National Scholar Updates

The Akedah, or binding of Isaac (Genesis 22:1–19), [1] is a formative passage in Jewish tradition. It plays a central role on Rosh haShanah, and many communities include this passage in their early morning daily liturgy. Beyond its liturgical role, the Akedah is a religiously and morally challenging story. What should we learn from this jarring narrative with regard to faith and religious life?

It appears that the Akedah, perhaps more than any other narrative in the Torah, teaches how one can and should be extremely religious, but also teaches how to avoid religious extremism. In this essay, we will consider the ideas of several modern thinkers who explore the religious and moral implications of this narrative. Why Did Abraham Not Protest? Although the very idea of child sacrifice is abhorrent to us, it made more sense in Abraham’s historical context. Many of Israel’s neighbors practiced child sacrifice. It stands to reason that when God commanded Abraham to sacrifice his son, Abraham concluded that perhaps God required this of him. Of course, God stopped Abraham and went on to outlaw such practices as a capital offense in the Torah (Leviticus 18:21; 20:2–5). We find child sacrifice abhorrent precisely because the Torah and the prophets broke rank with the pagan world and transformed human values for the better. [2] In its original context, then, the Akedah highlights Abraham’s exemplary faithfulness. He followed God’s command even when the very basis of the divine promise for progeny through Isaac was threatened.

The German philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) was deeply troubled by the morality of the Akedah. He maintained that nobody is certain that he or she is receiving prophecy, whereas everyone knows with certainty that murder is immoral and against God’s will. Therefore, Abraham failed God’s test by acquiescing to sacrifice Isaac. He should have refused, or at least protested. [3] However, the biblical narrative runs flatly against Kant’s reading. After the angel stops Abraham from slaughtering Isaac, the angel proclaims to Abraham, “For now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your favored one, from Me” (Genesis 22:12). God thereby praises Abraham’s exceptional faith and commitment. [4]

Adopting a reading consistent with the thrust of the biblical narrative, Rambam (Spain, Egypt 1138–1204) draws the opposite conclusion from that of Kant. The fact that Abraham obeyed God demonstrates his absolute certainty that he had received true prophecy. Otherwise, he never would have proceeded: [Abraham] hastened to slaughter, as he had been commanded, his son, his only son, whom he loved…. For if a dream of prophecy had been obscure for the prophets, or if they had doubts or incertitude concerning what they apprehended in a vision of prophecy, they would not have hastened to do that which is repugnant to nature, and [Abraham’s] soul would not have consented to accomplish an act of so great an importance if there had been a doubt about it (Guide of the Perplexed III:24). [5] Although Rambam correctly assesses the biblical narrative, there still is room for a different moral question. After God informs Abraham about the impending destruction of Sodom, Abraham pleads courageously on behalf of the wicked city, appealing to God’s need to act justly (Genesis 18:23–33).[6] How could Abraham stand idly by and not challenge God when God commanded him to sacrifice his beloved son?

By considering the Abraham narratives as a whole, we may resolve this dilemma. Abraham’s actions in Genesis chapters 12–25 may be divided into three general categories: (1) responses to direct commands from God; (2) responses to promises or other information from God; and (3) responses to situations during which God does not communicate directly with Abraham. Whenever God commands an action, Abraham obeys without as much as a word of protest or questioning. When Abraham receives promises or other information from God, Abraham praises God when gratitude is in order, and he questions or challenges God when he deems it appropriate. Therefore, Abraham’s silence when following God’s commandment to sacrifice Isaac is to be expected. And so are Abraham’s concerns about God’s promises of progeny or information about the destruction of Sodom. The Torah thereby teaches that it is appropriate to question God, while simultaneously demanding faithfulness to God’s commandments as an essential aspect of the mutual covenant between God and Israel. [7]

The Pinnacle of Religious Faith

Professor Yeshayahu Leibowitz (1903–1994) suggests that Abraham and Job confronted the same religious test. Do they serve God because God provides all of their needs, or do they serve God under all conditions? Both were God-fearing individuals before their respective trials, but they demonstrated their unwavering commitment to God through their trials. [8]

Professor Moshe Halbertal (Hebrew University) derives a different lesson of commitment from the Akedah. God wishes to be loved by us, but this is almost impossible since we are utterly dependent on God for all of our needs. We generally express love through absolute giving. When sacrificing to God, however, we always can hold out hope that God will give us more. Cain and Abel could offer produce or sheep to God, but they likely were at least partially motivated to appeal to God for better crops and flocks next year. What can we possibly offer God that demonstrates our true love? The Akedah is God’s giving Abraham the opportunity to offer a gift outside of the realm of exchange. Nothing can replace Isaac, since his value to Abraham is absolute. As soon as Abraham demonstrates willingness to offer his own son to God, he has proven his total love and commitment. As the angel tells Abraham, “For now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your favored one, from Me” (Genesis 22:12). Halbertal explains that Abraham’s offering a ram in place of Isaac becomes the paradigm for later Israelite sacrifice. Inherent in all sacrifice in the Torah is the idea is that we love God to the point where we are prepared to sacrifice ourselves or our children to God. The animal serves as a substitute. The Akedah thereby represents the supreme act of giving to God. [9] The ideas explored by Professors Leibowitz and Halbertal lie at the heart of being extremely religious. Abraham is a model of pure, dedicated service and love of God. Such religious commitment is ideal, but it also comes with the lurking danger of religious extremism. We turn now to this critical issue.

