Min haMuvhar

 

The Chief Rabbinate has had a monopoly on many aspects of the religious life of the State of Israel. It controls marriages, divorces and conversions to Judaism; it regulates public kashrut as well as offering kosher supervision to private establishments. It operates a network of rabbinic courts. It has a visible, public platform for teaching the ideas and ideals of Judaism to Israeli society, and for serving as a religious beacon of inspiration to world Jewry.

 

One would think that after these many years, then, the Chief Rabbinate would be one of the most beloved and revered institutions in Israeli society. The rabbis have had daily opportunity to interact with all Israelis - religious and otherwise - and to show them the beauty of Judaism, the kindness of Torah, the pleasantness of the Orthodox message.

Yet, amazingly and tragically, the Chief Rabbinate seems to be one of the least beloved and revered institutions in Israeli society. It has little or no authority in the haredi community; it generates little or no enthusiasm among religious Zionists; it is of little positive significance to the remainder of Israelis. Although the Chief Rabbinate and its many functionaries include some fine, sincere and wonderful people, the overall image - and reality - of the rabbinate appears to be negative.

IN THE field of kashrut, the supervision of the Chief Rabbinate is disdained by the haredi community, which has set up its own kosher supervision system (the Badatz). Apparently, the Badatz has achieved - in many circles - a higher level of trust for its supervision than has the Chief Rabbinate. Indeed, in all areas of Jewish law the haredi community turns to its own authorities, and not to the Chief Rabbinate.

In the area of marriages, stories are legion of couples, especially non-Orthodox ones, who have had unpleasant experiences with rabbinic functionaries. The growing demand for civil marriage in Israel is an indication of dissatisfaction with the rabbinic marriage bureaucracy.

In the area of divorce, the Chief Rabbinate has been notoriously unsuccessful in addressing the aguna problem, allowing a situation to fester where husbands refuse to grant a divorce unless they are paid off. I myself have been involved in several cases where Israeli rabbis have actually encouraged the husband to demand payment and various other rights before granting a divorce. The Chief Rabbinate finally felt compelled to convene a conference to deal with the issue, but then cancelled it at the last moment - apparently under pressure from haredi elements. It seems increasingly clear that a solution to the aguna problem will not emerge from the Chief Rabbinate, but will have to be found in the civil courts.

IN THE area of conversion, the Chief Rabbinate raises obstacles to prevent non-Jews from entering the Jewish fold. It has adopted a haredi position that conversion is available only to those agreeing to observe Torah and mitzvot in full. This position is a radical break from the Talmud, Rambam (Maimonides) and the Shulhan Aruch; it is capitulating to an extreme haredi position that took root only in the 19th century.

The Chief Rabbinate not only enforces this position for the State of Israel, but has now disqualified the conversions of Orthodox rabbis in the Diaspora unless those rabbis are clearly under the rabbinate's thumb. The Rabbinical Council of America has essentially bowed to the authority of the Chief Rabbinate, since the latter has the power to decide who is Jewish and who is not Jewish in the State of Israel. If the Chief Rabbinate rejects the validity of a conversion - even if performed entirely according to Halacha - the convert and his/her children will face problems if they decide to move to Israel. The Chief Rabbinate seems intent on demonstrating its "power," and on showing that it can be as extreme as the haredim.

How far has this institution moved from the wise, compassionate and loving attitude of the late Sephardi chief rabbi Benzion Uziel (who died in 1953)! Rabbi Uziel well understood that the role of the rabbinate was not to drive people away from Judaism, but to find every possible way of bringing them into the fold for the sake of Jewish families and the Jewish nation.

When Israel was founded, Orthodox Jews placed much hope in the Chief Rabbinate. They truly hoped that it would enhance the Jewish nature of the state and win the hearts of Israel's citizens to a deeper appreciation of the Torah traditions. Regrettably, these hopes have not been fulfilled.

THE CHIEF Rabbinate functions as though it were leading a cult rather than a world religion with a grand, universal message. It adopts extreme haredi positions and attitudes because it seems to view the haredi community as the only constituency that matters. Should the State and people of Israel continue to grant power to this sort of chief rabbinate? Shouldn't there, rather, be a complete review of the rabbinate's role and functions, a top-level government commission to evaluate its successes and failures, to recommend changes in policies and procedures, to overhaul the rabbinic bureaucracy, to clarify the rabbinate's mission - its responsibilities as well as its limitations?

Establishing such a commission will surely engender fierce opposition and political infighting. Yet unless an impartial panel carries out a serious evaluation of the Chief Rabbinate and makes necessary recommendations, the damage to the State of Israel, to Judaism and to the Jewish people will be immense.

All Israelis and all Jews have a stake in an honest, compassionate, competent and courageous Chief Rabbinate, one that serves as a unifying force. The sooner the rabbinate is reconstituted, the sooner will we be able to say with a full heart: "For out of Zion comes forth the Torah, and the word of God from Jerusalem."

 

 

 

 

Sephardic Haskalah

 

(This is a slightly edited version of Chapter Ten in Rabbi Marc D. Angel’s book, Voices in Exile: A Study in Sephardic Intellectual History, Ktav Publishing House, Hoboken, 1991.)
 

  One manifestation of the confrontation with modernity among the Jews of Europe was known as the Haskalah, or Enlightenment. Proponents of the Haskalah held that Jews should study Judaism and its classic texts in a modern, scientific fashion. They argued for a modernization of education for Jews to include secular subjects. The Haskalah witnessed a rebirth of literary creativity among Jews. Generally, Haskalah figures were critical of the traditional, talmudic/rabbinic structure of Jewish life.

Moses Mendelssohn (1729–1786) was the guiding light of early Haskalah thought. He attempted to harmonize Jewish teachings with modern philosophy. He felt that if Jews presented their religious ideas to the non-Jewish world in a sophisticated manner, the non-Jews would come to respect Judaism and appreciate the Jews. Realizing that increasing numbers of young Jews were seeking and receiving a secular education, Mendelssohn wanted to demonstrate that Judaism could be respectable even to those who studied philosophy and other academic subjects.

            Within the Ashkenazic world, there was considerable controversy between the proponents of Haskalah and the traditionalists who opposed it. The Jews in Europe were facing a serious dilemma: How could they adapt and survive in a Christian society that was giving them more freedom than they had ever had before? When they had been restricted to ghettos and had few civil rights, they had lived according to their traditions and found satisfaction in them. But now that they had been given the possibility of participating in the larger society around them, they had to make critical decisions. Jews who entered the non-Jewish world very often came to abandon their religious heritage. They adopted the customs and ideas of the non-Jews. After all, they wanted to be like the dominant majority, not old-fashioned or identifiably different.

            Traditionalists, seeing how quickly Jews assimilated into the non-Jewish culture, were alarmed that the Jews were so willing to abandon their distinct religious identity. They therefore strenuously resisted any tendency that they felt would weaken the hold of biblical and rabbinic tradition. They saw the Haskalah as a negative force, a direct threat to traditional authority.

            Although the Haskalah movement itself called for modernization rather than assimilation, it did shake the foundations of traditional religious authority. In this sense, it contributed to the tendency of Jews to give up Orthodox beliefs and practices.

            The Haskalah was a phenomenon primarily among Ashkenazic Jews. Nevertheless, it did have an impact on the Sephardic communities of Western Europe. As European cultural influence in Muslim lands increased, Sephardim in Turkey, Egypt, Morocco, and other countries also came into contact with the teachings of the Haskalah.

            The ideology and impact of the Haskalah, however, were generally not the same among Sephardim as among Ashkenazim. For the Ashkenazim, Enlightenment represented a way to enter mainstream European culture in a respectable fashion. In a sense, Haskalah thought was an apologetic for Judaism, an attempt to present it scientifically, universally. It wanted to shake off the non-modern aspects of traditional Judaism. An underlying hope was that enlightened Jews would be able to function successfully in non-Jewish society, accepted as equals.

            The Sephardim of Western Europe, though, already felt relatively comfortable in their non-Jewish milieu. They had a tradition of adaptability. They spoke the languages of the lands in which they lived; some had risen to prominence in various professional fields. Their synagogues were prestigious; their services were elegant and dignified. Western Sephardim maintained their institutions according to their ancient traditions and were not inclined to “modernize.” Haskalah issues were not central to their concerns.

            This was even truer for the vast majority of Sephardim who lived in Muslim lands. They did not feel that the Jewish culture was in any way inferior to the culture of the Muslims among whom they lived. They had no compelling reason to abandon traditional religious patterns as a means of adapting to the non-Jewish society around them. Indeed, they functioned as autonomous communities within the broader Muslim world, and were not motivated to strive for emancipation and legal equality.1

            At the same time, the ideas and tendencies of the Haskalah movement did manifest themselves among Sephardim. From the second half of the nineteenth century, Haskalah ideas filtered into the Sephardic communities in Muslim lands, especially through the efforts of the schools of the Alliance Israelite Universelle—bastions of French culture. The influence of European colonial powers in North Africa and the Middle East was also an important factor in Sephardic intellectual life. The impact of the Haskalah could not be altogether ignored.

 

Grace Aguilar: Jewish Spirituality

 

            Grace Aguilar (1816–1847) belonged to the Sephardic community of London. Although her life was cut short by an untimely death, she left a remarkable literary legacy. Aside from a number of novels, she also wrote several works relating to Jewish religious teachings.

            She was concerned that the wave of modernism was undermining the foundations of traditional religious life. Jews were seeking success in the secular world; the bond of religion was weakening. She was particularly aware of the spiritual turmoil among Jewish youth, and she sought to address their religious questions to thereby strengthen their faith.

            Grace Aguilar corresponded with Isaac Leeser, spiritual leader of the Spanish and Portuguese Congregation Mikveh Israel in Philadelphia, and he was of much help to her. Indeed, he edited several of her works for publication, including The Spirit of Judaism. This work reflected Aguilar’s deep concern that Jewish youth were not receiving a proper spiritual education in Judaism. She feared that they would be attracted to Christianity, which was popularly portrayed as a religion of the spirit. In contrast, Judaism was described as a religion of numerous detailed observances. Presented as an elaborate commentary on the first paragraph of the Shema (which she transliterated in the Spanish and Portuguese style as Shemang), the book dealt with a wide range of religious topics, emphasizing the profound spirituality inherent in Judaism.

            Grace Aguilar argued that if Jews understood the true power and beauty of their religion, they would proudly assert their Jewishness instead of trying to conceal it. The repetition of the Shema itself is a source of holy comfort. If recited regularly “we shall go forth, no longer striving to conceal our religion through shame (for it can only be such a base emotion prompting us to conceal it in free and happy England); but strengthened, sanctified by its blessed spirit, we shall feel the soul elevated within us”2

            Aguilar stressed the need for Jews to devote themselves to the study of the Bible, the foundation of Judaism. In so doing, she made some pejorative remarks about “tradition,” apparently referring to the traditional stress on fulfilling the details of the law. (Isaac Leeser, in his notes to the book, took her to task on several occasions for her detraction of “tradition.”)3 However, Aguilar can hardly be accused of being unorthodox and opposed to the observance of mitzvoth. She consistently called for the faithful observance of the commandments in their details:

 

Instead then of seeking to find excuses for their non-performance, should we not rather glory in the minutest observance which would stamp us as so peculiarly the Lord’s own, and deem it a glorious privilege to be thus marked out not only in feature and in faith, but in our civil and religious code, as the chosen of God?4

 

            It may be argued that Grace Aguilar’s stress on the Bible and seeming deprecation of “tradition” was her way of trying to appeal to the religious needs of her audience. She perceived her readers as being under the influence of Christian notions of what a religion should be. By asking Jews to read the Bible, she was asking them to do something that was desirable even for Christians, who also venerated the Bible. By emphasizing the spirit of Judaism, she wished to convey to Jews seeking spirituality that they had no need whatsoever to turn to Christianity. But in the process of stressing the Jewish spirit, she found it necessary at times to downplay the details of the laws of Judaism as transmitted by tradition. These details themselves had to be framed within a context of spirituality and not be seen as ends in themselves.5

            In The Jewish Faith: Its Spiritual Consolation, Moral Guidance, and Immortal Hope, completed shortly before her death, Grace Aguilar presented her arguments in the form of a series of letters from a knowledgeable Jewish woman to her beloved young friend, an orphan with little Jewish education. Aguilar felt that this style of presentation would be more interesting for her readers, especially younger readers whom she hoped to influence.

            In the introduction to the book, she emphasized the need to present sophisticated religious educational materials to young people. Youth were easily influenced by outside sources; unless they had a proper understanding of Judaism, they would be tempted to abandon it. Indeed, the orphan to whom the letters in the book were addressed had been considering the possibility of converting to Christianity, believing that Christianity offered more spirituality than Judaism. The author, of course, forcefully refuted this claim; in the end, the orphan did not convert, but rather became a more devoted Jew.

            Grace Aguilar expressed the conviction that it was necessary to provide Jewish education for girls as well as boys. She lamented the fact that the education of Jewish girls had not been given adequate attention. She described her book as “an humble help in supplying the painful want of Anglo-Jewish literature, to elucidate for our female youth the tenets of their own, and so remove all danger from the perusal of abler and better works by spiritual Christians.”6

            Arguing that the new knowledge and ideas brought about by the advances in science did not contradict the truth of the divinely revealed Torah, Aguilar wrote: “So simple, so easy appears to me the union of Revelation and all science, that how any mind can reject the one as contradicting the other is as utterly incomprehensible as it is fearful.”7 Scoffers who scorned the truth of religion were guilty of arrogance; they did not have a proper understanding of religion. Aguilar was obviously troubled by the increase in skepticism among Jews and by their intellectual surrender to the antireligious proponents of modern science and philosophy. If Jews received an enlightened Jewish education, they would hold fast to their own religious traditions.

            Moreover, Jews were not learning the spiritual aspects of Judaism. They were taught laws and customs, but often had no insight into the deeper meanings and ideas of Jewish tradition. Aguilar noted that the Spanish and Portuguese Jews tended to stress the external forms of religious ceremony, giving the impression that these forms were the essence of Judaism. While she recognized the reasons for the emphasis on form, she argued for the necessity of emphasizing the spiritual aspects of Jewish teachings. She warned, however, that people should not abandon religious observance, thinking that spirituality was of higher value. On the contrary, the observances gave expression to the spiritual feelings of love of God. She wrote that

 

every spiritual Hebrew, instead of disregarding the outward ceremonies, will delight in obeying them for the love he bears his God, welcoming them as immediate instructions from Him, even as a child obeys with joy and gladness the slightest bidding of those he loves.8

 

            Grace Aguilar was troubled by the phenomenon of Jews who achieved success in general society but in the process moved away from Jewish commitment.

 

Many, indeed, have lately distinguished themselves in the law, and in the fine arts of the English world; but why will not these gifted spirits do something for Judaism as well as England? There is no need to neglect the interests of the latter, in attending to the need of the former. We want Jewish writers, Jewish books.9

 

Aguilar was convinced that if the best and most enlightened Jewish minds devoted themselves to presenting Judaism at its best, the non-Jewish world would be duly impressed. Hatred of Jews would diminish as non-Jews came to learn about and respect Judaism and Jews.

