National Scholar Updates

“Messy,” “chaos,” “broken,” and “dysfunctional.” According to a July 2023 survey by the Pew Institute, nearly 80 percent of Americans express a negative sentiment when asked to describe politics in the United States. The top 15 cited words include those previously listed as well as more depressing descriptions such as the top two—“divisive” and “corrupt”—along with “disgrace” and the vivid expression “dumpster fire.” For those unfamiliar with this phrase, suffice it to say many can at the very least agree on something: this situation is not good. 

For people across the political, racial, ethnic, and religious spectrums, regardless of where they live, it is hard not to see the brokenness of so much of society. The same Pew study also found that the most politically engaged people report feeling the highest levels of exhaustion and anger. The more people are involved, the more draining and upsetting the experience. Is anyone surprised? What are the options? Agree with the overwhelming majority that there are massive problems but disengage to avoid unpleasant feelings?

This essay does not aim to expand on the many troubles in society or to identify their varied causes. This essay endeavors to encourage people to take responsibility in small ways in local communities. Maybe it is possible to share the burden of some of those aforementioned adverse emotions and in the process make things close to home a little brighter. 

Looking at the modern world through the lens of Tanakh is not an attempt to redefine the holy texts or distill their divine meaning. Rather Tanakh can help provide eternal wisdom and guidance to confront today’s colossal challenges. I see variations of my own struggles and challenges throughout Tanakh and find the narratives intensely helpful for the lessons and especially the knowledge that God has seen us through so much so many times.

The story of Jonah offers tremendous insight and inspiration when thinking about how to address, albeit reluctantly, societal problems. The task is unfathomable. We know this. On the best days it promises to be frustrating and exhausting. Literally no one wants to take this on. Who doesn’t want to flee to Tarshish instead of face the mob in Nineveh? Yet, Jonah teaches us avoidance is worse. Problems follow us.

God calls to Jonah to go to Nineveh, a city whose tremendous greatness is referenced four times in the short book. Nineveh became the capital of Assyria and was home to 120,000 people as well as an untold number of animals. It held hundreds of years of history and cultural riches. It would later include the Royal Library of Ashurbanipal which contained among its vast collection of 30,000 tablets such treasures as the Epic of Gilgamesh, one of the oldest fairy tales in the world. 

Despite its greatness as a city, Nineveh was a wicked society. God had planned to bring destruction there, but first summoned Jonah to proclaim judgement upon it. Jonah famously makes a run for it. Not only does Jonah not want to do the job God called him to do, he was initially willing to risk more than his own safety to avoid taking responsibility. 

The story gets better with each retelling. Jonah boards a ship. God casts a powerful storm on the sea. The God-fearing sailors finally agree to toss Jonah overboard after trying in vain to row to shore. The whole while Jonah knows he was the cause of the storm. A monstrous fish the likes of which none of us can possibly imagine takes Jonah to an experience worse than death. At the depths of the ocean, Jonah calls out to God in a prayer whose beautiful and inspired echoes we can hear in the book of Psalms. God instructs the fish to release Jonah on dry land. God commands Jonah a second time. Jonah went at once and proclaimed what God had said, “Forty days more, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” 

That’s it. Jonah had to deliver one simple but powerful message. The message traveled through the people and found its way to the king, inspiring belief, repentance, commitment to God, and an abandonment of evil ways and injustice. The people of Nineveh genuinely atoned, and God renounced the punishment that had been planned. 

            However, Jonah was not pleased. After completing his task of informing Nineveh of its impending doom, which led to the salvation of the great city, he was despondent. Rashi suggested Jonah knew Nineveh would repent and be saved and therefore might lead to Jonah being called a liar. This certainly could have been part of the explanation for Jonah’s gloom. Is it possible this is also an illustration of the findings Pew would publish some 3,000 years later? The more engaged individuals report the greatest levels of exhaustion and anger. Who was more engaged than Jonah? 

The only source of comfort and joy Jonah finds under the shade of a vine miraculously grown overnight. God then appoints a worm to destroy the beloved plant and the shade Jonah had quickly grown to love. God rebukes Jonah for mourning the loss of the plant, stating he did not grow the plant himself and therefore has no share in the sorrow. God further asks if Jonah thinks God should not take pity on a great city like Nineveh. 

For anyone who has ever grown even the smallest plant, the experience can be a source of great joy. Especially true if the plant grows successfully. For anyone who has lost special plants to deer, garden rodents, or other pests, this loss can be downright painful. I remember too well the cabbages that disappeared seemingly overnight thanks to insidious cabbage worms and the many promising seedlings eviscerated by a wily groundhog. However, my family worked hard to plant and care for these lost crops. Our pain is justified!

What about Jonah? No offense to a glorious shade in the hot sun, but what about the great city God just saved? What about the responsibility Jonah attempted to run from and the reality that all he had to do was show up and say one thing that led to a great miracle? What about the glory to God? Then the short book is over, and we hear no more from Jonah.

Over and over, the Torah lays it out for us. God, family, community, nation, world. Take as much responsibility for the relationships and institutions closest to you and work toward your goals. What is the responsibility the Torah wants us to take? Which step do we take first? From Jonah, it is possible we learn the first step we don’t take. We should not step away. We cannot avoid the problem. We have to do the work to show up, and perhaps we have to speak, but we might not have to say as much as we fear. When our work is done, we might feel exhausted, angry, and despondent. So, who wants to sign up and get involved?

What is happening in my small world that I am overlaying the narrative of Jonah? I live with my husband and our children in Teaneck, NJ. Teaneck has about 41,000 residents. Not quite Nineveh, but a great town in its own right. Due to countless circumstances, especially the pace and demands of life, many decent and upstanding citizens have simply not gotten involved in local matters. Less involvement begets less involvement. We paid our copious taxes faithfully but had little knowledge and even less oversight of where this money went. 

In Teaneck, as it is in many towns, there are ample opportunities for individuals to step forward and get involved civically. It is sometimes as easy as signing onto a Zoom to watch a local town or board of education meeting to see what our tax dollars are funding. My husband Hayyim and I are grateful to have had opportunities to engage civically over the past few years. We hope to contribute to a high quality of life for all our neighbors and aspire to sanctify God with our actions. Our experiences have been steady streams of learning about numerous local issues, showing up to various meetings, and meeting all kinds of people. We also started sharing our experiences with friends and neighbors, encouraging others to get informed. 

This was before the atrocities of October 7 and the ensuing aftermath. October 7 shone a blinding light on many problems in our town and as a result, many concerned citizens have taken it upon themselves to engage, despite the very real exhaustion identified by Jonah and Pew. Particularly noteworthy is the recent election of a slate of three phenomenal, qualified men to the Teaneck Board of Education thanks to a massive turnout of Jewish voters organized by the newly formed Bergen County Jewish Action Committee. Since then, BCJAC volunteers have worked tirelessly to advocate for thoughtful Jewish civic engagement.

Dr. Jordan Peterson says, “Every responsibility you cede to others can be taken up by tyrants and used against you.” While it might seem unlikely to escalate rapidly, it certainly can. The good news is things can turn around quickly if good people pay attention, stand up, show up, and say what needs to be said. Like it states in Pirkei Avot 2:21: "It is not incumbent upon you to complete the work, but neither are you at liberty to desist from it." 

Sephardim, Sephardism, and Jewish Peoplehood

(This article was originally written for Re-forming Judaism: Moments of Disruption in JewishThought, edited by Stanley Davids and Leah Hochman, New York, CCAR Press, 2023, and is reprinted by permission of the Central Conference of American Rabbis. The article was reprinted in Marc D. Angel, Sephardim, Sephardism and Jewish Peoplehood, published by the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, 2022).

            My grandfather, Marco Romey, used to tell us of his experiences as a young Sephardic bachelor newly arrived from Turkey to Seattle. He and the few other young Sephardim had arrived during the first decade of the 20^th century. They went to an existing Ashkenazic synagogue, assuming they would find welcome among fellow Jews; but instead of welcome, they were greeted with suspicion. Were they really Jews? They didn’t have “Jewish” names; they didn’t speak or understand Yiddish; they never heard of gefilte fish! Even when the Sephardim showed their prayer shawls and recited Hebrew prayers, the Ashkenazim were not convinced.

            It took a generation or two for Ashkenazim and Sephardim to begin to re-connect after centuries of separation during the long diasporic exile. Until the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries the Ashkenazic world of Europe had little interaction with living Sephardim. And the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic world, concentrated for the most part in Muslim lands, lived in its own cultural bubble. The two communities developed along different historic lines; although sharing the same religion and peoplehood, they were, to a large extent, strangers to each other.

Sephardim: Preliminary Definitions

            My grandparents were members of the Sephardic communities of Turkey and the Island of Rhodes. Those communities harked back to the Jews of medieval Spain (Sepharad in Hebrew), many of whom found haven in the Ottoman Empire following the expulsion of Jews from the Iberian Peninsula in the late fifteenth century. Their language was Judeo-Spanish. Their religious practices and customs followed the Sephardic traditions as codified by Rabbi Joseph Karo in his Shulhan Arukh and other great Sephardic halachic authorities. They prayed according to the classic Sephardic rite, including the kabbalistic texts that were incorporated over the centuries.

            While most of the Sephardim lived in the lands of the Ottoman Empire, a smaller group settled in Western Europe and the Americas. These “Western Sephardim” were Jews or descendants of Jews who had been forcibly converted to Catholicism in Spain and Portugal, but who eventually were able to return to Judaism. They established communities in such places as Amsterdam, Paris, Bordeaux, Bayonne, London, Hamburg, and, beginning in the seventeenth century, in the Americas. The Western Sephardim were quick to adapt to the lands of their dispersion, and developed their own distinctive patterns of Jewish life.

            Although the term “Sephardic” literally refers to Jews of medieval Spanish background, it has more generally come to include those communities that followed the patterns of Sephardim, e.g. halakhic practice, liturgical rituals, and religious customs. Thus, Jews of the Middle East and North Africa—even those not “Sephardic” genetically—have become part of the Sephardic world culturally. The late Dr. Henry Toledano referred to these communities as “pan-Sephardic.” This article will be considering disruptions in the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic world as of the mid-nineteenth century and will be using the term “Sephardic” to refer to the entire pan-Sephardic diaspora.

Disruption One: Confronting Modernity and Westernization

            The Western Sephardic experience was unique among the Sephardic communities. Western Sephardim have been described as the first “modern” Jews, in that they generally flourished in relatively free societies. They valued general as well as Jewish religious education. They spoke the languages of the lands in which they lived. They advanced economically and professionally. Their synagogues were marked by a high sense of aesthetics and decorum. 

            The Western Sephardic communities were governed by rabbis and lay people who strove to maintain classic religious traditions. But as members became increasingly receptive to the freedoms of Western culture, individuals strayed from halakhic observance. The “establishment” had to deal with growing numbers of Jews who were lax in their observance, and others who left Judaism altogether. Notorious examples of defectors included Benedict Spinoza of seventeenth century Amsterdam and Benjamin Disraeli of nineteenth century London.

            Western Sephardic leadership worked diligently to adapt religious traditionalism with the challenges of modernity. In seventeenth century Amsterdam, Rabbi Menasseh ben Israel published books in Spanish and Portuguese in order to provide religious guidance to newly returning conversos. Dr. Isaac Cardoso of eighteenth century Verona wrote powerful tracts defending Judaism from Christian attacks and misrepresentations. Grace Aguilar of nineteenth century London wrote important works stressing the spiritual qualities of Judaism, and refuting pervasive anti-Jewish stereotypes fostered by Christian society. Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh of nineteenth century Livorno wrote extensively on Jewish ethics, the universal messages of Judaism, and on spiritual foundations of Judaism. In twentieth century America, the Western Sephardic religious leadership included such figures as Rabbis Henry Pereira Mendes and David de Sola Pool of New York, and Sabato Morais of Philadelphia.

            Yet, for a variety of reasons the Western Sephardic communities have diminished in numbers and influence. Over the centuries, many Western Sephardim became acculturated in their adopted societies. While the traditionalists succeeded in maintaining their communities for centuries, a gradual erosion in membership and commitment set in. The Sephardim, along with their fellow European Jews, suffered catastrophic losses during the Holocaust, and have been unable to regain their former vitality.

The Western Sephardic congregations in South America and the Caribbean declined due to assimilation, migration out of the region, and other factors. In North America, the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogues of New York and Philadelphia continue to adhere to the Western Sephardic rite in prayer, but very few members are actually of Western Sephardic birth. The synagogue in Newport is basically an Ashkenazic congregation, and the synagogues in Charleston and Savannah have joined the Reform Movement. Overall, until the mid-nineteenth century, the Western Sephardic congregations were the mainstream of American Jewry, but they were eclipsed by Ashkenazic influences beginning in 1840 with the dramatic increase of immigration of Ashkenazic Jews. Thus, the Western Sephardim today form a miniscule percentage of Sephardic Jewry, and in spite of their many historic achievements, the disruptions of modernity and Westernization have reduced this group dramatically.

Sephardim in Muslim Lands

            The Sephardic/pan-Sephardic communities of the Muslim world are not monolithic and each community has a history of its own. Until the mid-nineteenth century, most of these Jews lived in self-contained communities governed by traditional Jewish law. They were a tolerated minority sometimes enjoying relative freedom and prosperity, and sometimes suffering discrimination and poverty. 

            The forces of Westernization and modernization began to emerge in the mid-nineteenth century. The Ottoman Empire made a series of reforms, known as Tanzimat, between 1839 and 1876. These reforms aimed at adopting European style government and stimulating the economy. Jews in the Ottoman Empire gained new freedoms, and the educated and affluent classes were drawn to the progressive policies. Although the masses of Jews lived within the traditional framework, cracks in the old system began to develop. 

During the course of the nineteenth century, the Ottoman Empire was in the throes of decline, ceding much territory in the process. Greek independence brought significant changes for the Sephardim of Greece. 

            In the early twentieth century, with the rise of Kemal Ataturk, Turkey experienced a strong surge of nationalism. As the century progressed, the Jews of Turkey—along with other minorities—were drawn into the Turkification process, moving away from former traditional patterns that had characterized their communities for centuries.

            In the 1860s, the Alliance Israelite Universelle[1] began a major educational endeavor that aimed to bring modern, French-style schools to communities throughout the Middle East and North Africa. Between 1862 and 1914, Alliance schools could be found in Morocco, Tunisia, Libya, Egypt, Syria, Turkey, Iraq and Iran. By 1900, Alliance Israelite Universelle was operating one hundred schools with a combined student population of 26,000. In 1912 the Alliance had seventy-one schools for boys and forty-four for girls, with schools in such places as Baghdad, Jerusalem, Tangiers, Istanbul, Beirut, Cairo, Damascus, Salonika, and Rhodes. 

            The impact of these schools was significant. While the existing traditional schools were almost exclusively open to boys, the Alliance provided education to thousands of girls. While existing traditional schools focused heavily on teaching religious texts, the Alliance schools offered an expansive general education. Parents who wanted their children to advance socially and economically were attracted to the opportunities that the Alliance schools offered.

            The Alliance schools were met with mixed responses. Some strongly opposed them as a threat to traditional religious life. The emphasis on French language, literature and culture was seen as undermining Hebrew and religious Jewish studies. But for others, these schools offered a path for educational and economic progress. Graduates of the Alliance schools played increasing roles in transforming and modernizing their communities. 

            Some Alliance students went on to pursue advanced studies in Paris and elsewhere. Many had their eyes opened to the possibility of emigration where new opportunities beckoned. For the female students, the Alliance provided a framework for life beyond the role of wife, mother, and homemaker. Students were often taught by highly educated female teachers, who themselves served as role models. Subtly, and not so subtly, the patterns of traditional life were undergoing change.

            The success of the Alliance schools led the existing traditional schools to upgrade their own educational program. In order to attract students, the communal schools began to offer classes in languages and general studies; they also improved their methods of teaching Hebrew and religious studies.

            While the forces for Westernization and modernization were seeping into the Jewish communities of Muslim lands, larger external factors also came into play. Many of the lands in which these Jews lived were coming under the control and influence of European colonial powers. Egypt was under British control from 1882 until 1956. Sudan was a British colony from 1899 to 1956. Britain also was the Colonial power for Jordan, Palestine and gulf nations. French colonies included Tunisia (1881-1956), Algeria (1830-1963), Morocco (1912-1956), Syria (1918-1946), and Lebanon (1918-1943). Italy controlled Libya (1911-1951) and the Island of Rhodes (1911-1944). 

            Many of the Jews living in these lands identified with the European powers. They worked in their consulates; learned their languages; adopted their style of dress etc. To the often-downtrodden Jews, the European colonizers seemed to offer a higher culture with more opportunities for advancement. But as Jews “Europeanized,” they also tended to move further away from traditional religious observance. The rabbinic establishment which had governed the Jewish communities for centuries was gradually losing the adherence of modernizing Jews.

                From the early twentieth century, migration of Sephardim from their native lands grew significantly. The spirit of change had taken hold. Many were drawn to the land of Israel. Many others were attracted to the United States. Some found their ways to Western Europe, the south of Africa, and cities of Latin America. The migration pattern was not only a result of the confrontation with modernity, but was also stimulated by the desire to escape the dire conditions in their homelands—poverty, natural disasters, and wars.

Reactions to the Disruptions of Modernity

            Rabbinic leadership in the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic communities reflected different attitudes. The traditionalists—steeped in a kabbalistic/midrashic Judaism—felt deeply threatened by the Westernizing/modernizing influences. They sought to maintain the pre-modern ways of their communities. They were intellectually and emotionally unequipped to provide enlightened guidance to the growing numbers of Jews who were becoming alienated from the status quo and who were attracted to the freedoms and opportunities of modernity.

            Albert Memmi, one of the great intellectual figures of twentieth century France, grew up in the Jewish ghetto in Tunis. After attending a French high school, he went on to Paris for advanced studies. He eventually sought to identify with the Tunisian national movement, but was rejected because he was a Jew. In his book, The Liberation of the Jew, he described his malaise:  “When we graduated from the lycee in Tunis many of us decided to cut ourselves off from the past, the ghetto and our native land, to breathe fresh air and set off on the most beautiful of adventures. I no longer wanted to be that invalid called a Jew, mostly because I wanted to be a man; and because I wanted to join with all men to reconquer the humanity which was denied me.”[2] Memmi, who died in 2020 at the age of 99, seemed never to have been able to make peace with his Jewishness.

            Elias Canetti (1905-1976) was a Bulgarian-born Sephardic Jew of the Judeo-Spanish tradition. Yet his upbringing was far from traditional and his mother went so far as to feed him ham as a way of ridding him of past claims of Judaism. Through his various writings and teachings, he had a significant impact on general intellectual life, and was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1981, largely in recognition of his major work Crowds and Power.

            Rene Cassin (1887-1976) was born into the Sephardic community in Bayonne, France, and grew up in Nice. He became a political activist and was co-author of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights issued by the United Nations. He was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1968. He identified strongly with the work of the Alliance Israelite Universelle and served as its President from 1943 to 1976. Yet his personal life was well removed from traditional religious belief and observance.

            Memmi, Canetti, and Cassin represent a Sephardic intellectual class that contributed greatly to general society, but who removed themselves from the traditional life of Sephardic Judaism. With the rise of modernity, acculturated Sephardim advanced in many fields and in many lands; but in the process, many drifted away from traditional Jewish living.

            The Sephardic rabbinic establishment could not hold back the forces of modernity and Westernization. But there were important religious leaders who responded creatively and intelligently to the new challenges, and who succeeded in maintaining tradition-based communities.[3]  The rabbis of Morocco maintained close ties and held rabbinic conferences in which they dealt with the issues facing their communities. Rabbi Benzion Uziel (1880‒1953) was the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel from 1939 until his death in 1953. His extensive writings, including impressive volumes of responsa (Mishp’tei Uziel), had considerable influence throughout the Sephardic world and beyond.

            Rabbi Uziel’s religious worldview, characteristic of much of the Sephardic rabbinic community, was reflected in a letter he wrote to the leadership of the Alliance Israelite Universelle.[4] While recognizing the importance of students learning both religious subjects and general studies, he stressed the need to master Hebrew as well as the language of the land in which they lived and at least one European language. The goal of Jewish education should be clear: to raise children faithful to their people and to their Torah, people who would be useful to their families, their people, and society. Rabbi Uziel insisted that general subjects be taught by religious teachers. Otherwise, a spirit of secularism would enter the children's hearts, leading them away from the very principles for which Jewish schools stood. If modern-day Jews thought that their children could achieve success only by receiving an exclusively secular education, they were in fact sacrificing their children's spiritual lives. There was no necessity to do so, since one could attain worldly success while remaining deeply steeped in Torah tradition. 

Traditional Communal Framework

            Religious leaders throughout the Sephardic Diaspora felt that the Jewish people could best be served by remaining faithful to its own distinctive way of life. To them, Reform was a surrender to the whims of European modernity, and it could only lead to a breakdown in Jewish religious life.

            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 by feuding among the ideological movements. It established separate communities, institutions, even cemeteries. Sephardic Jewry was spared this internecine denominational struggle.

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

Disruption Two: Confronting the Ashkenazim

            The Sephardic/pan-Sephardic communities were learning to cope with the challenges of modernity and Westernization. They were dealing with the influences of the Alliance schools; the impact of the Colonial European powers; the changes in their educational system; the new opportunities for girls and women; the growing laxity in religious observance; and the alienation of some of the best and brightest intellectuals.

            But the Jewish communities of the Muslim world were to undergo massive disruptions over which they had little or no control. Large-scale migration from these communities was evident from the early twentieth century. Thousands of young people were seeking new opportunities in the United States. Many others were attracted to the idealism of returning to the Jewish homeland. With the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948, vast numbers of Jews from North Africa and the Middle East migrated there—often driven from their homes by anti-Israel Muslim governments. Indeed, Jews of the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic world came to be the majority of Jews in Israel. In 2021, there are very few Jews still living in the former communities in North Africa and the Middle East.

            As Sephardim came into contact with the Ashkenazic-dominated communities in the United States, Israel and elsewhere, they now had to face a new set of disruptions. Among their problems was dealing with negative stereotypes prevalent in the Ashkenazic community. 

            When Sephardim were arriving in the United States in the early decades of the twentieth century, they came to be labeled as Oriental Jews. Indeed, they themselves assumed this designation and some of their early organizations were the Federation of Oriental Jews, Oriental Hebrew Association, Oriental Israelite Fraternity and others. Moise Gadol, editor of the Ladino newspaper, La America, established the Oriental Bureau of HIAS in 1911.[5] 

            Why would the term “Oriental” be applied to Jews from Turkey, the Balkans, Greece and Syria? Apparently, it was to distinguish this group of Jews from the more cultured “Western” (also referred to as Occidental) Jews. After all, Western civilization was deemed to be the most advanced. The “Orientals” were eastern, backward, uncultured by Western standards. So Ashkenazim (and Western Sephardim, too) could separate themselves from the lower-status newcomers by applying a term that then had negative connotations.

            A similar situation arose in Israel. Jews from Muslim lands were termed edot hamizrach, “eastern tribes.” It is as though normative Jews are simply Jews, i.e. Ashkenazim; but Sephardim/pan-Sephardim are broken into eastern compartments—interesting (and sometimes troublesome) Jewish exotica. The late Dr. Daniel Elazar noted the prejudicial use of the term. He pointed out that the Jews of North Africa should hardly be referred to as “easterners” when all of Morocco is farther west than London, and most of North Africa is farther west than Poland. The appellation is obviously not related to geography, but to “the mobilization of loaded terms to advance a convenient Ashkenazic myth in a situation where to be Western is often synonymous with being modern. And since virtually everyone wants to be modern, this myth gives the Ashkenazim a significant psychological advantage over the Sephardim.”[6] 

            I remember as a student at Yeshiva College in the early 1960s that an emissary from Israel addressed us about the need for us to make aliyah. He spoke with dread about the possibility of Israel being overtaken by the “Mizrachim” (eastern) immigrants from Arab lands. He urged Western aliyah in order to maintain Israel as a modern democracy. He verbalized a common fear/prejudice: the Sephardim/pan-Sephardim were not “us”; they were foreigners with low eastern culture. They could not be trusted to become Westernized, certainly not right away.

            These anti-Sephardic notions were held in spite of the fact that many of the Sephardim spoke Spanish, French, Italian and other European languages; that many had received "western” education in the schools of the Alliance Israelite Universelle and in the general schools run by the European Colonial powers in their lands; that many, even of the less educated and less affluent classes, had a rich religious and cultural heritage that had sustained their communities for centuries.  Were the poorer and less educated Sephardim in worse conditions than the Ashkenazim of the shtetls of Eastern Europe?

            The pervasive prejudice against the “Oriental” Jews, the “edot hamizrach,” was not always overt and conscious. It was not necessarily meant to be malicious. But, in fact, it served to undermine the status of Sephardic/pan-Sephardic Jews. The Jewish schools almost totally ignored the existence of Sephardim, their history, culture, traditions. At best, they would introduce a Sephardic song or describe a Sephardic food. Generally, Sephardic tradition was either ignored, misrepresented, or confined to the areas of folklore/music/food.

