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Thoughts for Yom Kippur

Thoughts for Yom Kippur

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

In his essay, “The Condition We Call Exile,” Joseph Brodsky—who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1987—makes a stark observation. “A free man, when he fails, blames nobody.” An essential feature of being a free human being is taking responsibility for one’s actions. Blaming others is a sign of moral and intellectual weakness; it is a sign of a slave mentality.

The Torah provides a candid roadmap guiding us to become responsible, free human beings. It starts with examples of failure!

Adam and Eve eat the forbidden fruit and God confronts them. Eve blames it on the snake. Adam blames it on Eve. Neither takes responsibility. Neither has the moral strength to say: I have failed, I made a mistake, I sinned. 

Cain murders Abel and God confronts him. Cain asks “am I my brother’s keeper?” He laments the punishment that God metes out, but he never says: I’m sorry, I did wrong.

The first example in the Torah of someone taking blame for improper behavior is Judah, when he admits that his daughter in law Tamar was righteous and he was in the wrong. (Bereishith 38:26) This sign of personal strength becomes a hallmark of Judah’s personality. It is not by accident that Jacob assigns the role of leadership to him. Judah is the lion of the family.

As the Torah unfolds, we find many examples of sins by individuals and by the people as a whole. In very few instances does anyone take responsibility. But the Torah provides a steady and clear roadmap to personal freedom: repentance.

The Torah calls on us to admit to our sins and faults. It provides a lengthy and detailed list of instructions about sin offerings that were to be brought in the sanctuary. It provides for a Day of Atonement, when we are called upon to confess sins, purify ourselves, admit faults…and resolve to do better in the future. It is precisely through repentance that we assert our freedom. We stand before God as responsible human beings, not blaming anyone else for our mistakes and misdeeds.

The Torah wants us to be free. It teaches us to shake off the tendency to blame others for our own shortcomings. Slaves and weaklings lack the personal courage to stand up on their own. They succumb to cults and ideologies that foster lies and conspiracy theories against others, whom they blame for all their problems.  In so doing, they demonstrate their own lack of good character, their lack of genuine freedom.

Yom Kippur is a gift that God has given to those who follow the Torah. But its message is a gift for all humanity. “A free man, when he fails, blames nobody.” Nobody, that is, except oneself. When one can be honest before God, one is on the road to personal freedom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From Generation to Generation: Thoughts for Parashat Ha'azinu

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Ha’azinu

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

“Remember the days of old, consider the years of many generations…” (Devarim 32:7)

 

Jewish tradition is passed on from one generation to the next. The mystery of Jewish survival is really no mystery: it is the result of incredible faith and commitment on the part of parents and grandparents; it is the result of the younger generations taking hold of the tradition with full hearts and minds.

The following text is drawn from my article on the teachings of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik. It sheds light on the ideas and ideals that have characterized our people for thousands of years.

 

Halakhic Jews feel inextricably bound to all Jews, even those who are unsympathetic to them and their beliefs. "Judaism has stressed the wholeness and the unity of Knesset Israel, the Jewish community. The latter is not a conglomerate. It is an autonomous entity, endowed with a life of its own .... However strange such a concept may appear to the empirical sociologist, it is not at all a strange experience for the halakhist and the mystic, to whom Knesset Israel is a living, loving and suffering mother" ("The Community," p. 9). In one of his teshuvah lectures, Rabbi Soloveitchik stated that "the Jew who believes in Knesset Israel is the Jew who lives as part of it wherever it is and is willing to give his life for it, feels its pain, rejoices with it, fights in its wars, groans at its defeats and celebrates its victories" (Al ha-Teshuvah, p. 98). By binding oneself to the Torah, which embodies the spirit and destiny of Israel, the believer in Knesset Israel thereby is bound to all the generations of the community of Israel, past, present and future.

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

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

Ultimately, though, Jewish tradition is passed from generation to generation by those Jews who are committed to Torah and halakha. Thus, it is critical that all Jews be brought into the category of those for whom Jewishness is a positive, living commitment. Jewishness based on ethnicity will not ensure Jewish continuity. The Rav credited the masorah community with transmitting Judaism from generation to generation. The masorah community is composed of those Jews for whom transmission of Torah and halakha is the central purpose of life. It was founded by Moses and will continue into the times of the Messiah. Members of the masorah community draw on the traditions of former generations, teach the present generation, plan for future generations. "The masorah community cuts across the centuries, indeed millenia, of calendaric time and unites those who already played their part, delivered their message, acquired fame, and withdrew from the covenantal stage quietly and humbly, with those who have not yet been given the opportunity to appear on the covenantal stage and who wait for their turn in the anonymity of the 'about to be'" ("The Lonely Man of Faith," p. 47).

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

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

 

The Meaning of the Book of Jonah

 

THE MEANING OF THE BOOK OF JONAH[1]

 

The Talmud ascribes the composition of the Twelve Prophets to the Men of the Great Assembly (Bava Batra 15a). Rashi explains that the books were bound together in one scroll because each was so short that some might get lost if not combined into a scroll of greater size.

 

Together they span a period of some 250-300 years. Jonah, Hosea, Amos, and Micah were eighth century prophets; Nahum, Habakkuk, Zephaniah, and Obadiah prophesied in the seventh-early sixth century; and Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi prophesied in the late sixth century. Of the twelve, Joel is the most difficult to date, and we will discuss him in the fourth chapter on the Twelve Prophets.

 

INTRODUCTION

It is difficult to find a comprehensive theory to explain the purpose of the book, or why Jonah fled from his mission. For millennia, great interpreters have scoured the Book of Jonah’s forty-eight verses for their fundamental messages.

One midrashic line suggests that unrepentant Israel would look bad by comparison were non-Israelites to repent.[2] Another proposes that Jonah was convinced that the Ninevites would repent and God would pardon them. Jonah feared that he then would be called a false prophet once his prediction of Nineveh’s destruction went unfulfilled.[3]

Abarbanel does not find either answer persuasive. Perhaps Israel would be inspired to repent in light of Nineveh’s repentance. Moreover, since the Ninevites did repent, they obviously believed Jonah to be a true prophet. Nowhere is there evidence of Jonah’s being upset about his or Israel’s reputation. It is unlikely that Jonah would have violated God’s commandment for the reasons given by these midrashim.

 

Abarbanel (followed by Malbim) submits that Jonah feared the future destruction of Israel by Assyria, of which Nineveh was the capital (cf. Ibn Ezra on 1:1). Rather than obey God’s directive, Jonah elected to martyr himself on behalf of his people. However, the Book of Jonah portrays Nineveh as a typological Sodom-like city-state, not as the historical capital of Assyria. Jonah’s name appears eighteen times in the book, but nobody else—not even the king of Nineveh – is named. Additionally, there is no mention of Israel or its king in the story. The Book of Jonah appears to have a self-contained message that transcends its historical context.[4]

Seeking another approach, the twentieth century scholars Yehoshua Bachrach,[5] Elyakim Ben-Menahem,[6] and Uriel Simon[7] cite Jonah’s protest from the end of the book:

He prayed to the Lord, saying, “O Lord! Isn’t this just what I said when I was still in my own country? That is why I fled beforehand to Tarshish. For I know that You are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in kindness, renouncing punishment. (Jon. 4:2)

 

These scholars understand Jonah’s protest as a rejection of the very idea of repentance. To support their reading, they cite a passage from the Jerusalem Talmud:

It was asked of wisdom: what is the punishment for a sinner? She replied, Misfortune pursues sinners (Prov. 13:21). It was asked of prophecy: what is the punishment for a sinner? She replied, The person who sins, only he shall die (Ezek. 18:4, 20). It was asked of God: what is the punishment for a sinner? He replied, let him repent and gain atonement. (J.T. Makkot 2:6 [31d])

 

From this point of view, there is a fundamental struggle between God on the one hand and wisdom and prophecy on the other. Jonah was not caught up in the details of this specific prophecy; rather, he was protesting the very existence of repentance, preferring instead that God mete out immediate punishment to sinners.

Although this approach is more comprehensive than the earlier interpretations, it remains incomplete. Much of the book has little to do with repentance or God’s mercy – particularly Jonah’s lengthy encounter with the sailors in chapter 1 who never needed to repent, and his prayer in chapter 2 where Jonah likely did not repent. Aside from downplaying the role of the sailors in chapter 1, Uriel Simon sidesteps Jonah’s prayer by contending that it was not an original part of the story.[8] Regardless of its origins, however, Jonah’s prayer appears integral to the book, and likely contains one of the keys to unlocking the overall purposes of the narrative.[9] Finally, most prophets appear to have accepted the ideas of repentance and God’s mercy. Why should Jonah alone have fled from his mission?

 

Although these interpreters are correct in stressing Jonah’s protest against God’s attribute of mercy in 4:2, Jonah also disapproved of that attribute particularly when God applies it to pagans. It appears that this theme lies at the heart of the book, creating an insurmountable conflict between Jonah and God. Jonah was unwilling to accept God’s mercy even to the most ethically perfected pagans because that manifestation of mercy was antithetical to Jonah’s desired conception of God.

 

CHAPTER 1

Although they were pagans, the sailors were superior people. They prayed to their deities during the storm, treated Jonah with respect even after he had been selected by the lottery as the cause of their troubles, and went to remarkable lengths to avoid throwing him overboard even after he confessed. They implored God for mercy. When they finally did throw Jonah into the sea, they made vows to God.

 

Jonah, on the other hand, displays none of these lofty qualities. He rebelled against God by fleeing and then slept while the terrified sailors prayed. Remarkably, the captain sounds like a prophet when addressing Jonah— “How can you be sleeping so soundly! Up, call upon your god! Perhaps the god will be kind to us and we will not perish” (1:6)—while Jonah sounds like the inattentive audience a prophet typically must rebuke. The captain even uses the same words in 1:6 (kum kera) that God had in commanding Jonah to go to Nineveh in 1:2 (kum lekh…u-kera).

 

When Jonah finally does speak in the text, the narrator divides the prophet’s words between a direct quotation and narrative:

“I am a Hebrew! (Ivri anokhi),” he replied. “I worship the Lord, the God of Heaven, who made both sea and land.” The men were greatly terrified, and they asked him, “What have you done?” And when the men learned that he was fleeing from the service of the Lord – for so he told them . . . (1:9-10)

 

Although Jonah told the sailors what they wanted to know, that his flight from God had caused the storm, it is the narrator who relates those crucial words rather than placing them into Jonah’s direct speech. Moreover, Jonah’s statement that he was a Hebrew who worshipped the true God appears tangential to the terrified sailors’ concerns. Why would the narrator frame Jonah’s statement this way?

The term “Ivri (Hebrew)” often is used when contrasting Israelites with non-Israelites.[10] In this vein, Elyakim Ben-Menahem notes that Jonah’s usage of Ivri in 1:9 is fitting, since he was contrasting himself with pagans. Jonah’s perceived dissimilarity to the pagan sailors is the main emphasis of chapter 1. Ben-Menahem further suggests that the text does not report Jonah’s response to the captain so that his dramatic proclamation in 1:9 could appear as his first words recorded in the book.[11] This contrast with the sailors was most important to Jonah; therefore, the narrator placed only these words in his direct quotation.

 

To explain the bifurcation of Jonah’s statement, Abarbanel advances a midrashic-style comment: “The intent [of the word Ivri] is not only that he was from the Land of the Hebrews; rather, he was a sinner [avaryan] who was transgressing God’s commandment.” Abarbanel surmises that the sailors deduced from this wordplay on Ivri that Jonah was fleeing! For Abarbanel’s suggestion to work as the primary meaning of the text, of course, the sailors would have to have known Hebrew and to have been as ingenious as Abarbanel to have caught that wordplay. Though not a compelling peshat comment, Abarbanel’s insight is conceptually illuminating regarding the overall purpose of chapter 1. Jonah emphatically contrasted himself with the pagan sailors; however, the narrator instead has contrasted Jonah with God. In chapter 1, Jonah was indeed Abarbanel’s Ivri—a prophetic hero of true faith contrasting himself with pagans, and an avaryan—a sinner against God.

 

CHAPTER 2

After waiting three days inside the fish, Jonah finally prayed to God. Some (for example, Ibn Ezra, Abarbanel and Malbim) conclude that Jonah must have repented, since God ordered the fish to spew Jonah out, and Jonah subsequently went to Nineveh. However, there is no indication of repentance in Jonah’s prayer.[12] One might argue further that God’s enjoining Jonah to return to Nineveh in 3:1-2 indicates that Jonah had indeed not repented.[13] In his prayer, Jonah was more concerned with being saved and serving God in the Temple than he was in the reasons God was punishing him (2:5, 8).

 

Jonah concluded his prayer with two triumphant verses:

They who cling to empty folly forsake their own welfare, but I, with loud thanksgiving, will sacrifice to You; what I have vowed I will perform. Deliverance is the Lord’s! (2:9-10)

 

Ibn Ezra and Radak believe that Jonah was contrasting himself with the sailors who had made vows in 1:16. Unlike their insincere (in Jonah’s opinion) vows, Jonah intended to keep his vow to serve God in the Temple. Abarbanel and Malbim, however, do not think that Jonah would allude to the sailors. In their reading of the book, the sailors are only tangential to their understanding of the story, which specifically concerns Nineveh as the Assyrian capital. Instead, they maintain that Jonah was forecasting the insincere (in Jonah’s opinion) repentance of the Ninevites.

 

One may combine their opinions: the sailors and Ninevites both are central to the book of Jonah, each receiving a chapter of coverage. They were superior people—the sailors all along, and the Ninevites after their repentance—but Jonah despised them because they were pagans. Jonah’s prayer ties the episodes with the sailors and Ninevites together, creating a unified theme for the book, namely, that Jonah contrasts himself with truly impressive pagans. It seems that Rashi has the smoothest reading:

They who cling to empty folly: those who worship idols; forsake their own welfare: their fear of God, from whom all kindness emanates. But I, in contrast, am not like this; I, with loud thanksgiving, will sacrifice to You. (Rashi on Jon. 2:9-10)

 

As in chapter 1, Jonah’s contrasting himself with pagans is the climactic theme of his prayer in chapter 2. To paraphrase the prayer in chapter 2, Jonah was saying “Ivri anokhi [I am a Hebrew]” (1:9)! I worship the true God in contrast to all pagans—illustrated by the sailors, and later by the Ninevites. At the same time, Jonah still remained in his rebellion against God; he still was an avaryan [sinner]. According to this view, God allowed Jonah out of the fish to teach him a lesson, not because he had repented.

 

CHAPTER 3

Did Jonah obey God when he went to Nineveh? Radak assumes that he did. In contrast, Malbim believes that Jonah rebelled even as he walked through the wicked city. He should have explicitly offered repentance as an option, instead of proclaiming the unqualified doom of the Ninevites.

 

The Ninevites, on the other hand, effected one of the greatest repentance movements in biblical history. The king of Nineveh even said what one might have expected Jonah to say: “Let everyone turn back from his evil ways and from the injustice of which he is guilty. Who knows but that God may turn and relent? He may turn back from His wrath, so that we do not perish” (3:8-9). We noted earlier that the same contrast may be said of the captain of the ship, who sounded like a prophet while Jonah rebelled against God.

 

Nineveh’s repentance might amaze the reader, but it did not impress Jonah. Abarbanel and Malbim (on 4:1-2) suggest that Jonah was outraged that God spared the Ninevites after their repentance for social crimes, since they remained pagans. This interpretation seems to lie close to the heart of the book. Jonah did not care about the outstandingly ethical behavior of the sailors nor the impressively penitent Ninevites. Jonah still was the Ivri he proclaimed himself to be in 1:9, sharply contrasting himself with the pagans he encountered, and thereby remaining distanced from the God he knew would have compassion on them.