Extremely Religious without Religious Extremism

The Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard (1813–1855) composed a classic work on the Akedah, entitled Fear and Trembling. He argued that if one believes in religion because it appears reasonable, that is a secular distortion. True religion, maintains Kierkegaard, means being able to suspend reason and moral conscience when God demands it. Kierkegaard calls Abraham a knight of faith for his willingness to obey God and sacrifice his son. Although Kierkegaard’s philosophy did not lead others to violence in the name of religion, it certainly is vulnerable to that horrific outcome. In his philosophy, serving God must trump all moral or rational concerns.

A fatal problem arises when the representatives of any religion claim that God demands violence or other forms of immorality. In a powerful article written in the wake of the terror attack on New York City on September 11, 2001, Professor David Shatz (Yeshiva University) addresses this urgent question.[10] He observes that in general, the answer for any form of extremism is to create a system with competing ideals for balance. For example, one may place law against liberty, self-respect against respect for others, and discipline against love. In religion, however, there is a fundamental problem: placing any value against religion—especially if that competing value can trump religion—defeats religious commitment. Professor Shatz suggests a solution. There is a way to have passion for God tempered by morality and rationality without requiring any religious compromise. One must embrace morality and rationality as part of the religion. The religion itself must balance and integrate competing values and see them all as part of the religion. This debate harks back to Rabbi Saadyah Gaon (Babylonia, 882–942), who insisted that God chooses moral things to command. In contrast, the medieval Islamic philosophical school of Ash‘ariyya maintained that whatever God commands is by definition good. [11] Kierkegaard’s reading of the Akedah fails Professor Shatz’s solution to religious extremism and is therefore vulnerable to the dangers of immorality in the name of God. In truth, Kierkegaard’s reading of the Akedah fails the narrative itself: God repudiates child sacrifice at the end of the story. Whereas Kierkegaard focuses on Abraham’s willingness to suspend morality to serve God, the narrative teaches that God rejects immorality as part of the Torah’s religion.

The expression of religious commitment in the Torah is the fear of God, which by definition includes the highest form of morality. [12] There must never be any disconnect between religious commitment and moral behavior, and Israel’s prophets constantly remind the people of this critical message. [13] Thus, the Torah incorporates morality and rationality as essential components of its religious system. It also is important to stress that people who act violently in the name of religion generally are not crazy. Rather, they are following their religious system as they understand it and as their clerics teach it. Such manifestations of religion themselves are evil and immoral.

Post-modernism thinks it can relativize all religion and thereby protect against the violence generated by religious extremism. In reality, however, post-modernism achieves the opposite effect, as its adherents no longer have the resolve to refer to evil as evil and to battle against it. Instead, they try to rationalize evil away. This position very meaningfully empowers the religious extremists. [14] Professor Shatz acknowledges that lamentably, there are negative extremist elements among some Jews who identify themselves as religious, as well. However, their attempts to justify their immorality with Torah sources in fact do violence to our sacred texts.[15] Such Jews are not extremely religious, as they pervert the Torah and desecrate God’s Name. Similarly, every religion must build morality and rationality into their systems so that they can pursue a relationship with God while avoiding the catastrophic consequences of religious extremism. As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks has observed, “the cure of bad religion is good religion, not no religion.” [16]

Conclusion

The Akedah teaches several vital religious lessons. Ideal religion is all about serving God, and is not self-serving. Because we expect God to be moral, the Torah’s protest tradition also emerges with Abraham’s holding God accountable. We may and should ask questions. Simultaneously, we must obey God’s laws in our mutual covenantal relationship. We aspire to be extremely religious, and Abraham serves as a paragon of the ideal connection to God, an active relationship, and faithfulness. The Akedah also teaches the key to avoid what is rightly condemned as religious extremism, using religion as a vehicle for murder, persecution, discrimination, racism, and other expressions of immorality. Morality and rationality must be built into every religious system, or else its adherents risk lapsing into immorality in the name of their religion.

One of the best means of promoting our vision is to understand and teach the underlying messages of the Akedah. We pray that all faith communities will join in affirming morality and rationality as being within their respective faiths. It is imperative for us to serve as emissaries of a different vision to what the world too often experiences in the name of religion, to model the ideal fear of Heaven that the Torah demands, and ultimately to sanctify God’s Name.