            Grace Aguilar’s writings reflected major issues of modernism: the education of women, the need for spirituality, the renewed interest in the Bible, the critique of blind obedience to details of the law without understanding its deeper meanings. They also shed light on the religiosity of her reading audience: relatively unversed in Jewish learning, skeptical about the mitzvoth, susceptible to the spiritual charm of Christianity. (Leeser challenged the latter point, believing that it was very rare for a Jew to convert to Christianity. As he saw the problem, Jews were simply becoming apathetic to their own spiritual heritage.)10 Grace Aguilar’s essential goal was to demonstrate that loyalty to traditional Judaism was not antipathetic to success in the modern world. By studying the classic sources of their religion and maintaining observance of the commandments, Jews would be secure in their own faith and could function more confidently in the general non-Jewish society.
 

Eliyahu Benamozegh: Jewish Ethics
 

            The impact of the Haskalah thought was also evidenced in the writings of Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh (1822–1900). Born in Livorno, Italy, to a family of Moroccan Sephardic background, Benamozegh was a major figure in Jewish intellectual life during the nineteenth century. He served as rabbi in Livorno and was a professor of theology in the rabbinical school there. He published works in Hebrew, French, and Italian.

            Rabbi Benamozegh was well steeped in rabbinic learning, including the kabbalah. He also was educated in general academic disciplines; his writings reflect his knowledge of archaeological research, philology, history, Christianity, and philosophy.

            Like Aguilar, R. Benamozegh was concerned with the relationship of the Jews to the larger Christian society in Europe. In his book, In Ethical Paths, he attempted to clarify Jewish teachings on ethics and demonstrate their superiority to the seemingly more spiritual ethics of Christianity. He, too, felt that Jews needed to have a better grounding in the moral teachings of their own religion in order to withstand the influence of Christian society. He argued that it was unfair of Christians to insist that their system of ethics was superior to Jewish ethics. After all, Christianity was based on Judaism, and many of its main teachings were of Jewish origin. Moreover, the Christian claim to have superseded Judaism was not sound. Why would God—who chose Israel and gave them the Torah—suddenly change His mind and establish a new religion to replace Judaism? Since God was omniscient, such a change in plans would seem absurd. But even using Christian logic, there was no reason to believe that Christianity had become the ultimate expression of God’s will. If, as Christians claimed, God had changed His mind once, then what would preclude Him from doing so again, choosing another religion to replace Christianity? In short, Christianity’s argument on this issue was untenable.[i]

            In describing Jewish ethics, R. Benamozegh noted that Judaism encompassed two factors: the national (mediniyut) and the ethical (mussar). Thus, Jewish ethics is grounded in practical reality. It is not ethereal or over-idealized but is based on the real considerations of a real nation. In contrast, Christian ethics is not applicable to national life in the same way. Christians speak of humility, suffering, compassion, and other such concepts in unrealistic ways. Which nation on earth would allow itself to be attacked and not defend itself or strike back? Which nation would forgive debts or ignore insults and cruelties committed against its people? Christianity cannot adequately satisfy the natural human need and attachment for a homeland. On the other hand, Judaism is realistic in linking ethical teachings to national and practical concerns. Religion and nationality cannot be separated.[ii]

            In his elaboration of the Jewish ethical tradition, Rabbi Benamozegh stressed the universalism of Judaism. The Torah described humanity as deriving from common ancestors, Adam and Eve. Humanity has a common destiny—the messianic time.[iii] Jewish ethics shows respect for non-Jews and does not preclude them from God’s love and salvation. Judaism’s goal is not to punish the wicked but to bring them back to righteousness. Since Jewish faith is necessarily contingent on the performance of practical works, it provides the most realistic framework for the creation of an ethical society.[iv]

            R. Benamozegh published this work in French, intending it for both Jewish and Christian readers. For the Jews, he hoped this work would strengthen their commitment to their own tradition. For the Christians, he hoped that they would gain a new understanding of Judaism and would come to appreciate it better. He recognized the growing influence of Christianity over the emancipated and enlightened Jews; he offered his book as an anodyne to that influence. As a man of broad Jewish and general culture, he was eminently qualified for the task he had set himself.
 

Rabbi Israel Moshe Hazan

            One of the most influential Sephardic thinkers of the nineteenth century was Rabbi Israel Moshe Hazan (1808–1863).[v] Born in Izmir, Turkey, his family moved to Jerusalem when he was still a small child. He studied there in the yeshiva of his grandfather, Rabbi Yosef Refael Hazan. In 1842 he was appointed to the rabbinical court in Jerusalem, a testimony to his scholarship and stature in the community. In 1844 he traveled as an emissary to London. He subsequently held rabbinic positions in Rome, Corfu, and Alexandria.

            Rabbi Hazan was deeply committed to maintaining Judaism in its traditional form. During his stay in London, he wrote a pamphlet attacking the recently established Reform movement in England. He also joined a group of traditionalists who were opposed to the teachings of Reform.

            Rabbi Hazan argued that the Jewish people should conduct themselves according to their own laws and traditions. They should not abandon their religious and national autonomy by succumbing to the temptations of emancipation and enlightenment. He complained that European Jews tended to polarize, either assimilating readily into non-Jewish culture or fiercely isolating themselves against its influence. He represented the classic Sephardic model—maintaining traditional religious autonomy while at the same time being open to the best teachings of the non-Jewish world.

            In his Nahalah leYisrael, Rabbi Hazan contended that Jews should adhere to their own laws, including the laws of inheritance. The non-Jewish governments did not require Jews to abandon their own legal system; why then should they do so voluntarily? Anyone who studied Jewish history would quickly realize that

 

from the time of the exile of Judah from his land, [the Jews] followed the laws of the Torah of Moses their teacher! Even when they lived in foreign lands, some here and some there, they sacrificed themselves in order to fulfill all that was written in the book of the Torah.[vi]

 

This was true when Jews lived among pagans; so much more should it be true when they lived among those who believed in God and in the divinity of the Torah. Indeed, Christianity and Islam had both acknowledged the basic principles of Judaism and the sacred nature of the Jewish Bible. Judaism had taught the world vital social values, love of fellow human beings. The non-Jewish world had not asked Jews to forfeit their autonomous religious life. Therefore, the Jews should certainly maintain their own laws and traditions in all areas, including inheritance, marriage, and divorce.

            Rabbi Hazan expressed rage at those who followed non-Jewish civil laws of inheritance instead of relying on the rules of Judaism. “Those Jews who seek inheritance contrary to the Torah of Moses are adjudged as heretics, Sadducees, uprooters of Torah, notorious thieves. If you investigate them, you will find that they violate other commandments arrogantly.”[vii]

            Calling on his fellow rabbis to fight against those who advocated following the civil law in matters of inheritance, Rabbi Hazan warned that if this section of Jewish law were forfeited, it would only lead to further undermining of the Torah and its legal authority.

 

Know truly that if at this time we are silent, the laws of inheritance will be completely uprooted, as though the Torah had never been written. Woe unto us! Woe unto us, what will be our end! It is as though we were almost dead, almost lost; it is as though a Torah scroll had been burnt. . . in which case all Jews in all places should rend their garments never to be resewn.[viii]

 

Considering the gravity of the threat to Jewish religious hegemony, Rabbi Hazan called on rabbis to struggle courageously against those who were willing to compromise Jewish law. He received approbation for his position from leading Sephardic rabbis in Izmir, Salonika, Istanbul, Vienna, and other communities.

 

Rabbi Yehudah Yaacov Nehama: Defending Tradition

 

            The tide of modernism and Europeanization made itself felt in the domains of the Ottoman Empire during the nineteenth century. The Turkish authorities instituted a number of reforms (tanzimat), indicating their desire to shake off past stagnation and become a modern society. European culture, especially in its French form, seemed particularly attractive to the Ottoman rulers.[ix]

            The wave of Europeanization also had an effect on the Jews of the Empire. Sephardic intellectuals were receptive to French influence. Schools operated by the Alliance Israelite Universelle sprang up throughout the Ottoman Empire, the Middle East, and North Africa. They eagerly promoted the glories of French language and culture. They also introduced modern educational techniques. In short, an intellectual transformation was occurring among the Sephardim, bringing them into contact with European modernism.

            Rabbi Yehudah Yaacov Nehama (1825–1899) was an influential figure in Salonika. His life and works are a reflection of the impact of Haskalah thought on Sephardic thinkers. He wrote three major works that were destroyed in a fire and thus never published. One of these was a history of the Jewish people, one was a volume of rabbinic Responsa, and one was a history of the Jews of Salonika. The scope of these works reflects Nehama’s wide-ranging interests and knowledge. He was not only deeply learned in classic rabbinic literature, but was also a historian of Jewry in general and of his own community in particular. Historical research was an important feature of the Jewish Haskalah.

            Two volumes of Rabbi Nehama’s letters were published. They reflect his knowledge in many fields. He corresponded with leading Jewish intellectuals of his time, Sephardic and Ashkenazic. His interest in books and bibliographic information was formidable.

            Like Aguilar, Benamozegh, and Hazan, Nehama was well versed in contemporary culture and was also committed to maintaining the traditional structure of religious observance. In a letter written in the year 5614 (1854), he responded to Rabbi Mordecai Halevi Mortara and Rabbi Shelomo Nissim of Mantua, who had written to inform him that some members of their community were agitating to abolish the observance of the second day of festivals. (According to rabbinic law, communities outside the land of Israel are obligated to observe two festival days, whereas the communities in Israel observe one day.) Rabbi Nehama was infuriated by this suggestion, since it undermined age-old Jewish practice. He condemned those who called for reforms in Judaism, referring to the spirit of reform as a leprous plague. Such recommendations were divisive and would lead to factionalism. “My brothers and my people, beware of heeding the words of those who love reform and heresy; take heed of the custom of your ancestors and do not turn from it.”[x]
 

Rabbi Henry Pereira Mendes

 

            A leading religious and communal figure in American Jewish life during the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries was Dr. Henry Pereira Mendes (1852–1937).[xi] Born in Birmingham, England, he was the son of Abraham Mendes, who was minister of the Sephardic congregation there. On both his father’s and his mother’s side, he was the product of a long line of religious leaders.

            Rabbi Mendes served as minister of the historic Congregation Shearith Israel, the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue in New York City, the oldest Jewish congregation in North America (founded in 1654). His service began in 1877, and he was associated with the congregation until his death 60 years later. Aside from his training in Jewish studies, he received the degree of medical doctor from New York University in 1884.

            Dr. Mendes was tireless in his work on behalf of Jewish tradition. He was a founder of the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America, believing it necessary for the Orthodox community to be united. He also was a co-founder, together with his colleague Rabbi Sabato Morais of Philadelphia, of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America. He and Morais envisioned the institution as a training ground for American-bred traditional rabbis who could serve Jewish communities in the United States. When the Seminary later identified itself with the Conservative movement, Dr. Mendes dropped his association with it. His goal had been to strengthen Orthodoxy and to combat reform.

            An energetic communal leader and humanitarian, Dr. Mendes was also involved in the establishment of such institutions as the Young Women’s Hebrew Association in New York, Montefiore Hospital, and the Lexington School for the Deaf. He was a leader in such organizations as the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America, the New York Board of Jewish Ministers, the Federation of American Zionists, and the World Zionist Organization. He also was a prolific author of religious textbooks for children, dramatic works, poetry, books on Jewish history and ethics, and more.

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

            Indeed, Dr. Mendes was a universally respected figure, whether among the Sephardim of America, the Yiddish-speaking Ashkenazim, the non-Orthodox community, or the non-Jewish community. He was urbane, highly educated, principled, hard-working. His sermons and literary works demonstrate his devotion to the Bible. He did not consider himself a scholar of Talmud and halakha, although he certainly was comfortable studying the classic rabbinic texts.

            Dr. Mendes viewed himself as a spokesman for the Sephardic outlook on Judaism. In a guest sermon which he delivered in the Sephardic synagogue on Lauderdale Road in London (July 27, 1901), he was effusive in his praise of the Sephardic religious tradition, which was able to blend loyalty to the past with an openness to new thinking. He called for “a revival of Sephardic activity, a renewal of Sephardic energy, an earnest demonstration of fidelity to God and Torah, a continued proof by our own lives that culture and fidelity can go hand in hand.”[xiii]

            Stressing that faithfulness to tradition could go hand-in-hand with modern culture, Dr. Mendes strenuously opposed Reform Judaism, believing that it was an incorrect diagnosis for the spiritual malaise of the Jewish people. Instead of breaking with tradition, Jews actually needed to come closer to it, to find peace and contentment in the age-old laws and customs of the Jewish people. Reform led to a weakening of the hold of tradition. It engendered more apathy and irreligion among Jews. If each individual did as s/he chose without taking the claims of Jewish law and tradition into consideration, then the structure of Jewish life would be seriously weakened. Dr. Mendes criticized this “everyone-doing-as-he-pleases-religion” as the source of ignorance, apathy, and disregard of religious restrictions.[xiv]

            In 1891 some suggestions for ritual changes were made in his own Congregation Shearith Israel. Dr. Mendes reacted with characteristic eloquence.

 

I say it is a very solemn thing for this Congregation with its centuries of proud adherence to historic Judaism to approach the subject of change at all. . . . Are those who have enlisted under the banner of change distinguished for a better observance of the Sabbath? Are they in any way improved religiously? Are their homes more Jewish? Are their children more devoted to Judaism and better exponents of its teachings? .. . No new virtues have been created in the heart of the Reform Jew which are not found in the heart of the Orthodox Jew. Nor is the cultured Reformer more respected than is the cultured Orthodox brother.[xv]

 

Dr. Mendes prevailed and the changes were averted.

 

Traditional Communal Framework

 

            Religious leaders and intellectuals throughout the Sephardic Diaspora advocated loyalty to Jewish tradition. Although they were well aware of the spirit of modernism and of the challenges to religious patterns, they felt that the Jewish people could best be served by remaining faithful to its own distinctive way of life. Reform was not acceptable. It was a surrender to the whims of European modernity, and it could only lead to a breakdown in Jewish religious life, to assimilation.

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

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

            The Haskalah movement, then, did have an impact on the Sephardic world. But the Sephardic communities generally remained loyal to the traditional halakhic communal framework. This was not a small accomplishment.

 

Notes

1. See David Benveniste, “Rabbi Yehudah Yaacov Nehama: Mevaser Tekufat haHaskalah beSaloniki,” in The Sephardic and Oriental Jewish Heritage, ed. Issachar Ben-Ami (Jerusalem, 1982), p. 30. See also Jose Faur, Harav Yisrael Moseh Hazan: haIsh uMishnato (Jerusalem, 5738), esp. pp. 3–17.
2. Grace Aguilar, The Spirit of Judaism (Philadelphia, 5602), p. 9.
3. See for example, Leeser’s comments on pp. vii, 21, 100, and 104.
4. Ibid., pp. 225-26.
5. See the discussion of Grace Aguilar’s thought in Philip M. Weinberger, The Social and Religious Thought of Grace Aguilar (New York, 1970); see also Beth-Zion Lask Abrahams, “Grace Aguilar: a Centenary Tribute,” Jewish Historical Society of England Transactions 16(1952): 137—48.
6. Grace Aguilar, The Jewish Faith: Its Spiritual Consolation, Moral Guidance and Immortal Hope (Philadelphia, 1864), p. 10.
7. Ibid., p. 124.
8. Ibid., p. 221.
9. Ibid., p. 264.
10. Spirit of Judaism, pp. viii, 165.
11. Eliyahu Benamozegh BiShvilei Musar (Jerusalem, 1966), pp. 21–27.

