National Scholar Updates

            “Some of the most famous and important works of literature contain passages and themes that are immodest in nature. May a God-fearing Jew read these works for the good they contain, or must one forgo reading them entirely?”

That was the question I posed to several rabbis in 2017 for a feature I wanted to publish in The Jewish Press. I sought five answers of 100–300 words each. Much to my surprise, though, none of the rabbis I contacted agreed to respond. One said he wasn’t a posek (halakhic decisor), another said he had no time, and a third didn’t want to be quoted. I emailed a few other rabbis, hoping for better luck. Nothing doing.

I was perplexed. In my many years as a writer for The Jewish Press, I rarely had encountered a less cooperative group. I also couldn’t understand how so many rabbis—whose duty it is to lead the masses—could beg out of answering a question that surely must occur to every educated observant Jew at one point or another in his intellectual development. In Modern Orthodox circles, where dropping literary references is fashionable, the question is particularly important. Who among us, after all, isn’t impressed by someone who can quote both Rashi and Rousseau, the Netziv and Nietzsche, the Or HaHayyim and Orwell? But is reading an author like Orwell, in fact, permissible? His brilliant short novel Animal Farm is squeaky clean, but his longer, more famous novel 1984 certainly is not. Can a God-fearing Jew read this work nonetheless for the insight it provides on totalitarianism? Can one read Gulliver’s Travels, All Quiet on the Western Front, Brave New World, Atlas Shrugged? Can one watch classic movies like “The Godfather” or “The Graduate”? Or do the immodest scenes in these works disqualify them from being read or watched by a Torah-observant Jew?

            A few months after failing to elicit any responses to my question, I tried again, determined to at least raise the issue in the pages of The Jewish Press. After much effort, I finally found five rabbis willing to go on record (Rabbi Marc Angel, Founder and Director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, was one of them) and I published their answers in The Jewish Press in February 2018 (see www.jewishpress.com/sections/books/on-the-bookshelf-23/2018/02/16/). In total, I had posed the question to roughly 15 to 20 rabbis. Thus, for every rabbi who responded, two or three ignored my email or begged out of the project. 

I find this response rate unconscionable, and I believe it reflects a dereliction of rabbinic duty. If you encourage—or at least don’t actively discourage—engagement with general culture, you must provide guidance to the public. Right now, too many observant Jews go about their lives as if Torah U’madda or Torah im Derekh Eretz sanctions any and all engagement with general knowledge and society. They assume, for example, that they can go to the movies, cavalierly invoking the behavior of this or that famous rabbi who went to the movies in the 1940s. Movies, however, have changed over the last 70 years. Rabbis in the 1940s didn’t encounter nudity, profanity, or endless crude jokes at the movie theater. Our generation does.

            I occasionally hear observant Jews quoting lines from famous sitcoms like Seinfeld or Friends and wonder why they aren’t embarrassed to effectively admit in public that they watch shows with off-color plots and jokes. I also wonder why Orthodox media outlets occasionally publish articles that implicitly encourage immoral behavior. A few years ago, for example, a Jewish publication celebrated a Modern Orthodox high-school boy who starred in a primetime TV show. I wouldn’t object except that this boy had a romantic interest on the show and expressed this interest by violating the laws of intimate physical contact before millions of viewers. Should such a kid be celebrated in an Orthodox publication?

The author of the article handled the young man’s violation of halakha by ignoring it. Presto. Problem solved. Another Jewish publication pulled off this same trick a decade ago. It interviewed an Orthodox Hollywood screenwriter at some length—clearly taking pride in the writer’s accomplishments—but never once asked him about the moral problems inherent in working as a screenwriter in Hollywood where virtually every script contains inappropriate material. The implicit message these two publications conveyed to readers was that participation and success in general society is a praiseworthy end unto itself. Don’t worry about the inconvenient details. We’ve wished them away for you.

Terence, an esteemed Roman playwright, famously declared, “I am human and consider nothing human alien to me.” But God wants some aspects of humanity to be—at least partially—alien to us. Rav Avraham Yitzhak Kook argues that certain elements of the human soul should be buried rather than explored in literature. He writes that we each possess a “spade” to fulfill this task, borrowing language from Deuteronomy 23:13, which requires Jewish soldiers in military camp to carry a spade with them with which to bury their human waste (Olat Re’iyah, section on Shir HaShirim). Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch, who enthusiastically promoted a life of Torah im Derekh Eretz, actually rejected the full gamut of German cultural expression. He delivered an encomium in 1859 on the centenary of the birth of Friedrich Schiller, a famous German poet (calling him a “messenger of God” for using “the gift of poetry to inspire the human mind with enthusiasm for all that is pure and true and godly”). Yet, he told a friend that had he been in Frankfurt in 1849 on the centenary of the birth of Goethe—another famous German poet—he would have left town so as to avoid honoring a writer many of whose ideas he believed were antithetical to those of the Torah.

Torah im Derekh Eretz and Torah U’madda encourage societal engagement and the attainment of knowledge, but not every society is created equal nor is every piece of knowledge kosher. Rav Hirsch notes that our patriarch, Abraham, far from seeking entry into mainstream society and culture, protested strenuously against it. The whole world stood on one side of the spiritual spectrum, and he stood on the other. The Maccabees, too, rejected the prevailing culture of their day, despite its allure. Their brethren embraced Hellenistic values; they were the “enlightened” ones. But Jewish history condemns them, and we celebrate their downfall every Hanukkah.

            Rabbis know perfectly well that the Maimonidean model—excellence in both Torah and culture—can’t be realized in every era. Maimonides himself writes that a Jew in a decadent age may be required to escape to a cave or desert and live alone (Hilkhot De’ot 6:1). But most rabbis (save those in the most insular communities) are reluctant to publicly voice their reservations in our era of supreme tolerance. For example, many know that Orwell’s 1984 contains inappropriate passages, but they don’t necessarily want to go on record “banning” a book whose very plot revolves around the dangers of censorship. Nor do they wish to recommend desisting from reading other famous works of literature. Their reluctance is understandable but still regrettable. For without direction, the masses will undoubtedly take the path of least resistance. And that path will lead them to read, watch, and listen to practically anything in the name of “culture” and “education.” 

I am not arguing that all literature with problematic material should be avoided. As several rabbis argued in response to my query, much might depend on the nature of the work and the person reading it. Is the person mature? Does the book have redeeming value? Perhaps the permissibility of reading such works depends on one’s age, background, gender, and marital status. An 18-year-old yeshiva boy reading 1984 may be affected in a way that a 38-year-old man might not. The nature and frequency of the inappropriate passages may be relevant factors as well. 

            I personally made a conscious decision a few years ago not to read an international bestseller by Michael Houellebecq called Submission. In it, Houellebecq imagines a future in which France, in order to avert a takeover by Marine Le Pen’s far-right party, elects a Muslim president who proceeds to Islamicize French society. The novel’s main character, Francois, leads a spiritually vacuous life and, at the end of the book, seeks escape from his empty existence by converting to Islam. I read a review of the novel and was intrigued. The ending in particular piqued my curiosity. Unfortunately, in an effort to illustrate the vacuousness of Francois’s life, Houellebecq depicts him engaging in highly inappropriate behavior. I tried convincing myself that the book reviews had exaggerated and that the inappropriate passages were brief. But every subsequent review I read led me to believe the very opposite. Indeed, I learned from a friend that Houellebecq is famous for saturating his novels with inappropriate material. I had no choice. I couldn’t read the novel.

            I believe I made the right decision in this instance, but I don’t know if I’ve always made the right choice in the past, and I wish I had had the sage advice, in print, of others who had faced this dilemma before me. I attended classes at Yeshiva University for a decade and, during that period, regularly read its student newspapers and other popular Modern Orthodox literature. Surely, in those 10 years, I should have come across several articles addressing this topic. And yet, I don’t recall a single one.

I was left to my own devices, as are hundreds of thousands of others who face the question of abstaining from problematic elements of Western culture. So, as matters stand now, everyone just “does their own thing,” with most of us pretending the problem doesn’t exist. After all, who wants to be out of the cultural loop? Who wants to be the one staying home when everyone goes out to see the latest movie? Who wants to mingle in educated circles without having read the book on everyone’s lips?

And yet, at least some of us in some circumstances in regard to some famous works may have to do just that. The prophet Micah tells us to walk modestly with God (Micah 6:8). Modesty means not showing off. It means doing the right thing without fanfare. It means seeking God’s approval and caring little about human approval if that approval comes at the expense of truth and morality. It means avoiding rather than seeking the limelight. So I humbly suggest that we learn to take pride in living virtuously even if that means being unable to signal our educational prowess to others. 

Exhibiting knowledge is exciting—often effective—but it shouldn’t come at the expense of virtue. I don’t know exactly where the boundaries lie. Rabbis should help us plot them. But these boundaries do exist, and we may not pretend they don’t. We have a mandate to study the Torah. According to many rabbinic greats, we also have a mandate to be productive and educated members of society. But we don’t have a mandate to read every book on The New York Times bestseller list (or watch every movie that wins Best Picture at the Oscars). We must be selective, opting for virtue, even if that means sometimes forgoing the pleasures of participating in literary discourse and impressing our friends and acquaintances.

Intellectual Freedom
I recently had some correspondence with a rabbinic colleague in which we discussed
ideas relating to the role of women in halakha. I had offered some thoughts on how I imagined
things would be in messianic times. He found my ideas somewhat interesting and then asked: Do
you have a source for them?
I replied: The source is my own thinking.
Our dialogue then reached a cordial conclusion.
I mulled over this conversation, and realized that it reflects some of the problems I have
with much discussion within the Orthodox world. It is increasingly difficult to express an idea
without pinning it to an “authority” or a reliable “source.” Independent thinking is not considered
to be good form.
If I had told my colleague that I had found my idea in a midrash, or a classic rabbinic
work, or even in the writings of an obscure kabbalist, he would have taken my words more
seriously. After all, I had a source!
But shouldn’t ideas be evaluated on their own merit? A statement isn’t truer if someone
said it a few hundred years ago, even if that someone was a great scholar and sage. A statement
is not less true if it is espoused by someone today, who has no “source” to substantiate his or her
views.
Yes, certainly, we have a proper tendency to give more weight to the opinion of sages
such as Rambam than the opinion of a person who is far less learned than Rambam.  We assume
that Rambam (or other “authority”) was surely wiser and more knowledgeable than we are; if
early sources didn’t come up with our idea, then it must be that our idea is wrong—otherwise the
previous “authorities” would have said it first.
But this line of thinking keeps us focused on the past, and doesn’t allow enough freedom
to break new ground, to come up with novel ideas and approaches. It has been said that reliance
on the authority of Aristotle kept philosophy from developing for a thousand years; reliance on
the medical teachings of Galen kept medicine from advancing for many centuries. Whether in
the sciences, arts, or philosophy, innovation is a key to progress. An atmosphere of intellectual
freedom allows ideas to be generated, evaluated, rejected, accepted; it provides the framework
for human advancement.
It is intellectually deadening to read articles/responsa or hear lectures/shiurim that are
essentially collections of the opinions of early “sources” and “authorities.” Although it is vital
for rabbis and scholars to be aware of the earlier rabbinic literature, it is also vital that they not be
hemmed in by those opinions. One needs the intellectual freedom to evaluate sources, to accept
what is deemed acceptable, to reject what is objectionable—and to offer one’s own views on the
topic, even if no earlier source/authority exists.