            Sephardic rabbis in Israel were relegated to lower positions with lower pay than their Ashkenazic peers. Rabbi Haim David Halevy, late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv, was active in an association of Sephardic rabbis between 1953 and 1959, known as Agudat haRabbanim haSephardiyim b’Yisrael. The group fought for proper recognition by the Ashkenazic rabbinic establishment. In those days, Sephardic rabbis were not allowed to sign simple documents attesting that a person was married or single. While Ashkenazic rabbis were appointed as chief rabbis of cities and received commensurate compensation, Sephardic rabbis, for the most part, were only appointed as rabbis of communities (rabbanei ha’eidah) and received lower salaries. Once the basic objectives of the Sephardic rabbinic group were achieved (by 1959), the group disbanded.

            The frustrations of the Middle Eastern/North African immigrants were many. They were often settled in remote towns and villages. Many lived in ma’abarot, tent cities, until real housing could be found for them. Their children were not expected to attend academically advanced schools or universities. Their economic situation was problematic, since many positions in government and business were granted by proteksia, favoritism by those in power to people of their own backgrounds.

            While the Sephardim did indeed make considerable progress in adapting to life in Israel, the underlying social and economic problems could not be ignored. In 1971, a group of Israeli-born Jews of North African and Middle Eastern backgrounds created the Black Panthers party. Its goal was to promote social justice for their communities and to combat their perception of widespread discrimination against them. They brought their concerns to public attention through demonstrations, media events, and political action. 

            Early in the 1970s, Soviet Jews began to arrive in Israel in large numbers. The Israeli government worked energetically to absorb these new immigrants who needed housing, jobs, social services, education for their children, etc. The North African and Middle Eastern Jews could not help but note the difference between how poorly they were treated in comparison with the Soviet immigrants.  In spite of general progress, frustration and discontent persisted.

            Sensing an anti-Sephardic attitude among the Ashkenazic rabbinate, especially in Hareidi circles, Rabbi Ovadia Yosef spearheaded the establishment of the Shas political party in 1984. The goal was to assert Sephardic rights throughout Israel, and especially in the religious realm. Shas became a political power with the election of its party members to the Israeli Knesset. Shas expanded its network of schools and yeshivot, and won the support of many Sephardic/Middle Eastern voters—even those who were not themselves Hareidi in outlook or observance.

            In the United States, Canada, Europe—where ever they settled in the diaspora-- North African and Middle Eastern Jews faced the usual challenges of immigrants; but they also faced problems in their relations with the existing Ashkenazic establishment. Their Jewishness was questioned; their “oriental” or “eastern” backgrounds were depreciated; their traditions were ignored or relegated to the domain of folklore. But within several generations, most of these Jews progressed professionally, economically and socially. As Sephardim and Ashkenazim grew more accustomed to each other—and married each other—the old alienations and stereotypes diminished.

            The situation in Israel has also improved over the generations, especially given the advancement of Sephardim in all areas of Israeli life. Marriages between Sephardim and Ashkenazim have become much more common, and the merger of cultures has become more prevalent especially in the non-Hareidi segment of the population. Yet, Jews of North African and Middle Eastern backgrounds still feel pangs of discrimination and negative stereotyping.

            Sephardic immigrants, whether in Israel or the diaspora, had to deal with serious disruptions as a result of moving into new lands. Their former communal structures and religious patterns were dislocated and not fully or easily replicated in their new homes. The Jewish establishment operated on the assumption that normative Jews and Judaism were Ashkenazic, that Sephardim needed to “Ashkenazify” in order to become modern and acceptable. It was as though Sephardic history came to an end hundreds of years ago, and that nothing of real significance occurred among them for the past few centuries.

            Whether in Israel or the diaspora, Sephardim had to deal with a sort of identity crisis. They no longer had the calm confidence of living in societies that accepted and valued them and their traditions. If their children attended Jewish schools, they were taught normative Ashkenazic Judaism. Their own rabbis—especially those of the new generations—were becoming “Ashkenazified.” They adopted Ashkenazic practices and even dressed in the black hats and frock coats of the Ashkenazic rabbinic establishment.

            In responding to the challenges, some Jews of North African and Middle Eastern background literally changed their names so as not to be identifiable as Sephardim. Others tried to blend into the Ashkenazic majority in whatever ways they could. Sephardic yeshiva students and rabbis began to identify with the Hareidi Ashkenazic rabbinic leadership. Rabbi Ovadia Yosef was a strong voice on behalf of maintaining Sephardic halakhic teachings; yet, much of the Shas leadership dress and speak pretty much like Ashkenazic Hareidi rabbis.

            Another trend has also emerged in which Sephardim fully accept their backgrounds and embrace an almost “tribal” devotion to the particular customs of their past communities. These Jews take pride in being loyal to the rites and practices of the Jews of Morocco, Syria, Turkey, Iraq, Yemen etc. Instead of backing away from these traditions, they proclaim them proudly and energetically.

            Even the term “mizrachim” has been turned on its head by some of the more militantly Sephardic group. Instead of being a source of derision, being “eastern” has become a positive value in modern times. Eastern Jews can claim an indigenous connection to the land of Israel, even more than Jews of European background. With the growing intellectual trend toward multi-culturalism and diversity, the “mizrachim” are feeling a new sense of importance in the Jewish world, and especially in Israel. Being “Western” is not necessarily viewed as an asset.

Disruption Three: Confronting the Future

            At present, the Sephardic/Ashkenazic rift is still evident, especially in Israel. The Jerusalem Post (August 15, 2021) reported that Miri Regev, a member of the Israeli Parliament for the Likud party, is seeking to become the party leader and to move on to become Prime Minister. Regev was born in the southern development town of Kiryat Gat to immigrants from Morocco, Felix and Marcelle Siboni. She declared that “the time has come to have a Sephardi Prime Minister and that the Likud rank and file must vote this time for someone who represents their class, their ethnicity and their agenda.” Regev, as well as the leadership of the Shas party, continue to stoke the ethnic pride of the Sephardim and position themselves as alternatives to the Ashkenazic establishment. 

            “Ethnic” politics is obviously still a factor in Israel. This is not only evident among Jews of North African and Middle Eastern descent, but also among others including Russian Jews and Anglo-Jews. In the short term—at least for another generation—ethnic divisions and divisiveness will flourish.

But will these ethnic divisions continue indefinitely?  What will the terms Sephardic and Ashkenazic mean one hundred years from now? How many Jews will be “pure-blooded” Sephardim or Ashkenazim?

            The Ashkenazic world, although still tending to emphasize Sephardic folk qualities, is also coming to appreciate Sephardic intellectual traditions, rabbinic teachings, and religious worldview. Scholars are increasingly researching and publishing articles and books, exploring the Sephardic experience in the lands of North Africa and the Middle East.

            Change is inevitable. Although we are not prophets, we can envision a Jewish world a century from now that has moved beyond ethnicity. Our great-great grandchildren will descend from Jews of many diasporic backgrounds. They will have a mixture of Sephardic/Ashkenazic genes (and other genetic components drawn from converts to Judaism, and from Jews who do not neatly fit into Sephardic/pan-Sephardic or Ashkenazic compartments). Aside from genetics, they will also be drawing on a wide range of intellectual and cultural traditions. Hopefully, they will draw on the best of all our traditions and live a happy, wholesome Jewish life free from ethnic strife.

            I suspect that 100 years from now there will still be groups of tightly knit Hareidim and Hasidim. There may also be groups of ethno-centered Jews who tenaciously cling to particular traditions. But most Jews, whether in Israel or the diaspora, will be sharing in a more general Jewish culture that combines elements from many traditions.

            The Sephardic/pan-Sephardic Jews of today need to identify and promote positive elements of their history and culture that are worthy to be transmitted to future generations. The day will surely come when all Jews—of whatever background—will come to view each other as “us”—as one people with a shared history and shared destiny. Instead of ethnic rivalries, prejudices and stereotypes, we will ultimately emerge as a “homogenized” Jewish people, proudly and happily composed of many diverse elements.

            (If I may dare to add, I think that not only will ethnic divisions become increasingly irrelevant, but the division of Jews into religious “streams” will also decline. A century from now, I don’t think it will be important for Jews to identify as Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, Reconstructionist, Renewal or any other such sub-division. Rather, Jews will make their own free and independent decisions as to what to believe and observe, where and how to pray etc. We will still have a wide range of opinions and plenty of controversy—but it will be in the realm of personal choice rather than institutional rivalries.)

            Thus, the third disruption of the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic world is actually a disruption for all Jewry. It is a disruption—or rather a transformation—brought about by the coming together of Jews of all backgrounds, by inter-group marriage, by growing understanding and appreciation of the history and cultures of each of our diverse communities. 

Our goal as a Jewish People should be to draw on all the strengths of all our communities and to work toward a Jewish Peoplehood that is inclusive, diverse, strong and healthy.

For Further Reading:

Angel, Marc D., Foundations of Sephardic Spirituality: The Inner Life of Jews of the Ottoman Empire, Jewish Lights, Woodstock, 2006.

______________La America: The Sephardic Experience in the United States, Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia, 1982.

______________Loving Truth and Peace: The Grand Religious Worldview of Rabbi Benzion Uziel, Jason Aronson, Northvale, 1999.

_____________Voices in Exile: A Study in Sephardic Intellectual History, Ktav Publishers, Hoboken, 1991.

Chouraqui, Andre, Between East and West, Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia, 1968.

Elazar, Daniel, The Other Jews: The Sephardim Today, Basic Books, New York, 1989.

Kaspi, Andre, ed., Histoire de l’Alliance Israelite Universelle: De 1860 a Nos Jours, Armand Colin, Paris, 2010.

Laskier, Michael, North African Jewry in the Twentieth Century, New York University Press, New York, 1997.

Stillman, Norman, The Jews of Arab Lands in Modern Times, Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia, 2003.

Zohar, Zvi, Rabbinic Creativity in the Modern Middle East, Bloomsbury Press, London, 2013.

Many students from Modern Orthodox homes learn from Hareidi teachers at some point in their educational journey, an influence that plays a role in the “move to the right.” There are frequently not enough Modern Orthodox educators available, especially in schools outside of the American Northeast, such as those in Memphis and Chicago. Secondly, parents often lack the ideological awareness required to identify subtler Hareidi positions held by staff members. How many parents understand hashkafic differences among yeshivot and seminaries?[i]

            Beyond the above factors, some do understand the choice and make a pragmatic calculation. In the challenging times of our postmodern condition, a more Hareidi institution may be a safer bet for keeping children in the Orthodox orbit. Though the Hareidi dropout rate is larger than often acknowledged, we will assume here that Modern Orthodoxy has an inferior batting average. Understandably, parents and educators think that the Hareidi voice will keep their children more religiously observant. 

            Children who turn Hareidi will still share our love of Shabbat and Talmud Torah; they will appreciate the solemnity of Neilah and the joy of Purim. They can support one of the many Hareidi hessed organizations, such as those that provide meals at hospitals. If one lives in America, issues of avoiding army service and not receiving a secular high school education cease to be problems.[ii] Why not adopt this strategy?

            The ensuing pages will explain potential perils in this plan; indeed, no risk-free options exist in this world. We will explore various Hareidi positions that many Modern Orthodox Jews will find extremely problematic. I admit at the outset that some of this essay's examples highlight more extreme ideas in the Hareidi world. To counter the critique that I am cherry picking, I offer the following responses.

            I am not actually utilizing the most extreme voices such as Neturei Karta, Satmar hassidut, R. Menashe Klein, and the like. The voices I do cite are usually either significant rabbinic authorities (such as R. Wasserman, Hazon Ish, the Steipler, R. Dessler) or teachers at mainstream institutions (such as Chaim Berlin, Toras Moshe). The ideas surveyed have a place in conventional Hareidi discourse. Even if competing visions exist in the Hareidi orbit, someone joining the Hareidi world may not adopt more moderate versions. Furthermore, one cannot find other Hareidi leaders explicitly criticizing the positions outlined here. Thus, the risk of our children becoming attached to a harsher Hareidi view remains quite real. 

            A second critique of this essay could claim that the surveyed opinions have a basis in ma’amarei Hazal (talmudic and midrashic statements) and can be justified as is. I think that this will be true for some examples and not for others. In any case, my argument is not that none of this has rabbinic backing but that these are not positions congenial to Modern Orthodox Jews. For example, one can find traditional sources stating that, after a thousand years, the edict against polygamy has run out but we would think poorly of someone who relied upon that position. 

            Many of the sources involve disciples or family members citing prominent rabbis. I assert at the outset that I do not assume the accuracy of all of these stories. If the stories are true, my argument becomes stronger since it turns out that famous rabbis affirmed these ideas. If the stories are false, they still reflect a mode of discourse in the Hareidi world that goes unchallenged. Thus, the problem remains intact, albeit in less-intense form. We shall now explore Hareidi attitudes toward women, gentiles, Zionism, divine providence, faith, as well as other categories. This exploration reveals dramatic difference between communities. 

Women

Modern Orthodox Jews resist the notion that men bear a higher ontological worth than women, but this idea appears in Hareidi literature. R. Dovid Kastel, a Rosh Kollel in Yerushalayim, writes that “a big portion of a woman’s purpose is to be a helpmate; therefore, men are more fundamental than women.”[iii] In his portrayal of the ideal Jewish family structure, R. Avigdor Miller, mashgiah in Yeshivas Chaim Berlin for 20 years, writes, “There cannot be two kings.…The wife is submissive…. He is the captain, but she is the First Mate whose counsel is respected.”[iv] When Rav Michel Shurkin, longtime rebbe at Toras Moshe, was disappointed about the birth of a daughter, R. Moshe Feinstein consoled him by saying, “What difference does it make to you if someone else raises the iluy (talmudic prodigy) who marries your daughter?"[v] Note that the consolation relates not to the worth of the daughter but to the cognitive capabilities of the son-in-law. 

Modern Orthodox Jews would not denigrate the intellectual capabilities of women in the way that some Hareidi literature does. R. Yisrael Eliyahu Weintraub, a one-time mashgiah in Yeshivas Chaim Berlin who moved to Israel and became a close confidant of Rav Eliezer Menachem Shach, writes that “men need to develop their knowledge and wisdom” but women were not given this role; rather, they have the ability “to be fully dedicated to someone higher than them.”[vi] He counsels husbands not to explain deep matters to their wives but to go with simplicity. A little fear of judgment never hurt anyone.”[vii] R. Miller concurs. He advises women to look good for their husbands and not talk too much: “Talking and talking, you’re advertising that you have nothing in your head at all.”[viii]

These themes find powerful expression in additional stories told by R. Shurkin. He relates a story from his youth in which his older sister asked their father to learn some gemara together. His father’s face turned white and then the father gave his daughter a 10-dollar bill and told her to go buy a new dress. Note that he did not distract the sister with Tanakh or with works of Jewish thought but with clothing. Men study the depths of Torah whereas women like pretty dresses. R. Shurkin subsequently asked why the sister could not learn and his father told the following story. The father met a European Rav with a single daughter to whom he taught Torah. However, this learned daughter was unable to find a shiddukh since she considered every fellow too weak in learning for her. According to the elder R. Shurkin, this episode shows the perils of educating women.[ix] What kind of world makes their peace with the idea that bright and educated women cannot forge a healthy relationship with a husband?            

More extreme versions of the need for tzeniut are rampant in the Hareidi world with the inability to show women’s pictures a prominent contemporary example. A book recording practices of the Steipler provides numerous examples. In his later years, he refused to read notes handwritten by women and would insist that the husbands write out the requests.[x] He would be careful not to walk between little girls in the street.[xi] He cites the Hazon Ish as saying that, in the times of the Sanhedrin, they would have killed women who wear pants.[xii] I think we can safely say that these sayings and practices convey an exaggerated sense of women as sexually charged individuals. 

Gentiles

R. Kastel writes that “gentiles only have seven mitzvot because they are truly nothing but only as a drop in the bucket and [exist] to help Israel.”[xiii] R. Miller affirms that the function of the nations is “to supply Israel with opportunities to gain Perfection.”[xiv] Many mainstream Hareidi works assume that gentiles are incapable of great acts. R. Itamar Schwartz’s popular Bilvavi Mishkan Evneh states that non-Jews never perform acts of selfless love.[xv] Similarly, R. Moshe Dan Kestenbaum’s impressive Olam Ha-Middot affirms that gentile acts of compassion are truly self-serving.[xvi] The same attitude spills over into approaches to secular studies. If gentiles bear such little worth, they would obviously not produce great works of wisdom. Rav Shurkin relates that a discussion once broke out in his shul questioning if culture has any value. His father overheard the conversation, lifted his eyes, and said “Culture, nivul peh” and the debate ended.[xvii] R. Shurkin cites a Maimonidean ruling that the gentiles hate us and pursue us and, his father wondered, given such animosity, how even secular Jews could involve themselves in gentile culture.[xviii] The irony of basing such opposition on Rambam, who wrote that Aristotle almost achieved the level of prophecy, is lost on Rav Shurkin. I think this approach to gentiles and their wisdom is quite foreign to Modern Orthodox Jewry.

Zionism and Secularism 

Both R. Elchanan Wasserman[xix] and the Steipler associate Zionist leaders with Amalek.[xx] According to R. Shurkin, a yeshiva fellow considering army service consulted with R. Moshe Feinstein who cited a tradition in the name of R. Chayim Soloveitchik that the Zionists are suspect of murder and one should not enlist.[xxi] The Klozenberger Rebbe sketched a contrast between the rest of Jewish history and the modern era. For some 1,900 years of exile, great rabbis led Am Yisrael and the Jewish people did not face total destruction. Since secularists took over the leadership, we lost 6 million Jews in the Holocaust, Russian and American Jewry face major assimilation, and the Jews in Israel are living as if in the Warsaw ghetto albeit with some weapons.[xxii] His account glosses over the Crusades, the Inquisition, the Chmielnicki massacres and the extensive suffering of Jews at many points in the long exile. Furthermore, granting that the Holocaust is a tragedy of greater proportions (something the Hareidi world tends to downplay), it is unfair to blame it on secular Jewish leadership without a clear causal connection. 

R. Weintraub is quite extreme in this regard. He forcefully rejected an initiative to pair yeshiva students studying with Israeli soldiers in which the yeshiva fellows would learn and pray on behalf of their brethren in combat. His objections include the fact that earlier gedolim (the foremost rabbinic authorities of a generation) did not create such projects, that this initiative comes from a false feeling of inferiority on the part of the yeshiva students, and that he does not want any form of partnership or relationship with the secularists.[xxiii] He cites Rav Velvel Soloveitchik’s reaction to the 1956 Sinai Campaign. 

Those who were saved were due to the merit of the bnei Torah because the merit of Torah causes wondrous salvation. Those who were killed, may the merciful one protect us, were because they (the Zionists) were involved in this and if they had not been involved, no one would have been killed. It emerges that only those killed are on the government’s account but they have no connection to the great salvation that occurred for that goes to the account of those toiling in Torah.[xxiv]                              

Let us survey the past 75 years of Jewish history. A Hareidi community decimated by the Holocaust was able to rebuild Itself and the world of yeshivot largely by reestablishing yeshivot and communities in the land of Israel due to the Israeli government allowing them to manage their own school system with a minimum of interference, offering health care and other services, and granting them an exemption from army service while other Israelis patrolled the Lebanese, Syrian, Egyptian, and Jordanian borders and fought in multiple wars. Is this citation of Rav Velvel Soloveitchik the Hareidi reaction? Actually, we saved all the lives, and you did nothing! The lack of hakarat haTov (thankfulness) and the desecration of God’s name (observant Jews repaying generosity with animosity) are frightening. No Modern Orthodox Jew would advance such positions. 

This attitude generates some revisionist history. Let us hear again from R. Miller.

The Zionists (also “religious Zionists”) delight in accusing the East-European Torah-leaders as “responsible” for the destruction of the Six Million, because they were not enthusiastic over the Zionist settlement of Eretz Yisrael. But it is common knowledge that the Torah-scholars founded the Jewish community in the Holy Land, and that the Zionists refused immigration for the orthodox.[xxv]   

We appreciate a declaration about not blaming the Torah leaders but that is no excuse for blaming the Zionists. His “common knowledge” is based on Ben Hecht’s Perfidy about which Deborah Lipstadt has said “he makes claims in there about the Labor Party, about Ben Gurion, not caring about what was going on in Europe, which is, again, historians now show, has simply not stood the test of time."[xxvi]                                                                                                               

Providence

The previous discussion leads us to different conceptions of providence. What is the balance between human activity and divine governance in how the world runs? R. Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler, mashgiach at Ponevezh yeshiva, states that human endeavor actually produces nothing since God truly directs the world. The natural order is an illusion which the pious can overcome and thereby function in a more miraculous fashion. One classic formulation of this mode of thought says that humans must engage in hishtadlut (proper human effort), but they should realize that the effort does not truly bring about the desired result.[xxvii] I suggest that most Modern Orthodox Jews function with a worldview rooted in Rambam[xxviii] and Abravanel,[xxix] which recognizes the reality of the natural order and the ability of humanity to impact within that order.

R. Hayim Shmulevitz, Rosh Yeshiva at the Mir Yeshiva in Yerushlayim, cites two potential hashkafic positions. One says that the faithful can flourish with no efforts in the natural realm at all. The other disagrees and demands effort but everyone agrees that the effort has no direct impact. Hazal said “Greater is the one who enjoys the work of his hands more than the God fearer” (Berakhot 8a). I would have thought that this statement endorses human efforts. R. Shmulevitz explains that working individuals clearly experience how efforts play no role in achieving success and that realization is a major advantage.[xxx] He does not identify a possibility found in rishonim affirming the natural order and the human ability to manipulate the resources within it.[xxxi]       

Let us see where a R. Dessler or R. Shmulevitz style starting point can lead. R. Nosson Sherman cites R. Shimon Schwab as saying, “I am convinced that what protects our brothers and sisters in Israel is the merit of the kollel families that endure poverty and hunger for the sake of Torah.”[xxxii] Even ignoring the over-romanticizing of the kollel lifestyle, note how the soldiers receive no mention. The Hazon Ish writes that prayer accomplishes more than hishtadlut.[xxxiii] According to Rav Shurkin, when Rav Moshe Feinstein heard of a fellow working on a cure for cancer, he responded that “Even if he found the cure for cancer, it would not be worth the bittul Torah (distraction from Torah study).”[xxxiv] We end up in a place where heroic human efforts to better the lives of others lose their worth.  Only such a vantage point could explain the complete lack of gratitude toward the Israel Defense Forces.

Another factor may also play a role in downplaying the helpful efforts of secular Zionists. Earlier. we encountered the idea that gentiles are incapable of authentic benevolence. Secular Jews may not fare better. R. Avigdor Miller asserts that “Atheists, and disbelievers in a Torah from Sinai, are obviously insincere in any declarations of principles of any kind; they can have no more principle than birds or insects.”[xxxv] Such a perspective makes it very difficult to give credit to secularists.      

A more intensive conception of divine providence often leads to a more simplistic application of reward and punishment models. After a terrorist attack on a bus returning from the kotel in the summer of 2002, R. Weintraub explained that the mixture of women and men on the bus violated principles of tzeniut which is why the merit of prayer at the kotel did not save the passengers.[xxxvi] To be fair, he does not claim that the attack was a direct punishment for the lack of tzeniut but it still seems an extreme reaction to coed bussing. 

Matters get much more extreme when we turn to R. Avigdor Miller. R. Miller thinks we can understand the Holocaust due to the unprecedented level of assimilation in Germany. He finds various “measure for measure” items bolstering his theory:

Because the German Jews had spiritually destroyed their synagogues by Reform and by imitation of Churches, the Germans wrecked and burned the synagogues in the “Crystal Night.” German Jews bore gentile names; therefore the Nazis restored their Jewish identity by issuing a decree that every Jew must add the word “Israel” to his name and every Jewess the word “Sarah.”            

Because, for the first time in Jewish history, women had ceased to cover their hair, the Germans shaved them bald in the death camps. Because the virtues of chaste dress and behavior were diminished in imitation of the gentiles, they were marched naked to the gas chambers, and Jewish women were subjected to every barbarous indecency before being killed.     

Because they had so revered the physicians, especially the German specialists, they were subjected to the malicious experiments and torments which the German physicians imposed upon them.[xxxvii]

I believe no comment is necessary.   

Extreme Application of Values

R. Miller was likely led astray by his intense desire to justify God. When certain positive values become pushed to an extreme, other important values get unjustifiably shunted aside. The same phenomenon may explain how one could suggest that finding a cure for cancer does not excuse interrupting Torah study. The Hareidi world prizes Talmud Torah in a very impressive fashion; however, this may also prove to be an Achilles’ heel when taken to an extreme. R. Shurkin reports that when R. Elchanan Wasserman was learning in the Radin kollel, he received a telegram that his wife had given birth to a son. When he asked the Hafetz Hayim if he should return home, the latter answered, “Are you a mohel?”[xxxviii] I fully realize that travel was harder and infrequent in that era but perhaps rejoicing with one’s family in the birth of a child justifies missing some yeshiva time. 

A biography of R. Yosef Shalom Elyashiv cites the childhood recollections of his daughter Bat Sheva, wife of R. Haim Kanievsky:

When we were children, he did not know us at all. He never spoke to us from good to bad. Only once a week, Shabbat afternoon, when he could not learn from a sefer because it was dark and he did not use the electricity, he would go out for a walk, and the children took turns accompanying their father. Do not think that he spoke to us; he consistently thought about learning, but it was an honor for the child to walk with father.[xxxix] 

Inconceivable that such a story would appear in a biography of R. Lichtenstein or R. Amital. I suggest that becoming a gadol actually involves the crucible of child rearing. 

