National Scholar Updates

Mrs. Zipora Schorr has served as Director of Education of Beth Tfiloh Dahan Community School in Baltimore, Maryland for more than three decades. She is the recipient of the 2003 Covenant Foundation Award for Exceptional Jewish Educators, serves as a member of the Board of Directors of RAVSAK, is the chair of the Principals' Association of the Day School Council of Baltimore, and lectures widely on best practices in education and on Board Development and Governance. Mrs. Schorr has done her Masters' work in education at Johns Hopkins University, and is a doctoral candidate at Gratz College. This article appears in issue 25 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

All eight of us—all my mother’s children—are in Jewish education in one capacity or another. We are teachers or principals in schools as diverse as Hareidi yeshivot, Modern Orthodox Day Schools, and Community Schools. We have taught English and Math, Hebrew language and Talmud, Parsha and Parshanut. We have led preschools, lower schools, and high schools, have taught special education and adult education, have educated developmentally disabled children and those who are intellectually gifted. Through all of these experiences, we have each grown up with our schools, and have stayed in those schools for many years.

That, in and of itself, is an anomaly. In a field where only 11 to 15 percent of Jewish educational professionals remain in the same positions for 15 years or more, we defy the norm. We have each been in our positions for the greater part of our professional lives; all but three are principals, and two are teachers working for one of their siblings. Six of us are women, two are men, and our collective experience adds up to about 200 years.

All of this is meant to provide a backdrop and a context for some of the conclusions drawn and reflections shared in this essay. While this is clearly not a research article, I would submit that the anecdotal information and the experiences recounted would serve to provide an accurate picture of the landscape of Jewish education over the past 40 to 50 years. Perhaps this is too bold a claim—yet I cannot imagine a more authentic description of the field than that distilled out of the numerous conversations, discussions, conclusions, analyses, frustrations, and triumphs we brothers and sisters have shared. The very familiar relationships conjure up late-night talks, intimate and honest, always reminding us of the universality of our experiences, and the depth of our feeling for our field.

And herein lies the kernel, the core, the essence of what I share, speaking in my voice and in the voice of seven others, all in the same key—different tunes, assuredly, representing different educational environments, but variations on the same theme, ending with the same chorus.

Thoreau said, “Most men lead lives of quiet desperation, and go to the grave with the song still in them” (Civil Disobedience and Other Essays). We eight, in contrast, feel we lead lives of deep meaning, and we do so with a sense of joy and passion. Because at the heart of what we do is exactly that: heart. In short, we love what we do because we love why we do it: We love our students, and through them, we touch the future.

Although this may read like a cliché, we would each assure you that we mean it, and you have only to ask our students and they would confirm it. They know, without a doubt, that we care deeply about them, and we help them to care deeply about themselves—no easy feat in the complex and troubling world in which they find themselves.

A brief history: I have always wanted to be a teacher, always assumed I would be one. My early years were spent in the Kindergarten classroom of my older sister, who was my second teacher.

My first teacher was my mother, widowed at the age of 44, who was a model of strength and compassion, resilience and joy for all of her children, whom she raised alone, though she would have denied that. “Ich nem dem Aibishter bei dem hant,” she would say, “I take God by the hand, and he takes me where he needs me to go.” Simple and elemental, this is where my belief and my faith had their roots.

My first teaching job was at the age of 12, when I taught Sunday School for yet another sister, and learned to demonstrate authority and confidence, even when I didn’t feel it. I subsequently went on to become a high school English and Math teacher, a teacher of Humash and Jewish Thought, and then became the founding principal of a school for which I was expected to hire teachers, develop curriculum, order books and supplies, read architectural plans, and meet with the contractors of our new building. I was 25 years old. What I had was chutzpah—but even then I also had the passion that has never abated.

“MiKol melamdai hiskalti.” I learned a great deal in those years, some things by trial and error, but mostly through my mentors: my sisters and brothers.

“MiTalmidai yoter miKulam.” But it was from my students I learned the most, learned by listening carefully to the “small still voice” that trusted me enough to teach me.

And so, the first thing I learned was that, in order to teach, you need to have a safe space in which your students can learn. More than ever, creating a sense of sureness and stability is central to the emotional climate of our students. Of course we are institutions of learning, and of course the discourse must be stimulating and challenging. But our children cannot learn if they are unavailable for instruction, and they cannot be available for instruction if their emotional health is compromised by a sense of insecurity.

Needless to say, our partnership with parents becomes more important as we strive to provide that safe environment, but here, too, changes in society militate against our ability to provide that sense of safety and security. Specifically, I am referring to the upheaval in the structure of the American Jewish family, held hostage by the changes in society at large.

I have learned that our Jewish families are not immune from those changes, and in some cases are most vulnerable, because our culture expects us to produce the best and the brightest. Changes in gender roles, children who are over-subscribed and over-programmed, parents who are financially challenged, families where both parents work full-time, the demise of the extended family and the lack of support systems once provided by neighboring relatives—all of these factors contribute to the weakening family.

I have learned that the strength of the family is necessary for the strength of the school, and is crucial to the reinforcement of the principles and values a school strives to teach.

I say this despite the fact that one of the seminal articles on contemporary Orthodoxy, Haym Soloveitchik’s 1994 essay in Tradition magazine, describes the replacement of the religious authority of the family, the mimetic expression of religious norms, by the authority of the school.

The “superior” textual knowledge of the teachers and rebbeim is seen in sharp contrast to the less Jewishly educated, or perhaps more organically educated parents.
While I see this trend very starkly, whether in yeshivot or community Day Schools, it leads me to a conclusion that seems self-evident but is often ignored: I have learned that, to fully educate a child Jewishly, we must educate the family as well. Our children have not simply sprung from the earth. They come to us with values and norms that are formed in the home, and if those values and norms are not brought into consonance with those of the school, at best there will be dissonance, at worst rejection of one or the other.

I have learned, then, that “the parents are not the enemy,” but vital partners and co-learners of all that we attempt to instill in our children. V’heishiv lev avot al banim veLev banim al avotam. The only way that we can actualize this “premise of partnership,” however, is for both parties to have respect and regard for the other. And that can only happen with a deep understanding on the part of the teacher that, as one parent put it, “my child is a piece of my heart walking around outside of my body.” I share an astounding insight that I have consistently found: I have hired teachers who were single or married without children. They may have been excellent educators to begin with, but the transformation that takes place as soon as they have children of their own is very real, as these teachers begin to relate, in a profound way, to the depth of feeling the parents of their students have for their children. And, along with that, teachers further need to acknowledge the sophistication, intelligence, and indeed independence of parents who are no longer of the generation where what the teacher says is sacrosanct.

But in order for there to be mutual respect, the teacher too must earn the respect of the parent. Since the role itself has ceased to command the respect of bygone times, there must be other factors that could encourage this respect.

I have learned that a teacher who is well-schooled in best practices, who is professional and prepared, who knows his or her subject matter and can convey it clearly, who is open to suggestion and seeks guidance, will be the kind of teacher that a parent can and will respect.

Therein lies a major challenge for our times, because our finest minds are not going into the field that I consider the most important calling of all: educating the hearts and minds of our children—which brings me to a crisis in the world of education that is shared by those in the general education world as well as those in the Jewish education world: the dearth of qualified personnel.

And it seems as though the only way that can change is if the respect factor toward teachers and toward teaching as a viable choice of profession can be increased, and that requires more than just teacher training centers. It requires a societal shift that sees the teachers of our children as valued partners in raising and nurturing our next generations.

It requires more than respecting teachers; it requires respecting the profession, the calling that teachers have chosen, and elevating that calling to a place of prestige. I wish I would hear parents declaring that their son or daughter is a teacher with the same pride I hear when they declare that their son or daughter is a doctor or lawyer.
I have learned that if parents hold teachers in high esteem—in overt and in subtle ways—that maybe their children will see teaching as a profession and calling that brings with it respect and high esteem.

And it is not this attitude alone that children reflect. Our children accept—or reject—our worldview and values not from what we tell them, but from what they see and what they observe from their teachers and their parents.

I have learned that children often do not hear what we say, because the words are drowned out by what we do. Research shows that 30 seconds in to a lecture accompanied by a wagging finger, a child’s attention is lost. By contrast, that same child will watch her teacher or her parent talking during prayer, and that lesson will follow her into adulthood.

Our teachers would likely be amazed at the actual practice in the homes of their students, practice that differs widely form the image those parents try to project.
I have learned, therefore, that we really cannot know in what circumstances our students are brought up, what things they see and what words they hear. Our schools are much more diverse than ever before, because our communities are more diverse, with an influx of ba’alei teshuvah, Jews from the former Soviet Union, Iranian Jews, and other Jewish ethnic groups. Although this multiculturalism is enormously enriching for our children, the challenge is helping our families welcome these groups as part of klal Yisrael, not as the Other. The challenge for our teachers is understanding the cultural differences not only in these groups, but in the larger school community, with differences in lifestyle and in religious observance.

I have learned, therefore, that every child, every issue, every demanding situation has a context, has a back story, and no judgment, no policy, and no decision can be made without contextualizing the situation. When a teacher bemoans the “breakdown of standards,” I ask him or her to “quantify.” Are we describing a widespread malady, I ask, or is it an anomaly within the group, an outgrowth of a cultural attitude? When a discipline issue surfaces, I ask the teacher to make sure she understands the way some families communicate, and ask that teacher to understand the behavior within the context of the child’s reality.

This is not to say that schools should be places of chaos and disorder.

But I have learned that without quantifying, and without considering context, no story is complete. Decisions and policies made in a vacuum, therefore, are purely cosmetic, because they are not responding to real-life situations, but to a theoretical construct that bears no resemblance to reality. Must a child understand the consequences of his actions, and be ready to accept those consequences? Of course.

But I have learned that, without considering all of the background information and the child’s own reality—cultural, emotion, familial—the policy is meaningless. Perhaps we find comfort in the consistency of the words in the rule book, but let us then admit that we are not dealing with the young person standing before us, in all of his complexity, with tears in his eyes, and pain in his heart.

Which brings us full circle to our purpose, our goal, our reason for being, the cause to which we are dedicated: the heart and soul of our holy charges.

A Hassidic story captures it best. The story is told of the Baal HaTanya, who came knocking at the door of the Mezritcher Maggid. “Who is it,” asks the Maggid. “Ich, it is I,” said the Baal HaTanya. “Who?” he asked once again. And once again the answer was “ich” (“I” in Yiddish). “’Ich,’ you said?” said the Maggid with a tormented sigh. ‘Ich’? I have worked for 20 years to eradicate the ‘ich’ from you, and you come brazenly to my door and say “ich?”

Our goal is to remove our “ich,” and embrace the centrality and importance of our children, not ourselves. Jim Collins, author of the management manifesto Good to Great, speaks of Level V Leadership, the level of leadership to which we aspire, whether as teachers, as institutional leaders, even as parents. The core of Level V Leadership?

Humility, no different from the description the Torah gives of the quintessential icon of leadership, Moses. “Ve-haIsh Moshe anav me’od miKol adam,” “And the man, Moses, was humblest of all people.” Moses was indeed only a man, not a god, but his greatness was that he knew that, and he acted as a “servant leader.”

Author and educational philosopher Thomas J. Sergiovanni, in his groundbreaking work “Moral Leadership” cogently articulates this concept, and in so doing captures so many of our Torah values. “Truly effective schools are those with a …covenantal relationship…sacred authority…” with the leader case in the role of “servant leader.”
How strikingly resonant of the description of Moses, eved Hashem, servant to God, but steward too, of his people, whom he guided with humility.

All of this informs my vision of Jewish education for the future. You will notice that I did not touch upon technology and scientific advances, curriculum and administrative structure, enrollment and recruitment, affordability and sustainability, fiduciary responsibility and fiscal viability. All of these are topics that are important and real; all of these are issues with which we grapple each day, and which certainly require our attention. But these are all the corporeal manifestation of schools, akin to the body that God has created. While the body is the medium through which we serve, it is ultimately only a vessel, one that houses the heart and the soul.

And it is, ultimately, the heart and the soul with which I am concerned, the heart and the soul of the child whom I serve, the heart and soul of the school within which I serve.
My vision, therefore, of the ideal Jewish school, begins with the underpinning of humility in leadership, open to ideas, to innovation, to creativity. It is a school that has well-trained, committed and passionate teachers and leaders, who are respected by the stakeholders as professionals and partners, and who themselves are respectful of the “tselem Elohim” in the holy children they teacher.

It is a school that teaches not only children but families, a school where the role of the family is acknowledged and valued, a school where it is understood that the family and school have an important symbiotic relationship which enhances both.

Finally, this physical space called a school is reshaped into a “mikdash me’at,” a safe and secure haven where questioning and learning and growing can take place, where passion and joy are the engines that drive the entire endeavor, and where the hearts and souls of all who enter are touched and transformed.

Rabbi Jeremy Rosen is a graduate both of Cambridge University and Mir Yeshivah in Jerusalem. He worked in the Orthodox rabbinate and Jewish education in the United Kingdom before retiring to New York where he teaches, lectures, and writes. He is the rabbi of the Persian Jewish Community in Manhattan. This article appears in issue 25 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

Introduction

In 1968, I returned to Britain from yeshiva in Jerusalem to take on my first full-time rabbinic position as rabbi of the largest congregation in Scotland, the Giffnock & Newlands Congregation in Glasgow. It was a thriving community that had just moved into a new palatial synagogue and center that reflected its position in a community of nearly 20,000 Jews. Glasgow, at that time a community made up primarily of Jews from Lithuania, had several large synagogues and many smaller ones, a Bet Din, a yeshiva, a Jewish Day School, and a full array of welfare agencies and cultural societies.

Today the community numbers several thousand. Former congregants of mine can be found in London and Manchester in the UK, and in the United States, Israel, Canada, and Australia. Glasgow’s decline is symptomatic of the demographic changes that Jewish communities have always gone through. Who remembers that a thousand years ago Bari and Otranto in Southern Italy were among the largest and most learned Jewish communities in the world?

Jewish communities have always experienced political, physical, and spiritual cycles. The innovations of Karaites, Kabbalists, Hassidim, Maskilim, and Reform have all affected the character of Jewish life at various times. They have challenged and enriched, risen as innovative movements and then sunk back into conservative establishments. Life is cyclical, both in nature and in human affairs. Jewish life, like all others, has gone through periods of creative innovation and then retrenchment and back again. So the changes that I have experienced in my lifetime are merely blips in the history of humankind and are not the final story.

Israel

Looking back at my 50 or so years as a rabbi to Orthodox congregations in various countries, without any doubt the single most important external factor for change, for better and for worse, has been Israel.

Since 1948 and the creation of the State of Israel, the feeling in Europe that Jews were not wanted and had nowhere to go, nowhere to flee to, has disappeared from the Jewish psyche. Nevertheless, the sense of insecurity, even alienation, that many Jews felt did not begin to disappear until 1967. The early years of the State were years of hope, but also years of anxiety and fear that the amazing achievements of ingathering and state-building could be snuffed out at any moment by its surrounding enemies. They were years of deep divisions; between the secular and the religious, Ashkenazic and Sephardic, and between different ethnic communities and political parties in Israel. This was something that was a completely new phenomenon for most Diaspora Jews. All of this continues of course, but it is not as dogmatically intransigent as I recall in the 1950s and 1960s, when Mapai and the secular parties ruled the roost.
Until 1967, Jewish communities in the Diaspora thought of themselves as self-sufficient, both religiously and culturally. They looked at the community in Israel with warmth and commitment, as a child that needed nurturing despite its behavioral problems. Those of us who were traditional to whatever degree found the strongly anti-religious atmosphere that pervaded government institutions, offices, and personnel in Israel at that time discomforting and troubling. In the Diaspora, Jewish communities tended to revolve around religious life to whatever degree. In Israel, aggressively anti-religious sentiment was something quite unique.

After 1967, so much began to change. Anti-religiousness began to soften. There was a tangible sense that the amazing military victories were to some degree inspired from On High. Idealism transferred from socialism to nationalism, and Sephardic communities began to assert themselves. Religious education and institutions began to expand, and for all its problems, Israel now represented security and confidence. In contrast to the secular Zionist, a new form of pioneer, the Messianic-inspired settler on the West Bank (to distinguish those who settled out of conviction as opposed to financial benefit), created a new sect in Judaism, the Chardal, Haredi Le’umi, the Pious Nationalist. Menachem Begin was responsible, more than any other leader, for eventually turning Israel into a Jewish State rather than just a state of Jews. As political parties with religious or traditional constituencies began to gain in influence during the 1970s, for the first time one saw employees with kippot working in government offices and institutions.

Israeli society continued to evolve in unforeseen ways. Before 1967, there were relatively few Diaspora students in yeshivot in Israel. Soon the trickle turned into a flood, and new yeshivot of all colors, degrees, and ideologies began to mushroom. More Americans came to settle in Israel. The secular world was energized by the Russian immigration. But to the surprise of the Left, they turned out to vote for right-wing parties. Then came the Ethiopian immigration, who experienced all the difficulties of absorption and integration that previous waves of immigrants had. Meanwhile, the growing Haredi community, driven both by significant immigration and a high birthrate, began to expand beyond its original ghettos and assert itself more and more. At the same time, Israelis who left Israel rarely joined local Jewish communities.

Today, Israel has come to dominate Jewish life everywhere. All Diaspora communities are dependent on it for marriage, educational resources, religious scholarship, both yeshivish and academic, to a degree that was unimagined previously. Where once Bavel overshadowed Eretz Yisrael, now for the first time since the destruction of the Temple, it is Israel that overshadows the Diaspora. There is more religious creativity, variety, experiment, and depth there than in all of the Diaspora put together and doubled. The same of course can possibly be said culturally, in terms of literature, music, dance, and theater.

But at the same time, the pendulum of world opinion has swung dramatically against Israel. Whereas once Zionism sought to normalize Jews and solve Jewish problems, the contrary is now true. In the 1950s, Israel, a socialist state touted for its kibbutzim, communal settlements based on Marxist ideals, attracted left-wing idealists from all over the world. Since then, Israel has largely turned its back on socialism. It was believed that Zionism would make Jews the same as everyone else and destroy the ghetto Jew. It has in fact resurrected the hatred that was too embarrassed to admit its pathology after the Holocaust and now has morphed from anti-Zionism to anti-Semitism and has spread unashamedly from Islam to fascism to left-wing liberalism. Ironically, it has only increased the sense of Jewish exceptionalism. Nevertheless, all this, together with Israel’s economic success, has completely changed the Jewish self-image. Whereas once the Jews were disdained for being weak, rudderless, and rootless, now they are hated for being strong, chauvinistic, aggressive, and successful.