12. Ibid., pp. 28-30, 33.

13. Ibid., pp. 120–121.
14. Ibid., pp. 124–125, 132–133, 148, 166. See also R. Benamozegh’s book, Israel and Humanity, trans. and ed. Maxwell Luria. New York: Paulist Press, 1995.
15. See Faur, Harav Yisrael Moshe Hazan.
16. I. M. Hazan, Nahalah leYisrael (Alexandria, 1862), pp. 53–54.
17. Ibid., p. 55.
18. Ibid., p. 61.
19. The changes in the taxation system are reflected in Rabbi Michael Yaacov Israel, Yad Yemin (Izmir, 5619), Hoshen Mishpat, no. 25; and Hayyim Palache, Hikekei Lev (Izmir, 5609), Hoshen Mishpat, no. 6.
20. Yehudah Yaacov Nehama, Mikhtevei Dodim miYayin, vol. 1, (Salonika, 5653) pp. 48–49.
21. For information on Dr. Mendes, see David de Sola Pool, H. Pereira Mendes: A Biography (New York, 1938); and David and Tamar de Sola Pool, An Old Faith in the New World (New York, 1955), pp. 192–201. See also Eugene Markovits, Henry Pereira Mendes: Builder of Traditional Judaism in America, doctoral dissertation, Yeshiva University, 1961; and Eugene Markovits, “Henry Pereira Mendes: Architect of the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America,” American Jewish Historical Quarterly 55, no. 3, pp. 364–84.
22. B. Drachman, “Forty Years of Loyal Service,” Orthodox Union 7, no. 6.
23. See Markovits, “Henry Pereira Mendes Builder of Traditional Judaism,” p. 250.
24. Ibid., p. 86.
25. Dr. Mendes’ remarks are found in the archives of Congregation Shearith Israel, and are quoted in M. D. Angel, “Thoughts about Early American Jewry,” Tradition, 16 (1976), p. 21.
 

 

                                            

 

 

 

 

Embracing Tradition and Modernity:

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik[1]

 

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

The modern era in the Western world has witnessed numerous assaults on the patterns of traditional religious life. Science has changed the way people think; technology has changed the way they live. Autonomous, human-centered theology has come to replace heteronomous, God-centered theology. Rationalism and positivism have constricted metaphysics. Respect for authority and hierarchies has been replaced by an emphasis on individuality and egalitarianism. The challenges of modernity are symbolized by such names as Darwin, Schleiermacher, Freud, Einstein, Ayn Rand.

The modern era has also seen dramatic changes in the physical patterns of life: vast migrations from the farms to the cities; mass emigration (often as refugees) from one country or continent to another; shrinking family size; increased mobility; expansion of educational opportunities; phenomenal technological change.

Peter Berger has described modem individuals as suffering “spiritual homelessness.” People have lost their sense of being part of a comprehensive, cohesive, and understandable world.

For the Jewish people, the modern period has been particularly challenging. Jews were given the possibility of entering the mainstream of Western civilization. As the first winds of change swept into Jewish neighborhoods and ghettos, many Jews were enticed to leave traditional Jewish life behind. They hoped to gain acceptance into the general society by abandoning or modifying their religious beliefs and observances. Some went so far as to convert to other religions. The Haskalah—Jewish “enlightenment”—attracted numerous intellectuals who sought to modernize Jewish culture. The result was a secularization and objectification of Judaism.

The traditional religious framework was threatened by the Reform movement. Reform was an attempt of nineteenth-century Western European Jews to “sanitize” Judaism by discarding Jewish laws and traditions. Reform wanted to make Judaism appear more “cultured” and socially respectable.

Whereas in previous eras, the masses of Jews accepted the authority of Torah and halakhah, the modern period experienced a transition to the opposite situation—the masses of Western Jews no longer accepted the authority of Torah and halakhah. In their desire to succeed in the modern world, many were ready to cast aside the claims of Jewish tradition. When large numbers of European Jews came to the United States during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, this phenomenon continued and expanded. A sizable majority of American Jews came to be affiliated with non-Orthodox movements or chose to remain unaffiliated with any movement at all.

In the face of tremendous defections from classic halakhic Judaism, the Orthodox community fought valiantly to maintain the time-honored beliefs and observances that they had inherited from their ancestors. But the Orthodox responses to the challenges of the modern situation were not monolithic. Some advocated a rejectionist stand, arguing that modern Western culture was to be eschewed to the extent possible. The “outside world,” including non-Orthodox society, presented a danger to the purity of Jewish religious tradition; isolation was the best approach for Jews who wished to remain loyal to Torah and halakhah. On the other hand, another Orthodox approach called for the active participation of Jews in general society while at the same time maintaining a strict allegiance to halakhah. The task was to keep a balance of Torah with derekh eretz (worldly concerns/culture), Torah with madda (general knowledge).
These attitudes within Orthodoxy, as well as variations within the themes, have characterized Orthodox Jewish life since the mid-nineteenth century.

The strength of Orthodoxy has been its heroic devotion to Torah and halakhah, even in the face of criticism and hostility. Orthodoxy alone maintains a total commitment to the divine nature of the Torah and the binding authority of halakhah. Orthodoxy is inextricably bound to all past generations of Torah observant Jews, and is faithfully confident that with the coming of the Messiah all Jews will return to traditional Torah life. Yet, it is the peculiar genius of Modern Orthodoxy to be thoroughly loyal to Torah and halakhah while being open to modern thought and participating creatively in society.

Non-Orthodox detractors accuse Orthodoxy of being too bound by tradition, inflexible, unreceptive to modernity. Non-Orthodox Jews have often found it expedient to stereotype Orthodox Jews as being “pre-modern,” narrow-minded, irrational, insular, those who use religion as an escape from the realities of the world. They criticize Jewish law as being dry and tedious. They describe followers of halakhah as unthinking slaves of ritual and detail, lacking in deeper spiritual feelings.

These criticisms and stereotypes are refuted in one name: Rabbi Joseph Baer Soloveitchik (1903–1993).

 

The Rav and Modernity

 

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, known to his students and followers as the Rav (the rabbi par excellence), is Orthodoxy’s most eloquent response to the challenges of modernity and to the critics of Modern Orthodoxy. A Torah giant of the highest caliber, the Rav was also a world-class philosopher. In his studies in Lithuania, he attained the stature of a rabbinic luminary. At the University of Berlin, he achieved the erudition of a philosophical prodigy.

A talmudic dictum teaches that the path of Torah is flanked on the right by fire and on the left by ice. If one moves too far to the right, he is consumed by fire. If he moves too close to the left, he freezes to death. Rabbi Soloveitchik was that model personality who walked the path of the Torah, veering neither to the right nor to the left.

The Rav’s unique greatness made him the ideal symbol and spokesman of Modern Orthodoxy. In his own person, he demonstrated that the ideal Torah sage is creative, open-minded, compassionate, righteous, visionary, realistic, and idealistic. He showed that one could be profoundly committed to the world of Torah and halakhah and at the same time be a sophisticated modern thinker. Rabbi Soloveitchik was the paradigmatic twentieth-century figure for those seeking mediation between classic halakhic Judaism and Western modernity. He was the spiritual and intellectual leader of Yeshiva University, the Rabbinical Council of America, and Mizrachi; his influence, directly and through his students, has been ubiquitous within Modern Orthodox Jewish life. He was the singular rabbinic sage of his generation who was deeply steeped in modern intellectual life, who understood modernity on its own terms; he was, therefore, uniquely qualified to guide Orthodoxy in its relationship with modernity.

The Rav was appreciative of many of the achievements of Western civilization. But he could not ignore the shortcomings of modernity. He was pained by the discrepancy between dominant modern values and the values of traditional religion. It is lonely being a person of faith in “modern society which is technically-minded, self-centered, and self-loving, almost in a sickly narcissistic fashion, scoring honor upon honor, piling up victory upon victory, reaching for the distant galaxies, and seeing in the here-and-now sensible world the only manifestation of being” (“The Lonely Man of Faith,” p. 8). Utilitarianism and materialism, as manifestations of the modern worldview, are inimical to the values of religion.

In pondering the dilemma of a person of faith, the Rav explores a universal dilemma of human beings: inner conflict. He draws on the Torah’s descriptions of the creation of Adam to shed light on human nature. Adam I is majestic; he wants to build, to control, to succeed. He is dedicated to attaining dignity. Adam II is covenantal; he is introspective, lonely, in search of community and meaning. He seeks a redeemed existence. Each human being, like Adam, is an amalgam of these conflicting tendencies. In creating humans in this way, God thereby underscored the dual aspect of the human personality. Human fulfillment involves the awareness of both Adams within, and the ability to balance their claims.

The Rav suggests that Western society errs in giving too much weight to Adam I. The stress is on success and control, pragmatic benefits. Even when it comes to religion, people seem to be more concerned with operating quantifiably successful institutions rather than coming into a relationship with God. In the words of the Rav:

 

Western man diabolically insists on being successful. Alas, he wants to be successful even in his adventure with God. If he gives of himself to God, he expects reciprocity. He also reaches a covenant with God, but this covenant is a mercantile one.... The gesture of faith for him is a give-and-take affair. (“The Lonely Man of Faith,” p. 64)

 

This attitude is antithetical to authentic religion. True religious experience necessitates surrender to God, feelings of being defeated—qualities identified with Adam II.

By extension, the Rav is critical of modernizers and liberalizers of Judaism who have tried to “market” Judaism by changing its content. Any philosophy of Judaism not firmly rooted in halakhah is simply not true to Judaism. The non-halakhic movements did not grow out of classic Judaism; rather, they emerged as compromising responses to modernity. Had it not been for the external influences on Western Jews, non-halakhic movements would not have arisen as they did. The litmus test of an authentic philosophy of Judaism is: Is it true to Torah and halakhah, does it spring naturally and directly from them, is it faithful to their teachings? If Torah and halakhah are made subservient to external pressures of modernity, this results in a corruption of Judaism.

Modernity, then, poses serious problems for traditional religion. However, counter-currents within modernity offer opportunities. Already in the early 1940s, Rabbi Soloveitchik felt that the time had come for a new approach to the philosophy of religion. The “uncertainty principle” of quantum physics was an anodyne to the certainty of Newtonian physics. Thinkers in psychology, art and religion were proclaiming that human beings are not machines, but are complex organisms with religious, emotional and aesthetic sensibilities. Rationalism could not sustain and nourish the human soul. The Holocaust exploded the idealized myths of Western humanism and culture. Western civilization was moving into a postmodern phase which should be far more sympathetic to the spiritual character of human beings, more receptive to the eternal teachings of religion.

The Rav felt that a philosophy of Judaism rooted in Torah and halakhah needed to be expressed in modern terms. Orthodox Jews needed to penetrate the eternal wisdom of the halakhic tradition, deepening their ability to cope with the challenges and opportunities of modernity and postmodernity. And non-Orthodox Jews needed to study classic Judaism on its own terms, freed from the negative propaganda of anti-Orthodox critics. After all, Torah and halakhah are the patrimony of all Jews.

In his various lectures and writings, the Rav has provided a meaningful and powerful exposition of halakhic Judaism. He is a modern thinker, rooted in tradition, who has laid the foundation for postmodern Jewish thought.

 

Conflict and Creativity

 

The Rav has stated that “man is a great and creative being because he is torn by conflict and is always in a state of ontological tenseness and perplexity.” The creative gesture is associated with agony (“Majesty and Humility,” p. 25). As the Rav pointed out in “The Lonely Man of Faith,” God created human beings with a built-in set of conflicts and tensions; this inner turmoil is a basic feature of the human predicament.

Religion is not an escape from conflict; rather, it is a way of confronting and balancing the tensions that go with being a thinking human being. One must learn to be a creative free agent and, at the same time, an obedient servant of God. Detractors of religion often portray religionists as seeking peace of mind by losing themselves in the spiritual realm.

Critics say: “It is easy to be religious; you do not have to think; you only have to accept the tenets of faith and you can avoid the responsibility of making decisions and facing conflict.” To such critics, the Rav would say simply: You do not understand the true nature of religion. Religion is not a place for cowards to hide; it is a place for courageous people to face a totally honest revelation of their own inner being. Halakhic Judaism does not shield the Jew from ontological conflict: it compels him to face it directly, heroically.

It is precisely this inner tension and struggle that generates a lofty and creative understanding of life. Rabbi Soloveitchik’s writings and lectures are vivid examples of religious struggle and creativity at their best. His use of typologies, his first-person reminiscences, his powerfully emotive use of language—all contribute to express his singular message: A religious person must live a creative, heroic life.

In his Halakhic Man, the Rav notes that the halakhic Jew approaches reality with the Torah, given at Sinai, in hand. “Halakhic man, well furnished with rules, judgments, and fundamental principles, draws near the world with an a priori relation. His approach begins with an ideal creation and concludes with a real one” (Halakhic Man, p. 19). Intellectual effort is the hallmark of the ideal religious personality, and is a sine qua non of understanding the halakhic enterprise.

The Rav compares the domain of theoretical halakhah with mathematics. The mathematical theoretician develops a system in the abstract; this theoretical construct is then applied to the practical world. The theoretical system helps define and shape practical reality. So it is with halakhah. The classic halakhists immerse themselves in the world of theoretical halakhah and apply halakhic constructs to the mundane world. The Rav observes that “both the halakhist and the mathematician live in an ideal realm and enjoy the radiance of their own creations” (Halakhic Man, p. 25).

The ideal halakhic personality lives in constant intimacy with halakhah. Halakhah is as natural and central to him as breathing. His concern for theoretical halakhah is an expression of profound love and commitment to the entire halakhic worldview. This love and commitment are manifested in a scrupulous concern for the observance of the rules of practical halakhah.

The sage who attains the highest level of relationship with halakhah is one “to whom the Torah is married.” This level is achieved not merely by intellectual acumen, but by imagination and creativity:

 

The purely logical mode of halakhic reasoning draws its sustenance from the pre-rational perception and vision which erupt stormily from the depths of this personality, a personality which is enveloped with the aura of holiness. This mysterious intuition is the source of halakhic creativity and innovative insight . . . . Creative halakhic activity begins not with intellectual calculation, but with vision; not with clear formulations, but with unease; not in the clear light of rational discourse, but in the pre-rational darkness. (Besod ha-Yahid ve-haYahad, p. 219)

 

The halakhic personality, then, is characterized by conflict, creativity, imagination, vision. The world of halakhah is vast and all-encompassing. One who reaches the level of being “married” to the Torah and halakhah has come as close to eternal truth as is possible for a human being.

 

Halakhic Activism

 

Rabbi Soloveitchik emphasized the Torah’s focus on this-worldly concerns:

 

The ideal of halakhic man is the redemption of the world not via a higher world but via the world itself, via the adaptation of empirical reality to the ideal patterns of halakhah.... A lowly world is elevated through the halakhah to the level of a divine world. (Halakhic Man, pp. 37–38)

 

Whereas the universal homo religiosus believes that the lower spiritual domain of this world must yearn for the higher spiritual realms, halakhic man declares that “the higher longs and pines for the lower.” God created human beings to live in this world; in so doing, He endowed human life in this world with dignity and meaning.

Halakhah can be actualized only in the real world:

 

Halakhic man’s most fervent desire is the perfection of the world under the dominion of righteousness and loving-kindness—the realization of the a priori, ideal creation, whose name is Torah (or halakhah), in the realm of concrete life. (Halakhic Man, p. 94)

 

The halakhic life, thus, is necessarily committed to this-worldly activism; the halakhic personality is devoted to the creation of a righteous society.