Notes [

1] The Hebrew root for Akedah appears in Genesis 22:9, and refers to binding one’s hands to one’s feet. This is the only time that this root appears in the entire Bible. [2] Rabbi Samuel David Luzzatto (Italy, 1800–1865) suggests that this legislation was in part an anti-pagan polemic, demonstrating that the Torah’s idea of love of God does not involve the immoral sacrifice of one’s child. [3] Kant was not the first person troubled by the moral implications of the Akedah. In the second century BCE, the author of the non-canonical Book of Jubilees (17:16) ascribed the command to sacrifice Isaac to a “satanic” angel named Mastemah, rather than God Himself as presented in the Torah. Evidently, the author of Jubilees was uncomfortable attributing such a command directly to God. Adopting a different tactic, a fourteenth-century rabbi named Eleazar Ashkenazi ben Nathan Habavli maintained that the Akedah must have occurred in a prophetic vision. Had the Akedah occurred in waking state, he argued, Abraham surely would have protested as he did regarding Sodom (in Marc Shapiro, Changing the Immutable: How Orthodox Judaism Rewrites Its History [Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2015, p. 70]). [4] See sources and discussion in Yonatan Grossman, Avraham: Sipuro shel Massa (Hebrew) (Tel-Aviv: Yediot Aharonot, 2014), pp. 300–301. [5] Translation from The Guide of the Perplexed, Shlomo Pines, second edition (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1963), pp. 501–502. [6] See especially R. Aharon Lichtenstein, “Does Jewish Tradition Recognize an Ethic Independent of Halakha?” in Modern Jewish Ethics: Theory and Practice, ed. Marvin Fox (Columbus, OH: Ohio State University Press, 1975), pp. 62–88. [7] See further discussion in Hayyim Angel, “Learning Faith from the Text, or Text from Faith: The Challenges of Teaching (and Learning) the Abraham Narratives and Commentary,” in Wisdom From All My Teachers: Challenges and Initiatives in Contemporary Torah Education, ed. Jeffrey Saks & Susan Handelman (Jerusalem: Urim, 2003), pp. 192–212; reprinted in Angel, Through an Opaque Lens (New York: Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2006), pp. 127–154; revised second edition (New York: Kodesh Press, 2013), pp. 99–122. [8] Yeshayahu Leibowitz, Judaism, Human Values, and the Jewish State, ed. Eliezer Goldman (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992), pp. 48–49, 259. Cf. Michael V. Fox, “Job the Pious,” Zeitschrift fur die Alttestamentliche Wissenschaft 117 (2005), pp. 351–366. [9] Moshe Halbertal, On Sacrifice (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2012), pp. 22–25. [10] David Shatz, “‘From the Depths I Have Called to You’: Jewish Reflections on September 11th and Contemporary Terrorism,” in Contending with Catastrophe: Jewish Perspectives on September 11th, ed. Michael J. Broyde (New York: Beth Din of America and K’Hal Publishing, 2011), pp. 197–233. See also Marvin Fox, “Kierkegaard and Rabbinic Judaism,” in Collected Essays on Philosophy and on Judaism, vol. 2, ed. Jacob Neusner (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2003), pp. 29–43. [11] See Howard Kreisel, Prophecy: The History of an Idea in Medieval Jewish Philosophy (Dordrecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 2001), p. 38. [12] See, for example, Genesis 20:11; 42:18; Exodus 1:17, 21; Deuteronomy 25:18. [13] See, for example, Isaiah 1:10–17; Jeremiah 7:9–11; Hosea 6:6; Amos 5:21–25; Micah 6:4–8. [14] For a chilling study of the virtual elimination of the very concept of sin and evil from much of Western literature, see Andrew Delbanco, The Death of Satan: How Americans Have Lost the Sense of Evil (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1995). [15] See especially R. Yitzchak Blau, “Ploughshares into Swords: Contemporary Religious Zionists and Moral Constraints,” Tradition 34:4 (Winter 2000), pp. 39–60. [16] R. Jonathan Sacks, The Great Partnership: God, Science, and the Search for Meaning (London: Hodder & Stoughton, 2011), p. 11.

Introduction

Rabbi Yosef Hayyim (1834–1909), grandson of Rabbi Moshe Hayyim (Chief Rabbi of Baghdad at the end of the eighteenth and beginning of the nineteenth centuries), was an extraordinary and unique spiritual figure. He was a person of rare intellectual talents, including a phenomenal memory and eloquence in both speech and writing, who took an interest in all branches of Torah scholarship. For those acquainted with great Ashkenazic rabbis of modern times, Rabbi Yosef Hayyim (henceforth: RYH) may be characterized as combining within himself outstanding qualities of both the Gaon of Vilna and the Maggid of Dubno: On the one hand, he was extraordinarily devoted to study and in full command of all branches of traditional Judaic knowledge, and, on the other, he was directly engaged in efforts to bring the Torah to the broad public by delivering public sermons and by composing texts specifically oriented toward a lay readership. The following pages are devoted to an exposition of his views regarding a curriculum for Jewish children and youth that includes both secular and Judaic studies.[1]

Obviously, the number of class hours in a school’s curriculum are finite. In a Jewish Day School, any hour devoted to secular studies therefore necessarily constricts the amount of hours devoted to the study of Torah. Since Torah studies are a mitzvah, many Hareidi rabbis hold that ideally, a curriculum should be totally devoid of secular studies (‘al taharat haQodesh).[2] However, RYH held that this is not the position of Torah itself; while study of Torah is a mitzvah, secular topics are in the halakhic category of “permitted activities” (mutar):