The numerical and financial power of Islam is making itself felt throughout the Western world, and its migrations are changing the characters of the receiving countries. The left-wing that once had the Soviet Union as its unifying symbol, now only has anti-Americanism and anti-capitalism to rail against. Israel is regarded as the symbol of capitalist imperialism, a proxy for the United States and therefore the symbol of everything the left detests. Logic or the facts have never affected prejudice—and prejudice against Israel is now the default of the intellectual world. Just as 50 years ago I could not have envisaged the dynamic impact Israel would have on Jewish life, neither could I have foreseen how hated it and we would become.

I am not sure all this is necessarily negative. If I had to choose (and I would not want to be put in this position), I would rather be strong and hated than weak and loved. But what I regret most profoundly about Israel is what I regret about almost every country I know, and that is its politics and its political culture, because it has invaded and infected the body of Judaism.

Religious Triumphalism

When I say that ultra-Orthodoxy is going through a period of triumphalism I am referring to attitude rather than birthrates. The nature of political bargaining has infected the religious world. I recall in the 1950s huge Haredi demonstrations in Israel against autopsies. The Ministry of Health in those days was in the hands of the ultra-secular left-wing Mapam party. Mapam eventually merged with Mapai, Ben Gurion’s mainstream party of the left. Mapam’s position was that religious objections to using bodies for medical practice or for autopsies to determine the causes of death, were both superstitious and retrograde; they stood in the way of progress. Initially, moderate religious parties negotiated compromises that three doctors had to sign off on any request for post mortems; only bodies donated by the deceased or the family could be used for medical practice; and remains would be treated with respect and buried afterward. All these agreements were shown to have been ignored on the ground. The demonstrations were designed to curb the abuses.

The official position of the Haredi demonstrators was that all autopsies, post mortems, “Nituhei Meytim,” were absolutely forbidden by halakha. Now anyone familiar with halakha will know that this is not the case, especially where it can save life, and indeed organ donation to save life had been acceptable to the first Chief Rabbis of Israel. Here is not the place to go into the nuances of halakha. My point is that in order to bring pressure to bear on Mapam, and having seen that compromises had failed, a new modus operandi was established within Haredi circles. Because one was dealing with politics as much as religion, one could present an extreme position as normative in order to achieve one’s ends. In other words, knowing that compromise at some stage would be necessary, you do not start negotiations with concessions, you start with maximalist demands in the hope of settling halfway. This explains the implacable opposition of the Haredi world nowadays, the refusal to even consider limited military service, basic minimal secular education, all things that some of the greatest rabbis of the 1950s were in favor of.

The Zionist pioneers, the Sabras, always prided themselves on their no-nonsense, “dugri” approach to people and life. None of the effete, Germanic exaggerated false politeness. This produced the notoriously arrogant Sabra. Although Israelis are much less arrogant and more nuanced nowadays, that old arrogance can still be felt in the public arena. From the start of the State the political climate was poisoned by the antagonism between Ben Gurion’s left and Begin’s right. The Altalena affair was emblematic. On Ben Gurion’s orders the Haganah destroyed the ship commissioned by Begin’s Irgun (as the two armies were being integrated) to bring badly needed arms to Israel during its War of Independence. It set the tone for political debate. Which soon descended into recrimination and confrontation in the Knesset; rudeness, shouting abuse and occasionally throwing punches. This culture of “he who makes most noise usually wins the point” or at least gains credit from his constituency, soon became the norm in Israel—as indeed it did in most democratic systems. But in Israel, because religion and politics were intertwined, this aggressiveness infected religious discourse, too. Religions usually are affected by the prevailing culture. To use a totally inappropriate term, pork barrel politics, the world of political payoffs and bribery, soon became the norm in Israeli political society, and it has become thus in ultra-Orthodox society too, with its strident demands, blackmail, and cash for votes.

It is the Israeli tendency of confrontation in debate that has given religion an aggressive and combatant aura and its reputation for graft and importuning. But it has also fueled the desire for greater and greater strictness, as if this were the only response to the challenge of modernity and secularism. It is true that putting up barriers, refusing to compromise, and disregarding obvious inequities is the natural knee-jerk reaction of a beleaguered minority. The ultra-Orthodox used to see themselves this way and claimed that any reaction against them was an example of Nazism. I can’t think of a more ridiculous and inappropriate epithet, but again, as is the norm in political conflict, words are intended to hurt, not communicate. Similarly, in disputes on religious issues it is common to hear perfectly Orthodox committed rabbis who take a different approach, described as apostates, enemies of the Jews, and betrayers of the faith.

If once the Haredi population saw itself as discriminated against, in many parts of Israel today the boot is now on the other foot. The tables are beginning to turn. The vast amounts of money given each year to religious education, welfare, and institutions has fueled the growth and power of this significant minority. But it seems the more they get, the less they are prepared to concede. The Judaism of sensitivity toward the less observant, inclusivity, and tolerance is fast disappearing. Even the Sephardic world, once symbolic of tolerant inclusive leniency, is increasingly aping the worst aspects of the Ashkenazic communities. It is true that such dismissal of other points of view goes back to the days of the Old Yishuv and the way the Sonnenfeld camp behaved so crudely toward Rav Kook. But whereas once it was an occasional aberration, now it has become the norm.

The Holocaust

The Holocaust is another crucial feature of Jewish life. Its influence has been felt in several different areas. In Israel, after having been largely ignored and psychologically repressed during the early days of the State, it has become the core component of Israel’s identity. Masada was once the icon from the Roman period of the Jewish struggle for self-determination. The Holocaust has now become the modern icon—with some justification of course. Because had Israel been an independent state during the rise of Nazism, millions could have been offered sanctuary where no other so-called civilized country was prepared to take on the moral obligation.

During the 1950s, the Holocaust lurked deep in our psyches. But it was in the next decade, after the Eichmann trial, that the Holocaust became the compelling narrative of Jewish identity. Israeli society embraced the tragedy as a compelling justification for a Jewish State and much of Diaspora society as a substitute for religious commitment. Ironically, over the succeeding years it came to be regarded by anti-Israelis of all kinds as proof that Israel was founded only because of the sins of the Imperialist world, and even Obama used it as the justification for Israel’s existence in his now infamous Cairo speech in 2009.

The Haredi world had always resisted the formal state Holocaust narrative and remembrance days instituted either by the Knesset or the Chief Rabbinate as mere tokenism. Indeed, they argued that secular Zionism remembered the fighters of the Warsaw ghettos as the ideal response. Haredim on the other hand offered an image of spiritual fortitude and dignified martyrdom rather than pointless physical resistance. The Holocaust for them was such a catastrophic and traumatic event because they were overwhelmingly the majority of those murdered. Their response was to make the image of the destruction of the ghettos the compelling reason to focus entirely on rebuilding and restocking the wells of Torah that had been so brutally destroyed. Looking back to the mythical past became their animating narrative as they reacted by having as many children as possible and devoting their time to study and prayer.

Added to this was the sense that Western cultures, so vaunted as the symbol of the moral superiority of educated mankind, had either actively participated in the rise of Nazism or turned a blind eye to the fate of the Jews. Anything that reeked of secularism was therefore self-evidently corrupt and to be avoided. The only response to the Holocaust was to ensure that Judaism did not disappear and accord Hitler a posthumous victory. Any nod in the direction of secular culture was a betrayal. Meanwhile for many Jews, mainly in the Diaspora, remembering and teaching the Holocaust became an alternative way of expressing one’s Jewish identity without having to deal with the demands of religious behavior.

The Hassidic Model

Slowly and imperceptibly, more than ever before, Hassidism has proved to be the dominant internal influence, whether consciously or not, on ultra-Orthodoxy today. Its influence has not just been through its political and financial power or even so much in the fact that non-Hassidic branches of Orthodoxy have adopted its business model. Rather it is in its anti-intellectualism, in its absolute rejection of anything non-religious way beyond anything seen in Europe before the Second World War.

Most of the Orthodox survivors of the Holocaust were Hassidim who came from the Carpathians, with its longstanding tradition of resisting any secular, cultural, or Zionist influence. The Hassidic opposition to secularism and rationalism came to dominate the Haredi world. Its anti-intellectualism, with its emphasis on “simple faith,” made it resistant to any form of rational religion. Chabad Hassidism, which expressed the more cerebral aspect of Hassidic thought, resisted rationalism and adhered internally to fundamentalism, even if its acceptance of other Jews, no matter how far they had strayed, made it appear more receptive. Its use of modern methods of public relations and promotion often belie its underlying conservatism and fundamentalism. Chabad has identified with the State of Israel far more than most other Hassidic sects, and its aggressive maximalist attitude toward territorialism has set it apart from most of the the Hassidic movements.

Ironically, the massive growth of the Haredi world was dramatically aided by the much disparaged socialist policy of welfare. Whether in Israel, Europe, or America, state aid boomed after the Second World War, inspired by civil notions of welfare rather than religious ones. This product of secular values was crucial in enabling a culture of dependency. It also reduced the need to earn a living, along with its requirement for secular educational skills of varying degrees.

Its system of disciplined authority with the rebbe and his court at the summit, its exceptional commitment to charitable works, and its encouragement of the accumulation of wealth helped it become so dominant that eventually even the anti-Hassidic Lithuanian community, the yeshivish world, soon adopted all its trappings of power and authority. But that world was also one in which violence was tolerated—against recalcitrant members, against anyone trying to challenge the authority of the rebbe, and against other groups perceived as threats. Such violence has been seen increasingly in both Hassidic and Lithuanian circles, whether at election time or when rival camps of supporters of candidates for power or leadership battle it out, either in yeshiva halls or the streets of Haredi neighborhoods.

In suggesting that Israel itself plays a major part in all of this might seem unfair, when we have witnessed similar trends elsewhere in other religions. But the nature of Israeli society, its tone and character, as well as its welfare, have certainly played a crucial part in the processes I have outlined. The confrontation, the aggression that now characterizes debate within the Haredi community, is undermining its amazingly positive qualities of social welfare and support, not to mention religious devotion, study, and strong sense of group identity. Similarly, its reluctance to deal with abuse within families reflects both a suspicion of the outside world and an overly protective attitude toward male perpetrators precisely because as Haredi men they are often given a pass.

All this is of course to be seen elsewhere, but the Israeli version is all the more disturbing to us who care. They make Orthodox Judaism less welcoming to challenge, difference, and individuality, and less tolerant.

The competitiveness within Orthodoxy has also led to increasing stringency, both with regard to the letter of Jewish law and trappings of outward identity and separateness. Each new generation seems to be stricter than the previous one. I used to think once there would come a moment when the next generation of religious leaders would make their personal mark on the Jewish world by being more lenient. In fact, over time it has gotten worse. The new generation of Hassidic rebbes I encounter are stricter than their forbears. This is true in America as much as it is in Israel. This cannot go on forever; eventually it will change. Only my time scale was wrong.

My predictions were wrong on this issue as they were, too, with regard to the Chief Rabbinate in Israel. In the 1950s, the Haredi world completely ignored the State Rabbinate. This meant that dynamic Chief Rabbis like Rav Shlomo Goren could make halakhic decisions more attuned to the needs of Israeli society in general. The Haredi authorities cared only for their communities. I expected that this would continue, and the State Rabbinate would hold the line of moderation and concern for the wider public in Israel. But as the Haredi world needed more jobs for its growing population, ideally in religious occupations, and as employment in the Rabbinate and the religious courts offered excellent remuneration, they began to infiltrate the system to the point where they now control it. Only rabbis sympathetic to their authority and dictates will be elected to senior positions. This has completely undermined the moderate rabbis who increasingly have to create their own organizations, such as TZOHAR, outside of the Chief Rabbinate and often in conflict with it. This is getting worse. The only hope is that things get so bad that the Chief Rabbinate will undermine itself and be reformed. But if my record of poor predictions holds true, the opposite will happen.

One of the features of modernity is easy communication. Once upon a time a rabbi was master of his own community, and it might have taken months for news of any decisions he made to reach other communities. By then, a local tradition and authority on the ground would have been established. Nowadays there is instant global contact. A decision made on Tuesday night in New York will be challenged on Wednesday morning in Jerusalem. Pressure can be brought to bear in anyone thought to be undermining religious authority instantaneously, including through physical violence. The fortitude required to withstand a sustained campaign of abuse, de-legitimization, and charges of heresy inhibits innovation and new ideas. New usages of old words like “masora” (tradition) are used to argue against change. This has prevented creative solutions to halakhic problems that still plague our society—issues such as the agunah, conversion of Russian Israelis, and problems of Jewish identity. The world is indeed smaller and as a result more challenging and dangerous. To disagree nowadays in the Haredi world courts humiliation and insult. Only the strongest can resist.

Outreach

Another significant new feature of Jewish life over the past 50 years has been the growth of outreach. The first modern example of outreach in Judaism was Hassidism itself in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. But their evangelical beginnings were soon diluted. It was Chabad, under the leadership of its last rebbe, that dramatically changed the Jewish world. It led the way in outreach to all Jews, regardless of degree of commitment, contrasted most noticeably with the inward-looking exclusivity of almost all the other Hassidic sects.

Regardless of its special and often peculiar ideology, Chabad is in fact the primary resource for Jews of all degrees around the world seeking some measure of Jewish religious provision. Their open attitude to every Jew regardless of background contrasts with their own very strict internal pressure to conform and powerfully fundamentalist approach to Judaism. But their unfailing willingness to serve communities and universities despite this, indeed despite their excessive predilection for vodka, has given them a dominant role in Jewish life both within and beyond the ghettos.

Chabad pioneered outreach in the 1950s, and in Israel came to be associated both with the State and with territorial maximalism. After 1967, their methods of communication and salesmanship were copied by a number of non-Hassidic outreach movements. Suddenly a whole range of movements mushroomed from within ultra-Orthodox yeshivot and institutions serving the newly religious, or ba’al teshuvah community, proliferated. Israel itself became the destination of thousands of young men and women spending a year between high school and college to explore their religious identity in Israel.
Although the numbers returning have not replaced the greater number assimilating, these movements have helped regenerate many areas of Jewish life. In addition, they have been in the forefront of the battle to combat rising anti-Semitism and the almost universal movement to delegitimize Israel. The trouble is that the “newly persuaded” often take matters much more literally and without discrimination than those brought up in the confident atmosphere of established tradition. This tendency to go by the book rather than through the absorption of different family practices and customs has led, in many circles, to a rigidity and inability to compromise, a reliance on the letter of the law rather than its spirit.

Individuality

But in my view there is another countervailing and no less significant feature of modern Jewish life that owes its existence both to Israeli society and Western secular society. I refer to the culture of individuality and choice that can be detected both within ultra-Orthodoxy and more evidently beyond. Of course “individuality,” like most words, can mean different things to different people. I do not mean the unbridled power of the ego to insist on doing whatever a person wants to do. But I do mean the right of the individual to pursue important goals and to make important decisions for himself or herself.

In religion, the primary challenge is to encounter the Divine and then use that encounter to improve the quality of one’s life on both the spiritual and the physical level. After all, I am the one who is commanded to encounter God. I have to do this in a way that satisfies my own specific mind and brain. That is the command implicit in the Shema and in the first of the Aseret haDibberot. But this is something I have to do. No one can do it for me. Most human beings are either unable or unwilling to embark on such a challenge, and so they accept without question dogmas, rules, conventions, and habits. We live in a world where we have the opportunity and are encouraged to explore and to challenge ourselves and to decide whether certain experiences are having the desired effect or not. We live now in a world where we can experiment, and even within defined religious structures, we have choices.

Ultra-Orthodoxy, like all conservative movements, is by its very nature resistant to change and individual choices. Quite the contrary. One of its mantras is “Bitul haYesh,” the importance of completely suppressing any materialism or individuality. But in practice there is evidence of much more individuality. There is greater fluidity and movement between the different sects than ever before. Even within the boundaries of the Haredi world, there are signs that many of the faithful, while not openly challenging the centralized hierarchy, do in fact choose to not always accept the authority of the leadership on every issue. The proliferation of smartphones and the internet in Haredi society, despite repeated bans issued from their religious leadership, is one obvious example. More and more young men are choosing to do military service in Israel, to qualify for careers, even entering academia and combining religious life with commercial activity. All of this inevitably takes them out of the ghettos and opens their minds to other ways of life and thought. Within the Haredi world itself, the growth of media activity, professional organizations, industries catering to Haredi needs, and the engagement in local and national politics have all introduced them to different ways of doing things and thinking. One even often sees examples of Haredi women who are better educated than their husbands, agitating for more of a say in the way their communities are run. All of this is bound eventually to filter through.

But it is beyond the ultra-Orthodox world that religious creativity and innovation can be seen more clearly. Within the major centers of Jewish life, more and more committed religious Jews chose to move between congregations, sometimes belonging to several simultaneously and sometimes none. They choose where to go and when. This flexibility, or as some might say fecklessness and lack of responsibility, is an increasing phenomenon. In one way it is parasitic because it takes advantage of those who pay for and actively maintain congregations. But in another it underscores the zeitgeist of freedom to choose and move between different examples of Jewish experience in search of what succeeds in attracting them.

There are in addition communities that experiment themselves, with giving greater opportunities to women both to participate and to take on roles as educators and service providers, different minyanim expressing different styles and methods of worship, unique characteristics, praying at different times and appealing to different age groups. There are new kinds of minyanim that come under different rubrics, women’s services, partnership minyanim, and if one moves further away from the traditional wing, egalitarian and experimental. At the same time, Reform services have tended to become more traditional than they were. The fact is that Jewish religious life beyond established structures is very vibrant and dynamic. As old communities die, new ones spring up. Nowhere is this dynamism more in evidence than in Israel, where the richness of its spiritual life in both religious and secular communities and a renewed interest in traditional texts and Torah study is often inspiring. Critical mass is of course essential for variety, and nowhere in the Diaspora nowadays is critical mass anywhere as strong and rich as it is in Israel. There is greater freedom of religious expression within the Orthodox Jewish world than in the past.

Conclusion

The past 50 years have been exciting and have seen the expansion of committed Jewry. But the challenges have increased, too. Not the least is the alienation of the majority of the Jewish population from its commitment to its religious roots. On the other hand, the opportunities to return to them are greater and more varied than ever before.
One might argue that in Judaism, both during Temple times and later, there has been a creative tension between community and individuality, between sanctuary and home, between prayer and study. The commandments fall into categories of communal and private, as they do between those commands designed to reinforce one’s relationship with Heaven and those with mankind. Just as one is often torn between obligations to family and those to community, so one is often torn between individuality and conformity. These tensions are rarely completely reconciled. They coexist and the challenge is up to us to find room for both.

