National Scholar Updates

Thoughts for Aharei Mot/Kedoshim

Angel for Shabbat--Aharei Mot/Kedoshim

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

The Sifra on Vayikra 19:18 records a debate between Rabbi Akiva and Ben Azzai. Rabbi Akiva states that the verse, "and you shall love your neighbor as yourself" is a great principle of the Torah. Ben Azzai, while agreeing with Rabbi Akiva's basic point, suggests that another verse contains an even greater principle of Torah: zeh sefer toledot adam, zeh kelal gadol mizeh (This is the book of the generations of man--this is an even greater principle). This verse, drawn from Parashat Bereishith, includes the words that God created human beings in His image. Thus, we are called upon to respect all human beings--regardless of their particular backgrounds. Ben Azzai, is offering a universal vision of inclusiveness and commitment to humanity in general, not just to our own friends and neighbors. This is an even greater principle than loving one's neighbor as oneself, in the sense that it enlarges our perspective, and helps us view ourselves as part of the greater human family.

But how do we balance the particular commitment to our family and faith with a recognition of the universal value of all human beings?

Some years ago, I read a parable in the writings of Dr. Pinchas Polonsky that helped me clarify my thinking. Imagine that you have carefully studied a painting day after day, year after year. You know every brush-stroke, color, shadow… you know every detail of the painting and you understand it to the extent humanly possible. And then, one day someone comes along and turns on the light. You then realize that the painting you had studied to perfection is actually part of a much larger canvas. As you stand back, you realize that you need to re-evaluate your thinking. The segment of the canvas that you have studied all these years has not changed; you still know every detail; it is still absolutely true. Yet, you must now study your truth in context of a much larger canvas.

Each faith, at its best, has a very true understanding of its piece of the larger canvas. But when the lights go on, each faith must come to realize that it represents part of the picture but not the whole picture. A grand religious vision must necessarily entail a grand perception of God: God is great enough to create and love all human beings. God sees the whole canvas of humanity in its fullness.

One of the great challenges facing religions is to see the entire picture, not just our particular segment of it. While being fully committed to our faiths, we also need to make room for others. We need, in a sense, to see humanity from the perspective of God, to see the whole canvas not just individual segments of it.

Religious vision is faulty when it sees one, and only one, way to God. Religious vision is faulty when it promotes forced conversions, discrimination against “infidels,” violence and murder of those holding different views. How very tragic it is that much of the anti-religious persecution that takes place in our world is perpetrated by people who claim to be religious, who claim to be serving the glory of God.

While religion today should be the strongest force for a united, compassionate and tolerant humanity, it often appears in quite different garb. Religion is too often identified with terrorism, extremism, superstition, exploitation…and hypocrisy. People commit the most heinous crimes…and do so while claiming to be acting in the name of God.

The authentic religious voice should be one that fosters mutual understanding; we should remind ourselves and our fellow religionists that God loves all human beings and wants all human beings to be blessed with happy and good lives. There is room for all of us on this earth. We need to foster a religious vision that is humble, thoughtful, and appreciative of the greatness of God.

 

 

Timely Words--Thoughts for Parashat Emor

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Emor

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

 

People have made a wry play on the names of this and the previous two Torah portions: Aharei Mot Kedoshim Emor: After death…call them holy. This points to the practice of glorifying people after their deaths. Faults are ignored, virtues are magnified, eulogies turn ordinary people into saints.

But the phrase also has another meaning. When people have passed on, it seems that only then do we begin fully to appreciate their virtues. During their lifetimes, we took them for granted; or underestimated them; or didn’t demonstrate the love and respect they deserved. After death, we start to relate their holiness, their goodness, their wisdom.

Some years ago, I gave a lecture to health care workers in a hospital in Baltimore on my book, “The Orphaned Adult.”  The talk included discussion of the mourning process and how we remember our parents once they are no longer with us. After my lecture, lively discussion ensued among the participants.

One of them, a Catholic nun, related a story about when her mother was growing older and frailer. Instead of waiting to eulogize her at a funeral, the family called together relatives and friends to a party to celebrate the mother’s life…while she was alive! They shared memories, expressed love and appreciation, and all in an environment that was happy and uplifting. The nun told us how happy her mother was to feel the love, hear the kind words, and sense that her life had had so much positive impact.  Why wait for a funeral to express our love? Why not celebrate the lives of our loved ones while they are alive and when our words can validate their lives?

I have often thought that eulogies come too late. All the nice words of praise and appreciation come after the person has died. If the deceased person had heard these same words while still alive, it would have been a source of ineffable happiness.

When I was in college, a friend of mine had a cousin who was killed in a gang war in the Bronx. At the Shiva home, family members reminisced about the dead young man: yes, he was tough, but he had a good heart; he got mixed up with the wrong people, but he had so much good in him; he was respectful to his parents and kind to friends and neighbors. Everyone seemed to find something good to say about him. My friend stood up and said with great emotion: if he had heard these things from you while he was still alive, maybe he would still be alive! All I ever heard you say about him was that he was a no-good hoodlum, a bad person, a violent person. There was a great hush in the room. Indeed, that young man's self-image and self-esteem might have been very different if he had heard loving words of praise during his lifetime.

Sometimes people go through life without ever knowing how much others love them, admire them, see virtue in them. I have been at many funerals where mourners have said: I wish I would have told him how much I loved him; I wish I would have done more for her; I wish I had let him/her know how much I cared.

Why don't we realize how powerful words of praise can be and how painful words of condemnation and ridicule can be? Words of sincere appreciation can change a human life. A loving hug, a pat on the back, a smile, a genuine compliment--these things can give joy and meaning to those we love, respect and admire.

We ought not wait for eulogies at funerals to express our feelings. We ought to live as loving, thoughtful and sharing human beings who honestly cherish and value our family and friends--and who let them know how much they mean to us.

 

 

Thoughts for Tazria/Metsora

Angel for Shabbat--Tazria/Metsora

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

The Torah describes a certain ailment known as tsara’at. While this word has often been translated as leprosy, Maimonides wrote that we do not really know what it means. It seems not to be a medical condition at all, but rather a physical sign of a spiritual blemish.

Rabbinic tradition has connected tsara’at with the sin of lashon hara—slander, evil gossip. Obviously, tsara’at does not manifest itself today in all those who utter negative comments about others; if it did, almost everyone would be afflicted with it. However, the moral intent of the rabbinic tradition is important; it relates to an affliction of the soul rather than the body.

The Torah teaches that one who contracts tsara’at is sent into isolation “outside the camp.”  Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz comments: “When one is isolated with tsara’at, one remains alone and only then can one truly ponder one’s own faults. Only after one is told that he is beset with faults and is isolated with them can he begin to grapple with them until they disappear” (Talks on the Parasha, p. 224).

Being isolated gives one an opportunity for self-reflection and for honest thinking about moral shortcomings.

But isolation provides something else.

It is natural for people to compare ourselves to others. Yes, I have made sins…but others are much worse than I am. Yes, I’ve spoken slander and gossip…but hardly as much as many people I know. Consciously or subconsciously, we tend to evaluate ourselves favorably in contrast with others.

When one is isolated, there’s no one there to compare oneself against! The isolated individual suddenly realizes that he/she must self-judge without the advantage of having anyone to look down upon.

One of the root causes of slander and gossip is comparing ourselves to others. People often see themselves in a general competition. If others have more or better, the tendency is to want to cut them down to size, to find faults, to speak disparagingly about them. If others have less or worse, the tendency is to gloat and publicize their shortcomings in comparison to ourselves. Lashon hara stems from lack of self-esteem. In order to bolster one’s ego, one seeks to compare others unfavorably to oneself.

That is the source of the moral blemish of tsara’at and that’s why isolation is a suitable cure. Isolation helps one to realize that making negative comparisons to others is a sign of personal weakness. We shouldn’t be comparing ourselves to others; we should be comparing ourselves to our ideal selves, to what we can be. It is a way to develop the inner poise and strength of character so that we don’t feel a need to run others down in order to bolster ourselves?

Today, we don’t have the physical manifestations of tsara’at and we don’t punish anyone by sending them into isolation. However, we can each find occasion to make private time for self-reflection. The goal is to enable us to rise above the pettiness of lashon hara. We aren’t better when we demean others; we actually demean ourselves when we do so.

A Vision for an Orthodox Judaism Rooted in Social Justice

 

  1. A Commitment to Orthodoxy

 

In the last decade and a half, I have been fortunate to study in a great variety of yeshivot and to have forged deep connections with many types of Jews. I have happily lived in Washington Heights and studied at Yeshiva University, where I encountered some life-changing minds and souls in the beit midrash and in the academy. I deeply enjoyed my years in Religious Zionist yeshivot in Efrat and Jerusalem, learning with my revered teachers Rabbis Shlomo Riskin, Chaim Brovender, and Nathan Lopes Cardozo; I have also grown immensely in my time studying in ultra-Orthodox yeshivot both in Jerusalem (in Mea Shearim) and America (in a Lakewood Kollel). Through these experiences I feel an expansive connection, having significant relationships in the “yeshivish” community, in Chabad, in ultra/centrist Orthodoxy, in Modern/Open Orthodoxy, and of course even among those outside of Orthodoxy and Judaism. I appreciate the diversity of Orthodoxy, of Judaism, and of humankind.

In concert with these experiences, my four years of rabbinical training at Yeshivat Chovevei Torah Rabbinical School (YCT), founded by Rabbi Avi Weiss, transformed me in ways I could never imagine through some of the most critical, immersive, and introspective Torah analysis I have encountered. As a result of my experiences to date and especially because of my study with and learning from such compassionate mentors and luminary talmidei hakhamim, I feel deeply committed to halakha, talmud Torah, and to the welfare of the entire Orthodox community. In addition, I deeply value our relationships with non-Orthodox Jews and non-Jews, our secular studies, our Zionism, and our support for increased leadership for Orthodox women. We strive to be Torah-rooted and very broadly integrated Jews, and to recognize and admire the diversity of Jewish life in general and Orthodox life in particular.

To me, the great contribution of Modern Orthodoxy is that we are committed to a Judaism that holds the fundamental paradox of being simultaneously particularistic and universal. Our commitments are not solely to the roughly 10 percent of Jews in America who identify as Orthodox, but to the entire community, to kelal Yisrael. We are fully committed to Jewish law, supporting Jews and the State of Israel, and celebrating the uniqueness of Orthodox Jews and Judaism. And we are also fully committed to partnership with non-Jews, fighting global injustice, and celebrating our differences and commonalities with other peoples. I have found through the building of the Orthodox social-justice organization Uri L’Tzedek that the latter can be just as Jewish as the former when it is rooted in Torah and Jewish ethics. We are Torah Jews and global citizens, and those identities inform and inspire each other.

To have true faith in the Torah is to believe that it has a message for the world. The totality of our study cannot be an occasional or even regular sermon, class, or beit midrash study session. Rather, these core values must be manifest in many ways throughout our lives. This is what I find so compelling in a renewed approach to halakha, that it strives to integrate our entire lives—even those parts frequently labeled secular—into a life of Torah. We understand that God’s presence is in the history we are living, and so we do not hide from the present, from the world around and within us. For me, halakha is not about blind irrational submission, but about intentional transformation on many levels (tikkun atzmi, tikkun kehilla, tikkun medina, tikkun olam). Halakha can literally be translated as “progress.” While it’s deeply rooted in the past and guided by core Torah values, it’s primarily future looking to help solve societal problems, bring holiness into our lives, and cultivate the ethical personality.

 

  1. The Diversity of Orthodoxy

 

As Modern Orthodox Jews, we affirm that Orthodox Judaism is stronger when we embrace our diversity. Diverse people committed to halakhic life come together to learn, pray, lead, and celebrate in an inclusive and expansive manner. We appreciate kabbalistic thought and rational thought, Israeli Judaism and diaspora Judaism, masculine spirituality and feminine spirituality, outreach campaigns and in-reach campaigns, Kollel learners and philanthropists, those content and those agitated. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks put the diversity of Orthodoxy well:

 

Orthodoxy is not a denomination. It encompasses astonishing variations … different groups evolved widely different responses to modernity. … Orthodoxy, then, is diverse. … To what might we compare it? Perhaps the best analogy is a language. A language is determined by rules of syntax and semantics. But within that language an infinite number of sentences can be uttered or books written. Within it, too, there can be regional accents and dialects. Orthodoxy is determined by beliefs and commandments. These are its rules of syntax and semantics. But within that framework lies an open-ended multiplicity of cognitive, emotional, spiritual, and cultural styles.[1]

 

            In “Confrontation," Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik cautioned that “The Westernized Jew maintains that it is impossible to engage in both confrontations, the universal and the covenantal, which, in his opinion, are mutually exclusive” (II:1). Rabbi Soloveitchik rejected that one must either be solely human, American, and secular or solely Jewish, religious, and separated.

 

  1.  The Challenge of Integrity

 

Today, sadly, many Jews have either pulled back into isolation or acquiesced into full assimilation. To truly affirm both the Torah and an open approach to the world has become increasingly challenging. But, to counter those trends, it is not enough to just check a box of affiliation or identity. Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook taught us that simple party affiliations or language affirmations do not reveal true beliefs:

 

There is denial that is like an affirmation of faith, and an affirmation of faith akin to denial. A person can affirm the doctrine of the Torah coming from “heaven,” but with the meaning of “heaven” so strange that nothing of true faith remains. And a person can deny Torah coming from “heaven” where the denial is based on what the person has absorbed of the meaning of “heaven” from people full of ludicrous thoughts. Such a person believes that the Torah comes from a source higher than that! Although that person may not have reached the point of truth, nonetheless this denial is to be considered akin to an affirmation of faith. “Torah from Heaven” is but an example for all affirmations of faith, regarding the relationship between their expression in language and their inner essence, the latter being the main desideratum of faith.[2]

 

  1.  Uri L’Tzedek

 

In the spring of 2007, in the YCT beit midrash, I founded Uri L’Tzedek, the first and only Orthodox social-justice movement in the world, after receiving an initial micro-grant of seed funding from the inspiring YCT Chairman Mr. Steven Lieberman. I was honored that Rabbi Marc Angel, the founder of this distinguished journal, spoke at the celebration. Over the last years, we have grown tremendously due to the herculean efforts of many staff members, volunteers, board members, and stakeholders. Uri L’Tzedek has become the American center of Torah-based social-justice thought as it inspires and challenges the Orthodox community to aspire to a higher ethical standard.  

There is a formidable test the Orthodox community must grapple with. Can we represent serious Torah learning, rigorous halakhic observance, and the best interpersonal bein adam l'havero relationships, but also show that those aren't weights that make us parochial, but that are wings that help us to fly as global ambassadors for kavod haBeriot? Someone living on 23 cents per day affects our souls as much as the Tosafot we can't totally grasp yet, and we can burn the midnight oil on both. I fear we may not get there but I also have tremendous hope because I believe the divine light with the soul we have in our care, when fueled with Torah learning and tefillah, can be very deep and can hold a lot more than imaginable.

Building Uri L’Tzedek has been about making the case that the Torah in its purest and most authentic form does have something significant to say in the world. It has been about presenting options for young Orthodox leaders to grow and make a difference in a new way.

We have succeeded in many regards as we have touched tens of thousands through educational programming, trained hundreds of young Orthodox leaders in immersive fellowships, expanded the Tav HaYosher ethical seal nationwide, launched and made progress on dozens of campaigns, supported over 50,000 asylum seekers at the border, and have become an activist force in the community. We have founded the progressive Orthodox rabbinic association (Torat Chayim), with over 350 rabbinic members throughout North America, Europe, and Israel. There is still a long way to go. We have not yet succeeded at convincing the Orthodox community that social justice is a crucial part of being a religious Jew, that every shul needs to be organizing for the vulnerable, that every shul needs to integrate social justice into its curricula, and that the Torah matters universally. Many are consumed with fears of Jewish survival. Noble as it is, we believe the discourse needs to shift from survival to “thrival,meaning: How does the Jewish people not only survive but thrive with a unique message and impact to contribute to the world?

 

  1. An Orthodox Approach to Social Justice

 

We know that many non-Orthodox Jews are deeply involved in social justice, which is great. But what does it mean for Orthodoxy to have a unique approach here?

I walked up to Nelson Mandela’s former prison cell on Robben Island (just off the coast of Cape Town, South Africa) wondering what I would feel. Mandela, due to his political and ethical convictions, was locked away for decades. Somehow, after all that pain and sorrow, he kept faith in humankind. He writes in his autobiography:

 

Because of the courage of the ordinary men and women of my country, I always knew that deep down in every human heart, there is mercy and generosity. No one is born hating another person because of the color of his skin, or his background, or his religion. People must learn to hate, and if they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite. Even in the grimmest times in prison, when my comrades and I were pushed to our limits, I would see a glimmer of humanity in one of the guards, perhaps just for a second, but it was enough to reassure me and keep me going. Man’s goodness is a flame that can be hidden but never extinguished.[3]

 

A commitment to social justice consists precisely of this optimism: that no matter how dark times get, we see the dignity and potential in every human being. All individuals have rights and obligations. In times of despair, a people can only look toward their personal and national self-interest, but this leads to greater universal tragedy. It is in the most trying times that we must especially remember the other.

