National Scholar Updates

Writing in the 5761 (2001) issue of the journal Techumin, Rabbi Yehuda Zoldan addressed a question that confronted the increasing number of Orthodox Jews who had entered the Israeli Foreign Service: Were there any ways in which some of the halakhic strictures normally imposed on those having contacts with non-Jews could be mitigated in the interests of service to the State?

Since the article’s appearance, the issue has become a salient one for American Orthodox Jews as well. Practicing Jews can now be found in the uppermost levels of the U.S. Government, including the national security departments—State, Defense, Treasury—as well as the National Security Council and the Intelligence Community, not to mention Senator Joseph Lieberman, whose tenure included membership in both the Armed Services and Homeland Security Committees, serving as chairman of the latter.

For many, if not all of these Jewish national security officials, questions arise beyond those confronting their Israeli counterparts, for whom allowances are made by foreign countries precisely because they are not citizens of those countries. To what extent does halakha permit a Jewish official to sidestep normative rabbinic law and tradition? Is there any latitude with respect to biblical laws (d’Oraita)? Moreover, there is, in fact, a prior set of questions that must be examined: Who exactly qualifies as a government official? After all, not all officials are Secretaries or serve as sub-cabinet officers. Indeed, some private citizens serve as Special Government Employees, whereby they receive no salary but are considered subject to certain government rules and regulations. Should halakha treat SGE’s, as they are called, as it would full-time officials? Yet another question arises from the intersection of policy and halakha. Specifically, what, if anything, does halakha say about Jewish officials participating in formulation of American policy toward the State of Israel, especially if that policy is opposed by that country’s government? Does halakha prescribe that a Jew “recuse” him or herself from policy issues affecting Israel’s national security? If so, which issues? And, again, which officials should be so disqualified? “Action officers” who essentially carry out others’ orders? Mid-level officials? Senior officials? Finally, for officials serving in the national security community, there is the additional question of pikuah nefesh, protection of life. Leading halakhic decisors grant greater halakhic flexibility in matters of pikuah nefesh, whether the lives at stake are Jewish or non-Jewish. The question, though, is what exactly determines the boundaries of pikuah nefesh? As Donald Rumsfeld once said to me, “Life is always in danger in the Department of Defense,” meaning that America has troops in harm’s way somewhere, all the time. Does Rumsfeld’s definition of life in danger apply to attendance at Pentagon meetings on Shabbat?

I found myself confronting most, if not all, of these questions during my two periods of service as a senior official in the Pentagon, and during both the intervening years and subsequent to my full-time service as a Special Government Employee. I have also been consulted on the question of an official’s halakhic status by others entering government service at various levels in various Administrations. What follows are some personal observations, hopefully consistent with both halakha and the sworn duty of all American officials to serve the Nation without qualification, proviso, or reservation of any kind. Exemptions from Rabbinic Law for Karov Lemalkhut The first recorded Jewish official in a non-Jewish government was, of course, Joseph.

The Torah described Joseph as the shalit in Egypt, that is, the ruler. Pharaoh tells him that apart from himself, Joseph was that country’s most powerful individual. His position appears to have been greater than that of a chief minister or a grand vizier. Rather, it might be described as akin to that of Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, the right-hand man of Augustus Caesar, who for all practical purposes ruled Rome’s eastern provinces, which comprised virtually half the Empire. Joseph clearly took on many of the characteristics of the ruling elite. He had a “secular” name, tzafenat panei’ah. He married an Egyptian woman.[1] His appearance was that of an Egyptian, to the degree that his brothers did not recognize who he actually was. Perhaps because his activities pre-dated the giving of the Torah, however, Joseph does not serve as a prototype for the rabbinically sanctioned behavior of later Jewish officials serving non-Jewish masters. That role has fallen to Esther, who her eponymous book tells us was elevated to Queen of the Persian Empire; Mordecai, who served as Grand Vizier during Esther’s reign; and especially Nehemiah, cupbearer to the Emperor Artaxerxes Longimanus of Persia. There are few explicit textual details about Esther’s role as queen, other than the parties she hosted,[2] her revelation of Haman’s plot to murder the Jews,[3] and the indirect references to her sharing a bed with King Ahasueros.[4] (The Talmud and the Midrash are full of speculation about Esther’s activities in particular.[5] ) Similarly, the Book of Esther says little about Mordecai’s activities as chief minister, other than the letters and instructions that he and Esther jointly sent to the Jewish community.[6] On the other hand, the Book of Nehemiah is a memoir that details Nehemiah’s proximity to the Persian king in his role as cupbearer, which made him one of the most powerful officials in the Empire. Indeed, what we know of other similar officials is that they acted as a sort of senior court advisor. [7] Nehemiah’s formal role was to taste wine before the king did, so as to ensure that it was not poisoned.[8] The rabbis prohibited the tasting of all wine produced by non-Jews even if not for sacramental purposes (setam yeinam). They considered Nehemiah to be a member of the Great Assembly, to which they attributed a significant role in the formulation of rabbinic law. How then could Nehemiah have tasted forbidden wine? The rabbis therefore concluded that he was permitted to do so not only because of his need to taste the wine first, but because his official position within the Persian Government would enable him to lobby on behalf of the Jewish people (which in fact he did); thus, he was exempt from this rabbinic law. [9]

Nehemiah’s position could be considered to be one related to national security—what office could be more important than that involving the direct preservation of the health, and indeed the life, of the ruling monarch? It is arguable, however, whether any exemption from rabbinic laws applies to levels of government below that of the ruler’s immediate retinue. The Talmud is replete with accounts of Roman provincial officials whose role as surrogates for the Roman Emperor qualified them as the governmental authority of the day; and in almost all cases, that authority was directly linked to the security of the Roman Empire as well as the security of the Jewish people. Such Jews as might have been in the service of Roman officials could therefore have been expected to benefit from the same exemption as that granted to Nehemiah. Indeed, Rav Zoldan initially describes a karov lemalkhut as a government official: “a Jew who reached a senior post in a non-Jewish government administration of the nations of the world.”[10]

But the Talmud and subsequent rabbinic decisors expanded the breadth of exemptions from rabbinic law, and expanded the definition of who might benefit from those exemptions. The Talmud does not address the status of a Jewish government official per se. Rather, it speaks of a karov lemalkhut, which strictly speaking means anyone close to the government but not necessarily part of it. The Talmud notes that certain individuals, Avtulmus bar Reuven [11] and Rabbi Reuven bar Istrobili [12] were exempted from the ban on wearing their hair in the Roman style because they interacted with Roman officialdom. The latter actually passed himself off as a Roman Senator in order to prevent the Senate from passing legislation to exterminate the Jews. [13]

Significantly, the Talmud does not assert that either Avtulmus bar Reuven or Rabbi Reuven bar Istrobili actually were government officials. Additional exemptions were granted to the princely descendants of Hillel who circulated among the Roman elites. The family of Rabban Gamaliel was permitted to use a mirror (which until the early years of the Enlightenment was forbidden to men), and to study Greek texts.[14] Members of the family of Rabbi Judah the Prince were likewise permitted to cut their hair in the Roman style and use a mirror. In addition, they were exempted from the ban on the study of Greek texts. It is noteworthy that Maimonides considers the use of a mirror for a male to be a biblical prohibition; similarly, he considers wearing hair in a notably non-Jewish style as a biblical violation. Nevertheless, both Avtulmus and Rabbi Reuven, and well as the family of Rabbi Judah the Prince were considered exempt because of their unique circumstances. As is the case with respect to Avtulmus bar Reuven and Rabbi Reuven bar Istrobili, the Talmud does not assert that the families of Rabban Gamaliel and Rabbi Judah the Prince, as opposed to the two Rabbis themselves, held official Roman positions.

It appears, therefore, that a Jew need not actually be in government service to qualify as a karov lemalkhut, though all of the aforementioned cases involve persons who were in frequent, if not constant, contact with the governing authorities. Indeed, when Maimonides expands the exemption to include shaving, presumably with a razor, he explains that for “a Jew who is karov lemalkhut and must sit before their kings [my emphasis], [and] it would be an embarrassment for him if he does not appear like them,” clearly implying that the Jew mixes regularly with officialdom.[15]

It would appear, however, that a person who is a karov lemalkhut cannot claim any exemptions from rabbinic, much less biblical, laws at all times. Generalizing from the experiences recounted both in Scripture and Talmud, and pointing to the need for honoring malkhut—literally ‘royalty” but in practice “the government”—later decisors further expanded the exemptions available to those who could be considered karov lemalkhut. Rabbi Isaac ben Shmuel Hazaken (known as Ri) asserted that an “important woman close to the government” (isha hashuva krova lemalkhut) was exempted from the prohibition of yihud and could spend time behind closed doors with a government official; his is a minority opinion, however.[16] Rabbeinu Yaakov ben Asher (popularly known as the Tur, after his code, the Arba Turim) and Rabbi Yosef Caro in the Shulhan Arukh appear to permit any activity that would enable a karov lemalkhut to appear no different from others at a royal court. [17] Rabbi Yechezkel Landau, popularly known as the Noda Biyehuda, ruled that one who appeared before “ministers and dukes” could shave on Hol Hamoed if he normally shaved at other times.[18] Rabbi Moshe Sofer, known as Hatam Sofer , permitted those meeting “a minister and an important person” (sar vegadol) to cut their hair, clean themselves, and wear freshly laundered or pressed clothes even during the seven days of mourning for one’s father. [19]

More recently, Rabbi Yitzhak Nissim, the Rishon Letzion/Sephardi Chief Rabbi, citing the case of his predecessor Rabbi Yaakov Meir, permitted one to receive and to wear (when at an official function) a medallion in the shape of a cross, since it represented an honor bestowed by a senior personage.[20] Rabbi Ovadia Yosef also cited the case of Rabbi Meir, together with many other rulings permitting one to wear such a medallion.[21] Rabbi Zoldan, drawing upon a ruling of Rabbi Yaakov Reischer, known by his work Shevut Yaakov, [22] rules that one does not have to wear a head covering when in the presence of officialdom. [23] Rabbi Yitzhak Yaakov Weiss offered a more nuanced approach: vehakol lefi hamakom vehazeman, “all depends on the place and time,” and on the attitude of the government regarding these matters.[24]

Rabbi David Zvi Hoffmann recounted that at the school that Rabbi Hirsch founded in Frankfurt, as well as at the Orthodox school in Hamburg, the students were bareheaded when they studied secular subjects. He ruled that one could stand bareheaded while taking an oath in a courtroom. And he recalled that when he first entered Rabbi Hirsch’s home while wearing a hat, Rabbi Hirsch, acting in his capacity as director of a school in which there were non-Jewish as well as Jewish instructors, told him to remove his hat. Rabbi Hirsch explained that “here it is derekh erets (good manners) to remove one’s hat when meeting with an important person.” If Rabbi Hoffmann did not remove his hat before Rabbi Hirsch in his capacity as director, it would seem to the non-Jewish instructors as if he were insulting him.[25]

What applied to senior school administrators and judges in court would certainly apply to government officials. In that regard, my late father, haRav Zvi Zakheim, told me that he once had accompanied haRav Shmuel Walkin to a meeting with a Japanese official in occupied Shanghai. Upon entering the presence of the official, Rabbi Walkin removed his hat; he gave a one-word explanation to my father: malkhus. Finally, Rabbi Haskel Lookstein provoked a storm of controversy when he attended a service at the Washington National Cathedral at the invitation of the President Obama. Rabbi Lookstein argued that the invitation put him in a position of being a karov lemalkhut and as such he had to attend.[26] His opinion actually reflected the practices of Chief Rabbis of England and rulings such as that of Rabbi Moshe Sitrug.[27]

Neverthless, decisors ranging from Rabbi Yosef to Rabbi J. David Bleich took the opposite view, though Rabbi Yosef had written that it was permitted to enter a mosque. [28] Who Qualifies as a Government Official? The Noda Biyehuda wrote of “dukes” and the Hatam Sofer spoke of “ministers” and “important persons.” In an age of great bureaucracies, malkhut may encompass far more people than in the past; then again, it may not.

The answer to the question of who qualifies as a government official with respect to halakhic considerations has two sets of ramifications. First, it will determine which posts held by a Jewish official generate the exemption from certain halakhic mandates. Second, it will determine which posts held by non-Jewish officials qualify those who interact with them as exempt from those mandates. In ancient times, malkhut often meant the power of life and death; even petty officials tended to have that power. Whether the status of malkhut applies across the board to all American officials of our day, so as to exempt Jews who hold any official position or Jews interacting with any office holder, is highly problematical, however. To begin with, it is not at all clear that any exemptions apply to positions that do not affect national security; not all officials have a national security role.

State and local officials certainly do not have such a role, except in an emergency situation such as 9/11, when the rule of pikuah nefesh, preservation of life, clearly takes precedence over all else. For example, Jewish officials on the staff of Mayor Rudolph Giuliani would have been exempted from various rabbinic laws in the immediate aftermath of the 9/11 attacks if those laws prevented them from carrying out their emergency responsibilities. In the natural course of events, however, the question of exemptions to rabbinic requirements would only apply at the Federal level (or at the central government level in other countries), with the exception of special state and local anti-terrorist units, which, like New York’s counter-terrorist unit, are part of the police department.[29] Even at the U.S. Federal level, however, not every official, indeed, not every national security official, qualifies as malkhut for the purposes of halakhic exemption. The U.S. Government has a dizzying array of officials, grouped in different classes, and with varying degrees of power within each class.

Many top officials generally fall within what is called the Executive Schedule, and are presidential appointees, usually, but not always, requiring confirmation by the Senate. Senate confirmed positions in what is called “the national security community” include the Secretaries of State, Defense, Homeland Security, their Deputy Secretaries, Under Secretaries and Assistant Secretaries, as well as the Directors, Deputy Directors and Assistant Directors of the numerous agencies (including the FBI) that comprise “the intelligence community.” The “national security community” also includes General and Flag (i.e., Navy Admirals) Officers as well as Ambassadors, all of whom require Senate approval. Some of the most powerful Federal officials having an impact on national security do not require confirmation, however. These include numerous senior officials within the Executive Office of the President. Foremost among them are the White House Chief of Staff and his/her Deputy; the Director of the Office of Management and Budget—which is a Cabinet level position—and his/her deputy; the Assistant to the President for National Security, popularly called the National Security Advisor, and his/her deputy and senior staff; the Domestic Policy Advisor, and the Counselor to the President. Presidentially-appointed Special Representatives for particular missions such as the Special Representative for Afghanistan and Pakistan, as well as Special Negotiators, such as those who have attempted to broker an agreement between Israel and the Palestinians, also fall into this category. All of the aforementioned officials have staffs of various sizes; some staff officials are more powerful than others.

Deputy Under Secretaries are sometimes confirmed by the Senate and sometimes not; virtually all wield considerable decision-making authority. So too, do a significant number of Deputy Assistant Secretaries within the cabinet-level departments. In fact, even lower-level “desk officers” often affect national security decisions, since it is they who normally draft the policy memoranda that ultimately are signed by top level officials. Cabinet-level departments often also incorporate numerous semi-autonomous agencies. The leaders of these agencies, for example, the Secretaries of the Army, Navy and Air Force, within the Defense Department, and the Director of the Agency for International Development, the senior State Department official responsible for managing foreign aid, all require Senate confirmation and wield considerable power. But so too do non-confirmed deputy assistant secretaries (or their equivalents) within each of these subordinate departments; again, these officials tend to work from drafts produced by their “desk officers.”

The Status of Special Government Employees (SGEs) It appears that officials who are in a position to decide on matters that will affect the physical or even, according to Rabbi Menachem HaMe’iri, the spiritual security of the Jewish people,[30] certainly would qualify as malkhut. If those officials are Jewish, they naturally would benefit from the exemptions from some rabbinic laws. Jews who interact regularly with such officials, whether they are Jewish or not, would also benefit from these exemptions. Special Government Employees (SGE), who serve the government on a part-time basis would receive these exemptions, but only during those actual times when they are serving in their official capacities, and only if their duties involve interactions with national security or intelligence officials. When they do not serve the government, for example when they conduct private business, SGEs lose their status as government officials, and, naturally, would forego any exemptions. In this regard they would differ both from senior Jewish national security officials, who are effectively on 24 hour, seven-days a week notice, and even non-governmental kerovim lemalkhut, since almost invariably SGEs carry on their duties at regularly scheduled predictable times.

Whether Jews who interacted with SGEs in the latter’s official capacities should be exempted at all is somewhat more problematical. SGEs invariably serve in an advisory capacity, though at times they can have significant influence over government policy (an example would be the role of the Defense Policy Board, which consists of SGEs, in advocating for the attack on Iraq in 2003). Since Jews meeting with SGEs would be once removed from decision makers of any kind, it is difficult to argue that they truly qualify under the rubric of karov lemalkhut. Some decisors are of the opinion that the exemptions from rabbinic laws need not be based solely on considerations of national security. They argue that the exemptions would go into effect even in circumstances where it is simply a matter of respect for authority.[31] Those holding this view might therefore also apply exemptions to Jews meeting with cabinet and sub-cabinet secretaries who have no impact on national security, for example, the Secretary of Housing and Urban Development. In this view, perhaps Jews who meet with lower level officials could also be exempted. In any event, all appear to agree that the exemptions apply with respect to those officials who can truly affect national security decision-making, be they Jews holding these positions, or Jews seeking to influence those holding these positions. Government Officials and the Security of Israel If ever there was a sensitive matter affecting Jewish officials in the United States Government, it is that relating to activities that might affect the security of the State of Israel. Little, if anything, appears in the halakhic literature regarding this subject; the closest analog relates to the more general concern that Jewish officials must show for the welfare of their fellow Jews. Indeed, as noted above, the exemptions to those who are karov lemalkhut derive directly from the need for them to be in the best position possible to plead for the welfare of their brethren. As Mordecai told Esther, umi yodeah im le’et kazot higa’at l’malkhut, “And who knows, perhaps you have attained to royal position for just such a crisis.”[32] Or, as the final words of the book of Esther recount regarding Mordechai—he was doresh tov le’amo ve’dover shalom lekhol zar’o—he sought the good of his people and interceded for the welfare of all his kindred . [33]

There would appear to be limits to the extent that Jews in the U.S. Government should act in support of the State of Israel. The American commitment to Israel’s security is both bipartisan and long-standing. How that security is defined, however, can, has been, and will be the subject of occasional disagreements between the two countries. Such disagreements tend to be operational rather than strategic; that is to say, they center on questions of approach rather than fundamental principles, which over the long term will remain as aligned as they have been for decades. Jews serving in the Executive Branch will be expected to recommend positions regarding Israel that are fully consistent with American national interests. Once decisions are made as to American policy, which invariably will account for Israel’s needs but first and foremost will address American interests, they must “salute smartly” and implement those decisions. If they feel that cannot agree with those decisions, they can resign from their posts. They should not attempt to undermine such decisions, for example, by leaking information to the press. Nor, of course, should they seek to emulate Jonathan Pollard, whose treason still rankles within the national security and intelligence communities. Government Officials and Pikuah Nefesh Exemptions from both biblical as well as rabbinic laws are not limited to government officials when danger to life is concerned.