Study of writing, arithmetic and languages is defined as “permitted” (mutar).[3] And what is the point of such a definition? To tell you: “Do not say: In this hour, when I am studying writing and arithmetic, it is better that I instead study matters of Torah; why should I waste my time learning writing and arithmetic?” Therefore, these studies were categorized as “permitted,” i.e., you are permitted to devote several hours of the day to such study.[4]

What justifies this permission to devote time to the study of non-Torah topics? RYH was aware of the answer given by Rabbi Yitzhaq Bengualid (Tetuan, 1777–1870), that such studies would ensure that “when they grow up they will find a secure livelihood for their entire life.”[5] However, he did not consider this very convincing: If the goal is to ensure the future economic well-being of today’s children, it would be better for them to learn “the profession of tailors or weavers … from such crafts a person can earn more than by the craft of writing and languages [i.e., clerking].”[6] According to RYH, the primary justifications for engaging in secular studies in parallel with the study of Torah are not pragmatic but rather an expression of Jewish principles and values. These include:

1. Formation of the Students’ Personalities and Character

Rabbi Yosef Hayyim writes:

It is worthy to teach both these types of learning to the youth while they are still young in age: study of our holy Torah and study of Derekh Eretz, i.e. languages, writing and suchlike. The teachers should engage them in both types of study at the same time, when they are young, and their mind is clear. And it is with regard to this that the Tanna states in Pirqei Avot: “Study of Torah together with Derekh Eretz is fine, for toil in the two of them drives away sin,”[7] meaning: it is worthy and appropriate that one should engage in these two types of study, Torah and Derekh Eretz, at the same time. Because toil in the two of them together drives away sin—that is: the evil force that is stored in a person’s heart because of his murky physicality—for he will be engaged in matters of the mind/intellect (muskalot) and the evil impulse within him will not actualize its potential in the performance of evil deeds.[8]

Torah study and secular learning are both matters of the mind/intellect, and therefore a student’s involvement in both together has a positive effect, enabling a student to suppress one’s negative impulses and overcome them. This formative influence is especially required when the student is young of age; RYH teaches that this is the thrust of the well-known verse in Mishlei 22:6: hanokh laNa’ar ‘al pi darko, gam ki yazqin lo yasur mimenna.

This is what is meant by hanokh laNa’ar—to guide him in a good, straight path by means of words of wisdom, piety, and matters of intellect; one should thus teach and guide him while he is ‘al pi darko—i.e., at the verge and beginning of his path, before he has entered and become set in it. For at that time, you can easily turn him from one path and lead him on another that is good and straight. And as a result gam ki yazqin lo yasur mimenna—even when he grows old he will not deviate from the path into which you lead him and he embraced.[9]

This creative reading of ‘al pi darko as “on the verge of his path,” i.e., when the young person is about to set out on his or her life’s path—seems to be an original interpretation by RYH. It fits well with his position that tandem study of Torah and secular learning should begin already at the earliest stage of a child’s education:

Therefore, the time when it is appropriate to bring children to the hall of study, to teach them Torah and its various branches by worthy and important teachers, and to teach them derekh eretz, i.e., other external topics that we shall soon specify—is from the time that the child is seven years of age, until the child is thirteen. But if these studies are only begun once the child is thirteen or more, it will be hard to receive them, unless the child has…a tremendous urge and great desire to study these topics.[10]

2. Acquaintance with Fields of Knowledge beyond Torah Is Mandated by Reason

One of the realms of knowledge that Rabbi Yosef Hayyim considers important to acquire is—geography:

A person has a great need to study geography. As we see in the words of our Rabbis of Blessed Memory (Hagiga 12b):

                        Rabbi Yosse says:

Woe to those persons who see—and do not comprehend what they see; who stand—and do not comprehend on what they stand!

Thus, a person is obligated to know and understand the qualities of the earth, and regarding those who lack this knowledge Rabbi Yose exclaims “Woe!” saying: “Woe to those persons who see—and do not comprehend what they see, etc.” From this we learn, that these and other similar facts—a person is required to set his mind upon them and to know them.[11]

However, RYH does not ground the requirement to engage in secular study only this creative interpretation of Rabbi Yosse’s apodictic statement.[12] Rather, he grounds that requirement in a completely non-textual source—straight thinking:

Truth be told, even without that text, Reason obligates this! For how can one hear the sound of thunder, and see lightning, and not understand what they are? And how can one see thunder, and clouds going and coming, and rain pouring down upon the earth—and not understand their quality, and what makes them happen? So too: How can one stand in the city of Baghdad, and now know where is Eretz Israel? And where is India? And where is Europe?—Whether ahead of him or behind him, to his right or to his left? Most certainly, a person lacking knowledge of these matters is degraded and lacking even in his own eyes! But if all Jewish persons will be perfect in knowledge of such things, their honor will be great in the eyes of all humans, and all will say of them: “This great nation is a wise and sagacious People” [Devarim 4:6].[13]