The era we are living through is one in which individuality has never been more fashionable and stronger, and this has inevitably led to increased tension with community and conformity, particularly in one’s younger years. The pressures of secular society are so great and all-pervasive that one can readily understand the protective sentiment that only in a ghetto of the like-minded and like-behaving can one survive with one’s own culture or religion intact. But for those who cannot or will not conform, the options now are so much greater than they ever were to find somewhere where one can feel at ease with one’s Judaism and with oneself. That to me is the most important feature of religious change I have witnessed over the past 50 years.

Rabbi Dr Reuven P Bulka CM Rabbi Emeritus at Congregation Machzikei Hadas in Ottawa, Ontario, Canada, is the author of many books and articles, has made 345 blood/platelet donations, is Chair of the Trillium Gift of Life Network (the Ontario governmental agency in the Ministry of Health and Long Term Care responsible for Organ and Tissue Donation and Transplantation), as well as being the founder and CEO of Kind Canada Généreux. He was appointed a member of the Order of Canada on June 28, 2013. He is married to Leah Kalish-Rosenbloom, and together they share many generations of offspring. This article appears in issue 25 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

Opening Reflection

The rabbinate is not a cookie-cutter vocation. Every shul is different, at the same time that every shul is similar to its counterparts.

Shuls in larger cities such as New York City, Los Angeles, Miami, Toronto, etc., are more likely to be homogeneous. In smaller cities, such as Dallas, Little Rock, Seattle, Ottawa, etc., Orthodox synagogues are likely to have a mixed population, including many members who do not identify as Orthodox. In the shul in Ottawa I have been privileged to serve, I reckon that maybe one-quarter of the membership identify as Orthodox.

Then why belong to an Orthodox shul? There are many possible reasons, including that it is where the parents belonged, or that they like the other rabbi less, among others.
This mixed multitude keeps a rabbi on the alert. Sensitivity to every congregant demands a more inclusive way of thinking. It is in congregations such as these that rabbis are most needed, and also most challenged.

Rabbinic authority can often be a casualty of these types of rabbinate. "What the rabbi says is the law" is not automatically true. Rabbis who think they have unlimited influence are quickly humbled when they try to stop a Kiddush Club that goes on in the middle of Shabbat and Yom Tov services. This can be true even in larger cities with more homogeneous memberships.

Of course, there are other issues, many of which are discussed herein. Rabbis do have influence, but they are best advised to use that influence judiciously, and not as an authoritarian hammer. That is a most crucial point that those entering the rabbinate need absorb, among other important points.

Much of what I share with you in this essay reflects the thinking of a rabbi who has held a pulpit in a small city environment. I have chosen to highlight several issues wherein the rabbinate has changed, but there is more that could and should be written on this. What is presented here is descriptive without being judgmental.

A New World

The famous witticism—Had I known I would live this long, I would have taken better care of myself—resonates with me as I begin this presentation. Had I known that I would spend over 50 years in the rabbinate, and had I further known that I would be asked to “pen” a retrospective on the rabbinate, I would have taken more notice of the changes.
The first thought that comes to mind is the pen. I am not penning anything these days. I am computering this piece. Pens are obsolete, as are typewriters, newspapers (soon), checks, land line telephones, and so forth. So much change has occurred outside the rabbinate, with implications for the rabbinate itself. What is not clear is whether it is for better or for worse, or both.

Time has always been a challenge for rabbis, i.e., how to fit so many obligations into a day. The computer came with a promise of so much time-saving—but not for me, or many of my colleagues. In the past decade, I average at least two hours a day on the computer, just responding to emails. Emails and other linking ways do connect us more easily, but that will never be a substitute for real, face-to-face interaction,

For rabbis, the universe has expanded. And the rabbi, like it or not, dare not detach from that universe.

One relatively trivial example: In the past, when reciting the Mi sheBerakh for those who needed a refuah shelemah (full recovery), we included congregational members, their families, and upon request, other people in the city. Now, thanks to e-communication, the list is international. That is good. But try telling that to congregants who think that having so many names to mention takes too much time.
Access to information means that the congregation knows whatever the rabbi knows—and probably sooner. The days when news commentary formed a significant part of the rabbi’s Shabbat morning address are just about over. Some would argue that it is a good thing, that rabbis should deliver only divrei Torah. I am not so sure.

On balance, the key to good rabbinic sermons is that they be insightful, relevant to living a meaningful life, related when possible to the goings on in the world, and inspirational. In that regard at least, not much has changed.

A Major Change

Arguably the major change in today’s rabbinate comes from other rabbis. Without entering into the debate as to whether or not it is a good thing, most congregational rabbis are almost instantaneously thrown into a competition with other community rabbis representing other, non-congregational institutions, for the souls of the community members.

Membership in storefront shuls, or less imposing and thus less financially draining structures, is usually much lower in cost, and the experience more leisurely, and more gastronomically enticing. The service is less formal, and therefore usually more user friendly. There is the added bonus of knowing that every year, honey, Hanukkah essentials, matzah, and other celebratory necessities will be provided, free of charge. Most congregational rabbis cannot compete with this, try as they may. It is time consuming, to say the least, among other challenges to keep up. Yet keep up they must, with at the very least other services that are deemed important by the would-be beneficiaries.

Whereas it was always desirable that rabbis be nice people, today this truism has been escalated a notch. Rabbis must be people pleasers—hosting, engaging, entertaining; whatever it takes to attract and maintain a healthy membership. Consider this not-unusual scenario: A member of a congregation is approached and cultivated by another, non-congregational rabbi. That rabbi would love the new recruit as a regular member in his institution, but the recruit feels a loyalty to the long-time rabbi at his regular shul. Then, for whatever reason, the congregational rabbi leaves the shul. A new rabbi is hired, who obviously has little connection with the members, including the fellow, or fellows, being recruited from the outside. But now, the outsider rabbi has the inside track, because he knows the recruit better than the new congregational rabbi. What happens, not infrequently, is that the newly hired rabbi has to deal with a mini-crisis of people leaving his new shul through no fault of his own.

This scenario can of course play out in circumstances not involving a second rabbi, such as people leaving because they are angry at the departure of the incumbent rabbi, who they think was nudged out, or ushered out. Whatever the case, rabbis not respecting the territorial integrity of other congregations because of the need to build up their own entity, and therefore having no hesitation to “raid,” is a phenomenon with which today’s congregational rabbis must deal. The best way to deal with it is by respectfully conversing with the particular rabbi and set up workable protocols for a viable modus operandi.

There is more. Rabbis today have another source of competition that rabbis of yesteryear did not have. It is what may be called the cyberization of the rabbinate. By mid-week, and at least a few days before any Yom Tov, everyone has access to wonderful thoughts and insights of great rabbinic thinkers. Sermonic volumes were certainly available 50 years ago, but mainly to a handful. The RCA Sermon Manual, for example, was for sale, but mainly rabbis bought it. If they “borrowed” an idea from there, hardly anyone knew. Today, this type of material is free, and readily accessible. Surely rabbis can use this material, but congregants will want more from their rabbi than the reiteration of what already appeared on the internet.

One can hardly criticize this easy availability. Torah ideas are being regularly shared, and that is a good thing. It just adds some extra pressure for today’s rabbi to produce original material.

On the other hand, the internet is a most helpful tool for rabbis, who can track down the most obscure sources and information in developing thoughts and themes. But as some have argued, rabbis need be wary that too heavy a reliance on the internet has a dulling impact on the thinking process. The internet, one way or another, poses challenges for today’s rabbi.

Many congregational rabbis being produced today are truly outstanding, and they can easily handle these and other challenges. But as with all professions, there are outstanding rabbis, ordinary rabbis, and sometimes less-than-ordinary ones.

Conversions

One of the major changes I have lived through is the conversion matter. When I started life as a full-time rabbi, getting involved in conversion was not on my to-do list. But in a small (relative to New York, Toronto, etc.) city like Ottawa, Canada’s capital, with its high assimilation rate, the only way not to get involved in conversion matters is by looking the other way, effectively not acting responsibly. In those days, rabbis prided themselves that they did not touch conversion.

Who aside from rabbis should handle this? And what right would we have to complain about non-halakhic conversions if those who would do conversions only according to halakha refuse to touch it? Because I could not fathom ignoring the issue, and the families affected, I decided to become involved, by teaching candidates in Ottawa and sending the candidates to a Bet Din in Montreal for finalization of the process. After a number of years, the Montreal Bet Din with which we coordinated giyyur ceased to function, so the entire giyyur became a “made in Ottawa” endeavor. That too stopped when the giyyur issue exploded a number of years ago, and the question of whose conversion was bona fide and could be recognized underwent a wholesale review.
It was clear that different Orthodox rabbis had different requirements for conversion.

For various reasons—not the least of which was that Rabbinical Council of America endorsed conversions be accepted by the Israeli Chief Rabbinate—a more streamlined approach to conversion was introduced, with regional rabbinic courts established under the auspices of the RCA. Independent Orthodox rabbinic courts now operate with no guarantee that their conversions will be “recognized” by the Israeli Chief Rabbinate, which is the apparent gold standard for conversion. The merits and demerits of this new approach have been debated quite vociferously. I do understand that standards are necessary, and that there is benefit in the new approach. But I yearn for the time when rabbis trusted each other to the point that colleagues accepted each other’s conversions even if the standards differed.

Abuse

We grew up thinking that paradise on earth was living in a Jewish home. That is where tranquility abides, where peace and harmony prevail, where children flourish. I remember the shock I experienced when I learned about the high incidence of abuse in the Jewish home, reaching 25 percent of the Jewish population. I was skeptical almost to the point of denial, but it has become abundantly clear that if anything, it is worse. We are talking of all sorts of abuse—verbal assault, including insult, threat, vulgarity; physical assault and sexual attack.

There is no immunity in the more religious community. Actually, the more fundamentalist one’s faith, the worse is the danger of abuse. This is a harsh, painful, but true reality. Most of us have stories of this, either of the first- or second-hand variety. We can hide behind the convenient curtain of “I refuse to hear ill of others.” But closing ourselves from listening has no currency when lives are at stake. Thankfully, rabbis are listening more these days, but not always. Friendships get in the way, as well as other considerations, including fear of losing one’s job. But does anyone deserve a job such as being a rabbi when rabbis are obliged even more than others to preserve and protect the community?

This reality, with all its devastating implications, is another example of rabbinic agenda items of which we were not forewarned before we entered the rabbinate. But that was then. Now, rabbis need to know that it is unlikely they will go through a rabbinic career without encountering abuse in the home, and in the community, including Jewish schools, and sometimes involving respected members of the community.

The most fundamental rule for rabbis is this: If someone comes crying for help, take it seriously. If you hear of abuse situations, do not wash your hands from doing what you can.

Intermarriage

I have purposefully placed the matter of intermarriage right after the issue of abuse. The two may seem unrelated, but they are connected. I have no statistics to back me up, nor is what I am herein suggesting necessarily reflective of any intermarriage of which I am directly aware. But I have a sense that many intermarriages are the result of abuse. Children who grow up in abusive homes have no reason to want to emulate that upbringing. Quite the contrary, they want to run as far away as they can. Intermarriage is the easiest way to do this, especially when they know that the parents do not want that to happen.

The late great sage, Reb Moshe Feinstein, zt”l, is reputed to have given a most insightful explanation as to why many children of Sabbath-observant families coming from Europe in the twentieth century left the religious fold. He suggested that many of these Sabbath observers would lose their jobs on Friday, when they told their bosses that they would not be in tomorrow because of the Sabbath. They were told, “In that case, do not bother coming in on Monday. You are fired.” Many Sabbath-observant homes then became repositories of melancholy, as Friday night was spent lamenting the loss of the job, and the difficulty in facing a jobless future. Instead of Friday night being a joyous coming together, it became a dour, bleak, depressing event. Who would want to perpetuate the dour Sabbath in their own lives? This is the paraphrase of Reb Moshe’s observation.

With the incidence of abuse in Jewish homes hovering around one-third of Jewish homes being affected, I strongly suspect that the same question is being asked by today’s generation who grew up in such homes. Their response, in many instances, is to say, “Goodbye, Judaism, and good riddance.” Although this observation may seem startling, it should not be. The logic is simple. If we begin with the premise that many intermarriages are the result of being turned off by Judaism, and if we further factor in the high rate of abuse, not to say unhappiness, in the Jewish home, why would we not think that the being turned off is as a result of the abuse, the unhappiness, and the silence of those who should be screaming from the rafters.

In general, when the connection to Jewishness is tenuous, and when the availability of potential Jewish partners is quite low, as is the case in smaller communities, you have the further makings of a perfect storm to generate a very imperfect situation. In smaller cities, the intermarriage rate, even if it may not be much more pronounced than in larger communities, is more heavily felt. In larger cities, the homogeneous make-up of the typical Orthodox shul is reflected in the lower intermarriage rate within the congregation. After all, the intermarriage rate among the Orthodox is significantly lower, as per the by now famous Pew report. In smaller cities, with a high percentage of the members of an Orthodox congregation being non-Orthodox, there is likely to be more intermarriage within the congregation.

What is a rabbi to do? Obviously, the rabbi cannot endorse, support, or even tacitly approve of intermarriage. At the same time, condemning the intermarriage poses great risk of alienating the family. Today’s families have essentially moved far away from rejecting their intermarrying children. No matter how distant they may be from these children (in most instances, they are not at all alienated), they make the conscious decision that they do not want to “lose” their children.

No rabbi would dare suggest that the parents renounce their children. The counselling conversation in this setting focuses on what can be done to make the best of the situation.

Divorce

It is difficult to gauge the divorce rate in the Jewish community. In the greater community, most statistics point to a rate approaching 50 percent. This means that almost one out of two marriages ends in divorce.

Recent findings suggesting that the rate has spiked, and that matters are improving, offer little comfort. The reason for the comfort being small is that part of the reason for the “improvement” is because people are delaying marriage, so that fewer years are spent in marriage, thereby lowering the possibility of divorce.

Within the Jewish community, the rate may be a tad lower, but only a tad, if that. It is generally assumed that the rate of divorce among the more religious is lower, but this does not mean that the marriages are happier. There is hardly a rabbi who is so fortunate as to have no divorced members in the congregation.

Most rabbis must deal with divorce, and it is not an easy matter. Battle lines are drawn, accusations and recriminations abound, and the warring parties seek out allies to support them. Often, the rabbi is dragged in to the mess. As much as rabbis are advised to stay out of the fray, it is not always that easy. Whatever side the rabbi takes is guaranteed to create friends and enemies, not a good scenario for congregational harmony. Having the skill, based on good training, to handle these situations well, is another newer reality rabbis confront.

An added complication is what I have termed get abuse. This is when one of the parties, usually but not always the husband, refuses to grant or cooperate in the get process, thereby standing in the way of the spouse remarrying. Ironically, this is more likely to happen in more religious circles than in secular Jewish circles. When it does happen, it can be terribly painful and frustrating. Welcome to the rabbinate.

Another new issue in the matter of divorce is the rabbi’s own marriage. The pressures of the rabbinate today create sometimes inordinate demands on the rabbi’s time and emotions. These can drain the rabbi, leaving little left for the family. The resultant tensions can literally be devastating. Many rabbis have built-in protection against this potential intrusion, including having a day off every week for home matters only. The six-day-a-week rabbi is for many a necessary invention. It is part of a concerted effort to assure a good quality of life for the rabbinic family.

Israel

What a blessing it is to have a vibrant State of Israel. The re-establishment of the State of Israel has been a game changer for the Jewish community. Who can forget the life-saving reality of Israel welcoming the Jews of what was then the Soviet Union? What would have happened to them had they not come to Israel?

Israel has come with many challenges, but all these challenges are worth it if we contemplate the alternatives. Israel is the country of refuge that my grandparents never had—nor did the six million. We are living the miracle. Nothing that I can think of regarding Israel as a true blessing matches the enormity of this life-saving that defines Israel.

But there is more, much more. We are all connected to Israel. We have family and friends in Israel. We are inspired by Israel, by its extraordinary achievements even at the same time as it is under constant attack and threat. We, like the rest of the world, benefit from Israel’s technology and medical prowess. Indeed, we are proud.

But Israel also places upon us a heavy responsibility. As much as Israel guards over us, we must stand guard for Israel. No rabbi can function legitimately as a congregational and communal leader without having concern for Israel as a major priority. In Israel, its citizens are under constant assault. Outside Israel, this tiny speck on the globe is under constant verbal assault, alas sometimes even from within Jewish ranks.

BDS is too often promoted, even led, by Jews. Rabbis must be involved in this ongoing battle that immorally attempts to de-legitimize Israel, be it from BDS, distorted reporting, false accusations, and so forth. The reality of Israel as part of our lives is a welcome addition that we embrace. We must embrace the challenge to this reality with equal vigor.

Orthodoxy’s Success

When I entered the rabbinate 50 years ago, I, along with many other colleagues, was under the impression that we were fighting a losing battle. Orthodoxy, compared with the other trends within Judaism, comprised a miniscule part of the population. Our days were numbered. After all, how could Look Magazine be wrong?

Here we are, 50 years later, with Orthodoxy thriving, and the other trends struggling to know what is the secret to its success. Look who is wrong!
I firmly believe that there is no secret and no shortcut. The Orthodox, to a greater or lesser extent, all made living Jewishly the central motif of their lives. They did so not as a technique; they did so because that was the right way to live. The rest is history.

There is no city in North America with more than 5,000 Jews that has no Day School. Freedom of religion has almost totally eliminated any possibility that observing the Sabbath will impact on one’s employment. Visibly identifying as Jewish rather than hiding it became the in thing, media-wise and otherwise. Jews counted, and Jewishness mattered.

Tens of thousands of food products are today certified as kosher, and not only for the Jewish market. Jews make up only one-quarter of the kosher consuming market. Even for millions of non-Jews, kosher matters; Jewish values matter.

We dare not be triumphalist, not as rabbis, not as human beings. We cannot gloat at the failures, or lack of success, of others. They are our brothers and sisters, part of the larger Jewish community. We are responsible for everyone, however distant.

A key arena wherein this plays out is in the home. Many Jews are returning to their roots. I hesitate to refer to them as ba’alei teshuvah, since that literally means “masters of return, of repentance.” No one is such a master. Repentance is a never-ending process. These returners often face a problem—can they return to their homes? After all, the parents do not observe the Sabbath, but they do. The parents do not abide by the kosher regulations, but they do. And on it goes. Often it is the rabbi who serves as the go-between. This is a new reality, and a challenging one. Getting the older generation to bend a little, and accommodate, and at the same time making sure that the returners are respectful of their elders, is not an easy task. But it is a necessary task, sometimes involving delicate negotiations, hand holding, reassurance, and respectfulness for people whose lifestyle one disagrees with on principle. But whoever said being a rabbi is easy?

