National Scholar Updates

            The rabbis depict our forebears Abraham and Sarah spreading the knowledge of Hashem far and wide. Some formulations of this idea actually use the verb gayyer (=to convert).^[2] Moreover, the Talmud ascribes to God, no less, the designation of the partriarchs as “those who first made Me known in the world” and to Israel the claim “we have made Thee known in the world”.^[3] But why marshall texts to demonstrate the obvious: Torah and Talmud mostly^[4] see Israel as having received the Torah that they might be its torch-bearers. Thus in rabbinic tradition welcoming gere sedeq (=righteous converts) into the covenant is deemed to be a misvah.^[5] So giyyoor being a misvah giyyoor was sacrosanct. Or at least so we thought.

            Then early last year news broke of men and women who had converted to Judaism under the auspices of respected Israeli rabbis and were now being declared gentiles. The initial perplexity that greeted the news turned into disbelief as reports began to speak of conversions anulled in the hundreds and thousands by Israel’s supreme rabbinic court. Eventually we managed to procure a copy of that court’s decision that allegedly set in motion the overturning of conversions. The following is the picture as it emerges from the pages of that document.

            It all begins in Ashdod when a couple appears before the local rabbinic court seeking a divorce. The court informs the couple that it is impossible to get divorced unless one was first married. Jewish law, it explains, does not recognize marriage between a Jew and a gentile. And because the woman is a gentile, the court does not look upon them as husband and wife. Having lived in the belief that she was Jewish ever since her conversion many years prior, the woman is flabbergasted. She appeals to the supreme rabbinic court in Jerusalem. On February 2^nd, 2008, that august body issues its reasoned pesaq in a 53 page document that essentially upholds the Ashdod ruling.

            The Beth Din’s Pesaq of February 2008 (hereafter BDP) is problematic in at least three areas. First, it makes assertions that are inconsistent with the facts. For example, it states that all the posqeem (=halakhic decisors) throughout the generations have ruled conversion retroactively invalid if the convert fails to live up to his/her commitments. When we consult the posqeem - whether it be Rambam,^[6] Tur,^[7] or Shulhan Arukh^[8] to mention three of the most eminent - we find them saying the exact opposite. Indeed, there seems to be only a single dissenting rishon, namely the author of Hagahot Mordecai.^[9] Now in order to appreciate the Hagahot Mordecai’s position we need to recall the talmudic passage from which he claims to derive the idea of retroactively invalid giyyoor. The Mishnah at Yebamoth 24b reads:

A man who was alleged to have had relations with ... a non-Jewish woman and she later converted he shall not marry [the woman]. If, however, he married her they shall not be separated. If a man was alleged to have had relations with a married woman and she was subsequently divorced, then even if they went ahead and married they shall be separated.

The convert of this Mishnah is one whose motives for conversion cannot help but raise doubts. Nevertheless, in ruling that “if married they shall not be separated”, the Mishnah implies the conversion to be valid. But can this implication be correct when it would seem to contradict another tannaic source? That is what the Gemara wants to know, and it begins by citing the counter source.

Surely we have learnt in a Baraitha: Whether it is a man who converts for the sake of a woman or a woman for the sake of a man; whether the person converts for the sake of the royal table or to be employed by Solomon - none of these are converts according to R. Nehemiah. For R. Nehemiah would say: those who convert for fear of lions; those who convert on the prompting of a dream; those who converted in the days of Mordecai and Esther - none of these are converts ...

Inasmuch as he invalidates conversions undertaken for less than the purest motives, R. Nehemiah is irreconcilable with our Mishnah - or rather with the inference the Gemara had drawn from it. So ought that initial inference to be rejected? No, says the Gemara, because apropos of this very issue R. Yitzhak bar Shemuel bar Marta transmitted in the name of Rav that the law is KE-DIBRE HA-OMER (=according to the one who says) ‘They are all converts’ (Yeb. ibid.).

            Now Rav (d. around 250) having bestraddled the tannaic and amoraic eras, is allowed to dispute a tanna^[10] - a licence not granted other amoraim. However, it is not on the strength of his quasi-tannaic status that Rav rules here at Yeb. 24b, but rather does he side with the anonymous tanna who disagreed with R. Nehemiah and “says ‘They are all converts’”. Hence the Gemara’s original inference is vindicated; for though it places our Mishnah at odds with R. Nehemiah, it keeps it in line with the tanna cited and seconded by Rav. And it is the decision of Rav (which the Gemara identifies as consistent with the Mishnah) that post talmudic halakhists follow almost to a man. But as noted earlier, there is a dissenter: Hagahot Mordecai.

Although the Talmud rules there [at Yeb. 24b] that they are all full proselytes, we could say that it refers only to cases where we see them rectifying their ways even if their initial motive was marriage etc. ...^[11] I prefer this interpretation to the alternative which would posit an amora [i.e. Rav] ruling not in accordance with the baraitha of R. Nehemiah. Moreover, the undisputed baraitha [cited Yeb. ibid.] that says no converts were accepted in the days of David and Solomon [for fear of ulterior motives] supports us.^[12] What I have written here is my own opinion, not what I received from my teachers; and my understanding should not be relied upon.

            One has to wonder whether Hagahot Mordecai had the words KE-DIBRE HA-OMER in his copy of the Talmud. Be that as may, there is nothing anomalous about a halakhist relying upon a variant reading of the Talmud. Similarly, halakhists will occasionally argue for following a da‘at yaheed (=minority opinion). However, what is so disconcerting about BDP is its insistence that the exceptional view of Hagahot Mordecai is shared by all posqeem throughout the generations.^[13]

            The second bone we have to pick with BDP is over its ad hominem slurs. Stooping to the level of personal attacks is usually a sign of desperation. How else to explain its ploy of declaring venerable members of named Israeli judiciaries to be resha‘eem? And classifying people resha‘eem is tantamount to impugning their credentials to act as witnesses - and by analogy also as judges.^[14] The prohibition to accept the testimony of a rasha‘ is derived from Scripture, as explained by the Talmud and conveniently codified by Rambam:

“Resha‘eem [=unjust or guilty persons; felons] are disqualified from giving testimony as it says [Exod 23:1] ‘You shall not make common cause with a rasha‘ to be a witness of hamas. Tradition understands this scripture to be saying ‘Do not let a rasha‘ be a witness’.” (Yad, Edut 10:1)

Proclaiming a dayyan (= judge of a rabbinic court; plural: dayyaneem) a rasha‘ is a grave matter and one would expect to learn which court of law convicted him and on what count. Instead BDP arrogates to itself the authority of ruling fellow dayyaneem resha‘eem without even hearing the men’s defence. If that were not egregious enough, the primary charge it cites against the dayyaneem rests on the following circular reasoning. Conversion requires a beth din (see Yeb.46b). Since they are resha‘eem, their court is no court, and consequently the people they convert remain gentiles. The Torah pronounces a curse on anyone who leads a blind person astray (Deut 27:18 cf. Lev 19:14). In making the people they convert believe themselves to have become Jews when in fact they are still gentiles, they are guilty of the sin of leading the blind astray.^[15] Hence such dayyaneem fall into the category of resha‘eem.

            Additional charges bandied about by BDP include: 1) forgery, 2) heresy and 3) brazenly disparaging Torah. The forgery charge alleges that the rasha‘ judge signed conversion certificates presided over by dayyaneem other than himself. Now these types of certificates begin with the formulaic opening be-mothab telatha ka-hada (= the three of us sat in judgment etc.) - because it is the same three judges who form the converting beth din that also go on to sign the certificate. Needless to say, a judge who did not personally sit on the court cannot lawfully put his name to such a document. But that, alleges BDP, is precisely what the ‘delinquent’ dayyan went and did. If true, nobody would dispute the impropriety of such behavior. However, the Talmud lays down a principle sheluho shel adam ke-motho.^[16] Of course misvot she-begufo i.e. duties that demand personal involvement cannot be deputized; and signing a document that claims its signatories were party to the transaction described in that document is surely such a duty. Yet it is conceivable that a senior judge might, albeit mistakenly, think of his trusted juniors as emissaries. Furthermore, unlike a bill of divorce or even a marriage contract, a giyyoor certificate has no halakhic function whatsoever. It is granted merely to serve the convert as ready proof in the future when facing bureaucracies and the like. All in all then, the forgery indictment seems a stretch.

            The heresy charge (levelled originally by the Ashdod court but cited approvingly by BDP) is even more baffling. The actual term used is epiqoros - which in popular parlance is generic for heretic. The Talmud, however, defines the epithet more narrowly. The tenth chapter of Mishnah Sanhedrin^[17] lists reprobates who forfeit their share in the world to come. One of them is the epiqoros. And it is in the course of expounding the Mishnah that the Gemara records the following definitions.

Rav and R. Haninah both say he [the epiqoros] is somebody who insults a Torah scholar. R. Yohanan and R. Yehoshua b. Levi say he is somebody who insults his fellow in the presence of a Torah scholar. Now those who classify the epiqoros as somebody who insults his fellow in the presence of a Torah scholar, the one who insults the scholar himself they classify as megalleh paneem ba-torah shelo ka-halakhah (= a brazen disparager of Torah). But for those who define epiqoros as one who insults the scholar himself, what kind of person is the megalleh paneem ba-torah? He is somebody like Manasseh son of Hezekiah^[18] (San. 99b).

Since BDP does not elaborate, one cannot be sure which definition of epiqoros it has in mind. On reflection, though, it is probably the vernacular meaning since it would be rich beyond belief for BDP to accuse another of disparaging a Torah scholar! More substantively, what is the point of BDP branding the dayyan of its disfavor an epiqoros?

            It will be recalled that, based on Exodus 23:1, resha‘eem are disqualified from giving testimony. Besides rasha‘, Exodus 23:1 contains another operative word: hamas.^[19] The Talmud (San. 27a) records a dispute between Abayye and Rava as to whether or not hamas modifies rasha‘. Rava holds that the word hamas modifies rasha‘; hence anti-social behavior is prerequisite for witness disqualification. For Abayye, on the other hand, even non-hamas wrongdoing (e.g. ritual delinquency that is a matter between a person and God), is sufficient to lose a witness his credibility. Thus Abbaye would disqualify not only a mumar le-te’avon^[20] but also a mumar le-hakh‘ees. But even according to Abbaye a person is disqualified to testify by virtue of wrong action. Yes; wrong action, not unorthodox thought. Yet Rambam, writes:

“Informers and epiqorseen ... ^[21] the Sages had no need to name in their list of people unfit to give evidence because they listed only Jewish miscreants. But such rebellious infidels are worse than idolaters...” (Yad Edut 11:10)

There is nothing odd about the inclusion of informers because their guilt yesh bo ma‘aseh (=involves action)^[22] and is consequently ascertainable (and where appropriate punishable) by a human tribunal. But the appearance of heretics, whose fate the Mishnah leaves to divine judgment, is striking.^[23] Nevertheless, by means of an ingenious a fortiori argument of Rambam’s own devising, heresy is made a crime for courts to discover and to act upon - in this case invalidating the testimony of such that are found to be heretics.

            By dragging in heretics Rambam breaks new ground. Magistrates on the watch for heresy are a far cry from the Talmud’s standards of objectivity, and, what is more, seem dangerously close to the murky realm of inquisitions and thought police. So the question is, Why would Rambam have introduced this drastic innovation? We know it was not conformity to the Talmud that impelled him, because the Talmud never mentions heretics in connection with testimony. Moreover, as we saw, Rambam makes no secret of the fact that heretics transpired as a result of his own extrapolation. Something other than the Talmud, then, must have impelled Rambam to bring up heretics. In any event, once epiqorseen are blacklisted and Rambam’s ruling is adopted by later codes, declaring someone an epiqoros immediately impugns his eligibility to testify or to adjudicate. Hence, in levelling its heresy charge, BDP aims to undermine the authority of its targeted beth din.

            The related aspersion megalleh paneem ba-torah shelo ka-halakhah (again, borrowed and endorsed by BDP p.4) is meant to inculpate the dayyan in question with insulting scholars (rather than imitating Manasseh - see San. 99b cited above).^[24] If you ask ‘which scholars? What insult?’ BDP has its answer pat. We have already met BDP’s assertion that ‘all the posqeem throughout the generations have ruled conversion retroactively invalid if the convert fails to live up to his/her commitments’. That being BDP’s premise, it follows as night follows day, that to flout such a unanimous ruling of halakhists down the ages is nothing short of brazen effrontery.

            Finally, BDP’s gravest imputation of all: the ‘rogue’ beth din failed to elicit qabbalat misvot^[25] from those it purported to convert. Now qabbalat misvot is an integral component of giyyoor and in the opinion of many posqeem it is also a sine qua non. That any beth din could skip qabbalat misvot seems incredible. Yet that is what happened according to the allegation repeated over and over in BDP.^[26]

POSTSCRIPT

            What are we supposed to make of this document and its extraordinary contentions? Manifestly the 53 page screed is animated by more than sober halakhic logic; dare one say by something akin to polemical zeal? But whereas the written word has a life of its own and must be judged on its merits, people should always be given the benefit of the doubt. Indeed, because of the imperative to judge men charitably,^[27] one wants to try and extenuate that zeal. Clues within BDP suggest that recent tendencies towards a politicization of giyyoor may have raised its authors’ hackles.^[28]

            For there is no denying the attempt in certain quarters to fuse the ideas of nationality and divinity in a manner redolent of the old Baalism. What follows is an example of this phenomenon.      

From the Rambam’s words we learn that candidates for conversion must express their wish to join, simultaneously, both the people of Israel and its Torah. ‘Entering the covenant’ [in Rambam’s formulation, Issure Bi‘ah 13:4] refers to the congregation of Israel that consists of children of the covenant. ‘Taking shelter under the Shekhinah’s wings’ [Rambam’s formulation ibid.] means living as a member of the Jewish religion ... The requirement to express this twofold identification with the Jewish nation as well as with its God and Torah, was learnt by our sages of blessed memory from Ruth the Moabitess. When seeking to impress her mother-in-law Naomi of her [Ruth’s] spiritual and practical preparedness to cast her lot with Judaism, Ruth speaks the words “... Your people is my people and your God is my God”. The equal emphasis on the people and its God as the objects of [the convert’s] adoptive identity clearly demonstrates that the religion and the nationhood are a single indivisible entity in Judaism ... Clearly, then, already in such an early era [as Ruth’s], conversion was conceived of as a procedure simultaneously both religious and national, whose elements are inseperable.” (Mi Hu Yehudi? by Avner Shaki, vol. 2 Jerusalem 1978 p. 343).

Shaki’s enunciation of the nation-divinity amalgam would not merit citation were it not that he invokes Scripture, Sages and Maimonides in support. But seeing that he does, it behooves us to examine these sources’ alleged espousal of ‘Shakian dualism’. Ruth’s “Your people” we shall consider shortly. As for the unsubstantiated claim that the sages deduced from Ruth “a twofold identification with the Jewish nation as well as with its God and Torah” we are unable to comment upon, since no source is indicated.^[29] Rambam certainly mentions covenant: “Similarly throughout the generations, when a non-Jew wishes to enter the covenant and take shelter under the Shekhinah’s wings...”. The only question is whether Rambam was using the phrase ‘entering the covenant’ as shorthand for joining the polity of the children of the covenant. Rambam’s classic commentators refer us to a baraitha in Keritot that mandates all subsequent conversions to reenact, as it were, the conversion leading up to the Sinai/Horeb covenant.^[30]

Ribbi [Judah the Partriach] says as with your forefathers so with [proselytes] throughout your generations. Just as your forefathers did not enter into the [Sinaitic] covenant except through circumcision, immersion and propitiation by means of blood [sacrifice] neither shall they enter the covenant except through circumcision, immersion and propitiation by means of blood [sacrifice] (Ker. 9a).

            The covenant Rambam alludes to is the very one under discussion in Keritot; which, in turn, is the Torah’s covenant mediated by Moses between God and the people who were to become the covenantal community. In other words, the pledge made at Sinai as understood by tradition was to God rather than to a group of human beings. Hence, the proselyte’s entering into the covenant, modelled on the Sinai prototype, is about the neophyte’s commitment to God rather than to a group that Shaki calls ‘children of the covenant’.

            Needless to say, among Jews who take their faith seriously, equating a person’s political choices with his/her choice to ‘enter under the shekhinah’s wings’ must seem to border on the sacriligious. Without belittling one iota tribal and national allegiances, they are surely of a different order from the plighting of one’s troth to Hashem. Moreover, the Talmud categorically forbids associating the Name of Heaven with anything else.^[31] Hence the extreme unease that attempts such as Shaki’s to politicize giyyoor engender in the bosom of many a Torah-oriented Jew who ponders Scriptures such as 2Kgs 17:26-28.

It was reported to the king of Assyria saying ‘The peoples that you deported and settled in the cities of Samaria do not know the law of the god of the land and he sent among them lions that are devouring them because they know not the law of the god of the land’. The king of Assyria gave orders that one of the priests who had been deported from there should be sent back in order to teach them the law of the god of the land. So one of the priests who had been exiled from Samaria came back and dwelt in Bethel and taught them how to fear Hashem.