 

CHAPTER 4

This displeased Jonah greatly, and he was grieved. He prayed to the Lord, saying, “O Lord! Isn’t this just what I said when I was still in my own country? That is why I fled beforehand to Tarshish. For I know that You are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in kindness, renouncing punishment. Please, Lord, take my life, for I would rather die than live.” (4:1-3)

 

Outraged by God’s sparing of Nineveh, Jonah revealed that he had fled initially because he knew that God would not punish the Ninevites. In his protest, Jonah appealed to God’s attributes of mercy, but with a significant deviation from the classical formula in the aftermath of the Golden Calf:

The Lord! The Lord! A God compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness . . . (Exod. 34:6)

 

For I know that You are a compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in kindness, renouncing punishment. (Jon. 4:2)[14]

 

Jonah substituted “renouncing punishment (ve-niham al ha-ra’ah)” for “faithfulness (ve-emet).” Jonah’s God of truth would not spare pagans, yet God Himself had charged Jonah with a mission to save pagans! Thus, God’s prophecy at the outset of the narrative challenged Jonah’s very conception of God. Jonah would rather die than live with a God who did not conform to his religious outlook. Ironically, then, Jonah’s profound fear and love of God are what caused him to flee initially, and to demand that God take his life.

 

In an attempt to expose the fallacy of Jonah’s argument, God demonstrated Jonah’s willingness to die stemmed not only from idealistic motives, but also from physical discomfort:

“O Lord! Isn’t this just what I said when I was still in my own country? That is why I fled beforehand to Tarshish . . . . Please, Lord, take my life, for I would rather die than live.” The Lord replied, “Are you that deeply grieved?” (4:1-4)

And when the sun rose, God provided a sultry east wind; the sun beat down on Jonah’s head, and he became faint. He begged for death, saying, “I would rather die than live.” Then God said to Jonah, “Are you so deeply grieved about the plant?” “Yes,” he replied, “so deeply that I want to die” (4:8-9)

 

God added a surprising variable when explaining His sparing of the Ninevites. Although it had seemed from chapter 3 that the Ninevites had saved themselves with their repentance, God suddenly offered a different reason[15]:

Then the Lord said: “You cared about the plant, which you did not work for and which you did not grow, which appeared overnight and perished overnight. And should I not care about Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not yet know their right hand from their left, and many beasts as well!” (4:10-11)

 

God had been willing to destroy the Ninevites for their immorality, but forgave them once they repented. Although the Ninevites had misguided beliefs, God had compassion on them without expecting that they become monotheists. After all, they could not distinguish their right from their left in the sense that they served false deities. For Jonah, however, true justice required punishing even the penitent Ninevites because they still were pagans.

 

To paraphrase God’s response: You, Jonah, wanted to die for the highest of ideals. However, you also were willing to die rather than face heat. Your human limitations are now fully exposed. How, then, can you expect to understand God’s attributes?[16] God has little patience for human immorality, but can tolerate moral people with misguided beliefs. Jonah’s stark silence at the end of the book reflects the gulf between God and himself. He remained an “Ivri” to the very end.

 

CONCLUSION

The story of Jonah is about prophecy, the pinnacle of love of God, and the highest human spiritual achievement. But prophecy also causes increased anguish, as the prophet apprehends the infinite gap between God and humanity more intensely than anyone else. Jonah’s spiritual attainments were obviously far superior to those of the sailors or the people of Nineveh – he most certainly could tell his right hand from his left. The closer he came to God, the more he simultaneously gained recognition of how little he truly knew of God’s ways. This realization tortured him to the point of death.

 

God taught Jonah that he did not need to wish for death. He had influenced others for the better and had attained a deeper level of understanding of God and of his own place in this world. Despite his passionate commitment to God, Jonah needed to learn to appreciate moral people and to bring them guidance. He had a vital role to play in allowing God’s mercy to be manifest.

 

The Book of Jonah is a larger-than-life story of every individual who seeks closeness with God. There is a paradoxical recognition that the closer one comes to God, the more one becomes conscious of the chasm separating God’s wisdom from our own. There is a further challenge in being absolutely committed to God, while still respecting moral people who espouse different beliefs. A midrash places one final line in Jonah’s mouth: “Conduct Your world according to the attribute of mercy!”[17] This midrash pinpoints the humbling lesson Jonah should have learned from this remarkable episode, and that every reader must learn.

 

 

 

[1] This chapter is adapted from Hayyim Angel, “‘I am a Hebrew!’: Jonah’s Conflict with God’s Mercy Toward Even the Most Worthy of Pagans,” Jewish Bible Quarterly 34:1 (2006), pp. 3-11; reprinted in Angel, Through an Opaque Lens (New York: Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2006), pp. 259-269. It also appeared in Yom Kippur Reader (New York: Tebah, 2008), pp. 59-70.

 

[2] See, for example, Mekhilta Bo, J.T. Sanhedrin 11:5, Pesahim 87b, cited by Rashi, Kara, Ibn Ezra, and Radak.

 

[3] Pirkei D’Rabbi Eliezer 9, cited by R. Saadyah (Emunot ve-De’ot 3:5), Rashi, Kara, Radak, and R. Isaiah of Trani.

 

[4] See further discussion and critique of the aforementioned views in Uriel Simon, The JPS Bible Commentary: Jonah (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society, 1999), introduction pp. 7-12.

 

[5] Yehoshua Bachrach, Yonah ben Amitai ve-Eliyahu: le-Hora’at Sefer Yonah al pi ha-Mekorot (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: The Religious Department of the Youth and Pioneering Division of the Zionist Organization, 1967), p. 51.

 

[6] Elyakim Ben-Menahem, Da’at Mikra: Jonah, in Twelve Prophets vol. 1 (Hebrew) (Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1973), introduction pp. 7-9.

 

[7] Simon, JPS Bible Commentary: Jonah, introduction pp. 12-13.

 

[8] Simon, JPS Bible Commentary: Jonah, introduction pp. 33-35; commentary pp. 15-17.

 

[9] See further critique of Simon in David Henshke, “The Meaning of the Book of Jonah and Its Relationship to Yom Kippur,” (Hebrew) Megadim 29 (1998), pp. 77-78; and see response of Uriel Simon to Henshke, “True Prayer and True Repentance,” (Hebrew), Megadim 31 (2000), pp. 127-131.

 

[10] See, e.g., Gen. 39:14, 17; 40:15; 41:12; 43:32; Exod. 1:15, 16, 19; 2:7, 11, 13; 3:18; 5:3; 7:16; 9:1, 13; 10:3. Cf. Gen. Rabbah 42:13: R. Judah said: [ha-Ivri signifies that] the whole world was on one side (ever) while [Abraham] was on the other side (ever).

 

[11] Ben-Menahem, Da’at Mikra: Jonah, pp. 6-7. In his introduction, pp. 3-4, Ben-Menahem adds that chapter 1 is arranged chiastically and Jonah’s proclamation in v. 9 lies at the center of that structure, further highlighting its centrality to the chapter.

 

[12] Cf. Rashi, Kara, and R. Eliezer of Beaugency. Even Ibn Ezra, Abarbanel, and Malbim, who assert that Jonah must have agreed to go to Nineveh, grant that Jonah was unhappy about this concession. Adopting a middle position, Sforno suggests that Jonah repented, but the prayer included in the book is a psalm of gratitude after Jonah already was saved. Rob Barrett (“Meaning More than They Say: The Conflict between Y-H-W-H and Jonah,” JSOT 37:2 (2012), p. 244) suggests additional ironies in Jonah’s prayer: Jonah proclaims that he has called out to God (2:3), but in fact has refused to call out to Nineveh or to God while on the boat. Jonah states that God saved him because he turned to God, while he is fleeing God’s command.

 

[13] Ibn Ezra counters that Jonah specifically stayed near Nineveh so that he would be ready to go with a second command. Alternatively, Ben-Menahem (Da’at Mikra: Jonah, p. 13) suggests that Jonah might have thought that God had sent someone else.

 

[14] For further analysis of the interrelationship between Joel, Jonah, and Exodus 34, see Thomas B. Dozeman, “Inner Biblical Interpretation of Y-H-W-H’s Gracious and Compassionate Character,” JBL 108 (1989), pp. 207-223.

 

[15] For fuller exploration of this and related disparities, see Hayyim Angel, “The Uncertainty Principle of Repentance in the Books of Jonah and Joel,” in Angel, Revealed Texts, Hidden Meanings: Finding the Religious Significance in Tanakh (Jersey City, NJ: Ktav-Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2009), pp. 148-161.

 

[16] See further discussion in Bachrach, Yonah ben Amitai ve-Eliyahu, pp. 66-68.

 

[17] Midrash Jonah, ed. Jellinek, p. 102, quoted in Simon, JPS Bible Commentary: Jonah, introduction p. 12. R. Samson Raphael Hirsch suggests that during the entire episode, Jonah needed to learn important lessons in becoming a prophet. God therefore sent him on this initial mission to Nineveh. Only after this episode did God send him on a more favorable prophetic mission to Israel (II Kings 14:23-27). “Commentary on Jonah” (Hebrew), HaMa’ayan 51:1 (Tishri 5771-2010), pp. 8-9.

 

 

 

Bringing the Distant Near or Making the Ancient Contemporary

The title of this article cuts to the core of the Jewish educator’s eternal challenge. How are we to make ancient texts come alive for today’s students? If our mission is, as we broadly maintain, to facilitate the literacy of the next generation, then we need to attend to three goals. We must equip our charges with the skills needed to become independent learners, with the base of knowledge that can qualify them as Jewishly literate, and with the passion to become life-long students of Torah.

To that end, there have been three broad curricular directions taken in the past half century of student-driven education. These include the two poles of the approachability spectrum, with a third occupying a wide middle space. It may be best to exemplify this range via a midrashic question asked about the relationship between God and downtrodden humans. The Gemara (BT Sotah 5b) commenting on the phrase in Isaiah 57:15, “v’et daka ushephal rua’h” (“with one who is of a contrite and humble spirit”), cites a dispute between R. Huna and R. Hisda as to whether it means that God humbles God’s self, so to speak, to reside with the meek—or whether God raises the contrite to join God on high. 

This dichotomy can be seen in the choices made regarding the text chosen for that most valued component of yeshiva education—Talmud. Some directors or teachers will select a tractate such as Berakhot, Ta’anit, Megillah, or Pesahim (typically the last chapter) to make the daily grind of Gemara “meaningful” and “relevant” to the students, insofar as the material speaks to their own religious practice, whether daily, seasonal, or annual. It is prudent to note that these choices inevitably bring their own challenges to the “relevance” doctrine, as each of these popular tractates contains long and difficult aggadic passages that are abstruse and inaccessible to the students, as well as numerous halakhic topics that are well out of the reach of our contemporary students. 

Some will take this approach one step further, developing “topic-based” curricula which select passages from various tractates, including discussions about abortion, privacy, and other hot-button issues. This strategy is, to wit, God lowering God’s self, so to speak, to reside with the downtrodden. 

There is a small but identifiable tendency to choose a text that has no contemporary relevance and speaks to no practical aspect of the students’ lives. A teacher may choose to teach a specific chapter (such as the first seven chapters of Yoma) or even a tractate (such as Zevahim) that has no contemporary practicum. The thinking behind this choice is that there is a purity involved in studying something which is completely theoretical, an opportunity to study for study’s sake (lishmah) and a chance to teach without the clutter of “that’s not what we do at home/in my synagogue.” There may even be a subtle Messianism involved in such a choice. This approach as the mirror to the first, is God elevating the downtrodden to an august and lofty perch, to join God on high. 

The mainstream has traditionally staked out a middle ground between the two, hovering close to earth without touching down. The common courses of study in yeshivot have been Nezikin(Bava Kama, Bava Metzia, Bava Batra), along with the four major tractates of Nashim (Yevamot, Ketubot, Gittin, and Kiddushin). Although many of the discussions in these tractates are removed from the daily life of our contemporary students, the legal principles that underlie the various rulings are accessible, and students are readily motivated to find contemporary applications. For instance, it is safe to assume that most yeshiva students—at any point in their secondary education—have had no direct experience with cisterns, oxen, or donkey-rentals. Nor will they comfortably relate to a society so resource-poor that a legal squabble over the rights to an animal’s dung is on the legal docket. Yet, the concepts that can be inferred as underlying the halakhot affecting these (currently) exotic cases are readily applicable to practical and everyday cases in the students’ lives. There is good reason for this being the optimal choice, backed up by over 200 years of yeshiva curriculum. As R. Yishmael avers (m. Bava Batra 10:17) “One who wants to become wise should engage in the study of Nezikin, as there is no greater discipline in the Torah, and it is like a flowing spring.” The conceptual foundations suggested by the medieval commentators and the intricate analyses of the brilliant minds of the last four centuries bear witness to the centrality of these tractates to the ongoing process of Gemara. 

To the teacher of Tanakh, all of this sounds like an otherworldly luxury. 

Admittedly, there are any number of narratives in Tanakh that can spur discussion about contemporary ethics and values. The Akedah, Binding of Isaac, (Gen. 22:1–19) is a case in point; much ink has been spilt around that momentous event and its import for allegiance, obedience, family, and morality. One cannot, however, compare the intensity of text study that invariably accompanies such discussions with the rigorous text study of certain talmudic discussions that flower into exciting debates about claims and credibility. With some notable exceptions, values-driven discussions about scenes, major and minor, in Tanakh usually lack attention to the many disciplines that inform “peshat” study—i.e., philology, anthropology, the sitz im leben, and so forth. It is as if the text can either be studied analytically, with a systematic review of the relevant commentators and with a nuanced introduction of modern disciplines—or it can be a homiletically oriented lesson or discussion about meaning. 

Both the rigorous textual as well as the homiletic approach have their place, as evidenced by the midrashic literature that sits, side-by-side, with the talmudic tomes on many a Jewish bookshelf. A darshan, whose job is to inspire, move, cajole, console, or rebuke, will likely resort to the latter approach. Yet a Tanakh teacher who endeavors to accomplish those three lofty goals adumbrated above—skills, breadth, and passion—cannot indulge in this mode often. 

So, asks the teacher of Tanakh, how do I raise the student up to the text, rather than lowering the text to the student? 

I believe that this seemingly daunting challenge is within reach of a committed educator. The strategies for bringing the student and the text together will vary by genre. Teaching narrative is a more accessible task than teaching poetry, lamentation, or prophetic rhetoric; yet each of these can be met with success. 

For the purposes of this article, I will share a few strategies utilized when teaching the Dothan scene in the Joseph story (his being cast into the pit and his eventual sale to the Midianites). I will also present several exercises I use when teaching a narrative in Sefer Shofetim. Some of the tactics I will sketch out are native to narrative and can hardly be translated for use with other genres, while others are universal. 

Many narratives are immediately made more accessible by prefacing the study with either a frontal presentation or a reading/viewing (depending on the age and sophistication of the students) of information about the world of Tanakh that touches on that particular story. For instance, reading about the slave trade in the ancient world helps illuminate the story of Joseph and his brothers and bring it into a more familiar light. Along with that, a brief study of the topography of Dothan (with tools such as Google maps) will make the route of the caravan of Ishmaelites clearer and bring the student into a more personal relationship with that story. That is helpful and, surprisingly, can sometimes illuminate some Midrashim and comments of the Rishonim (medieval commentators).

A more consistent and accessible strategy that consistently works is to ask each student to become a “fly on the wall” of the scene and note what they see, what each character seems to be aware of and, more critically, what each character doesn’t know. This is, parenthetically, one of the most common pitfalls that prevents an accurate and sympathetic reading of the narrative. The reader is as omniscient as the author (or Author) wishes the reader to be and is often too blinded by the knowledge of what each character is thinking to remember that the other characters do not know that—they haven’t yet read the story in which they star.  