Pikuah nefesh doheh Shabbat—the saving of life trumps even Sabbath prohibitions—is a well-known principle in halakha. How one defines pikuah nefesh is, however, the subject of considerable discussion among halakhic decisors. Rabbi Shaul Yisraeli interprets pikuah nefesh in very broad terms. He argues that one may violate a given Shabbat in order to save lives that may be lost at some time in the future. As he puts it “we here derive a major halakha that also [the requirement for] saving life in the future, that we know will materialize at some time, is considered as if it is already present now, and it is incumbent upon us to do everything as if we were confronted with the need to save lives now.” [34] Rabbi Yisraeli also rules that “everything that affects the peace of the community, or the prevention of any loss it might sustain, all is considered pikuah nefesh.” He therefore also includes within the rubric of pikuah nefesh not only loss of life, but economic loss as well. And while it is well known that Jews are permitted to mobilize on Sabbath to prevent a possible attack, even over a nominally trivial issue, 35]

Rabbi Yisraeli goes further and permits any operation that is undertaken to improve the nation’s economic well-being, its deterrent, or the prospect that its enemies might agree to sue for peace.[36] Rabbi Yisraeli’s ruling, based on considerations of Israeli security and well being, would apply equally in the American context as well, and most particularly with respect to national security.[37] Nevertheless, a clear distinction must be made between routine activities, such as staff meetings, that are scheduled on Shabbat on a regular basis, and extraordinary circumstances, such as those following the aftermath of 9/11 and the launching of Operating Enduring Freedom, that is, the war in Afghanistan. In the latter case, and, until the end of 2010 in Iraq as well, danger to life was, and continues to be, an ongoing concern. America has lost thousands of its sons and daughters in these wars, and those forces serving in Afghanistan and the adjacent theatre continue to operate in harm’s way. Activities specifically geared to the protection and support of our forces in Afghanistan, and in other less well-known operations that are part of the ongoing War on Terror, would appear to fall squarely into the category of pikuah nefesh. It is arguable, therefore, that Jewish officials who are required on a time-urgent basis to work on Shabbat to facilitate the safety and security of those forces can rely upon the various exemptions from both Biblical and Rabbinic law that are available to a karov lemalkhut.

Similarly, should a Special Government Employee, or even a contractor, be required to contribute to such time- urgent activities, a case can be made that they too are covered by the exemptions generated by the principles of karov lemalkhut. Jews serving in the Legislative Branch are in a different position. In most cases, they are hired with the understanding that they will not work on Shabbat except in the direst of emergencies, usually when there is a crisis that calls for Executive Branch consultation with the Congress. On occasion, when critical national security budgets are being finalized for Congressional approval, Jewish Members and staff attend those meetings, but the need actually to undertake one of the 39 melakhot—forbidden activities—and their subsidiary actions, can usually be avoided. That this is the case has been demonstrated for many years by Senator Joseph Lieberman, whose ability to balance national needs with his religious obligations is a model for all whose serve in government at any level. Thus, for Legislative Branch officials, as for those of the Executive Branch, the context determines the exemptions, or, to repeat Rabbi Weiss’ formula, as noted above, “all depends on the place and time.”

In sum, pikuah nefesh is not a blank check. It is not a license for violating Shabbat or other laws when there are alternatives available to carry out one’s mission or duties. For example, government officials living in nearby Georgetown have walked, rather than ridden, on Shabbat to their offices in downtown D.C. or on Capitol Hill. And they have relied on others to take notes, unless the need for their written signature or urgent email message was unavoidable. When, therefore, in January 2001, before either of us had been confirmed for our respective positions, Donald Rumsfeld told me that life was always in danger somewhere within the realm that is covered by the Department of Defense, I told him that I could certainly work on my Sabbath when life was truly in danger. On the other hand, I added, if it was merely a matter of attending an ordinary meeting of some kind, such as a staff meeting, that was an entirely different matter. Rumsfeld accepted this explanation without hesitation. As things transpired, I indeed often had to work late on Fridays in the immediate aftermath of 9/11, as our troops desperately needed supplies that my office had to fund. On the other hand, I never attended a routine meeting on Shabbat during my entire period of service at the Department of Defense. And Rumsfeld was as good as his word; not once did I ever have to explain my absence from a Pentagon meeting that was held on the Jewish day of rest.

[1] TB Kallah Rabbathi, 53a provides a fascinating commentary that seeks to legitimate Joseph’s marriage, based on his telling Jacob that he had been granted children “with this” (bazeh) meaning a ketubah. Midrash Hagadol adds that he also showed evidence of kiddushin (marriage). Rabbi David ben Amram Ha’edni, Midrash Hagadolvol 2, ed. Mordechai Margoliot, 2nd ed. (Jerusalem: Mossad Harav Kook, 1997), p. 821. Rabbi Shlomo ben Yitzchak—Rashi—offers a variant of these two midrashim by saying that Joseph showed the engagement agreement (shtar eirusin) and the ketubah (Genesis 48:9, i.v. Bazeh). [2]Esther 5:4–9. [3]Ibid.,7:3–6, 9:25. [4]Ibid., 2:14–18. [5] See, for example, Talmud Bavli (TB), Megilla 13a, Sanhedrin 74b; see also Zohar Vol. 3 276a. [6] See Esther 9:20, 29–32. [7] The apocryphal book of Tobit describes the Persian cupbearer Ahiqar—whom Tobit describes as “keeper of the royal seal, calculator of the accounts.” Cf. Tobit 1:22. Tobit claimed that Ahiqar was his nephew, and that “Essar Hadon had established him as second in command.” Fifth century C.E. Assyrian papyri confirm the existence and role of this powerful figure. [8] See Rashi, TB, Kiddushin 69b, i.v. Hatirshata. [9] Talmud Yerushalmi (TJ) Kiddushin 84: Halakha 1; and the comments of Alei Tamar ad. loc. [10] Rabbi Yehuda Zoldan, “Heteirei Halakha She’nitnu L’krovim L’malchut,” Techumin 21 (5761/2001), p. 171.The phrase cited in the text is a free translation of Yehudi she’higi’a le’tafkid bachir b’ma’arechet shilton lo-Yehudit b’umot ha’olam. [11] TB Baba Kamma 83a. [12] TB Me’ila 17a. [13] Ibid. [14] TJ Avoda Zara, 82: Halakha 2. [15] Maimonides, Yad haHazaka, Hilkhot Avoda Zara 11:3. [16] Rabbi Isaac ben Shmuel Hazaken (Ri), b.v. Aycha, TB Avoda Zara, 25b. Rashi, Rabbi Isaac Alfasi (Rif), and Rabbi Joel Sirkis (Bach), all reject this opinion. [17] Tur, Yoreh Deah, 178:2. [18] Rabbi Yechezkel Landau, Noda Biyehuda, Mahdura Kamma (1st ed.): Orach Chaim: Responsum 13 (Ashkelon and Natanya (Machon Yerushalayim, 5754/1994), p. 18. [19] Rabbi Moshe Sofer, Chatam Sofer, Vol. 1, Orach Chaim: Responsum 158 (Bnei Beraq: Sifrei Kodesh Mishor, 5753/1993), p. 136. Rabbi Sofer notes that Radba”z considers cutting one’s hair during the first thirty days of mourning to be a violation of Biblical law, but that most decisors do not agree with this view. [20] Rabbi Yitzchak Nissim, Yain Hatov: Yoreh De’ah: Responsum 11 (Jerusalem 5739/1979), see especially p. 193. [21] Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, Yechave Da’at, Vol 3, Section 65 (Jerusalem: 5740/1980), pp. 205–207. [22] Rabbi Yaakov Reischer , Shvut Ya’akov, Vol. 3: Responsum 5 (Metz: J. B. Collignon, 1789), p. 10. http://hebrewbooks.org/pdfpager.aspx?req=19545&st=&pgnum=10&hilite= Rabbi Reischer begins his responsum by noting that the Talmud provides no clear guidance regarding the need to cover one’s head, and that the author of the Kol Bo rules that there is no prohibition against being bareheaded, and that decisors such as the Rif rule only that one must cover one’s head when entering a synagogue. [23] Zoldan, Heteirei Halakha, p. 179. [24] Rabbi Yitzchak Yaakov Weiss, Minchat Yitzchak, Vol. 3: Responsum 33 (New York: 5750/1990), p. 64. Rabbi Weiss also cites Shvut Yaakov. [25] Rabbi Dovid Zvi Hoffmann, Melamed Leho’il: Responsum 56 (Jerusalem, 5770/2010), pp. 235–236. It is clear from the responsum that when Rabbi Hirsch spoke of removing one’s hat, he meant that a person should be bareheaded. [26] Jacob Berkman, “Lookstein: Why I participated in National Prayer Service,” The Telegraph (January 23, 2009) http://blogs.jta.org/telegraph/article/2009/01/23/1002480/after-rankling-the-rca-looksteins-letter-eplains-his-move [27] Rabbi Moshe Sitrug, Yashiv Moshe Vol.1: 235, cited in Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, Yabia Omer Vol. , Yoreh De’ah 7: Responsum 12 (Jerusalem: 5753/1993), p. 226. [28] Ibid., pp. 227–228; Rabbi Bleich’s comments appear in J. David Bleich, “Survey of recent halakhic periodical literature: entering a non-Jewish house of worship,” Tradition 44 (Summer 2011). [29] For a discussion of police and crime prevention relating to pikuah nefesh see Rabbi Shaul Yisraeli, Amud Hayemini, Jerusalem: Machon HaTorah VehHamedina), pp. 144–146 passim. [30] Rabbi Menachem ben Rav Shlomo Lebeit Meir (HaMeiri), Beit Hebechira with notes and commentary by Rabbi Abraham Schreiber, 3rd ed., vol. 11 Bava Kama 83a (Jerusalem: Kedem, 1964), p. 239. [31] See citations of Nachmanides and others in Zoldan, Heteirei Halakha, p. 174. [32] Esther 4:14. The translation is from The Jewish Publication Society of America, The Writings: Kethubim: A new translation of THE HOLY SCRIPTURES according to the Masoretic text, Third Section (Philadelphia 1982). [33] Esther 10:3, translated ibid. [34] Yisraeli, Amud Hayemini ,p. 144 [35] The issue can be as trivial as a quarrel over teven vekash—straw. Shulhan Arukh: Orah Hayyim, 329:6, and Or Zarua, as cited there. [36] Ibid., p. 146. [37] Leading decisors, both past and present, notably the Hatam Sofer, and more recently, Rabbi Eliezer Yehuda Waldenberg and Chief Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau, have ruled that pikuah nefesh applies equally both to Jews and non-Jews. See Chatam Sofer: Vol. 1, Yoreh De’ah:Responsum 131, p. 296; Rabbi Eliezer Yehuda Waldenberg, Sefer Meshivat Nefesh, reprinted as Tzitz Eliezer, Vol. 8:15 (Jerusalem: 5745/1985), esp. pp. 86–88; Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau, Yachel Yisrael Vol. 2: Responsum 69 (Jerusalem 5752/1992), p. 378.

Book Review
By Rabbi Dr. Israel Drazin

The Koren Pirkei Avot
Translation by Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks
Commentary by Rabbi Marc D. Angel
Koren Publishers, 2015, 175 pages

Jews and non-Jews have recognized the practical wisdom of many of the sayings in Pirkei Avot, “The Ethics of the Fathers,” and many Jews can quote its teachings from memory. Jews considered the Ethics of the Fathers so significant that many excellent commentaries have been written on the Ethics and the custom arose to read one chapter a week during the summer months.

But this Koren volume is unique in half a dozen ways that make it special. The Hebrew script and English translation are broken down, as is usual in Koren books, into easy to read phrases with excellent print. The translation of the six chapters by Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks is in modern English, with Rabbi Sacks sometimes paraphrasing the Hebrew text when it makes more sense to do so rather than presenting an awkward literal English translation. Rabbi Marc D. Angel has given a very learned introduction in which he points out, among much else, that “Great sages in ancient civilizations have provided teachings to help guide humanity to harmonious, happy, and wise lives. Among the wisest and most influential teachers were those of ancient Israel.”

Rabbi Angel offers explanation of all of the wise ancient sayings, presenting both traditional commentaries as well as learned thoughts by others, Jews and non-Jews, which add depth to the teachings of the fathers. He supplements the wise lessons of the ancients with modern information such as the following. An Israeli Nobel Prize winner described the “illusion of validity”: people tend to think their judgments are valid even when based simply on first impressions or relatively short observations and are often badly mistaken. A psychiatrist wrote that “We establish irrational ideals of the ‘real’ man and the ‘right kind’ of woman, which not only separates us more and more from our genuine potentialities, but in the long run also lead us into self-destructiveness.” The philosopher of the late first and early second century CE, Epictetus, warned “Know you not that a good man does nothing for appearance sake but for the sake of having done right.” An American scientist observed: “One human trait, urging us by our nature, is the drive to be useful.”

Rabbi Angel adds historical information. He describes, for instance, the period of the Great Assembly (a congress of some seventy elders), followed by the Zuggot (leadership by the pairs), followed by the governance by descendants of the family of Hillel, and gives biographical data about each man mentioned in the book. He notes that the Ethics “represents different generations and historical conditions in the Land of Israel,” and he explains the differences. He describes five periods. He tells how there are sayings of nineteen sages who lived prior to the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE; sixteen who flourished from 70 through the early second century when Israel was under the harsh dominion of Rome; fourteen between the early second century through the Bar Kokhba rebellion against Rome in 132-135; eleven sages following the rebellion through the late second century; and eight scholars who lived between the late second century through the early third century; sixty eight wise men in all.

The book is filled with a wealth of other information, inspiring stories, and the results of psychological experiments. For example: the psychologist Erich Fromm noted that most people fail in life because they are unable to make a decision when they come to metaphorical forks in the road; people are so impressed by being watched that when a picture of two eyes is painted on an honor box to pay for beverages, people paid more than twice as much for their drinks; nations perish when its people forget where they came from.

In short, while other commentaries on Pirkei Avot have much to offer, this volume will teach readers very much in an interesting, thought-provoking, and enjoyable manner.

(The Koren Pirkei Avot with Rabbi Angel's commentary is available through our Institute's online store:  https://www.jewishideas.org/koren-pirkei-avot-commentary-rabbi-marc-d-angel)

(Rabbi Johnny Solomon teaches Tanakh, Halakha, and Jewish Thought at Machon Ma’ayan and is a freelance Jewish Education Consultant. Prior to his move to Israel, he held a number of senior positions in Jewish educational institutions, and most recently, he was the Head of Judaic Studies at Hasmonean Girls’ School (London). He studied at Yeshivat Kerem B’Yavne, University College London, and at the Montefiore Kollel in London.)

PART I: AN EXAMPLE OF MISUNDERSTANDING AND MISAPPLICATION

A. Introduction

            One of the common criticisms of Orthodoxy is that its excess focus on law detracts from the overall religious experience, and that the halakhic lifestyle replaces heartfelt emotions with halakhic mechanics. Although I disagree with such a broad criticism, I do accept that the trend toward the codification of halakha can lead to a disconnect between the emotions that a person may feel at a particular moment, and the prescribed halakhic response to such a moment.

            But there are also occasions when the halakha as codified provides ample room for individual expressions of joy and exaltation, but the trend toward “measuring” all manner of experiences—including joy itself—leads to outcomes which do not reflect the purpose of the given halakha. 

            A case in point is the SheHeheyanu berakha as it applies to the purchase of items, and as I hope to explain below, this berakha has been profoundly limited by the attempt to “measure” moments of joy which should only be measured by the feelings of the person who has received or purchased an item. As I will also explain, rather than helping to bring clarity to the situation, the proliferation of numerous halakhic handbooks have actually added further misunderstanding and misinformation concerning this blessing.

B. SheHeheyanu on the Purchase of New Items

            The Mishna[1] rules that if someone builds a house or buys new vessels, he or she must recite the berakha of SheHeheyanu; and in response to this Mishna, the Gemara[2] informs us of a debate between Rav Huna and Rav Yochanan.

            According to Rav Huna, the blessing of SheHeheyanu relates to the possession of the item (or what we may refer to as the hefza, meaning “the item”). According to this reasoning, the blessing should only be recited if the individual does not already own a house or vessel, but if he or she does, no blessing should be recited. However, Rav Yochanan is of the opinion that the blessing is connected with the emotions of the individual at the point of purchase (or what we refer to as the gavra—“the person”), which means that the blessing may be recited as long as the person feels a sense of joy when purchasing the item. This may be the case even if the item was previously owned by someone else. Thus, SheHeheyanu is solely a reflection of the feeling of the person (gavra) rather than a measure of the need of the item (hefza). It is this view of Rav Yochanan that is recorded in the Tur,[3] who also cites how his father, the Rosh,[4] was of the opinion that ein haBerakha elah al simhat haLev—the blessing [of SheHeheyanu] is solely contingent on the feelings of the person.

            A few lines later, the Tur mentions the opinion of Tosafot,[5] who draw a distinction between “important” and “unimportant” items, suggesting that SheHeheyanu should be recited upon purchasing “important” items such as a cloak, but not on the purchase of less important items, such as socks and shoes. In response to this, the Tur again cites the opinion of his father, who rules that the blessing of SheHeheyanu is determined by the emotional response of the person, since “it can only be determined by the person, for you can have a poor person who is overjoyed with the purchase of a cloak far more than the [joy felt by a] rich person who purchases important vessels.”[6]

            However, while the majority of posekim concurred with the Rosh and the Tur, the majority of people did not act in accordance with that opinion. Instead, influenced by the Tosafot cited above as well as an opinion of Rav Sherira Gaon,[7] a shift in attitude occurred whose conclusion was that SheHeheyanu began to be measured not only on the feelings of the person (gavra), but also the value of the object (heftza). 

            This jarring between two conflicting attitudes is clearly evident in Rabbi Yosef Karo’s Shulhan Arukh, which first quotes the above-cited words of the Rosh that “ein haBerakha elah al simhat haLev,”[8] but then introduces the distinction made by Tosafot between important and less-important items. Although Rabbi Karo then adds that “if a poor person purchases such items and feels a sense of joy, he may recite the blessing,”[9] Rabbi Moshe Isserles, (Rema) appends this comment with the observation that this was not the custom in Ashkenazic communities. Therefore, even a poor person should not recite a blessing in this case.[10] In fact, it would seem that even among Sephardim who are not bound by the remarks of Rema, this custom of measuring the appropriateness of reciting SheHeheyanu by both the feelings of the person (gavra) and the value of the object (hefza) has become the norm,[11] despite numerous posekim challenging such a conclusion.[12]

            The result of this inversion of the law is both remarkable in terms of its impact, and profoundly disappointing in terms of its spiritual cost. Rather than seizing the moment and expressing appreciation to God through the blessing of SheHeheyanu, someone who has purchased an item feels the need to “measure” the moment, with the hope that the joy that they feel as a result of the purchase is reflective of the importance of the item that they have purchased (see Table 1 below).

