National Scholar Updates

To our members and friends,

Our New Year brings new opportunity for the National Scholar program, as our family has moved from New York City to Teaneck, New Jersey. I have been teaching classes in various communities in Bergen County and beyond, as we expand our horizons to the other side of the George Washington Bridge.

Over the summer, I gave several lecture series’ in Fort Lee, Teaneck, and Fair Lawn, New Jersey.

I also have begun doing work as the Tanakh Education Scholar at Yeshivat Ben Porat Yosef, in Paramus, New Jersey. This remarkable school blends the best of the Sephardic and Ashkenazic worlds together in many areas of Elementary and Middle School education. I am working with the faculty and administration in developing a new Tanakh curriculum that combines tradition and critical thinking to create students who are deeply religious, thinking individuals.

As National Scholar, I will continue to teach in communities across the country. Thus far, I am scheduled to be the scholar-in-residence in the following locations:

·         The Lincoln Park Jewish Center in Yonkers, New York for the High Holidays (September 20-23, 29-30).

·         Young Israel of Oak Park, Michigan, for the Shabbat of November 4.

·         Bais Torah and the Community Synagogue of Monsey, New York, for the Shabbat of November 18.

·         Baron Hirsch Synagogue in Memphis, Tennessee, for the Shabbat of February 10.

·         On Wednesday, September 27, from 1:00-2:15 pm, I will give a lecture on the Book of Jonah at Lamdeinu Teaneck, 1650 Queen Anne Road in Teaneck, New Jersey. To register please go to http://www.lamdeinu.org/

In addition to promoting our vision nation-wide through teaching, I have been sending copies of my book, Increasing Peace Through Balanced Torah Study. Conversations 27 (New York: Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, 2017), to communities where I serve as scholar-in-residence. I am deeply grateful to the sponsors of that volume for making this wide distribution possible, thereby furthering our ability to reach thousands of people annually through the National Scholar program.

I currently am completing a new book of essays on Tanakh, which focuses on the interaction between tradition and contemporary academic Bible study. Thanks to several generous donations to the Institute, we will be distributing copies of these books to members of our University Network, so that we can provide further guidance in navigating the university experience through the lens of tradition.

If you would like to contribute to the distribution of this book to our University Network students, please contact me, [email protected]. There are still dedication opportunities possible, and your contribution will greatly help our ability to reach the hundreds of students in our Network. Thank you!

I now also am running the Institute’s University Network, and will provide separate updates on the great work of our Campus Fellows as the semester unfolds.

I thank you for your support and shared vision, and wish you and your families a Shanah Tovah.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

National Scholar

Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals

Imagine this scenario. A person suffering in pain. Incurable. Depressed. Unable to eat. And the son or daughter attends synagogue every day praying that God should  send  this unfortunate person a refuah shelemah--a complete cure.

Here is the question: Should one pray to the Almighty to allow this person to continue to suffer, or rather should one pray for the beloved’s speedy death?

Is one allowed to pray for someone’s death?

The halakhic stand against euthanasia is well known, and this paper is not dealing with active interventions to hasten someone’s death.  But may  we cease asking for a full (miraculous) cure, and ask God to end the agony by ending the life of the dying person?

Our question is really not new. In fact, there has been a fair amount of halakhic discussion of the matter for the past two millennia, and some of the literature will be presented here.

I was alerted to this matter by a scholarly article by Loike and Tendler in Hakirah, vol 21; many  of  the sources are mentioned in that article.

Of course, when one is tending to a suffering incurable loved one, a person is always hopeful that God will send the cure, that the next medicine will do the trick, that the next doctor will have the magic bullet. One would never dream of praying for a relative’s death-certainly not while the patient is dependent on that person, and certainly not while one is in the thick of things.

But perhaps one must be urged  to think of the  patient’s situation and quality of life  in realistic terms, and perhaps true love of the patient should drive one to pray for an end of the beloved’s life.

In Bavli Nedarim 104a,  it is written:

“When R Dimi came from Israel (to Babylon) he said: Anyone who visits the ill causes that he will live and anyone who does not visit causes that he will die.” The Gemara asks: In what way are his actions the cause of that result? If we say that anyone who visits the ill pleads for mercy that he will live and anyone who does not visit the ill pleads for mercy that he will die, does it enter your mind that he will pray for mercy that he will die? Rather anyone who does not visit the ill does not pray for mercy for him, neither that he will live nor that he will die."

The Ran, Rabbenu Nissim  (14^th century,Spain) comments:

     “It seems to me that this is what is meant--there are times when one must pray for God’s mercy to let the sick person die, for example when the patient is suffering a great deal from his illness and it is not possible that he will live.

 In Bavli Ketubot 104a we read:

From this story, we see that the Rabbis were praying for a complete cure for this most important sage, but they were not taking his agony into consideration. It was his personal attendant who realized how he was suffering. She took the initiative to get the life-sustaining prayers of the sages to cease, and then her prayers for his death indeed were effective.

But let us go further. The case of Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi dealt with a person afflicted with a physical illness.

Below we shall read of Honi and his prayer to die because of his feelings of depression.

As a bit of background- Honi just returned from a 70 year Rip Van Winkle nap and:

B Taanit 23a

 Ḥoni went home and said to the members of the household: Is the son of Ḥoni HaMe’aggel alive? They said to him: His son is no longer with us, but his son’s son is alive. He said to them: I am Ḥoni HaMe’aggel. They did not believe him. He went to the study hall, where he heard the Sages say about one scholar: His halakhot are as enlightening and as clear as in the years of Ḥoni HaMe’aggel, for when Ḥoni HaMe’aggel would enter the study hall he would resolve for the Sages any difficulty they had. Ḥoni said to them: I am he, but they did not believe him and did not pay him proper respect. Ḥoni became very upset, prayed for mercy, and died. Rava said: This explains the folk saying that people say: Either friendship or death, as one who has no friends is better off dead.

Here  we see that Honi, because of a loss of status that caused much upset, prayed successfully for his  own death. And this was recorded with no objections in the Bavli Talmud.

In the following text, we see where a mental state and its subsequent behavioral  alterations  cause the community of Rabbis to pray for the death of a great sage.

B. Baba Metzia 84a:

Ultimately, Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish, Reish Lakish, died. Rabbi Yoḥanan was sorely pained over losing him. The Rabbis said: Who will go to calmRabbi Yoḥanan’s mind and comfort him over his loss? They said: Let Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat go, as his statements are sharp, i.e., he is clever and will be able to serve as a substitute for Reish Lakish.

Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat went and sat before Rabbi Yoḥanan. With regard to every matter that Rabbi Yoḥanan would say, Rabbi Elazar ben Pedat would say to him: There is a ruling which is taught in a baraita that supports youropinion. Rabbi Yoḥanan said to him: Are you comparable to the son of Lakish? In my discussions with the son of Lakish, when I would state a matter, he would raise twenty-four difficulties against me in an attempt to disprove my claim, and I would answer him with twenty-four answers, and the halakha by itself would become broadened and clarified. And yet you say to me: There is a ruling which is taught in a baraita that supports youropinion. Do I not know that what I say is good? Being rebutted by Reish Lakish served a purpose; your bringing proof to my statements does not.

 Rabbi Yoḥanan went around, rending his clothing, weeping and saying: Where are you, son of Lakish? Where are you, son of Lakish? Rabbi Yoḥanan screamed until his mind was taken from him, i.e., he went insane. The Rabbis prayed and requested for God to have mercy on him and take his soul, and Rabbi Yoḥanan died.

Note the final entry: the great R Yohanan, being bitterly depressed over the loss of his brother-in-law,friend, ,became so upset that eventually “ his mind was taken from him” At this juncture, with the severe loss of quality of life, with the Rabbis probably feeling that such behavior by a leader of the Jews was an embarrassment, they prayed for his death.

And the Bavli is not the only evidence of euthanistic prayer. In fact, in the example below, from the Yalkut Shimoni, we see that an action is actually taken, albeit indirectly, to hasten one’s death.

An incident occurred in which a very old lady appeared before R Yossi she said: “Rabbi, I have grown too old and now I live a miserable life. I have no taste and I wish to die.”

He said to her:” what daily (special) mizvah do you do?”

She answered:” I admit that even if I have matters that I really enjoy, I overlook them to arise early to attend prayers.”

He said: “Refrain from attending synagogue for three consecutive days.”

She did this for three days and on the third day she died.

From the above four citations we may note several criteria that caused the permitted euthanistic prayers.

R Judah was in extreme physical pain.

Honi was bitterly depressed over his loss of status.

Rabbi Yohanan became disoriented, if not senile or delusional.

And the senior citizen was just miserable about the “rust” of her golden years.

And in each case we see no objections to the wish for death.

There is an extensive discussion of the permissibility of euthanistic prayer in R. Obadiah Yosef’s Yalkut Yosef, Y.D.335. He cites, among others, the Arukh HaShulhan who permits such prayers for the incurable who is in pain. Rabbi Hayyim Palachi, Hikekei Lev I Y.D. 50 ruled that while it is permissible to pray for a suffering person’s death, the patients’ own immediate family should refrain from such prayers. (Rabbi Marc Angel has noted that it is appropriate to simply pray that the Almighty should have mercy on the suffering person, without specifically referring to death.)

During my four and a half decades of medical practice (ophthalmology) I met many patients who found their lives to be not worth living .Arthritis,visual loss, deafness, and many other  aspects of the golden years were just too much for them to bear. I would often dismiss them with a cliché, such as “but think of all the wonderful grandchildren that need you so”-but they rarely took such adages with any degree of consolation.

In the late 1970’s I examined an elderly nursing home patient first in her facility, and then, in order to better evaluate her, in my private office. She was poorly sighted, severely arthritic and just plain miserable. She had a moderate form of dry macular degeneration with significant visual loss. I felt that this would not progress much during the few years this patient had to live.

She asked: “So how bad are my eyes?”

I replied; “They will be good till 120.”

She looked at me with a chilling expression and seriously said: “If you curse me to 120, then I curse you to 150.”

The next time you make a prayer of refuah shelema  for your beloved, think if you are indeed making the correct prayer.

PS “Euthanistic Prayer” is a term coined by the author.

Over the years, I have received bitter notes from people who strongly object to synagogues charging high prices for seats during the High Holy Days. They have also expressed displeasure with the high cost of synagogue membership dues.

Shouldn’t all Jews who wish to pray be allowed to do so without having to pay premium prices? Does it seem ethical for synagogues to “sell seats” for Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur? Doesn’t this process diminish the sanctity and idealism of synagogues?

