying in the ICU, I believe that the concept of a goses remains relevant even in our modern medical centers. In answer to those in the Orthodox community who feel that the concept of a goses is rendered irrelevant because of powerful life sustaining technology, I point to many ICU patients whose death would be imminent without life support, who are comatose or severely obtunded, who suffer pain and indignity, and who have no chance of leaving the hospital alive. Might not such a patient rightfully be called a goses, and should we not be allowed to remove medical impediments to a more peaceful death?

Rabbi Judah the Pious would no doubt insist that in assessing when a critically ill person crosses the line between possible survival and certain death, painstaking efforts must be made by physicians to ensure the accuracy of their prognoses. The concept of a goses is helpful only insofar as the physicians caring for such a patient are mindful of the sanctity of life and assume the awesome responsibility of making an accurate prognosis with humility and skill.

I believe that even today the concept of a goses offers a clear lesson for doctors, patients, and families. In the coming decades, America will face a an increasing number of end-of-life ethical issues as many aged baby boomers will have access to ever more sophisticated medical technology that can prolong life but will often prolong the dying process. The strains on our medical resources, especially in a country where 20 percent of its population dies in ICUs, will be great.

But resource allocation is not the only, nor the most important reason, why we should recognize the wisdom of considering certain dying patients as a goses and allow them a peaceful and dignified death. I have seen numerous examples of patients—Jewish and Gentile—whose final days, weeks, or even months have been marked by unresponsiveness, a hopeless prognosis for survival to discharge, but who have undergone repeated invasive procedures, resuscitations, and diagnostic tests that have served only to prolong the dying process and subject their body to grievous deformities and indignities. Very often, Orthodox families of such patients have suffered by witnessing what their loved ones have had to endure.

The choice is not between the false specter of so-called “death panels” eager to pull the plug on a patient, and those who would use technology to prolong the suffering of dying patients. There is a way to respect the sanctity of life of a goses, while withholding or removing impediments to a peaceful death. But this requires physicians with wisdom, expert clinical judgment, skills of communication, and sensitivity to the value of life and the concerns of families. It also requires sensitive guidance from spiritual leaders, who sometimes view death as an enemy, rather than inevitable, and who should heed the wisdom of Ecclesiates 3:1 that, “There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under heaven…a time to be born and a time to die…”.

Earlier this year, 7 highly respected rabbis authored a position paper on the ordination of women and on the possibility of women serving as clergy[i].  Individually and collectively, they represent great learning, personal piety, and years of leadership.  It would seem presumptuous for someone who will never achieve anything near their learning or stature to comment or critique.  However, no one person or group has a monopoly on facts and logic. And, as will be demonstrated, Torah learning sometimes is not the sole or even dominant factor in a person’s opinion on these issues.

• This paper addresses three issues that were highlighted in the OU paper:  the meaning of the concept of Mesorah and its use as an argument, the specific Halakhic arguments against women serving as clergy, and the issue of gender roles in the public square.

The authors of the OU paper depict the debate over ordination as one between those who value the Mesorah and those who are unduly influenced by ‘modern values.[ii]’  This paper will illustrate that ‘modern values’ are intrinsically neither good nor bad, and that our Mesorah has always incorporated ‘modern values’ that found resonance in the Mesorah.  Furthermore, according to great and highly respected Modern Orthodox authorities, a hallmark of Modern Orthodoxy is the willingness to acknowledge some ‘modern values’ as previously under-recognized religious values. 

The Halakhic arguments, both pro and con the ordination and rabbinical roles for women, are not simply differences of opinions, where one set of authorities takes one position, and other authorities take a different position.  The arguments against ordination essentially state a category or restriction, and then draw conclusions from that category.  This paper will demonstrate that the arguments suffer from one or more of the following problems:  they are based on wrong or at least unproven facts, the claimed conclusions do not follow logically from the premises, the Halachic reasoning is strained at best, the definitions of the categories or concepts lack specifics which allows the authors to escape in depth analysis, and there is great inconsistency in how the categories and restrictions are applied.  In summary, the arguments appear to be unconvincing when analyzed from the point of view of facts, logic, and consistency.

The final section addresses the broader concept of gender roles in the public square.  The authors of the paper state that historical gender differences in public service reflect the ethos of the Torah.   But they fail to acknowledge that while they specify historical gender differences in public service, what they are prohibiting in their paper is not public service by women, but leadership.  Most of the putative Halakhic bases for the restriction of women from the public restrict women from the public, and there is no differentiation between the secular public and the religious public.  In fact, appearing in the secular public has historically been considered worse than appearing in the Jewish communal public. The actual practice of the Modern Orthodox community does not demonstrate any prohibitions on women being in the public, nor prohibitions on women in secular leadership positions.  Therefore it is quite incoherent to claim that historical gender differences prohibit religious leadership, when the actual communal practice illustrates that the historical gender differences are not binding on the specific areas they were designed to address- the secular public square.    In addition, I suggest that there is a fundamental need to articulate an overarching idea of what is the mandated ideal- taking into account the sources, social history, and present reality. I further suggest that it will be quite difficult, if not impossible, for the opponents of ordination to formulate a coherent position that includes an honest assessment of Modern Orthodox practical reality, the Halakhic history and its surrounding cultural history, and their use of historical precedent to ban women in religious leadership positions.  And finally, I think that we all face the challenge of identifying exactly what is the Divinely mandated differences in gender in the public square, and if having those differences is a situation where we have to accept the yoke of Heaven, or if it is a moral good as well.

Much has been written regarding the ordination of women.  Some of the opponents have described it as being outside the pale of Orthodoxy.  Some have cited the position of a certain rabbi or groups of rabbis and insisted that only that particular position represents Orthodoxy.  This paper, while it includes discussions of particular Halakhic opinions, tries to refrain from valuing one opinion over another, and is concerned mostly with facts^[iii], logic and consistency.  I have taken the arguments presented in the OU paper and tried to identify underlying assumptions, identify ambiguous language, evaluate factual claims, and assess for consistency and coherence.  I obviously have an opinion^[iv], but I think the results of the analysis speak for themselves, and the conclusions are obvious.  At the least, I hope that this paper will stimulate a discussion that is less dogmatic and more focused on defining positions based on sources, facts, logic and consistency.

I.  Mesorah and the misuse of Mesorah

The term ‘Mesorah’ has been frequently invoked by the opponents of ordination for women.  We can broadly define it as the content of our tradition that is passed from one generation to another.  That tradition contains Mitzvot and opinion on the value of Mitzvot.  Frequently a situation occurs where one must choose between emphasizing one mitzvah or a different mitzvah.  Our Mesorah therefore contains not only the Mitzvot, but also attitudes or ‘values’ that help us choose between Mitzvot when they come into conflict.  One could cogently argue that the ‘values’ are in fact Mitzvot in and of themselves, but for the purpose of this discussion that is a distinction without a difference.  Ultimately what this analysis is concerned with is how, within the confines of our legal tradition, are values embraced or shunted to the side.

Change in the Mesorah

Mesorah can be viewed in a number of ways.  It can be viewed as a self-contained body of knowledge and values, unaffected by anything external.  This perhaps is the view of those who claim that the science of the Talmud is always correct, and that nothing in fact has changed since the time of the Talmud.  If one accepts the input of observation and scientific method, this view is demonstrably false.  For example, the Talmud expresses the beliefs that the sun revolved around the earth, and that babies born in the 8^th month were not viable, and these are demonstrably false.

Another option is to claim that the facts might change, but the values and relative weight given to values within our Mesorah are constant and eternal, unaffected by changes in time or culture.  Under this construct, all the values in the Mesorah are fixed and the values and relative weight are the same now as they were 2000 years ago.  This too, as will be demonstrated, is false.  The third model acknowledges the truth of history, and understands that some values have gained or lost weight over time, either intrinsically or in response to external input, whether it is science or surrounding culture.  Values from the outside world, sometimes termed ‘modern values’, are not automatically in conflict with the Mesorah.  In fact, modern values are intrinsically neither good nor bad.  Those that find resonance in the Mesorah are embraced, and those that do not are dismissed.  Similarly, it is a demonstrable fact that there are values within our Mesorah that were more embraced in the past, and are less embraced or sidelined in the present.

Examples of Change in values

The Talmud and early sources have specific attitudes towards and/or halakhic restrictions on women, slaves, the blind, the deaf/mute (chereish) and others.  For example, some of the Rabbis in the Talmud owned slaves.  It is hard to imagine the rabbis of today being in favor of owning slaves.  The moral values related to slavery clearly have changed.  As Rav Gamliel Shmalo wrote^[v]

“Our examination of the topic shows the varying degrees to which Orthodox thinkers acknowledge the moral values of their contemporary society and the different models with which they confront those values. Some are more apologetic, limiting biblical slavery so that it conforms to modern conceptions. Others assert that the Bible contains moral accommodations that society has transcended. Interestingly, even conservative thinkers—who justify slavery by pointing to the social, economic, moral, and spiritual benefits it gives to the weak and the vulgar—may have been moved by modern conceptions to justify slavery in accordance with those conceptions. Accepting that only a direct benefit to the slave himself could be an acceptable justification for enslavement, almost all would agree that the practical application of this once normative institution would be unthinkable today.”

In a similar vein, the exclusion of blemished Kohanim from service has gone from well accepted and unremarkable fact to a position that requires explanation and justification, if not some Halachic adjustment^[vi].

Another example is the deaf/mute.  The Talmud exempts the deaf/mute from all Mitzvot. In this day and age, many poskim hold that this is not the case^[vii].  According to R Moshe Taub^[viii]:

“The general consensus, and the general custom, is to allow a medaber (someone who speaks) to be called up to the Torah for an Aliyah (Torah blessings). Rabbi Feinstein allows even a true chereish to receive an Aliyah for his bar mitzvah or aufruf –so that he should not feel downgraded – and writes that in such a case the chereish should try to say the words as best he can, although such an Aliyah may not be from the main seven aliyot.”

Obviously there has been a change in the assessment of the capabilities of those who are hearing/speech impaired.  But the result is still a change in the Mesorah that has come about not only because of changes in our knowledge, but perhaps also, as illustrated by R. Moshe Feinstein above, by our sensitivity to those who are differently abled.  Furthermore, the changes came due to a re-evaluation triggered by outside influences- modern facts and modern values.

There have been changes with regard to women and education.  There are opinions in the Talmud opposing teaching women, and opinions in favor of teaching women.   R. Chaim Twerski wrote^[ix]:

“Two explanations are given to understand why the Talmud objected to teaching Gemara to women. The Rambam (Hilkhot Talmud Torah 1:13) states that most women, due to their mental weakness, would not understand the teachings correctly and would distort the Oral Law. A similar position is offered by the sages themselves, namely, that “women have light minds” (Shabbat 33b). Perhaps, Rambam interprets the words ke-ilu milamdah tiflot—“as if he teaches her lewdness”—as the result of their inability to comprehend the Torah leading to distorting the Oral Law.

Rambam’s assertion in interpreting “light mindedness” the way he did was most likely influenced by his observation of women in his time. Lack of education will deprive anyone of mental development. Today, however, we see no difference between men and women in their mental capacity.

The Talmud (Sotah 21b) offers another reason. It states in Mishlei (8:12): “I am wisdom and I reside with craftiness.” Accordingly, once wisdom enters the mind it is capable of being sly (or devious). Wisdom, then, is a double-edged sword. It can be used for good and also for evil. The absence of wisdom allows for the person to remain on the straight and narrow path. Alternatively, introducing wisdom allows for the opportunity to deviate with clever but wrongful reasoning. It can lead to sophistry, which corrupts the Torah and indeed the individual, as well (see also Maharil n.199).

This second reason is seemingly also invalid in contemporary times. Women are sophisticated today, and go through the same core secular curriculum as their male counterparts.”

Even this opponent of ordination for women is forced to acknowledge that the assumptions of the Talmud regarding women, similar to the Talmudic assumptions regarding the deaf/mute are not correct.  In a similar vein, the OU and the authors of the OU psak advocate for leadership by women and more public avenues for women to teach and lead.  This seems to track (albeit decades behind) with societal views of the roles of women in the public square.

Many more examples can be given in almost any sphere of life- some more halakhic, some more custom- foods, music, architecture, synagogue ritual( weekly speeches in the vernacular),  some are modes of governance(democracy by direct election of the people is not mentioned by the Talmud as a valued mode of governance), and more.  It seems very clear that our Mesorah, when faced with ‘modern values’, has incorporated those that found resonance.  Rather than something intrinsically bad, ‘modern values’ have been part of the engine of beneficial change.