            However, what is no less telling is the manner in which contemporary rabbis and posekim have taken comfort in the shift toward measuring the blessing of SheHeheyanu, reflecting the trend identified by Rabbi Haym Soloveitchik in his seminal essay “Rupture and Reconstruction: The Transformation of Contemporary Orthodoxy”[13] of measuring Jewish practice in accordance with minimal requisite quantities (shiurim). This is despite the fact that such measures were not reflective halakha as recorded or as lived by Jews for thousands of years, and in the case of SheHeheyanu, the shift is even clearer. However, very few posekim appear to have the courage to validate that something has gone awry with respect to this blessing, and instead, they continue to perpetuate the misunderstanding and misapplication of this blessing.

            However, one such posek who had sufficient courage to take a second look at the formulation of the laws of SheHeheyanu was Rabbi Haim David Halevy. While Rabbi Halevy initially fell into the trap of auto-codifying, which is a term I have coined to describe the process whereby an author of a halakhic handbook records rulings found in previous halakhic handbooks with limited regard for their overall logic and consistency,[14] it was in response to a letter he received in February 1986, where Rabbi Halevy recognized how the halakha as codified and practiced was not in accordance with the halakha as required. He agreed and asserted that notwithstanding the misunderstanding and misapplication of this blessing, it should be recited whenever someone purchases any item that brings him or her joy.[15] Yet, despite the fact that such a conclusion is both correct and evident from all the classic and modern sources, the majority of modern halakha handbooks do not quote Rabbi Halevy and continue to perpetrate the sin of auto-codifying, and especially when exploring the rules of SheHeheyanu with respect to the purchase of a home and the purchase of shoes.

C. SheHeheyanu on the Purchase/Building of a New Home

            As was noted above, the Mishna rules that if someone builds a house he or she recites the berakha of SheHeheyanu. However, as has been noted by the Magen Avraham,[16] the Ben Ish Hai,[17] the Kaf HaHayim,[18] and others, it would seem that the opinion of Rav Sherira Gaon, coupled with the longstanding misunderstanding of the SheHeheyanu blessing has led to its falling into disuse upon the purchase of a home. Thus, there are those who do recite SheHeheyanu upon purchasing a home, those who do not, and those who adopt the (absurd) suggestion that in order to halakhically “cover yourself” when reciting a SheHeheyanu, they should either eat a new fruit or wear a new piece of clothing and intend that the SheHeheyanu on the fruit or clothes also includes the new home.[19] As should be clear from my comments above, not only do I find this third option in direct conflict with an explicit Mishna, but the premise that the joy felt when purchasing a home is equivalent to that felt when purchasing a piece of clothing or eating a new fruit is absurd, and reduces the SheHeheyanu blessing—whose recitation was supposed to be al simhat haLev, meaning a genuine personal expression of joy—to a false mechanical reaction.

D. Halakhic Handbooks and Auto-Codification

            I previously noted how the distinction between important and unimportant items was introduced by the Shulhan Arukh and how contemporary rabbis and posekim have taken comfort in the shift toward “measuring” the blessing of SheHeheyanu. To clarify, it is clear that such a distinction exists. However, in contrast to the way this distinction has been presented in halakhic handbooks, it should be clear that the only person who can “measure” the importance or otherwise of a particular item is the purchaser.[20]

            Perhaps the most remarkable expression of this attempt to “measure” the importance of an item is a table that I encountered in Rabbi Michael Yehoshua Newman’s Something NEW: A Comprehensive Guide to the Halachos of the Shehecheyanu Brocha” (Feldheim, 2009). While it is important to note that Rabbi Newman presents some of the halakhot in a clear manner, he, too, slips into the trap of auto-codification. However, given the specific nature of this halakhic handbook, the results of this error are all the more glaring. For example, while he notes that “a person should recite a Shehecheyanu brocha when purchasing a new and expensive garment, provided he is very happy about its acquisition,”[21] he then adds that “the general guidelines for determining which new garment requires a Sheheheyanu depend on its monetary worth and how frequently the garment is purchased.”[22] As has been shown above, this is not the case.

            However, what particularly interested me in this book was the table where the author specified which items do and do not meet the criteria for reciting the SheHeheyanu blessing:

Table 1. SheHeheyanu on New Garments[23]

*If a hat is made of fur (for example, a shtreimel), the SheHehayanu blessing is still recited.

It should be stressed that, while the table is not accompanied by any footnotes, it is clear that the author collated information found in this table from an assortment of other works. However, while much could be discussed about the content of this table, I would like to focus on just one feature, that being the claim that we do not recite SheHeheyanu upon the purchase of new shoes.

E. SheHeheyanu on the Purchase of New Shoes

            As has been noted above, Tosafot draws a distinction between “important” and “unimportant” items, suggesting that SheHeheyanu should be recited upon purchasing important items, such as a cloak, but not on the purchase of less important items, such as socks and shoes.

            While one could debate whether a person is overjoyed with the purchase of a pair of socks, I think that it is fair to say that many people are thrilled when they purchase a pair of shoes, which is why the mention of shoes by Tosafot, Rema, and Rabbi Newman is all the more perplexing.

            To understand why this is mentioned, it should be noted that Rema cites the opinion of the German posek Rabbi Yaakov Weil,[24] who was of the opinion that SheHeheyanu is not recited for leather items since their production involves the death of an animal. Although Rema dismisses this as being a weak reason, he does admit that this is probably why many people choose not to make this blessing when purchasing shoes.[25] However, this consideration does not appear to the basis for Tosafot’s initial remark, so the question remains why shoes were not considered to be important?

            A possible answer to this question is found in Rabbi Eliezer Melamed’s popular Peninei Halakha books.[26] Though he does not refer to historical works, Rabbi Melamed claims, I believe correctly, that the purpose of shoes have changed, and where they previously were viewed to be a simple way of protecting the foot while walking, they are now regarded as being items of importance and fashion. Given this shift in the perspective and value of shoes, and the fact that many of us receive no less joy and pleasure from our shoes than other items, Rabbi Melamed explains that they should be viewed as all other important types of clothes; consequently, it would be appropriate to recite the SheHeheyanu blessing on their purchase. Of course, it goes without saying that such logic is unnecessary for the Rosh who believes that ein haBerakha elah al simhat haLev, so, if shoes make you happy, you should recite the SheHeheyanu blessing.

F. Conclusion

            The SheHeheyanu blessing was established to capture a moment of joy through expressing appreciation to God. However, for a variety of reasons outlined above, it has been reduced through a series of misunderstandings and misapplications to become a blessing that far too few of us recite. Rather than SheHeheyanu expressing heartfelt emotions, it has now become an example of halakhic mechanics.

            In addition to this, the solutions offered by some posekim to meet the criteria suggested by outlying opinions (such as the suggestion to halakhically “cover yourself” when reciting a SheHeheyanu by eating a new fruit or wearing a new piece of clothing) has marginalized this blessing even further.

            But beyond presenting how this blessing has devolved, what the examples cited above are intended to show is the ease in which people fall into the trap of auto-codification, which I have defined as the act of writing halakhic handbooks with limited regard for their overall logic and consistency. As I noted, even Rabbi Halevy fell into this trap. However, consistent with his pursuit of intellectual honesty, when this matter was brought to his attention, Rabbi Halevy revised his ruling. Suffice to say, the time has come to reconnect with the beautiful SheHeheyanu blessing and to realize that we don’t need a halakhic handbook to teach us that ein haBerakha elah al simhat haLev.

PART  II: AUTO-CUSTOMIZATION, OBJECTIFICATION, AND  VALIDATION OF THE JOY OF A BRIDE AND GROOM

1. Introduction

            In Part One, I described the disconnect between SheHeheyanu as a blessing of joy and its usage in the modern period. Rather than SheHeheyanu being a spontaneous expression of joyful feelings at a particular moment, halakhic handbooks—as opposed to the emotions of the individual at a particular moment—have become the arbiters for gauging simha (joy). Rather than SheHeheyanu expressing heartfelt emotions, it has now become an example of halakhic mechanics.

            In this section, I explore minhagim (customs), specifically, the various customs concerning the recitation—or non-recitation—of SheHeheyanu on the occasion of a wedding. In so doing I hope to show how we have fallen into the trap of “auto-customization” (which is a term I have coined to describe the process of maintaining customs with little regard for their logic and their symbolism), and how the prevalent custom the groom reciting a SheHeheyanu blessing under the Huppah deserves a further look. I will also be highlighting the work of Rabbi Haim David Halevy (1924–1998), whose pursuit for intellectual honesty led him to adopt a refreshing approach to this issue. 

2. SheHeheyanu by a Groom under the Huppah

            Among the many customs performed at Jewish weddings is that the groom wraps himself with a tallit while standing under the Huppah.²⁷ Although the inclusion of a tallit as part of the wedding ceremony is regarded by many to have considerable halakhic significance,²⁸ it is also a well-known and oft-cited practice that the groom is given a new tallit on which he recites the SheHeheyanu blessing.²⁹ While this practice itself is unremarkable, what is remarkable is what the groom is expected to “have in mind” while reciting this SheHeheyanu blessing. As the well-known Sephardic halakhic handbook Yalkut Yosef³⁰ explains:

Prior to [the groom] reciting the SheHeheyanu blessing, the rabbi who is the Mesader Kiddushin³¹ should inform him that he should intend that the SheHeheyanu blessing be primarily associated with the new tallit while also intending to include within the SheHeheyanu blessing the mitzvah of marriage, and similarly, to include the clothes and the new hat that he is wearing on his wedding day. And this also applies to the house, and the new furniture and the other new items that he received as gifts for their wedding [and on the bride who is new to him].³²

            What we see in this passage is that when the groom recites the SheHeheyanu on his new tallit, he should have in mind the act of marriage, a variety of other items, and his new bride. Especially given the way that this passage has been written, it would seem that the recitation of SheHeheyanu by the groom implicitly objectifies the bride,³³ and that the joy of a wedding is considered to be secondary to the joy of wearing a new tallit. Moreover, it would appear from this excerpt, which only speaks about SheHeheyanu being recited by the groom, that we are only concerned with the joy felt by the groom, notwithstanding the fact that numerous other rabbinic sources emphasise the importance of bringing joy to both bride and groom on their wedding day.³⁴

            In order for us to understand this practice we must take a step back and address a number of simple questions such as: a) Whether SheHeheyanu should be recited at a wedding;  b) if the SheHeheyanu blessing should be recited at a wedding, who should recite it; and c) Why do we employ this convoluted “solution” as a way for the groom to express the joy he is feeling at his own wedding?

3. Should SheHeheyanu Be Recited at a Wedding?

            To begin with, neither the Gemara nor Rambam mentions the practice of reciting SheHeheyanu at a wedding. For some, this omission leads to the conclusion that SheHeheyanu should not be recited,³⁵ while others point out that we cannot draw any conclusions from this fact.³⁶ Nonetheless, what does emerge from this debate are two schools of thought concerning the recitation of SheHeheyanu at a wedding. Some authorities insist that a wedding certainly qualifies as a time of sufficient joy to demand the recitation of the SheHeheyanu blessing, while other authorities are either of the opinion that SheHeheyanu should not be recited at a wedding, or at least they try and offer reasons why this is not the common practice.

1. SheHeheyanu should be recited. 

            According to a number of halakhic authorities, SheHeheyanu should be recited at a wedding, and according to Rabbi Yaakov Emden,³⁷ SheHeheyanu should be recited at both an engagement and at a wedding.³⁸ The rationale for this position is that SheHeheyanu is an outlet for expressing joy and the joy of a wedding is certainly of sufficient magnitude to deserve the recitation of the SheHeheyanu blessing. Thus, Rabbi Emden rules that SheHeheyanu should be recited at a wedding by both the bride and groom since given that they are both joyous.

ii) SheHeheyanu should be recited “B’lo Shem U’Malkhut.”

            While citing the opinion of Rabbi Emden and agreeing with his logic, Rabbi Hayyim Yosef David Azulay—often referred to by the acronym “Hida”—states that SheHeheyanu should be recited at a wedding but “B’lo Shem U’Malkhut,”³⁹ meaning in an abridged form without using the name of God. While the Hida does not explain why this blessing should be recited without including God’s name, Rabbi Elazar Horvitz⁴⁰ suggests that this may be due to the possibility that the couple may not bring joy to each other’s lives,⁴¹ and consequently, the blessing may be in vain.⁴²

iii) SheHeheyanu should be recited, but practically, we are not sure when to recite it.

            A third approach is offered by Rabbi Yechiel Michael Epstein, author of the Arukh haShulhan. While Rabbi Epstein recognizes that a wedding is a fitting occasion to recite the SheHeheyanu blessing, he explains that there is no truly suitable time during the marriage ceremony when this blessing should be recited, and in so doing, justifies the practice of its non-recitation.⁴³

iv) SheHeheyanu should not be/is not recited at a wedding.

            Finally, a number of authorities rule that SheHeheyanu should not be recited, or at least find a rationale for its non-recitation, for the following reasons:

• A wedding does not have a fixed time and (according to some authorities), we do not recite a SheHeheyanu on an event that does not occur miZeman laZeman.⁴⁴
• We do not recite a blessing on an act that is dependent on the will of another ⁴⁵
• SheHeheyanu is not recited on a mitzvah that is long-lasting.⁴⁶
• The key mitzvah of a marriage is the mitzvah of peru u’Revu (be fruitful and multiply), which means that the mitzvah of marriage is not fully completed at a wedding ceremony.⁴⁷

4. Why We Do What We Do

            Given the considerable debate on the issue of reciting SheHeheyanu at a wedding, few communities insist that it be recited by the bride and groom,⁴⁸ and few communities take an absolute position that it should not be recited.⁴⁹ Instead, the common practice is that the groom recites SheHeheyanu on his new tallit while “having in mind” the wedding. However, as I have sought to explain, this practice is not a fair reflection of any of the above-mentioned opinions. As noted above, Rabbi Emden considered it a duty of both bride and groom to recite SheHeheyanu, while common practice only involves the groom. In fact, even Rabbi Yaakov Sofer, who records the debate between Rabbi Yaakov Emden and the Hida and who sides with the Hida, records a different solution to the one prevalent in Jewish weddings. According to Rabbi Sofer, both bride and groom—as well as the fathers of both the bride and groom⁵⁰—should either recite SheHeheyanu on a new piece of clothing or a new fruit, and “have in mind” the wedding.             However, if this is impractical, Rabbi Sofer is of the opinion that SheHeheyanu should be recited at the wedding (apparently by all these parties) B’lo Shem U’Malkhut.⁵¹ Thus, neither Rabbi Emden, the Hida, or Rabbi Sofer suggest that SheHeheyanu should only be recited by the groom, nor suggest that this blessing should “cover” all the gifts and clothes that the couple receive as wedding gifts.⁵² Thus, the ruling of Yalkut Yosef does not authentically reflect any of these opinions. Instead, it records common practice, notwithstanding the fact that this does not reflect the opinion of any of the primary sources that address this issue. Rather, it conflicts with the values implicit in those opinions by disregarding the joy of a bride on her wedding day.  

5. Rabbi Halevy’s Approach to SheHeheyanu at a Wedding

            In contrast to the ruling of the Yalkut Yosef, Rabbi Halevy, adopts quite a different approach to this issue, which provides a fascinating reflection of his intellectual honesty, as well as an example of how he recognized the central role of emotions in Jewish practice.⁵³  Rabbi Halevy was fully aware of the different opinions on this matter, and he was also well aware of common practice amongst Sephardim. At the same time, Rabbi Halevy was of the belief that weddings are joyous occasions, and are seemingly suitable and necessary occasions for SheHeheyanu to be recited. This led Rabbi Halevy to an unusual situation where he felt the need to explain the general custom of not reciting the SheHeheyanu blessing at a wedding while also explaining why, and how, this blessing should be recited on a wedding day.

            To begin, Rabbi Halevy states that he is unconvinced by the rationale offered by Rabbi Epstein regarding the impossibility of identifying when the blessing should be recited, ⁵⁴ and he also dismisses those who claim that SheHeheyanu should not be recited at a wedding because it does not have a fixed time. Rabbi Halevy then addresses those opinions who defend the omission of SheHeheyanu at a wedding because the couple may not bring joy to each other’s lives, making specific reference to the remarks of Rabbi Moshe Sofer (often referred to as the Hatam Sofer), who distinguishes between the SheHeheyanu recited when a person receives an object due to a predetermined divine plan, and the SheHeheyanu which a person may wish to recite when marrying a partner whom he or she has chosen of his or her own free will.⁵⁵ Yet, here too, Rabbi Halevy is skeptical of this distinction, since a person is no less free to purchase an item or a home for which SheHeheyanu would be recited than he or she is to choose a marriage partner.

            This leads Rabbi Halevy to offer his own rationale concerning why SheHeheyanu is generally not recited at a wedding. He explains that while a wedding day is a day of joy, it is also a day when both bride and groom are anxious. He proves this point by referring to the many rabbinic sources which speak about the need to bring joy to the bride and groom,⁵⁶ from which he learns that there is a need to bring joy to the bride and groom on their wedding day since it is a day of mixed emotions when they may be nervous about their future. Based on this reasoning, Rabbi Halevy explains the general Sephardic practice, which is based on the ruling of the Hida, of reciting the SheHeheyanu blessing B’Lo Shem U’Malkhut.

            However, it appears that Rabbi Halevy is not entirely satisfied. There is a sense that Rabbi Halevy feels torn on this issue, and in light of his halakhic approach, which places considerable emphasis on the role of emotion in Jewish practice, it would appear as if Rabbi Halevy has a nagging feeling that notwithstanding all the different reasons that he and others have offered in order to defend why this blessing is not recited at a wedding, the joy of a wedding is certainly of sufficient magnitude to deserve the recitation of SheHeheyanu. Therefore, when Rabbi Halevy records this practice in his Mekor Haim Hashalem, he quotes both Rabbi Emden and the Hida while apparently leaving it up to readers to choose their own direction. As he explains:

A man who is worthy to marry a suitable wife who is dear to him should recite SheHeheyanu. And our teacher the Hida ruled that he should recite the blessing B’Lo Shem U’Malkhut.⁵⁷

            Thus, Rabbi Halevy is true to his community, while also allowing his readers to be true to themselves. Yet, what should also be noted is that Rabbi Halevy draws no connection between the SheHeheyanu recited upon wearing a new tallit and the SheHeheyanu recited as an expression of joy by a bride and groom who are getting married.⁵⁸ At the same time, it should also be noted that his comments in Mekor Haim Hashalem do not address the possibility of a bride reciting the SheHeheyanu blessing.