According to R. Itamar Schwartz, a well-known story relates that R. Hayim Sanzer looked happy on the way back from his son's funeral. When questioned about this surprising mood, he answered with a parable. "A man waking in the street is struck in the back. He recoils backward to see who did it, and discovers that it was his good friend who clapped him on the back as a sign of affection."[xl] Here too, justifying God creates an idealization of a degree of indifference to the loss of one's child.   

An equally frightening tale appears in Shimusha Shel Torah, a work of stories from Rav Shach collected by R. Asher Bergman. R. Yosel Slutzker, later Rav of Slutzk, was orphaned from his father and was one of the best students in the Volozhin yeshiva. A letter arrived from his mother asking him to come home because she was struggling to maintain the family business. R. Hayim Volozhin hid the letter from his student. A second letter complained that she received no response to her first letter and R. Hayim hid that one as well. The third letter said that a fire had left them destitute. The fourth letter, from a sister, related that the mother was dying. The fifth letter reported that the mother had passed away and begged the brother to return home and care for younger siblings orphaned from both parents. R. Hayim hid all the letters and only showed them to his student years later. He explained that all these distractions were the Satan trying to prevent the development of a Gadol haDor (the greatest rabbinic authority of a generation).[xli] In contrast, Modern Orthodox Jews would say that caring for your mother and siblings in times of need is a crucial part of cultivating greatness.         

Faith

It is commonly assumed in Hareidi literature that the existence of God is obvious to any fair-minded person. Therefore, skeptics and heretics function dishonestly by allowing desires to influence their judgment. Hedonistic impulses distort their analysis. Rav Wasserman, [xlii] R. Dessler,[xliii] and others adopt this position. This interpretation of kofrim (heretics) allows religious individuals to both assume they are clearly correct while accusing their opponents of bad faith. The only drawback is that the position is false. Some atheists may have ulterior motives but certainly not all of them. I personally have gone through stages when it seemed difficult to affirm Rambam’s 13 principles. Many students, desperately wanting to believe, have approached me with their theological questions. Some ultimately found their place within Orthodoxy while others did not. To accuse them all of simply hungering for cheeseburgers would be cruel and unjustified.   

Intellectual Understanding

Modern Orthodox Jews prize the use of the intellect even when confronting issues of Jewish theology. Some Hareidi voices prefer a simple faith which eschews analysis. R. Schwartz’s Bilvavi Mishkan Evneh says that we should only be asking “what” and never “why.” 

The attempt to understand God’s works—the very thought of this—shows the lowliness of a created being, who thinks he has the ability to understand. One cannot understand anything!! Not why we need to wash hands and not why we need to learn Torah. We only know what we have to do, and we do it because we were commanded.[xliv]

R. Schwartz does not address the fact that the majority of rishonim endorsed the endeavor of offering rationales for mitzvot. Interestingly, some rabbis apply this anti-intellectual orientation even to human behavior. R. Shurkin relates how R. Mendel Zaks contrasted two biographies of the Hafetz Hayim in order to convey a preference for the one penned by R. Moshe Meir Yosher. The other volume tries to explain the Hafetz Hayim’s actions, whereas R. Yosher simply records them.[xlv] Apparently, even human guidance should be taken on authority alone. I suggest that one could not possibly apply modeled behavior to novel situations unless one knows the rationale for the behavior. 

The Role of Gedolim

The Hareidi world puts much more emphasis on its rabbinic leadership than Modern Orthodoxy does. This includes granting them authority in political matters (Daas Torah), telling stories about their otherworldly qualities, and making them a consistent and central focus of religious discourse. Several prominent Hareidi voices explain that yeshivot exist to produce gedolei Torah, and the curriculum should reflect that even if it does not serve the needs of the bulk of students. R. Dessler famously preferred the Lithuanian model of Jewish education over the German one because it was more likely to generate great sages even if the German method more successfully produced committed ba'al haBatim. He justifies such a strategy despite his understanding that it will cause some to "separate from the Torah path" and he identifies with Rambam's elitism: "Let a thousand fools die and one sage enjoy."[xlvi] Modern Orthodox Jews will be wary of attributing that much stature to gedolim.

Hashkafic Diversity

R. Dessler writes that Hazal only argue in halakhic matters but not with regard to aggadic material since both positions convey aspects of the truth. Even when the gemara uses the word "u-pligi (and they disagree)" in an aggadic context, R. Dessler explains that it refers to portraying different angles on the matter rather than to actual dispute.[xlvii] Now, I do consider finding the truth in every side a valuable endeavor, but that does not mean that no disputes exist. For example, R. Dessler contends that Rambam and Ramban truly agree about Judaism's attitude toward medicine. Ramban states that, ideally the sick would turn to God and not to doctors but once people chose the natural order, they need to function within it and go to the doctor. According to R. Dessler, Rambam agrees and the medieval giant's robust endorsement of medicine is only for those who abandon the ideal path.[xlviii] The problem with his theory is that Rambam gives no hint of such a position, and it flies in the face of Rambam's consistent endorsement of the natural order.      

R. Shimshon Pincus' popular Shearim beTefila shares the same tendency. The Vilna Gaon on Tehillim says that a wicked man with full bitahon in God will receive divine benevolence. This idea seems to clash with both Hovot Halevavot and Hazon Ish. The former says that bitahon only works for someone free of sin, whereas the latter says bitahon never meant that things will work out the way I want. Rather than just taking note of an important debate, R. Pincus asserts that they all agree; it just depends on the level of trust. The highest level of bitahon guarantees good results even for the wicked.[xlix]

 The approach is not only incorrect; it is also harmful. We will not be able to adequately analyze the strengths and weaknesses of two positions when I start out by flattening them into one identical stance. Secondly, it leaves all Jews bereft of a hashkafic range of opinions with which to select from and identify with. We need to present our students with different views of providence so that they can connect with the position that coheres with their experiences. Hareidi minimizing of hashkafic variance hurts the community. 

A Contemporary Example

Perhaps some readers will think that all the sources I cite remain in the abstract realm of theory and do not seriously impact on current Hareidi decision-making. Investigation of Hareidi responses to the war currently going on between Israel and Hamas reveals otherwise. A small number of Hareidi men did enlist in the IDF, and a larger number of Hareidim participated in providing food and other services for those called up to the armed forces. However, public statements by the leadership strike a very different note.   

R. Dov Landau, Rosh Yeshiva of Slobodka in Bnei Brak and currently considered one of the gedolim, said that R. Shai Graucher, a man tirelessly dedicated to hessed for IDF soldiers, is a mazzik gamur (fully destructive person) for distracting time and resources away from Talmud Torah. R. Meir Kessler, Rav of Kiryat Sefer, wrote against taking time from Talmud Torah to engage in hessed initiatives for the war. R. Yaakov Hillel advised not to siphon funds away from supporting yeshiva learning toward the war effort. R. Yitzchak Meir Morgenstern allowed volunteering drives to help the soldiers but only on condition that the observant Jews not identify and feel connected to the erev rav of secular Jewry. R. Simcha Bunim Schreiber, a Rosh Yeshiva of Nesiv Hatorah appointed by Rav Shteinman said in a siha (brief discourse) that we need not feel greater gratitude to IDF soldiers than to garbage men. Furthermore, he contended that almost no one serves in Tzahal (Israel Defense Forces) willingly. The last claim is empirically false; witness the many reservists who showed up for duty without receiving a tzav shemoneh (draft order). Lest one think that such sentiments only find expression in the Israeli Hareidi rabbinate, R. Aharon Feldman, Rosh Yeshiva of Ner Yisrael, explained why he is not in favor of special prayers for soldiers at the front. "I am afraid that if you start to be mispallel (pray) for soldiers, this will glorify tzahal and will create problems later when they start passing laws to draft yeshiva bochurim into the army."   

How did these rabbis arrive at a position with such minimal sympathy for the major sacrifices made and personal risks taken by Israeli soldiers? The categories outlined in this essay provide the explanation. If one thinks that the Torah study of kollel fellows provides greater protection than those physically protecting our borders, then it becomes easier to downplay gratitude to hayyalim (Israeli soldiers). If a community adopts one value as supreme and excludes other important values, then no breaks in Talmud Torah are allowed to help those in the field. Making sure that Torah study continues becomes so important that we cannot even recite individualized prayers for soldiers in danger lest the community come to glorify soldiers more than yeshiva fellows. Finally, other Hareidi rabbanim who might disagree with these positions are not able to publicly criticize them so that it will not seem that real hashkafic debates exist or to avoid saying that a gadol made a serious error in judgment. R. Schreiber did receive some pushback, but there was no public argument made against the comments of R. Landau or R. Feldman.    

Conclusion

We could discuss other issues dividing between Hareidim and Modern Orthodoxy such as Da’as Torah, the relationship between peshat and derash, Hazal’s knowledge of science, the value of human ethical intuitions, and potential misbehavior of biblical heroes, but this will suffice for now. My list even leaves out certain additional communal flaws such as protecting abusers from the government and dishonest portrayals of Jewish history. Thus, I did not paint the blackest possible picture. 

I myself benefitted from learning in Hareidi yeshivot yet would not send my children to such institutions and think that I have adequately explained why. Those considering such a move should mull over the many concerns raised in this essay. Perhaps one can minimize the dangers by identifying with more temperate Hareidi voices such as R. Aaron Lopiansky. Additionally, Hareidim who live in the United States can count on the reality that moderate voices have greater influence in America than in Israel. On the other hand, the three most extreme voices surveyed in this essay are R. Avigdor Miller, R. Elya Weintraub, and R. Michel Shurkin. The first spent his entire rabbinic career in America and the other two studied and taught in the United States before moving to Israel. No risk-free options exist in life, and the Hareidi lifestyle involves difficulties and dangers.

            Some opponents of this essay will undoubtedly state that I have no right to write critically about gedolim. In a world of hashkafic debate, there is no substitute for evaluating different positions and seeing which ones make the most sense. This is what I have tried to do above, and it seems to me that most Modern Orthodox Jews would identify with my preferences. In fact, limiting ideological discussion to citing rabbinical authorities rather than analyzing issues is another significant weakness of the Hareidi community.

            What are the potential practical ramifications of this essay? If one lives in an “out of town community,” there may not be non-Hareidi educators available. However, one may live in a city with various hashkafic educational options, and these factors could influence decision-making. These ideas could impact on choices of yeshivot and seminaries. Perhaps parents should investigate whether or not staff members send their boys to the army and their girls to sherut leumi (National Service) or the army. If not, these teachers are falling short in their ethical commitment to Am Yisrael, and their students are much more likely to be exposed to institutional staffs dominated by Hareidi ideology.       

Although my main target audience is the Modern Orthodox readership, I would like to also address any Hareidi readers. No one likes criticism, and I imagine your instinctive reaction will be defensive. Please write a strong defense, but also consider the possibility of points worth admitting to. For example, perhaps clearly state that you utterly reject R. Miller's explanation for the Holocaust and that the portrayal of R. Haim Volozhin's hiding emotional wrought family letters from his student does not cohere with your worldview. 

I have mixed feelings about publishing this essay. At the Mesivta of Long Beach, at Toras Moshe, and especially at Camp Munk, I encountered many fellows of outstanding character from a Hareidi background who would not identify with the worldview of R. Shurkin or R. Miller. I have no desire to insult them or hurt their feelings. At the same time, these ideas exist in the Hareidi world, and it seems worthy to confront them. Furthermore, even my old friends have been influenced by these currents. It may manifest in discourse about women and gentiles, in failing to acknowledge that soldiers protect Medinat Yisrael more than kollel students, or in attributing excessive knowledge or authority to the gedolim.  I think it important to argue for a different style yahadut.   

Modern Orthodoxy has many shortcomings, which I have written about in several other forums, and our community needs to focus the bulk of its energies on self-improvement.[l] We must encourage more of our talented sons and daughters to consider Jewish education as a career and find ways to make that more financially feasible. If we generated communities with more powerful religious commitment, fewer would look elsewhere in search of spiritual authenticity. Even given all of that, this essay suggests that the Hareidi option is not a viable solution.
 

I must have been nine or ten the first time I learned about the Wannsee Conference. Wandering through the small Holocaust museum at our local JCC, I noticed the photo of the magnificent lakeside mansion where, in January 1942, 15 Nazi leaders sipped aged cognac and agreed on protocols for the deportation and systematic murder of 11 million European Jews. I recall reading the biographies of the men, and my mother pointing out that most held doctorate degrees. Years of academic study, the highest levels of intellectual achievement at Europe’s top universities, served to refine plans for the most barbaric plot in human history. The message was clear: Education does not ensure Morality.

I have thought about Wannsee often these last few months, as we have seen American college campuses ablaze with anti-Jew demonstrations, and administrators willfully blind to the meaning of slogans that call once again for Jewish genocide. I thought about it while I saw students lock themselves in libraries, fearful of their classmates banging and chanting while police directed the Jews to hide. Gone are last year’s trigger warnings, micro-aggressions, and anti-harassment policies. Absent are “diversity” officers paid to ensure a balmy “campus climate.” The most enviable institutions cannot or will not enforce their own rules, not when it comes to Jews.

I thought about the morality of those German PhDs as I read posts from my own college classmates calling Israeli soldiers “bloodthirsty” while dismissing Go-Pro videos of terrorist atrocities as “questionable.” And I wondered if education might actually destroy our moral sensitivity as I watched, live, the entirety of the December 5 congressional hearings, gripped with tension and wondering if the presidents of three of America’s most elite universities would come to their senses and plainly affirm their opposition to genocide. This was not supposed to be the hard question. It took years of education to buff away the ability to recognize a simple truth—screaming for Jewish genocide harasses Jewish students. 

And that simple truth leads me to ask a complicated question: Should Jewish parents send their sons and daughters to these schools? What is the impact on their own morality to be steeped in these environments for their formative years? What will this type of education do to them as human beings and as Jews? 

I’ve had the opportunity to speak with many students over the last several years. October 7 brought into the open dynamics that existed long before but were rarely discussed. But there is no doubt the outbreak of blatant Jew hatred, and the accompanying lack of visible effort to reduce or even condemn it, has had a profound impact on Jewish student life. 

Recent conversations with students break my heart. I heard from several how it’s “not that bad” on campus, yet they change their behavior anyway. Some remove the Jewish stars or kippah or summer camp t-shirts they’ve worn for years in order to erase their visible Jewish identity, hoping this will lessen harassment from classmates, or allow them to avoid discussions with unsympathetic “neutral” students and professors. Others complained about faculty excusing the massacres as “resistance,” canceling class to attend protests, allowing megaphone-bearing students to disrupt lectures, even having a Jewish student stand in the corner as a representative Jew.

One Jewish student talked about avoiding the grand front entrances of class buildings; she goes to class through the service entrances rather than cross the screaming crowds blocking the main doors. Another avoided class altogether because he couldn’t bear to face the classmate with whom he had spent endless hours working on problem sets; she was part of the groups that had sent the infamous letter blaming Israel while the massacres were still underway. What could he say to her? What if others agreed? Other students shared social media posts from classmates; one had posted “Let them burn!” on October 7, as gasoline-fueled fires were quite literally consuming entire families. To attend Harvard today, you must endure blatant Jew-hatred from classmates. 

Many will dissect how we got here, and how we can get out. But Jewish parents have a more immediate question to answer: 

Do we want this for our children? 

Jewish parents with children considering elite American colleges must ask themselves whether the pedigree is worth the price. The Jewish community has invested heavily in the Ivy League by every measure. We have built these elite institutions with our students, our faculty, our donations, and our scholarship. We have built Hillels and Chabads and dozens of other programs to support our Jewish students. And we have benefitted from the education and pedigree these universities provide, which have allowed American Jews to rise to the top of nearly every profession where education or social network matters. The benefits of these brand names on your resume last a lifetime. It’s a lot to give up.

As one whose life has been shaped by these connections, and whose children might potentially be as well, I nonetheless feel the temptation to abandon elite academia. Among the thousands of items I’ve seen since October 7, few stayed with me as much as the blunt honesty of Rabbi Yotav Eliach, Principal of Rambam Mesivta. As the world watched, NYU students tore down posters bearing the names and faces of the hostages, posted support for the atrocities on social media, and disrupted class with protests and chants to eliminate Israel “From the River to the Sea.” When an NYU admissions office sent a form email offering advice to early admission applicants, Rabbi Eliach wrote:

You sent me an email inviting my Orthodox Zionist Jewish students to apply early decision to NYU. Really?

Let me get to the point. You have too many faculty members and students who support Islamo-Nazi Hamas and Islamic Jihad Terror organizations. The slogans: Free Palestine, and From the River to the Sea Palestine will be free all mean one thing: GENOCIDE. Real Genocide of my People. Not imagined Genocide like the one that the protesters say happened or is happening to the Arabs of Gaza or the Arabs of Judea and Samaria. Since 1967 their populations have quadrupled … Your professors and students can chant that you want to throw us into ovens or the sea. I know: Free Speech. I guess all your “progressive” ideas of “Hate Speech” and “Microaggressions” don’t apply to Jews … You really expect us to send our sons and daughters to your school? … So they can be threatened and told that they should be burned, gassed, shot, raped, tortured? Really? And we should pay for the privilege of exposing our children to what you believe is “Education.” Think again.

Think again indeed. Even those without strong Jewish connection, or any at all, have come to doubt the value of an elite education. Harvard reported a 17 percent drop in early applications this year; a friend of mine who interviews for Harvard estimated that in the New York area, the numbers of early applications were more like 30 percent down. College advisors have reported that even those admitted to Harvard early are applying to other schools, something never seen before. Apparently, there are many who don’t find the current atmosphere attractive. 

In determining whether the benefits outweigh the costs, parents should consider the impact on identity, personality, and character of spending time in this environment.

First, what is the cost to everyday existence? The constant drumbeat of antisemitism prevents our kids from having a normal college experience. Indeed, the protestors acknowledge this as a goal—several hundred protestors storming Harvard’s main library during final exams brandished signs threatening “No Normal During Genocide.” This matters to all who want the best for their sons and daughters, who have worked hard to earn a spot at institutions and deserve equal, fair treatment. They deserve to feel welcome at their universities. They deserve the typical college experiences of making friends and attending class and pursuing extracurriculars without running a gauntlet of screaming accusers.

Even more important than their day-to-day experience, their fundamental character and identity transforms under these conditions. Since they attend college in late adolescence and early adulthood, as one’s ultimate values are forged, the situation many Jewish students now face will impact their outlook on Jewish identity for years to come. When students claim things are “not that bad,” they have learned to accept the abuse. They’ve accepted that their Jewish identity is risky to display and learned to manage, to understand the new reality. They may be as engaged as ever in their hearts, and enjoy celebrating their identity in Jewish spaces, but they hide their true identity in other environments.

Thankfully, some students continue to speak out, taking personal risk to appear in the media under their own names, calling out their professors, administrators, and classmates for allowing antisemitism to thrive. Most do not. Or they speak out anonymously. Even if they manage to resist actually believing the dominant propaganda excusing or justifying the attacks, they learn to speak the language of inaccurately explaining the outrageous antisemitism—not as menacing conduct that all decent humans should condemn, but as “free speech” reflecting a core principle of free society. When administrators fail to stem the tide of hatred, Jewish students adapt by inappropriately excusing those who threaten them with violence.

After a time, the antisemitic cancer may push to stage 2, where the students question their own beliefs. Jewish students (and faculty) repeatedly hear the message that in order to be on the side of good, to support human rights and freedom and minority rights, you must take a side, and that side is anti-Zionist and pro-Palestinian. Any decent person would at least question their beliefs if everyone around them tells them repeatedly that they are not only incorrect but deeply immoral. At elite colleges, in an environment where students naturally admire professors and trust their perspective on the material, they are even more likely to doubt themselves. Similarly, students assume a level of integrity and intelligence in their peers, who also had to qualify for admission. When students hear day after day that Israel commits genocide, expulsion, and mass punishment, it becomes nearly impossible to feel confident in support for Israel and identification with fellow Jews who express such support. The insidious nature of this process by which “being a nice person” requires doubting your own fundamental beliefs and group affiliation has long term impact. Are our students learning to stand up for themselves and others? To take risks? To be willing to express unpopular beliefs? These are not just important for their Jewish identity, but for their success in life. 

Some students take this a step further and fully internalize the message that to be good means to oppose Israel. This takes root so deeply that they join one of the many virulently anti-Israel groups that deliberately seek Jewish membership. Jewish Voices for Peace, IfNotNow, and other groups recruit Jewish students to divide the Jewish community and support the lie that hatred for Israel can be separated from hatred for Jews. The profound idiocy of this position should be obvious. Roughly half of world Jewry lives in Israel, a proportion that is growing all the time. Targeting Israelis means directly targeting half of all Jews. Moreover, Jews the world over have ties of kinship and friendship with Israeli Jews. You can’t support those who murder, rape, behead, and burn alive Israeli Jews and claim you don’t hate Jews. Campus activists try to rebrand a sadistic massacre of Jews as “justifiable resistance” and claim they don’t hate Jews. They chant slogans that are known euphemisms for killing all Jews (“globalize the intifada”) and eliminating the Jewish state (“from the river to the sea”) and claim they don’t hate Jews. And it doesn’t matter if they are Jewish. Some Jews collaborated with the Nazis, too.

Contrast this progression with the attitudes of Israeli Jews their same age, called upon to fight for their very survival while coping with unimaginable losses. I want my children to know what they stand for and to be willing to defend it. I want them to inhabit the spirit of Sergeant First-Class Joseph Gitarts z”l, a computer science student who served in the Tank Corps, in a note to his parents: “I lived a good and interesting life, at the same time I was never afraid of death. I could have hidden and stayed away. But it would go against everything I believe and value and who I consider myself to be.” 

American college students need not risk their lives in their Ivy League dorms, but parents do take risks in sending their children to institutions that allow antisemitism to shape their character. To ensure their students’ moral compass remains intact, parents must continue guiding their sons and daughters throughout their college years. By encouraging them to courageously represent their Jewish identity, beware of internalizing the hatred, and deepen their connection to Jewish values seeking truth and independent thought, our actions can help our students preserve their values while acquiring an education.

Saadia Gaon was born in 882 CE near the Upper-Egyptian city of Fayyúm as Se³adyah ben Yosef, or, in Arabic, Sa³îd ibn Yūsuf.  Already from an early age, Saadia was a prolific writer and the author of important works such as several dictionaries, a polemic work against the Jewish sect of the Qara’ites, a work on the Jewish calendar, and one of the first Jewish prayer books, to name a few. 

At the age of 36, Saadia was noticed by the leaders of the great Jewish community of Babylonia (present-day Iraq) and was invited to assume the title of Gaon and, as that title implies, to head one of the world’s two most prestigious Talmud academies, which was then located in Baghdad. Incidentally, Saadia was the first person from outside Babylonia ever to be appointed as Gaon.  Saadia Gaon would remain in Baghdad until his death in 942. 

In this article, I want to discuss his influential Arabic Bible translation, which he named the Tafsîr[1], and specifically how he deals with the problem of divine anthropomorphisms. At the same time, we cannot avoid looking at his certainly most famous work, Kitāb al-‘Amānāt wa’l-I³tiqādāt, better known under its Hebrew name Sēfer ‘Èmūnōt we-D­­ē³ōt, or in English The Book of Beliefs and Opinions.  The reason for discussing certain aspects of The Book of Beliefs and Opinions is that it sheds important light on Saadia’s philosophy underlying his Bible translation; the Tafsîr which, by the way, does not include the entire Hebrew Bible but merely the Five Books of Moses, and the books of Isaiah, the Psalms, Proverbs, Job, Song of Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, Esther, and Daniel.

Let us now discuss those elements of Saadia Gaon’s philosophical outlook that impacted the wording of his Tafsîr, and how his perceptions are rooted in the intellectual trends of his time and environment.

In Saadia’s days, the Muslim world was rife with philosophical activity, and the city of Baghdad was its buzzling epicenter.  With the Muslim conquest of the Middle East, North Africa, and Spain, these vast territories had been brought under one cultural umbrella and with Arabic as the common lingua franca, communication and exchange of ideas had become a reality. Once a growing corpus of ancient Greek philosophic and scientific texts became available in Arabic translation, a considerable section of the intellectual elite developed an appetite for all things classic, philosophy being among the top tier topics.

This embrace of philosophy took place across the religious spectrum of Islam, Christianity, and Judaism. People from all over the Arabic world and from all three religions came together to discuss matters of philosophy in interdenominational groups, often even including Zoroastrians, Hindus, and Buddhists. 

One of the new insights that had taken root was that Divine revelation was not the only path to knowledge and truth. The God-given human faculty of Reason was another way to acquire truthful insights. And as both strategies are tools bestowed by the same Almighty God to achieve knowledge, if applied correctly, both Reason and Revelation should lead to the one, same truth. In other words, accurate reasoning should lead one to the same insights as presented by Holy Scripture while a correct understanding of Scripture cannot not contradict Reason. 