I will often stop in the middle of teaching a narrative and ask the students to imagine themselves standing somewhere between Judah and Reuben (in our example) and tell the class what they see, what they hear, what they know and what they think they know. Are the brothers eating their meal at the side of the cistern or a distance away? (Here’s where topographic maps help demonstrate where they were, as they could not have seen the caravan from the foothill where the cistern is located.) Was Joseph aware of his brothers’ violent intentions as he nears them? Which of the brothers are there in Dothan at the time? Encouraging their presence on the scene allows them—gives them social permission, so to speak—to leave their twenty-first century environs and enter, if only in the shadows, the second millennium bce and become part of the story, if only as a passive onlooker. This generates an identification with the story and can, in turn, motivate serious analysis of the text, looking for nuances and for helpful guidance from the classical commentators to enhance the student’s presence around that cistern. 

 

*******

The story of Samson is exciting, rambunctious, and filled with surprises—yet is a challenge to teach as anything but escapist fantasy. If the teacher focuses on the incredible, such as a mortal tearing a lion apart “just like one would tear up a goat(!)” or of his lifting the gates of Gaza and bringing them up to Hebron, then the story remains hopelessly distant from the student. If the teacher chooses to direct the class’s attention to the legalistic challenges brought up by the protagonist’s quasi-Nazirite status or his marriage to a Philistine woman, this still leaves the student out in the cold relative to the warm, exciting, and invigorating text of Shofetim

One successful strategy is to have the student shadow Samson and his parents, from his request of them to arrange his marriage with the Philistine enemy, through their two journeys south to Timnah and culminating at the wedding feast. Instead of frontally presenting the text to the students, get them engaged in the “real world” of pre-monarchic Israel. 

For example, ask them to identify local customs and traditions that they can infer from the story. They ought to be able to conclude that it was common practice in the region to have a wedding feast and that that feast lasts for a week. This observation could then be confirmed and supported by a similar story in Haran, over 500 miles to the north and over 500 years in the past, when Jacob celebrated with Leah for seven days and only then was allowed to marry Rachel. This will also generate a new awareness for many of them that these practices (which many of them will recognize from their own family’s celebrations) are not uniquely Jewish. They may also recognize that it was expected that a groom would have his own entourage and failing that, a group of 30 groomsmen would be provided by the local community of the bride’s family. In addition, the entertaining game of posing riddles and betting on the success of the riddler at wedding feasts (or, perhaps, festive gatherings in general) could be identified as a local custom. This engages students in careful reading of the text while encouraging them to build out from the text to a larger understanding of the society and community that form the backdrop of our narrative. 

Another way to invest the students in the narrative is to pose a challenge and have them gather clues to solve the problem via a careful reading of the text. To take another example from the Samson narrative, ask the students whether Samson, from a peshat reading of the text, was banned from drinking wine. The astute learner will recall that his mother was prohibited from drinking wine and that the only “Nazirite” prohibition on Samson explicitly noted by the angel in the annunciation scenes (Judges ch. 13) was getting his hair cut. Parenthetically, this is a great opening for the teacher to have the students open up Numbers 6 and to identify the three areas of prohibition affecting a Nazir and comparing it with the story of Samson. Instead of this being just another text (and more homework or testable material), it becomes part of a puzzle that the students are unearthing; it is the challenge that turns them from passive listeners to invested stakeholders. 

When the parents accompany Samson to Timnah, they mysteriously separate at the vineyards of Timnah. This separation proves to be vital to the story, as it leaves Samson alone to barehandedly kill the lion. Then, upon their return to Timnah for the wedding, they evidently separate again and Samson is again alone in that same location, setting up the famous riddle of the lion and the honey. Again, it is only by imagining oneself in that vineyard that the student notices that the parents are not there—but Samson is there. Perhaps the students may conclude that this “Nazirite of God” was not banned from drinking wine, which can provoke a discussion about the multivocality of words (such as nazir) in Tanakh.

In sum, there are numerous strategies available to the teacher which can potentially spark interest and creativity among the students. This can lead—and I have seen it lead—to a self-generated interest in studying Tanakh in-depth and learning to master that Book of Books. There is, however, one caveat to all of this. The teacher who facilitates this type of engagement must be passionate about Tanakh and personally delight in constantly discovering new treasures between the lines of the Bible. Passion is contagious and students can become joyfully infected and on their way to becoming that life-long learner of Tanakh. 

 

From Mesorah to Morasha: Reflections on Evolving Trends in Modern Orthodox Tanakh Education

My Tanakh education began at my parents’ Shabbat table. We began our conversations at each meal as many families do, with everyone sharing their thoughts and their news, and each of us vying for my mother z”l’s attention. And then inevitably every week, my father, who is an electrical engineer by trade but a talmid hakham by passion, transformed our dining room into a Beit Midrash by asking, “What do you know about the parasha?” We would share our divrei Torah, and my father would ask us questions about what we had said, sending us to look for answers –most often in the Malbim (Rabbi Meir Leibush ben Yehiel Michel, 1809–1879) –when we were stuck. As four of my father’s seven children went on to have careers in Jewish education, his excitement for learning was clearly contagious. My father’s method has guided me throughout my career. As Proverbs 22:6 teaches, Hanokh l’naar al pi darko—when every student is educated according to their personal way, gam ki yazkin, lo yasur mimena—they will remain on that path when they grow older. If we want our students to be lifelong learners and to see Tanakh as being relevant to their lives, we must make it personal to them. Students thrive in environments where their ideas form the basis for their further learning, and where they know that not only are their questions answered, but their voices and opinions are valued.

When I was a student in high school, I took an excellent course called Hazara al Neviim Rishonim (review of the “Early Prophets”). While I appreciated the opportunity to review books I had not learned since elementary school—and indeed, this informed my later decision as a Tanakh department chair to make sure this review happened as part of the larger curriculum—there was one aspect to my teacher’s approach with which I fundamentally disagreed. The first time I remember hearing it, we were studying the story of David’s affair with the then-married Batsheva, and our teacher told us that, although the textual narrative of the story portrays David’s actions as sinful, we must view his behavior “through the eyeglasses of Tanakh.” She explained that when a person wears sunglasses, everything appears dark. It is only once tinted layers are removed that we can see the “truth” of the story. She exhorted us to remove our “sunglasses,'' to look beyond the plain sense of the verses that colored David in a negative light, and to view him as a perfect righteous individual, one whose actions never deviated from strictly observing the laws of God, thereby making him the king against whom all future kings are measured in terms of their service of God. She cited the opinion of R’ Yonatan in Shabbat 56a: Kol ha-omeir David hata aino ela toeh—Anyone who says that David sinned is mistaken. My teacher’s intention was surely to have her students maintain a level of awe for biblical figures, and to give us an ideal of unswerving devotion to HaShem. But by not presenting us with parshanut on both sides of the discussion—perhaps including Abravanel's opinion that David in this moment truly had sinned—she missed achieving an equally important educational objective. Bava Batra 17b teaches that there were only four people who died without sin, and while David's father and one of David’s sons are listed there, David himself is not. The narratives in Tanakh depict characters whose relationships with God range from true believer to heretical. What we have to understand is that, ultimately, they are all people, and their stories are told so that we may learn from them, in their failures as much as in their successes.

My teacher’s approach to the text is perhaps understandable when we consider that she was a graduate of the Bais Yaakov school system, and she subscribed to a dogma that Jewish education facilitates our ability to remain in insular communities that have limited contact or interaction with the world at large. The irony of this position is that Sara Schenirer, who founded the original Bais Yaakov schools in Europe to avoid secularization of Jewish girls who only received a public school education, was influenced by the teachings of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch,[1] whose philosophy was that of Torah im Derekh Eretz, which emphasizes the importance of secular knowledge for those who study Torah

This philosophy drives Modern Orthodox education. When the Maimonides School was established in Boston, Shulamith Soloveitchik Meiselman wrote that its aim was to ensure that religious education and connection to Judaism would not end with a child’s bar/bat mitzvah, and “that the spiritual content of Jewish education should be so emphasized that it would become an integral part of the individual and would remain with him permanently.” In determining curriculum, she writes that “[s]killed educators have fashioned [it] in such a way that no subject, Hebrew or English, is neglected or curtailed.”[2] By housing both the Judaic and secular components of the child’s education in the same building and giving them shared importance, the Day School encourages the child to view both as being part of one’s life rather than seeing them as mutually exclusive pursuits. 

But ultimately, the Judaics component is the raison d’etre for the Day School, and its role in the child’s continued Jewish identity and practice is paramount. Dr. Jack Wertheimer writes that the objective of Jewish education after World War II was to foster religious connection rather than just an ethnic awareness and connection. He explains that the primary role of Day Schools that were established in the twentieth century was to foster a Jewish identity in students that would withstand the influences of the outside world. While early Conservative Day Schools were staffed by educators who had advanced degrees in education or Judaic studies, the staff of early Orthodox and Modern Orthodox schools was comprised of teachers who came from Europe and were not formally trained in pedagogy. However, despite growing demand for Day School educators, by the 1970s, many factors—including low Day School salaries and Jewish educators being perceived as having a lower social status—made it difficult to recruit qualified teachers. Rather than looking to fill open positions with graduates of the institutions of higher Jewish education that existed, Day School teachers came from rabbinic, religious, and Israeli programs, creating a self-perpetuating cycle of hiring unlicensed educators because it was not deemed necessary for Day School teachers to have educator training.[3] In fact, in 1997, the Council for Initiatives in Jewish Education (CIJE) found that a very low number –just 19 percent—of teachers in Jewish schools had training in both education and Judaics, and they concluded that “building Jewish education as a profession is critical for improving teaching and learning in Jewish education.”[4] 

As such, it is not surprising that, while textual skills were taught and the level of parshanut might be challenging, some Jewish educators focused more on affective objectives than on creating rigorous academic curriculum, and their courses were often perceived by students as being less structured and demanding than their secular counterparts. To be fair, in many cases this was by design, as teachers who could have required a higher level of academic coursework chose not to. They may have felt compassion for students who were already burdened with work from their general studies classes or that adding to their students’ already long and taxing school day would be detrimental to their individual relationships with those students. They may also have felt that students might have a negative association with religion if their learning were tied to grades. 

Modern Orthodox schools have shifted from this mindset. As a profession, teaching has become more regulated, requirements for licensure have become stricter and more demanding, and opportunities for promotion have become increasingly dependent on advanced degrees and development.[5] In the same vein, administrators of Modern Orthodox schools have begun demanding more formal educational training and continuing professional development from their teachers. This shift leads to a more academic focus and bent toward Judaic studies that had not been there previously, and with that, as predicted by the CIJE study, come increased expectations that students will engage more actively and critically with texts. At a recent school Shabbaton, several of my colleagues and I sat on a panel and answered student questions. When asked how our personal teaching methods have shifted over time, a fellow teacher remarked that the idea of having students sit in havrutot and independently work through Tanakh texts and parshanut was a relatively new phenomenon at the start of her career, and now havruta learning is an integral part of her classroom. With the overall trend in education leaning toward student-based independent learning, where dyad and group learning in the classroom has become the norm and there is progressively less frontal teaching in more of their classes, students in Tanakh classrooms are better able to hone their learning skills while engaging with the text, since they have developed a comfort level with this methodology.

Furthermore, increased expectations in their courses throughout their school day allows for the assumption of high standards in their Judaics classes as well. This creates a unique challenge for Tanakh teachers, who view themselves as gatekeepers for inspiration and connection to the text as well as facilitators for learning it. Dr. Wendy Paterson, Dean of SUNY Buffalo State University’s School of Education, summarizes the qualities of an effective teacher as “knowledge of subject matter, knowledge of teaching methods, and practical experience in applying both.”[6] Creating the proper balance of heimish and academic takes time and is not always easy. These changes can be especially daunting for veteran teachers, who began their careers before these new expectations were placed on them. I have seen some teachers who have been lauded as exceptional educators in the past struggle to update and modernize their pedagogy to accommodate these standards.

Evolving learning methods have also led to much less rote memorization in Tanakh learning. As a student, I remember being expected to write and recite verses word-for-word on tests, and there are rabbinic passages that I still recall from weekly quizzes. When I began teaching, my high school students were expected to memorize each opening line of the Rashis we learned, and they were never allowed to use their Tanakhs on their tests. But at the turn of the century, educational research indicated that more meaningful learning occurs when students can use what they have learned and either apply it to new situations or connect it to other aspects of their lives. Rather than just remembering what they have learned, students should be encouraged to evaluate, analyze, and make inferences based on their learning.[7] Especially now that we live in a time when students can get any information through a quick internet search on their phones and other personal devices, it does not make sense to force copious memorization of material. Instead, using their Tanakhs as tools for further learning will be more impactful in the long run. Although they cannot take full notes in their Tanakhs and source books, my students are now encouraged to mark up the commentaries we learn in class, to underline, highlight, and annotate these sources, and to use them during their assessments. This allows for questions that require analysis and critical thinking, where students compare and contrast information, and use what they have learned to draw their own conclusions. As educational psychologist Richard E. Mayer writes, “retention focuses on the past; transfer focuses on the future.”[8] We are dealing with ancient texts, but we must not relegate them to the past by simply forcing retention of words. Rather, we must transfer their ideas and messages so they are integral to our lives and our future. And ironically, the more relevance we find in the words of the texts, the more likely we are to remember and quote them verbatim.

Creating this personalization is the challenge of Modern Orthodox educators today. In 2019, there were 158 schools in the United States that identified as either Modern or Centrist Orthodox, comprising approximately 17 percent of all students who attended Jewish Day Schools from every denomination. Of that number, 11,699 were high school students.[9] In order to reach these young members of the community, teachers must help them see the relevance in their learning. While the wisdom of the classical commentators on the text is irreplaceable, when combined with works by modern Torah scholars, students are more likely to find perspectives and voices that resonate with them reflected in the sources they are learning in class. Books such as Yigal Ariel’s series on the Early Prophets and Tamar Weissman’s Tribal Lands, about the tribes and their land inheritance, provide analysis of events and character studies on personalities in Tanakh. The young women in my classroom especially appreciate learning from female scholars. Although some may prefer the shiur format of Nehama Leibowitz’s books while others lean towards Avivah Zornberg’s literary style, they have role models who demonstrate Torah learning at the highest level. 

Students’ lived experience is also of utmost importance when determining how we present our curriculum. Because Torah u’madda is a major tenet of Modern Orthodoxy, it is the role of its schools to model this lifestyle and to educate their students according to this belief. It is imperative that the Torah they learn not only acknowledges, but also incorporates their secular learning, allowing the knowledge they gain from their general studies classes to enhance and elevate their Judaic studies. In his commentary on Genesis 1:1, Rashi quotes Rabbi Yitzhak’s question of why the Torah begins with the story of creation rather than the first mitzvah given to the entire Jewish people. In explaining this question, Ramban asserts that, although belief that God created the world is the basis of our faith, the details of creation can only be understood by trained mystics. Therefore, he says, the statement in the Ten Commandments that God created the world in six days and rested on the seventh would be sufficient for us to have this knowledge and to sustain our faith. While this may have been true in the heavily religious Christian world of the Ramban, it is impossible in our world where everything is challenged and must be proven. Our society is not content with “because I said so” information, and if Torah scholars are unable to address questions that students have on the text, those students may abandon the beliefs with which they are raised. Learning the events of creation as they connect to scientific theory, using classic parshanut, contemporary parshanut, the teachings of modern scientists such as Nathan Aviezer, the writings of scholars like Natan Slifkin, and secular scientific journals is essential to helping our students maintain faith, especially on college campuses where they are sometimes directly challenged. If we refuse to acknowledge evidence and data so that we can live in a comfortable bubble of denial, our children will have that bubble burst for them as soon as they encounter their first person with a pin.

