Over Shabbat, May 16-17, Rabbi Hayyim Angel served as scholar-in-residence in Congregation Shaare Torah, in Pittsburgh, PA. He delivered four talks, blending the synthesis of traditional and academic approaches to Tanakh and also highlighting how learning more about Sephardic and Ashkenazic (and other) customs enriches us all. This Shabbat was yet another opportunity to reach communities nation-wide with our outlook and ideology at the Institute.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel's next stops will be: Congregation Shaare Tefillah, Teaneck, NJ; and Young Israel of Oak Park, Michigan. Stay tuned for more information!

(From The Jewish Journal of Los Angeles, September 21, 2024)

When we discuss Israel’s image, we rarely mention the obvious: Since the founding of
the state, Israel’s image has been dominated by white Ashkenazim: From Ben Gurion to
Weitzmann to Dayan to Golda to Peres to Begin to Rabin to Herzog to Sharon to Olmert to Livni
to Bennett to Lapid to Gantz to Gallant to Smotrich to Levin and, of course, to Netanyahu and
countless others, the white Ashkenazic Jew has been front and center in the global media
coverage of Israel.

This is absolutely not a criticism; it’s more of an observation.
But it’s also a missed opportunity for those who worry about improving Israel’s image.
There’s a tendency among those in the “hasbara” world to take the idea of image
figuratively. That is, when they talk about Israel’s image, they don’t mean a real image; they
mean a general perception of Israel that needs to be improved.

This is how we end up obsessed with talking points and arguments. We need facts! We
need education! We need to correct the lies!

Yes, but somehow, no one ever says we need new pictures.

We assume, in other words, that the best way to fix Israel’s image is through words and
arguments rather than through actual images.

The irony is that as we exert ourselves to correct the lies against Israel, one epic lie
remains untouched: The lie that Israel is a white country. But where do we think this lie comes
from? It comes mostly from Israel itself, from the simple fact that virtually every person who
represents Israel in the media is a white Ashkenazi. The good news is that this can be fixed by
being more accurate and recognizing the multicultural diversity that makes Israeli society so
vibrant.

“Only about 30% of Israeli Jews are Ashkenazic, or the descendants of European Jews,”
Hen Mazzig wrote a few years ago in The Los Angeles Times. “I am baffled as to why
mainstream media and politicians around the world ignore or misrepresent these facts and the
Mizrahi story. Perhaps it’s because our history shatters a stereotype about the identity of my
country and my people.”

Very true, but let’s recognize that this stereotype is also what Israel presents to the world.
It would be a lot harder for the mainstream media to ignore Israel’s multicultural nature if
Mizrahim and other Israelis of color would be fully integrated in its media relations.
I was reminded of this at a talk last Friday by Dr. Duygu Atlas, a Muslim-Israeli historian
who lives in Tel Aviv. She was discussing a new initiative, Muslims Connect with Israel (MCI),
that she hopes will change the way Israelis are perceived and understood by Muslim societies.

She kept coming back to this key point: The best way to talk about Israel and break down
stereotypes is to show its cultural and ethnic diversity.
In an ideal colorblind world, maybe none of this would matter. But that’s not the world
we live in. Color matters. Culture matters. Diversity matters. If Israel is so ethnically diverse,
why not show it?

(Indeed, the same applies to American Jewry and its leadership: If Jews in America today
are so ethnically diverse, why not show it? Why not integrate Mizrahim and Jews of color in the
communal leadership? We like to go on about the importance of diversity and inclusion, but
what are we doing at the leadership level to show a more diverse and accurate Jewish face in the
mainstream media?)

Here’s a suggestion for pro-Israel activists on social media: Fewer words, more pictures.
In addition to your regular talking points, blast your networks with hundreds of images of Israelis
from all corners of the globe who are anything but the white Jewish stereotype people see in the
media.

Same goes for philanthropists who buy billboards and advertising to “make the case for
Israel”; a picture is worth a thousand clever phrases. Use striking images that celebrate the ethnic
kaleidoscope of the Jewish state. Title it “Israel in Living Color.” Nothing breaks the ice like true
ethnic diversity.

For the Israeli government, if they want their communication to have more impact,
there’s no better place to start than to have “spokespeople in living color.”
“In living color” is the true face of Israel and the Jewish people. White is not. “In living
color” adds complexity and nuance to the conversation about Israel and the many challenges
facing the Jewish world.

“I am Mizrahi,” Mazzig wrote, “as are the majority of Jews in Israel today. We are of
Middle Eastern and North African descent.”
After 76 years of conveying one image based mostly on one ethnicity, it’s high time
Israel and world Jewry show their true colors to the world.

Israel Defends the Cult of Life

(From The Jewish Journal of Los Angeles, October 1, 2024)
If you want a deeper understanding of Israel’s situation in the Middle East, a good place
to start is the website of the Jaffa Hotel in Tel Aviv, which came up recently under a list of the
world’s finest hotels. The Jaffa was the only entry from Israel.

What caught my eye was that in the charming area of Jaffa where the hotel is located, two
terrorists murdered seven civilians and wounded 17 others in the deadliest terror attack since
Oct. 7. The assault occurred on Tuesday evening, just as Iran was launching hundreds of ballistic
missiles at Israel.

Here in America, it’s easy to get morally confused in the fogs of war. When bombs are
flying everywhere and people are dying everywhere, whether in Gaza or Lebanon or Tel Aviv,
things tend to blur. People with big hearts like to call on all sides to just stop the killing.
This moral blurring, however, is not just wrong but dangerous, especially for the side that
didn’t start the killing.

The missiles from Iran and its terror proxies are not the same as the Iron Dome missiles
from Israel. The soldiers from Israel’s army are not the same as the terrorist soldiers from Hamas
or Hezbollah. Aiming to murder civilians is not the same as aiming to kill terrorists.
When Israel is at war, a Cult of Life is forced to defend itself against a Cult of Death.
It’s astonishing that this even needs to be said, given that it’s been true for so long and
that Israel’s enemies have never pretended to be anything but an anti-Israel death cult.
For decades now, Iran, Hezbollah, and Hamas have made clear that their primary mission
is not to build fancy hotels, charming tourist districts, schools, and hospitals that will improve the
lives of their people.