Influence of the Outside World

When we were young, the question of who was welcome in the congregation was an issue. Should we allow people with beatnik hairstyles into the congregation?! That was the question, at least as far as I can remember. But the concern, in retrospect, seems petty.

Today, alternate lifestyles of all varieties give rise to a similar question, and even more so in smaller cities. What are rabbis to do? Personally, I find it hard to justify barring anyone from entry into a synagogue. Which Jew is so perfect as to be able to say that the not as perfect are not welcome? And what values do we make mandatory for entry?
Truthfully, if we made Sabbath observance, for example, a requisite, many shuls in smaller cities would be empty. Does that mean that we endorse the desecration of the Sabbath? The question itself is absurd to the point of not deserving a response. The world around us is changing, and concomitantly, its values are changing. The challenge of addressing this changing reality sensitively and effectively is daunting, but it cannot be avoided.

The allure of the outside world, previously not easily accessible to Jews but now so readily available, has contributed to the alarming rate of attrition within Jewish ranks. Massive efforts to head this off, to bring Jews back, particularly the younger generation, have been launched, most notably Birthright. As of now, we cannot tell how successful all these efforts will be. But the laudable move to save our posterity has created an interesting phenomenon; that is, Jews who are being paid, or subsidized, to stay Jewish.

Will this translate into a generation that will not want to pay dues to join a shul, or send their children to Jewish schools or camps? There are signs this might be happening. Rabbis are well served to be alert to this. It may be that the old model of how shuls worked needs adjustment at least, and possibly even more dramatic change. Another change for rabbis to contemplate.

But with all the changes and challenges, the rabbinate remains a calling that is full of promise, and a way of life that is so meaningfully rewarding.

A Final Thought

Today's challenges are somewhat different, as is the idiom of the time. Joining a shul is no longer a given. Many in this generation think they can manage without shul. Rabbis today face the newer challenge of convincing a sceptical sector of the community that shul is important, even necessary.

What has not changed is that each generation has its unique challenges, including ours. Consider, for example, that because of influences outside the immediate community, sacred values such as burial and shiv'ah are no longer slam dunks. Some Jews are opting for cremation, and a truncated shiv'ah, what I call a sheloshah, if not less. Rabbis can ill afford not to be prepared for the reality that what they may take for granted, congregational members seriously question, if not reject outright.

Like all previous generations, rabbis are well served to meet and address these challenges by understanding them, and by having the skill and the wisdom to best overcome them. In all matters, there is no better base from which rabbis should begin, and within which to operate, than by being sensitive, caring, dedicated, and kind. That will never change.

As I ponder the essence of Judaism, and how Orthodoxy has evolved since I was a student at Yeshiva University, I hear two distinct voices that emerge from those 11 years (1962–1973) spent at several schools of YU. I hear a voice of love and a voice of fear, mixed together, and an underlying tension that was inevitable in a clash of these two powerful energies. I was exposed to many great rabbis and professors in my years at YU, and I would like to share some seminal ideas that have remained with me, and describe some incidents that occurred that illustrate these ideas, trends, and tensions during my residency, which included studying at Yeshiva College, the Semikhah program, Revel, and Wurzweiler. I was also a dorm counselor and moderator of the Friday evening oneg Shabbat programs in the dorm. I will point out how I think there has been a shift in the balance of these energies over the years. I was privileged to live through the depth and complexity of these different forces.

One emergent idea that felt true to me was that Judaism was not monolithic but had different emphases expressed by different sages with different temperaments. One could resonate with one side of the polarity, or bear the tension of both. There were always the gentler rulings of Hillel and the stricter rulings of Shammai, sometimes at odds, sometimes integrated but always there, joined together as a whole. Some of us were drawn toward one side of the dialectic, and others toward the other; but in the final analysis we had to yield our personal proclivities to the majority of redacted opinion in the Law Code. Interestingly, even the opinion given for why both majority and minority opinions were redacted in the Mishna varied. One view is more “conservative,” positing that the reason is to show that the minority opinion has already been thought of and rejected, so as not to use it as a precedent for changing the final law, and the second view is that it was redacted to show it contains a verity, a seed of truth, that may potentially be used as a precedent in different conditions.

The two major energies of love and fear dwelt as a constant. When balanced and honored, they served as a healthy reality where each individual’s temperament could be satisfied; but when one energy ascended to power at the expense of the other, an intolerance prevailed that was harmful to the development of students and perhaps the “living” tradition.

YU itself, in those days, was looked at by the more conservative Yeshiva World, as somewhat deviant from tradition because of its integration of Torah uMada, and honoring of both Torah and secular knowledge, even if the former was primary and the latter was to increase new insights. Eventually, the impact of the more stringent energy entered the walls of the yeshiva and became increasingly present. (I will illustrate this later, and give some reasons for it.)

As stated, I think both emphases are valid voices in Judaism, and are healthy when they are in balance. I once heard a talk by Rav Aharon Feldman, when I studied in Israel for two years after graduating college, which explained these two energies in the name of the Maharal.

He said that there are two Messianic figures (Mashiah ben Yosef, and Mashiah from the tribe of Yehuda), who represent two valid ways of bringing holiness into the world. Yosef’s temperament was to perfect the world through withdrawal, exemplified by his retreating from Potiphera as he escapes from the clutches of evil. He utilizes fear, and creates fences to shield himself from distracting influences and creates holiness in this separated state. Yehuda, on the other hand, perfects the world through entering it, by bringing the light into the darkness. He utilizes love as a force to reveal the image of God dwelling within each human being, even those who appear darkened. Both energies are essential, and can be positive forces; but I think this is only true when we can each recognize their validity and respect them. It is truly difficult for these different temperaments to sometimes recognize the unique importance of each other, and thus when they separate and do not dwell together, extremes develop which create discord rather than harmony. Perhaps the Mashiah can only come in reality when this fractured harmony (already present in the destruction of the second Bet haMikdash) is healed, when acknowledged difference can be accepted and honored.

We see the positive dimension of difference many times in the Torah, for example, the different flags of the tribes in the Midbar. Our Torah commentaries also point to the wisdom of the different voices contributing different insights into the whole, promoting growth and glory to the Creator. This notion proclaims that unity that results from diversity is much stronger than a unity that emerges from repression of difference. We see this many times in the Gemara as well, where “both these and those are the words of the living God. A good example is found in the tale of the Oven of Akhnai (Baba Metsia 59a–b) where we learn that the creative voices of the individual sages are honored by God even more than the heavenly Voice. For the Torah was given to human beings to work on, imbibe its wisdom, and build more wisdom based on its holy words and teachings. This suggests that we are partners with God in creation. The world is not fixed or completed without our contributions including our creativity in extracting truths that are not only manifest but that lie dormant in the Torah. The story of Moshe and Rabbi Akiva in Menahot 29b illustrates this as well, as Moshe acknowledges that R. Akiva, in the future, will create insights that had not been available to him.

But alas, our different temperaments influence us to see what we want to see even in our zeal to find objectivity in the data that we encounter, and we tend to ignore teachings that do not fit in with our personalities or proclivities. Thus it is essential to keep opening our awareness and to keep growing to expand our vision and our hearing, to face our fears and resistances to change as the story of the Ten Spies/Princes (meraglim, Numbers 13) teaches. The ten spies saw the data from a place of fear and self-interest and encountered a very different reality from Yehoshua and Caleb. It is so challenging to see and hear clearly when all the varying sounds of our ego abound. It takes work to refine and be aware of our subjectivity and hear the sound of the great shofar, which contains all the sounds of the world within it, the unity within the diversity, as the dross is removed from the greater truth.

The Torah suggests that at Mt. Sinai we had the capacity to “see the sound of the Shofrot” (Ex. 20:15); we were in a state of such enlightened connection— “Vayihan’ sham yisrael neged hahar,” “And we dwelt as one by the mountain,” (Ex. 19:3)—that our hearing was attuned to (we actually saw) the Unified Voice beneath all the divergent opinions. Both these and those are the word of the living God when we are connected.

Today, even within the Orthodox community there is lack of connection, and certainly our relation with different parts of the Jewish community has been fractured, severed, shattered. How different are we from the sin’at hinam of the Second Temple? How much do we desecrate by creating groups and factions (agudot, agudot, Yevamot 13b) that are not connected—violating the prohibition of “lo titgodedu”(Deut. 14). We are taught to be supple as a reed and not hard as a cedar.

When there is an extreme imbalance in our community, not allowing different voices to be heard, this disparity leads to different groups emerging as an attempted corrective. In our Orthodox community we have had the Hassidic movement, which arose as a corrective to the aristocracy of the learned, and to the recognition of the worthiness of the ignorant and impoverished. Prayer, emotional expression, and joy were reemphasized in the face of a respect saved only for the learned. The Mussar movement arose when certain religious leaders experienced a lack of moral sensitivity even among those who studied Torah and perceived halakhic practice as merely habitual group practice rather than self-transforming. The Prophets inveighed against those who observed commandments selectively, keeping ritual details but neglecting the poor, the powerless, the outsiders. Sometimes, if we are insular and self-congratulatory, we may be blinded to some areas where we have neglected growth and chosen insular security. Moreover, closed groups or communities lead to entropy, obviating new energies that lead to growth within the community.

It is understandable why some of these insular trends have arisen in our communities, and that YU has been caught in the middle of them and influenced by them. The Enlightenment increased assimilation and threatened the continuity of Judaism. Withdrawal was a natural response. Science threatened to dismiss non-empirical data as unreliable and argued that the subjective reality of faith could not be verified. Freud dismissed religion as a childish need for the protective Father, and its detailed mandates as a form of obsessional neurosis to ward off chaos and meaninglessness.

The Holocaust and radical evil introduced doubt and eclipse of God, a hester panim, that had to be addressed by withdrawal and strengthening of holiness and communal support. It was as if Amalek struck the Jewish soul. Not only did Hitler physically destroy millions of our people, but the soul and the energy of faith was also severely attacked. As the Hassidim teach, Amalek in Gematria is 240, the same numerical value as Safek, or doubt; if radical evil exists in the world then the glory of God is diminished. So there had to be a strengthening of faith through stricter practice and adherence to the details of the Law. We all became ba’alei teshuvah, and the secular world was defined as “evil,” value laden with materialism and sexual perversion and immodesty.

Moreover, the rise of the ba’al teshuvah movement, where adherents were less exposed to the dialectics of the Talmud but wanted the finality of the halakhic decisions to guide their practice, removed some of the expansiveness of the plethora of views. Furthermore, the time spent in learning in yeshivot in Israel after high school rather than after college brought students with greater commitment to spending time in the Bet haMidrash during their college experience and more intense religious fervor imbibed from their learning in Medinat Yisrael. The ideal of Torah uMada was a different concept than total immersion in learning Talmud. Very subtly, dress codes also changed in the community as a result of more of a “group think,” and a sense of wanting to belong. People feared being seen as lesser in observance or deviating from the norm. Finally, I think another factor that emerged at YU was that when the Rav, who was a consummate model of Torah uMada, passed away, the students who studied Talmud and posekim day and night became roshei yeshiva. They were not as drawn to secular studies as a complement to Torah study, but were more inclined to view secular studies as either a waste of time or as potentially antithetical to the fundamental principles of belief and practice that demanded constant commitment. A certain nostalgia for the great academies of Eastern Europe as the ideal emerged, and the Torah uMada model was seen as a lesser model of what could and should be achieved by a system geared to produce Torah scholars. It was forgotten that it takes greater courage to rule with leniency than severity. The roshei yeshiva naturally were less exposed to the challenges of congregants who faced complex decisions, and thus they found it more natural to make stricter decisions than pulpit rabbis. These strict decisions and customs became the norm in areas of kashruth (glatt), synagogue practices (mehitsot and sound systems), and community education where prevalent themes of discussing the halakhic intricacies such as the removal of bugs from vegetables replaced relevant ethical concerns in the community, even during the week preceding Rosh haShana.

Let me now turn to some examples of the clash of energies that I experienced at YU during my years there. During the Vietnam war there was some question as to whether it was permissible to protest against the war if it meant taking off time from Torah study. There was a shiur given in Lamport auditorium where the whole school was gathered to address this theme. This was very unusual, to say the least, but it was felt to be a significant issue only to be decided by the highest authorities. One of the roshei yeshiva declared in his shiur that because of the halakhic mandate of aivah (fear of what the Gentiles might say if we sat passively on the sidelines), it was permissible to participate in a timely manner in the protest; another rosh yeshiva agreed with the decision but for a different reason, a more powerful reason, from the pole of ahava. He based his shiur on a Maharsha at the end of Yevamot who declared that any decision (halakha) that does not lead to peacefulness and harmony is not a true halakha. I appreciated the clarity of this pesak, because it came from a deep understanding of the purpose of halakha: to promote peace and harmony, and thus to elevate the name of the Lord in the world; rather than a utilitarian decision protecting the safety of our people.

Another salient event was the publication of an interview of Rabbi Yitz Greenberg in the Commentator in the late 1960s. In it he articulated views that were controversial to the more stringent core of students and faculty. It touched on themes that were relevant to several modern issues facing the community and issues that were debated through the centuries; subjects such as revelation, relations with the Christian community, roles of women within Judaism, biblical criticism, and so forth. His progressive views touched on the underlying tension between these two poles within YU, and there was a robust outcry on the part of the more fundamentalist voices that these views were heretical. They were voiced in the Letters to the Editor in the Commentator.

Rav Aharon Lichtenstein wrote a rebuttal of many of Greenberg’s positions in a following issue of the Commentator. It was a rich debate teasing out many salient disagreements on fundamental issues. While both brilliant scholars adhered to the authority of the halakha, their approaches were very different. Rabbi Greenberg, trained as a Harvard historian, was by temperament very optimistic, and believed in the capacity of change inherent in the halakhic system. He acknowledged historical influences and posited a value-oriented approach to halakha. He pointed out the subjectivity in the development of halakha in Responsa literature, viewed it as dynamic, flexible, and open to human needs and changing circumstances affected by socio-cultural transformations. He was sensitive to the scholarly historical research originating in the nineteenth century, and balked at the idea that the halakhic method was an exact science where its practitioners were insulated from subjective or external considerations. He suggested that they are also human beings influenced consciously or unconsciously by life’s realities and the concrete situations in which they find themselves. Their goals did and should influence their rulings which included their values as well as pure legal theory. Without this capacity for flexibility and adaptation within the system, halakha could become burdensome in these new living conditions. And he bemoaned the fact that the contemporary gedolim were not utilizing their capacities to respond to issues that needed halakhic intervention. I believe it was Greenberg’s humanistic, optimistic nature, and his belief in the human being’s capacity and responsibility to partner with God in a continued revelation of bringing progress and healing to the world that were the foundations of his position.

Rav Lichtenstein’s position emphasized that although change was valid, it can never be at the expense of rejecting or distorting halakhic norms in order to satisfy contemporary demands. Whenever the halakhic decision-making process is carried out with integrity and full scholarship it is never a process of deliberate change in conformity with shifts in taste or new social conventions. It is always was motivated to shape contemporary life in accordance with the values of the Torah. It assumes the absolute authority of the norms of the Torah and the mandate to apply these norms to the ever-changing developments in societies. He posited that it was an error to begin with a desired conclusion and then try to justify it by means of halakhic dialectic in order to support a previously held viewpoint. The law must always be determined on its own merit and we must then be bound by its voice. We are also bound by its rules of procedure pronounced by our Sages, which includes precedent and consensus. And the most essential vector in his point of view is that caution in the face of change, is not only due to the need for legal stability, but the belief that the Word of God is unchanging. It is heretical to deny Rambam’s position that the Oral Law is of Divine origin and that the rabbinic enactments are binding. He emphasized the inherent caution of the gedolim was not because they opposed change, but because of the awareness of the importance of making correct decisions that are in accordance with the tradition. So trepidation and patient adjudication were at the root of the posek’s work. Two different poles, caution (Lichtenstein) vs. empowered action (Greenberg) clash here and create inherent tension, rather than a Hegelian synthesis. This is a major challenge. Can these two different temperaments, two different points of view live side-by-side with respect and imbibe from each other’s energies so as to balance and temper extremes, or is only one view looked at as legitimate in the Orthodox camp?

Greenberg responded to his critics that he was being misunderstood in some particulars but that his main point is that he saw talmudic discussions and the halakhic process as the creative thinking of human beings in relationship with the divine Torah, and that humans are given the divine right to partner with God in decision-making. Flexibility and adaptivity are gifts of God empowering human beings to foster societal progress through the values of the Torah. Moreover, he felt that we should be self-critical, out of love, so that we can address contemporary issues in a more assertive, humane, caring way as representatives of Torah, promoting the highest values of our tradition in the world.

Part of this debate is a never ending argument of how much of a role do humans play in the Sinaitic and ongoing revelation. Whose voice is primary? The contemporary, modern human leaders who view themselves as partners with God in carrying out the mandates of Torah; or the ancient voices and decisions of the Talmud and sages, whose authority is stronger and must be obeyed in all situations? How is the halakhic process viewed by these different thinkers, and can they both be given credibility? Or is there a right way and a wrong way? There are those who experience the voice of God in the halakha, and those who experience God in different realms, such as philosophy, psychology, literature, mysticism. Are they mutually exclusive? The original version of Torah uMada accepted the legitimacy of a wider, encompassing view; but I think the view of caution/yir’ah has overtaken the view of ahava these days as the more authentic, legitimate expression of Orthodoxy and thus thinkers such as Hartman, Rackman, Berkovits, and Wurzburger, who expressed similar conceptualizations to Greenberg are not in the forefront of Orthodox thought, but the teachings of the Rav (viewed through a particular lens) and Rav Lichtenstein, Rav Shechter, and Rav Willig are singled out as more accurate progenitors of genuine Orthodoxy.

Of course, there is a great complexity and thus disagreement over whether there is complete objectivity in the halakhic process, or greater weight given to the human being’s ability to creatively change the law for the sake of the benefit of the individual through takanot, gezerot, hora’at sha’ah, and so forth. One might ask as Dr. Gerald Blidstein did, “Are there not meta-halakhic categories where hashkafa plays a role?” And if so, who is empowered to make a decision there? There are divergent opinions on this. The scholars argue that only the recognized sages are empowered to make these decisions and the synagogue rabbis argue that since they are closer to the people, their decisions are more reality-based and humane.

Another area of contention is our perception of the nature of human beings. Our beliefs impact our behaviors. Can we use principles within the halakhic system to alleviate problems that affect the Jewish people and the world, or is the world an evil place whose values are to be shunned? What is it that motivates us? What is our deepest belief? Are we humanists, who utilize religion to express our humanistic beliefs, or are we true believers, who will give up our views and needs because Tradition mandates (demands) it. Probably the marriage of these two views would be helpful and complementary, but marriages can be contentious even with commitment. This discussion in the Commentator alerted us to the Two Voices that called out to us, each with overwhelming strength.