Two irreconcilable voices speak to us in these verses. The first is the voice of paganism whose gods are territorial, each presiding over his/her national borders. Then in verse 28 we hear the Torah’s voice, that instead of the idolatrous ‘god of the land’, speaks of fearing Hashem. A closely related pagan concept to the territorial, is the national god that is essentially an apotheosis of a people and its collective identity and aspirations. Naomi recognizes the nation-god nexus of Moabite religion when she says to Ruth ‘Behold your sister-in-law has gone back to her people and to her gods’ (Ruth 1:15). Perhaps Ruth was projecting some such Moabite territorial theology onto Hashem when she responded ‘Your people shall be my people and your God my God’ (v. 16).^[32]

            But even if one shares BDP’s dismay at the way politics has come to invade and dilute giyyoor (and other aspects of religion), it is quite another proposition to condone the methodology it employs to counter the lamentable trend (assuming such trends to be BDP’s driving gripe). Besides, even a cause worthy in the abstract, has to yield if it leads to real people suffering. This was the way of our Sages who opened a back-door for gereem gerureem when conventional giyyoor was inapplicable.^[33] They even offered a halfway conversion whereby a person attained the status of ger toshav (as distinct from ger sedeq). Ger toshav is not a mere synonym for Noahide. No. The ger toshav formally forswore idolatry and accepted faith in Hashem and belief in revelation.^[34] Withal, never did the Sages say let idolaters stew in their idolatry. Today, when the ger toshav option has fallen into desuetude, extra vigilance is called for. Not so much in order to catch and keep out ‘rotten apples’ (though that too), but to ensure that no seeker after Hashem is left out in the cold.

[1]      See Job 31:32, and especially its midrashic interpretations (e.g. Exod. Rab. 19:4).

[2]      See, for example, Targum Yonathan to Gen 12:5.

[3]      Men.53a.

[4]      The word ‘mostly’ is used advisedly because some - notably priests whose status was inherited - seem to have conceived of Jewishness as also being hereditary. The Talmud suggests that there were priests who looked askance upon both converts and conversion (see Mihnah Rosh Hash. 1:7; Yom. 71b et al).

[5]      Yeb. 47b.

[6]      Issure Bi‘ah 13:17.

[7]      Yore De‘ah 268 end.

[8]      Yore De‘ah 268:12.

[9]      The author of the glosses known as Hagahot Mordecai remains elusive. R. Hayim Yoseph Daveed Azulai (HYDA d.1806) surmizes that he lived a century or so after R. Mordecai b. Hillel ha-Kohen (d. 1298) whose work he glossates.

[10]    See Erub. 50b, Ket. 8a, Git. 38b, San. 83b.

[11]    These words of the Hagahot imply that if the convert’s subsequent behavior does not exhibit “rectitude of ways”, then the conversion is retroactively null and void.

[12]    Since it does not address the be-de‘abad (=post factum) situation, it is unclear how the David-Solomon baraitha supports R. Nehemia. On the contrary, had the David-Solomon baraitha emanated from the school of R. Nehemiah we know how it would have been worded. For at Yeb. 76a-b we learn the reason converts were not accepted in the halcyon days of David and his son “because their motive is likely to have been the royal table”. And conversion undertaken with an eye on the royal board is invalidated by R. Nehemia even be-de‘abad : “whether the person converts for the sake of the royal table or to be employed by Solomon - none of these are converts”.

[13]    More than a century ago when R. Yitzhak Schmelkes chose to follow the Hagahot Mordecai he did not dissimulate his own predilection for the tentative proposal of Hagahot Mordecai. Rather did R. Schmelkes opt for full disclosure: “Although he [Hagahot Mordecai] wrote that his understanding was not to be relied on, we rely upon his understanding” (Beth Yitzhak vol. Yore De‘ah responsum 100 [p.86]).

[14]    Actually a judge’s moral qualifications are spelled out in the Torah (see Exod 18:21; Deut 1:13, 16:18). Nevertheless for a ruling to be anulled on grounds of the judge’s unfitness, there would have to be evidence of resha‘ .

[15]    BDP devotes five pages (7-12) to lifne ivver (= the sin of misleading the blind).

[16]    Literally ‘one’s proxy is like oneself’. As a legal concept it means that a person can appoint a shaliah (=proxy) to deputize on his/her behalf in carrying out non-personal duties. The Talmud provides numerous examples such as priests offering sacrifices on behalf of the laity; tithing; effecting betrothal by conveying the medium of betrothal from a man to his destined bride; most familiar, perhaps, is the shaliah sibboor or precentor who recites the prayers on behalf of the congregation (see Qid. 41b-42a et al.).

[17]    In many editions it appears as the eleventh chapter.

[18]    Described earlier on San. 99b as a man who would use his sermons to mock Torah: Did Moses have nothing better to write than ‘Lotan’s sister was Timna’ (Gen 36:22)? or ‘Timna was a concubine to Eliphaz’ (Gen 36:12)? or ‘Reuben went in harvest time and found mandrakes’ (Gen 30:14)?

[19]    Hamas is often translated violence. Rabbinic sources render some occurrences of hamas ‘robbery’ or ‘armed robbery’ (see Targums and Rashi to Gen 6:13). At San. 27a the rasha‘ of hamas is defined as someone who in the act of transgressing misvot causes material harm also to fellow humans - which definition embraces also venal folks who will do anything for lucre.

[20]    Literally ‘a renegade out of expediency [or for pleasure]’ e.g. a person who eats non-kosher food because it is cheaper than kosher (see Rashi San. 27a s.v. h”g mumar okhel nevelot le-te’avon).

[21]    In many printed editions the text continues “and mumars”. Others omit mumars (see Lehem Mishneh ad loc.). The editio princeps (Rome 1480) instead of mumars has “sectarians (minin) and apostates (meshumadin).

[22]    Or at least treacherous speech. While some reckon speech as ‘action’, according to all tannaim wrong thought is outside the purview of the courts (see San. 65a-b et al).

[23]    Especially when we recall Rambam’s own definitions of epiqorseen as persons guilty not of wrong speech but of heterodox opinions (even if they happen to verbalize those opinions). “There are three that are called epiqorseen: 1) the person who denies prophecy and the possibility of knowledge reaching the human heart from the Creator; 2) one who denies the prophecy of Moses our teacher; 3) one who says the Creator has no knowledge of the affairs of man. Each of these is an epiqoros” (Yad, Teshubah 3:8 and see Kesef Mishneh’s comment ad loc.).

[24]    Both the long form megalleh paneem ba-torah shelo ka-halakhah and the short megalleh paneem ba-torah occur at San. 99b and are used there interchangeably, as we saw. At Avot 3:11 most MSS have the short form whereas printed editions typically the long. Incidentally, the dispute over the definition of megalleh paneem seems not to have been resolved; hardly surprising seeing that there are no ramifications for earthly bate din. Thus Rashi explains the megalleh paneem of Avot with reference to Manasseh, while Rambam identifies the megalleh as one who brazenly and ostentatiously defies Torah.

[25]    Literally: acceptance of misvot. The requirement for the prospective ger to express his/her acceptance after being apprised of the liabilities as well as the privileges inherent in Judaism is laid down in the baraitha.“They acquaint him with some of the easier misvot and some of the heavier misvot; they acquaint him with the sin of [neglecting] to leave behind for the poor fallen or forgotten sheaves or the ‘corner’ and of [neglecting] to give the tithe of the poor. Furthermore... they say to him ‘hitherto if you ate suet you were not liable for kareth; if you desecrated the Sabbath you were not liable for seqilah but henceforth you will be liable’... And just as they acquaint him with the punishments for [breaking] misvot similarly do they acquaint him with their [the misvot’s] rewards. They say to him ‘Know that the world-to-come is reserved for the righteous, but Israel at present is unable to receive (le-qabbel) either great good or great travail’. They do not burden him with more [words] or with stringencies. If he ACCEPTS, he is circumcised forthwith...” (Yeb. 47a-b).

[26]    “The woman bringing the appeal did not accept observance of misvot” (p.1); “qabbalat misvot did not occur in the case of the appellant” (p.3); “an additional transgression is their declaring a non-Jew who did not accept to observe the misvot of Hashem’s Torah... to be a Jew” (p.7) etc.

[27]    Avot 1:6.

[28]    E.g. “The conversion of [a certain] deaf-mute will not bring her to a state of misvah observance... The only possible consequence of the conversion would be a social one - something that neither constitutes conversion nor bestows any zekhut (=spiritual advantage)...” ( p.19); “There is certainly no misvah upon a beth din or any other Israelite to make efforts to bring non-Jews into the Israelite fold [sic] - a fortiori when the person’s only attachment will be of a national kind and not an attachment to the God of Israel and the Torah of Israel.” (p.20); “Despite what was said, national or social goals must not be recognized ... they see themselves belonging to the Jewish people only in the national-social sense without any inward religious connection ...” (p.21) etc.

[29]    If anything, the Talmud would seem to invest Ruth’s ostensibly national ‘Your people' clause with religious significance. “She [Naomi] said to her ...‘We have 613 commandments’. She [Ruth] replied ‘Your people is my people...’” (Yeb. 47b).

[30]    Rabbinic sources typically consider the Hebrews to have had the status of Noahides prior to the giving of the Torah (see, for example, Rashi at San. 82a “It was prior to Sinai that Moses had married Jethro’s daughter, all at that time having the status of Noahides. When the Torah was given they all, she [Jethro’s daughter] as well as proselytes of the mixed multitude included, entered into full misvah-hood”).

[31]    Suk. 45b, San. 63a.

[32]    Boaz, while applauding both, separates her commitment to God (Ruth 2:12) from her national and familial loyalties (v. 11). Moreover, the distinctive phrase la-hasot tahat kenafaim (taking refuge or shelter under wings) Scripture uses exclusively of the relationship between an individual and Hashem (cf. Ps 36:8, 57:2, 91:4).

[33]    See Yeb. 79a, Avod Zar. 3b, 24a; Yerushalmi Qid. 65c, San. 23d.

[34]    “The person who accepts them [the seven misvot] is called a ger toshav; but the acceptance must be solemnized in the presence of three haberim [that constitute a beth din]. Whoever accepts the seven misvot and is careful to keep them behold he is of the pious among the nations and has a share in the world-to-come. That is provided he accepts them and does them because Hashem commanded them in the Torah...” (Yad, Melakim 8:10-11; cf. Issure Bi‘ah 14:7).

Question: Confidentiality is a vital concern that impacts the freedom of expression of quite a number of professions. Many professionals receive confidential information as part and parcel of their normal involvement with their clients and/or patients. Rabbis are also privy to confidential data. At issue is whether halakha (Jewish law) provides any guidelines or rules pertaining to this matter?

Response: In terms of a general overview, it should be noted that the medical profession considers confidentiality as a cardinal precept of medical ethics. Indeed, for centuries doctors have committed themselves to the Hippocratic Oath upon assuming a medical career. The modern version of that Oath as replaced by the Declaration of Geneva adopted by the World Medical Association states, “I will respect the secrets which are confided in me, even after a patient has died”. In other words, as a doctor one may hear very private concerns. The doctor takes an oath that he or she will not divulge such information. The patient came to the doctor assuming confidentiality will govern their relationship and, therefore, the doctor must guard any and all private matters from becoming public. Yet, complications and moral quandaries may develop. A psychiatrist or therapist may have revealed to them information that might be potentially dangerous if kept confidential. Are they required to remain silent when such silence will negatively affect the community at large? Should they, for example, relate that a young man who recently proposed marriage to a young lady has AIDS? And what about, for example, the problems of the legal profession? In America, due to the rules of attorney-client-privilege and Codes of Professional Responsibility a lawyer may not reveal any information received in confidence or secret, even if necessary to prevent fraud. As such, knowledge emanating from the attorney-client relationship that Mr. X is an outright thief, may not be revealed to prevent others from being duped in a fraudulent scam. Rabbis, moreover, hear a litany of very private, painful confessions. At times, their investigation prior to serving as a wedding performer discloses very embarrassing details. Some deal with actions or illnesses that would taint the reputation of families should such information be revealed. Are rabbis obligated by Jewish law to preserve the confidentiality of their information? Or, to prevent a community liability or social problem, does Jewish law provide to rabbis the authority to reveal private information?

The first important principle is that unlike the medical and legal profession, the clergy, especially as noted by halakha, has, no special oath or rule proscribing the revealing of private, personal matters to others. In other words, there is no specific rabbi rule against violating confidentiality. It is not just rabbis who are forbidden to divulge secrets. Everyone, every Jew, no matter his or her profession or lack of a profession, is prohibited by Biblical law from telling private matters to others.

The Bible overtly states, “Thou shalt not go about as a talebearer among thy people”, (Lo Telekh ra’hil – Leviticus 19:16); the verse then concludes, “and thou shall not stand inactive (idly) by the blood of thy neighbor, I am God”. (translation, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch) The practical application of this is expounded by the Rambam. He rules,…”telling tales is a great sin. It served as the cause for the murder of many Jews. [Indeed,] this is the reason why adjacent to it [the verse prohibiting talebearing] is the verse prohibiting one to not stand idly by the blood of one’s friend.” The process of talebearing takes place “when a person goes from one to another and says this is what so-and-so said, this is what I heard about so-and-so, even though it is the truth, such is destructive of the world. A worse sin included in this [Biblical] prohibition is the sin of Iashon hara. That is the telling of something which is negative to one’s friend, even though it is truthful. (Rambam, Hilkhot De'ot Chapter 7: Laws 1 and 2.) Thus the sin of revealing private, confidential information is operational whether it is negative or positive. The sin is graver when the information is or may be negative. Also, the truth or falsity of the information revealed does not in any way provide a halakhic permit to divulge a confidence. (See also, Sanhedrin 31a and Yoma 4b)

There is a fascinating Talmudic citation corroborating this concept in Pesahim (113:b). The Talmud reports that a man by the name of Tuvia sinned. He committed adultery. A man called Zigud was aware of this sin and by himself, without another witness, he came to Bet Din, the Rabbinical Court to testify against Tuvia proclaiming that Tuvia was an adulterer. Rav Papa, the senior Rav of the Bet Din, punished Zigud for testifying. Zigud was appalled. He called out in protest, “Tuvia sinned and Zigud is punished?” In other words, the Bet Din did not punish Tuvia for the alleged sin of adultery. Zigud was, however, punished for he was guilty of lashon hara, telling negatives about another. In Jewish law sins relating to adultery require the presence of a minimum of two qualified witnesses. Bet Din will not accept the testimony of a singular witness in matters pertaining to adultery. Accordingly, Zigud should have known that Bet Din would not act upon his testimony. Thus, Zigud was in effect merely spreading gossip about Tuvia. The fact that the allegation may have been true was of no concern. Zigud was punished for informing others of slanderous material. He should have kept knowledge of the immoral act to himself.

I believe that those involved in professions that deal with confidential information and subsequently divulge such private concerns to others, may be deemed to have transgressed greater sins than ordinary people who tell tales and are involved in gossip. I have no actual halakhic ruling on this, but, I do believe Biblical law intimated this concept. The Torah details the punishments to be given to different types of theft. It states that whosoever steals an ox and/or sheep pays more than a crook who robs jewels from a house. Indeed, the Torah says, “he shall pay five oxen for the ox and four sheep for the sheep”. (Exodus 21:37) Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch suggests that the reason for the onerous punishment for stealing an ox or sheep is that such animals are generally kept outside in the open air. As such, one must trust the community not to violate private property even though the animals are not locked up in a home. To the extent that one must place greater trust in people concerning the security of animals, the punishment for the violation of this trust must be greater than a case where something was locked up in a home. Thus, whenever there is a situation wherein confidence is assumed, the violation of such trust should generate a more onerous punishment, not just from society, but also from religious law.

Of major, practical interest is that there is a vital provision that alters the above halakhic prohibition. Namely, the Biblical prohibition to divulge confidential information is limited to cases wherein the intention of the talebearer is to hurt the feelings or merely to disparage in some way the reputation of another. But what about a case wherein the intention is to prevent crime, to withhold damage from a community, to help the person involved, in such circumstances, many rabbis rule that halacha would permit the divulging of private, confidential information. The basic source for this is the Rambam who rules, “whoever is able to save another and does not endeavor to do so, violates the [prohibition of]’ do not stand idly by the blood of your friend, therefore, one who witnesses his friend drowning in the sea or brigands attacking him and he [has the ability to] save him, or he heard that people seek harm to him…and he does not contact his friend to reveal this, he is in violation of the Biblical prohibition of ‘do not stand idly over the blood of your neighbor.’” (Rambam, Hilkhot Ro-tzeah Chapter 1:14 See also Shulhan Arukh Hoshen Mishpat 42:1, cited by Rav Ovadia Yosef, Responsa Yehaveh Daat, Volume 4: Siman 60) Indeed, Rav Ovadia Yosef contends that the reason the Biblical verse starts with a prohibition against standing idly by the blood of your neighbor is to manifest that saving a neighbor from damage is more important than maintaining the confidentiality of certain information.

Thus, the rabbi and the professional practitioner are permitted and may even be required to reveal information that may prevent harm to others. This, for example, would mandate revealing knowledge that a prospective bridegroom had AIDS. It would, moreover, require one to reveal to a prospective employer that a certain person has a serious heart condition and should not be entrusted with becoming a bus driver for young children. It would, also obligate one to divulge information that will prevent monetary damage to others even though it could destroy the reputation of the person who confided the private information. This generates a difficult moral as well as professional dilemma. The fact that a psychologist may reveal to others, the foibles or illness of their clients to hopefully prevent communal damage may jeopardize the psychologist’s entire career. Word will get out that the psychologist does not honor a code of confidentiality. Accordingly, clients will feel that they cannot trust the therapist to withhold divulging private information. Once such a rumor takes hold in the community, no one will be willing to confide in the professional. At issue is whether a person is required to jeopardize his or her professional career by revealing confidential information detrimental to others. Namely, is a person obligated to sacrifice one’s own career to prevent others from being hurt? What ruling does halakha provide in such a quandary?