It’s to get rid of Israel.

Israel left Lebanon in 2000 and Gaza in 2005 and has never occupied an inch of Iranian
territory. The attacks on the Jewish state are based not on Israeli provocations but on a pure
hatred that aims to destroy.

This ugly moral truth can easily get lost when Israel is involved, as demonstrated most
sharply by the blatant double-standards applied to the Jewish state at the United Nations.
The ugliness of pure hatred also gets lost with sophisticated and academic thinking.
Perhaps the truth is too raw, too clear, too moral. Elite thinkers, by definition, must bring nuance
and complexity to their analyses. They must weigh tactics and strategies and envision the
geopolitical future. This has intellectual merit, but it tends to hide moral ugliness.
Israelis, on the other hand, know the ugliness well. What they worry about most is not
geopolitics but the location of the nearest bomb shelter. Indeed, these bomb shelters are a
poignant reminder of how much Israelis value life.

When they’re not running to bomb shelters, Israelis are busy building one of the most
vibrant, creative, and innovative societies on earth. This also can get lost in the noise of the loud
civic protests against the government, the political infighting, and the constant need to defend
against terrorism. But the vibrancy and the resilience are there. Ask any visitor.
The genius of Israel is that despite being under siege since its birth, it has never satisfied
itself only with physical security. It always aimed to thrive rather than just survive.

I felt that vibrancy and resiliency and love of life when I checked out the website of the
Jaffa hotel, a magnificent tribute to ancient elegance:
[The hotel] stands as a prestigious 5-star establishment situated within a meticulously
restored 19th-century complex, once the home of Jaffa’s French Hospital.
Ideally positioned near the Mediterranean Sea and the historic port of Jaffa, it grants
effortless access to attractions such as the Shuk Hapishpeshim flea market, the city of old
Jaffa’s art galleries, and charming local boutiques, all just a short stroll away.

Our signature chef restaurant, Giardino, showcases culinary creations inspired by the
flavors of the Northern Mediterranean, following a unique ‘port-to-table’ philosophy.
Alternatively, relish elevated Israeli cuisine at Golda’s at The Jaffa. Experience serenity
at the L.RAPHAEL Spa and indulge in the personalized luxury of our 120 opulent rooms
and suites, thoughtfully appointed by the renowned designer, John Pawson. Allow our
dedicated concierge team to meticulously orchestrate every aspect of your stay, renew
your spirit, and ignite your imagination.

If anything can renew our spirits in the midst of a war in Lebanon and ballistic missiles
from Iran and enemies sworn to Israel’s destruction, it is this little corner of Israel that refuses to
lose its imagination.

Can Jews Handle Being Different

(From The Jewish Journal of Los Angeles, October 9, 2024)

There are so many lessons Jews have taken on the first anniversary of October 7. These
lessons reflect the shock, the grieving and the trauma that still linger in Jewish hearts from the
biggest disaster in Israeli history.

But in this whirlwind of emotions, let’s not forget another ancient lesson that Oct. 7 has
brought home: Jews are treated differently.

Consider just the fact that after 1,200 Israelis were massacred on that Black Sabbath, a
global movement began to attack…the Jews! That’s right. Before Israel launched any military
activity in Gaza, the Jew-haters were mobilizing to blame the Jews for the massacre of Jews.
Blaming the Jews, of course, is old hat, but seeing it in the wake of the Oct. 7 atrocities
stunned even the cynics. It’s as if Jews were not allowed to be victims, so Jew-haters doubled
down on the oppressor narrative.

Meanwhile, one never heard a peep on college campuses about the Chinese government’s
ongoing genocide of the Uyghurs; or Russia’s kidnapping of an estimated 20,000 to 25,000
Ukrainian children; or the nightmarish oppression of women by the Taliban; or the daily
executions in Iran; or the slavery and child marriages being reintroduced by the Houthis; or the
horrific massacres of Black African ethnic groups in Sudan, echoing the Darfur genocide two
decades ago, and on and on.

And lest you think that pro-Hamas protesters care about Palestinians, you’ll never hear
them complain about the squalid state of Palestinian refugees in Lebanon and Jordan. Why?
Because Jews are not involved. 

These campus haters take their lead from global forces of hypocrisy, most notably at the
United Nations, where the Jewish state receives more condemnations than all other nations
combined. Why? Because it’s the Jewish state.

Jews get special treatment. It’s as old as the Bible.

Maybe the world could never forgive us for being the first ones to talk to God, or for
stubbornly holding on to our tradition for millennia, or for always figuring out ways to prevail
and succeed despite centuries of persecution. 

Is it possible that the world treats Jews differently because we are, in fact, different? Sure,
Jews may be incredibly diverse and argumentative, but as far as the world is concerned, they see
us as one united bunch.

Jew-haters, for example, don’t care whether we’re Reform or Orthodox, Republican or
Democrat, progressive or conservative, Ashkenazic or Sephardic. They hate us all just the same.
They believe in Jewish unity.

This unity also applies to those who love and admire us—we are a successful and
remarkable tribe that punches way above its weight.

“If the statistics are right, the Jews constitute but one quarter of one percent of the human
race,” Mark Twain wrote in 1897. He continues,

It suggests a nebulous puff of star dust lost in the blaze of the Milky Way. Properly, the
Jew ought hardly to be heard of, but he is heard of, has always been heard of.  He is as
prominent on the planet as any other people, and his importance is extravagantly out of
proportion to the smallness of his bulk. 