The idea that true Revelation cannot contradict Reason, must necessarily have an impact on the way religious traditions are understood. Sometimes Reason may yield to Revelation, for instance when scientific insights are rejected based on a traditional understanding of holy texts, and at other times Scripture is reinterpreted to match contemporary rational, scientific, or philosophical insights. 

In the process of reaching conclusions on issues of truth, such as the existence of God, eternity, justice, free will, reward and punishment, etc., in many cases Reason or Revelation – or both – must be redefined for the two to harmoniously meet.  Naturally, regarding the precedence that either Reason or Revelation receives in this process, there is a continuum of approaches. When faced with an apparent conflict between text and logic, on one end of the spectrum some thinkers may have no scruples to reconsider established textual interpretations, while for people on the opposite end, this would be an outrageous notion. 

At this point, the exercise of defining the relationship between Revelation and Reason, is called Kalām, an Arabic translation of the Greek word Logos (logic, reason, and speech). This choice of terminology is interesting in more than one way.  When according to the Bible and the Qur’an God creates the world through speech (Gen. 1:3 “Wayyōmer ‘Elohîm yehî ‘ōr, wàyhi ‘ōr” – “God spoke: ‘Let there be light!’, and there was light”; Sura 36:82 “Innamā ‘amruhū ‘idhā ‘arāda ‘an yaqūla lahū kun, fa-yakūn” – “All it takes when He wants something, is to say to it: ‘Be!’, and it is.”), the implication for Kalāmists would be that He also creates it with logic, wisdom, and according to reason.

Let us now turn to the most relevant motive within Kalām thought that impacted Saadia Gaon’s Tafsîr, i.e. the notion that God is One. For Kalāmists, this notion meant much more than simply the belief that there is only One God.  The word One can be a quantitative numeral in the sense of ‘only one god’ (and no more): not four gods, not three, not two, but only One God. However, those involved in Kalām took the notion of God’s Oneness to a much deeper level as to mean that God’s essence is One, and that there is no oneness like God’s Oneness. Nothing is as one as God is One.  For instance, if – let’s say – you hold an apple in your hand, that is one apple. However, the apple is not inherently one… it consists of parts: its core, its flesh, its peel, etc. God, on the other hand, being essentially One, cannot be subdivided into parts.  Naturally, this presented some contention between Jewish and Muslims Kalāmists on the one hand, and Christians on the other, concerning the dogma of the Trinity.

Furthermore, anything in the physical world, including all objects and bodies, firstly consists of parts and secondly has certain limitations and confinements. Physical bodies have a top and a bottom, arms, legs, a head, a torso, etc. Therefore, most Kalāmist thinkers concluded that God cannot be or have a body. Furthermore, while God is Unlimited and Omnipresent, an apple is only one in its state of being separate from other apples, which is only possible because of its limited character. Certainly, an apple can be in your hand, on the table, in the fridge, hanging in a tree, and floating in a river. All these positions are possible, but they cannot be possible at the same time. These locations are possible due to a change in location, change being the key term here. God, on the other hand can be everywhere at the same time without change. 

How does not changing relate to the notion of Oneness?  According to many Kalāmist thinkers, something that changes is by definition not consistent, and is therefore not one. According to this line of thinking, an apple that starts out green and hard, then turns red and juicy, and later becomes brown and putrid, shows different configurations and is therefore not inherently one. 

As anything in the created, physical world goes through some kind of change, it follows that only God is truly One.  When we let this train of thought sink in, we will soon discover that this philosophical notion of Oneness must cause a plethora of problems when it comes to reading, interpreting, and translating the Bible. In Scripture, God is frequently described both with physical features and as going through changes. Let’s start with some examples of physical features scripturally ascribed to God. 

In Genesis, God is described as walking through the Garden of Eden. We are informed that God led out His people with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, His eyes traverse the entire world, His ears may hear our prayers, we are told about the words of His mouth, and that the earth is His footstool. Such human-like descriptions of God are called “anthropomorphisms”.

An often-utilized solution to solve such discrepancies between the literal reading of Holy Scripture on the one hand, and rational insights on the other, is the application of metaphor. According to this approach, Scripture is given to imperfect people, some of whom are unable to conceive of God in more abstract ways. For this reason, God revealed His word “in the language of men”, meaning in the way that most people are used to speaking and understanding. Such anthropomorphic descriptions should however be understood as metaphorical references to underlying, less physical truths. 

As alluded to before, different approaches emerged within the wider Kalām movement. At one end of the spectrum, there were thinkers that showed an inclination to give precedence to logical insights and reinterpret their Holy Scriptures and traditions accordingly.  Within the Muslim community, this approach was represented by a school called the Mu³tazila. Mu³tazilites rejected any notion of divine physicality and took every anthropomorphic reference to God in Scripture as a metaphor.  On the opposite end of the spectrum were the traditionalists who postulated that everything in Scripture must be taken at face value. An intermediate position was taught by the school of the so-called Ash³arites who asserted that God is not physical while all scriptural descriptions of God are nonetheless true in a literal sense. However, one should not try to solve this contradiction through philosophizing, but instead accept the Quranic statements as a divine mystery.  If we want to place Saadia Gaon in one of these three categories, we clearly find him in the camp of the Mu³tazilites. In his Book of Beliefs and Opinions, he clearly and avidly rejects the notion of divine anthropomorphisms. 

In Saadia’s days, many Kalāmist thinkers believed that the time had come, at least for an evolved group of people to understand these deeper meanings behind such physical descriptions. Saadia tried to facilitate this higher understanding in his Tafsîr.  Let’s look at some examples.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God’s hand. Ex. 9:3 “Behold, the hand of the Lord will bring a terrible plague on your livestock.”  In line with his philosophy, Saadia translates this into Arabic as fa-‘inna ‘āfat Allāh kā’ina fî mawḍāshîka[2]  (“Behold, the plague of God is present in your livestock”).  
Saadia is however not always consistent in avoiding the use of the Arabic word ‘hand’ (yad).  Deut. 26:8 for instance is translated very literally as “God (Allah) brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand (bi-yad shadîd) and an outstretched arm (dhirā³ mamdūda)...”  It is worth noting though that the Arabic word yad can also mean ‘power’, ‘authority’, ‘control’, or even ‘favor’.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God’s mouth.  Ex. 17:1  The Israelites traveled from place to place “according to the mouth of the Lord”, is translated by Saadia as ³alā qawl Allāh (“…according to the word/speech of God”).

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God’s ears. Num. 11:18  “For you have wept in the ears of the Lord” is translated in the Tafsîr as (“For you have wept before the Lord”).

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God’s eyes. Deut. 11:12   “The eyes of the Lord are always upon it (upon the Land)” is rendered in Arabic as wa-dā’iman ³inâyatuhu bihā.  Even though the Arabic word ³inâya is directly related to the word for eye (³ayn), it is not to be understood as eyes. The meaning is rather a bit less physical, instead meaning ‘seeing’, ‘inspecting’, ‘surveying’.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God’s face. Deut. 34:10  “There has not arisen a prophet since in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face.”  First, a comment on ‘the Lord knew’. Many who are familiar with Biblical Hebrew will know that the verb yādà³ ‘to know’ means more than merely being acquainted with someone. Instead, it denotes a very intimate kind of knowing, one that is usually reserved for spousal interactions. Concerning the phrase ‘face to face’, Saadia could have chosen a literal translation of the word “face”, which would not necessarily constitute an anthropomorphism. Just like the Hebrew word panîm can mean several things besides ‘face’, so too the Arabic word wajh.  Saadia could have chosen the phrase wajhan bi-wajh which means both ‘face to face’ as well as ‘in private’, or ‘directly’.  Nonetheless, Saadia Gaon chose something else instead, but the different manuscripts are not in agreement on what that something else was. A 1893 Paris publication of the Tafsîr by Joseph Derenbourg has Saadia’s version as li-‘anna Allāh ³arrafahu mushāfihan, which means “For God orally (verbally) made known to him; informed him.”  Two observations are in order here: By using the expression mushāfihan (‘orally’ or ‘verbally’, i.e. not via dreams or visions), Saadia avoids any anthropomorphic perception that could be caused by the expression face-to-face. Secondly, he renders the word ‘to know’ into Arabic as a causative verb (³arrafa/informed instead of ³arafa/knew), meaning, instead of ‘He knew him’, he translates ‘He made him know’, ‘He informed him’.  We will see Saadia resorting to a causative understanding of verbs in other examples as well.  However, in the 2015 printed and vocalized edition of Rabbi Yantob Chaim haCohen[3], which no doubt is based on a different manuscript as Derenbourg’s, the Tafsîr reads “Li-‘anna Allāh nājāhu shifāhan”  (For God verbally entrusted in him; confided in him). 

Num. 6: 25  “May the Lord make His face shine upon you and be gracious to you.”
In this case, Saadia applies a literal translation of the word “face” (wajh), which as we already mentioned does not need to be an anthropomorphism. In addition to face, wajh also can mean ‘intention’, ‘direction’, or ‘reputation’.

Remarkably however, in the next verse: Num. 6: 26, the Gaon does not render panîm as wajh.  “May the Lord lift up His face (countenance) over you and give you peace” is rendered as “wa-yaqbal bi-qaṣdihi wa-yuṣayyir laka salām”. This phrase makes for a somewhat puzzling Arabic, but I believe it can be best translated as “May He kindly direct His good intentions towards you and give you peace.”

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God smelling.  In Gen. 8:21 Saadia transforms two anthropomorphisms in one verse (i.e. God smelling and God having a heart) by rendering the text “The Lord smelled the pleasing aroma and said in His heart, never again will I curse the earth because of humans” as “God accepted the pleasing offering and said out of His own accord, ‘I shall not again…”

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God sitting.  Ps. 29:10   “The Lord sat enthroned at the flood; yea He sits enthroned as King forever.” When read physically, sitting involves a bodily posture, which then implies a body and a certain part of the body, instrumental for sitting. The Tafsîr has “Inna Allāh, kamā naṣaba al-³ālam li-ṭ-ṭūfān waqtan, ka-dhālika naṣaba mulk ‘ummatihi ‘abadan”; (Just like God once upheld the world during the flood, so too does He uphold the dominion of his nation forever.)

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God rising. Num. 10:35 “Rise up, O Lord, and let Your enemies be scattered.”  Naturally, if God is to rise up in a literal way, it would seem like a change, a transition from either sitting to standing, or less physically, from inaction to action. Saadia Gaon’s solution is quite interesting. He has: “Qum yā Rabb, bi-naṣrinā!” Even though the Arabic imperative “qum!”, like its Hebrew equivalent, means ‘get up’, or ‘rise up!’, in combination with the preposition bi-, the meaning becomes ‘being concerned with something’, ‘undertaking’ or ‘executing something’.  By adding the preposition bi- and the object naṣrinā (our victory), this changes the meaning exactly to what Saadia would consider to be the deeper, underlying message of the verse: “O Lord, help us!”, and at the same time: “Accomplish our triumph!”

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God resting.  Gen. 2: 2-3   God created the world in six days and rested on the seventh day.  It is worth noting that Islamic polemicists frequently bring up such Biblical verses as proof that the People of the Book (Jews and Christians) have corrupted their Holy Scriptures. Because – thus goes the argument – it is preposterous to believe that God can become tired and in need of rest. While I personally have encountered this argument many times in my interactions with Muslims, I know of no proof that this line of reasoning was already used in Saadia’s days, but I believe it to be likely. Assuming that Saadia knew of this argument, it becomes especially interesting to see how he interprets these texts.

In his Book of Beliefs and Opinions, in his Treatise on God (II), Chapter XII, he writes (let me paraphrase): “Concerning anything involving God’s action, even though we call the Creator “Maker”, the meaning of such a term must not be understood in a corporeal sense. A physical agent cannot produce an effect upon anything before first acting upon himself. He must first himself move. Only then can he generate motion in something else. However, for God, He only needs to entertain the will to have a thing come into being.” (…)  Therefore, when Scripture speaks of the works of God, this must all be understood in this light, namely that when God creates something, He brings it into being without taking it in hand. Scripture may mention a Divine act (as in “And God made” - Gen. 1:7)  and sometimes the opposite of acting (as in “And He rested”).  However, just as “He made” was accomplished without movement or work, when it is said “He rested”, this was not a rejuvenation after labor or exertion. When the Scriptures say that God “rested”, it merely means that He discontinued His work of creation and production.  In other words, Saadia explains that the Hebrew verb shāvàt means the interruption of an activity: for God the interruption of creation; for humans the interruption of their daily work; every seven years, for the land the interruption of agricultural production. 

Gen. 2:2  “On the seventh day, God discontinued (wayyishbōt) all the work He had done.”  Saadia translates this as “wa-³aṭṭala fîhi shay’an ‘an yukhlaq[4]…” (“On it, He made anything discontinue from being created”). This translation exactly reflects the underlying meaning as explained by Saadia in his Book of Beliefs and Opinions, namely not that God took a break from working, but that He made His creation take a break on the seventh day. Instead of translating the intransitive verb wayyishbōt as ³aṭila (‘to take a break‘), he rendered the verb as transitive (equivalent to a pi³³ēl), meaning ‘to make something take a break[5].’ 

Ex. 20:11   “For in six days, the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but He rested on the seventh day. Therefore, the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy.”  Saadia has wa-‘arāḥahā fî l-yawm as-sābi³ (“and He gave it rest on the seventh day”).Here we see Gaon’s resort to a strategy we encountered before, namely assigning a transitive meaning to an intransitive verb. 

Ex. 31:17   “…And on the seventh day, He rested and was refreshed (shāvàt wayyinnāfàsh).”  The Hebrew word nèfesh is used for both soul and breath, and the verb le-hinnāfēsh can be translated as catching your breath or as restoring one’s soul or spirit).  Here too, Saadia uses Arabic verbs with transitive meanings: wa-fî l-yawm as-sabt, ³aṭṭalahā wa-‘arāḥahā: “…on the seventh day, He interrupted IT (i.e. His work) and gave IT (i.e. creation) rest.”)

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God speaking.  Num 1:1 “And the Lord spoke to Moses…”):  When studying the Tafsîr, we see that Saadia treats God’s speaking in two different ways, depending on the context.  When God speaks to someone, for example Abraham or Moses, he uses the regular expression kallama, such as here: Thumma kallama Allāh Mūsā.  It seems that Saadia Gaon does not consider this an objectionable anthropomorphism.  Indeed, when we read what Saadia says about God’s speech in his Book of Beliefs and Opinions, (paraphrasing Treatise II, Chapter 12): “When Scripture uses the expression ‘The Lord spoke’, the meaning of this statement is that God created speech, which He conveyed through the medium of air to the hearing of the prophet or the people in question. The Arabic language permits God’s speech to be characterized in accordance with our interpretation.”  On a sidenote, according to Saadia explanation, the Arabic does not cover a correct philosophical understanding of the opposite of speech, i.e. of silence.  Having said this, it is no surprise that we see throughout his Tafsîr the use of the verb kallama.  However, when the speech of God is mentioned in another context, not to address humans, but instead as the pronouncement of a decree, as in the story of creation: “God said, ‘Let there be light’, and there was light”, a different strategy is applied. There, Saadia writes “Shā’a Allāh ‘an yakūn nur, fa-kāna nūr” (“God wanted that there should be light, and there was light.”)

__________________________________

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­God being jealous.  In his Beliefs and Opinions, Saadia Gaon also takes issue with human-like functions, mental states, and emotions, such as:  God being jealous, God remembering, God regretting, etc. Some examples:  
Ex. 20:5  “For I, the Lord, your God am a jealous God.”  Saadia has here: “Aṭ-Ṭā’iq al-Mu³āqib” (“Powerful and Inflicting punishment”). 
God remembering.  Saadia Gaon explains in the Book of Beliefs and Opinions that Scripture’s description of God as ‘recollecting’, ‘remembering’, alludes to the deliverance of humans from a painful situation. He mentions  “God remembered Noah” (Gen. 8:1) and “God remembered Rachel” (Gen. 30:22).  Saadia claims that this both Hebrew (zākhàr) and Arabic (dhakara) have this same implication. That God’s ‘remembering’ is not to be understood in the human sense of the word becomes clear when we consider that the opposite word for remembering (forgetting) is never applied to God. When God desists from delivering His creatures, an expression is used as in Lamentations 2:1: “He remembered not His footstool.”
God regretting.   Gen. 6: 5-6  “The Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great on the earth, and that all the impulse of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continuously. And the Lord regretted that He had made humankind, and it grieved Him in His heart.”  This last verse has no less than two striking anthropomorphisms, namely God regretting and God grieving.  By again using the strategy of making verbs transitive, Saadia comes with a remarkable interpretation:  “Fa-tawa³³adahum Allāh ba³damā ṣana³ahum fi l-‘arḍ, wa-‘awṣala l-mashaqqa ‘ilā qulūbihim”  (“Then, after having created them on the earth, God distressed them and deposited hardship in their hearts.”) In other words, God Himself was not distressed by regrets, which would be a characteristic of mortal creatures, but gave the people distress as a punishment for their evil. Likewise, God was not grieved in His heart, but instead placed grief in the hearts of the wicked.
Seeing God.   We have seen how Saadia tackled anthropomorphisms rather successfully by translating physical descriptions with the allegedly underlying deeper meaning behind expressions like God’s heart, God’s ears, God’s eyes, God’s mouth, etc., as well as applying transitive translations to verbs that seem to be intransitive. However, this alone could not solve every case of anthropomorphism. 
The most difficult passages where people are described as having actually seen God would need a different approach. These are references such as “They saw the God of Israel” (Ex. 24:10).

Saadia Gaon explains in his Book of Beliefs and Opinions that what people saw was not God Himself, in His true essence, but rather God’s Glory (in Hebrew: the Kavōd of God). This Kavōd is some kind of representation of God, created by God Himself, to allow people to perceive some Divine imagery. This Kavōd is also God’s messenger, and His exalted angel called “the Angel of God”. (N.b., the Angel of God is different from an angel of God.)  Some other names for this Kavōd are the Light of God, the Throne of Glory, and the Divine Presence(“Shekhiná”).

Ex. 24:10 “They saw the God of Israel. Under His feet was something like a pavement of lapis lazuli, as bright blue as the sky.”  The phrase “They saw the God of Israel” is translated by Saadia as “They saw the Light of the God of Israel”, while he renders “Under His feet…”, as: “Below it” (i.e. below the light).

Ex. 24:17   [Torah:] “The appearance of the glory of the Lord was like devouring fire on the top of the mountain.” [Tafsîr:] “The sight of God’s light was like a devouring fire…”

Ex. 33:18   [Torah:] “Show me, please, Your glory.” [Tafsîr:] “Show me Your light.”

Ex. 33: 22-23  [Torah:] “When My glory passes by, I will place you in a cleft of the rock. I will cover you with My hand, until I have passed by. The, I will remove My hand so that you will see My back, but My face shall not be seen.” 
[Tafsîr:] “When My light passes by you, I will have placed you in a cleft of a rock. I will shade you with My clouds until its beginning has passed. Then, I will remove My clouds so that you will see the last end of My light, but its beginnings, you shall not see.”

We have seen how and why Saadia Gaon was determined to render an explanation, a Tafsîr, in which anthropomorphisms were addressed in a philosophically sound manner, according to the ideals of Mu³tazila Kalām.  Saadia was convinced that believers should strive to understand the deeper meanings behind physical descriptions of God. Saadia rendered such portrayals with what he believed were the underlying deeper truths. Sometimes he solved textual difficulties by interpreting intransitive verbs as transitive. Finally, he presented the idea of a created entity called ‘the Glory of God’, ‘the Light of God’, or ‘the Angel of the Lord’ which would account for all Biblical reports of people who are said to have seen God. Later in the development of Jewish thought, especially within the movement of the medieval “German Pietists” (Ḥasidē Ashkenaz) Middle Ages, Saadia’s notion of the ‘Glory of God’ would inspire entirely new forms of spirituality and mysticism.

The Land of Israel in the Bible[1]

by Hayyim Angel

(Rabbi Hayyim Angel is the National Scholar of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, and teaches advanced undergraduate Bible courses at Yeshiva University.)

1. Israel in the Book of Genesis

The Land of Israel as Divine Gift, Heart of the Covenant, and Oath

The Torah does not begin with Abraham, nor does its story begin in the Land of Israel. Instead, the Torah opens by presenting a vision for all of humanity. In his introduction to the Book of Genesis, Rabbi Obadiah Sforno (1470–1550, Italy) observes that only after the three failures of Adam and Eve, the generation of the Flood, and the Tower of Babel, does God choose Abraham and his descendants to teach religious morality to the rest of the world. The Torah celebrates Abraham as the first person who was not only personally righteous, but who was also committed to teaching righteousness to his family and society:

For I have singled him out, that he may instruct his children and his posterity to keep the way of the Lord by doing what is just and right, in order that the Lord may bring about for Abraham what He has promised him. (Genesis 18:19)

Abraham’s family is filtered through the rest of Genesis until it becomes clear that God selects the descendants of Jacob as the Chosen People.[2]

            After Abraham arrives in Israel. God promises the land to Abraham and his descendants: 

The Lord appeared to Abram and said, “I will assign this land to your heirs.” And he built an altar there to the Lord who had appeared to him. (Genesis 12:7)

God reiterates this promise after Abraham’s nephew Lot—his presumed heir until that point—moves to the wicked city of Sodom:

And the Lord said to Abram, after Lot had parted from him, “Raise your eyes and look out from where you are, to the north and south, to the east and west, for I give all the land that you see to you and your offspring forever. I will make your offspring as the dust of the earth, so that if one can count the dust of the earth, then your offspring too can be counted. Up, walk about the land, through its length and its breadth, for I give it to you.” (Genesis 13:14–17).

God again solemnly promises the land to Abraham and his descendants in the “covenant between the halves”:

On that day the Lord made a covenant with Abram, saying, “To your offspring I assign this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates....” (Genesis 15:18)

In these three instances, God grants the Land of Israel to Abraham as a unilateral gift. In chapter 17, however, God introduces the idea of a mutual covenant, fulfilled through circumcision:

I will maintain My covenant between Me and you, and your offspring to come, as an everlasting covenant throughout the ages, to be God to you and to your offspring to come. I assign the land you sojourn in to you and your offspring to come, all the land of Canaan, as an everlasting holding. I will be their God. (Genesis 17:7–8)

            In addition to God’s promises to Abraham, God reaffirms the land covenant to Isaac and to Jacob. God’s gift of the Land of Israel to Abraham’s descendants specifically goes to Jacob’s line: 

[God said to Isaac:] I will assign all these lands to you and to your heirs, fulfilling the oath that I swore to your father Abraham. (Genesis 26:3)

And the Lord was standing beside [Jacob] and He said, “I am the Lord, the God of your father Abraham and the God of Isaac: the ground on which you are lying I will assign to you and to your offspring. Your descendants shall be as the dust of the earth; you shall spread out to the west and to the east, to the north and to the south. All the families of the earth shall bless themselves by you and your descendants….” (Genesis 28:131–14)

And God said to [Jacob], “I am El Shaddai. Be fertile and increase; a nation, yea an assembly of nations, shall descend from you. Kings shall issue from your loins. The land that I assigned to Abraham and Isaac I assign to you; and to your offspring to come will I assign the land.” (Genesis 35:11–12)

Before Jacob leaves home to go to Laban, Isaac also gives Jacob the blessing of Abraham, which includes possession of the land:

May El Shaddai bless you, make you fertile and numerous, so that you become an assembly of peoples. May He grant the blessing of Abraham to you and your offspring, that you may possess the land where you are sojourning, which God assigned to Abraham. (Genesis 28:3–4)

            In addition to the divine gift of the land and the centrality of the land in the God-Israel covenant, God swears the land to Abraham following the Binding of Isaac:

The angel of the Lord called to Abraham a second time from heaven, and said, “By Myself I swear, the Lord declares: Because you have done this and have not withheld your son, your favored one, I will bestow My blessing upon you and make your descendants as numerous as the stars of heaven and the sands on the seashore; and your descendants shall seize the gates of their foes.” (Genesis 22:15–17)

After Abraham demonstrates his absolute commitment, God gives Abraham the greatest assurance. Professor Jon Levenson observes that there is no explanation in the Torah as to why God chose Abraham initially, but God’s oath ratifies the covenant when Abraham passes this ultimate test. Abraham has vindicated God’s choice.[3] 

            To summarize, God repeatedly promises the Land of Israel to the Patriarchs and their descendants through Jacob. In addition to the land serving as a divine gift, it also plays a central role in the mutual God-Israel covenant. God also makes an oath to give the land to Abraham and his descendants following the Binding of Isaac.