I will never forget the first time I was challenged by someone who was well-versed in biblical criticism. I had never heard any of his assertions, and I was wholly unprepared to respond. We cannot let that happen to our students, many of whom will attend institutions where such criticism is accepted as fact. Since the best defense is a strong offense, students should encounter questions on, and contradictions in, the verses while they are still in our classrooms. They should debate and research answers, and ultimately be guided to sources that will help them find resolutions. As Rashi explains on the word v’shinantam in Devarim 6:7, the words of Torah should be sharp in our mouths, so that if someone asks us a question, we can answer immediately without stumbling. In addition to a unit on creation and science, my senior Humash class learns Snell’s law of refraction when understanding the sign of the rainbow that was given to Noah, and with that they learn Ramban on 9:12, who writes that we must integrate the science of the phenomenon with our understanding of why God chooses it to be the sign of his berit in the postdiluvian world. We use the teachings of Rabbi Hayyim Angel to contrast Akkadian worship, as represented by Migdal Bavel, with Yaakov’s ultimate statement in Genesis 28:17 that he is at the gateway to the heavens. When exploring the Covenant between the Parts in Genesis 15, they find writings in Daniel and in the Zohar that appear to foreshadow current events. Rather than being told to look at the stories of our progenitors with the eyeglasses of Tanakh, they look at parshanut on both sides of an event. In addition to those sources that describe the goodness of these people, we also look at parshanut that says that the person has sinned. We delve into Rav Hirsch’s description of Avraham’s emotional journey to Mt. Moriah in which he cannot bear to be alone with, or even talk to, Yitzhak; Rav Ezra Bick on Yitzhak’s trauma during the akedah; Rashbam who does not whitewash Reuven’s actions with Bilhah; debates regarding the behavior of Yosef and his brothers, and so much more.

There is an intellectual honesty that has to be present for true learning to take place and for love of Torah to grow. An administrator came into my class one day and watched the debate that my students were having regarding the position of a source we were learning. She later wrote to me, “What an amazing group of enthusiastic bright women studying together.” Providing opportunities for intellectual discussion and respectful give-and-take in Day Schools creates confidence in the authenticity of the text when these young adults have graduated and left our enclave. They know that there are tools and teachers to use as resources for the questions they encounter to which they do not have answers, and they also know that they can live with having questions. 

I have reaped incredible, unexpected benefits by allowing this interchange of ideas with students in the classroom. Over the past few years, when current and former students have reached out to arrange havrutot with me, rather than the more traditional texts that have been requested in the past, one student has asked to learn about tefillah, while others have asked for Kohelet, Daniel, Ezekiel, and Job. The young woman with whom I learn about tefillah wanted to make it more personal and meaningful. The books of Tanakh that were requested are some of the most intense and difficult, both technically and thematically. And that is why it was important for me to agree to those requests—girding myself with Daat Mikra. What I gain from learning with all of my students, those still in my classroom and those who have taken their place in the world, is incalculable. Their questions constantly challenge me to evaluate what I know, and to seek answers in new sources when they are not satisfied with those I had initially presented. In Shabbat 7a, Rabbi Nahman bar Yitzhak explains that the Torah is compared to a tree, because just like smaller branches light bigger ones, student scholars sharpen their teachers. The Gemara then quotes Rabbi Hanina who says that he learned a lot from his teachers and even more from his colleagues, but mitalmidai yoteir mi’kulam—I have learned the most from my students. 

One of the earliest verses that we learn as children and then teach as parents and educators is Deuteronomy 33:4, which tells us: Torah tzivah lanu Moshe, morasha kehillat Yaakov. My friend and former colleague, Dr. Jeremy Kahan, presented a beautiful perspective on the message presented to us here. While the first half of the verse describes the authority of Torah and its transmission through mesorah, the second half tells us that it is the inheritance of future generations, and as such, proprietorship is equally theirs, and we have to relinquish it to them. As Rambam writes in his Hilkhot Talmud Torah (3:1), Torah belongs to everyone, and anyone who wants to may come and take it. When this happens, we should welcome the perspectives our students bring, and respect them enough to engage in discussion about their thoughts. 

Contemporary Tanakh education requires its teachers to be open to, and aware of, shifts in the learning landscape. It demands flexibility and focus, and it is imperative that we do not become complacent. Because when we are successful, we are fortunate to facilitate our students' investment in our people’s legacy and future by allowing them to take ownership of Torah. When they see its role in their lives, it becomes Torat hayyim, a living text that invites continued discussion and interpretation. And ultimately, we can hope that they will then invite their children into the Torah conversations happening at their own Shabbat tables.
 


[2] Eleff, Zev. Modern Orthodox Judaism: A Documentary History, University of Nebraska Press, Lincoln, 2016, pp. 197–198.

[3] Wertheimer, Jack. “Jewish Education in the United States: Recent Trends and Issues.” The American Jewish Year Book, vol. 99, 1999, pp. 8–9, 17, 19–20, 24–26. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/23605995.

[4] Gamoran, Adam, et al. “Background and Training of Teachers in Jewish Schools: Current Status and Levers for Change.” Religious Education, vol. 92, no. 4, 1997, p. 534 and 549.

[5] Paterson, Wendy A. “From 1871 to 2021: A Short History of Education in the United States.” SUNY Buffalo State College, 8 Dec. 2021, https://suny.buffalostate.edu/news/1871-2021-short-history-education-united-states.

[6] Paterson, ibid.

[7] Mayer, Richard E. “Rote Versus Meaningful Learning.” Theory Into Practice, vol. 41, no. 4, 2002.

[8] Mayer, ibid.

[9] Besser, Mordechai. “A Census of Jewish Day Schools in the United States 2018–2019.” AVI CHAI Census, Aug. 2020, pp. 14–15., https://avichai.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/AVI-CHAI-Census-2018-2019-v3.pdf.

Conversion to Judaism: Halakha, Hashkafa, and Historic Challenge

The Jewish community underwent cataclysmic changes during the course of the nineteenth century. While most of world Jewry was religiously observant in 1800, a large majority were no longer devoted to halakhic tradition by 1900. Nineteenth-century Orthodox rabbinic leadership had to cope with the rise of Reform Judaism, the spread of Haskala, the breakdown of communal authority over its members, the defection of Jews from Torah and mitzvoth-and from Judaism altogether.

The dramatic erosion in religious observance led to various responses among 19th century Orthodox rabbis. Rabbi Moses Sofer (1762-1839), known as the Hatam Sofer, was recognized as the most authoritative Orthodox voice who shaped traditionalist opposition to Reform Judaism and, indeed, to all those who challenged the hegemony of halakha. He believed that deviators forfeited their right to be considered as proper Jews.[1]

He wrote: "If we had the power over them, my opinion would be to separate them from us [our borders], we should not give our daughters to their sons and their daughters should not be accepted for our sons so as not to be drawn after them. Their sect should be considered like those of Zadok and Boethus, Anan, and Saul, they among themselves and we among ourselves." [2]

The Hatam Sofer argued forcefully for maintaining the sanctity of every law and tradition. He is famed for his aphorism "hadash assur min haTorah", by which he meant that the Torah forbids innovations i.e. reforms. His hashkafa (religious worldview) identified Jewishness with scrupulous observance of Torah and mitzvoth and acceptance of the halakhic way of life.

Although the Hatam Sofer's position was dominant, other Orthodox voices called for a more tolerant attitude toward those who veered away from the halakhic way of life. Rabbi David Zvi Hoffman (1843-1921), the leading figure in Berlin's Adass Jisroel Orthodox community, favored a "cooperative separatism" i.e. the Orthodox needed to maintain their distinctiveness, but also had to find ways of cooperating with the non-Orthodox. [3] In an earlier generation, Rabbi Yaacov Ettlinger (1798-1871) had sought to ameliorate the halakhic status of the non-observant Jew through the classification of "tinok shenishba"-comparing the non-observant Jew to a Jewish child who had been captured and raised by non-Jews and who therefore could not be held responsible for ignorance of Jewish laws and customs.[4] Thus, while the non-Orthodox masses certainly fell short of Jewish religious requirements, they should not be rejected out of hand; they simply did not know any better. This halakhic argument fostered a more sympathetic approach than that taken by Orthodox isolationists.

Both the hard-line and the more tolerant Orthodox rabbis were pious and learned Torah scholars. Both groups sought support for their views in the Talmud and halakhic literature. Why did they come to different conclusions? Their differences did not stem, I believe, from different interpretations of halakhic texts. Rather, their halakhic stances reflected different hashkafot (religious worldviews) and different evaluations of how to address the challenges that faced them. The Hatam Sofer viewed Torah-observant Jews as the "real" Jews, and the non-observant Jews as betrayers of Judaism who had to be de-legitimatized. For true Judaism to flourish, it was necessary for Orthodoxy to separate itself to the extent possible from the non-Orthodox. The spokesmen for a more conciliatory Orthodoxy focused on the principle that all Jews-religiously observant or not-are part of the Jewish people and need to see themselves as members of one peoplehood. Thus, ways had to be found to bridge the gaps between the Orthodox and the non-Orthodox.

As Orthodoxy continued to lose ground to the non-observant Jewish population, the rejectionist position gained traction within the mitzvah-centered community. The opinion hardened that strong measures were needed to insulate Torah-true Jews from their sinful brethren, and to distinguish between those who observed the mitzvoth and those who rebelled against Torah.

As the hard-line position gained sway regarding non-Orthodox Jews, it also had a profound impact on Orthodox views relating to the acceptance of non-Jews as converts. Since Orthodox rabbis increasingly emphasized mitzvah observance as the essence of Judaism-in order to differentiate clearly between themselves and the reformers-- they came to see the conversion process as entailing a full commitment by the convert to observe all the mitzvoth. Eventually, the position arose that any conversion that took place without the convert's total mitzvah commitment-was not a valid conversion at all.

Professors Avi Sagi and Zvi Zohar, in their study of halakhic literature relating to conversion, suggested that the first halakhic authority to equate conversion with total commitment to observe mitzvoth was Rabbi Yitzchak Schmelkes-and this was not until 1876! [5] Rabbi Schmelkes wrote: "The basic principle with regard to proselytes in our times is to ensure that they truly take upon themselves to perform the central beliefs of religion, the other commandments, and the Sabbath, which is a central principle because a Sabbath desecrator is an idolater. If he undergoes conversion but does not accept upon himself to observe the Sabbath and the commandments, as mandated by religion, he is not a proselyte." He ruled: "If he undergoes conversion and accepts upon himself the yoke of the commandments, while in his heart he does not intend to perform them-it is the heart that God wants and [therefore] he has not become a proselyte."[6]

Rabbi Isaac Sassoon's research on the topic of conversion led him to the writings of Rabbi Akiva Joseph Schlesinger (d. 1922), an influential European halakhist whose views were in some ways even more extreme than those of R. Schmelkes.[7] Rabbi Schlesinger believed a proselyte should not only accept all the mitzvoth, but should adopt the appearance of [European] Orthodox Jews. "Make sure, once the checks, searches and intimidations [of the prospective converts] are done, that they take it upon themselves to be of the number of the downtrodden Jews, recognizable by their distinctive names, speech and attire; and where applicable, by tsitsith, sidelocks and beard." [8]

The views of Rabbis Schmelkes, Schlesinger and others of like mind emerged as "mainstream" Orthodox halakha up to our own day. This is true not only in the "hareidi" Orthodox world, but also in the establishment institutions of so-called modern Orthodoxy. When I was a rabbinical student at Yeshiva University (1967-70), we learned "practical halakha" from Rabbi Melech Schachter. He articulated the position of Rabbi Schmelkes as though it were absolute, uncontested halakha. In a 1965 article, Rabbi Schachter wrote: "Needless to say, conversion to Judaism without commitment to observance has no validity whatever, and the spuriously converted person remains in the eyes of halakha a non-Jew as before." [9] When, a generation after me, my son Hayyim studied for semikha at Yeshiva University (1991-1995), his teacher of "practical rabbinics" told his students not to perform a conversion unless they were willing to bet $100,000 of their own money that the convert would be totally observant of halakha. Essentially, he was echoing the view that conversion to Judaism equals 100% commitment to observe the mitzvoth. Without such commitment by the would-be proselyte, the conversion lacks halakhic validity.

The dominance of this view has come to the general public's attention in recent rulings by Orthodox rabbinic authorities in Israel. In 2006, Rabbi Shlomo Amar-Israel's Sephardic Chief Rabbi-announced that the Israeli Chief Rabbinate would no longer accept conversions performed by Orthodox rabbis in the diaspora, unless those rabbis were on an "approved" list. Rabbi Amar made this unprecedented ruling because he-and the rabbis with whom he works-believed that diaspora rabbis were converting people who did not become religiously observant enough. In order to "raise standards" and to create "uniform standards", the Chief Rabbinate decided it would only recognize conversions performed in accordance with the strictest interpretation of kabbalat hamitzvoth (acceptance of the commandments), and only by batei din who pledged to follow the standards espoused by the Chief Rabbinate.

The Rabbinical Council of America, the largest Orthodox rabbinic group in the diaspora, fell into line with the Chief Rabbinate. It established a geirut committee to propound standards that would be found acceptable to Rabbi Amar; it essentially adopted the view that conversion equals 100% commitment to observe mitzvoth; it set up a system of regional batei din, which alone would have the power to certify conversions. Members of the RCA who do conversions outside of this framework will not have their conversions certified by the RCA.

Even more shocking than this blatant undermining of the diaspora's Orthodox rabbinate-and in many ways more horrifying-was the ruling of a beth din in Ashdod and upheld by the Rabbinic High Court in Israel. This ruling retroactively annulled the conversion of a woman who had converted fifteen years earlier in Israel under the auspices of an Orthodox beth din. The rabbinic judges found that this woman had not been religiously observant enough after her conversion. Thus, she and her children (born after her conversion) were deemed to be non-Jews. This in spite of the fact that she and her children have been living as Jews in Israel for these past many years, and that her conversion had been performed by Israeli Orthodox rabbis!

At a time when thousands of people are seeking conversion to Judaism, the Orthodox beth din establishment is raising increased obstacles to them. Unless converts are willing to promise sincerely to keep all the mitzvoth, they will be rejected as candidates for conversion. If they have already converted, they now must fear that a beth din might invalidate their conversions retroactively if they do not maintain the proper level of religious observance. The Jewish status of thousands of halakhic converts and their children are placed under a cloud, causing immense grief to the individuals involved and to the Jewish people as a whole.

In their zeal to "raise standards", current batei din have been applying ever more stringencies. Numerous potential converts have contacted me over the past several years, with painful stories of their dealings with Orthodox batei din. A 39 year old woman, converted as an adopted baby, was told that she was not Jewish because the Orthodox rabbi overseeing her conversion had served in a mixed-seating synagogue. Shocked that her Jewish identity was challenged, she nevertheless agreed to undergo another conversion so as to be able to marry her fiancé. She was then told that she would need to enroll in the conversion program and study for two years. When she reminded the rabbis that she had lived her entire life as a Jew, that she was 39 years old, that she wished to be married soon so as to be able to have children-the rabbis responded that "their hands were tied". Although they wanted to help her, they had to follow the current guidelines. They did not want to lose their credibility in the Orthodox beth din world.

Another woman, in her early forties, had been studying for 3 years for conversion, and had demonstrated remarkable commitment to halakha. Yet, the beth din kept postponing her conversion. Why? Because the dayyanim felt the man she wished to marry was not religious enough for their standards. To be sure, he was a traditionally observant Jew. But the beth din felt he wasn't "frum" enough-so they would not convert her. That she lost 3 years of her life and may well have lost the possibility of having a baby, did not seem to concern the beth din. They were "raising standards".

A young man who wished to convert was told by the beth din that he would have to move into the Orthodox neighborhood of town and pay $5000 to cover the cost of tutors. When he explained that he came from a poor family, and he could not afford the rents in the Orthodox neighborhood nor the $5000 fee, he was told that the beth din could not help him. He went to another beth din in that city, but was given the same terms. He then enrolled in a conversion program with a Conservative rabbi. The "raised standards" have turned this young man-and so many more like him-away from Orthodoxy altogether.