Yes, these criticisms certainly seem valid. In an ideal world, synagogues would not “sell tickets” or charge expensive dues for membership.

But we do not live in an ideal world, at least not yet.

Synagogues need funds in order to maintain their buildings; to pay their rabbis and synagogue staff; to provide services to members and the community at large. Synagogues invariably operate with deficits, often very severe deficits. They depend almost entirely on the voluntary dues and contributions of members, but these dues and contributions fall short of the synagogues’ expenses.

How are synagogues to exist if they lack adequate financial support?

They can cut down on services; they can cut down on staff; they can cut salaries. Yes, but then they will be unable to be of maximum service to their constituents. People will complain that their synagogues do not provide them with enough services to warrant their support; so the synagogues will have even less income and provide even less services.

Synagogues can (and often do) depend on the generosity of a few wealthy individuals who contribute large amounts. Because of these generous contributions, people with lesser means are able to be members or attend services at relatively low cost to themselves. But synagogues cannot forever depend on a few philanthropists; they need a larger constituency of people who contribute as generously as their means allow.

Many people expect synagogues and rabbis to be available to them, but are not willing or able to contribute to maintain the synagogues. They expect that other people will do this for them.

I know from personal experience that many synagogues are quite sympathetic to those who are in financial straits; they provide membership at greatly reduced, or at no cost; they provide seats for the Holy Days at low, or no, cost.

I also know from personal experience that many synagogues are unhappy with those who have financial means, but who do not share in supporting synagogues through their membership dues and contributions. Some people will have no problem spending several hundred dollars for an evening out at a restaurant or for theater tickets, but will complain bitterly if the synagogue asks them for a few hundred dollars for a seat in the sanctuary for the holidays. Some people will spend thousands of dollars on vacations, summer homes etc.; but are offended if synagogues charge a few thousand dollars for dues.

In an ideal world, all Jews would support synagogues to the best of their ability. If this happened, there would be no synagogue deficits, no “selling tickets” for the Holy Days, and no expensive membership dues.

But we do not live in such an ideal world. Synagogues need financial solvency, and they spend a good deal of time and energy coming up with fund-raising strategies. It is a real pity that synagogues need to conduct “appeals,” and “seat sales” and other events to raise funds. It would be so much nicer if they simply had enough support from the community without needing such fund-raising tactics.

There are synagogues that provide free or low cost services for the High Holy Days. Most synagogues will make accommodations for those who cannot afford the cost of tickets. No one should feel precluded from praying in a synagogue on the High Holy Days, or any day of the year due to financial considerations.

As long as synagogues need to “sell tickets” for the High Holy Days, we know that the Messiah has not yet arrived. We know that our system is imperfect, even unpleasant. But the only way to move closer to the ideal is for each Jew to take personal responsibility for the maintenance and flourishing of our synagogues.

Halakhic Approaches of Two Modern Posekim

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

In the introduction to his first volume of responsa, Rabbi Benzion Uziel described the goal and method of a halakhic decisor:

"The Talmudic judge or posek may not say to himself or to his questioner regarding a question which comes before him--let me look at the book and I will decide the law according to whatever is already printed in the book. This is not the method of those who give halakhic decisions (ba'alei hora'ah). Rather, his obligation is to search the source of the Halakhah, to clarify it, refine it, purify it, according to his relevant ideas, his proper logic and his straightforward reasoning, to judge a true judgment and to conclude the matter according to the Halakhah. . . . In all my responsa I have not attempted to be lenient nor to be strict from my own mind or inclination. Rather my intention and my goal were to search and find the truth."

Each posek of every generation attempts to establish the Halakhah according to its real truth. He attempts to understand it deeply and accurately, and to follow the sources wherever they may lead, regardless of his own inclination. Yet, a study of responsa literature reveals a variety of different styles, attitudes and decisions of posekim. Although halakhic decisors rely on the same classic rabbinic texts, they are influenced by the specific time and place in which they live, as well as by their own personal sensitivities and intellectual inclinations.

In this essay, I will focus on two great modern-day posekim, studying how they approach similar halakhic questions. Both are scholars of vast erudition, of wide influence; both have written and published many works. The two posekim to be discussed are Rabbi Moshe Feinstein and Rabbi Haim David Halevy.

Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, of blessed memory, must certainly be counted among the greatest rabbinic authorities of our generation. His volumes of responsa, Iggrot Moshe, are highly respected and widely studied. Rabbi Feinstein was raised and trained in Eastern Europe. When he came to New York, he continued the traditions which he learned from his father and teachers in Europe. He was part of the Yiddish-speaking Torah world.

Rabbi Haim David Halevy, of blessed memory, who served for many years as the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv-Yafo, was born and raised in the Sephardic tradition. A student of the late Rabbi Uziel, Rabbi Halevy is part of the Sephardic Torah tradition which flourished in the Ottoman Empire.

Rabbi Feinstein was Ashkenazic, Yiddish-speaking, and lived in the Diaspora. Rabbi Halevy was Sephardic, Hebrew-speaking, and lived in Medinat Yisrael. A study of the halakhic decisions of these two men will shed light on the halakhic process. References in the text in the case of Rabbi Feinstein refer to Iggerot Moshe, and in the case of Rabbi Halevy refer to Aseh Lekha Rav, unless otherwise stated.

I would like to preface the analysis by saying that this article does not attempt to pit these two Torah luminaries against each other, nor to draw conclusions as to which follows a "better" method. Nor do I claim that this study is exhaustive, or that other examples than those which I cite could have been chosen. I offer this analysis as a study of contrasts in outlook and halakhic decision-making, fully aware that others might handle this topic differently.

THE WORLD OF TORAH AND THE OUTSIDE WORLD

In studying the volumes of Iggrot Moshe, one finds a spiritual world in which Torah study and observance are the central reality of life. Non-observant Jews, especially those who identify as Reform and Conservative (particularly Reform and Conservative rabbis), are often categorized as resha'im, wicked people, or koferim, deniers of the true faith. The non-Jewish world is essentially viewed as being hostile towards Jews. Foreign ideas are dangerous and corrosive to true Torah knowledge, Rabbi Feinstein records with pride that he is not influenced by foreign ideas. "My entire world view stems only from knowledge of Torah without any mixture of outside ideas (yediot hitsoniyyot), whose judgment is truth whether it is strict or lenient. Arguments derivcd from foreign outlooks or false opinions of the heart are nothing. . ." (Even ha- Ezer, 2:11).

The spiritual world reflected in the responsa of Rabbi Halevy is also one totally committed to Torah; and it is open and inviting, unafraid of others. One finds a profound tolerance for those who do not understand or observe Halakhah. There is a reluctance to categorize people as resha'im or koferim. Rabbi Halevy is open to wisdom from all sources, Jewish and non-Jewish. The responsa manifest a deep respect for the words of our sages, but also a flexibility in dealing with modern reality.

Let us turn to some specific examples. In one of his responsa (Yoreh De'ah 3:83), Rabbi Feinstein stresses the importance of learning Torah studies in the morning in yeshivot, relegating secular subjects to a time later in the day. This arrangement serves to highlight the importance of Torah studies, and to inculcate in the students the belief that the secular studies are not as important. Indeed, the main responsibility of a yeshiva is to teach Torah studies; secular studies are taught as a concession to the laws of the country. In another responsum (Yoreh De'ah 3:73), Rabbi Feinstein forbids teaching science from texts which deny that God created the world. If it is impossible to obtain science textbooks which conform to our religious belief, then the offensive pages in the textbooks should be torn out. Rabbi Feinstein rules that a teacher of Greek and Roman history may not read books written by ancient authors about their religions. But books written by authors who reject and scorn those religions and which point out their foolishness are not forbidden. If a teacher is required to teach about the religions of the Greeks and Romans, he should do so in such a way as to make it clear that he considers them to be foolishness and emptiness. There may even be a positive result of this teaching--namely that students will realize that religions which were once thought to be true by so many people are actually quite foolish. Therefore, they should not be surprised that many people today believe in religions which are essentially false and nonsensical (Yoreh De'ah 2:52). For Rabbi Feinstein, then, secular knowledge is not highly prized. Secular knowledge which contravenes religious teachings is dangerous, and should not be taught, or only be taught with derision.

A different attitude towards secular knowledge emerges from the responsa of Rabbi Halevy. Obviously, his main concern is also Torah study. Yet he recognizes the need for secular studies, and himself draws on sources other than rabbinical. He was asked by a religious student if it was permissible to study secular subjects (history, literature, etc.) on Shabbat in preparation for examinations. Rabbi Halevy cites rabbinic authorities who forbid secular studies on Shabbat, as well as those who permit such study on Shabbat. Rabbi Halevy suggests that it is better to sanctify the Sabbath day by studying holy texts rather than books of general wisdom. Nevertheless, not being allowed to study for examinations would cause the student suffering and anxiety. Therefore, we may rely on the opinion of the one who permits such study on Shabbat. "According to this, it is permissible to study general studies during the period of examinations, and the principle is that all your deeds should be for the sake of Heaven" (I :36).

When Rabbi Halevy was asked a question about transcendental meditation, he wrote a lengthy responsum in which he described its procedures (2:47). He consulted a student who was versed in the subject to discover exactly what it was. He also read up on the subject. Through his consultation and his reading, he determined that the initiation ceremony was idolatrous and that the mantras were the names of deities. If one could study the methods of transcendental meditation without going through the initiation procedure, there would be no halakhic objection. Nevertheless, Rabbi Halevy states that a person who lives a life of Torah and mitsvot should find sufficient spiritual satisfaction so as not to need to resort to transcendental meditation.

In another responsum (2:2) Rabbi Halevy deals with the question of life after death, drawing not only on the teachings of the Zohar and other classic Jewish sources, but also on the findings of contemporary researchers of the topic. He quotes the work of a psychiatrist from the University of Virginia along with Jewish classical texts.

Scattered throughout his writings are references to various “secular” thinkers including Socrates, Aristotle, Philo, Descartes, Hume, Schopenhauer and Einstein. He valued academic contributions to Torah studies. He recognized the importance of secular studies for students so that they could gain basic life skills to enable them to earn a living when they grew older. (1:36; 4:31; 4:46; 6:87; 8: short answers 54)

TRADITIONAL SOURCES AND CONTEMPORARY KNOWLEDGE

There are cases where halakhic practice has been long established; yet modern research and discoveries may call for a reevaluation of the halakhic practice. There sometimes arises a conflict between traditional practice and contemporary knowledge. An example in point is cigarette smoking. For many generations, halakhists did not forbid the smoking of cigarettes. With recent medical research, though, we have learned that cigarettes are in fact dangerous to health. Does the Halakhah continue to maintain the permissibility of smoking cigarettes, since they were not forbidden in the past? Or does the Halakhah take into consideration the new findings, and thus declare cigarettes forbidden?