Uri L’Tzedek was founded to apply the wisdom of Jewish law and values to the most pressing moral issues of our time based on the premise that observant Jews have unique obligations toward the vulnerable (poor, sick, abused, oppressed, and alienated). The Torah prioritizes the language of obligation to the language of rights to ensure that we are all empowered as agents of responsibility. The Orthodox community is very committed to Jewish life, with an enviable commitment to Torah study, prayer attendance, and mitzvah observance. Religious idealism (messianic fervor perhaps) is matched by the pragmatic charge to daily ethical leadership. A further benefit to making the Orthodox community a home for social-justice leadership is how consistent ritual practice is in the community. This steadfastness allows for the structure and reflective space that empowers the activation of values learned through rituals. Think about a child who walks onto a stage to sing a song. If the child does not have lyrics, they will spend most of their energy thinking of the words. If the words are set, the child can focus on singing as well as possible. When ritual is set, we can sing in life better. Psychologists have shown that, when children have a large backyard without fences to play in, they play in only a small section, but when there is a fence, they play in much more of the backyard. Structure and foundation provide us stability and thus courage. This has practical relevance to how a religious social-justice movement can be built. The Orthodox social-justice movement begins by building on our strong commitment to our obligations of ben adam l’Makom, which serves as a foundation to actualize our ethical commitments of ben adam l’havero. But it also goes further, ensuring that those prior commitments become a foundation for service on the level of ben adam l’kehilla and ben adam l’olam.

Further, the Jewish tradition understands that God is on some level at the center of social change, yet the burden is upon us, as humans, to enact that change. We need not perfectly understand the nature of the world to fully throw ourselves into creating change. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks explains this point well:

 

If we were able to see how evil today leads to good tomorrow—if we were able to see from the point of view of God, creator of all—we would understand justice but at the cost of ceasing to be human. We would accept all, vindicate all, and become deaf to the cries of those in pain. God does not want us to cease to be human, for if he did, he would not have created us. We are not God. We will never see things from his perspective. The attempt to do so is an abdication of the human situation. My teacher, Rabbi Nahum Rabinovitch, taught me that this is how to understand the moment when Moses first encountered God at the burning bush. “Moses hid his face because he was afraid to look at God” (Ex. 3:6). Why was he afraid? Because if he were fully to understand he would have no choice but to be reconciled to the slavery and oppression of the world. From the vantage point of eternity, he would see that the bad is a necessary stage on the journey to the good. He would understand God but he would cease to be Moses, the fighter against injustice who intervened whenever he saw wrong being done. He was afraid that seeing heaven would desensitize him to earth, that coming close to infinity would mean losing his humanity. That is why God chose Moses, and why he taught Abraham to pray.[4]

 

 

While the opportunities for a powerful Orthodox social-justice movement are immense, there are also barriers.

 

  • The observant community often values study over action. The benefit is the great commitment to Torah study, but the loss is a community that lacks change leadership.
  • There is a parochialism and insularity that comes from the historical experience freshly emphasized in the traditional mind.
  • There is a conservatism and stagnation in thinking that comes with a fear of failing at the great enterprise of preservation of culture.
  • The top-down power structures in rabbinic authority at times perpetuates a culture of disempowerment and a lack of critical, autonomous thinking.
  • Committing to live an observant life and to have one’s children educated in the Day School system requires a tremendous amount of time and resources.

 

Ultimately, the main challenges endemic to the community are apathy and cynicism. The Rambam explains that cynicism is the antithesis of the religious impulse. He explains that we must ultimately view every life choice as if our choice will tip the scale of the salvation of the world or the destruction of the world.[5] There is no room for cynicism or disengagement if the world and the fate of all humanity rests upon our shoulders.

 

While the Orthodox social-justice movement has learned from other social-justice organizations and continues to have much to learn from their decades of experience, a great deal has also been learned from the pedagogical approaches of the well-established Orthodox institutions. While the explicit existence of the organization is very new, the ethos of the movement spans millennia. Although the Jewish people have often been disempowered to stand on the front lines for change, today we have new opportunities.

 

Sometimes study can get in the way. Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein writes powerfully about an experience that influenced his perspective on balancing learning with action.

 

A couple of years after we moved to Yerushalyim, I was once walking with my family in the Beit Yisrael neighborhood.… We came to a corner, and found a merchant stuck there with his car. The question came up as to how to help him; it was a clear case of perika u-te’ina (helping one load or unload his burden). There were some youngsters there from the neighborhood, who judging by their looks were probably ten or eleven years old. They saw that this merchant was not wearing a kippa. So they began a whole pilpul, based on the gemara in Pesahim,[6] about whether they should help him or not. They said, “If he walks about bareheaded, presumably he doesn’t separate terumot u-ma’asrot, so he is suspect of eating and selling untithed produce.…” I wrote R. Soloveitchik a letter at that time, and told him of the incident. I ended with the comment, “Children of the age from our camp would not have known the gemara, but they would have helped him. “My feeling then was: Why, Ribbono shel Olam, must this be our choice? Can’t we find children who would have helped him and still know the gemara? Do we have to choose? I hope not; I believe not. If forced to choose, however, I would have no doubts where my loyalties lie: I prefer that they know less gemara but help him.[7]

 

Thus, Rabbi Lichtenstein teaches that when we do not act instinctively on our values, our Torah education has failed us. The purpose of our learning is to help to develop the right instincts based upon our cherished values. Learning Torah and internalizing its teachings properly should ensure that we are public exemplars at home and in the streets. The paradigmatic case of hillul Hashem (desecration of God’s Name) is in the financial realm,[8] because this classically is the main realm where Jews would interact with non-Jews and thus convey their values and integrity. Religion is truly lived in the streets, not in the sanctuary. It is at work, in the checkout line, and in our leisure time where we put our values into practice. It is about how we vote, what we buy, and how we spend our free time.

            Fortunately, there is evidence of support for social justice within the Jewish community. The Nathan Cummings 2012 Jewish Values Survey[9] asked American Jews if Jewish values “are somewhat or very important values that inform their political beliefs and activity.” Core findings were:

 

Statement

Somewhat/Very Important (percent)

The pursuit of tzedek

84

Caring for the widow and orphan

80

Tikkun olam

72

Welcoming the stranger

72

Political beliefs and activities are informed by a belief that every person is made in the image of God

55

A commitment to social equality is most important for Jewish identity

46

 

While the number of Orthodox participants was less than 10 percent,[10] we should be hopeful that among the Orthodox, there is a tremendous potential and desire for social-justice activity. These values are currently less embraced in the American Orthodox community, and that was why Uri L’Tzedek and an Orthodox social-justice movement needed to be founded.

            The Jewish tradition is full of values and laws concerned with justice. We must go out into the streets and experience the suffering of others if we wish to take a position and understand that Torah is meant to be lived and internalized with a subjective experience. The Alter Rebbe tells the story of a grandfather learning with his grandson. A baby in the other room begins to cry. The grandfather pauses the learning and goes to soothe the child. Afterward, the grandfather scolds the grandson. “If the cry of another does not cause you to pause in your learning, then your Torah is null and void.” Religious life requires engagement with the world and a deep responsiveness to the suffering of others. This experience will look different for each of us as we will be surrounded by and called toward different social-justice responsibilities.

The ultimate Jewish ethic is to defend the vulnerable since it draws upon our highest values and laws such as pikuah nefesh (saving the life of another), kiddush Hashem (sanctifying the Name of God in public), and ohev haGer (loving the stranger). “God upholds the cause of the orphan and the widow, and befriends the stranger, providing them with food and clothing. You too must befriend the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”[11] Ibn Ezra teaches the extent of our collective responsibility: “Do not oppress … for anyone who sees a person oppressing an orphan or a widow and does not come to their aid, they will also be considered oppressors.” We must intervene and emulate God and be compassionate in all of our ways. But this cannot stop at one-time acts of kindness. It must enter in the realm of systemic change.

Based on the verse Leviticus 25:35, that we must “strengthen him” (the one who has stumbled), Rashi teaches: “Do not wait until he has gone down and fallen, because it will be difficult to raise him up. Instead, strengthen him at the time where his hand is slipping. What is this like? To a load upon a donkey. When it is still on the donkey, one can support it and make it stand. Once it falls to the ground, even five cannot make it stand.” Rashi is teaching that we must embrace preventive justice attacking the root cause of social ills ensuring a society that is just for all. Rashi teaches that this is not only the most moral path but also the most cost effective.

It is all too easy to neglect global suffering when it is remote. David Hume once suggested that individuals care more about a pain in their finger than about the loss of a life on the other side of the planet. Elie Weisel, in a speech in 1986, said: “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it’s indifference. And, the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference. Because of indifference one dies before one actually dies.”[12] The prophetic voice and halakhic mandate do not allow us to retreat from responsibility.

       If we believe in Jewish virtues, we have to study them and make them manifest in our lives. What is one way we can begin to understand the universality of Jewish social-justice action? At the most basic level, the imperative to save life is basic to the Torah’s understanding of interpersonal responsibility; it is undeniable that the ethos of Judaism is about affirming the inherent holiness of life. No one makes this case more strongly in contemporary thought than Rabbi Dr. Irving (Yitz) Greenberg, one of Modern Orthodoxy’s (and Judaism’s) most influential theologians. On the topic of Judaism’s propensity to regard the sanctity of life as inviolate, Rabbi Greenberg writes:

 

Judaism’s ultimate dream … is to vanquish death totally. In fact, since God is all good an all life, ideally there should be no death in God's creation in the first place. Classic Judaism therefore taught that when the ultimate redemption is achieved, when the Messiah comes, all those who have died will come to life again. Resurrection of the dead will nullify death retroactively.[13]

 

       For activists searching for reasons of solidarity, Rabbi Greenberg’s statement is a powerful reminder that we are to affirm life in this world. And, as Rabbi Greenberg teaches, we don’t have to consider only the quantity of life, but also the quality of life, an idea he suggests has increased weight in the post-Holocaust era. In an earlier generation, Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik wrote:

 

There is nothing so physically and spiritually destructive as diverting one’s attention from this world. And, by contrast, how courageous is halakhic man who does not flee from this world, who does not seek to escape to some pure, supernal realm.[14]

 

       Thus, through the appreciation of life, we not only affirm an ethical commitment to others but also a belief in God. It is for this reason that embracing Tzelem Elokim—that all people are created in the image of God—is so foundational to Jewish values. The essence of the creation in relationship to the Creator is an undeviating bond. And because of this link, we learn repeatedly of its importance to the idea of humanity’s shared and singular heritage. As it says in the Talmud:

 

Adam was created alone in order to teach us that causing a single to perish is like destroying the entire world, and saving a single soul is like saving the entire world. Another teaching: Adam was created alone for the sake of peace, so that we cannot say to each other: “My ancestor was greater than yours.” We are all created from the dust of the earth … and none of us can claim that our ancestors were greater than anyone else’s.[15]

 

       Moreover, because mitzvot ben adam l’havero may actually have more religious weight than mitzvot ben adam l’Makom, social-justice work naturally follows a path of treating every human being with the respect they inherently deserve. On this point, Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman, one of the most prominent pre-war Lithuanian rabbis, writes:

 

For “among two hundred is to be found a hundred,” [a common rabbinic idiom], meaning that in all mitzvoth between man and his fellow there is also a component between man and God. Why then should they be lessened by being between man and his fellow? And it is for this reason that the Rosh saw mitzvoth between man and his fellow as being more weighty, for they contain both elements.[16]

 

       As we can discern from the above passage, to be religious is to emulate the compassionate ways of God. Thus, this is the most fundamental principle that underlies all Torah study and related Jewish social-justice activities:

 

Rabbi Elazar quoted this verse, “He has told you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: Only to do justice (literally, “to do mishpat”), to love goodness (hessed), and to walk modestly with your God.”[17] What does this verse imply? “To do justice” means to act in accordance with the principles of justice. “To love goodness” means to let your actions be guided by principles of loving-kindness. “To walk modestly with your God” means to assist needy families at their funerals and weddings [by giving humbly, in private].[18]

 

       Engaging in Jewish social-justice work as a religious enterprise means that activists don’t merely seek the win. To paraphrase Levinas, human “uniqueness lies in the responsibility for the other.” The means to social betterment have to be just and holy to ensure just and holy ends. Rabbi Ya’akov Yitzchak of Pzhysha (the “holy Yehudi,” an eighteenth-century Hassidic Rebbe) was asked: “Why in the verse, ‘Justice, justice you shall pursue’[19] is the word ‘justice’ repeated?” The rebbe answered that the repetition is meant to convey that not only must the ends we pursue be just, but so too must the means we employ to achieve those ends.[20]

       Yet, there is a disconnect: Who are the ones who have to bear the burden of repairing the world and bending the arc of the moral universe toward justice? The work of repair cannot be solely upon the gentiles (who make up the majority of the world's population) while Jews, a small minority in the world, benefit but do not contribute. Rabbi Soloveitchik was adamant about this point:

 

Since we live among gentiles, we share in the universal historical experience. The universal problems faced by humanity are also faced by the Jews. Famine, disease, war, oppression, materialism, atheism, permissiveness, pollution of the environment—all these are great problems which history has imposed not only on the general community but also on the covenantal community. We have no rights to tell mankind that these problems are exclusively theirs … the Jew is a member of humanity.[21]

 

       Working to bring more peace and justice into this world is a substantial task. It is not enough to look into legal codes solely to inform our decision-making processes and moral considerations. Indeed, becoming involved and engaged Jewish social-justice advocates is complex and the ethical charge is constantly evolving. Consider the words of Ramban on this matter:

 

Now this is a great principle, for its impossible to mention in the Torah all aspects of a person’s conduct with one’s neighbors and friends, and all of one’s various transactions, and the ordinances of all societies and countries. But since God mentioned many of them—such as “you shall not go about as a talebearer,[22] “you shall not take vengeance, nor bear any grudge,”[23] “neither shall you stand idly by the blood of your neighbor,”[24] “you shall not curse the deaf,”[25] “you shall rise before the elder,”[26] and the like—God reverted to state in a general way that, in all mattes, one should do what is right and good, including even compromise and going beyond the requirements of the law.[27]

 

       Indeed, peace and redemption depend on work happening in every corner of the globe. Religious conscience has the potential to ensure peace while also having an effect of furthering justice, compassion, and dignity in regions of the world where these notions are not concrete. In social-justice work, there is a true need to harmonize gratitude in the quiet prayerful presence of God, while also knowing there is real suffering and brokenness in the world. Therefore, one of the most powerful tools in this field of work is the strength to refuse to look away and be silent.

For a religious global citizen, it is not enough merely to seek personal piety. That commitment must be converted into altruism. We must zoom out of the minutiae and see the bigger picture. A personal example, which was transformative for me, exemplifies this challenge.

Around 15 years ago, I led a Yeshiva University service-learning volunteer trip to rural Thailand through the American Jewish World Service. A few days into the trip, the students were informed that there was going to be an anti-HIV parade in the village. The custom is for adults to serve as educators and models by wearing costumes that promote safe sex through the use of condoms. Some of the YU students approached me and asked whether or not it was appropriate for them to wear these outfits as the village leaders requested. I told them it was up to them to decide on their own based upon their values and comfort levels. Two or three of the students decided that since HIV was such a rampant problem in this developing country that it was appropriate for them to take part in this educational initiative. What they didn’t expect was to return back to their campus with pictures of them posted on classroom doors demeaning their experiences and articles questioning whether they should have been serving “idolaters” in the first place. The response shook me at my core. These students bravely went beyond their comfort zones to serve others, and their Yeshiva peers mocked (and some faculty reportedly condemned) their service. It was one of many experiences I have that reminded me how much courage it takes to be an Orthodox social-justice activist swimming against a stream of complacency and insularity.

For years, I was the only observant Jew struggling to pray, keep kosher, observe Shabbat, and continue learning Torah on my own during service missions abroad. It was always lonely in the desert with my Gemarah and shovel. Today, we have a growing culture of young observant Jews committed to creating grassroots change in society to better protect the vulnerable and dismantle injustice. We have many more obstacles to overcome, but I remain hopeful that the next generation of Orthodoxy will see social-justice activism as a top fulfillment of the Torah’s calling.

 

 

 

[1] One People?, 92–93.

[2] Orot Ha’emunah, 25.

[3] Long Walk to Freedom, 457.

[4] To Heal a Fractured World, 22–23.

[5] Hilkhot Teshuvah.

[6] Babylonian Talmud, Pesahim 113b.

[7] By His Light, p. 249.

[8] Babylonian Talmud, Yoma 86a.

[10] Ibid.

[11] Deuteronomy 10:18–19.

[12] US News & World Report.

[13] Rabbi Irving (Yitz) Greenberg, The Jewish Way: Living the Holidays, Touchstone, New York, 1988, p. 183.

[14] Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Halakhic Man, p. 41.

[15] Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 38a.

[16] Elchanan Wasserman, Kovetz Maamarim (ed. R. Eliezer Simchah Wasserman), Jerusalem 1963, pp. 42–43.

[17] Micah 6:8.

[18] Babylonian Talmud, Sukkah 59b.

[19] Deuteronomy 16:20.

[20] See Martin Buber (trans. Olga Marx), Ten Rungs: Hasidic Sayings, Routledge, New York, 2002, 7.

[21] Joseph Dov Soloveitchik (David Shatz, Joel B. Wolowelsky, & Reuven Ziegler, eds.), Abraham’s Journey: Reflections on the Life of the Founding Patriarch, KTAV Publishing House, Inc. New York, 2008, p. 203.