When confronted with the cost of observing a mitzvah, the rule is that one is not required to expend more than one fifth of income. As such, should an item required for the performance of a mitzvah cost more than one-fifth of one’s income, the Jew would not be obligated to purchase such a costly item, even as a result he would not observe the mitzvah. This rule relates only to the observance of positive mitzvoth. When dealing with the violation of negative mitzvoth, there is no financial limit imposed upon the Jew. All funds must be expended to forestall the violation of a Biblical negative command. (Rama, Shulchan Aruch Orach Chayyim 656) Scholars, however, finely hone this rule. They contend that the issue of concern is not whether the cost of observing a mitzvah is either a violation of a positive or a negative mitzvah. The issue is whether a positive action is necessary in order to violate the negative mitzvah, or whether a violation takes place by inaction, (as termed in Talmudic parlance, shev v’al ta’aseh). (Pit-hei Teshuva, Yoreh Deah 157:4) As such, silence in the face of a crime that may occur to others, does not obligate any professional to jeopardize their careers. In a way, it revolves around the pivotal issue of conscience and personal judgment. The key question is not necessarily what does Jewish law say, but, rather, can you live with yourself by the judgment you, yourself may have made. Namely, to speak or not to speak, that is the question.

Not many years ago a woman revealed to her Rabbi in Long Island that her husband was not aware that she stopped going to the Mikvah.The Rabbi , in an attempt to prevent the husband from committing a sin, revealed this information to her husband.The woman was aghast at this violation of confidentiality. The Rabbi defended himself by stating that it was his moral and religious obligation to prevent the husband from committing sin.Regardless of who was right, one glaring truth emanated from this incident. No one in the community would ever trust again confidential matters to the Rabbi in question His role as a trusted professional was over.Once the word is out that a Rabbi may reveal confidential matters, then the public will most probably not confide in him again. One means of ameliorating the difficulties of the decision making process, is to seek the advice of an objective third party. The Mishna Berura, for example, contends that in matters pertaining to money, it is best never to make a decision by oneself. In these matters the evil inclination will seek out legal loopholes of support. (Orakh Hayyim 605:1) In other words, the decision of an outsider will be much more objective and less tainted. So too in matters relating to moral quandaries. Seek out an objective voice. Many times, the Rabbi will be asked to make the judgment as to whether it is more ethical to be silent or to reveal confidences. His decision( hopefully) will be based upon Torah and moral principles, not just personal judgments. At times, the old rule that discreticon is the best of valour serves as the guiding standard. This issue needs community dialogue and input.

“Rabbi, this is hard to talk about but…

…. our son has a non-Jewish
girlfriend.”

….I’m
feeling really shaky. My ex-husband abused me for years and now our daughter is
getting married. I don’t know if I can make it through the wedding.”

…either
that pervert leaves the community or I do. And I’m taking my family, my money
and my friends with me.”

From
the start of their careers, rabbis are bombarded with profound human dilemmas.
Congregants, friends, and even complete strangers ask them for help navigating
difficult religious and personal situations. The observant Jewish community
should be grateful for this phenomenon—we know that our mesorah, our religious tradition, has
guided generations before, and we hope, in this increasingly complex era, that
Jews turn to traditional sources of wisdom for counsel. The best community
rabbis have always been those who could make the transition from intellectual
scholarship to practical wisdom in real time and with real people. Steeped in halakha, such rabbis influence
Jewish life not only by answering the specifics of questions posed, but by
reaching beyond the manifest she’elot (halakhic questions) and
going to the emotional and psychological core of questions. Pastoral
arts of yesteryear were honed through mentorship and example. As is true in all
areas, some rabbis were more talented than others in the raw skills of
listening and advising.

The
contemporary rabbinate faces the challenges of an increasingly porous and
diverse society. Rigorous classical education in halakha remains bedrock. At
the same time, rabbinic training of today can benefit from training in
psychology and counseling. In this essay, I explain how Yeshivat Chovevei
Rabbinical School (YCT) prepares its students for pastoral counseling.
Interspersed throughout are several cases culled from real-life situations and
presented in a variety of settings. Please note that all identifying
information has been changed.

CASE #1
from “R. Shlomo,” a YCT musmakh and current
Hillel rabbi at Penn State University, wrote this email on YCT’s private
listserv in order to get feedback from colleagues and teachers.
Hi all
I hope everyone is good and enjoying their summer. I wish that I would have
been able to attend one of the summer retreats but we were working at camp
until yesterday.
Over the summer I fielded a question that I
would like to hear other people's input on. The phone call came from the mother
of a young man, a yeshiva high school graduate. He lives in the Harrisburg area. The son never attended Penn State but has a serious girlfriend who is a graduate student here. The
girlfriend is not Jewish. The mother, who is frantic, wants me to reach out to
the girlfriend to help convince her to convert (though she didn't put it so
explicitly). Neither the son nor the girlfriend is aware that the mother called
me.
At Penn State Hillel we have very little to do with graduate students, unless
they approach us. So regarding a non-Jewish grad student—I have absolutely no
reason to reach out to her.
Thanks,
Shlomo

Questions to consider:
This email query
raises several issues with which all rabbis are familiar. These include:
1.

How does the rabbi respond to the needs of distressed persons (in this
case, parents) who want the rabbi to act as their spokesperson when they feel
helpless, alienated, or otherwise unable to reach their loved one?

2.

How is pastoral counseling different over the phone, via email, or in
person? Given limited contact, how does a rabbi establish realistic goals?

3.

How does the rabbi balance religious/communal concerns with issues of
autonomy, privacy, and/or confidentiality?

4.

Should/how can a rabbi intervene in situations of inter-religious
dating?

My Response:
Hi “Shlomo,”

While I sympathize with the mother's
distress, her proposition is almost guaranteed to backfire and to alienate both
her son and the girlfriend. Rabbinic training is not suited for covert
religious operations, and unsolicited third-party interventions are very tricky.
But rabbis, especially campus rabbis, get requests such as this frequently—basically
“save my child (but I don't want him/her to know that I called you).”
I suggest that in this situation you call back the mother and tell her that you
have given the matter thought. You understand that her son’s serious
involvement with a non-Jewish woman is upsetting and you feel that the best
approach is for her to tell her son (and possibly the girlfriend if she has a
cordial relationship with her) that she wants to/has already called you. You
would then be available and open to meeting the young woman (who is the Penn
State
student) and the son. You could then explore the situation and take it from
there.

Let me know what happens.

Discussion

The original email involves Rabbi
Shlomo in a pastoral situation with several “congregants,” none of whom he
knows. They are the mother (and possibly the father by extension), her son, and
finally, the non-Jewish girlfriend who is the student at Penn State. Rabbi Shlomo understands that there is
much history behind the mother’s email and that there are many sides to the
current story. He is mindful of situations in his own past with relatives and
friends that involved interfaith relationships. Rabbi Shlomo’s awareness of the
painful feelings experienced in those personal situations help him empathize
with the current counseling situation and at the same time to maintain
professional boundaries. He might wonder if the parents have consulted with
their own rabbi. Rabbi Shlomo realizes that he can only make a limited
intervention.

I
encouraged Rabbi Shlomo to convey to the mother that he honors her concern and
that he is committed to Jewish continuity. At the same time, Rabbi Shlomo
should not carry out her strategy of contacting a student (the girlfriend), who
is not a member of Hillel and has not contacted him herself. Instead, he should
encourage the parents involved to directly express their distress to their son
and tell him that they want him and his girlfriend to meet with the Penn State rabbi. By offering his services once the
son or the girlfriend contact him, the rabbi conveys his respect for privacy
and confidentiality. Such an atmosphere of trust is more likely to facilitate
deeper discussion between them and the rabbi. Hopefully, this talk would evolve
over several in-person sessions and would include an exploration of the
couples’ relationship, their commitment to Judaism, and their mutual
expectations of the future. Only after time is spent constructing such a
dialogue can a significant conversation about conversion possibly begin.

YCT
makes pastoral counseling a mandatory course of study throughout all four years
of the program. The program rests on a three-part foundation: 1) didactic
instruction in the classroom, 2) practical experience in hospitals and rabbinic
internships, and 3) individual awareness through special group work and
supervision. Our goal is to prepare our graduate rabbis to listen to
congregants and/or students with rigor and compassion, to do competent basic
assessment by knowing what additional information is needed and tactfully
asking appropriate questions, and to bring the issue to resolution or refer the
congregant to a more expert resource.

Throughout,
we emphasize the sensitivity of the pastoral counseling encounter. Divulging
personal matters evokes powerful emotions on both sides. Rabbis need to be
aware of feelings and issues touched off within them and to monitor the
boundary between themselves and their congregants. Such awareness allows them to
chaperone the vulnerability and stigma congregants may experience.

The
didactic component of the YCT pastoral counseling program begins with a weekly
skill-building course in the first year. Through classroom instruction, reading
assignments, and role-play, students learn interview techniques. The students
explore challenges inherent in the rabbinic encounter—specifically, how to meld
the role of compassionate, non-judgmental listener with that of halakhic authority. The course
goes on to introduce classic signs and symptoms of emotional distress, such as
anxiety and depression, which rabbis are likely to come across in their
communities. Also covered are highly emotional personal and community
situations that rabbis more uniquely encounter. The psychology of ba’alei
teshuva and converts and the impact of trauma and catastrophe are but two
examples.

The
second year didactic curriculum is devoted to two pastoral areas that rabbis
deal with extensively—bikkur holim (visiting the sick) and marital and family counseling.
All of our students rotate through an intensive chaplaincy course run by
the Jewish Health Care Chaplaincy of New York. These hours are divided between
classroom instruction and hospital visits. Group sessions provide a forum for
students to discuss and process the powerful experiences evoked sitting by the
bedsides of ill and dying patients.

The
third- and fourth-year program blends counseling and practical halakha around a life-cycle
curriculum. We alternate didactics with fieldwork experience. We start with
parenthood as a development. We consider issues such as the impact of having a
disabled child and the spiritual life of young children. Other topics further
along the life cycle include adolescence, dating, courtship, and the creation
of mature intimate relationships. Pre-marital counseling is a priority; we
expect that prior to serving as mesader kiddushin at a wedding, a YCT
rabbi has spent several sessions with the couple helping them prepare for
marriage. The challenges of non-traditional individual and family life as
experienced by older singles, widowed, divorced, and homosexual persons are
discussed. Class time is allocated for infertility, adoption, infidelity, and
domestic violence. Aging, end-of-life issues, and involvement of caregivers
create increasingly complex questions in our society. While not all areas can
be covered, the goal is to give the students a basic comfort in the halakhic parameters and broad
psychological issues of major practical topics.

Fieldwork
offers a range of opportunities. Students discuss the pastoral counseling
component of their rabbinic internships in a seminar. In addition they elect
rotations through prisons, specialized hospital units, retreats for Jewish
alcoholics, and support groups.

CASE #2

a series of phone conversations between
“Rabbi Stone” (RS) in Florida
and me (MF)

Conversation #1

RS: There's a woman, Chana, who is about 47
years old and who recently left an abusive marriage. She lived here in Miami
years ago and has maintained a few close friends in the community. Chana is
temporarily living with Nancy and Jack, who are terrific people. She moved to
my community this past summer and she is doing somewhat better, but her friends
are concerned because Chana will sometimes say things like “I don't know if I
will be around in two weeks,” implying that she may commit suicide.

I think
that this may be severe depression. Nancy told
me that Chana wakes up in the middle of the night frightened about a
recipe that she is preparing for the next night, because she is worried about
missing an ingredient, and she'll stand over the kitchen table all night.
Chana’s husband used to severely criticize her cooking. Nancy
suspects that he also hit Chana.

I have only known Chana for
the past two months. She usually comes to shul Shabbos day, but hardly
talks. She rarely smiles or shows other emotion, but she recently started
coming to some of the Torah classes that I offer at the shul. I notice
that she is looking haggard and not too well groomed.

MF: This really sounds like a psychiatric
crisis—hospitalization might be warranted. But getting her to a good
psychiatrist is the critical first step. Find out from Chana if there is a
mental health professional already in the picture. If so, ask permission to
contact him/her. If she has no psychiatric care, you need to help her get some.

Conversation #2, a few days later

RS: Your last impression was on point. Chana
had no therapists or doctors, so I found two psychiatrists by calling the local
UJA/Federation office and also asking the other rabbi in town. When I called
Chana and her friend to give them the doctors’ names and numbers they told
me that Chana is already in the hospital! To make a long story short, last
night, when Nancy and Jack were asleep, Chana left the house and walked to the
hospital in the middle of the pouring rain. She left the door wide open to the
house, but left a message on Nancy and Jack’s phone that she couldn’t get back
in, so she's going to the hospital. She's currently in the hospital being
evaluated in the psychiatric ward.

MF: What a story. Thank God that even in her
impaired state the woman had the right idea—to go to a hospital. Your support
and competence continue to be invaluable to this woman. Great work.

RS: Thank you. At this point, I’m kind of
worried about Nancy and Jack. This is a huge responsibility for them. I doubt
they expected any of this when they offered their home to Chana. How much can
they be expected to do?

MF: You are wise to be thinking of them.
Supporting the caregivers is always a key factor. It can be quite impressive
how people will rise to occasions of human need. It can also be disappointing.
But your staying in close touch with Jack and Nancy
has already and will continue to mean a great deal to them. You are recognizing
and validating their effort as well as giving them practical advice.

Conversation #3, the next day

RS: I spoke to Nancy
today. Chana is doing okay in the hospital. I asked if she would like me to
visit, but Nancy
said that Chana is so embarrassed and ashamed that she doesn't want anyone to
know. I asked Nancy
to tell Chana that there is nothing to be ashamed about and that she did
the right thing by going to the hospital.

MF: Try calling Chana directly. Tell her the
same thing, how wise and protective it was of her to go to the hospital—you
admire her instincts, even in her distressed state she knew to do the right
thing. Ask her if you might drop by for ten minutes, take it from there.
Mitigating shame is the most important thing here. Self-respect and honor are
the most important ingredients in helping this woman stay in the long-term
treatment that she needs.

Conversation #4, a few months later

RS: You remember that woman we spoke about in
the winter? She has been doing much better. She has her own apartment, is
working part-time and volunteering. The problem is now that her daughter is
getting married in London
and Chana is feeling really shaky. She asked me what her religious obligations
are vis-a-vis attending the simha.
The thought of being in the presence of so many people, in an unfamiliar place,
and in such close proximity to her ex-husband terrifies her. How can I help
her?

MF: First, sit down with Chana and go through
all the events involved in the wedding. This will establish some order and then
you can work from there as to what she can reasonably tolerate. Will there be
an aufruf, for example? What about
the wedding itself—who is doing the planning? What do Chana’s daughter and her
fiancé expect? What about sheva berakhot?
The more you can help Chana anticipate the major components of the event, the
more she can make a plan as to her attendance and participation in the wedding
events. This will give her a sense of control. It will also be very helpful to
make sure that Chana has a relative or friend that she can count on for support
during what is sure to be a challenging event. Are Nancy and Jack able to
attend and be with Chana? Finally, check in that Chana has discussed all of
this with her therapist/doctor. You can ask if she is on medication and if
there is some kind of contingency plan if her anxiety or depression flares.

Discussion

Acute emotional distress is not
subtle. However, in order to recognize states such as depression or severe
panic, a rabbi has to be familiar with key signs and symptoms of these
syndromes. This does not mean that he should attempt to treat the congregant
himself. He can help a vulnerable person who might be too ashamed or
disorganized to get needed professional care. Rabbi Stone’s attention to
Chana’s appearance as well as the alarming comments reported by her friends
mobilized his concern. While her own alarming behavior actually got her to the
hospital, the rabbi’s steadfast involvement with Chana and her friends
established ongoing trust. Support of caregiver(s) is a key component of a
longer-term picture, as is follow-up over time. The rabbi needs to check in,
even with a brief chat or quick phone call, to let congregants know that he
cares and is available for consultation. Similarly, the rabbi needs to have
trusted mentors with whom he can reveal his own uncertainty and get advice.
Hopefully, his own rabbis and
teachers will be such advisors. Classmates from yeshiva as well as local clergy
who also grapple with complex pastoral matters might also be persons with whom
a rabbi can talk through such situations.

Practice and judgment are needed to
figure out what a congregant is asking when he or she poses a religious
question to a rabbi. In Chana’s case, she had not discussed her massive anxiety
regarding her daughter’s wedding with her hospital assigned outpatient
psychiatrist who she saw once a month. Instead, she sought out Rabbi Stone and
asked him a “rabbinic” question. Because of the respect and trust built
earlier, Rabbi Stone could intervene in a situation that threatened to
destabilize Chana’s fragile mental health.

In addition to class and
experiential learning, YCT incorporates a unique forum for personal
development—the process group. One of the most difficult challenges for rabbis
is the inherent loneliness of the profession. In order to be effective, rabbis
need to be simultaneously available, charismatic, and slightly separate from
their congregants.
Negotiating these boundaries requires preparation. We believe that the process
group experiences help our students encounter these issues individually while
also strengthening the bonds of trust and support between their fellow
students. Every week, throughout the entire program, each student class meets
with a process group leader, a mental health professional who makes a
commitment to work with that group for the full four years. Discussions of the
process group are entirely confidential between leaders and students. They may
explore personal, academic, religious, or any other issues that they choose. The
process group is a template for life outside the yeshiva. Undoubtedly, tension
and confrontation between group members occurs. The students need to learn how
to mediate moments of crisis in the process group and how to live with
conflicts that cannot be resolved. These skills will serve them well in their
future work as community rabbis.

Based
on the enthusiasm that the rabbinical students have for their process groups,
we provide a monthly support group for spouses. The yeshiva realizes that the
role of the rabbi’s wife is
complex. Women come from varied personal and professional backgrounds. They
anticipate different degrees of engagement in their husband’s work. The support
group, facilitated by a rebbetzin who is also a mental health
professional, allows study and exploration of these issues.

CASE #3

YCT pastoral counseling class discussion
of the following vignette

A prominent congregant,
Max, comes to speak with Rabbi Smith, who took over the synagogue a few months
earlier. Several weeks ago, another congregant, Dr. Paul, a surgeon, returned
to the community after serving six months in prison for sexual impropriety with
younger female patients. Dr. Paul is in court-mandated psychotherapy and has a
parole officer. During Dr. Paul’s prison term, his wife attended shul rarely,
but their two children came to groups and are students in the local day school.