Purchasing Land in Israel

Although the Israelites conquer the land at the time of Joshua, several land purchases merit biblical attention. Abraham purchased the first family holding in Israel, the Cave of Machpelah in Hebron and its adjacent field in which he would bury Sarah: 

Then Abraham rose from beside his dead, and spoke to the Hittites, saying, “I am a resident alien among you; sell me a burial site among you, that I may remove my dead for burial…. Let [Ephron] sell me the cave of Machpelah that he owns, which is at the edge of his land. Let him sell it to me, at the full price, for a burial site in your midst.” (Genesis 23:3–4, 9)

The Torah repeatedly refers to the sale of Machpelah, highlighting its significance. Abraham is buried there:

His sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah, in the field of Ephron son of Zohar the Hittite, facing Mamre, the field that Abraham had bought from the Hittites; there Abraham was buried, and Sarah his wife. (Genesis 25:9–10)

Jacob’s dying words are about this transaction. When his sons bury him, the Torah again mentions the purchase:

Then he instructed them, saying to them, “I am about to be gathered to my kin. Bury me with my fathers in the cave which is in the field of Ephron the Hittite, the cave which is in the field of Machpelah, facing Mamre, in the land of Canaan, the field that Abraham bought from Ephron the Hittite for a burial site—there Abraham and his wife Sarah were buried; there Isaac and his wife Rebekah were buried; and there I buried Leah—the field and the cave in it, bought from the Hittites.” (Genesis 49:29–32)

Thus his sons did for him as he had instructed them. His sons carried him to the land of Canaan, and buried him in the cave of the field of Machpelah, the field near Mamre, which Abraham had bought for a burial site from Ephron the Hittite. (Genesis 50:12–13)

Later in Israel’s history, David purchases the plot that will be used as the future Temple in Jerusalem. The acquisition was originally the threshing floor of Araunah (known as “Ornan” in the book of Chronicles). Like Abraham, David refuses to accept the area as a gift and insists on paying for it instead. He even uses the same term that Abraham did: be-kesef malei, “the full price”:

But King David replied to Ornan, “No, I will buy them at the full price [be-kesef malei]. I cannot make a present to the Lord of what belongs to you, or sacrifice a burnt offering that has cost me nothing.” So David paid Ornan for the site 600 shekels’ worth of gold. (I Chronicles 21:24–25)

The other Patriarchal land purchase occurs when Jacob purchases a plot of land near Shechem, establishing the first land holding for the living in the nation’s history:

The parcel of land where he pitched his tent he purchased from the children of Hamor, Shechem’s father, for a hundred kesitahs. (Genesis 33:19)

When the people bury Joseph’s bones in Shechem at the end of the Book of Joshua, the narrative mentions the original purchase:

The bones of Joseph, which the Israelites had brought up from Egypt, were buried at Shechem, in the piece of ground which Jacob had bought for a hundred kesitahs from the children of Hamor, Shechem’s father, and which had become a heritage of the Josephites. (Joshua 24:32)

The Bible’s ongoing interest in these purchases suggests a desire to guarantee Israel’s ownership of these three areas. One Midrash (Genesis Rabbah 79:7) similarly concludes that nobody can claim that Israel stole Machpelah, Shechem, or Temple Mount.

The Land of Israel as Central to the People’s Identity 

At the end of his life, Jacob asks Joseph not to bury him in Egypt but rather in Israel. Joseph agrees. Surprisingly, Jacob then makes him swear:

And when the time approached for Israel to die, he summoned his son Joseph and said to him, “Do me this favor, place your hand under my thigh as a pledge of your steadfast loyalty: please do not bury me in Egypt. When I lie down with my fathers, take me up from Egypt and bury me in their burial place.” He replied, “I will do as you have spoken.” And he said, “Swear to me.” And he swore to him. Then Israel bowed at the head of the bed. (Genesis 47:29–31)

Rashi and Ramban explain that although Jacob trusted Joseph, he believed that Pharaoh never would allow Joseph to go unless he was bound by an oath. Joseph in fact invoked the oath when requesting permission of Pharaoh:

And when the wailing period was over, Joseph spoke to Pharaoh’s court, saying, “Do me this favor, and lay this appeal before Pharaoh: ‘My father made me swear, saying, “I am about to die. Be sure to bury me in the grave which I made ready for myself in the land of Canaan.” Now, therefore, let me go up and bury my father; then I shall return.’” And Pharaoh said, “Go up and bury your father, as he made you promise on oath.” (Genesis 50:4–6)

Rabbi Shlomo Riskin,[4] however, observes that when Joseph appeals to Pharaoh, he speaks to Pharaoh’s court, that is, to Pharaoh’s underlings. Joseph was second in command in all of Egypt, so why did he not personally ask Pharaoh?

Rabbi Riskin explains that this was a moment of truth for Joseph. He had been struggling with his identity ever since he had become second in command some 25 years earlier. Pharaoh gave him the Egyptian name Zaphenath-Paneah and married him to a daughter of the priest of On (Genesis 41:45). Joseph was a success, and Pharaoh made it clear that Joseph was an Egyptian.

Rabbi Riskin explains the names of Manasseh and Ephraim in light of Joseph’s identity conflict. Manasseh represents Joseph’s new Egyptian identity: “God has made me forget completely [nashani] my hardship and my parental home.” Ephraim, on the other hand, reminds Joseph that Egypt never will become his true home: “God has made me fertile [hifrani] in the land of my affliction” (Genesis 41:51–52).

Jacob understood that Joseph’s identity would be tested severely by this request to be buried in Israel. Therefore, he made him swear. Joseph understood that by honoring his father’s will, he would be making a public declaration that his family identity belongs to Israel and not to Egypt. He therefore was afraid to confront Pharaoh directly. 

Joseph addresses his brothers on his deathbed: “Joseph made the sons of Israel swear, saying, ‘When God has taken notice of you, you shall carry up my bones from here’” (Genesis 50:25). Joseph thereby confirms his Israelite identity by insisting that he will join his people in the future exodus. 

Summary

From the time Abraham arrived in Israel, God promises him and his descendants the land. This promise manifests as an outright unilateral gift, an essential part of a mutual covenant, and is ratified by divine oath after the Binding of Isaac. God repeats this promise to Isaac and Jacob, and the land goes to their line of descendants.

            Abraham’s purchase of Machpelah in Hebron and Jacob’s purchase of land in Shechem both receive significant attention, highlighting the permanence of these acquisitions prior to Joshua’s later conquest of the land.

            Jacob insisted on being buried in Israel, and Joseph needed to make a public statement that he too identified as an Israelite rather than as an Egyptian. On his deathbed, Joseph expressed his ultimate desire to be buried in Israel.

1. Israel in Exodus through Deuteronomy

In Genesis, God makes an absolute, unbreakable covenant with Abraham. God promises that He will give the Land of Israel to Abraham’s descendants (through Jacob’s line) as an everlasting holding. The land is a gift under divine oath, and also is a central aspect of the God-Israel covenant:

I assign the land you sojourn in to you and your offspring to come, all the land of Canaan, as an everlasting holding. I will be their God. (Genesis 17:8)

In the rest of the Torah, however, God introduces a conditional aspect of this mutual covenant of the land. The blessings and curses in Leviticus 26, and several other passages, threaten exile if Israel sins:

I will lay your cities in ruin and make your sanctuaries desolate, and I will not savor your pleasing odors. I will make the land desolate, so that your enemies who settle in it shall be appalled by it. And you I will scatter among the nations, and I will unsheathe the sword against you. Your land shall become a desolation and your cities a ruin. (Leviticus 26:31–33)

Take care not to be lured away to serve other gods and bow to them. For the Lord’s anger will flare up against you, and He will shut up the skies so that there will be no rain and the ground will not yield its produce; and you will soon perish from the good land that the Lord is assigning to you. (Deuteronomy 11:16–17)

One passage in Leviticus adds a poetic dimension. The Land of Israel is depicted as having a sensitive stomach, and it cannot tolerate grave sins. Sins cause the land to become ill and vomit out its inhabitants, whether Canaanite or Israelite:

Do not defile yourselves in any of those ways, for it is by such that the nations that I am casting out before you defiled themselves. Thus the land became defiled; and I called it to account for its iniquity, and the land spewed out its inhabitants. But you must keep My laws and My rules, and you must not do any of those abhorrent things, neither the citizen nor the stranger who resides among you; for all those abhorrent things were done by the people who were in the land before you, and the land became defiled. So let not the land spew you out for defiling it, as it spewed out the nation that came before you. All who do any of those abhorrent things—such persons shall be cut off from their people. You shall keep My charge not to engage in any of the abhorrent practices that were carried on before you, and you shall not defile yourselves through them: I the Lord am your God. (Leviticus 18:24–30; cf. Leviticus 19:29; 20:22–25)

In addition to sexual crimes, the Torah also includes Molech worship (Leviticus 20:3; Deuteronomy 18:9–12), murder (Numbers 35:33–34), leaving a corpse of an executed person unburied (Deuteronomy 21:23), and violating the sanctity of marriage (Deuteronomy 24:1–4) as sins that pollute the land. Later prophets present idol-worship as a sin that defiles the land.[5] Thus, sin causes the land to become defiled, leading to the exile of its inhabitants. 

            The Torah presents antecedents for the ideas of exile and land defilement from the outset of creation. After Adam and Eve sin in Eden, God curses the earth and banishes Adam and Eve from Eden:

To Adam He said, “Because you did as your wife said and ate of the tree about which I commanded you, ‘You shall not eat of it,’ cursed be the ground because of you; by toil shall you eat of it all the days of your life: Thorns and thistles shall it sprout for you. But your food shall be the grasses of the field”…. So the Lord God banished him from the garden of Eden, to till the soil from which he was taken. (Genesis 3:17–18, 23)

The Torah also expresses the poetic notion that the land cannot tolerate sin after Cain murders Abel. Having swallowed Abel’s blood, the land no longer will produce for Cain, and Cain may not remain in his land:

Then [God] said, “What have you done? Hark, your brother’s blood cries out to Me from the ground! Therefore, you shall be more cursed than the ground, which opened its mouth to receive your brother’s blood from your hand. If you till the soil, it shall no longer yield its strength to you. You shall become a ceaseless wanderer on earth.” (Genesis 4:10–12)

Throughout Tanakh, God reminds the Israelites that the land is not truly theirs, and they can be exiled if they fail to live up to the God-Israel covenant.

            Joshua reiterates this threat shortly before his death, after the people already have possessed their land:

If you break the covenant that the Lord your God enjoined upon you, and go and serve other gods and bow down to them, then the Lord’s anger will burn against you, and you shall quickly perish from the good land that He has given you. (Joshua 23:16)

God also reminds Israel of the threat of exile for infidelity to their covenant, precisely at the ideal moment when Solomon dedicates the Temple:

[But] if you and your descendants turn away from Me and do not keep the commandments [and] the laws which I have set before you, and go and serve other gods and worship them, then I will sweep Israel off the land which I gave them; I will reject the House which I have consecrated to My name; and Israel shall become a proverb and a byword among all peoples. (I Kings 9:6–7)

Sabbatical and Jubilee Years

When Abraham needed a burial plot for Sarah, he faced a paradox. On the one hand, God had promised the land to him and his descendants for the future. On the other hand, he did not own any of that land and therefore was a resident alien (ger ve-toshav) among the Canaanites: 

I am a resident alien [ger ve-toshav] among you; sell me a burial site among you, that I may remove my dead for burial. (Genesis 23:4)

Abraham wanted to gain a foothold in the land to bury Sarah as a landowner, rather than simply finding a spot on the roadside to bury her as a nomad.[6]

            Even as the people of Israel are crossing the desert to possess their land, God insists that the land does not truly belong to them. Rather, it belongs to God and therefore the people must observe the Sabbatical and Jubilee years. They are resident aliens, just like Abraham:

But the land must not be sold beyond reclaim, for the land is Mine; you are but strangers resident [gerim ve-toshavim] with Me. (Leviticus 25:23)

The Torah also links the threat of exile to the violation of the laws of the Sabbatical and Jubilee years:

I will make the land desolate, so that your enemies who settle in it shall be appalled by it. And you I will scatter among the nations, and I will unsheathe the sword against you. Your land shall become a desolation and your cities a ruin. Then shall the land make up for its Sabbath years throughout the time that it is desolate and you are in the land of your enemies; then shall the land rest and make up for its Sabbath years. Throughout the time that it is desolate, it shall observe the rest that it did not observe in your Sabbath years while you were dwelling upon it…. For the land shall be forsaken of them, making up for its Sabbath years by being desolate of them, while they atone for their iniquity; for the abundant reason that they rejected My rules and spurned My laws. (Leviticus 26:32–25, 43)

Non-observance of these laws demonstrates that the Israelites do not recognize that the land is God’s, but instead consider the land to be their own. 

            At the very end of Tanakh, the Book of Chronicles reiterates this understanding when the people go into the Babylonian exile after the destruction of the Temple:

Those who survived the sword he exiled to Babylon, and they became his and his sons’ servants till the rise of the Persian kingdom, in fulfillment of the word of the Lord spoken by Jeremiah, until the land paid back its Sabbaths; as long as it lay desolate it kept Sabbath, till seventy years were completed. (II Chronicles 36:20–21)

Although Israel’s continued presence in their land depends on their faithfulness to the covenant and their recognition that the land belongs to God, the land remains a permanent inheritance of the people of Israel. If they go into exile, they will always return to their land and no other nation will possess the land:

I assign the land you sojourn in to you and your offspring to come, all the land of Canaan, as an everlasting holding. I will be their God. (Genesis 17:8)

The Book of Deuteronomy similarly reiterates the divine gift of the land to the people of Israel.[7] The Torah also restates God’s oath guaranteeing this gift.[8] Specifically at times of great sin and crisis, the prophets invoke God’s oath and eternal covenant with Israel. These include the Golden Calf (Exodus 32:13–14) and the destruction of the Temple (Jeremiah 7:3–7; 33:25–26).

The Threat of Prosperity and the Need to be Grateful to God

In addition to the Torah’s concern that the people of Israel never consider the land to be absolutely theirs, the Torah repeatedly praises the beauty and fertility of the land and warns against losing sight of the fact that all blessings come from God.

            During Moses’ initiation prophecy at the burning bush, God praises Israel:

“I am,” He said, “the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God. And the Lord continued, “I have marked well the plight of My people in Egypt and have heeded their outcry because of their taskmasters; yes, I am mindful of their sufferings. I have come down to rescue them from the Egyptians and to bring them out of that land to a good and spacious land, a land flowing with milk and honey, the region of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites….” (Exodus 3:6–8)

This is the first of some twenty biblical references to Israel as the land of milk and honey.

            In Deuteronomy, Moses repeatedly warns against the hazard of prosperity. If the people forget that all is from God and they become ungrateful, they will soon lapse into unfaithfulness:

For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land, a land with streams and springs and fountains issuing from plain and hill; a land of wheat and barley, of vines, figs, and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey; a land where you may eat food without limit, where you will lack nothing; a land whose rocks are iron and from whose hills you can mine copper. When you have eaten your fill, give thanks to the Lord your God for the good land which He has given you. Take care lest you forget the Lord your God and fail to keep His commandments, His rules, and His laws, which I enjoin upon you today… and you say to yourselves, “My own power and the might of my own hand have won this wealth for me.” Remember that it is the Lord your God who gives you the power to get wealth, in fulfillment of the covenant that He made on oath with your fathers, as is still the case. (Deuteronomy 8:7–18)

The Talmud derives the commandment for the Grace after Meals from 8:10, “when you have eaten your fill, give thanks to the Lord your God for the good land which He has given you.” The passage describes divine blessing, rather than using the typical language of commandment. However, Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik observed that this verse must be read as a commandment. The continuation of the passage warns against what occurs when people do not bless God for their produce—they will forget God. Therefore, 8:10 must be a commandment of what Israelites must do to avoid this hazard, rather than a prediction of what they will do.[9]

Israel’s Dependence on Rainfall as a Religious Value       

The beautiful land depends on rainfall, requiring constant providential attention:

For the land that you are about to enter and possess is not like the land of Egypt from which you have come. There the grain you sowed had to be watered by your own labors, like a vegetable garden; but the land you are about to cross into and possess, a land of hills and valleys, soaks up its water from the rains of heaven. It is a land which the Lord your God looks after, on which the Lord your God always keeps His eye, from year’s beginning to year’s end. (Deuteronomy 11:10–12)

Because of its consistent agricultural cycle, Egypt became a refuge during famines. The Torah likens Egypt to the Garden of Eden. Lot also moved to the wicked city of Sodom because it resembled Egypt and Eden in that the Jordan River watered the area and guaranteed fertility: 

Lot looked about him and saw how well watered was the whole plain of the Jordan, all of it—this was before the Lord had destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah—all the way to Zoar, like the garden of the Lord, like the land of Egypt. (Genesis 13:10)

God gave Israel a fertile land, but it is not consistently fertile as Egypt or Sodom. The latter are much easier places to obtain predictable prosperity. The consistent rising of the Nile and Jordan Rivers led to a state wherein people felt a sense of security and entitlement. There were no consequences to their sinful behavior, and both developed wicked cultures. Israel’s dependence on rainfall, in contrast, fostered a culture of constant attention to relationship-building with a personal God.

Ramban (on Deuteronomy 11:11–12) similarly explains that all people depend on God, but a sick person feels that sense of dependence much more than a healthy person. Egypt is like a healthy person, and Israel is like a sick person. Since Israel depends on rain, the people must constantly remain conscious of their dependence on God.

Professors Uriel Simon and Moshe Greenberg

Professors Uriel Simon and Moshe Greenberg contribute additional dimensions of understanding to the religious significance of the Land of Israel in the Torah. Professor Simon[10] observes that Abraham’s bond with the land is not natural, since he was not born there. Although God promises the land to Abraham and his descendants, Abraham must wait some 400 years for the fulfillment of this promise (Genesis 15:13–16). There is further uncertainty regarding the fulfillment of the divine promise because of the delay in Abraham’s fathering an heir who would perpetuate the covenant. 

Israel’s connection to the land is not a natural bond; it is a connection of covenantal destiny. When a nation has a natural bond to its land, there is no constant threat of exile looming over the people. In contrast, when a nation has a covenantal relationship of destiny, this means that their rights to their land are based on a divine promise and are conditional on faithfulness to God. 

A nation with a natural bond to its land loses that connection when it is exiled, and that nation ceases to exist. In contrast, a nation of destiny can temporarily lose its land, but retains an eternal bond to its land even when it goes into exile. Natural possession of one’s land feels safe, but it deadens the heart of the nation since the people take their land for granted. Possession of land through destiny forces a nation to have constant attentiveness to God. Thus, the people of Israel never could take their land for granted, but also could retain their identity through their exile and long for a return to their land.

Professor Moshe Greenberg[11] explains that the Torah was given in the desert and its narrative ends with the people still in the desert. While many of the Torah’s laws are applicable only in Israel, the basis for the God-Israel covenant is the exodus and revelation at Sinai. If Israel is faithful to the Torah covenant, they will live safely in their land forever. If Israel is unfaithful, they can be exiled from land. Since the Torah transcends the Land of Israel, it remains fully binding outside of the land.

Summary

The Torah makes the conditional aspect of the covenant explicit, threatening exile for certain grave sins. One passage in Leviticus adds the poetic dimension of the land becoming ill from sin, leading it to spew out its inhabitants. There are no purification rituals for the land, and only exile can allow the land to recover from its defilement.

            The Sabbatical and Jubilee years convey the message that the land belongs to God and not to Israel. Non-fulfillment of these laws leads to exile, since Israel makes the false assumption that the land belongs to them. Even with exile, the land remains an eternal possession of the people of Israel and they will return to their land.

            In addition to Israel’s need to recognize that God owns the land, they also must be eternally grateful to God for the bountiful land and its produce. Proper gratitude lies at the heart of faithfulness to God, whereas ingratitude leads to unfaithfulness.

            The Land of Israel’s dependence on rainfall similarly creates a state of constant God-consciousness. Unlike Egypt and Sodom, which had the consistent rising of the Nile and Jordan Rivers, Israel felt their dependence on God at every moment.

            Professor Uriel Simon develops the idea of the people of Israel’s connection of destiny to their land. God’s promises to Abraham are delayed—and are contingent on—Israel’s faithfulness to the covenant. On the other hand, Israel’s bond to its land cannot be severed by an exile, unlike nations that have a natural bond to their lands. The people of Israel always will return to their land.

            Professor Moshe Greenberg highlights the fact that the Torah begins and ends outside of the Land of Israel to stress that it is an eternal covenant that transcends all land borders and applies wherever the people of Israel live. Israel is the place of ultimate fulfillment of the God-Israel relationship, but Israel has a covenantal relationship with God through the Torah everywhere.

1. Israel in the Prophetic Books

The Book of Joshua

There is no biblical holiday to celebrate Israel’s entry to its land or Joshua’s conquest of the land. Joshua even uses the Torah’s language of a “proto-Seder” to commemorate the miraculous crossing of the Jordan River:

This shall serve as a symbol among you: in time to come, when your children ask, “What is the meaning of these stones for you?” you shall tell them, “The waters of the Jordan were cut off because of the Ark of the Lord’s Covenant; when it passed through the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off.” And so these stones shall serve the people of Israel as a memorial for all time. (Joshua 4:6–7)

He charged the Israelites as follows: “In time to come, when your children ask their fathers, ‘What is the meaning of those stones?’ tell your children: ‘Here the Israelites crossed the Jordan on dry land.’ For the Lord your God dried up the waters of the Jordan before you until you crossed, just as the Lord your God did to the Sea of Reeds, which He dried up before us until we crossed. Thus all the peoples of the earth shall know how mighty is the hand of the Lord, and you shall fear the Lord your God always.” (Joshua 4:21–24)

Israel’s memory is codified through the Torah’s holidays to perpetuate the foundational experiences of the exodus, the revelation at Sinai, and the sojourn through the wilderness. Although the Land of Israel is a central aspect of the God-Israel relationship, the Torah applies everywhere, and not just in Israel. 

The Temple in Jerusalem

David establishes Jerusalem as the political capital of Israel by moving there and building his palace (II Samuel chapter 5). He then establishes Jerusalem as God’s capital by moving the Ark there (II Samuel chapter 6). God does not permit David to build the actual Temple, but assures him that his son will rule and build the Temple (II Samuel 7). Solomon goes on to build the Temple and a palace for himself near it (I Kings 6–7).

Ramban (on Exodus 25:2) explains that the Tabernacle (and the Temple) create a perpetual re-enactment of the Revelation at Sinai. Both Sinai and the Tabernacle had a tripartite division of holiness: (1) The mountain’s summit is analogous to the Temple’s Holy of Holies, accessible only to Moses or the High Priest. (2) The middle of the mountain is analogous to the Temple’s Holy section, accessible only to the elders or the priests. (3) The base of the mountain is analogous to the Temple courtyard, where all people could gather to experience God’s revelation.

In addition to Ramban’s association of the Tabernacle-Temple with the Revelation at Sinai, several Midrashim ascertain connections between the Temple and the Garden of Eden. Ideally, Adam and Eve were supposed to follow God’s commands and remain in the Garden. Instead, they sinned and were expelled, and God guarded the Tree of Life with Cherubim: 

[God] drove the man out, and stationed east of the garden of Eden the cherubim and the fiery ever-turning sword, to guard the way to the tree of life. (Genesis 3:24)

In the time of Moses, the Torah replaced the Tree of Life with the Ark of the Covenant. Cherubim were placed above it, to guard it. The Tabernacle is the only other reference to Cherubim in the Torah, and the Book of Proverbs refers to Torah and Wisdom as a Tree of Life: “She is a tree of life for those who grasp her” (Proverbs 3:18) (Midrash ha-Gadol, Genesis 3:24). Thus, the Tabernacle and Temple become a manifestation of the perfection in the Garden of Eden, where all humanity can live in harmony and serve God.

            In addition to the Temple serving as the heart of the God-Israel relationship, Solomon also recognized the universalistic dimension of the Temple. In his prayer at the dedication of the Temple, Solomon stressed that all God-fearing people always are welcome. He expresses a longing for all humanity to recognize God:

Or if a foreigner who is not of Your people Israel comes from a distant land for the sake of Your name—for they shall hear about Your great name and Your mighty hand and Your outstretched arm—when he comes to pray toward this House, oh, hear in Your heavenly abode and grant all that the foreigner asks You for. Thus all the peoples of the earth will know Your name and revere You, as does Your people Israel; and they will recognize that Your name is attached to this House that I have built…. And may these words of mine, which I have offered in supplication before the Lord, be close to the Lord our God day and night, that He may provide for His servant and for His people Israel, according to each day’s needs—to the end that all the peoples of the earth may know that the Lord alone is God, there is no other. (I Kings 8:41–43, 59–60)

The worldview underlying Solomon’s prayer becomes a central feature of later prophetic visions, where the Temple serves as the religious center for both Israel and a God-fearing humanity.

            The narratives in I Kings chapters 3–10 present Solomon’s reign as the ideal period in Israel’s history. Solomon is a wise king who judges the people fairly and is a prophet. The nation is religious and unified. There is peace and prosperity. God’s Presence is manifest in the Temple. The nations of the world flood to Jerusalem to see the Temple and to admire Solomon’s wisdom. 

Later prophets use this imagery to depict the ideal messianic age. The only element they must add to their visions is that Israel’s exiles will return to their land. During Solomon’s reign, the Israelites still lived in their land and were not yet in exile. 

The Destruction of the Temple and Exile

At the ideal moment in Israel’s history, when Solomon dedicated the Temple, God warns that Israel can remain in this pristine state eternally only if they remain faithful to the Torah. If they violate the God-Israel covenant, they will lose the Temple and forfeit their right to remain in the land:

[But] if you and your descendants turn away from Me and do not keep the commandments [and] the laws which I have set before you, and go and serve other gods and worship them, then I will sweep Israel off the land which I gave them; I will reject the House which I have consecrated to My name; and Israel shall become a proverb and a byword among all peoples. (I Kings 9:6–7)

Tragically, King Solomon opened the door to idolatry toward the end of his life (I Kings 11), leading to the division of the monarchy. Sustained idolatry through much of the remainder of the period led to the eventual exile of the Northern Kingdom by the Assyrians, and ultimately the destruction of the Temple and exile by the Babylonians.