Is change good and desirable?

One possible avenue is to believe that even though change has occurred, it is b’dieved- not the ideal- something that may need to be accepted but should not be celebrated or seen as a religious good.   On the contrary, R. Aharon Lichtenstein of blessed memory wrote^[x]:

“Nor should we be deterred by the illusion that we can find everything we need within our own tradition.  As Arnold insisted, one must seek “the best that has been thought and said in the world,” and if, in many areas, much of that best is of foreign origin, we should expand our horizons rather than exclude it.”

Similarly,   R. Nahum Rabinovitch wrote:^[xi] “Torah's method is to be a catalyst for the evolution of moral values in history, i.e. from polygamy to monogamy, from slavery to freedom, from war to peace, and from coercion to liberty.” 

For example, with regard to the abolishment of polygamy, R. Rabinovitch wrote:  “Certainly the Sages instituted such enactments – yet they did not draw them out of thin air, but advanced the values already determined by Scripture. In the biblical era, however, the time was not yet ripe, and people were not yet ready, for the full realization of that vision. Only over time, as a result of training in the life of Torah, were people's hearts made ready and did it become possible to draw closer to the goal established by the Torah.” 

Not only is it simply a fact that ‘modern values’ have been used to adjust the value judgment within the Mesorah, but it is an important and distinguishing hallmark of Modern Orthodoxy.  R. Walter Wurzburger^[xii] “revered …. As a public voice of his teacher R. Joseph Baer Soloveitchik”^[xiii], writes of Modern Orthodoxy: “What differentiates us from right-wing Orthodox is our acceptance….of the belief that some important modern values should be appropriated. We are inclined to stress human responsibility and activity rather than passive submission or fatalistic resignation to our condition... In contrast with the mentality prevailing during the premodern ‘age of faith’ which placed exclusive reliance upon God and denigrated the efficacy of human actions…the modern mind emphasizes man’s capacity to help determine the human condition…

“It must be realized that Orthodoxy nowadays contains two opposite approaches.  On the one extreme we have the position of the Hatam Sofer…any form of innovation, any concession to modernity…is the very antithesis of Torah.  On the other extreme we have the position of Rav Kook, who maintained…,Embrace the new by all means, but do so selectively.”

“…there is a great deal of positive value contained in modern attitudes of dignity, human understanding, and rationality….whenever the Torah is silent, we can embrace many modern values, because that is one of the ways in which God reveals himself[my emphasis]”

R. Wurzburger goes on to provide specific examples from the Meiri, the Maggid Mishnah and others who emphasize the contribution of modernity and human discernment to the values within the Mesorah.

With regard to women, R. Wurzburger writes: “today it is wrong for a married man to say “I’d like my wife to be totally ignorant.  After all, the Gemara says that the main function of the woman is to be attractive and produce a lot of children and to do weaving…” Although this was acceptable five hundred years ago, women must not be treated in this fashion in our times because they have different expectations today.  And those expectations can affect the psak as to what constitutes appropriate behavior.”

In conclusion, the historical record clearly illustrates that the values within the Mesorah have changed for the better in response to the encounter with Modern Values. It is incorrect to characterize modern values as wrong simply because they are modern.  Furthermore, at least according to a prominent student of R. Soloveitchik, a distinguishing feature of Modern Orthodoxy is the belief that some important modern values should be appropriated.

 The mistaken approach of the OU psak

 The beginning of the OU paper on ordination for women contains three erroneous fundamental assumptions which impact the entire paper.

The first paragraph of the OU ‘psak’ on the ordination of women states:   “some perceive limitations on women’s roles and titles as barriers to full involvement in the Orthodox community, while others view the lifting of traditional gender distinctions in ritual as representing a rejection of the Mesorah. This tension pits egalitarianism, a central value of modernity, against a time-honored tradition that clearly speaks of equally valued, yet different, roles for men and women.”

The first error is setting up a false conflict between the Mesorah and modernity.  They seem to imply that changing something because of a ‘modern value’ is intrinsically wrong, and that something that is a ‘modern value’ is always, at least potentially, in conflict with the Mesorah.  As demonstrated, this is an incorrect understanding of the history of the Mesorah and change.  ‘Modern values’ have frequently provided the impetus for religiously desirable change.

The second error is characterizing the desire to remove barriers as a manifestation of egalitarianism.  One would have hoped and expected that poskim writing a paper with potential far reaching consequences would have expended great effort to ascertain all the facts.  But it appears that they did not meet with any of the women obtaining semikhah nor any of their teachers.  So the authors do not have any firsthand knowledge of the motivation of the women seeking semikhah.  It is therefore grossly unfair and patronizing to ascribe motivations when the OU panel made no attempt to meet with any of the women involved.  They have only their own projections of what they think are the motivations of the women.  There is a less pejorative (at least in their eyes) alternative.  Writing regarding R. Eliezer Berkovits, R. Shalom Carmy states:  “(his) moral ends derive from internal Jewish sources….dissatisfaction with mainstream Halakhah regarding women is rooted, not in the pressures of contemporary egalitarianism, but in his judgment about biblical conceptions of justice[my emphasis].”^[xiv]  The motive for semikhah can and from my experience should be seen as an expression of Masoretic values and the desire for maximal participation within Halacha.

The third error is denigrating egalitarianism as something that is against the Mesorah.  The authors of the paper in fact state something quite egalitarian: “The Torah affirms the absolute equal value of men and women as individuals and as ovdei Hashem.”  This is not the view of the Talmud.  The Mishnah (Horiyot 13:1) states: “A man takes precedence over a woman, in matters concerning the saving of life…a Cohen takes precedence over a Levi….”  Clearly the lives are not of equal value in the eyes of the Talmud.  R. Avraham Steinberg notes: “although strict Jewish law seems to require one to follow the order of precedencies cited in the Mishnah, the general practice and custom is otherwise.”^[xv]  The authors of the paper have adopted modern egalitarianism in this instance and shunted to the side the values mentioned in the Mishnah.  Obviously erasing all differences between the genders, including those that are Halakhically mandated, is against Halakhah and tradition.  But if one stays within Halacha, is it against tradition?  In fact our history, as documented above, is one of gradually erasing differences and/or eliminating previously mandated restrictions.   Differences, or different restrictions, not because of specific Halacha but just for the sake of having differences, or based on now discredited beliefs regarding abilities, appears to be an ancient value, not a Traditional value. 

Beliefs and psak

‘Modern values’ and Mesorah are not the only influences on Halachic decisions.  The values one grows up with, modern or not, frequently have the most influence on what a person believes.  It seems accurate to state that those who grow up Chassidic usually remain Chassidic, while those who grow up more Mitnagdish usually remain so.  Obviously there are those who cross over, but growing up in a certain milieu is a reasonable indication of where one will end up.  Similarly, those growing up in Zionist families and schools usually remain Zionists, while those growing up anti-Zionist usually remain anti-Zionists.  It seems patently obvious that regarding these important issues and more, the study of mikra, Halakhah and precedent (what the authors of the OU paper describe as fundamental to one’s weltanschauung) are actually minor factors in a person’s weltanschauung.  A video circulated last year showed boys at a summer camp demonstrating against a car carrying a mock Prime Minister Netanyahu^[xvi].   I doubt that prior to that demonstration they had studied the sources of anti-Zionism in depth.  Being anti-Zionist is how they were raised, and when they reach the Gemara on the three oaths and other sources, their upbringing will inform their evaluation of the arguments.  If this were not so, one would expect large numbers of anti-Zionists and large numbers of Religious Zionists to cross over once they encountered the mikra, Halakhah and precedent in depth.  But they do not.  R. Wurzburger noted this as well.  He wrote: “our attitude towards formal psak cannot be completely insulated from our attitude toward the world at large…if I were to ask a she’elah…I would get completely different answers from Rav Aaron Lichtenstein than from the Rosh Yeshiva of Hevron or other right-wing yeshivot…exposure to various modern value systems obviously affects one’s way of responding to halakhic matters [my emphasis].”  I would add that being ingrained with pre-modern attitudes towards women and society also can affect one’s responses to halakhic matters.

A number of recent articles have highlighted the role existing beliefs play in opinions, and how these beliefs usually shape a person’s view of facts.  For example, parents who believed that vaccines caused autism were given large amounts of material illustrating the falsehood of that belief, but the information had little to no influence on their opinions.  If we translate this to the Halachic arena, it appears that pre-existing beliefs have significant impact on Halachic opinions and psak, regardless of the strength or weakness of the actual Halachic argument.

Impact of decisions

There are some issues where being more strict has little potential downside.  Being more machmir on kitniyot for example, leads to dietary changes for some, but would not be expected to impact someone’s life.  It may be reasonable in such an instance to lean away from leniency given the minimal potential impact.  On the other hand, the topic of women’s roles in society and any limitations on them directly impacts fully 50% of the population and indirectly many more.  Being more restrictive without appropriate justification, or out of the desire to avoid being wrong has a significant downside.  What is frequently lost in the discussion of women’s issues is the impact that each and every decision has on the women under consideration. 

Taking into account pre-existing beliefs

Given all of the above, how can/should one come to a position on the issues?  I think that most of the time there is no significant conflict of values.  But, when there is a perceived conflict between ancient values and modern values, how can one decide which should be emphasized within the Mesorah?  It is important for the advocates on all sides to try as best as possible to recognize and address their own potential biases.  But ultimately, the quality and persuasiveness of the Halachic arguments should help resolve which values to emphasize.   While the burden of proof for change is on those who advocate for the change, the argument of ‘it is modern values and against Mesorah’ has been shown to be invalid unless there is an illustration that it actually is against the Mesorah on a Halakhic basis.  And the Halakhic arguments presented in the paper are surprisingly weak (see the next section for a detailed analysis) considering the importance of both the topic and the authors.  Prof. Marc Shapiro, for example, wrote that most Orthodox rabbis would admit privately that there is nothing Halakhically problematic with ordination for women^[xvii].

Conclusion:  Timeless or Ancient?

The authors of the OU paper wrote:   “a commitment to follow the ethos of the Torah, in addition to the letter of the law, requires faith, commitment, and a willingness to embrace timeless principles - even when counter-cultural and incompatible with prevailing societal values.”

  I think everyone committed to Orthodox Judaism agrees with this statement.  The major issue is distinguishing between timeless values and ancient values.  As has been demonstrated, our Mesorah over time, consciously or unconsciously, has addressed the perceived conflict between ancient values and modern values.  Certainly there are modern values that have been appropriately rejected.  Frequently however, ancient values have been rejected or perhaps more accurately assigned a reduced role of importance.   And the modern values have been the impetus for the re-evaluation.  As discussed in the Part II, the Halakhic arguments, taken at face value, are in favor of ordination for women.  The values of eliminating unnecessary restrictions, encouraging full expression of potential to serve the community, fairness, and others also point towards ordination.  There are specific Halakhic restrictions in place governing the behavior of men and women.  The question that needs to be answered is:  What timeless principles (or values) are served by imposing restrictions on women that are not justified by a fair reading of the Halacha and the sources? Are they truly Timeless and justifiably dominant in our Mesorah, or just ancient?  We will return to this topic in section III.

II Halakhic analysis

The authors of the OU paper make an argument that our Mesorah, from a value point of view, is against the ordination of women.   Section I has refuted that claim and illustrated that:  the relative weight of values  within the Mesorah has changed over time, modern values are frequently the impetus for changing the balance of values within the Mesorah, the desire for ordination can be seen as an expression of Masoretic values, and even if we(baselessly) assign an egalitarian impulse to the desire for ordination, egalitarianism is valued in the Mesorah to the extent that the authors of the paper changed the valuation system found in the Mishnah to a more egalitarian one.  From a ‘value’ perspective then, it can be cogently argued that Masoretic values would favor ordination and clerical roles for women, assuming the Halakhah was not clearly against it.   So while the authors endeavor to enter the Halakhic discussion with a strong bias against ordination, this bias is based on an incorrect understanding of the history of Masoretic values. 

The arguments pro and con the ordination and rabbinical roles for women are not simply differences of opinions, where one set of authorities take one position, and other authorities take a different position.  The arguments against ordination essentially state a category or restriction, and then draw conclusions from that category.  But these arguments suffer from one or more of the following problems:  they are based on wrong or at least unproven facts, the claimed conclusions do not follow logically from the premises, the Halachic reasoning is strained at best, the definitions of the categories or concepts lack specifics which allows the authors to escape in depth analysis, and there is great inconsistency in how the categories and restrictions are applied.