Perhaps the most extreme and frightening moments in the dorm discussing this Commentator debate arose when we entertained the possibility that the disagreements between the right- and left-wing Orthodox ideologies were so different that it would be better to acknowledge this and go separate ways, i.e., define these movements as two distinct movements. For the primary ideology in the more right-wing community is based upon belief; either one has it or one does not. Belief in Sinai and the oral tradition as God-given: There could be no compromise with this truth. The participants in this system ingest this value, and then it becomes a group of true adherents with the pressure that a group brings on its members, and a psyche that is ruled by a strong superego that dominates it.

The Modern Orthodox group may not have this absolute belief, but they have a faith in the teachings of the Torah and sages as evolved and holy and thus are committed to follow these laws because of the divine truth that emerges from the corpus of its teachings. It gives up the absolute certainty of the right wing, but derives its meanings from the resonant values that it pursues and sees God’s presence in this. The gain for this group is a sense of authenticity even within the struggle. These are very different guiding principles. After nights of debate we concluded that Orthodoxy contains both energies, which breeds an inevitable tension, but manages at most times to survive and thrive as a community, unless the boundaries become too taut, and then one part of the system breaks off and forms a new movement. We were determined to remain connected because of our love for the Jewish people.

Another event at YU also cried out with the pain of conflict. During this period of time, Stern College students at the downtown campus were asking for permission to take classes at the Yeshiva College campus uptown, for they felt limited by course offerings and felt deprived of taking courses with professors and rabbis who were highly respected. There was increased discussion of the possibility of the women being able to come uptown to take courses, and the Student Council was asked to also take a vote on the matter. It was an important vote that could impact the future policy of Yeshiva. It appeared that the majority of the students felt it only fair that the Stern College students should have the right to take classes on the uptown campus. But right before the final vote, Rabbi Shlomo Riskin, who was a dorm counselor at the time, made an impassioned speech to the students condemning the idea since the socializing between girls and boys would detract from the kedushah of the yeshiva. The suggested move was voted down in a dramatic close vote, and the energies of progressive change and the maintaining of the status quo clashed. Both energies had merit, there was no judgement of castigation of the differing point of view, but it was another indication of the intensity of two voices that dwelt within the yeshiva. I believe it was a turning point in strengthening the status quo and if the vote had gone the other way, a new atmosphere would have entered the gates of the yeshiva. But it was a moment of integration and respectful dialogue and thus it was a good moment at YU.

On the other hand, there was some disrespectful extremism, one pole not connected to the whole, that took place right after this. There was a wonderful, humble religious scholar who taught at the Revel Graduate School named Rabbi Meyer Feldblum, who lived in Washington Heights and davened with the YU minyan on Shabbat. He taught a class on Rabbinic Literature and introduced some ideas that were thought to be heretical to the fundamentalist group. He suggested that it was erroneous to declare, “Judaism says this, or Judaism holds this way,” for he taught that different scholars held different opinions and had different voices, and it was more accurate to say the Rambam in the twelfth century says this, and Rabbi Akiva in the first and second centuries says this. He taught about different layers of the rabbinic tradition, and some felt that it was too close to the historical school of Judaism, more akin to what the Jewish Theological Seminary was teaching. So a few zealous students began to march in front of his classroom in an attempt to boycott his class. He was also a Kohen, and they said he should not get an aliya because he is a heretic. Most students ignored these few students, or were angered by their behavior, and it reinforced their anger toward bigotry and intolerance. But it was a seed that was being planted in which some students were fearful of sharing thoughts that would be perceived as heretical, learned to be quiet, and more sadly this schism began to create different factions that were no longer willing to dialogue with each other as their positions hardened.

After graduating college, I studied in a yeshiva in Israel for two years, and entered the YU Semikhah program while working as a dorm counselor. In Israel, at Mercaz Harav, I was exposed to the teachings of Rav Avraham Yitzchak Hacohen Kook, and to the classic Mussar teachers. Although in the Yeshiva world, there was some feeling that one did not need Mussar, I felt touched by its teachings and emphasis on character development. So when I returned to YU, a group of students used to gather in my room at night and we used to study Mussar (Rav Dessler, Mesilat Yesharim, Hovot Halevavot), and the mystical, poetic teachings of Rav Kook. We began to feel that in addition to our formal observance, we needed a greater emotional connection to the spiritual voice found in the Torah. There was some connection that was developing between our spirituality and our need to concretize this energy into social action. But once more there were two voices.

Parts of the yeshiva world condemned Rav Kook as too universal and too accepting of the emerging modern voices in Israel. They marked up his sefarim with graffiti. The bulk of the yeshivot also did not give much credence to Mussar; the ideal was to learn Talmud day and night. But some did not have the talent nor the temperament for this; they were drawn to philosophy, the mysteries of the human condition, and the inner calling to contribute to the healing of the world. But their voice was not as honored as those dedicated to talmudic learning. There was actually no reason to reject different factions if one thought more deeply about it since we were all God’s creatures and if we were studying Torah it should be logical to embrace and honor each other. But as R. Yisrael Salanter taught, “A human being is just a drop of rationality in a sea of irrationality.” So my friends and I decided we should continue to study Mussar and try to grow as much as we could and contribute to the world.

Subsequently, we formed several Mussar projects. One was called Project Ezra where we pledged not only to continue our Mussar study, but to move down to the Lower East Side and work to help the elderly in a settlement house downtown. This project was supported by the Jewish Federation. We also decided to write a Mussar Anthology. Rabbi Hillel Goldberg edited it, and it was published by Harwich Press. It contained articles by people interested in Mussar from both right-wing and left-wing communities. In addition, we decided to compose a ‘chain letter (before the days of the computer), in which we would send our ideas about Judaism to one another and each person would comment. I was engaged in a very interesting dialogue with Rabbi Yechiel Perr from Far Rockaway in which we expressed differing views on Judaism and its practices and philosophies. Although he lived in the world of the right-wing yeshiva, and I lived in the world of Torah uMada, we were able to respect each other’s differences and remain in dialogue for a period of years. One of our basic differences was that he felt that the purpose of Judaism was to create an eved Hashem (servant of the Lord), and I favored the idea that our purpose was imitatio Dei, “Just as God is compassionate so must we be compassionate.” Obviously, these ideas were not mutually exclusive, but the disagreement highlighted a preference for submission to the yoke of the mitzvoth vs. a preference for character refinement as the goal of Judaism. The point here is that though these ideas led to very different emphases, practices and outlooks, we were able to accept each other’s differences and respect the other, even though we differed temperamentally and philosophically. The yir’ah and the ahava dwelt together in this case, but it was an exception rather than a rule.

Three other minor events reflect this ongoing tension at YU at that time. One was that during my years in the semikhah program there was some feeling among the more Mussar-oriented students that the curriculum in the semikhah program should be adjusted to include more courses relating to the contemporary needs of the community. The formal curriculum was based on the yeshivot in Eastern Europe, and we felt it could be adjusted a bit. I was to write up this proposed curriculum and publish it in the Commentator. The article suggested among other things a shift from Yoreh Deah to Hoshen Mishpat, some Mussar, and so forth. At the same time, however, Hillel Goldberg began to publish an underground newspaper entitled Pulse, and I chose to publish it in Pulse rather than the Commentator. Because of the stronger energy to maintain the status quo at the yeshiva, I was not hopeful that change would occur, but I felt that a seed should be planted. Pulse did not last too long, and perhaps in retrospect, I should have published it in the Commentator, but this is an example of the strong power of precedent that was the stronger voice at YU. When I spoke with a rosh yeshiva about my view that this older model was an educational model set up for the one percent who would emerge as gedolim at the expense of the many who are deprived from spending more time studying other areas of Judaic thought, he answered, “Yes, and this is how it should be. Without the great scholars there would be no Judaism.”

On the other hand, the voice of greater inclusivity and the importance of social action did have its place, though in a lesser role. One example was when a fire broke out in the library of JTS, and we received a call in the dorm late at night asking if some students would be willing to come down to help salvage some of the books. This was very unusual, for most of us had never entered the premise of JTS, nor did we had contact with non-Orthodox seminary students; but after a phone call to the Rav, we were given permission to go down and help during this emergency crisis. Although flames and water destroyed or damaged over 120,000 volumes, half the waterlogged books were salvaged through a simple but time consuming process, blotting each page of each book with a paper towel, and then drying the books in a hot room.

Yeshiva College responded to JTS’s plea for help, and hundreds of YU students
spent hours aiding in a very tedious job helped by refreshments provided by JTS. This was an unusual incident that touched on the energies of yir’ah (are we permitted to even enter the JTS seminary) and ahava, an act of kindness to help others with a different philosophy and to save holy books.

Of course, ongoing acts of social action were expressed in the activities to save Soviet Jewry. Though there was initially hesitation to get involved, for many of the leading rabbis said it may be counterproductive and interfere with the secret work being done to smuggle Jews out of the Soviet Union, an amazing man named Jacob Birnbaum visited our dorms alerting us to the immense importance of pidyon shevuyim, and many of us in the yeshiva at that time joined the SSSJ (Student Struggle for Soviet Jewry) and protested regularly with other Jews.

This partnering with other Jews in social action projects also led me to join a group of Jewish student leaders in pressuring the New York Jewish Federation to adjust their spending priorities to bestow more money to aid Soviet Jewry and Jewish Education. Their budget had been heavily involved in subsidizing hospitals and social service projects but almost negligible in support of these Jewish essential interests. After a year of dialogue with the Federation leaders and little progress, we planned a protest at their New York headquarters, informing the New York Times and the press of our intentions to close down their operations for the day. We succeeded to both get arrested for a few hours and achieve front-page coverage in the Times, which led to the ceding of money to Soviet Jewry projects and aid to Jewish educational institutions. I mention this as an example of an energy of progressive action to improve society and overturn injustice that also dwelt within the walls of the yeshiva.

After setting down some examples of two strong voices in the Jewish Orthodox world that I experienced at YU and perhaps a trend that may have strengthened one pole (yir’ah) more than the other, there has currently emerged a movement to create a new Modern Orthodox voice today as exemplified by Yeshivat Chovevei Torah and Maharat founded by Rabbi Avi Weiss; by the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals founded and led by Rabbi Marc Angel; and by the International Rabbinic Fellowship, founded by Rabbis Angel and Weiss. There is Itim in Israel led by Rabbi Seth Farber working to welcome converts and free agunot. We also can point to the rise of the rabbinic group Tzohar in Israel, as well as the Beth Hillel organization there. A resurgence in Modern Orthodoxy is emerging.

The more liberal voices in the Orthodox community have often been ignored or quashed. As an example, a few years ago on Shabbat, I attended Beth Jacob in Los Angeles on the Shabbat of Rabbi Rackman’s yahrzeit. The President of YU was the guest speaker that Shabbat, and the rabbi was a musmah of YU. But Rabbi Rackman’s name was not even mentioned. His points of view were not recognized as an integral part of the Centrist Orthodox community. The reality is that we rarely hear about Rabbi Rackman, Rabbi Greenberg, Rabbi Hartman, Rabbi Berkovitz, Rabbi Wurzburger in Orthodox circles; but we hear the names of the gedolim, such as Rav Soloveitchik and Rav Moshe Feinstein. But now new institutions such as YCT have arisen, and new voices emerge. The kol demama daka returns from exile and both the ahava and yir’ah are combined. The balanced, living halakha leads to peace and pleasantness.

Rav Kook taught that creativity and wisdom are strengthened in an atmosphere of freedom and respect (Orot, vol. 1:177). Both bina (rational differentiation) and hokhma (intuition and imagination) can be truly honored in Modern Orthodoxy and integrated to produce da’at, a full wisdom that honors both sides of the gestalt. The Hassidic commentaries, which tease out psycho-spiritual wisdom, can be studied along with Mitnagdic wisdom and Sephardic wisdom so that a multiplicity of voices can be heard.

The firmness of the legal mind and the flexibility of the psychological mind will marry again to produce harmony and creativity so that extremism is diminished. This tension of the opposites will lead to greater creativity and new solutions to age-old problems that are not solved by retreating to isolated, safe, like-minded enclaves. As R. Yisrael Salanter taught, “Rather than worrying about another person’s spiritual level, and your own physical needs, worry about another person’s physical needs and your own spiritual level.”

Yes, in the exposure to the modern world, our beliefs have encountered challenges as new information and shifts of values emerge. Yes, we have to differentiate which practices and beliefs can fit into accepted norms and traditions in this encounter. This is very challenging, but debates and dialogue can lead to new insights, expansions, and deeper conviction about formerly held ideas. There will always be a tension between choice and yielding to authority, between different temperaments; but this leads to advancement and new insights.

The Hassidim teach us that the Torah begins with a bet and ends with a lamed, lamed-bet spells lev, heart. The Torah is a heart book; the more human you are the more Jewish you are. As the story goes, a student of the Rif ran to him in excitement and told his rebbe, “I just went through all of the Talmud,” expecting praise. And the Rif replied, “But how much of the Talmud went through you?” Let us learn to love each other with all our differences. This is the spirit that will usher in the Mashiah.

Emily K. Alhadeff is the editor of Jewish in Seattle magazine. Her writing has appeared in Conversations, Tablet, The Times of Israel, Religion & Politics Magazine, and Moment, and she writes regularly for Microsoft/stories. She lives in Seattle with her family. Thanks to Al Maimon for his assistance with this story. This article appears in issue 25 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.
When Rabbi Solomon Maimon returned to Seattle in 1944 from Yeshiva University in New York, where he had been the first Sephardic rabbi ordained in the United States, the Jewish community looked quite different than it does today. Clustered in the Central District of the city, the community was split down Ashkenazic-Sephardic lines. Life congregated around the synagogues, and families—embracing the free public school opportunities—had the option of sending children to the Seattle Talmud Torah two or three times a week for a supplemental religious education. It was also a time of rapid Americanization, as seen in the conscious shift away from the Ladino language in favor of English.

Rabbi Maimon, who came as a young boy with his family from Tekirdag, Turkey, in the 1920s, became instrumental in building a sustainable environment for Sephardic life to flourish. His recipe for success never changed: engage the kids, hire good teachers, and, “if it costs too much, you’re going to get the board yelling at you.” Notably, he also succeeded at understanding and working with the Sephardim of Seattle on their varied levels of religiosity without compromising his own commitment to halakha. As a result, the Seattle community today is diverse, welcoming, and more or less unified, in which many define themselves not by denominations, but simply as proud Sephardic Jews. In the living room of his modest home facing Sephardic Bikur Holim Congregation in Seward Park, where he held the pulpit until 1984, Rabbi Maimon, now 96, reflected on the early part of his career.

A stopover in Detroit on his way home from New York in 1944, where he had spent eight years studying at Yeshiva University, inspired Rabbi Maimon to return home and be a leader of Seattle’s Sephardic community. “The situation here was that they had nice people, but not trained as rabbis or hazzanim,” he said. “Some of them had enough education to teach. They wanted to keep the Sephardic community alive with its own hazzanim. Detroit happened to be one of the communities that had wonderful rabbis, a wonderful Day School. I said, ‘That’s it, when I get to Seattle, I’m going to try to be their rabbi.’” He proposed to the Seattle leaders that they give him a chance for two years. “I’m going to try to concentrate on the youth,” he told them. “If you think I’m doing well and you want me to continue, fine.”

Rabbi Maimon was hired by Sephardic Bikur Holim almost immediately, a position originally held by his father, Rabbi Abraham Maimon. He got to work engaging the kids with Sunday trips and lessons; and soon after, he was among the initiators of the first Jewish Day School in Seattle. The resistance was mighty, though: The new Americans valued the free public schools. Public education was a part of becoming an American.
“If you want to stay Jewish and be Jewish and learn Jewish, there’s only one way,” Rabbi Maimon said. He speculates that had he not come to Seattle and pushed for a structured Jewish education, half of the children growing up in the community and in public schools would have made haste for a Reform of Conservative congregation—or for no religious community at all. “The only ones that would stay would be the ones who like to read,” he said. “This way, everybody stayed. I said, ‘We’re going to prove to everybody that this is the way to go. We’re going to teach the boys and girls so much Hebrew in the first six months that we’re going to make a play in Hebrew.’ They did their job.” He remembers the audience’s astonishment at the students’ Hebrew production. “The guy who was against me, he says, ‘You won, Rabbi. In fact, I’d like to be the president of the school.’ I said, ‘You’re welcome. You deserve it.’”

In 1947, the city saw the opening of the Seattle Hebrew Day School in the Seattle Talmud Torah building at 25th and Columbia, and around 1974, the school moved to its current home in a stately old building eventually bought from the Sisters of the Sacred Heart. In 1969, the school changed its name to Seattle Hebrew Academy, and it remains a prominent K–8 Day School. “Only good teachers, that’s the secret,” he said. “Never mind how important they are, or how they look. Everybody in the school has to be a good teacher. You have the neshama of the kid, and if you’re not a good teacher, forget it.”

Around 1956, Rabbi Maimon moved forward with his next plan to engage the youth with Jewish life, and he launched the first Sephardic Jewish camp for three days on Vashon Island, a short ferry ride from Seattle, at a Baptist retreat site. “The best thing I did in my life was to start the summer camp,” he said. “Everybody loved the summer camp. The Reform and Conservative already had camping. I said, ‘They are smart people.’”

The camp, being Christian, could have been an obstacle, but Rabbi Maimon pushed past it. “We went to Vashon, and we saw crosses on some of the buildings,” he recalled. “The other rabbis turned around and said, ‘Not for me.’ It’s okay for me; it’s only wood, you know. I said, this is it, we have to go here all the time, and we eventually got two weeks. In this Baptist campground, we’re going to teach our kids something Jewish.”

He reminisced about the stunts they pulled to excite the kids. “We had one fellow who was in the Navy,” he recalled. “I said, ‘You know what’s going to happen Friday? He said, ‘No.’ I said, ‘You’re going to take your helicopter, and we’re going to buy a bunch of candy.’” According to his story, before Shabbat came in, the young soldier circled above the camp and tossed candy down to the kids.

But the two weeks spent at camp were not just thrilling for the children. “We had the involvement of all the older women, the old tias [aunts]. They wanted to come and do all the cooking,” Rabbi Maimon said with a laugh. “One Friday morning, [some kids] caught fish. We said, ‘Good, give it to the ladies; they’ll cook it.’ And the ladies cooked it. They caught their own Shabbat meal. Imagine that!” Rabbi Maimon repaid the women for all their help at camp, by offering them lessons in Hebrew and other subjects, resulting in a graduation ceremony. “The ladies had so much fun, they didn’t sleep much.” Sephardic Adventure Camp continues to thrive today, meeting for two weeks each summer—although the camp has long since changed locations, and will start a new chapter in Mount Rainier National Park this summer.