Oh, and yes, I have a source for these views! Rambam wrote (Guide of the Perplexed,
2:13):
For when something has been demonstrated, the correctness of the matter is not
increased, and certainty regarding it is not strengthened by the consensus of all men of
knowledge with regard to it. Nor could its correctness be diminished and certainty
regarding it be weakened even if all the people on earth disagreed with it.
Rambam also noted (Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Kiddush haHodesh 17:24):
Since all these rules have been established by sound and clear proofs, free from any flaw
and irrefutable, we need not be concerned about the identity of their authors, whether
they be Hebrew prophets or gentile sages.
We rely on the proofs, not on the credentials of the author.
Some years ago, I wrote an article “Orthodoxy and Diversity,” in which I expressed my
concerns:

Orthodoxy needs to foster the love of truth. It must be alive to different
intellectual currents, and receptive to open discussion. How do we, as a Modern
Orthodox community, combat the tendency toward blind authoritarianism and
obscurantism?
First, we must stand up and be counted on the side of freedom of expression. We,
as a community, must give encouragement to all who have legitimate opinions to share.
We must not tolerate intolerance. We must not yield to the tactics of coercion and
intimidation.
Our schools and institutions must foster legitimate diversity within Orthodoxy.
We must insist on intellectual openness, and resist efforts to impose conformity: We will
not be fitted into the bed of Sodom. We must give communal support to diversity within
the halakhic framework, so that people will not feel intimidated to say things publicly or
sign their names to public documents. (Here’s the link to that
article: https://www.jewishideas.org/article/orthodoxy-and-diversity)
When well-reasoned views are expressed, they should be evaluated fairly. Quoting
“sources/authorities” does not in itself validate an opinion. Not quoting “sources/authorities”
does not invalidate an opinion.
We certainly should draw on the wisdom and scholarship of others, and we should give
them due credit when we learn from them and quote their words. But we should not shut off our
own brains, nor feel unable to express an opinion without basing it on an earlier source. A
thinking Judaism makes us better Jews—and better human beings.
***
        
Crowd Instinct, Personality Instinct

In his memoir, The Torch in My Ear, the Sephardic Jewish writer Elias Canetti (who won
the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1981) reflects on an insight that came to him as a young man: “I
realized that there is such a thing as a crowd instinct, which is always in conflict with the
personality instinct, and that the struggle between the two of them can explain the course of
human history” (387). This idea became central to Canetti’s life, ultimately resulting in his
classic book Crowds and Power.
What is the “crowd instinct?” It is the desire to blend into a crowd, to dissolve one’s
personality into a large mass of people. The crowd instinct can be witnessed in sports arenas,
where fans become one with each other and with the players on the field. It can be experienced
in mass rallies where fiery orators fire up the crowd, or at rock concerts where fans lose
themselves in their wild admiration of the singers and their music. People have a deep desire to
be part of such crowds.
Yet, crowds can become dangerous. When individuals succumb to crowds, demagogues
can control them, can drive them to do terrible things, can turn them into lynch mobs or
murderous gangs, can push them into terrorism and war.
And so, there is also a “personality instinct,” a deep desire to retain our own ideas and
values, to resist the mesmerizing power of crowds.  Although we at times want to share in the
enthusiasms and griefs of crowds, we simultaneously want to maintain our inner freedom from
the crowds. We want to blend in—but not to blend in.
In the Almighty’s blessing of Abraham, we can detect both the crowd instinct and the
personality instinct. God apparently wanted Abraham to keep aware of these conflicting pulls,
and to maintain spiritual balance.
God promised that He would multiply Abraham’s seed “as the stars of the heaven.” 
Stars, although there are so many of them, are essentially alone; light years separate one star
from the next. Stars symbolize the personality instinct, the unique separateness of each one.
Although part of a galaxy, each star is separate and distinct, never losing its particular identity.
But God also promised that Abraham’s seed would be “as the sand that is upon the
seashore.” Sand represents an entirely different kind of multitude than stars. While each star is
alone and separate, each grain of sand is surrounded by many other grains of sand. Whereas stars
evoke separateness, sand evokes incredible closeness; it is almost impossible to take only one
grain of sand in your hand. Sand symbolizes the crowd instinct.
Abraham was to found a new nation, and nations need to have adequate numbers in order
to thrive. Nation-building entails working with crowds, striving to create consensus among
various factions.  Nations demand patriotism, national symbols that inspire citizens to feel united
with each other. But nations can become dangerous crowds. Demagogues can manipulate the
crowd’s emotions and can control information that they share with the masses. Crowds can
become dangerous; crowds can be turned into murdering, war-mongering and hateful entities.
How can one resist the power of crowds? For this we need the personality instinct. Each
person needs to understand the crowd, but keep enough independence not to totally succumb to
the power of the crowd. Each person literally has to be a hero, has to be willing to stand up and
stand out—and possibly take terrible risks in order to maintain personal integrity.
This was God’s blessing to Abraham: Your seed will learn how to form positive, helpful,
cooperative crowds that will enhance human civilization. Your seed will be composed of
individuals who will have the wisdom and the courage to remain separate, to resist those who
would try to manipulate the crowd into wickedness. Your seed—like the stars—will be

composed of strong, luminous and separate beings. Your seed—like the sand—will come
together to form healthy, strong and moral communities and societies.
Throughout human history, there has been an ongoing tension between the crowd instinct
and the personality instinct. Too often, the crowd instinct has prevailed. Masses of people have
been whipped up to commit the worst atrocities, to murder innocents, to vent hatred. Too seldom
have the masses acted like stars who can and do resist the power of dangerous crowds.
In our time, like throughout history, there are those who seek to manipulate crowds in
dangerous, murderous and hateful ways. There are those who play on the fears and gullibility of
the masses, who dissolve individuality and turn people into frenzied sheep.
But there are also those who refuse to become part of such crowds, who resist the crowd
instinct and maintain the personality instinct. These are the stars who will form a new kind of
crowd, a crowd that will bring human beings together in harmony and mutual respect. God’s
blessing to Abraham is a blessing that we all need to internalize.
***
Politicians or Statesmen
Henry Adams, a nineteenth-century American historian and author, distinguished
between a politician and a statesman. A politician is someone who listens to what people are
saying, and then molds his/her agenda accordingly. A statesman is someone who thinks carefully
and arrives at intelligent conclusions—and then works to persuade the public to adopt his/her
policies.
Politicians are essentially petty self-promoters who will say what people want to hear,
who will pander to the whims of the masses. They say one thing today, another thing tomorrow;
one thing to this audience and another thing to a different audience. They tell jokes, hug children,
spout off truisms. Their goal is to be popular enough to get elected and stay in office. They can
be bullies, buffoons, or big mouths: It doesn’t matter to them as long as they can get people to
talk about them and vote for them.
Statesmen are a much rarer breed. They actually take the time and trouble to think
carefully. They have a long range vision of what is best for society. They espouse ideas and
ideals that the masses may—or may not—readily understand or appreciate. They try to remain
above the fray, and to guide people to a better, larger view of what is at stake. They are people
who avoid sound bites and photo ops.
Political campaigns of our time often seem to be in the province of politicians, not
statesmen. People run to become President of the United States, but many of them sound as
though they are running for president of their high school class. Instead of contests for who
provides the soundest and most intelligent vision for the future of the nation, the political battles
seem to be popularity contests.
Will Rogers once said: When I was a boy I was told that anyone could become President
of the United States; now I’m beginning to believe it.
People in all generations complain that their political leaders are politicians rather than
statesmen. But it is the people who elect them! Apparently, the public does not demand or need
anything more than glib showmen for their leaders.
People deserve exactly the leadership that they choose for themselves, whether for good
or ill. This applies not only to political leaders, but to leaders of all sorts. It’s easy enough to

complain that our leaders are mere politicians and panderers; but we somehow seem to forget
that we are the ones who have elected them or have allowed them to stay in office.
As long as the public will laugh at the politicians’ jokes and rejoice in the politicians’
one-liners, then the politicians will continue their reign. Until the public will demand more of
their leaders and more of themselves, we will have politicians, not statesmen. And we will all be
the worse for it.
***
Kamtsa, Bar Kamtsa and Contemporary Parallels
R. Johanan said: The destruction of Jerusalem came through Kamtsa and Bar Kamtsa in
this way: A certain man had a friend Kamtsa and an enemy Bar Kamtsa. He once made a
party and said to his servant, Go and bring Kamtsa. The man went and brought Bar
Kamtsa. When the man [who gave the party] found him there he said, See, you tell tales
about me; what are you doing here? Get out. Said the other: Since I am here, let me stay
and I will pay you for whatever I eat and drink. He said, I won't. Then let me give you
half the cost of the party. No, said the other. Then let me pay for the whole party. He still
said, No, and he took him by the hand and put him out. Said the other, Since the rabbis
were sitting there and did not stop him, this shows that they agreed with him. I will go
and inform against them to the Government. He went and said to the Emperor, The Jews
are rebelling against you. He said, How can I tell? He said to him: Send them an offering
and see whether they will offer it [on the altar]. So he sent with him a fine calf. While on
the way he [Bar Kamtsa] made a blemish on its upper lip, or as some say on the white of
its eye, in a place where we [Jews] count it a blemish but they [the Romans] do not. The
rabbis were inclined to offer it in order not to offend the Government. Said R. Zechariah
b. Abkulas to them: People will say that blemished animals are offered on the altar. They
then proposed to kill Bar Kamtsa so that he should not go and inform against them, but R.
Zechariah b. Abkulas said to them, Is one who makes a blemish on consecrated animals
to be put to death? R. Johanan thereupon remarked: Through the scrupulousness of R.
Zechariah b. Abkulas our House has been destroyed, our Temple burnt and we ourselves
exiled from our land. (Gittin 55b–56a)
The story tells of a host—apparently a wealthy man—who throws a party and wants his
friend Kamtsa to be brought to it. The servant makes a mistake and brings Bar Kamtsa—a person
the host despises. When the host sees Bar Kamtsa, he orders him to leave. Even though Bar
Kamtsa pleads not to be humiliated by being sent away, the host is unbending. Bar Kamtsa offers
to pay for whatever he eats, for half the expenses of the entire party, for the entire party—but the
host unceremoniously leads Bar Kamtsa out of his home.
The story reflects a lack of peace among the Jewish community in Jerusalem. The
antagonism between the host and Bar Kamtsa is palpable. The unpleasant scene at the party was
witnessed by others—including “the rabbis”; obviously, “the rabbis” were included on the
party’s guest list. They were part of the host’s social network. When Bar Kamtsa was ejected
from the party, he did not express rage at the host. Rather, he was deeply wounded by the fact
that rabbis had been silent in the face of the humiliation he had suffered: “Since the rabbis were
sitting there and did not stop him, this shows that they agreed with him.” He might have