The authors present four arguments:  the problem of serarah (authority), the issue of precedent, restrictions of semikhah, and modesty^[xviii].

Serarah

The authors, quoting the Sifre^[xix] and the Rambam, state that women are prohibited from positions of serarah.  They state that serarah is “formal communal authority” but do not give any specifics or further definition.  They then claim, without providing any documentation, that “rabbinical positions have been traditionally understood as paradigmatic of serarah^[xx]”, and conclude that these positions are restricted to men.

Before even beginning the analysis, it is important to note that one of the areas of imprecision is defining the term synagogue rabbi, or perhaps more accurately, the religious leader of a synagogue.  I am not aware of a claim that being a rabbi or having ordination is a prerequisite for being the religious leader of a synagogue.  The authors of the paper address both ordination and functioning as the religious leader of a synagogue.  These are not Halakhically identical to each other.  However, by failing to distinguish between the two, the authors are able to use potential arguments against one function to argue against the other one, when that argument clearly doesn’t apply.  They are using the ambiguity for their own advantage.  In this case, the authors claim, without providing any support, that rabbinical positions are those of serarah.  However, they don’t clarify if this refers to holding the title of rabbi, receiving ordination (and there are many types and categories of ordination), leading a congregation (whatever that entails and however that is defined), answering halakhic questions, or simply teaching.  

Addressing the specific argument, this point contains 2 claims and a conclusion.  Both of the claims need to be true for the conclusion to be valid:

1. Women are prohibited from positions of serarah
2. Rabbinical positions are position of serarah
3. Conclusion: women are prohibited from occupying rabbinical positions.

R. Aryeh Frimer^[xxi] documents many opinions that contradict the assumptions of the authors of the paper.  For example, R. Ben Tzion Uzziel, former chief rabbi of Israel, noted that the Rambam’s opinion with regard to halakhah in this regard is not routinely accepted, there are many Rishonim who disagree with the Rambam, and that the prohibition only applies to those appointed by the Sanhedrin. R. Moshe Feinstein^[xxii] illustrates that Rashi, Tosafot, the Rosh, the Ran, the Ramban and possibly the Rashba all disagree with the Rambam.  So there are many bases for concluding that women are indeed not prohibited from these sorts of positions.

Similarly, the definition of serarah needs to be examined.  The authors define it as ‘formal community authority’- and insist that rabbinical positions are those.  It is telling and perhaps ironic to note that 7 of the greatest rabbinical authorities in the United States authored a position paper forbidding a certain action, and, as far as I know, there has not been a single person who changed their actions because of that position.  There has not been, to my knowledge, a single woman who dropped out of rabbinical school because of the pronouncement.  In fact, the only enforcement, if there will be any, will come from the non-rabbinical Orthodox Union. 

R. Frimer documents the many authorities who note that positions of authority that are democratically elected(and synagogue rabbis are voted in by their boards, who in turn were voted on by the congregants, so it is a democratically controlled process) are not considered serarah.  Furthermore, great authorities stated specifically that rabbinic positions are NOT necessarily positions of serarah.   For example, the Rama (YD 245: 22) wrote:  “someone who holds himself as the Rabbi of the town, even if he holds himself as some sort of serarah, cannot be removed from his position…and his sons inherit….”.  It is clear that being the Rabbi and holding serarah are two separate issues (and note that the rabbinate is designated as life long and inherited).  The Chatam Sofer(OH 12) takes note of this difference and emphasizes that the Rama is discussing positions of serarah and not of rabbinate(although he acknowledges that there are some positions that combine the two).^[xxiii]

Perhaps the most problematic aspect of this prohibition of women from rabbinic positions is that of consistency.  The Rambam prohibited women from positions of authority because they were similar to royal positions.  Royal positions, according to the Rambam, were held lifelong, inherited by the children, and prohibited to women and converts.  In years past there were many responsa written on whether a rabbinical position had to be passed down to the children.  In some cases, it was ruled that the position was not one of serarah and therefore did not have to be inherited.  The point being that the Rambam did not define a category of positions of authority whose sole characteristic is that they were prohibited only to women.  The category had 4 characteristics.  The lifelong and hereditary aspects seem to have fallen away at the same time as general society moved away from similar appointments ^[xxiv](perhaps another example of how ‘modern values’ are being incorporated into the Mesorah).  R. Nachum Rabinovitch in fact wrote that the entire Maimonidean concept of kingship/serarah is inapplicable in this day and age.[xxv] Currently I am not aware of any positions in Modern Orthodoxy that are lifelong and inherited.  The OU does not seem to have a blanket restriction of converts holding rabbinical positions^[xxvi], and R. Schachter himself wrote that converts are allowed to receive semikhah, which is a rabbinical position.  R. Moshe Feinstein, while allowing women to hold positions of serarah in matters of great need, was very certain in his prohibition of converts from positions of serarah^[xxvii]  In order to be a coherent position, the authors need to address all those who do not accept the Rambam’s position(and indeed the Rambam’s position  is not codified in the Shulchan Aruch), define precisely what serarah is or isn’t^[xxviii], define exactly why a rabbinical position is one of serarah, and most importantly, address the tremendous inconsistencies in their position.  As written, it appears that they are going far out of their way both to prohibit women from serarah(and they certainly don’t appear to prohibit women from serving in other leadership positions in the community, both secular and religious^[xxix]), and to define the rabbinate as one of serarah, all the while ignoring the wider implications and inconsistencies of their position

R Nati Helfgot perhaps summed up the issue best when he wrote: 

“Other rabbinic scholars, however, have taken a much more limited reading of the Rambam and maintain that the definition of communal serarah (and thus the subsequent restriction) should be limited to those communal positions of authority that truly mimic the kingship model. In this paradigm only positions that are imposed on the populace with some absolute powers would fall under the Rambam’s categories of serarah. In this paradigm a rabbi of a synagogue who is hired by an election, and fired at the will of the congregation and board would clearly not fall into the category of some inappropriate position of authority even according to Maimonides. Other rabbinic scholars of note have also pointed to the concept of kaballah, of communal acceptance of a woman as obviating the restriction of the Rambam in the view of a number of rishonim. Many significant Modern-Orthodox poskim (though not all) have certainly taken that position over the last century on issues such as permitting women’s suffrage and election to serve in high office or as the president of a shul or a member of a religious council.  Indeed, to my knowledge, over the last decades a number of women have served in the position of president of their synagogues (a number affiliated with the Orthodox Union) without any formal objection.

       Mori verabi, Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, in a conversation with former students currently serving in the rabbinate and Jewish education, recently (December, 2009) discussed this halakhic issue. He pointedly noted that it is clear that the Dati-Leumi/Modern-Orthodox community and its rabbinic elite have clearly come down in favor of a more narrow reading of the Rambam’s restriction. He pointed to the fact that for the last two decades religious women have run as candidates of Dati-Leumi religious parties across the board, for Knesset, and some have served as members of parliament. In addition, a few have served as ministers in the coalition governments with the approval (despite an occasional rumble here and there) of the rabbinic leadership of those parties. These have included scholars such as R. Avraham Shapira zt”l, R. Mordechai Eliyahu (may he have a refuah shelimah), Rav Yaakov Ariel and others.

       R. Lichtenstein stated that clearly a member of parliament and certainly a government minister is often involved in coercive legislation or votes on budgets involving tens of millions of shekels or issues of war and peace. This position is clearly more of a serarah than any shul rabbi or president.  He thus felt that certainly in Israel, the Modern-Orthodox community has taken the position that the expansive reading of the Rambam, limiting women’s roles, is not the normative ruling.”^[xxx]

Precedent

The next issue is that of precedent.  This issue consists of a claim of fact- that the issue of ordination for women was considered and rejected in the past, and a claim of Halacha- that the absence of women’s ordination in the past is of great Halachic significance.

R. Jeffrey Fox^[xxxi] discussed the Halachic reasoning in great detail.  He points out that the claim directly contradicts the explicitly stated position in the Mishnah (Eduyot 2:2, Zevahim 12:4): “לא ראינו, אינו ראיה and R. Fox also illustrates that the basis for the Halachic claim not supported by an unbiased reading of the Halachic sources.

But perhaps even more problematic is the factual claim. The authors write: “We find it implausible to say that the question of female ordination has never presented itself throughout the history of our Mesorah.”

It would seem reasonable to expect that if a topic had been seriously considered and rejected on a communal level (in other words, not just one isolated person but the entire Jewish community), there would be some documentation of that.  However, the authors fail to bring any documentation for their assumption.  In fact, a comprehensive review of the entire topic of Semikhah^[xxxii] states: “A most interesting question which has not been explicitly discussed anywhere, is whether a woman is eligible to obtain Semikhah.”  An argument from silence is not usually considered a strong argument.  But in this case, the argument from silence is much stronger than the argument that semikhah for women was considered and rejected but absolutely no written trace of this is found, especially considering that tens of thousands of volumes of responsa have been written over the years and there is no sign of any discussion let alone rejection. 

Semikhah

The authors state:  “While contemporary semikhah differs from classic semikhah (as described in the Talmud) in many regards, it must, nevertheless, be viewed as an extension of the original institution of semikhah.  Parallels between the current and original forms of semikhah therefore, are relevant and valid. Various sources indicate that the classic semikhah involved, and in fact may have centered on, designating individuals to serve as court judges. Since the majority halakhic view is that only men are eligible to be ordained as judges, even contemporary ordination would be restricted to men.”

This claim consists of a number of parts, all of which have to be true in order for the conclusion to be true:

1. Women cannot be judges
2. Because women can’t be judges, they were not eligible for classic semikhah
3. The restrictions on classic semikhah apply to current semikhah
4. Therefore women cannot receive current semikhah

There actually is another crucial but unstated and unaddressed claim:

1. Semikhah is needed to be the religious leader of a synagogue

Whether women can or cannot be judges and whether the restriction was extended to semikhah is a vitally important issue but deserves a separate in depth discussion. 

The above point does not require discussion because it is very clear from the historical and Halakhic record that current semikhah is entirely unrelated to classic semikhah.  Perhaps more importantly, it is also very clear that community religious leaders functioned in all the capacities of ‘rabbis’ without any formal semikhah. 

The authors reference Shulchan Aruch YD 242^[xxxiii]. This siman discusses the relationship between student and teacher.  Some of the sections reference previous works which use the student/teacher relationship of classic semikhah to provide a basis for current student/teacher relationships.  Since there is a Halakhically mandated relationship between students and teachers as mentioned in the Gemara, it is reasonable and necessary to establish the parameters of what that relationship should be.  And, the only precedents for student/teacher relationships in Halakhah are those with respect to semikhah.  However, it is an unfounded leap in logic to claim that the adoption of some aspects of the student/teacher relationships implies the adoption of all the restrictions and practices of classic Semikhah.  Furthermore, they do not reference Section 14 which reads:  “the semikhah that we practice at this time is so that people will know that he has achieved instruction (higia l’hora’a) and that he is instructing with the permission of the Rav who gave him semikhah.  Therefore, if his Rav died, there is no need for semikhah.  And so it is with a talmid chaver as it is stated elsewhere, in a place there is no need for permission, there is no need for semicha…….in any event, in these days, it(semikhah) is only the granting of permission.”

The history of modern semikhah also  illustrates that not only is there no connection between ancient and modern semikhah, but that for long periods of time there were those who functioned as religious leaders and were recognized as such without semikhah. 

Dr. Irving Agus (history professor at Yeshiva University) wrote^[xxxiv]: “….we can see that there was no formal semikhah in the 13^th century in Ashkenaz, and that the student did not receive permission to give hora’ah or to judge, and there was not given to him any special semikhah as a posek or even in the laws of what is forbidden and permitted.”  Professor Leah Bornstein quotes^[xxxv] R. Yehuda Barziloni (from his book, “Sefer HaShtarot”) that the semikhah given in the 12^th century was: “... in remembrance of semikhah.  That is to say, a secular practice…..given only for the purpose of encouraging the learners.”  R. Yitzchak Abravanel, on reaching Italy from Spain wrote regarding the semikhah that was being given in Italy:  “I don’t know where it comes from for them to allow this, perhaps they were jealous of the non-Jews that are made ‘Doctor’, and they are doing likewise.”^[xxxvi]

The function of semikhah in this day and age is so that the public know that someone is capable, and that his/her teacher has given him/her permission to rule.  Importing the restrictions of classic semikhah appears to be a more modern invention.