            As other great rabbis from talmudic times onward, RYH holds that a Jew’s obligations derive not only from holy texts but also from human rationality.[14] Any intelligent person realizes that a person lacking understanding of the physical and energetic world in which he lives is degraded and lacking in the eyes of others—and rightly so! Furthermore, in human socio-cultural reality, a common criterion for recognizing a person as “wise and sagacious” is his command of knowledge regarding the world in which he lives. Torah speaks of an ideal situation in which all humans will praise Israel, saying “This great nation is a wise and sagacious People.” How can Jews in Baghdad (and elsewhere) merit such praise from other peoples? “If all Jewish persons will be perfect in knowledge of such things!”[15]

            Details of the realms of knowledge that a Jew should engage in, and attribution of mastery of these topics to a great talmudic sage, are included in Rabbi Yosef Hayyim’s reading of another talmudic passage. In Bava Qama 66 it is told that Rabbi Ami and Rabbi Assi were sitting and studying under their Master, Rabbi Yitzhaq Nafha. One of them asked Rabbi Yitzhaq to teach them halakha, and the other asked Rabbi Yitzhaq to teach them aggada. RYH explains:

The meaning of this seems to be, that one wanted him to teach them matters of tradition, i.e., important halakhot, and talmudic explanations of the reasons underlying mishnayot and baraitot. And the other wanted aggada. For Rabbi Yitzhaq was perfect in his command of worldly knowledge: natural science, geometry, medicine, astronomy, knowledge regarding the nature of creation—inert, plant, and animal—as well as geography, et al. And since all these realms of wisdom are not part of Torah, they are called “aggada.”[16]

            On this reading, the terms “halakha” and “aggada” do not indicate a subdivision of Torah into normative vs. ideational matters. Rather, they indicate a division of human knowledge into a realm that is unique to the Torah of Israel, and a realm that is universal to all human beings. For Jews, involvement in both realms is important, and therefore, Jewish schools should divide the students’ hours of study accordingly:

For this reason it says: hanokh laNa’ar ‘al pi darko gam ki yazqin lo yasur mimmena: i.e., do not say: “I will heap a heavy load upon the young person, and teach him only Torah day and night. And I will not teach him writing, and Hebrew, and grammar, and math, and knowledge of nature, and worldly matters such as geography etc., so that he will not waste his time on such things but rather study only the complete and perfect Torah!” Do not do that! Rather, educate the young person also “in matters of his Way”—i.e., in matters of this world that is called “Way” […] For although education should be mainly in study of Torah, you should “grasp the one without letting go of the other” (Qohelet 7:18).[17]

            Many rabbis who allowed time to be set aside from Torah study for the sake of other topics held it to be self-evident that only Torah study is of value per se. On this view, study of secular topics is permitted only because of their ability to enable better comprehension of Torah. Thus Rabbi Jonathan Eybeshutz (1694–1764) wrote:

All wisdom is of value only as providing support for our understanding of Torah. Thus, geometry is the wisdom of measuring [….] it is very much required for the sake of measurements concerning the ‘eglah ‘arufa, and the cities of the Levites and of Refuge, and the tracts surrounding cities … Astronomy is an Israelite science because of “the Secret of [determining] Leap Years,” to know the movements of the seasons and constellations and to sanctify [new] months.[18]

However, Rabbi Yosef Hayyim unequivocally rejected this view:

We see that the Master of the Talmud, the great Sh’muel of blessed memory, devoted great toil and effort to delve deeply into the science of astronomy, to the extent that we find him declaring: “The paths of the sky are as clear to me as the paths of [my city] Neharde’a” (Berakhot 58b). Now, if he was so proficient in the wisdom of astronomy, it is easy to imagine how much time he had to spend on the study of this wisdom, that is exceedingly deep and great. And if it was merely to learn how to calculate leap years—what need for him to delve so deeply into this wisdom, to the extent that he was as proficient in the paths of the sky as he was in the paths of Neharde’a ?! Rather, it is certainly incumbent upon a person to acquire knowledge and to understand other wisdoms that are not part of Torah wisdom.[19]

           Just as RYH dismissed the explanation that study of secular topics is justified because it facilitates earning a livelihood, he rejects the idea that such study is justified because it facilitates understanding and application of Torah. However, we have seen that he did validate other reasons for engaging in such learning:

1. Fulfilling the obligation (mandated by reason) for a person to know and understand the world in which one lives
2. Realizing the goal that the Jewish People be (correctly) perceived by all humans as “wise and sagacious”

We now turn to two additional rationales for study of non-Torah realms of knowledge, which are validated by RYH.

3. Study of Realms of Knowledge beyond Torah—Enabling Tikkun ‘Olam

A third valid reason for engaging in general (non-Torah) studies is given by Rabbi Yosef Hayyim in the following passage:

With God’s help, It seems to me that an additional explanation of scripture’s intent in the phrase hanokh laNa’ar ‘al pi darko is, that King Solomon of blessed memory sought to teach us, that a person should not reject any of the kinds of knowledge that are required for the improvement of the world (tikkun ‘olam) and the for human perfection (sh’leimut haAdam), even though it may seem that this is knowledge of mundane/physical things.[20]

           It seems that the characterization of such studies as contributing to “human perfection” relates to an idea that we have already seen in RYH’s writing, i.e., that secular knowledge contributes to the formation of a positive and worthy character. However, the justification of general knowledge because of its contribution to tikkun ‘olam is an expansion of the list of rationales that he provides for engaging in such studies.