[22] Leviticus 19:16.

[23] Leviticus 19:18.

[24] Leviticus 19:16.

[25] Leviticus 19:14.

[26] Leviticus 19:32.

[27] Ramban commentary on Deuteronomy 6:18; see also David Hartman, From Defender to Critic: The Search for a New Jewish Self, Jewish Lights, Woodstock, VT, 2012, p. 43.

Integrity, Courage, and Commitment to Principle

 

The Cambridge dictionary defines integrity as “the quality of being honest and having strong moral principles that you refuse to change.” Integrity and courage go together, since the most stressful test of integrity occurs when the cost of adherence to principle is exceedingly high and demands unusual courage. When joined together, therefore, integrity and courage yield a stellar reputation worth more than its weight in gold. It is perhaps because the combination of these two traits is far from common, that King Solomon tells us, Tov shem miShemen tov—a good name is better than good oil.[1]

 

Integrity Begins with the Beginning

 

Over the course of millennia, some of the greatest Jewish leaders behaved not only with the greatest integrity, but did so courageously despite the cost of doing so. Mordechai and Esther are often viewed as Scriptural paragons of integrity and courage. And rightly so. Nevertheless, the Torah itself offers models of both of these admirable character traits.

In the course of two consecutive chapters in Bereishith, the Torah recounts acts of courage and integrity on the part of the two great progenitors of Israel’s royal families. Chapter 38 tells the story of Judah mistaking his daughter-in-law Tamar for a harlot, who then conceived a child from their intercourse. Tamar had disguised herself in this manner because Judah had failed to marry her to his third son Shelah, after she had been widowed from his first two sons.

Judah’s first reaction reflected the male domination of women that prevailed until only the past several decades and still prevails in some traditional societies: He ordered that she be burned as an adulteress. When she proved that he was the father, Judah nevertheless could have acted in the manner of many contemporary politicians. He could have covered up what clearly was damning information and, given the norms of his day, had her burned anyway, since she clearly was a source of sufficient embarrassment to harm his reputation as a tribal leader.

Instead, Judah demonstrated both integrity and courage. He publicly acknowledged the rightness of Tamar’s case,[2] even though it exposed him as a reckless philanderer. In so doing, he not only salvaged his reputation, but merited that his progeny would become the royal house of Israel.[3]

The following chapter of Bereishith offers a similar story with at least in the short term, an unfortunate outcome. Joseph had been sold as a slave to an Egyptian senior official (the sale had been instigated by none other than Judah). Despite his youth, Joseph was immensely talented and having earned his master’s absolute trust, became his senior administrator. His talent and good looks rendered him exceedingly attractive to the official’s lascivious wife who tried to seduce him. Many men might have simply gone along with the woman’s wishes. The husband was unlikely to discover his wife’s adultery. As for the woman, she was not acting in an especially unusual manner; license was common in Egypt, as it remained common among ruling classes for centuries afterward and is not exactly a rarity today.

Joseph surely recognized the cost of denying the woman’s overtures. He was, after all, still a slave and she could ruin his reputation, which indeed she did. Moreover, he was not immune to a woman’s blandishments; the Talmud relates that it was only his mental image of his father that restrained him.[4] In any event, Joseph rejected the woman and paid a high price for doing so—he was slung into a dungeon that no doubt was as vermin infested as any medieval cell.[5] Ultimately, like Judah, his integrity and fearlessness in the face of certain adversity saw him through and he became the ancestor of Joshua bin Nun, as well as of a line of kings of Israel, and, indeed according to tradition, the Messiah who will initiate the redemption prior to the arrival of the Davidic redeemer.[6]

Judah and Joseph are of course only two of the many models of courage and integrity that permeate Tanakh and Midrash. The Bar Kokhba rebellion in particular was the backdrop for the martyrdom of many of Judaism’s greatest rabbis. Rabbi Akiva, perhaps the greatest of all martyrs, brought on his fate by resisting the Roman ban on teaching Torah publicly. So did nine of his leading colleagues. The tradition of the Ten Martyrs, which many Jews recite on both Yom Kippur and Tisha B’Av, indicates the impact that their principled defiance of Rome’s injunction had on the later generations of Jews who suffered from persecution but clung to their beliefs.

 

Two Heroes of the Middle Ages

 

Many great leaders followed the example of these great men throughout the course of Jewish history. The Middle Ages, notably the era of the Crusades, were witness to the courage of countless Jews, both famous and anonymous, who, like R. Akiva and his colleagues, made the supreme sacrifice rather than sacrifice their integrity. Still others, who did not submit to martyrdom, nevertheless refused to compromise their values regardless of the cost to their personal well-being. One prominent example was Rabbi Meir of Rothenberg, the great Tosafist and “supreme arbiter in ritual, legal and community matters in Germany.”[7] When leading an exodus of thousands of Jews from Germany in response to an increase in their already crushing tax burden, R. Meir was arrested and delivered to Emperor Rudolf I. When the Emperor demanded a huge ransom, R. Meir, refused to permit his great disciple, Rabbi Asher ben Yehiel (known by his acronym Rosh) to pay. He argued that the Talmud had ruled against paying excessive ransoms for Jewish prisoners. He died in prison, refusing to compromise his principles.

Two centuries after R. Meir’s passing, another Jewish leader had the courage to uphold his values in the face of adversity. Don Isaac Abravanel, the wealthy and powerful financier, who had lost a fortune when driven out of Portugal in 1483, had become the financial advisor to Ferdinand of Aragon and Isabella of Castile and once again amassed considerable wealth. In 1492, however, faced with deportation if he clung to his Jewish heritage or conversion if he remained in Spain, Abravanel chose deportation despite considerable pressure from the two monarchs that he convert as other Jewish leaders had done. Instead he emigrated to Naples, leaving behind another vast fortune.[8] Once again, however, he found himself forced to flee in the face of a French invasion; once again he left his possessions behind, including, by his own account, his “enormous wealth” as well as “much of his precious library.”[9] He lived briefly in several Italian towns until, as he recounts in his commentaries to Tanakh, he finally found peace in Venice where once again he became an invaluable advisor to the city’s rulers.

 

Heroes of the Holocaust

 

Courage and integrity in support of Jewish values certainly did not disappear with the Middle Ages. Among those who exemplified these values in the twentieth century was R. Yisroel Meir Kagan, better known by the title of his great work, Chofetz Chaim. “The Chofetz Chaim”—as he was universally referred to—was a model of integrity, even if that meant significant financial loss to his exceedingly modest means. Indeed, his moral probity was so great, and so widely recognized, that not only did the New York Times publish his obituary, but it also related an example of his exalted character. As the Times recorded: “Despite his fame as ‘the uncrowned spiritual king of Israel,’ the Chofetz Chaim was a modest and humble man. His career as a merchant was of short duration. Because of his popularity all the Jews of the town [Radin] flocked to his store. The Chofetz Chaim thereupon closed the store on the ground that he was depriving other Jewish merchants of a living.”[10]

The Holocaust represented perhaps the greatest challenge Jewish leaders had ever faced. Yet some rose to that challenge. One of these truly great men was Rabbi Yekusiel Yehuda Halberstam, founding rebbe of the Sanz-Klausenberg dynasty. Having been arrested and released, he returned to Klausenberg, where in spite of the risks of capture, he refused to leave his Hassidim and made no effort to save himself from further searches for Jews.  On the contrary, he devoted his efforts both to assisting those Jews who had managed to escape to Hungary as well as to supporting his Hassidim. When the Nazis occupied Hungary in 1944, R. Halberstam was arrested and deported to Auschwitz. While in the camp he not only personally adhered to rigorous standards of kashruth despite the horrible environment—often going hungry—but also fostered and strengthened the religious faith of his fellow inmates.

R. Halberstam was then dragooned into a forced march to the camp at Dachau and then moved again to a forced labor camp at Muldorf. There as well he was a source of spiritual leadership for fellow laborers, adhering to the norms of kashruth, living for nine months on a diet of bread and water. Indeed, he would not eat the bread until he had completed netilat yadayim (ritual washing of the hands), and since water was scarce, he would often wait days before he collected sufficient drops that dripped from a water tank in order to carry out the ritual.[11]

At the other end of the Jewish religious spectrum stood Rabbi Leo Baeck, no less a man of integrity and courage. Leader of Germany’s Reform Jewish community, he refused to leave Germany when the opportunity was afforded him. Instead, he “was fearless in the face of the Nazi menace, emotionally steady, and a source of strength, courage, and inspiration for Germany’s Jews. He refused to abandon what remained of his people as anti-Semitic persecution intensified in Germany before the war. As a moral actor he followed his people into the concentration camps, though his daughter, son-in-law and granddaughter escaped to the United Kingdom.”[12]

 

And Then There Were Others

 

There were many other rabbis who likewise served their flocks with integrity during the Holocaust and the years that led up to it. And then there were others. These men, many of them Hassidic rebbes, looked after themselves and left their followers to their deadly fates. Perhaps the most prominent among these individuals were two Hassidic leaders, the Rebbeim of Satmar and Belz.

The story of the Satmar Rebbe is a complicated one. On the one hand, he actively raised funds to rescue both ordinary Jews and leading rabbis from deportation and incarceration; on the other hand, beginning in 1939 he attempted to escape from Europe on multiple occasions. Moreover, during his time as an inmate of the Cluj ghetto, or his subsequent stay in Bergen-Belsen, where he “was given preferential treatment,”[13]  or when he reached in Budapest, he chose to remain aloof from his fellow Jews and even refused to interact with leading rabbis.  Moreover, despite his vehement and seemingly uncompromising anti-Zionism, the rebbe chose to join the group of Hungarian Jews that Zionist Rudolf Kastner had ransomed from Adolf Eichmann. The Rebbe did have misgivings about Kastner’s plan and “the fact that the [Kastner] train would be under the supervision of Zionists.” Nevertheless, “Rabbi Yoel decided to embark on the journey …with the knowledge that no other rabbis…would be considered for the [Kastner] list, nor would the rest of the Satmar entourage” that had joined him in Budapest.[14]

Once the Rebbe escaped on the Kastner train, he moved to Switzerland (where his efforts to rescue Jewish children from Christian homes came to little), in contrast to many other rabbis who returned to their hometowns or Displaced Person camps to assist their surviving followers.  During his brief stay in Palestine, he failed to acknowledge those who had sought to assist him such as Rabbi Moshe Porush of Agudat Yisrael and Chief Rabbi Isaac Herzog, both of whose institutions he instead attacked. Indeed, he attacked the American Agudath Israel as well as the Union of Orthodox Rabbis, “whose leaders had headed the Rescue Committee that endeavored to rescue Hungarian Jews.”[15] The Satmar Rebbe may have been a great scholar, but he was also what the Talmud criticizes as kfui tov, one who is ungrateful for the good that others do for him.

The behavior of Rabbi Aharon Rokeach, the Belzer Rebbe, was perhaps even more disturbing than that of the Satmar Rebbe. He too was fully aware of the danger that his community faced. Yet on January 17, 1944, a mere two months before the Jews of Hungary began to be deported to Auschwitz, Rokeach and his half-brother Mordechai fled from Budapest to Palestine with the help of Zionists, although like the Satmar Rebbe, they too were bitterly anti-Zionist. The day before they escaped, however, Mordechai publicly read a farewell sermon that his half-brother had approved to an audience of thousands in the great hall of Budapest’s Kahal Yereim synagogue.

Mordechai denied allegations that the Rebbe was leaving his flock to their fate. He asserted that the Belzer Rebbe had always dreamed of moving to Palestine and now had the opportunity to do so. Moreover, Mordechai assured his audience that “the Tzaddik [the Rebbe] sees that rest and tranquility will descend upon the inhabitants of this land [Hungary] …the Tzaddik sees that good, and all good, and only good and grace will befall our Jewish brethren the inhabitants of this land.”[16] As was the case with respect to the Satmar Rebbe, it could hardly be said that either the Belzer or his brother displayed anything in the way of courage or integrity.

 

Power Corrupts

 

Even as the power of Orthodox political parties has grown over the past several decades, integrity on the part of some of their most prominent leaders has remained in short supply. If anything, they have repeatedly borne out Lord Acton’s aphorism that “power corrupts.” Chief Rabbi Yona Metzger was arrested in 2013 on charges of bribery, tax fraud, and interfering in the trial process. He was jailed four years later.[17]

R. Aryeh Deri, leader of the Shas Party, who had served in a variety of ministerial posts beginning in 1988, was convicted in 2000 for taking $155,000 in bribes and sentenced to three years in jail. Remarkably, he returned to politics just over a decade after he was released from jail on good behavior in 2002. He was elected to the Knesset in 2013 but resigned after an Israeli television station released footage of the great Sephardic leader Rav Ovadia Yosef “calling him a wicked man and a thief.”[18] Remarkably, the Moetzet Chachmei HaTorah, the ultimate rabbinical authority for the Shas Party, refused to accept his resignation and it was only accepted by Yuli Edelstein, speaker of the Knesset.

Deri’s resignation hardly meant the end of his career, however. Once again he headed the Shas list in 2015. Once again he was elected to the Knesset. Once again he held the first of several ministerial offices during the Prime Ministership of Benyamin Netanyahu, who himself has been charged with corruption. Deri was again charged, this time with tax evasion, while serving as Netanyahu’s Interior Minister. He only left the position when the Netanyahu government fell, but then acknowledged his guilt in a plea bargain, resigned from the Knesset and was fined 180,000 shekels (about $50,000) and received a year's suspended sentence.[19] He may yet return to politics and yet another ministerial post in a new right-wing government.

Then there is Yaakov Litzman, long time Knesset member and former Minister of Construction and of Health. The leader of the Agudat Yisrael party and a leading figure in the Ger Hassidic community, Litzman was convicted for criminally assisting alleged pedophile Malka Leifer's attempt to evade extradition to Australia. She eventually was extradited.  Like Deri and Metzger, Litzman agreed to a plea deal; he paid a relatively small fine and resigned from the Knesset.[20] He too could return to politics.

Whatever their degree of piety, and Torah knowledge, all of these men violated a fundamental talmudic principle: The lack of integrity results in hilul Hashem, the desecration of the Creator’s name. Hilul Hashem offsets Torah knowledge. The Talmud speaks of a scholar who sullied his reputation for which R. Judah placed him under a ban (Shammeta). R. Judah’s basis for imposing such a harsh penalty was the verse: “For the priest's lips should keep knowledge and they should seek the law at his mouth; for he is the messenger of the Lord of Hosts,” which was interpreted as “if the Master is like unto a messenger of the Lord of Hosts…seek the law at his mouth; but if not, do not seek the law at his mouth.”[21] It is indeed regrettable that instead of serving as positive role models for their communities, they did quite the opposite.

 

 

Men and Women of Integrity

 

Happily, there are still leading figures in the Orthodox community both in the United States and in Israel, who are unafraid to take risks in the name of what is right. Deborah Lipstadt, currently the United States Special Envoy for Monitoring and Combating Anti-Semitism, has long been an outspoken critic of Holocaust denial. She famously defeated a libel suit in Britain against the denier David Irving, despite the fact that English law places on the defendant the burden of proof of innocence. She has spoken out against racial hatred in all its forms, regardless of the consequences to her own career. Indeed, she did not back down when Senator Ron Johnson blocked her confirmation for months because she tweeted that he “advocated white supremacy/nationalism."[22] Ultimately she was confirmed by voice vote.

To cite another example, the Vishnitzer Rebbe, R. Yisroel Hager, is no moderate; he opposes the use of smart phones. Nevertheless, in the face of violent attacks perpetrated by supporters of the Gerer Rebbe, Rabbi Yaakov Alter, against those who support his cousin, Rabbi Shaul Alter,[23] R. Hager issued a public statement condemning the violence.[24] Moreover, he made it clear that he was not only speaking to his own followers, but to Orthodox Jews of every stripe. Such condemnations can enflame radicals, who have no compunction about verbally abusing and physically attacking their critics. It took both integrity and courage for R. Hager to speak out as he did.

 

 

Conclusion   

 

Integrity is not risk-free. Integrity in one’s personal life requires courage. Integrity in the public sphere, where personal loss can be significant and permanent, requires an extra dose of courage. That, however, has long been the Jewish standard for true leadership. Perhaps Yitro put it best when he outlined for Moshe those qualifications that he deemed necessary for all who would assume leadership positions under the greatest leader of them all: “men of substance, God fearers, men of truth, who hate monetary gain, and you shall appoint over them [Israel] leaders over thousands, leaders over hundreds, leaders over fifties, and leaders over tens.”[25]

Such persons could be found in every generation. They can be found in our own time as well. They can be men, or women, Hareidi, Modern Orthodox, or non-Orthodox. What these individuals, like their many illustrious predecessors, have in common is commitment to the truth, abhorrence of corruption, and the fearlessness that enables them to speak out in support of what is right and just. And in so doing they not only meet Yitro’s demanding standards for leadership, but serve as role models for the Jewish people wherever they may reside.

 

 

 

 

[1] Eccl. 7:1.

[2] Gen. 38:26.

[3] Ruth 4:18–22.

[4] Sota 36b.

[5] Gen. 39:20.

[6] See for example, Targum Yonatan ben Uziel, Ex. 40:11.

[7] “Meir ben Baruch of Rothenburg,” in Encyclopedia Judaica vol 11 (Jerusalem: Keter, 1972), 1247.