understood the host’s uncouth behavior, since the host hated him. But he could not understand
why the rabbis, through their silence, would go along with the host. Why didn’t they stand up
and protest on behalf of Bar Kamtsa? Why didn’t they attempt to increase peace? Bar Kamtsa
was so disgusted with the rabbis that he decided to stir up the Roman Emperor against the Jewish
people. If the rabbinic leadership itself was corrupt, then the entire community had to suffer.
Why didn’t the rabbis speak up on behalf of Bar Kamtsa?
Apparently, the rabbis kept silent because they did not want to offend their host. If the
host wanted to expel a mistakenly invited person, that was his business—not theirs. The host
seems to have been a wealthy patron of the rabbis; he obviously wanted them included on his
invitation list. Why should the rabbis offend their patron, in defense of an enemy of their patron?
That might jeopardize their relationship with the host and could cost them future patronage.
The rabbis kept silent because they thought it socially and economically prudent for their
own interests. They could not muster the courage to confront the host and try to intervene on
behalf of Bar Kamtsa. By looking out for their own selfish interests, the rabbis chose to look the
other way when Bar Kamtsa was publicly humiliated.
Rabbi Binyamin Lau, in his review of the rabbinical and historical sources of that period,
came to the inescapable conclusion that
the rabbis were supported by the wealthy [members of the community], and consequently
were unable to oppose their deeds. There is here a situation of economic pressure that
enslaved the elders of the generation to the officials and the wealthy…. The Torah
infrastructure depended on the generosity of the rich.
When rabbis lost the spirit of independence, they also lost their moral compass. They
were beholden to the rich, and could not afford to antagonize their patrons. They remained silent
even when their patrons behaved badly, even when their silence allowed their patrons to
humiliate others. Bar Kamtsa was outraged by the moral cowardice of the rabbis to such an
extent that he turned traitor against the entire Jewish people.
The story goes on to say that Bar Kamtsa told the Emperor that the Jews were rebelling.
To verify this, the Emperor sent an offering to be sacrificed in the Temple. If the Jews offered it
up, that proved they were not rebelling. If the Jews refused to offer it up, this meant that they
were defying the Emperor and were rising in rebellion. Bar Kamtsa took a fine calf on behalf of
the Emperor, and put a slight blemish on it. He was learned enough to know that this
blemish—while of no consequence to the Romans—would disqualify the animal from being
offered according to Jewish law.
When Bar Kamtsa presented the offering at the Temple, the rabbis were inclined to allow
it to be offered. They fully realized that if they rejected it, this would be construed by the
Emperor as a sign of disloyalty and rebellion. Since there was so much at stake, the rabbis
preferred to offer a blemished animal rather than incur the Emperor’s wrath. This was a sound,
prudent course of action. But one of the rabbis, Zecharyah b. Abkulas, objected. He insisted that
the rabbis follow the letter of the law and not allow the offering of a blemished animal. He cited
public opinion (“people will say”) that the rabbis did not adhere to the law and therefore allowed
a forbidden offering. The rabbis then considered the extreme possibility of murdering Bar
Kamtsa, so that this traitor would not be able to return to the Emperor to report that the offering
had been refused. Again, Zecharyah b. Abkulas objected. The halakha does not allow the death
penalty for one who brings a blemished offering for sacrifice in the Temple. Murdering Bar

Kamtsa, thus, would be unjustified and illegal. This was “check mate.” The rabbis offered no
further ideas on how to avoid antagonizing the Emperor. The offering was rejected, and Bar
Kamtsa reported this to the Emperor. The result was the Roman destruction of Jerusalem and
razing of the Temple. “R. Johanan thereupon remarked: Through the scrupulousness of R.
Zechariah b. Abkulas our House has been destroyed, our Temple burnt and we ourselves exiled
from our land.”
Rabbi Johanan casts R. Zecharyah b. Abkulas as the villain of the story. R. Zecharyah
was overly scrupulous in insisting on the letter of the law, and he lost sight of the larger issues
involved. He did not factor in the consequences of his halakhic ruling; or if he did, he thought it
was better to suffer the consequences rather than to violate the halakha. Rabbi Johanan blames R.
Zecharyah’s “scrupulousness” for the destruction of Jerusalem, the razing of the Temple, and the
exile of the Jewish people. The moral of the story, according to Rabbi Johanan, is that rabbis
need to have a grander vision when making halakhic decisions. It is not proper—and can be very
dangerous—to rule purely on the basis of the letter of the law, without taking into consideration
the larger issues and the consequences of these decisions. Technical correctness does not always
make a halakhic ruling correct. On the contrary, technical correctness can lead to catastrophic
results. To follow the precedent of Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas is a dangerous mistake.
Yes, Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas was overly scrupulous in his application of halakha,
when other larger considerations should have been factored in. His narrow commitment to legal
technicalities caused inexpressible suffering and destruction for the Jewish people. But is he the
real villain of the story?
Rabbi Zecharyah was only one man. The other rabbis formed the majority. Why didn’t
they overrule Rabbi Zecharyah? The rabbis surely realized the implications of rejecting the
Emperor’s offering. They were even willing to commit murder to keep Bar Kamtsa from
returning to the Emperor with a negative report. Why did the majority of the rabbis submit to
Rabbi Zecharyah’s “scrupulousness”?
The story is teaching not only about the mistaken attitude of Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas,
but about the weakness and cowardice of the rest of the rabbis. The other rabbis were intimidated
by Rabbi Zecharyah. They were afraid that people would accuse them of being laxer in halakha
than Rabbi Zecharyah. They worried lest their halakhic credibility would be called into question.
Rabbi Zecharyah might be perceived by the public as the “really religious” rabbi, or the
“fervently religious” rabbi; the other rabbis would be perceived as compromisers, as religiously
defective. They recognized that Rabbi Zecharyah, after all, had technical halakhic justification
for his positions. On the other hand, they would have to be innovative and utilize meta-halakhic
considerations to justify their rulings. That approach—even if ultimately correct—requires
considerable confidence in one’s ability to make rulings that go beyond the letter of the law.
Rabbi Zecharyah’s position was safe: it had support in the halakhic texts and traditions. The
rabbis’ position was risky: it required breaking new ground, making innovative rulings based on
extreme circumstances. The rabbis simply were not up to the challenge. They deferred to Rabbi
Zecharyah because they lacked the courage and confidence to take responsibility for bold
halakhic decision-making.
When rabbis lose sight of their core responsibility to bring peace into the world, the
consequences are profoundly troubling. The public’s respect for religion and religious leadership
decreases. The rabbis themselves become narrower in outlook, more authoritarian, more

identified with a rabbinic/political bureaucracy than with idealistic rabbinic service. They
become agents of the status quo, curriers of favor from the rich and politically well-connected.
When rabbis lack independence and moral courage, the tendencies toward conformity and
extremism arise. They adopt the strictest and most fundamentalist positions, because they do not
want to appear “less fervent” than the extremist rabbinic authorities.
When rabbis fear to express moral indignation so as not to jeopardize their financial or
political situation, then the forces of injustice and disharmony increase. When rabbis adopt the
narrow halakhic vision of Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas, they invite catastrophe on the
community. When the “silent majority” of rabbis allow the R. Zecharyahs to prevail, they forfeit
their responsibility as religious leaders.
The contemporary Hareidization of Orthodox Judaism, both in Israel and the Diaspora,
has tended to foster a narrow and extreme approach to halakha. This phenomenon has been
accompanied by a widespread acquiescence on the part of Orthodox rabbis who are afraid to
stand up against the growing extremism.
In the summer of 1984, I met with Rabbi Haim David Halevy, then Sephardic Chief
Rabbi of Tel Aviv. He was a particularly independent thinker, who much regretted the
narrowness and extremism that had arisen within Orthodox rabbinic circles. He lamented what
he called the rabbinic “mafia” that served as a thought police, rooting out and ostracizing rabbis
who did not go along with the official policies of a small group of “gedolim,” rabbinic authorities
who are thought to have the ultimate power to decide halakhic policies. When honest discussion
and diversity of opinion are quashed, the religious enterprise suffers.
The Orthodox rabbinic establishment in Israel, through the offices of the Chief
Rabbinate, has had the sole official religious authority to determine matters relating to Jewish
identity, conversion, marriage, and divorce. It has also wielded its authority in kashruth
supervision and other areas of religious law relating to Jewish life in the State of Israel. This
religious “monopoly” has been in place since the State of Israel was established in 1948. With so
much power at their disposal, one would have expected—and might have hoped—that the
rabbinate would have won a warm and respectful attitude among the population at large. The
rabbis, after all, are charged with increasing peace between the people of Israel and their God;
with applying halakha in a spirit of love, compassion, and understanding; with creating within
the Jewish public a recognition that the rabbis are public servants working in the public’s
interest.
Regrettably, these things have not transpired. Although the Chief Rabbinate began with
the creative leadership of Rabbis Benzion Uziel and Yitzchak Herzog, it gradually sank into a
bureaucratic mire, in which rabbis struggled to gain political power and financial reward for
themselves and/or for the institutions they represent. The Chief Rabbinate is not held as the
ultimate religious authority in Israel by the Hareidi population. It is not respected by the non-
Orthodox public. It has scant support within the Religious Zionist camp, since the Chief
Rabbinate seems more interested in pandering to Hareidi interests than in promoting a genuine
Religious Zionist vision and program for the Jewish State.
Recent polls in Israel have reflected a growing backlash against the Hareidization of
religious life and against the political/social/religious coercion that has been fostered by Hareidi
leadership. Seventy percent of Jewish Israelis are opposed to new religious legislation. Fifty-
three percent oppose all religiously coercive legislation. Forty-two percent believe that the
tension between the Hareidim and the general public is the most serious internal schism in Israeli
Jewish society—nearly twice as many as those who think the most serious tension is between the

political left and political right. Sixty-five percent think the tensions between Hareidim and the
general public are the most serious, or second most serious, problem facing the Israeli Jewish
community. An increasing number of Israelis are in favor of a complete separation of religion
and State, reflecting growing frustration with the religious status quo.
In recent decades, Orthodox Judaism has become increasingly narrow, authoritarian, and
sectarian. We have argued that the Modern Orthodox/Religious Zionist communities must
energize themselves to reclaim Orthodoxy as an intellectually vibrant, compassionate, and
inclusive lifestyle that has a meaningful message for all Jews—and for humanity as a whole.
While working to improve the spiritual climate in Israel and the Diaspora, we must
concurrently foster specific policies that increase our representation in rabbinic roles, in lay
leadership, in Jewish education—and indeed in general involvement in our societies. We must
demonstrate our unflinching determination to resolve the halakhic controversies surrounding
conversion, agunot, and other problems—by employing the full range of halakhic options, and
by keeping in mind the ethical and national dimensions of our decisions.
The ways of the Torah are ways of pleasantness; all its pathways are peace. Orthodox
Judaism must cling to this principle and demonstrate to itself and to the world that the Torah way
of life is sweet and beautiful, and that Torah scholars indeed increase peace and harmony in the
world.

***
Resisting the Bullies
When the Israelites pressed Aaron to make them an idol of gold, the Torah informs us:
“And all the people broke off the golden rings which were in their ears and brought them unto
Aaron” (Shemoth 32:3). It seems that “all the people” participated in idolatrous behavior.
Yet, when it came to contributing to the building of the Mishkan, the sanctuary of God,
the Torah states that donations were to be given only by those with generous hearts, “of every
person whose heart was willing” (Shemoth 25:2).  The donations came not from “all the people”
but from a smaller group of willing donors.
Professor Yeshaya Leibowitz, in his book Yoke of Torah, offers his interpretation as to
why these events differed. Simply stated, it is much easier to get drawn into doing evil than into
doing something righteous. Once the Israelites went into a frenzy to make an idol, “all the
people” were swept up in the excitement; all of them contributed quickly and generously. But
when it came to building the Mishkan, many were reluctant to part with their valuables. There
are mental obstacles to contributing to a worthy cause. Donors need to battle with internal
resistance. They need to let their generosity overcome their possessiveness.
Professor Leibowitz’ observation is bolstered by the Midrash. At the time of the golden
calf, the Israelites had two main leaders in the absence of Moses: Aaron and Hur. The Midrash
posits that Hur resisted the idolatrous masses, and they murdered him! Seeing this, Aaron
decided it was safer to go along with the crowd rather than to stand up against them. Hur, who
stood for courageous righteousness, died a martyr’s death. Aaron, who went along with the
sinning crowd, survived and even went on to serve as High Priest.
Yet, I wonder if “all the people” who contributed their gold earrings really were
ideologically convinced to engage in idolatry. I suspect that a rather small group made the