            However, in his work Mekor Haim LiB’not Yisrael, Rabbi Halevy provides a more thorough treatment of this issue where he explains the following:

Someone who marries a suitable wife who is dear to him should recite SheHeheyanu. And the woman herself should also recite SheHeheyanu. However, our teacher the Hida ruled that the blessing should be without the mention of Shem U’Malkhut. Therefore, the correct thing to do is when the groom and bride are putting on their new clothes on their wedding day they should recite the SheHeheyanu blessing and while doing so, intend to include the wedding with this blessing.⁵⁹

            What we see here is how Rabbi Halevy identifies a pathway that still adheres to the opinion of the Hida but that also provides a framework for both bride and groom to express the joy they are feeling on their wedding day.⁶⁰ Consequently, when a bride and groom are getting themselves ready for their wedding and putting on their new clothes, he suggests that they take a moment to reflect on the significance of this occasion by reciting the SheHeheyanu blessing. In contrast to Yalkut Yosef, which records a custom whose origins are tenuous at best and which not only disregards the joy of a bride but in fact objectifies her, Rabbi Halevy’s ruling takes the emotions of both bride and groom into consideration while also showing regard for the common custom of not reciting SheHeheyanu on the wedding alone.⁶¹

6. Conclusion

            As I have explained, there are divergent opinions regarding whether SheHeheyanu should be recited at a wedding. However, the common practice of including the recitation of SheHeheyanu when the groom puts on a new tallit is not in keeping with any of those who endorse its recitation. Rather than the SheHeheyanu reflecting the mutual joy felt by bride and groom, the current practice objectifies a bride, despite the fact that her independence, both in terms of her personhood and her joy, are core to the values underpinning a Jewish wedding. Given all the above, I consider the common practice to be a good example of “auto-customization,” where we follow a practice with little regard for its logic and symbolism. Although Rabbi Halevy does not insist of reforming the wedding ceremony, his keen eye and sensitivity to Jewish law and human emotions identifies an authentic pathway in keeping with the practices of his community, while also reflecting the emotions of both bride and groom.

Abraham must have been a very unpopular man in the society and family in which he was raised. He wouldn't likely have been elected to lead the citizenry of Ur Kasdim. He rejected their worldview, smashed their idols, repudiated their (un)ethical system. Who would vote for Abraham? He was a starry-eyed mystic and philosopher, not interested in pandering to the values and interests of his fellow citizens.

A Midrash tells a story that Terah, Abraham's father, was not only an idolater, but did business manufacturing and selling idols. One night, the young Abraham went into his father's shop and smashed all the idols, except one. In that last idol's hand, Abraham placed a hammer. When Terah went to his shop the next morning, he was shocked to see the idols broken to pieces. He asked Abraham: who could have done such a terrible act of vandalism? Abraham answered: the idol holding the hammer must have smashed the other idols. Terah responded: that's impossible, that idol is made of stone, it can't do anything. Abraham retorted: if you don't believe a stone idol can smash other idols, why do you believe it is a powerful god? It's just a piece of powerless stone!

Children like this story because it shows how Abraham outsmarted his father, thereby demonstrating the foolishness of idolatry. Abraham thus made his preliminary case for the truth of ethical monotheism.

As we grow older, though, this story requires a more sophisticated interpretation. After all, we do not think that idolaters really believe that their idols are gods. Rather, the idols are symbols of gods. Terah certainly would never have imagined that one of his idols could act autonomously. He would have thought that his idols were symbols of gods, or that in some way the gods' spirits rested within the idols. So he would not have been impressed with Abraham's question and seeming refutation of idolatry. By analogy, we pledge allegiance to the flag--but the flag is just a piece of cloth, with little intrinsic value. When someone burns the flag, though, we are outraged--not because a piece of cloth was set ablaze, but because that flag is a powerful symbol to us of our nation and our values. Terah would have been outraged to see his idols shattered, in a similar sense to the outrage we feel when our flag is desecrated.

Perhaps that Midrash was alluding to a deeper idea. It was telling us something important about Abraham that would have convinced God to choose Abraham to be father of a new nation.

Abraham was living in Terah's household. He knew his father worshipped idols and promoted idolatry. What young boy wants to rise up against his father's values and his father's business? It would have been so much easier for Abraham to hold his peace, and wait until he was old enough to live on his own before he espoused his monotheistic views. Moreover, even if Abraham chose to argue with his father about the worthlessness of idols, why would he have vandalized his father's shop, an action that was bound to generate a lot of discussion and anger among the townspeople? Furthermore, why would he make a public mockery of idolatry while living in a society full of idolaters? It would have been so much more convenient for Abraham to remain silent, to keep his ideas to himself, to respect the mores of his father, his birthplace, his society.

The Midrash is teaching us that Abraham was a powerful, courageous individual who was not afraid to dissent from the majority when he knew that the majority was wrong. Abraham was willing to risk his own comfort by defying the perverse ideas and values of his father and of the entire idolatrous society. He did not just speak out against idolatry: he had the gumption to smash idols, to bring matters to a head. He was not "diplomatic" in espousing belief in one God and in rejecting idolatry.

Thus, when God saw that Abraham was absolutely not "electable" by his community, God decided that Abraham was His man. God "elected" Abraham--a man of incredible personal strength and vision--to set out on the journey, to leave his society, his birthplace, his father's home. God elected Abraham to establish a new nation, with a new vision, a new idealism, a new ethical system, a new way of relating to God.

The words "lekh lekha" are commonly translated: get thee out. But they can also be translated as: go to yourself. In the latter sense, God was telling Abraham: go to yourself, to your own inner core; don't be misled by your father and his society; don't strive to conform and get along. Stand on your own, be true to yourself. If you "go to yourself" and stay faithful to who you are, you will be the father of a great nation.

            To read Talmud is to experience it in translation. Too often, we prevent ourselves from considering what “Oral Torah” really means. We know that the sages considered it forbidden to write their own teachings down, and that all their material was recorded in human memory rather than on parchment. But a recitation and a reading are not merely presenting the same information in different media; a book is read by a reader, while a sage speaks with a listener. The differences between these two activities are many and profound.

            The sages—especially the Amoraim, who are in general more talkative about their lives—reflect often about their learning as an oral experience. For example, here is what R. Gidol says in the Yerushalmi (Shabbat 1:2):

One who says a tradition—while saying it he should see the teacher of that tradition as if he were standing before him. And what is the reason? “Even in the image should a person walk.” (Tehilim 39)

            Although the verse from Tehilim is normally understood as referring to the precariousness of human existence (“even a person walks around like a shadow”), R. Gidol retunes it to the context of studying Torah. In his reading, tselem does not mean “shadow” but “image” or “impression” in the sense of the facial expression and body language of a speaker, and yithalekh refers to the conduct of the student. Thus, the sense of the verse is that it is not enough to repeat the right words; one must also evoke the very appearance of the original speaker. Something more is drawn out of R. Gidol's remark by commentator Korban HaEdah:

The most essential part of learning from a teacher lies in looking at the face, as it says, “Your eyes should be looking at your teacher.” (Yeshayahu 30, ad loc)

            The most essential part! We modern students are likely not to think about the faces of the sages at all. But consider how fundamental is the information conveyed by facial expression: how the teacher feels about the subject matter (is there something dangerous or reassuring about it, is it sensitive information, or ought we to have known it already?), as well as what is anticipated in the listener's response. The importance of the teacher's facial expression recurs in the Yerushalmi, as in the story from Beitsah (5:5) in which Ribi throws a party on Shabbat, only to hear R. Meir standing outside his house, scolding him for all the noise. When Ribi demands in response, “Who's throwing a chill over us, here in our own house?” R. Meir turns to flee. Ribi, who had evidently burst out of the house to chase him away, has a strange change of mood while contemplating R. Meir's rapidly disappearing back.

            About this incident, he would later say, “I only merited Torah because I saw R. Meir's back.” In (Bavli) Eruvin 13b, his regret seems keener: “And if only I had seen him from the front, I would be even sharper, as it is written (in Yeshayahu 30) “Your eyes should be watching your teacher.”

            We certainly need not imagine that Ribi's wish is based on some mystical association with the front half of the body. Rather, the vital context a facial expression conveys is immediately recognizable to anyone who has attempted delicate conversation by correspondence. Just how angry was R. Meir? The difference between passing crankiness and shocked rage makes all the difference in what R. Meir is communicating about transgressing Shabbat.

            But gaze in the transmission of teaching is not conceived in the Talmud as unidirectional. While the student is absorbed in studying the teacher's face, the teacher, too, is watching the student. For example, in Mishna Nidah 8:3, the glances of R. Akiva's students cause him to completely revise how he expresses an idea:

It happened that a certain woman came before R. Akiva. She said to him, “I saw a stain.” He said to her, “Perhaps you have an injury?” She said to him, “Yes, but it healed.” “Or could you scratch it to bring out the blood?” She said to him, “Yes,” and he ruled that she was tehorah. He saw his students looking at one another. He said to them, “Why should this seem problematic to you? After all, the sages did not speak of this matter [stains] to be stringent, but only to be lenient, as it says and a woman when she becomes a zavah, blood will flow on her flesh (vaYikra 16:19): [flowing blood,] and not a stain!”

            Such a personal, reciprocal influence on a text we often think of as immutable brings me to research on the oral traditions of indigenous peoples in North America. To travel such a cultural distance is necessary, since too much thinking about the Jewish oral tradition amounts to no more than textualist fantasy about what oral tradition must be like—for example, supposing that it is inherently more vulnerable to fraud or error, or that orality necessitates the tight control of information by a highly-trained, distant elite. There is little point debating about the theoretical merit of these conjectures, because scholarship on and by people living in communities with oral tradition shows that reality operates quite differently.[1] Learning from First Nations authors, we can not only correct our misconceptions, but become aware of issues textualists have no reason to think about, such as how ethical and religious norms might be absorbed differently in an oral society. On this point, Anishnaabe poet and scholar Kimberly M. Blaeser writes that the inevitable exchange between speaker and listener, even if the listener remains entirely silent, has the effect of forming important bonds between the people involved—both emotional and in terms of creating social norms that feel “natural” to everyone involved:

Indeed, we become the stories we tell, don't we? We become the people and places of our past because our identity is created, our perspective formed, of their telling. This communal identification comes about most fully when the oral involves an active exchange, when it incites response or a sense of response-ability in the listener.[2]

            Blaeser's insight gives us an unexpected tool for understanding the diversity in the sages' backgrounds. We might expect that in a memory-based culture, learners must begin when they are young children if they want a hope of becoming expert in their people's teaching. Elisha ben Abuya certainly seems to suggest as much in Pirkei Avot 4:20, although the analogy of an older mind to paper which has been smoothed and thinned by erasure, may be more complex than it appears at first glance. In any case, what we find in practice is that the sages include an unusually high number of talented adult learners, both converts and people raised in non-traditional households—as a small sample from among the most famous sages, for example, R. Akiva, R. Meir, and R. Eliezer. Many of Hazal were also haverim, members of a society interested in behaving according to laws of ritual purity and impurity, and it seems according to Tosefta Demai (second chapter) that haverim were usually made rather than born. It is possible that the face-to-face, subtly collaborative nature of Talmud in fact made assimilation and the solidification of a core group ethos a natural, almost self-propelled process. The affect of the teacher conveys information not just about the text, but about the value of the student and of the teacher-student exchange. The newcomer to an oral tradition is already a contributor and companion of their teachers and peers. A newcomer to a textual tradition can do, and usually does, the bulk of study in a solitary and invisible manner, and may never reach a point of literacy at which their own contributions are possible.

            So much for what living speakers can bring to a text; but what about cues for vocal inflection in the text itself? Or is it a hopeless task to recover something so fleeting as the physicality of a speaker who died more than a thousand years ago? It is less impossible than we think, because the Talmud has highly specialised vocabulary to cue the reader to a vanished speaker's intonation.

            Take, for example, this trio of talmudic phrases: Ileima, Iba’it Eima, Im nafshekha lomar. Each of them means “If you want, say...” but they are by no means used interchangeably. The first indicates that whatever will be said will be immediately shown to be untrue. The second is used more neutrally yet no less specifically to introduce the second of two possibilities. The third phrase introduces the second of two possibilities where the very existence of two possibilities is strange, in fact slightly suspect.

            From the perspective of clarity, there is no reason to make such delicate distinctions: Context makes all of these details obvious already, and in any case none of them really changes the substance of what is being said. However, like inverted question marks, each prompts a change in intonation which makes the ideas much easier to follow for a listener—and more human. This is true for much of the other technical language of the Talmud, such as the painstaking distinction made between words for questions which are critical and questions which are curious.

            Sometimes the Talmud's technical terms do not indicate tone, but reduce the cognitive load on people exchanging complex ideas orally. A reader does not need a standardized term such as Iteima (yet another variation of “if you say,” used to introduce a potential alternate author of a tradition), but such repetitive, reliable phrasing is invaluable for a listener who is being asked to hold on to many ideas at once. Here the Talmud is very like the Iliad and the Odyssey, texts that also crystallized from an oral tradition, which employ epithets and catch-phrases to ease the burden on both speaker and audience.

            When people think about Homer, they notice that the little pattern of catch-phrases also happens on a larger scale, in what are called type-scenes. One example would be the arming scene, where a hero puts on his armour prior to battle. In every arming scene, we can expect the same structure: The hero dresses himself in the same pieces of armour in the same order, the narrator lingers on descriptions of the shield, and we finish with the hero picking up his spear.

            The Talmud has its own parallel to these. One example would be where unnamed hakhamim debate with a single sage over whether a law can be deduced from another case, or if the situations cannot be compared, because their individual contexts are importantly unique (the technical term for this being dayo lavo min hadin lihyot kanidon). Nidah 4:6 and Baba Kama 2:5 are of this same type.[3] Another group can be formed from Mishnayot that do permutations of possible actions across different types of social space (Baba Kama 3:7, Baba Kama 5:5, Eruvin 10:5).[4] We might even classify chapters of Mishna in a similar way; for example, there is a kind of chapter where every or almost every Mishna begins with the very same word (Baba Kama 4, “An ox,” Nidah 3, “She miscarries”).

            A reader, even a very learned one, might have to hunt for these patterns, if they were noticed at all. A reciter cannot avoid taking notice; it is the difference between hiking through rocks and walking on a polished floor. Eleven Mishnayot in the middle of the sixth chapter of Nidah, patterned as “all XY but not all YX,” run together into a smooth and lasting speech/memory with only a few moments of focused work. This is powerful architecture to support a high mental burden, and it is important to recognize their function, rather than to try to draw too much localized meaning from the wording of a type—to treat the memory-buttress as if it were a Torah verse to be closely read. It is not meant for reading at all.

            So far we have looked at talmudic text that shows sedimentation of its original life as an oral tradition. But the Talmud also contains explicit descriptions of people engaged in learning. What was the normal process for a sage trying to absorb new material? From Taanit 7b–8a, we see that this is what the Amoraim would do: They would listen to the teaching, and then repeat it in private until it stuck. When they talk about repeating, they do not mean running silent mental laps through the Mishna, but using their full voices and bodies—Beruriah kicked a student in her Bet Midrash for “only” whispering, telling him, “When [the teaching] is set in your two hundred and forty-eight body parts, it will last; if not, it will not last” (Eruvin 53b).

            When students felt sure of themselves, they would return to their teachers and recite the teaching in front of them to be checked. While R. Adda bar Abbahu took 24 repetitions to feel confident, Reish Lakish took 40 (Taanit 8a). I attribute both this and the fact that Reish Lakish does a lot of thinking elsewhere about memorization to the fact that he began his studies later in life. In Taanit 8a, he gives further advice, emphasizing that regularly revisiting (that is, reciting) what one has been taught is the key to mastering it; in the Yerushalmi, he imagines the material he has learned warning him, “Leave me for one day, and I will leave you for two” (Berakhot 9:5).

            How remote all of this seems for the yeshiva student habituated to the rhythm of the morning seder, where the balance of one's gaze is fixed on the page. What does an awareness of this remoteness ask of us, and also say about us? Are we clinging to our tomes like overboard sailors with broken planks, shipwrecked from authentic understanding? One could answer: Was Ribi, when he mourned the impossibility of bringing back R. Meir in order to behold his face? Certainly not, but we see that he registered that absence as meaningful. A cultivated awareness of difference in learning practices can only sharpen our perception of the sages and their literature, as it gives us new and crucial questions to ask the text: What is the tone? How ought the voice to rise or fall? Is the effort of these words bent on drawing the picture for us more precisely, or are they in service of a labored act of speech and memory? We become aware, like R. Gidol, of a demand to picture everything in the most human and physical of terms. Far from alienation, this opens for us the possibility of deep correspondence with the departed other, whose voice now uses our vocal cords, tongue, teeth, even the cavities of our skull to sound. Nor must we fear, according to tradition, that this is hopelessly one-sided; as R. Yohanan said in the name of R. Shimon bar Yohai: “Every talmid hakham, when they say a teaching in his name in this world, his lips flutter in the grave” (Yebamoth 97a).

Festina Lente: Make Haste Slowly
The Changing Status of Orthodox Women in the Twenty-First Century

Festina Lente. This is the ancient Latin term that means "Make haste... slowly." The problem of where to put the emphasis, on "haste" or "slowly," well characterizes the divergence of views regarding the pace of change in women's roles in Orthodox Judaism, and the frequent sense of frustration, conflict, and misunderstanding, with some feeling that the pace is too fast, others too slow.

Let me begin with a disclaimer. I am not a halakhic expert on this or any subject. I have no intention here of offering a halakhic analysis, although halakha will be very much present throughout; one cannot talk about Orthodoxy, whether it pertains to women, men, or children, without referring to halakha, but I make absolutely no claim to authority or expertise in that realm. 
My mother, Nathalie Friedman, who passed away seven years ago, was far ahead of her time on the issue of women's empowerment. First, her professional achievements: She earned a Ph.D. in Sociology and had an active and successful academic career at a time when that was not the norm for women. Second, she jumped on the women's tefilla bandwagon as soon as it swung past her door, and she became a fabulous Torah reader. She was also very active in JOFA, the Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance, and as a professional sociologist she conducted illuminating studies on women's roles in Judaism. I have prepared this article in her honor, and in her spirit I will offer a sociological perspective on women's roles in Jewish Orthodoxy.

By "Orthodoxy," I mean what is commonly known as Modern, or mainstream Orthodoxy. We all know that labels can be problematic, but I am deliberately avoiding the topic of women within ultra-right-wing Orthodoxy, where the issues are somewhat different, although that stream of course cannot be completely separated from what I call mainstream Orthodoxy, especially in Israel, where all personal status issues fall under the auspices of the Orthodox rabbinate, which in the last ten to twenty years has transformed into a right wing rabbinate. This transformation has had enormous ramifications on marriage, divorce, burial and conversion, all of which must take place within the parameters of Orthodox ritual as defined by the official rabbinate. I will discuss this further below.