[8] B. Netanyahu, Don Isaac Abravanel: Statesman & Philosopher 5th ed. (Ithaca, NY and London: Cornell University Press, 1992), 59.

[9] Ibid., 69.

[10] The New York Times, September 16, 1933 p. 13. https://timesmachine.nytimes.com/timesmachine/1933/09/16/issue.html

[13] Menachem Keren-Kratz, “The Satmar Rebbe and the Destruction of Hungarian Jewry: Part 2,” Tablet July 17, 2014 https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/arts-letters/articles/satmar-rebbe-2

[14] Keren-Kratz, “The Satmar Rebbe and the Destruction of Hungarian Jewry: Part 1,” Tablet July 16, 2014 https://www.tabletmag.com/sections/arts-letters/articles/satmar-rebbe-1

[15] Keren-Kratz, “The Satmar Rebbe…Part 2,” op. cit.

[16] Lawrence Kaplan, “Daas Torah,” in Moshe Z. Sokol, ed. Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy (Lanham, MD.: Jason Aaronson, 1992), 59.

[18] Yair Ettinger, “After Split With Shas, Yishai Releases 'Doomsday Weapon' Tape on Deri” Haaretz (December 29, 2014) 

[21] Moed Katan 17a.

[23] Israel Hershkovitz, “Dispute tearing apart Israel’s Gur Hasidic sect turns violent,” Al-Monitor (May 25, 2022),

https://www.al-monitor.com/originals/2022/05/dispute-tearing-apart-israels-gur-hasidic-sect-turns-violent

[24] “Vizhnitzer Rebbe Speaks Out Against Ger: ‘These Disputes Can Literally Lead to Murder’,” VINnews (June 26, 2022) https://vinnews.com/2022/06/26/vizhnitzer-rebbe-speaks-out-against-ger-these-disputes-can-literally-lead-to-murder/

[25] Ex. 18:21.

Ezekiel, Jung, and Integrity

 

The founders of modern psychology focused a great deal on the unconscious mind. They recognized that there was a resistance between the thoughts that we held in our unconscious and those that were present in our conscious minds. It was through the enigmatic riddles of our dreams that they saw the unconscious attempting to make itself known to us and bring the latent parts into the manifest.

Sigmund Freud noticed that when he would analyze a patient’s dreams through free association, the patient would often resist the uncovering of the latent content. It was partly because of these unwanted elements of the psyche that Freud and many of his followers saw the unconscious as holding the primitive, introverted, and even evil aspects of our personalities. They saw it as the source of our problems and neuroses and that it should essentially be recognized and overcome in order to achieve mental health. 

Carl Jung, once a reluctant follower of Freud’s, veered from this theory and developed a different approach to understanding the unconscious. He believed that the majority of mental illness did not “reside” in the unconscious as Freud believed it did, but rather, that the cause of our neuroses was in the dissonance between the content of the conscious and unconscious mind.

Jung saw much more than repressed sexuality and childhood trauma in the unconscious. He believed that it stores a wealth of wisdom from our personal experiences and that it holds several components of our full, complete identity or what he called the “psyche” (originally meaning the “soul” or “spirit”), which creates essential parts of our being. He also believed that we hold a collective unconscious that holds components of our identity that is shared similarly in every individual and that is inherited as part of the human condition.

A major aspect of Jung’s understanding of our psychology included the idea that there were many initially disassociated components to our psyche, that he called archetypes, that themselves can be at odds with each other. Jung posited that it was essential for individuals to connect and integrate the various components of the unconscious mind into consciousness, and bring them into harmony and equilibrium. Only in such integration of the self could a person live without significant psychological disturbance and instability. This integration, or achievement of integrity, is how a human being achieves a healthy psyche through forming a consistent and whole personality.

Jung called the process of integrating the various components of one’s psyche “individuation”—to denote the process by which a person becomes a unified whole. In other words, it is the process in which one becomes oneself. The process has many layers and is lifelong.

It is sensible to consider that this notion is not only manifest within us as individuals but also in aggregate. A group is, after all, a collection of individuals, and groups tend to develop meta-personalities and characteristics as though they are a single, cohesive entity. We can essentially see society and various groups of people as super-organisms that are comprised of constituent parts. On their own, many individuals seem incompatible and even antithetical to one another, but they nonetheless have the potential for a level of integration.

To follow Jung’s theories, the way to achieve this synthesis has much to do with the mining of unconscious aspects of thought that occur within us all. If we are aware of their existence and prepared to acknowledge that there is more to us than what is manifest above the surface, we can allow these aspects of our thinking and behavior to unfold from within. We can begin to look at those with whom we share our lives as holding depth and value beyond the personas that they exhibit superficially. We might indeed find that we tend to shun certain people and thinking because we are resisting aspects of our own collective identity that we do not understand or want to expose.

To best understand the parts of the Jewish people, it is useful to look back to the very first children of Israel, the actual children of our forefather Jacob. The strife between siblings in that story suggests a great deal of unconscious knowledge that lies just beneath the surface of the tale. It all intriguingly begins with dreams. Joseph reaches the position of viceroy because of dreams, and Joseph’s story begins with his dreams about himself and his brothers where he is depicted in a leadership role. His brothers resist these dreams and reject him along with them. This rejection was not simply a rejection of Joseph, it was a rejection of his thinking, his personality, and his worldview. But these were brothers. They were a family. Surely there must have been a possibility for all of their attributes to converge and comprise a whole and multifaceted unit with a unified identity. Jung might have suggested that there was something valuable to be drawn from these dreams, not just for Joseph but for the family.

As the story develops the brothers come close to revealing the truth about what has become of their brother and what it might mean to them as a family, which could possibly mend the gaps in their relationship. It is as though he orchestrates a living dream (or nightmare) that urges the brothers to look deeper. Indeed it is his recollection of his own dreams that gets the ball rolling.

 

When Joseph saw his brothers… [he] was reminded of the dreams that he had dreamt of them. (Genesis 42:7, 9)

 

And they do begin to unravel the enigma.

 

They said each man to his brother: Truly, we are guilty concerning our brother! That we saw his heart’s distress when he implored us, and we did not listen. Therefore this distress has come upon us! (Ibid., 21)

 

It all comes to a head at the beginning of the parasha when Judah, the one who led the sale of Joseph, now finds himself turned 180 degrees pleading for the life and freedom of Joseph’s younger brother, Benjamin. In no fewer than 16 verses, he speaks out the events that have transpired as if he is analyzing the “dream sequence” through which Joseph has put them.[1] And just as he is about to finally reveal the major issue that is literally staring them in the face, and bring it out of the unconscious, it is stolen from him by Joseph himself.

 

Joseph could no longer restrain himself…he called out:… I am Yosef. Is my father still alive?[2] (Ibid., 45:1, 3)

 

Because it was not finally discovered in the mind of Judah, it remained with Joseph. The shocking revelation of the unconscious truth did the opposite of what might have been achieved with Judah’s careful and self-discovering analysis. It brought out the reality abruptly in all its horror and it was met with resistance and disdain. The unwanted unconscious remained unwanted and buried, and it was not allowed to integrate.

We find this subtly at the point where Joseph hugs his brothers and cries. He, however, is the only one crying. They are not quite as moved.

 

He kissed his brothers and wept upon them. After this his brothers spoke with him. (Ibid., 45:15)

 

It is more blatant at the end of the parasha when the brothers plead that Joseph not harm them after their father’s death. Clearly there is still a strong lack of trust and brotherhood.

 

When Joseph’s brothers saw that their father was dead they said: What if Joseph holds a grudge against us?… So they charged Joseph saying: Your father commanded before his death, saying: Say thus to Joseph: pray forgive your brothers’ offence and their sin, that they caused you ill! (Ibid., 50:15–17)

 

Ever since this time, the work of individuating the Nation of Israel as a whole and integrated entity has been progressing, with elements of our unconscious pushing to manifest in the conscious mind of the nation. For fleeting moments in history we were a unified people, but never without at least the undercurrents of schism. The disparate parts of our national psyche as exhibited in the various sects of our people have yet to come together.

Interestingly, the haftara chosen for Parashat Vayigash, Ezekiel 37:15–28, proclaims that it will happen. Ezekiel’s prophecy is of the individuation of Israel. It sees the coming together of the splintered nation not just physically upon their land but in identity as well. They will not be two nations, or scattered[3] — they will no longer be susceptible to the fetishes, fixations, and proclivities in which human beings engage[4] because of the dissonance in their psyche. They will be whole and healed with a crown atop their head and with God residing within them.[5]

When we care to build a whole identity, we attempt to individuate by unpacking, understanding and integrating the various discordant parts of our unconscious truths into our conscious mind. Just as with our own individual psyches, there are many opposing aspects that cause us dissonance of self, and struggle between our various aspects of character; so it is with the meta-psyche of our nation. Jung believed that dreams provided the greatest opportunity to access the unconscious, and we might do well to pay more attention to them if we want to achieve wholeness as a people. If we strive for it they will help us unlock solutions.

There are many disparate and opposing parts to us but Ezekiel has seen the individuation of the nation itself and that it will indeed be wondrously achieved as if in a dream.

 

When God brings together Zion’s returnees—we will have been like dreamers. (Psalms 126:1)

 

 

 

[1] Genesis 44:18–34.

[2] This was clearly a rhetorical and cutting question. The entire conundrum was based on Jacob losing Binyamin. It was as if to say: “Now you care about my father—where was that care when you sold me?”

[3] Ezekiel 37:22.

[4] 37:23.

[5] 37:23–27.

What Makes Halakhic Thinking Moral?

What Makes Halakhic Thinking Moral—

A Plea to the Halakhically Committed Community*

“You shall do what is right and good in the eyes of the Lord” (Deut. 6:18)

by Eugene Korn

A number of years ago I delivered a lecture in an Orthodox synagogue that I carefully titled, “The Ethics of Receiving but not Donating Organs.” Before the presentation a goodly number of interested listeners approached me in protest under the mistaken assumption that I deemed this practice to be moral. Their collective instinctive response to me was, “You must be joking. It is ridiculous to think that this could be ethical.” These people were neither philosophers, nor ethicists, nor experts in any field of abstruse logic, just people with healthy moral instincts.

The lecture came on the heels of a study on the halakhic definition of death published by the Rabbinical Council of America in June 2010[1]. The subject is enormously important because it has, quite literally, life and death consequences. The possibility of successfully transplanting hearts and lungs depends upon the transplant taking place prior to cardiac cessation, and thus saving a recipient’s life depends on the removal of the brain-dead donor’s vital organ while his/her heart is still beating aided by artificial means. While not intended as a formal legal ruling (p’saq halakhah), the RCA analysis relied on halakhic authorities who employed technical halakhic reasoning in their arguments. No mere theoretical study, the report was intended to influence practicing Orthodox rabbis whose congregants seek guidance from them regarding the halakhic (im)permissibility of donating and receiving transplanted organs.

The RCA study rejected clinically certified brain death as a sufficient condition for halakhic death, leading to the conclusion that extracting a heart of a brain-dead person for the purpose of transplantation constitutes illicit “bloodshed” against the donor. It therefore ruled that a person (or his family) is forbidden to donate such a vital organ. Yet while forbidding donation, the study also concluded that it is permissible to be the recipient of a heart transplant. In other words, it ruled that it is right to benefit from another’s benevolence but wrong to provide that same benefit to others, that one may be a taker from others, but not a giver to others.[2] 

The audience at the lecture was not alone in their moral judgment: Permitting a person to be a recipient of a vital organ transplant but forbidding him to be a donor (hereafter ‘RBND’) is widely considered a violation of ethical principles by transplant specialists, the broader medical community, philosophers, professional ethicists, the European Network of Organ Sharing, and nearly all people committed to fairness and equality.

The RCA study provides a prime example of halakhic reasoning that violates ethical standards and reasoning.[3] There are other halakhot that also seem morally flawed, such as the obligation to return the lost object of a Jew but not of a gentile, the principle of saving a Jewish life on the Sabbath but not a gentile life, the permission to indiscriminately kill civilians in war, and the advocacy of harmful therapy for homosexual persons, to name but some. Should we dismiss the moral qualms of halakhic Jews regarding these halakhot as mere chimeras, or should we better regard this disquiet as real and consider it a call to further religious thinking and action? 

I do not wish to explore whether these problematic halakhot are correct qua halakhah, but why these halakhot pose ethical problems. More generally, I wish to ask, “What values and principles must be part of halakhic reasoning to render it moral?”

The Independence of Halakhah and Ethics

There is an argument that must be addressed before identifying which values and principles make halakhic arguments moral. Some Jews maintain that halakhah defines correct morality (the strong thesis), while others insist that halakhic decisions by themselves are sufficient grounds for moral correctness (the weaker thesis). According to each of these theses it is impossible for Jewish law and morality to conflict with each other, and one need not consult anything outside of halakhah to ensure an ethical conclusion. For these Jews engaging in such extra-legal inquiry is not merely superfluous, but may even be dangerous and indicative of flagging religious conviction.

While these dogmatic positions are popular beliefs among some Orthodox Jews today, in fact they are new ideas in rabbinic thought[4] that are easily disproven by both logical argument as well as rabbinic tradition itself. To my knowledge no Talmudic sage or medieval rabbinic authority maintained either of these positions. To the contrary, we shall see that many were convinced of their opposites.

All of us make ethical judgments and use terms like ‘good’ and ‘right’. But what do we mean by these terms? The 20th century British philosopher G.E. Moore devised an elegant proof to show that however we attempt to define ‘good’ by identifying it with any non-moral idea or object, we fail.[5] If we define ‘good’ as some particular natural entity like pleasure or law (for the sake of discussion let’s call it ‘X’), we can always ask the question, “This is X, but is it good?” Even if the answer to the question is ‘yes’, the question remains coherent and “open”, i.e. it is at least possible to conceive of the answer being ‘no’. This is unlike asking, “He is a bachelor, but is he unmarried?” where it is impossible to think that the answer is ‘no’ when we understand what the words mean. The openness of the question about goodness indicates that ‘X’ is not analytically identical with ‘good’. In the halakhic context we can ask, “This action is required by halakhah, but is it morally good? Is it morally right? Is it just?”[6] These questions are non-tautologous and remain open, which indicates that halakhah is not identical with our notions of ‘good’ or ‘right’ and it cannot accurately define moral goodness and ethical rightness.

Moreover, people with no knowledge of halakhah or even awareness of the existence of halakhah make moral arguments and form moral judgments. If halakhah indeed defined morality we would never be able to agree or even disagree about ethical issues with these non-halakhic people, for we would be talking about completely different ideas in our discussions with each other. I could not claim that I am correct in believing that abortion is morally wrong and another is incorrect in his belief that abortion is morally right, since we would not at all have in mind the same thing when we use the term ‘moral.’ Yet obviously we do engage in real moral discussion, agreement and disagreement with people who have no idea of halakhah.

Rabbinic tradition agrees fully with this conceptual independence of halakhah and ethics. According to the rabbis of the Talmudic era (Hazal), “Civility [i.e., patterns of correct behavior] preceded the Torah itself” (“Derekh erets kadmah l’Torah”), which clearly implies that standards for correct behavior existed independently of the formal Torah. The Talmudic rabbis and later authorities go still further: They point to situations where formal halakhah not only fails to define ethical action, it falls short of correct moral standards. The classic concept of “lifnim meshurat ha-din” (going beyond the strict halakhah) illustrates just that truth. Consider the important statement in Babylonian Talmud, Baba Metsi'a 30b:

R. Yohanan said, “Jerusalem was destroyed only because [Jews] judged according to the law (din) of the Torah.” [But] should they have judged according to the laws of tyranny? [No.] Rather say, “They insisted on the law of the Torah and did not act above and beyond the strict requirement of the law (lifnim mishurat ha-din).”

    

The Talmudic rabbis understand the destruction of Jerusalem as the divine punishment for the Jewish people’s violation of its sacred covenant with God. According to R. Yohanan, this violation existed at the very same time that Jews were observing formal halakhah impeccably. (“Jews judged according to the law [din] of the Torah.”) Yet God called the Jewish people to account and imposed on them the harshest punishment known in Jewish history. Thus according to R. Yohanan Jews were morally culpable even though they had no legal liability. While there are other talmudic opinions about the cause of the Temple’s destruction, no talmudic opinion challenges the intelligibility of the category of lifnim mishurat ha-din or the conceptual presuppositions of Rabbi Yohanan’s statement, i.e. that the highest Torah standards are beyond the boundaries of strict halakhah. This is impossible if halakhah defines or satisfies all moral requirements. Nor can the concept of lifnim meshurat hadin be understood as formal din without entailing infinite regress and/or incoherence.

Another passage in the Palestinian Talmud (Baba Metsi'a 2:5; 8c) illustrates even more graphically the ethically unsatisfactory nature of some halakhic rules: 

Shimon ben Shetach was in the flax trade. One day his students said to him, “We will buy you a donkey so you won’t have to work so hard.” They bought a donkey for him from a non-Jewish trader, and it happened that a precious gem was hanging from its neck.

The students came to him and said, “From now on, you won’t have to work anymore!” He replied, “why not?”

They explained, “We bought you a donkey from a gentile trader and we found a precious gem hanging from its neck.”

R. Shimon said, “And did its owner know (about the gem)?” “No,” they replied.

He then said, “Go and return it

But his students argued, “Is it not permitted to keep a lost article of an idolater?”