His contributions to the world’s list of great names in literature, science, art,
music, finance, medicine and abstruse learning are also very out of proportion to the
weakness of his numbers. He has made a marvelous fight in this world in all ages; and
has done it with his hands tied behind him. He could be vain of himself and be excused
for it. The Egyptians, the Babylonians and the Persians rose, filled the planet with sound
and splendor, then faded to dream-stuff and passed away; the Greeks and Romans
followed and made a vast noise, and they were gone; other people have sprung up and
held their torch high for a time but it burned out, and they sit in twilight now, and have
vanished.

The Jew saw them all, survived them all, and is now what he always was,
exhibiting no decadence, no infirmities of age, no weakening of his parts, no slowing of
his energies, no dulling of his alert but aggressive mind. All things are mortal but the
Jews; all other forces pass, but he remains.  What is the secret of his immortality?
We don’t need to be arrogant or triumphalist to embrace our difference. We can be
engaged with the world and embrace our own diversity while still owning our Jewish identity.
Just as other ethnic groups show pride in their differences, why can’t Jews do the same?
Ultimately, we are all individuals with independent minds, but as Jews, we also have a
shared history and a shared destiny that bring us together.

Maybe now, in the wake of a lingering Oct. 7 trauma we will never forget, it’s time to
embrace the bonds that have kept us going for millennia.

Fighting Antisemitism by Winning

(From The Jewish Journal of Los Angeles, October 15, 2024)

When I meet a Jewish college student who has encountered some of the anti-Jewish and
anti-Israel venom spreading through many campuses, I have a favorite line of questioning:
Did you miss any final exams because of the protests?

Did you miss any assignments?
How did you do this semester?

In most cases, the answer is that the ugly protests, however annoying and frightening,
have not hurt their academic performance. This is encouraging. It doesn’t mean, of course, that
Jews should stop fighting the forces of hate and focus only on their education.

What it does mean is that sometimes the best way to fight haters is to focus on improving
ourselves. Throughout our checkered history of facing hate and persecution, Jews have prevailed
by playing the long game, never abandoning the essential values of learning and personal
growth.

It wasn’t easy to focus on ourselves during the Ten Days of Repentance. We entered
Yom Kippur consumed with the multiple dangers of a post-Oct. 7 world; naturally, many of the
sermons we heard dealt with those dangers and how to confront them. 

But those exterior threats, as urgent and consequential as they are, have little to do with
the intimacy of our lives.

I can fight for Israel all day long but forget to call my mother to bring her a little joy.
I can join an activist group but fail to visit a sick uncle in the hospital.

I can follow current events but fail to attend an important event for a friend.

No matter how loud and urgent the outside noise, we can’t allow it to stifle our inner
selves. The hostility toward Jews is bad enough; when we allow it to interfere with our personal
growth is when we lose.

I have a dark theory about Jew-haters. It’s not just the Jews they hate—it’s also what
Jews represent. They hate the aura of success that surrounds Jews. 

For all I know much of their anger may be rooted in their wanting what Jews have.
Just as the extraordinary success of Israel has attracted resentment among its hostile
neighbors, the perennial success of American Jews has attracted envy among those disinclined to
admire people who work their way up.

A movement that has turned “success” into “white privilege” has only made things worse
for Jews, most of whom are conditioned from childhood to strive to constantly improve. 
The answer is not to seek sympathy by playing for victim points. We’ve learned the hard
way that Jew-hatred is flexible enough to adapt to any condition—whether Jews are weak or
strong, rich or poor, left or right, and so on. 

The point is this: Since the haters will hate Jews no matter what, we might as well win in
the game of life.  

 
Let the protesters win the yelling game. Let them damage their vocal cords to show
support for Hamas. Let them invest thousands of hours playing wannabe Che Guevaras. The
returns on that investment are bound to be illusionary, like gorging on cotton candy. 
Jew haters must know deep down how safe and predictable it is to side with the
Palestinians, the world’s most coddled victims. The true rebels today, those who go against the
grain, are the Zionists. That is the courageous choice.

It’s also the winning one. Losers define winning by how much noise they make. Winners
define winning by how much they accomplish. By that metric, Jews have been humanity’s
winners since time immemorial.

No other group in America has contributed more to the country than the Jews, in fields
ranging from science, literature and social justice to culture, comedy and journalism.
The winds of hate that have accelerated since Oct. 7 have cast a shadow on this image of
the winning Jew. Faced with the need to defend ourselves, we’ve tended to look weak and
defensive. And given that victims are America’s new power brokers, we’ve also been made to
feel guilty about our success. 

This is neither good for the Jews nor for America. An America that elevates victimhood
over success is a nation headed for the abyss. Jews shouldn’t hide their success. Indeed, they
should resuscitate and revalorize the very notion of success, walking not just as proud Jews but
as proud successful Jews.

In the long run, success is our strongest weapon in the fight against antisemitism. Let the
haters scream on the streets and play victim. Jews have better things to do, like going to class and
learning how to win.

Devarim 4:5–8 paints an idyllic word-picture of how Gentiles will perceive Torah-observant Jews:

Behold, I have taught you statutes and regulations, as Hashem my God commanded me, for you to do them in the midst of the land which you are coming to inherit. You will preserve them and do them, because they are your wisdom and discernment in the view of the nations, who will hear all these statutes and say: “Indeed this great nation is wise and discerning.”

History has rarely corresponded to this picture. Moreover, rabbinic literature is fully aware that some biblical commandments arouse mockery or disdain among many non-Jews. Dismissing those non-Jews as shallow does not resolve the problem that the Torah seems descriptively false. Claiming that the Torah’s description applies only to a perfectly observant community, and thus blaming Jews for incomplete observance, seems disingenuous and victim-blaming.

And yet there was an exception. American Jews in the late twentieth century could reasonably perceive themselves as living mostly in the Torah’s world. The phrase “Judeo-Christian values,” however problematic historically and fraught politically, amounted to Gentile recognition and endorsement of what they perceived as the values of the Torah. Laws such as kashruth were seen as legitimate and praiseworthy means of preserving identity while expressing universal values, rather than as illegitimate and blameworthy separatism. Even the ban on intermarriage was tolerated by the broader society, although I suspect only because it was honored mostly in the breach.