Why is the role of women within Orthodoxy in the twenty-first century even worthy of discussion? The answer is clear and simple, and you must forgive me if I state it rather bluntly: Women do not have equal status with men in any significant sphere of Orthodox Jewish practice. In general society, the status of women has changed dramatically from Talmudic times, or the later period of the codification of halakha, to the present day. Consequently there is now an enormous and growing gap between the role of women in the professional, political, and social spheres of modern life and in Orthodox religious life. I don't think that point is open to dispute. In the words of Susanna Heschel, "Both the most traditional Jew and the most radical feminist would agree that rigid sex-role differentiation is embedded in Judaism. The tension arises from one's response to this reality in the context of modernity" (from the book, On Being a Jewish Feminist).

As a girl growing up in an Orthodox household, I was told that men had their role and women theirs. The women created the Jewish home by raising the children with Jewish values and creating the spiritual home environment that was critical to the life and survival of the Jewish people. When I was in fourth to sixth grades at Ramaz (a New York City Day School), all our classes were co-ed (which at that time was a radical innovation!), except once a week, when the girls had sewing while the boys learned trop, the cherished skill of reading from the Torah. (Although I must state that both prior to and after my time at Ramaz, both boys and girls learned Torah-reading together.) As nice as the traditional role of the Jewish woman sounds, things have changed, especially because of the feminist movement. Often you will hear young women say today, "I'm not a feminist-of course I believe in equal access to education, employment and professional opportunities, equal pay, etc., but I'm not a feminist." Well, sorry, but as much as many may dislike the word, the equality they profess, even take for granted, is the historical achievement of feminism. I understand that what many may object to is post-feminist ideology and radicalism, but this should not negate the basic equal opportunities that are the feminist movement's great achievement.

Sometimes it is difficult to know which traditions are inviolable, etched in stone, and which allow for some flexibility, especially when they were established in circumstances specific to a certain time and place that no longer exist or have become irrelevant. And it is that indefinable area of fluid tradition where much of the discussion takes place regarding the role of women in Orthodoxy. I first heard the concept, "where there is a rabbinic will, there is a halakhic way," close to thirty years ago at a lecture at Kehillath Jeshurun by Blu Greenberg, who is one of the pioneers in the Orthodox women's movement. Her topic was women and the halakha. Her book, On Women and Judaism: A View from Tradition, had just been published, and her observation hit me like a bolt of lightning. It was the first time that I heard about the potentially dynamic nature of halakha. I remember her words then, which were similar to the sentences I quote here from her book: "Halakha was intended to be preserved, and there is a healthy difference between preserving and freezing solid.

Preserving does not preclude bringing to the system human responses that will enhance and expand Torah values. Those who counter this claim with labels of Conservative and Reform are simply playing the name game, an easy way to avoid confronting the issues." 
Why have things become frozen solid? They weren't always so, at least if we are to accept the main argument of Haym Soloveichik's well-known article in Tradition ("Rupture and Reconstruction: The Transformation of Contemporary Orthodoxy," Summer 1994), namely that Jewish traditions and customs embedded in inherited practice have yielded to practice determined solely by written codes. Soloveitchik points out that the "dual tradition of the intellectual and the mimetic, law as taught and law as practiced, which stretched back for centuries," has broken down over the past 100-150 years as Arukh haShulhan and Mishna Berura have become the arbiters of correct halakhic practice. This helps explain how and why we find ourselves today in a somewhat frozen state.

In preparing this article I spoke with another Jewish woman pioneer, Alice Shalvi, who is an Israel Prize laureate for lifetime achievement and contribution to Israeli society in recognition of her wide-ranging work as principal of the Pelech religious experimental high school for girls, as university professor of English, as President of the Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies, and as one of the founders of Israel's women's movement. Alice Shalvi spoke with me about the exclusion of women within three central Jewish institutions: the Bet Midrash, the Bet Kenesset and the Bet Din. This seems a useful framework, and in this presentation we shall use it to examine some twenty-first-century issues, realities, and challenges. These three batim are not entirely separate; they overlap, integrate with and influence one another in numerous ways. And we will discuss these matters with implicit reference to the question implied in Festina Lente: Make haste... slowly. How quickly or slowly? We will see that the pace at which the exclusionary nature of each of these institutions is being modified is not at all the same, and different individuals feel more comfortable with the haste being slow, slower or as slow as possible, while others cannot abide the slow haste and decide to remove themselves entirely from Orthodoxy.

Of those three batim mentioned by Alice Shalvi, there seems to be consensus that the greatest progress for women has been made in the Bet Midrash, the study hall of Torah. My mother's greatest accomplishments were in her own education and in her educating other women. Alice Shalvi's greatest accomplishments have been in the same area-education. And this is all fitting and proper, for education and training of women is the essential beginning, the sine qua non, for progress in any other area.

The credit for starting women's Torah education in modern times probably goes to Sara Schenirer, who in 1918 founded the Beis Yaakov movement in Poland, with approval of the great rabbis of the time. This was a very important first step, but it was also very much a creation within the men's world. I cannot help but wonder how the rabbis who sanctioned Beis Yaacov nearly a century ago, or Sara Shenirer herself, would feel about the changes that have since come about in Jewish study for women, with the establishment of hundreds of women's learning centers, mainly in North America and Israel, and thousands of incredibly learned women studying in Batei Midrash.

We are inevitably reminded of the famous woman scholar from talmudic times, the daughter of Rav Hisda, who married first Rami bar Hama and then Rava (Ketubot 39b, 85a). Her father and then her husbands consulted her on various issues-and yet, we do not even know her name. By contrast, there are women scholars today who are absolute rock stars-Nehama Leibowitz z"l, Aviva Zorenberg, Bryna Levy, Chana Henkin, Malka Bina, Shani Taragin. I know that many readers of this article could each rattle off the names of women scholars with whom they or their children have studied and who have significantly influenced their lives. Yet it is remarkable to think that when I was at Ramaz, studying Torah and Talmud together with the boys back in the 1970s-and Ramaz started teaching Talmud to the girls and boys together in the 1950s-that was a radical, almost unparalleled phenomenon in the world of Orthodox Jewish education. I can't but feel incredibly proud of how brave my grandfather, Rabbi Joseph Lookstein, was in starting this. Actually, learning Talmud in a co-ed setting is still relatively unusual for an Orthodox school, but girls studying Talmud in any setting has entered the mainstream (although it is still prohibited in certain places). In Israel, education for Orthodox girls is actually a bit behind the times. Pelech was the big innovation in the 1970s, and for many years it stood alone. For the past decade, Dr. Beverly Gribetz's schools in Jerusalem have taught Talmud to girls, first Evelina and now Tehilla; and Pelech itself is now establishing a network of schools outside of Jeruslaem, in Yerucham, Rehovot and Zihron Yaakov. The success of Yeshiva Day Schools-elementary and high school-is what has led to the success and strength of the centers of higher learning at seminaries and other advanced learning centers.

But it's all so recent. It was only in 1976 that Rabbi Brovender started Bruria as, so far as I know, the first all-women's Bet Midrash. In 1972, the Pardes Bet Midrash opened and offered a curriculum for women and men studying together. In 1984, the Bruria program (which was initially just for English-speaking women) started its program for girls in their gap year between high school and college. This seminary is now Midreshet Lindenbaum, and offers a post-high school program for Israelis as well. This first Bet Midrash opened by a girls' seminary, with hevruta-style text-based study, had an enormous impact. Now there are dozens of such seminaries. They offer high quality advanced Jewish study for girls, with many including Talmud study. Aside from Midreshet Lindenbaum, there are Migdal Oz, Ein Hanatziv, Stern College, Drisha, Midreshet Moriah, Midreshet Harova, and more.

It is important to note that in Israel, the advances in women's education have taken place predominantly in an Ashkenazi context. That is part of the reason why new schools such as Kama-the Pelech-like school in Yerucham-are so important. Kama is training mainly Sephardi religious girls in a progressive religious education framework based on values of community leadership and educational excellence.

Let me digress for a moment to make a few observations on the issue of Israeli Jews of North African and Asian backgrounds. As I noted, liberal women's efforts in Israel have so far been a largely Ashkenazi phenomenon. The leading organization advancing women's status issues, Kolech, which works on issues ranging from education to tefilla to the agunah issue, has thus far been active mainly in the Ashkenazi community. The NGOs in Israel working to advance this issue are aware of this problem and are now making an effort to outreach to non-Ashkenazi women. Kolech, for example, is opening an office in Ashdod specifically for this purpose. Given space limitations, I cannot detail here all of the exciting outreach efforts now in place relating to women's education and status issues, but they include Rosh Hodesh groups, inter-generational study groups, Batai Midrash, and study forums established for example by the Herzog Center, Kolech, Mimizrach Shemesh-and many of these new grassroots efforts are led now by non-Ashkenazi women.

Returning to the Bet Midrash, the flourishing of women's learning at these marvelous institutions as well as Torah classes in many synagogues, have produced extraordinarily knowledgeable women. With this burgeoning scholarship, are the women hitting a glass ceiling? Perhaps in some settings; but the ceiling is getting higher and women are finding their way into the male-dominated system. A good example are the yoatsot halakha, women halakhic consultants, who graduate from Nishmat. The yoatsot halakha are women certified by a panel of Orthodox rabbis to be a resource for women with questions regarding taharat haMishpahah (the area of Jewish law relating to marriage, sexuality, and women's health). This role was devised to assist women who are more comfortable discussing very personal issues with another woman and where the woman consultant might have more knowledge, sympathy, and understanding of the particular questions at hand. The yoatsot devote two years (over 1,000 hours) to intensive study with rabbinic authorities in taharat haMishpahah. In addition, they receive training from experts in modern medicine and psychology, as well as in gynecology, infertility, women's health, family dynamics, and sexuality. Many rabbis now rely on the yoatsot to help them with the queries they receive, and a hotline for women has been opened.

This is an amazing advance. There are, however, Orthodox women (and men) activists who feel that the yoatsot halakha serve too much as "brokers" for the rabbis and lack adequate authority; still others feel that the yoatsot interpret halakhic issues too rigidly instead of trying to find flexibility within halakha. For example, women who have trouble getting pregnant because their natural monthly cycle does not match the strictures of the family purity laws are advised to take hormones in order to adapt their cycles to the strictures of the purity ritual, rather than, for instance, allowing these women exceptionally to go to the mikvah a few days earlier so that the mikvah night aligns with their ovulation, in fulfillment of a different mitzvah.

However that may be, the study of Talmud by women is an example of a halakhic way established via rabbinic will, despite the fact that there was not full consensus when it started-or even now. I was fascinated to learn that relatively recently, a two-year post-college kollel was established at Stern College for Women of Yeshiva University in New York. What was radical and peripheral is now mainstream. Yet despite the exquisite quality of Jewish women's scholarship, it is still women and men who teach women at these seminaries, but usually only men who teach men, other than in the most liberal or secular institutions, and certainly not at the "serious" yeshivas (with a few isolated exceptions).

We look to these accomplished women both as models for ourselves and for our children in the area of Jewish learning, once the exclusive reserve of men, and also to help us bring about much-needed change in the other two areas, the Bet Kenesset and the Bet Din.

Bet Kenesset
In my discussion with Alice Shalvi, she explained her move from Orthodox to Conservative Judaism 15 years ago, saying that she no longer felt a part of Orthodox Judaism:

I could not pray in an Orthodox synagogue, where I had the feeling that I was being pushed into some obscure corner, particularly on Simhat Torah, which became one of the saddest holidays in the Jewish calendar for me. Nor could I any longer countenance the Orthodox attitude toward agunot (deserted wives) and women whose husbands refuse to give them a get (Jewish divorce decree). Even today, despite all the welcome changes that have occurred in the Orthodox world, egalitarianism does not exist, not even in the most open-minded synagogues. There are too many prohibitions on women.

Alice Shalvi clearly recalls the moment that made her change her viewpoint. It was when, for the first time in her life, she was given an aliya to the Torah. That was in 1979, in a Conservative synagogue in the United States:

Suddenly, I was asked whether I would like to be given an aliya to the Torah. I was very excited. This was the first time I had ever seen an open Torah scroll close up, and, alongside the joy I was privileged to have bestowed upon me when I was given the aliya, I experienced an immense sadness over the fact that I had been forced to wait until age 53 before participating in an experience that is shared by every male Jew from age 13.

I remember when my grandmother, Gertrude Lookstein, had her first aliya at a women's tefila service-and I remember her tears. I could write a separate article just on her and Alice's experience. Things have definitely been moving forward. Simhat Torah is no longer a "sad" holiday for many women at many synagogues where they themselves can dance with the Torah and not just sit on the side as spectators. Women's tefila groups, which were so controversial just 30 years ago, are now common. Things that were once on the fringe are now generally accepted in many Orthodox synagogues.

Very few committed Orthodox women will want to follow Alice Shalvi's lead out of the Orthodox synagogue. And once she has left, her activist voice loses legitimacy within Orthodox circles. But we are finding alternatives to the rigid exclusion of women that led Professor Shalvi to leave. 
Last year, one of my sons, Micha, celebrated his bar mitzvah. I had the incredible experience of leading the Kabbalat Shabbat service for the first time in my life, in a format known as a partnership minyan (also known as "Shira Hadasha" praying, named after a synagogue in Jerusalem, among the innovators of this style of service). This alternative preserves the mehitsa but allows women to lead Kabbalat Shabbat and other parts of the service not defined as davar sheBikdusha, and to be called up to bless and read from the Torah in public.

The conceptual and halakhic foundation of Shira Hadasha is an article published in 2001 on the Edah website by Rabbi Mendel Shapiro, "Kriyat haTora by women: a halachic analysis." Rabbi Shapiro argues that the only tenable halakhic objection to women's aliyot is the reference in the Talmud that the practice violates kevod haTsibbur (dignity of the congregation), and there are thus certain circumstances in which it should be permitted. Significantly, Rabbi Shapiro stresses in his article that although it may be halakhically permitted, there is no live Orthodox tradition of women reading from the Torah, and that further it would be wrong to create dissension in communities and synagogues by challenging hallowed practices that are seen as the hallmark of Orthodox Judaism. Other articles on the subject have pointed out that involved, educated and knowledgeable women would not deliberately cause offense to kevod haTsibbur, especially the tsibbur of this day and age.

The partnership minyan is not an isolated phenomenon, but it is not quite yet a general trend; it is still a very grassroots kind of movement at this stage, but less and less an oddity, as it is embraced by more communities. On the JOFA website, I counted nineteen such synagogues world-wide. There are probably more by now, and I'm sure there are some that are not officially part of a network and didn't make it on to the website. While visiting a cousin in Binghamton, New York, in November 2008, I saw in her home the Broome County Federation newspaper and read of the opening of a new partnership minyan in Toronto. The article pointed out that the kehilla is new, and many of the participants maintain membership in their Orthodox shuls. In the spirit of Mendel Shapiro's thoughts, they did not try to implement the "partnership minyan" changes at their own synagogues. The idea was to start something new and not have to alter the traditions of an existing kehilla.
This point was brought home to me recently when I approached two leading North American rabbis and asked their opinions on the partnership minyan. One said that he recognizes the halakhic validity of such a minyan, but, he said, "I am not willing to be a trailblazer on this issue. We have a tradition and continuity at our synagogue, and I cannot upset it." The other rabbi had just attended a bar mitzvah at Darchei Noam, an Upper West Side group that has adopted the partnership minyan format. When I asked him how he felt about this minyan he said that he had not been inside for the praying since he is not yet persuaded of its halakhic validity, although he acknowledges that more than one opinion is possible. These are both prominent Orthodox rabbis who have divergent views on how the halakha can be understood, but recognize that there is room for debate and even, possibly, change. The end result for both of them is the same, which is to maintain the status quo in their own synagogues.

And that is fine, since continuity in customs and traditions is a legitimate value, quite important for any society. But even cohesive traditions are not above scrutiny, and ones that really don't seem in harmony with other emerging values should be reexamined. There are things that we continue in an unquestioning way (and for each of us these vary) while there are others that do require some scrutiny or reevaluation. One must try to balance respect for heritage and tradition with one's commitment to a sense of right. In the end, we want to pray where we feel comfortable, where our heart is-and sometimes people may compromise on ideology in order to feel a part of the tradition that was handed down to them.

Beyond the partnership minyan, the repercussions of women's vigorous study and scholarly achievement are being felt in Orthodox synagogues. In Shearith Israel on the Upper West Side, a synagogue that is immersed in the traditions of the Sephardi community in North America dating back to the seventeenth century, Lynne Kaye was recently engaged to head their religious school, do pastoral work, give classes and shiurim, and generally to be involved in everything outside the specific ritual areas to which access is barred by halakha. Her official title is Assistant Congregational Leader. Other Orthodox congregations are hiring women in official roles, such as madrikha ruhanit (spiritual counselor), congregational interns, the yoatsot halakha, and so forth. Precedents are rapidly being set. Dina Neiman is now the Rosh Kehilla, or congregational leader, at Kehillat Orech Eliezer on the Upper West Side. Sara Hurwitz, who studied for years with Rabbi Avi Weiss, has recently completed the rabbinical exams of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah; Mimi Feigelson, Haviva Ner David, and Evelyn Goodman-Thau have all received Orthodox ordination (but not in a formal recognized framework) and are all active, practicing teachers and spiritual guides. These women are trailblazers. The entire process of developing women's spiritual leadership in Modern Orthodox congregations is still in its early stages, but enlightened rabbis are recognizing the tremendous added value that the women bring to their professional roles in the congregation.

As I revise this article, in May 2009, there comes the announcement of a new four-year school to train Orthodox women clergy, Yeshivat Maharat (acronym for Leader in Jewish Law, Spiritual Matters, and Torah), established by Rabbi Avi Weiss. The graduates of this new program, according to its founders, will function as full members of the rabbinic clergy, fully capable of carrying out all educational and pastoral functions. This has been a controversial "giant step," and it is yet too early to ascertain how it will play out, with the many questions it evokes. The graduates will not be called "rabbi" but "Maharat." Rabbi Weiss stresses that these new women leaders will strictly observe halakhic limitations on women, with some issues still to be fully worked out. As David Silber, the dean of the Drisha Institute, was quoted in the Forward as saying, "What if she should be a rabbi in a big synagogue and she sat in the balcony. What would she do, slide down a fireman's pole to give the sermon?"

Although some people and communities are seeking ways to loosen halakhic strictures regarding women's leadership roles (both congregationally and ritually), there are strong forces reacting against it as well. This is the inevitable accompaniment to real change. The question is how conflicting forces will eventually resolve. On a recent trip to Syracuse to visit some friends, we went to the Orthodox synagogue that they belong to, which was until recently part of the Young Israel network of synagogues. The synagogue elected a woman president and then elected a second woman president. The Young Israel organization notified the congregation that  Young Israel policy does not allow a woman to serve as president of a Young Israel congregation. The congregation, by a large majority vote, then chose to leave the Young Israel network. Mind you, this is a synagogue which is in every respect quite Orthodox, and is not contemplating giving women aliyot or anything as radical as that.