The halakhah is not confined to sanctuaries, but “penetrates into every nook and cranny of life.” Halakhah is in the home, the marketplace, the banquet hall, the street, the office—everywhere. As important as the synagogue is, it does not occupy the central place in halakhic Judaism. Halakhah is too vast and comprehensive to be confined to a synagogue.

Rabbi Soloveitchik argues that non-halakhic Judaism erred grievously in putting the temple at the heart of religion:

 

The halakhah, the Judaism that is faithful to itself...which brings the Divine Presence into the midst of empirical reality, does not center about the synagogue or study house. These are minor sanctuaries. The true sanctuary is the sphere of our daily, mundane activities, for it is there that the realization of the halakhah takes place. (Halakhic Man, pp. 94–95)

 

Consequently, halakhic Judaism is realistic, idealistic and demanding. Halakhah is concerned with every moment, with every place. Its sanctity fills the universe.

Halakhah is unequivocally committed to righteous, ethical life. The Rav points out that the great sages of halakhah have always been known for their lofty ethical standards. The halakhah demands high respect for the dignity of others:

 

To recognize a person is not just to identify him physically. It is more than that: It is an act of identifying him existentially, as a person who has a job to do, that only he can do properly. To recognize a person means to affirm that he is irreplaceable. To hurt a person means to tell him that he is expendable, that there is no need for him. The halakhah equated the act of publicly embarrassing a person with murder. (“The Community,” p. 16)

 

The ethical demands of halakhah are exacting. One’s personal life must be guided by halakhic teachings in every situation, in every relationship. The halakhic worldview opposes mystical quietism which is tolerant of pain and suffering. On the contrary, halakhic Judaism “wants man to cry out aloud against any kind of pain, to react indignantly to all kinds of injustice or unfairness” (“Redemption, Prayer, Talmud Torah,” p. 65; see also, U-Vikkashtem mi-Sham, p. 16). The Rav’s stress on ethical activism manifested itself in his views on religious Zionism. He accepted upon himself the mantle of leadership for religious Zionism; this placed him at odds with many Orthodox leaders who did not ascribe religious legitimacy to the State of Israel. Rabbi Soloveitchik eloquently insists that the halakhah prohibits the missing of opportunities. After the Holocaust, the Jewish people were given the miraculous opportunity to re-establish a Jewish state in the land of Israel. For centuries, Jews had prayed for the return of Jewish sovereignty in Israel. Now, in this generation, the opportunity was being offered. For the Rav, it would be tragic and unforgivable to miss the gift of the moment. Not to respond to “the knocking of the beloved,” not to respond to God’s message to the suffering people of Israel—this would be a tragic error of terrible magnitude. This was not a time for hesitation; this was a time to embrace the opportunity of a Jewish State, an opportunity granted to us by the Almighty. The Rav conveyed a certain impatience with those who did not respond religiously to the new Jewish State. Like the Shulamith maiden in the Song of Songs, they were drowsy and hesitant at the very moment the beloved had returned. They were not fully awake to the significance of the moment, and the halakhic and ethical imperatives which flowed from it.

 

Interiority

 

All true religious action must be accompanied by appropriate inner feelings and thoughts. The exterior features of religious behavior must be expressions of one’s interior spiritual sensibilities.

Yet in non-Orthodox circles, it has long been fashionable to deride halakhic Jews as automatons who slavishly adhere to a myriad of ancient rules and regulations. They depict Orthodox Jews as unspiritual beings who only care about the letter of the law, who nitpick over trifling details, whose souls are lost in a labyrinth of medieval codes of law. To such critics, Rabbi Soloveitchik would answer quite simply: You do not understand the halakhah; you do not understand the nature of halakhic Judaism. Interiority is a basic feature of the halakhic way of life.

Halakhah relates not merely to an external pattern of behavior. Rather, it infuses and shapes one’s inner life. “The halakhah wishes to objectify religiosity not only through introducing the external act and the psychophysical deed into the world of religion, but also through the structuring and ordering of the inner correlative in the realm of man’s spirit” (Halakhic Man, p. 59).

For the halakhic Jew, halakhah is not a compilation of random laws; it is the expression of God’s will. Through halakhah, God provides a means of drawing nearer to Him, even of developing a sense of intimacy with Him. To the outsider, a person fulfilling a halakhic prescription may seem like an unthinking robot; but this skewed view totally ignores the inner life of the halakhic Jew. It does not see or sense the inner world of thought, emotion, spiritual elevation.

The halakhic Jew must expect to be misunderstood. How can others who do not live in the world of halakhah possibly understand the profundity of halakhic life? How can those who judge others by surface behavior be expected to penetrate into the mysterious depths of a halakhic Jew’s inner life? Those who stereotype Orthodoxy are thereby revealing their own ignorance of the true halakhic personality.

“Halakhic man does not quiver before any man; he does not seek out compliments, nor does he require public approval.... He knows that the truth is a lamp unto his feet and the halakhah a light unto his path” (Halakhic Man, p. 89). The halakhic personality strives to maintain and develop inner strength. One must have the courage and self-confidence to be able to stand alone. Self-validation comes from within one’s self, not from others. “Heroism is the central category in practical Judaism.” The halakhic Jew needs the inner confidence “which makes it possible for him to be different” (“The Community,” p. 13).

 

Knesset Israel

 

Halakhic Jews feel inextricably bound to all Jews, even those who are unsympathetic to them and their beliefs:

 

Judaism has stressed the wholeness and the unity of Knesset Israel, the Jewish community. The latter is not a conglomerate. It is an autonomous entity, endowed with a life of its own.... However strange such a concept may appear to the empirical sociologist, it is not at all a strange experience for the halakhist and the mystic, to whom Knesset Israel is a living, loving and suffering mother. (“The Community,” p. 9)

 

In one of his lectures on repentance, Rabbi Soloveitchik stated that “the Jew who believes in Knesset Israel is the Jew who lives as part of it wherever it is and is willing to give his life for it, feels its pain, rejoices with it, fights in its wars, groans at its defeats and celebrates its victories” (Al ha-Teshuvah, p. 98). By binding oneself to the Torah, which embodies the spirit and destiny of Israel, the believer in Knesset Israel thereby is bound to all the generations of the community of Israel, past, present, and future.

The Rav speaks of two types of covenant that bind Jews to Knesset Israel. The berit goral, the covenant of fate, is that which makes a Jew identify with Jewishness due to external pressure. Such a Jew is made conscious of Jewish identity when under attack by anti-Semites; when Israel is threatened by its enemies; when Jews around the world are endangered because of their Jewishness. The berit goral is connected to Jewish ethnicity and nationalism; it reminds the Jew that, like it or not, he is a Jew by fate.

The berit yeud, the covenant of mission and destiny, links the Jew to the positive content of Jewishness. He is Jewish because he chooses the Jewish way of life, the Torah and halakhah; he seeks a living relationship with the God of Israel. The berit yeud is connected with Jewish ideals, values, beliefs, observances; it inspires the Jew to choose to live as a Jew. The berit goral is clearly on a much lower spiritual level than the berit yeud; the ideal Jew should see Jewish identity primarily in the positive terms of the berit yeud. However, the Rav does not negate the significance of the berit goral. Even if a Jew relates to Jewishness only on the ethnic level, this at least manifests some connection to the Jewish people. Such individuals should not be discounted from Knesset Israel, nor should they be disdained as hopelessly lost as Jews. Halakhic Jews, although they cling to the berit yeud, must recognize their necessary relationship with those Jews whose connection to Jewishness is on the level of berit goral.

Ultimately, though, Jewish tradition is passed from generation to generation by those Jews who are committed to Torah and halakhah. Thus, it is critical that all Jews be brought into the category of those for whom Jewishness is a positive, living commitment. Jewishness based on ethnicity will not ensure Jewish continuity. The Rav credited what he termed the “masorah community” with transmitting Judaism from generation to generation. The masorah community is composed of those Jews for whom transmission of Torah and halakhah is the central purpose of life. It was founded by Moses and will continue into the times of the Messiah. Members of the masorah community draw on the traditions of former generations, teach the present generation, plan for future generations:

 

The masorah community cuts across the centuries, indeed millennia, of calendric time and unites those who already played their part, delivered their message, acquired fame, and withdrew from the covenantal stage quietly and humbly, with those who have not yet been given the opportunity to appear on the covenantal stage and who wait for their turn in the anonymity of the “about to be” (“The Lonely Man of Faith,” p. 47).

 

The masorah community actually embodies two dimensions—the masorah community of the fathers and that of the mothers. The Rav clarifies this point by a personal reminiscence:

 

The laws of Shabbat, for instance, were passed on to me by my father; they are part of mussar avikha. The Shabbat as a living entity, as a queen, was revealed to me by my mother; it is a part of torat imekha. The fathers knew much about the Shabbat; the mothers lived the Shabbat, experienced her presence, and perceived her beauty and splendor. The fathers taught generations how to observe the Shabbat; mothers taught generations how to greet the Shabbat and how to enjoy her twenty-four-hour presence (“Tribute to the Rebbitzen of Talne,” p. 77).

 

The Rav teaches that Knesset Israel is a prayerful community and a charitable community. “It is not enough to feel the pain of many, nor is it sufficient to pray for the many, if this does not lead to charitable action” (“The Community,” p. 22). A responsible member of Knesset Israel must be spiritually awake, must be concerned for others, must work to help those in need. “The prayerful-charity community rises to a higher sense of communion in the teaching community, where teacher and disciple are fully united” (“The Community,” p. 23). The community must engage in teaching, in transmitting, in passing the teachings of Torah to new generations.

 

The Rav, Our Teacher

 

The Rav, through his lectures and writings, was the most powerful and effective teacher of Orthodoxy of our times. In his lectures, he was able to spellbind huge audiences for hours on end. His talmudic and halakhic lessons pushed his students to the limits of their intellects, challenging them to think analytically. His insights in Torah were breathtaking in their depth and scope. Those who were privileged to study with him cherish their memories of the Rav. And those who have read his writings have been grateful for the privilege of learning Torah from one of the Torah giants of our time.

The Rav described his own experience when he studied Talmud:

 

When I sit to “learn” I find myself immediately in the fellowship of the sages of tradition. The relationship is personal. Maimonides is at my right. Rabbenu Tam at the left. Rashi sits at the head and explicates the text. Rabbenu Tam objects, the Rambam decides, the Ra’avad attacks. They are all in my small room, sitting around my table.

 

Learning Torah is a trans-generational experience. It links the student with the sages of all previous generations. It creates a fellowship, a special tie of friendship and common cause. It binds together the community in a profound bond of love, and provides the foundation for future generations. Halakhic Judaism represents a millennial Jewish tradition dedicated to Torah and halakhah, truth and righteousness, love and fear of God. It demands—and yearns to bring out—the best in us. One who strives to be a member of the trans-generational community does not suffer from spiritual homelessness.

When we and future generations sit down to study Torah, we will be privileged to share our room with Rashi and Rambam, with Rabbenu Tam and Rashba. And sitting right next to us will be Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, his penetrating insights leading us to greater heights in our quest to become “married” to the Torah.

 

References

Al ha-Teshuvah, written and edited by Pinchas Peli, Jerusalem, 5735.
Besod ha-Yahid ve-ha-Yahad, edited by Pinchas Peli, Jerusalem, 5736.
“The Community,” Tradition 17:2 (Spring 1978), pp. 7–24.
“Confrontation,” Tradition 6:2 (Spring–Summer 1964), pp. 5–29.
Halakhic Man, translated by Lawrence Kaplan, Philadelphia, 1983.
“The Lonely Man of Faith,” Tradition 7:2 (Summer 1965), pp. 5–67.
“Majesty and Humility,” Tradition 17:2 (Spring 1978), pp. 25–37.
“Redemption, Prayer and Talmud Torah,” Tradition 17:2 (Spring 1978), pp. 55–72.
“A Tribute to the Rebbitzen of Talne,” Tradition 17:2 (Spring 1978), pp. 73–83.
“U-Vikkashtem mi-Sham,” Hadarom, Tishri 5739, pp. 1–83.

 

In considering issues relating to the conversion of non-Jews to Judaism, Orthodox Jews tend to defend a strict policy which we term the Halakhic approach. Conversion for the sole purpose of marriage is highly discouraged. Conversion when the non-Jew does not intend to observe Halakha in full is generally considered to be no conversion at all. Rabbi Melech Schachter, in a fine article on conversion, states what most Orthodox Jews believe:

“Needless to say, conversion to Judaism without commitment to observance has no validity   whatever, and the spuriously converted person remains in the eyes of Halakha a non-Jew as before.” [1]

The purpose of this article is to present another Orthodox viewpoint on conversion. The traditional stringency is not the only Halakhically valid approach available to us; on the contrary, this may be the proper time to rely on other Halakhic standards. No one will argue that conversion to Judaism for other than spiritual reasons is ideal. Certainly it should be discouraged. However, in terms of practical reality we may have to be more tolerant of such conversions.

Raphael Hayyim Saban, then the Chief Rabbi of Istanbul, wrote to Rabbi Benzion Meir Hai Uziel, the Rishon Lezion, in 1943, asking if conversion for the sake of marriage is valid.[2]  In his response, Rabbi Uziel opens with a quotation from the Shulhan Arukh (Yoreh Deah, 268: 12) which states that we must examine a potential convert to determine if his motives for accepting Judaism are sincere. Certainly, the ideal is not to convert those who are insincere. Then Rabbi Uziel adds that since in our generation intermarriage is common in civil courts, we are often forced to convert the non-Jewish partner in order to free the couple from the prohibition of intermarriage. We must also do so in order to spare their children who would otherwise be lost to the Jewish fold.[3] If we are faced with a de facto mixed marriage, we are permitted to convert the non-Jewish spouse and the children, when applicable. If this is true when the couple is already married, it is obviously true before they have begun a forbidden marriage relationship. The conversion could offset future transgressions and religious difficulties.

Rabbi Uziel bases his opinion on a responsum of the Rambam.[4] The case before Maimonides dealt with a Jewish man who had a non-Jewish maid-servant. The man was suspected of having conducted himself immorally with his servant. Should the bet din have her removed from his house? In his answer, the Rambam states categorically that according to the law the maid should be sent out. After it learned of his wrongs, bet din was obligated to exert all its power either to have the maid sent out or to have the Jewish master free her and then marry her. But there is a law stating that if one is suspected of having had immoral relations with his maid and then he freed her he may not marry her.[5] The Rambam said that in spite of this ruling, he has judged in such cases that the man should free her and marry the maid. He justified his decision by stating that it is necessary to make things easier for repentants (Takanat Hashavim). He relied on the famous statement of our rabbis, "It is time to serve the Lord, go against your Torah." The Rambam closed this responsum with a significant, profoundly religious comment, "and the Lord in His mercy will forgive our sins . . ."[6]

The Rambam recognized that his decision is in violation of the ideal Halakhic standard. However, he allowed his human insight to cope with the problem realistically, and he invoked other Halakhic standards to justify himself. As a true man of reason and faith, he dealt with the situation sensibly while relying on God's mercy. God will understand the motivations for this Halakhic decision and will either approve or forgive. In any case, what must be done will be done.

In support of the Rambam's approach, Rabbi Uziel cites several Talmudic sources which reflect the same attitude.[7] It is better to choose the lesser of two evils, even when the choice is not ideal. It is better to stop adding fuel to evil now, rather than to risk an increase of transgression.