            Living at the time of the destruction, the prophet Jeremiah understood that God’s very creation was coming undone and returning to its primeval chaotic state:

I look at the earth, it is unformed and void [tohu va-vohu]; at the skies, and their light is gone. (Jeremiah 4:23)

This reference harks back to the second verse of the Torah, before God created order:

The earth was unformed and void [tohu va-vohu], with darkness over the surface of the deep and a wind from God sweeping over the water. (Genesis 1:2)

The destruction of the Temple ends the vision of its serving as a new Garden of Eden. The people of Israel are exiled to Babylonia and to Egypt (see II Kings 25), reversing Abraham’s journey from the area of Babylonia as well as the exodus from Egypt in the time of Moses.

            The Temple and Solomon’s palace are destroyed together, as God’s kingdom and Israel’s kingdom fall to Babylonia:

He burned the House of the Lord, the king’s palace, and all the houses of Jerusalem; he burned down the house of every notable person. (II Kings 25:9)

The destruction of the Temple and the exile sound like they are absolute, and most surviving Jews believed that God had abandoned them. The end of the Book of Lamentations poignantly reflects this dark despair of the people:

Why have You forgotten us utterly, forsaken us for all time? Take us back, O Lord, to Yourself, and let us come back; renew our days as of old! For truly, You have rejected us, bitterly raged against us. (Lamentations 5:20–22)

Prophetic Visions of Hope

Confronting the people’s feelings of rejection, the prophets envisioned a time beyond the current reality and offered much-needed hope to the despairing people. In Isaiah 50, the prophet invokes the notion that the exile should be likened to a separation, but not a divorce:

Thus said the Lord: Where is the bill of divorce of your mother whom I dismissed? And which of My creditors was it to whom I sold you off? You were only sold off for your sins, and your mother dismissed for your crimes. (Isaiah 50:1)

Alternatively, Jeremiah posited an even more extreme position that the exile was a divorce, but God still was prepared to remarry Israel if the people were to abandon their idolatry:

[The word of the Lord came to me] as follows: If a man divorces his wife, and she leaves him and marries another man, can he ever go back to her? Would not such a land be defiled? Now you have whored with many lovers: can you return to Me?—says the Lord. (Jeremiah 3:1)

Regardless, the reality was the same: The God-Israel relationship is eternal. Either there never was a divorce, or there was a divorce with an ongoing invitation to return.

In his celebrated prophecy of the Dry Bones, Ezekiel depicts the people as feeling dead. God, however, will miraculously restore them to their vitality and to their land:

And He said to me, “O mortal, these bones are the whole House of Israel. They say, ‘Our bones are dried up, our hope is gone [avedah tikvatenu]; we are doomed.’ Prophesy, therefore, and say to them: Thus said the Lord God: I am going to open your graves and lift you out of the graves, O My people, and bring you to the land of Israel….” (Ezekiel 37:11–12)

This vision was intended as a parable to Israel. Like dead bones, Israel felt hopeless. God promised that He would restore life to the nation and bring them back to their land.[12] 

            In Isaiah 51, the prophet invokes God’s eternal covenant with the Patriarchs, prophesying the nation’s return to Israel and the restoration of the state of being like the Garden of Eden:

Listen to Me, you who pursue justice, you who seek the Lord: Look to the rock you were hewn from, to the quarry you were dug from. Look back to Abraham your father and to Sarah who brought you forth. For he was only one when I called him, but I blessed him and made him many. Truly the Lord has comforted Zion, comforted all her ruins; He has made her wilderness like Eden, her desert like the Garden of the Lord. Gladness and joy shall abide there, thanksgiving and the sound of music. (Isaiah 51:1–3)

Israel’s mission is to serve as a kingdom of priests and a holy nation (Exodus 19:6), the religious capital of the world that teaches humanity to return to the ideal state of the Garden of Eden:

In the days to come, the Mount of the Lord’s House shall stand firm above the mountains and tower above the hills; and all the nations shall gaze on it with joy. And the many peoples shall go and say: “Come, let us go up to the Mount of the Lord, to the House of the God of Jacob; that He may instruct us in His ways, and that we may walk in His paths.” For instruction shall come forth from Zion, the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. Thus He will judge among the nations and arbitrate for the many peoples, and they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks: Nation shall not take up sword against nation; they shall never again know war. (Isaiah 2:2–4)

The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, the leopard lie down with the kid; the calf, the beast of prey, and the fatling together, with a little boy to herd them. The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together; and the lion, like the ox, shall eat straw. A babe shall play over a viper’s hole, and an infant pass his hand over an adder’s den. In all of My sacred mount nothing evil or vile shall be done; for the land shall be filled with devotion to the Lord as water covers the sea. (Isaiah 11:6–9)

Prior to the destruction of the Temple, Jeremiah corresponded with the community already exiled to Babylonia in 597 bce with King Jehoiachin, instructing them to build a Jewish life while they waited for the restoration to their land. That restoration would come some seventy years after the rise of the Babylonian Empire:

Thus said the Lord of Hosts, the God of Israel, to the whole community which I exiled from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them, plant gardens and eat their fruit. Take wives and beget sons and daughters; and take wives for your sons, and give your daughters to husbands, that they may bear sons and daughters. Multiply there, do not decrease. And seek the welfare of the city to which I have exiled you and pray to the Lord in its behalf; for in its prosperity you shall prosper…. For thus said the Lord: When Babylon’s seventy years are over, I will take note of you, and I will fulfill to you My promise of favor—to bring you back to this place. (Jeremiah 29:4–10)

The Jews were to retain their identity while living in the Diaspora, but they always knew that they would return home to Israel.

Summary

There are no biblical holidays to commemorate Israel’s entry into the land. The Torah thus creates a national covenantal identity that transcends the Land of Israel. Joshua’s ceremony of acceptance of the Torah after the people entered the land teaches that faithfulness to God lies at the heart of Israel’s remaining in its land. The Talmud adds that the Torah’s vision also looks outward to all humanity, as Israel has a role to play in building a model society and inspiring the nations of the world to the Torah’s level of religious morality.

            David and Solomon establish Jerusalem as God’s capital in ruling the world as well as the political capital of Israel. The Temple reenacts the Revelation at Sinai, and also functions as a taste of the Garden of Eden. Solomon expresses the vision of the Torah, that the Temple is open to all God-fearing people, and not only to Israel. Solomon’s reign reflects the messianic age.

            Tragically, the sin of idolatry contributed to the division of the monarchy, the exile of the ten Northern tribes, and ultimately the exile of Judah along with the destruction of the Temple. God’s very creation had come undone, and the Israelites returned to Babylonia and Egypt, reversing the journeys of Abraham and Moses. The people thought that the God-Israel covenant had come to an end.

            It required prophetic vision to look beyond the dark reality of the destruction and exile. Prophets proclaimed that the exile was a separation from God, not a permanent divorce. Israel might feel dead, but God will revive them. The Patriarchal covenant is in full, eternal force, and God will restore the Eden-like state of Israel. While in exile, the people must build institutions to retain their identity. But they always will return home to Israel.

1. Israel in the Second Temple Period and in the Contemporary Period

A Miracle of History

Despite the intense despair of the people in the wake of the destruction of the Temple and the exile, Jeremiah offered a prophetic vision beyond the misery. There would be a full restoration to the land, but in the interim the Jews would need to build a strong Diaspora life:

Thus said the Lord of Hosts, the God of Israel, to the whole community which I exiled from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them, plant gardens and eat their fruit. Take wives and beget sons and daughters; and take wives for your sons, and give your daughters to husbands, that they may bear sons and daughters. Multiply there, do not decrease. And seek the welfare of the city to which I have exiled you and pray to the Lord in its behalf; for in its prosperity you shall prosper…. For thus said the Lord: When Babylon’s seventy years are over, I will take note of you, and I will fulfill to you My promise of favor—to bring you back to this place. (Jeremiah 29:4–10)

After generations of exile, the nation experienced a shocking turn of events. Approximately seventy years after its inception, the seemingly invincible Babylonian Empire suddenly collapsed in the wake of the Persian onslaught under Cyrus. Even more remarkably, Cyrus permitted the Jews to return to Israel and rebuild the Temple. All of a sudden, the once seemingly impossible prophecies of Jeremiah were being realized before the people’s eyes. The Book of Ezra opens with a reference to Jeremiah’s prophecies, celebrating this miracle of history:

In the first year of King Cyrus of Persia, when the word of the Lord spoken by Jeremiah was fulfilled, the Lord roused the spirit of King Cyrus of Persia to issue a proclamation throughout his realm by word of mouth and in writing as follows: “Thus said King Cyrus of Persia: The Lord God of Heaven has given me all the kingdoms of the earth and has charged me with building Him a house in Jerusalem, which is in Judah. Anyone of you of all His people—may his God be with him, and let him go up to Jerusalem that is in Judah and build the House of the Lord God of Israel, the God that is in Jerusalem; and all who stay behind, wherever he may be living, let the people of his place assist him with silver, gold, goods, and livestock, besides the freewill offering to the House of God that is in Jerusalem.” (Ezra 1:1–4)

Ezra chapter 2 contains a lengthy list of the people who returned to Israel. The extensive coverage gives the initial impression that the Jewish response to Cyrus’ permission to return was overwhelmingly positive. This impression is diminished by the fact that only 42,360 people returned (Ezra 2:64). Evidently, most Jews chose to remain in exile. 

Zechariah’s Vision of a Wall of Fire Surrounding Jerusalem

The prophet Zechariah received a series of visions to encourage the Jews to complete the rebuilding of the Second Temple. One element he addressed was the shame people felt over the walls of Jerusalem, which continued to be breached after the Babylonian invasion:

I looked up, and I saw a man holding a measuring line. “Where are you going?” I asked. “To measure Jerusalem,” he replied, “to see how long and wide it is to be.” But the angel who talked with me came forward, and another angel came forward to meet him. The former said to him, “Run to that young man and tell him: ‘Jerusalem shall be peopled as a city without walls, so many shall be the men and cattle it contains. And I Myself—declares the Lord—will be a wall of fire all around it, and I will be a glory inside it.’” (Zechariah 2:5–9).

Zechariah challenged the public perception of the broken walls of Jerusalem as being shameful, as later reported in the Book of Nehemiah:

They replied, “The survivors who have survived the captivity there in the province are in dire trouble and disgrace; Jerusalem’s wall is full of breaches, and its gates have been destroyed by fire.” (Nehemiah 1:3)

Then I said to them, “You see the bad state we are in—Jerusalem lying in ruins and its gates destroyed by fire. Come, let us rebuild the wall of Jerusalem and suffer no more disgrace.” (Nehemiah 2:17)

In Zechariah’s vision, the breached walls presented an opportunity to expand the borders of the city through a massive population increase. Instead of requiring physical walls for security, God would serve as a wall of fire to protect His people.

            Prophecies are not fulfilled automatically. People need to do their part to realize the potential of the moment.[13] In this spirit, Zechariah immediately follows his vision with a call to the Jews still living in Babylonia:

“Away, away! Flee from the land of the north—says the Lord—though I swept you [there] like the four winds of heaven—declares the Lord.” Away, escape, O Zion, you who dwell in Fair Babylon.... The Lord will take Judah to Himself as His portion in the Holy Land,[14] and He will choose Jerusalem once more. (Zechariah 2:10–16)

If the people want Jerusalem’s population to expand beyond the city walls, then the exiles need to leave Babylonia en masse and move to Israel! 

Zechariah also prophesies that God will personally purify the land from its stains of sin:

I will remove that country’s guilt in a single day. (Zechariah 3:9)

In Zechariah chapter 5, the prophet explains that God will eliminate sinners, and then sin itself from the land.[15] In our discussions of the Land of Israel in the Torah, we observed that there is no ritual to purify the land from severe sin. Only exile of the sinners and God’s intervention can allow the land proper opportunity to recover. God’s Presence and the people now can return to a restored land.

            Unfortunately, most Jews ignored Zechariah’s call to return and chose to remain in exile. The ideal vision never was fulfilled. In the final analysis, Jerusalem was better off with a wall. Approximately 75 years after Zechariah’s prophecy, Nehemiah rebuilt the walls of Jerusalem (445 bce). The city was so desolate that he decreed that one-tenth of the Jewish community must resettle in Jerusalem so that it would remain a viable city (Nehemiah 11:1–2).

Within two generations of exile, there was a severe change in the mentality of the Jews. Those who had been exiled feared that the God-Israel relationship was over, and they could not even envision praying to God while in exile: “How can we sing a song of the Lord on alien soil?” (Psalm 137:4). Two generations later, most Jews were comfortable remaining in exile. They lived a robust life in the Diaspora, and evidently no longer perceived the exile as the supreme punishment of the Torah. 

Putting the evidence together, several rabbinic sources consider the Second Temple period as a missed opportunity for the full messianic redemption:

If she be a wall, we will build upon her a turret of silver; if she be a door, we will enclose her with boards of cedar. Had you made yourself like a wall and had all come up in the days of Ezra, you would have been compared to silver, which no rottenness can ever affect. Now that you have come up like doors, you are like cedarwood, which rottenness prevails over. (Yoma 9b; cf. Kuzari II:24)

            Simultaneously, the very existence of the Second Temple and a flourishing Jewish community in Israel convincingly demonstrated that the God-Israel relationship endures beyond the exile and is eternal. Malachi invokes the rebuilding of the land as a sign of God’s abiding love of Israel:

I have shown you love, said the Lord. But you ask, “How have You shown us love?” After all—declares the Lord—Esau is Jacob’s brother; yet I have accepted Jacob and have rejected Esau. I have made his hills a desolation, his territory a home for beasts of the desert. If Edom thinks, “Though crushed, we can build the ruins again,” thus said the Lord of Hosts: They may build, but I will tear down. And so they shall be known as the region of wickedness, the people damned forever of the Lord. Your eyes shall behold it, and you shall declare, “Great is the Lord beyond the borders of Israel!” (Malachi 1:2–5)

Similarly, the leaders during the religious revival under Ezra and Nehemiah highlight God’s eternal covenant with Abraham and his descendants:

You are the Lord God, who chose Abram, who brought him out of Ur of the Chaldeans and changed his name to Abraham. Finding his heart true to You, You made a covenant with him to give the land of the Canaanite, the Hittite, the Amorite, the Perizzite, the Jebusite, and the Girgashite—to give it to his descendants. And You kept Your word, for You are righteous. (Nehemiah 9:7–8)

Professor Yehudah Elitzur

Professor Yehudah Elitzur[16] wrote from the vantage point of Jews returning to Israel after nearly 2000 years of exile, rather than simply after seventy years of Babylonian exile. This afforded him a broader perspective of the biblical passages.

In an essay on the religious significance of the Land of Israel in the Bible, Professor Elitzur reiterates the eternality of the covenant of the land alongside the threat of exile for unfaithfulness. Even if there would be an exile, no other nation will settle permanently in Israel. The land eternally belongs to Abraham’s descendants:

I assign the land you sojourn in to you and your offspring to come, all the land of Canaan, as an everlasting holding. I will be their God. (Genesis 17:8)

The ingathering of Jewish exiles to Israel in the contemporary period is a fulfillment of God’s promise to Abraham that the land is an everlasting holding.

            Lands typically do not remain desolate when they are conquered. Normally, other people occupy them. However, God promises that the Land of Israel would remain desolate if the people go into exile:

I will make the land desolate, so that your enemies who settle in it shall be appalled by it. And you I will scatter among the nations, and I will unsheathe the sword against you. Your land shall become a desolation and your cities a ruin. (Leviticus 26:32–33)

In the ancient halakhic Midrash Sifra, the Sages remark that the uninhabited land is a positive dimension within this prophecy of doom. The land remains uninhabited so that Jews could return to an empty land.

In the thirteenth century, Ramban witnessed the desolation in Israel when he moved there toward the end of his life. He understood this desolation as proof of God’s promise that the land eternally belongs to the Jews, and that God would return them to Israel one day:

[The desolation] constitutes a good tiding, proclaiming that during all our exiles, our land will not accept our enemies.... Since the time that we left it, [the land] has not accepted any nation or people, and they all try to settle it... This is a great proof and assurance to us. (Ramban on Leviticus 26:16)

In the nineteenth century, Mark Twain was flabbergasted by the fact that Israel was almost completely desolate. In his Innocents Abroad, he remarked: 

Of all the lands there are for dismal scenery, I think Palestine must be the prince... Can the curse of the Deity beautify a land? Palestine sits in sackcloth and ashes. Over it broods the spell of a curse that has withered its fields and fettered its energies.

Professor Elitzur observes further that the Canaanites who lived in the land prior to the Israelites succeeded in exploiting the natural resources of the land:

When the Lord your God brings you into the land that He swore to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, to assign to you—great and flourishing cities that you did not build, houses full of all good things that you did not fill, hewn cisterns that you did not hew, vineyards and olive groves that you did not plant—and you eat your fill. (Deuteronomy 6:10–11)

However, the Canaanites never became a unified nation. Joshua defeated 31 kings, each a ruler of an independent city-state. In contrast, the people of Israel formed a united nation, the only people ever to do so in Israel. Moreover, no nation after Israel could exploit the natural resources of the land. Instead, the land remained a barren wasteland for nearly 2,000 years.

Professor Elitzur invokes another rule of history: All other exiled people either assimilate into the dominant culture of the host nation, or else they are dominant because they come in large groups and take over the culture of the new land (e.g., the British in America, the Spanish in Argentina). 

Despite being a minority, the Jews never totally assimilated into their host nations. They also remained a minority and never were able to set up a Jewish land outside of Israel. The Torah’s curse that the people of Israel would be scattered and downtrodden in exile contains a hidden blessing, since they would always remain outsiders and therefore return one day to Israel.

The Jewish people and the Land of Israel belong to one another, and need one another. When they are together, both land and people flourish. When they are separate, Jews suffer and the land lies desolate.

Summary

At the beginning of the Second Temple period, the Jews were miraculously allowed to return to their land and rebuild the Temple. While many Jews did return, the vast majority chose to remain in exile. Instead of the full redemption occurring then, the opportunity was squandered. It appears that the non-return of many Jews contributed meaningfully to the failure to realize the messianic era.

            Although the ideal age did not occur in the Second Temple period, the Jews realized that God’s covenantal promises were indeed eternal. Their return to their land demonstrated God’s abiding love and commitment to the people of Israel.

            In the Torah, God promises that the Land of Israel is an everlasting holding for the people of Israel. The ingathering of exiles in the modern era, the land blooming after remaining desolate for nearly 2,000 years, and the fact that the Jews never completely assimilated nor formed a dominant culture elsewhere all fulfill divine promises. These facts are unique in human history, all attesting to the eternality of God’s promises.

            We live in a miraculous age with the Jewish people returned to Israel after such a lengthy exile. We cannot know how everything will unfold without prophecy. However, we may derive several religious lessons from the biblical corpus: (1) The return of the Jewish people to Israel confirms the biblical covenantal promises dating back to Abraham. (2) It is a fulfillment of God’s promise that the land would remain a barren wasteland in the absence of the Jews, and that it would flourish once again when the Jews return. (3) The people of Israel must be grateful to God for this gift, and never take sole credit for this remarkable achievement or for the rehabilitation of the land. (4) The modern State of Israel poses a challenge to world Jewry to live up to God’s covenant through the Torah, and to participate in rebuilding the land.

Notes

In current popular discourse, various parts of the political spectrum are internally rupturing as they struggle to ascertain whether all human beings are indistinguishably identical or irreconcilably different, failing in their lack of nuance to comprehend that both are simultaneously true. On the political left, ironically, the very same criticism raised by Foucault of the Panopticon wielding “invisible power” could be leveled against those pledging fealty to thinkers like him; in their ideological zeal, they have created a world in which the individual must “virtue signal” and not step outside the groupthink. Meanwhile, on the right, the same jingoism that has ever fostered tribalism and sectarian violence has resurged in recent years with renewed vigor. The Jewish world has not been immune to these changes, but consider how traditionally, Judaism allowed for plurality of thought, although not plurality of action, in order that the Torah not be made into two torot. However, as early as the sixteenth century, it became apparent that there are not two torot, but many hundreds of different torot, shattering the Jewish unity of practice.[1] In stark contrast to this plurality has been the growing constriction of “permissible” Jewish thought, whether that be the book burnings of Maimonides’ works, or the excommunication of Elia Benamozegh. Increasingly, those who express opinions outside the “accepted mainstream” are considered dangerous, disruptive, and deviant, often emitting that distinctive, imperceptible-to-the-layperson yet perceptible-by-the-great-rabbi “waft of heresy” that has been the cause of so many bans and censors. I would like to therefore present an idea of equality, which, I believe, stems from rabbinic ideas found in our classical texts. This notion of equality, which draws on modern ideas as well as some post-modern thought, permits one to recognize the difference between individuals, and yet not feel afraid or threatened by their divergence. On the contrary, there is much to be learned from those with whom we disagree.

To begin, the Torah presents a model of society without hierarchy. This is seen in enactments such as the cancellation of debt (which amounts to no permanent loans), the inability to permanently lose ancestral land, as well as how acts of tzedaka are enshrined in law to create a culture of support and generosity. Those relationships of subordination that do still exist, such as master/slave, are steered away from the harsh Ancient Near Eastern parallels and humanized. This horizontal model is produced by an absolute equality under the law of Israel; Judaism functions much more as a legal system than as a religion, and all are equal subjects under the nomos. For example, distinct from other Ancient Near Eastern societies is how the king is subject to the law. Deuteronomy 17:15–20 enumerates how the king is appointed at the behest of the people (not self-appointed by the power of his own might), has additional laws limiting his position, and must write a copy of the Torah to be with him at all times.[2] Further, in the Ancient Near East the king was frequently a manifestation of the divine, considered to be in the literal “image of God.” In the Torah’s presentation of creation, not the king but rather all human beings are described as being in God’s image. Even more surprising than the king being bound to the law, is that God is likewise bound by the covenant of Torah God formed with Israel. The Talmud Yerushalmi[3] quotes a Greek saying: “For the king, the law is not written.” The Talmud contrasts the conduct of a human king, who does not fulfill his own decrees, with the conduct of God, who is first to fulfill his own decrees.[4] The completely infinite being who is utterly free has chosen to be bound in Its actions and relate to humans in a specific way, thus is a subject under the law. This covenant between God and Israel, through its bilateral nature, gives an unprecedented role to human beings in their relationship with the Sovereign Being.

God forms the covenant of Torah in much the same way as a sovereign king does with the representative of his suzerainty in the Late Bronze Age, usually the subordinate king.[5] However, this “treaty” with the subordinate king is formed not with Moses, the leader, nor with the group-entity Israel. It is formed with “the common man of Israel… every man in Israel is to view himself as having the status of a king conferred on him—a subordinate king who serves under the protection of, and in gratitude to, a divine sovereign.”[6] The option for relationship with the divine sovereign is open and available to all, regardless of class or status. This is echoed in the following statement of our Sages:

There are three crowns: The crown of Torah, ‎the crown of priesthood, and the crown of kingship. The crown of priesthood—Aaron ‎merited and took it. The crown of kingship—David merited and took it. The crown of ‎Torah—behold, it is placed for [all] generations [to merit]; anyone who merits Torah, is ‎as if he has merited all three [crowns], and anyone who does not merit Torah, is as if he ‎has not merited a single one of them.[7]

What are ostensibly privileged classes of priests and royalty, are instantly undermined by the single authority for Jews—the Law. This democratization of the law was achieved even in biblical times. With the development of the alphabet, writing was removed from the sole province of the priests (hieroglyphs) or scribes (cuneiform), and instead transferred to the people, all of whom were charged with the writing of a scroll of the Law. 