I was shocked when they told me this story-but shortly after (during the Israeli pre-election period) I saw an article in the Jeruslaem Post about a debate among the rabbis in Israel regarding the halakhic validity of a woman prime minister, in anticipation of Tzipi Livni being elected in February. Rabbis have also discussed whether it is appropriate to have pictures of women candidates in public places. Interestingly, at least in the article, the rabbis did not mention the precedent of Golda Meir. This put the Syracuse Young Israel story somewhat into perspective, since it seemed to represent the same kind of emergent extremism that is zealously guarding what it sees as inviolable boundaries.

It is not surprising that women are beginning to take leadership roles in Orthodox congregations. This development is the direct result of the historically unprecedented number of so many well-educated, knowledgeable, spiritual, and committed women coming out of the new educational programs. The impact of these educated women is being felt in the last bayit remaining to be discussed, the traditionally exclusionary Bet Din, which is where we shall now turn our attention.

BET DIN
Within the Bet Din, rabbinical court, I would like to focus on what is perhaps in a sense the simplest and at the same time the most challenging issue today pertaining to Orthodox women, namely, problems relating to divorce and the difficulties in obtaining a get, the religious divorce decree. There are thousands of agunot (more accurately, mesuravot get), or "anchored women," in Israel and I suspect many hundreds if not thousands in North America and Europe. According to the official Rabbinic Bet Din in Israel, there are only 200 agunot in Israel. But that well illustrates the problem: The rabbis will only categorize a woman as an agunah if the woman has been handed a verdict from the Bet Din that states that there is an obligation for the husband to give the get. It is very rare to get such a written verdict.

The plight of the agunot is not going to be solved just by helping each individual agunah, as critical as emotional and practical support and guidance may be to each distressed woman. The only way the problem will be solved is by challenging and changing the Orthodox rabbinical orientation to the issue, that is, finding flexibility within halakha to eradicate the problem. I believe that, of Orthodox women's issues, this is the one that is the least controversial, there being a near consensus that change is needed. However, when I spoke to Blu Greenberg about this, she said that although the advances in the status of women, especially with regard to the agunah problem, make her feel optimistic, she still sees the glass as half-empty. The recent death of Rabbi Emmanuel Rackman highlighted this for many agunah activists.

In 1996, Rabbi Emanuel Rackman z"l established a rabbinic court in New York that freed women from being agunot by annulling their marriages on the basis of a mistaken transaction. Drawing on Rambam and other sources, Rabbi Rackman suggested marriage annulment to bypass the need for a get in many cases. I will not detail the full rationale behind his halakhic reasoning, but suffice it to say that most Orthodox rabbis in the United States have had a hard time accepting it, and do not regard such women as unmarried. They claim that even if such a woman considers herself single, she is still married, and if she has children from another man, they will be considered mamzerim (illegitimate) according to Jewish law. Nor do rabbinic courts in Israel consider these women single. Other rabbis have also tried to find innovative halakhic solutions, but thus far none has been adopted in any widespread fashion.

What other efforts are being made? There are preventive solutions, and solutions after the fact. So far as preventive solutions are concerned, there is extensive educational work around prenuptial agreements, which is indeed helping the problem. But there are anchored women who were married without a prenuptial agreement, before the practice became more widespread. And, there are others who, although informed of the practice, in the throes of romantic love and "happily ever after" fantasies cannot imagine that this is of any relevance to them. Organizations such as JOFA in North America and ICAR (the International Coalition for Agunah Rights) in Israel offer sample prenuptials and guidance for anyone who wants it. And many rabbis advise the couples in their pre-marriage guidance sessions, encouraging and sometimes even insisting on the prenuptial agreements-although not all rabbis are so responsible and enlightened as to do this as a matter of course.

Advocacy for agunot has been an integral part of JOFA's mission since the organization's founding. They address the issue through education of the Jewish community, grass-roots activism and advocacy efforts on behalf of agunot. Yet as difficult as the problem is in the North American Jewish community, it is that much more acute in Israel. This is where ICAR comes in. ICAR is a coalition of twenty-seven social welfare, women's rights, human rights, and social justice organizations, as well as academic centers, serving as an umbrella organization for groups with differing and varied religious approaches to the problem.

Moreover, thanks to various programs such as that developed by Midreshet Lindenbaum in Israel, under the auspices of Rabbi Riskin's Ohr Torah Stone, there are now toanot, women who serve as rabbinic court advocates. These women provide critical assistance to the agunot, helping them navigate through the intricacies of rabbinic law and the courts. The toanot are a wonderful example of how the newly educated generation of women are infiltrating the Bet Din. Yet the toanot, as critical a role as they often play, with many of them activists in the NGOs that are working to advocate for systemic change, are not in themselves enough to solve the underlying problem, which is the exclusive iron-fisted control which the extreme right-wing Orthodox rabbis have over the entire system.

In Israel, there is no option to get a divorce other than through the rabbinic courts. In the United States, by contrast, if the actual religious get is not as important to a woman or a couple, they can get a civil divorce. Clearly, this does not solve the problem for the Orthodox community, since a woman needs the get to move on; otherwise any children she would have would be mamzerim according to Jewish law. In Israel, even if a couple gets married in a civil ceremony abroad, they cannot divorce without the religious get issued through the state-recognized Orthodox rabbinate. Many couples do get married abroad-specifically because they do not want a traditional Orthodox ceremony (which is the only option there); others get married there simply because they have no other option. There is no civil marriage in Israel. Thus, for example, 350,000 new immigrants from the Former Soviet Union who were encouraged to come to Israel under the Law of Return but are of questionable Jewish identity, have to marry abroad. The destination of choice is Cyprus, and there are currently more Israelis than Cypriots who marry in Cyprus.

Divorce, marriage, and another hotly contested issue, conversion, have shaken people's willingness to tolerate quietly the Orthodox rabbinic hegemony over such vital aspects of their lives in Israel. There are now quite substantial steps being taken to establish an alternative rabbinic authority. NGOs such as Kolech, Mavoi Satum, Ne'emanei Torah vaAvodah and others are working together with rabbis in an effort to establish these alternative authorities and courts. It is expected that these alternative rabbinic authorities will be more responsive to the needs of individuals in Israel, and will allow for a more humane interpretation and enforcement of the halakha for all those who are committed to living their lives according to its precepts. This is the kind of structural change that can have profound consequences in many areas of the life of an individual. The structural solution has to involve rabbinic authorities, but thus far they have shown themselves to be unable or unwilling to make the changes needed.

ICAR lobbied to have a Modern Orthodox woman lawyer appointed to the committee that selects the dayanim (judges) for the religious courts responsible for the get process. This was a major accomplishment, since the selection of the dayanim is well known to be an extreme example of an old-boys' network, with appointments made on the basis of family relationships and favors instead of professional integrity and excellence. Sharon Shinhav, the lawyer to whom I am referring, has in fact been able to influence appointments, especially when the potential dayan has a "bad" agunah track record. Through her, activists have been able to gain a slight entry into the Bet Din world. Sharon Shinhav is backed up by the broad coalition of organizations who demonstrate at the courts and at the Rabbinate, and bring the issue to the attention of the public at large. They employ innovative public-relations strategies. Last year they held a fashion show in Tel Aviv, with Israel's leading designers creating special wedding dresses that symbolized the plight of the anchored woman, the highlight being a ten-foot tall chained wedding gown. This made the headlines. They created a postage stamp with artwork showing a chained wedding ring and arranged for screenings of the powerful film, Mekudeshet, directed by Anat Tzuria, that follows the heartbreaking stories of a number of agunot.

Mekudeshet, aside from telling the moving individual stories, powerfully brings to light the lack of sympathy of the dayanim within the courts, who sometimes don't show up to scheduled hearings for which women have been anxiously waiting, sometimes many months (or years), or who speak harshly to the women in order to compel them to cave in and give up all sorts of rights in exchange for the get. The message is: You are anchoring yourselves if you don't cooperate. Yet the ability of the husband to use extortionist methods for material gains has been restricted most recently in Israel, where on November 5, 2008 a new law was passed. This law was actually a revision of the Marital Property Law from 1974, which linked the division of marital property to the get and thus facilitated extortion in exchange for the get. The new law allows for a civil separation of property prior to a get, so that the property issue cannot be a factor in the get process. This law took years of work on the part of ICAR and its member NGOs as they employed a strategic advocacy campaign that used the legislative system in Israel to advance this bill, with the help of a number of key Knesset members, such as Menachem Ben Sasson, Rabbi Michael Melchior and Zevulun Orlev. This synergy among NGOs, government representatives, and the court system brought about needed change to the system and helped ease the process for many women.

Festina Lente. Are we making haste too hastily or too slowly?

There are numerous studies on the changing nature of the family in the twenty-first century-with later marriages, later child-rearing. Singlehood is a more socially accepted norm. How should this impact on the Jewish mitzvah of marriage? Mishnah Kiddushin delves into women's exemption from time-triggered positive commandments, mitzvot ‘aseh shehaZeman gerama. There are various theories about why women are not obligated to perform these positive commandments. Some of the theories center on the potential conflict to a crying baby, other household obligations and even a conflict with the husband's needs. But what if a woman's life does not have those potential conflicts? The Talmud reflects the norms of its time, as does later halakhic literature. The many limitations regarding the status of women in Orthodoxy directly relate to their lack of obligation for some of the mitzvot. Current social realities are so different from the norms of talmudic and medieval times, and this fact should be taken into account when exploring Orthodox women's status.

On the other hand, why do women even want all this added responsibility? Many women are very pleased with the status quo. It's comfortable. It's nice to sleep later on Shabbat and to not have the added burden of rushing to synagogue to make the minyan. It is no wonder that many women are quite satisfied with the status quo-why make life harder?

Many Orthodox men stay out of the limelight and avoid extensive public participation. If the rules of the game were different from the beginning, and women were more on a par with men, I have a hunch that in a natural way some would immerse themselves in ritual and others would take a more minimalist route, in the same way that men's ritual involvement varies from individual to individual. As much as I do believe in some real "hard wiring" differences between men and women, I doubt anyone in the twenty-first century, raised in a reasonably modern environment, would say that there is different genetic wiring for men and women's ability to participate in Jewish ritual, study, and congregational leadership.

In the United States, women did not vote until the 1920s. The suffragettes, whose origins were in the United Kingdom, were radicals in their day. Their demand for equal public participation was considered a break with tradition, condemned as representing unseemly values. Total rigidity and lack of deviation from traditions would stifle our society. There is a long list of things that we take for granted today that are the result of a small group of people's inability to accept the unjust status quo-minimum wage, civil rights, the freedom of Russian Jewry, and so forth. Of course I recognize that women's voting rights and women's rights in Judaism are not fully analogous: modifying public policies through legislation is not entirely comparable to working within halakha; but sometimes the underlying social mechanism is or can be the same.

I do not believe in anarchy, whether it be in politics or in religion. But this world would look very different if we did not sometimes examine things and say that it is time to make a change. I guess it is relatively clear where I stand on the Festina Lente continuum, I'm more on the side of Festina (making haste). I recognize that not everyone wants a fast pace, but I do think that it is important for each of us-men and women-to reflect on these issues. In the end, we believe that Judaism is a just and humane religion, and although it does not need to accommodate all the "isms" of the twenty-first century, some of the values purveyed by such "isms" are fundamentally important.
And I believe that my mother would be finding her balance. I have a feeling that she would continue to pray at Kehilath Jeshurun (which was the synagogue where she grew up and felt most at home-as I said earlier, we like to pray where our heart is). But I am also certain that she would be an active member in a partnership minyan. She would appreciate this step forward in the participation of women within an Orthodox setting, where some of the exclusionary walls are lifted, although she would recognize that it is not fully egalitarian. That would work for her-but she might look at her great granddaughters and hope that the twenty-first century would continue to open new doors to them for full participation in Jewish life.

The Worldview of Prophets and Utopians: A Study in Contrasts

By Miriam Krupka Berger

(Miriam Krupka Berger is Chair of the Tanakh Department of the Upper School of Ramaz. This article appears in issue 26 of Conversations, the journal of the Instsitute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.)

No, do the best you can to make the present production a success— don't spoil the entire play just because you happen to think of another one that you'd enjoy rather more.
                               —Thomas More, Utopia

In 1516, the British social philosopher Thomas More published his narrative Utopia, a work that would become central to the way in which humanity understood its ability to progress, to march toward perfectibility. The book compares social and economic conditions in Europe with those of an ideal society on an imaginary island located off the coast of the Americas. The title, Utopia, combines the Greek words ou ("no, not") and topos ("place”) to imply that the perfect conditions of this land were purely fictional and could never exist in reality. The current use of the word utopia as referring to “an ideal place or society” references More’s original meaning and includes the connotation of non-existence; a modern “utopia” is a place that reflects imaginable, but unattainable perfection—whether in political, social, cultural or economic terms.

Michael Weingrad, in a Spring 2010 essay in the Jewish Review of Books, explores why it is that, both historically and in contemporary times, Jewish authors do not engage in the writing of fantasy literature. He specifically questions why Jews do not utilize the genre to discuss questions of theology or to paint fantastical pictures that probe deeper social and religious questions:

Indeed, one wonders why, amidst all the initiatives to solve the crisis in Jewish    continuity, no one has yet proposed commissioning a Jewish fantasy series that might plumb the theological depths like Lewis or at least thrill Jewish preteens with tales of Potterish derring-do.[i]

The question is intriguing; there is no work of Jewish theology packaged in fictional fantasies like the tales of Lewis or Tolkien. However, the biblical canon does contain a wealth of “other-worldly” literature. Although they are not writers of fantasy literature, the prophets do describe the strangely utopian world of the Messianic Era.

Herein lie our questions: First, in what way is messianic prophecy similar to classic utopian writing, and in what way does it differ in its context and goals? Second, can biblical messianic literature be classified as an inspiration for, or early genre of, utopian literature? Finally, can our theological understanding of this specific messianic genre of nevuot, be enhanced through such an analysis?

To fully develop this comparison, we must begin with the following basic question: In addition to functioning as entertaining fairy tales, what did the envisioning and writing of utopias accomplish? Lyman Tower Sargent, renowned professor of utopian studies, notes that although utopias are multi-dimensional in form, all utopias represent some form of “social dreaming” that may or may not involve any active component.[ii] Sargent then acknowledges, however, that many “dreams” are accompanied minimally by thoughtful reasoning, and often, by the acting of the dreamer upon the dream.[iii] It was often the hope of certain “utopian socialists” that their fictional worlds would send a message to their society of what “perfection” looked like in the hope that their audience would progress toward that world by thinking about policies and ideas to improve the current reality. Regardless of whether the authors expected their readership to act upon these visions, utopias were commonly written as critiques of social or political ills in the writer’s environment. Edward Bellamy’s well-known Looking Backward is of a genre of utopias that speak of a world without money and with an idealized equal distribution of goods. It was Bellamy’s way of criticizing the growth of capitalism in the early nineteenth century.

In terms of this specific function, the prophet Isaiah really was the earliest utopian writer. As were many utopian works, many of Isaiah’s prophecies were written in war-torn and economically difficult periods.[iv] When he speaks of a world in which “nation shall not lift up sword against nation,”[v] or that all people will follow a unified path of religious and societal truth,[vi] he shapes the vision of this utopian world as a critique of the environment in which he finds himself. In Isaiah 2, the verses subsequent to the messianic elements quite clearly state this assumed critique; the people have abandoned God and worship power, wealth, and pride.[vii] The chapter then ends with a description of a world in which all humankind is humbled; idolatry is abandoned; and silver and gold become irrelevant in light of the truth (2:20).[viii] The straightforward social criticism in the subsequent verses clearly reveals Isaiah’s vision of the perfect world that he describes as a tool for the creation of a “beneficial reality.”[ix] Therefore, the biblical reader of messianic prophecy must remember that his work is less descriptive than it is prescriptive. And, in fact, was not one of the primary purposes of the biblical prophet to function as a critic of society? Why should the messianic prophecies be any different? By forecasting the future, the prophet hopes to create a more perfect tomorrow.

Interestingly, utopian literature itself came into being when humanity began to believe in the idea of progress and perfectibility. As societies moved from an “eat to live” mentality in which getting to the next day was all the future they could see, they began to think of bigger ideas like equality, economic equitability, and nationalism.[x] James Bury, in his well-known treatise The Idea of Progress points out that in most systems of ancient thought, time was regarded as “the enemy of humanity,” and change meant “corruption and disaster.” This was due to a “tendency characteristic of Greek philosophical thinkers to idealise the immutable as possessing a higher value than that which varies.” Because of this, any form of change, especially when it came to social speculation, was often viewed negatively.[xi] As society shifted to a more hopeful view of social change and revolution, utopian thinkers reflected social thought, and mimicked the prophets in describing how spans of time could possibly harbor positive future change.

This is something the prophets understood for a long time; that human relations could be improved over time, and that personal and national status or character were not predetermined or unchangeable constructs. Indeed, by describing the messianic world as “Aharit haYamim” or the “End of the Days,” Isaiah proposes and champions the idea that change can and must happen, even if it requires an extended period of time. Messianic prophecy functions with an eye toward the far future, a concept that first gained traction in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries and that focused on the idea of existence and progress as more than just daily survival.[xii]

But if the reader of prophetic messianism allows the comparison to end there, we will have ignored what it is that makes these nevuot truly unique. Let’s start by focusing on three of the messianic constructs that Isaiah discusses: 1) theological clarity, 2) political unity, and 3) fulfillment of a national mission or destiny. Isaiah envisions a world in which all nations recognize a single religious truth (2:2–3); judgment of the poor is pure and uncorrupted (11:2–5); the world is at peace (2:4); and the Jewish nation is settled in Zion. To the prophet, these are all one construct—a result of the first factor on the list; once the world recognizes a single religious truth, the natural result of that truth will be social and political peace. This is the first key to understanding prophetic messianism in contrast to utopianism. While both views imagine that the world will one day be a peaceful and socially just place, messianism is based on a belief in a God who wants those things, and that belief is how those ideals will be achieved. In other words, the only way to stage a successful long-term social revolution is if we all serve a Higher Power external to humanity. If we don’t, like Orwell’s critique of socialist utopias in Animal Farm, one person or group of people in the construct, will inevitably succumb to the fatal flaw of power or pride. Prophetic messianism requires a belief in a Being outside of humanity who controls the world, without which cohesion of humankind is unattainable. Theological clarity is a necessary precursor to other ideals.

Secondly, regarding political unity, prophetic messianism revolves around the human figure of a political leader who is a descendant of the Davidic dynasty.[xiii] In fact, the very term messiah, meaning “savior” or “anointed one,” comes from the term used to describe the anointing of the kings of Israel. This is an important distinction from classic utopian writing. As one utopian literary analyst understood, “[Messianism] requires pulling everybody into the scheme of a leader. Whereas utopianism basically consists in co-opting people to build things together.”[xiv] For many utopian writers (especially those of socialist utopias), government was the evil that needed to be eradicated, and humanity could never be happy until all political authority and institutions disappeared. This is a fascinating contrast similar to the first point about a God-centered society. Isaiah insists that humanity must follow a central political leader in order to achieve order out of chaos. Of course, in order for this to actually function, the leader must be pure of heart and mind, and of great moral and spiritual strength, but prophetic messianism suggests that a social order without a central mortal power (in addition to the central Godly power) is doomed to fail.