In summary, even if one accepts that women are prohibited from receiving classic semikhah, the claim that women cannot receive contemporary semikhah is based on the now refuted claim that the prohibitions on classic semikhah apply to contemporary semikhah.  Furthermore, the authors are again inconsistent.  There were many conditions and restrictions on classic semikhah^[xxxvii] .  Yet it appears that the only condition that the authors have adopted from classic semikhah is the restriction on women, and none of the others.

Converts are also prohibited from receiving classic semikhah.  However, in a discussion of the parameters of converts judging other converts^[xxxviii], R. Herschel Schachter writes that according to some opinions: “  the establishment of a judgment in beit din is an act of serarah on the defendant according to Tosafot(and not according to Rashi), because there is a difference between giving instruction in what is permitted and forbidden(hora’at issur v’heter) and the judgment(psak) of the court(bet din), because instructing permitted/forbidden(even treifot and mar’ot of blood) the judgment is not related to any specific mikra b’prat, only that the Chacham is only giving his opinion in halakhah ha-mufshetet.  Which is not the case with beit din….which is an act of serarah.” 

Giving instruction in issur v’heter according to many is the essence of modern semikhah.  R. Schachter, when discussing converts, states specifically that this is not serarah.  Even giving judgment in court, according to some opinions, according to R. Schachter, is not serarah.  This appears to be quite inconsistent with the OU paper’s position on both serarah and semikhah, and provides yet another illustration of how it appears that some poskim define and apply basic halakhic concepts differently when women are involved. 

Modesty

The final major halakhic argument is that of modesty.  The authors write:  “the sanctity of the synagogue demands a particularly enhanced level of modesty - as illustrated by the requirement of a mechitzah. This elevated demand for the separation of genders is incompatible with a woman presiding over a male quorum.”  The reference for this is R. Schachter’s article ‘B’inyanei Beit ha’kenesset u’kedushato’.  Instead of reading the article as referenced^[xxxix], I suggest reading the original^[xl] which contains a final section (not found in the subsequent republication) which illustrates the disdain Rav Schachter has for those who disagree with him.

R. Schachter’s argument is based on an Aggada-regarding a woman Kimchit, all of whose sons served as Cohen Gadol. When asked, she attributed this to the fact that she kept her hair covered at all times even in the house.  Essentially, an Aggadah where a woman was rewarded^[xli] for going beyond the letter of the law in hair covering is being used as proof that a woman cannot receive semikhah and/or serve as the religious leader and/or rabbi of a synagogue.  The logical gulf is obvious, but some further analysis may be useful.

It is important to take into consideration the various types of tzniut- modesty.  There is sexual modesty, which understands that certain areas of both men and women’s bodies should be covered.  There is also the ‘hiding from the public’ modesty that R. Schachter mandates^[xlii].  Essentially R. Schachter states that all women in all circumstances are forbidden from appearing in public unless a man is not available to perform the task, or there are other mitigating circumstances. However, not only does the practice of the Modern Orthodox community not conform to this idea, it does not have to be seen as Halacha.  Addressing a text mandating that women not stand out in public, Rav Yehuda Henkin writes:^[xliii]  “ [these sources- in this case the text Oz v’Hadar Levushah by R. Yehoshua Falk] are as much about ideology and outlook as they are about Halachah.  This ideology prohibits a woman from standing out and from being outstanding. She must not act in a play, paint a mural, play an instrument or otherwise demonstrate special skills in front of men, lest she attract attention and her movements excite them(it is noted that the basis for the restrictions are perhaps somewhat different. Oz ve’hadar Levushah appears to be concerned solely with sexual excitement, while Rav Schachter claims that his concept goes beyond sexual excitement and is based on a fundamental demand by Halacha for privacy- but the result is the same).

Rav Henkin goes on to specifically state:  “But I think no such issur exists….according to this ideology, the one area in which a woman should strive to excel is that of tzniut itself…..a woman’s ultimate distinction is to be considered a tzanuah.”

Kimchit’s act was covering her hair, which in some situations is considered ervah.  So it is an act of going above and beyond in sexual modesty. 

There is a baseline of sexual tzniut for men and women, wherever they are.   One would assume that synagogues with appropriate mechitzah’s and properly dressed and acting men and women achieve that baseline.  And, the other sources brought by R. Schachter emphasize that it is good to be stringent that the baseline is maintained.  Just because a lack of tzniut seems to be a cause for the removal of the presence of the Shechinah, does not logically imply that more than mandatory tzniut will do more to bring the Shechinah.  And if a woman covering more than necessary is good, then men covering more than necessary would be equally good, since they both have baseline obligations of covering certain areas.   If men and women are appropriately dressed and on their respective side of the mechitzah during davening, it is hard to understand how a women ‘presiding’ over a male quorum is a problem of sexual tzniut.  And, if having a non-clergy female give a drasha is not a problem, then having a female clergy give a drasha should also not be a problem.

It is equally difficult to understand why the issue of women presiding over davening is selected as emblematic of problems with modesty.  There are many actually codified restrictions on men (SA EH 21) which could be enforced in the synagogue if more modesty was needed.  In other words, even accepting the assumption that supranormal tzniut is needed in a synagogue, the authors have not explained why they selected having a women preside (whatever that is defined to be, and certainly it is a problem that can be avoided simply by appointing someone else to ‘preside’- it does not have to be an intrinsic part of the rabbinic role- certainly shuls with multiple minyanim have minyanim where the rabbi does not ‘preside’) as being problematic.

R. Ben Tzion Uzziel identified and debunked what is perhaps the underlying assumption:  “It is common sense that in any serious meeting and meaningful conversation there is no question of lack of modesty…and sitting in the proximity [of women] when involved in communal affairs, which is work of holiness, does not lead to lightheartedness.  For all Israel are holy people, and her women are holy and are not to be suspect of breach of modesty and morality.”^[xliv]

Discussion

In science, the veracity of a theory is ascertained by how well it coheres with ideas of how things work, how well it explains known facts, and how well it predicts new findings.  In the Gemara, consistency is greatly valued, and inconsistency is a reason to reject a position.  In any disagreement regarding sources, some understandings of positions are clear, and some are forced.  Similarly some conclusions are logical from the premises, and some are leaps of faith. 

The authors of the OU paper presented 4 halakhic rationales.  For the argument of serarah, they had to prove that women indeed were prohibited from those positions, that the positions under consideration were those of serarah, and that their use and application of the concept and definition of the positions were consistent.  This paper has illustrated that the position that women are prohibited from serarah is far from universal, and, more importantly, it is very difficult to characterize the positions in question as those of serarah.  And, the prohibition is being applied quite stringently in the case of women, but not in other similar situations such as those of converts.

Similarly, the argument of semikhah required proof that women were prohibited from receiving ancient semikhah, this prohibition still applied even though ancient semikhah is universally acknowledged to have ceased in the time of the geonim, and that the construct was coherent and consistent.  We have shown that it is not clear that women were prohibited from receiving ancient semikhah, and more importantly, that even if there was a prohibition, there is no basis to the contention that it extends to modern semikhah.  Furthermore, it appears very incoherent and inconsistent since the only characteristic among many of ancient semikhah being brought forward is the prohibition of women.

The argument from precedent required proof that indeed the possibility of semikhah for women was considered and rejected, and that this previous rejection is adequate precedent.  We have shown that there is no evidence for the assumption, and that the halakhic methodology is not compelling.

The argument from modesty makes a huge logical jump from ”Kimchit was rewarded for covering all of her hair all the time” to “we should make sure we are modest in synagogue’ to ‘women can’t preside over services’ without proving the connection.  The argument also ignored many other, more halakhic ways to improve modesty in the synagogue, if indeed it was necessary.  Furthermore, presiding over services is not necessarily a key part of a rabbinic role, and disqualification from that would not at all imply disqualification from all the other rabbinic roles.

Perhaps the most distressing aspect of the teshuva is the lack of precision and clarity.  There is no precise definition of serarah, there is no precise definition of semikhah.  Furthermore, there are least four different categories that have been lumped together: formal semikhah for women, women giving hora’ah without formal semikhah, women holding the position of rabbinic leader of a synagogue, and a woman performing the functions of leader of the synagogue but without the formal title.  These distinctions are important, because certain halakhic restrictions might apply to one category but not others.  For example, halakhic restrictions on formal semikhah would not be applicable to the non-semikhah positions.

As a side issue, if the attempt to bar women from religious leadership is going to include the concept of Hora’ah, it needs to be defined.  It should be clear that modern hora’ah can be considered very different from ancient hora’ah.  As R. Lichtenstein wrote^[xlv]: “Now, however, the posek’s personal status has been vitiated, and with it, the standing of his decisions.  Now, he essentially serves as a reference guide, providing reliable information about what the tradition and its sources, properly understood and interpreted, state; but it is they, rather than he, that bind authoritatively.”

By lumping all the categories together, the OU panel was able to make it seem that Halachic objections to some of the categories apply to all of the categories, a position for which they do not provide any justifications.

They write:  “For the reasons stated above we believe that a woman should not be appointed to serve in a clergy position. This restriction applies both to the designation of a title for women that connotes the status of a clergy member, as well as to the appointment of women to perform clergy functions on a regular ongoing basis - even when not accompanied by a rabbinic type title.”

They then go on to list: “officiating at religiously significant life-cycle events, (e.g. brit milah, baby naming, bar mitzvah bat mitzvah, weddings and funerals),  the regular practice of delivering sermons from the pulpit during services, presiding over or “leading services” at a minyan and formally serving as the synagogue’s primary religious mentor, teacher, and spiritual guide. While a synagogue rabbi performs myriad functions, it is these common functions most often performed by a rabbi that characterize his role as the synagogue’s formal religious leader. The gamut of rabbinical responsibilities has evolved over time, adapting to the needs of each generation and locale. Nonetheless, the designated role of spiritual synagogue leader can be identified through the prevailing rabbinic duties.”

They have established a new and as far as I know unprecedented Halachic category of ‘things a synagogue rabbi does.’  Doing them is not serarah, does not require semikhah, is not subject to the precedent argument(as least not as presented, and to make it would be even more specious than the one presented), and is not necessarily a problem of tzniut.  On the basis of the arguments presented, there is absolutely no reason to restrict women from performing them.  Yet, all are prohibited.

The bulk of the OU paper is not focused on Halacha but on tradition.  It seems that the authors felt that female clergy violate the values of tradition.  They obviously had the Rabbinic will to ban women clergy.  And they constructed a Halachic way to ban women clergy.  But their halakhic arguments are based on wrong or unproven facts, faulty logic, fuzzy definitions, inconsistent application of rules, and forced arguments.

III what does God want from us in terms of gender in the public square?

The authors of the OU paper discuss Halakha, but appear to give equal if not greater weight to what can be called ‘meta-Halakhic’ or overarching Halakhic issues.  They present essentially two arguments: Mesorah(what we have been doing has weight independent of any basis), and the idea that there is a specific Halakhic value, more than just technical restrictions,  in gender restrictions in the public square.  Section I addressed the Mesorah argument.  There are three challenges facing the OU authors in making this second argument:

1. Articulating a coherent practical theory of gender in the public square- what is allowed, what isn’t, and why(more details below)
2. Articulating the principles that undergird the practical theory- what exactly is the basis for this mandate?
3. Articulating whether restrictions on gender are in the category of a moral good, or more of a yoke of Heaven that demands obedience.  In other words, is it our Halakhic obligation to increase restrictions, try to identify them without value judgements (as best as possible), or lessen them?

Is there a coherent theory for what is allowed and prohibited?

The first challenge may appear straightforward, but it is not.  The authors of the OU paper write:  “Gender differences have, historically, been particularly evident in the arena of public service. We believe that these distinctions are not merely a relic of times bygone; instead, they reflect a Torah ethos - a Mesorah - of different avenues and emphases by which men and women are to achieve identical goals - the service of G-d and the perpetuation of the Jewish people.”

While the authors here use the term ‘public service’, the content of the paper illustrates that they do not oppose women in public service.  They can be scholars, give classes, and appear in the public eye- without restriction as long as they are not considered clergy. What is problematic for their position is that the usual sources cited for restrictions on women are those that restrict women from the public square.  The authors appear to be using those sources and tradition, not to restrict women from the public square, but to prohibit women from occupying positions of leadership.