decision and usurped the leadership. When no one (other than Hur) stood up against them, they
became increasingly arrogant. They murdered Hur to set an example: Resistance doesn’t pay.
They cowed the masses of Israelites, who handed in their gold earrings because they were too
afraid to resist—or because they were too apathetic to fight the in-group. Their participation
wasn’t enthusiastic and ideologically motivated; it was more like a passive going along with the
tide.
It is easier to go along with evil than to stand up defiantly against evil.
It is easier to join with bullies or to look the other way, rather than to confront them.
A recent study has reported that severe bullying is quite common for many students.
Forty-one percent of middle school and high school students in the United States report that they
were bullied at least once during their current school term. About eleven percent of boys report
that they are bullied once a week or more. Of the boys who report being bullied, nearly eighteen
percent are hit, slapped or pushed once a week or more. (Michael E. McCullough, Beyond
Revenge, Jossey-Bass, San Francisco, 2008, p. 35)
The easier it is for bullies to cow their victims, the easier it is for them to continue their
bullying. If the victims are too weak or too afraid to resist, the bullies are emboldened to increase
their arrogance and their violence.
But it’s not just the inability of victims to resist: it’s the inability or unwillingness of all
the witnesses to come to the aid of the victims. The masses, by their passivity, allow the bullies
to flourish and to create an environment of fear. Some attempt to befriend the bullies, so as to
protect themselves from being bullied themselves. Others feel too weak to confront the bullies,
so they look the other way. Those who stand up to the bullies run the risk of being beaten up and
humiliated in the eyes of others.
It is easier to go along with the tide than to stand up in righteous opposition. It is easier to
donate gold earrings for a golden calf than to incur the wrath of the bullies who are leading the
idolatrous movement.
From the days of the golden calf to our own times, bullies have attempted to assert their
leadership by means of violence and the instilling of fear. They have depended on the weakness
of the victims to resist. Even more, they have depended on the “silent majority” that lacks the
courage to stand tall.
Bullying takes many forms in our society. Sometimes it is overtly violent. Sometimes it is
the surreptitious usurpation of power by undermining all opposition. Sometimes it shows itself in
tyrants and dictators; and sometimes it shows itself in power hungry individuals in all walks of
life. The common denominator is that bullies prevail by crushing or intimidating opposition.
There are many people today, in all walks of life, who call on us to donate our “gold
earrings” to create all sorts of “golden calves.”  Are we donating or are we rallying our courage
and our morality so that we can resist?
***
The Dangers of Groupthink
Several years ago, Professor Eliezer Schnall of Yeshiva University and his student
Michael Greenberg, presented a paper at the annual convention of the American Psychological
Association in which they discussed an influential theory developed by the psychologist Irving
Janis, known as “groupthink.” Janis posited that tight-knit, smart, and well-informed cliques can

suppress dissent and create a “groupthink” phenomenon—where the general public goes along
with the ideas of the inner power group. People either come to accept the dictates of the power
group, or they are de-legitimized or ostracized. Dissent is crushed. Open and free discussion is
not tolerated.
Dr. Schnall demonstrated how the deleterious effects of “groupthink” were consciously
counteracted by the methods of operation of the Sanhedrin, the classic judicial system of ancient
Israel. For example, when discussing cases in the Sanhedrin, the judges of lesser authority spoke
first. The more senior judges offered their own opinions later. This system was adopted in order
to ensure free and open discussion. If the veteran “expert” judges spoke first, the other judges
might be reluctant to express disagreement with them. The result would be
“groupthink”—control of discussion by a small, powerful clique.
The Sanhedrin sought to avoid becoming insular. Outside experts were consulted.
Disciples who watched the proceedings were allowed to offer their opinions. If the Sanhedrin
reached a unanimous guilty verdict in capital cases, the defendant was acquitted! It was assumed
that absence of dissension meant that group conformity was operating and that the defendant did
not have a fair trial.
“Groupthink” is a highly dangerous phenomenon. It arrogates considerable authority into
the hands of a small inner circle, and essentially causes the public to conform to the views of this
power clique. This is the method employed by tyrannies. This is the method that enables small
elite groups to impose their views on a passive or frightened public. “Groupthink” is quite
evident in anti-Jewish and anti-Israel propaganda and in the “politically correct” movement.
Individuals stop thinking for themselves, stop demanding facts, stop evaluating the “truths” that
are imposed on them. If they resist the pressures of “groupthink,” they risk being branded as
social and intellectual outcasts. They risk being isolated and ostracized.
In this week’s Torah portion, we read that the courts are to pursue justice, tsedek tsedek
tirdof. Many commentators have understood this phrase to mean: You must pursue justice in a
just way. The search for truth must be conducted in an open and free environment, without
coercion or intimidation. People must feel free to offer their insights and opinions, and must not
succumb to “groupthink.” Discussion and dissension are to be encouraged, not stifled.
Manifestations of “groupthink” are ubiquitous in our society, and it requires considerable
astuteness and courage to resist its pressures. “Groupthink” is increasingly evident in religious
life, where small groups of clerics/intellectuals seek to impose their narrow views on the public.
They state what is “true” and expect the public to go along with their pronouncements. Those
who don’t follow the dictates of the power group are branded as heretics. The tyranny of
“groupthink” is rampant in religious fundamentalist circles of whatever religion. Small cliques of
“authorities” are granted incredible status, bordering on or including infallibility, and they
proclaim what is “true” and what is “heresy.” Discussion, debate, and dissent are ruled out. Woe
unto the person who does not conform in thought or behavior to the dictates of the “authorities.”
If “groupthink” is highly dangerous for society at large, it is perhaps even more
pernicious for religious life. It injects a spiritual poison into religion, gradually sapping religious
life of vitality, creativity, dynamism. Instead of fostering a spirit of discussion and free inquiry, it
demands a ruthless conformity. Instead of empowering religious people to think and analyze and
debate, it forces religious people to stop thinking independently, to refrain from analysis and
debate, and to suppress any ideas that do not conform to the framework of “groupthink.” It
insists on abject obedience to “authorities”—even when we don’t agree with them, even when

we don’t acknowledge them as our “authorities,” even when we are convinced that these
“authorities” are leading the public in an entirely incorrect direction.
If we are to be responsible individuals, we must resist the tyranny of “groupthink.” We
must insist on the freedom to think for ourselves, to evaluate ideas independently, to stand up
against coercion and intimidation. We must strive for a religious life that is alive and dynamic.

We must pursue truth and justice in a true and just way.

Pressures Faced by Posekim: A Personal Reflection 1
by Michael J. Broyde
 

When someone poses a halakhic question, the authority offering an answer or issuing a
decision—the posek, or decisor, and in plural, posekim or decisors—is faced with five important
considerations (or pressures, if you prefer) that can incline them to answer the question in
different ways. These considerations are as follows:
1. Is the Jewish law in this case clear or indeterminate? If indeterminate, what presses one to
pick this option over another?
2. How will the person who asks the question respond to the answer? Is this something that
the decisor needs to consider when resolving the issue at hand?
3. How will the community respond to the question and the answer? Is this a pressing
matter for the community, one in which an answer will likely bring a swift and vocal
communal response? Or, rather, is this of relative insignificance to the broader
community?
4. Are there reasons to answer publicly so that others will see both the question and the
answer?
5. Will people misunderstand the answer to permit something that the posek does not intend
to permit, or prohibit what was not intended to prohibit?
Each of these considerations generates complexities worth exploring—and I am sure there
are others that I am not considering here. My hope is that those who ask and answer questions of
Jewish law will be girded and guided by this short essay. May both those who ask and those who
answer remain virtuous and determined to stand for the authentic values one needs to stand for,
resisting the social tides that can dilute our observance.

The Starting Point: Is Applied Jewish Law Clear or Indeterminate?

The first question is very basic, but also the most important because it asks: “What really
is the halakha in this case?” There are two possible scenarios that the decisor might find
themselves in. First, in some matters of halakha, Jewish law accepts the possible propriety of
more than one answer. Thus, the job of the decisor in those cases is to decide not only what the
ideal halakhic answer is in that particular case, but also which answer best fits the needs of
person asking the question. This, of course, differs sharply from the second scenario, where only
one answer is consistent with Jewish Law—and there are many cases where this is true. But, this
essay focuses on cases where more than one answer is possible.

Importantly, halakha has deep doctrines of indeterminacy in ritual law. Broadly speaking,
Jewish law considers minority opinions that are not proven wrong as possibly correct. Thus, they
may be relied on in a time of need. In fact, even opinions of just one significant authority can be

relied on in cases of urgent need. 2 This principle impacts the role of the decisor as follows:
Sometimes one is asked a question regarding a matter for which one does not have a firm and
clear view of the halakha, nor can one find a single correct answer that is supported by both
custom and practice. I will give an example of such a case later in this article. Nevertheless, the
decisor is called upon to figure out which approach is the correct one for the matter at hand. 3
Based on my conversations with others, this question—how many disputes are still open and
how much discretion does an individual decisor have—is the single most important point of
disparity among authorities who answer questions of halakha. 4

Some claim that most legal disputes in Jewish law (maybe all, at least in theory) can be
resolved internally and textually by reference to certain talmudic logical rules that are universally
accepted within traditional Jewish jurisprudence. While this is not the case (this group of
decisors concedes) for secondary matters of ritual custom or theology, it is for matters of
functional Jewish law. Indeed, for this school of decisors, properly applied logic will resolve
almost all the disputes of previous generations. Furthermore, many decisors have a deep trust of
their own logic and comfortably consider disputes closed because they have thought about a
matter in detail and have determined what they consider to be the correct answer.

A second, separate school of thought reaches essentially the same outcome—nearly all
disputes can be conclusively resolved—but does so from a very different starting point. These
decisors posit that almost no dispute can actually be resolved by reference to first tier rules of
Jewish jurisprudence (unlike school one, above), since—at least among giants of Jewish law—it
is exceedingly rare that one view is demonstrably incorrect. Instead, they resolve disputes by
resorting to binding second tier rules which resolve disputes, rules such as “follow the current
majority” or “be strict on matters of biblical law.” Ashkenazim, for instance, follow Rabbi
Moshe Isserless (Rama), and Orthodox Jews in America accept the authority of Rabbi Moshe
Feinstein. All such rules are to be followed. Disputes are thus functionally closed by reference to
the customs around us.

A third school of thought argues that the two approaches outlined above are functionally
correct with respect to how people and communities ought to function on a regular basis. They
give power to custom (minhag) both in ritual, commercial, and family law matters, since in the
real world, law needs consistency of outcomes and certainty of results. These rules are thus
binding because they are followed and not the other way around. This is the way (argues this
school of thought) that Jewish legal theory has evolved over time, and it allows (if you will
excuse me for saying this) Jewish law to be considered a legal system rather than merely a
personal ethical system. Yet what this means practically is that if you live in a place with a well-
established ritual practice, that practice is the halakha for all intents and purposes, even as one
can agree in theory that it is no better than a different outcome and is no more correct in God’s
eyes.

The final school of thought rejects all of this, both as a matter of legal theory and also as
a matter of actual practice, at least in a time of need, certainly for personal questions that impact
no one else. 5 Instead they construct Jewish law as a spectrum of opinions from the ideal view to
keep to one that is minimally acceptable in time of urgent need. This school of thought proposes
three basic ideas. First, very few opinions are ever truly and completely rejected as definitively
wrong. 6 Second, in a time of need, any opinion can be relied on unless it is one of those opinions
that is distinctly considered wrong. Third, this matter is left to the judgment of individual Jewish
law authorities who may decide for themselves and their followers what the rules ought to be,
both as an ideal and in a time of need. There is no formal hierarchy at all. In this model, Jewish

law is much more open, and the customs mentioned in school three above are social and not
jurisprudential. 7

As I have noted elsewhere, 8 I am inclined to think that the dominant model of Jewish
ritual law follows the final school of thought because any halakhic authority who confronts a
real-world problem of ritual law has many more choices and options than we might give them
credit for at first glance.