Max demands that Dr. Paul
be ejected from the kehilla. He
states that Dr. Paul is a danger to the community. Max’s tone gets belligerent
as he threatens to switch his membership and his very generous building fund
pledge to the other synagogue in town. He hints that some of his friends may go
with him.

Students reacted
to the vignette in many ways:

Student #1: Max is out of bounds. While Dr. Paul’s
offense is reprehensible, he has been tried and convicted, and he served his
sentence. I would want to make sure that Dr. Paul has no contact with shul
youth, but neither he nor his family should be barred from the synagogue.

Student #2: I wonder if Max or anyone in his family
was ever abused? Do you know if Max used Dr. Paul or anyone in his family used
Dr. Paul for their own medical care? Perhaps Rabbi Smith can ask a few
questions to try and understand where Max’s outrage is coming from.

Student #3: You both have good points. But I can also
understand the rabbi’s anxiety. I feel kind of sick myself at the thought of
seeing this guy back in shul. Certainly
many people in the community are very uncomfortable with a convicted molester
returning to the community. How does Rabbi Smith model teshuva in this painful situation? Also, how does he deal with his
own concerns about finances if key supporters pull out?

Student #4: I’m thinking about the teshuva issue. Shouldn’t Rabbi Smith be
meeting with Dr. Paul to talk about all these things? Should he have visited
Dr. Paul in prison? Has Rabbi Smith developed any rapport with the Paul family?
Has there been any attempt at apology by Dr. Paul or restitution to his former
patients or their families? How are Mrs. Paul and their children doing? Given
the situation, should Mrs. Smith, the rabbi’s wife, be the one to reach out to
Mrs. Paul?

Student #5: This may not be the main point, but
assuming that Dr. Paul stays in the community, does he get any kibbudim (community honors)? Let’s say he used to be a leader in
his synagogue or his son is having a
bar mitzvah in the next few months….

Discussion

All of the points raised by students
in class discussion are valid. Criminal behaviors, especially sexual or violent
offenses, shake the foundations of any community, especially a religious
community. Most of us believe that religious life makes better people, or at
least safeguards us against certain kinds of violations. Integrating an
offender back into community life is a significant challenge. Whether a rabbi
was present throughout the whole episode, or came in new, as in the case of
Rabbi Smith, he needs to meet with key constituents. These include Dr. Paul,
the Paul family, and any other people who request rabbinic counseling. Such
members may have been victimized by Dr. Paul or have other experience with
sexual trauma. Although Rabbi Smith respects the confidentiality of individuals
involved, the overall scenario is known to the larger community.

As
Dr. Paul’s return to the community is sure to elicit discomfort, if not
outright protest as in the case of Max, Rabbi Smith would do well to meet with
several involved synagogue members to anticipate and plan for larger reaction.

The rabbi’s grasp of individual and
group dynamics is key. Rabbi Smith’s understanding of the tensions and
vulnerabilities inherent in the Max/Dr. Paul situation allow him to formulate a
clear plan for which the rabbi can mobilize support.

Building
a comprehensive pastoral counseling program requires commitment of precious
academic time and financial resources. Even more, it calls for flexibility of
mind and tolerance. Today’s Jewish world desperately needs learned rabbis who
can reach kehillot through involvement in the day-to-day challenges of
living. Pastoral counseling is thus a building block in the foundation of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah Rabbinical School. We hope that semikha preparation
elsewhere seeks to prepare graduates for these challenges, and we look forward
to collaborative efforts in the service of all Jewish communities.

There is a type of "middle of the road" approach in religious observance that is passed down from one generation to the next, an approach that does not always coincide with what is practiced in the world of the yeshiva. It is quite common for a son to return from yeshiva and begin to find fault with the practices of the household: he doesn't approve of the size of the Kiddush cup; he wants to wear tsitsith so that they hang outside his shirt; he objects to preparing tea on Shabbat (by means of a "third vessel"), but insists on using tea concentrate, and so on.

I remember when I was a youngster entering the high-school-level yeshiva, and we began with the study of the Mishneh Berurah. Already on the first page I came across the obligation to wash one's hands in the morning upon awakening, right near the bed, without walking the distance of four cubits. This was something alien to what was customary at our home, and I was very embarrassed at the revelation that our household was not conducting itself according to halakha. I immediately adopted the new practice, to the chagrin of my parents. Only at a later stage in my life did I learn the kabbalistic basis for our household practice, its validity, and the many opinions that differed from the ruling of the Mishneh Berurah.
There are countless practices common in the households of observant Jews that do not coincide with recent books of halakhic rulings such as Mishneh Berurah, Shemirat Shabbat keHilkhata, Darkhei Tahara, and so forth. The yeshiva student's conflict between the written words of halakhic rulings and the experiential practices of the household find resolution in various ways, depending on the power of the competing sides. A household that governs itself according to halakha and a serious relationship with tradition will succeed in conveying to one who grows up within it the confidence that the "minhag (custom) of Israel is Torah" and one should not deviate from the practice of the household. But a household that is not confident in matters of tradition may lead one who is caught up in this conflict to choose to veer from the household practices. This has led to a phenomenon within the religious community of those who "turn in repentance" from the household practices and adopt a more stringent approach with practices that had not been the norms of the household. Thus, yeshiva students are identified by hanging their tsitsith outside their shirts, as called for by the Mishneh Berurah, in spite of the fact that their religiously observant fathers did not do so. We find Torah students of Sephardic backgrounds who are careful to don the tefillin of Rabbeinu Tam, even though their very traditional fathers did not do so. Many other examples could be adduced.

In all such examples, it is possible to see that the practices suggested by more recent posekim (halakhic decisors) are not universally accepted by other posekim, and it is possible to maintain the household traditions without halakhic difficulty. Clearly, in the yeshiva world there is pressure directed at elevating and purifying religious life, manifested in a meticulous concern for halakhic details. Educating the public toward the validity of the "middle of the road" approach requires the educator to be strong and comfortable with the perpetuation of tradition based on the practices of generations of religiously observant Jews. The argument that this approach fails to challenge and energize the religious soul, in the way that traditional yeshiva education does, is a serious one and should not be dismissed. It is critical to confront this challenge, but never at the expense of the tranquility of a measured and balanced Torah life.
In contradistinction to the ideal "middle of the road" approach that reflects many of the ideals of Torah im derekh erets, certain religious communities have created norms that barely meet minimal halakhic standards, for example, activities of a mixed society such as mixed swimming or dancing. The spiritual leadership of a community must take a stand with respect to these norms, either by speaking out or by remaining silent. As we know, failure to respond is in itself a response.

Because of these manifestations, many great rabbis have shunned the yoke of formal rabbinic leadership. Great sages such as the Gaon of Vilna and the Hafetz Hayyim recognized their own inability to compromise or close their eyes to the "middle of the road" approach of fulfilling the halakha. Many heads of yeshivot who came from Lithuania (Brisk and its offshoots) followed their example. They preferred to be enclosed in the four cubits of halakha and Torah, and to leave the responsibility to other rabbis to create a bridge that connects the Torah and the people. These other rabbis may have been on a lower level of Torah knowledge, but they bore on their shoulders the burden of communal leadership. Synagogue rabbis and teachers, from time immemorial, were called upon to confront communal norms that were not in line with halakha. The commandment to chastise sinners often stood in conflict with the biblical concern (in Proverbs) not to chastise someone who might then come to hate you. Is it better to choose the path of silence, or is a rabbi obligated to chastise, regardless of how people will respond? In fact, we know that many of our Sages tried hard to close their eyes to sinners, when they knew their chastisement would not have a clear positive result. However, one cannot shut one's eyes to the fact that there is also a danger in this approach.
A "middle of the road" approach to halakha that is characterized by religious compromise has caused a serious depreciation in the effective status of the "ideal middle of the road." The yeshiva world has identified the Modern Orthodox community as a community that is dissatisfied with religious principles.
It is our responsibility to restore the glory of the ideal "middle of the road" approach, and to distinguish between it and religious compromise. I am not certain that the ideal "middle of the road" approach will succeed in firing the hearts, but it is certain to maintain the warmth of Torah and derekh erets and to transmit it with care and confidence to future generations.

I will close with a comment on extra religious meticulousness during the Ten Days of Penitence. The Shulhan Arukh states that one should avoid eating "gentile bread" during this period. Rabbi Efraim Zalman Margaliot, author of Mateh Efraim, commented on this passage and noted the custom of pious people in Talmudic times to be stringent in the matter of eating food only while in a state of ritual purity. Rabbi Margaliot indicated that this stringency would be quite difficult and strange in our times. He wrote:
There are some pious individuals who are stringent with themselves and eat their food in purity during these days. One who does this, needs to seek grain upon which no water has fallen that would have made it receptive to ritual impurity; the flour needs to be mixed with fruit juice (rather than water). When he wishes to drink, he needs to bend low and drink from the river or well, so that he does not touch them and make them ritually impure.

This sort of behavior can be described as being quite strange. These are acts of piety that distance a person from normative life and cast into doubt the strong religious foundations of the general community. Rabbi Margaliot warns us about this stringency:
One should not follow this practice, unless all his deeds are in holiness and purity and he conducts himself with utmost separateness. Otherwise, this [excessive stringency] is foolishness and bad-spiritedness and presumptuousness. Each person is obligated only to do what he can do [and not to adopt unnecessary stringencies].

Would that people would fulfill that which they are obligated to do.

Esther Lapian is a teacher and teacher educator in the field of Bible studies and the teaching of Jewish texts. She works extensively in Israel and abroad as a consultant to Jewish educational organizations from every religious sector. She recently opened a private educational consulting service called Paces, aimed at "walking parents through the paces" of educational challenges presented by the Israeli school system.She made Aliyah from the United States in 1987. This article originally appeared in Hebrew, in De'ot, the magazine of Ne'emanei Torah vaAvodah, no. 42, May 2009, and has been translated into English by Sarah Nadav. This article appears in issue 7 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.
During the past several years as an educator in the fields of Tanakh and Jewish studies, I have come across a prevalent and disturbing phenomenon: most of the religiously observant student teachers whom I have met are not at all interested in teaching in the mamlakhti-dati school system (the religious public school system in Israel). When the time comes for them to decide on a professional placement, they apply to secular schools, or to the new model of specialized dati-hiloni schools (religious/secular schools), or to pluralistic religious schools. Several years ago, as the head of the Tanakh department of such an experimental dati-hiloni high school, I found that more than half of the Jewish studies faculty was comprised of incredibly dedicated and talented religious young people. When I asked them to describe the thought process that brought them to an experimental framework, (in our case, a particularly demanding one), the majority of them admitted to never having even considered Mamad (religious public school system) as a professional option, for reasons that will be discussed in this paper. Some had tried to teach in the Mamad system and had given up.

Why is this true? Why are these bright, highly motivated, religiously observant young people, who are extremely knowledgeable in both Jewish and general studies, opting out of the mamlakhti-dati school system? And if they are opting out, then who is teaching our children?

In this article I would like to address these questions by relating several stories that reflect the changes that are taking place in the Mamad schools and in the teachers colleges. I want to examine how and why these changes, which are occurring in both the formal and informal frameworks of the Mamad, are alienating many young, committed and engaged religious student teachers out of its educational system. In addition, I would like to suggest conceptual and practical changes to improve an ever worsening situation.

Observations from the Field: Primary School

A Story about Matisse

When our daughter was in fifth grade at the local Mamad (religious public school), she decided to do her personal project on Matisse. We went to do research at the Israel Museum art library and spent several hours reading his biography and examining books of Matisse's paintings. Some weeks later I bumped into the teacher in the school hall, and couldn't resist asking her what she thought of my daughter's project. Well, she said hesitating, it was a bit skimpy. Skimpy?! I cried in disbelief. She's in fifth grade. She could have chosen "Water" or "Color" or "Why is the Sky Blue?" Instead she picked a difficult topic and handed in work she did herself. What do you mean by skimpy? Well, she said quietly, the truth is... I have never heard of Matisse.

After recovering from the sad implications of this story, we need to ask ourselves some hard questions: Why is a person with so little intellectual curiosity, or basic professional self-respect, hired to teach school children? Once hired, why are such teachers maintained?

The status of teacher knowledge in the secular primary schools is, unfortunately, not much better than that of the teachers in the Mamad system. It is unlikely, however, for a teacher in a secular school never to have heard of Matisse, implausible that she would not refer to an encyclopedia while grading her student's work, and inconceivable that she would look the student's parent directly in the eye and say: "I have never heard of Matisse."

Why are so many Mamad teachers like this, particularly--but not exclusively--in the younger grades? And why does a teacher in the Mamad system feel safe in doing this? The answers are not pleasant. One: Matisse was not Jewish. [In the eyes of the narrowly Orthodox] non-Jews don't count. Two: Matisse was an artist. Art is irrelevant. If the fifth grader's paper had been a biography of a great rabbinic sage, the teacher would certainly have done her homework. Three: Matisse painted nudes. Nudity is immodest and immodesty is the cardinal sin, greater than ignorance and intolerance (more on this later). In fact, the teacher had asked my daughter to remove one of Matisse's abstract line drawings of a nude from the paper. The principal insisted that it stay in. Poor Matisse, he never had a chance.

So why is this person permitted to teach our children?

The answer lies in the ever changing face of the Mamad teacher. Whereas once the Mamad teacher and principal were observant Jews who prided themselves on their abilty to combine love of Torah with love of all knowledge, today more and more Mamad teachers pride themselves on their insularity, and yes, their ignorance of all things not Jewish.

I would like to underscore this point with 3 stories from my recent experience in Mamad teachers colleges.
Observations from the Field of Teacher Training

Recently, I taught at a well-respected college for primary school educators, considered for years a pillar of dati leumi (religious Zionist) Judaism. For administrative reasons, the college hosts students from an influential hareidi -leumi midrasha (hareidi Zionist school) who pursue their B. ED at the college. They are excellent students, and their influence on the school is great-as are their demands.

Feminist Research

Early on in the semester, in a course on pedagogy, I referred to a research study by feminist scholars on a gender related educational issue. After class, some of the students approached to further discuss my conclusions, but questioned my reference to feminist scholarship.

That night, I received a call from a faculty representative from the midrasha. His official job was liaison between the midrasha and the seminar; his unofficial job was to be a watchdog for religiosity. He asked that I meet him the next day in his office allotted to him by the college.

I was told the following: academic research is not important to us. Please avoid referring to it. Feminist research is anathema to us. If you happen to teach Tanakh, do not teach comparative parshanut a la Nechama Leibowitz. We don't evaluate the great parshanim (classic rabbinic Bible commentators) - they are all equally great. We don't compare and contrast. Who are we, after all?

A Trip to London

Wanting to prevent further such confrontations, I avoided all areas of controversy--not my natural inclination. During a class exercise demonstrating varying approaches to planning, I asked my students to plan a trip to London. I noticed one pair sitting and not working. I approached to ask if they needed help. The following conversation ensued.

We have never been to London.

OK, I said, make believe.

We don't want to go to London.

Ok. I said, (thinking perhaps that they were Anglophobic). How about Paris?

We don't want to go to Paris either.

OK. Where do you want to go?

They thought for a moment and said, To the Golan.

Literary Analysis

Soon after, I began teaching at another dati leumi College intended for junior high and high school educators, also a prominent institution in dati leumi education. The school was eager to develop into an Israeli model of Yeshiva University, a degree granting religious university. In this vein, the school held a half day conference on the topic of literary approaches to teaching Tanakh. All the presenters were religiously observant. I delivered a paper on the topic of thematic reading. When I returned to class, I found my normally compliant students up in arms. How could I apply literary tools to the reading of Tanakh? Tanakh is a sacred book, not literature. It is forbidden to apply literary text analysis to the Torah.

This was compartmentalization at its best. Literary analysis, a gentler cousin of Biblical criticism, has a way of unnerving some religious people. The students' instincts were right; this material is sensitive and troubling. But what struck me most was the fear, a near panic, at what they had heard, and a refusal to have a discussion. In a house of learning, the response to ideas that challenge our assumptions cannot be flight or fear. That is the hareidi way; it is not meant to be the approach of classical dati leumi education. In addition, these were students preparing for high school teaching. Certainly the day would come when one of their students would question them on this topic. What will their response be?

The colleges and students alluded to are not marginal or atypical. They serve as major feeders of teachers to the Mamad school system. Those students are the teachers of our children today.

What the above stories have in common is that they all reflect the growing influence of the hareidi ideologies on Mamad education via hareidi-leumi teachers and attitudes: lack of curiosity bordering on disdain for all things not Jewish; distrust of academia--even while earning an academic degree; distaste for feminism- even while benefiting from the contribution of feminist activism to the equality of women in the workplace; fear of critical thinking; refusal to recognize and grapple with issues of modernity and post-modernist humanist thought; extensive use of the advances of modern research in areas of medicine and technology, along with an unwillingness to admit or to acknowledge the central role of the university in bringing about these advances.

The hareidi-leumi worldview, while clearly one I do not share, has the right to its input into the religious and political discourse of the State of Israel. But the legitimate place for the dissemination of its values is within its own schools and communities. The dati leumi school system, once the pride and joy of the dati leumi world, is emptying at a frightening rate, because the liberal dati leumi establishment refuses to acknowledge that, despite a shared commitment to the observance of (certain) mitzvoth and to the state of Israel, what divides us is greater than what unites us.

On Sukkot 2005, Ne'emanei Torah V'Avodah hosted a joint conference with Edah[1], an American organization associated with religious Zionism and modern Orthodoxy.[2] In a keynote address, Rabbi Saul Berman delineated the major ideological issues on which the hareidi world and the modern Orthodox world differ: pluralism/tolerance, the religious meaning of Medinat Israel, Jew and Gentile, da'at Torah, Torah u'maddah, humrah, women in halakha, outreach, and activism. On the majority of the issues listed, the hareidi- leumi attitude is closer to the hareidi attitude than to the dati leumi attitude.[3] Aside from the approach towards the State, we differ on the central, most significant issues of modern Jewish life.