For example, R. Schachter’s concept of hiddenness requires women more than men to avoid being in public.   A woman can only be in public if a man is not available to perform the duty.  He applies this concept to everything, not just leadership positions and not just in the religious but in the secular realm as well.  Another vocal opponent of progress for women, R. Moshe Meiselman, also restricted women from the public square, based not on halachah but  on a Midrash^[xlvi].  It should be noted that this Midrash is focused on tzniut, does not address leadership, and does not mandate any Halachic restrictions.  Indeed, the authors of the OU paper do not bring any specific evidence that the distinctions of bygone times are in fact a Torah ethos and certainly no evidence that they restrict women’s leadership.

The phrase ‘kol kevuda bat melech’(Tehillim 45:14) has been used as a source ‘proving’ that women should be private and out of the public square.  It should be noted that the discussion stemming from this phrase is not about leadership, but the public square.   R. Eli Reif^[xlvii] illustrates that the use of this pasuk was NOT an imposition of restrictions, but a mechanism for women to choose, if they wished, not to violate societal norms.  And while there are those who use it to forbid^[xlviii], many modern poskim hold like R. Sha’ul Yisraeli^[xlix] who wrote: “in our generation, religious women work in various offices, hospitals, kindergartens and schools, and yet no one objects.”  The point is that a concept that was used in the Gemara to allow women the option of avoiding the public is used by some to forbid them from the public. 

This pasuk was used as a concept three times in the Talmud Bavli. An analysis of its use versus contemporary reality illustrates that it is a poor choice for those who want to use it as a source for binding restrictions in the modern age.  The Gemara in Shevuot considers that women might not appear in court because it was not the way of honorable women to do so. The pasuk of ‘kol kevuda’ is used as a proof text.  In modern times, Orthodox women work in courts, testify in courts, show up in court as lawyers, and even are judges.  If the use of kol kevuda in this instance was meant as a restriction of women from courts, it is being globally ignored.  Similarly the Gemara discusses whether Jewish (or Moabite) women did not go out to meet their counterparts, and the verse is used to posit that perhaps they did not go out due to modesty. Currently Orthodox women participate in welcoming committees, neighborhood events (with non-Jews), and again, it is hard to see this use as a basis for current restriction.  The third use of the verse involves a woman in a strange city who asks that her husband support her financially so that she will not have to go out to work for strangers.  The verse is used to support the contention that it is not honorable for a woman to have to go out and do so.  The Gemara in this instance rejects the claim, and the conclusion in the Gemara is that the husband does not have to support his wife; she is obligated to support herself, despite the possible detriment to her honor.  This discussion is in fact still employed in Jewish courts currently to deny some claims of alimony^[l].

What hopefully is clear is that it is not factually or logically compelling to use the concept of ‘kol kevuda bat melech’ as developed in the gemara as the basis for some sort of restriction or mandate for modern private behavior.  If the restriction doesn’t apply in the case of the original usage, it is hard to posit that it applies to any extended usages.  And even if we accept extensions of its usage to prohibit public appearances, it still does not impact on leadership.

Another potential source for restricting women from the public is the curses of Eve.  The Gemara in Eruvin^[li] notes that one of the curses of Eve is that she is imprisoned. R. Reif posits that the Rambam was referencing this when he stated that despite restricting women from going out more than a few times a month, she should not be a prisoner in her home.  However, there is no mandate to enforce a curse. As R. Herschel Schachter wrote (in reference to Zionism): “ Surely Judaism does not forbid the attempt to avoid or curtail a punishment from God.”^[lii]

Bereshit 1:28 and the attendant Midrash is a frequently cited source for gender roles.  This source impacts both on the practice and the theoretical underpinnings.  In Bereshit 1:28, God blesses the man and woman that he had just created and tells them to have dominion over the world.  It would appear from the pshat that both genders are obligated in conquering, and that is one opinion in the Midrash.  However, another opinion in Bereshit Rabba(8:12)(utilizing a difference in kri/ktiv) states that instead of the woman being commanded to conquer the world, the man is commanded to capture his wife so that she does not go out to the market, because all those who go out to the market in the end will go astray.  The proof provided is the incident of Dina, who the Torah tells us ‘went out.’  The Midrash therefore presents two options- women have the same obligation as men in conquering the world or, women do not have the same obligation as the men, and in fact are to be kept from the public square, by force if necessary.  The irony in the case of Dina, aside from the victim blaming, is that the problematic area is not the religious public square, but the secular public square. 

This distinction between the secular public square and the religious sphere deserves further analysis. Most of the usually quoted mandates for modest behavior appear to apply to the public square in general, not specifically to the religious square.  We have already pointed out that the mandates for modest behavior do not prohibit leadership any more than any other public activity.  The community has even embraced Jewish judges in the secular court system.  This is significant because the same Rambam, who prohibits women from serarah, also prohibits women from serving as judges in non-Jewish courts^[liii].  Yet, as far as I am aware, there is no opposition or opprobrium.

 There also does not appear to be a Halakhic basis for prohibiting religious leadership more than secular leadership. R. Aryeh Klapper pointed out^[liv]: “One might suggest that the prohibition (of serarah) applies specifically to positions of religious leadership.  But I can find no basis for this suggestion in the Rambam or any other Rishon…..” 

The reality of Modern Orthodox society is that women occupy public positions and positions of leadership in the secular sphere, without a peep of protest from Modern Orthodox religious authorities.  They occupy public positions in the religious community without significant protest.  Yet, sources that apply most specifically to secular public roles or even just appearing in the secular public square are being employed to prohibit women from religious leadership roles.  The gap in logic and consistency is clear.

As noted in part II, religious leaders in Israel have noted the inconsistency in prohibiting religious participation while encouraging secular participation.  Perhaps the overlap of religious and secular in Israel has made it clearer that there is no Halakhic or practical distinction between secular and religious leadership roles.  And, that there is no distinction between the secular and religious public square.  While some may still oppose ordination for women, more and more authorities in Israel have recognized that prohibiting women from leadership roles in the religious community while embracing those roles in the secular community is a logically untenable position.  Unfortunately many in the United States have yet to see the schizophrenic nature of the position.

Those in favor of ordination for women can formulate a logically coherent position:  Certainly there are Halakhically mandated differences between men and women.  However, many of the prohibitions codified in the past, such as the Rambam’s prohibition on going out of the house more than a few times a month, are culturally based, and not universally mandated.  Yes there is a mandate for all to act in a modest way, and there are Halakhic differences between men and women, but that does not prevent men or women from being in the public or acting in leadership roles.

Those opposed to ordination for women seem to have one of two options.  They can attempt to bolster their case that from a strictly Halakhic point of view it is prohibited.  As illustrated in part II, this appears to be a quite difficult task.  The other option is to make the case that extra-Halakhic restrictions on women are desirable and in fact mandatory.  The above discussion has illustrated how the use of the usual concepts to restrict women from leadership positions is entirely inconsistent with their usual understanding and inconsistent with Modern Orthodox practice.

Perhaps the underlying question behind this and similar discussions is:  What is the ideal?  Do the steps forward that women have made in being in public, having jobs outside the home, learning and teaching Torah, being able to vote etc., are these moving towards an ideal? Or are they unfortunate necessary concessions to the practicality of life?

What is the theoretical basis for a theory of restriction?

In addition to a practical theory that explains what is prohibited and what is not, it is necessary to explain the basis for those restrictions.  The authors of the OU paper write about a ‘Halakhic ethos’ and employ that ethos as part of their argument against ordination and other roles.  They also take note of ‘historical differences’ between genders.  But those in favor of maximally restricting roles for women need to take the facts into account.

Some of the facts are these:

1. The Gemara, midrash, and many other sources in the Mesorah contain many disparaging comments regarding women^[lv].  Do the opponents of ordination agree with these opinions? Are they the basis for the ‘historical differences’? If they don’t agree with the opinions, do any restrictions that flow from them change?
2. The Gemara and older sources were written in a pre-modern milieu where women were, completely unrelated to any religious prohibition, generally prohibited from leadership and from the public square. Did that cultural milieu impact on the ‘historical differences’? Now that the cultural milieu is different, how does that affect Halakhic or extra-Halakhic restrictions?
3. Modern Orthodox women do not appear to be restricted from secular leadership or from the secular public square, as noted in the first discussion. Are they in violation of the ‘Halakhic ethos’?

Furthermore, what the authors state regarding the timeless nature of gender roles  could have been and in fact  in some cases was written many times in the last few hundred years^[lvi]- in opposition to women working outside the home, women voting, women holding public positions, women learning Torah, and many more.  And the argument against women performing the particular activity was eventually rejected in many cases. So, in the absence of a supporting Halakhic mandate, simply pointing out a history of gender differences, without addressing the milieu of where they started and the history of how many of them have gone by the wayside,  is not a persuasive argument.   

As noted above, the Midrash Rabba on Bereshit presented two stark alternatives:  women have the same obligation as men in conquering the world, or, women do not have an obligation to conquer the world, and in addition, men are obligated to keep their wives inside.  Certainly it is possible to believe in the second option, and there are Orthodox communities who do so and enforce it maximally.  However, the practice of the Modern Orthodox community is consistent with the first- women have the same obligation to conquer.  If the OU panel is basing part of their opposition on this second world view, they should make it abundantly clear what their fundamental view actually is.  The community can then decide if they wish to accept that fundamental view, or look to poskim whose views are more in consonance with their practice and beliefs.  Ultimately, if an argument is going to be made that there is a theoretical basis for restrictions on women beyond the specific Halakhah, it is necessary to articulate the theory in a systematic and coherent fashion.  This, I think, so far is an unmet challenge.

What does God want?

The authors reference two ‘meta’ concepts- “Derakheha darkhei noam vekhol netivoteha shalom” and “v’asita hayashar vehatov”. We are commanded to do what is good and what is right.  Is it good to look for restrictions on women, converts, differently abled, and others? Is it a good to take a pasuk such as ‘kol kevuda’ or a concept such as ‘tzniut’ and manufacture restrictions? As noted above, neither R. Schachter nor R. Meiselman were able to find a Halakhic source for their restrictions, and need to import Halacha from Midrashim or creatively^[lvii]  re-interpret the concept of ‘v’halachta b’drechav’ in order to find a basis for the restrictions that they mandate.  In fact, in reviewing R. Getzel Ellinson’s three volumes on mitvzot regarding women^[lviii], I was not able to find any specific restriction on women in leadership nor appearing in public.   There are, to be sure, restrictions related to sexual issues (modesty, yichud, etc) or the relationship between husband and wife, which also, incidentally, apply at least in part to men as well.   But applying them to appearing in public and leadership is taking them completely out of context.  Is it good in God’s eyes to do this?

In discussing whether a convert can be a Rosh Yeshiva, R. Moshe Feinstein wrote “However, in practice you should know that that the mitzvah of “and you shall love the ger” requires us to bring them close and to be lenient regarding all these things.  Therefore, after great thought it appears that we need not consider such appointments in our time like appointments of serarah….”^[lix]  Similarly, R. Feinstein was concerned regarding the deaf/mute.  Why are we not similarly concerned regarding women?  The Torah mandates that there is one law that applies equally to the convert as well as to the native born.  The usual understanding has been that the convert might suffer discrimination.  Now, it appears the reverse is true.  The authors of the OU paper do not seem to have a problem with converts in leadership, but appear to be going out of their way to find arguments against women in leadership- not only for their own specific sphere, but for all of Orthodoxy.  They do not appear to be willing to even acknowledge that those who disagree have a legitimate opinion.  Do they think that imposing restrictions on women is doing the good and right?

For the history of Halakha, poskim, all of them men, have been considering the status and place of women in public and leadership.  Even prior to considering the specific Halakhic issues, they have, consciously or not, brought their pre-existing beliefs with them.  And their beliefs have colored their evaluation of the Halakhic arguments.  Obviously there are Halakhic parameters that cannot be breached.  But within those parameters, similar to Rav Moshe and the convert, there are situations where the beliefs mandate trying to find a way to allow an action.  My guess is that most if not everyone would think that finding a way for a differently abled person to participate in davening, for a deaf/mute to have an aliyyah, etc. if achievable within the system, is desirable.  As R. Moshe illustrated, and the OU authors specifically state, there are specific Halakhic arguments, and there are also more overarching Halakhic values that can influence the posek to lean one way or the other, obviously within the Halakhic system. 

Some have used the overarching value system to sideline the specific Halachic analysis.  For example, R. Herschel Schachter, by labelling any request for changes in the status of women as heresy^[lx], barely needs any other rationale to oppose changes.  The authors here use Mesorah and tzniut to influence the Halakhic balance.  This is not to claim that heresy, Mesorah and tzniut don’t have Halakhic weight.  But they are the Meta issues that have not been adequately addressed. 