Rabbi Feinstein (Yoreh De 'ah 2:49) states that since there is evidence of the danger to health caused by cigarettes, a person should certainly pay attention to this fact. Yet, he argues that one may not prohibit cigarette smoking on the basis of its health dangers, since so many people have smoked and do smoke, and since "the Lord protects the simple." In particular, writes Rabbi Feinstein, a number of Torah luminaries of past generations smoked, and a number of Torah sages in our own time also smoke. Therefore, it is obvious that Halakhah does not forbid cigarette smoking (see also Hoshen Mishpat 2:76).

Rabbi Halevy, on the other hand, rules that cigarette smoking is forbidden according to Halakhah (2: 1). The new evidence concerning health hazards of smoking is overwhelming and cannot be ignored. Rabbi Halevy argues that if the rabbis of the Talmud and the great posekim of earlier generations had known the scientific research which is available to us now, they certainly would have forbidden cigarette smoking. In another responsum (3:25), Rabbi Halevy deals with the case of a person who took a vow not to smoke, but now wants that vow to be annulled. He rules that one should not find a way to annul the vow, since smoking is itself a prohibited act. On the contrary, one should try to convince the person to uphold his vow, since this is in his own best interest (see also 6:58, 7:67).

Another example of traditional practice requiring reevaluation based on modern discoveries relates to kosher meat. According to Halakhah, one should not leave meat unsalted for three days, since the blood in the meat will become congealed and will not be drawn out by the salting process. If, however, the unsalted meat is soaked in water within three days, then it can remain another three days (less a half hour). This assumes that the water keeps the meat fresh, so that the blood will not congeal. Thus, traditional halakhic practice has been to soak unsalted meat at less than three-day intervals. The question arises: since we now have freezers, may we place unsalted meat in them and rely on the cold to preserve the freshness of the meat--thereby not requiring the meat to be soaked every three days? Rabbi Feinstein ruled that one should not rely on freezers, but should actually soak the meat at the regular required intervals. Although he agrees that according to logic, freezing the meat should be satisfactory, yet there are many who have required the soaking of the meat. Rabbi Feinstein rules that only after the fact, and only in case of great need, may one salt meat that has been frozen (and not soaked) for more than three days. Unsalted meat kept in a refrigerator is definitely prohibited if it remained without being soaked for three days (Yoreh De'ah 1:27; 2:42).

On the other hand, Rabbi Halevy rules that meat which was kept frozen in a freezer is permissible to be salted and cooked, even if it had not been soaked during the three-day period. This may even be done initially, "since our eyes see that meat found in a freezer--its blood does not become dry within it at all, and it is as fresh as the moment when it was placed into the freezer, and this is obvious and clear" (Mekor Hayyim, 5:26 I :26).

Both posekim deal with the issue of natural childbirth: is the husband permitted to be in the delivery room when his wife is giving birth to a child? Rabbi Feinstein states (Yoreh De 'ah 2:75) that he would not advise this practice to anyone who asked him. He believes that labor pains are great, and that the presence of the husband is not able to turn the wife's mind away from her suffering. Nevertheless, if a woman wants her husband present in the delivery room, there is no prohibition, as long as the husband stands at her head and behaves modestly. Rabbi Halevy (4:58) also expresses his generally negative attitude towards having the husband present during childbirth. Yet, he goes on to note that modern research has found that the husband's presence can indeed be helpful to his wife during delivery. Although this is a relatively new finding, and our mothers and grandmothers were perfectly able to have children without their husbands being present, it is possible that contemporary women may feel the absolute need for their husbands to be present during delivery, Without their husbands there, the women of today may feel that they will suffer greater pain and will be in greater danger. Therefore, for women who feel this way, Rabbi Halevy believes that the husbands should be present in the delivery room since this is a matter bordering on pikuah nefesh, saving another person's life.

WOMEN LEARNING TORAH

The question of the permissibility of teaching Torah to women is a pressing one in contemporary halakhic discussions. Rabbi Eliezer's statement that "whoever teaches his daughter Torah teaches her obscenity" (Sotah 20a) is well-known and often quoted. Maimonides, Hilkhot Talmud Torah, 1:13, rules that one should not teach Torah to girls, since women have limited intellectual ability. Halakhah has generally permitted women to study only the written Torah as well as those specific laws which they need to govern their own lives. Until modern times, it has generally been regarded as forbidden to teach women the Oral Torah. Rabbi Feinstein (Yoreh De 'ah 3:87) follows the classic halakhic position opposing the teaching of the Oral Torah to women. The administration and teachers of a certain religious school for girls wished to introduce the teaching of Mishnah. Rabbi Feinstein rules that this should not be done, since our sages have established the Halakhah that women should not be taught the Oral Torah. The only exception to this is the teaching of Pirkei Avot, since that work deals with ethical conduct and teaches proper behavior. But other tractates are certainly not to be taught.

Rabbi Halevy (2:52) cites the classic texts which forbid teaching Torah to women. However, he notes that our eyes see that women are in fact able to learn complicated subjects quite well. The original assumption that most women are not capable of learning Torah in a serious way is problematic, when we see how well women today are able to study many complex subjects on a very high and serious level. Rabbi Halevy posits that in olden times when women received no formal education, teaching them Torah--which is so sublime and elevated--was problematic. Girls simply did not receive the intellectual training to be able to handle the study of Torah in a proper fashion. However, since now girls do receive general education, the situation is different. Therefore, those girls who are able to handle general topics may also be taught Torah, including the Oral Torah. Older girls, who have already shown their academic ability in studying other topics, may be taught the Oral Torah, which is a source of life for all who engage in it.

RESPONSIBILITY OF TEACHING TORAH

Since Torah education is a primary value of Halakhah, the question arises whether Torah teachers have the right to go on strike if they are not satisfied with their remuneration. Rabbi Feinstein takes a dim view of such action. When asked whether a teacher was allowed to come to class late, arguing that since he was paid in such an unsatisfactory manner he was free to shorten the time of his instruction, Rabbi Feinstein rejected his claim (Yoreh De'ah 1:138). Indeed, a teacher of Torah is not allowed to waste even one minute of precious time that could be given to Torah education. In another case (Yoreh De 'ah 3:74), Rabbi Feinstein deals specifically with the question of a strike of Torah teachers who have not been paid on time. He rules that, in essence, a strike by Torah teachers is forbidden except in the most extreme circumstances, where the teachers are so worried about their income that they are unable to concentrate on their teaching. It would be a rare circumstance when a strike by Torah teachers would be halakhically justified. (See also Hoshen Mishpat 2:59.)

Rabbi Halevy (3:23) approaches the question from a different perspective. He argues that the ultimate responsibility of teaching children Torah does not rest on teachers, but on parents. The Torah places the obligation on parents; if they are not able or do not have the time to teach their children, then they may appoint teachers as their agents to do the actual teaching. Therefore, if Torah teachers are dissatisfied with their remuneration, they may decide to stop working as the agents of the parents. In that case, the responsibility reverts back to the parents themselves. Thus, if there is bittul Torah caused by a strike of teachers, then the responsibility is solely on the shoulders of the parents, not the teachers. If the parents are anxious that their children not lose time that should be devoted to studying Torah, then let the parents take off work and teach their own children. If they want the teachers to do this work, then they must pay a satisfactory wage. This position is further elaborated in another responsum (5:23).

CALLING NON-OBSERVANT JEWS TO THE TORAH

There are solid halakhic sources which would forbid calling non-observant Jews to the Torah. Since they desecrate the Sabbath or otherwise break the laws of the Torah publicly, they have forfeited their right to the honor of being called to the Torah during prayer services. Rabbi Feinstein (Orah Hayyim 3:12) explains that the blessing of koferim, scoffers, is no blessing and therefore one should not respond with Amen afterwards. This refers only to those who actually reject faith in God; but if a person transgresses the laws of the Torah, even the laws of Shabbat, without considering himself a heretic, then his blessing is valid and may be answered with Amen. Therefore, one should not call to the Torah anyone who is a kofer, even if he had been raised that way by his wicked parents. Since he does not believe in the sanctity of the Torah, his blessing is not valid and he should not be permitted to read from the Torah. Yet, if he believes in God and His Torah, though he commits sins, he may be called to the Torah. The authorities, though, should do as much as possible to diminish the opportunity for such people to be called. It would be preferable to arrange things so that only observant Jews would be called.

In another responsum (Orah Hayyim 2:73), Rabbi Feinstein rules on a case of a boy born of a Jewish mother who was married to a non-Jewish man, May this young man be called to the Torah on the day of his Bar Mitzvah? Rabbi Feinstein responds that even though the child is certainly Jewish according to Halakhah, since his mother continues to live in her wickedness, we should do all that we can not to call the boy to the Torah on his Bar Mitzvah and not to allow any celebration in the synagogue. Likewise, it would be well not to accept him as a student in the Talmud Torah. These measures are migdar milta--preventive measures to discourage others from following the mother's bad example. Once the mother separates from her non-Jewish husband, then the boy may be accepted into the Talmud Torah and may be called to the Torah and have a Bar Mitzvah celebration. If there is a suspicion that accepting the boy into the Talmud Torah would create a bad influence on other children, then the boy is forbidden to be accepted in the school by law, not just because of migdar milta.

 Rabbi Halevy (3:16) deals with a case of a Bar Mitzvah boy and his guests who came to the synagogue on Shabbat morning in a car. Since they have all violated Shabbat publicly, may the boy and his guests be called to the Torah? Rabbi Halevy notes that we live in a time when, unfortunately, the majority of our people do not observe the commandments. We should not push them away; on the contrary, it is incumbent upon us to bring them closer, to speak pleasantly to them, to show them the beauty of the ways of the Torah and commandments. Although in this case we clearly know that the boy and his guests have violated the Shabbat in public, nevertheless "in our generation, an orphan generation, it is proper to be lenient in such a case; and it is our obligation to bring closer, not to push away. And good God will forgive." Similarly, in another responsum (5:1) Rabbi Halevy rules that a Jew who violates Shabbat may be counted as part of a minyan, even though there are halakhic sources which would oppose this view. "It is obligatory upon us to find a way to be lenient." Our situation today is very different from the situation in which the Halakhah was first stated--when all Jews were observant of Shabbat. In those days, if a Jew transgressed the Shabbat in public, that was his way of showing disdain for the Torah. Today, however, even people who consider themselves "good Jews" transgress many Shabbat laws without even being aware of the implications of such transgressions. Although it would be preferable to have a minyan of properly observant Jews, a transgressor of Shabbat may be counted for a minyan if necessary.