            No fewer than 36 times does the Torah enjoin the people of Israel not to oppress the stranger, let alone the plethora of prophetic passages dealing with this idea. What marks out the prophets of the Hebrew Bible is their increased sensitivity to, and consequent decrying of, social injustices, not cultic ones. As Heschel writes:

We and the prophet have no language in common. To us the moral state of society, for all its stains and spots, seems fair and trim; to the prophet it is dreadful. So many deeds of charity are done, so much decency radiates day and night; yet to the prophet satiety of the conscience is prudery and flight from responsibility. Our standards are modest; our sense of injustice tolerable, timid; our moral indignation impermanent; yet human violence is interminable, unbearable, permanent… The prophet makes no concession to man’s capacity. Exhibiting little understanding for human weakness, he seems unable to extenuate the culpability of man.[8]

What makes this so significant? Why is ill-treatment of the stranger so highly criticized, above all else? Perhaps because the stranger is the paradigm of the “other.” Hebrew teaching has, since days of old, placed a premium on treatment of the ‎stranger.‎ In II Samuel 21, we read of the famine in the land on account of Saul’s mistreatment ‎of the Gibeonites. The Talmud[9] greatly expands this story ‎homiletically, portraying multiple points of interest. The story begins with a famine, brought about because of both the lack of honor given to ‎Saul (he had not received proper burial) as well as Saul’s negative actions toward the Gibeonites—‎both are injustices that need to be addressed.‎ When the Gibeonites demand their savage appeasement price of seven of Saul’s ‎offspring to be publicly executed, David agrees.‎ The Talmud notes how David considers this request to be particularly ‎merciless, rendering the Gibeonites unfit to be a part of the Israelite nation ‎—and yet he still accedes!‎ Finally, the text records how their bodies were left unburied, nailed atop the rock in Givat Shaul, exposed to the fowl and beasts. The Talmud challenges the idea that children can be put to death for the sin ‎of the father, and that corpses can be left exposed overnight, based on ‎verses in the Torah. To the first, the Talmud responds, “Better a letter of ‎Torah be uprooted, than publicly desecrate God’s name,” and to the second, ‎‎"Better a letter of Torah be uprooted, in order that God’s name be publicly ‎sanctified.” The Talmud explains that passers-by would inquire about the ‎bodies, and thereby come to know what had happened. Which, as Levinas ‎puts it, was that “in Israel, princes die a horrible death because strangers ‎were injured by the sovereign.”[10] As we see, the treatment of the stranger is made equivalent to the sanctification of God’s name, because God is the ultimate other. In fact, the human relationship with God is frequently modeled in regard of human relationships with other humans, and thus our ‎treatment of the stranger is an index for our relationship with God.‎

A mishna states: “A human being imprints one hundred imprints with a single seal, and all are similar to each other. But the King, King of kings, the holy One, blessed be He imprinted every human being with the seal of Adam the First, and yet not a single one of them is similar to his fellow.”[11] The singular imprint of God is expressed in the very diversity of humanity. To truly begin to see the signification of God in creation, one must learn to appreciate the other. As José Faur observed, this idea of God as the ultimate “other” is captured by the Hebrew term ‎ot.[12] This term can mean a “sign” as well as a “distinctive mark” (and therefore ‎letter of the alphabet) but also thereby “absolutely distinct.” Ot is thus used by the Talmud to refer to God as being an ot among His myriad angels,[13] i.e., absolutely distinct ‎from them. Faur concludes, “As an ot, God is the absolute and unbounded difference.” He cites ‎Derrida’s description: “Whether He is Being or is the master of beings, God himself is, and ‎appears as what He is, within difference, that is to say, as difference and within dissimulation.”[14]‎ As Sacks puts it:

‎We encounter God in the face of a stranger. That, I believe, is the Hebrew Bible's single ‎greatest and counterintuitive contribution to ethics. God creates difference; therefore it ‎is in one-who-is-different that we meet God. Abraham encounters God when he invites ‎three strangers into his tent. Jacob meets God when he wrestles with an unnamed ‎adversary alone at night. The Book of Ruth, which tells the prehistory of David, Israel's ‎greatest king, reaches its climax when Ruth says to Boaz (her “redeemer”), “Why have I ‎found favour in your eyes such that you recognise me, though I am a stranger” (2:10). ‎The human other is a trace of the Divine Other.‎[15]

Given that this is the case, the respect shown for the other is a yardstick of measuring the development (some would say morality) of a society. Further, it is thus impossible for an individual or community to have a genuine relationship with God, if that individual or society mistreats the other. One’s relationship with God must be predicated on recognition of God’s ultimate otherness, hence Maimonides’ via negativa to remove all traces of one’s self-projection onto God. If one’s actions toward the stranger indicate that one is incapable of loving freely one who is different, then their relationship with God must also be called into question, for they must surely be incapable of loving one as supremely other as God. Instead, such a person has—consciously or unconsciously—recreated God in their own image, imputing to God the characteristics deemed positive in their subjective eyes.

Let us digress, for a moment, to the nature of existence. Thinkers from the kabbalistically inclined R’ Zadok HaKohen Rabinowitz of Lublin[16] to the philosophical Gersonides[17] have described the world as a book, authored by God. This means that the world is subject to interpretation through different lenses, as is the text of a book. This idea is captured by the Eastern parable of The Blind Men and the Elephant, in which a group of blind men encounter an elephant, each one feeling a different part of it, and therefore describing it differently. If creation is a book, then some discussion of linguistics is in order. Consider Saussure’s distinction between langue and parole. In the parole, or speech act, speakers draw on langue, a shared repository of a sign system with specific sign values. These sign values do not inherently contain “positive” value in the construction of sentences in an essentialist way, any more than individual phonemes do in the construction of words. Instead, the sign values are generated by the difference between the signs. Further, compare the sentences “I went to the bank of the river” and “I went to the bank near the river.” Despite ultimately deriving from a shared etymological source, the two “banks” in these sentences have completely different values. The specific value in each sentence is created by its standing in syntagmatic opposition to the other parts of the sentence, most pointedly “of” and “near.” Additionally, these sign-values can be exchanged for similar values without changing the meaning of the syntagm, and thus the specific sign chosen is not essential. For example, “I went to the bank near the brook/stream/flowing water” would all be acceptable, or even “I went to the bank near the post office” if the sign “river” serves only as a placeholder for a geographical indicator of proximity to the bank. A corollary of interpreting the world and existence as a book is that words in the book (by which I mean entities within creation) do not have inherent, essential value. Value derives only from standing in syntagmatic opposition to an other. There is no pre-existent, metaphysical self/other dichotomy in which cogito ergo sum, to the exclusion of all others. The presupposed metaphysical “I” does not exist. This idea, beyond Sartre’s regard or George Hebert Mead’s Symbolic Interactionism, postulates that the self is not just influenced, even formatively so, by the other, but that the very existence of a “self” is only created in its opposition to “other.” Sacks argues this point from the creation of the first two human beings:

God says about the first human, “It is not good for man to be alone.” He then creates the first woman, and the man, waking and seeing her, says: “This is now bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh; she shall be called woman [ishah], because she was taken from man [ish]”… Biblical Hebrew has two words for man, adam and ish. Adam (meaning, taken from the Earth, adama) signifies man, the biological species. Ish means roughly the same as the English word, “person.” The subtle point of the Biblical text is that this verse is the first in which the word ish appears. Adam must pronounce the name of his wife before he can pronounce his own. He must say “Thou” before he can say “I.”[18]

Human beings, existing solely as products of intersubjectivity, stand in syntagmatic opposition to each other – they are all equally as essential to the syntagm of existence. In a sentence such as “Abi is talking to Sam,” the value of “Sam” could arguably be substituted for another similar value, such as “Gideon,” as they stand in paradigmatic opposition to each other. However, in “I am talking to you,” the personal pronouns cannot be substituted for any similar term! There is no situation in which the unique dialectic interaction of “I” and “you” could be replicated by any others. This view of the world as a book gives unparalleled meaning to the existence of the other. It is not possible to have value or signification without the presence of the other, and the difference that emerges from the interaction between the self and the other.

Bearing this system in mind, Faur proposes a distinction between narcissistic love and selfless love.[19] Narcissistic love follows from the view that there is a metaphysical “I.” Since I and all my qualities are good, then in order for me to love the other, the other must be similar to me, and then incorporated into the I. “For [persecuting societies], the Biblical commandment to love others as ourselves is implemented by imposing their ego on others. Those refusing to let themselves be narcissistically absorbed, as in the case of the Jews, or when deemed unworthy of absorption, as the Native Americans, are void of human qualities.”[20] This love is also passive, where those who are the same are simply naturally part of the self and are absorbed. This type of love forms the basis of Sartre’s pessimistic outlook, that “one must either transcend the Other or allow oneself to be transcended by him. The essence of the relations between consciousness is not the Mitsein; it is conflict.”[21] Conversely, selfless love is offered from an “I” to a “you.” It only exists when both parties are present, and is an active form of love, where the “I” recognises the otherness of the “you.” In contrast to its fulfilment in persecuting societies, “The commandment to “love your fellow human as yourself” is grounded on the parallel I-you. Inter-subjectivity occurs when the “other” is accepted as a you—a fully autonomous person with his or her subjective perspective… you must be respected with the same intensity as the I.”[22]

As an aside, this distinction between subsuming the other within the self and the self and other standing in opposition to generate difference, is also present in the difference between Greek and Hebrew “logical” analysis. The Classical Greek syllogism seeks to identify X with Y: 

All men (A) are (=) mortal (X)
Socrates (B) is (=) a man (A)
Therefore Socrates (B) IS (=) mortal (X).

In broader terms, all A have quality X. B = A, therefore B also has quality X. “[The syllogism] depend[s] on a subject-predicate relation between two terms… wherein one tries to show that the predicate is included in the subject… Aristotle argues that all valid arguments involve syllogistic reasoning, and the syllogism is for him the ideal model of logic and thought.”[23] In contrast, rabbinic thought is much more focused on similarities and generated differences that exist between A and B when stood in opposition to each other. In the model of the kal vaḥomer (a fortiori argument), for example, the similarities between two things are used to imply that there should be a shared characteristic. When Moses is told again by God to request of Pharaoh that he let the Israelites free, he responds: If the children of Israel (A) [who lack good reason to ignore me (-X)] will not listen to me (Y), then Pharaoh (B) [who has good reason to ignore me (X)] will certainly not listen to me (Y)! Since A, which lacks X, has Y, then B, which has X, will certainly have Y. This form of reasoning “is relational rather than ontological,[24] dealing with propositions rather than predicates.”[25] “[It] depends on an if, not an is, and therefore conclusions are always relative and are subject to further interpretation and application… the coexisting predicates retain their independence and do not cancel each other out.”[26] Rabbinic thought never sought to collapse the distinctions between two entities when assessing their comparative similarities and differences.

Faur briefly mentions the connection between narcissistic love, in which the other is absorbed into the self, and Christianity, in which the good Christian is absorbed into the corpus Christi. However, there are additional points of connection. For example, when Jesus is asked the famous question regarding the so-called “Great Commandment,” the New Testament reports: 

And one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. “Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” He said to him, “‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’” This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.”[27]

And in Jesus’ interpretation of the second commandment, he instructs: “In everything, do unto others as you would have them do unto you; for this is the law and the prophets.”[28] Firstly, in this presentation, Jesus proposes a theocentric purpose to the fulfillment of the commandments. He does this by prioritizing a certain category of commandments between humans and God, over and above those that are between humans. Ultimately this means sacrificing the other in favor of divine worship—something unfathomable to rabbinic Judaism. Consider the mishnayot that caution against trying to deduce which commandments have greater weight than others,[29] or that teach that with whomever people are pleased, God is pleased, and with whomever people are not pleased, God is not pleased.[30] Additionally, consider the words of Maimonides: “[There are commandments which] they call “between man and God,” even though in reality they move [a person] toward matters that are between man and man.”[31] This clearly posits an anthropocentric focus to the commandments, which are intended to bring social cohesion and serve a societal function. Secondly, Hillel also reformulated the commandment to “Love thy neighbor as thyself.” However, his reformulation is markedly different: “That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow.”[32] This negative reformulation is essential to the discussion at hand. Jesus’ command necessitates projection of oneself onto the other. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” makes the assumption that what the self enjoys and wants, the other must also enjoy and want. One projects themselves onto the other in order to express this kind of love, narcissistically incorporating that other—whose desires are your desires—into the self. This implicitly relies on the following syllogism: I like X, you are like me, therefore you like X. As discussed above, like all classical syllogisms, this collapses the distinction and difference between two subjective entities in a stifling “love.” Conversely, Hillel does not make this projection. He only goes so far as asserting that something the self hates, may be hateful to the other, and so should not be perpetrated against the other. There is no scope to assume anything beyond that, as further assumptions require an active projection onto the other, rather than passive abstention from potentially hateful activities. This again returns to the idea of God as other. As mentioned above, one must remove all projections of the self onto God, the ultimate other. We can now see that the model to achieve this relationship with God is the removal of projections onto the human other, in order to engage in authentic intersubjectivity.

            We have thus established that there is absolute equality under the nomos of Israel, that every member of the polity forms a covenant with God and is invited to relationship with the divine. The stranger is also entitled to protection under the law, and ultimately the stranger who is different from us is where we may encounter the divine. In fact, the other is essential to the very existence of the self. Let us conclude with a few remarks regarding the relation between Judaism and other ways of life. The Torah is not universalist, in the sense that it is not intended to be kept by every member of humanity. It is thus not exclusivist—there is no claim that following the Torah is the “only way to achieve salvation,” whatever that may look like. The Torah is intended for the Jewish nation, in its homeland of Israel.

[Maimonides] refrained from defining “pious”… or what constitutes a “sin” for a gentile; cf. MT Teshuba 3:2. He defined a pious gentile in terms of the seven Noahide miṣvot in the section about Jewish governance and territory, concerning the status of non-Jewish residents in the Holy Land (MT Melakhim 9:2). The sense is obvious. An alien residing in Israel must respect Jewish standards and regulations as it would be expected from every alien to respect the laws and regulations of the host country.[33]

There is a tendency in interfaith settings to place the emphasis “on similarities and commonalities, as if the differences between faiths were superficial and trivial.”[34] However, not only does this greatly undermine the role of difference discussed heretofore, it is also insufficient for effectively living with those who are different from ourselves. “There is nothing so slight that it cannot, under pressure, be turned into a marker of identity and thus of mutual estrangement. We need, in other words, not only a theology of commonality… but also a theology of difference… why it represents the will of God.”[35] “We don’t rush… to simply contrast another religion with our own or to declare that its adherents are unknowingly our own coreligionists; instead we honor both the commonalities of another religion with our own and its differences.”[36] Sacks’ call is as relevant now as it was then, over twenty years ago: “Can I, a Jew, hear the echoes of God’s voice in that of a Hindu or Sikh or Christian or Muslim or in the words of an Eskimo from Greenland speaking about a melting glacier? Can I do so and feel not diminished but enlarged?”[37]

Notes

Virtue signaling is an affectation that has taken hold among many who profess to be virtuous. Living a truly virtuous life and actually doing good deeds appears to be optional. It seems that mindlessly shouting a prescribed slogan that often rhymes, on demand, at exceedingly high volume, is all that is required. 

This conception of idle virtue is antithetical to our Jewish tradition, where what a person thinks in the abstract is not as important as what a person does in practice. Leading a virtuous life means more than just good thoughts; it requires performing good deeds, referred to in the Torah as the mitzvoth (commandments). Notwithstanding René Descartes’[1] famous dictum that I think, therefore, I am,[2] the Torah’s view might better be expressed as, I have a soul and do good deeds, therefore, I am. 

Interestingly, Blaise Pascal, another noted mathematician and acquaintance of Descartes, also disagreed with Descartes on this subject. Many just cite Pascal’s statement[3] that the heart has it reasons, which reason cannot understand.[4] However, he went on to explain that it is the heart that experiences God and not a person’s facility to reason. Perhaps, though, Pascal’s figurative reference to the heart might be better understood as the soul. As the Bible[5] describes, God created Adam from a combination of earthly matter and spiritual essence.[6] As a result, he became a living being endowed with understanding.[7] It is the soul, which is the source of a person’s identity as an individual. 

Both Descartes and Pascal would have benefited from the landmark study done by Dr. Antonio Demassio.[8] He analyzed the role played by what is commonly referred to as the rational mind, which challenged the then prevailing view as to the way the mind functions, in his book aptly titled, Descartes’ Error.[9]

Dr. Damassio reports on his work with a patient who suffered a freak accident that impaired the functionality of his amygdala. This part of the brain is viewed as the seat of our instinctual or emotional behavior, as opposed to the frontal cortex, which is viewed as the rational portion of the brain. Dr. Damassio’s study suggests that decisions are actually made by the instinctual portion of the brain.  The cortex then rationalizes those decisions.

Indeed, many successful decision-makers do rely on what is typically referred to as a gut feeling; but which may be better defined as instinct. They are also rather adept at rationalizing those gut feelings. Given Dr. Damasio’s conclusions, we should be questioning whether our thoughts and decisions should necessarily be viewed as wholly rational. They may in fact just be flawed rationalizations of what our underlying instincts demand, which are not always wholesome or noble. Consider how this instinctual bias, insidiously cloaked in reflexive rationalizations, might yield self-serving decisions that may even be perceived to be altruistic, because of the deceptive functioning of the brain. Is it any wonder that the virtue-signaling crowd believe they are doing good by merely shouting a variety of slogans? Thus, the brain cannot be counted on to be wholly rational and, therefore, our implicit trust in our own rationality may be misplaced. What then can be done to remedy the problem?

The Torah offers a means of dealing with the matter. It begins with the realization that there is another aspect to the thinking process, which is embodied in our spiritual dimension, the soul. Indeed, Maimonides (Rambam) views the brain as an organ of the body, which is joined with the soul. The brain is then something akin to the central processing unit in a computer. The actual seat of character traits, knowledge, thought, and decision-making, is the soul. The soul’s perception and expression in the physical world, though, is limited by the constraints of the body, including the mind. Rambam,[10] therefore, applies a holistic approach to dealing with a person’s physical and mental, as well as, spiritual health, to assure the well-being and proper development of the person. Each of these essential components in the make-up of a person must be nourished in order to assure a good and productive life. How then to nourish the spiritual portion of the person and train the brain effectively to function in expressing the will of the soul? In this sense, the brain is a filter that can impair or distort the desires of the soul.

The performance of the mitzvoth is a means by which the soul trains the mind and body and habituates them to behave properly. By doing the mitzvoth, whole-heartedly and with joy, a person can achieve a higher level of consciousness and connection to the divine. This connection to the spiritual manifests itself in the good feelings that it engenders, which suffuse the mind and body. This blissful state is truly sustainable in that it is both long lasting and repeatable, by continuing to do good deeds.

It is noteworthy that some mitzvoth are classified as hukkim.[11] The term “hok” is derived from the word hakikah, something indelibly engraved in rock, like a picture.[12] It is suggested that, in modern parlance, it might be termed imprinting, in the sense of creating neural pathways in the brain. It results from the habitual behavior associated with the performance of a hok. 

In essence, as the Rambam[13] posits, the actions of the body affect the soul, and we can affect how we think by what we do. Consider how an athlete trains using repetitive routines (habitual behavior) to establish what is commonly referred to as muscle memory. The term is somewhat of a misnomer. Our muscles don’t have memory. The process of reacting to outside stimulus is controlled by our brain or, as the Rambam terms it, the soul. 

Following the Torah handbook of training and programming, neural pathways can be created (i.e., engraved or imprinted) in the brain. This is accomplished through the process of acting out Torah rituals and other observances of the commandments, which is a means of imprinting the brain. Because of the less-than-rational nature of hukkim ,[14] their performance is particularly well suited to bypassing the filter of the so-called rational mind.  In essence, they reach right into the instinctual and emotional part of the brain and create virtuous responses that become second nature and are more consistent with the needs of the soul. 

Establishing and reinforcing good patterns of behavior is an essential and fundamental part of this imprinting process. The effect of this kind of ritualized behavior and conditioning is to train and sublimate those instincts and emotions to higher purposes, nourishing our spiritual side, embodied in the soul. This, instead of reinforcing our baser instincts and desires traditionally associated with this part of the brain that are rationalized by the frontal cortex, as Dr. Damasio found. 

The Torah-derived patterns of good behavior include, for example, praying in a minyan, at specified times, observing the details of the Sabbath and holidays, or following other observances. By habitually acting out these rituals or other observances like hukkim with heartfelt joy, we not only imprint our brains with neural pathways, we also create a positive feedback loop, enhanced by our brain chemistry, which reinforces the good feelings we experience when performing these sacred rituals.

In this light, consider the recent desire by many soldiers in the Israel Defense Forces to wear tzizith as they fight the evil that is Hamas. The tzizit offer no real tangible protection in combat, and as the Midrash Tanhuma[15] notes, like other such hukkim,[16] there is an illogical character to the mitzvah of wearing tzizith. Yet, soldiers are donning tzizith every day just like the body armor they customarily wear, and the comforting feeling they experience putting on tzizith is undeniable. Tzizith are designed to serve as a symbolic reminder of the importance of performing the 613 mitzvoth. The ritual of making the blessing and donning the tzizith every morning, as well as the feeling of having the garment as an added layer close to the body, as a tangible form of spiritual body armor, is most heartening. 

Rabbeinu Bahya discusses the details of the parah aduma (red heifer) requirements,[17] another example of a hok. He notes that features of this ritual are not only devoid of logic—they appear to defy logic. Thus, the very same ashes of the parah aduma purify the ritually impure and defile the ritually pure. Rabbeinu Bahya goes on to explain[18] that the term hok also means boundary or limit.[19] Establishing boundaries and limiting our behavior is an essential element in the kind of habitual behavior that can imprint our brains with a positive message. It is one of the fundamental benefits of performing the mitzvoth. 

The Talmud[20] analyzes the nature of the soul. It does so, poetically, in parallel statements about the characteristics of the divine and the soul, as follows:

1. Just as the Holy One, Blessed be He, fills the entire world, so too the soul fills the entire body. 
2. Just as the Holy One, Blessed be He, sees but is not seen, so too does the soul see, but is not seen. 
3. Just as the Holy One, Blessed be He, sustains the entire world, so too the soul sustains the entire body. 
4. Just as the Holy One, Blessed be He, is pure, so too is the soul pure. 
5. Just as the Holy One, Blessed be He, resides in a chamber within a chamber, so too the soul resides in a chamber within a chamber. 

Rav Bahya ibn Pakuda,[21] in his seminal work, the Hovot haLevavot,[22] describes the interplay between the body and soul, the constituent elements comprising a human being. Both are among the benefits God has bestowed on humankind. The body is visible, and the soul is invisible. Accordingly, Rav Pakuda asserts, a person has a duty to render to God visible and invisible service.

The visible outward service is the observance of the duties of the limbs. This includes praying, fasting, giving charity, learning the Torah and teaching it, making a Sukkah, waving a lulav on the festival of Sukkot, tzitzith, mezuzah. and similar precepts whose performance is completed by the physical limbs.

The invisible inward service consists of the fulfillment of the duties of the heart. This includes acknowledging the unity of God in our hearts, believing in God and God’s Torah, revering God and humbling ourselves before God, loving God, trusting in God, abstaining from what God hates, devoting our actions to God’s name, reflecting on the benefits God bestows on us and similar things, which are performed by the thoughts and sentiments of the heart, but are not associated with activities of the visible limbs of the body.

Rav Pakuda explains that the duties of the limbs cannot be performed properly unless they are accompanied by the will of the heart, longing of the soul to do them and desire of the heart to perform them. Cooperation between the body and soul is required for the complete service of God; no act can be complete without the agreement of the soul. Thus, the soul and the body must act in concert to perform the mitzvoth or the performance is not deemed whole and complete. Among other biblical sources, Rav Pakuda cites a verse in Deuteronomy[23] that one must love God with all of one’s heart, soul, and might. Indeed, as the title of the work Hovot haLevavot (Duties of the Heart) indicates, Rav Pakuda is particularly focused on devotion of the heart, as a critical and integral component of performing the mitzvoth. He cites the discussion in the Talmud[24] about how when rain was needed, the barometer for measuring who would be most successful in entreating God was not the amount of Torah the person studied. Rather, the determining factor among the sages was who had the most heart. The Talmud explains, this is based on the verse in Samuel,[25] that God seeks the heart. 

Rav Pakuda discusses the need for introspection and self-examination[26] as to a person’s service of God (i.e., performance of the mitzvoth). He also speaks about the need for a person to train oneself to do so, with all one’s might, diligence, and zealousness, until it becomes a habit. He goes on to explain that the primary purpose of the mitzvoth, which involve the body and the limbs, is to arouse a person’s attention to the feelings that must have in the heart and the mind, in furtherance thereof. In essence, it is the doing of the mitzvoth with the proper intent that nourishes the soul. Engaging in the performance of the mitzvoth with all of a person’s heart and mind and exerting oneself to the best of the one’s ability results in God opening the gates of spiritual qualities. Said another way, it enables the soul to be nourished. 

I believe the good feelings it engenders are a part of the self-reinforcing mechanism, designed to motivate a person to continue doing mitzvoth this way. Indeed, as the Mishnah in Avot[27] states, doing a mitzvah engenders doing another mitzvah.

Among the mitzvoth, is the obligation to love your neighbor like yourself.[28] Rav Pakuda presents this mitzvah in a most interesting way. He challenges a person to make a personal accounting regarding the person’s joining with people for furthering the general welfare, such as plowing or harvesting, buying and selling, and other societal matters. These are endeavors in which people should help each other, because they should love doing for their neighbors that which they would love happen to themselves and eschew doing harm to others. 

Rav Pakuda also asserts that the strengthening and rectification of the soul is through habituating it with morals and wisdom. It requires guiding it with words of wisdom, teaching it good traits and restraining from the bodily lusts. The strengthening and rectification of the body is achieved by providing it with various types of good, tasty food and drink, which are suitable to its nature, washing it with warm water, and supervising its benefits and needs constantly. However, he cautions that if a person’s thoughts are limited only to the needs of the body and all attention is focused on this object, then the person will neglect the improvement of the soul. Likewise, if a person’s attention is only directed toward rectifying the soul, then will neglect much of the needs of the body. It takes a balance. The key is for the person both to provide the body with the food it needs to function and the soul with the wisdom and moral conduct it needs. It is a potent example of the soul and body connection. Rav Pakuda also notes the verse in Ecclesiastes,[29] which states that a person should not be overly righteous so as not to bring desolation on himself, or overly wicked or a fool so as not to suffer an untimely demise. He explains that should not separate from the world nor seek to conquer the world and indulge in base desires beyond that which is appropriate for the satisfaction of religious and worldly needs. 