Members of Seattle’s Sephardic community occasionally reflect on a time when the synagogues held dances for the youth—something taboo today. Rabbi Maimon wasn’t sure that coed programming was right, but he knew it was what he had to do to get the kids coming back. He offered a story about a Sukkot event, where he ordered the youth to go to a dance in the social hall. “‘I’m going to lock it, and nobody gets out until they have a date,’” he recalled. “That’s what happened. They came for Sukkot, they got a date, they had a dance afterward, and we served them good stuff.” It’s a powerful example of the rabbi meeting the community where it was and seeking a creative solution to the never-ending problem of Jewish dating. “On Yom Kippur I repented,” he said. “I told God, ‘I’m wrong, but you put me in charge here, and I say, I have to do wrong to get right.’ It’s going to bring them together to marry each other, and that’s what they did.”

To this day, children lead the Simhat Torah services in both Sephardic congregations in Seattle, a custom that Rabbi Maimon initiated. With the help of his leadership and philosophy, Seattle’s Sephardic community is not just a place with a few Sephardic synagogues, but rather a place with a vibrant Sephardic intellectual and religious community, which is cohesive and resists falling into denominational categories. Rabbi Maimon credits that original stop in Detroit with this success. Other cities with Sephardic communities are not nearly as active because they lacked that engagement with children, he claims.

To drive the point home, Rabbi Maimon recalled a baseball game he once organized. It was parents against kids. “I was with the kids,” he said. “What happened? I hit a home run. They’re still chasing the ball. If you know how to play with them, you’ve got it made. That’s it, my dear. Every place that didn’t follow that strategy, they’re having problems.”

Rabbi Hayyim Angel is National Scholar of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. He serves as Rabbinic Scholar of Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in New York, and also teaches Tanakh at Yeshiva University. A masterful teacher, his classes, lectures and writings reach many thousands of people throughout the world.
To our members and friends,

I now have completed my third year of working as the National Scholar of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. It has been an honor and privilege working to promote our vision nationwide primarily through teaching, and also through writing and creating internet classes. This report summarizes my various projects and activities over the past year.

This past year has witnessed remarkable progress in terms of focusing our classes and programs toward articulating the vision of the Institute. We have found a new home and partner at Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in Manhattan, we have been working far more extensively running teacher training sessions with future educators and rabbis, and our classes are geared toward promoting the specific values of our Institute.

Our partnership with Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun has grown beautifully over the past year with my serving as the KJ Rabbinic Scholar. We held a symposium on bringing peace through Torah, led the History at Home lecture series, and had a weekly survey of the Bible that integrated the best of traditional and academic scholarship. Over thirty members of the Kehilath Jeshurun community have joined the Institute over the past year, and we look forward to more joining us in the coming year.

My major areas of focus have been:

• Teacher Training:

o One of our central goals is to train other rabbis and educators to spread Torah to schools and communities. In this manner we create bridges with many people in the field to work together, and have a great impact on students and communities across the country.

o A highlight of this year was a teacher training session via Skype to educators of the Academy for Jewish Thought and Learning in Cape Town and Johannesburg, South Africa.

o I taught a course on “How to Teach Bible in Synagogues” to the Graduate Program in Advanced Talmudic Studies (GPATS) at Stern College for Women.

o I participate annually in Yeshiva University’s graduate program in Experiential Education.

o I participate annually at Yeshivat Chovevei Torah’s Bible Study days in June.

o I gave two lectures at the Allegra Franco School of Educational Leadership in Brooklyn, NY.

• Community Education:

o There is a serious thirst for the kind of learning represented by our Institute, and a sizable number of communities have invited us. Through a combination of scholar-in-residence programs and lectures in different communities, we reached thousands of interested adults directly in the past year.

o In addition to the weekday programs that generally are held in the New York Tri-State area, it was gratifying to visit communities as a Shabbat scholar-in-residence in Los Angeles, CA, Memphis, TN, Hollywood, FL, Nashville, TN, Silver Spring, MD, Brooklyn, NY, and Stamford, CT.

• Publications:

o I am in the final stages of a commentary on the prophetic books of Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi in the context of the Second Temple Period. It will be published by Maggid Press in Jerusalem.

o I have begun working on a volume on the central values of the Institute and how they foster communal unity without conformity. We hope to publish it as a special issue of Conversations in January.

• Internet Learning:

o We have significantly expanded our Online Learning section on our website, https://www.jewishideas.org//online-learning.

Below is an itemized listing of the various classes and programs over the past year.

• May 23-25: Shavuot scholar-in-residence at the Young Israel of Century City, Los Angeles CA.

• June 28-29: Three lectures at Yeshivat Chovevei Torah Annual Bible study days.

• July 1: Lecture for Yeshiva University’s graduate program in Experiential Education.

• July: Seven lectures to create online video classes for Aleph Beta (alephbeta.org).

• August 17: Lecture at Congregation Etz Chaim in Queens NY.

• October 14: Lecture at the Allegra Franco School of Jewish Leadership in Brooklyn, NY.

• October 23-24: Shabbat scholar-in-residence at Congregation Anshei Sfard Beth El Emeth in Memphis, TN.

• October-November: Three lectures on how to teach Bible in Synagogues to the Graduate Program in Advanced Talmudic Studies (GPATS) at Stern College for Women, Yeshiva University.

• November 13-14: Shabbat scholar-in-residence at the Young Israel of Hollywood-Fort Lauderdale, FL.

• November 21: History at Home Lecture at Kehilath Jeshurun in Manhattan.

• December 6: Lecture at Congregation Hochmah U’Mussar in Brooklyn, NY.

• December 17-18: Shabbat scholar-in-residence at Congregation Sherith Israel in Nashville, TN.

• January 15-16: Shabbat scholar-in-residence at the Kemp Mill Synagogue in Silver Spring, MD.

• February 2: Lecture at the Young Israel of Oceanside, NY.

• February 20: History at Home Lecture at Kehilath Jeshurun in Manhattan.

• March 13: Teacher training to educators of the Academy of Jewish Thought and Learning in Cape Town and Johannesburg, South Africa.

• April 5: Lecture to the Yeshiva University Women’s Group in Manhattan.

• April 6: Lecture at the Allegra Franco School of Jewish Leadership in Brooklyn, NY.

• April 8-9: Shabbat scholar-in-residence at the Kingsway Jewish Center in Brooklyn, NY.

• May 8-22: Three-part lecture series at the Young Israel of Jamaica Estates in Queens, NY.

• May 15: Symposium on Peace through Torah, at Kehilath Jeshurun in Manhattan.

• May 20-21: Shabbat scholar-in-residence at Congregation Agudath Sholom in Stamford, CT.

Most frequently, I served in my capacity of Rabbinic Scholar at Kehilath Jeshurun. This involved speaking in the KJ Sephardic minyan weekly and giving regular classes in KJ.

I also continue to teach courses to advanced undergraduates at Yeshiva University. For the coming semester, I will be teaching a course on the opportunities and challenges that arise from the interface of traditional and academic Bible study. I look forward to bringing elements of that course into future teacher trainings and scholar-in-residence weekends throughout the country.

Thank you all for your support and enthusiasm, and I look forward to promoting our Torah vision for many years to come.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel
National Scholar
Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals

Dr. Israel Drazin is the author of thirty-five books, including about a dozen on the Aramaic translation of the Torah called Targum Onkelos, about a half-dozen commentaries on biblical books, about a half-dozen that offer rational approaches to Judaism, and three books on the twelfth century philosopher Moses Maimonides, published by Gefen Publishing House in Israel. His website is www.booksnthoughts.com.

The Wisdom of Solomon and Us
The Quest for Meaning, Morality and a Deeper Relationship with God
By Rabbi Dr. Marc D. Angel
Jewish Lights Publishing, 2016, 204 pages
Reviewed by Rabbi Dr. Israel Drazin

The Bible describes God granting King Solomon the gift of wisdom. As a result, a tradition ascribes the authorship of the three biblical books Ecclesiastes, Proverbs, and Song of Songs to King Solomon. Each contains wisdom, but each has a different tone and style. Ecclesiastes is philosophical and cynical, Proverbs speaks of proper behavior in pithy statements, Song of Songs is a lyrical love poem. Another tradition states that Solomon wrote the three books at different life stages prompted by his thinking and needs at each stage. He composed the love poems in his youth, he focused on behavior in his maturity, and in his old age he became cynical and derided the vanity of luxuries in his Ecclesiastes.

Marc Angel is the founder and director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals (jewishideas.org), which offers intelligent and informative weekly articles, publishes books, arranges lectures, and more. He is the past president of the Rabbinical Council of America. In his new book, he suggests that the sixteenth century Rabbi Moshe Almosnino of Salonica’s order is more realistic than the traditional one. Solomon wrote Ecclesiastes as a young man when he was searching for truth and life’s meaning. As a king in his middle years, seeking to improve his people’s behavior, he wrote Proverbs for them. When he attained old age, he wrote a love poem, which the second century sage Rabbi Akiva described as “holy of holies,” and said it is a metaphorical yearning for the love of God. Rabbi Angel orders his penetrating comments on these three books of wisdom in the Salonica rabbi’s order.

He gives readers 67 short essays, most with interesting, heart-warming stories, on how Solomon’s ancient wisdom can be used beneficially by people today. He offers insightful thoughts by Jewish and non-Jewish thinkers – such as Herman Melville of Moby Dick fame, the anthropologist Margaret Meade, Rabbi J. B. Soloveitchik, and many more that bring the chapters’ lessons to life – always within the framework of rabbinic tradition.

For example, he explains that the rabbinic sages included the skeptical Ecclesiastes in the Bible to make “a tremendously important lesson: honest questioning is a legitimate aspect of religious life.” He answers the oft-asked question: “Does any human life really matter in the overall scheme of things.” He quotes the novelist Peter De Vries: “that you can’t go home again is a truth inseparably linked to the fact that neither can you ever get away from it.” He discusses Immanuel Kant’s claim: “Out of the crooked timber of humanity no straight thing is ever made.” He notes that a wit once commented that people seek longevity even though they don’t know what to do with themselves on a rainy Sunday afternoon. He wonders why it is that the United States that represents only five percent of the world’s population has 62 percent of the world's school and workplace shooters.

Religion, he states, is at its best when it contributes to our sense of happiness and well-being. It isn’t wrong to eat, drink, and be merry, but it is wrong to overindulge. Maimonides wrote that joyous festivals are indispensable for people. Yet, psychologist David Myers found that although physical conditions in America have improved dramatically over the past decades, Americans are not happier.

People approach religion and its celebrations improperly. August Strindberg wrote in his play The Father: “It is strange that as soon as you begin to talk about God and love, your voice becomes hard and your eyes full of hate.”

A Catholic student once observed that God shows us the obstacles in life, but does not tell us how to overcome them. However, God teaches us how to learn. Solomon, as interpreted by Angel, tells us how to deal with life’s problems and be happy. He mines the books of wisdom and shows how Ecclesiastes helps us understand life’s meaning and mission, how Proverbs teaches the maintenance of a healthy society, and how Song of Songs can aid us in achieving a soul-satisfying relationship with God.

God gave Solomon wisdom and he shared it with us. We can all learn much from that ancient wisdom, as Rabbi Angel has applied it to modern day life.

Rabbi Joseph Radinsky, of blessed memory, was one of the outstanding rabbis of the American Orthodox rabbinate. Since 1963, he had been a pulpit rabbi, 13 years in Lafayette, Indiana, and 40 years in Houston, Texas. He had served on almost all the boards of the Jewish organizations in Houston, and authored a number of books and articles. This article appears in issue 25 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. Sadly, Rabbi Radinsky passed away before his article was published, and we post it on our website in his memory.

1. Always Be Prepared to Help Resolve Conflicts.

A. There are always going to be conflicts among members over different details of simchas or other issues. Many times, they will turn to the rabbi for a resolution of these problems. Never turn them down. It is important to know that the rabbi cares. For example, they may have a dispute with the dues evaluation committee or with the Sisterhood or with another member. As long as you lend a sympathetic ear and try to settle the problem, even though your efforts may be futile, the member will know that you tried and his anger will be assuaged.

B. Make sure when it comes to policy matters that you clear everything with the board and president. For example, I wanted to start a nursery school when I first came to my synagogue. This was a policy matter, not a halakhic matter, and I was able to get it through by promising to be financially responsible for the teachers, equipment, and so forth. Of course, when it became a big success, the shul absorbed the school 100 percent. The point here is, do not try to implement policy matters before you consult with the president and board.

C. If you want to make any halakhic changes, please consult with the ritual committee and the president of the board, but the decision is yours. You are in complete charge of kashruth, Shabbat, personal status, and so forth, as well as who speaks from your pulpit. Do not let them take the power away from you, but do it in a nice way. However, if it is only an optional halakhic matter, then do not try to make a change without a consensus. For example, some women wanted to carry the Torah through the women's section. Today, we walk the Torah through the women's section. You could argue that it is more halakhically correct for the women to carry the Torah, and not for the men to walk it through the women's section. You can also argue the opposite. By the women carrying the Torah, they are actively participating, while when the Torah is walked through the women's section, the women only kiss the Torah but are not actively holding it. Since there was lots of opposition, I did not allow the women to take the Torah and walk it through the women's section, but I did allow the men to walk it through. This seemed to satisfy everyone, but it was my decision.

2. Listen to Everybody Politely When They Give You Advice, But Then Do What You Think Is Best.

There are people in our congregation who always come up with halakhically neutral suggestions on davening. Most of them are not particularly good ideas. Occasionally, they will come up with a good suggestion, which you should then implement. However, most of the time, you should not outright reject the suggestion, but say you will consider it and will talk to people about it. If they then persist, say it is not practical to implement it at this time, but you will keep it in mind. There are some nudniks, though, who are constantly pestering you. Just let what they say go in one ear and out the other. They can always bring halakhically neutral suggestions to the ritual committee, and when the ritual committee comes to you, you can veto them if they are not suitable.

3. Do Not Always Believe People.

Many times, people tell the rabbi what they think the rabbi wants to hear. Also, they may tell the rabbi what they think the congregation needs, although they themselves will not participate in it. For example, many times people have asked me to hold classes on the laws of Shabbat and kashruth, etc., and then never show up themselves. Also, they will say my sermons should deal with the minutiae of keeping Shabbat, when they are not really interested in it. This, of course, is not the purpose of a sermon. The purpose of a sermon is to elevate people, to make them learn something about themselves and their tradition, to make them feel good about the future, to give them hope. Also, when people make you personal promises, do not believe them. For example, if they say, "Oh, I have a condo. Call me and use it any time." Never call them. Wait until they call you and invite you for a specific date. People make all sorts of promises they cannot keep or will not keep because it was a spur of the moment thing. Never hold people to these kinds of promises. So many people have told me, "Rabbi, when my grandson gets married, or my daughter graduates from college, you are going to be there." They never send me a ticket, and I never go. Of course, many times people have asked me to do their wedding out of town, and they do send me tickets.

4. Make People Feel Good.

A. People, after talking to you, should feel good, even if you have to tell them no, even people who have double-crossed you. One of the hardest jobs of being a rabbi is that at a meeting one night the person who told you to push through a certain agenda cuts you off at the knees and leaves you dangling. He completely double-crosses you. The very next day, he will ask you for a favor, and you have to do it. If you cannot do it, if you bear a grudge, you will have a tough time being a rabbi.

B. When people come to you with their problems, make sure they leave feeling better than when they came, even if you cannot solve their problems. The very act of talking to you sometimes helps them. People who come to you with all sorts of health problems, such as advanced cancer, try to give them some sort of hope, not fake hope. People who come to you with problems with children, etc., even if you have to tell them they are wrong, do it in such a way that they know that you understand that they are trying, even though they made bad decisions.

C. The rabbi should never take credit for anything, but he should give it to those who helped him.

5. Always Encourage Women to Participate in the Synagogue.

A. Encourage women to serve on the board, not just the Sisterhood, but throughout the congregation. Encourage their comments. They are almost all college graduates with professions.

B. Never discourage a women's tefilla group, especially for bat mitzvahs. In our constitution, it says that women are entitled to have a women's tefilla group except for Shabbat mornings and holiday mornings, with Simhat Torah being the exception.

C. When women come to you for counseling, be very careful. Many times, they are very hurt and want to be held. Never do it. Keep two feet on the floor and two hands on the desk. Make sure that you never counsel a woman when you are alone in the shul. Also, try whenever possible to keep the door open at least a crack, even when your secretary is next door.

6. Be Friendly with Everyone in the Shul and the Community.

Be friendly with everyone in the shul, even those who disagree with you politically and even halakhically. Just because they disagree with you does not mean that they cannot be your friend. Many people will disagree with you on some issues, but still have confidence in you to come to you with their problems and have you officiate at their special occasions. Just because they may disagree with you is no reason for not making them feel that they are part of the shul. Make sure that you send letters to everyone in the congregation and your friends in the community if they or their family have a new baby, bar mitzvah, bat mitzvah, wedding, wedding anniversary, graduation, etc. Of course, make sure you send consolation letters on the loss of a loved one. Make sure you go to shiva minyans, and are available to help with tombstones, etc., as well as to be available for grief counseling. Also, make sure you write thank you notes to everyone who has done something for you or the shul.

7. Let Everyone in the Shul Who Wants to Do a Project Do It.

A rabbi does not have to be involved in everything. Let anyone start a class teaching Torah in the shul, assuming he or she has proper knowledge to do so. The more classes, the better. Let anybody who wants to be involved in different tzedakah programs, like visiting the sick, collecting food for the poor, helping with elderly. As long as it is halakhic and moral, let the people use their talents and release their energy to enhance the programming of the shul.

8. Do Not Become Associated with One Group in the Shul.

People should not feel that you are only the rabbi of this or that particular group. When you come to kiddush, speak to everyone. Make sure especially that you talk to the older people who many times feel shunned because they are no longer in control. Make a big thing of everyone's children. Ask about everyone's family and health, etc. Do not let anyone in the shul think that you only care about a few families or one segment of the shul. Greet everyone in shul with genuine warmth. Try to connect with everyone. I always shook the hand of everyone who came to the morning and evening minyans before the services started.