THE RELIGIOUS SIGNIFICANCE OF THE STATE OF ISRAEL

Rabbis Feinstein and Halevy differ significantly in their understanding of the religious significance of Medinat Israel. On the question of whether aliyah is a positive commandment incumbent upon us, Rabbi Feinstein rules that it is a mitzvah--but not an obligatory mitsvah. That is to say, if one lives in Israel, then he is fulfilling a mitsvah; but there is no special mitsvah in our time for someone living outside of Israel to go to settle in Israel (Even ha-Ezer 1:102). In contrast. Rabbi Halevy rules that it is quite obvious that a person who is able to make aliyah to Israel, and has no serious obstacle which prevents him from making Aliyah, transgresses each day for living outside of Israel, for not fulfilling an obligatory positive commandment. He states that it is an accepted Halakhah that there is a mitsvah to settle in Israel in our own time, just as this mitsvah was operative in the past. Furthermore, in our time it is clear that the land of Israel is a center of Torah study and is an excellent place to raise children in the ways of Torah. There is no place in the world where it is easier to fulfill the Torah than in Israel. One with vision will understand that there is no spiritual future for Jews except in the land of Israel.

Rabbi Feinstein refers to those Zionists who established the Israeli flag, most of whom were not religious, as being resha'im (Orah Hayyim 1:46). Rabbi Halevy (1:3) recognizes that many of the founders of the modern state of Israel were not observant of Torah; nevertheless, he says, they played a vital role in the revival of the Jewish people. Many of the Torah-observant people of the last century were not receptive to working for and establishing a Jewish state. The Divine Providence called on the non-religious Jews to lead the way towards the redemption of Israel. Although they viewed themselves as nationalists, in fact they were tools in the hand of the Divine Providence which was moving the people of Israel to redemption. Rabbi Halevy's attitude thus ascribes a positive role to founders of Israel, even though many were not observant of Torah.

Rabbi Halevy writes at length and with great enthusiasm about the sanctity of Israel, and that the State of Israel represents the beginning of redemption (1:3). With the national revival of Israel, he believes that we should cut down on the chanting of elegies and dirges on the fast day of the 9th of Av. Although we must continue to observe the day in remembrance of past destructions and in awareness that complete redemption is not here, we should nevertheless also make some indication in our observance that we are in the process of redemption. We should not continue the same pattern that existed prior to the establishment of the state of Israel (4:34). Rabbi Halevy rules that we should emend the Nahem prayer, recited at Minhah of the 9th of Av. That prayer refers to Jerusalem as a city "destroyed, humiliated, and desolate without its children." The fact is that this description is no longer accurate. Jerusalem--while not fully restored--is not destroyed, nor humiliated, nor desolate of its children. How can we recite these words in our prayers to God when the words themselves are not true? He suggests that the text be emended to read that God should have compassion on the mourners of Zion and Jerusalem, the city which was destroyed, humiliated and desolate without its children. She sat with her head covered, etc. By placing the description in the past tense, we avoid speaking lies in our prayers to God. Rabbi Halevy was criticized for this emendation, but he responded forcefully and convincingly (2:36-39).

CONVERSION

There is a diversity of opinion among halakhic authorities on questions relating to conversion to Judaism. Rabbi Feinstein's responsa reflect considerable unhappiness with the contemporary situation. Since the preponderance of candidates for conversion are motivated by the desire to marry a Jewish partner, they are not usually committed to observing Halakhah completely. He explicitly states that he does not approve of conversion for the sake of marriage, and even though he does not prohibit this practice, he expresses strong disapproval (Yoreh De 'ah 1:159). In another responsum, Rabbi Feinstein discusses the case of a convert who did not observe the commandments after his conversion. Even if he had stated at the time of the conversion that he was going to accept the commandments, it is clear that he never intended to do so. Rabbi Feinstein states that a convert who did not accept the commandments is certainly not considered a convert at all, even post facto (Yoreh De'ah 1:157; see also Yoreh De'ah 3:106; Even ha-Ezer 1:27; Even ha-Ezer 4:16).

Rabbi Halevy deals with the question of receiving converts in two important responsa (l :23 and 3:29). He reviews the halakhic literature on the topic and concludes that the Halakhah of conversion is left to the discretion of the individual judges in each case. The Torah neither gave a commandment to convert non-Jews, nor did it give a commandment rejecting converts. The rabbis of each generation and in each situation were given the obligation of deciding whether to be lenient or strict in matters of conversion. The Torah wished that the mitsvah of accepting converts should always be considered as a hora 'at sha 'ah, with each judge deciding for himself whether to accept converts or not, depending on the specific conditions of his time and place. "Rabbinic courts which are lenient in conversion as well as those which are strict--all of them intend their actions for the sake of Heaven and work according to their pure understanding and conscience." Rabbi Halevy places the responsibility on the rabbis who accept converts to determine the sincerity of the desire to fulfill the commandments. There are public considerations as well as private considerations to be evaluated by the rabbis of the bet din.

CONCLUSION

 In considering various responsa of Rabbi Moshe Feinstein and Rabbi Haim David Halevy, we have seen differences in attitude and in halakhic rulings. Since the purpose of this article was not to go through all the proofs and arguments of these posekim, readers should not rely on this essay for actual pesak, but should rather study the sources themselves. Moreover, there are many areas which have not been discussed in this article and which deserve study: e.g., questions of medical ethics and attitudes on halakhic methodology. By studying the responsa of two great posekim, representatives of different halakhic traditions, we can gain a deeper appreciation of the vitality and strength of Halakhah. We may broaden our horizons of halakhic inquiry. We may find models of halakhic authority which can teach us, inspire us and guide us.

Sir Moses Montefiore Bart. was the most famous English Jew of his time, probably of all time. Passionate in his beliefs, both as a Jew and as an Englishman, he became a legend throughout the entire Jewish world in his own lifetime. He was respected by kings and potentates; and was venerated by impoverished Jews in the shtetls of Eastern Europe as well as in the mellahs of North Africa and the Middle East.

 He was born in 1784 and died in 1885, aged 100. As a young man, his uncle Moses Mocatta secured him a position as one of the only twelve brokers allowed to practise on the London Exchange. He married Judith Cohen, sister-in-law of Nathan Meyer Rothschild; and that connection helped him to make his fortune before the age of forty. Montefiore then retired from the Stock Exchange in order to devote the rest of his long life to the interests of poor and oppressed fellow Jews.

Sir Moses, who continued to sign cheques for charitable causes on his deathbed, came from an Italian Sephardi family. Married to an Ashkenazi wife, he was so firm a believer in the unity of the Jewish people that he endowed each couple who married in his synagogue with a gift of money – which sum was doubled for a “mixed marriage” between a Sephardi and an Ashkenazi.

His charities and benevolent foundations at home were on a large scale; and in visits to Palestine, Morocco, Rome, Russia and Turkey, he did what he could to relieve the persecution of Jews in those places. He was knighted by Queen Victoria in 1837 for these noble services; and was made a Baronet in 1846.

Sir Moses Montefiore’s love of Zion was demonstrated by his seven visits to the Holy Land, undertaken at a time when such journeys were difficult and dangerous: his first visit, during which he was able to spend only four days in Jerusalem, took ten months to complete. Sir Moses actively encouraged agriculture there and endowed hospitals and almshouses. The Spanish and Portuguese Jews’ Congregation of London still distributes funds bequeathed by Sir Moses for necessitous scholars in Jerusalem, Hebron, Safed and Tiberias.

The most famous of the many journeys Montefiore made abroad was that connected with the Damascus Affair. The pernicious slander that the Jews require the blood of a Christian for making their Passover matzah was revived in Damascus in 1840; and that resulted in a fierce persecution of the Jews of that city. Sir Moses, with the active support of Lord Palmerston, visited the Khedive of Egypt, where he refuted the allegations and managed to obtain the release of the imprisoned Jews. He also received a firman (royal order) from the Sultan of Turkey, guaranteeing protection to all the Jews in his dominions against similar charges.

On his return to London, Queen Victoria honoured Sir Moses by giving him the privilege of adding supporters (heraldic animals) to his coat of arms. Because of his passionate love of God and of Jerusalem he wrote in his diary:

The supporters I wish for are to exalt our holy religion by displaying Jerusalem in a more distinguished manner than I could otherwise have done.

He therefore added the Lion of Judah holding a banner bearing the word Jerusalem (in Hebrew letters) to his arms.

When in London, Sir Moses Montefiore worshipped at the Spanish and Portuguese Jews’ Synagogue in Bevis Marks, a congregation to which he was devoted and which he served for many years as President of its Board of Elders; it was natural therefore that he turned to the Elders later in life when when establishing his Endowment. In 1835 he was elected Sheriff of London and Middlesex, only the second Jew to occupy that position; and in 1837 he became President of the Board of Deputies of British Jews, a position he held for thirty-nine years.

Men who devote themselves to the help of their fellow men generally do so in one of two ways: they give either of their time or of their money. Sir Moses Montefiore was an outstanding example of a man who was able and willing to give both. That he did to such effect that his name is still remembered and revered by Jews all over the world today. Wherever in the world Jews were oppressed, there Sir Moses journeyed; and he visited the Khedive of Egypt, the Ottoman Sultan, the Pope, the Sultan of Morocco and the Czar of Russia amongst others in his efforts to alleviate the suffering of his fellow Jews.

 In addition to his work for oppressed Jews, Sir Moses also created a centre of Jewish life in Ramsgate, a fashionable seaside resort in the county of Kent. In 1833 Sir Moses opened his own synagogue in Ramsgate, close to his country house. The future Queen Victoria who took holidays in an adjacent house on Ramsgate’s East Cliff, was given a golden key to the gate between the two gardens to enable her to enjoy both. His house has long since disappeared; but his synagogue and the adjacent mausoleum in which he and his wife are buried still stand, carefully maintained by the trustees of his Endowment.