Allow me to give you a simple illustrative example (which I will return to at the end of this
paper). How many days of Yom Tov should a tourist from the Diaspora observe when in Israel?
Is the answer one (as they do in Israel) or two (as they do in America)? This matter was the focal
point of a dispute between Rabbi Yosef Karo and Rabbi Tzvi Ashkenazi many centuries ago.
Rabbi Karo (d. 1575) adopts the view that a tourist in Israel keeps two days, as this is a matter of
personal practice, and argues that, so long as one is a resident of the Diaspora, wherever one
is—even in Israel—one keeps two days. Rabbi Ashkenazi (d. 1718) maintains the opposite, that
one who is in Israel only observes one day of Yom Tov. To him, this is not a personal custom, but
a geographical one—and everyone in Israel keeps one day only. Most classical Jewish law
authorities adopt the view of Rabbi Karo, and only a minority adopt the view of Rabbi
Ashkenazi. So, how do different decisors resolve this matter for their communities?

1. Some examine the talmudic and other sources and determine the correct answer on their
own, using the logical and textual tools of rabbinics.
2. Some argue that this matter is settled by the rulings of the previous generations, and one
should follow the majority view.
3. Some argue that this matter is in doubt, and one should follow the view of Rabbi Karo
and be strict for Rabbi Ashkenazi, and some reverse this and adopt the view of Rabbi
Ashkenazi while being strict for Rabbi Karo. Some treat this as a matter of full doubt and
are strict for both views.
4. Some rule that this matter is in doubt, and one should follow the custom of the
community they are in and the rabbi(s) who established those rules. 9

Of course, one should not be surprised to discover that some think it is best to follow Rabbi
Karo, but posit that, in a time of need, one can follow Rabbi Ashkenazi. 10

This example offers an important takeaway: Jewish law is a somewhat flexible legal
system vis-a-vis ritual matters. While there might be an ideal answer to a question, there are also
less-than-ideal answers that are also viable. Practitioners of Jewish law know this, and that is
why different communities of followers of halakha exist and one of the reasons decisors differ
from each other. Anyone who has learned any substantive area of halakha knows that cases of
urgent need are treated differently. The idea that in some ideal world all authorities of halakha
would answer all questions identically for all people misses exactly that one person’s
circumstances are not the same as another’s, and one community’s situation is not identical to
another’s.

What this means is that in the “real world” of answering questions from people—rather
than in writing a “Code of Jewish Law for all times and all places” like the Rambam’s Mishneh
Torah—one learns to listen closely to the person asking the question. Placing the question in
context and in a situation is important, and recognizing the range of options that are present is
crucial. On the other hand, there are questions that presuppose a value system that is outside the
pale of Torah Judaism—one that reflects a set of values that are rejected by the overwhelming

consensus of halakhic decisions of the centuries. Determining what is the range of viable
halakhic opinions helps one understand both what is in and what is outside the range of Torah
values.

The Next Step: Objectively Correct versus Subjectively Right

The next set of questions that a decisor always asks concerns a common set of problems
dealing with responses to the decisor’s decision. These questions are:
1. How will the person who asks the question respond to the answer? Is this another
consequence that needs to be considered?
2. How will the community respond to the question and the answer?
Another equally important question—one unstated (and virtually undiscussed) in the halakhic
literature—is, “What gives a decisor the right to consider people’s (and community’s) responses
to the decisor’s decisions—decisions based on the truth as the decisor sees it?”

I suspect that the ability of a decisor to ask these questions is also unique to halakha as a
legal system. 11 Sometimes, decisors decline to answer questions and affirmatively refer
questioners to someone who will provide them with the lenient answer that the questioner needed
but that the original answerer was unwilling to provide. This "punting" is a way that a posek
deals with pressure of "I need this answer" from a questioner, even where the decisor thinks that
the answer they want is not the correct answer, but nevertheless recognizes the real need for the
questioner. The posek therefore sends the question to another authoritative decisor who is
prepared to rule as the questioner senses they need.

Consider, for example, the practice of the late great Jewish law authority, Rabbi Shlomo
Zalman Auerbach, with regard to a subset of questions relating to aborting fetuses with certain
types of defects. 12 He would refer such people to Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg [Tzitiz Eliezer] who
permitted those abortions, although Rabbi Auerbach himself thought that such abortions were
prohibited and perhaps even tantamount to murder. Nevertheless, he recognized that the
consequences of his answer would be difficult or bad for this individual person, and, since there
was a legitimate view found among recognized halakhic decisors, he would send such questions
to those recognized decisors.

His practice teaches a vital point about issuing decisions [pesak]: One decisor can (but need
not) send a person to a decisor who can provide a person with the answer they need. But what
right does one posek have to send the case to a different posek?

The justification is revealing about the role and practice of Jewish law decisors generally.
First and most importantly, it demonstrates that these authorities are meant to safeguard the
community; they consider the impact of their answers on the people around them. Second, it
demonstrates that the decisor is aware that there are clearly cases where not seeking the
objectively right answer is proper. Rather, the decisor may (and perhaps should) find the answer
that fits the needs of the questioner and their community as a valid expression of Jewish law. 13
There are at least six different approaches to “punting” that are worth noting, each of which
points to a different aspect of the decisor’s role. The first is derived from a talmudic story in
Hullin 99b:

When people would come before Rabbi Ami to ask about the halakha of a thigh that was
cooked with the sciatic nerve inside, he would send them before Rabbi Yitzḥak ben Ḥalov,
who would rule leniently about this issue and say that is was permitted, in the name of
Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi. Rabbi Ami himself did not hold accordingly, but he did not
wish to rule stringently for others. And the halakha is that sciatic nerves do not impart
flavor at all. (Translation from Sefaria.)

This story suggests the following guidance on “punting” (similar to what was discussed
above): One decisor many decline to answer a question and send it to another of equal status and
authority. This is permitted even when the first is sure that the second view is wrong. Now, why
Rabbi Ami did this, and how he was justified in doing so, are good questions and not explained
by the Talmud. Rashi implies that Rabbi Ami was justified in punting simply because the
questioner was expecting a more liberal view. In other words, according to Rashi, decisors can
generally punt matters where they do not want to impose their stricter standards on those seeking
more liberal answers.

A second approach to punting can be construed as an example of “soft pluralism.” In other
words, Jewish law recognizes many questions has three (or more) answers: the right one, the
wrong one, and the one (or ones) that one can accept in a time of need. The Talmud sometimes
even acknowledges that in times of urgent need, one can accept any view as legitimate so long as
it is plausible. 14 Halakhic authorities frequently concede that views other than their own (even as
they think their view is most correct) are plausible, and in a time of need, these other views can
be accepted as correct. In this model, halakhic authorities decide what views besides their own
are subjectively right even if they are not objectively correct. 15

There is a corollary to this notion. A decisor may consider another’s subjectively right
decision as completely wrong, and yet still be comfortable in allowing the questioner to rely on
that decision because it is based on the holdings of a scholar or rabbi who himself is reliable (bar
samcha). I would go even further and say that although this second view is incomprehensibly
wrong to the first decisor, he may direct people to that second view simply because the one who
is articulating it is a respected authority of Jewish law. 16

A third way of conceptualizing punting, and of understanding the talmudic source above, is
to maintain that the only time an authority may refer a questioner to another authority is when
the first truly believes the second authority’s view of Jewish law is correct. This issue, rather, is
merely that his own view is stricter than the minimal legal standard. That is a possible reading of
the above passage, particularly if one understands that the normative Jewish law codified in the
last line of the page rejects the view of Rabbi Ami. 17

A fourth view—taken from the talmudic recounting in Hullin 48a—seems to be that that one
can “punt” a questioner to another decisor only when he is uncertain as to what the correct legal
ruling ought to be. That Talmudic source states:

The Gemara relates that Rabbi Yitzḥak bar Yosef was walking after Rabbi Yirmeya in
the butchers’ market. He saw these lungs that were full of cysts, and he wished to
determine the halakha with regard to them. He said to Rabbi Yirmeya: Doesn’t the Master
desire a piece of meat? If so, meat from those animals is for sale. Rabbi Yirmeya, not
wanting to issue a ruling with regard to the meat, said to him: I have no money. Rabbi
Yitzḥak bar Yosef said to him: I will buy them for you on credit. Rabbi Yirmeya realized
that he could not avoid issuing a ruling, so he said to him: What can I do for you? As

when people came before Rabbi Yoḥanan with such lungs, he would send them before
Rabbi Yehuda, son of Rabbi Shimon, who would instruct them in such cases in the name
of Rabbi Elazar, son of Rabbi Shimon, to permit the meat for consumption. But Rabbi
Yoḥanan himself does not hold accordingly and does not permit the meat. I practice
stringency in accordance with his opinion. (Translation from Sefaria.)
The narrative here seems to limit referrals to cases of uncertainty. 18

A fifth view involves hierarchical authority. The work Vealayhu Lo Yuval, which is about
questions asked to the great Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, recounts the following incident: 19
Sending the Questioner to the Chief Rabbis: Rabbi Ephraim Greenfeld told me that a
relative of his suffered a brain hemorrhage. The doctors were certain that he had no
chance of survival and asked the family’s permission to donate his organs to other
patients. Rabbi Ephraim spoke with his relatives and knew that whatever ruling the Rabbi
[Shlomo Zalman Auerbach] would give on this matter would be accepted by them, so he
approached with a religious doctor from the hospital during the late-night hours to ask
Rabbi Auerbach what to do. Rabbi Auerbach told them: In my opinion, it is forbidden to
take organs from him to save other patients, but I am aware that the Chief Rabbis of
Israel [Rabbi Avraham Elkana Kahana Shapira and the Rishon LeZion Rabbi Mordechai
Eliyahu] permit in such a situation to take organs to save other patients—you should go
and ask them!

It is possible to read this story as permitting only referrals to the “chief rabbis” or maybe only to
decisors viewed by oneself as superior, and even so only on communal questions. 20
A final view on punting, this anecdote notwithstanding, a close read of the article “Mah
Enosh: Reflections on the Relation between Judaism and Humanism” by Rabbi Aharon
Lichtenstein inclines one to think that maybe this phenomenon is simply another example of
Jewish law’s desire to accommodate the humanity of people, without a deep specific unique
jurisprudential basis. In other words, “punting” reflects the desire of Jewish law to allow people
to function in a time of need, with a variety of tools, not each of which is fully individually
jurisprudentially based, but more reflective of human necessity and the desire of halakha to
function than any other idea. 21

Whatever the reason is, there is no doubt that sometimes decisors refer questions to other
authorities, and that this is part of the job. It is consistent with how authorities of Jewish law help
people find the right answer for a person without personally saying things that the decisor thinks
are mistaken. In this process, the decisor considers how the questioner would respond to their
answer, as well as how the community will understand and respond. 22

A Final Consideration and a Caveat: Will the Decision Be Properly Understood?

There are two final, but no less important, factors that a decisor must consider before offering
their legal decision:
1. Are there reasons to answer this question publicly to bring this discussion to broader
attention?

2. Will people misunderstand the answer to permit something that the decisor does not
intend to permit, or else prohibit something that the decisor does not intend to prohibit?
Both questions are more sociological than legal. Consider, for instance, the following
illustrative example: Over the last decade, decisors have seen increasingly more questions on
what role a person who is in a same-sex relationship (SSR) can play in an Orthodox community.
At some point, these questions need to be addressed not on an ad-hoc basis, but in a more
systemic way. This is true for three reasons. First, reasoned written material allows people to
understand the logic of the decision-maker and thereby the Jewish legal process. Second, written
material creates communal and general expectations so that people are not put in a situation in
which they are unaware of what is expected of them as a matter of Jewish law (whether they
follow the law or not) and thereby made to be unexpectedly embarrassed. Third, written
discussion allows many authorities to see what others are doing and modify their public (and
private) expectations considering the norms of other communities.