Nonetheless, the logically inescapable truth is that on any issue that is controversial in Gentile society, Jews and Judaism cannot take a firm position without earning praise from the Gentiles on one side and criticism from those on the other. The substance of Torah can be universally admired only in a consensus society, or else if Torah refracts into multiple and mutually exclusive positions corresponding to the broader society’s moral/ideological factions. 

If America was a consensus society, it is no longer; and of course, one can argue that the supposed consensus was always an illusion fostered by an elite. Political data suggests that we are consciously or unconsciously adopting the refraction strategy to meet the new polarized reality. Orthodox Jews are increasingly going with Republicans or MAGAism, and non-Orthodox Jews with Democrats or progressivism. Anecdotally, this sorting is self-reinforcing, as Jews are also switching or dropping out of denominational life because of political discomfort. 

It's entirely reasonable for the Jewish community overall to have roughly the same political spectrum as the society around it, and for Orthodoxy and non-Orthodoxy to favor different sides of a major cultural conflict. And it is natural that some Orthodox Jews will have different sympathies than most of their peers and as a result feel isolated. But I think what particularly troubles sincere, idealistic Orthodox Jews is when the moral positions of their shulmates or religious institutions seem to be changing to justify their political affiliation rather than developing autonomously out of the tradition. They want to belong to a Torah community that serves as a light rather than as a mirror to the nations. 

How can we best create such a community?

Because Jewish tradition is genuinely multivocal and legitimately responsive to changes in the world, I don’t think that drawing objective red lines, i.e., trying to rule specific positions out of bounds, is likely to be an effective strategy for preventing moral followership. 

It’s also important to recognize that reaction can be as inauthentic as conformity. If anti-Semitism continues to become more prevalent and more socially acceptable, there may be a natural internal Jewish reaction to ascribe greatest Jewish authenticity to those aspects of Torah most criticized by anti-Semites, especially to those who are on the other side of a polarized political space. Similarly, where the Torah can be interpreted in multiple ways, there may be pressure to demonstrate authenticity by adopting the interpretations that most annoy the anti-Semites on the other side. These pressures may manifest on both sides in areas as diverse as Middle East politics, gender/sexuality, public health policy, and more.

Rather, I suggest that we need to collectively develop a procedural/epistemological checklist that lets us challenge ourselves and each other whether we are making a sincere attempt to authentically represent Jewish tradition, and to meaningfully discuss across party lines whether a position of ours meets that challenge. 

For example: If you are making a claim about Jewish tradition, do you know the most common traditional sources used to challenge your position, and can you convincingly explain them? If your application of Jewish tradition rests on a claim of fact, have you seriously engaged with scholars who reject that claim? If you are arguing from contemporary authority, have you discussed these issues with respected scholars who are not public figures and/or are politically uninvolved, to make sure that you are not just listening to the loudest voices or aiding a campaign of intimidation?[1]

Let’s suppose—a huge if—that we can accomplish this. I want to be clear that this is not enough to meet our Torah obligation vis-a-vis the human societies we participate in. In fact, my use of autonomy and authenticity as lodestars for developing positions might create the false impression that we are indifferent to what non-Jews think of Torah.

One standard Jewish expression of an obligation to care about what non-Jews think is or laGoyim, “light unto the nations.” I have trouble using this phrase because it seems to result from what is known as a Mandela effect, a collective false memory. That expression does not appear in Tanakh. Rather, Yeshayahu 42:6 and 49:6 each say that God will make the Jewish people l’or goyim. It’s possible that the meaning remains the same, but I have heard various efforts to argue for fundamental differences.

My preference instead is to use the categories kiddush Hashem (sanctification of the Name) and hillul Hashem (desecration of the Name). My argument is that these categories legitimately place pressure to make halakhic choices and interpretations that inspire non-Jews to value Torah. My argument is grounded in the following two texts from the Jerusalem Talmud.

1. Yerushalmi Bava Metzia 2:5 (translation modified from Guggenheimer)

Simeon ben Shetacḥ was in the linen trade. His students said to him: Rebbe, to make it easier for you, we will buy you a donkey so you won’t have to work so hard. They went and bought him a donkey from a Saracen; a pearl was hanging on its neck. They came to him and said: From now on you will not have to work anymore. He said to them: Why? They told him: We bought a donkey for you from a Saracen and a pearl is hanging on its neck. He asked them: Did its owner know about this? They answered: No. He told them: Go return it! 

But did not Rav Huna Bibi bar Gozlan in the name of Rav say: 

“They objected before Rebbe: ‘Even according to the position that an object robbed from a Gentile is forbidden, everybody agrees that his lost object is permitted!?’” 

What do you think, that Simeon ben Shetacḥ was a barbarian? Simeon ben Shetacḥ wanted to hear: “Praised be the God of the Jews” more than any gain in this world.

It’s not clear whether the last two elements of the passage are an editorial reflection on the story, or rather an anachronistic recreation of the dialogue between Shimon ben Shetach and his students (they quote rabbis who lived many centuries after their time). Regardless, the text is explicit that only a barbarian would keep a Gentile’s lost object, even though all halakhic positions are understood to permit keeping it. 

This implies that the permission can be kept on the halakhic books as-is only because Gentiles don’t know about it. I contend that Shimon ben Shetach fundamentally argues that the permission codifies a lost opportunity to make Gentiles think well of the Torah of the Jews—for kiddush Hashem—and therefore cannot be sustained as practical law. 

It makes little sense to say that our interest is in having Gentiles think well of Torah that is not actually Torah. That might even be a violation of the prohibition of geneyvat daat, which includes gaining goodwill under false pretenses). Possibly, however, the law would remain on the books for hypothetical societies (think Sodom and Gomorrah) so stuck in selfishness that people returning valuable lost objects would be regarded as fools rather than as moral heroes. Nonetheless, that context would have to be provided whenever the law was taught.