It is supposed that Sir Moses had directed that his papers should be destroyed after his death, for many were indeed burned then. A large number, now in the possession of the Montefiore Endowment, were rescued by Dr Louis Loewe, first Principal of the Judith Lady Montefiore College. Others papers were rescued by Rev. Herman Shandel, Hazan of the Ramsgate Synagogue, and passed on to his descendants: these, including letters and two of Lady Montefiore’s (unpublished) handwritten diaries, are in the Shandel/Lipson Collection in the library of the Oxford Centre for Hebrew and Jewish studies. Some papers that survived are also held by members of the Sebag-Montefiore family.

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Dr. Mendes served as Minister of Congregation Shearith Israel from 1877 through 1920. He continued to be associated with the Congregation as Minister Emeritus until his death in 1937. During the course of these 60 years, Dr. Mendes established himself as a remarkable communal leader, scholar, and author.

Born in Birmingham, England, Henry Pereira Mendes grew up in a family well-known for its history of producing religious leaders. Indeed, his father Abraham was Minister of the Jewish congregation in Birmingham. H. P. Mendes received his early religious education and inspiration from his parents and as a young man served as Hazan and Minister of the Sephardic congregation in Manchester. While in New York, he studied and graduated from the medical school of New York University. In 1890, he was married to Rosalie Rebecca Piza.

Dr. Mendes was proud to be the religious leader of the oldest Jewish congregation in North America. From this base, he promoted numerous communal and social ideals and causes.

He was one of the leading Orthodox rabbis in the United States. Although he was Sephardic, he won the good will of the entire Orthodox community, including the Yiddish-speaking immigrants. He was a founder and the first president of the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America (1898). He was also one of the founders of the Jewish Theological Seminary (1887), which he and his collaborators intended to be an institution that would produce English-speaking Orthodox rabbis.

While staunchly Orthodox, he worked with all Jews for the betterment of the community. He was among the founders of the New York Board of Rabbis and was one of the early presidents of the organization. In 1885, he helped organize a branch of the Alliance Israelite Universelle in New York. He also was instrumental in the founding of the YWHA in New York, as well as Montefiore Hospital and the Lexington School for the Deaf.

Dr. Mendes was proud of the fact that Theodor Herzl asked his cooperation in organizing the Zionist movement in the United States. Dr. Mendes was elected vice-president of the Federation of American Zionists and a member of the actions committee of the World Zionist Organization. He advocated “Bible Zionism” or “spiritual Zionism”—an idea of establishing a Jewish State founded upon the principles and ideals of the Jewish religious tradition.

A prolific author, Dr. Mendes wrote essays and editorials, children’s stories, textbooks, sermons, prayers, dramatic works, poetry, and commentaries. His writings were imbued with the love of the Bible.

Rabbi Bernard Drachman, a colleague of Dr. Mendes, described him as “an ideal representative of Orthodox Judaism.” He praised Mendes’ “absolute freedom…from anything approaching narrowness or sectarian bias within the Jewish community.”

Dr. Mendes served Shearith Israel with outstanding devotion. He was a champion of the synagogue’s traditions. At a time when reform and change were the popular catchwords, Dr. Mendes was an eloquent voice for tradition.

The religious vision of Dr. Mendes is reflected in the titles of his main books: Jewish History Ethically Presented (1895), The Jewish Religion Ethically Presented (1895), and Jewish Life Ethically Presented (1917). In 1934, he prepared a little volume of prayers and meditations for home use “to promote and facilitate the habit of prayer.”

Dr. Mendes’ religious outlook was deeply steeped in the Hebrew Bible. The verses of Scripture served as the basis of an ethical and compassionate way of life. In The Jewish Religion Ethically Presented, he demonstrated his method of thought. He began each section with a citation from the Bible, and then provided the traditional lessons that were derived from the text. He then added his own elaboration of moral lessons that could be rooted in the biblical text. And then he offered a series of biblical quotations to close each section.

For example, in dealing with the third of the Ten Commandments (Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain; for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh His name in vain), Dr. Mendes provided the traditional explanations of this commandment. It is forbidden to use God’s name in a disrespectful way, for a false oath, or for any wrong purpose. Likewise, this commandment is violated whenever one says prayers without concentration and reverent devotion. Dr. Mendes added the ethical component: “We take His name in vain, or to no purpose, if we speak of God being good, just, merciful, etc., without trying ourselves to be good, just, merciful, etc.” We must be loving, merciful and forgiving, in emulation of God’s ways.

Dr. Mendes then offered a number of extensions to this commandment:

We are children of God. We are called by His name. When we do wrong, we disgrace or profane His name. Hence a disgraceful act is called Chilul Hashem, a profanation of the Name. And just as all the members of a family feel any disgrace that any one of them incurs, so when any Hebrew does wrong, the disgrace is felt by all Jews. We are known as the people of God. We assume His name in vain unless we obey His Laws….We take or assume His name in vain when we call ourselves by His name and say we are His children or His people, while for our convenience or ease we neglect religious duties which He has commanded us. (The Jewish Religion Ethically Presented, revised edition, 1912, pp. 59–60)

In elaborating on the commandment to honor one’s parents, Dr. Mendes stated:

To honor parents, ministers of religion, the aged, the learned, our teachers and authorities is a sign of the highest type of true manliness and of true womanliness. Respect for parents is essential to the welfare of society…..Anarchy or the absence of respect for authority, always brings ruin. Respect for all the authorities is insisted upon in the Bible. (p. 64)

In discussing the commandment prohibiting murder, Dr. Mendes noted that “we may not kill a man’s good name or reputation, nor attack his honor. We do so when we act as a tale-bearer or slanderer.” He goes on to say that “we may not kill a man’s business….Respect for human life carries with it respect for anyone’s livelihood. We may not make it hard for others to live by reason of our own greed” (pp. 65–66).

Dr. Mendes constantly emphasized the need for religion to be a steady and constant force in one’s life. True religion is expressed not merely in ceremonials, but in our conduct in all aspects of our daily life. In his Jewish Daily Life Ethically Presented (1917), he taught that

our religion thus requires threefold work from us: we must work for our own happiness, we must work for the happiness of the world we live in, and we must work for the glory of God. Our dietary laws mean healthy bodies and healthy minds to be able to do this threefold work. (p. 57)

He argued that the laws of kashruth, by governing everything we eat, add a spiritual and ethical dimension to this basic human need.

Dr. Mendes wrote.

Our daily work, no matter how important or how menial, if we perform it conscientiously, becomes equivalent to an act of worship. It therefore means setting God before us as the One we desire to please by the faithful discharge of our daily duties. This kind of recognition of good faith, honesty and honor means religion. Conscientiousness is religion. We must therefore do our work conscientiously. We should derive spiritual happiness out of labor by recognizing that God consecrates labor. (p. 59)

Dr. Mendes often expressed his philosophy in witty epigrams. A number of these were collected by Dr. David de Sola Pool in his biography of Dr. Mendes. The following are some examples of Dr. Mendes’ wit and wisdom.

• In too many homes religion is a farce, not a force.
• I plead, let every man and woman privately commune with God to place his or her heart-needs before Him.
• I plead for Sabbath observance.
• The three greats R’s: Reverence, Righteousness, and Responsibility.
• Democracy is the ideal form of government, but it needs ideal citizens.
• Music helps us find God.
• Let us have less fault-finding and more fault-mending.
• Speak to the young; but first to the old.
• To be accorded all of little Palestine is not too great a reward for having given the world the Bible.
• Peace for the world at last and the realization of reverence for God by all men. These are the essentials for human happiness. Zionism stands for them.

Dr. Mendes was an avid Zionist; the focus of his Zionism was the religious and spiritual revival of the Jewish people, so that a Jewish state would become a spiritual inspiration to the entire world. He felt that the goals of Zionism could not be accomplished unless the Jews themselves were faithful to their religious traditions. Moreover, he believed it was necessary to win the support and respect of the non-Jewish world. “That respect we can have only if we respect ourselves by respecting our religion. Here is true work for Zionists: to keep Hebrews true to Jewish life, Jewish law, Jewish sentiment” (letter of Dr. Mendes to Haham Gaster, July 21, 1903, published in Tradition, Fall 1995, p. 70).

In spite of his tireless efforts and his eloquent expositions, Dr. Mendes realized that many Jews were turning away from the Jewish religious traditions. Compromises in religious observance were being made for reasons of convenience or ideology. The level of serious Jewish learning was declining. He struggled with singular devotion to raise the Jewish people to a higher level of knowledge and observance, a deep-felt spirituality, a God-inspired ethical worldview.

In 1911, he delivered a sermon at Shearith Israel, after he had recovered from a serious illness. He reminisced about past challenges that he and the Congregation had faced together.

In looking over the years that have sped, there are times when I think that I have failed to bring religion’s holy teachings into the hearts of all this Congregation, and therefore I have failed to do His will….I do know that I have failed to bring into the lives of all the members of the Congregation that spirituality which alone can make us all sons and daughters of God in the highest sense, that spirituality of life which makes us willing, eager, anxious to do His will….It is true, and I thank God for it, that many of you are working hard to bring religion into actual life. You strive to have your children as loyal as you are, and as your parents before you were; you strive to bring sunshine into the lives of others; your communal and congregational activities are splendid….But I repeat, I confess to failure in influencing the lives of those of this Congregation who rarely or never set foot in this holy building; who hold aloof from congregational and communal work; in whose homes Sabbath is forgotten, from whose homes all Jewish characteristics are banished; who forget that constant absence from Sabbath worship, gradually, insidiously, but invariably disintegrates the Jewishness of the home and of all its inmates, and invariably precedes that desertion from our religion which we understand by the expression “he or she has married out.”… Let us both try to prove our gratitude to God by doing His will. Then, come sorrow, come trial, come defeat, come death itself, the God who alone knows the human heart, who alone can read the inmost soul, shall judge whether you and I have labored in vain, whether you and I have spent our strength for naught, and in vain—for surely our judgement shall be with the Lord and our work shall be before our God.

In his 60 years of association with Shearith Israel, Dr. Mendes faced many challenges and had many accomplishments. He was proud, yet modest; forceful, yet gentle; spiritual, yet practical. His memory has continued to influence and inspire the generations which have followed.

Bibliography

Angel, Marc, “Mendes, Henry Pereira,” in Jewish-American History and Culture: An Encyclopedia, edited by J. Fischel and S. Pinsker, New York and London, 1992, pp. 386–387.

Markovitz, Eugene, “Henry Pereira Mendes: Architect of the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America,” American Jewish Historical Quarterly Vol. 55 (1965), pp. 364–384.  See also the doctoral dissertation of Eugene Markovitz, H. P. Mendes: Builder of Traditional Judaism in America, Yeshiva University, 1961.