Why is this so? It seems antithetical to the idea of the idealism of the messianic era as a period in which pride and the power hungry nature of humanity have been defeated. Isn’t the requirement of a king an invitation to corruption—especially considering the fact that the pitfalls of human pride, ego, and the corruption of power are major themes of prophetic literature?[xv] Perhaps, like the need for a belief in a divine power external to humanity, it is also necessary to have a human representation of that control. In the view of the prophets, it is probable that in any democratic community of human beings, a desire for individual power will destroy any group dynamic (again, think of Orwell’s critique). To be sure, the dangers of an authority figure are clearly espoused by the prophets as well,[xvi] yet they maintain belief that human beings require a firm model of corporeal leadership in order to attain social, political, and religious good. It is not the theocentric prophet who will rule during the messianic era, but the anthropocentric king, meant to implement political rule in an earthly domain.

In halakhic reality and history, we find this specifically in the ideology of the rabbinical figure. The model of top-down halakhic decision making is still quite central to the realization of religious perfectibility. Interestingly, both utopian works (in their quest to rid the world of government) and messianic works (in requiring central government to perfect the world) are positing a world in which human nature itself does not change, but simply finds greater success in its struggle to be good. For utopians, humankind has the ability to strive toward perfectibility and is essentially good; humankind has just been held back by corrupt authority figures. In the messianic world, humans will always struggle between good and evil but the “good option” will be clearer (at least according to Maimonides). Therefore, a central political system is always necessary to maintain order. In neither world does the actual essence of humanity change in a significant way.

This brings us to our third point—that prophetic messianism is unique in its focus on a national history and fulfillment of a destiny. Prophetic messianism can never be understood as merely a social revolution in the way that some utopian works can be read. One important reason for this is its emphasis on the return to a national homeland; messianism is bound to an important historical and religious geographic location. Indeed, the messianic vision is dependent on the return to the land. While utopias, by their very definition (“no place”) are aterritorial, preferring to remain social commentaries on human characteristics, motivations, and realities, prophetic messianism ties itself to a specific historical location. In addition, many aspects of prophetic messianism rely on a vision of the past in the construction of the future.[xvii] Most utopian works are set in the future because they are about where we are going rather than how we got to where we are. Prophetic messianism prefers to tie our future “utopia” to remembrances and constructs of the past; a historically significant land, a dynastic king, a rebuilt Temple, a promise fulfilled and a national mission finally come to fruition. Why is that? Perhaps messianic vision is connected to a historical reality and memory because the prophets understood that a mission must rely on a greater narrative and history in order for the dream to feel tangible, powerful, and achievable. The biblical idea of “zikharon” or shared, collective memory, is the guidepost that will drive how a community works together to achieve the desired future. In contrast, utopias are sometimes criticized for being anti-nationalist in that they “laugh at the collapse of the Western world” and its heritage.[xviii] Thomas More himself probes at this theme in Utopia when he mocks those who fall back on the argument of tradition in order to justify weak character:

Failing all else, their last resort will be: “This was good enough for our ancestors, and     who are we to question their wisdom?” Then they'll settle back in their chairs, with an air of having said the last word on the subject—as if it would be a major disaster for anyone to be caught being wiser than his ancestors!

Unlike the historical dependency of prophetic messianism, More focuses on a break from the past as an element of building Utopia by placing it on an island that the founder of Utopia has cut off from the rest of humankind. His world can only work if it is removed from the rest of humanity.

Sargent suggests that “all utopias are fictions of a particular type.”[xix] However, by focusing on a historical reality and on an actual land, we are reminded that prophetic utopia is an actual place that exists and therefore is one that we can visit, settle, and develop. And like the concrete, material nature of a geographical reality, the social reality should feel tangible and achievable as well.[xx] Because of these elements, messianic literature does not have the same “fictive” texture that is characteristic of utopian literature.

This concretizing of the messianic universe can also be characterized as the difference between “horizontal concerns” and “vertical concerns.”[xxi] Horizontal concerns are those concerns that relate to the world around us, that occur within history and time, whereas vertical concerns relate to a world with a focus outside of our tangible reach, like the Jewish tradition of the World to Come[xxii] or Christianity’s Kingdom of Heaven. Prophetic messianism as it is presented in the text of Isaiah is a horizontal concern. It does not involve heavenly beings or non-corporeal entities; rather, it includes a king, a land, and a political vision. The context of Isaiah’s work also argues that messianism should be an attitude of doing, rather than an attitude of waiting.[xxiii] He shaped these visions during a period in which the Southern community of Judea watched as their Northern brothers disappeared into Assyrian exile. True, his messianism may have functioned as a form of comfort to the Judean survivors, but Isaiah is also warning his audience that if they don’t seek the messianic world through productive change, they will follow the same path to destruction.[xxiv] Utopian authors, on the other hand, though they criticize a society’s ills, describe an imaginary state and are often criticized for “simply describing the society without indicating how that society was or could be achieved.”[xxv]

What about the idea of catastrophic or apocalyptic messianism, then? If the messianic ideal is a horizontal concern, obtained through a tangible human focus on progress and perfectibility, then what of the tradition that the Messiah will arrive only after, or via, a great apocalyptic event such as a violent war or globally destructive incident? Does our tradition not also contain the belief that redemption will come via a powerful external agent and apocalyptic event representing the mighty hand of God? This tradition is harder to find in the prophecies of Isaiah but seems to be more clearly present in those of Daniel and Ezekiel.[xxvi] Perhaps this is why medieval thinkers made the case that apocalyptic messianism is but one choice, and that of a last resort; that God will intervene to pull humanity into utopia, but only if humanity can find absolutely no path by which to get there themselves. Indeed, it is not an ideal redemption. We see this in the understanding of the messianic prophecy: “The least of you will become a thousand, the smallest a mighty nation. I am the LORD; in its time I will do this swiftly” (Isaiah 60:22). How does one understand the timing of the messianic arrival? Will it occur “in its time,” in the right moment when it is appropriately achieved, or will it transpire “swiftly”? Perhaps the two can be reconciled, but Rashi points out that “in its time” refers to a situation in which the Jewish nation is not worthy of redemption. At that point, if we are unsuccessful in shaping a world that reflects the messianic ideals, then we will see it come about apocalyptically. However, if we are worthy of it, if we take the first steps down the road ourselves, then God promises to “accelerate” the end so that we’ll float over the finish line by His hand. He will ensure that any elements that stand in our way disappear, but the work will have been done by humanity. The outcome based on exertion and worthiness is the preferred mode of messianic redemption. In addition, it is important to keep in mind while reading the more apocalyptic sounding prophecies of Daniel, that all of them are couched in the language of political conflict and dominion, and interpreting them demands a broad knowledge of history and the rise and fall of nations. Likewise, the millenarian calculations that Daniel discusses utilize prophetic imagery and numerology but are clothed in the language of political narratives. For example, Nebuchadnezzar’s dreams in Daniel Chapters 2, 7, and 11 can all be understood as prophetic language channeled through the prism of the rise and fall of nations.

Finally, it is worthwhile to note that the messianic era is not a “happily ever after.” Maimonides notes that human beings will still function with free will and may choose to use it in a harmful way. However, this will be tempered by additional elements of clarity in seeking and understanding truth so that it will be easier to use that free will in a productive way. Maimonides adds that the messianic world will make it easier for humanity to attain the World to Come, but does not ensure it. The utopian genre, for many critics, is also one that is not an all-encompassing panacea. Sargent argues that perfection is actually not a characteristic of the utopian fiction; even in More’s Utopia, life is not perfect. Utopias are more about how they represent humanity’s evolution in community relations than they are about ultimate bliss. They need not necessarily be perfect, just “more perfect” than the current world.

One final note: Prophetic messianism, and the historical messianic movements it inspired, has seen its fair share of suspicion and criticism. Messianism has justifiably been accused of spinning fantasies in the imaginations of desperate audiences and of offering a passive mode of optimism, idealism, and empty hope in place of constructive advice and guidance. In a strong critique of Isaac Abravanel’s messianic commentary on the book of Daniel, Benzion Netanyahu epitomizes this criticism when he claims that messianism involves being

…rich in speculative fantasy. When [the men of the Middle Ages] considered the Bible, they gave their imagination the freest possible rein, and they used the ancient references, not to reconstruct the historical past, but to build their theoretical castles in the air. . . . messianic doctrine reflects the tragedy of the Jewish messianic movements…the tragedy of a people who built castles in the air, who breathed the atmosphere of dreams, rather than reality.[xxvii]                          

It is has been observed of the utopian construct as well that it is at best a fictional enterprise, and at worst, “a subversive avoidance of humanity’s current conditions and needs.”[xxviii] Literary analysts point out that while utopias might be tools for social change, they also tend to gloss over current realities; “ideology” can be both constructive and a “wholly negative concept.”[xxix]

While there is justifiable basis to both of these claims, I would venture to suggest that when it comes to prophetic messianism, the fantastical surface of the messianic words were always accompanied by realistic social criticism. The prophets never lost themselves in wistful dreaming, but accompanied it with hard advice that structured their offer of utopian future. In their words, we should see not just a “reconstruction of the historical past” in the thrill of a projected future, and not even just the theology of faith in human progress, but a form of national calling and expectation. It is a philosophy that should force us to acknowledge that perhaps, at the end of the day (pun intended), utopianism can be seen as an interesting example of a secular, modern expression of prophetic messianism, meant to challenge our assumptions, shape our philosophies and interactions and gently push us toward social and religious honesty and perfectibility. The navi proclaims the divine summons, and it is up to each of us, both individually and as a community, to seek out where and how we will answer his call.

The Fall of Kings in Tanakh and Shakespeare

by

Ronald S. Tauber

(Ronald Tauber is a graduate of Brooklyn College and Harvard Law School and has been a partner of a New York law firm and an investment bank. He lives in Manhattan with his wife, Adele. He is the author of The Little Book of Jewish Celebrations. This article appears in issue 26 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.)

"For God's sake let us sit upon the ground

And tell sad stories of the death of kings!

How some have been deposed, some slain in war,

Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed."

—Richard II, III: ii

            It is a story of the anointed King who showed early bravery and leadership, who created enemies out of friends and relatives, who died a violent death, and whose dynasty was supplanted. It is a story of the well-loved successor forced into exile who returned to become King and who then faced battle with traditional enemies and civil war. It is a story of the son of the successor who achieved glory greater than his father but whose own son saw the dynasty ruptured. It is a story of a curse that foretold generations of civil war and rebellion. This cinematic, exciting story of violence begetting violence is the history of both the early Israelite Kingdom and the late Plantagenet Kings in Medieval England.

             In fourteenth-century England, Richard II becomes King at a very young age and displays courage from the outset. Richard creates an enemy out of his cousin, Henry Bolingbroke and banishes him. Bolingbroke returns, takes the crown, and Richard dies a violent death. Bolingbroke becomes Henry IV and faces endless rebellion. His son Henry V achieves glory in a famous battle, but upon his death, the kingdom descends into the bloody civil war known as the War of Roses.

            In the biblical books of Samuel and Kings, Saul is anointed King of Israel, fights bravely, turns against his protégé and son-in-law, David, forcing him into exile. The prophet Samuel announces God’s repudiation of Saul’s kingship, and Saul dies in battle, succeeded by David. David becomes King, unifies the nation, but battles with enemies and in civil war against his own son. David dies and is succeed by his son, Solomon who achieves peace and great glory by building the Temple in Jerusalem. Following Solomon's death, the Kingdom is riven into the Kingdoms of Judah and Israel, never to be reunited under a Davidic monarchy.

            The story of these two monarchies is rooted in the conflict between the king’s public obligations and his personal wishes and relationships. While war and peace are interwoven throughout both narratives, familial conflicts are more devastating than those with traditional enemies. In both monarchies, personal actions, far from scenes of battle, shatter peace and usher in generations of dynastic struggle.

            The Bible is sparing in historical detail but presents Saul, David, Solomon, and other biblical figures as flesh-and-blood personalities with virtues and vices. There are ample historical records relating to Kings Richard II, Henry IV, and Henry V, but their reigns were dramatically re-imagined by Shakespeare in the eponymous plays which have become the principal, if not always precisely accurate, record of their reigns. [Except as noted with respect to events occurring prior to the action in the play, this article compares the characters discussed based on the written record in the Bible and Shakespeare.]

            Shakespeare made no overt reference to the Kingdom of Israel in his History Tetralogy (Richard II, Henry IV, parts 1 and 2, and Henry V) but there are too many parallels to ignore. The similarities have been noted and cataloged, usually within the context of Shakespeare and the Bible in general. At least one scholar has focused specifically on Shakespeare and the David story (Evett, David: Types of King David in Shakespeare’s Lancastrian Tetralogy in Shakespeare Studies; 1981 Vol. 14, p. 139), but he was interested in finding strands of David’s personality in a host of Shakespearean characters rather than in comparing the two histories.

            As has sometimes happened in English history, Richard II was not meant to be King, at least not when he acceded to the throne. His grandfather, Edward III famously had too many sons, causing much grief in succeeding generations as rival claims to the throne fought it out. Edward’s oldest son (also Edward), known as the Black Prince, died before the old King. On Edward III’s death, his grandson, the Black Prince’s son, succeeded to the crown as Richard II. He was 10 years old.

            Twenty-five centuries earlier, Saul, apparently a common herdsman, was searching for lost donkeys when he encountered the prophet Samuel, who anointed him King of Israel. Saul’s qualifications seem to be his good looks and great height. Prior to Saul, ancient Israel had no King and was ruled by a succession of Judges, who were usually military leaders and guided by prophets. Samuel was distrustful of monarchy and only reluctantly complied with the people’s wishes for a King, but not before warning them of the burden the King would place upon the people.

            Saul and Richard each demonstrated exceptional skill and bravery in their early careers. Richard’s early act of bravery is not found in Shakespeare; it took place when Richard was only 14, well before the action in Shakespeare’s play unfolds. In 1381, years of tension between peasants and landowners brewed into the “Peasants’ Revolt.” Within a month, the rebels, having murdered several of the King’s chief ministers, were just outside the city of London demanding the abolition of serfdom. In two separate confrontations, the 14-year-old King, whose forces were greatly outnumbered, stood his ground and disbanded the rebels (Saul, Nigel, Richard II, p. 62 ff, Yale University Press. London and New Haven 1997). As another historian put it, “There was little doubt among the King’s men that they owed their lives to his courage and presence of mind” (Norwich, John J. Shakespeare's Kings p. 65 Scribner,  New York, 1999).

            Chapter 11 of I Samuel recounts the fear of the Israelites under the domination of the Ammonites. The tribes of Israel were not yet fully united, and Saul’s kingship was not universally accepted. Saul, newly anointed, musters a great army through a symbolic act of brutality (cutting up a pair of oxen and sending pieces to the 12 tribes) and soundly defeats the enemy. Saul demonstrated great political wisdom as well as military skill by forbidding reprisals against those Israelites who challenged his kingship. This early victory unified the tribes and firmly established Saul’s rule.

            While these early triumphs brought praise to both Kings, instability and self-inflicted turmoil soon followed. As Richard II reached manhood he became increasingly arrogant and antagonistic to the nobility. He engendered conflict with his own family and particularly, his uncles the Dukes of Gloucester and Lancaster. He appropriated estates from some nobles and gave them to his court favorites. Richard’s enemies brought him to heel with trials at the so-called “Merciless Parliament,” resulting in the condemnation of certain of Richard’s favorites. Richard subsequently proceeded to exact a measure of revenge, which sets the stage for Shakespeare’s play focusing on the intra-family feud.

            John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, Richard’s uncle and father of Henry Bolingbroke (soon to be Henry IV) was the richest and most powerful man (after the King) in England. He established Richard’s kingship by accepting Richard as King while still a boy rather than challenging him for the crown. With his rule seemingly secure, Richard instigated a feud with Lancaster’s son, Henry Bolingbroke. Henry and another noble, the Duke of Norfolk asserted mutual accusations of treason against one another and agreed to single combat before King Richard to settle the matter. Rather than allow the combat to go forward, Richard exiled Norfolk for life and Henry Bolingbroke for a term of years. King Richard was afraid of what might result from the success of one knight or the other because the incident giving rise to the mutual charges related to the death of the Duke of Gloucester, Richard’s uncle, a death undoubtedly desired (and probably ordered) by King Richard. Henry accepted his exile but when his father, John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster died, Richard confiscated his properties and divided them among his own sycophantic followers. Richard thus sent the devastating message to the nobility that in this King’s realm, the laws of inheritance do not apply, only the King’s will. Rather than solidify his reign with allies, Richard created a powerful enemy (with allies) who was shortly destined to replace him. John J. Norwich states, “There could no longer be any doubt that the King’s mental balance was seriously disturbed” (p. 116).

            Just as Richard succumbed to jealousy and perhaps madness, Saul also created an enemy of a would-be ally and initiated the sequence of events which inexorably led to his downfall, death and replacement. David is introduced to the Saul narrative as the successor-King when Saul disobeys God’s command (conveyed by the prophet Samuel) on the conduct of the war against Israel’s enemies. There are, in fact, three introductions of David: the warrior-lad who slays Goliath; the musician who soothes King Saul; and the youngest son of Jesse improbably anointed by Samuel as the next King of Israel. David had defeated the Philistine giant, Goliath, and inspired the Israelite warriors to further victories. He became an important part of Saul’s Court and was given Saul's daughter in marriage. Yet Saul could not abide the song of the Israelite women after battle: “Saul has killed his thousands, but David his tens of thousands” (I Samuel 18:7).

            Whether it was mental illness or legitimate distress that his dynasty was ending before it truly began, Saul determined to eliminate his young rival. Saul made several attempts to kill David, and Saul’s enmity split his family. In describing one such attempt, the Bible asserts that Saul suffered from a form of madness: “An evil spirit from God descended on Saul and he raved within the house” (I Samuel 18:10). Saul’s son, Jonathan, and his daughter, Michal, both loved David, and in separate incidents saved him from their father’s wrath. Finally, David fled from Saul and sought refuge with Israel’s mortal enemy, the Philistines. Without the support of David, Saul was unable to defeat the Philistines; he and the crown prince, Jonathan, perished in battle, paving the path for David to assume the kingship.

            When Richard and Saul ultimately die, their successors have similar reactions to the news—not of relief, but of guilt and sorrow. Richard died in isolation at the hand of an assassin who thought he was following Henry’s wishes. In Shakespeare, Richard’s murderer, Exton, brings the news to King Henry who disowns the intent to have Richard killed, banishes Exton and vows a penitential pilgrimage to Jerusalem. Saul died in battle with the Philistines, which the Israelites lost in the absence of their hero, David. An Amalekite brings news to David of Saul’s death. The Amalekite says he found Saul gravely wounded and, in response to Saul’s explicit request, administered a merciful death blow. David immediately orders the death of the Amalekite for “destroying the anointed of the Lord.” David delivers a poetic elegy over Saul and Jonathan, "O how the mighty have fallen." He laments them as "lovely and pleasant...swifter than eagles, mightier than lions." This dirge is testament of remorse for a beloved enemy that repeatedly tried to kill the poet (II Samuel 1).