Based on this attitude, Rabbi Uziel says that when an intermarried couple comes to a bet din seeking the conversion of the non-Jewish partner, we must allow such a conversion. We may not take the haughty position that these are wicked people who deserve to suffer the fate of transgressors.[8] On the contrary, by coming to Halakhic authorities the couple display a desire to avoid transgression. They do not want to reject the Torah but want to be included in the Jewish community.

As was stated earlier, if we are permitted to convert one who is already married to a Jewish mate, we may certainly convert one who wishes to marry a Jewish partner in the future. Even if we know that the main and perhaps only reason for the conversion is marriage, yet when all is said and done such a conversion is still Halakhically valid.[9]

But Rabbi Uziel considers such conversions not only to be permissible, but actually morally required. Rabbis are not only allowed to convert a non-Jew for purposes of marriage, but are urged not to step away from the positive responsibility to do so. In support of this idea, Rabbi Uziel referred to the strict chastisements of the prophet Malachi against those who married out of the faith. “Judah has dealt treacherously, and an abomination is committed in Israel and in Jerusalem; for Judah has profaned the holiness of the Lord which He loves and has married the daughter of a strange god. May the Lord cut off to the man that does this . . . (Malachi, 2:11-12).”

In view of the stringent prohibition of marrying a bat el nehar , Rabbi Uziel argues that it is better to convert the non-Jewish partner so that the Jewish partner could be spared from this severe transgression. Such conversion is also better for the children who would be born to the couple since they could now be considered legally as Jews. Considering the alternatives of conversion or intermarriage, Rabbi Uziel ruled in favor of conversion. Rabbi Uziel, however, qualifies his opinion in that he feels that the judges should do everything they can to break off the projected marriage and resort to conversion only when it is clear that the couple definitely will not be dissuaded. The judges should direct their heart to God when they perform the conversion, and "the merciful God will forgive."

In 1951, Rabbi Uziel received a question from Yehudah Leon Calfon, a rabbi in Tetuan. The problem involved was: may we convert the non-Jewish wife and children of a Jewish man when he is not observant and does not sincerely intend to have his family be observant? If a Jew observes the mitzvot like the average Jew of his time (kistam Yehudim bazeman hazeh) then there would be no problem since we could rely upon the responsum of the Rambam. But what about the Jew who does not observe Shabbat, Yom-Tov, Kashrut, etc. Shall we prohibit the conversions or shall we say that since the Jew still wants to be included in the Torah community--albeit to a limited extent--we may convert his non~Jewish wife and children?[lO]

Following a preliminary discussion, Rabbi Uziel comes to grips with this serious problem. He refers to our standard procedure when a non-Jew comes to convert. We teach him the principles of Judaism--unity of God, prohibition of idol worship. We inform him of some of the easy and difficult mitzvot, as well as some of the rewards and punishments. We do not teach him everything. The Shakh comments that we do not tell the would-be convert all the technicalities and stringencies because we might scare him away. If he is really sincere about his wish to convert, it would be wrong to frighten him out of his desire.[11]

From this standard procedure, we see that there is no requirement to ask the non-Jew actually to observe the mitzvot. We do not require his assurances that he will be an observant Jew. If we did, we could never have any converts, because no bet din can guarantee absolutely that the convert will keep all the mitzvot. The reason we tell the non-Jew some of the mitzvot is to give him an idea of what is involved in becoming an observant Jew. That way, he may have the option to change his mind about conversion. If, however, he converts and does not observe, he is considered as a Jew who transgresses.

Moreover, the procedure of informing the non-Jew about basic beliefs and mitzvot is required initially. However, if we did not follow the procedure and we converted the non-Jew anyway (circumcision and ritual immersion), the conversion is valid notwithstanding.[12]

Rabbi Uziel remarks that if a non-Jew gives us no indication that he expects to observe the mitzvot, we may still convert him even initially.[13] It is not only permitted to accept converts on this basis, but it is also a mitzvah upon us to do so. We, of course, hope that they will observe and we should encourage them to keep the mitzvot. But if they do not, they are still Halakhically considered to be Jews.[14]

There is an argument that since the vast majority of converts today do not observe the mitzvot even for a short time, we should not accept converts at all. To this Rabbi Uziel replies that it is a mitzvah to accept converts.[15] Furthermore, it is dangerous to forbid conversion since it will force the Jewish partners of inter-faith marriages either to convert to the other religion or to become defiled by the improper relationship. Those who have been rejected from the people of Israel have historically been our worst enemies. We also have an obligation to the children of these marriages. After all, they are of Jewish stock (Mizera Yisrael) even if their mother is not Jewish. They are lost sheep whom we must reclaim for our people.

In an emotional passage, Rabbi Uziel writes: “And I fear that if we push them (the children) away completely by not accepting their parents for conversion, we shall be brought to judgment and they shall say to us: you did not bring back those that were driven away, and those who were lost you did not seek" (Ezekiel, 34:4). This chastisement is far more severe than the chastisement of accepting converts who in all likelihood will not be observant Jews.[16]

From these responsa it is clear that Rabbi Uziel offers a Halakhic perspective which reflects a profoundly sympathetic and understanding spirit. Recognizing the practical realities of our world, it is essential that Halakhic authorities courageously respond to the needs. Ours must not be a haughty and elite attitude towards would-be converts. We have a moral obligation to convert those who seek conversion, not only for their sakes but for the sakes of their children. Of course, we must make every effort to teach them the Torah and to encourage their adherence to the mitzvot. But in the fial analysis, we must put our faith in human reason and compassion, and, certainly, we must put our faith in God (Vehu Rahum Yekhaper . . .).

NOTES

[1.] Jewish Life, May-June, 1965 p. 7. See also p. 11, under the heading, "Commitment to Total Observance."

[2.] Mishpetei Uziel, Jerusalem, 5724, No. 18.

[3.] See Rabbi Schachter, op. cit., p. 13.

[4] Pe-er Hador, Amsterdam, 1765, No. 132. See also Mishpetei Uziel, op. cit., No. 21, where Rabbi Uzie1 also relies on this Rambam.

[5.] See T.B. Yebamot, 24b. Hanit’an al hashifha venishtahrerah eino yakhol lisa’enah le-khathila .

[6.] ufasaknu kakh mipenei takanat hashavim, ve’amarnu mutav sheyokhal rotav velo shuman atsmo.  Vesamakhnu al omram z”l eit la’asot laShem heferu toratekha, veyakhhol lisa’ena, ve-ha-keil berahamav yekhaper avoneinu ka’asher diber lanu ve-asirah kol bedilayyikh.

 

[7.] T .B. Kiddushin, 21b. mutav sheyokhal benei yisrael basar temutot shehutot ve’al yokhelu basar neveilot temutot

T.B. Shabbat, 3lb. darash Ulla mai dikhtiv al tirsha harbeh, mi she’akhal shum vereiho nodef yokhal od shum?

[8.] Rabbi Uziel says that the concept of hal’itehu lerasha veyamut (T.B. Baba Kama, 69a) does not apply here.

[9.] T.B. Yebamot, 24b. The question is: is a person who converts for im~ i:J' a real convert? The conclusion is that he is. Halakha kedivrei ha’omer kulam gerim hem.This is brought down in the codes. See for example, the Mishneh Torah of Maimonides, Hilkhot Isurei Biah, 13:17: and the Tur, Yoreh Deah, 268.

[10.] Mishpetei Uziel, op. cit., No. 20.

[11.] Yoreh Deah, 268, Se-if katan, 5.

[12.] See the Shakh, Se-if katan, 3.

[13.] mikol ha’amur lamadnu she’ein tenai kiyum hamitzvot me’akev et hageirut afilu lekhathilah. See the Shulhan Arukh, Y.D. 268, 2 and 12.

[14.] mikol ha’amur umdubar torah yotse’ah shemutar umitsvah lekabel geirim vegiyorot af al pi she-yadua lanu shelo yekayemu kol hamitsvot mishum shesofam yavo’u lidei kiyumam. Umetsuvim anu liftoah lahem petah kazeh. ve’im lo yekayemu et hamitsvot hem yis’u et avonam ve’anu nekiyim.

[15.] T.B. Yebamot, 109b, Tosafot, "Ra-ah."

[16.] For other of Rabbi Uziel’s responsa on conversion see, Mishpetei Uziel, op. cit., No. 22: Mishpetei Uziel, Vol .I, Yoreh Deah, No. 14; Mishpetei Uziel. Vol. 2. Even Ha-Ezer.

           Diversity of opinion is a reality well recognized in Jewish tradition. The Talmud (Berakhot 58a) records the ruling that one is required to make a blessing upon seeing a huge crowd of Jews, praising God who is hakham haRazim, who understands the root and inner thoughts of each individual.  "Their thoughts are not alike, and their appearance is not alike." Just as no two faces are exactly the same, so no two people think exactly the same. God created each individual to be unique; He expected and wanted diversity of thought.[1]

The recognition that each person thinks differently leads to a respect for the right of a person to express his or her opinion. This notion is dramatically underscored in the laws relating to a zaken mamre, a rebellious elder. The elder (rabbinic scholar) is not deemed guilty for teaching opinions contrary to the rulings of the Great Court; he is only punishable if he instructs people to defy those rulings.[2] It is also reflected in the talmudic practice of recording minority opinions, even though the law follows the consensus of the majority.[3] Even rejected opinions are entitled to respect.

Yet, although Judaism respects diversity of opinion and allows considerable freedom of expression, it also sets some boundaries beyond which a person may not trespass. One may not believe in the divinity of idols. One must believe that the Torah is from Heaven. Indeed, Maimonides listed 13 principles of faith that a Jew must accept. If not, one forfeits a portion in the world to come.[4] We are not free to follow our intellect if it leads us to incorrect beliefs. Our intellectual freedom, thus, is limited by the authoritative beliefs taught by the Torah and our sages.

Within the boundaries of normative Judaism, dissent is respected and even encouraged. But beyond those boundaries, dissent is not tolerated. Intellectual freedom gives way to the authority of tradition. A problem arises: What exactly are the boundaries established by tradition? A variety of attempts have been made over the centuries to establish the principles of Judaism from which one may not dissent.[5] There are certain tenets of faith that may not be denied.

Yet, within the framework of Jewish law and thought, there is considerable room for responsible differences of opinion. When the right to express responsible opinions is negated, Judaism suffers. In a fascinating responsum, Rabbi Naftali Tsevi Yehudah Berlin—the Netsiv—reminded his readers that during the time of the Second Temple, the Jewish people was divided between the Perushim and Tsedukim. Competition between the groups was intense. The situation became so bad that Perushim branded as a Tseduki anyone who deviated even slightly from prevailing practice. To dissent from the predominant opinion led to one's being ostracized. The Netsiv applied the lesson to his own time:

 

It is not difficult to imagine reaching this situation in our time, Heaven forbid, that if one of the faithful thinks that a certain person does not follow his way in the service of God, then he will judge him as a heretic. He will distance himself from him. People will pursue one another with seeming justification (beHeter dimyon), Heaven forbid, and the people of God will be destroyed, Heaven forfend.[6]

 

The Netsiv was concerned that self-righteous individuals were attempting to suppress the opinions of others. In the name of Torah, they sought to discredit others—even branding them as heretics. Yet, Jewish tradition respects the right and responsibility of individuals to express opinions that are fully based on proper Torah authority—even when those opinions differ from those popularly held. Rabbi Yehiel Michel Epstein, author of the Arukh haShulhan, noted that differences of opinion among our sages constitute the glory of the Torah. "The entire Torah is called a song (shirah), and the glory of a song is when the voices differ one from the other. This is the essence of its pleasantness."[7]

 

II

 

The boundaries of dissent and authority are not always obvious. Let us consider several specific issues, one in the realm of halakha and one in the realm of aggada. The Shulhan Arukh rules (Yoreh Deah 242:2, 3) that one who dissents (holek) from his rabbi is as one who dissents from the Shekhinah. The holek al rabbo is defined as one who establishes his own yeshiva and sets himself up as teacher without getting his rabbi's permission. The Rama adds: "but it is permissible for him to dissent from (his rabbi's) ruling or teaching if he has proofs and arguments to uphold his opinion that the law is according to him (rather than his rabbi)."

This halakha deals with the balance between authority and dissent. On the one hand, a student must respect the authority of his teacher and not try to establish himself as an authority on his own. This would undermine the status of his teacher. On the other hand, if the student has strong proofs to support a halakhic ruling against his teacher, he may disagree with him. Rabbi Hayyim Yosef David Azulai, in his Birkei Yosef, cited the opinion of the Radhaz that a student may disagree with a ruling of his teacher but should not publicize the disagreement nor write a contrary pesak for distribution.[8] The students of each generation had disagreements with their teachers, and did present their proofs and refutations to them. To be sure, students are obligated to present their cases respectfully and reverentially. Their purpose must be to establish the truth, not to aggrandize themselves nor demean their rabbis, Moreover, we are speaking of students who have reached a very high level of Torah learning, and whose opinions deserve serious consideration.

Rabbi Hayyim David Halevy has stated:

 

Not only does a judge have the right to rule against his rabbis; he also has an obligation to do so (if he believes their decision to be incorrect, and he has strong proofs to support his own position.) If the decision of those greater than he does not seem right to him, and he is not comfortable following it, and yet he follows that decision (in deference to their authority), then it is almost certain that he has rendered a false judgment (din sheker).[9]

 

Rabbi Yaacov Emden ruled that students should question their rabbis' teachings as best as they can. In this way, truth is clarified.

 

In regard to legal decisions, not only is the student allowed to reveal his opinion and proofs to refute the words of his rabbi, but he is also obligated to do so. He should not remain silent in such a situation in deference to the honor due his rabbi; the honor due to the Torah is greater.[10]

 

The issue of dissent from one's rabbis extends back in time to dissension from the rulings of sages of previous generations. Certainly, the earlier sages are granted greater authority than the later sages. Rabbi Yehiel Yaacov Weinberg wrote that proper Torah methodology involves serious analysis of the writings of the aharonim, including evaluation and criticism of their statements. Yet, in matters of pesak we may not dissent from their rulings. In the areas of opinion and explanation, though, we do have the right to offer new insights "because each Jew whose soul was at the revelation at Sinai received his portion in Torah and in novellae of Torah. One should not quibble against this point."[11]

Rabbi Hayyim Palachi wrote that "the Torah gave permission to each person to express his opinion according to his understanding. . . . It is not good for a sage to withhold his words out of deference to the sages who preceded him if he finds in their words a clear contradiction. . . ." Moreover, "a sage who wishes to write his proofs against the kings and giants of Torah should not withhold his words nor suppress his prophecy, but should give his analysis as he has been guided by Heaven. [In this situation,] one does not give honor to the rabbi, for this is Torah and I must study it." Rabbi Palachi noted that even though Maimonides certainly wrote with Divine inspiration, nevertheless many great sages of his generation attacked him and criticized his work. There are numerous examples of students refuting their teachers: Rabbi Yehudah Hanasi disagreed with his father; the Rashba disagreed with the Ramban. The Tosafists disagreed often with Rashi. Respect for authority does not mean that one may not hold opposing opinions.[12]

Rabbi Moshch Feinstein, in one of his responsa, expressed disagreement with an opinion of Rabbi Shelomo Kluger. In rejecting that opinion, Rabbi Feinstein wrote: "But it is certain that I am right (ha-tsedek iti) and that the words of Rabbi Shelomo Kluger-with all due respect-are nothing (einam kelum). One must love truth more than anything."[13] In another responsum, Rabbi Feinstein replied to a rabbi in Benei Berak, who worried because he sometimes taught opinions contrary to those of the Hazon Ish, who was the rabbi of that vicinity. Rabbi Feinstein pointed out that it was not at all disrespectful for the rabbi to study and quote the words of the Hazon Ish, even if he disagreed with some of them. On the contrary, that is the honor of Torah—to have words taken seriously and evaluated seriously. It could not have occurred to the Hazon Ish that there would never arise rabbis who would disagree with his teachings. Rabbi Feinstein concluded by saying that one is certainly allowed to question and disagree with the sages of our generation, even the greatest sages, as long as one does so respectfully, and with proper halakhic justification.[14]

Rabbi Yosef Hayyim of Bagdad, in the introduction to his Rav Pe-alim, stressed the need to be exceedingly respectful of the sages of previous generations. He opposed attacking the opinions of those sages. But it is obvious that even great sages make errors. Yet, when one offers a critique or correction of the words of sages, he should not do so with any sense of personal pride or vanity. He should be humble, aware that even great sages may overlook a source or miss a particular point.[15]

From this discussion, we see that responsible and respectful disagreement is a legitimate and necessary aspect of the halakhic system. Views that can be properly substantiated, even if they conflict with views of greater and earlier authorities, deserve to be heard. One cannot properly be called an apikores simply because he holds a position which differs from others. On the contrary, his position should be carefully evaluated. If it is wrong, it should be criticized and rejected. If it is right, it should be accepted in spite of the greatness of authorities who held a different opinion.