There is much contemporary discussion of the mind-body connection. The Jewish tradition approaches the substance of this matter from a somewhat different perspective. It recognizes that there is a soul and body connection. The mind, in this equation, is a part of the body apparatus. Thus, there is an obligation to keep not only the body, including the brain, in good health, but also the soul. 

The Bible[30] obligates a person to guard both his body and soul. Keeping both in good health and functioning properly requires a proactive approach. They are also interdependent and, therefore, there must be a coordinated healthcare program. In this respect, it is similar to treatment regimens that recognize the mind-body connection. However, many of the issues ascribed to the mind are rightly placed with the soul. 

            The brain in this construct is another organ of the body, much like the processor, memory, and other hardware in a computer. The body is the machinery it controls in order to perform a variety of tasks. In this analogy, the soul is the programmer and software that makes the computer and, by extension, the machinery of the body it controls, function. Without the software to run it, the mind and body are but a lifeless machine. The connection between the two is intimate. Each is integral to the functioning of the other.

            The Rambam explains[31] that the soul animates the person and controls what the person feels and contemplates. It governs:

1. Nutrition: The complex system in the body, which ingests food, digests it, processes into a form that can be assimilated, transported and stored within the body, so as to be available to provide the energy, when and where needed, to power the body and its functions. This includes maintenance, growth, and reproduction. It must also distinguish between what is useful to the body and what is not and then discards the waste.
2. Sensation: The complex system of the five senses of sight, sound, taste, smell, and touch and the processing of that sensory input.
3. Imagination: The power to recall impressions of various incidents after they are no longer perceptible by the senses, associate and disassociate them from other memories and develop new ideas that are not just recreations of previous perceptions of the senses. It can imagine things that don’t exist in reality.
4. Simulation: The power that attracts or repels a person from something else. It can inspire a person to seek, flee from, appreciate, or reject something. Anger, desire, fear, courage, cruelty, mercy, hate, love, and other emotional states are a part of the simulative power of the soul. It expresses itself in actions of the organs and limbs of body it controls, such as the motions of the hands, feet, and eyes, as well as, the internal processes of the organs, which fuel fear, courage, or other emotional states.
5. Conceptualization: The power to think and contemplate. It enables a person to acquire knowledge and distinguish between positive and negative activities. This includes both in the abstract realm of the spiritual and the applied realm of vocational activities, such as carpentry, agriculture, medicine, and seafaring. It also includes the power of discernment to enable a person to determine when one is suited to performing a particular activity or it is proper to do so. 

The Rambam notes that soul craves knowledge. It is the faculty, which God endowed us with, in order to comprehend knowledge. It has the ability to understand metaphysical concepts and recognize God and the majesty of God’s creations. The soul does not decompose upon death like the body. It is from God and it is eternal.[32]

If the soul has so much control over the body and, by extension our life, then where does the breakdown occur that enables a person to sin? Isn’t this so counter to the soul’s spiritual essence as to make it virtually impossible to happen? Yet as the Talmud[33] reports no person dies without sin. Why then do good people commit sins? 

The Rambam answers this question.[34] The actual performance of the mitzvoth or rebellion against the dictates of the Torah is effectuated by the soul’s sensory and simulative controls noted above. This is because they direct the actions of the body, which engages in virtuous or sinful actions. But the origin of these impulses lies elsewhere. It is in the conceptual facility of the soul that the problem begins. It can be as simple as belief in a defective idea instead of a true one. Often though, the problem is a much more subtle one. This is because a person has positive virtues and correspondingly negative ones. Intellectually, a person might make errors because of a lack complete and coherent knowledge, a misunderstanding, or a lack of clarity. In this sense, the concept of merely virtue signaling without concomitant good actions is a corrosive influence. Better to do good deeds and eschew the impotent signaling. What’s the point of talking about virtue and not actually acting virtuous by doing good deeds? It’s obnoxious and self-defeating.

The Rambam explains[35] that a healthy soul can be recognized by its good deeds and kind conduct. Illness of the soul is manifested by evil conduct, damaging actions, and reproachable deeds. The Rambam analogizes the symptoms of soul sickness to physical maladies. He notes that sometimes an ill person will suffer from confused senses. What is bitter might taste sweet and vice versa. Sometimes they might find unhealthy activities pleasurable and vice versa. They may even ingest harmful substances that a healthy person would shun. An unhealthy soul might similarly believe that wicked, undesirable, or unworthy actions are good and vice versa. He goes on to say that the wicked will seek motives that are in fact evil and yet because of their infirmity will characterize them as good. In essence, they seek pretexts to justify wrongful conduct and rationalize it. 

It appears that the Rambam, in the twelfth century, is describing what today might be described as the symptoms of virtue signaling disorder syndrome. He even notes that those who suffer from this condition typically don’t appreciate they have a problem and consider themselves healthy. The Rambam offers that left untreated, the illness of the soul just gets worse. Bad conduct doesn’t satisfy the soul; it merely increases its appetite. A soul doctor is required to diagnose and heal the spiritual ailments, much like a medical doctor is required to diagnose and treat physical illness. However, because of the integration of the soul and body, a combination of remedies is required, in order to cure a problem.[36]

The soul constitutes the center of a person’s consciousness, intellect, emotions, perception, and understanding. It is the soul that directs whether a person feels happy or sad or loves or hates something. The senses are also controlled by the soul. The soul is the source of a person’s imaginative facility, contemplative ability, and appreciation of metaphysical ideas. The Rambam speaks of how soul health is dependent on our moral conduct and taking the middle path. Improving our moral qualities heals the soul. Both the body (including the mind) and the soul must be healthy. If the body is not healthy then the soul suffers, as well. It is not able properly to apprehend the knowledge of God while unwell.[37] In essence, medicine treats the body and Torah the soul. A person can actively treat the soul by doing what is right and proper. The Rambam describes[38] the golden mean, which provides equilibrium among all sorts of excesses dictated by our inborn character traits, including extremes of even the virtuous ones. The key though is treating both as a part of a coordinated treatment plan.

In describing the soul, the Rambam uses terminology that is reminiscent of a discussion of quantum and wave theory. The soul is said to have form but not substance, akin to electromagnetic energy. This is unlike the body, which has both form and substance. The soul is invisible. Yet, it has observable effects, which manifest themselves in the actions of the body. 

The Torah provides a holistic approach to life that includes soul health to achieve enlightenment and nobility. The master training program, embodied in the Torah system of mitzvoth God beneficently bestowed upon us, includes hukkim. In this regard, it is important to appreciate the depth and full extent of what are considered the hukkim.

It is respectfully submitted that there are no real mishpatim, which could be expected to be enacted as a matter of course by those professing to be rational. Consider the vagaries of human nature and the ability of some segment of the society to rationalize and glorify what others perceive as undoubtedly and absolutely abhorrent. For example, on October 7, 2023, Shabbat-Shemini Atzeret, evil Hamas invaded Israel, brutally murdered over 1,200 Israelis, Americans, Europeans, Nepalis, and others from dozens of countries. In addition, Hamas maimed many thousands more, committed sadistic and unspeakable atrocities, and kidnapped Israelis, Americans, and others, including women and children, who they viciously abused and are continuing to hold hostage. They also murderously fired more than 7,000 rockets and missiles targeting innocent civilians in Israel. Although condemned by many, the world has not universally denounced Hamas’ evil conduct. Indeed, some even sought to rationalize this miscreant behavior, finding excuses and pretexts to justify the malign actions of Hamas. Alas, this is not the only example of atrocities that are ignored, including against Christians in Darfur and Muslim Uyghurs in China. So many can’t see because their vision is obscured and moral clarity impeded by their debilitating, misplaced, and biased focus on virtue signaling ideologically driven messages.   

It’s all too reminiscent of the Midrash[39] that described God offering the Torah to other nations before granting it to the Jewish people. Each nation God offered the opportunity to receive the Torah first asked what was in it before they could accept it. When told it contained a prohibition against killing, one nation answered that murder was an essential part of their ethic. Others balked at the restrictions on adultery. Another nation refused it because it prohibited theft and that was an accepted part of their cultural tradition. The sum and substance is that what some may think are ordinary and rational rules are not so obvious to everyone. The answer, ultimately, of the people of Israel was we will do and listen. In essence, it’s the doing part that’s critical and this involves performing the entire program, not just the part we profess to understand. After all, burdened as we are with our rationalizing mind, who are we really to know?

The Beit haLevi[40] in analyzing the nature of hukkim concludes that we don’t actually know the reason for any of the 613 commandments; it’s really all just speculation. 

All of the commandments are intertwined into one seamless whole, each dependent on the other, designed to yield refinement. Overdoing or underperforming any of the commandments is to be eschewed, because the entirety of the Torah is a divinely prescribed program to achieve this result. Missing a step or adding one will only serve to disrupt the finely tuned mechanism. Thus, even well-meaning attempts to ascribe reasons justifying the performance of some of the commandments, like the mishpatim, are fraught with danger. This is because trying to rationalize the performance of some of the commandments might lead to dismissing those, like the red heifer, which don’t make rational sense. Hence, the emphasis in the Torah on the hukkim as the correct approach to the commandments. 

It is suggested that the distinction between hukkim and mishpatim is not in the requirement of unquestioning performance, which effectively is applicable to both categories; but, rather, in the observable or hidden results of doing them. As Maimonides[41] notes, every commandment serves a useful purpose. In some cases, the usefulness is evident and in others not so much. 

Thus, a good physical exercise routine and diet can have positive and measurable effects on our physical health. We can also see the wonderful and most beneficial effects following the mishpatim has on how society functions. However, there are no observable conditions we can measure to determine the positive effect the red heifer protocol is having on our soul. Perhaps, that goes to the essence of the descriptive category of mishpatim as distinguished from hukkim. We can readily observe the visible difference fulfilling the mishpatim makes on relations among people. This should inspire us faithfully to follow the complete formula. After all, the overt parts can be seen to work in practice.

 Establishing good patterns of behavior through good training helps assure when the real test occurs that we acquit ourselves well. 

It is also important to think before acting, in order to fashion the appropriate response to a particular circumstance. An automatic, conditioned response is not always the answer. In life, it is sometimes difficult to recognize what is positive or negative in a particular situation. 

The Torah contains all sorts of rules that are designed to control our behavior. If a person wishes to eat the eggs in a nest, the mother bird must first be sent away, before the person may collect the eggs.[42] When besieging a city, it is commanded not to cut down the fruit trees.[43] The Bible also commands that the mother animal not be slaughtered on the same day as its young.[44]

The Bible permits eating only certain species of animals, with certain defined characteristics[45] and only certain specified fowl,[46] provided they are first to ritually slaughter.[47] In addition, among other things, the suet must also first be removed,[48] as well as the blood,[49] and the meat cannot be eaten with milk.[50] As to sea life, only certain fish with specified characteristics[51] are permitted to be eaten, not any others. These are but a few head notes of the many volumes of halakhic materials containing extensive detailed rules and regulations governing food and its consumption. 

We don’t know the particular reasons for each commandment. However, there is a pattern in terms of human behavior that they share in common; they serve to regulate it. Satisfaction is delayed and limited. A person is prohibited from just grabbing the limb of a live animal and chowing down on it.[52] This is a part of the balance prescribed by the Torah. It is an entire system in balance, which must be studied, mastered, and performed in order to function properly. Frankly, it is a life’s journey. 

The treatment of the body and soul requires a coordinated approach. Modern medicine has developed expertise in dealing with the body and the mind. Notwithstanding the understanding that there is a mind-body connection, it has been slow to develop integrated treatment regimens that deal with both as an integrated whole. It is frankly deficient in recognizing there is also a soul and body (and mind) connection. It is viewed as a vestige of ancient wisdom that has been eclipsed by modern medical practice, aimed curing the physical manifestations of disease. Investigating and dealing with the spiritual component of the equation as a part of a holistic treatment of the person is often viewed as an anachronistic practice. Modern wisdom in the form of medical science is viewed as the optimum approach. Healing the soul is viewed either as a psychological problem, better left to mental health experts or as a matter of ancient wisdom, better left to the person’s rabbi or other source of religious inspiration. 

This is due in part to the feeling that healing of the soul is not a matter of science, but rather a matter of metaphysics. After all, the soul can’t be seen. What can’t be directly or even indirectly observed is viewed as being outside the purview of medical science. Its diagnosis and treatment is not covered in medical textbooks and is not a part of a doctor’s traditional training. While the suffering endured by a soul may result in physical (including mental) manifestations, it is not a problem medical experts have been trained to handle. For an individual of faith, there is little choice but to seek separate medical treatment for the physical manifestations of illness from a medical professional and treatment for spiritual ailments from a spiritual expert. The concept of an integrated treatment plan that deals with both is foreign to Western medicine. 

The Talmud[53] reports an exchange between the Roman emperor Antoninos[54] and Rabbi Yehudah haNasi on the subject of the body and the soul that provides a conceptual insight into this matter. Antoninus poses the issue of how the body and soul can ultimately be judged by the heavenly court. He avers that the body can argue it was the soul that sinned. Furthermore, it is not present at the time of heavenly judgment, because by then it is dead and buried. The soul can argue that it was the body that sinned. Rabbi Yehudah haNasi responds with a parable. He asks Antoninus to consider the case of two guards stationed to protect the fruits in an orchard. One of the guards is lame and the other is blind. Neither can steal the fruits of the orchard on their own. However, the guards, acting in concert, can together steal the fruit. The lame person said to the blind that he should place the lame one on his shoulders. Acting jointly, in this manner, the lame person was provided with mobility and the blind person with a means of sight, sufficient to reach and steal the fruit. In this manner, they managed to pick the fruit and each ate the bounty they illicitly obtained together. Sometime later, the owner of the field came by, noticed the fruits of the orchard were gone and asked the two guards what had happened. The lame man answered he had no legs and therefore, he could not be guilty of the theft. The blind person also pleaded he had no sight and could not have seen his way to steal the fruits. The owner placed the lame guard on the shoulders of the blind one and judged them as one. Rabbi Yehudah haNasi then responded to Antoninus’ line of reasoning directly. He asserted that God casts the soul back into the body and judges them as one. 

 It is the body and soul, which together face the evil inclination and life. They should be treated as a whole. The good we do affects our soul and helps determine how we think. Virtue signaling serves no useful purpose. It is no substitute for actually doing good deeds, and it can lull us into falsely assuming otherwise. 

In a very real sense, we are what we do, and that affects the way we think. We are also not just the sum total of what we think or what we feel. We are also what we can become. Our charge should be, I do good deeds, therefore, I am. May we be blessed to follow the Torah program in its entirety and become the best versions of ourselves.

Notes

Conversation Guide: Building Support for Israel and Combating Antisemitism

With Non-Jewish Friends, Neighbors and Colleagues

What they need to know

1. The humanitarian crisis in Gaza is terrible but it would end immediately if Hamas surrendered and released the hostages. Hamas deliberately uses the civilian population of Gaza, 2.4 million people, as human shields. Hamas exploits civilian suffering for propaganda against Israel. Hamas command centres, weapons storage and rocket launchers are located in the midst of schools, hospitals, UNRWA aid offices and homes. Resources that flowed into Gaza for years, such as building supplies and raw materials, were devoted to war-making as the top priority. Hamas built a huge tunnel system, more extensive than the London Underground, to conceal its terror apparatus and shelter its leadership. Hamas built no bomb shelters or civilian infrastructure for the civilian population. Why is Gaza dependent on imported food, water and energy? It is critical for the people of Gaza, not just Israel, that Hamas no longer control Gaza.
2. News media focus heavily on civilian suffering in coverage of the Gaza war. News media almost exclusively show photos and video of the destruction in Gaza. They report incident by incident on deaths and show grieving family members. That is truly tragic. On the other hand, few stories portray the war from the perspective of Israel. We don’t hear how families of Israeli hostages are coping with their uncertain fate. We don’t hear from the families of Israeli soldiers killed or wounded in Gaza. We don’t hear about the more than 200,000 Israelis evacuated from border areas near Gaza and in the north under threat from Hezbollah who have no idea when they can go home.
3. It’s not only up to Israel to minimize civilian casualties and suffering. If Hamas surrendered and released the hostages, the war would end and there would be no more civilian suffering. If Egypt opened its Gaza border to Palestinian refugees, they would be able to escape the war. Israel, for its part, tries to minimize civilian casualties in Gaza while fighting a war that it must win. Israel must value the lives of its soldiers equally with those of civilians in Gaza. Nevertheless, Israel urges civilians to evacuate from areas of intense conflict. It gives warnings when possible. But civilian casualties are inevitable given the dense, urban environment of the war and the deliberate strategy of Hamas to put civilians in danger and exploit their suffering. 
4. Hamas is a terrorist, radical Islamist organization. Hamas has controlled the Gaza Strip since since 2007, when it ousted the Palestinian Authority from power. It broke a ceasefire when it launched a horrific, murderous attack on Israel on October 7, 2023. That attack took place early on a Saturday morning, the Jewish Sabbath and a holy day, Simchat Torah. In the attack, 3,000 terrorists killed 1,200 people, mainly civilians, committed systematic sexual violence, mutilated victims and took 253 hostages into Gaza. Hamas, like Hezbollah in Lebanon, is a proxy for the Islamic Republic of Iran, which arms and funds it. 
5. The avowed goal of Hamas is to eliminate Israel and establish an Islamist regime in all of Israel-Palestine. All Jews would be expelled or killed, according to the Hamas Charter. For years after Israel unilaterally withdrew from Gaza in 2005 and up to the present, Hamas and other terror groups launched thousands of rockets into Israeli towns and nearby kibbutzim. Hamas built tunnels under the border to infiltrate into Israel and perpetrate attacks. Hamas has always firmly opposed a “two-state solution” and a peaceful, negotiated end to the conflict. Hamas has promised to repeat the October 7^th attack again and again.
6. Israel’s war aims are legitimate. They are: to destroy Hamas as the ruling power in Gaza; to rescue/recover the remaining 130 hostages (of whom perhaps fewer than 100 remain alive); and to prevent attacks like that of October 2023 from ever occurring again. The war, painful as it is on all sides, must go on until those aims are achieved.
7. Israel is the nation state of the Jewish people. Israel is the only country in which the Jewish people have sovereignty and control their own destiny. The Holocaust demonstrated what happens when Jews do not have a country. Jews are the indigenous people of Israel, dating back more than 3,000 years. King David established Jerusalem as the capital of Israel 1,000 years before the rise of Christianity and 1,600 years before the rise of Islam. Jewish communities continued to exist in Israel throughout the centuries after the Roman conquest and expulsions. For 2,000 years Jews constantly prayed for the return to Israel and Jerusalem. In the 19^th century, political Zionism arose as the national liberation movement of the Jewish people and more Jews came to live in and work the land. In 1948, modern Israel was founded after an affirmative vote of the United Nations. Israel today is a Middle Eastern country; a majority of Israelis originate from countries in the Middle East and north Africa, not Europe. 
8. It is false to call Israel an “apartheid state.” Palestinian citizens of Israel, also known as Arab Israelis, have full civil and political rights. They now number 2.1 million out of Israel’s 10 million population. Overwhelmingly, they do not want to live in a Palestinian state. 
9. It is false to say that Israel’s occupation of Palestine is the root cause of the war. Hamas is determined to wipe out all of Israel inside and outside its 1948 borders. Hamas and the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) that controls the West Bank both reject Israel’s right to exist as a Jewish state. An independent Palestinian state could have been in place as early as 1948 but local Arab leaders and the Arab League rejected the 1947 partition plan and attacked the new State of Israel. Successive governments of Israel were willing to negotiate withdrawal from territories occupied in the 1967 war. In 2005, Israel unilaterally withdrew from Gaza. Both Hamas and the PLO have greeted repeated peace-making efforts going back to the Oslo Accords of 1993-1995 with repeated waves of terror attacks. Palestinian terror attacks, culminating in the atrocities of October 7, are the cause of the war.
10. Jews are currently experiencing an unprecedented wave of antisemitism and anti-Israel actions. Stimulated by the October 7 Hamas attack and the ongoing war in Gaza, increasingly aggressive pro-Palestine demonstrations have targeted Jewish institutions, neighbourhoods and individuals across the country. University campuses have become hostile zones for Jewish students. Jewish-owned businesses have been vandalized and fire-bombed. Jewish students are harassed on campuses. Pro-Palestine demonstrators chant “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free.” Jews understand that as a call for the elimination of Israel and the extermination of every Israeli. Demonstrators praise the Hamas attack of October 7 as an appropriate response to Israeli occupation. They call Israel an “apartheid state” and a “colonial oppressor.” Jews who support Israel are said to be complicit in these “crimes.” They call the war in Gaza “genocide.” Those who falsely and grotesquely accuse Israel of genocide are themselves the advocates of genocide. The police law-enforcement response to pro-Palestine demonstrations has been uneven, varying from state to state, which emboldens the demonstrators.
11. Anti-Israel and antisemitic attacks threaten the values of tolerance and mutual respect that sustain our social fabric. Imagine if Jews were to demonstrate against the Hamas attack at mosques or in Muslim neighbourhoods or at Muslim-owned businesses. If intimidating, hateful demonstrations are accepted as the norm, other groups may adopt such tactics. Demonstrators who literally and figuratively trample norms of democratic life would not hesitate to trample the institutions of democracy. 

What they can do

1. Condemn the atrocities that Hamas committed on October 7: a surprise attack that violated a ceasefire on the Sabbath and a Jewish holy day; the murder of 1,200 people, mostly civilians, with gruesome violence and mutilation; taking 253 hostages, including women, children, men, the sick and the elderly; systematic sexual violence against women and men; and filming and posting video and images of the attack on social media.
2. Support Israel’s just war against Hamas. Tell friends and family, colleagues and neighbours that the war must continue until Hamas is defeated or surrenders. Communicate that to news media with letters and commentary.
3. Tell the government to: continue strongly supporting Israel’s just war; condemn the use of civilians in Gaza as human shields and the exploitation of their suffering by Hamas; demand that Hamas surrender and release the hostages unconditionally; cut off funding to UNRWA, which supported and gave cover to Hamas; reject the decision of the International Court of Justice to even consider South Africa’s groundless assertion that Israel’s war in Gaza is a genocide.
4. Call out media bias against Israel in coverage of the war. Demand that news media balance reporting on civilian suffering in Gaza with reporting on: Hamas tactics that maximize civilian deaths and exploit suffering for political impact; the lack of action by other parties, such as Egypt, to alleviate suffering; Israel’s efforts to limit civilian casualties and expedite humanitarian relief; the sacrifices and losses that Israelis are enduring in the war, including the families of hostages, the experience of hostages held by Hamas, including sexual abuse and lack of medical attention, and the hardship of Israelis evacuated from border areas; Israeli soldiers killed and wounded, some of them because of efforts to avoid civilian deaths.
5. Tell Jewish friends, neighbours and colleagues that you understand their distress about the war and rising antisemitism and offer support. This is a time to communicate and tell them you care. Listen to their concerns and consider how you can help. They may have experienced anti-Israel or antisemitic harassment. They may have been intimidated at a Jewish place of worship, community centre, university or business. They may have been challenged at school or in the workplace as a Jew or as a supporter of Israel.
6. Speak out against hateful, inciteful demonstrations against Israel and Jews. When pro-Palestine demonstrators break the law, call on police to enforce the law. We should not allow trespassing on private property, intimidating behaviour, inciteful speech, and blocking access to institutions, public places and events. 
7. Join with Jewish people when there are counter-demonstrations to show support for Israel and the resolve of the Jewish community. We should not cede the streets and neighbourhoods to pro-Palestine, pro-Hamas demonstrators. We should not accept that it is okay to bully and block access to people coming and going from Jewish institutions or public events. We should not tolerate it when demonstrators shout hateful and inciteful slogans and carry signs with such messages. Join us when we go out publicly to show our resolve and tell our side of the story.
8. Stand with Jews and other religious and cultural communities when there are issues that threaten core American values. Freedom to practice religion, security, combating racism and hate, fostering tolerance and mutual respect, the rule of law and other such values are the bedrock of our civil, democratic society. We need to work together with allies issue by issue to protect the values and the way of life that we cherish.

May 1, 2024

Rabbi Hayyim Angel will teach a six-part series on the biblical readings of Shavuot.

Hosted by Torah in Motion in Toronto, the classes are over Zoom. 

They begin on Monday, May 6, from 10:00-11:00 am Eastern. Please see below for dates and class titles.

The classes are open to the public (Torah in Motion requests optional donations on the registration page). 

Please register at:

https://torahinmotion.org/programs/e-tim-the-tanakh-readings-of-shavuot

The Tanakh Readings of Shavuot

Mondays, 10:00am Eastern

May 6
The Ten Commandments in Classical Commentary and Contemporary Scholarship

May 13
The Revelation at Sinai (Shemot Chapters 19, 20, and 24)

May 20
Ezekiel's Vision of the Celestial Chariot: Principles of Prophecy

May 27
'The Righteous Shall Live By His Faith': The Message of Habakkuk and Shauvot

June 3
The Complex Layers of Hesed in the Book of Ruth: Chapter 1

June 10
The Complex Layers of Hesed in the Book of Ruth: Chapters 2-4