Yet, in writing decisions down, there is always the concern of misunderstanding. Every
authority worries that rulings will be misunderstood beyond their proper parameters and will be
taken to permit something that the writer did not intend to permit or to prohibit something that
they did not intend to prohibit. This fear of misunderstanding—or sometimes understanding all
too well what is on the authority’s mind, but what they are (in fact) unwilling to permit—is
critically important in understanding when one chooses to write an answer (teshuva) or an
article, or, why a decisor might issue a resolution with no firm reason that clearly addresses the
situation, thus leaving the explanation of “why” somewhat unresolved. A desire to contain, or
better still, avoid misunderstandings will often dictate much of what one writes and in what
language one writes and even in what style one chooses to speak. Writing about SSRs is an
excellent example of that. Sometimes one wants to convey a complex idea, namely, that while
this conduct is a violation of Jewish law, one does not want to see these violators treated any
differently than any other violators of comparable matters of Jewish law. 23

Let me add an important caveat: We are discussing in this article the pressures on the
decisor who is answering question, and not on the questioner, a topic certainly worthy of another
article. Jewish law has a clear rule prohibiting a petitioner from asking the same question to more
than one authority; once a person directly asks a question to an authority and the question is
answered, the questioner is bound by the answer. The authority can punt, but the questioner
cannot. The ability to choose which opinion is the correct one is left to the person who answers
the question and not to the person who asks it. The questioner has one—and only
one—enormous decision: to whom should they ask the question. Indeed, to a great extent, this is
the most fundamental question all Jews have—one that shapes the Jewish law as they actually
practice it: What community should they join, and to whom should they direct questions of
Jewish law and ethics? 24

Six Examples that Highlight the Complexities Faced by Authorities

Let us move away from the abstract toward six concrete examples that provide insight into
the complexities decisors regularly face. 25
1. End of Shabbat

The first example deals with an oft-asked question: When is the earliest time one can end
Shabbat? I was recently asked by a congregational rabbi, on behalf of a congregant in a dire
financial-legal situation, when was the earliest time they could sign a document on a Saturday
night to avoid a significant financial problem. Sunset in New York City is at 4:28 pm on
December 9, and, for reasons that are beyond the scope of this paragraph, the congregant needed
to personally sign a document in front of a judge before 5:00 pm on Saturday. The person
worshipped in a Chabad synagogue, which ends Shabbat at 5:15, 45 minutes after sunset. Jewish
law here is far from clear, with opinions permitting Shabbat violations 13.5 minutes (relative) a
mil after sunset, as early as 4:46 pm (Gra), and some being even more strict, arguing that Shabbat
ends at 5:57 (Rabbenu Tam). 26 Yet, it is also clear that the normative custom in America does not
follow either the minimalist understanding of the Gra, or the maximalist understand of Rabbenu
Tam. Nearly all synagogues end Shabbat no earlier than 35 minutes after sunset and no later than
50 or 72 minutes after sunset. Chabad synagogues uniformly ended Shabbat 45 minutes after
sunset, as is their custom. 27 This person needed to be in a judge’s chambers to sign no later than
32 minute before sunset and also needed some time to prepare to do so. Given the indeterminacy
of the law, the fact that most American communities adopt the view of the Gra, treating
additional waiting as fulfilling the special mitzvah of adding additional time for Shabbat, and
that this question could be answered without setting any general policy, I told the rabbi to tell his
congregant that he could walk to the location in question with his identification in hand (in a
place where there was an eruv) and sign the form any time after 4:51 pm. 28

2. SSM Kohen Performing the Priestly Blessing

Over the past few years, I have been occasionally asked about whether a man who is in a same-
sex marriage (SSM) and is a kohen can engage in the priestly blessing (duchen). Although at first
glance one might intuit that this is prohibited, actually the law is reasonable clear
that—anomalously and unusually for sexual sins by kohanim—same-sex relations are not the
type of sexual sin that prevent a kohen from blessing the people. This is in accordance with the
Mishnah Berurah, Arukh haShulhan, Kaf haHaim, and Yalkut Yosef, and is unlike many other
serious sexual sins. The exact reason for this is set out in the note below. 29 Yet, as Rabbi Feinstein
notes in his answer on whether a kohen who violates Shabbat can engage in the priestly blessing
(where there is some basis, although far from controlling, to prohibit such), there is an argument
that a synagogue rabbi can ask kohanim to leave the sanctuary and not engage in the blessing to
protect other values. 30 For a long time, I answered similarly. However, after engaging different
questions over time, I set out a few months ago to lay out my views in an article, so that (1)
leniently permitting a kohen in a SSM to engage in the priestly blessing should not be
misunderstood as lenient in other areas related to SSRs or other sexual sins by kohanim; (2) these
types of questions are relatively recent and community-wide guidance is needed; and (3) I
thought it was good to combat the sense that halakha was always unduly strict in this area which
was preventing people from doing a mitzvah.

3. Second Day Yom Tov in Israel

A regular question asked of almost all American rabbis—including me—involves what to do as a
tourist in Israel during a holy day. Should one observe one day of the holy day, two days, or
some combination? Many views abound. I personally try very hard to follow the view of Rabbi
Aharon Lichtenstein and observe the second day as a stricture (lehumra); I do not observe the
second day of Yom Tov prayer and ritual when in Israel, though I abstain from work in general

and from what would be biblically prohibited work on the first day. 31 Even my own family thinks
my view is difficult to implement and hard to understand. Yet, after due consideration, it is my
view that correctly balances the views of the Rabbis Karo and Ashkenazi. Nonetheless, when
people who are not uniquely my students ask me this question, I tend to send them to one of my
many friends who are Chabad rabbis—some of whom even were my students—who tell them to
observe only one day, since that is the common custom in fact in our community. I recognize that
what I think the best legal decision might be is viewed by many as burdensome, complex, and
intellectually indeterminant. Sometimes, one does not have to share one’s view, and one can send
people to decisors that provide them with answers that resonate with their expectations and allow
them to function.

4. Error in the Creation of Marriage

Many years ago, I wrote an article on the rare situation in which a woman can leave her marriage
without a divorce (and yet where her husband is still alive) entitled “Error in the Creation of
Jewish Marriages: Under what Circumstances Can Error in the Creation of a Marriage Void the
Marriage without Requiring a Get according to halakha.” 32 The piece explains Rabbi Moshe
Feinstein’s views on this matter. For many years, I was privileged to have assisted Rabbi Gedalia
Dov Schwartz zt”l on some matters in which a woman was permitted to remarry without a
religious divorce decree (get) based on an error in the creation of the marriage, and I have been
involved in other such matters since his passing. Such cases are rare and complex, and one easily
worries that they will be subject to abuse by some in our community who are sincerely seeking
to solve very sad agunah cases (cases where one spouse has left but the other cannot remarry
with a religious divorce), yet lack the firm legal foundation to validly argue for a marriage to be
void in its creation. 33 In addition, determinations of this type are very public and are subject to
review by many great authorities. While my view is that cases like these are worthy of ending
without a religious divorce decree, others do not agree, and the child that results might be labeled
a mamzer—born of a forbidden union—by their community. Based on all these factors, I only
issue decision letters when they are endorsed by great Jewish law authorities, and I abstain from
merely voicing my personal opinions unsupported by a leading scholar. I do work exceedingly
hard to find giants of Jewish law to agree in cases as needed. In some areas of legal decision-
making, consensus is needed, and idiosyncratic views are unwise for a community.

5. Tripartite Prenuptial Agreement

The same can be said for the tripartite prenuptial agreement I authored many years ago. Solutions
to the agunah problems abound. However, we all recognize that “solutions” that are not accepted
by the Orthodox community are functionally ineffective, since the woman will think she is free
of her Jewish marriage, but the community will not. This is a bad place to be in; thinking oneself
as single and yet being married is unwise, and so too is thinking of oneself as single when most
Jewish law authorities deny it. Even if some rabbis think an individual is single, it might be just
as bad a status. Thus, in terms of my decision-making, I am swayed by the force of the question,
“How will the person asking the question respond to the answer? Is there another consequence
that one must consider?” This drives me to conclude that until a critical mass of significant legal
authorities endorses this tripartite prenuptial agreement, it ought to remain something I think is
correct, but not something I instruct people to use. Even so, I am aware of the fact that many,
many couples in Israel and America actually are using this document, 34 and that it has many
advantages in cases of spousal death (especially halitza procedures), men in a permanent

vegetative state, 35 and in terms of its independence from secular law. So, I share the document
with the community, uncertain of the legal consequences and without instructing people to use it
or not.

6. Hair Covering

Our final example is, at some level, the one that is most complex. Many years ago, I wrote an
article in Tradition explaining the legal basis for married women to not cover their hair, and it
provided what I considered then (and my sense that this is correct has only increased) an
excellent justification for conduct, without endorsing it as a legal determination (limud zekhut). 36
My abstract view is that Jewish law here is indeterminate—there are numerous pre-modern
decisors who rule that in a society where modest women do not cover their hair, Jewish law does
not require it—and thus a person who comes from a family where married women do not cover
their hair need not start. I am also aware that none of the great legal decisors with whom I
regularly consult actually agrees with my view, and the same is true for nearly all authorities of
the last century. Furthermore, many women view this matter as a critical one; some do not want
to be part of a community in which women think they need to cover their hair, and others have
the exact opposite view. Furthermore, I worry that people will understand any permissive ruling
with regard to hair to apply to many other situations of modesty, a uniquely problematic issue in
an immodest society. Based on these factors, I wrote the article only as a thought exercise.
Nevertheless, I regularly get asked questions from women about hair covering. I have
three basic approaches to these questions. First, I try my hardest to avoid directly answering
them. I say things like, “In the article I explain the basis for not covering,” or “Read the article,”
or “The Ben Ish Hai permits women not to cover their hair when modest women generally do
not,” or “There certainly are Jewish law authorities who think married women need not cover
their hair when modest women do not,” and other such comments that do not directly speak in
my own name. Second, I appreciate the public complexity associated with these
questions—being liberal on issues of modesty in immodest times is hard. Third, I do not answer
these questions in writing having already written once.

But, truth be told, sometimes rules are meant to be broken—I was recently called by a
great Jewish law authority in Brooklyn who told me “Mrs. X will be calling you shortly to speak
with you about hair covering, and you should tell her that she does not have to cover her hair.”
So, I asked this great Jewish law authority, “If that is the right answer to this question, why don’t
you tell, after all, you are a Torah giant!” He responded, “I am Rabbi Ami and you are Rabbi
Yitzḥak ben Ḥalov in this question.” [See Hullin 99b, cited above at page 13 .] So, I did as I was
told and directed this woman that she need not continue to cover her hair.

Conclusions

The process of answering Jewish legal questions starts with knowing the answer, but it
does not end there. It moves from there to knowing what other answers are possible and who
provides those other answers. It then moves on to formulating answers in a way that works for
the community that one is serving, including sending questions to others. Nuance, complexity,
and sensitivity to the community are part of the tools used by those who answer questions of
Jewish law.