The boundary of legitimacy is not what one individual or group defines it to be. Rather, one may offer his insights and opinions as long as they do not go beyond universally accepted principles of Jewish faith, and as long as they are properly and correctly substantiated by authoritative sources. The halakhic system depends on intellectual inquiry, receptivity to the positions of others, devotion to truth, humility, respect for authority. It is not appropriate to outlaw responsible and respectful criticism of authorities nor to discredit those who offer properly substantiated opinions, even when those opinions dissent from leading authorities.

 

III

 

The balance between authority and dissent may also be considered in the realm of aggada. One opinion is that all the words of our talmudic (and even later) sages are true and must be upheld. Another position is that the words of our sages must be treated with respect, but that we are not bound to believe that all their aggadic teachings are without error.

Does the authority of our sages preclude the possibility of legitimate disagreement with their aggadic teachings? Is someone who questions or rejects some of those teachings an apikores?

In the sixth chapter of Pirkei Avot, we are taught that the Torah is acquired in 48 ways. One of them is emunat hakhamim, trust in the sages. Rabbi Yosef Yaavets, one of the rabbis at the time of the expulsion of Jews from Spain, explained that one must not hasten to criticize the words of our sages. If he does not understand or agree with their words, he should attribute the problem to his own intellectual weakness. "He should suspect his own intelligence, not the intelligence of our sages and their words, which were spoken in truth."[16]

Following this attitude in the realm of aggada, Rabbi David Ibn Abi Zimra, a younger contemporary of Rabbi Yaavets, taught that the aggada is true and essential, "given from Heaven like the rest of the Oral Torah. And just as the Oral Torah is interpreted with 13 principles, so the aggada is interpreted with 36 principles. And these principles were transmitted to Moses our teacher at Sinai."[17]

Rabbi Moshe Hagiz wrote an important essay on emunat hakhamim, in which he argued forcefully against challenging rabbinic authority by questioning the validity of any of the words of our sages. He believed that an attack on rabbinic dicta would ultimately lead to a rejection of rabbinic authority generally. This would undermine religious observance and belief.[18]

Rabbi Hayyim Hizkiyahu Medini, in his Sedei Hemed, stated unequivocally: "We must believe in all that is stated in the aggadot of our sages."[19] Rabbi Zvi Hirsch Chajes followed this assumption when explaining that

 

there are several subjects in the Gemara whose meaning cannot be taken in a literal sense, because the text expounded literally would depict God as a corporeal being, and would also at times involve an act of blasphemy. We should, and we are, indeed, in duty-bound to believe that the transmitters of the true Kabbalah, who are known to us as righteous and saintly men and also as accomplished scholars, would not speak merely in an odd manner. We must therefore believe that their words were uttered with an allegorical or mystical sense and that they point to matters of the most elevated significance, far beyond our mental grasp.[20]

 

The demand that one must believe all the words of our sages in the aggada came into question in the famous disputation in Barcelona in 1263. Rabbi Moshe ben Nahman, the Ramban, was challenged by his Christian opponent with an aggada that stated that the Messiah was born on the day that the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed. The Ramban responded: "I do not believe in this aggada at all. . . ." He went on to explain that Jewish religious writings are divided into three traditional categories: Bible, Talmud, and Midrash. "The first we believe entirely. . . ; the second we believe when it explains laws. We have yet a third book which is called Midrash, sermons so to speak . . . ; and this book, if one wishes to believe it he may, and one who does not believe it does not have to. . . . We call it a book of aggada, which is to say discourses, that is to say that it merely consists of stories which people tell one another."[21]

This explanation of the Ramban was rejected by those who insisted on maintaining the truth of all the words of our sages. Some argued that the Ramban never meant what he said, that he only said it to deflect the challenge of his opponent. Thc Sedei Hemed wrote that it is forbidden even to think that the Ramban meant what he said. Writing over two centuries after the disputation, Rabbi Yitzhak Abravanel strongly disavowed the statement of the Ramban because "it opens the gates to undermine all rabbinic authority when we consider any of their words as errors or foolishness."[22]

The above position assumes that respect for our sages demands that we not dissent from nor find fault in their words. Should we do so, we undermine their authority. If we find some of their aggadic teachings problematic, we should not reject them, but should assume that we have not understood their true meaning.

But there is another position, also well rooted in authoritative rabbinic sources. Rabbi Hai Gaon taught that the aggada should not be considered as divinely revealed tradition. The authors of aggada were merely stating their own opinions, and "each one interpreted whatever came to his heart." Therefore, "we do not rely on them (the words of aggada)." Rabbi Hai Gaon maintained that aggadot recorded in the Talmud have more status than those not so recorded—but even these aggadot need not be relied upon.[23] Rabbi Sherira Gaon taught that aggada, Midrash, and homiletical interpretations of biblical verses were in the category of umdena, personal opinion, speculation.[24] Another of the Gaonim, Rabbi Shemuel ben Hofni, stated: "If the words of the ancients contradict reason, we are not obligated to accept them."[25]

This position was also expounded by Rabbi Shemuel HaNaggid in his introduction to the Talmud. He wrote that aggada represents the personal opinions and interpretations of our sages. Rabbi Abraham, son of Maimonides, in an important essay concerning aggada, maintained that one may not accept an opinion without first examining it carefully.[26] To accept the truth of a statement simply on the authority of the person who stated it is both against reason and against the method of Torah itself. The Torah forbids us to accept someone's statement based on his status, whether rich or poor, whether prominent or otherwise. Each case must be evaluated by our own reason. Rabbi Abraham stated that this method also applies to the statements of our sages. It is intellectually unsound to accept blindly the teachings of our rabbis in matters of medicine, natural science, astronomy. He noted: "We, and every intelligent and wise person, are obligated to evaluate each idea and each statement, to find the way in which to understand it; to prove the truth and establish that which is worthy of being established, and to annul that which is worthy of being annulled; and to refrain from deciding a law which was not established by one of the two opposing opinions, no matter who the author of the opinion was. We see that our sages themselves said: if it is a halakha (universally accepted legal tradition) we will accept it; but if it is a ruling (based on individual opinion), there is room for discussion."

This is not to say that the words of our sages should not be taken seriously. On the contrary, statements of great scholars must be carefully weighed and respected. But they may also be disputed, especially in non-halakhic areas. In his introduction to Perek Helek, Maimonides delineates three groups, each having a different approach to the words of our sages. The majority group, according to Rambam, accepts the words of our sages literally, without imagining any deeper meanings. By taking everything literally—even when the words of the sages violate our sense of reason—they actually disparage our rabbis. Intelligent people who are told that they must accept all the midrashim as being literally true will come to reject rabbinic teaching altogether, since no reasonable person could accept all these teachings in their literal sense. "This group of impoverished understanding—one must pity their foolishness. According to their understanding, they are honoring and elevating our sages; in fact they are lowering them to the end of lowliness. They do not even understand this. By Heaven! This group is dissipating the glory of the Torah and clouding its lights, placing the Torah of God opposite of its intention."

Maimonides described the second group as also taking the words of the sages literally. But since so many of the statements of the rabbis are not reasonable if taken literally, this group assumes that the rabbis must not have been so great in the first place. This group dismisses rabbinic teachings as being irrelevant, even silly. Rambam rejected this point of view outright.

The third group, which is so small that it hardly deserves to be called a group, recognizes the greatness of our sages and seeks the deeper meanings of their teachings. This group realizes that the sages hid profound wisdom in their statements, and often spoke symbolically or in riddles. When one discovers a rabbinic statement that seems irrational, one should seek its deeper meaning. While Rambam argued forcefully for a profound understanding of aggada and Midrash, he did not argue that all rabbinic statements are of divine origin. Rather, they are worthy of serious study because they represent the thinking of great sages. Presumably, his son Abraham carried his argument further. When one found rabbinic statements to be unreasonable or incorrect—even after much thought and investigation—he was not bound to uphold them.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch echoed the opinion of Maimonides and his son. He wrote that "aggadic sayings do not have Sinaitic origin . . . they reflect the independent view of an individual sage."[27] Rabbi Hirsch went on: "Nor must someone whose opinion differs from that of our sages in a matter of aggada be deemed a heretic, especially as the sages themselves frequently differ. . . ." He rejected the opinion that the authority of aggada is equal to the orally transmitted halakha. Indeed, he thought this was "a dangerous view to present to our pupils and could even lead to heresy."

Rabbinic tradition, thus, has two valid approaches to the authority/ dissent issue in the realm of aggada. Rabbi Hayyim David Halevy has written a responsum which offers a balance between the two positions.[28] He noted that there are Midrashim where sages disagree with each other. For example, the Torah records that following the death of Yosef, a new Pharaoh arose over Egypt. Rav interpreted this verse to mean that an actual new Pharaoh arose. Shemuel, though, maintained that it was the same Pharaoh who now made new decrees against the Israelites (Sotah lla). It is impossible for both of these opinions to be objectively correct. Obviously, each offered his interpretation, based on his own understanding of the text.

Moreover, there are topics about which the sages spoke, not relating specifically to the Torah and its interpretation-in which they expressed their own opinions. The statements of our rabbis concerning natural science, for example, were not divinely revealed traditions. In fact, our sages admitted that the wise men of the non-Jews had greater knowledge than the Torah sages in some scientific matters (Pesahim 94b). Rabbi Halevy wrote: "If it becomes clear through precise scientific methodology that a specific idea expressed by our sages is not entirely correct, this does not mar their greatness, Heaven forbid, and their greatness as sages of Torah. Their words relating to Torah were stated with the power of the holiness of Torah, with a kind of divine inspiration; but their other words on general topics were stated from the depth of their human wisdom only." In non-halakhic matters, we should recognize that the sages spoke with great wisdom, although not necessarily with divine inspiration. Therefore, there were disputes among them such as the one concerning the new Pharaoh, where it is clear that one side is wrong.

While respecting the authority and wisdom of our sages, we also must recognize the possibility that some of their non-halakhic statements and interpretations are incorrect. To say this does not make one an apikores. Great sages, as mentioned above, have themselves taught this opinion and have considered it to be correct and authoritative.

It is clear, then, that there is room for dissent and criticism within the halakhic and aggadic systems. This dissent and criticism must be based on great reverence for our sages; on properly substantiated and argued positions; on commitment to the honor and divine origin of Torah. Dissent may not go beyond the universally accepted principles of our faith. But within this boundary, freedom of inquiry, analysis and criticism must be respected-and encouraged.

 

Notes

I can still hear the voices of my grandparents, parents and elder relatives speaking and singing in Judeo-Spanish. Although they have passed away years ago, I still feel their presence especially on Shabbat and holidays and at family celebrations.

I grew up in Seattle among Jews who had come from Turkey and the Island of Rhodes and whose mother-tongue was Judeo-Spanish. It did not occur to me to ask: why were people from Turkey and Rhodes speaking a Hispanic language? Why did they carry themselves with such self-respect and pride, even though many of them were simple laborers with modest formal education? What was the link between my relatives and medieval Sephardic Jewry in the Iberian Peninsula? What was the nature of the Judeo-Spanish civilization of the past centuries that produced the worldview and practices that imbued the lives of the elders of my family?

As I grew older, it began to dawn on me that my generation is the last to have lived among people who spoke Judeo-Spanish as their mother tongue, and whose lives were thoroughly shaped by Judeo-Spanish civilization. The language and many of the cultural characteristics are coming to the end of their historical lives. The new generations no longer speak Judeo-Spanish as their native language, and do not live in a communal context that is conducive to maintaining the language and traditions.

And yet, the voices of our elders stay with us and want to be heard. They-and their ancestors going back 500 years and more-were part of a vital, thriving and powerful Sephardic civilization that spanned the Ottoman Empire and stretched into Europe and the New World. This civilization produced great sages, poets, writers, journalists, dramatists, intellectuals; it fostered a lively, optimistic folk culture. Judeo-Spanish civilization is a treasure not just for members of our group, but for the entire Jewish people. But so little scholarly attention has been given to Jews of the Judeo-Spanish tradition, to trying to understand who they were, what they felt and believed.

It is not possible to bring Judeo-Spanish civilization back to life. Yes, there is a resurgence of interest in Ladino folk songs; there are Ladino chat rooms on the internet; there is more scholarly attention being given to the language and literature of the Sephardim of the Ottoman Empire. Yet, none of these things can restore the old civilization as a natural, living communal organism.

If I still hear the voices of my ancestors, the echo of those voices will diminish with each passing generation-as children and grandchildren will not have had the direct experience and interaction with these ancestors. But their story is not over; it is only transitioning into a new phase.

Judeo-Spanish civilization has fostered significant ideas and values. Our task is to study that civilization as deeply as we can, and to draw out and transmit that which is meaningful to us and future generations. Some of the lasting teachings relate to personal pride and self-respect; humor; a natural, healthy view of religion and our relationship with God; optimism; aesthetics and proper comportment; love of life.

In my book, "Foundations of Sephardic Spirituality: The Inner Life of Jews of the Ottoman Empire", I present a study of Judeo-Spanish civilization-providing historical context, but focusing on the inner life of our people-the ideas, values and traditions that shaped generations of Sephardic Jews-and that can still help shape future generations of our people. I call my book "a nostalgic history", since it is written not as a scholarly outsider, but as one who is himself a product of the Judeo-Spanish tradition.

My grandfather, Marco Romey, used to say-based on a kabbalistic teaching-that each person was put on earth to accomplish a unique mission. I think this is true not just for individuals, but for civilizations. The Judeo-Spanish era thrived for five centuries and has now entered its historical sunset. Yet, its mission is far from over. As we study and ponder the manifold aspects of Judeo-Spanish civilization, we will find that it has much to teach us-and much to give to future generations. The voices of our ancestors are not silenced, and will not be silenced.

We can get a glimpse of a people's values through their everyday proverbs. Here's a small sampling of Judeo-Spanish proverbs, originally collected by my Uncle Dave Romey in the 1950s among the Sephardim of Seattle.

Self-worth, Self-reliance

El rey es kon la gente—The king is with the people-- true nobility is characterized by closeness to the people, not haughty aloofness

En lo ke estamos bendigamos—We bless God for what we have—enjoy what you have, don’t be greedy or jealous

No es este banko, otro mas alto—If not this bench, another one even higher—don’t be frustrated by failure; next time you’ll do even better.