Pool, David and Tamar, An Old Faith in the New World, New York, 1955, pp. 192–201.

Pool, David de Sola, H. P. Mendes: A Biography, New York, 1938.

The Jerusalem Post, September 6, 2017, published the following: In an astonishingly vitriolic attack on progressive Jews, Sephardi Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem Shlomo Amar said that Reform Jews “deny more than Holocaust deniers….Today there was a hearing on the Kotel on the petition of the cursed evil people who do every iniquity in the world against the Torah – they even marry Jews and non-Jews,” said Amar…They don’t have Yom Kippur or Shabbat, but they want to pray [at the Western Wall]. But no one should think that they want to pray. They want to desecrate the holy. They are trying to deceive and say that extremist Haredim invented [prayer arrangements at the Western Wall]…It’s like Holocaust deniers, it’s the same thing. They shout, ‘Why are there Holocaust deniers in Iran?’ They deny more than Holocaust deniers.”

Reading these words, uttered by the Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem and former Chief Rabbi of Israel, is profoundly distressing.  They reflect the self-righteous religious arrogance characteristic of zealots who demean and oppress those who do not share their beliefs. Has Rabbi Amar ever sat down with Reform rabbis and dealt with them as fellow Jews and fellow human beings? Has he ever given serious thought to Reform theology? Certainly, as an Orthodox rabbi, he does not accept Reform; he sees Reform as a force for undermining the authority of halakha and the divinity of Torah. But does he think that calling names enhances the position of Orthodox Judaism? Does he think that it is intellectually or morally acceptable to slander opponents, or that such slander will convince anyone of the truth of Orthodoxy or the falsity of Reform?

When anyone thinks that he/she alone has the entire Truth, and that everyone else is an agent of falsehood—this is the basis for religious extremism, persecution, and violence. What is required today is what Dr. Menachem Kellner calls “theological humility.” Yes, we know we have the truth; but we also must be humble enough to realize that other people see things differently from us, and that they have a right to do so. We need to be able to make room for those with whom we disagree.

Below is an excerpt of a paper I delivered at a conference dealing with religious tolerance and mutual respect. It reflects a religious worldview very different from that of Rabbi Amar and so many others of his ilk.

I was born and raised in Seattle, Washington, as were both of my parents. My grandparents had come to Seattle early in the 20th century from towns in Turkey. My ancestors had lived in the old Ottoman Empire since the expulsion of Jews from Spain in 1492. Spanish religious intolerance at that time was counter-balanced by Ottoman religious tolerance.

In Seattle, Jews were a tiny minority of the general population. Sephardic Jews — who had come to Seattle from Turkey and Rhodes — were a relatively small minority within the city’s Jewish population. My grandparents, like the other Sephardic immigrants, spoke Judeo-Spanish as their mother tongue. I thought it was perfectly natural and normal to grow up in Seattle with Turkish-born grandparents who spoke a medieval form of Spanish!

Aside from being part of a small minority of Sephardic Jews in Seattle, our family also was religiously traditional and most closely identified with Orthodox Judaism. Orthodoxy is a small minority among American Jews, consisting of perhaps 10% of American Jewry. Although I was a member of an extraordinarily minute segment of humanity, I learned to love my family’s traditions. I eventually became an Orthodox Sephardic rabbi, and an author of many works relating to Sephardic and Orthodox Jewish law, history, and worldview. Indeed, my life has been based on the truth and vitality of my religious beliefs and traditions.

I strive to live according to the truth of my faith. Yet, I also am struck by a massive reality: I am part of a Sephardic Orthodox Jewish community that represents an infinitesimal percentage of humanity. There are at least seven billion other human beings who live according to their faiths, and who know little or nothing about mine. If I have the true way of life — one for which I am willing to live and die — how am I to relate to the overwhelming majority of human beings who do not share my faith?

Growing up as an Orthodox Sephardic Jew in Seattle, I learned very early in life that I had to be very strong in my faith and traditions in order to avoid being swallowed up by the overwhelming majority cultures. I also learned the importance of theological humility. It simply would make no sense to claim that I had God’s entire Truth and that seven billion human beings were living in spiritual darkness. I surely believed — and do believe — that I have a profound religious truth that guides my life. But I also believed — and do believe — that all human beings have equal access to God, since God has created each one of us in God’s image.

Some years ago, I read a parable (in the writings of Dr. Pinchas Polonsky) that helped me clarify my thinking. Imagine that you have carefully studied a painting day after day, year after year. You know every brush-stroke, color, shadow… you know every detail of the painting and you understand it to the extent humanly possible. And then, one day someone comes along and turns on the light. You then realize that the painting you had studied to perfection is actually part of a much larger canvas. As you stand back, you realize that you need to re-evaluate your thinking. The segment of the canvas that you have studied all these years has not changed; you still know every detail; it is still absolutely true. Yet, you must now study your truth in context of a much larger canvas.

Each faith, at its best, has a very true understanding of its piece of the larger canvas. But when the lights go on, each faith must come to realize that it represents part of the picture but not the whole picture. A grand religious vision must necessarily entail a grand perception of God: God is great enough to create and love all human beings. God sees the whole canvas of humanity in its fullness.

One of the great challenges facing religions is to see the full picture, not just our particular segment of it. While being fully committed to our faiths, we also need to make room for others. We need, in a sense, to see humanity from the perspective of God, to see the entire canvas not just individual segments of it.

Religious vision is faulty when it sees one, and only one, way to God. Religious vision is faulty when it promotes forced conversions, discrimination against “infidels,” violence and murder of those holding different views. How very tragic it is that much of the anti-religious persecution that takes place in our world is perpetrated by people who claim to be religious, who claim to be serving the glory of God.

While religion today should be the strongest force for a united, compassionate and tolerant humanity, it often appears in quite different garb. Religion is too often identified with terrorism, extremism, superstition, exploitation…and hypocrisy. People commit the most heinous crimes…and do so while claiming to be acting in the name of God.

Our voice should be one of mutual understanding; we should remind ourselves and our fellow religionists that God loves all human beings and wants all human beings to be blessed with happy and good lives. There is room for all of us on this earth. We need to foster a religious vision that is humble, thoughtful, and appreciative of the greatness of God.

Everything in life starts with the self as shaped by the well of life experiences. Hillel embraced this concept and is quoted in the Talmud as follows: “That which is hateful to you do not do to others; that is the entire Torah, everything else is commentary; now go and study” (Shabbat 31a). His maxim assumes common denominators among people, but commonalities may be belied by the disability divide or by not knowing disability protocol and the appropriate ways to interact with people with disabilities or with disabilities other than one’s own. When the disability well is dry, determining “that which is hateful to others” may result in outdated paternal or patronizing approaches, under or over-sensitivities, unrealistic assessments of ability, and assumptions that disability is self-defining and the primary self-identity.

Although disability touches most people, it does so to varying degrees. Limited disability exposure may contribute to approaches which are misguided and driven by one’s own emotional discomfort. Optimal engagements depend on disability awareness to develop a foundation, a toolbox for appropriate interactions to individualize per person and disability. Followers of the Torah are also guided by a concomitant study of the intersections of Judaism and disability. These intersections serve as starting points for developing appropriate and realistic attitudes toward disability. They provide firm foundations for meaningful interactions so that there is more that can be drawn from the well of experiences and Torah values leading to greater understanding of “that which is hateful to others” in disability matters.

In Torah, in fact throughout Tanakh, there are references to the intersections of Judaism and disability. Rabbinic and current commentary on the intersections have wide ranges. Some commentary reinforces Judaism’s compassion toward disability, while others provide a historical account of how approaches toward disability have changed. There is also a body of disconcerting literature by sages, probably reflecting discomfort with disability, which claims that people with disabilities, depending on the condition, should be permanently relegated to subordinate statuses. This approach to disability received widespread, but not universal, support; and vestiges still remain.

A fresh starting point for understanding what Judaism says about disability begins with a contemporary lens to study overt and covert textual intersections and understanding commentary based on its historical time. The outcome will contribute to better disability approaches for improved relationships. Others have started this study; this article will continue the discussion.

Disability

The Torah contains many passages about justice and mercy, not all of which specifically reference disability. Throughout the text, God commands that we should assist the widow, the orphan, and the poor. Assisting is the fulfillment of justice, tzedek, or loving kindness, and does not equate with superiority.[1] Leviticus (19:14) is disability specific. This is the passage when God warns against cursing the deaf or placing a stumbling block before the blind, referencing two physical conditions, although interpretations include metaphoric references, too. Torah understood the incumbency of justice for people with disabilities before George H. W. Bush signed into law the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA). This civil rights legislation, motivated by justice, focuses on people, not disability. The ADA ensures that people with disabilities receive equal opportunity in broad areas such as employment, higher education, utilization of public services, and communications.[2]

As with all civil rights legislations, ADA laws were enacted, since dependence on individual definitions of justice and goodwill are unreliable for the establishment of equity. The ADA categorized disability on three tiers: physical or mental impairments that substantially limit one or more major life activities; histories or records of such an impairments; and perceptions by others of impairments (P.L. 101–336). The ADA Amendments Act of 2008 broadened the ADA to include more general limitations, such as self-care (P.L. 110–325).

There is nothing monolithic about disability that includes visible or invisible physical or cognitive conditions; congenital or adventitious onsets—and nobody is exempt from the latter, which may be the result of disease, aging, accidents, and violence; nuanced or extreme variations, stable or progressive diagnoses, among other variables. Those with visible disabilities usually have to explain what they can do; those with invisible differences have to explain what they cannot do. However, Judaism did not need the ADA to categorize disabilities, since mention of diverse disabilities and conditions abound in Tanakh. These references describe notable personalities, identify impairments, or are used figuratively. Biblical personalities, including Isaac, Jacob, and Moses, were not exempt from disability, but even their conditions did not preclude distorted notions of disability and misapplied justice—at best—especially in terms of practicing Judaism within the community.

Historical Perspective

With the best of intentions to preserve Jewish heritage, some of our sages, even in relatively recent times, reinforced that Judaism values those who are most competent at fulfilling mitzvoth,[3] which would exclude people with disabilities from full communal participation. Biblical and rabbinic texts reflect the general thinking of their time, and grouped diverse disability types together.[4] A seventeenth-century rabbi in Israel questioned whether non-disabled people are allowed to violate Shabbat to save a Deaf person.[5] Violating Shabbat to save a life is usually justified with the understanding that the one saved will keep future Shabbats. The rabbi felt that since the Deaf are not obligated to keep Shabbat, why should they be saved? The Hafetz Hayyim was shocked by this rabbi’s thinking.[6] To grant the rabbi some fairness within a historical framework, the deaf experience of yesteryear, marked by the inability to communicate with language prior to sign language, is not comparable to the experience of today. Still, the casual approach to the life of any group of people is disturbing.