As an example, there is a very cogent(and as demonstrated, much more compelling) technical Halakhic argument that can be made:  Rabbinic positions are not serarah and even if they are, we do not have to follow the position of the Rambam; aside from the name, there is no connection between ancient semicha and modern semicha; there is no recorded discussion of ordination for women and therefore there is no precedent against it; and appropriately dressed and acting men and women are not a violation of any issues of tzniut.  So the question that needs to be addressed is:  What are the negative consequences of ordaining women that the authors are so concerned about?  Is not eliminating non-mandated restrictions, similar to the other groups, something that should be considered laudatory and ‘good’?  Should we hunt for new restrictions because restricting women from the public or leadership as much as possible is a Halakhic value?  I think it is clear from the practice of the Modern Orthodox community in secular Public Square, and from the strides that have been made regarding the differently abled in the religious sphere, that we embrace the idea that minimizing restrictions is a Halakhic good.  So why has that not been extended to the Modern Orthodoxy religious sphere with regard to women?

Some poskim write about motivations- that women are motivated by ‘non-kosher’ desires to be just like men or to tear down Halakha.  It is somewhat ironic that those who demand that women be excluded from decision making also assume to know exactly what women are thinking and their motivations.  The situation could hardly be less fair, when those arrogating to themselves the right to decide refuse to even take steps to ascertain actual facts.  The use of motivation also allows poskim to skew the Halakhic calculation and/or avoid the Halachic discussion.

Consider a male Kohein who falls in love with a woman, and then discovers she is a divorcee.  One can claim that the Kohein’s desire to marry the woman is a desire to flout Halacha, he is a sinner, and the case is therefore closed.  One could also admire the love between two human beings while also noting the restriction on a Kohein marrying a divorcee.  In that case, one could examine all the facts and laws of the case and see if there was a Halakhically valid way to allow it- knowing that in some situations there might be, and in some situations the answer will be no.  But the no, in that case, is a no of sorrow and submission- submitting to the yoke of Heaven, while at the same time acknowledging the sorrow of the human beings whose love for each other will remain unfulfilled.  The comparison is actually not very good because while the Halakha regarding the restrictions on the Kohein are relatively clear, well sourced, and unambiguous, those restricting women from the public square, as discussed, are not.  But the point is that seeing the situation from the couple’s point of view, being sympathetic, and trying to find a solution that will work for them seems like a logical and reasonable approach- despite the specific Halakhic proscriptions on the books.  On the other hand, many and perhaps most of those opposed to women in public or leadership, do not give the women the same sympathetic hearing, and seem predisposed to say no and close the books.^[lxi]  The question that they need to answer is: Is this the path that reflects the good and the right? Is that the way of pleasantness?  The OU paper referenced the use of ‘deracheha darchei noam’ in two places; in one it is used to try to make sure a woman is not denigrated, and in the other, to make sure that we are not obligated to use a thorny branch for ritual purposes.  I think an honest appraisal of the meaning of these concepts, and how they have been used for other groups, leads to the conclusion that minimizing restrictions, as much as Halakhically possible, is the way of pleasantness.  Maximizing restrictions is oppression.

Conclusion

The arguments against ordination for women in the OU paper were:  Mesorah, Halakhah, and Halakhic ethos.  I think that I have adequately demonstrated that our Mesorah recognizes the contribution of modern values- and there is no reason for this case to be an exception.  The Halakhic arguments against ordination have been addressed in detail, and a more compelling argument in favor of ordination was made.  In the third section, I hope that I have raised to consciousness a perhaps under discussed topic:  What is the ideal?   Does God want us to have more or less restrictions on women?  What is “the good and right” with regard to this issue?  The answer, at least for the Modern Orthodox, is less restriction.

There is a cartoon where Bugs Bunny draws a line and dares Yosemite Sam to cross it^[lxii].   Yosemite Sam crosses it, and Bugs draws a new one.  As each line is crossed, a new one is made.  Ultimately Bugs draws a line at the edge of a cliff, and Sam falls off the cliff.     The progress that women have made over the years is similar in some ways.  Poskim have stated that women were prohibited from a certain action, making it seem that it was the line at the top of the cliff.  But then women did it, and it was not the cliff.   Women moved into the public job market, voted, held leadership positions in the secular world, learned Gemara, taught Shiurim, etc. and I think that the Modern Orthodox world as a whole would agree that we have benefited from crossing all these lines.  And in retrospect they shouldn’t have been lines to begin with.   Ordination for women is just another line being portrayed by some as a cliff.  But it is a non-existent cliff, and it should not even be a line.  That is not to say that there are Halakhic lines that cannot be crossed.  But as noted in section 2, there is no Halakhic line here. 

For some, the cliff model represents their approach to women’s issues in Halakha.  There is a safe area, and movement in a certain direction invokes possible danger.  They are concerned about a ‘slippery slope’ and getting ‘too close’ to the edge. What they may fail to realize is that there is Halakhic danger (certainly of a different sort) in all directions.  Prohibiting that which is allowed is also problematic.  Is it appropriate to place restrictions on 50% of the population which are not specifically Halakhically mandated?  Perhaps the better analogy is the mountain path with cliffs on both sides- finding the proper way forward while balancing the various Halakhic and Masoretic arguments- keeping in mind the effect each and every decision and pronouncement has on the people involved and the entire community.   There are Halakhic cliffs in pretty much all areas of life.  And we need to be cognizant of that.  But the knowledge that there is a cliff somewhere should not keep us doing what we know is right, good, and Halakhically appropriate.  The authors of the OU paper may feel that this issue represents the cliff.  I think that this paper has adequately refuted that view. I hope that those who disagree with what I have written will address the points and issues identified in this paper so that the discussion can focus on Halakhah, facts, logic, and consistency, rather than devolve into competing claims of authority.  And may all our disputes be for the sake of Heaven and for the sake of all of Klal Yisrael, women and men.

This paper has been written in memory of Batsheva Chaya bat Noam Yigal v’Rina.  Batsheva was a proud Orthodox Feminist who never shied away from making the point she knew was right, no matter what authority she faced.  I hope this paper is an adequate tribute to her.

I am grateful to those who reviewed and provided crucial feedback and comments.  I am also grateful to those with whom I have discussed these ideas and whose responses assisted me in making better arguments.  Full responsibility for the content is mine alone.  Translations from the Hebrew are mine unless otherwise noted

The oeuvre and the halakhic and ideational creativity of several Sephardic and Middle Eastern rabbis of recent centuries have attracted increasing attention in recent years. Great figures such as Rabbi Benzion Uziel, Rabbi Ḥaim David Halevy, Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef, and Rabbi Yosef Mesas have received much merited attention and analysis by scholars writing in Hebrew, in English, and sometimes in other languages. However, many other great scholars and halakhic decisors remain almost unknown to persons who are not in-depth devotees of the topic. In this article, I seek to briefly introduce the reader to seven such rabbis. For each I provide a concise biography, and a translation and analysis of an interesting passage from his halakhic writings. The order of presentation is roughly chronological.

Ḥayyim David Ḥazan

Accommodation (rather than exclusion) of marginal or problematic Jews, and the courage to make the independent and non-conventional halakhic decisions required for such accommodation, was a policy characteristic of many leading Sephardic/Middle Eastern rabbis in modern times. A powerful formulation of such policy considerations is found in the writings of Ḥayyim David Ḥazan. Rabbi H. D. Ḥazan served as Chief Rabbi of his native city Izmir from 1840 to 1855. In that year he moved to Jerusalem, and in 1861 was elected Rishon le-Tziyyon (Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem), a post he held until his death in 1869. He formulated a policy statement on response to the challenges of modernity in reaction to a halakhic drama that unfolded in the 1840s.

A Jewish Salonican fell in love with an attractive (Jewish) widow who had arrived from Western Europe, and under various pretexts divorced his wife with the intent of marrying that widow. The city's rabbis, seeking to block this union that they considered immoral, forbade them to marry and attempted to enforce this prohibition with the help of the Ottoman authorities. In response, the couple fled to the home of a European consul, asking for protection based on the capitulation treaties—and in the process converted to Christianity under auspices of the consul.[1] Subsequently, the couple fled to Izmir, and there asked local rabbis to enable them to marry. The Salonican rabbis sent letters requesting the rabbis of Izmir to support the ban, and several rabbis in Izmir felt obliged to concur. However, Rabbi Ḥayyim David Ḥazan argued that this manner of response was both mistaken and disastrous: Not only had the Salonican rabbis failed to prevent the couple from living together out of wedlock—their unrelenting policy had led the couple to convert out! He therefore encouraged the couple to desist from conversion and permitted them to marry in a Jewish ceremony and live as husband and wife. In the course of his responsum, Rabbi Ḥazan composed a statement outlining a general policy toward deviants from tradition that rabbis should follow in modern times:

In these days and in our times, the generation has declined. And as the number of heretics increased, so too have the rebels and the insubordinates multiplied. And each day is more accursed. And with regard to such a reality it was said: It is enough that we hold to the status quo…. Not in every era is it appropriate to declare ad hoc prohibitions, fences and restrictions. For it is to be feared that they will react by even greater rebellion. To the contrary: It is right and appropriate [under such circumstances] to waive rabbinic norms, and even to annul positive and negative commandments of the Torah […] as Maimonides of blessed memory wrote in Hilkhot Mamrim 2:5 .... I [therefore] declare, that it is right in the eyes of God to permit this man to marry her in accordance with the religion of Moses and Israel.[2]

In the past, it was common for rabbis to utilize coercive means to enforce their decisions. This was not only permitted by the gentile authorities but also recognized by the Jewish public as essentially legitimate. But times were changing. Options now existed for Jews to evade coercion. Moreover, more and more Jews were coming to regard such coercion as illegitimate, and were resisting imposition of rabbinic authority. Under these new circumstances, adherence to Jewish life and community was, at the bottom line, voluntary: Individuals who felt themselves pressured and targeted by the rabbis would not submit but rather respond with “greater rebellion.” It was up to the rabbis to decide which was their greater responsibility: getting their constituents to toe the straight and narrow line, or keeping their constituents within the community, even at the price of bending halakha to the utmost in order to be as inclusive as possible. Clearly, Rabbi Ḥayyim David Ḥazan advocated the second approach, and stated it forcefully in the paragraph above.

Another example of such an approach may be seen in the following example, from an interchange on matters of halakha between two great Baghdadi rabbis of modern times, Rabbi 'Abdallah Somekh and Rabbi Eliyahu Mani.

Rabbi 'Abdallah Somekh

Rabbi 'Abdallah Somekh was born in Baghdad in 1813 to a family that traced its lineage back to Nissi[m] ben Berechiah al-Nahrawani, scholar and poet of late-ninth- and early-tenth-century Iraq. Rabbi Somekh spent his whole life without leaving Iraq, passing away in Baghdad in 1889 at the age of 76.[3] During the second decade of his life, he learned directly from one of the greatest Torah scholars of the previous generation, Rabbi Ya’aqov Brabi Yoseph Harofeh.[4] He went on to spend several years in commerce, but when he was in his mid-20s (that is, in the second half of the 1830s), he decided to change course and to devote himself to the cultivation and guidance of the top graduates of the Baghdadi Talmud Torah schools, with the express purpose of cultivating the next generation of Torah scholars for Babylonian Jewry. In an obituary, Rabbi Shlomo Bekhor Ḥutsin wrote of Somekh:

He restored the crown of Torah in Bavel to its ancient glory, after it had been removed for hundreds of years, for he founded a great and spacious beit-midrash, raised up many disciples and imbued Israel with Torah. Almost all scholars and rabbis [currently] in Bavel, Persia, Medea, and India studied under him and drank from the well of living water that he created. And our brethren in these lands all refer to him as Istai, i.e., our teacher and master, just as Rabbi Judah the Prince [redactor of the Mishna] was called simply “our teacher.”[5]

Rabbi Eliyahu Suleiman Mani

Rabbi Eliyahu Suleiman Mani was born in Baghdad in 1818, studied in Beit Zilkha, and was one of Rabbi Somekh's most important students. In 1856 he emigrated to Eretz Israel and lived for two years in Jerusalem. He then moved to Hebron, where he was appointed Chief Rabbi in 1865, a post he held until his death in 1899. In addition to his erudition in Talmud, Rabbi Mani was deeply engaged in Kabbalah and was known for his ascetic piety. Rabbi Somekh knew him personally to be an outstanding and God-fearing scholar and Kabbalist. Rabbi Somekh was therefore shocked to hear from a reliable source in the Jewish-Iraqi community in India that Rabbi Mani had permitted the Jews of Bombay to transport objects in the public domain on Shabbat in ways that had been forbidden by the greatest Sephardic authorities, relying only upon a dissenting view held by Rabbi Moshe Pardo! Rabbi Somekh asked his beloved disciple:

We know you as one who takes halakhic decision-making very seriously. How is it then that you went against the opinion of the three great rabbis who wrote that our master [Rabbi Caro] considers such roads "public domain"?! How did you follow the [minority] decision of Rabbi Pardo against the opinion of our teacher and Rabbi Ḥayyim Yosef David Azulai of blessed memory, who expressly forbade traveling in a palanquin on Shabbat?![6]

Rabbi Mani responded that he, too, recognized that his decision was unconventional—but nevertheless was absolutely correct under the circumstances. Here is how he explained his considerations:   

Hear my words, and you will admit that truth is on my side: I saw that the Jews of Bombay each carry a parasol—without which it is impossible to walk the roads there for even one minute—and they all carry parasols on shabbat more than four ama in the public thoroughfares. They also carry with them snuff and handkerchiefs, which is forbidden by all opinions. If we rule that these roads are "public domain," then Bombay Jews would be actively breaking a rule for which the Torah punishment is death by stoning […] Therefore I relied on Rabbi Pardo, may God protect and save him, and on the European custom, and allowed them [travel by] the palanquin and the carrying [of objects for them] by a gentile; since if we declare these roads carmelit, this is allowed.