Poko ke sea mio ke sea—Let it be little but let it be mine.

Un dia en la siya del rey es un dia— One day on the throne of the king is one day. All people are essentially equal.

Good Manners, Concern for the Feelings of Others

Un bukado un dukado—One mouthful is worth one ducat—a nice compliment to someone who has served you tasty food

El harto no cree al hambierto—The one who is sated does not believe the one who is hungry—have empathy for the less fortunate

Va ande te yaman y no ande te keren—

Go where you are invited, not where (you think) you are wanted…don’t impose yourself on others.

Observations on Human Nature

Muncha miel bulanea—Too much honey nauseates. People who try too hard to be sweet…are repulsive.

El prove piedre tiempo en kontando la rikeza del rico—

The poor man wastes time counting the wealth of the rich.

Una piedresika ke no pensas rompe la kavesa—

A tiny pebble which you don’t think about-- can break your head. Pay attention to seemingly small dangers

De los ocho fina los ochenta—From eight to eighty—one’s character doesn’t change from childhood through old age.

Humorous Witticisms

Kuando te yaman azno, mira si tienes kola—

When they call you a jackass, look to see if you have a tail. Perhaps there’s truth when people criticize you.

Fuyi del prexil me kresio en la nariz—

I ran from the parsley, it grew on my nose!—you try to get away from someone or some problem, and all of a sudden you confront it in spite of your efforts to escape.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

• Min HaMuvhar
• Rabbi Marc D. Angel

President Donald Trump and Congress are in the midst of discussions to legislatively address the status of DACA recipients. These are 800,000 young people who had arrived in the U.S. ten or more years ago at age 16 or younger. If Congress fails to restore the terms of DACA, a vast number of young people may face deportation, even though they have lived most of their lives in the United States. They are students, workers, dreamers who have hoped for better lives as constructive members of American society. Every society must have rule of law, and the US must have and must enforce its immigration laws. At the same time, every good society practices compassion and wisdom in dealing with complicated issues.

Below is an article I wrote some time ago, relating to our responsibility to “the stranger.”

 “Do not afflict or oppress the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 22:20)

“Do not oppress the stranger, for you know the soul of the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 23:9)

“When a stranger lives with you in your land, do not afflict him. As one of your citizens, the stranger who lives with you shall be to you, and you shall love him as yourself, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt, I am the Lord your God.”   ( Lev. 19:33-34)

These and other verses in the Torah underscore our responsibility to not only be sympathetic to, but to identify with, those who are “strangers.” The Talmud (Bava Metsia 59b) posits that oppressing a stranger violates 36—and some say 46—Torah prohibitions.

The Torah obviously is teaching us to be compassionate and charitable. But in delineating the obligation to care for the stranger, it uses surprising language. The Torah could have said: have mercy on the oppressed, because you were oppressed in Egypt; or have compassion on slaves because you were slaves in Egypt.  But it does not say these things. Rather, it invokes our experience in Egypt as an impetus for us to identify with and help the stranger.

Who is a stranger? In the biblical times, this was a non-Israelite who lived among Israelites. (In later rabbinic thought, the stranger was identified as a proselyte.) In our days, it applies to a person of different nationality—an immigrant.

What is the nature of being a stranger?  The stranger is an “outsider,” someone not of our kin or clan, someone from another culture or religion, someone who is not “one of us.” We might naturally feel responsibility for our own group: but why should we be concerned with strangers?

The Torah—remarkably—commands us to love the stranger as ourselves.  The Torah justifies this commandment: “for you know the soul of the stranger.”  Because of our early experience as strangers in Egypt, we know first-hand what it means to be considered an alien. We not only suffered physical abuse as slaves in Egypt; we suffered psychological abuse. We were considered as lesser human beings; we were thought to be unworthy of basic human rights. We know deep in our own soul what it’s like to be a stranger; we are uniquely qualified to understand “the soul of the stranger.”

This lesson from antiquity has had ongoing meaning for Jews throughout our history. During the modern era, there have been dramatic demographic changes in the world. Most of the Jews today are living in countries different from those in which our ancestors of 150 years ago were living. Indeed, a huge percentage of Jews are themselves immigrants, children or grandchildren of immigrants.  We know the “soul of the stranger” because our families have been strangers. They have migrated to new lands to escape persecution or to find a better life for themselves and their children. They have made aliyah to Israel in fulfillment of Zionist dreams. They have had to learn new languages, adapt to new cultures. Our immigrant forebears often came to new lands with little money…but with great hope. They had to face physical hardships; and they had to cope with psychological sufferings.

Because we have been immigrants, we “know the soul” of immigrants. We have an inherent understanding of the challenges they face. We recognize the importance of helping them adapt to their new lands and to enable them to overcome the psychological stigma of being outsiders.

If the Torah needed to issue 36 commandments about caring for strangers, it means that we have a strong tendency not to be concerned for them. Indeed, there are many voices in contemporary society that take a dim view toward receiving immigrants. After all, these “outsiders” may be criminals or terrorists. They will cost us a lot of money in order to provide them social, educational and health services. They may take away jobs from native-born citizens. They can change the nature of our society if they come in excessively large numbers.

The Talmud (Sanhedrin 109a) suggests that the wicked city of Sodom was characterized by a policy that excluded immigrants. The Sodomites reasoned: why should we share our blessings with outsiders? Why should we make sacrifices for foreigners? It was this attitude that resulted in God’s punishment of Sodom for its iniquity.

As a rule, people do not become immigrants unless there are compelling reasons for them to leave their own lands. They are fleeing wars, violence, or terrorism. They are fleeing from oppressive governments. They are escaping desperate poverty. They seek a better life for themselves and their families.  Our instinctive response must be to lend a helping hand. We “know the soul of strangers” because we and our forebears were strangers.

Rabbi Yitzhak Shemuel Reggio, a 19^th century Italian Torah commentator, commented on the verse in Leviticus (19:18) commanding us to love our neighbor as ourselves. He pointed out that the verse should be understood to be saying: love your neighbor, because your neighbor is like yourself. Your neighbor is also created in the image of God.

The same comment applies to the commandment to love the stranger as ourselves. All human beings have a unique kinship. Instead of seeing others as “outsiders,” we need to see them as sharing a universal humanity based on all of us having been created by the Almighty.

The Torah knows that it is difficult to achieve this high level of understanding. That’s why it has underscored the obligation to care for the stranger 36 times. But it also knows that we are capable of achieving this level of understanding. And when we do, we not only fulfill God’s commandments; we fulfill our own humanity.

 

 

 

 

Amazingly, Jews have flourished for nearly

two thousand years in many different lands without having a

central authoritative institution of halakha. In spite of differences of custom

and emphasis which have arisen among different groups of

Jews, the essential unity of halakha was preserved. To this

day, every Jew who adheres to halakha shares in a truly

remarkable historic, religious, sociological, spiritual and national

enterprise.

 

Some individuals have called for

the establishment of a new Sanhedrin in our times. They

would like a revival of a central halakhic authority for the

Jewish people. The Sanhedrin would not only provide unity

in halakha, but would re-institute the original methodology

of the oral law--interpreting the Torah itself, applying the

law to life with the freedom to overrule precedents and previous

decisions.

 

One of those calling for a Sanhedrin was the Sephardic

Chief Rabbi of Israel, Rabbi BenzionUziel (1880-1953). In a

speech delivered on 12 Kislev 5697, he called for an authoritative

rabbinic body along the lines of the Great Court of

Jerusalem.[1]  He viewed this effort as a continuation of the

work of Rabbi Yohanan ben Zaccai, who had been instrumental

in establishing a quasi-Sanhedrin in Yavneh following the

destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans.

 

Rabbi Uziel believed it was the responsibility of the

rabbinate to work to achieve this goal. Rabbis are delegated

the responsibility of establishing mishpat, justice. This refers

not only to cases between contending individuals, but also to

public issues, questions of taxation and communal needs. By

working for a Sanhedrin, the rabbis will be working for a

unifying force in Jewish life. Rabbi Uziel argued that one who

simply knew how to rule on what is permitted and what is

forbidden ,or on who is guilty and who is innocent is not in the category of being a posek, a decisor

of halakha. This person is known as a talmid or talmid hakham,

 a student or a wise student. To be a posek, however,

involves having the power of the Great Court. Only the Sanhedrin

can serve as a real posek. "The responsibility of the

Sanhedrin was to clarify and distinguish between true interpretations

(which are true to the spirit of the Torah) and

casuistic interpretations (which are erroneous). "[2]

 

Rabbi Uziel writes that the posek draws conclusions

from the Torah and the words of the prophets, as well as from

the traditional oral law. "The posek in Israel is not bound by

precedents of the posek who precedes him. If he was,

this would lead to great damage, in that an accidental error

would be fixed as a permanent halakha even though it was

erroneous in its foundation. In order to avoid this harmful

eventuality, the authority of the Great Court was restricted

only to the time in which it sits on the chair of judgment. But

the decisions of the Great Court are not established as law and

do not obligate the judges who will come after them to judge

and to teach like them. "[3]

 

Rabbi Uziel was deeply impressed by the work of Moses

Maimonides and believed that he deserved the title posek.

Maimonides worked to make the laws of the Torah known to

the general public. In his comprehensive code of Jewish law,

Maimonides recorded the halakha anonymously, to signify

that it represents a consensus, not just the opinion of individuals.

He not only gathered his material from all rabbinic

literature, but he also derived benefit from the teachings of

non-Jewish thinkers. "In this matter, by the way, Maimonides

has informed us that in halakhic decisions one must

comprehend all things on the basis of their content and truth,

and not on the authority of their authors alone. Maimonides

taught a great principle: Accept the truth from those who

have stated it. "[4]

 

In order to restore a central authority for halakha, Rabbi

Uziel urged: "Let us arise and establish the Great Court in

Jerusalem not in order to judge cases of fines, or capital

cases and not in order to permit the firstborn because of its

blemish. Rather, let us do so in order to solve the questions of

life which confront us each day in our settlements and in our

world, and in order to create a beginning for our destined

redemption: 'And I will return your judges as in the beginning

and your advisers as formerly; for out of Zion will the

Torah proceed and the word of God ·from Jerusalem.' ''[5]

 

Until a Great Court is re-established in Jerusalem, the

halakha is taught by leading rabbinical sages who draw on

the vast rabbinic literature which has developed over the past

several thousand years. There are variations of opinion on

details of halakha; different sages rule differently: yet, the

halakhic process continues to provide the framework for

religious Jewish life. In order for a sage to be recognized as

authoritative, he must not only have great erudition; he must

not only be personally observant of halakha; he must also be

fully faithful to the idea that halakha is the expression of the

will of God to the Jewish people. Halakha, therefore, must

be taken seriously on its own terms.

 

A Sephardic Approach To Halakhah[6]

 

Without a Great Court in Jerusalem, it was only natural

that different approaches to halakha developed among various

Jewish communities during the past nearly two thousand

years. Customs and practices varied from place to place and

from time to time. Attitudes towards halakhic study also

differed. Certainly, the basic assumptions of the divinity of

the Torah and the authority of halakha were accepted: but

differences in style definitely did exist among religious Jewish

communities throughout the ages.

 

Two major streams of Jewish tradition are the Ashkenazic

and the Sepahardic. Ashkenazim (Ashkenaz means Germany

in Hebrew) primarily lived in Europe. In the Middle

Ages they were concentrated in France, Germany and Italy;

gradually, the centers of Ashkenazic Jewry shifted to Poland,

Russia and Eastern Europe in general. The common feature of

these communities is that they existed in Christian countries.

They were included within the orbit of Western civilization.

The Westernization of these communities was intensified

during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, when

European Jews were gaining rights of citizenship in the countries

in which they lived. The doors of Western civilization

opened to them as never before. Jews studied in European

universities; and they advanced in professional, cultural and political

life. Their struggles for civil rights were painful and not fully

successful. Anti-Jewish attitudes and actual violence against

Jews ultimately led many Ashkenazim to migrate to Israel,

the United States and other safe havens. The Nazi holocaust

during World War II decimated European Jewry, most of

which was of Ashkenazic background. Yet, Ashkenazic

Jewry today represents a large majority of world Jewry.

 

Ashkenazic numerical dominance has been matched by

its cultural hegemony as well. Certainly, for the past three

centuries and more, Ashkenazic rabbis have dominated halakha;

Ashkenazic thinkers have dominated Jewish philosophy;

Ashkenazic writers and artists have dominated Jewish

cultural life.

 

The Sephardic Jews (Sepharad refers to Spain in Hebrew)

enjoyed their period of dominance during the centuries

prior to the expulsion of Jews from Spain in 1492. The contributions

of Sephardim to all areas of Jewish scholarship and

thought as well as to science, medicine, and mathematics

were impressive, unequalled in the Jewish world. Even during

the century following the expulsion, Sephardic Jewry

maintained a dynamic spiritual and cultural life which influenced

world Jewry.

 

The considerable majority of Sephardim who left the

Iberian Peninsula settled in Muslim countries. Although Sephardim

also went to Italy, Holland. France and other Western

European locations, the much greater number flourished

in non-Western environments. The Ottoman Empire provided

haven for Sephardic refugees. Sephardic communities

developed throughout Turkey, the Balkan countries, the

Middle East and North Africa. Their experience was different

in many ways from that of the Ashkenazim of Europe. Indeed,

the two groups of Jews--those of Christian Europe and those

of the Muslim domains--lived in relative isolation from one another.

 

Although it is difficult to generalize about differences in

the realm of halakha, it may be argued that there were

different trends of halakhic thinking among the two groups,

just as there were differences in world views in general. It is

of interest to explore the Sephardic approach to halakha

since it may serve as an anodyne to the prevailing Ashkenazic

approach. Since Sephardim lived among non-Western

people, their perceptions and attitudes about Judaism may

serve as a counter-balance to the preponderant Westernization

of Judaism.

 

A people's attitudes are often conveyed through their

words and actions when they are not self-conscious about

being observed. They are implied in proverbs and songs, in

the way people dress, in their gestures, in the way they

express themselves. In order to comprehend a Sephardic

approach to halakha, one must attempt to grasp the undocumented,

non-explicit elements of Sephardic culture--elements

which are known from sharing a people's mentality.

.

One element which needs to be considered is joie de

vivre. While Sephardim living in Muslim lands over the past

centuries were generally quite observant of halakha,

their observance did not lead them to become somber or

overly serious. Pious Sephardim sang Judeo-Spanish love

ballads and drinking songs at family celebrations in a natural

way, without self-consciousness. Singing in a lighthearted

spirit, even at public gatherings, did not strike them as being

irreverent. Rather, the pleasures and aesthetics of this world

were viewed in a positive light.

 

Sephardic holiday celebrations and life cycle observances,

for example, were characterized by the preparation of

elaborate delicacies to eat, the singing of songs, and a general

spirit of gaiety and hospitality. Sephardim appreciated colorful

fabrics, fine embroidery, excellent craftsmanship in metals.

On every happy occasion there was bound to be the

fragrance of rose water, herbs, fresh fruits. All of these accoutrements--

song, food, fragrances, decorative materials--gave

the specific religious observance its distinctive quality.

These things were not peripheral to halakha, but gave

halakha its proper context: a context of love, happiness.

optimism.