In another illustration of equating disability with the inability to fulfill mitzvoth, which presupposed how God saw people with disabilities, Marx cites Numbers Raba 7:1:

When Israel came out of Egypt, the vast majority of them were afflicted with some blemish. Why? Because they had been working in clay and bricks and climbing to the tops of buildings. Those who were engaged in building became maimed through climbing to the top of the layers of stone. Either a stone fell and cut off the worker’s hand, or a beam or some clay got into his eyes and he was blinded. When they came to the wilderness of Sinai, God said, “Is it consonant with the dignity of the Torah that I should give it to a generation of disfigured persons? If, on the other hand, I wait until others take their place, I shall be delaying the Revelation.” What, then, did God do? He bade the angels come down to Israel and heal them.

Marx writes “Why did God need to heal those with disabilities before He could offer them the Torah? Apparently, partnering with Israel for the Torah required competent partners capable of implementing the precepts and even interpreting them—thus the need for physical and intellectual capabilities.”[7]

The intersection of Judaism and disability includes yet other dimensions to attitudes and stigmatization. Some say it was only the most severe disabilities in rabbinic culture that led to exclusion based on the inability to transmit Jewish norms and culture, such as those at the upper end of mental illness. Other might have been regarded as disabled only when their condition prevented them from full participation in communal activities.[8] On the other hand, some rabbinic leaders, especially those with disabilities, countered the notion that people had disabilities due to unsavory character or as punishments for transgressions by stating that God’s motives are beyond human comprehension. One sage, the Steipler Rebbe, showed so much respect for individuals with severe disabilities that he rose when they entered a room.[9]

Perceptions of Disability Evolve

The aforementioned seventeenth-century rabbi and others like him notwithstanding, Judaism and most sectors of general society are not tightly stuck in the past when it comes to disability matters. Even terminology has shifted. Over the past 30 years, the term handicapped, hand-in-cap, a beggar, has become unacceptable; the term disabled people has been replaced with people with disabilities—putting people first. The term disability is not used in Tanakh, although its substitute may be blemish or moom, which is a broad description of a disability or impairment.[10] Mooms were probably reflective ADA categories without specificities. Over a 40-year span in the desert, vision and hearing most likely deteriorated, mobility disabilities were acquired, and a percentage of the population probably had cognitive disabilities—a point extended into all of Tanakh.

Monolithic societies did not and do not exist, but prior experiences with disability were vastly different than they are today. Blindness in Tanakh reflected a condition of isolation without mobility and orientation training; deafness was indeed isolating without sign language; and rehabilitation was unavailable for those with mobility disabilities. Weakness from low blood sugar (diabetes), breathing issues (asthma), and cardiac conditions were not addressed. Additionally, there were no special education schools or classes for those with the range of cognitive disabilities. Disability was a personal or family issue; the community did not have to make adjustments nor were there advocates for accommodations. Disability was a pity, a problem of the individual and his family, for which little could be done.

Sampling of Disability References in Tanakh

Blindness and deafness are frequently paired together and constitute a high frequency of disability references, but they are not mirror opposites. Blindness, not a communication disability, thrusts the sighted into new levels of sensitivity and awareness.[11] From the ancients to modern times, fascination with it has contributed to distorted assumptions as the blind have been portrayed from the pitiful to mystical.[12] A mute who lost his hearing prior to acquiring language was presumed to be intellectually undeveloped without cognitive skills for full inclusion and legal responsibility.[13] Blindness has been sensationalized more than deafness throughout the ages, but the frequent literal and metaphoric pairing in Tanakh can render both on a sensational level. In Isaiah, the prophet states, as a rebuke to Israel: “Hear, deaf ones, and look (in order) to see, blind ones. Who is blind, but my servant? Or deaf, as my messenger whom I sent….Seeing much but observing nothing; (having) hearing hear not attending…” (Isiah 42:18–20).

Blindness makes its Torah debut in Parashat Toledot: “And it came to pass, when Isaac had become old and his eyes were too dim to see…” (Genesis 27:1). It seems that he lived most of his life as a sighted person and only old age contributed to disability onset. The same can be said for his son. At the end of his life, Jacob experienced visual loss, as referenced in Vayehi immediately prior to blessing his grandsons, Joseph’s sons: “Now Israel's eyes had become heavy with age, [to the extent that] he could not see. So he drew them near to him, and he kissed them and embraced them…” (Genesis 48:10).

There is a covert message in these two descriptions. The text does not indicate depression or a diminishment of selfhood based on reduced vision. Visual loss is presented as a matter-of-fact reality. Reading between scriptural lines, there is no mention of self-identification as men without vision. Rebecca took advantage of Isaac’s condition, for a greater good, but Jacob’s determination of placing his right hand on the younger grandson was not diminished by his visual loss. He did not accede to Joseph’s wishes to place his right hand on the older one’s head based upon a self-identity as old, blind, and therefore without the capacity for independent judgment. Additionally, there is no reference that Joseph thought of or treated his father as incapacitated based on visual loss. 

In Deuteronomy (28:28), Moses makes clear that “God will strike you with madness and blindness” upon disobeying his word, although blindness here is probably used metaphorically rather than as an ultimate punishment. Perhaps the most seemingly severe passage in Torah regarding disability exclusion, blindness and others, is found in Leviticus (21:16–24) when God states that any of Aaron’s descendants “who has a defect, shall not come near to offer up his God's food. For any man who has a defect should not approach: A blind man or a lame one… mis-matching limbs … a broken leg or a broken arm.” The biblical scholar Martin Noth minimizes the stark impact this passage might have by stating that these laws were narrowly applied to the functions of the priests within the Temple and did not apply to their other functions.[14] Additionally, broken limbs are temporary conditions.

Preceding this passage, as previously referenced in Leviticus (19:14), God’s warning about against cursing the deaf or placing a stumbling block before the blind can be taken literally or metaphorically. Juxtaposing these two passage from Leviticus, is blindness a condition that warrants compassion or punishment? It depends on the definition of blindness. Maimonides defined visual blindness as one kind of blindness because we are all blind in some area of life, a definition which places ability and disability along a continuum. There was also a dispute with Rabbi Yehuda and Rabbi Meir about the ability of a person who is blind to carry out mitzvoth and therefore be included in community religious practices. Rabbi Yehuda disqualifies the blind; Rabbi Meir does not. A talmudic sage who was blind, Rabbi Joseph, concluded that it is disadvantageous for people who are blind to be exempt.[15] Still, blindness or being in the dark has always been considered a threatening status as shown by the ninth plague which rendered darkness to Egyptians in Exodus 10:21–23. In Judges 16:21, the Philistines preferred taking out Samson’s eyes to try to destroy him as opposed to limb amputations, which was done to try to destroy Rabbi Akiva.

In addition to blindness in old age, Jacob might have also had a mobility disability after the angel touched his hip socket (Genesis 2:24), but the outcome is ambiguous. Mephiboseth, Jonathan’s son, who was dropped by his nurse as an infant, self-identified as man with a mobility disability. Upon speaking to King David he said, “Your servant is crippled” (Saul II 19:27). Throughout Tanakh, there are references to what seem to be cognitive disabilities. In Proverbs, fools are specifically referenced, but it is unclear if the references are to those with learning or developmental disabilities or those who deviate from the right path out of choice not inability. Shoteh, defined as those with a range of cognitive differences, were deemed unable to conduct their own affairs, wed, and not responsible for following mitzvoth.[16]

Moses, the greatest communicator in Torah, self-identified as a man with a disability to resist leadership and appealed to God that “I am not a man of words…I am heavy of mouth and heavy of tongue” (Exodus 4:10). Perhaps it was his disability that caused outbursts of temper since physical expressions were easier for him than articulation, (Shemot 2:11; Shemot 32:19; Numbers 20:1).  Yet, there is no reference that Yitro encouraged his daughter to seek another mate due to Moses’s speech impediment (Shemot 2:21); nor did Korah proclaim that Moses’s disability was a reason to forfeit leadership, (Numbers 16); nor did Moses’s siblings (Aaron and Miriam) reference disability when they complained to God about him (Numbers 12:1). These four diverse personalities with different relationships to Moses and different reasons to reference his disability, did not. The only reference to his disability was referenced by Moses himself. Additionally, nowhere in the Torah does it say that “God spoke to Moses, the man with a speech disability, saying…”. In other words, disability was only applied in self-description. 

Sensitivity

…And God created man in His image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.

—Genesis 1:27

…Who gave man a mouth, or who makes [one] dumb or deaf or seeing or blind? Is it not I, the Lord?

—Exodus 4:11

People with disabilities were created in God’s image, and attitudes toward disability should consider God’s part in the creation of disability.[17] The juxtaposition of these two biblical passages continue to be overlooked. Throughout the ages, disability was a stigma, a sign of inferiority, and a reason for shame. Ironically, the second passage is in dialogue with Moses after his selection to be the Israelite leader, thus communicating God’s part in assigning disability and His encouragement not to allow disability to be the primary self-identity, whenever possible.  Moses had shame; God was not ashamed of him nor did He allow disability to serve as an excuse from any commandment. God was sensitive to Moses, but made clear that provisions would be made so that his disability did not impede ability. Moses spoke through Aaron.

Sensitivity is a personal reaction. Some say that the wording of prayers can create anxiety, such as the morning prayer when we say “Blessed are You…...who opens the eyes of the blind” or the Shemah (“Hear O Israel”).  If taken literally, might these wordings stir anxiety?  If taken figuratively to mean new insights (opens eyes) or paying due diligence (hearing) to the unity of Hashem, then the wordings are less severe or offensive.[18]

Inclusion

Inclusion of individuals and families where disability is present remains a challenge in the Jewish community, specifically regarding social life, synagogues, and education. These families may be excluded from invitations for Shabbat meals. Families with children with disabilities are both like other families and yet different.[19] The differences may contribute to discomfort since hosts may not know disability protocol or disability-specific protocol, expectations of behavior, or make assumptions about extra work to accommodate the children of their friends. 