2. Yerushalmi Bava Kamma 4:3 (Translation mine)

A story: The government sent two investigators to learn Torah from Rabban Gamliel. They learned from him Scripture, Mishnah, Talmud, Halakha, and Aggada. In the end they said to him: “Your entire Torah is attractive and praiseworthy except . . . that you say . . . “objects stolen from a Jew are forbidden, but objects stolen from a Gentile are permitted.”

Immediately Rabban Gamliel decreed that objects stolen from a non-Jew would be prohibited to prevent desecration of the Name. 

This text explicitly endorses a change in halakha for the purpose of preventing non-Jews from thinking badly of Torah, which is termed “desecration of the Name,” or hillul Hashem.

My bottom line is that Gentile moral evaluation is a legitimate factor to consider when deciding halakha. 

            Readers are strongly encouraged to challenge my argument via the procedural/epistemological checklist above. I fervently hope this will lead to a conversation in which we together seek to figure out the limits of this principle, and which opinions in which societies we honor and which we proudly flout. Only in that way can our Torah become a genuine source of light for the world. 

Note

Torah versus Prejudice

To the sacred memory of those driven by societal prejudice to take their own lives.

©

Rabbi Isaac Sassoon[1]

            Potiphar was no muggins. The trust he places in Joseph bespeaks a man possessed of astute discrimination and sound instincts. If he sized up the newcomer Joseph, his wife he must have known like a book. It is therefore highly doubtful that Potiphar fell for her ladyship’s concoction. To be sure, Genesis 39:19 reports Potiphar’s anger; but significantly, Joseph is not said to have been its butt. “When his [Joseph’s] master heard the words of his wife which she spoke to him saying such and such has your servant done to me he became angry”. We are then told that his master ‘took Joseph and put him’ in prison. Not sentenced to death nor shoved into a pit (as he was by his brothers; Gen 37:22, 24), Joseph is taken and put like the Testimony. For the identical pair of verbs – taking and putting - describes the depositing of the ‘edut (Testimony) in the Ark (Exod 40:20). Commentators interpret the ‘edut’s taking and putting as deferential, kid-glove handling. The phrase’s presence at Genesis 39:20 adds to the picture of a Potiphar skeptical of his wife’s slander. But if Potiphar doubts Joseph’s guilt, why jail? The answer is a single, tyrannical word: respectability. Potiphar dreads the obloquy that awaits a man seen to believe his servant above his wife. It could cost him his prestige; not a pretty prospect for anyone whose self-esteem hangs on the establishment’s approval. 

            Today honor and respectability may have lost their former leverage, but public opinion still counts, and people are still blacklisted for failing to toe the line. This holds even in the arena of Torah. Thus, non-partisan Torah students, unwilling to play to the gallery, must be prepared for criticism all round. The charges may range from obscurantism and fuddy-duddyism, hurled by so-called progressives, all the way to heresy and schism thundered forth by the anachronistically grandiloquent. Speaking from personal experience, a well-intentioned friend tried hard to discourage the present essay. “It will come back to haunt you” he warned. “People with a reputation to sustain, do not touch this kind of taboo with a barge pole”. 

            Taboo, of course, loomed large once upon a time. That was prior to the demythologizing process begun in the Bible and carried forward by hazal. But though taboo waned, its congener, bias, especially ingrained bias, persisted. Unconscionably, biases invaded Torah, infesting it like a maggot that, once inside, would turn Torah into its home and sanctuary. Most notorious, is the infestation that parasitized Genesis 9:22-27. As recently as 1861 a leading Orthodox Rabbi by the name of Morris Jacob Raphall, preached in defense of slavery quoting, among other scriptures, Genesis 9’s Curse of Ham. Having cited the texts that allegedly sanctioned slavery, the rabbi went on “I find, and I am sorry to find, that I am delivering a pro-slavery discourse. I am no friend to slavery in the abstract, and still less friendly to the practical workings of slavery. But I stand here as a teacher in Israel, not to place before you my own feelings and opinions, but to propound to you the word of G-d, the Bible view of slavery ….”. Rabbi Raphall was declaring his hands to be tied; his commitment to Torah, as he understood it, did not give him leave to condemn slavery outright.

        Parallel to racism’s appalling exploitation of Ham’s story, homophobia found to‘ebah at Leviticus 18:22 and hijacked it. While bigotry got away with profaning Torah, many of us sat idly by instead of toppling homophobia from its Torah perch. And make no mistake: in select circles it retains its dominion. Exodus 23:13 deters mentioning the names of idols. Yet one comes across people who treat homosexuality as if it were an idol, referring to it only by epithets such as perversion or toeivah. Their purpose, they claim, is to instill revulsion and horror for something unmentionable.[2] The connotation of to‘ebah (or to‘abat hashem) in its varied Torah contexts is clearly negative; but the very diversity of those contexts precludes a narrow definition. Let’s see what light the sources can shed on to‘ebah; we all probably agree that hazal’s ideas deserve more attention than the bigots’. 

R. El‘azar ben Azaryah taught: a person should not say Wearing kil’ayim [linsey-woolsey] is repugnant to me, eating swine’s flesh is repugnant to me, the ‘arayoth [incest; illicit relationships in general] are repugnant to me. Rather should one say: These things are not distasteful to me, but I avoid them in obedience to the commandment that my Father in heaven has laid upon me ... .[3]   

            R. El‘azar can be seen to replace disgust with submission to the divine will as the proper motivation for eschewing kil’ayim, swine’s flesh and ‘arayoth.  Whether these three precepts were picked by way of illustration or by virtue of some intrinsic peculiarity, in either case, their very linkage speaks volumes. ‘Arayoth are classified as to‘eboth (Lev 18:26-30; Yeb. 21a, etc.) and non-kosher foods (of which swine’s flesh is the standard exemplar) are generically labeled to‘ebah (Deut 14:3; Hul.114b, etc.). Kil’ayim, never characterized to‘ebah, is the odd man out. Yet, for purposes of right motivation, rather than distinguish the two to‘ebah categories from non-to‘ebah kil’ayim, R. El‘azar equates them. Thus we learn that whatever the Torah’s objective in attaching to‘ebah to certain prohibitions, it was not the enshrinement of primitive aversions. After R. El‘azar, it comes as no surprise to find the Talmud endowing Leviticus 18:22’s to‘ebah with moral and reasoned purport, rather than treating it as code for ‘go ahead and indulge your homophobia’. 