           It is important to note the meaning of this phrase as employed in the above quotation from Imrei Binah. In the kabbalistic worldview of Rabbi Yitzhaq Luria Ashkenazi (ha-ARI) and most subsequent kabbalists, the terms “tikkun” and “tikkun ‘olam” relate to the idea that engagement by Jews in activities such as observance of mitzvoth, prayer, and study of Torah—especially if done with appropriate “intention” (kavvanah)—causes the release of “holy sparks” that had been captive in the realm of negative dark cosmic reality. Upon release, these sparks return to their original, positive place in the Cosmic scheme; this weakens the negative realm and strengthens the positive, holy side—thus contributing to the repair (“tikkun”) of the entire Cosmic system. When this process will be completed, Cosmic reality will return to its original intended state—and this, ipso facto, is the ultimate Redemption. Rabbi Yosef Hayyim was a great kabbalist in the Lurianic tradition, and the term “tikkun” appears frequently in his writing. Thus, for instance, he was asked by his disciple, Rabbi Shim’on Agassi: “When a person performs “tikkun” by engaging in Torah, mitzvoth, and prayer—does this affect also what was prior to the Sin of Adam, or not?” [21]

            Specifically in light of RYH’s extensive employment of this term in its kabbalistic meaning, it is important to realize that when he extols general knowledge as conducive to “tikkun ‘olam” he is employing this term in an alternate manner, that became prevalent in the nineteenth century, to indicate human activity that has a positive impact on mundane this-worldly reality. In a related passage in Imrei Binah he explains that in an improved social-political reality such as that prevailing in his own time, practical application of knowledge acquired from study of natural sciences brings blessing to the world:

God did not enable the minds of those who are wise in the natural sciences to be attentive and to observe these sciences until the recent years, close to our time, when the kings made a covenant via ordinances that they enacted to improve the world (ba’avur tikkun ha-’olam) that are called Tanzimat.[22] And by virtue of this enablement [by God], from these sciences of steam-ships and telegraph there resulted good and benefit for humanity, in several matters … thus, the revealing of these wisdoms in recent generations was good for the world, and is “a good thing rightly timed” (Mishlei 15:23).[23]

It is worthy of note that when praising tikkun ‘olam in the above paragraph, RYH explicitly validates activities for the benefit of humanity in general (rather than to specifically improve only the lot of Jews). By pointing out a causal link between application of general knowledge and tikkun ‘olam, RYH validates devotion of time by students and teachers in Jewish schools to the study of a wide range of topics in addition to Torah—and implicitly encourages the possibility that as a result, these students will then become empowered to facilitate the well-being of all humankind.

4. Engaging in Acquisition of General Knowledge as a Path to Deepening Our Connection to God

            Over and above the three justifications for general studies that we have seen until this point, Rabbi Yosef Hayyim adds a fourth—theological—justification: a person’s deep religious and spiritual impulse to become close to God cannot be fully achieved without knowing and understanding the world in which we live. In a manner akin to Rambam’s determination that knowledge of the Divine is impossible without knowledge of the sciences that are the necessary basis for such knowledge (Guide 1:34), RYH writes that it is irrational that a person who

Desires and yearns to learn what is in the heavens above, does not know the quality and state and condition of the earth underneath upon which he dwells, and what is happening upon it and what is taking place therein before his very eyes.[24]

He stresses that the realm of those matters defined as “permitted,”[25] that are worthy of study in addition and in parallel to Torah, extends far beyond what some persons think:

One might think that this sector defined as “permitted” includes merely writing and arithmetic. That is incorrect! Rather, there are additional kinds of study that are very much required for a person, i.e., a person should know something of natural science, such as—what is the nature of lightning, and what is the nature of thunder, and what is the nature of the rainbow, and the nature of earthquakes, and of clouds and rain, and other similar matters of the creation that the Creator (may He be praised) created in the world. With regard to some of these matters we bless Him (may He be praised) and say: “His strength and power fill the world.”[26]

            Several of the phenomena mentioned by RYH—lightning, thunder, earthquakes, and rainbows—are characterized in the last chapter of Tractate Berakhot as phenomena that, when experienced, should elicit recitation of a blessing, i.e., should be recognized as a religious experience. It follows that a person engaged in study of the natural world—and understanding of the matters mentioned by RYH requires acquisition of elements of meteorology, physics, electricity, optics, and geology inter alia—is engaged in study of matters of religious significance. God created the world and therefore, the deeper our understanding of nature, the deeper is our understanding and appreciation of the “strength and power”—and wisdom—of the Creator.[27]

           It follows, that there are two complimentary paths to knowledge of God: engaging in study of Torah, and engaging in study of aspects of creation. This idea finds clear expression in the following passage written by RYH:

This is indicated by the verse: “His left hand is under my head, and His right hand caresses me” (Shir haShirim 8:3). For the world is indicated by the letter Vav, that has the numerical value of six, and the world has six extensions: up, down, and the four directions …. And it is known that study of Torah is called "right,” for it is strong and dexterous. While matters of Derekh Eretz, that are those of this world, are called "left,” i.e., the weaker hand. And thus he says: “His left hand is under my head,” meaning: “His left” …. i.e., matters of Derekh Eretz, “is under my head”—i.e., I engage in this. In addition, “His right hand” … i.e., matters of Torah—“caresses me”; [indicating] that I should engage in it [Torah study] at the same time I am engaged in Derekh Eretz. For “grasp the one and the other” together, at the same time. For it augurs well for a person when he studies in this manner.[28]

            According to traditional interpretation, Shir haShirim presents the loving relationship and the enduring connection between God (the male figure in the Song) and the People of Israel (the female). The verse “His left hand is under my head, and His right hand caresses me” thus expresses the experience of the People of Israel, who feel embraced by the two arms of the Divine. As interpreted by RYH, the closeness of God and His embrace are experienced by Israel thanks to Israel’s simultaneous engagement in two realms of study: Study of Torah (= embrace by God’s right arm) and study of general knowledge and wisdom (= embrace by His left arm). In other words: Torah (on the one hand) and the created world (on the other hand) are two complimentary modes by which God reveals Himself to us. The ideal path for us as Jews is, to experience God both via study/understanding of His Torah and via study/understanding of His creation in all its richness and diversity.

Conclusion

            Rabbi Yosef Hayyim unequivocally endorses and supports a curriculum for Jewish education in which from the earliest age onward the student devotes hours of study to Torah and to general knowledge in parallel. He does not agree with the view, advocated by some rabbis, that the rationale for engagement in study of general subjects is to enhance the students’ future income from work. Similarly, he rejects the view that the rationale for such study is, to enhance understanding of Torah. Rather, he presents and endorses four valid rationales for study and acquisition of general knowledge:

1. Fulfilling the obligation (mandated by reason) for a person to know and understand the world in which one lives;
2. Realizing the goal that the Jewish People be a “wise and sagacious” people, and (as a result) correctly perceived as such by all humans;
3. Empowering (Jewish) students to facilitate “tikkun ‘olam, i.e., to advance the well-being of all humankind;
4. Enabling (Jewish) students to experience enhanced closeness and connection to God by study/understanding of His self-revelation via Torah as well as by study/understanding of His self-revelation via Creation in all its richness and diversity.

In light of the new Pew study on Jewish affiliation, there will be a lot of hand-wringing about what the Jewish community can do to get people more engaged. My revolutionary
suggestion? Get to synagogue.

People are always telling me that they’d love to come to shul more often, but they’re just not as religious as I am. Its one of the hazards of being married to a rabbi. Strangers think they know my exact level of religiosity, whatever that means. So here’s what I’ll say. You have no idea what goes on inside my head. And I have no idea what you’re thinking, either. Even more blasphemous, I don’t care.

Prayer is a funny thing. Many of us, if pressed, would say that we’ve had our most transformative moments, our most intimate experiences with the divine, when we were alone. When I’m on top of a mountain and see a breathtaking vista, I marvel at the brilliance of the creator. In the moments my children were born, and the pain magically stopped, I looked into their eyes and saw God working, literally through me.
Now let’s get real. I’ve had four children, and I don’t plan on having another one every time I long for a connection with the divine. And who has time to climb mountains on a regular basis!

Any onewho expects those kind of moments continuously, spontaneously erupting out of daily or weekly prayer, is, to put it bluntly, deluded.

Here’s what coming to shul on a regular basis has the power to deliver:

Entertainment

For those of us with children at home, shabbat services provide friends and activities, a free playdate without screens which you need only minimally supervise.
We grownups also get an opportunity to socialize without 12 emails back and forth planning a dinner date/ securing a sitter/ making reservations. Just show up Saturday morning.

Real live community

During the week we focus on friends who tend to fall within a few years of our own age. We get lost in the priorities of those micro communities and forget about the real needs of everyone else. On shabbat at services we are part of a community of all ages/ backgrounds/ experiences. Children chat with elderly couples, empty nesters give new moms a break and bounce cranky babies. You notice someone newly saying Kaddish, and ask about her loss.

Cultural Fluency

Rather than sitting through dry classes on liturgy in school or adult ed, people who regularly attend services attain fluency with the service simply by being there. Children and adults who have achieved mastery over the service feel at home in shul rather than feeling alienated. Circular logic, to be sure, but true nonetheless. These people are more likely to become leaders in all aspects of the Jewish world.

A Wider Focus

There will be many who suggest that the answer to engagement is individualized programming –Torah yoga, shabbat biking clubs, kabbalah for teens. These focused programs may bring people in the building, but they do little for the goal of creating long term connection and community. On the contrary, they send a message that in order for Judaism to be meaningful it must constantly be tailored to your specific needs. Real community is a place where we learn to care about people with decidedly different experiences and perspectives. The more we fracture our programming to
reflect the perceived needs of the few, the more we send the message that Judaism is only interesting to me inasmuch as it confirms the beliefs I already have.