9. Always Try to Help People Solve Their Problems as Long as the Solution Is Halakhically Possible.

A. Many times people will come to you with halakhic problems. If there is a way to solve these problems halakhically; definitely do it. However, if there is no way to solve these problems halakhically, do not be afraid to tell them so in a nice way. Many times these problems cannot be solved. Sometimes you have to tell them to throw away dishes and pots. Sometimes you have to tell them they cannot marry this individual because the halakha does not allow it. Do not be afraid to tell them that this problem is not solvable if it is not solvable. However, if halakhically it can be solved, make sure you let them know that the problem can be solved. You do not have to accept strict positions just to satisfy two or three people in the community. People should have confidence in your learning, and then they will go along with your decisions. However, do not, as I said earlier, effect halakhic changes in the shul without consultation. Do not spring anything on the shul unawares; and do not make your decisions retroactive. If things have already been promised and they are halakhically correct, they should be upheld.

B. Also, remember that you do not work from 9 to 5, and if people have problems, you have to take care of them, no matter what time it is or what day it is. They may even come knocking at your door on Shabbat.

10. Do Not Fraternize with the People in the Shul Too Much.

Do not be one of the boys. If you act like one of the boys, they will treat you like one of the boys. You should be friendly with everyone and invite them to your house and accept invitations, but do not play cards with them. Do not go on individual outings with them. Make sure they call you rabbi. You must protect the office, even though it is all right to be informal. I, personally, am very informal. However, everybody knows there is a line and nobody violates that line. It is like with your children. You are pals with your children, but at a certain point, you are not their pal but their authority figure. I, personally, never attended board meeting in the synagogue because I knew that I would be drawn into foolish arguments, and I would be just one of the boys. A rabbi should not be involved in policy matters, like what color the kitchen should be painted, or what the dues structure should be. The rabbi should only be involved in dues when members approach him and tell him they lost their business or they are losing their house or getting a divorce. This is no longer a policy matter but a halakhic matter of human dignity. Members will call you about everything, and you should listen to them. If they have problems with policy, you should tell them to call the president or committee chairman, but you should also tell them that you will inform the president and the committee chairman that this person is unhappy. My guiding rule has always been: Help everyone but trust no one! Do not let them use their friendship with you to cause you to make unsound decisions; that’s why you have to maintain a distance. You are not their buddy; you are their rabbi. It does not mean you cannot enjoy their company but you have to maintain a distance.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel
To our members and friends,

We had a fabulous symposium on Sunday May 15, featuring Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz, Ms. Miriam Berger, and myself at Kehilath Jeshurun in Manhattan. One of the central goals of our Institute is to bring peace and mend rifts through Torah scholarship, and our symposium continued to promote this idea. The lectures are posted in our Online Learning section of our website, https://www.jewishideas.org//online-learning.
We thank the Rudin Family Foundation and Jon and Rachel Sopher for sponsoring the event.

Over the summer, I will be working on a book that explores the core values of our Institute so that we can disseminate it to a wider public. It will appear as the January 2017 issue of Conversations. Dedication opportunities are available, please contact me at [email protected].

Looking ahead, I will be presenting three papers at the fourteenth annual Yemei Iyyun in Tanakh and Jewish Thought of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah on Sunday-Monday, June 19-20. The Institute is one of the co-sponsoring organizations. For a full schedule and registration, go to http://www.yctorah.org/images/yemei%20iyun%20brochure%20-%20web%20and%2…

I also will be giving a four-part mini-series on The Unsung Heroes in the Bible at Lamdeinu Teaneck this July (July 7, 14, 21, 28), Thursdays from 10:15-11:30. For registration and more information, see their website, http://www.lamdeinu.org/

My next teacher training session will be at the Community Hebrew Academy of Toronto (CHAT), where I will work with the faculty on the bridging of tradition and contemporary Bible scholarship and how this can be used effectively in the High School classroom.

Teacher training is an essential component of my work through the Institute, as we promote our core values to rabbis and educators who go on to teach throughout the country and beyond.

I am grateful to the members and supporters of the Institute for making all of our programs, publications, and classes a priority in the development of American Jewish communal life. Thank you,

Rabbi Hayyim Angel
National Scholar

Not long ago someone near and dear to me asked me what I was working on. I said that I was writing a book proving that for Rambam Gentiles as well as Jews are fully created in the image of God. I was met with the amazed response: "Do you really believe that?!"

Yes, I really believe it, and so did Rambam. [1]

The person who asked me the question about what I was working on and I both come from long lines of rabbis. My grandfather, ordained at the famous Yeshiva in Pressburg, was the rav of a small town in Hungarian Transylvania. Descended through both his parents from generations of rabbis, he served as a chaplain in the Hungarian army during World War I. Blessed with more foresight than most, painfully aware of the anti-Semitism sweeping Central and Eastern Europe after the war, he sought to convince his congregants to leave Europe for Palestine or America. Taking his own advice, he came to Passaic, New Jersey, where he served for dozens of years as rabbi of "Congregation Hungarian Hebrew Men." He slowly managed to bring his children and then, finally, his wife, to the United States.

My father left Hungary with an ordination from his rosh yeshiva, came to the United States, and, after learning English, enrolled in Yeshiva College, ultimately getting a second semikhah from YU. He also attended Columbia University, becoming an "ABD" (all but dissertation) in American History. Like many rabbis of his generation, he was both a fervent American patriot and a fervent Zionist. He spent his career in the Orthodox rabbinate and in the Jewish Day School movement, also serving in various important capacities in the Rabbinical Council of America, Torah Umesorah, and the Religious Zionists of America.

My wife was raised in the home of another YU graduate, born in Palestine, but raised in Philadelphia and Brownsville, Brooklyn. Her mother, my mother-in-law, was herself raised in the home of her uncle, yet another Orthodox rabbi (her father had died at an early age), who was the mesader kiddushin at our wedding.

My wife and I were both sent to Jewish Day Schools through high school (Hebrew Theological College in Skokie in my case, and Chicago Jewish Academy and then HILI in my wife's case). After high school, I spent a year at Mercaz haRav (1962–1963), housed at that time in the center of Jerusalem in what is now called "Bet haRav."
My wife and I were thus raised in the homes of American rabbis and rebbetizins with clear Eastern European and Eretz Yisrael backgrounds. Many of the teachers in our Orthodox Day Schools were drawn from refugees who had survived the Holocaust and were brought to America after the war. We have the impression that the YU-trained rabbinic teachers and colleagues with whom our fathers were close (the names "Reb Yoshe Ber" [Rav Soloveitchik] and "Manny Rackman" [Rabbi Emanuel Rackman] were constantly mentioned in my home) shared their basic values.

We never heard from our parents or from our teachers that Jews were in some innate fashion distinct from and superior to non-Jews.[2] We were certainly raised in homes in which great pride in Jews and Judaism was inculcated in manifold ways. The superiority of Torah was never doubted, but non-Jews as such were never denigrated, or held to be in any way less made in the image of God than Jews. We of course searched for Jewish names in TV and movie credits, in lists of Nobel Prize winners, etc., but realized that was a matter of justified ethnic pride, not metaphysics.

Every Passover we took drops of wine out of our wine cups during the recitation of the 10 plagues as an indication of our fellow-feeling for the sufferings of the Egyptians at the Red Sea—we were never told that other explanations were available (and so far as we could judge, our parents and teachers knew of no other explanations).[3] While not devoid of folk superstition ("keneinahora" was an expression we heard often, with no idea of what it meant), our homes were devoid of magic, no red strings around wrists, and no (allegedly) wonder-working rabbis. In times of illness we were sent to physicians, not to check our mezuzot (which we were raised to kiss upon entering and leaving rooms and houses). [4]

Looking around me today, what do I see? A very different Orthodoxy. I want to focus here on only one aspect of the "new Orthodoxy": the emphasis on the metaphysical, innate, inherent, absolute difference between Jews and non-Jews. There is, admittedly, a long history to this idea, dating back at least to R. Judah Halevi (and, if one believes that the Zohar was written by R. Shimon bar Yohai, then back to the third century at least). In the Judaism in which we were raised, however, this history was unknown, ignored, or glossed over. [5]

Generally, Jewish thinkers who found it necessary to draw the universalist sting from the biblical teaching that all humanity is created in the image of God typically did so in one of two ways: by maintaining along with Judah Halevi that in the 10 generations from Noah to Abraham, a line of descent developed (or, perhaps more accurately, was caused to develop by God) of individuals capable of achieving prophecy. For Halevi this special subset of humanity, which came to be known as Israel, is related to the rest of the human race as the heart is related to the rest of the body: the core organ (and the seat of thought for medievals, following the Bible) without which the other organs cannot survive and which itself, if we take the analogy further, cannot survive without them. [6] The Zohar adopted a different view, according to which Jews and Gentiles are radically distinct from each other since their souls derive from different sources in the sefirotic tree. [7]

For both Halevi and the Zohar, conversion to Judaism must thus be a problem, and they have different ways of getting around it. [8] This approach is radically different from that of Maimonides, for whom conversion to Judaism is not a problem, but an opportunity, as exemplified in his famous letter to R. Obadiah the Proselyte.[9] Without knowing it, my wife and I were raised as Maimonidean universalists. I, for one, was quite surprised to discover that there were other forms of Judaism, forms that denigrated non-Jews as such (and denied the validity of secular studies and pursuits), or, at the very best, saw them as simply static in the background, of no possible interest to Jews and most likely to God as well.

The Maharal of Prague (c. 1520–1609) had his own twist on the particularist approach. In several places he states explicitly that after Sinai, the image of God in Gentiles was diminished.[10] This notion that Jews and Gentiles are in some real sense metaphysically distinct, and that to the degree that they are metaphysically distinct, Jews are by nature superior to Gentiles, has been a staple of Jewish particularism since the Middle Ages. [11]

The particularism of Halevi, Zohar, and Maharal finds a muted but undeniable expression in Chabad writings. Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi's Tanya, the core text of Chabad Hasidism, maintains that Gentiles, because of the nature of their souls, cannot aspire to the level of holiness to which Jews can (and should) aspire. [12]

All religions, as I once read somewhere, venerate their canonical texts, but do not generally find all parts of those texts equally interesting. The line of thought about the special nature of the Jewish people as such briefly outlined here was simply not part of the Judaism in which my wife and I were raised, and, so far as I can judge, it was not part of the Judaism in which our fellow Baby Boomer Orthodox Jews were raised in North America. That form of Orthodoxy seems evermore a fond and distant memory.

The forms of Jewish particularism briefly summarized here should be understood for what they were: purely theoretical discussions, having no concrete consequences in the lives of their authors or those who read their works. These ideas did not appear to occupy a central place in the worldview of the thinkers mentioned here and can be understood as the reaction of a persecuted minority to their persecutors.

The same cannot be said, I fear, for a truly blood-thirsty contemporary expression of the view that Jews are ontologically distinct from and profoundly superior in every fashion to Gentiles. Recently a book was published giving these views the most extreme form I have ever seen. Torat haMelekh purports to be a disinterested and entirely theoretical halakhic discussion of the circumstances under which it is permissible to kill Gentiles. The authors of this profoundly disgusting book, Yizhak Shapira and Yosef Elitzur of Yeshivat Od Yosef Hai in the West Bank village of Yizhar, starting from the (largely uncontested in the halakhic tradition) assumption that the sixth commandment only outlaws the killing of Jews,[13] and from the astounding (and wholly unsupported in the halakhic tradition) assumption that the lives of Gentiles who are not "resident aliens" have no meaning and no legitimacy, spend more than 200 pages misusing Maimonides (and others, such as Bahya ben Asher) to examine (for them the limited) circumstances under which it is not permissible to kill Gentiles. One example of their twisted conclusions: that it is reasonable to assume that it is permitted (and perhaps required) to kill children "if it is clear that they will grow up to harm us."[14] Torat haMelekh appeared with the approbations (haskamot) of four rabbis: R. Yizhak Ginzburgh (author of Barukh haGever, a booklet memorializing Barukh Goldstein, the murderer of Muslim worshippers in the Cave of Makhpelah Mosque in Hebron on Purim day, 1994), R. Zalman Nehemiah Goldberg, the late R. Ya'akov Yosef, son of R. Ovadiah Yosef (former Israeli Chief Rabbi and leading light of the Shas party), and R. Dov Lior, rabbi of Kiryat Arba near Hebron, who explicitly stated that the subject matter of the book is rather relevant (dai aktuali) to our day and age. The claim that the book is a disinterested theoretical discussion is given the lie by this approbation, and in this we see its true danger. [15]

The publication of the book created a furor in Israel, leading to the arrest of one of its authors on the charge of "incitement." Rabbi Lior was "invited" by the police to answer questions concerning his approbation of the book, an "invitation" he declined. Rabbi Goldberg withdrew his approbation for the book; he is reported to have said that the book contains errors in Jewish law and things that the human intellect cannot accept (ein lahem makom baSekhel haEnoshi). In light of the police investigation into the rabbis who wrote approbations for the book, 50 leading rabbis in the "Zionist-Religious" community organized a protest meeting in Jerusalem's Ramada Hotel (18 August 2010).

They claimed not to be supporting the book Torat haMelekh itself, but protesting limitations on the freedom of speech of rabbis implied by the police investigations. Statements for and against Torat haMelekh continue to show up on blogs and in newspapers.[16] Rabbis are seen by many (and often want to be seen) as authoritative expositors of halakha and of Torah values. One would have thought that after Yigal Amir's murder of the late Yizhak Rabin, they would have learned to moderate the views they express in public, but such is not the case, more's the pity.

Let us turn to a much less extreme contemporary Israeli view of the innate inequality between Jews and Gentiles. No one can deny that in the world of contemporary Orthodox Zionism in Israel (dati-leumi), the voice of Rabbi Shlomo Aviner is heard loudly and clearly, through his many books, lectures, internet activities, and especially the multitude of "Sabbath leaflets" (alonei Shabbat) to which he contributes. Rabbi Aviner was born in France in 1943 and made aliya in 1966. He earned degrees in math and engineering and is an officer in the IDF reserves. After his aliya, he studied in Yeshivat Merkaz Ha-Rav Kook in Jerusalem and is considered to be a disciple of the late Rabbi Zvi Yehudah Kook (1891–1982). R. Aviner is the rabbi of the West Bank settlement Bet El and head of the yeshiva Ateret Kohanim in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City. Despite his being considered a political hawk, R. Aviner broke with many of his rabbinic colleagues, and counseled soldiers not to disobey orders in connection with the Gaza withdrawal of 2005. This independent stand aroused considerable controversy in the world of Orthodox Zionism, earning R. Aviner many enemies.[17]

One of the issues to which R. Aviner often returns is the special nature of the Jewish people. Thus, in the pamphlet Itturei Kohanim 174 (Sivan, 5759), we find him writing the following:

We are the chosen people (am segulah[18] ), not because we received the Torah, but, rather, we received the Torah because we are the chosen people.[19] This is so since the Torah is so apt to our inner nature. Each nation has a special nature, character, public psychology, unique divine character, and the Master of the Universe formed this special nation—This people which I formed for Myself, they will tell My praise (Is. 43:21). There are those who claim against us that we are “racist,” Our answer to them is … if racism means that we are different from and superior to other nations, and by this bring blessings to other nations,[20] then indeed we admit that we differ from every nation, not by virtue of skin color, but from the aspect of the nature of our souls (haTeva haNishmati shelanu), the Torah describing our inner contents. [21]

In this typical passage, Rabbi Aviner presents his position in the clearest possible fashion and takes issue with his opponents. Let us look more closely at his words. The people of Israel are the chosen people. Why and how? R. Aviner relates to two possibilities: the descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob received the Torah and in consequence became the chosen people, or, the descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob were the only humans capable (mesugalim) of receiving the Torah. Receiving the Torah was a consequence of their already having been the chosen people (am segulah). In so doing R. Aviner accomplishes several ends: He admits (barely, it seems to me) that there is controversy on the issue (as indeed there is—his view is that of R. Judah Halevi, as opposed to the view of Maimonides), takes a stand on this controversy, and hints that the opposing view ought not to be taken seriously, since he does not deign to argue against it.

R. Aviner continues and insists that the Torah is appropriate for the inner nature of the Jewish people—"Each nation has a special nature, character, public psychology, unique divine character, and the Master of the Universe formed this special nation—This people which I formed for Myself, they will tell My praise (Is. 43:21)." In making this claim he reifies the notion of “nation” and establishes that there are nations defined and demarcated one from the other by their inner natures. In so doing he adopts the views of nineteenth-century German Romanticism and foists this ideology on Judaism.[22] Jewish people, he teaches, have an inner nature unique to it, a nature to which the Torah is particularly appropriate.[23] A number of things follow from this: R. Aviner takes a position in a tannaitic debate, over whether the Torah was ultimately intended for all human beings (kol ba'ei olam) or just for Israel.[24] He further raises a metaphysical problem with the conversion of Gentiles to Judaism: How can a person whose inner nature is not Jewish receive the Torah?[25] He also forces himself to adopt a particularist stance concerning the messianic era: If the Torah is appropriate only for those whose inner nature is Jewish, then the essential difference between Jew and Gentile must be preserved in the days of the Messiah. R. Aviner thus once again takes a stand in a controversial matter, without even admitting that there is a controversy on the issue. [26]

Rabbi Aviner is not only the rabbi of a settlement in Samaria, and not only the founder and head of a yeshiva deeply identified with the hopes for the actual construction of a Third Temple, he is also a man of the wider world. Born (during the Holocaust), raised, and educated in France, he holds academic degrees and served as an officer in the IDF. He knows what sort of an outcry his words are likely to arouse, and hence hastens to assure us that he is not a racist, at least not in the accepted sense of the word: "If racism means that we are different from and superior to other nations, and by this bring blessings to other nations, then indeed we admit that we differ from every nation, not by virtue of skin color, but from the aspect of our soul-like nature (haTeva haNishmati shelanu), the Torah describing our inner contents." His self-confessed racism is not biological—Jews come in all skin shades. No, his racism is spiritual. Jews are indeed superior to other nations, but their superiority is connected to their unique Jewish souls, souls whose “operating instructions” are written in the Torah. This superiority brings nothing but blessings to all other nations.