“Bar Qappara asked Ribbi [Judah the Patriarch] ‘What does to‘ebah mean?’ Every explanation that Ribbi offered he refuted. So Ribbi said to him, ‘You explain it!’. He [Bar Qappara] replied... ‘This is the meaning of the Torah. To‘ebah means: You stray by this [to‘eh-attah-bah]’ …” . The commentary attributed to Rashi[4] elaborates: “such a man leaves his wife who is permitted and takes hold of that which is zenuth [harlotry, any illegitimate relationship]” (Ned.51a). Inserting a wife into the scenario, reminds us that the addressees of Leviticus 18 are men of, ostensibly, heterosexual proclivities - insofar as the ‘arayoth listed are mostly relations with women. Verse 22 is directed at that selfsame adult, male, heterosexual audience; not a few of whose members are likely to be married. Could one say, then, that for Bar Qappara the chief concern of Lev 18:22, is the wife’s humiliation caused by her husband’s ‘straying’? Or did Bar Qappara perceive homosexuality as posing a threat to married life and, ultimately, to human reproduction; a top priority both instinctively and halakhically?[5] Some extrapolate from this טעמא דקרא,[6] that since the risk to human survival from lower birthrates is no longer as dire as in bygone ages, homosexuality’s threat-level might drop concomitantly. Moreover, gay-oriented people tend not to marry spouses of the opposite gender or to reproduce biological offspring; making their impact on population size inconsequential. However, one has to wonder whether such individuals were even within the purview of former generations. A theory has been floated that Jews of gay orientation were unknown, or at any rate unacknowledged, by halakhah. This theory might explain legislation such as the following: “A man who has passed the age of twenty and does not want to marry, the authorities force him to marry in order to fulfill the mitsvah of פריה ורביה”.[7] Had gay orientation been recognized, the suffering of a wife trapped in marriage to a man thus oriented, would surely have given pause before coercing all and every reluctant male.[8] Firmer evidence for the ‘floated theory’ would appear to transpire from the teshuvah of a foremost twentieth century halakhist: 

It is incomprehensible that this thing could involve desire. For in the creation of the human being [or: man] there was no desire in his nature to lust after mishkav zakhur.[9]  That is why Bar Qappara said to Ribbi that it means to‘eh-attah-bah… It is G-d’s scriptural admonition to the wicked: For this transgression behold there is no lust whatsoever, as the lust I created in them was for women because without it human continuity would be impossible as taught at Yoma 69b and San. 64a… But for mishkav zakhur there is no lust whatsoever … Only because it is something prohibited does he do it as an act of defiance … In any event, lust for mishkav zakhur goes against the very nature of lust itself. Therefore any desire for this is only because it is forbidden and the evil inclination entices him to disobey G-d’s will.[10]

Obviously, gay orientation does not exist for this responsum. If such a construct served as a working premise in halakhic deliberations, it opens the door to the application of a classic strategy, or legal fiction, called  הטבעים השתנות. Recognizing changes in nature (and possibly in culture), that strategy re-examines views that may have rested upon an earlier state of affairs before the change – whether real or fictive. In the case of homosexual orientation, it is contended, that since it formerly had no halakhic existence, Providence must have seen fit to intervene by granting many contemporary human beings an unprecedented kind of orientation. And if so, it may be time to revisit judgments based on a reality (or perceived reality) that predated the ‘intervention’.

All the above theories, however cogent, are extraneous to the beth midrash, inside whose walls students seek guidance from the extant talmudic corpus. In that corpus Lev 18:22 is understood to prohibit categorically a specific act between two men. No rationales are formally offered in that literature other than incidental ones of which two have already been noticed – namely, R. Elazar’s concept of blind obedience to a peremptory fiat and Bar Qappara’s תועה אתה בה. 

That said, we must not overlook the amply documented resource whereby the rabbis appealed to one scripture in order to override the literal sense of another scripture. Take, for instance, Leviticus 11:8. Referring to the four animals itemized in verses 4 through 7, verse 8 continues: “Their flesh you shall not eat and their carcasses you shall not touch they are unclean unto you.” Logically, the two - eating and touching - demand parity; either both are absolutely proscribed or else neither is. But the Rabbis on confronting this text, whose literal meaning forbids touching the cadavers of the camel, cony, hare and pig, responded as follows. “Can lay Israelites really be prohibited to touch carrion? Scripture says [Lev 21:1] ‘Speak unto the priests, the sons of Aaron, and say unto them, none shall defile himself for a dead person among his kin.’ It is Aaron’s sons that are prohibited, not the children of Israel. If a potent generator of defilement [i.e., a human corpse] had to be avoided by priests alone but not by lay Israelites, a fortiori a lesser generator of defilement [i.e., dead animals]. So what is the meaning [of ‘their carcasses you shall not touch’]? Its meaning is Do not touch the carcasses on the festival.” (Rosh Hashanah 16b; cf. Sifra). 

More famous is the fate of the lex talionis: An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth etc. (Exod 21:24-25 cf. Lev 24:19-20, Deut 19:21). At Numbers 35:31 the rabbis uncovered their cue for commuting these corporal penalties to monetary restitution. Numbers 35:31 ordains “You shall not take a ransom for the life of a murderer” - whence the Talmud deduced “For a murderer’s life you may not take ransom but you may take ransom for limbs” (BQ 83b).         