Shimon ben Shetach answered them: “Do you think that Shimon ben Shetach is a barbarian?”

Note that there is no dispute about the halakhic requirements in this case. It is clear that halakhah allows Shimon ben Shetach to keep the jewel. Yet he knew that confining his behavior to the halakhic minimum was morally wrong, that as a moral agent he was required to “go beyond the strict line of the law.” He understood the intrinsic value of doing what was ethically right independent of the halakhic standard. His use of the term ‘barbarian’ is shocking, indicating Rabbi Shimon’s moral outrage—and it is important to note that this outrage stands independent of his motive to bring honor to the God of Israel by dint of his exemplary moral behavior.

The Talmudic sages were not the only authorities who understood the difference between halakhic requirements and moral norms; medieval rabbinic authorities did also. Nahmanides claimed that a person can be a “scoundrel within the bounds of Torah law,” and therefore there is an independent religious obligation to “do what is right and good” in our interactions with other people, an obligation that requires us to sometimes desist from what is halakhically permitted. Nahmanides understood that there is conceptual continuity between the mitzvot of being holy and living the ethically good life.[7] And no one less than the greatest halakhic authority in the history of the Jewish people, Maimonides, insisted that hewing exclusively to the letter of the halakhah can produce behavior that is cruel and that befits only “idolators,” not pious Jews. Maimonides stressed that while halakhah points in one direction, good Jews must sometimes behave differently.[8] He never saw halakhah as more than a floor on which to build a more robust Jewish ethic.[9]

Modern halakhic authorities also admit that halakhah is sometimes insufficient to satisfy the demands of morality:

“Who has not found that the fulfillment of explicit halakhic duty could fall well short of exhausting clearly felt moral responsibility? …the full discharge of one’s formal duty as defined by din often appears palpably insufficient.”[10]

It is clear, then, that morality, and the ideas of what is good, right and just extend beyond halakhah, even if halakhic behavior and moral behavior frequently overlap.

Some halakhic authorities contend that the methods of halakhic argumentation and intrinsic halakhic norms are logically independent from the methods of correct moral reasoning and fundamental ethical concepts. The total independence of halakhic axioms, rules of inference, values and method was stressed by Lithuanian analytic talmudic scholars, and it was best described by the Brisker school of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, whose leading proponents were Rabbi Hayyim Soloveitchik and his grandson, Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik. Both fiercely insisted on the autonomy and the internal coherence of halakhic thinking. For them halakhah was a rigorous “closed” logical system: “To whom may he [the halakhic man] be compared? To a mathematician,” proudly announced the grandson Rav Soloveitchik. In the Brisker understanding, halakhah is an ideal system analogous to pure mathematical systems, which represent the archetypes of objective rational inquiry. Halakhah is a science that molds and imposes interpretations on empirical reality, rather than being influenced by it.[11] In other words, ideal halakhah is abstracted from the flux of human experience—the very meaning of the term ‘apriori’, which Rav Soloveitchik was so fond of using when describing halakhah.

As an independent and autonomous system, halakhah is value-neutral, similar to mathematics, whose sole methodological guides are consistency, coherence and simplicity. Like differential geometry, it is largely removed from human emotions, sensibilities and desires. And like the autonomous sciences, halakhic logic is amoral—sometimes yielding ethically neutral conclusions (as in ritual law), sometimes yielding conclusions coincident with ethical reasoning, and sometimes yielding rulings contrary to ethical values, rules and judgments. This is why halakhic geniuses can sometimes arrive at rulings like RBND and other morally problematic conclusions. In R. Soloveitchik’s words, “the sole authority [of halakhah] is logic,”[12] and thus some halakhists simply go wherever their value-neutral logic takes them. This is not to imply that R. Soloveitchik himself was deaf to the call of ethical values. He certainly was not.[13]

The Fundamental Values of Ethics

There are two fundamental moral concepts that form the foundation of all sound moral reasoning: justice and compassion. Morally sensitive people display a commitment (even if sometimes unconscious) to these values, and nearly every good ethical judgment is derived from some variation of these concepts. These values are the foundations of our moral sense, and they go to the heart of what we mean by ethics.[14] Certainly we would not consider a person who is indifferent to injustice or one who remains stone-cold to human suffering to be a moral person. Being blind to justice and compassion are the surest indications that such a person is not in our moral universe.[15] 

Justice and compassion are the natural sensibilities that God implanted in our unique human consciousness to enable us to be ethical beings—and they require no further defense or justification. When Abraham challenges God by asking rhetorically, “Will the Judge of all the earth not act justly?”, both Abraham and the Torah assume that if God is the moral ruler of the universe, God must act according to the standards of justice. When the Torah announces “Justice, justice you shall pursue” (Deut. 16:20), the value of justice itself needs no proof. When Maimonides rails against insensitivity to the hardship and suffering of others[16], it is self-evident that compassion (hesed) itself is a moral good requiring no further validation.

‘Justice’ here means fairness and impartiality. In a just social system people are not granted unfair advantage over others and those benefiting from the system’s privileges must also accept its duties. Justice expresses itself in the principles, “treat similar people similarly,” and “do not give one person preferential treatment over others in the same situation.” These generalization rules give ethical judgments their objectivity, enable us to reason from one case to another, and they ensure that moral claims are logical principles rather than mere expressions of personal interest.[17]

When I say ‘you ought to pay your taxes,” the ‘ought’ signifies an ethical principle if I agree that all people like you—including me—ought to pay their taxes too. If I reject this generalization and claim that you ought to pay your taxes, but although I am just like you I am not obligated to pay my taxes,” my claim is not a moral principle at all, just a subjective preference. The best way to test the objectivity of a moral judgment and the ethical legitimacy any statement I make about your obligations is to reverse our positions: If I don’t accept that I too have that obligation when I am in your shoes, then it is not really moral claim. If I claim that “everyone ought to be kind to me when I am in need, but I have no obligation to be kind to others when they are in need,” no clear thinking person would deem this a legitimate moral position. This generalization test is sometimes referred to as “moral imagination,” since it requires a person to see himself as the other person.

Of course this generalization principle and its reasoning appears in the Torah as “Love your peer as yourself,” (Lev. 19:18) as well as in other formulations, but it is not a uniquely Jewish idea. It is not only ‘the great general principle of the Torah,” as Rabbi Akiva claimed (Sifra 2:16:11), but it is also the essential characteristic of justice that is found in the literature, laws and correct reasoning of all moral religions and ethical societies.[18]

Compassion is the second foundation of morality. There is enormous difference between analytic intelligence—the ability to see logical connections and make deductive inferences—and emotional intelligence, the capacity to understand the human condition of another and to think about other people as subjects like ourselves, not mere objects of cognitive or halakhic inquiry.

Compassion is rahamim and hesed—feeling what others feel, empathizing with them when they are in distress, and extending ourselves into the lives of others[19]. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch explained this beautifully, emphasizing its importance for being fully human:

Compassion is the feeling of empathy, in which the pain of one person of itself awakens in another. The higher and more human the beings are, the more keenly attuned are they to re-echo the note of suffering. Like a voice from heaven, it penetrates the heart.[20]

Compassion is not only the ability to see another person as equal to yourself, but it is to sense—even in a small way—how that person feels, what s/he wants and how s/he wants to be treated. When we apply this moral sense we feel the responsibility to accord others dignity and respect (as we ourselves naturally want to be respected), to avoid causing them emotional and physical pain (as we naturally want to avoid pain), and help others flourish (as we ourselves naturally wish to flourish).

In fact both these fundamental elements of justice and compassion are often opposite sides of the same moral coin, and when we employ them correctly they frequently yield the same conclusions: Justice as fairness and impartiality is moral reasoning’s cognitive dimension, while compassion is the emotive component of a healthy moral sense that moves us to treat others the way we wish for others to treat us. This emotive component is critical to both ethical logic and moral motivation, as a strictly cognitive rule dominated approach to ethics, be it philosophical or halakhic, proves sometimes cruel and often impotent.[21]

Examining these two root moral concepts reveals why RBND and some other halakhot are morally problematic. Is it fair to take from others, but not give to them? Is it just to return the lost articles of other Jews, but not of gentiles—as the simple halakhah allows?[22] Is it compassionate to intentionally kill helpless infants and infirmed elderly people who pose no direct threat during war—as the commandments to wipe out Amalek and the Canaanite nations require and the halakhic guidelines of milkhemot mitzvah (obligatory wars) allow?[23] Can these latter halakhot really be moral and just, particularly when we correctly judge the intentional killing of innocent civilian Jews by Palestinian terrorists to be abhorrent?

Heart transplants create an ethical symmetry between donor and recipient, and a unique one-to-one causal relationship between them.[24] Because of this relationship, if it is wrong for me to donate my heart because I contend it is murder, it must also be wrong for to me to be a recipient because in receiving another’s heart I am an agent in that donor’s murder. And if it is permissible for me to receive the transplanted heart, then it must be permissible for me to donate my heart to a recipient.[25] Justice rules out the morally untenable position of me having a privileged status over others by receiving someone else’s heart when the other person could not receive my heart due to my refusal to donate. Because the values of fairness and impartiality are fundamental to our moral thinking, if we assume that heart transplants constitute possible murder, there is no legal technicality or casuistic distinction within halakhah that can succeed in justifying permitting a person to receive an organ while he refuses on principle to donate. If I am alive as a potential donor when I am brain-dead then another brain dead person is equally alive when I need his heart, and it is immoral for me to play a role in his death by participating in the removal of his heart. Such action violates the moral consistency and reversibility tests, asserting that transplants are wrong when I am a donor and another is the recipient, but right when I am a recipient and another is the donor. As such, RBND reasoning is morally illogical and ethically unprincipled, and acting on it is morally wrong.

As we will soon see, many rabbinic authorities have noticed that this moral logic is at play regarding returning lost objects. Shimon ben Shetach realized that it is unethical—to the point of barbarism—to expect others to return my lost object, yet not be under any obligation to return the lost objects of others. This is logically akin to demanding that others pay their taxes so I benefit from state services, but permitting myself to evade the corresponding obligation to pay my own taxes. Halakhic authorities also employed comparable moral reasoning in interpreting other morally problematic halakhot.

The Ethics of Torah

Of course both justice and compassion are not extrinsic to Judaism and rabbinic writing. To the contrary, they cut to the core of proper Jewish life and the ideal religious Jewish personality, as the previous citations of R. Yohanan, Shimon ben Shetach, Maimonides[26] and Nahmanides insist.

The Torah implores Jews to strive after these generic values in Deut. 6:18. Yet they appear prominently in other explicit and implicit forms as well as in other derivative ethical concepts contained in the Torah and in rabbinic writings.

The fundamental imperative for Jews to legislate objectively and follow the requirements of justice appears explicitly in Deut. 1:16-17 and Deut. 16:18-20:

…You shall decide justly between an (Israelite) man and his fellow Israelite and between an Israelite and a stranger. You shall not take note of the individual in judgment; (rather) you shall hear a small person the same as you do a great person.

Judges and officers shall you appoint in all your gates, which the Lord your God gives you, throughout your tribes; and they shall judge the people with just judgment. You shall not pervert judgment; you shall not take note of persons, nor take a bribe; for a bribe blinds the eyes of the wise, and perverts the words of the righteous. Justice, justice shall you pursue, that you may live, and inherit the land which the Lord your God gives you. 

Although these imperatives appear in a judicial context, the value of justice for general Jewish behavior is undeniable. Note here the focus on fairness in administering justice, i.e. treating everyone equally and prohibiting favoring one person over another.

Justice as equality and fairness is also an implicit value underlying Lev. 19:18: “You shall love your peer as yourself: I am the Lord.” According to Abraham Ibn Ezra[27], this equality applies to every human person because all persons are created the same way by God. Hillel’s talmudic negative formulation of this verse[28] has as its thrust the moral reversibility test for correct Jewish behavior, i.e. “if you do not want others to do a specific act toward you, you ought not to do it towards others”. Hillel’s standard is nothing other than a precise reformulation of the generalization principle of moral reasoning.

As Ibn Ezra understood, justice and the Jewish moral imperative to act with justice flow directly from two central axioms of Jewish theology: Firstly that all persons are created in the Image of God (Tselem Elokim), and derivatively that human beings are capable—nay obligated—to imitate the Divine (Imitatio Dei). Because God is exalted, dignified and worthy of respect, so too all persons endowed with the Divine Image are owed intrinsic dignity and respect. As R. Joseph Soloveitchik incisively observed, respect for every human being (‘kavod ha-beriyot’) is merely the rabbinic expression of the Bible’s concept of ‘Tselem Elokim’.[29] Just as the Divine possesses intrinsic sanctity, so too must we treat His children as creatures with intrinsic value, not to be used solely as a means to     our own ends or exploited for utilitarian purposes. As such, Tselem Elokim is the theological version of the basic principle of rational humanistic ethics.[30]

Justice as fairness also underlies the talmudic statement, “The entire Torah is for the sake of peace.” (BT, Gittin 59b). Peace, i.e. social order, stability, diminution of strife, is a substantive value that every person pursues for himself. If so, he has a moral obligation to promote it in the lives of all others. The same logic obtains regarding the Torah value of “darkhei noam”—ways of pleasantness. If one wishes to pursue a pleasant life in which he can flourish, the logic of justice implies that one must extend that opportunity to others and allow them to flourish.

The second moral pillar, compassion, plays an essential role in our understanding of the Divine. Hesed is the primary attribute of God and hence is central to our own human religious behavior:

R. Hama son of R. Hanina further said: What is the meaning of the text: Ye shall walk after the Lord your God? Is it possible, then, for a human being to walk after the Shechinah?...But [the meaning is] to walk after the attributes of the Holy One, blessed be He. As He clothed the naked….so you must clothe the naked. The Holy One, blessed be He, visited the sick…so you shall also visit the sick. The Holy One, blessed be He, comforted mourners…so you shall also comfort mourners. The Holy one, blessed be He, buried the dead…so you must also bury the dead. (BT Sotah 14a)

For Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler also, hesed is a primary attribute of God, and therefore a religious imperative for humans:

The power of giving is a Divine power, one of the traits of the Creator of all things, may He be blessed, Who shows compassion, is beneficent and gives, without receiving anything in exchange… In this way, God made man, as it is written: ‘God made humankind in His own image,’ so that humans would be able to show compassion, be beneficent and give.[31]

And the empathy towards others and moral imagination that are required for correct ethical reasoning are primary in the Torah’s understanding of the covenant and correct Jewish behavior: 

You shall not oppress the stranger, for you know the feelings of the stranger, having yourselves been strangers in the land of Egypt. (Ex. 23:9)

As Nahmanides explained this verse:

[The Torah] added this reason: for you know what it feels like to be a stranger, because you were strangers in the land of Egypt. That is to say, you know that every stranger feels depressed, and is always sighing and crying, and his eyes are always directed towards G-d, therefore He will have mercy upon him even as He showed mercy to you.

The Talmud beautifully illustrates the necessity for empathy and moral imagination when deciding how to treat others:

There were captive women who were brought to Neharde’a by their captors so that the local residents would redeem them [with ransom money]. Shmuel’s father posted guards with them to ensure that they would not enter into seclusion with gentiles [and be sexually defiled]. Shmuel said to him: Until now who guarded them? If there is concern about their status, it should be with regard to the possibility that they engaged in intercourse while in captivity before they were brought to Neharde’a. He [the father of Shmuel] said to Shmuel: If they were your daughters, would you treat them with such contempt? They are no longer captives and deserve to be treated like any Jewish woman of unflawed lineage. (BT Ketubot 23a)

Shmuel’s father insisted that his son rule with compassion and brings home his point with the stinging rhetorical question demanding that Shmuel put himself in the position of the captives’ father, i.e. to identify with the captive women, to empathize with their distress and to treat them as human subjects as would their fathers and mothers, not as mere halakhic objects.

If the halakhic principle of imitating God (v’halakhtah b’derachav) means anything to Jewish tradition, it is acting toward others with both justice and compassion, since these values are the most prominent attributes of the Divine. The Torah lays this down as the underlying principle of Israel's uniqueness: 

“Abraham shall surely become a great and mighty nation, and all the nations of the earth shall be blessed in him?  For I have known him, to the end that he may command his children and his household after him, that they may keep the way of the Lord, to do compassionate righteousness and justice; to the end that the Lord may bring upon Abraham that which He hath spoken of him.' (Genesis 18:18-19)

The prophets Micah and Zachariah focused in on these two moral properties as the essential characteristics of Jewish religious life:

It hath been told to you, O man, what is good, and what the Lord requires of you: only to act justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God. (Micah 6:8)

This is what the Lord Almighty said: ‘Administer true justice; show mercy and compassion to one another. (Zechariah 7: 8-9)

Jeremiah also understood well that justice and compassion pave the path to the religious ideals both of imitating God and living the ethically good life:

"Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom; neither let the mighty glory in his might; let not the rich man glory in his riches. But let him that glory, glory in this: that he understands and knows Me, that I am the Lord who exercises compassion (hesed), justice (mishpat) and righteousness (tsedakah) in the earth; for in these things I delight, says the Lord. (Jeremiah 9:22-23)[32]

In other words, just as God is moral by virtue of the divine attributes of justice and compassion, so we too must be moral by acting with tsedek (justice) and hesed (compassion).