I think that fairness demands that we point out that Aviner is doing himself a disservice here. There is no doubt that he accepts the possibility of conversion to Judaism.[27] Thus, despite what he says about himself, he cannot be a racist in a contemporary sense of the term. He seems to be using “racism” here as shorthand for essentialism.[28

R. Aviner is willing to accept the consequences of his position on Jewish superiority. In a book aimed at soldiers in the Israeli army he writes:

Death is ritual impurity (tum'ah) since its essence is the diminishment of the divine vitality in created entities. The measure of ritual impurity matches the measure of the departure of this divine vitality. Gentile graves in an enclosure do not cause ritual impurity according to the basic law (ikkar haDin) since their souls are not so holy, and the difference between their bodies without a soul and their bodies with a soul is not all that great. Therefore the departure of the soul in their case does not constitute so terrible a crisis. And so also the opposite: the graves of the righteous do not impart ritual impurity (according to some perspectives, if not according to settled halakha) [29] because their bodies are holy and there is [thus] no diminishment of the divine manifestation [in them] with the departure of the soul. Jewish graves do impart ritual impurity since their souls are holy; however, their bodies without a soul is not holy and, therefore, the departure of the soul is the terrible crisis of the histalkut of the divine vitality from the body—and this constitutes the ritual impurity of death. [30]

According to this horrifying text, the difference between a live Jew and a dead Jew is immense; the difference between a live Gentile and a dead Gentile is much smaller. [31] R. Aviner neither says nor even implies that the killing of a Gentile is a light matter, but will all his readers understand that?[32] It is not my intention here to cry out against rabbinic irresponsibility, but, rather, to illustrate a certain, unfortunately widespread, view concerning the inner nature of the Jewish people. [33]

We have examined two examples from Israel. Let us now look at an example from the United States. I was surprised to find an echo of Aviner's view, which implies that Gentiles are in some sense less formed in the image of God than Jews, in an article written by one of the heads of New York's Yeshiva University. R. Herschel Schachter, distinguished professor of Talmud and Rosh Kollel at Yeshiva University, writes, as if it is totally uncontroversial: "Hashem [God] created all men B'Tzelem Elokim [in the image of God], and Bnai Yisrael [Jews] with an even deeper degree of this Tzelem Elokim—known as Banim LaMakom [children of the Omnipresent]." [34] Jews and Gentiles are alike created in the image of God, but Jews are more created in the image of God (whatever that might mean!) than are Gentiles (echoing Orwell, are Jews also "more equal"?).
It is obvious that R. Schachter is here (mis)interpreting Avot III.14 (17):

He [R. Akiva] used to say: Beloved is man [haAdam] for he was created in the image of God. As a gesture of special love, it was made known to him that he was created in the image of God, as it said, For in the image of God He made man (Gen. 9:6). Beloved are Israel for they are called [sheNikra'u] God's children [banim laMakom]. As a gesture of special love, it was made known to them that they are called God's children, as it is said, You are the children of the Lord, your God (Dt. 14:1). Beloved are Israel, for they were given a precious vessel [the Torah]. As a gesture of special love, it was made known to them that they were given the precious vessel through which the world was created, as it is said, I have given you good instruction [lekah tov]; do not forsake My Torah (Prov. 4:2). [35]

In his commentary to this passage, Rabbi Marc Angel writes:

"…God loves all human beings and has a special love for the People of Israel, the recipients of the Torah…": Special love, but because the People of Israel received the Torah, not because they are more made in the image of God than non-Jews. [36]

Rabbi Schachter seems not to share Rabbi Angel's view that Jews and Gentiles share the same human essence. As my friend and colleague Professor Daniel J. Lasker has pointed out, views such as that held (in relatively moderate terms) by Rabbi Schachter, and in more extreme terms by the authors of Torat haMelekh and by Rabbi Aviner (and, I regret it add, it would seem by most Orthodox Jews today) see the distinction between Jews and Gentiles to be a matter of "hardware," while the view taught by the Torah and, among others, Maimonides, holds that the distinction between Jews and Gentiles is a matter of "software" only.

I hasten to add that it is a safe assumption that R. Schachter would be horrified to have his views connected to Torat haMelekh.[37] I cite him only as an example of the casual way in which many Jews assume some sort of ontological divide between Jews and Gentiles. I am confident (or naively hopeful) that few Jews who hold the view that there is some inherent, substantial, metaphysical, ontological distinction between Jews and Gentiles have actually thought through its implications.[38] A colleague of mine once asked three Roshei Yeshiva at Yeshiva University if God listens to the prayers of Gentiles. One said of course, a second said of course not, and a third said that he had no idea and did not care. The second and third views would have shocked my father, as they shock me.

When ancient or medieval Jews penned works describing Gentiles as less than fully human there was no danger that they would act on these views, nor is it clear that they meant it literally. On the contrary, it is easy to understand them as reacting to generations of persecution and denigration. [39] In our day and age, however, these views are not only disgraceful, and represent a rejection of the simple sense of the Torah, but they have proven themselves to be dangerous, dangerous in the ways in which certain Israeli Jews use them to justify outrageous actions toward Arabs, and dangerous to Jews around the world who use these views to justify behavior that makes a mockery of our claim to be a light unto the nations.

One must wonder why so many contemporary Orthodox Jews are educated today to believe as true (and central to their Judaism) statements about non-Jews as such that run counter to what the Torah itself teaches, that are so obviously false (intelligence, altruism, decency, searching for God, etc. seem no more prevalent among Jews than among other human communities), and that are immoral? [40] To my mind, that question is best addressed by sociologists or historians, not philosophers. [41] But it is certainly a question that should be asked by parents when choosing schools for their children.

[1] A Frenchman, a German, and a Jew wrote essays on elephants. The Frenchman wrote on the love life of the elephant, the German on authority in the elephant community, and the Jew on the elephant and the Jewish problem.
Proving that Maimonides held this view is the burden of my latest book, Gam Hem Keruyim Adam: Ha-Nokhri be-Einei ha-Rambam (Ramat-Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 2016).
[2] My wife's grandmother, who had suffered greatly at the hands of Polish anti-Semites, used to refer to Gentiles as yenem menschen, those people.
[3] For other, far more particularist explanations, see Zvi Ron, “'Our Own Joy Is Lessened and Incomplete': The History of an Interpretation of Sixteen Drops of Wine at the Seder," Hakirah 19 (2015): 237–256.
[4] A friend who read a draft of this essay commented: "This sounds like the famous comment attributed to New Yorker film critic Pauline Kael after Richard Nixon was elected president to the effect that she could not understand how he was elected since she herself knew no one who voted for him." But I do not believe that my wife and I were raised in some sort of odd universalist bubble; rather, the zeitgeist of Orthodoxy at the time was indeed as I describe it.
[5] I do not mean to imply that there are no important rabbis today who share the values of our parents, the editor of Conversations prominent among them. So far as I can judge, however, these rabbis, however much I admire them, are not representative of the contemporary zeitgeist of Orthodoxy, both in Israel and in the Diaspora. See also, Marc D. Angel, "Rabbi Kook and Rabbi Uziel: Two Posekim, Two Approaches," in Conversations, issue 12, winter 2012, pp. 109–120.
[6] See Halevi, Kuzari, I. 27–27, 101–103, 96 and 115. See also Menachem Kellner, Maimonides' Confrontation with Mysticism (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2006) (henceforth: Confrontation), pp. 216–220 and p. 263. I would like to note that all too many people read Halevi as if he were a Kabbalist, or if his views were identical, for example, with those of the Maharal. For an example of such a conflation of views, see the lecture by Rabbi Herschel Schachter, cited below in note 38.
[7] See Moshe Hallamish, "The Kabbalists' Attitude to the Nations of the World," in Joseph Baruch Sermonetta Memorial Volume (Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought 14), edited by Aviezer Ravitzky, 289–312 (Hebrew). See further Elliot Wolfson, Venturing Beyond: Law and Morality in Kabbalistic Mysticism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006) and, importantly, Jerome Gellman, "Jewish Mysticism and Morality: Kabbalah and Its Ontological Dualities," Archiv fuer Religionsgeschichte 9 (2008): 23–35. For a depressing list of important figures not directly part of the world of Kabbalah who presented Gentiles as "separate but unequal" see Hanan Balk, "The Soul of a Jew and the Soul of a Non-Jew: An Inconvenient Truth and the Search for an Alternative," Hakirah: The Flatbush Journal of Jewish Law and Thought 16 (2013): 47–76.
[8] For Zohar, see Jochanan Wijnhoven, "The Zohar and the Proselyte," in Texts and Responses: Studies Presented to Nahum N. Glatzer, edited by Michael Fishbane and Paul Flohr (Leiden: Brill, 1975): 120–140; for Halevi, see his texts cited above in note 2.
[9] The text of Maimonides' letter may be found in Y. Sheilat, Iggerot haRambam, 2 vols. (Jerusalem: Ma'aliyot, 1987), vol. 2, pp. 231–241. For a discussion of the ideological import of some of R. Sheilat's readings, see M. Kellner, "'Farteitcht Un Farbessert': On "Correcting" Maimonides," Meorot 6, no. 2 (2007): 12 pp. (http://www.yctorah.org/content/view/330/10/). A partial English translation of Maimonides' letter is found in F. Kobler, Letters of Jews Through the Ages (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1978), vol. 2, pp. 193–196 and in Isadore Twersky (ed.), A Maimonides Reader (New York: Behrman House, 1972), pp. 475–477. Further on Maimonides' very positive attitude towards proselytes (and proselytization) see James Diamond, "Maimonides and the Convert: A Juridical and Philosophical Embrace of the Outsider." Medieval Philosophy and Theology 11 (2005): 125–146; revised and reprinted in: Diamond, Converts, Heretics, and Lepers: Maimonides and the Outsider. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 2007.
[10] Derekh haHayyim III.14, end; for further sources in the Maharal see Confrontation, p. 220, note 10.
[11] In general, a history of Jewish particularism remains a scholarly vacuum, if not something to be desired. In the meantime, one can always make use of (Jewish) anti-Semites like the late and unlamented Professor Israel Shahak, many of whose writings are available online (courtesy of many anti-Semitic websites).
[12] Tanya (Likkutei Amarim), I.1, end. Some Habadniks go beyond the particularism of the author of the Tanya, wondering how it is that Jews and Gentiles, for example, have babies in the same way, since Jews and Gentiles share nothing in common. For this and other pearls, see R. Joseph Karasik, HaBayit haYehudi beMishnat haKabbalah ve-haHasidut (np: Machon Nahalei Dvash, 5756), pp. 384–386.
[13] Which does not mean that the murder of Gentiles is permitted!
[14] I wrote these words originally under the shadow of the murder of the Fogel family in Itamar (11 March 2011), perpetrated by two Palestinian teenagers who agree with Torat haMelekh's reasoning, but apply it to Jews.
[15] Some of the "pearls" found in this book include the claim that the existence of a Gentile who is not a "resident alien" (and in this day and age, no Gentiles can achieve that status) "has no legitimacy" (p. 43); Jews and Gentiles share nothing in common, but, in effect, belong to different orders of reality (p. 45); a Gentile who violates one of the seven Noahide commandments (stealing, for example, even something of slight value, or, in the eyes of the authors of the book, undermining Jewish sovereignty over any part of the Land of Israel) is to be executed without advance warning. The Jew who witnesses the act can serve as judge and executioner (pp. 49–51); and so it goes in depressing and blood-curdling detail. Torat haMelekh's views are based on readings of kabbalistic texts mediated through the teachings of R. Ginzburgh, cited as direct inspiration by the authors of the book.
[16] Most recently in:
http://www.bloombergview.com/articles/2015-11-01/violence-in-the-name-o…
accessed 3 November 2015.
[17] There is even an internet site (/http://aviner.net) devoted to attacking R. Aviner. It does not appear to be active. I last accessed it on 19 April 2015.
[18] A check of the Bar Ilan Responsa Project database shows that this expression shows up only 113 times in the entire body of Jewish literature covered by the database, and became popular only in the Middle Ages.
[19] Here R. Aviner reflects Kuzari II.56.
[20] How does Israel bring blessings to other nations? In his commentary on Halevi's Kuzari (Bet El: Sifriyat Hava, nd), vol. 1, p. 108, R. Aviner writes: "The Torah is the greatest divine light, and it belongs only to Israel, and from Israel drops of sanctity drip to each and every nation, according to its stature and state (inyano). R. Aviner returns to this theme often. Thus, for example, in answer to a question asked of him on the internet ("Why should we be a nation?"), he wrote:

…Indeed, what is the need for a special nation? But, just as a human being needs a heart, thus the human race needs a heart-like nation. Rabbi Judah Halevi wrote that the people of Israel are the heart of humanity (Kuzari II.36). Not a heart which is disconnected [from the rest of humanity], not a condescending heart, not a heart frozen in a refrigerator, but a living heart which causes vitality to flow to all the limbs. Just as the heart's love is the love of all the limbs, thus love of the people of Israel is in essence love of all that is human. When we extend ourselves in our national efforts, in strengthening the settlement of the People of Israel in its land, in strengthening its army and state, we are essentially working for the good of all humanity. This is not egoistical love, but universalist love. (http://www.havabooks.co.il/article_ID.asp?id=632)
[21] My thanks to Rabbi Dr. Ronen Lubitch for bringing this source to my attention.
[22] In this, R. Aviner follows in the footsteps of his teacher, R. Zvi Yehudah Kook; R. Zvi Yehudah follows in the footsteps of his father, R. Abraham Isaac Kook (to a great degree), and Rav Kook, in turns appears to follow in the footsteps of his teachers, Hegel and other romantic thinkers. On this intellectual pedigree, see Shlomo Fischer, "Self-Expression and Democracy in Radical Religious Zionist Ideology," PhD thesis, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 2007, esp. pp. 66–126, 217–234. For a recent and very useful English language study of the elder R. Kook, see Yehudah Mirsky, Rav Kook: Mystic in a Time of Revolution (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014).
[23] I tried to translate Rabbi Aviner's usages back into rabbinic Hebrew with no success. His ideas, I submit, largely come from the outside and cannot easily be traced to rabbinic texts.
[24] On this debate, see Menachem Hirshman, Torah Lekhol Ba'ei Olam: Zerem Universali beSifrut haTana'im veYahaso leHokhmat heAmim. Tel Aviv: Ha-Kibbutz ha-Meuhad, 1999. Hirshman summarizes the points in this book in "Rabbinic Universalism in the Second and Third Centuries." Harvard Theological Review 93 (2000): 101–15.
[25] I am aware of the many solutions offered for this problem. For Rabbi Aviner (and before him Halevi, not to mention the authors of the Zohar), conversion presents a problem. For Maimonides, in contrast, there is no problem which needs to be solved.
[26] See Menachem Kellner, Maimonides on Judaism and the Jewish People (Albany: SUNY Press, 1991); Maimonides' Confrontation with Mysticism (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2006), ch. 7 (henceforth: Confrontation) and "Maimonides' True Religion—for Jews, or All Humanity?" Me'orot [Edah Journal] 7.1 (2008) (http://www.yctorah.org/content/view/436/10/). I wonder how R. Aviner would react if he heard me pointing out to my students that the Patriarchs and even Moses (before Sinai) were Noahide Gentiles (at best).
[27] See, for example, http://www.havabooks.co.il/article_ID.asp?id=1185.
[28] Further on this, see Kellner, Confrontation, pp. 26–31.
[29] Rabbi Aviner cites as his sources Zohar, part one, p, 168a and Midrash on Proverbs 9:1.
[30] Aviner, meHayil el Hayil (5759), p. 230, cited by Yosef Ahituv, "State and Army According to the Torah: Realism and Mysticism in the Circles of Merkaz Ha-Rav," p. 466, in Aviezer Ravitzky (ed.), Dat uMedinah baHagut haYehudit beMe'ah haEsrim (Jerusalem: Israel Democracy Institute, 2005) (Hebrew). For a view similar to that of R. Aviner, see Or haHayyim on Lev. 20:26 and Numbers 19:2.
[31] Compare R. Aviner's words in his commentary on the Kuzari (part 1, p. 136): "In that we are the segulah of humanity, we are also the heart of humanity. We are more human than the others" (emphasis added). This is Aviner's view, not Halevi's. Among other sources, it probably draws from the Maharal of Prague, who held that at Sinai the image of God was diminished among the nations of the world, leaving only Jews as fully formed in the image of God. For the Maharal, see, for example, his Nezah Yisrael (Jerusalem: Makhon Yerushalayim, 1997), vol. 1, p. 305. For discussion, see Aaron Kleinberger, haMahshavah haPedagogit shel haMaharal (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1962), pp. 37–42.
[32] Bear in mind that this text is addressed to teenaged inductees into the Israeli army.
[33] The paragraphs on R. Aviner here are drawn (with revisions) from a forthcoming essay of mine in a festschrift in honor of my esteemed friend and colleague, David Novak.
[34] See, p. 20 in Hershel Schachter, "Women Rabbis?" Hakirah: The Flatbush Journal of Jewish Law and Thought 11 (2011): 19–23.
[35] I cite from The Koren Pirkei Avot, with translation by Jonathan Sacks and Commentary by Marc Angel (Jerusalem: Koren, 2015), p. 78.
[36] Tosafot Yom Tov ad loc. seems to be addressing his comments directly against Rabbi Schachter. No surprise, I guess, that I am his direct descendant.
[37] I hope that he is not fully aware of the consequences of his spiritual essentialism and almost blind literalism. See the next note.
[38] Further examples of his casual acceptance of an ontological divide between Jews and non-Jews may be found in this online lecture (last accessed 20 November 2015): http://www.torahweb.org/audio/rsch_050204.html. Further on Rabbi Schachter's unfortunate views (and the even more unfortunate views of other contemporary rabbis), see Alan Brill, Judaism and Other Religions: Models of Understanding (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), pp. 202–205. In this connection, I was surprised to find the following comment in an online lecture by Rabbi Ethan Tucker: "The Akeidah—the story of the binding of Isaac—is one of the most central narratives and texts in the Jewish tradition… As Jews, we invoke this chilling story of Avraham’s near sacrifice of his son with pride on a daily basis, as we contrast our human worthlessness with our covenantal worthiness." Quoted by Alan Brill at:
https://kavvanah.wordpress.com/author/kavvanah/ - 8 November 2015 (accessed 20 November 2015). I trust that Rabbi Tucker did not mean to imply that those who are not bnai brit (i.e., everyone but the Jews) are humanly worthless—even though that is what he writes here. His statement also implies that Jews who do not honor the covenant in their lives are also humanly worthless.
[39] Further on this, see Menachem Kellner, "We Are Not Alone," in Michael J. Harris, Daniel Rynhold, and Tamra Wright, eds., Radical Responsibility: Celebrating the Thought of Chief Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks (Jerusalem: Maggid Books, 2012): 139–154, repinted in Menachem Kellner – Jewish Universalism, ed. Hava Tirosh-Samuelson and Aaron Hughes (Leiden: Brill, 2015), pp. 107–118 (Library of Contemporary Jewish Philosophers, vol. 12).
[40] In the essay cited in the previous note I suggest that part of the answer to this question is a lack of Jewish self-confidence, building on an insight of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks: “Those who are confident in their faith are not threatened but enlarged by the different faith of others.” Of course, it could very well be that many Jews find the very openness of the world around us threatening and seek to hide behind the highest possible walls, instead of confronting that world. My thanks to Chaim Waxman for suggesting this line of thought to me.
[41] I very much appreciate the comments of Rabbi Amitai Blickstein, James Diamond, Jolene S. Kellner, Avrom Montag, and Chaim Waxman.