Where is the counter scripture with the potential to mitigate Lev 18:22? Actually we believe such a scripture to exist; but neither the text we have in mind nor, for that matter, any alternative is brought to bear by the Talmud. Therefore, unless - or until - the Talmud-faithful can be persuaded otherwise, received meanings stand. When it comes to Lev 18:22, the received meaning of that verse is unequivocal and precise. As noted, it names a very specific act which it outlaws; neither more nor less. Thus, there seems little leeway for the conscientious stalwart of traditional halakhah.

            Those whose view of halakhah is less than sanguine, may feel that view reinforced by our last, unapologetic, paragraph. Yet, how can one apologize for reporting a straightforward reading of the relevant texts? By the same token, one is duty-bound to show the other side of the coin. Because the Talmud, that proscribes a particular behavior, does not doom anyone to a life of enforced desolation. Quite the contrary: it leaves room, as we are about to see, for two individuals of the same gender to experience intimacy with one another without having to infringe Lev 18:22. 

            The crucial text occurs in Yerushalmi Sanhedrin. It deals with the question of why forbidding an integral act between men requires two scriptural sources - one each for the active and passive roles. The Talmud knows R. Ishmael and R. Aqiba to have deemed Lev 18:22’s wording (as masoretically vocalized), inadequate to take care of both. To appreciate the anomaly of requiring twofold scriptural authority, one must remember how the rabbis approached the other ‘arayoth injunctions of Leviticus 18. Although those injunctions also address a single party, invariably the male, the rabbis read them as targeting both male and female partners. The clearest enunciation of this principle - that the ‘arayoth laws in general are intended for the absent woman no less than for the directly addressed man - occurs in Sifra.

            Leviticus 18:6 launches its ‘arayoth laws as follows: “Man, man! ye shall not draw near to any sh’er basar (near of kin; literally, flesh of flesh) of his to uncover nakedness...”.  Sifra notes that the mention of man might suggest that women are not being charged to keep these laws. Such an inference, Sifra continues, would be erroneous “because plural ‘ye’ (in lo tikrevu, 'ye shall not draw near') indicates that both men and women are being addressed”. This teaching of Sifra is axiomatic to all rabbinic discussions of ‘arayoth, and underlies the question of R. Bun bar Hiyya. 

R. Bun bar Hiyya asked R. Zera “Why did R. Ishmael and R. Aqiba treat relations between two males and relations between a person and a beast differently from all other illicit relations [for in all other illicit relations both parties are made liable by a single scripture]?”  He [R. Zera] said to him “In regard to all other illicit relations there is a general and inclusive reference to sh’er basar (Lev 18:6) while in the present cases there is no such reference to sh’er basar”. An objection was raised: “Lo, there is the case of relations with a niddah which is not a sh’er basar relationship [and therefore not covered by Lev 18:6]. Yet, did they [Rabbis Ishmael and Aqiba] treat them [the man who has relations with a niddah and the niddah] as liable [without any additional verse]?” R. Jeremiah [said] in the name of R. Abhu: “Since it is written ‘drawing near’ [at Lev 18:6] and ‘drawing near’ [at Lev 18:19] it is as if all the rules pertaining to the one apply to the other”.[11]

            As so often, the Talmud astounds by the closeness of its reading. In this instance, R. Abhu notes that ‘drawing near’ in combination with ‘to uncover nakedness’ occurs but twice in Lev 18 - once in the preamble (v.6) and again in connection with niddah (v.19). Individually, neither ‘drawing near’ nor ‘uncovering nakedness’ is unattested.[12] But conjoined to form a single phrase קרב+גלות ערוה appears nowhere else. R. Abhu further implies, that the phrase’s distribution is not random. Its first occurrence governs the sh’er basar ‘arayoth; its second is called for by niddah. The latter stands apart from sh’er basar ‘arayoth inasmuch as it is not incestuous (i.e., not ‘flesh of flesh’). Indeed, niddah applies to parties that are lawful husband and wife. That would appear to leave the rest of the pericope’s prohibitions outside the ‘drawing near’ loop. In any event, as regards the prohibition of verse 22 the Yerushalmi is unambiguous: neither the first nor the second ‘do not draw near’ extends to verse 22. Now the meaning of ‘drawing near’ in Lev 18 is disputed by rishonim. Maimonides defines it as any physical contact of an intimate kind that leads to carnal knowledge.[13] For Nahmanides, on the other hand, the phrase is a euphemism for actual cohabitation between man and woman.[14] But irrespective of its meaning, the Yerushalmi sets the parameters of לא תקרבו, and 18:22 falls outside those parameters.[15]

            As an Orthodox Rabbi, one would be remiss not to give prominence to a source as weighty as this Yerushalmi, especially when its conclusions are so demonstrably rooted in the Written Torah. Furthermore, it is a source that corroborates the Talmud’s assertion: “Everything that the Merciful One has forbidden us, He has permitted us its counterpart” (Hul. 109b). Being able to advise people of homosexual orientation about the counterpart that the Merciful One allows them, adds credence to halakhah’s interdiction. For what it interdicts is precisely and graphically demarcated by Rabbis Ishmael and Aqiba as an act whose performance involves an active and a passive partner. Delineating so exactly the prohibited conduct, hazal exclude by implication interaction short of penetration. To be sure, Rambam - as we have seen - derives fromלא תקרבו  a ban on lesser degrees of interaction. But this is where the Yerushalmi comes in: תקרבו  לא does not apply to Lev 18:22. So to reiterate, the Torah relegates no human being to a life of loveless solitude. This information may relieve the pressure from rabbis and religious counselors; they who agonize over “Vainly paining the heart of the righteous when I had not pained it…” (Ezek 13:22). If, as hypothesized above, halakhists of yore were oblivious of gay orientation, they could discourage, as they often did, all bonding between men without compunction about causing pain. Today we know: and that knowledge deprives us of the luxury to insouciantly condemn fellow Jews to a monastic life on the pretext of ‘being on the safe side’.[16] 