Finally it is important to note that R. Akiva’s “great principle of the Torah,”Ve-ahavtah l’re’akhah kimokhah,” is a fusion of the generalizing principle of justice (kimokhah) with the necessity of feeling toward the other (“ve-ahavtah”). This principle, then, is the religious formulation of the ground of good ethical reasoning and behavior.

Interpreting Halakhah Morally

Classic rabbinic thinking utilized moral argumentation in determining halakhah. The Talmudic sages determined the operative interpretation of lex talionis (“an eye for and eye”)[33] based on a moral argument from retributive justice: “one person’s eye may not be equal to another person’s eye” and thus they ruled that these verses should be implemented via fair monetary compensation rather than literally. Halakhic tradition similarly interpreted the Biblical laws regarding the idolatrous city (ir ha-nidachat)[34] and the rebellious son (ben sorer u’moreh)[35] to be only theoretical because of the unjust and overly harsh punishments that literal implementation would entail.

Despite this powerful ethical thrust in biblical, Talmudic and rabbinic traditions, there remain halakhic rulings that are in deep in tension with ethical standards.

Aside from the RBND ruling that violates moral consistency and just standards, the halakhic obligation to return the lost article of a Jew, but not of a gentile is another problematic case. This distinction appears to constitute unjust discrimination, as does the distinction between putting the life of a Jew ahead of Shabbat observance but not doing so for gentile life.

Halakhists have been troubled by these halakhic claims and sought to interpret them in ways that are consistent with justice and compassion, i.e. render them ethically correct. Examining these approaches can prove instructive for shaping halakhah in line with moral standards. 

A large number of Orthodox rabbis have rejected RBND in the name of halakhah. Many announced early on that this position is ethically untenable due to its lack of moral consistency.[36]  In addition, the Halakhic Organ Donor Society (HODS) lists over 300 Orthodox rabbis who accept brain death as halakhic death, thus disagreeing with both RBND and the RCA report. (Interestingly, many of the HODS signatories belong to the RCA.) In Israel the Chief Rabbinate accepts clinically certified brain death as halakhic death and thus also rejects RBND.

Rabbis Menachem Meiri, Moshe Isserless (Ramo), Isser Zalmon Meltzer and others interpreted the halakhah of returning lost objects to conform with moral standards by confining the dispensation to not return gentile objects only to gentiles who are immoral pagans who have no respect for property and hence would not return lost objects to other people.[37] In their understanding of Jewish law, when gentiles feel obligated to return lost objects to Jews, Jews are under the obligation to return lost objects to them. In other words, their interpretations reinforce justice and equality based on reciprocity.

Rabbi Baruch Halevi Epstein articulated this position most effectively:

There is no value to such people [those who violate the basic laws of civility]. They destroy the world, imperil society and destroy both civilization and the establishment of governments. Certainly they are not fit to be considered as inhabitants of civilization and thus subject to a legal order. Therefore they have no monetary rights. In contrast, those who observe the seven Noahide commandments— and they are the majority of people today and all enlightened nations—there is no doubt whatsoever that they are treated like Israelites [with respect to this law of returning lost objects]. In my judgment this true and logical.[38]

Note R. Epstein’s last word: “In my judgment this is true and logical.” The truth referred to is his correct ethical conclusion, and the logic to which he referred is valid moral reasoning based on justice as fairness.  He has internalized the moral universe built around these moral values, and hence it is self-evident for him that halakhah must be interpreted this way.

More generally, R. Menachem Meiri argued extensively in his commentary on the Talmud that all civil halakhic discriminations with respect to rights and responsibilities of gentiles apply only to those gentiles categorized as “not having religion”, i.e. those who were immoral uncivilized idolators.[39] In doing so, Meiri was successful in interpreting the halakhot governing Jewish-gentile relations as reflecting just and fair standards, where justice means the elimination of arbitrary inequalities.

One of the critical distinctions between halakhic treatment of a Jew and a gentile is the question of whether one may desecrate the Sabbath to save someone in danger of dying. The Talmud and normative halakhic tradition ruled that saving the life of a Jew takes precedence over a particular instance of Sabbath observance[40], whereas saving a gentile life does not take precedence over a Jew’s Sabbath observance.[41]  Thus there is a clear axiological distinction between Jewish life and gentile life. Rabbinic tradition does grant a Jew the dispensation to violate the Sabbath to save a gentile’s life in order to prevent gentile hatred (“mishum aivah”) and the retaliation against Jews that such hatred might engender. This dispensation, however, is prudential and based on self-interest, not on moral principle, justice, compassion or the intrinsic value of gentile life derived from Divine Image. The disparity between the justifications to save a Jew’s life on the Sabbath and saving a gentile’s life is, at best, morally problematic.

Other than Meiri, a number of contemporary poseqim have been troubled by the distinction in this halakhah. In the 1960’s R. Eliezer Samson Rosenthal, an accomplished halakhic scholar who was a member of the Israeli Chief Rabbinate halakhic committee and poseq for the Movement for Torah Judaism in Israel, argued that a Jew is obligated to save the life a of a gentile on the Sabbath as an ideal rooted in the sanctity of the gentile’s life, rather than from prudential self-referring reasons.[42] Citing support from then Chief Rabbi Unterman and R. Jacob Avigdor[43] he argued,

We today have no choice but to act in accordance with the principal of equality, considering all persons fully equal even to the point that the Sabbath may be set aside when they face mortal danger, “because of the ways of peace and as a sort of danger to all!”  We Jews in particular have tasted the cruel reality of that danger in almost every generation… When they rose up to destroy us, we stood against them in the dark of night, defending ourselves and crying out: “Are we not your brothers, not the sons of the same father or the same mother—how have we differed from every other nation that you persecute us harshly?” But we were not answered, and nothing was of use. So we cannot believe that the law of the Torah requires us, in our present situation, to abandon any person’s life, even to preserve the sanctity of the Sabbath.

Note how R. Rosenthal engaged in ethical reasoning by employing Hillel’s principle and moral logic’s reversibility test: We Jews know how unethical it was for gentiles to refrain from saving us, therefore we are obligated not to commit the same wrong by failing to save them.  

The contemporary halakhic authority, R. Nahum Rabinovitch, also contends that the Torah itself makes no distinction whatsoever between the obligation to save a Jewish life on the Sabbath and saving the life of any civilized gentile (ger toshav).[44] He posited that this was Nahmanides’ understanding of the halakhic imperative in Lev. 25:35: "If your brother falls low and cannot maintain himself with you, you shall uphold him; though be he a stranger (ger) or a resident (toshav) he shall live with you."[45] Like R. Rosenthal, R. Rabinovitch understands the Torah to naturally reflect the ethical principle of treating human life equally, which must be honored in the era of universal human rights of all non-threatening civilized persons. This is expressed religiously as the intrinsic sanctity and dignity of all human life derived from the universal endowment of Tselem Elokim. As such, the distinction between saving a Jewish life and a gentile life on Shabbat cannot be made consistent with the basic assumptions of equality and intrinsic dignity of each human life.

A number of contemporary poseqim seem oblivious to—or explicitly reject—principles of just war and contemporary international standards, even though the Israel Defense Forces accepts these ethical principles as their rules of engagement. Contravening the “principle of distinction” that constitutes one of the foundations of the conception of just war, they reject the distinction between enemy soldiers and enemy non-combatants. Thus just as it is permitted—even necessary—to target enemy combatants, it is in principle permissible to intentionally kill all civilians in the societies of Israel’s enemies. Such opinions may even represent the consensus of halakhic decisors today.[46] To quote one contemporary Israeli halakhic authority, “According to the worldview of Torah, there is no such thing as an innocent person among a hostile population.”[47]

 

The moral illegitimacy and logical inconsistency of this position is clear. Jews (and all right thinking people) properly condemn as immoral terrorists who attack, kill and maim Israeli civilians. If the unacceptability of intentional attacks on civilians is a moral principle, then it must be so generally: Both when Palestinians attack Jewish non-combatants, as well as when Israelis (whether in or out of uniform) attack Palestinian non-combatants. Moral consistency demands that if we condemn the former, we must also condemn the latter. Permitting the latter puts Jewish fighters on the same immoral level as cruel terrorists who brutally murder Israeli teens innocently eating pizza in Jerusalem, Jews piously celebrating a Seder in Netanya and Israeli infants riding quietly in their parents’ car.

Of course, permitting the targeting of non-threatening enemy civilians also blatantly violates the second moral value of compassion. Intentionally killing a Palestinian infant or a non-threatening infirmed grandmother is the very opposite of exercising compassion. It can be done only by rejecting empathy, legitimizing cruelty and considering these targets impersonal objects rather than human subjects.

Rabbinic tradition has long wrestled with the moral problem of targeting civilians in war—even when such action appears to be mandated by explicit verses of the Torah. The Talmud and later rabbinic authorities succeeded in “moralizing” the rules of engagement when fighting Amalek, the Canaanite tribes and enemies in a milkehemet mitzvah.  Aware of the moral problematics of these imperatives, they engaged in creative interpretations that rendered the imperative to kill innocent non-combatants of enemy nations either as purely theoretical laws that must no longer be acted upon or ones that prohibited ab initio intentionally killing innocent non-combatants entirely.[48] In modern times, Rabbis Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berliner (Netziv) and Shlomo Goren restricted targeting the enemy in war to combatants and explicitly forbade targeting non-combatants.[49] R. Goren ruled that according to halakhah, contemporary wars must not be fought according to the biblical rules of engagement: “God forbid that those laws are applied to non-biblical wars or wars of our times.”[50]

There is one more example of a morally problematic halakhic thinking that bears analysis. As mentioned earlier, there is considerable rabbinic advocacy for reparative (change) therapy for homosexual persons[51], no doubt in order to strengthen support for the biblical prohibition against homosexual relations (Lev 18:22).  This advocacy persists even while the American Medical Association, the American Psychological Association, the American Psychiatric Association, other professional medical organizations and numerous government bodies have concluded that there is no credible evidence indicating that change therapy is effective and, worse still, that this therapy is likely to cause physical and psychological damage to the patient.[52] This is also the consensus opinion of medical professionals in Europe and Israel.[53] Because of change therapy’s harmful effects a growing number of states and municipalities in America have banned this therapy for minors.[54] Yet the rabbinic advocacy of change therapy continues to stand in the face of this evidence and professional consensus.

It may well be the rabbis who signed this declaration are not sufficiently informed or convinced of the non-efficacy and harmful effects of change therapy, in which case their advocacy does not indicate any lack of compassion or empathy for gay and lesbian persons. However in light of the mounting public evidence regarding change therapy, it is irresponsible to advocate this course of treatment.

Let us assume that the consensus of medical professionals is correct and that change therapy is both ineffective and harmful. Given these data, would the rabbinic signatories of the declaration prescribe such therapy to their own sons and daughters, as they are doing to others? To paraphrase the father of Shmuel in Ketubot 23a, “If they were your sons and daughters, would you treat them this way?” Yet this is what the generalization and reversibility rules of ethics demands if such a policy is to be moral.  Are the signatories fulfilling the biblical imperative to “love your peer like yourself?” According to the medical consensus change therapy is the equivalent of a drug rejected by the FDA because clinical trials failed to satisfy standard efficacy and safety requirements. Would the declaration’s signatories give their loved ones such a drug, particularly when they know that these loved ones have increased incidents of drug use, depression, suicide ideation and suicide attempts, as do homosexuals[55]? Can their advocacy of this doubtful therapy be accurately described in any way as evincing compassion or empathy? 

Halakhic Jews have a moral responsibility to protect the welfare and equality of all non-threatening persons. Correct ethics require that LGBQT persons be treated by others as full human beings to be understood and treated with compassion, not as problems to be solved. In addition to rejecting scientific judgment, the continued rabbinic advocacy of conversion therapy neglects the welfare of individual homosexuals for the purpose of sustaining a traditional ideology. This is neither just, nor compassionate, nor ethically justifiable.

Similar to the other cases, there are halakhic alternatives to this approach, reflected in different statements by rabbis and religious educators regarding policies toward LGBTQ persons.[56] These do not advocate harmful policies, but stress the moral and religious obligations to demonstrate compassion and understanding toward gay, lesbian and gender fluid persons, similar to all other persons. These approaches recommend non-discriminatory policies toward all persons with homosexual orientation and the religious obligation to treat them in their full humanity—all without violating the biblical proscription against homosexual relations. 

“Gam Haym Nivr'u B’Tselem”—They are also created in the Divine Image

There is no doubt that ethical thinking based around the concepts of justice and compassion have a universalizing tendency, and this universalism is sometimes in tension with traditional halakhah. It also chafes against the current Orthodox tendencies toward inwardness and parochialism. The most severe ethical challenges to halakhah for today and the future require us to think anew about how to justly treat and promote the full humanity of women, heterodox, secular and LGBTQ Jews as well as gentiles—i.e., persons other than the adult religious Jewish males who have traditionally dominated halakhic discourse and Jewish leadership. The ongoing project of Jewish ethics entails the continuous expansion of the spheres of justice and compassion to include all human beings. Nor is this progressive growth in our moral awareness inimical to the eternal nature of Torah. Rather, it should be seen as essential to God’s plan for the Torah to apply over all different cultures and the entire sweep of human history.[57] 

The concept of Tselem Elokim is a rich source for sound ethical reasoning built on justice and compassion. The Torah teaches that all human beings are endowed with this transcendent quality, and hence the ethics flowing from Tselem Elokim dictate that we widen our scope of sensitivity and ethical concern toward all human beings, striving to treat each not merely as a means to another end, but as a subject who has emotions, anxieties, interests and needs like ours and who has a unique voice worth hearing, just as we wish to be treated, understood and heard. The endowment of the Divine Image also implies that we must understand that a person’s value, dignity and right to equality reside in his/her personhood, not in his/her gender, theological orientation or ethnic identity. This requires a conceptual shift from the classical halakhic categorization of people as members of a group to evaluating and relating to each as an autonomous individual.[58] This outlook is closely linked to R. Akiva’s great principle of the Torah in Lev 19:18 and to achieve highest levels of morality we must interpret ve’ahavtah l’re’akhah kimokhah to require the full consideration of all non-threatening human beings, as did Avraham Ibn Ezra.

R. Ben Zion Uziel demonstrated this ethical sensitivity in a 1920 responsum dealing with the question of whether women should be afforded both passive and active suffrage and whether they had a right to represent themselves in political matters.[59] His argument was stunningly simple: Even if for the sake of argument we concede that strict halakhah does not include women in the formal category of the pubic community (‘kahal’ or ‘edah’), he queried,  

“Are they [i.e. women] not creatures created in the Divine Image who are endowed with intelligence? Do they not have interests that will be effected by a representative government?”

Rabbi Uziel insisted that women have the right to vote and to hold public office because he understood that treating people as creatures endowed with Tselem Elokim entails granting them full human dignity, including the right to speak for themselves and to defend their own interests. Ovadia Seforno also understood Tselem Elokim to mean that people must be allowed to be free to make their own choices[60], and therefore each adult has the right to a voice in decisions effecting him or her. As such, Tselem Elokim foreshadows the principle of justice and requires that we give all Jews including women, heterodox, secular and those with different sexual orientations the right to speak for themselves in communal decisions and policies effecting their interests. To exclude them and presume to speak for them, however well-meaning the intent, is a paternalism that does not square with the demands of fairness and human dignity. In halakhic language, it is a violation of kevod ha-beriyot.

This is a particularly vexing moral problem today in Orthodox rabbinic decisions regarding women, who continue to be excluded from decision-making processes about women’s rights as well as communal policies and norms.[61] The logic of justice and compassion dictates that we not marginalize women in voice or decision. And when deciding Jewish policies effecting gentiles, correct ethics demand that we consider them full human beings equal to Jews in both value and rights.

Unfortunately Rabbi Uziel’s use of Tselem Elokim’ is an exception in halakhic literature. The use of the general concepts of ‘tsedek’, ’hesed’ and ‘Tselem Elokim’ is rare amid the technicalities of conventional formal halakhic discourse. These concepts are conspicuously absent from the halakhic deliberations of the previously cited cases, yet they and their implications are precisely what is needed if halakhic rulings are to have moral stature. The reasoning of responsa and their resulting halakhic decisions will be moral only to the extent that justice, fairness and human compassion factor into halakhic reasoning in any given situation. Responsa on strictly ritual questions lack moral dimension and have no need for these values. But questions about interpersonal relations and individual interests do, and hence halakhic rulings regarding human affairs can prove immoral if they are oblivious to these values. When halakhic logic emphasizes formalism at the expense of compassion and empathy, when it is reduced to value-neutral mathematical type thinking, when “let the law bore through the mountain” becomes the single guiding principle in halachic argumentation, halakhah opens itself up to unethical rulings. In the words of one rabbinic sage, “Standing upon strict din entails ruin.”[62]

Halakhah cannot and should not be reduced to ethics alone. Surely there exist other desiderata with valence in the halakhic system, and for halakhah to maintain its identity and structural integrity, the justice, compassion and the human sensitivity demanded by Tselem Elokim cannot be the only values operative in halakhic reasoning. Yet if halakhah is to retain moral integrity, it must function within the bounds of tsedek and hesed.

To ensure the ethical character of halakhic judgments, halakhic authorities must ask themselves, "Is my legal conclusion just or does it discriminate unfairly?” “Is my p’saq compassionate and empathetic?” “Does my reasoning employ the full meaning of Tselem Elokim by treating each person it effects as an end and not merely a means, as a human subject rather than just an object of legal inquiry?” “Does my ruling respect the full dignity of the persons involved?” “Does it allow others to voice their own opinions on issues that affect them?” “Does it allow others to flourish as I wish to flourish?”