Synagogue inclusion translates to the awareness for physical modifications for universal access, the availability of texts in alternate formats, retention of sign-language interpreters, and so on. On membership applications, there can be a section to specify special needs; families with disabilities are not uncommon. Planning committees can include members of all ages with disabilities to discuss integration into activities.[20]

Rabbinic institutions and lay leadership seminars can promote disability awareness. Teens can be asked at Kiddush to serve those with disabilities before satisfying themselves. In Jewish education classes and schools, educators can continue to employ strategies and integration to maximize potential, to lessen dependence, and integrate people with disabilities into the community as much as possible.[21] Of course, one has to be realistic. Students with sensory, physical, or cognitive disabilities cannot expect suspensions of trips to museums, theatrical performances, or ski slopes, but accommodations can be offered.

Inclusion also translates to withholding judgment and showing patience. People with hidden disabilities may not be able to fulfill expectations for reasons unknown to the observer. People with limited ability to express thoughts, either due to physical or cognitive conditions, do not expect others to complete their sentences. How many times did God interrupt Moses in the Torah by claiming he is slow of speech? The technicalities of being natural and using words such as see when conversing with people with visual disabilities requires heightened awareness at first, but then becomes causal upon realizing that people are not necessarily defined by disability.  Judaism also does not view the individual as defined by disability.[22]  People with disabilities frequently claim that attitudes are the greatest barriers toward integration.

Enhancing disability awareness, developing realistic assessments of ability, and appreciating Judaism’s overt and covert communications of respectful approaches to disability all contribute to more meaningful engagements. This is a process leading to know “that which is hateful to others.”

I live a more or less Orthodox Jewish life; “more or less” is necessary to say, since despite what Orthodox Jews like to believe, Orthodoxy is not measured by an absolutely uniform standard followed by all. The halakha is applied by observant Jews and interpreted in different ways and degrees (Do you trust the eruv? Do you ever, anywhere, take off your kippah? Do you eat in a vegan restaurant?). Also, as I learned early on in my discovery of Jewish observance, there is a big difference between orthopraxis and orthodoxy, and in fact praxis, with its ambiguous interpretations and applications, is a lot less fuzzy than matters of belief, faith, and the language of faith in Judaism.

The nuances and variations in practice and belief, and the disjunction between them, are perhaps more in the front of my mind and edge of my awareness than they are for many people who grew up in observant Orthodox households and who have really had only one way of life. My parents created a home with a Jewish identity, to be sure, which was reinforced by skeletal rituals—berakhot said by rote on Friday night, staying home from school on Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur (we fasted while my mother cooked for the “break-fast”), basic Bible classes in English in my father’s study when we were very young (but really before the age of understanding), Passover Seder with extended family and wonderful food and a ponderous Haggadah—but no structured Jewish education, no Hebrew or religious school or bar mitzvah, no shul-synagogue-temple even on the Holy Days (my parents were averse to suburban Judaism), no dietary restrictions or time-restraints beyond being present at the Friday night dinner table. The home rituals were strongly memorable and evocative, but not intrinsically strong enough to set an anchor in Judaism and Jewish identity, i.e. a mooring in lived tradition; emotional ties to Judaism were barely distinguishable from loyalty to parents’ cultural identity and expectations.

In college in the 1970s, a remarkable Classics teacher named Dan Gillis commanded me to write my senior thesis, as a Classics major, on Josephus, the first-century Jewish historian who wrote in Greek. When I asked, Who is Josephus? he replied, Go and find out. Just like that. Dan Gillis is not Jewish, but in this instance and others, he revealed a kind of rabbinic sagacity, which for him was instinctive. He saw in me an untethered, anxious, passionate, and unformed person, who was asking the basic question of a late-teen, Who am I? and coming up with confused answers; and he saw that the genuine answer lay, in part or entirely, in my discovering my Jewishness. He could not instruct me in Jewish learning but directed me as he knew how, as a Classics professor, by having me read a Jewish-Greek author from Roman antiquity. I wrote a complicated, essentially unfinished thesis about Josephus’ attitude toward the Jewish rebellion against Rome and his presentation of Jewish extremism. But that first engagement with Josephus and first-century Judaism made me look in a contemporary mirror that I had never held up to myself. That year, as a senior, I went to Shabbat dinners and events at Hillel, and learned more Hebrew rituals by rote, and appreciated the kind of camaraderie and shared song typical of a Shabbat table. I graduated college in 1978, but, as I discovered, did not leave Josephus, or the interest in Judaism to which he led me, behind on campus.

In the 1970s, Josephus was a marginal author at best in the fields of Greek literature and Roman history, mostly neglected or avoided deliberately by Classicists and ancient historians. In the profession of Jewish history of the Second Temple period, Josephus’ many books were used but not read, plundered ungratefully for information and facts for which he is the unique and indispensable source, read against his intention and according to an agenda, even reviled. But it was Josephus who helped me win good offers from graduate programs in Classics, when I applied in 1980. In the applications, I quoted parts of my undergraduate thesis, which attracted the attention of conventional Classicists who were tired of “more of the same” from students and colleagues; they told me so when I arrived. Josephus remained in the background, together with the development of my concomitant, deepening connection to Judaism, as I cleared the usual high hurdles preceding a PhD.

It was not opportunism that brought me back to Josephus, but something more personal. As one of my teachers in graduate school said, a person’s choice of dissertation topic reveals something deep and fundamental about that person— a yearning, a fear, a problem, an existential assertion. This is true even—and especially—if a person writes about a technical, soulless problem in scholarship. But my “return” to Josephus was neither technical nor soulless. I do believe, following into myself the thread of my teacher’s insight, that I chose to write about Josephus—in particular, devising a method to use his Bellum Judaicum to compose an “internal history” of Jerusalem in the first century ce—because I felt the need, at least, to deal with, learn about, confront, identify with, or reject, my Judaism; to figure out my own internal history, and start writing and living the next, postponed chapter.

A dissertation on Josephus required me to go to Israel—a good place for both doctoral research and self-examination (self-confrontation). My grant applications stated the justified need to learn Hebrew, and to learn in their original language some of the texts and laws that Josephus knew, quoted, and lived from the time of his first awareness. In other words, I proposed to try to get closer to Josephus’ Jewish self, which he combined with his acquired Greek learning and identity. I also told the granting agencies of my intention to study with some of the great scholars of the Second Temple period in Jerusalem (among whom was the great Menahem Stern, with whom I did read Josephus in a memorable class with two students); and to walk and learn the places Josephus knew and wrote about. These arguments were persuasive; I won study grants to Israel. The first trip to Israel has made all the difference.

I had not lost but indeed recovered my Jewish identity in my lifetime, not through a sudden, spectacular insight or extraordinary experience, nor epiphany beyond the power of words to express, but through academic study. Josephus led me to the gates of Jerusalem. It started with methodical study of Hebrew, just as my love in Classics also began with the love of an ancient language, Latin (the language of Josephus’ oppressors and patrons); it continued through slow learning of basic texts, lectures by great scholars in university classrooms (and not, at first, institutions founded for the purpose of spreading Jewish learning and bringing back Jews like me), visits to archaeological sites. Thus I entered modern Judaism through the first century, when the Temple still stood.

Admittedly—and this is difficult for me to admit, lest it be misunderstood, even by myself—I remember without sentiment or sensation that practically from the first expectant moment after my arrival in Israel, I felt a familiarity and closeness, a sense of place and purpose and deep personal resonance in the various societies I encountered, however strange to my experience were the land (resembling neither Missouri nor New Jersey) and language (unconnected to any I had learned so far). I was drawn in by the intellectual vigor that the language and texts offered and required, an excitement and challenge made more immediate, urgent and relevant than those offered by the classical texts that I had devoted years to learning; for the Jewish texts, and the arc of Jewish history, were part of a vital, i.e., living and lived, tradition. The more I learned, the more I realized that these things—Jewish identity but also Jewish practice (!)—were a part of me already, simply latent and un-activated. All this was reflected in excited letters I remember writing to family and teachers, 35 years ago. But I admit, as well, that the outline related here has developed, hardened, clarified—calcified?—over the years, as I’ve shaped my own narrative for myself and a few intimate relations (I’ve never told this story from a podium).

Obviously my gradual decision to live an Orthodox life—Shabbat, kashruth, tefillin and daily prayers, liturgy, and ritual—was more complex and less solitary than the private, intense experience in the classroom and my private study space. It involved not just learning and wonderfully unfolding personal insight, but also living with distant relatives in the Old City and learning their Orthodox rhythms; reading and hearing a large array of rabbis and teachers outside the university as well; informed (and also ignorant) experiment; slow accretion of new old customs, readjustment of exterior and interior life. The gradualness of my own Orthodoxy, the flux and reflux of laws and customs, demonstrate that an observant life not only rests on one Big Decision, but also requires myriad, even daily smaller but crucial decisions which are not always consistent with each other. It is the nature of such an intended life of structure, law, decision—even if Orthodoxy is not always thought of in this way—that one must cope every day with possibilities of which a life lived without such structure is unmindful. That was one of the most powerful aspects of an observant life: one must constantly observe what one says and does; it is a “mindfulness” with ancient roots.

If I were ever to write the full story of both the beginnings and the continuation of my Jewish life—which I am not likely to do—it would have several components. It would include an expanded, introspective discussion of the instinctive feeling, preceding my ability to articulate it, that Jewish ritual, learning, rhythms and society filled an empty place within me that I did not know was empty, or even existed. It would include a more detailed, less impressionistic discussion, with references to Jewish thinkers and teachers, of the “mindfulness” of an Orthodox life that I mentioned, i.e., the sanctification of the essential elements of any human life. It would include philosophical reflection on the religious life as a perpetual act of creation, which requires incessantly making separations, distinctions, and definitions. It would include reflection on the desire for the kind of the embracing, engaging, affirming, warm community in shul and neighborhood and larger society that I found in Israel, and that brought me back here to live. It would include an acknowledgement of sacrifice and unintended hardship, particularly the distance and separation from my family in the United States—not only the separation of continents, but the restrictions on communal cooking and eating that inevitably placed a kind of mehitza between us. It would include marrying an observant woman from a strict Orthodox background and raising children with her. It would include educating our children in the Israeli religious school system, which has brought not only affirmation of a life-choice but also deep dissatisfaction with the education system here.

But all that is for the unwritten memoir. Here, my purpose has been a brief description of the beginning of my “return” to Judaism and Jewish identity. It has been told as I remember it, from the distance of years and habit. It began, actually, with the scholarly purpose of understanding the texts left by a first-century pious Jew from Jerusalem.