            Although Henry IV and David disrupted the dynastic order, each was intent to create his own dynasty and determined to pass the kingship on by inheritance. Arguably, the most important achievement of each King was to provide an heir who solidified the dynastic rule and who had achievements that rivaled or outshone those of the father. Henry IV’s successor, Henry V, after a wild and reckless youth (chronicled in Shakespeare’s two Henry IV plays) achieved a near miraculous victory over the French at Agincourt, married the daughter of the French King, and brought the promise that his heirs would rule France as well as England. Although his infant son did succeed him (as Henry VI), the victories of Henry V proved short-lived and were followed by the civil war known as the War of Roses. David’s son, Solomon, built the Temple in Jerusalem and expanded the Israelite Kingdom. On Solomon’s death, however, that kingdom split into the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah, never again to be united.

            The Plantagenet and Israelite Kingdoms thus share an unusual historical path: a legitimate King is deposed; a new King not in the natural line of succession is enthroned and establishes a new inherited dynastic order; the new King is followed by his son who achieves glory in his own right; the second-generation King, however, is unable to pass on a stable kingdom to his son and the realm is plagued by civil war and turmoil that lasts many generations

            Part of the enduring fascination with the histories of Henry and David is the manner in which they were made to live their lives before and during their rule. They were each forced into exile before assuming the crown and were removed from the luxury of court to the bitterness of life with a national enemy. Once in power, they faced endless rebellion and war within their families. What Shakespeare wrote about Henry is equally true for David: “Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown” (Henry IV, Part 2, III:i).

             Both Henry and David took refuge with the traditional enemies of their people, France in the case of Henry and Philistia in the case of David. Henry was sentenced to six years banishment when Richard interrupted the single combat between Henry and the Duke of Norfolk. Henry went off to France to begin his exile but broke the terms of his punishment and returned early upon the death of John of Gaunt, his father. Henry did not return alone; he had a substantial following in England and he came from France with armed followers. His return precipitated the fall of Richard and led to Henry’s coronation. David escaped several attempts on his life by King Saul and ultimately fled to Gath a Philistine city and became part of the royal guard of Achish, King of Gath. In exile, David amassed a large band of relatives and followers who formed the core of his support.

                David and Henry each had to fight off rebellions from those who were close to them after becoming King. Henry IV was made King with the support of the Percy family, especially the Earl of Northumberland. Years later, incensed over King Henry’s treatment of the family in the matter of some Scottish prisoners, the Percys and their Welsh and Scottish allies engage in open rebellion against Henry. King Henry and his sons battle the rebels and defeat them at Shrewsbury where the Prince of Wales (the future Henry V) first demonstrated his military prowess by killing Harry Hotspur, a far more experienced warrior. In Shakespeare’s account the rebellion is finally put down by the trick of a false promise of truce. King David seems to have had few moments of peace overcoming supporters of Saul and others and then having a fierce struggle with his son, Absalom. Absalom had proclaimed himself King while David was very much alive and mustered a huge force to seize the crown by force. Like Henry’s battle, this rebellion was also put down by a trick. Absalom appeared to have the upper hand but followed deliberately bad advice given by a double-agent loyal to David. Absalom’s end is well-known in art and literature: He swings between heaven and earth caught in a tree and is cut down by David’s general, Joab.

            [This parallel may appear somewhat strained since it compares David with Henry V, not Henry IV but the reigns of the two Henrys were contiguous and Shakespeare’s dramas present one continuous story.]

            Henry and David are each taken to task by a revered figure, and notwithstanding their absolute power, each accepts the criticism and grows in maturity. Henry had led a riotous life and consorted with vulgarians, including Falstaff and his company. In his early years, he was roundly criticized and brought to heel by the distinguished Chief Justice. Upon his father’s death, Henry V meets the Lord Chief Justice, who acknowledges that he fears that the new King does not like him. The jurist tells the new King that he was bound to respect the law in order to strengthen the old King’s legitimate rule. The new King tells the Chief Justice that he is right and that is he happy to “have a man so bold that dares do justice on my proper son.”

             David's fault was far greater. He lusts after Bathsheba, sleeps with her, and when she announces her pregnancy, David causes the death of her husband. The prophet Nathan makes the sin clear to David by presenting him a parable of the rich man who covets the poor man’s lone sheep. Nathan foretells the grievous punishments that will befall David. Rather than rage against Nathan, David acknowledges the sin and shortly thereafter suffers the first of many punishments involving the death of loved ones and the rebellion of sons (II Samuel 11).

            King David and Henry IV had forceful personalities that propelled them to kingship but they were also beloved by the common people, in contrast to their predecessors. Richard bitterly receives the report of Henry’s departure to banishment where a witness "observed his courtship of the common people, how he did seem to dive into their hearts with humble and familiar courtesy." Richard sarcastically notes, “what reverence [Henry] did throw away on slaves” (Richard II, I:iv).

            When King David brought the Ark of the Lord (carrying the Tablets of the Law) to Jerusalem he danced and leapt to the delight of the crowd. He was harshly and bitterly criticized by his wife, Michal, King Saul’s daughter for vulgar behavior “uncovering himself in front of his retainers’ servant girls.” David retorted at once: “I danced before the Lord who chose me over your father and all his family and appointed me to rule over the Lord’s people.” David added that he may continue to dance in that vulgar fashion and would receive still more honor from the servant girls (I Samuel 6).

            King David and Henry V were both beloved figures and great leaders but each had a dark side and engaged in ghastly massacres. Henry V was a great military leader who directed his vastly outnumbered forces to a celebrated victory over the French at Agincourt. When Henry heard that some French soldiers had killed the English youth guarding the luggage, he ordered retaliation by having all the French prisoners killed rather than being taken to captivity. David had escaped Saul’s persecution by gaining refuge with the Philistine King Achish. David and his followers acted as a Philistine auxiliary army and Achish thought David was raiding Israelite towns for booty. In fact, David stayed away from his native country and confined his raids to non-Philistine and also non-Israelite towns. In order to eliminate the possibility of witnesses, after the raids, David’s band killed every one in the raided villages, including women and children (I Samuel 27).
            Richard and King Saul are tragic figures and not just because of their violent and untimely deaths. They each had fatal flaws that inexorably led from great success and universal acceptance to failure, deposition, and death. They each had internal demons that drove them to ruinous jealousy and self-destructive acts. Richard enraged the nobility by confiscating property and promoting court lackeys. When Henry Bolingbroke returned from exile to claim his father’s entitlements and ultimately the throne, Richard was bereft of friends and was no match for Henry. David did not seek to replace Saul but when the prophet Samuel announced that God had repudiated Saul’s kingship, Saul’s paranoid hostility towards David made David’s succession virtually inevitable.

            David and Henry (both IV and V) were far from perfect. They were effective but sometimes brutal leaders. They did not always lead exemplary moral lives. Henry IV was racked with guilt over Richard’s displacement and the young Henry V lived a riotous youth leaving a trail of mischief and causing grief to his father. King David lusted after Bathsheba and caused the death of her husband. Nevertheless, Henry (particularly Henry V) and David are not seen as tragic figures but as beloved heroes with some flaws. This contrast between the King and his successor is not simply the result of the victor being the hero in history. It results, rather, from something sad, tragic and inevitable in the fall of Richard and Saul and from the strength of will and magnetic personalities of Henry and King David.

            At the end of their lives, Henry IV and David each had a death-bed scene with his successor replete with Machiavellian advice. Solomon was enthroned as King with David’s blessing while David was still alive. David’s parting advice to Solomon was to put to death certain of David’s enemies whom David had seemingly forgiven in his lifetime. David’s final act, perhaps protective of his son’s throne, is one of bloody vengeance. In a final scene of reconciliation between Henry IV and his son who is about to become King Henry V, the old King advises his son to consolidate his rule by instigating a foreign war.

            David and Henry IV were great leaders but their lives were complicated by power and abuse of power. Each heard that his actions would bring retribution in later life and in future generations.

            The Bishop of Carlisle rebukes Henry IV at the time of his coronation for his usurpation and prophesizes:

The blood of English shall manure the ground,

And future ages groan for this foul act;

Peace shall go to sleep with Turks and infidels,

And in this seat of peace, tumultuous wars

Shall kin with kin and kind with kind confound. (Richard II, IV:i)

            In similar terms, the Prophet Nathan rebukes King David with God’s judgment after the sin with Bathsheba: “Now therefore, the sword shall never depart from thy house…I will raise up evil against thee out of thine own house” (II Samuel 12:10–11).

            Both these prophecies came to pass. The War of Roses saw the destruction of a generation of Plantagenet Kings and Princes and peace was restored only with the new Tudor Dynasty. David’s children rose up against him and were killed and his son Solomon’s kingdom was racked with division and war for hundreds of years.

            Conflicts within families or with allies are often more devastating than those with traditional or natural enemies. Richard’s kingship was made secure by his family’s acceptance of his rule as a young boy. There were family members who also had valid claims to the Crown but Richard was selected and protected by powerful uncles. Logically, Richard should have made an ally of his first cousin, Henry Bolingbroke, and used him to solidify his reign. Instead, Richard sent Henry into exile setting into motion the almost clockwork-like events that led to his ruin.

            Logically, Saul should have loved David, who was his key military asset as well as his son-in-law. Instead, Saul repeatedly tried to kill David, who fled and was absent from the ruinous battle that destroyed Saul and ended his dynasty. Logically, Absalom should have loved and honored his father, David. Instead, he fomented rebellion and forfeited not only his future rule but his life. While the Tanakh lays the blame for Saul’s deposition to his disobedience and implies that Absalom’s rebellion was partial punishment for David’s sin with Bathsheba, family and personal dynamics surely played their roles in these destructive acts.

            In each case, illogical jealousy by the King (Saul and Richard), who was more powerful and stronger, towards the subject (David and Henry), who was an underling and weaker brought about personal downfall. Ultimately, as the prophet Nathan and the Bishop of Carlisle each foresaw, these episodes of personal enmity were to shatter peace for generations.

            We are accustomed to think that nations go to war for great national causes. Tanakh and Shakespeare teach us that peace is sometimes disrupted by individual actions and less than noble causes. Personal jealousy, prejudice, and unwarranted hatred have all led to war, and not just in ancient times. Students of World War I can identify the political and economic background of the conflict but none doubt the impact of the family relationships between the cousins, the Kaiser, the Czar, and the King of England. The blessing of peace must not be taken for granted and rulers (even democratic ones) must take care to promote policies and establish personal relationships that promote and nurture peace. Otherwise, “peace may go to sleep” and “the sword may never depart from the house.”

Although he actively denied the label of existentialism, the great existentialist writer and thinker Albert Camus had a great deal to teach us about the human condition. At just 44, two years before his untimely and tragic death, Camus was cited by the Nobel committee for his work to:

“illuminate the problem of the human conscience in our time... a champion of imaginative literature as a vehicle of philosophical insight and moral truth.”

He remains the second-youngest Nobel Laureate for Literature. The French-Algerian author of unique classics like “The Plague” and “The Stranger” was obsessed with the question of why we are here, and the absurd predicament of humanity in a world of suffering and apparent meaninglessness.

Camus was not content to relegate himself to just writing. He was a dedicated lifelong activist, throwing his energies to movements he felt were doing their best to achieve equality and justice, first as a revolutionary against French Colonialism in Algeria, then as a Marxist, then as an Anarchist. Camus was a man of principle, resigning from his human rights work at some opaque group called UNESCO (perhaps you have heard of them of late), when the United Nations accepted the Dictator General Franco with open arms. There is even scholarly speculation that Camus covertly participated in the rescue and hiding of Jewish children in Chambon, France organized by the righteous Pastor, André Trocmé, in 1942.

Even when world opinion, especially in so-called polite European society began to turn against Israel in the wake of the ‘57 Suez crisis, Camus wrote publicly to affirm his support for the Jewish state, earning him the ire of his intellectual peers.

So then, at the height of his career, with many of his works beginning to gain wide interest and acceptance, Camus won the Nobel, and fell into a deep depression. Parenthetically, and most timely, Camus’ erstwhile friend Jean-Paul Sartre famously rejected the great prize, and scorned Camus for not doing the same.

Shortly after learning of the honor, Camus wrote to his mother - “Maman, I miss you now more than ever.” For him, the great recognition that the award signaled also triggered a sense that his career was somehow over, and the resulting feeling of the triviality of it all left a void which he tried to fill with activities like yoga.

In what may be the most famous words of his great literary career, Camus posed the following in the opening lines of his “Myth of Sisyphus:”

To decide whether life is worth living is to answer the fundamental question of philosophy. Everything else … is child’s play; we must first of all answer the question.

I think about Camus and this question during Sukkot, especially on Shabbat Hol Hamoed - when I recall another famous writer, one who I think also would have rejected the designation “existentialist.” Traditionally, Ashkenazim reserve today for the reading of Megillat Kohelet, the last of King Solomon’s three books of wisdom.

Our Sages relate in Midrash Shir ha-Shirim Rabbah that the evolution of each of these books can be traced to different times in the life of “the wisest of all men”. Shir ha-Shirim, Song of Songs, with its odes to love, passion, and desire represents the enthusiasm and potential of King Solomon’s younger years. Mishlei, Proverbs, is a product of middle age, an attempt to gather the wisdom of his experiences as King of the unified Jewish people, adorned with the glory of the Temple in Jerusalem. Finally, Kohelet,  Ecclesiastes, with its anguished cries of “Hevel Havalim haKol Havel” - “all is vanity” - is the work of the quill of a King reflecting upon his life with the realization that he is firmly in the twilight of it, in the valley of the shadow of death.

This King, blessed with transcendent wisdom, declares:  I have tried to make sense of it all, and yet it remains beyond me; as Camus might say: Absurdity of Absurdities, what’s the point of it all.

I feel comfortable comparing Camus, an avowed atheist, with the great King Solomon in this regard because of just how problematic Kohelet was for Hazal. Several sources, notably the Mishna in Yadayim (4:2), record debate amongst our Sages if this Megillah should even be considered part of the holy canon.

The martyr Rabbi Aryeh Zvi Frommer, known as the Kozhaglover Rav, crystallizes the rabbinic ambivalence toward King Solomon’s final work with the following question:

“All of Sefer Kohelet is mavhil, denigrating, of this world and every human activity in it, and yet our Torah wrote at the very outset that God looked at this world after creation and declared: - behold, it is good. How can this be?”

In fact, due to a comment made by the Rashbam and some other commentators, there is a sense that the last verses of Kohelet represent an “addition” by Hazal to make the previous twelve chapters ‘Kosher.’ After all is said and done, “Fear” - more accurately, be in awe of God, and keep his commandments because that’s all we’ve got.

We can sharpen the question further. The Torah singles out Sukkot, of all holidays, three times for a special exhortation to be joyful. This holiday even merits the formulation that we should be especially happy (Akh Sameah) and rejoice. So why must we read this existential, dark, and somewhat depressing Megillah at this time, harshing all of the joy of this holiday in a way even the most persistent rain cannot?

To attempt an answer, I want to turn back to Camus, and a reading of him by a special rabbi whom I quote often, Rav Shimon Gershon Rosenberg. Reading the classic “The Plague,” Rav Shagar (as Rav Rosenberg is known) sees a parable of our many devices against the inevitable which waits for us all, and the ways in which some people might react - some violently, some heretically, railing against and trying desperately to break all rules and systems, denying authority as meaningless and impotent.

Rav Shagar says this is the Shadow, the Tzel, that hangs over all life. He affirms, with respect and sympathy, those who choose to live in that Tzel, denying life, happiness, and joy because after all they are walking in the valley of the shadow of death. What good is it all - Hevel Havalim? So let us eat, drink, and be merry. Let us amuse ourselves to death and consume the time we have left, as the sand drains from the top of the hourglass.

Even King Solomon gives credence to this notion in one of Kohelet’s most egregious passages in the eyes of Chazal: There’s nothing better for a person than to eat, drink, and take pride in their material achievements. How could such a seemingly hedonistic statement be included in Tanakh?

While we could discuss these themes at great length, I want to finish with the profound and moving response of Rav Shagar, a man who himself lived life in a personal shadow of death. He was the only survivor of a blasted Israeli tank during the Yom Kippur war, dragged out of the burning wreck with only the most tenuous grip on life, as his friends perished behind him in that terrible battle.

An artist's’ portrait of the Rabbi that graces the cover of one of his posthumous derashot depicts a man deep in study, almost entombed in dark shadows. It is from this well of suffering and pain that Rav Shagar’s response arises.

He writes that there is another, parallel shadow in life, in the words of the Zohar called the shadow of Emunah. With Emunah, faith, we can sanctify and elevate the shadow of death by realizing that “Lo Ira Ra Ki Atah Imadi” - we do not fear, because Hashem is with us. True, it is still a shadow, but in this instance it inspires not dread, but awe and radical amazement.

To be sure, we eat, drink, and make merry on this festival of joy, but it is in the shadow of the Sukkah, a structure flimsy and transient, but built to Halakhic specifications unchanged by thousands of years of the worst that humanity has offered to our eternal people. We remember in the Sukkah the protection of God’s divine glory and the actual Sukkot the nascent Israelite people built in the desert as a wandering slave nation, yet to see the fruits of their Sisyphean labors and sufferings in Egypt.

We dwell in the shade of the sukkah - Halakha requires there be shade and shadows within it, but we look up and recognize that is not the shadow of doubt, meaninglessness, and vanity, but rather the comforting embrace of God’s Sukkah of Peace, signifying the tranquility and inner peace of  the faithful believer.

In the Sukkah and on Sukkot - even as our Hadasim and Aravot dry out, our etrogim lose their luster and pitoms, even as our s’khakh is knocked down by wind and rain, and the colors in our children’s beautiful decorations begin to run, we may reflect on how we seek refuge in the wings of faith as they envelop us with certainty, purpose, and mission.

Praiseworthy are those who dwell in God’s presence, in the Shadows of Faith, fulfilling Mitzvot, doing acts of kindness, coming together in solidarity. Much of our High Holy Day liturgy begins with the affirmative answer uv’khen - “YES”, we answer to Camus’ question. Yes, in spite of it all, it is absolutely worth it to be here, to be alive and infused with the sense of purpose that the gift of Emunah grants us.

For many of us this all requires a leap, which ultimately is what Camus himself advocated in the face of the absurd, the only thing that allowed him to forge ahead into a life of action. We forge ahead into a life of Mitzvot and closeness with God.

Uv’khen –Yes-- this response allows us to say it is indeed good, and we can rejoice. Yes, despite all the difficult and vexing existential questions of faith and life raised by Kohelet, the absolutely integral answer and the final word for all of us here today was and always remains: “The end of the matter, all having been heard: fear God and keep His commandments; for this is the essence of human life.”