These ideological differences weigh heavily upon the young students with whom I have contact. Humanistic in their orientation and pluralist in their outlook, they do not want to teach in the Mamad schools, because they do not want to instill values that are not theirs. They all (women and men) have academic degrees, some in Bible and in Talmud, as well as in literature, history, music, and art. They embrace the world because it is awesome, and they are curious. They cannot teach honestly without alluding to all that they know, nor do they want to.

These dati students have been to China and India, some even to London! They believe Jews are special, but they don't believe that everyone else is devoid of values. They go to concerts, they know who Matisse is, and they know a thing or two about wine. The men know how to cook... and most of the women wear slacks.
They are rigorous in their thinking, but not rigid in their outlook. They struggle to find the interface--often through reexamination of religious sources--between the yeshiva/midrasha and the university, between Levinas and dati leumi, shiurim and shira, Carlbach and Kleinstein. Their challenge is to make these worlds overlap, not to compartmentalize them.

They represent the oft alluded line between dati and leumi, between modern and Orthodox. These are the students who should be teaching our children. Most of them will not.

The Dress Code

A disturbing corollary of hareidi- leumi influence that threatens the caliber of teachers in the dati leumi schools system is the growing obsession with the dress code relating to women. Part of the reason why the teacher in the Matisse story continues to teach in our schools is because she looks the part. She and hundreds like her are teaching in our schools, despite the fact that they may be inferior teachers, because her elbows are covered, her skirts are long, and in the case of married women, her head is covered.
Over the past 10-15 years, the dati-leumi establishment has become obsessed with the dress code of women. Prominent rabbis write outrageous articles measuring centimeters on the neck and on the arms. While the suitability of male teachers is measured in how much they know and the quality of their prayer, in the case of women, the skill of pious dressing can override the skills of good teaching.

Modesty is a significant tenet of Jewish life, but we have begun to lose all sense of proportion. When appearance is secondary to talent in a school system, the big losers are the children.

A case in point: Several years ago a new Dati Leumi academic school opened in our neighborhood to address the needs of our predominantly liberal dati-leumi population. Most of the parents, working people, professionals and academics, were eager for a superior local school for their children that could compete with excellent schools outside the neighborhood. The girls' school, however, was headed in a different direction. From its inception, it insisted that homeroom teachers wear head coverings at all times, that is, outside of school as well as in. All non- homeroom teachers, that is, art, history, math, were requested to wear a head covering in school, even if they didn't do so in their personal lives. Thus, with one swift religious stringency, the eagerly awaited alternative dati-leumi school committed to excellence, disqualified all outstanding religious teachers who didn't "look the look."[4] While the boys' school, instituted at the same time, searched for the "best and the brightest," the girls' school front line concern was attire. Not only did the students have a dress code, so did the teachers.

It is not within the scope of this paper to discuss the halakhic ins and outs of these dress demands. The point of emphasis here is that this stringent dress code does not reflect the norms or the values of the religiously observant parent body. The vast majority of the mothers in this school do not cover their hair and many wear slacks. At the opening ceremony of the school the number of mothers counted with head coverings was 10 out of 150! Thus the unstated message conveyed to girls is that their mothers are not qualified to be their religious role models.[5]

The ever increasing insistence on a dress code for teachers is another reasons my religious students avoid teaching in the Mamad system. It is important to note that some of my married dati students do in fact wear head coverings, but some do not. Some wear head coverings and slacks and want to continue to do so, not because they are rebellious, but because slacks are comfortable and efficient. These young women are halakhically committed, and halakhically informed, many are well versed in Talmudic texts. They know that the ban on slacks is a sociological issue, not a halakhic one , and that head covering has become the sociological equivalent of a kippah only recently. Graduates of midrashot and yeshivot, they spend countless hours examining the sources. Thoughtful and honest, they are looking for ways to be true to halakha and true to themselves.

Thus these young dati-leumi teachers opt for schools that will let them wear what feels comfortable, while retaining their personal sense of modesty; schools that will focus on their thinking abilities, their pedagogic skills, and their ability to touch the hearts and minds of their students. They are not going to the Mamad system.

Yet, aren't these the very teachers we want teaching in our schools?

Conclusion

The Mamad school system has lost its sense of identity; it is no longer responsive to the needs of its community. The vacuum created is being filled by ideologies that do not reflect the vision and the values of the majority of the pupils' homes and communities. By allowing vast hareidi leumi influence on our schools, we abrogate our responsibility to our own community. Not only are young teachers leaving the system, so are the children.

Talented teachers with a more embracing attitude to the modern world as well as to its challenges will find work elsewhere, in the secular public school system and in other frameworks mentioned in the opening of this paper. But who will teach the thousands of children from liberal dati leumi homes? For now, the majority of dati leumi parents are not looking for alternative frameworks, although with each passing year, more and more are doing so. They are still eager for a neighborhood school that reflects their combined commitment to Torah and general wisdom, in the broadest sense of the word.

In the final analysis, it is the teachers who make a school. In order for children to return to the Mamad system, we need to make spiritual room for the many talented young religious teachers who are grappling with the same issues as the families, teachers whose intricate approach to the world is similar to that of their students.

A Practical Suggestion for Change

The past few years has seen the development of several excellent academic programs throughout Israel which support promising young students financially in exchange for a commitment to teach Jewish studies in the religious public school system for a stipulated number of years. I would like to see the creation of similar programs that would prepare bright and motivated religious university students for teaching in the Mamad system. In exchange for tuition and financial support, perhaps by the religious branch of the Ministry of Education, as well as private donors committed to liberal religious values, they would be asked to commit to several years of teaching in the Mamad.

In addition to the regular courses in disciplinary knowledge and in pedagogy, there would be classes and workshops devoted to issues such as: the implications of the past 100 years' of Biblical research; recent Talmud research; issues related to women; national service; conflicts arising between Synagogue and State; democracy and Judaism; attitude toward non-religious Jews, and so much more. As of now, most of these issues are discussed only in informal youth programs like Gesher. Their place is in the schools.

In order to accomplish this, we need teachers who are not afraid.

There are many options for such a program of study, worthy of a separate paper. But in order for such a program to be effective, there needs to be more than specialized education for students. Just as the general public school system is reevaluating its attitude toward Jewish studies and therefore training teachers to spearhead that movement, so does the dati leumi school system need to do some serious self- reflection. Only then will they be able to bring back young dati teachers who think out of the box, who are committed to halakha and to academic research, who are rethinking old approaches--not rejecting them--who love children, love knowledge, and embrace the world.

[1] Edah was an organization "committed to... Modern Orthodoxy, which maintains a serious devotion to Torah and Halakhah while enjoying a mutually enriching relationship with the modern world."

[2] Closest Hebrew and Israeli equivalent: dati-leumi.

[3] The exceptions being: Medinat Israel, outreach and activism.

[4] The "other" girls' school this school was meant to compete with still retains the educational, and I contend, the religious edge. There is no demand for head coverings from the married teachers, including those who teach religious subjects.

[5] See "Hok ha'Kovah Koveiah," by Esther Lapian, an unpublished paper delivered at the Kolech Conference, 2006.

1.

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
 

"Can you point me to rabbis or other leadership figures in the Orthodox Jewish community who have spoken or written about the moral aspects of the financial crash and the economic crisis – and about a specifically Jewish ethical and moral view of what happened, relating also to the prominent role of Jews, including and perhaps especially observant Jews?"

"Do you know of anyone who, in the period of the stock market and property manias in the nineties and the decade just ended, talked or wrote about the trends underway in the financial sector in the US and elsewhere, and/ or in the housing market, as moral and ethical issues that should concern us deeply -- and that Orthodox / observant/ Torah True Jews should have something to say about?

These are the kind of questions I have been posing to (an admittedly unscientific sample of) rabbinic teachers, colleagues and friends in recent months. The responses can be categorized as follows:

a. "No, but why don’t you ask so-and-so, he's 'into' that kind of thing."

b. "Yes, you should see/ look up / speak to so-and-so or this-and-that." However, these references led to material that was either overtly halakhic and very narrowly focused, or that indulged in very general ethical reflections (such as that the crash and crisis highlight the role of Divine providence at the global and individual levels, or the need to adopt and maintain a modest lifestyle).

c. "Yes", followed by a referral to articles or speeches by relevant Jewish personalities – but addressed to non-Jewish audiences.

Taken together, these responses are profoundly discouraging. The answers translate as follows:

1. Even people who have a definite interest in this topic haven't seen or heard of relevant material. They, like me, want to believe that said material exists, but have no hard evidence thereof. They – we – are deliberately indulging in wishful thinking, because the alternative is too awful for us to contemplate.
2. Many people, including – or perhaps especially -- rabbis and educators actually have no clear idea what ethical and moral issues are. More precisely, they have great difficulty distinguishing between legal/ halakhic and moral/ethical treatments of issues, preferring to subsume the latter in theological, or even mystical, conceptual frameworks
3. Those who have addressed the topic from a moral perspective have preferred to direct their remarks to non-Jews. This is much the most depressing response of all.

None of this is meant to suggest that what I am looking for does not exist. Both I and most of my interlocutors continue to assume that such material does exist, that various people at various times did address various aspects of these complex and multi-faceted issues. I would therefore hope that one of the results of this article will be that kind readers will point me to 'relevant material', thereby substantiating our naïve faith.

But finding a few righteous men in Sodom will not change the basic premise of this article, which is that Orthodox Judaism, as currently conceived and practiced, is morally challenged. The ongoing financial and economic crisis is arguably not even the most severe moral challenge facing it and us. Rather, the crisis has exposed the moral bankruptcy of much of Orthodoxy – of all streams, in both the Israel and the Diaspora -- so sharply that henceforth this sorry state of affairs will be difficult, if not impossible, to continue to ignore.

To apply Warren Buffett's famous aphorism, 'you only find out who's been swimming naked, when the tide goes out' – and for the Orthodox, the tide has gone out. In the same way that the crash is already seen as marking the end of an era -- that stretched from the end of the Second World War until 2007 -- in everything from economic theory to household financial behavior; so, I believe, it marks the end of an era in Jewish history – the era of recovery from the Holocaust, which featured demographic and cultural reconstruction which came to be led by the Orthodox, but also a restructuring of Jewish values. In the latter process, some old values were downgraded, marginalized or even dropped, while others – perhaps no less ancient – were upgraded and moved to center stage.

The crisis has exposed the existence of a widespread moral darkness within, indeed at the heart of, Orthodox Judaism. This black hole expresses itself the way all such negative moral phenomena do – via silence.

2.

In restless dreams I walked alone
 

Let's cut to the quick. What I am looking for is moral leadership, which I define as people with the courage to tell at least the members of their flock, if not the world at large, what is wrong with what they are doing and how they can and should do better. In the best case, this leadership should be demonstrated in real time – i.e. with regard to what is currently happening or likely to happen, but if it appears ex post, that is considerably better than nothing.

I expect this leadership to relate to the moral and ethical aspects of that broad swathe of human existence that is currently pigeonholed by the think-only-by, about and inside-the-box society that we live in, as 'macro-economics', 'finance' and 'labour'. My reading of Torah, Nakh, Talmud and Midrash suggests that this whole aspect of human activity is central to the theory and practice of Judaism. If, therefore, it is now enveloped in crisis, it is impossible that Judaism has nothing to say about it, beyond theological platitudes and/or legal formulations. It should, therefore, be impossible for the recognized leadership of Orthodox Judaism, which constantly stresses its credentials as THE ONLY authentic Judaism, to be silent.

What do I expect it to say? What, in other words, am I talking about others talking about? The simplest and best way of illustrating this is to give a concrete example of moral leadership, as defined above. The following is an extract from a speech given to a group of Canadian bankers and other financial sector types, in February 2009 at the very height of the crisis. The speaker is Paul Volcker, the octogenarian former Chairman of the Federal Reserve Bank who, when appointed by President Carter in 1979 with a mandate to end the inflation that had been eating away at the American economy and society for 15 years, proceeded to raise interest rates to 20% per annum and push the economy into not one, but two, recessions, in order to get the job done. Clearly, he is not someone afraid of a challenge or of making sacrifices to achieve essential goals.  We 'join' the audience in the midst of Volcker's description of what went wrong and how:

You might ask how [the housing/ mortage boom] went on as long as it did. The grading agencies didn't do their job and the banks didn't do their job and the accountants went haywire. I have my own take on this. There were two things that were particularly contributory and very simple. Compensation practices had gotten totally out of hand and spurred financial people to aim for a lot of short-term money without worrying about the eventual consequences. And then there was this obscure financial engineering that none of them understood, but all their mathematical experts were telling them to trust. These two things carried us over the brink.

One of the saddest days of my life was when my grandson – and he's a particularly brilliant grandson – went to college. He was good at mathematics. And after he had been at college for a year or two I asked him what he wanted to do when he grew up. He said, "I want to be a financial engineer." My heart sank. Why was he going to waste his life on this profession?

A year or so ago, my daughter had seen something in the paper, some disparaging remarks I had made about financial engineering. She sent it to my grandson, who normally didn't communicate with me very much. He sent me an email, "Grandpa, don't blame it on us! We were just following the orders we were getting from our bosses." The only thing I could do was send him back an email, "I will not accept the Nuremberg excuse."

Bear with me as I analyse these three paragraphs. This is the former Fed chairman talking to bankers. Does he use jargon – let alone numbers, formulae or Greek symbols? No. In one paragraph, seven sentences, 108 words, he says everything any semi-intelligent Martian would need to know to understand the sources and development of the crisis, through to its denouement.

But these are bankers he is talking to. They already 'know' all this. Precisely for that reason, Volcker lays it out for them in simple words, and then lays it in to them with a series of powerful, accurate blows: Incompetents – BIFF! Liars – POW! Greedy and irresponsible – WHAM! And the coup de grace, conceited fools – CRACK!!

Then the switch from his audience's generalized stupidity to his own intense personal pain: his grandson decides to squander his promise and potential on the alchemy of financial engineering. Volcker is well aware that his smart grandson can and probably will (in the pre-crash world) earn millions in his chosen career, but that does not prevent him from defining this decision – entirely correctly from a moral and a religious perspective – as 'wasting his life'.

Most of us, even if we felt that way, would not allow it to come between us and our beloved grandchild. Volcker did – and does not shrink from telling his (now-adult) grandson that his moral compass is on a par with that of a Nazi war criminal.

That kind of thinking is what I call moral clarity and that kind of talk, in public, is what I call moral leadership. So when I ask readers to point me to written or spoken words from Orthodox Jewish leaders relating to the entire gamut of moral issues thrown up by the boom, mania, crash and bust – from systemic risk to one young man's dilemmas in life – that's the kind of thing I'm looking for.

Do you know a rabbi, of any stripe, from any stream, who stood up before, during or at least after the crash and told his congregation of real-estate/ stock-market speculators that they were scoundrels and probably criminals to boot? Do you know of a rosh yeshiva who told a talmid looking to leave the yeshiva and get a job, not to 'waste his life' in a highly-regarded and very high-paying profession? Or an Admor who told a hassid that adopting the business practices of his bosses or colleagues was morally repugnant? If you do, you have the privilege of being exposed to moral leadership. I'm looking for it, so far unsuccessfully -- and if I can’t find it among rabbis, rashei yeshiva and Admorim, I'll take it where it's available.

Yet there is a concept that "by two witnesses' testimony shall the matter be established". Let me therefore quote another prominent figure in the financial sector, this time someone in the very heart of one of its most morally problematic areas, namely mutual fund management.

John Bogle is the founder of Vanguard, a company that pioneered low-cost fund management. This is hardly the place to examine the pros and cons of Bogle's approach, but it's not irrelevant to note that his concept is based on the premise that investors in regular mutual funds are consistently and systematically ripped-off by their fund managers' panoply of fees. Here he is in an op-ed in the Wall Street Journal in April 2009:

I recently received a letter from a Vanguard shareholder who described the global financial crisis as "a crisis of ethic proportions." Substituting "ethic" for "epic" is a fine turn of phrase, and it accurately places a heavy responsibility for the meltdown on a broad deterioration in traditional ethical standards.

Commerce, business and finance have hardly been exempt from this trend. Relying on Adam Smith's "invisible hand," through which our self-interest advances the interests of society, we have depended on the marketplace and competition to create prosperity and well-being.

But self-interest got out of hand. It created a bottom-line society in which success is measured in monetary terms. Dollars became the coin of the new realm. Unchecked market forces overwhelmed traditional standards of professional conduct, developed over centuries.

The result is a shift from moral absolutism to moral relativism. We've moved from a society in which "there are some things that one simply does not do" to one in which "if everyone else is doing it, I can too." Business ethics and professional standards were lost in the shuffle.

The driving force of any profession includes not only the special knowledge, skills and standards that it demands, but the duty to serve responsibly, selflessly and wisely, and to establish an inherently ethical relationship between professionals and society. The old notion of trusting and being trusted -- which once was not only the accepted standard of business but the key to success -- came to be seen as a quaint relic of an era long gone.

It's worth citing Bogle just to put that wonderful phrase – alas, of anonymous authorship – 'a crisis of ethic proportions', before a wider audience. But here, too, a few paragraphs suffice for a man with a functioning moral compass to pinpoint the moral rot that led to the systemic disaster that is still unfolding.

3.

And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence
 

The foregoing examples not only illustrate what moral leadership is, they also provide at least a partial answer as to why it is so rare and why, in particular, virtually no prominent Orthodox leader has given voice to the moral outrage so palpable across America since the crash, and so prevalent within the Jewish community as well – but seething beneath the surface.