A Theological Post-Script

Not long ago I discussed the military ethics of Israel Defense Forces with someone who helped write the IDF's code of military engagement. I asked him why the IDF insists on following just war principles even when they entail significant risk to Israeli soldiers, make battlefield decisions more difficult and are costly in blood and treasure.

He answered that morality is essential to Jewish identity. It is who we are and who we should be. He then added a more prosaic reason: Israeli soldiers must believe in the justice and rightness of their cause. They must be able to look at themselves in the mirror and know that their sacrifices are for a noble purpose. IDF officials realize that if their soldiers lose conviction in the justice of their cause and the moral integrity of their battlefield behavior, they will not be willing to risk their lives. Many, in fact, will not return to serve when called upon. It is these ethical values that sustain the high morale of the Israeli army.

And so it is with halakhah. Should Jewish law lose its ethical moorings, it will devolve into just another set of laws holding no more attraction than any other legal system. As a consequence halakhah will cease to be a rallying point for many Jews, at which point they will deem halakhah inferior to more just systems, lose their conviction in it and renounce their halakhic commitment. Only when halakhah manifests a deep passion for justice and human sensitivity will it secure the allegiance of Jews today. Moral integrity is, therefore, an existential imperative for contemporary halakhah.

No doubt a small number of Jews will choose to disregard moral logic, broader human wisdom, and anything not technical and parochial. As one radical halakhic decisor claimed: “The morality of gentile nations cannot understand the essence of Judaism. Therefore gentiles have nothing to teach us.”[63]  No wonder, then, that this poseq permits intentionally killing civilians.

It fallacious to interpret this kind of insular thinking with its dismissal of ethics as authentic to Jewish law or spirit. On the contrary, dismissing ethics in determining formal halakhah represents a severe defect in their understanding of Torah, of which justice and compassion are intrinsic elements. At the dawn of God’s covenant with the Jewish people, God challenged Abraham and his descendants "to act with compassionate righteousness and justice" as the signal characteristics of their covenantal commitment. Moses later commanded the Jewish people to "do what is right and good,” and later still Isaiah challenged the Jewish people in God's name to be "a light for the nations." Thus the ethics of justice and compassion have always been intrinsic Jewish values and essential to the sacred Jewish covenantal mission.

Contrary to the contemporary rabbinic opinion just cited, the Torah insists that when Jews observe God’s commands correctly, the nations of the world will not be at a loss for understanding. On the contrary, they will conclude about the Jewish people, “Surely this is a wise and discerning people.” (Deut. 4:6). The Bible proclaims that Jewish ethics is no esoteric enterprise; rather it is one whose values all people will appreciate when Jews observe Torah correctly. Justice and compassion are fundamental to Jewish religious life, but they are also universal. And so Hebrew Scriptures promise that when Jews live properly their behavior will be exemplary, their wisdom will be understood and their values will be recognized by all God’s creatures. 

This is true not merely theologically, but also empirically: Nothing falsifies claims to religious truth in human hearts and minds as do unjust and immoral behavior. As Maimonides understood almost 800 years ago, Jews who defy moral logic will cause Jews to be seen only as “a foolish and despicable people,” rather than a wise and discerning one.[64]

Nor is this commonality with general human ethical judgment a threat to the unique nature of Jewish religious commitment. The Torah challenges the Jewish people to be a kingdom of priests and a holy people, and when all Jews are priests it can only be gentiles who Jews are bidden to bless, influence and teach. And as Nahmanides understood, our status as a holy people is dependent on our doing what is morally right and good.

That holiness is analytically tied to the right and the good, and that there can be no holiness without an abiding commitment to ethics may be two of the most important teachings in the entire Torah.  

Eugene Korn, resides in Jerusalem. He received semikhah from the Israeli Rabbinate (Pirchei Shoshanim) and holds a PhD. in moral philosophy from Columbia University. The founding editor of The Edah Journal, he has contributed previously to Conversations. His books include Jewish Theology and World Religions, Covenant and Hope, Plowshares into Swords: Reflections on Religious Violence, and Returning to Zion. His scholarly essays have been translated into Hebrew, German, Italian and Spanish.

*The author thanks Rabbis Shubert Spero and Anthony Knopf, and Professors David Shatz and Aviva Freedman for their helpful suggestions to this paper.

[1] The report can be found at http://www.hods.org/pdf/Determination%20of%20Death%20and%20Organ%20Tran….

[2] In Israel the prominent halakhic authority Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach also ruled in 1993 that a Jew may receive but not donate a heart in the diaspora. See Minhat Shlomo, II, section 86, letter of 17 Adar 5753.

[3] The formal analysis demonstrating how RBND contravenes ethical principles and reasoning can be found in my “Receiving but not Donating Organs: Ethical and Jewish Considerations,” in Halakhic Realities: Collected Essays on Organ Donation (Magid, Jerusalem 2017).

[4] See A. Sagi, “The Punishment of Amalek in Jewish Tradition: Coping with the Moral Problem,” Harvard Theological Review 87:3 (1994) 323-346, and A. Sagi and D. Statman, “Dependency of Ethics on Religion in Jewish Tradition,” Between Religion and Ethics, (Hebrew) (Ramat Gan, Israel: Bar Ilan University, 1993) 116-144, translated as “Divine Command Morality and the Jewish Tradition” in Journal of Religious Ethics 23 (1995): 49-68. The authors contend that stronger thesis appears explicitly for the first time in rabbinic material only in the writings of R. Kalonymus Shapiro, who lived through the Holocaust. This late break with Jewish tradition suggests the possibility of some conceptual assimilation with Christian and Moslem theology, or as Sagi and Statman put it, the thesis “is a foreign shoot that cannot grow in the vineyard of Israel.” (140).

[5] Principia Ethica (Cambridge, 1903), §13

[6] Abraham’s challenged God with a similar question: “Will the judge of all the Earth not act justly?” (Gen. 18:25) Clearly Abraham’s convictions about justice transcended what God then commanded.

[7] Commentary on Lev. 19:2 and Deut. 6:18, which form one continuous unit.

[8] Mishneh Torah (henceforth ‘MT’), end Laws of Servants; Guide of the Perplexed, III:17

[9] Among other medieval rabbinic thinkers who recognized that halakhic norms do not exhaust moral obligations are Baḥya ibn Paquda (Duties of the Heart, Introduction) and Menachem Me’iri (Beit HaBehirah, to BT Shabbat 105b).

[10] R. Aharon Lichtenstein, “Does Jewish Tradition Recognize an Ethic Independent of Halakha,” in Contemporary Jewish Ethics, Menachem Marc Kellner, ed., (Sanhedrin Press, 1978) p. 107. Among other modern authorities who also explicitly affirmed this position are R. Samson Raphael Hirsch (Commentaries to Leviticus 18:4 and Deuteronomy 6:18, and Horeb, paragraphs 219 and 325), Rabbi Shmuel Glasner (Dor Revi’i, Introduction), R. Avraham Yitzḥak Hakohen Kook (Orot Ha-kodesh, 3:318,; Iggerot Re’iyah, Vol 1, letter 89) and R. Yehuda Amital (Jewish Values in a Changing World, Ch. 2, and Commitment and Complexity: Jewish Wisdom in an Age of Upheaval, p. 48). I thank R. Anthony Knopf for pointing out these rabbinic references. See his “Moral Intuition and Jewish Ethics,” Hakirah Vol. 23, Fall 2017, pp.197-222 for further discussion on the topic.  

[11] Halakhic Man, trans. by Lawrence Kaplan (JPS, 1983) section VI, pp.19-23. Also, R. Soloveitchik wrote “R. Hayyim fought a war for of independence on behalf of halakhic reason and demanded for it complete autonomy…R. Hayyim provided for the halakhah specific methodological tools, created a complex of halakhic categories and an order of apriori premises through a process of pure postulatization.” “Mah Dodeich Midod” in B’sod Hayachid Vehayachad (Heb.) Pinchas Peli, ed. (Orot, Jerusalem), p. 224. Elsewhere, “Not only halakhot but also the chazakot [legal presumptions] [that Hazal] introduced are indestructible…[Even] the chazakot are based on permanent ontological principles rooted in the very depths of the metaphysical human personality, which is as changeless as the heavens above.” “Surrendering to the Almighty,” address to the RCA, November, 1998.

[12] From There You Shall Seek (U’bikashtem Mi-sham”), beginning Ch. 15.

[13] See Abraham’s Journey, for R. Soloveitchik’s understanding of the Abraham as the archetypical yet pre-halakhic Jew: “Avraham was the model Jew because he substituted the ethical life for the immoral one” and “possessed an ethical system to be carried out and implemented.” In that work R. Soloveitchik also claimed that the experience of slavery in Egypt was necessary to create a hesed people of the emerging Jewish nation. His commitment to ethical integrity also moved him to demand that the Israeli government investigate the role the Israel Defense Forces in the Sabra and Shatila massacres in 1982. Rav Soloveitchik called the National Religious Party officials and told them that he could not continue as President of the Religious Zionist of America if the National Religious Party did not vote in favor of the investigation.  Given Rav Soloveitchik's statements on the importance of elemental fairness, justice and ethical integrity, it is inconceivable that he would have agreed with the cited unethical halakhic positions. (See notes 44 and 45.) Nevertheless some of his prominent students have led in advocating these positions because the Brisker formalist theory of halakhah as a value-neutral apodictic system to which they were exposed sometimes conduces to unethical conclusions in practice when not tempered by considerations of justice and hesed.

[14] This is elegantly and cogently explained by Yitzchok Block in “G-d and Morality”, presented at the Third Miami Conference on Torah and Science, December 15, 1999, and published in B’Or Ha’Torah, Vol. 12 (Shamir 2006) pp. 129-136.

[15] The philosopher Isaiah Berlin claimed that if you meet someone who doesn’t recognize the difference between sticking a pin into a cushion and putting a knife into a person’s stomach, you should cease ethical conversation with him, since that person lacks all empathy and does not share your moral universe.

[16] MT, ibid.

[17] For a full analysis of prescriptivity and how this generalization principle works in moral reasoning, see R.M. Hare, Freedom and Reason (New York: Oxford University Press, 1965).

[18] Ethics, A Very Short Introduction, S. Blackburn (Oxford, UK: Oxford U., 2001) p. 101; Examples abound: “Love your neighbor as yourself” in Christian scriptures (Matthew 22:39), Kant’s first formulation of the Categorical Imperative, “Act only on principles you could will as a universal law.” “Justice is blind,” and of course the colloquial, “What is good for the goose is good for the gander.” Other instances in Jewish literature are Hillel’s “Do not judge your fellow until you have reached his place.” (Avot 2:4). The famous biblical dialogue between King David and Nathan (II Samuel 12:1-7) most dramatically illustrates how this principle’s moral power: David condemns a rich man who takes a sheep from a poor man, and then understands that if it is a principle, the moral condemnation must apply equally to him after Nathan announces, “You are the man!”  Kant’s first formulation of the Categorical Imperative, “Act only on principles you could will as a universal law.” …

[19] Maimonides defines hesed as ‘haflagah’ (excess or overflow)—i.e., the extension of one substance into another. Guide of the Perplexed, III:53.

[20] Horeb, 17:125

[21] Jonathan Haidt (The Righteous Mind, (New York: Random House, 2012)) has demonstrated the weaknesses and failures of strictly rational ethics. In the end justice and compassion need to exercise a dialectical balance on each other to create a temperate and healthy ethical system.

[22] Deut. 22:3 and BT Bava Kamma 113b

[23] Deut. 20:16-18, and MT, Laws of Kings 6:4

[24] This is unlike organs stored in an organ bank for future use by an unidentified recipient at the time of donation. For a detailed analysis of this causal relationship, see Korn, op. cit.

[25] Ibid.

[26] In the passage of MT just cited (Laws of Servants 9:8), Maimonides explicitly mentions these two values as the foundations of ideal Jewish behavior: “A person should always be a rahaman (compassionate person) and a pursuer of tsedek (justice).” 

[27] Commentary on Lev. 19:18.

[28] BT Shabbat 31a: “Do not do unto others what is hateful to you.”     

[29] Yimei Zikhron (Jerusalem, World Zionist Organization) pp. 9-11.

[30] The most concise formulation of the foundational principle of ethical reasoning is Kant’s Categorical Imperative, as cited in note 18.

[31] Mikhtav Eliyahu I, p. 32

[32] These values are so important to Jewish religious life that Maimonides chose to end his magisterial oeuvre, The Guide of the Perplexed, with Jeremiah’s plea and exaltation of these ethical values in Jewish life. Once more, Maimonides’ message to us here is that justice, righteousness and hesed are the essence of proper religious behavior.

[33] Lev. 24:19-21, Ex. 21:22-25 and Deut 19:16-21

[34] In accordance with the requirements of retributive justice, numerous rabbinic interpretations of the biblical imperative insisted on judging each person in an idolatrous city individually, rather than the literal collective killing of all residents. R. Meir Afulafiah (Rama) argued strenuously on moral grounds against such literal implementation of killing innocent children of the city, exclaiming, “Heaven forbid that God cause such evil.” For full discussion of the rabbinic deliberations on the topic, see M. Halbertal, Interpretative Revolutions in the Making, (Hebrew), ch. 6, (Jerusalem: Magnes, 1997).

[35] See BT Sanhedrin 71a: “Said R. Simeon, ‘because he ate a tartimar of meat and drank a half log of wine, do his father and mother take him out and have him stoned?’” I interpret R. Simeon’s objection to the literal interpretation on grounds of justice: “There can never be an actual case of stubborn and rebellious son because an act of gluttony can never justly be the difference between guilt and innocence in a capital case.”

[36] “To adopt a restrictive position regarding donating organs and a permissive position regarding receiving organs is morally untenable," found at http://organdonationstatement.blogspot.com. I am a signatory to this statement, as well as a member of HODS. For HODS, see https://hods.org/about-hods/orthodox-rabbis.

[37] For a thorough analysis of this position and the rabbinical authorities subscribing to it, see Michael Broyde, “Access to Justice in Jewish Financial Law” in Radical Responsibility: Celebrating the Thought of Chief Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks,” Michael Harris, Daniel Rynhold, Tamar Wright, eds. (Jerusalem and New Milford, CT.: 2012) pp. 111-123.

[38] Commentary on the Torah (Torah Temimah) on Deut. 22, note 22.

[39] See Meiri’s commentary on BT Talmud, Beit ha-Behirah, Yoma 84a, Sanhedrin 57b, and Bava Kama 37b &113b. For explication of Meiri’s halakhic position on these cases, see Moshe Halbertal, “Ones Possessed of Religion: Religious Tolerance in the Teachings of the Meiri” The Edah Journal 1:1, Marheshvan 5761 at http://edah.org/backend/JournalArticle/halbertal.pdf.

[40] BT Yoma 85a-b; MT Laws of Shabbat, ch. 2

[41] BT Yoma 85a; Mishnah Berurah, 330:8,

[42] See Benjamin Lau, “A Reflection of Truth: The Rabbinate and the Academy in the Writings of A. S. Rosenthal on Violating the Sabbath to Save Gentile Life” in Meorot 10, Tevet 5773 found at https://library.yctorah.org/files/2016/07/meorot-10-tevet-5773.pdf.

[43] R. Jacob Avigdor argued, “Saving a gentile is not a matter of the Torah’s law or statute; it is a matter of man’s good, human, attributes.” In other words, the obligation stems from natural human characteristics of compassion and fairness.  See Lau, op. cit.

[44] Tradition—A Journal of Orthodox Thought, Vol 8:3, Fall 1966. Other halakhic authorities who argued similarly based on the value of the gentile life include Rabbis Yehuda Loewe (Maharal), Yehiel Heller, Meir Dan Plotzki, Tzvi Hersch Chajes, Yehuda Gershuni, Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Ahron Soloveichik and Aharon Lichtenstein. For the latter three see, http://www.yuTorah.org/lectures/lecture.cfm/756185/_Dov_Karoll/Laws_of_….

[45] In Rabbi Rabinovitch’s own words: “In other words, our obligation to save a life is exactly the same for a Ger Toshav as for a Jew and requires that we do everything short of sacrificing our own life to save him.” According to R. Shlomo Riskin, R. Joseph Soloveitchik told him that he believed the imperative to save gentile life on Shabbat is based on this opinion of Ramban. 

[46] Survey by R. Howard Jachter, “Halachic Perspectives on Civilian Casualties—Part 3”, Parashat Toledot, and Vol. 24: No. 9 at www.koltorah.org/index2.html. The surveyor concluded that there was only one contemporary poseq, R. Aharon Lichtenstein, who demands that Jews consider enemy civilian casualties when fighting according to halakhic standards—and as a lone exception he does not express accepted halakhah. One halakhic scholar in the survey claims that “there is no halakhic source that takes cognizance of the likelihood of causing civilian casualties in the course of hostilities.”

[47] R. Dov Lior, “Jewish Ethics” in Book of Hagi, p. 423 (Heb.). Nor is his psaq without historical precedent, as he and others base themselves on the opinion of Maharal (Gur Ayeh, Gen. 34-13, and Parashat Vayishlach). 