Rabbi Mani admits that from an academic, exegetical perspective, the correct conclusion is indeed that a street should be considered "public domain" if it is 16 ama or more in width. But the real-life implications of this decision for the reality before us would be that all of the Jews of Bombay, who every Shabbat carry many objects in the broad streets of Bombay, would be committing a transgression so severe that its punishment under original Torah law would be stoning.[7] This decision would therefore have terrible human and religious consequences as it would mean that all of the Jews of Bombay would be committing many sins of extreme religious severity just by the routine performance of activities each and every Shabbat! Rabbi Mani argued that a halakhic decision with such consequences would be in direct conflict with a decisor’s responsibility for the public—i.e., in the current context, his responsibility for the public's status in the eyes of God and in its own eyes. The exegetical preferability of the conventional, more severe approach must not be considered as an overriding factor. Rather, it is the decisor’s obligation to make a heroic effort to utilize less-trodden halakhic paths in order to formulate an alternate decision, one that would be acceptable from a public, religious and moral perspective.

Rabbi Moshe Pardo

The rabbi upon whom Rabbi Mani relied was Rabbi Moshe Pardo (1810–1888), who was born in Jerusalem, where he earned his Torah education and served as head of the rabbinical court. In 1870 he went to North Africa as an emissary, and on his way back from that mission was invited to serve as rabbi of Alexandria, a rapidly developing cosmopolitan port city with an increasingly varied Jewish population,[8] and filled that role from 1871 until his death.[9] A few months after arriving in Alexandria, Rabbi Pardo was asked about a Jewish man who had married a non-Jewish woman in a civil ceremony. The woman was pregnant, and the man asked whether, if his wife gave birth to a boy,

he would be permitted to circumcise his son. For this is an important commandment to him, even though he sinned and had intercourse with the daughter of an alien god, nonetheless he is a Jew and he wants his aforementioned son to be circumcised.[10]

After a detailed discussion, Rabbi Pardo rules that it is permissible and even a mitzvah to circumcise such a boy, despite his non-Jewish status. However, if he is born on Shabbat he cannot be circumcised on the eighth day, because circumcision of a non-Jew does not overrule Shabbat.[11] Rabbi Pardo then noted an alternate scenario that would make it possible to circumcise the child even if he were to be born on Shabbat:

In the case at hand, the mother herself wishes to become a Jewess. And clearly, if the mother should immerse herself and accept the commandments and become a Jewess, her fetus is like her and becomes fully Jewish, as explained in the Tur and the Shulḥan 'Arukh (268:6): “A pregnant woman who converts, her son does not need to be immersed.” If so, it is clear that he may be circumcised even on Shabbat, since he entered the Jewish people when his mother immersed. So in the case at hand, where the woman wishes to convert and immerse and to accept the commandments, certainly the child will be entirely kasher, and he is a ger tsedek.[12]

The Jewish father can thus prevent the public unpleasantness that might occur if his son (now in his Gentile spouse's womb) were to be born on Shabbat—by having the mother convert before giving birth. But are we allowed to convert this woman? Does the Shulḥan 'Arukh not rule, writes Rabbi Pardo, that if a woman wants to convert “they check if she has cast her eyes upon one of the youths of Israel” and if so the court will reject her, and indeed in the case under discussion the woman

[s]eeks to enter under the wings of the shekhina only out of love for her husband to whom she is married. If so, on what grounds can we accept her and have her immerse and accept the commandments and thereafter be considered a Jewess?[13]

A central argument that Rabbi Pardo presents in his responsum is that a situation in which a Jewish man is cohabiting with a Gentile woman should be considered “a time of exigency,” and under such circumstances it is halakhically right to convert his partner even if she is explicitly seeking giyyur only “for the sake of a man.” The reason for this is, that when making a decision on her conversion the rabbis are ipso facto determining the future of her Jewish partner; if we reject her, we are by that very act repulsing her partner—

a Jewish man who, out of fear of God['s retribution] for having relations with the daughter of a foreign god, has persuaded her to convert. We must not push away a Jewish man. We should employ any stratagem we can to draw him closer and not push him away. And no greater ''time of exigency' than this exists—as she is married to him and he cannot separate from her, and certainly would not obey us [if we reject her application to convert].

In the case before us, the woman's application for giyyur reveals her Jewish husband's internally conflicted state. On the one hand, he is deeply attached to his Gentile wife, and if we require him to separate from her he will not obey us. On the other hand, this relationship arouses in him pangs of conscience, because of which he has convinced her to convert. If we reject her—we will in effect be rejecting his wish to resolve the conflictual situation he is in, and he will become even further alienated from his Jewishness. Our obligation to save him should drive us to take every possible halakhic action in order to “draw him closer and not push him away;” the specific meaning of this in our case is, that we should convert his wife in order to save him from a life intermarriage leading ultimately to assimilation.

The halakhic course of action that Rabbi Pardo specifies relies upon identifying the situation before us as she'at haDeḥaq (a time of exigency), that is, a situation of severe stress that requires going beyond standard halakhic norms. To enable the application of a wider range of norms in situations of exigency, halakhic literature established the rule “she'at haDeḥaq kedi'avad damei” (a time of exigency is like an ex post facto situation).[14] This means that in stressful or extreme situations, one can follow halakhic norms whose usual application is only ex post facto.[15] Specifically, since ex post facto the validity of a Gentile's giyyur is not contingent upon the nature of her motivation, we should enable this woman to convert regardless of her specific motivation. By doing so, we are fulfilling our obligation toward our fellow Jew—her husband—which is: to take every possible halakhic action in order to “draw him closer and not push him away.” By accepting his wife (whose personal motivation is unworthy per se), we are saving him from a life of intermarriage leading ultimately to assimilation.

Rabbi Pardo cites several sources in support of his ruling. One of these is a fascinating case, clearly demonstrating that the two greatest rabbis of seventeenth-century Egypt advocated resolving intermarriage by converting the non-Jewish spouse and enabling the continuity of the existing family unit.[16] A shifḥa (non-Jewish female slave) belonging to “Reuven,” a resident of Egypt, was in another country, and Reuven ordered that she be transferred to him. On her way to Egypt, the ship was attacked by pirates, and she was captured. The pirates put her up for sale in a city that had a Jewish community, and in order to save herself from captivity she identified herself as a Jewess and was redeemed by the local Jewish community. Later on, she married a member of the community and they had children. When Reuven became aware of this, he turned to the rabbinic court in Egypt and informed them of this situation, declaring that he had despaired of his ownership of the shifḥa the moment he heard of her captivity. Now he asked the rabbinic court to chart a halakhic course of action that would bring about the best possible outcome for her, for her husband, and for her children:

He came to the rabbinic court and told the whole story and said: Know, gentlemen, that I have already given up on the value of this shifḥa and she is on her own. And I do not wish to cause the Jew who mistakenly married her to sin. See what ruling you can make for her so that she can be married in accordance with the religion of Israel, and no problem or stumbling block will be placed because of me before her husband and children.

Reuven is revealed here to be an honorable man who relinquishes any potential financial benefit that he might obtain from the situation that had developed. He understands that the Jew who married her did so mistakenly, after the captive shifḥa falsely presented herself as a Jewess. It nonetheless does not occur to him—nor to the rabbinic court—to accuse the woman of misleading the Jewish community into spending a considerable amount of money to redeem her from captivity, or for misleading her Jewish husband into marrying her while she was still a Gentile. It does not even occur to Reuven or to the rabbinic court that the situation should be resolved by cutting off the relationship between the (Gentile!) woman, her Jewish husband, and their (Gentile!) children. Quite the contrary: Reuven defines in advance the parameters of the suitable solution—enabling the couple and their children to continue their relationship in a halakhically viable way—even before he clarifies if this solution is possible. In other words, he assumes that since this is the suitable solution, then, once the rabbis recognize this to be the case they will certainly find the halakhic way to make it happen. And indeed, the two most senior Egyptian rabbis at that time—the rabbi of Cairo and the rabbi of Rashid—agreed. A thorough analysis of the mother's halakhic status after Reuven relinquished his ownership led them to conclude that she was no more a shifḥa but rather a free Gentile woman; therefore, it was possible and fitting to convert her and her children, and to continue their family life with the Jewish man whom she married:

She should be converted by a rabbinic court—and if a rabbinic court already converted her, what they have done is done and she is fully Jewish. And if they still have not converted her, they should convert her now while she is living with her husband. And if before it became known that the marriage was a mistake she became pregnant and gave birth, the wife and her children[17] have the status of full gentiles. They should be converted together, and she will remain with her husband.[18]

And Rabbi Pardo comments:

[They wrote that] even though she now is living with her husband she can convert, and they were not worried by the fact that she does so out of love for her Jewish husband. [And he concludes:] The same holds in this case (emphasis mine, Z. Z.)

In other words, the Egyptian halakhic scholars, Rabbi haLevi and Rabbi Gershon (as well as “Reuven,” who relinquished his rights over the shifḥa) identified the situation of the Jewish man and his Gentile wife as a “time of exigency.” They therefore applied ex post facto halakhic norms and refrained from concerning themselves with the woman's motivation. Moreover, identification of the situation as a “time of exigency” was done without taking into consideration the issue of guilt, that is: Who was responsible for creating this situation? Although the shifḥa knowingly misled the Jewish community and her Jewish husband, this did not prevent the rabbis from converting her and enabling her to continue living conjugally with her husband. Rabbi Pardo concludes that if this is what was decided in seventeenth-century Egypt, the same thing should be done in the case brought before him 200 years later: The Gentile woman and the children already born to her from her Jewish spouse should be converted, and they should continue living as before with their Jewish husband/father—but now they will all be Jews and this will be a “kasher” family unit.

This was not a one-time decision by Rabbi Pardo, but rather a policy he continued to follow also in later years. Rabbi Eliyahu Ḥazan, who served after Pardo as rabbi of Alexandria,[19] reports that he found documentation in the archive of the local rabbinate indicating that in the summer of 1876, a non-Jewish woman who had lived with a Jewish man for many years and given birth to several boys and girls, applied for giyyur. Not only did Rabbi Pardo accept her for conversion, but he also married her to her Jewish spouse on the very day she converted.[20] Obviously, Rabbi Pardo not only encouraged conversion as a response to intermarriage, he also waived the halakhic requirement for a period of discernment[21] before permitting the couple to marry. In the following section we shall see that Rabbi Eliyahu Ḥazan also considered it his responsibility to be inclusive and considerate toward Jews who were only marginally religious, even if that entailed changing synagogue praxis in a manner seemingly incompatible with the rulings of Rabbi Joseph Caro in the Shulḥan 'Arukh.