Moral leadership demands a larger measure of courage than most people have. This is especially the case when your job is on the line – as it most assuredly would be for most community rabbis, if they dared take a stand that directly challenged the moral mores of their immediate community and the wider stream or branch of Judaism that they and it belonged to. And if losing their livelihood was not enough for most pulpit rabbis, school principals and even rashei yeshiva, there are also the 'knock-on' effects of their audacity on their family, from their wives – who are usually also deeply engaged in community activities, to their children, whose education and, at least in some circles, marriage prospects would be at stake.

In that sense, Paul Volcker was free to speak his mind, because he held no post and his personal and family situation is not at risk. John Bogle, of course, is independently wealthy as a result of Vanguard's success and hence similarly worry-free.

But the 'excuse' of personal/ family vulnerability does not stand up to close examination. What would the average rabbi of an Orthodox community do, if his congregants became regular visitors to gambling joints? Strip clubs? Gay bars? If board members owned such outfits? If the president was a convicted pedophile?

In fact, there is no need to use such lurid examples. Owning shops selling pork, or any business operating on Shabbat, would be quite sufficient. In any of these cases, most rabbis would be forced to take a stand, even if they were weak and sought to avoid confrontations, and whether or not their job was on the line. Nor would most school principals or rashei yeshiva hesitate to act if people engaged in these problematic activities held positions on their boards.

There's the rub. Both public Sabbath transgression and overt trafficking in pork, despite their very different halakhic implications, are clear and obvious casus belli for Orthodox religious functionaries. In such cases, accusing a rabbi of exceeding what is expected of him would strike even irreligious or non-Jewish observers, as ludicrous. Yet taking a stand against persons found guilty of a broad range of 'white-collar crimes' is not considered an obvious casus belli, even for Orthodox Jews who define themselves as observant and/or 'Torah True'. Indeed, it may well be closer to hara kiri on the part of a rabbi who tries it.

This distinction has no basis in Jewish law, let alone in the corpus of rabbinic ethical literature. But it reflects the behavioral norms of many Orthodox Jews and the mores of many Orthodox communities.

Nor is the fear, or practical impossibility, of clashing with communal lay leaders – who are usually the religious leader's employer, whether directly or indirectly – the only factor behind the phenomenon of silence. Often, the claim will be made that speaking or writing in public about these issues will cause, or spur, anti-Semitism. Today, with anti-Jewish feeling and activity on the rise almost everywhere, that is certainly not a concern that can be lightly dismissed. But it can, nonetheless, be dismissed in most cases.

Two counter-arguments immediately suggest themselves. One is that most anti-Semitism is irrational and will always find itself a 'cause', or excuse, whether we provide it or not. The other is that it is not the principled stand against moral turpitude that will cause anti-Semitism, but the failure to denounce moral breakdown and thereby facilitate its continued spread. The prominence of Jews in the hated financial elite is, in today's charged atmosphere, causing far more anti-Semitism than would the explicit denunciation of the ills of the financial system by Jewish religious personalities.

But, of course, the real reason why the anti-Semitism argument is so weak is because we cannot agree, in principle and a fortiori, to conduct our communal life on the basis of what the reaction of anti-Semites might be. The content and tone of the intra-communal debate may take account of it, but it surely cannot set the agenda.

The silence of many religious leaders in the face of moral challenges stemming from the areas of business and finance reflects conflicts of interest on their part. In many cases, rabbis have an interest in the financial wellbeing of individuals who are prominent supporters of institutions that operate under their aegis. They are therefore compromised in their ability to address problematic aspects of the business areas in which those persons are engaged – let alone the specific business practices of those persons.

Many rabbis actually seem to believe that the means can and do justify the ends, so that the worthy goal of an educational institution or a charitable endeavor may require ignoring the source of the funds that realized that goal – both the person and the business activity in which he garnered his wealth. From there it is but a short step to the implicit recognition of using wealth obtained illegally or immorally to 'buy salvation'.

Finally, as a spate of cases has shown, leadership can be complicit not by merely ignoring the issues, but by direct involvement. Obviously, in such cases there is no point in discussing moral leadership – nor do moral issues resonate with the followers.

4.

Silence like a cancer grows
 

Was it ever thus? Was there always a huge gulf between the moral heroes and the lofty ethical principles depicted in the sacred literature, and the grubby reality of life as people – rabbis and laymen alike – lived it?

No doubt to some extent it was. But there is evidence that Orthodox Jewish society did not always feature a warped value system in which business ethics and money morality is relegated to second-class status, at best.

One of the few people who has devoted himself to writing and speaking about Jewish business ethics is Dr Meir Tamari. His work and research has generated several books, as well as numerous articles published in general and Orthodox newspapers and magazines.

Tamari is convinced that the phenomenon of religious bifurcation, in which ritualistic and theological/ mystical elements of Judaism have risen to prominence whilst inter-personal and, in particular, pecuniary moral and ethical practices have withered, is neither very recent – meaning post-Holocaust, nor very ancient – meaning pre-modern.

He suggests that it was the demise of the kehilla as the lynchpin of Jewish society that started the rot. This development can be traced back to the impact of the Khmelnitsky massacres in the mid-17^th century, and the subsequent descent of most of East European Jewry into chronic and deep poverty. The political dismemberment of Poland in the late 18^th century and the Napoleonic wars were the coup de grace for the old structure, leaving a society in which a very narrow stratum had wealth whilst the mass of people had nothing – except babies, in the huge population explosion of the 19^th century.

With no fiscal autonomy – because the kehilla's taxation powers were gone – the religious leadership became entirely dependent on the few rich people available for their own financial survival and that of their families and their institutions, whether these last were yeshivot or the courts of the hassidic leaders. That structure was inherently corrupt and served as a further spur to the process already underway, as Enlightenment ideas and values spread through Jewish population centers, of a growing estrangement and eventual mass flight of Jewish youth from their ancestral religion.

This undemocratic and unhealthy social structure has survived into the 21^st century, and indeed thrived, despite the fact that today's Jewish society is completely different from that of pre-Holocaust Europe, with affluence having replaced poverty, especially in the Western Diaspora. Much academic work needs to be done to understand and explain how the structure has proved so robust, but for the purposes of this article, the existence of this social structure and its salient characteristics, including its warped moral value system, must be accepted as fact.

The proof Tamari cites for his hypothesis is telling, because it comes from direct documentary evidence of social, religious and economic conditions and values among Orthodox Jews over the centuries – namely the responsa literature. He notes a sharp decline in the percentage of responsa dealing with 'money matters' – as opposed to ritual (food, Shabbat etc.) and personal status issues --  in the modern period compared to the earlier period of Jewish history in pre-Khmelnitsky Poland and, earlier still, in Spain and Franco-Germany. This is certainly something for scholars to subject to further scrutiny.

In the more recent period – the last century or so -- Tamari notes another change creeping into the responsa literature, a change that resonates to the sounds of silence. A typical pre-modern responsum relating to a monetary dispute would provide a thorough analysis of the legal aspects of the matter under discussion and conclude by presenting a legal ruling. Often, however, it would not stop there, but would append a short addendum that discussed the moral aspects of the dispute and suggest a possible extra-legal resolution which would probably require one or both parties to rise above the letter of the law and take an ethical, rather than a purely legal view of the situation. Tamari finds that this latter approach has fallen into desuetude and is rarely found in the recent and contemporary responsa literature.

This chimes well with what we see and hear all around us: rabbis and other religious functionaries have increasingly become religious technocrats, honed in their specialties and well-versed in the professional literature pertaining to these specialties – e.g. Shabbat or medical halakhot – but increasingly distant from the empathetic approach that might enable them and their questioners/ litigants to rise above the legal sphere of din to the moral sphere of 'lifnim mishurat hadin'.

In fact, the contemporary questioner may not even want that kind of answer. That is what Haym Soloveitchik highlighted in his article, Rupture & Reconstruction, especially in the final sentence: "[Contemporary Orthodox Jews], having lost the touch of His presence …now seek solace in the pressure of His yoke". In those areas of their lives where Orthodox Jews seek rabbinic guidance, they want din, not lifnim mishurat hadin. And in the wider context, people get the leadership and the leadership style that they want and deserve – in religion as in politics.

5

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
 

This is what John Bogle clearly understands and expressed so well in the article quoted above. The moral rot that found such dramatic expression in the financial crash of 2007-09 is rooted in the collapse of those basic human values – trust, reliability, mutual confidence – without which commercial and financial activity cannot take place. It requires no great intellectual leap to see that the same values are needed in the domestic sphere, to make marriage and family life work. The moral collapse is taking place across the board, even if the dynamics of breakdown differ between areas of human activity.

It is also essential not to fall into the trap of thinking that this is a recent process, dating back only a few years. Over twenty years ago, an investment banker of a bygone age whose name still has positive connotations for veteran New Yorkers (imagine – an investment banker who did good and was held in high esteem!), wrote a similar article making a similar point. That was Felix Rohatyn and he, too, was bemoaning the rise of a new and corrupt culture on Wall Street – a culture in which the moral concept of "it isn’t done" was replaced by the legal approach that if it isn't against the law, it's OK. Once the lawyers were in control, the next stage of the collapse of ethical behavior was the rise of the compliance culture, which effectively said that no-one can be trusted not to break the rules, so we'll watch everyone all the time.

But the moral decline of Wall Street in the 1980s that Rohatyn mourned, that Tom Wolfe lampooned in Bonfire of the Vanities and that Oliver Stone pilloried in his 1987 movie Wall Street, seems minor and almost childish compared to what we have witnessed this last decade.

Yet in the 1980s there were still relatively few Orthodox Jews in the big Wall Street banks and investment houses. By the time the naughties -- as the outgoing decade is sometimes called – rolled round, there were many, the product of hard work and excellent grades achieved in the top business schools. By this time, the obstacles to Orthodox Jews working in these lucrative and highly-regarded jobs had largely been solved – even the need to sometimes miss two consecutive working days, because of the incidence of Jewish festivals. Orthodox employees in leading firms in the world's two main financial centers of New York and London conducted minha services daily in corporate boardrooms and often managed to cram a daf yomi session, or other limmud Torah, into their long and hectic working days at the office. Their gentile colleagues thought nothing of the need to accommodate aspects of the Orthodox lifestyle. Multi-culturalism was the norm in downtown Manhattan as in London's Canary Wharf, so that trading rooms wherein bearded and skull-capped Moslems, Jews and Sikhs (turbans for them!) worked side by side became an unremarkable sight.

In between the praying, the learning, the kosher sushi and all the rest, the new generation of Orthodox youngsters participated, willingly and even enthusiastically, in the creation, design and sale to unsuspecting suckers across the country and around the world of those 'financial weapons of mass destruction' – in Warren Buffett's telling phrase -- that have inflicted massive damage on the American public and, ironically but fittingly, brought the entire Wall Street culture crashing down around them.

Most of these young people, despite (or is it because of?) their background in the world's leading yeshivot, seminaries and other institutes of advanced Jewish study,   never saw the inconsistency in this behavior. They made sure to raise the point in their job interviews with potential employers of their need to leave early on winter Fridays. Did any mention to their interviewer before taking the job, or to their superiors or peer reviewers in periodic meetings while on the job, that they felt uncomfortable – nay, sickened – by the foul-mouthed patter that was standard style on trading floors, or by the crude sexist banter and 'jokes' that were the norm in most departments of most firms?

Did any of them discuss, among themselves or with their rabbis, rebbes, mekubalim and other religious mentors, the moral chasm between the readings in the Torah and Prophets they heard read in synagogue on Shabbat morning, or the sentiments contained in their kids' divrei torah at the Shabbat table, and what they heard and did when they went back to work on Monday morning (if not on Sunday)? Were they confused? Did they feel disoriented? Or were they able to live totally compartmentalized lives?

It seems that many did and continue to do just that – as a survival mechanism for religious people in a secular and hence culturally hostile world. The multi-cultural ethos of 'live and let live' allows them to fulfill their religious obligations – washing before and reciting grace after meals, praying minha and even learning or reciting Psalms at work or while commuting – and still work in any sector, at any level.

But these achievements in the area of professional and workplace integration have exacted an enormous, terrible moral price. People integrated into companies, industries and professions where moral values have eroded or diluted have, inevitably even if unconsciously, become corrupted. Many of them are today either amoral or immoral, although they delude themselves into believing that their religion, as they understand and practice it, makes them morally superior and provides them with a large measure of immunity to the immoral wider culture in which they move.

Thus it is that there are many Orthodox Jews – from 'modern' to 'hareidi' – whose minds and hearts are already lost to Judaism. They lean emotionally toward Gordon Gekko, the villain of Wall Street, whose motto is simple and direct: "greed is good" – because it gets you what you want. Worse still, they lean intellectually toward Ayn Rand and her hero John Galt in Atlas Shrugged. Most of them, of course, have never heard of Rand, let alone read the ideas she put into John Galt's mouth. Yet the views of many of the younger generation of Orthodox Jews, especially but not only in the US, are aligned with her extreme capitalist ideology, despite its being profoundly anti-Jewish and, in the deepest sense, idolatrous.

6.

And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
 

The unfolding crisis has exposed the false gods once again as being unable to deliver the goods. Nothing new there – the young Abram tried to explain that to his father Terah in Ur of the Chaldees and it seems that Terah eventually got the point. Ayn Rand's most prominent devotee, Alan Greenspan – the man who followed Volcker as Fed chairman-- at least had the intellectual and moral courage to publicly admit that ideas he had held and nurtured for decades had been destroyed by the financial crash.

If Greenspan can see the light, there must surely be hope for all those others whose minds have been less severely poisoned. Unfortunately, the crash is likely to prove only the first stage of a prolonged crisis which will impose deep and painful changes on the economy and society of America and the entire Western world. But this trauma provides the opportunity for Orthodox Judaism to admit that it took the wrong turn some way back and needs to get onto a road that leads somewhere worth going.

How do we find our way back to where we went wrong, and how do we then go right?

Finding our way back is the definition of  teshuva, repentance. We know that the essential first step of teshuva is to accept and then admit that what we thought and/ or did was wrong. That means ending the fraudulent pretence that current Orthodox theology and lifestyle are good enough, let alone ideal.

From there, it's got to be back to basics – and basics in Judaism means education. But education can no longer mean what it is still widely taken to mean – the maintenance of traditional religious values and practices. As Haym Soloveitchik explained 15 years ago, the assumption that basic values will be effortlessly absorbed by Jewish children growing up in a Jewish culture is not true or workable in today's world.

Basic values that used to be commonly accepted and upheld by all Western societies, can no longer be taken for granted. They are going to have to be taught, imparted, inculcated – consciously and carefully. The values governing that huge part of people's lives encompassing work, income, wealth, spending and investment must be resuscitated and these activities rescued from the clutches of 'professional experts' -- and then re-integrated into an overall moral framework, along with family, health and well-being and all the other central components of our lives.

Jews have always prized learning and scholastic achievement, but they have also always had high regard for wealth and business acumen. Yissachar and Zevulun are both legitimate role models in the Jewish tradition, especially when they work in partnership. But there was always something else, more fundamental than either intellectual or material success. This something was so taken for granted that it actually went without saying -- until it now seems that it has gone completely, without even saying goodbye.

That intangible something is morality – an amorphous catch-all encompassing values such as honesty, integrity, responsibility. In the Ashkenazi-Jewish world it was termed 'mentchlichkeit' and among all Jews it was demanded of everyone, rich or poor, learned or ignorant. Before anything else and above all else, you had to be a mentsch.

One of the many aphorisms attributed to the Kotsker Rebbe relates to the way Megillat Esther introduces Mordechai as 'ish yehudi', 'a Jewish man'. The word ish seems superfluous – but that is not the case at all, said the Rebbe. First you have to be a mentsch, only then can you be a Jew.

That's what we have lost somewhere along the way and that's what we have to get back to.

After the Six Day War there was a considerable renewal of interest in Israel throughout the world. At the same time, a Jewish national revival began in the USSR. Jewish identity started to acquire a new shape. Soviet Jews always had a distinct identity, but in many cases it was a "negative" one, caused by discrimination and persecution. Many people started investigating their Jewishness, learning Hebrew and thinking about going to Israel. But still more primary was the total rejection of the Soviet system, its regime, ideology, and values. This resulted in many Jews wanting to leave the USSR.

By 1980 many Jews had applied for emigration from the USSR. The official destination was Israel, but a majority used their exit visas to go to the USA. In the seventies many people were able to emigrate, but some were refused permission to leave, and the Refusenik phenomenon was created. After the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979 Jewish emigration practically stopped. Refuseniks and people planning eventually to leave the USSR were already far detached from Soviet ideology or had never been adherents of it. Refuseniks' Jewish national consciousness was developed to some extent. But they were trapped in a cold winter of the late days of failing Communism. Some of them became Zionists; others joined the struggle for human rights (the dissident movement), some tried to study Jewish culture, primarily Hebrew.

Studying Jewish culture and traditions led some people to the Jewish religion. The problem they faced was that there were not many people left to learn from. Many had died, others had left. Some elders in synagogues remained, but the cultural gap between them and the newcomers was great. A small isolated group of ba-alei teshuva was born.

By 1980 a special entity inside this small group was formed. Later, only after their main activists' aliya in 1987, this group took the name of Machanaim. Most of its members had a background in math or science. These people tried to stay as far away from Soviet ideology as possible, and thus could not learn history or philosophy that under other circumstances would have certainly attracted many of them. The group soon developed into an underground independent Jewish learning network that taught and disseminated the Jewish tradition in various forms: celebrating of Jewish holidays, study of Jewish texts, including the Talmud, organizing activities for children. Sometimes a small Moscow apartment was packed, with 70-80 people participating in a Pesah seder, or 100-120 watching a Purimspiel. Machanaim members also translated, composed and prepared handmade booklets on Jewish holidays and Torah study. These booklets were typewritten, photographed, and then printed in 50-100 copies on regular photo paper. All these activities were strictly forbidden by the Soviet authorities and had to be thoroughly hidden.