Thousands of people from the former Soviet Union live in Israel. Many have Jewish ancestry or Jewish spouses-yet they are halakhically not Jewish. These people and their children live in the Jewish State, speak Hebrew, serve in the military-yet the rabbinic establishment has not found a way to convert a large number of them. The rabbis insist that the converts become religiously observant, or at least pretend to become religiously observant for the sake of conversion. (In the latter instance, these converts could run into the problem of having their conversions invalidated at some later date by a beth din, as happened to the woman in Ashdod.) This problem festers in Israel and is the source of heated controversy. The Orthodox beth din establishment does not know how to cope with a situation involving so many thousands of people-especially since many of those wishing to convert do not intend to become fully observant of Torah and mitzvoth.

The current policies of the Orthodox rabbinic/beth din establishment are causing anguish to thousands of would-be converts and their families; are turning would-be converts away from Orthodoxy; are preventing an untold number of Jewish children from being born, due to drawn out conversion procedures for women in their 30s and early 40s; are de-legitimizing Orthodox rabbis and converts who do not subscribe to the "establishment" positions; are causing thousands of halakhic converts to fear that their and their children's halakhic status will be undermined. We must ask ourselves some serious questions:

1. Are these current policies relating to conversion absolutely required by halakha, or are there other valid views that must be considered?
2. Are current efforts to "raise standards" focusing on ritual mitzvoth, while actually "lowering standards" of mitzvoth relating to maintaining Jewish families, treating converts and potential converts with compassion, and other moral considerations?
3. If the current policies are halakhically and morally deficient, how should we be addressing the issue of conversion to Judaism?
Let us address these questions one by one:
1. Are these current policies relating to conversion absolutely required by halakha, or are there other valid views that must be considered? The answer is: these policies are not absolutely mandated by halakha, and in fact represent a "reform" of classic halakha. Other valid halakhic positions are not only available, but are preferable.

Talmudic Sources:

The primary sources for the laws of conversion are in the Talmud. The basic description of the conversion process is recorded in Yebamot 47a-b:
"Our rabbis taught: if at the present time a person desires to become a proselyte, he is to be addressed as follows: why do you come to be a proselyte? Do you not know that Israel at the present time is persecuted and oppressed, despised, harassed, and overcome by afflictions? If he replies, I know and yet am unworthy [but still wish to convert], he is accepted forthwith, and is given instruction in some of the minor and some of the major commandments....And as he is informed of the punishment for the transgression of the commandments, so is he informed of the reward granted for their fulfillment....He is not, however, to be persuaded or dissuaded too much. If he accepted, he is circumcised forthwith....As soon as he is healed, arrangements are made for his immediate ablution [in a mikvah]. When he comes up after his ablution, he is deemed to be an Israelite in all respects. In the case of a woman proselyte, women make her sit in the water up to her neck they two [three] learned men stand outside and give her instruction in some of the minor commandments and some of the major ones."

The candidate for conversion is first told of the dangers confronting the Jewish people in order to ascertain whether he/she is willing to be subjected to these risks as a Jew. This harks back to biblical Ruth, whose conversion declaration began with "your people will be my people," and only afterward went on with "your God will be my God."

The Talmud requires us to inform the would-be proselyte of some of the mitzvoth-not all of them. Indeed, we are not supposed to belabor the issue of mitzvoth, so as not to scare off the person who has already expressed a desire to become a member of the Jewish people. We may neither persuade nor dissuade too much. Rather, we want the person to know that our religion makes demands on us-which entail rewards and punishments. It is up to the person to decide, based on the limited information we have presented, whether or not to become Jewish.

The Talmud makes no reference to the need for the would-be proselyte to spend years studying Torah before being accepted for conversion. It makes no demand that the candidate even know what all the mitzvoth are! On the contrary, the Talmudic conversion process is fairly straightforward. Once the candidate has expressed willingness to join the Jewish people, and once he/she has been told some of the mitzvoth-he/she is accepted forthwith, without delays.

What if the candidate for conversion has ulterior motives e.g. he/she wishes to marry a Jew? In this case, the motivating factor is not purely religious (or not religious at all). Is such a conversion valid? The Talmud discusses this issue in Yebamot 24b.
"Mishnah: If a man is suspected of [intercourse]...with a heathen who subsequently became a proselyte, he must not marry her. If, however, he did marry her, they need not be separated. Gemara: This implies that she may become a proper proselyte. But against this a contradiction is raised. Both a man who became a proselyte for the sake of a woman and a woman who became a proselyte for the sake of a man...are not proper proselytes. These are the words of Rabbi Nehemiah, for Rabbi Nehemiah used to say: Neither lion-proselytes nor dream proselytes nor the proselytes of Mordecai and Esther are proper proselytes unless they become converted as at the present time...Surely concerning this it was stated that Rabbi Isaac bar Samuel bar Martha said in the name of Rab: The halakha is in accordance with the opinion of him who maintained that they are all proper proselytes."

Rabbi Nehemiah argued that conversions with ulterior motives (e.g. to marry a Jew) are not valid. Only conversions motivated by pure spiritual considerations are acceptable. However, the Talmud rejects Rabbi Nehemiah's opinion. The halakha follows Rab-conversions by those who had ulterior motives are, in fact, valid. These converts are halakhically Jewish.

Rabbi Nehemiah viewed conversion primarily as an unsullied acceptance of Judaism; thus, one whose motives were suspect would not be a suitable proselyte. Rab, though, seemed to view the conversion process as a means of bringing the non-Jew into the Jewish peoplehood. Even if the decision to become Jewish did not stem from purely religious considerations, the proselyte became a full member of the Jewish people by undergoing the conversion procedure. While this Talmudic passage is discussing a de facto situation (bedi-avad), great halakhic authorities (as we shall see later) have argued that it is appropriate to accept such converts even initially, due to the unique exigencies of the modern period.

The Talmud (Shabbat 31a) records three instances where individuals expressed the desire to convert to Judaism, and who came both to Shammai and Hillel. Since each of the three began his inquiries with improper assumptions-one accepted to follow the written Torah but not the oral Torah, one wanted to learn the entire Torah while standing on one foot, and one wanted to convert in order to become the High Priest-Shammai turned them away. Yet, Hillel accepted each of them lovingly, and through his patient and wise instruction he was able to bring them into Judaism. The Talmud relates that these three proselytes faulted Shammai's strictness, and praised the kindness and humility of Hillel for having allowed them to come "under the wings of the Divine Presence." The point of these aggadic stories is that even if candidates come with mistaken ideas and improper motives, yet they should be received kindly. By teaching them lovingly, the hope is that they will indeed come to a proper understanding of Jewish traditions and will eventually develop pure motives for conversion.

What if a convert's knowledge of Torah and mitzvoth was seriously deficient? Could such a convert be deemed to be Jewish? The Talmud (Shabbat 68a) rules that a person, who unknowingly transgresses Sabbath laws many times, is only obligated to bring one sin offering, rather than one offering for each transgression. Rab and Shemuel, the leading sages of their generation, explained that this rule refers to "a child who was captured among non-Jews and a convert who was converted among the gentiles." Since these individuals simply did not know the Shabbat laws because they had been raised or converted among non-Jews, they could not be held responsible for all their transgressions. Here we have a case of a non-Jew who became a valid proselyte-but who did not even know the laws of Shabbat! The Talmud never questions the Jewishness of such a proselyte, nor even faintly suggests that the conversion was not valid or could be retroactively annulled. As long as the proselyte underwent the technicalities of conversion (which obviously did not include a full knowledge of mitzvoth), the proselyte was a full-fledged Jew.

One Talmudic passage is frequently quoted to prove that a proselyte must accept every mitzvah, and that a rejection of even one mitzvah disqualifies him/her from being accepted as a convert. The passage is found in Bekhorot 30b.
"Our rabbis taught ...If a heathen is prepared to accept the Torah except one religious law, we must not receive him. R. Jose son of R. Judah says: even [if the exception be] one point of the special minutiae of the Scribes' enactments."

This passage seems to go against the previously-mentioned Talmudic passages, which clearly do not require the proselyte to know and commit to observe every mitzvah, let alone each point of special minutiae of the Scribes' enactments. Neither Rambam nor the Shulhan Arukh cite this passage as authoritative halakha in regard to the conversion process. Indeed, Rambam (Hilkhot Issurei Biah 14:8) does not believe this passage is discussing a righteous proselyte at all! Rather, it is referring to a resident alien (ger toshav).

Even if we were to apply this passage to righteous proselytes (although neither Rambam nor the Shulhan Arukh did so!), it could still be understood in light of the other Talmudic passages cited earlier. Rabbi Hayyim Ozer Grodzinski explained: we are supposed to inform the would-be proselyte of the mitzvoth. As long as the candidate gives general assent to accept the mitzvoth, that is sufficient. If the would-be proselyte specifically rejects a particular mitzvah, only then should he/she not be accepted. "But in the case of one who accepts all the mitzvoth, while his intention is to transgress for his own pleasure [le-tei-avon] this is not a deficiency in the law of kabbalat ha-mitzvoth." [10] Rabbi Benzion Uziel ruled: "If a convert accepts the Torah and the rewards and punishments of the commandments but continues to behave in the way he was accustomed before conversion, he is a sinning convert, but we do not hesitate to accept him because of this." [11] In other words, what is required is a general statement from the proselyte indicating an acceptance of mitzvoth. It is not incumbent upon us to probe too deeply, nor to receive a promise that each and every mitzvah will be fulfilled without exception. As long as the candidate for conversion does not make a formal declaration rejecting a particular halakha, that is sufficient as kabbalat hamitzvoth.

Rambams' Rulings:

In describing the procedure for accepting converts, Rambam basically follows the protocol recorded in Yebamot 47a-b. However, he adds the requirement of informing the candidate of the basic principles of our faith i.e. the unity of God, the prohibition of idolatry (Hilkhot Issurei Biah 14:2). Rambam, like the Talmud, indicates that we inform the candidate of some of the mitzvoth and some of the rewards and punishments-but we do not overly prolong this nor give too many details "lest we cause him anxiety and thereby turn him from the good path to the bad path." We are supposed to draw him to conversion with goodwill and soft words.

Rambam does not require-or expect-that would-be converts be given thorough instruction in Torah and mitzvoth. This is reflected in Rambam's discussion of the hakhel commandment, when the people of Israel gathered in Jerusalem once in seven years to hear the king read from the Torah. Men, women and children were to attend this event-even those who could not understand the Torah reading. Rambam seems to take it for granted that proselytes were among those who would not understand the Torah reading. "As for proselytes who do not know the Torah, they must make ready their heart and give ear attentively to listen in awe and reverence and trembling joy, as on the day when the Torah was given on Sinai" (Hilkhot Hagigah, 3:6).

Rambam noted that potential converts should be examined to see if they have ulterior motives. (Hilkhot Issurei Biah 13:14-16.) In the days of King David and King Solomon, the beth din did not accept proselytes since it was assumed that non-Jews came for personal gain rather than religious reasons. Nonetheless, Rambam writes, numerous converts were made in the days of David and Solomon through "hedyotot", ad hoc batei din of non-experts that were not the official batei din of the land. Such converts were neither pushed away nor brought close until it was seen how they turned out i.e. were they really serious in their desire to be Jewish? Having said this, though, Rambam instructs us not to believe that Samson or Solomon married non-Jewish women. Rather, their "non-Jewish" wives were actually converted by the courts of "hedyotot", so that they were in fact Jewish. Yet, we know that these wives did not convert from religious motivations. We also know that they continued to worship idols after their conversions. Wouldn't this be a clear indication that their conversions were not valid? Isn't it obvious that they turned out to be idolaters rather than Jews?

The Rambam (Hilkhot Issurei Biah 13:17) rules: "A proselyte who was not examined [as to his motives] or who was not informed of the mitzvoth and their punishments, and he was circumcised and immersed in the presence of three laymen-is a proselyte. Even if it is known that he converted for some ulterior motive, once he has been circumcised and immersed he has left the status of being a non-Jew and we suspect him until his righteousness is clarified. Even if he recanted and worshipped idols, he is [considered] a Jewish apostate; if he betroths a Jewish woman according to halakha, they are betrothed; and an article he lost must be returned to him as to any other Jew. Having immersed, he is a Jew."

According to Rambam, a person who undergoes the technical procedures of conversion (circumcision and immersion for a man, immersion for a woman) in the presence of a beth din (even one made up of laymen) is a valid convert. Even if the motives for conversion were dubious, and even if the convert reverted to idolatry, the conversion remains valid. We may not want this person to marry into our family. We may suspect his/her sincerity and uprightness of character: but he/she is Jewish all the same. This explains why the wives of Samson and Solomon, idolatrous though they were, were nevertheless Jews and were married to their husbands as Jews.[12]

The Talmud, Rambam and Shulhan Arukh provided a general framework for the acceptance of converts, but did not give a detailed list of guidelines. These classic halakhic sources recognized that each conversion case is unique, and each must be evaluated by those overseeing the conversions. In the Talmud's words, ein ledayan ela ma she-einav ro-ot. Each judge must take responsibility for the cases that come before him, based on his own evaluation. Classic halakha eschewed "uniform standards" in the area of conversion, leaving it up to the individuals in charge to use their own judgment in dealing with each would-be proselyte.

The Talmud, Rambam and Shulhan Arukh 1) do not demand nor expect a candidate for conversion to learn all the mitzvoth prior to conversion; 2) do not demand nor expect a candidate for conversion to promise to observe all the mitzvoth in specific detail; 3) do not demand an extended period of study before conversion; 4) do not equate conversion with a total acceptance to observe Torah and mitzvoth, but rather see conversion as a way for a non-Jew to become a member of the Jewish people ; [13] 5) do recognize the validity of conversions even when the convert came with ulterior motives, even when the convert was ignorant of basic laws of Judaism; 6) do not allow for the retroactive annulment of a conversion, even when the convert continued to worship idols after converting to Judaism.

Since the classic halakhic sources allow so much leeway in the acceptance of converts, why have important 19th and 20th century halakhic authorities adopted stringent positions that are so antithetical to these sources? Indeed, why has the stringent view become so prevalent within Orthodoxy?

One possible answer has already been suggested. The Orthodox rabbinate has been vastly influenced by the rise of Reform and Conservative Judaism and by the increasing number of Jews who have defected from the halakhic way of life. In seeing Orthodoxy as a bastion of Torah-true Judaism, Orthodox sages have insisted on policies that clearly distinguish between "us" and "them". "We" are the ones who demand scrupulous observance of halakha. "They" are the ones who have betrayed Torah tradition by undermining mitzvah observance. This attitude carries into the area of acceptance of converts. "We" only want converts who will be like us-truly dedicated to Torah and mitzvoth. "We" don't want to create more non-observant Jews in our communities.[14]

Another possible answer is that some in the Orthodox community have a mystical view of Jewishness that deems it quite difficult for a non-Jew to become Jewish. Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook, for example, believed that the act of conversion requires the convert to join the soul of Kenesset Yisrael, a metaphysical representation of the congregation of Israel. This can be accomplished only through a total acceptance of the mitzvoth-since mitzvoth are the essence of the Jewish soul. This is not an easy transition, according to Rabbi Kook, since Jewish souls and non-Jewish souls are ontologically different. For a non-Jew to transform his soul into a Jewish soul requires a tremendous connection to Torah and mitzvoth.[15] Without belaboring the point, Rabbi Kook's line of thinking can be used to buttress feelings of Jewish "superiority" as well as latent xenophobic tendencies.

Yet, when all is said and done, the Talmud, Rambam, Shulhan Arukh and a host of great halakhic authorities do not espouse the stringent, restrictive views relating to conversion. How do proponents of the currently dominant views justify veering from the classic halakhic texts?