Rabbi Eliyahu Ḥazan

Eliyahu Ḥazan was born in Izmir, raised and educated in Jerusalem under the guidance of his grandfather Ḥayyim David Ḥazan,[22] and served as chief rabbi of Tripoli (Libya) between 1874 and 1888, then as chief rabbi of Alexandria (Egypt) from 1888 until his death in 1908. In those years, Alexandria was a thriving and prosperous city attracting people from North Africa, the Middle East, and Europe—including thousands of Jews, many with quite tenuous links to tradition. The heterogeneous character of Alexandria's Jewish community posed a variety of challenges for Rabbi Ḥazan. An illustration of this can be found in the considerations he employed with regard to the reciting of Kiddush in the synagogue.

Kiddush should be recited just before the Shabbat meal. In ancient times, Jewish communities hosted guests in rooms adjacent to the synagogue, and it was the practice to recite Kiddush on Sabbath eve in the synagogue for the benefit of those guests, who would then eat their Shabbat meal on the premises. However, in the sixteenth century, Rabbi Yosef Caro noted that circumstances had changed and the synagogue was no longer the site of anyone's meal, and ruled: "It is better to establish the custom NOT to recite Kiddush in the synagogue."[23] The general praxis of Sephardic rabbis is to defer to Rabbi Caro's authority; the synagogues of Egypt followed Rabbi Caro's ruling and refrained from performing the Kiddush ceremony.[24] However, shortly after taking up his post as rabbi of Alexandria, Rabbi Ḥazan learned from some of his congregants, that:

[M]any honorable speakers of foreign tongues who come to synagogue on the eves of the Sabbath and of the Festivals to hearken to the singing and the prayer subsequently return to their residences, and when they come to their homes they sit down to eat without making Kiddush. Some of them [do so because they] do not have kasher wine. And also, many of the folk today do not know how to pronounce even one word in the Holy Tongue.[25]

The term "speakers of foreign tongues" ('am lo'ez) refers here to European Jews living in Egypt. On the one hand, they attended synagogue services on Friday night, meaning that they were not radically estranged from Judaism. On the other hand, they did not recite Kiddush at their Shabbat table. Rabbi Ḥazan offers two explanations for this: They have no kasher wine and consider it better not to say Kiddush at all than to say it over such [non-kasher] wine; and/or they do not know any Hebrew and think that Kiddush can only be said in Hebrew. Neither of these reasons holds up from a halakhic perspective.[26] It thus seems likely that Rabbi Ḥazan wished to represent the subjective motivations of these Jews without attributing to them disrespect or disregard for the Kiddush ceremony. The information he received, characterizing them as individuals who care enough to attend synagogue services but who do not recite the Friday night Kiddush, led him to a halakhic re-assessment of the situation.

 Prima facie, Rabbi Ḥazan seemd to have no leeway: As a Sephardic rabbi, he should uphold Rabbi Caro's position that Kiddush not be recited in the synagogue. However, he noted, R. Caro's reasoning for desisting from the recital of Kiddush in synagogues was that times have changed, and travelers no longer eat in the synagogues following the service; obviously, he never in his worst dreams imagined that individuals might return home after services and not recite Kiddush at their Shabbat table. Rabbi Ḥazan considered it eminently reasonable that rather than following the “bottom line” of Rabbi Caro's ruling, he should follow R. Caro’s lead in responding to historical change! Thus, it was halakhically within bounds for him (Ḥazan) to reinstate the recital of Kiddush on account of changed social-cultural conditions:

It was good in my eyes to ordain that in the Eliyahu HaNavi and Menashe synagogues,[27] where these people attend services, Kiddush should be recited on Shabbat and holidays […] for it seems to me that it should be considered a mitzvah to institute the recital of Kiddush in the synagogue […] to enable the fulfillment of this commandment by a person who is unknowledgeable [in Hebrew] and by one who has no wine, and also to benefit those women (who have a biblical obligation to fulfill the mitzvah of Kiddush) who come to synagogue to hear Kiddush […] and so that the practice of Kiddush not be forgotten by these people, and, of course, by their young children.[28]

The issue of Kiddush in the synagogue thus reflects three elements that additional study shows is characteristic of Rabbi Eliyahu Ḥazan's halakhic decisions (and of other decisions by Sephardic/Middle Eastern rabbis in the modern era):

1. Expansion of the functions of the synagogue in order to fill a void created by the weakening of the cultural-religious function of the family and home;
2. Accommodation (rather than exclusion or disregard) of Jews of marginal communal status;
3. A willingness to make independent and original halakhic decisions, relying on minority opinions and going against the Shulhan 'Arukh and accepted custom—out of a deep conviction that in the present reality such rulings were necessary in order to implement the highest values of Judaism and Torah.

Another instance in which a leading Sephardic rabbi directly counters what had become conventional rabbinic theology and halakhic policy is found in the following section.

Rabbi Yaakov Moshe Toledano

            Rabbi Yaakov Moshe Toledano (1880–1960) was born in Tiberias, scion to an illustrious Sephardic family from Meknes (Morocco) and ultimately from pre-expulsion Toledo. From his early 20s, he combined rabbinic learning, public service, and historical and bibliographic interests.[29] During World War I, he (along with other Jews with French citizenship) was exiled to Corsica, where he served as rabbi; later he served as rabbi and dayyan in such diverse places as Tangiers, Cairo, and Alexandria. In 1942, he was chosen as Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv, and for about a year before his decease served as Israel's Minister of Religious Affairs. As many other Sephardic members of the Old Yishuv, Rabbi Toledano held a very positive attitude toward the Zionist “New Yishuv,” and considered the anti-Zionist positions of many Ashkenazic rabbis of the Old Yishuv to be religiously misguided. The murder of his younger brother Meir at the hands of Arab rioters in Safed (1929) led him to compose a responsum on the halakhic duty of Jewish self-defense.[30] In this teshuva, he argued powerfully for the need to re-think what had been considered by many as halakhically taken for granted:

Many of our great rabbis, both in former generations and in current times, erred—and misguided the simple masses of our people—in the belief that as long as we are in this hard Exile we are forbidden to lift up our head. Rather, we are commanded to bow ourselves down before every tyrant and ruler, and to give our backs to the smiters and our cheeks to them that pluck off hair (Isaiah L:6); as if the blood of Israel had been forfeited, and as if He—blessed be He—had decreed that Jacob be given for a spoil and Israel to the robbers (Isaiah XLII:24). They thought, that the decree of Exile and servitude to the nations included slavery and lowliness, and that—as a matter of sanctifying the Name even at the price of one's life—a Jew must forfeit his life and surrender himself like a slave or prisoner of war to Israel's enemies, even in a situation in which it would have been possible to resist them and to retaliate in kind.

                        Let me, then, state outright, that—begging their pardon—they caused the loss of individual lives and of entire communities of the Jewish people, who in many instances might have saved themselves from death and destruction, had the leaders and rabbis of the generation instructed them that they were obligated to defend themselves against aggressors, according to the rule, “If a person comes to murder you—kill him first” (ha-Ba le-Horgekha—Hashkem le-Horgo).

Exile of the Jews from their homeland had indeed been ordained by God as a punishment for their sins. However, it was intended as a political punishment, i.e., rather than being ruled by themselves in the Land of Israel, the Jews were to be ruled by others in foreign lands. But this was not intended by God as a situation in which a Jew was obligated to refrain from defending himself if attacked. It was the rabbis—first of Ashkenaz and then of additional countries—who advocated such a distorted interpretation of God's will, and preached it to the Jewish masses. Many Jews who could have defended themselves against Gentile attackers therefore acquiesced passively to their own victimization—and the rabbis bore full responsibility for these terrible consequences. In contrast, writes Rabbi Toledano,

[... ] I praise the flowers of this new generation who “awoke and wakened” to revive oppressed hearts, to engirdle themselves with a courageous spirit, and to restore the crown of Israel's honor to its pristine glory. And it is with regard to this that the Bible says: "And I will give you a new heart, and instill in you a new spirit" (Ezekiel 36:26).

The flowers of the new generation are the Jewish youth of Mandatory Palestine who rejected the rabbinic passivity described above, and organized themselves to defend Jews from armed attacks. They were by and large not religiously observant—but Rabbi Toledano regards them as embodying the revival of Israel's spirit, prophesied by Ezekiel to occur at the time of redemption. Significantly, it was not the rabbis but the young non-traditional Jews who were in tune with the authentic values of Judaism. In the final section of this article, we will see another instance in which a great Sephardic halakhic scholar advocated a positive attitude toward the actions of the Zionist rebuilders of modern Israel, and also powerfully critiqued traditional rabbinic attitudes toward Jewish education for females.

Rabbi Matloub 'Abadi

In modern times, Sephardic rabbis did not reside only in Muslim Lands and in Israel. Thus, at the beginning of the twentieth century, a community of Jews hailing from Syria began to form in New York, and over time became a significant presence—especially in the Brooklyn area. Aleppo-born Rabbi Matloub 'Abadi (1889–1970) arrived in the United States in 1921, and was the greatest scholar of the Syrian-Jewish community in America. A slightly younger peer of Rabbi Toledano, his views with regard to the Zionist national project in the Land of Israel were also very positive. A fine example of this may be found in his address to the graduates of the Syrian community Talmud Torah in Brooklyn, on 7 Shevat 5699/ February 27, 1939:

Happy shall you be if you use this time for the good of the Land of Israel, the pride of our past and the luminescence of our future, to fulfill your duty toward it and to help it with all the means and the ways leading to rebuilding its ruins and making its settlement bloom. Remember our pledge to Zion on the rivers of Babylon and our aspiration and prayers to it over all generations. Do not be among those who falter behind its camps; be in the first ranks of its defenders and the fighters for its freedom, and take an important place among its loyal sons and builders.[31]

The Zionist character of these words is obvious and manifest. Attention should be paid also to the activist political-military element in Rabbi 'Abadi's words: The youth of the community are called not only to build the ruins and make the settlement bloom, and also not to content themselves with defense alone, but rather to be among "the fighters for [the country’s] freedom." In this context, it is relevant to note one of the great virtues of studying the Bible, according to Rabbi ‘Abadi:

Because of our sins we were exiled from our Land and lost our kingdom and our freedom, but we did not lose our Torah, the treasury of our delights and the source of our hope, which attests to our historical rights and to our original possession of them.[32]

The Torah, in addition to its importance as bearer of religious content and the norms binding the people of Israel, is thus also evidence of the “historical rights” of the people of Israel to the Land of Israel, which is one of the reasons it is important to nurture its study and strengthen the connection to it. The term “historical rights” is not one that stems from the halakhic or philosophical rabbinical lexicon but is rather part of the discourse of modern Zionism that is intended to anchor the justification of the Jewish national claim for political sovereignty over the Land of Israel.

That Rabbi ‘Abadi makes use of this term in his address to his students in early 1939 shows that this term was familiar and meaningful for them and that he felt comfortable using this term and utilizing it in order to explain and strengthen their attitude toward Torah and its study. Of course, Rabbi ‘Abadi did not believe that the Jewish connection to the Land should be based solely on historical right, just as he did not believe that the connection to the Torah is solely a national-cultural one. But it is clear that, according to his worldview, no contradiction exists between political Zionism and religious loyalty to Torah and to the Land of Israel; rather, they complete and strengthen each other.

Another similarity between Rabbi 'Abadi and Rabbi Toledano is their boldness in critiquing conventional rabbinic policy, when they were convinced that earlier generations held mistaken positions. Thus, another issue that Rabbi 'Abadi asked his students to champion (in addition to Zionism) was extending Jewish education to include girls, who had traditionally been excluded from such studies:

And may you succeed also in redeeming female captives! These are our daughters—the spine of the cultivation of the future generation—whose education we have disregarded. And to this day, only a very small percentage of them continue their Hebrew education. And most of them are similar, in adulthood, to Jews captured in infancy by Gentiles. May it be God’s will that you redeem them a full redemption.[33]

If these girls are captives, who are their captors? Clearly, these are the men, and especially the rabbis, the knights of the traditional cultural order, who fail to offer girls a formal Jewish education and thus deprive them of the freedom of knowledge. This despite the fact that the girls, when mothers, would be “the spine of the culture of the future generation”—powerful criticism, indeed, directed against the traditional leadership of Syrian Sephardic Jewry, from the mouth of the community’s most prominent scholar.[34]

Conclusion

It was my modest goal in this article to introduce to the readers some Sephardic rabbis of modern times with whom they may have been unacquainted, and while doing so, to provide examples of the value considerations and policies these rabbis employed in responding to challenges that modern developments posed to the continuity of Jewish life and Jewish community. It is my hope that these examples will encourage the reader to broaden and deepen his/her interest in the writings and creativity of Sephardic and Middle Eastern rabbis and to reflect upon the significance these values and policies may hold for current Jewish life.