1 Thank you to Rabbi Hayyim Angel, editor of Conversations, for inviting me to prepare this article. His posing of
the thoughtful question to me of “I thought it would be a very valuable contribution for you to reflect on what it is
like to be a posek [one who answers questions of Jewish Law], the pressures you face to conform, other communal
issues that you think the public should be aware of, etc. Given your expertise and integrity to stand up for your own
principles, I think it would be a very worthwhile perspective to bring to the public” framed this article. I attempt to
answer the questions he poses, aware of my limitations. Thank you as well to Rabbi Reuven Travis for his editorial
help.
In this article, I do not discuss the pressures—actually very different—as a dayan in commercial matters where one
is adjudicating between two parties or pressures faced by dayanim generally in many matters. The pressures in those
situations are different, and much more governed by technical halakha, as found in Shulhan Arukh Hoshen Mishpat
9, 10, 12 25 and other places.
2 See, for example, Encyclopedia Talmudit, Hefsed Merubeh 10:36 around notes 44–50.
3 I am aware of Rav Aharon Lichtenstein’s insightful presentation of the difference between a rule [pesak] and a
ruling [pseika], as explained in “The Human and Social Factor in Halakha” (Tradition 36:1 1–25 (2002). If Rav
Aharon (truly one of the greatest minds our community has ever produced) is arguing that pesak [in the sense of
writing a rule] is the idealized form of Jewish law, and pseika is the practical application of these idealized rules to
the reality that we live in, then I think almost all halakhic authorities are engaging in pseika when they answer
questions, and this distinction is not valuable, even as it is true. On the other hand, if Rav Aharon means that halakha
in less-than-ideal situations is pseika and halakha in a perfect word is pesak, then I think this distinction is over-
stated in the real world. Even the real world of talmudic, medieval, and early pre-modern authorities, these sages
considered the hard and complex nature of reality in which they lived when they wrote rules. Therefore, all is just
pseika, other than just a few works of idealized Jewish law, like the Mishneh Torah. For example, is instructing
someone to use a heter iska [pro-forma document than permits charging interest] an act of pesak or pseika? Is
instructing a woman that birth control is proper in any particular situation pesak or pseika? Is permitting carrying a
gun on Shabbat pesak or pseika? Sadly enough, we live in a less than ideal world—where it does not rain gold coins,
raising children is complex, and antisemitism abounds—so many challenges are present. Let me add that there is
palpable tension between the above article and another article of Rav Aharon on halakhic process entitled “Mah
Enosh,” to be discussed later.
4 To be clear, there are times when one might have a clear view of the halakha or can answer the question based on
both custom and practice but declines to do so. Later in this article, I will discuss “punting”—the Jewish law
phenomenon in which a halakhic authority is certain what the answer is, and yet will decline to answer the question
because it provides the questioner an answer that they do not want in a case that is important to them. Needless to
say, this phenomenon requires that there be an authentic posek who is comfortable providing the answer the party is
seeking.
5 This is in contrast to question where even though this is actually a personal ritual matter as a matter of fact, it is a
communal matter since the community actually adjudicates by its conduct whether the result is accepted. For
example, whether a woman needs a Jewish divorce or not is a personal ritual question only she may ask about
herself—but a determination by a rabbi that she does not is, in fact, second guessed by anyone who she wishes to
marry.
6 When I say “wrong” in this context, I mean that the view cannot be relied on in any circumstances, even though of
course the view is well within the umbrella of Torah, and one fulfills the mitzvah of Torah study by studying them.
The views of Beit Shammai in the Mishnah are one such as example, as the talmudic rabbis themselves note.
7 The contrast between Jewish law and American law here is complete: Minority opinions in American law are just
for study, but are of no legal value at all, whereas in Jewish law, most minority opinions are validly used in
situations of need.
8 I do not discuss this issue here at great length, but I have a few books that do discuss this issue in various forms.
See Setting the Table: An Introduction to the Jurisprudence of Rabbi Yechiel Mikhel Epstein’s Arukh haShulhan,
Academic Studies Press (2021) (co-author: Shlomo Pill) and The Codification of Jewish Law and an Introduction to
the Jurisprudence of the Mishna Berura, Brighton, Mass.: Academic Studies Press (2013). (co-author: Ira Bedzow)
and Innovation in Jewish Law: A Case Study of Chiddush in Havineinu Jerusalem, Urim Publications (2010). The
reality of legal indeterminacy helps explain why works of Jewish Jurisprudence are of less common in Jewish law,
since if legal indeterminacy governs, jurisprudence is less significant.
9 See Rabbi Joseph Karo, Avkot Rochel 26 and Rabbi Tzvi Ashkenazi, Chachmat Tzvi 167. For more on this, see the
excellent discussion by my friend and former co-author Rabbi Howard Jachter, in Gray Matter I at 217–224 at
https://www.sefaria.org.il/Gray_Matter_I%2C_Laws_of_Holidays%2C_The_Second_Day_of_Yom_Tov_for_Visito

rs_to_Israel.10?lang=he and Rabbi Dr. David Horowitz, “Visitors in Israel and Yom Tov Sheni,” JHCS 6:79–92
(1983) at https://www.yutorah.org/lectures/735671/ . Of course, within the views that compromise between the two
views there is much nuance on issues.
10 See for example Rabbi Hershel Schachter, “Regarding the Second Day Yom Tov for Visitors in Eretz Yisroel” on
Torahweb.org.
11 American law and the common law from which it descends certainly does not allow this question to be asked. See
Code of Conduct for United States Judges, Canon 3.
12 See for example “Abortion in halakha” https://www.yutorah.org/lectures/lecture.cfm/1021843/rabbi-hershel-
schachter/abortion-in- halakha/ at minute 22:30 to 23:10 for Rabbi Hershel Schachter recounting such. If you listen
closely, you see that Rabbi Auerbach recognized that the consequences of his answer for this person was bad for this
person, and since there was a different legitimate view found among recognized posekim, he would send such
questions to that recognized halakhic authority. I was told that Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein also had this approach to
abortion as I note in “What Does Jewish Law Think American Abortion Law Ought to Be?” at note 16. I was told that it
was the practice of the Lubavitcher Rebbe with regard to some questions related to Jewish law and adoption to
instruct people to ask Rabbi Soloveitchik; See R. Tzvi Schachter, Penina HaRav page 268 which notes one such
story.
13 It is clear that there are some halakhic authorities who did not think this correct. For example, the great Rabbi
Moshe Feinstein in Iggrot Moshe OC 5:20:16 prohibits declining to answer questions when both the facts and the
law are clear to the person who is being asked. He states, “But, when one is asked on a clearly defined set of facts
what he thinks the Jewish law is, it is obvious that he must respond as is proper for this person and it is prohibited to
decline to answer and send them to other experts …”. Furthermore, this idea is found rather directly and
unmistakably in the penultimate paragraph of his introduction to volume 1 of the same work as well. There are two
possible ways to explain Rav Moshe: One is that if he felt that if a leniency was needed, he would find it and give it
himself, and the second that a Jewish law authority when asked is called upon to answer and not punt even if this
authority is stricter than others. Furthermore, it seems clear that Rabbi Feinstein felt this was the rule even if others
around one was more eminent authorities. See Iggrot Moshe YD 1:101. Let me add as support to this view, and
maybe as an explanation of what this dispute is about, that the core question might be whether the formulation found
in Shulhan Arukh YD 242:14, which notes that “Any scholar who is eligible to rule and does not rule, is depriving
people of Torah and putting a stumbling block in front of the masses” is rule of law, or a rule of reason, or simply
ethical advice, or limited to the situations where the scholar solves the problem. Rabbi Feinstein understands this as
a rule of law, and others as a practical application to help people.
14 In the words of the Talmud “It is proper to accept the rule of Rabbi X in a time of need.”
15 See, for example, Ktav Sofer YD 77, who in parts of the teshuva formulates the rule this way.
16 In the above Ktav Sofer, other parts of the same teshuva can be read this way.
17 This seems to be the view of Rama. See YD 228:21 in the name of some say and Rama OC 472:7 and Responsa of
Rashba 3:304 and others. This is part of the discussion of why—in cases of urgent economic need—we are lenient
in ritual matters. See also Pri Megadim, Formulation of the Question (first order).
18 That seems to be the view supported by the above Iggrot Moshe in OC 5:20:16, which denies the right to send a
question to another who will provide a different answer when the initial person asked is sure of the answer.
19 See Nachum Stepansky, Ve’alayhu Lo Yuval: The Insights and Practices of Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, YD
58 at page 91. A thoughtful reader of this article suggested that in cases in which the person will do the sin anyway,
it is better to find them some authority who will permit this action, since it is better pastorally that a person not view
themselves as a sinner, and this is a rationale for punting, as well.
20 The next story (59) in this work involves a similar referral, but on a communal matter to the Chief Rabbi. It seems
to this writer unlikely that Rabbi Auerbach viewed himself as intellectually subordinate to either of the Chief Rabbis
mentioned although one never knows for certain. At some level, the question posed is whether this is a punt or a
lateral, or a forward pass, to continue the football metaphor.
21 See Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein “Mah Enosh: Reflections on the Relation between Judaism and Humanism” The
Torah Umaddah Journal 14:1–61 (2006/7) also at https://www.etzion.org.il/sites/default/files/2021-01/RAL-
Mah%20Enosh-%20Judaism%20and%20Humanism.pdf particularly in section VI, from pages 29 to 42 as well as
crucial paragraphs on the bottom of page 43 and the top of page 44.

By contrast, the principle to be explored presently—that normative standards may be compromised in
straitened circumstances—does concern the clash of human and halakhic factors. It suggests that, within
limits, extraneous factors may validly intrude upon halakhic judgments; that, for the posek or his
respondent, non-normative considerations may properly enter into normative decision. Clearly,
however—as regards the respondent, certainly—the consideration of such factors must be, at best, a matter
of license. If one may, as a concession to his condition, take certain liberties, these can hardly be elevated
into duties. And even if one argues correctly that it is the halakha itself, which has sanctioned these
liberties—so that they be rightfully regarded as grounded in principle rather than convenience—it has
sanctioned them only as such, as an option of which one may avail himself rather than as an imperative
duty. Hence, the humanistic moment implicit in such permissiveness must be regarded as more significant
than that reflected in pikuach. nefesh or kevod haBeriyyot. Whereas they constitute particular halakhic
concepts relevant to specific areas of halakha, this principle represents a broad flexibility within the
halakhic process generally; and whereas they remain genuinely internal elements, it can, in a very real
sense, be construed as an extraneous factor.
Translating this into the idea of one posek looking for another posek who permits this conduct is not so hard.
22 Not explicitly addressed here, and certainly worthy of more analysis is when should a posek decide to provide a
simple verbal answer, a simple written answer or write a clear explanation. There is no doubt that the same factors
that are considered when deciding to send the question to another are at play in these decisions as well. Of course,
the temperament of the posek is also important, with some extremely hesitant to write, and other more comfortable.
23 See the examples section for more.
24 Forum shopping, prior to asking a question, is abstractly permitted; indeed, many people make very important
religious choices by examining diverse religious communities, considering their views on important matter, and
deciding to join one of them, and then asking the rabbi or rabbis of that community their questions, tempered by the
important idea found in Eruvin 6b that a person who forum shops for both the leniencies of the Shammai school and
the leniencies of the Hillel School is called evil. Of course, people can switch communities when they decide that
such is proper and change who they ask questions to. What they cannot do, however, is ask a question to a rabbi, be
given an answer, decide that this answer does not fit what they want and ask another rabbi the same question, hoping
for a better answer. This article does not explain the unique role and responsibility of a posek who is the rebbe
muvhak—a teacher who one has personally committed to following lockstep—since I think such relationships are
exceedingly rare among readers of this journal, even if it is more common, perhaps, among Belzer Chassidim. For
more on these issues, see Shulhan Arukh YD 242 and the elaborate discussion there among the commentators there
as well as the comments of Shach on SA CM 25:5.
25 I have slightly changed the facts of each of the cases relevant to preserve the anonymity of the questioners. The
details of the questioners hardly matters for the examples.
26 See https://www.myzmanim.com/day.aspx?vars=68949485/12-9-2023/elab///////////////3b6def for a recitation of the
various possible halakhic times. For an excellent new book on the various view, see Rabbi Ahron Notis, The Great
Z’manim Debate (2022). It is worth noting that the above link gives 11 different answers to when Shabbat ends,
from 4:45 to 5:56 and notes on the top of the page that Shabbat ends at 5:14 and others wait until 5:41.
27 See https://www.chabad.org/calendar/candlelighting_cdo/aid/6226/locationid/370/locationtype/1/save/1/tdate/12-
09-2023/jewish/Shabbat-Candle-Lighting-Times.htm which notes that on December 9, 2023, shabbat ends at 5:13,
45 minutes after sunset in New York.
28 Let me contrast this approach with one that I think is rejected by modern posekim nearly universally. Ra'avya
(cited by the Ohr Zarua, Shabbat 76) limiting the torah prohibition of writing to Hebrew and Greek [neither the
language of use in this case]. Although Rama cites this view in SA OC 306:11 as thus only prohibiting writing in the
vernacular rabbinically, there is a distinct sense among the posekim (as noted by Mishna Berurah 306:47 and Arukh
haShulhan OC 306:21) that this view of the Rama is either wrong or a typo and not to be followed as the view of the
Ra’avya is incorrect or alone. If that view were correct, one could have addressed this issue—which would then be a
rabbinic prohibition—in many other different ways. Indeed, I have no doubt that if the Ra’avya were alive today and
still held to his view, it is possible that I would have sent this questioner to the Ra’avya to have him answer this
question. But, in the current generation, I am unaware of any halakhic authority who thinks the Ra’avya is correct.
29 A prepublication version of the article can be found at
https://www.broydeblog.net/uploads/8/0/4/0/80408218/allowing_a_kohein_in_a_same_sex_marriage_to_duchen_fo
r_publication_review_with_ai_appendix_includeded_near_final_for_sharing.pdf and in essence this article
highlights that a kohen in a SSR or SSM is not in a prohibited relationship with anyone uniquely prohibited to marry