One approach has been to cite 19th and 20th century halakhic authorities who insist on the stringent, restrictive views relating to acceptance of converts. Since these "gedolim" have issued such rulings, we are obligated to follow them. If they veered from or reinterpreted the primary halakhic sources, they had good grounds for doing so. This approach does not attempt to see those stringent rulings in historical context, as the reaction to anti-halakhic tendencies in the Jewish community. It does not consider whether those 19th and early 20th century responses are appropriate for our current situation. Moreover, it chooses not to accept the more inclusive and compassionate views of other great modern halakhists who dissented from the stringent views in various ways [16]. Indeed, the more tolerant opinions are far more in line with classic halakhic sources than are the restrictive views espoused by various 19th and 20th century rabbis.

The stringent view insists that kabbalat hamitzvoth entails total commitment to observe all mitzvoth in every detail, and that conversions lacking such commitment are not valid. It already has been demonstrated that these views are not mandated by-and are not even compatible with-- the rulings of the Talmud, Rambam and Shulhan Arukh. Yet, the proponents of the restrictive view are so convinced of their position, they cannot imagine that classic halakhic sources disagree with them.

I discussed the Rambam's ruling (Hilkhot Issurei Biah 13:17) with a prominent dayyan in Israel. The Rambam states unequivocally that a proselyte who was circumcised and immersed in the presence of three laymen is a proselyte. Even if the conversion was with ulterior motives and even if the convert subsequently worshipped idols-he is still to be considered as an apostate Jew. If he betroths a Jewish woman according to halakha, the betrothal is valid i.e. he is a Jew. Rambam does not allow for retroactive annulment of the conversion. Rambam does not invalidate the conversion of a person with imperfect motives, even one who worshipped idols after the conversion.

The dayyan answered: Rambam was speaking of a proselyte who had studied Torah and mitzvoth in advance of being circumcised and immersed. That proselyte fully accepted all the mitzvoth to the last detail before immersing in the mikvah. Then, after coming out of the mikvah he had a change of heart and went to worship idols. But if this proselyte had not known the mitzvoth nor accepted sincerely to observe all the mitzvoth originally, then the conversion would not have been valid. I asked the dayyan: if Rambam meant what you say he meant, why didn't he say so? Rambam was quite careful with his use of language, and could easily have presented the scenario as you described. But he did not do so! His language manifestly indicates that he was not operating with your assumptions, but had a quite different view of conversion. The dayyan answered: the Rambam could not have meant anything other than what I explained.

This, of course, is circular reasoning. The dayyan began with the axiom that conversion equals total commitment to observe all mitzvoth. If Rambam said something in opposition to that axiom, then Rambam needs to be re-interpreted-regardless of how far-fetched the interpretation is and how untrue it is to Rambam's own language.

Other rabbis have offered similar responses based on circular reasoning. When I have pointed out that the Talmud, Rambam and Shulhan Arukh do not define kabbalat hamitzvoth as a total commitment to observe all mitzvoth in detail (but rather as a general acceptance of mitzvoth), proponents of the current stringent view have retorted: The Talmud, Rambam and Shulhan Arukh did not have to spell things out, since they assumed that a convert would observe all the mitzvoth. It was so obvious to them, they didn't even have to state this. Yet, the fact is that the Talmud, Rambam and Shulhan Arukh specifically described the conversion process, and stated that the would-be proselyte should be informed only of some of the major and minor mitzvoth. The Talmud discusses the case of a proselyte who did not even know the laws of Shabbat. Rambam and Shulhan Arukh did not invalidate the conversion of a proselyte who later worshipped idols. If the Talmud, Rambam and Shulhan Arukh accepted the "standards" of Rabbi Schmelkes and others, they would have said so clearly. We must take their words in their context as they were intended. It is not appropriate to read one's own views into the texts.

2. Let us now turn to the second question: Are current efforts to "raise standards" focusing on ritual mitzvoth, while actually "lowering standards" of mitzvoth relating to maintaining Jewish families, treating converts and potential converts with compassion, and other moral considerations?

In the guise of "raising standards", the contemporary Orthodox world has stressed-almost exclusively-the details of Shabbat and holiday observances, kashruth, prayer, and mikvah. A candidate for conversion who is not ready to give a detailed commitment to these ritual mitzvoth has little chance of being accepted for giyyur.

Yet, aren't there other important considerations that need to be factored into the conversion process?
Rabbi Benzion Uziel (1880-1953), late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel, saw himself as being very stringent in applying the prohibitions against intermarriage. Therefore, he believed that rabbis must do everything in their power to prevent intermarriage situations. When a Jew and non-Jew were intending to marry each other, or already were married to each other, Rabbi Uziel urged that rabbis convert the non-Jewish partner to Judaism. He made this ruling even when it was expected that the couple would not be observant of all the mitzvoth. He ruled that performing such conversions was not only permitted, but was a mitzvah! [17] He wrote: "From all that has been stated and discussed, the ruling follows that it is permissible and a mitzvah to accept male and female converts even if it is known to us that they will not observe all the mitzvoth, because in the end they will come to fulfill them. We are commanded to make this kind of opening for them; and if they do not fulfill the mitzvoth, they will bear their own iniquities, and we are innocent."

Rabbi Uziel was deeply concerned about the fate of children born to a Jewish father and a non-Jewish mother. Such children, although of Jewish stock (zera yisrael), are in fact not halakhically Jewish. Children raised in such intermarriages will be lost to the Jewish people entirely. Thus, it is obligatory for rabbis to convert the non-Jewish mother in order to keep the children in the Jewish fold. Rabbi Uziel noted: "And I fear that if we push them [the children] away completely by not accepting their parents for conversion, we shall be brought to judgment and they shall say to us: ‘You did not bring back those who were driven away, and those who were lost you did not seek.' (Yehezkel 34:4)."

In another responsum, Rabbi Uziel wrote: "I admit without embarrassment that my heart is filled with trembling for every Jewish soul that is assimilated among the non-Jews. I feel in myself a duty and mitzvah to open a door to repentance and to save [Jews] from assimilation by [invoking] arguments for leniency. This is the way of Torah, in my humble opinion, and this is what I saw and received from my parents and teachers."[18]

Certainly Rabbi Uziel would have liked all Jews-born Jews and converted Jews-to live fully religious lives devoted to Torah and mitzvoth. But since we live in an imperfect world, we need to make halakhic judgments based on the realities we face. Since intermarriage is a great sin and leads to the loss of children to the Jewish people, Rabbi Uziel deemed these concerns to outweigh considerations about how religiously observant the converts would be. Surely, candidates for conversion should be taught some of the major and some of the minor mitzvoth, and should come to feel as members of the Jewish people. But if they lived as non-observant Jews, this is their sin-not ours. By preventing intermarriage situations, we can hope that these couples and their children will be part of the Jewish people, and will ultimately come closer to our Torah traditions. If, however, we turn such converts away, we allow intermarriages to persist, and we undermine the possibility of keeping children of such marriages within the Jewish people.

Other halakhic authorities have raised considerations that warrant leniencies in the area of conversion. If we fear that by not converting a non-Jewish partner, the Jewish partner to the intermarriage (or potential intermarriage) will estrange himself/herself from the Jewish community-we should convert the non-Jewish partner. If we reject them, such couples could be married by civil authorities or by non-Orthodox rabbis. If they were turning to Orthodox rabbis for the conversion, this itself is an indication that they preferred to be part of the traditionalist Jewish community. If we reject them, we may run the risk of having them live outside the Jewish community, or even of having the Jewish partner convert to the religion of the spouse.[19]

The late Ashkenazic Chief Rabbi I. Y. Unterman raised yet another concern. In discussing the appropriate rabbinic attitude toward immigrants to Israel from Russia during the early 1970s-among whom were many intermarried couples-Rabbi Unterman advocated that rabbis demonstrate compassion and kindness. These immigrants should not be made to feel that the rabbis view them unfavorably. If conversions took place when the immigrants had not intended fully to live according to the mitzvoth, one should not condemn such conversions lest the public conclude that the rabbis are intransigent when it comes to dealing with conversions.[20] Rabbi Unterman was not happy about conversions of this type; but he judged it better not to raise public opposition to them.

Rabbi Zehariah HaCohen (b. 1898) was a sage born in Yemen, who immigrated to Israel and became Rabbi in Nehalal. He dealt with the issue of non-Jewish immigrants to Israel who were married to Jews, and who were not living a strictly religious lifestyle. Should such people be accepted for conversion? Among his concerns, Rabbi HaCohen worried about consequences of not converting these intermarried people. How would they become integrated properly into Jewish Israeli society? What would be the status of their children? He wrote: "We cannot demand that the proselyte observe all the 613 precepts at a time when most of those who are resettling him are themselves far from observing this number or even part of it.... How can we demand the proselyte to observe the Sabbath and the dietary laws etc? Such would be saying: do as I say, but not as I do!" Rabbi HaCohen believed that conversions should be performed for the non-Jewish spouses. The hope was that children of these marriages would learn more about Judaism in school, and that they would influence their parents to become more observant religiously.[21]

Rabbi Moshe HaCohen, born in Jerba, immigrated to Israel in the 1950s and became a dayyan in the rabbinical court in Teverya. He, too, was concerned about the many Jewish immigrants to Israel who had non-Jewish spouses. These couples and their children needed to be integrated into Israeli society as Jews. Yet, many of them resided in places where religious laws were not observed-they ate forbidden foods, desecrated the Sabbath etc. Even after conversion, there was little likelihood that these converts would be religiously observant. Should they be converted anyway? Rabbi HaCohen ruled that they indeed should be converted. He explained that kabbalat hamitzvoth "does not mean that [the convert] must commit himself to observe all the commandments. Rather, it means that he accepts all the commandments of the Torah in the sense that, if he transgresses, he will be liable for such punishment as he deserves....And if so, we do not care if at the time he accepts the mitzvoth he intends to transgress a particular commandment and accept the punishment. This is not considered a flaw in his acceptance of the commandments."[22]

We see, then, that conversion entails a broader range of considerations than simply whether the would-be convert will observe ritual law to the last detail. While we surely would like all born Jews and all converts to be fully observant of mitzvoth, conversions may be halakhically sanctioned even when our ideal hopes are not likely to be realized.

The Talmud (Baba Metsia 59b) states that one who causes anguish to a proselyte thereby transgresses 36 commandments; some say, 46 commandments. Those who cast doubt on halakhically valid conversions are thereby guilty of a multitude of sins. Those who foster the stringent views, without allowing for other perfectly valid halakhic positions, are not only causing anguish to proselytes and their families; they are also casting aspersions on all those halakhic sages who disagree with them. The rabbi in Ashdod who retroactively annulled the conversion of a woman who had been converted by an Orthodox beth din-was not just undermining the Jewish status of this woman and her children. He rejected the possibility that any legitimate rabbis could have an opinion other than his. He believed that conversion must entail absolute commitment to observe all mitzvoth-and that lacking such commitment and observance, the conversion is not valid. Thus, rabbis who relied on the far more tolerant views of the Talmud, Rambam, Shulhan Arukh, Rabbi Hayyim Ozer Grodzinski, Rabbi Uziel, Rabbi David Zvi Hoffman etc.-all such rabbis were themselves invalidated! The dayyan of Ashdod could not have been blunter: "These ‘courts' permit 100 percent gentiles to marry into the Jewish people, and they cause many people to sin terribly. And they have turned conversions into a joke. The judges [who take the more lenient view] are nothing less than blasphemers and evil-doers. And since the judges are criminals, none of the conversions they perform should be recognized." [23] This statement-so arrogant in self-righteousness and so narrow in its religious worldview-characterizes what is worst in the contemporary Orthodox beth din establishment. In one fell swoop, it throws converts and their families into turmoil about their Jewish identities, and also undermines the credibility of any rabbis who would disagree with the restrictive views on the topic of conversion. If we are looking for religious leadership among Orthodox rabbis, we should not be looking to this dayyan in Ashdod, nor to any other rabbis who foster this halakhically and morally repugnant attitude.

Regrettably, the Orthodox beth din establishment functions with the assumptions expressed by the rabbi in Ashdod. Their "raised standards" measure the potential convert on the basis of commitment to observe ritual mitzvoth, without factoring in the broader issues that dramatically affect the lives of individuals, couples, children, the Jewish community at large, the State of Israel. They establish "standards" and then refuse to accept the conversions of those upstanding and learned Orthodox rabbis who have more tolerant, compassionate and inclusive views. This underlies the decision of Israel's Chief Rabbis not to accept conversions performed by Orthodox rabbis of the diaspora, except for those on a very limited approved list-approved because they accept the dictates of the Chief Rabbinate on the topic of conversion. This underlies the decision of the Rabbinical Council of America to certify only those conversions done by its own hand-picked dayyanim, and not to certify conversions performed by the vast majority of its own members-fine Orthodox rabbis.

The scandal of the current beth din establishment position is that it actually invalidates (or casts into doubt) halakhic conversions performed by Orthodox rabbis who follow the teachings of Talmud, Rambam, Shulhan Arukh and a host of halakhic authorities who adhere to those teachings. Thus, halakhic converts and their children are told that they are not Jewish, or that their Jewishness is questionable. This is an egregious example of oppressing gerim-innui ha-ger.

The beth din establishment claims that they adopt the stringent views in order to "raise standards". As has been pointed out, stringency in the areas of ritual observance leads to "lowering standards" in the areas of intermarriage prevention; it leads to a loss of children to families and to the Jewish people; it leads to weakening the Jewish fabric of Jewish communities in the diaspora and in the State of Israel; it leads potential converts to give up on Orthodoxy-or to become alienated from Judaism altogether; it increases the number of transgressions of oppressing proselytes.

Another claim is that it is necessary to maintain "uniform standards" in conversion policy. The call for "uniform standards' is a code phrase, meaning that all Orthodox rabbis should adopt the most stringent positions. Yet, halakhic literature itself does not present a uniform standard. Various legitimate and valid views are available. To restrict options to a "uniform standard" is false to halakha. Rabbi Haim David Halevy, late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv, has pointed out that the halakha has purposely left latitude for each rabbi to deal with the particular circumstances of each potential convert. Ein ledayyan ela mah she-einav ro-ot, each judge must evaluate each situation according to his own best judgment. He needs to factor in many considerations, and may sometimes feel the need to be stringent and sometimes to be lenient. Whether and when to perform conversions "was left to each judge and leader of his generation to decide according to what his own eyes see, whether toward leniency or strictness." [24] If individual rabbis feel they need to adopt stringent opinions, that is their own decision to make. But such rabbis have no right to impose their views on all other rabbis. They have no right to call into question the halakhic Jewishness of converts who were converted by Orthodox rabbis who, in fact, are following classic halakhic guidelines.

The need of the hour is for Orthodox rabbis to deal with conversions with a "full halakhic toolbox". We need to draw on the range of halakhic options in order to address the specific circumstances of each giyyur, and to confront the larger issues facing the Jewish people and the State of Israel.

Surely, we must take our responsibility seriously. We must teach prospective converts in a spirit of respect and kindness; we must do our best to bring them to an appreciation of Torah and mitzvoth; we must help them to strive to become fine members of the Jewish people. We must oppose unequivocally "shotgun" conversions that make a mockery of giyyur; rather, we must engage each convert in a serious, life-transforming process. This process is filled with challenges, with emotional highs and lows. Not every candidate for conversion will or should be accepted. While our general attitude must be inclusive, there are cases where we feel we must say no. Each case is unique; each prospective candidate presents a different set of issues; each rabbi must weigh carefully how to deal with each situation.

3. Let us now address the third question: If the current policies are halakhically and morally deficient, how should we be addressing the issue of conversion to Judaism?