The classes took place in private apartments, which frequently had to be changed because the KGB received information about them. These were usually apartments of Machanaim's main activists: Zeev and Tanya Dashevsky, Pinchas and Nechama Polonsky, Levi and Miriam Kitrossky, Yaakov Belenky, Yehuda Frumkin, Baruch Youssin, Michael Kara-Ivanov and Ira Dashevsky, Nathan and Chana Brusovani. There were others, less visible to the KGB eyes, who occasionally volunteered their apartments.

Machanaim's goal was to disseminate an understanding of Jewish tradition that would be close to the Russian speaking Jewish intelligentsia. This included translations of many Jewish texts. But the real trick was to translate these not just into the Russian language, but also to the modern mentality, specifically, to the mentality of Russian Jewry. This demanded a lot of learning and teaching. It was primarily directed to the group members themselves, but also to a broader circle of friends and acquaintances. Machanaim people first had to learn Judaism themselves, from scratch. At first they learned from the few elderly religious Jews still remaining in Russia who had once learned in the yeshivas and were willing to pass on, against all odds, the knowledge they had to younger generations (Rav Avrum Meller, Chabad community). Michael Shneider and Zeev Shachnovsky were among the first Hebrew teachers, before the Machanaim group began its activity. They were our teachers for a long period of time. Some learned from Eliahu Essas and other Refuseniks. The community hardly existed, with only several dozens of families, scattered all over the gigantic city of Moscow, who were tied by friendship and common learning interests. By the beginning of the 1980 the underground Jewish learning network that included Machanaim had approximately 25 weekly classes and involved around 200 participants and about 15 active teachers. However, the Soviet authorities stopped letting people out, and the Machanaim people became "Refuseniks." This naturally led to the intensification of their underground Jewish activities, which now included not only learning Jewish tradition, but also Zionism and the struggle for the right to emigrate. At the same time the process of returning to religious values and observances involved more and more people.

There was also the more social and spiritual problem of finding one's place in modern society. The process of acquiring faith is described by Kierkegaard as a jump into darkness: one leaves a well illuminated place and comes into the unknown. The person feels threatened, stripped of convictions. Some people felt they must get rid of their "old" cultural baggage altogether. There were some who threw away their poetry or covered books of world classics with a screen. Machanaim members, however, had a different approach: they felt it was both possible and necessary to keep and use the cultural baggage that had been acquired in one's "previous" life.
The group would have been very isolated had there not been Jewish messengers coming from abroad. Jewish activists striving to promote aliya from the Soviet Union and to support the Jewish revival in the USSR started visiting Machanaim people (for example, Rabbi Michael Rozen z"l from London visited our group in Moscow in the end of the seventies). Rabbis, educators, youth activists and other highly motivated people would come from the US, Europe and Israel to help Jewish

Refuseniks, both materially and spiritually. They did what they could to help Jews in the USSR. It was impossible to transfer money to the USSR, but goods were sent for sale or use. They regularly gave lessons and brought books. The content and spirit of these clandestine meetings depended on the personality of the guest. They would bring kosher food or religious items such as Kiddush goblets, candlesticks and the like, but most importantly, they provided a connection with the Jewish world, which felt like a gulp of fresh air, and which served as a real window to the open free world and its vibrant Jewish life. The KGB kept watch on what was happening and used intimidation from time to time against religious activists, although it was much busier against Hebrew teachers and emigration activists.

Among those who sent messengers to Moscow, the England-based group of Earny Hirsh ("Ginger") was especially active; he recently published a book called Refused - The Refusenik Community that refused to give up and the London Community that refused to let them, Technosdar, Tel Aviv 2004.
The foreigners' visits were critically important, although they involved some risk both for the visitors and for those who received them. For example, once a plain clothed KGB officer and a policeman came "to check passports" when a foreign guest was giving a Torah class. The participants pretended that it was a simple tea party where no religious activity was taking place. All those present were put on a list and received visits from a representative of the Committee for Religious Affairs at their work places or were called for questioning. This was a regular occurrence. Some families had their apartments watched permanently. But without these visits from abroad, the process of Jewish revival would hardly have been viable. In the best case, it would have been very outdated and distorted. As it was, when the Machanaim people arrived in Israel they still had many things to learn.

By 1985-86 the Machanaim group had already developed its own characteristic features. One of these was an interest in Jewish philosophy, both modern and ancient. This was absolutely contrary to the assumptions made by some groups in Israel about the needs and priorities of the Russian immigrants interested in Judaism. A story told by Pinchas Polonsky illustrates this lack of understanding. "In 1987, soon after my arrival in Israel," - remembers Pinchas, "I was invited to the steering committee of one of the publishing houses that printed books on Judaism in Russian. They wanted to consult me as a new immigrant active in the field of Jewish education. One of the members of the committee began introducing their publishing house, saying, ‘We have published a lot of important and needed books in Russian for the Jews in the USSR - on Shabbat, Kashrut and the Jewish holidays. One of our publications was, however, a mistake. A lot of work was invested in it, and it is highly questionable whether anybody will read it even in Israel - how can we expect Russian Jews to?' The book he was speaking of was The Lonely Man of Faith by Rabbi Joseph.B.Soloveitchik. I had to stand up and say, ‘Dear friends! To tell you the truth, your books on Shabbat, Kashrut and the Jewish holidays have not been so interesting for us - they are pretty simple, about basic things. And not everybody in the beginning of hazara be-tshuva process is interested in the laws of Shabbat and Kashrut. But the book that we multiplied in hundreds of copies and disseminated all over USSR, the one that was in great demand, was this very book, The Lonely Man of Faith. What you considered your mistake was in reality your greatest success among Russian refuseniks.'"

People who knew nothing of Jewish tradition wanted to read Rabbi Soloveitchik. Why? Because he has an incredible ability to relate complex, deep philosophic issues of Jewish law and midrash, written in the arcane language of Jewish tradition, in a simple academic style understandable to educated Russian Jews. We felt that Rabbi Soloveitchik was close to us, and a number of his articles were translated by Machanaim from English into Russian and later published in a collection entitled Catharsis.

Another important author, Rav Kook, was not yet known to us at the time. Unlike Rabbi Soloveitchik, who writes in the academic language familiar to us, Rav Kook writes in a very difficult idiom of Hebrew mystical verse often not understandable by the Israelis. All our attempts to understand his works under the guidance of the students from different yeshivot who visited us in Moscow failed. We only started to grasp his ideas after our arrival in Israel. Later we published a major body of research - the first of its kind in Russian - on Rav Kook's philosophy, part of which was recently translated into English and published in the USA. It seems to be the only case when a modern work on Judaism has been translated from Russian into English, and not vice versa. One chapter of the English book was published in Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and ideals, in May 2009.

These two personalities, Rabbi Soloveitchik and Rav Kook, built the foundation of the modern approach to Orthodox Judaism, which works effectively for Russian Jewry. Their philosophy is widely seen as a turning point in the development of Judaism that gives us a new approach to many issues in Jewish life.

The strength of Machanaim is that its members came to Judaism possessing considerable cultural background, albeit not Jewish. The group's encounter with Jewish culture gave birth to a new understanding that might be of benefit to the world Jewish community. While Russian Jewry is usually perceived as an object for education, it may also be a community that can enrich the modern understanding of Jewish culture, tradition, and thought.

Current status of Russian Jews in Israel and the Diaspora

The peculiarity of Russian Jewry is that it combines an almost total lack of Jewish background with a high general intellectual level and corresponding demands. It will not be satisfied with only "basic Judaism" - ethnic information and an introductory level of Jewish tradition. It often demands not "Judaica" and ethnography, but serious philosophical literature.

It was important for us to understand what underlies the Jewish laws and practices that we started to observe. The Pesah seder, for example, is for many an array of odd actions that people don't understand. We thought it was essential to explain to ourselves and then to the participants not just WHAT should be done, but also how it's done and WHY, what meaning it has. We published, while still in Moscow (in our illegal, handmade form) a book on the Passover Haggada with commentaries. One might say it was a Haggada for beginners - yes, for beginners, but it certainly was not a simplified Haggada; rather, it was an expanded, comprehensive Haggada.

The conventional way to address beginners is this: just show them what should be done -- the minimum at first -- and they will do it. When people grow up with traditions, this approach works. But when people start observing traditions later in their lives, their approach is different. They want to understand why they are supposed to do this and the meaning behind it. People who came to the USSR from abroad would ask, "What are the minimal necessities for the Passover seder?" Everybody cried: Pesah, matza, maror. Yes, it's true. But this is far from explaining what the philosophic meanings are of Pesah, matza, maror. A messenger from abroad who does not speak Russian cannot explain it. Even if he has learned some Russian he will not manage it. It had to be somebody brought up in the same culture and mentality. Only this way could the traditional actions acquire a meaning for these people. That is why Machanaim people saw it as their primary aim to compose and publish booklets on the Jewish holidays that would be written using their own approach. These books gave the readers, along with information about the history and customs of the holidays, an insight into their meaning and significance today. They were important guides for Holiday celebrations and gateways to the world of Jewish practice.

The current efforts of Machanaim to enhance the spiritual life of Russian Jews
In 1987 the core of the Machanaim group received their long-awaited exit visas and moved to Israel. Even though our initial intention was just to live a Jewish life in the Jewish State on the Jewish Land, we soon felt that there was a need here for the continuation of the same kind of educational activities we held in Russia. That same year Machanaim was established in Israel as an officially registered non-affiliated non-profit organization. Among the people who helped Machanaim in its initial stage in Israel, the renowned hero and Prisoner of Zion, Yoseph Mendelevich, must be mentioned. Strengthened by new forces, among them Benyamin Ben-Yosef, the organization started its activities in two areas: educational work with new immigrants from the USSR, and those who were still in Russia. (At the same time, with the help of Avital and Natan Sharansky and Israeli political leaders, we continued our struggle for fighting for those who were still refused their exit visas.) The dual character of the work gave birth to the name MACHANAIM, taken from Genesis 32:3, meaning "two camps" - Moscow and Jerusalem. (We were aware, of course, of the classic reference to "the earthly and the heavenly camps," and meant it too, hoping for "siyata de-Shmaya"-heavenly help-- in our endeavors.)

At first, the "Russian" camp was the primary focus, with frequent trips back to the USSR to teach. In 1989, the President of Machanaim, Dr. Zeev Dashevsky was awarded the Jerusalem Prize for Torah Education in the Diaspora and the Henry Moore Award of the British Parliament for Service to the Jewish People.

Soon it became clear that Machanaim needed to utilize all media, technologies and educational forums, not just frontal teaching. We established a regular flow of Russian language material via mail, messenger, telephone and Kol Israel radio broadcasts from our new center in Jerusalem to our colleagues still in Moscow. Later, with the great wave of immigration to Israel, our emphasis shifted to work with newly-arrived Soviet Jews. In 1993, Machanaim was awarded the Yakov Agrest Prize of the Education Ministry. Of course these achievements would not have been possible without the continuous and devoted help of Rabbi Michael Melchior, Avital and Natan Sharansky and others.
We have found that almost all Soviet Jews coming to Israel are as unaware of their Jewish heritage as we were when we began studying in the seventies. At the same time, we saw that after uprooting themselves from their Russian homes and finding themselves in strange surroundings, many feel a desperate need for a sense of identity and belonging. Added to their initial concerns as they settle in the Jewish state -- finding homes, jobs, etc. -- are questions of what it actually means for them to be Jewish.

Few organizations have addressed these issues on a systematic basis. Various government agencies took on parts of the puzzle and their consequences, but no one looked at the whole issue from a cultural and educational perspective. Machanaim stepped into this void with a multi-tiered, multi-faceted open approach to teaching what being Jewish can mean to someone acculturated in the Russian Communist environment. As such, the main directions of Machanaim today include various learning programs: educational tours of Eretz-Israel, book publishing, a multi-faceted Internet site, lectures and other educational activities for new immigrants, radio programs, and educational articles in newspapers. Machanaim has also built a unique Russian-speaking community in the Jerusalem suburb of Maale-Adumim.

The mix of high general education and ignorance in Judaism that characterizes many Russian immigrants demands very specific teaching methods and unusual learning aids. Few existing books and learning systems can meet their needs. Having been educated in the same system and having had the opportunity to learn Jewish texts, we have developed a special approach to bridge the gap between ignorance and knowledge without focusing on observance per se. We have programs designed to fit into a wide range of schedules, levels and learning styles - afternoon and evening programs for men, women and children and special programs for those studying for conversion to Judaism. Everyone learns Bible, Jewish history, Jewish philosophy and Jewish Law. Most activities are in Russian. Our teachers travel all over the country, and we have many more requests for our programs, especially outside of Jerusalem, than we have the budget to handle.

The problems Machanaim faces

The real challenge is, however, to attract youth to these activities. Machanaim has been active in several youth programs: Shir Mizmor le-bnei mitzvah, Young Leadership program, programs in Youth villages and the like. The particular goal of some of these programs has been to break the stigma that exists among Russian-speaking youngsters, who are still more sensitive to anything "smelling" of coercion than the adults. We focus especially on work with youth from underprivileged layers (single-parent and broken families, youth with criminal records, etc.), for whom the problems of integration in the Israeli society are still more acute.

These programs demand a lot of cooperation with formal educational bodies and, of course, their financial input, which is not always easy. Nevertheless, Machanaim continues its efforts to reach the young immigrant population. During Hanukka 2009 there was a gathering for about 70-80 immigrant children as part of Machanaim's Jewish Holidays Project.

There is still a lot of work to be done in this field. The problem is that youth are not usually interested in participating in educational activities. The most successful way to reach youngsters is through informal educational frameworks, which have their own limitations, and through their families at weekend seminars and similar events.

Areas of success

One of Machanaim's undisputed successes is its conversion program initiated in 1990 by Ira Dashevsky. This program resulted in almost 100% of its students successfully undergoing conversion. The program is an unquestionable success with those who take the offered conversion preparation course. Those interested can be referred to Ira Dashevsky and Michael Kara-Ivanov's paper on the social and educational aspects of the conversion, published at "Hidushei Torah NDS. It can be seen http://www.nds.com/z/chidusheitorah/toc_10_hebrew.htm.

Machanaim is offering to create a pre-conversion framework to be implemented in absorption centers, municipalities, boarding schools, and maybe even in the countries that the olim are leaving, as part of an aliyah preparation process. Within these frameworks, every oleh (or a potential oleh) will be offered up to 100 hours of a basic Judaism course in Russian. The course will be taught by the senior lecturers at Machanaim in an engaging, informal manner.

Just as there are no pre-conversion activities, so too there is no organization that assists olim after their conversions. There are multiple challenges awaiting new converts, from the refusal of certain rabbinates to officiate at their weddings (claiming the invalidity of their conversions), to the lack of familiarity with their local community, nearby synagogue, rabbi, community functions, etc, to difficulties in finding their potential spouses.

Another undeniable success is the creation of a unique Russian-Jewish Machanaim community in the Jerusalem suburb of Maale Adumim. After overcoming many hardships, this project resulted in a beautiful neighborhood called Maale Machanaim with its own Russian language synagogue. (The prayers are, of course, in Hebrew, but the sermon is in most cases in Russian, while all the announcements, as well as the synagogue publications are in Russian and Hebrew, and sometimes even in English.) The Rabbi of the Synagogue is one of the Machanaim founders, Rabbi Yaakov Belenky, who started learning basic Judaism illegally in Moscow and has become an ordained Rabbi with a family of nine children. The community numbers about 100 families, and has a vibrant life. The cultural center organizes concerts, exhibitions, and other community events; varied activities for children are provided on a regular basis. It must be noted that the community is open to people of different life styles, and some come to Maale Adumim from other localities to celebrate bar/bat-mitzvas, just because they feel more at home there and know that they are always welcome.
One more area of success is Machanaim's work at Bar-Ilan University. Machanaim runs courses in Judaism for over 500 Bar-Ilan immigrant students. These students are obliged to take courses on Judaism, but when they took regular Bar-Ilan University courses together with Israeli students, the effect was in many cases negative: the difference of backgrounds created a gap between the students, and the immigrant students felt alienated from and even hostile to Judaism. Learning with Machanaim teachers who have a background similar to that of the students and manage to convey Judaism in an open, non-coercive atmosphere, helps to change the students' attitude. Machanaim lecturers also teach at various other University programs in Israel.

Areas where much more work needs to be done

There is a lot of work being done - still more is needed. Machanaim is trying as hard as it can to cope with existing problems but suffers from budgetary limitations. Still, we have been overcoming those problems for a long time and hope to continue to do so. A lot of work is accomplished by volunteers, including lectures by renowned Rabbis and University professors.

Another difficulty is a severe lack of teachers who combine real knowledge in Jewish subjects with methodological skills and the open, considerate approach so much needed for newcomers. Machanaim developed teachers' training courses and offered them in the past. This requires significant funds and a lot of time.

A still more ambitious project would be to raise young leadership who would lead young people after them, involving them in Jewish life and building communities around them. We are working on such a project and hope one day to be able to implement it.

One of Machanaim's new projects, guided by Michael Kara-Ivanov and Ira Dashevsky, is the creation of "Beit Midrash Leumi". The aim of this project is to build a tight collaboration between the various sectors of the Jewish people, who currently exist in separate universes. The project discusses ways to bring the ideals of European and Russian culture (Literature, Fine Arts etc.) closer to the world of Jewish traditional values (Talmud, Kabbalah, Midrash etc). Initial motives for this project are described in the following paper: Greatest Creative and Intellectual Masters of Nations on the Ladder of Jacob, http://www.nds.com/z/chidusheitorah/toc_9.htm, pp. 7-29, 2008 (Hebrew).

Machanaim has recently started a major project of translating their publications into English. The book Rav Kook's Religious Zionism by Pinchas Polonsky was published in 2009. The review on it written by Rabbi Israel Drazin is posted on Conversations website, http://www.jewishideas.org/store/religious-zionism-rav-kook.