[48] Mishnah Yada’im 4:4; BT Berakhot 28a and MT, Laws of Kings, 5:4; for prohibition to kill peaceful persons ab initio, see MT, Laws of Kings, 6:1 and 6:4.

[49]Commentary on the Torah, Ha-Emeq Davar, Deut. 7:2  

For R. Goren, see Meshiv Milhamah [Responsa on Matters of the Military, War and Security] (Hebrew) 1983-1992, 1:14.

[50] Ibid. See also “Biblical Narratives and the Status of Enemy Civilians in Wartime,” by Yitzchak Blau, Tradition (39:4), 8-28, who also argues against permission to intentionally harm civilians in war.

[51]  See “Declaration on the Torah Approach to Homosexuality” (2011), found at www.torahdec.org, signed by 223 Orthodox rabbis. The declaration advocates “therapy and teshuvah [repentance],” where it is clear that the therapy referred to aims to change a homosexual’s orientation to “a natural gender identity”.

[52]  See https://www.hrc.org/resources/the-lies-and-dangers-of-reparative-therapy. For fuller list of medical and professional organizations opposed to change therapy see  https://www.hrc.org/resources/policy-and-position-statements-on-convers…

[53] In 2015 fourteen professional organizations in England (including the National Health Service) pronounced reparative therapy to be “harmful and unethical.” See

https://www.psychotherapy.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/MoU-convers….

Malta has outlawed this therapy. Israel’s Health Ministry advises against reparative therapy and calls it “scientifically dubious and potentially dangerous.” In 2014 Israeli Health Minister Yael German stated “there is no scientific evidence for the success of any method of conversion, and there is testimony on possible damage.” See http://awiderbridge.org/health-ministry-against-ex-gay-therapy/

[54] https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC5040471/

[55] https://www.healthline.com/health/depression/gay; 

[56] See http://statementofprinciplesnya.blogspot.co.il/; http://www.beithillel.org.il/show.asp?id=71658#.WqTio-huY2w; http://www.tabletmag.com/scroll/192649/watch-orthodox-rabbi-benny-laus-…; and http://www.jpost.com/Jerusalem-Report/Choose-life-412588.

[57] This is most explicitly affirmed in R. Nahum Rabinovitch’s “The Way of Torah,” The Edah Journal, 3:1 (Tevet 5763), found at https://library.yctorah.org/journals/edah-journal-marheshvan-5761-11-3.

[58] While this shift is typical modern moral and philosophic thinking, Rav Joseph Soloveitchik noted that its source is biblical. He observed that in the account of creation God created all animals in groups “according to their species” (“leminayhu”), i.e. without individuality, while Adam and Eve were created singly qua individuals. Their defining human characteristic is Tselem Elokim, which replaces ‘leminayhu’ in the biblical narrative of the creation of human beings. In other words Tselem Elokim implies considering each person as a unique individual subject, rather than a generic group member. See also his Halakhic Man, pp. 126-130, and Maimonides, Guide of the Perplexed III:18, which stress the value of individuality. Mishna Sanhedrin 4:5 is another pre-modern source emphasizing the religious value of each person’s uniqueness and individuality. The modern rabbinic thinker, Irving Greenberg, cogently points out the theological connections between this Mishna and Tselem Elokim in The Triumph of LIfe: A Narrative Theology of Judaism, ch. 2 (forthcoming), as well as in Living in the Image of God, pp. 31-45 (Jason Aronson, 1998).

[59] Mishpatei Uziel 44

[60] Commentary on Gen. 1:26-27

[61] Classic halakhic literature is replete with cases of men making presumptions about, categorizing and rendering decisions effecting women.  In these deliberations, women have no voice to speak for themselves or play a role in the decision-making process. It is difficult to see these processes as just, fairly representing women’s interests or yielding accurate results. Two prominent contemporary examples are the prosecution of divorce proceedings by exclusively male rabbinic courts and the recent discussion and decisions by the Orthodox rabbinate in America regarding the eligibility of women for religious leadership. Can the exclusion of women from both these procedures be consistent with the full humanity and ontological equality of women created in the Divine Image? Can men fairly and accurately represent women’s interests and preferences?

[62] R. Yehuda Loewe (Maharal), Netivot Olam, Chapter 5, “Gemilut Hasadim”.

[63] Lior, op. cit.

[64] Introduction to Mishna, Chapter Helek, pt. 2. Maimonides’ statement is a play on the original Hebrew.  Instead of the Bible’s, “am hakham v’navon” (a wise and discerning people), Maimonides used “am sakhal v’naval”—a foolish and despicable people. 

National Scholar Update: Shabbat March 25 Foundations Minyan in Teaneck

On Shabbat, March 25, Rabbi Hayyim Angel will lead another Foundations Minyan at Congregation Beth Aaron in Teaneck (950 Queen Anne Road). It will be a full Shabbat morning service, during which Rabbi Angel adds explanations and discussion before each Aliyah of the Torah reading, and also an explanatory sermon pertaining to prayer.

The service is geared for people of all backgrounds. It meets roughly every six weeks at Congregation Beth Aaron.

Services begin at 9:15, and will be followed by a Kiddush. All are welcome.

 

National Scholar Report: Bringing our Torah to Philadelphia

Over the past month, I have served as a scholar-in-residence in two different communities in Philadelphia. Under the banner of our Institute, we are spreading our ideas throughout the country and beyond through such programs.

On the Shabbat of February 24-25, I visited Congregation Bnai Israel Ohev Zedek in suburban Northeast Philadelphia. The Shabbaton was co-sponsored by the Chelkeinu Initiative, a local organization that wishes to add a dimension of Modern Orthodox education into their communities. They invited our Institute as a productive partner with shared religious goals. Over the course of an exhilirating Shabbat, I spoke about Superstition, the need to have text-based learning in Megillat Esther, and what Sephardim and Ashkenazim can learn from one another in their prayers. The final talk was held on Saturday night, so that a wider range of people could drive to the event. The classes were extremely well-attended, and we were able to share our central values with that community.

On the Shabbat of March 17-18, I visitied Congregation Mekor Habracha in Center City, Philadelphia. At a community Shabbaton, I spoke about the idea of the Chosen People and Western Values, Biblical Miracles, and Dogma in Jewish Thought. The goal of each talk is to present a range of traditional views with an approach to understanding competing religious opinions. In the class on Dogma, the emphasis is on how to build a united traditional community when many of its members do not understand even the basic core Jewish beliefs. Once again, the Shabbaton was a huge success, and the talks generated many private conversations as well.

These scholar-in-residence weekends are uniquely valuable for promoting our deepest values to communities all over the United States.

Through these and so many related programs, we reach thousands of people per year. Thank you for your ongoing support of our Institute so that we may continue to engage a growing number of communities in learning.

 

 

 

Zionism as a Core Religious Value

 

Being a Zionist is as integral to the core concepts of Judaism, as keeping the laws of Shabbat, kashruth, fasting on Yom Kippur, or eating matza on Passover. It is intrinsic to our very identity as Jews. Three times a day, when we recite the Amida, we pray, “May You return to Jerusalem in compassion.” In that same passage of the Amida, it states, “May You rebuild Jerusalem speedily in our days.” And of course, within that same prayer we say, “May our eyes lift up and see Your return to Zion in compassion.”

Beyond that, every major event of our personal lives is imbued with our profound love of Zion. When we break a glass at our wedding ceremonies, we remember the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem. At our moments of intense personal loss and grief, consolers pray that we “be comforted among the mourners of Jerusalem and Zion.” In the Haggadah of Passover, we say, “next year in Jerusalem.”

We see how in Judaism, the personal moments in our lives as individuals and our shared collective history merge. Almost anyone who is a caring and observant Jew has a special, regnant place in their heart for Zion and for Jerusalem.

The theological imperative to go to Israel, begins as far back as the second millennium bce, when Abraham in Genesis is told to leave his place of birth and go to the land that was to become the land of Israel. This land was promised by the Almighty to the children of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

But as strong as our religious roots are to Zion, Zionism also has been to us not only a theological issue, it has also been an ideological movement. It has been the cement that has glued our people together for centuries. Throughout the long suffering of our exile, it has been that 2,000-year-old deep yearning to live under our own sovereignty, under our own flag, with the ancient star of David at the center; with our own independent army to protect us; a place where even the most secular cab driver will greet you with “Shabbat Shalom” on Friday, and where the calendar in even the most secular schools is punctuated with Jewish holidays.

Our return to Zion, to the land of Israel, has been at the aspirational center of our very being—the hope that has sustained our people. In fact it is no coincidence that the name for the Jewish national anthem has been HaTikvah (literally, “The Hope”). This collective hope has sustained us through centuries of marginalization, expulsions, Inquisitions, dhimmi laws, pogroms and ultimately the Holocaust—the most systematic attempted genocide of an entire people ever recorded in history. We have always yearned for the day that we would live under our own national sovereignty.

And finally, that hope has been realized. Israel not only exists, but has managed to thrive despite the many conflicts that have erupted throughout the years. It has become the greatest military superpower within the Middle East, and has one of the most rapidly growing economies in the world. Israel has made amazing advances in the fields of medicine, technology, agriculture, pharmacology, and more. Beyond that, Israel has been a beacon of aid to so many people in so many lands. If there is a hurricane, tsunami, or earthquake anywhere in the world, members of the IDF and Israeli doctors and nurses are likely to be among the first to arrive onto the scene with life-saving emergency care, directly on the field.

We Jews have a great deal to be proud of.

Yet, within a blink of an eye in historic terms, many Jews in the United States, seem to have forgotten our long history and the arduous path to finally achieving independent, Jewish statehood. And as the philosopher George Santayana had one said, “Those who have not studied history, are condemned to repeat its mistakes.”

According to a survey by the American Jewish Committee on April 25, 2021, fully 46.5 percent, (nearly half of Jewish millennials) said that feeling a strong connection to the State of Israel was either “not too important” or “not important at all.”

The Pew Poll released on May 21, 2021, indicated that

 

Among U.S. Jews overall, 58 percent say they are very or somewhat emotionally attached to Israel, a sentiment held by majorities in all of the three largest U.S. Jewish denominations. However, Orthodox (82%) and Conservative (78%) Jewish adults are more likely than those who identify as Reform (58%) to feel this way. Conversely, among U.S. Jews who do not belong to any particular branch, a majority say that they feel not too or not at all attached to Israel. And while 60 percent of Jews overall say they have a lot or some in common with Jews in Israel, Orthodox Jews (91%) are more likely than Conservative Jews (77%), Reform Jews (61%) or those who don’t identify with any branch (39%) to express this feeling.

 

We are seeing large numbers of Jews who are assimilating and intermarrying at a high rate. It seems like Reform Judaism has provided a convenient “exit pass” to so many Jews who have wanted to buy their ticket into the American dream. And within no more than a few generations, there has been a rapid atrophy of our core values that have defined us as Jews, including the 2,000-year-old a[1]ttachment to Zion.

Why has this happened?

To answer this, let’s first examine the Reform movement and why it has been so seductive to so many of our people.

Looking at its historic roots, the Reform movement, which was born out of the Western Enlightenment in Germany, became embraced by thousands of European Jews. After so many centuries of deprivations, marginalization, pogroms, and expulsions, many early Reform thinkers saw universalism and human rights as the cardiac organ, pumping new life into an extremely remodeled belief system. They also substituted a love of Zionism with a love of the “fatherland,” as they were desperate to disprove the charge of dual loyalty. Thousands of Jews enrolled in the Prussian army during the Napoleonic wars, and later the German army during World War I. These armies forbade Jewish participation for centuries, and now, with emancipation, droves of Jews enrolled in order to prove their attachment to their host country. A quote by David Friedlander in the wonderful book by Amos Elon[2] of this period describes this brilliantly:

 

[It is] a heavenly feeling to possess a fatherland! What rapture to be able to call a spot, a place, a nook one's own upon this lovely earth.... Hand in hand with your fellow soldiers you will complete the great task; they will not deny the title of brother for you will have earned it.

 

At a Reform Jewish Conference in Frankfurt in 1845, one of the speakers declared the erasure of the Jewish attachment to Zionism with these impassioned words:

 

The hope for national restoration contradicts our feelings for the fatherland…. The wish to return to Palestine in order to create there a political empire is superfluous.... But Messianic hope, truly understood is religious.... This later religious hope can be renounced only by those who have a more sublime conception of Judaism, and who believe that the fulfillment of Judaism's mission is not dependent on the establishment of a Jewish state, but rather by the merging of Jewry into the political constellation of the fatherland. Only an enlightened conception of religion can replace a dull one.... This is the difference between strict Orthodoxy and Reform: Both approach Judaism from a religious standpoint: but while the former [Orthodox] aims at restoration of the old political order, the later [Reform] aims at the closest possible union with the political and national union of our times.2

 

As the philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard had said, “Life can only be understood backwards, but must be lived forwards.”

By the middle to the end of the nineteenth century, because of the continuation of acts of anti-Semitism and marginalization of the Jews in Germany, significant numbers of German Jews, mostly Reform, came to the United States, trying to accommodate Judaism to the mainstream values of American life. Among them was the first Reform rabbi, Rabbi Isaac Mayer Wise, who cemented his strong stance of anti-Zionism, seeing Reform Judaism in America as a modern universal value, and stripping it of the particularism of Orthodoxy, including our age-old attachment to the land of Israel,

There was an enormous split within American Jewry before the first murmurings of the establishment of the State of Israel. Then, by 1944 and 1945, word had finally gotten out about the enormous horrors that had been inflicted by the Nazis on 6 million Jews of Europe. Thereafter, the overwhelming majority of Jews of all religious denominations in the United States finally embraced Zionism. However, there were still huge arguments between Rabbi Aba Hillel Silver who arduously argued in favor of the urgent establishment of a Jewish homeland, and Rabbi Stephen Wise, who favored a much more moderate approach.

Yet, there are still elements within the Jewish community that have reservations about Israel. Beyond the lingering pockets of anti-Zionism within the Reform movement, is the resentment within many non-Orthodox Jews for what they perceive as Orthodox domination of certain shared holy sites, such as the Western Wall. But more generally, many American Jews have embraced “politically correct” views that often are inimical to the Jewish State. For example, many are oblivious of the many offers various Israeli government have made to the Palestinians of “land for peace,” and how each time they were summarily rejected and greeted with more violence.

The hostile environment on many of America’s college campuses has taught many American Jewish students to simply “put their heads down” and “lay low” because there are so many bullies on the left who shout them down, threaten them, expel them from positions within their universities because they are “Zionist racists” or even physically attack them. (There has proven to be minimal to no protection of the free speech of Jewish and Zionist students, under Title VI of the Civil Rights Act, and when cases are brought to the attention of the Office of Civil Rights of the U.S. Department of Education, it takes months, if not years, for these cases to even be looked at.)

Several decades ago, the former Head of the Jewish Agency, Natan Sharansky, had called American Jewish university students, “the new Jews of silence.” Like a rock that has endured years and years of rainstorms and floods, this has made an indelible effect on the psyches of many of our Jewish university students. Many of these victims of anti-Semitism, who lack a basic education of what Israel has endured as a country are imbued with guilt and self-hatred.

Such is the case with Peter Beinart, a self-described Orthodox Jew whose anti-Israel screeds often make it into the pages of the New York Times. In an article entitled “Has the Fight against Anti-Semitism Lost Its Way,” he rails against, among other things, the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) definition of anti-Semitism, which has been recognized by the U.S. State Department, 30 countries, the Organization for Cooperation and Security in Europe (OSCE). Among examples of anti-Semitism, it includes the phrase “Denying the Jewish people their right to self-determination, e.g., by claiming that the existence of a State of Israel is a racist endeavor.”

Peter Beinart and other of his Jewish cohorts feel uncomfortable with that definition. They therefore have come up with a definition of their own, known, (rather ironically), as “The Jerusalem Definition of Anti-Semitism,” which declares that “Boycott, divestment and sanctions are commonplace, non-violent forms of political protest against states. In the Israeli case they are not, in and of themselves anti-Semitic.”

This comes at a very dangerous time for the Jewish State, when Iran has already amassed 25 kilograms of highly enriched uranium at the 90 percent level, (the level necessary for a nuclear bomb), and 60 kilograms at the 60 percent level which is an easy glide to the 90 percent level. We know that since June 6, 2022, Iran has expelled the International Atomic Energy Administration inspectors.

I am old enough to remember the huge groups of American Jews that gathered in demonstrations during the Six Day War, during the 1973 War, and even the thousands that gathered to protest the first JCPOA in 2015 on the streets of New York and Washington. Where are these Jews today? Many have embraced the “comfortable” and “politically correct” issues of the threat of global warming and of a denial of a woman’s right to choose, at a time when the lives of more than 9 million citizens of Israel, including 7 million Jews, hang in the balance.

The emancipation and rapid assimilation of Jews in this country has led to a constant and steady atrophy of the essential Jewish value of Zionism at a time of unprecedented danger for the Jewish State. As the American Jewish historian, Jacob Rader Marcus had warned: “A people that is not conscious of its past has no assurance of a future.” We need to understand our past and work courageously for a vibrant future.

 

 

  1. Amos Elon, “The Pity of It All A Portrait of the German-Jewish Epoch 1743–1933, ( Holt and Company, New York, 2002).
  2.  Paul Mendes-Flohr and Jehuda Reinharz, The Jew in the Modern World. (Oxford University Press, New York, 1995).