Here are some suggestions:

1. Orthodox rabbis must raise their voices to oppose the current restrictive policies of the establishment Orthodox batei din. They must express outrage at the mistreatment of potential converts and the abuse of halakhic converts whose Jewish credentials are being cast into doubt. If we do not resist the current misguided policies, we thereby become accomplices.
2. The Orthodox public must insist that its day schools, yeshivoth and synagogues teach a range of valid halakhic opinions on the topic of giyyur (as well as on so many other topics!). If we are supporting institutions that foster an erroneous halakhic position on giyyur, then we are accomplices.
3. Orthodox rabbis must insist that every proselyte converted by Orthodox rabbis is a full Jew in the eyes of halakha, in the eyes of God, and in the eyes of the Jewish community. No proselyte should be black-balled, whether in Israel or the diaspora, because the current beth din establishment refuses to endorse the conversion.
4. The Orthodox public must be vigilant that its schools and other institutions accept all halakhic converts with love and compassion.
5. Orthodox rabbis must make it clear that they view candidates for conversion, as well as converts, as deserving of our respect and affection. We must have a compassionate, inclusive attitude, and must take into consideration the circumstances that brought these people to us in the first place.
6. The Orthodox public must support those rabbis who foster legitimate diversity within halakha; must support those institutions that fight for a righteous, compassionate and inclusive Orthodoxy; must have the moral courage to stand up against the injustices and cruelties perpetrated in the guise of "raising standards" and creating "uniform standards".

At a time when many thousands of people have converted to Judaism, and many thousands more wish to do so, the Orthodox rabbinate needs to project a framework for giyyur that is halakhically sound and ethically responsible. The challenges of the 19th century, that generated the restrictive views of the Hatam Sofer, R. Yitzchak Schmelkes and others, are different from the challenges our community is facing today. We live at a time when a sovereign Jewish State exists and must absorb hundreds of thousands of individuals who are not halakhically Jewish. We live at a time when intermarriage rates in the diaspora are at an astronomical level and show no signs of declining. We live at a time when thousands of people would be willing to turn to Orthodox rabbis for halakhic conversion-if only we presented a halakhic framework for giyyur that is meaningful, accessible, and respectful to the needs and concerns of the proselytes themselves. Local Orthodox rabbis, using their own knowledge of each case on a personal basis, are far better equipped to deal with the challenges of giyyur today than rabbinic bureaucracies.

The halakha provides leeway and multiple views about the nature of the conversion process. Halakhic Judaism should not be constricted to only one halakhic view, and certainly not to the most rigid and restrictive view. It must be recognized that different legitimate halakhic positions are available just as there are different legitimate hashkafic opinions. At this period of historic challenge, the Orthodox rabbinate can either rise to greatness or shrink into self-righteous isolationism. Thus far, the rabbinic/beth din establishment has chosen the latter course. It is not too late to turn things around. The honor of God, Torah and the Jewish people are at stake.

[1] See Adam Ferziger’s book, Exclusion and Hierarchy: Orthodoxy, Nonobservance, and the Emergence of Modern Jewish Identity, University of Pennsylvania Press, Philadelphia, 2005, pp. 61f.

[2] quoted by Ferziger, p. 73.

[3] See Ferziger, pp. 152f.

[4] Binyan Zion ha-Hadashot, no. 23. <!--[if !supportFootnotes]-->

[5] Avi Sagi and Zvi Zohar, Transforming Identity, Continuum Press, London and New York, 2007, pp. 234f. See their original Hebrew edition of this book, Giyyur ve-Zehut Yehudit, Shalom Hartman Institute and Mosad Bialik, Jerusalem, 1997.

[6] Yitzchak Schmelkes, Beit Yitzchak, Y.D. 100.

[7] See Isaac Sassoon, “The Proselyte Who Comes”, in the Articles section of www.jewishideas.org.

[8] Akiva Joseph Schlesinger, Lev Ha-Ivri, Kitvei R. Akiva Yosef Schlesinger, Jerusalem, 1989, vol. 2, pp. 291-2.

[9] See his article in Jewish Life Magazine, May-June 1965, p. 7. See also p. 11 under the heading “commitment to total observance.”

[10] Ahiezer, vol. 3, no. 26, sec. 4.

[11] Mishpetei Uziel, vol. 2, Y.D. 58. See also R. Shelomo Zalman b. Isaac, Hemdat Shelomo, Warsaw 1876, Y.D. 29, where he indicates that kabbalat ha-mitzvoth is accomplished in a general way, by the proselyte’s entering the mikvah with the desire to become Jewish and to adopt the Jewish religion.

[12] See also Shulhan Arukh, Y.D. 268:12, where R. Yosef Karo also rules that a person who fulfilled the technical requirements of circumcision and immersion—even if the process lacked examination of motives and indication of rewards and punishments of the mitzvoth—is a valid convert. Even if he/she subsequently worshipped idols, he/she is to be considered a Jewish apostate—but a Jew nevertheless.

[13] See Rabbi Shlomo Goren’s responsum in Shanah be-Shanah, 5743, pp. 149-156, where he rejects the possibility of conversion for a non-Jew who accepted all the mitzvoth but who did not accept to be part of the Jewish people.

[14] For a discussion of the rigidity that set into halakha as a reaction to the rise of Reform, see Daniel Sperber, Darka shel Halakha, Reuven Mass Publishers, Jerusalem,2007, pp. 102ff.

[15] Orot, Jerusalem, 5745, p. 156. See the article by Rabbi Yoel Bin-Nun, “Nationalism, Humanity and Kenesset Yisrael,” in The World of Rav Kook’s Thought” Avi Chai Foundation, New York, 1991, pp. 210f.

[16] Shmuel Shilo, “Halakhic Leniency in Modern Responsa Regarding Conversion,” Israel Law Review, vol. 22, 1988, pp. 353 ff, cites the lenient views of Rabbis Shlomo Kluger, Shlomo Yehuda of Sighet, Shalom Shvadron, David Zvi Hoffman, Haim Ozer Grodzinski, Yehiel Weinberg, Benzion Uziel, Isser Yehuda Unterman and Ovadia Yosef.

[17] See Mishpetei Uziel, E.H., Jerusalem, 5724, nos. 18, 20, 22. For a discussion of R. Uziel’s views on conversion, see my book, Loving Truth and Peace: The Grand Religious Worldview of Rabbi Benzion Uziel, Jason Aronson, Northvale, 1999, chapter 7.

[18] Mishpetei Uziel, 5698, no. 26.

[19] These concerns are raised in the following sources: R. Shlomo Kluger, Tuv Ta’am Ve’da’at, vol. 1, no. 230; R. Shalom Shvadron, Responsa Maharsham, vol. 6, Y.d. 109; R. David Zvi Hoffman, Melamed leHo-il, Y.D. 85.

[20] Rabbi Unterman discusses this issue in “The Laws of Conversion and their Practical Application,” Noam, vol. 1, 1971.

[21] Cited in Baruch Litvin, Jewish Identity, New York, 1965, p. 62.

[22] Cited by Sagi and Zohar, Transforming Identity, p. 230.

[23] As quoted in the Jerusalem Post, May 18, 2007.

[24] Asei Lekha Rav, vol. 1, no. 23.

Recognition Hunger: Thoughts for Parashat Ki Tetsei

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Ki Tetsei

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

In his book, “Games People Play,” Dr. Eric Berne wrote of a phenomenon that he described as recognition hunger. Humans have a deep psychological need to be recognized, to be validated. It is a natural desire to want to be loved and appreciated. These signs of affirmative recognition convey a message: your life matters, you are good, you make a difference. When someone sincerely praises or thanks us, we feel better about ourselves.

While all people have recognition hunger, it manifests itself in different ways. Dr. Berne notes: “A movie actor may require hundreds of strokes each week from anonymous and undifferentiated admirers to keep his spinal cord from shriveling, while a scientist may keep physically and mentally healthy on one stroke a year from a respected master.” (p. 15)

While all humans need affirmation from others, different people have different sorts of recognition hunger. Some are so internally weak, they need constant validation and applause. They seek publicity for themselves. They want to be noticed, and they ache when they are not noticed. The hungrier they are for recognition, the weaker they are within themselves. They don’t think their life matters unless they receive constant attention, however superficial or ephemeral. It may seem odd, but it is often very true, that the most “popular” and “powerful” people are also the most lonely and insecure people.

There are others, like the scientist in Dr. Berne’s statement, whose lives are validated by affirmation from an esteemed master. Such people are very strong within themselves. They don’t pander to the crowd, they don’t strive to call undue attention to themselves. They work diligently and humbly without seeking the limelight. They feel personally validated if one respected person loves them, admires them, or compliments their work. They don’t measure their internal success and happiness by how many people praise or clap for them; rather, they find contentment and validation from the love, admiration and respect of a few--or even one—special individuals.

Generally, the saddest human beings are those who receive little or no recognition from anyone. They are ignored, unloved, unappreciated. Others see them as being inconsequential; they come to see themselves as being inconsequential. Perhaps this is why the Torah constantly reminds us—and commands us—to care for the widow and orphan, to treat the poor with kindness and charity, to respect the elderly. The Torah wants us to be sources of validation for those who might otherwise feel neglected and abandoned.

People with excessive recognition hunger are so worried about their own egos, that they are callous when it comes to caring about others. They want praise aimed at themselves; they are self-centered and self-serving. They will step on anyone and do almost anything in order to advance themselves and gain more recognition. The Torah urges us not to be this kind of person.

It is precisely the psychologically strong people who are best able to care for others. Only the most secure people can give generous compliments. Only those who receive admiration, respect and love can properly convey admiration, respect and love for others. The Torah guides us to become this kind of person.

The outstanding figure in the Torah is Moses; what do we know about his recognition hunger?

The Torah describes many episodes in the life of Moses. It seems that he received very little positive validation from others. In one story after the other, Moses is rebuked, threatened, betrayed, and challenged. Jethro appreciated Moses’ kindness to his daughters, but we never find an Israelite who says to Moses: thank you, you’ve done a good job, you’ve been a strong leader, you’ve helped us live better lives.  It is truly amazing that a man could have served his people so long and so effectively…and yet receive next to no gratitude, appreciation or words of kindness.

So how did Moses maintain his inner strength and composure?

The book of Devarim, including this week’s parasha Ki Tetsei, represents Moses’s recap of his career as leader of his people. He recounts the historical events; he underscores and expands upon the commandments; he offers a religious vision imparted to him by the Almighty. As a servant of God, he drew his validation from God, not human beings. If Moses ever lost heart or if he ever wondered whether his life meant anything, God’s voice reassured him: I love you, Moses, you are accomplishing great things, don’t lose heart, don’t give up on yourself.

Moses, of course, was in a category of his own. He is the only one to have spoken with God “face to face” and to have had such a close relationship with God. And yet, his example can inspire all of us.

Moses reminds us that recognition hunger can be satisfied to a great extent by our own internal validation. When we feel that our work is meaningful, we feel validated even if others do not praise us. When we act righteously, we feel that we are serving the Lord, we are strong even if no one knows of our righteousness. When our own consciences validate us, we can live happily and securely even without receiving applause and public recognition.

This does not preclude our psychological need for being loved, appreciated, and thanked. Recognition hunger is a real factor in human life. Yet, the finest and most secure people are those who are internally validated, who understand that ultimately the validity of their lives is a matter between themselves and God. It is as though God speaks to them and no one else hears.

Without that validation, life is empty. With that validation, life is a blessing.

 

 

 

         

Walking Humbly: A Brief Interpretive History of Micah 6:8

 

In Gustav Dore’s etching, “Micah Exhorting the Israelites,” the prophet stands against a decaying wall with his arms raised and his eyes lowered. Few people targeted in Micah’s immediate sightline look directly at the prophet. Bowed in shame, they turn away. Those who do look have either fear or skepticism in their eyes, just the sort of facial expressions one would expect from a group reminded of their wrongdoings and the attendant consequences. A cursory examination of the eight chapters of Micah help us understand the issues the prophet might be bringing to the attention of his flock that would have received this mixed response. Many of Micah’s prophecies were standard tropes for Hebrew prophets waging a moral and theological battle with their constituents: idol worship, the destruction of Jerusalem, the ravaging of Samaria, the dishonesty of the privileged. Micah also predicted the eventual restoration of Judea with a salvific postscript that is also common to our darkest prophetic and apocalyptic narratives. 

We know almost nothing about Micah as an individual.[1] His parables and chastisements offer little insight into his character. The book reads like a string of small exhortations and observations without a uniting theme. The Sages of the Talmud do little to fill in this picture; they merely identify the broad time period in which Micah lived and performed his holy work: “Rabbi Yoḥanan said: He was the first of the four prophets who prophesied during that period, and these are they: Hosea, Isaiah, Amos, and Micah.”[2]

What we do know about the book of Micah is the popularity and influence of, arguably, its most significant verse: “He (God) has told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: Only to do justice and to love goodness, and to walk modestly with your God” (Micah 6:8). We may have a tiny indication of the verse’s importance in Dore’s etching: a right foot sticks out from the fold of Micah’s tunic, suggesting that he will soon leave the small platform, perhaps to walk modestly with his God.

Doing justice, loving goodness, and walking humbly with God are the desideratum of a strenuous religious life, and not nearly as easy to accomplish as the prophet’s simply-phrased request. Perhaps because of this, the verse has garnered a lot of attention from the Talmud onward. In fact, focusing only on this verse from Micah results in a disconnection of the verse from its biblical context, sometimes producing interpretations that veer very far from its literal context. We will travel through some well-known explanations of this expression, and then present a contextual understanding that emerges from a study of the entire book and its most prominent messages.

Our first stop is the Talmud. In BT Sukkah, R. Elazar takes apart each clause in Micah 6:8 in his search for the verses deeper meaning and legal implications.

 

And this is what Rabbi Elazar said: What is the meaning of that which is written: “It has been told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord does require of you; only to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8)? “To do justly”; this is justice. “To love mercy”; this is acts of kindness. “To walk humbly with your God”; this is referring to taking the indigent dead out for burial and accompanying a poor bride to her wedding canopy, both of which must be performed without fanfare. The Gemara summarizes: And are these matters not inferred a fortiori? If, with regard to matters that tend to be conducted in public, as the multitudes participate in funerals and weddings, the Torah says: Walk humbly, then in matters that tend to be conducted in private, e.g., giving charity and studying Torah, all the more so should they be conducted privately.[3]

 

R. Elazar moves from the generalized sense of justice and mercy to the very specific act of burying those who have no one else to do so, balancing public, communal activities with private acts of generosity. Modesty here is a reflection of commandment performance that is to be done privately lest it catalyze sanctimoniousness in the mind of the performer. 

Another talmudic source references Micah 6:8 in the context of reducing 613 commandments to Jewish laws’ most essential demands. One opinion suggests that the Torah can be captured in the three requirements derived from the prophet’s wise advice.

 

Micah came and established the 613 mitzvoth upon three, as it is written: “It has been told to you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord does require of you; only to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8).[4]

 

It is no wonder this verse enjoyed such a long exegetical history. If 6:8 encapsulates all that the religious life is meant to be, it is easy to understand the verse’s importance.

Other understandings of Micah 6:8 narrow its interpretive scope to a specific observation or requirement. Rashi, for example, uses the popular talmudic framework of comparing human limitation with God’s expansiveness:

 

To walk modestly: The Holy One, blessed be He, is not like on of flesh and blood. A person who shames his friend and tries to pacify him. And he [the offended one] says, “I will not be pacified by you until so-and-so arrives since you embarrassed me before them but the Holy One, blessed be He, desires only that one returns to him privately.

 

Human beings need to make their repentance public after embarrassing or shaming someone in front of others. This is understandable and codified in Maimonides’ “Laws of Repentance.”[5] But God does not require such displays. Humility in this context is walking beside God in a simple, beautiful state of sinless friendship.