More details about Machanaim can be found on http://www.machanaim.org/ind_eng.htm

Professor Mushabac teaches English at CUNY and was recently a Mellon Fellow. Her book Melville’s Humor won high praise from Irving Howe, Alfred Kazin, and Morris Dickstein. She’s co-author of A Short and Remarkable History of New York City, selected as one of the “Best of the Best” by the American Association of University Presses, and now in its 5th printing. Her radio play, commissioned for National Public Radio broadcast, Mazal Bueno: A Portrait in Song of the Spanish Jews, featured Tovah Feldshuh. This article appears in issue 7 (May 2010) of Conversations, the Journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.
We're addicted to branding. By we, I mean Americans, but it's probably true of most people, and for good reason. Seeking out name brands may be a simple and effective survival tactic. Pick a good brand (olive oil, car, university) and you feel confident you will live and be well, otherwise, who knows? Conversely, we don't just buy brand names, but sell them. For success in business, or in the arts, college graduates were told at a recent convocation, you must brand yourself, figure out and highlight the one key brandable thing you have to offer, and name it in a way that sparks recognition and interest.

I was traveling with a college friend in Mexico many years ago. We were up in the mountains of Chiapas. We saw a woman weaving against a tree in a method that predated Cortes. The area had no roads! Vehicles couldn't get there! We had gone up by horseback, led by an indefatigable seventy-year old Swiss woman named Trudy Blom. Seeing the Mexican weaver-woman there on the high open plateau, her posture holding her body-loom tight out from the trunk of a tree, it was as if time had stopped. It had, in a sense. I could look up at the moon and it looked the same as it had for all time, but the truth was Americans had walked on the moon the previous day (this was the summer of 1969), and all we could see was the people-less moon, because the town where Ms. Blom's lodging-house was located didn't have a single television set, and the moon was as it had been for eons, a serene brightly lit orb in the sky, the very same one from creation that divided night from day.

In Oaxaca, a famous city we visited the following week, my friend and I did the usual things, taking walks, shopping for local crafts in the market. But suddenly there was a drugstore, and we went in. We didn't need anything pharmaceutical or cosmetic-we didn't need anything, really. But we needed a fix, a fix of branding. I needed to see shelves of packaging in sharp American colors. Why? Because in Mexico many things had an earthen cast, an unmarked or unmarketed existence, like breathing, one of those things we can and do take for granted, unheralded, quiet, necessary, but without the intense attention and excitement of a brand name and a marketing, packaging, and distribution campaign behind it. Seeing the shelves of packaged items ridiculously allowed me something I needed in order to feel connected in the world. I didn't expect to need that kind of fix, because I don't love drugstores (or the American mania for packaging). I've steered away from drugstores when I could, and for example, avoided colorfully boxed cough syrup for my children, finding that honey-milk hand-spooned by my mother to her first grandson worked, as they say, like a charm.

Aviva Ben-Ur's recent book, Sephardic Jews in America: A Diasporic History (NYU Press, 2009), by its title seemed to offer a chance to understand precisely the Sephardic contribution to American Jewish history, and suggest a way to a serious recognition of a group that is a central part of my identity and worldview. Reading it was a stop on a journey perhaps not surprising in someone with a name as unusual as Mushabac, a name which I kept after marriage, because it connected me so directly to something I cherished. Being a Turkish Jew on both sides of my family represented a history of Jews who tenaciously stood their ground for thousands of years, despite obstacles and mortal threats, and clung to their community not only with determination, but with pleasure and celebration. Some people have said the exciting thing about being Sephardic is feeling nostalgia for Spain, where Jews thrived for a thousand years, or for the Ottoman Empire, where they lived for five hundred years, keeping up various aspects of Spanish heritage such as the language of Ladino, and appealing traditions of cooking and music. However, nostalgia has a mirage-like quality and ultimately we need something infinitely more solid to pin a future on.

When we study American ethnic or immigrant history, sometimes, even though we know this approach can be as simplistic as indulging in nostalgia, we hazard a definition of a "contribution" of a specific group. For instance, Koreans in 1970s New York can be said to have contributed to our city by opening colorful flower and fruit stands that brought light and activity 24 hours a day to formerly grim neighborhoods: they dramatically changed the face of New York. Perhaps Dr. Ben-Ur's book would name and describe the American Sephardic "contribution" and package it neatly for distribution to Jewish and other channels. Presto, a brand, and the satisfaction of branding.

Her book doesn't do this. Instead it clearly shows a Sephardic American identity that has been toovariegated and fragmented to have a specific impact. The fact is that Sephardic Jews, because they were only a tiny percentage of the million and a half Jewish immigrants that came to New York over the past century, and because the relatively tiny Sephardic group came from many countries and spoke many languages, and thus couldn't communicate with each other, and especially since Sephardic today has come to mean any non-Ashkenazi Jew (Iberian and Mizrahi), as Ben-Ur puts it, there was and is "no critical mass." Instead of finding critical mass, Ben-Ur focuses in good part on the treatment of Sephardim by other Jews, and tensions between Western and Eastern Sephardim.

In one fascinating chapter, nonetheless, Ben-Ur provides what she calls a test-case on Sephardic impact. She tells how the Sephardic pronunciation of Hebrew came to prevail in Palestine beginning in the late 1800s. She suggests that this contribution can be credited in part to the prestige of the Palestinian Sephardic community. To Eliezer Ben-Yehuda, for example, Sephardic men in Palestine who worked on making a living contrasted sharply with the unhealthy-looking Ashkenazi men there who were bent on religious fervor; Sephardim and their Hebrew represented a new future. Reviving Hebrew was, if I may, a form of branding, and adopting Sephardic pronunciation was linguistically appealing and bold. While this story has a charm as Ben-Ur details its developments over decades, it illustrates Ben-Ur's key point, that in the United States, at any rate, as opposed to Palestine and Israel, there was no decided Sephardic "contribution" at this level.

Actually Ben-Ur steers us away from naming any "contribution, " Sephardic or Ashkenazi. She faults the "impact" paradigm of historiography. She says impact paradigms are problematic, based on questionable assumptions. She is really more interested in how groups are treated and seen in the world, especially in how people are marginalized, shoved off the page and out of our consciousness, and how they defend themselves. Her focus, in short, is on an "exclusion" paradigm. Also, she focuses only on the first fifty years of the twentieth century, and mostly on the Sephardic Jews with roots going back to Spain, such as Turkinos (Turkish Jews).

This approach threw me back on my original question. It was surely important to see the difficulties encountered by Sephardim in New York, and satisfying to see how they suffered condescension and worse, yet summoned the will to find their own way, with persistence and creativity, and thoughtful and memorable leadership on the part of many of the antagonists. But following closely this woven history of exclusion and inclusion left me still wanting to know what this group had to offer. What do Sephardim have to offer? I keep wanting to think globally through a thousand years of history to connect all the illustrious dots. In fact anyone can Google "Sephardic Jews" to create his or her own Encyclopedia Sephardica, which would range from Maimonides codifying a rational Judaism to Emma Lazarus announcing the golden door; from Jacob Rodriguez Rivera inventing spermacetti candle-making to Uriah Levy getting the U.S. Navy to prohibit flogging (where would Herman Melville have been without these two men?); from world-class pianist Murray Perahia, singing in the boys' choir in a Grand Concourse Sephardic congregation, to David Amram-maverick musician, composer, conductor, and writer. Shall we leave out Sephardic Jacques Derrida because we've heard too much about him, or Joe Elias, because we've heard too little about him? Elias learned hundreds of songs at his mother's knee, and taught Ladino singing for years at N.Y.C.'s Hebrew Arts School. What about Gracia Mendes Nasi, the grand dame and managerial titan of Early Modern Europe? What about Supreme Court Justice Benjamin Cardozo, or five Sephardic Jews who I've read have won Nobel prizes: we all know Elias Canetti, but do most people even know Baruj Benacerraf, Rita Levi-Montalcini, Claude Cohn-Tannoudji, and Salvador Luria are Jewish? Rabbi Marc Angel, of course must be mentioned with a full description of his works, and especially his 1991 Voices in Exile: A Study in Sephardic Intellectual History, his glimpse of something provocatively simple and natural in his 2006 Foundations of Sephardic Spirituality: The Inner Life of Jews of the Ottoman Empire, his award-winning new book on Maimonides and Spinoza, and his ground-breaking new organization, which sponsors this very publication, and boldly rebuts authoritarianism in the orthodox world. And what about Sacha Baron Cohen! Okay, he's scandalous-and we're going far afield, but doesn't Sacha Baron Cohen break new ground in American and European popular culture -connect with the future, wake up the bored, and put a Sephardic flag on the moon? Do we have a brand here?

Dr. Ben-Ur's book, of course, is simply not about any of this. Nonetheless, after all her eliminations and disputations, after detours that are interesting but incidental, for instance on Columbia University's prestigious, but not very Sephardic, Hispanic-Sephardic initiative in the 1930s, she finishes with a simple statement that is quietly revelatory. She speaks of the corporate Jewish identity, and says if American scholars get bored with it, look here, to the Sephardim. That word corporate should stop us. It's a word that can cut two ways, reflecting stable reliable productivity on one side, and domineering greed and political manipulation on the other. But let's look for a moment at the predictable sameness of corporate production. Corporate means every sip of Pepsi-Cola-owned Tropicana tastes exactly alike, and has nothing to do with the oranges (even though they may be grown by corporations) that we squeeze on the spot, cutting in half five or six of them, getting the juice on the table, straining the pulp and seeds, and handing golden glasses of it off with pride to family members.

What is the corporate brand of Judaism? What is the corporate brand of Orthodox Judaism? Aren't Jews like everyone else allowed to want and enjoy a predictable, normalized, generalized homogenized product? Is there anything wrong with that? And if in many locations, Ashkenazim have given way to their more prominent Sephardic hosts, let's say in Istanbul, why should Sephardim not give way graciously to the vastly bigger numbers of the Ashkenazim in America, and join the corporate model? Famous Sephardic Americans may or may not be swept up into the general Jewish category, but in any event, is there any problem with Sephardim modestly stepping aside and accepting dominance by the sheer, vastly larger Ashkenazi numbers?

One of the problems with corporate identity is its smug assumption that the book has been written and is closed, the book of Judaism, or the book of Jewish identity. It's branded-in the bad sense, like an animal bound for slaughter, and whether it's because I'm Sephardic or simply Jewish, I find I resent a corporate Judaism. It's difficult to express how comforting it is to see the brand broken up. Congregation Shearith Israel hires a woman as an Assistant Congregational Leader-what a breakthrough!- or an African-American who has converted to Judaism, gives a lecture on his life as a practicing, engaged, fascinating Orthodox Jew. It is healing to see all the Iraqi and Turkish Jews out on the dance floor at the "mixed dancing" (men and women) celebrations at a synagogue's annual party. It's healing and comforting to hear Jean Naggar's reminiscences of her Egyptian Jewish childhood, or to hear the accents at a Bible class as people from Israel and Paris, Florida and Tunisia, express their individual responses to a biblical text. It's not just that if the corporate model of Judaism is accepted, some of us feel left out because our names are different-many Sephardic names of course are actually Hebrew-or that we look different (do we?). It's that the corporate model is deadly, not because it's fake, or made from concentrate, but because it has a telltale medicinal aftertaste-it's not freshly squeezed. Jewish authenticity depends on dissent and difference, and without these elements we have lost our center, and our juice.

In the late 1950s my mother and I contemplated writing a Sephardic cookbook, and she queried a well-known Jewish publisher. He wrote back, "No one would be interested in that." Knowing now what we know about the health benefits of Mediterranean cooking and the Mediterranean lifestyle (and what Sephardim with many nonagenarian parents and grandparents have always known) , one can't help wonder at this old-time Ashkenazi insularity, which may still be among us. A friendly letter to Midstream's Winter 2010 issue noted that an occasional article on Yiddish or Ladino topics is interesting, but ultimately the writer asked the magazine please to limit such articles because these topics are not part of "our Weltanschauung." We know of course, why the writer used the German word, and didn't simply say "worldview." Branding. Meanwhile, Midstream has been ground-breaking with its July/August Yiddish-Ladino issues that it started in 2002.

We haven't even touched the terrible story of the disparaging treatment of Mizrahi Jews in Israel, Jews who make up almost half of the population of Israel! Sitting on my desk is Rachel Shabi's new book, We Look Like the Enemy, The Hidden Story of Israel's Jews from Arab Lands. The realities of that story are shameful.
We are addicted to branding. We all want the comfort of sturdily packaged familiar people and ideas. We want the prestige, why else start an article with our credentials? But we don't want to feel shut off, in a corporate can sealed with BPA plastic that like chicken fat and butter (we don't cook with them) may harm our bodies. Let in the air. In the Jewish world, as everywhere else, we desperately need an open system, agreeable to diversity, gracious to innovation, open to new voices.

Is there a Sephardic contribution to America? I've long wondered. Starting in high school I worked on that Sephardic cookbook, and still have the large index cards of my Turkish grandmother's recipes that my Bronx-born mother typed up. I've read books, attended wonderful courses and seminars. I've made lists of words we said at home as I was growing up, Bivas ( Live!) when we sneezed, Kon salu (in good health) when we wore a piece of new clothing, Ijo d'una bova (son of a stupid woman) when someone was acting like a dope, Ya basta! (enough!), Kapara (when a glass broke, that glass was for God), and foods that expressed Sephardic joy, health, and celebration. I'm supposed to know about customs, but all I can think of is telling Joha stories, stories about the wise fool who coming from his day's work in the fields to dinner, and being told he must have a dinner jacket, returns with his jacket and tells the jacket, "It's you they invited, Eat!" There are hundreds of Joha stories which many of us have retold and written about.

In 1992 when I was giving lectures through the Sephardic House lecture bureau to various organizations in the New York area, I decided the answer had to do with the difference between the perfect circle of the wheel and the odd-shaped circle of the olive- or the lemon. Ashkenazim are perfect like the wheel, always ready to go. The rest of us stop to chase an olive around the plate, or the olive chases us, or we see the world up close because we cook with so much exquisite lemon juice and have lived near water, and love to eat fish. Maybe it's an outspokenness, or zaniness-I think of that Hunter High School math teacher who threw chalk at students who fell asleep in her class. Maybe it's a female outspokenness. "Listen to Sarah," said God in Genesis, and perhaps ironically it was only in the patriarchal East in the Sephardic world where patriarchy was so elaborate and unintellectual that it counter-intuitively left the door open to women. Women have been great carriers of Judaism, with their monumental work of child rearing and cooking, but perhaps only Sephardic women had the fun of singing wild centuries-old Spanish ballads that romantically asked about my beloved coming down the stairs, or that raucously attacked a man for not being able to love someone other than himself. I don't know. But diversity represents an open system, and I know I crave it, and it suits my authentically Jewish soul. Without diversity we are rigid and dead. Those beds in Sodom and Gomorrah, we recall, cut off the feet of those who were too tall, and stretched the bodies of those who were too short.
As I sat and listened to that African-American convert to Orthodox Judaism and heard about his funny and interesting upbringing in the Jehovah's Witness religion, and how he gave speeches on Sundays to please his mother, and how his life today is totally Jewishly engaged at Ramath Orah on 110th Street near Broadway, I felt that a sharp sense of difference is what allows us to breathe. The system is open, we are breathing, not shutting out truth and life with refusal to accept difference.

Obviously we need both, a strong connection to the fixed, to the Jewish tradition in its most inalterable values and beliefs, but also a connection to the very unbranded thing of breathing, something natural and eternal, an open system. Diversity allows us to breathe, and without it we are not really here. In one of his novels, Henry James had a character surprisingly say in the midst of his very patriarchal world, "The women will save us." Perhaps the Sephardic contribution is its diversity. Perhaps Sephardim have contributed to the world by virtue of their their interethnic mix, with all its surprises and openness, its outspoken women, its outspoken men. Boredom and insular stultification are terribly contrary to authentic Judaism. Dialectic is the absolute core of Judaism, from Abraham's argument with God about Sodom and Gomorrah to this week's Forward article, "War on Internet Is a Fight the Rabbis Can't Win." No one should say, "The Sephardim will save us." But everyone should say, "Diversity will save us." Jews, like everyone else, need to be saved from ourselves.

Question: What is the status of the 'extra' conversion immersion [tevila leHumra] demanded by some Orthodox rabbis?

Answer:

1. The minimum standard required by Jewish law is that the rabbinical court consist of three observant laymen. Once the convert is accepted by the court, the conversion takes effect and without cause, may not be called into question.

2. a. The converting rabbinical court may include Orthodox rabbis who are themselves converts. [Hoshen Mishpat 7:1] Rabbis need not go through hoops to forbid the permitted on the part of parochials who either do not know or do not accept Jewish law.

b. If one of the rabbis serving on the court is [1] strictly Orthodox in observance but [2] serves amixed seating synagogue, said rabbi is not to be disqualifed because if he was placed by RCA placement, which has the status of bet din, or with permission from his authority granting body, Even haEzer 17:58 would apply. Furthermore, mixed synagogue seating, while in violation of historical usage, is not a violation whereby bona fidesis forfeited. [See Hoshen Mishpat 34]

c. If the convert, after theconversion, lives as a Jew, the conversion maynot be questioned.

Questioning a conversion tempts the convert to sin. Those "rabbis,"institutions and communities that require "upgraded" conversions are violating Jewish and should be denied communal support, their rabbis should notbe hired by modern Orthodox institutions, and the request mus tbe denied because Jewish covenantal lawis being wrongly disfigured, reformed, and reconstructed.

3. Once a Halakhic rabbinical court has accepted the candidate and immersion (and when appropriate, circumcision) has taken place

a. the conversion is complete
b. the conversion must be accepted
c. unless impropriety or fraud with regard to the conversion takes place, questioning the validity of the conversion calls the legitimacy of the questioners into question as per kol haPoseil pasul.