a kohen which is the central test for whether a kohen should be prohibited from the priestly blessing (duchaning).
Please read the article if you wish.
30 See Iggrot Moshe OC 1:33 and this discussion in the above article on pages 13–14.
31 See above for more information. For more background see Rabbi David Brofsky, Yom Tov Sheni. who notes "This
position has been adopted by numerous Posekim, although they differ as to the extent to which one should observe
Yom Tov Sheni. While some suggest that one should merely refrain from melakhot [work], others recommend that
one should fulfill the positive commandments, such as the mitzvot of the second seder, hearing the berakhot
[blessings] from another person. R. Soloveitchik and R. Aharon Lichtenstein also rule that one visiting Eretz Yisrael,
including students who come to study but intend to return, should refrain from performing melakhot [work] on the
second day of Yom Tov."
32 https://www.jlaw.com/Articles/KidusheiTaut.html
33 See for example, https://www.torahmusings.com/wp-content/uploads/2005/08/4_2_Broyde.pdf
34 See https://jewishprenup.org/ and see "Tripartite Agreement is Jewish Law" Techumin 37:228–240 (2017). For an
excellent criticism of this agreement, see the thoughtful recording by Rabbi Yona Reiss at
https://www.yutorah.org/sidebar/lecturedata/867961/Response-to-Tripartite-Solution-for-Agunos and his article in
Techumin 37:240-247 (2017) entitled “Veim Shlosh Ayla Lo Ye’aseh La.” For a more sympathetic review, see
Rabbi Mordechai Torczyner, “The Tripartite Agreement: A Prenup Like No Other” at
https://www.yutorah.org/sidebar/lecturedata/918245/The-Tripartite-Agreement:-A-Prenup-Like-No-Other.
35 See my article “Plonit v. Ploni: The Get from the Man in a Permanent Vegetative State,” Hakirah: The Flatbush
Journal of Jewish Law and Thought 18 (2014), 59–90.
36 See Hair Covering and Jewish Law: Biblical and Objective (Dat Moshe) or Rabbinic and Subjective (Dat
Yehudit)? Published in: Tradition: A Journal of Jewish Thought 42:3 (Fall 2009), 95–179.

Thanks very much for your support of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. As we are approaching Rabbi Marc Angel’s 80^th birthday IYH (July 25, 2025), our Institute is planning a special publication in commemoration of the occasion.

Rabbi Angel has been writing his weekly “Angel for Shabbat” column for many years. The 80^th birthday volume will be a collection of these thoughts on the Torah portions, holy days and festivals. Preparations on the book are underway with the goal of publishing it by summer 2025.

This is an opportunity to celebrate Rabbi Angel’s many years of service to our community and to strengthen the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals so it can continue its work in the years ahead. The Institute works for an intellectually vibrant, compassionate and inclusive Orthodox Judaism…much in the spirit of the classic Sephardic tradition. Thousands of people have gained wisdom, inspiration and guidance through the Institute’s work.

The 80^th birthday volume will include a Scroll of Honor listing contributors to this project. You may contribute by mailing your check to the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, 2 West 70^th Street, New York, NY 10023; or by making a contribution on our website jewishideas.org and then emailing [email protected] to let us know the donation is for this project. If you wish to contribute securities, please contact us at [email protected]   The due date for inclusion in the Scroll of Honor is September 1, 2024. Thanks for your support.

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Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Pinehas

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

As Moses’s life draws to a close, he asks the Almighty to appoint a successor who will lead the people into the Promised Land. God tells him to place his hand (singular) on Joshua’s head as a means of transferring authority to him in the presence of the people. But the Torah states (Bemidbar 27:23): “He laid his hands (plural) upon him.”

In his book, “An Adventure in Torah,” Rabbi Isaac Sassoon draws our attention to a midrash, quoted by Rashi: “Moses showed generosity; God had said lay one hand but he laid both.” Although it is generally forbidden to add or subtract from God’s commandments, Rabbi Sassoon notes that Moses “had no compunction allowing his generous impulse to broaden the one-hand command into a two-handed gesture” (p. 335).

What exactly is the difference between laying one or both hands on Joshua? In either case, the public understood that leadership was being transferred. Why does the midrash view Moses’s action as reflecting generosity?

The issue revolves around how we understand fulfilling our duties.

A person can meet an obligation in an accurate way but without necessarily feeling any special feeling about it. One does what one is supposed to do and no more is required. On the other hand, a person might fulfill an obligation not merely as a duty but as a meaningful gesture. If Moses had laid one hand on Joshua, that would have been fine. The deed would have been accomplished appropriately. But Moses went beyond duty; he demonstrated generosity of soul. He overflowed with a spirit of love and selflessness. 

People can go through life performing correctly but perfunctorily. They say “good morning” from habit and good manners, not because their heart prods them to reach out in friendship. They do their work honestly, day by day, but without any particular enthusiasm. They “lay one hand” on their labors, not “both hands.” Even in religious life, they perform the mitzvoth precisely but without “generosity of spirit.” They do what they have to do but no more.  They pay their dues, write their charitable checks simply as duties and not as expressions of real emotional commitment.

We show “generosity” when we go beyond what is merely expected of us, when we put heart into our deeds. 

And that is what Moses taught us when he laid both hands on Joshua. He truly wanted Joshua to succeed. He loved and respected his successor. He spontaneously went beyond what God had required of him. 

Our lives are enriched and enlivened when we live with generosity of spirit. This is a blessing…and a challenge.

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Korah

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Some years ago, I officiated at a wedding in a very upscale venue. Before the ceremony, I asked the wedding planner to check that the microphone was on. After being assured that everything was in good order, the wedding procession began.

It was a large wedding with many hundreds of guests. The bride and groom and their parents stood under the Huppa with me, and family members sat in the first few rows. I chanted the blessings, delivered an address to the bride and groom, and continued the ceremony until the breaking of the glass. Everything went very well.

Almost everything.

It turned out that the microphone wasn’t on after all. Thus, no one other than those under the Huppa and the first row or two of guests heard any of the blessings or my wedding speech. 

I was understandably annoyed. I had done my best to do a nice wedding but very few even heard my words. 

But then I had a flash of insight! This was a parable of a rabbi’s life!!. We work hard to find the right words, to convey the right message…but only those closest to us even hear us. Most don’t hear, don’t listen, and don’t really care. The “microphone” isn’t on, the words don’t reach them no matter how hard we try.

But then I realized that the problem doesn’t only face rabbis; it faces everyone who has a positive message to convey. It confronts all who speak for righteousness against evil; for truth against falsehood; for Israel against its enemies.  Those nearby hear the message but so many beyond our immediate audience don’t hear what we are saying.

It can be frustrating. It can cause one to lose heart. 

In pondering this dilemma, we can find room for optimism in this week’s Torah portion. Parashat Korah actually can be a depressing read: rebellion against Moses and Aaron; discontent among the masses of Israelites; deaths and plagues. Moses must have felt as though he was speaking without a “microphone.” Most of the people did not seem to hear his message and did not internalize his teachings. 

But remarkably, the Torah notes that the sons of Korah did not perish along with their father and his fellow rebels. Rabbinic tradition has it that the sons repented; they actually listened to Moses’ words and realized the truth of his message.

The Talmud teaches that the words of those who have fear of Heaven will ultimately be heard. Kohelet concludes: “In the end, when all is heard, fear the Lord…” This is interpreted to mean that even though one’s words are not “heard” now, they will be heard in the end…if not by this generation, then by future generations. Righteous words do not die. They take effect even if we don’t see results immediately.  Although Korah wickedly defied the words of Moses, Korah’s sons listened to Moses.

So this is the message: good words ultimately prevail even if so many people don’t hear them right now. Truth overcomes falsehood. Love overcomes hatred. Righteousness defeats evil.  We may not see immediate results, but we can hope that our words will eventually take root.

Sometimes (often!) we speak but the microphone isn’t on. Most people don’t hear our words. But we trust that ultimately the words will be transmitted into the back rows, little by little, until they take root in the hearts, minds and souls of the people.

Sof davar hakol nishma…In the end, the true message of love, peace and faith will be heard.

Angel for Shabbat: Matot/Masei

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Many years ago, my beloved teacher Rabbi Meyer Simcha Feldblum gave me advice based on a rabbinic teaching. That advice continues to be relevant.

The Talmud cites the opinion of Rabbi Nathan, who taught: when the priest ground the incense in the Temple, the one superintending would say: “grind it very fine, very fine grind it,” because the voice is good for preparing the spices. The question is: what does a voice have to do with grinding spices? The answer: when the priest is grinding the spices, he may not feel that he is making any progress. It seems like rote work that does not improve the spices. A voice of encouragement reminds the priest: you are making progress, your work is not in vain. Keep grinding, you will see positive results from your labors.

The lesson goes beyond the priest grinding spices. It relates to all of us. We work hard to advance our lives and our ideas and ideals; but it often can feel frustrating. No matter how hard we labor, it often seems that we are not making real progress. We can come to feel that our efforts are futile and unproductive. But then someone comes along and says: hazak uvarukh, you are doing something important, you have impacted positively on us. The voice is good! The words of encouragement re-energize us; we go back to our “grinding” work with a new feeling of purpose. Our work isn’t in vain after all.

Words of encouragement have a profound impact. When positive words are accompanied by supportive and loving actions, then we have ingredients for happiness and progress. Critics and fault-finders are readily available. But genuine friends and supporters are the ones who validate and enhance life.

Just as we need to hear voices of encouragement for our own strivings, we also need to be the voices of encouragement to those who are doing good and important work. Just as a nasty comment can undermine someone’s feeling of self-worth, so a positive comment can provide the encouragement a person needs to move ahead in a positive way.

This week's Torah reading brings us to the end of the book of Bemidbar. It is customary in many congregations for congregants to call out at the conclusion of the Parasha: Hazak ve-nit-hazak,  Be strong, and let us strengthen ourselves. As we’ve reached this milestone, may we merit to continue onward in our studies and in our lives. This communal custom is a way to demonstrate solidarity with others, to encourage all of us to be strong and determined to move forward.

Unfortunately, our world has no shortage of people—Jews as well as non-Jews—who cast aspersions on the Jewish People, on the Jewish Homeland, on Jewish ideas and ideals. To the nay-sayers, we reply proudly and confidently: hazak ve-nit-hazak, we are strong and we will strengthen each other. We will keep working faithfully and steadily for the values that we cherish. We will not be discouraged. We will be strong…and we will strengthen others. 

.

Bernice Angel Schotten: In Memoriam

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

As we mark the end of the "sheloshim" mourning period for my sister Bernice, here are some words in her memory.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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