We now jump from the Talmud to a medieval biblical exegete to the library of Mussar literature. Moshe Chaim Luzzatto in his Path of the Just, first published in Amsterdam in 1738, presents Micah 6:8 as a prooftext that the pious must contract themselves in the presence of others:

 

There are some additional matters of piety, which if a person were to do before common people, they will laugh at him and ridicule him, thereby sinning and incurring punishment through him, and this is something he could have abstained from doing since these things are not complete obligations. Thus, for such things, it is certainly more proper for the Hassid to abstain from it than to do it. This is what scripture says: "and walk discreetly with your God" (Micah 6:8). Many great Hassidim abstained from their pious practices when in the presence of the common masses because it appears like arrogance.[6]

 

In what seems like the very opposite of Rashi’s reading, Luzzatto suggests that a person of particular piety withhold external expressions of religiosity when with others who will not only fail to understand them, but may regard them negatively. Modesty in this view is limiting spiritual gestures to communities of like-minded individuals. While we can appreciate the self-righteousness to which Luzzatto alerts us, he may have also inadvertently minimized the beneficiary aspect of role modeling such practices, thereby making religious observance unnecessarily binary.

We find an even further interpretive narrowing in a popular synopsis of Jewish law written more than a century later: the Kitzur Shulhan Arukh, written by R. Shlomo Gansfried in Hungary and published in 1864.

 

It is written: "You shall walk modestly with your God.” It is therefore necessary to be modest in all your ways. Thus when putting on or removing your shirt or any other garment from your body, you should be very careful not to uncover your body. You should put on and remove the garment while lying in bed under a cover. You should not say: "I am in a private, and dark place." "Who will see me?" Because the Holy One, Blessed is He, Whose glory fills the entire world [sees] and to Him darkness is like light, Blessed be His Name. Modesty and shame bring a person to submissiveness before Him, Blessed be His name.[7]

 

Walking modestly is, in this interpretation, taken very literally as an expression of physical modesty in comportment when getting dressed. One is to limit the view of the body not only to others but even to oneself. Modesty demands submissiveness before God, encapsulated by not revealing one’s skin when dressing, to the extent that this can be prevented.

R. Gansfried’s more literal reading achieved a great deal of influence among those who reduced Micah’s to a demand for modesty to clothing and appearance. Rashi and R. Luzzatto also discuss externalities in their respective readings, but R. Gansfried furthers this to suggest that when walking with God we do so with an intimacy informed by physical modesty.

In this brief exegetical summary that is in no way exhaustive, we’ve moved from a first-century understanding of Micah 6:8 as a summation of the entire Torah to a nineteenth-century recommendation to get dressed under one’s covers. None of these understandings, however, deals with the verse in the context of its appearance in the Book of Micah. It is to this we now turn.

To understand 6:8 from the prophet’s general worldview, we must examine a symbol from an earlier chapter. Chapter four opens with a picture of the “days to come” and provides psychic relief from the images of the book’s grim introduction and Dore’s portrait:

 

The Mount of the Lord’s House shall stand firm above the mountains; and it shall tower above the hills. The peoples shall gaze on it with joy, and the many nations shall go and shall say: “Come, let us go up to the Mount of the Lord, to the House of the God of Jacob; that He may instruct us in His ways, and that we may walk in His paths.” For instruction shall come forth from Zion, the word of the Lord from Jerusalem. Thus He will judge among the many peoples, and arbitrate for the multitude of nations, however distant; and they shall beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation shall not take up sword against nation; they shall never again know war. But every man shall sit under his grapevine or fig tree with no one to disturb him…. (Micah 4:1–4)

 

One day, all of Israel will see in the distance the Temple’s radiance, and it will reflect their own. Not only will the Temple attract the Israelites, but it will also serve as a beacon for other nations who wish to seek its comforts and benefit from its powers of expiation.

This call to be physically present in Zion is matched, in the prophet’s words, by the adjuration to have Zion’s spiritual power move externally with the predictive image that has come true in our days: Torah leaving the environs of Jerusalem and touching the world. Micah echoes Isaiah 2:4 in wishing for a universe free of violence. In offering the inspiring picture of individual serenity of fig and vine immediately after his reassuring portrait of global security, Micah uses an expression found in two other places, I Kings 4:25 and Zechariah 3:10. Sitting without disturbance under one’s own grapevine or fig tree was so potent an image of peace and freedom, it was cited by George Washington over 50 times, once significantly in his response to the Jews of Touro Synagogue in Rhode Island (August 18, 1790) as a guarantee of their political freedom.[8]

The fig image repeats itself later in Micah, but not in a particularly positive way:

 

Woe is me! I am become like leavings of a fig harvest, like gleanings when the vintage is over, there is not a cluster to eat, not a ripe fig I could desire. The pious are vanished from the land. None upright are left among men; all lie in wait to commit crimes. One traps the other in his net. They are eager to do evil: The magistrate makes demands, and the judge [judges] for a fee. The rich man makes his crooked plea, and they grant it. The best of them is like a prickly shrub; the [most] upright, worse than a barrier of thorns. On the day you waited for, your doom has come—now their confusion shall come to pass. (Micah 7:1–4)

 

The warm and loving image of sitting beneath a vine or tree that produces shade and fruit is fast replaced by an image of hunger and want, of the withering of vegetation that takes place at harvest’s end. This depletion, however, is not created by natural seasonal changes but by the wickedness of injustice. The pious are nowhere to be found. Rich men bend justice. Judges are influenced by bribes. All live in confusion. This must be the human landscape Dore saw fit to engrave from the book’s seven chapters. 

The book’s last lines continue with a harsh judgment of a world punctured by unnatural suspicion.

 

Trust no friend, rely on no intimate; be guarded in speech with her who lies in your bosom. For son spurns father, daughter rises up against mother, daughter-in-law against mother-in-law—a man’s own household are his enemies. (7:5–6)

 

The family unit is not cohesive, loyal, or loving. The shade of Micah’s fig tree has been replaced by a black cloud of misgiving and wariness. The prophet offers a bleak picture of daily life. From here, Micah quickly turns to God, in whom all trust must be placed: “Yet I will look to the Lord, I will wait for the God who saves me. My God will hear me” (7:7). In this moment, Micah prays that failure will build resilience, that darkness will give way to cracks of light:

 

Do not rejoice over me, O my enemy! Though I have fallen, I rise again; though I sit in darkness, the Lord is my light. I must bear the anger of the Lord, since I have sinned against Him, until He champions my cause and upholds my claim. He will let me out into the light; I will enjoy vindication by Him. (7:8–9)

 

The prophet believes that there will be healing—“a day for mending your walls”—but sadly reckons that it “is a far-off day” (7:11). The chapter and book conclude with the wish that God will take the Israelites back in love, disregard their iniquity, and hurl their sins far away, keeping the oath and covenant made to the patriarchs long before.

Micah, like many other Hebrew prophets, was concerned with the cycle of goodness and evil that affects both nations and individuals. The fig tree that is the symbol of peace and prosperity can easily become shriveled without proper nourishment—when injustice becomes normative and arrogance demeans society’s most vulnerable. It is in this context that 6:8 should be read, as a moral demand for a society built of individuals  robed in charity and goodness, humbled by their God, walking beside the divine to imitate sacred ways of being.

It is human nature to create social hierarchies that benefit the most powerful. By suggesting that humans walk with God, it is actually God who models modesty by deigning to walk beside us. If God can walk with us, then we can and must walk beside those less strong, those less competent, those less fortunate. In this spirit, R. A. J. Heschel’s words about the prophetic impulse take on a deeper hue:

 

The more deeply immersed I became in the thinking of the prophets, the more powerfully it became clear to me what the lives of the Prophets sought to convey: that morally speaking, there is no limit to the concern one must feel for the suffering of human beings, that indifference to evil is worse than evil itself, that in a free society, some are guilty, but all are responsible.[9]

 

Walking modestly for the prophet is walking with eyes wide open to the presence of anyone in need, waiting to perform acts of mercy, justice, and lovingkindness. Looking at a glimpse of the exegetical history of Micah 6:8 and its contextual meaning takes us straight back to the Talmud’s expansive understanding. Religion stripped to its most essential elements asks both very little and a great deal of us: to return to a state of simplicity, broken and small in God’s presence, able, in a state of vulnerability, to make those invisible visible, to create a society where we walk beside others because God is willing to walk beside us.

 

 

[1] For resources on the structure and meaning of the book, see Kenneth L. Barker, “A Literary Analysis of the Book of Micah,” Bibliotheca Sacra, 155 (October–December 1998): 437–448, Delbert R. Hillers, Micah: A Commentary on the Book of the Prophet Micah, ed. by Paul D. Hanson (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress Publishers, 1984), Bruce K. Waltke, A Commentary on Micah (Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 2008), Arvid S. Kapelrud, “Eschatology in the Book of Micah,” Vetus Testamentum, Vol. 11, Fasc. 4 (Oct., 1961): 392–405.

[2] BT Pesakhim 87a. Text translations from Sefaria.com.

[3] BT Sukkah 49b. For ease of reading, I have left in the explanations offered by the Koren Noe edition.

[4] BT Makkot 24a.

[5] Maimonides, “Laws of Repentance,” Mishneh Torah 2:5.

[6] Messilat Yesharim, 20:19.

[7] Kitzur Shulkhan Aruch 3:1.

[8] See Michael and Jana Novak, Washington's God: Religion, Liberty, and the Father of Our Country (New York: Basic Books, 2006), 239; Walter Brueggemann, "'Vine and Fig Tree': A Case Study in Imagination and Criticism," Catholic Biblical Quarterly 43, no. 2 (April 1981): 199, and Daniel L. Dreisbach, "'The ‘Vine and Fig Tree' in George Washington's Letters: Reflections on a Biblical Motif in the Literature of the American Founding Era," Anglican and Episcopal History 76, no.3 (September 2007): 299–326, 301.

[9] Abraham Joshua Heschel, Moral Grandeur and Spiritual Audacity, ed. Susannah Heschel (New York: Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 1996): 224.

 

Scammers and Their Victims: Thoughts for Parashat Shofetim

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Shofetim

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Like a great many people these days, my wife and I have been victims of a scam. Unscrupulous doctors have reported to Medicare that they’ve sent us covid tests, and Medicare has paid them. We don’t know these doctors; we never ordered covid tests; and most of the doctors who were reimbursed for the covid tests never even sent us the tests.

I reported the fraud to Medicare and was told by the agent that many people throughout the country are also reporting the same kind of fraud. Once the government stopped providing free covid tests, individual doctors figured they could cash in by billing Medicare.

If we would ask these doctors: are you honest? Would you hold me up at gunpoint? I assume that all would think of themselves as being reasonably honest, and none would hold me up by gunpoint face to face.  Why do they commit fraud? Because they don’t think they are robbing me directly, they are “only” robbing the system. Everything is done impersonally. They submit bills to a great bureaucracy that deals with billions of dollars of claims. The bureaucracy doesn’t have time or resources to investigate every claim…so they pay.  Those, like us, who receive reports from Medicare are not charged anything out of pocket so it’s Medicare’s problem! The system is bilked of huge sums of money, all perpetrated impersonally from doctors’ offices to Medicare claims departments.

So many scams are committed by people who have no personal contact with their victims. Everything is done via technology. The criminals don’t see their victims; they only funnel money out of their bank accounts. People who would not think of robbing someone in person find it much easier to rob them electronically. 

When robbery is committed impersonally, people somehow don’t feel guilty of being thieves. They justify themselves: we’re only taking money from the government or banks or credit card companies, overblown bureaucracies with lots of money available for anyone who can outsmart the system.

The depersonalization of finances warps the general morality of society. One of the words the Torah uses for money is “damim”—blood. The Torah recognizes that money isn’t an impersonal entity but is the result of personal labor, literally one’s blood. To steal money is to steal part of a person’s life. Each dollar represents the time it took for the person to earn it.

But in our days, we are accustomed to hearing astronomical numbers that are not connected to a person’s actual labor. We read of billionaires; athletes and entertainers who are paid millions and hundreds of millions of dollars; lawyers who bring lawsuits for millions of dollars; lottery drawings for massive amounts. We read of government budgets and debts in the trillions of dollars. Who is keeping an eye on each of these dollars? Who even connects these dollars to real human beings whose “blood” has gone into creating those dollars?

This week’s Torah reading gives instructions on appointing and operating a societal bureaucracy—judges, police, civil servants in various roles. Significantly, the instructions are all presented in the singular—not plural. The onus of responsibility is on each person to oversee the bureaucracy, and on each civil servant to pursue justice to the fullest extent possible. The “bureaucracy” is not a nameless, faceless entity: it is composed of real human beings. Society is not a nameless, faceless entity: it is a collection of very individual people with very individual needs and responsibilities.

Throughout the Torah, we are reminded of the vital importance of keeping the human element central to our thinking and our conduct. Depersonalization leads to a breakdown in societal wellbeing and morality.

When doctors cheat Medicare, they are cheating every American taxpayer who pays into the Medicare system. When people cheat on their taxes, they aren’t robbing an anonymous government; they are robbing all honest taxpayers. When scammers swindle banks and credit card agencies, they aren’t stealing from a neutral pot of money; they are stealing from real people.

The Torah teaches: tsedek, tsedek tirdof—you shall surely pursue justice. This isn’t just sermonic advice; it is at the very essence of what constitutes good people…and a good society.

New Publication on Rabbi Sabato Morais

 

Rabbi Sabato Morais—Pioneer Sephardic Rabbi of Early American Judaism, by Rabbi Dov Peretz Elkins, Mazo Publishers, 2023, 65 pages.
 

 Rabbi Sabato Morais (1823-1897) was one of the leading American rabbis of his time, although largely forgotten today. Born in Livorno to a prominent Italian/Sephardic family, he grew into an impressive scholar, communal leader and activist. He spent formative years serving in London before being invited to become spiritual leader of the historic Congregation Mikveh Israel in Philadelphia where he began in 1851.

Rabbi Dov Peretz Elkins has published a monograph on the life and work of Rabbi Morais. The study is “designed for teenagers and young families” to spread the legacy of Rabbi Morais. It considers Morais’ early life, his work in London, and his long tenure in Philadelphia.

Rabbi Morais was a staunch traditionalist, but was also a community-minded rabbi who worked with and respected those with different religious viewpoints. He was a great admirer of Abraham Lincoln and was an outspoken critic of slavery and other injustices in American society.

Rabbi Elkins notes that Rabbi Morais does not fit neatly into the religious denominational framework of Ashkenazic Jewry. He was Orthodox in belief and observance; he was highly cultured and open to modern scholarship; his thinking was in line with the “historical school” of Judaism—but not identical with it. In short, Rabbi Morais was representative of a different religious model: a Western Sephardic traditional rabbi.

In 1886, Rabbi Morais, together with Rabbi Henry Pereira Mendes of Shearith Israel in New York, spearheaded the establishment of the Jewish Theological Seminary Association. The Seminary, which originally held its classes at Shearith Israel, aimed to educate youths desirous of entering the ministry to be “thoroughly grounded in Jewish knowledge and inspired by the precept and the example of their instructors with the love of the Hebrew language and a spirit of fidelity and dedication to the Jewish Law.” Morais was the founding President and also taught classes as its Professor of Bible.  After his death in November 1897, Solomon Schechter was called from England to reorganize the Seminary. He arrived in 1902. “At that point, the Jewish Theological Seminary, started by Sabato Morais, ceased to exist, and a new institution, called the Jewish Theological Seminary of America was established.” Rabbi Elkins, himself a graduate of the Jewish Theological Seminary, notes that it is generally felt that the Conservative Movement really began with the arrival of Solomon Schechter.  Rabbi Elkins notes: “While some consider Morais to be the founder of the Conservative Movement, in thought and practice he considered himself Orthodox.”

When Rabbi Morais passed away in November 1897, his funeral was attended by thousands. “Historians note that his funeral was the first such mass funeral among Jews in America.” An Orthodox newspaper eulogized him as “without doubt…the greatest of all orthodox rabbis in the United States.” He was mourned by all factions of the Jewish community, a rare testimony to his involvement with and concern for the entire community.

Rabbi Elkins has done an important service in publishing his monograph on the life and work of Rabbi Morais. This publication offers us the opportunity of reconnecting with one of the important religious leaders of American Jewry.