Holiness

Judaism is not a religion based solely on belief. We do not police the thoughts of the souls who walk through our doors. But the ancient requirement that certain prayers need a minyan means that there is holiness embedded in the connection between Jews. It doesn’t come from the unwavering belief in God held by the people in the room. It comes from our connections with one another.

Holiness is in the interactions between the generations. Its in the 15 year old helping the 9 year old find the page. In the inherently selfish middle schooler giving an arm to an elderly man not quite ready to give in to a walker. In the whispers in the pews between a newly unemployed single mother and the business owner who might be able to help her land on her feet. In the collective groan from the room when the Rabbi uses an embarrassingly bad pun. In the unmitigated joy we feel the first time the couple long struggling with infertility brings their new baby to services. In the very act of choosing to be a part of something bigger than ourselves.

One of the questions in the Pew survey was whether anyone in your household is a member of a synagogue. Of the people the survey identified, 60% responded “no.” While a few of the children in these households will undoubtedly become future leaders, most of our leaders will come from the 40%. It is a countercultural choice to be part of a group less concerned with rugged individualism and more with the (gasp!) collective. And those who come to leadership in the next generation will be the beneficiaries of today’s old fashioned joiners, keeping the seats warm and the lights on and the spark alive.

Mountaintops can be transformative. But Jewish community is built by delivering shiva meals and learning a last minute torah reading and even the kvetchers in the back of the room. By looking someone else in the eye. Is there something of the divine there? I literally do not know. Faith is ever changing and intensely personal. Your belief has no effect on me. Your choice to throw your lot in with the rest of the Jewish people? That makes my life holy, every day.

Parashat Ki Tavo and Rosh HaShana: A Chance to Renew

By: Jake Nussbaum

(Jake Nussbaum and his wife Chani live in Teaneck, NJ.  Jake wrote this article some years ago when he was a student at Yeshiva College.)

Rav Mordechai Machlis, a Rabbi at Yeshivat Lev Hatorah, spoke about the value of renewal in Judaism, particularly within the context of Rosh Hodesh, the beginning of a new month. The word “hodesh” has the root of “hadash,” meaning new. He also spoke of renewal everyday, every week and every year. Each Kabbalat Shabbat,  we chant the words  (Psalms 96:1 and 98:1) “Sing to the Lord a new song.” The question is: what is the new song we sing on Shabbat? We are singing the same songs to the Lord as on every Shabbat of our lives! Rav Machlis explains that we don't sing a new song of different words, rather we sing the same words with a different fervor, a different concentration. The Baal Shem Tov said that if your prayer today is the exact same as your prayer yesterday, then you didn't really pray today. Although the prayers one says are going to have just about all the same words every day, the important thing is to build upon the prayers of the past, or to focus on one aspect that has been lacking. 

This week’s Parasha, Parashat Ki Tavo, opens with the Mitzvah of Bikkurim, the obligation to take the first fruits from the seven species of the Land of Israel and bring them to offer on the altar to Hashem. The Sefer Hachinuch (Mitzvah 606) writes that the reason for this mitzvah is that it is important for a farmer to be reminded that the success of his crops comes from Hashem, not himself. Every year, when it comes time to bring the bikkurim, the farmer will think of how blessed he was in the past year. The purpose of the mitzvah is to entrench a constant renewal of appreciation for Hashem.

Rabbi Daniel Hartstein, a Rabbi at Lev HaTorah, quoted Rav Avraham Pam Z’l,  who pointed out the contemporary relevance of this Mitzvah even if we are not farmers and even if there is no Beit Hamikdash. The Torah presents the statement the farmer was to make when offering the Bikkurim. This statement reviewed the history of Israel, and how God redeemed us from years of servitude in Egypt. The lesson: review Jewish history, be grateful that we now have a renewed Jewish State of Israel.

Nowadays, we have a tremendous blessing to be able to visit Israel in mere hours, while for generations the journey was long and treacherous. The obvious upside is that so many more Jews have a chance to visit our homeland with little inconvenience. However, the easier something is to achieve, the harder it is to appreciate. The Mitzvah of Bikkurim reminds us of the challenges the Israelites went through to reach the promised land even after being driven out of Egypt. All the more so should we appreciate our return to the land sworn to our forefathers after centuries of exile! What the Mitzvah of Bikkurim offers us each and every year is to renew our inspiration and thankfulness to Hashem for the blessings and opportunities we have been given.

It is no coincidence that this Mitzvah is read in the Torah two weeks before Rosh HaShanah, the special time of renewal. Every year, we are faced with the challenge of finding a new way to bring in the year. This could be picking a Mitzvah to focus on deeply during the coming year; it could be setting out to learn something new. Whether big or small, accepting upon oneself something before Rosh Hashanah can make saying the same selihot and prayers “a new song to the Lord.” With the Mitzvah of Bikkurim on our mind, may we be blessed to renew our inspiration for serving Hashem in the coming year and to make sure to constantly try to “Sing to the Lord a new song".