 

This spirit carried itself even to the serious season of the

High Holy Days, when self-scrutiny and repentance were

expected. The travel account of Rabbi Simhah ben Joshua of

Zalozhtsy (1711-1768) sheds interesting light on this fact.[7]

He travelled to the Holy Land with a group of ascetic Hassidim

in1764, and the majority of his Jewish co-passengers

on the ship were Sephardim. The rabbi noted that "the Sephardim

awoke before daybreak to say penitential prayers in

a congregation as is their custom in the month of Elul." He

then added: "During the day they eat and rejoice and are

happy at heart." For Rabbi Simhah, this behavior may have seemed

paradoxical: but the Sephardim themselves did not even

realize that their behavior was in any way noteworthy. Their

unstated assumption was that eating, rejoicing and being

happy of heart were not in conflict with piety, even in the

serious season of penitential prayers.

 

Alan Watts has pointed out that in Western thought the

individual is "split." He is both himself and an observer of

himself. Western culture teaches us to analyze ourselves, to

see ourselves as though we are somehow outside of ourselves.

We are both subjects and objects. Carried to an extreme,

this way of viewing ourselves can be confusing and guilt inducing. It is as though we live our lives while seeing ourselves in a mirror. We are apt to become overly self-conscious, self-critical, and self-centered. Eastern culture, on the other hand, tends to be more holistic, less self-analytic.

People are taught to live naturally and easily, without objectifying

themselves overly much.

 

Watts has written: "The most spiritual people are the

most human. They are natural and easy in manner: they give

themselves no airs; they interest themselves in ordinary

every day matters and are not forever talking and thinking

about religion. For them there is no difference between spirituality

and usual life , and to their awakened insight the lives

of the most humdrum and earth-bound people are as much in

harmony with the infinite as their own."[8]

 

The Sephardim tended to have the Eastern, rather than

the Western, attitude on life. The halakha was observed

naturally and easily, as a vital part of life. Andre Chouraqui,

in his study of North African Jewry, has noted that the Jews of

the Maghreb were quite observant of halakha, yet  "the

Judaism of the most conservative of the Maghreb's Jews was

marked by a flexibility, a hospitality, a tolerance . .. " The

Jews of North Africa had a "touching generosity of spirit and

a profound respect for meditation."[9] These comments are

equally applicable to Sephardim throughout the Mediterranean

area.

 

These qualities were placed into halakhic terms by Rabbi

Hayyim Yosef David Azulai ( 1724-1806), one of the leading

Rabbinic figures of his time. He wrote that in matters of

halakha, Sephardic sages clung to the quality of hesed,

kindness, and tended to be lenient. Ashkenazim manifested

the quality of gevurah, heroism, and therefore tended to be

strict. Rabbi Azulai's statement--regardless of its objective truth--is

a profound indication of his own self-image. He and nu-

merous other Sephardic rabbis saw themselves as agents of

hesed. This self-image could not but influence the manner in

which they dealt with questions of halakha.  Hesed was not

merely a pleasant idea but a working principle.

 

 H. J. Zimmels, in his book Ashkenazim and Sephardim,

indicates that as a general rule Sephardim were more

lenient than Ashkenazim in their halakhic rulings.[10] He

suggests that the Ashkenazic inclination to stringency was

largely the result of centuries of persecution suffered by

German Jewry. It also stemmed from the doctrines of the

German Hassidim of the 12th and 13th centuries, who emphasized

strictness in religious observance. Groups of Ashkenazic

Jews imposed upon themselves greater stringencies

than the law demanded and, in time, many of these observances

became normative.

 

Rabbi Benzion Uziel offered an insight into the differences

between Sephardic and Ashkenazic sages. Sephardic

rabbis felt powerful enough in their opinion and authority to

annul customs which were not based on halakhic foundations.

In contrast, Ashkenazic rabbis tended to strengthen

customs and sought support for them even if they seemed

strange or without halakhic basis. The rabbis of France and

Germany had a negative opinion of the rabbis of Spain, feeling

that the Sephardic sages were too independent and irreverent

to tradition. On the other hand, the Sephardim felt

that their method was correct and were quite proud of promoting

it.[11]

 

Sephardic tradition stressed the idea that the halakha is

a practical guide to behavior. It is not a metaphysical system

set aside for an intellectual elite. On the contrary, each person

was entitled and obligated to understand what the halakha

requires. It is not surprising, therefore, that the classic codes

of Jewish law were produced in Sephardic communities.

Sephardic scholars studied texts with the goal of applying

them directly to actual situations: therefore, they had to

remain sensitive to the needs of people. This very sensitivity

helped maintain the quality of hesed in halakha.

 

When halakha is studied as an intellectual system divorced

from actual life situations, it may follow the dictates

of logic and intricate reasoning rather than the dictates of

human kindness. A legal conclusion might be reached in the

abstract and then be applied to human conditions as a derrick

operation from above. This approach is contrary to the overall

spirit of Sephardic halakhic thought.

 

Although it is incumbent upon each Jew to study Torah

and halakha, difficult questions and disputes cannot always

be solved by the individuals involved. Thus, over the past

centuries, Sephardic communities normally appointed a

chief rabbi, often referred to as haham, sage. He had the

final word in matters of halakha for his community. The

institution of haham  provided the Jews with a recognized

authority who could resolve their questions. When the Sephardim

of the Island of Rhodes wanted to appoint a chief

rabbi in the early 17th century, for example, they agreed that no one had

the right to contest the haham's rulings. "All which he will

decide will be correct and acceptable as the law which was

determined by the Court of Rabban Gamliel. . .. All which he

will decide ... will be correct and acceptable as a law of

God's Torah as it was given at Sinai."[12]

 

The Jews of Rhodes linked their haham's authority to

that of the powerful court of Rabban Gamliel and to the Torah

itself. Other Sephardic communities did likewise. This was a

way of restoring, at least on a communal level, the original

function of the Great Court in Jerusalem which, according to

Maimonides, was the essential institution of the halakha.

 

Rabbi Joseph Taitasak (16th century, Salonika) expressed

this idea clearly: "Know that each and every community has

authority over its members, for every community may legislate

in its city just as the Great Court could legislate for all

Israel."[13]

 

Law and Life

 

Since halakha is an all-encompassing guide to life

that describes what God wants us to do, it is essential that

we understand its role in our lives. Observing the mitzvoth is a

Jew's way of connecting with the eternal reality of

God. To treat halakha as a mechanical system of laws is to

miss its meaning and significance. Halakha provides the

framework for spiritual awareness, religious insight, and

even spontaneity.

 

At the root of halakha is the awareness that God is

overwhelmingly great and that human beings are overwhelmingly

limited. Humility is the hallmark of the truly

religious person. One must be receptive to the spirit of God

which flows through the halakha and  to the religious experience

that it generates.

 

A true sage must be humble; arrogance is a sign of not

understanding the real lesson of halakha. Solomon Schechter.

in his beautiful essay about the mystics of Safed of the

16th century, quotes Shlomel of Moravia who described the

scholars, saints and men of good deeds of Safed, indicating

that many of them were worthy of receiving the Divine Spirit.

"None among them is ashamed to go to the well and draw

water and carry home the pitcher on his shoulders, or go to

the market to buy bread, oil and vegetables. All the work in

the house is done by themselves.”[14] These sages followed the

model of Talmudic rabbis who also did not find it beneath

their dignity to work at menial tasks. Egotism and a sense of

inflated self-importance are contrary to the spirit of Jewish

religiosity.

 

It is interesting to note how this ideal has been somewhat

diminished among Western Jews. Isidore Epstein, in his

study of the responsa of Rabbi Simon Duran, displays a

Western bias when he writes that "the multifarious functions

of the rabbis [of North Africa] also testify to the low standards

of Jewish culture of North African Jewry. In adverting to

Jewish past and present day history, we cannot fail to notice

that wherever there is a strong, virile and advanced Jewish

life, there is the tendency to keep the rabbinical office distinct

from other callings: and the combination of rabbinical

charges with other functions is a sign of decadence and of

lack of appreciation of learning as such. North Africa in our

period exhibited that characteristic system of cultural decline.

There the rabbi was not ‘rabbi’ in the understood

sense of the word, but combined with that office the functions

of school teacher, slaughterer, and reader to the consequent

lowering in his prestige and rabbinical authoritv."[15]

 

Epstein's assumption that it is a sign of decadence when

rabbis assume responsibilities other than purely academic is

quite absurd. The contrary seems much truer. The Talmudic

sages assumed other responsibilities as did the outstanding

sages of the Sephardic world: and they did not feel demeaned

thereby. It is precisely when rabbis relegate to themselves

purely academic functions and when they consider it undignified

to meet other communal needs that egotism and

pettiness arise. It is actually to the credit of North African

Jewry and many other Sephardic communities as well, that

rabbis often served in practical capacities, participating more

fully in the life of their communities. This was not at all a

shame for them or a reflection of cultural decadence for the

communities.

 

Humility is a virtue which halakha fosters for sages and

laymen alike. Rabbi David Ibn Zimra (16th century) offered

an explanation of a rabbinic dictum that one is not supposed

to argue with the greatest of the judges who has made a ruling

on a legal question. Yet, what if that judge is wrong? Shouldn't the

lesser judges have the right and responsibility to dissent?

Rabbi David Ibn Zimra explains that the dictum was not

intended as a warning for the lesser judges but rather for the

greatest judge. The judge occupying the highest position

should not give his decision first because others will be afraid

to argue with him. His decision will intimidate the others.

Therefore, true justice demands that the greater judges withhold

their opinions until the lesser ones have had their say. In

this way, all opinions can be evaluated fairly and without intimidation

or arrogance.[16]

 

In a similar spirit, Rabbi Hayyim Yosef David Azulai

comments on a passage in the Ethics of the Fathers which

teaches that each person should prepare himself to study Torah

since it does not come to him as an inheritance. Rabbi Azulai

notes that each sage received his specific portion from Sinai

and therefore even a great sage needs to learn from others. No

scholar is self-sufficient, no sage inherits all wisdom. It is

necessary for everyone to be humble, to be open to the opinions

of others, to try to learn from everyone.[17]

 

Piety

 

Many wonderful and horrible things have been done in

the name of religion. George Bernard Shaw once wrote: "Beware

of a man whose God is in Heaven.''  It is difficult, perhaps

impossible, to have reasonable communication with

someone who feels that he knows Truth, that only he and

those who share his beliefs are absolutely right.

 

There have been great prophets, mystics and pietists

who have lived their lives in relationship with God. There

have also been inquisitors, murderers and arrogant criminals

who have thought that they acted according to the will of

God. If religion attracts the most sensitive and thoughtful

people, it also draws those who wish to seem important and

holy in the eyes of others, who use the cloak of religion to

hide their own egocentric purposes.

 

Since the Jewish religious tradition is deeply tied to

halakha, it is not surprising that there have been people who

have found their self-importance in legalism. There is a fine

line between pious devotion and misguided asceticism.

Rabbi Hayyim Yosef David Azulai has taught that one should

not follow unnecessary stringencies in law. Even in private,

one should not be overly stringent, unless he is motivated by

pure and humble piety.[18] Those who do accept additional

obligations upon themselves should not consider themselves

superior to others who do not accept such stringencies. A

truly pious person feels no need to compare his piety to that

of others; his life is lived in relationship to God; he lives with

humility and equanimity.

 

Jewish history has witnessed the honest spirituality of

innumerable pious men and women who have sincerely

served God through their observance of halakha. It has also

witnessed pietistic movements, where groups of people observed

Jewish law with intensity and introduced pious customs

into Jewish religious life. Such movements include the

German Hassidim of the 13th century; the Sephardic mystical

schools of the 16th century; the Hassidic movement of

the 18th century; the Musar movement of the 19th century.

These and other religious movements called on Jews to deepen

their religious experience by intensifying their observance

of halakha and by adopting additional pious practices.

 

Rabbi Moshe Cordovero of 16th century Safed, for example,

composed a list of rules for Jews to observe. The

following are some of his recommendations.[19]

One should not turn his heart from meditating on Torah

and holiness, so that his heart will constantly be a sanctuary

for the Divine Presence. He should never allow himself to

become angry. One should always be concerned about the

needs of his fellow beings and should behave kindly to them.

One should behave nicely, even with those who transgress

the laws of the Torah. One should not drink wine except on Shabbat and holy

days. One should pray with concentration. One should not

speak badly about any person or any other living creation of

God. One should never speak falsehood or even imply falsehood.

One should meet with a friend each Friday evening to

review what has occurred during the course of the past week.

One should recite the afternoon prayer with a prayer

shawl and tefillin. One should chant the Grace after Meals

aloud. Each night, one should sit on the ground and lament the

destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, and should also cry

over his own sins which lengthen the time before our ultimate

redemption.

A person should avoid being part of four groups which

do not receive the Divine Presence: hypocrites, liars, idlers

and those who speak evil about others. One should give

charity each day in order to atone for his sins. One should pay

his pledges immediately and not postpone them. One should

confess his sins prior to eating and prior to going to sleep. A

person should fast as often as his health allows.

 

These rules, and other similar ones, stem from the overwhelming

desire of religiously sensitive people to serve God

in fullness. The more they can do, the closer they feel to the

Almighty. When their deeds are performed in the spirit of love

and selflessness, they are spiritually meaningful. The problem,

of course, is that these rules of piety may themselves

become merely mechanical observances.

 

The genius of halakha is that it provides Jews with a

medium for approaching God on a constant basis. Each law,

each observance is a link between the human and the Divine.

But the power of halakha cannot be appreciated without

spiritual sensitivity, openness and--above all--humility.

 

Saintliness

 

It is a rare experience to be in the presence of a truly saintly person who lives in a deep relationship

with God. We might describe such a person as having

wisdom, humility, inner peace, tranquility. The saintly person

lives life on a different plane from most other people.

One cannot attain saintliness as the result of following

any specific prescriptions. There are no schools to educate

and graduate saints. There are no rituals or techniques which,

if followed, will result automatically in the creation of a

genuinely pious person.

 

In describing the actions and observances of deeply pious

people, we only describe the evident and superficial

aspect of their lives. Their inner lives remain a secret to us.

We are intrigued with such people because we do not understand

their inner beings.

 

Following the external dictates of halakha does not

guarantee the quality of saintliness. Without mystical insight,

without an all-encompassing love, the practitioner of

halakha mimics saintliness. Halakha must be experienced

as a fulfillment of the will of God if it is to generate spirituality.

 

Modern Western society does not place a particularly

high premium on saintliness. Our society is achievement oriented,

pragmatic, material-centered. Even religion is profoundly

influenced by these values. Religious institutions

are concerned with perpetuating themselves-- raising money,

obtaining members, providing services. Prayer services

might pass for good (or not so good) theater. They may

provide parodies of prayer where people appear to be praying

while having no sense of the presence of God. It is difficult

to preach about God and mystical saintliness except to

unusual individuals.

 

The ideal of halakha is to create righteous, pious

people. Even those who may never attain this spiritual level

still need to know what the goal is.

 

In describing the religious life of North African Jewry,

Andre Chouraqui has noted that the Jews of the Maghreb

valued saintliness as the ultimate quality.[20]  They expected

that their rabbis be well-versed in Torah and rabbinic literature:

but more than this, they expected them to be able to pray

with sincerity and real devotion. By being in the presence of

saintly teachers, the average people could be raised in their

own spiritual life.

 

In summation, halakha is the ever-present link between

God and the Jewish people. Through observance of halakha

in the spirit of humility, the Jew has the opportunity to .live

life on a deep spiritual level.