       Acquaintance with the complementary rulings, and with where halakhah draws the line, could also empower the decision-making of homosexually inclined women and men who cherish halakhah. In turn, their peers will have to ask themselves: What right have we to be חושד בכשרים or במי שמעשיו סתומים? For once R. Abhu’s Yerushalmi teaching is out there, the mere fact two gay individuals live together will not license an honest bystander to automatically assume that they are in breach of halakhah. Because as Jews familiar with this nuanced halakhah, they will have the presumption of faithfulness to its guidelines. The Talmud depicts a marriage, albeit a heterosexual one, in which the two parties lived together as a couple in all respects except cohabitation, on account of halakhic qualms (San.19b). Huge praise is heaped upon the couple for their heroic abstinence. But how did the rabbis know what went on in the couple’s bedchamber? Either the couple revealed it or, more likely, the rabbis relied on the assumption that observant Jews make every effort to adhere to halakhah.

Are these assumptions compromised when two men publicly proclaim their partnership a marriage? While prying is abhorrent, recent debates have brought the question into the limelight. Surely it depends whether or notבלשון בני אדם  ‘marriage’ is, by definition, a relationship that flouts halakhic boundaries. In other words, if society recognizes in a declaration of marriage the conscious intent of the parties to engage in the specific conduct disapproved by halakhah, then that declaration would tacitly seem to fall under the strictures of ‘writing a ketubah for males’ (see Hullin 92a-b). The ketubah, of course, includes the pledge למיעל... כאורח כל ארעא ; and if a comparable pledge were implicit in ‘marriage’ it would be tantamount to the writing of a ketubah. On the other hand, if ‘marriage’ is adopted to denote sincere commitment, then notwithstanding the public announcement, the presumption (explained above) need not necessarily be undermined.[17] Mutatis mutandis, halakhically-educated heterosexual couples are assumed to observe niddah separation, even though the wife neither moves out of the house for the duration nor is she expected to wear distinctive niddah clothing as was customary among certain Jews in the distant past. Needless to say, we do not venture to advise any individual how to live her or his life. Our mandate is strictly academic; setting forth as best we can the germane texts. 

            “R. Qatina said When the pilgrims came [to the Temple] on the festivals, they [those in charge] would roll back the veil to let them see the cherubim intertwined with one another.  They would say to them: ‘Behold your endearment before G-d is like the endearment of a man and a woman’” (Yoma 54a). But were the cherubim male and female? Elsewhere the Talmud portrays them as having the faces of young lads (Suk. 5b; Hag. 13b; cf. Torah Temimah on Exod 25:18). So as it turns out, the divine love towards Israel was symbolized by two lads locked in a tight hug as if husband and wife. The image of this aggadah speaks for itself. Like the halakhic passage we saw in Yerushalmi Sanhedrin, it reminds us that love is not condemned, but only its expression in the one way interdicted by Torah. Is it naive to find a modicum of healing in such a message?

            Some day, more reverential and prayerful study will perhaps yield unforeseen results. When Esther and Mordecai sought to institute the new feast of Purim, the Elders were greatly perturbed. “Moses said to us no other prophet is going to innovate anything henceforth. Yet Mordecai and Esther seek to innovate. They did not stop debating until the Holy One blessed be He lit up their eyes and they discovered it written in the Torah, in the Prophets and in the Writings”.[18] 

I am happy to be a Jewish Israeli who prefers to be liked by others, but I know that a healthy person ought not to overly worry whether they are liked by others. As my friend Eli Schonfeld says, “The ‘Jewish Question’ is not a Jewish question.” Let non-Jews worry about it. As a Jew, I think I should worry about philogoyyism. How ought I relate to non-Jews?[1]

The question is new. For at least two millennia Jews indeed had to worry about what non-Jews thought of them. Even today Jewry’s enemies force themselves upon our attention, be it through plain old-fashioned Jew-hatred, widespread Muslim antisemitism, or the immoral stupidity of so-called progressive forces that identify with Hamas. Anti-Zionists (Jewish and non-Jewish), unless they reject all nationalisms, are culpably ignorant and thus immoral. In practical terms they must be opposed and resisted, of course, but they do not represent a threat to Judaism.

The real threat to Judaism today comes from within, from circles that take advantage of current recrudescent Jew-hatred to justify disdain for and often hatred of goyyim (Gentiles).[2] There are, of course other internal threats: “Gedolim” who urge their followers to reject army service in Israel is one that particularly outrages me, but I see it as a temporary problem. As soon as our government stops underwriting draft evasion more and more young haredim will choose to get a modern education and to serve Israeli society in a variety of ways, including through enlistment.

What do I mean by “philogoyyism”? Historically, as the old Jewish joke has it, antisemitism has meant disliking Jews more than is really necessary. Its opposite, philosemitism, has not meant liking Jews more than is really necessary. For me, philosemitism need not mean admiring or loving Jews more than other people. Ideally, it should mean treating Jews no differently than one treats other people. That is what I mean by “philogoyyism”: treating goyyim the way the Torah treats them—as human beings created in the image of God. Some goyyim (like some Jews) are likeable, some (like some Jews) are impossible, both without respect to their Jewishness or their goyyism.

What does the Torah teach us about the nature of Jews vis-à-vis the nature of goyyim? Nothing. There are no passages in the Torah that impute to the Jews as such characteristics missing in other peoples. The Torah is careful to delineate family trees, of course, but that may be only to emphasize, as R. Josef Kafih pointed out, that we are all descended from the same antecedents (Adam and Eve, Noah and Mrs. Noah), and are all of us are thus cousins.[3] Before Sinai, all human beings are Noahides, including the Patriarchs and their descendants. Indeed, the Torah seems to go out of its way to emphasize that the future messiah would descend from two non-Jewish women (Tamar and Ruth). 

The issue of philogoyyism is particularly pressing today in Israel. Our government is dominated by parties that deny that Jews and non-Jews are equally created fully in the image of God and are equally beloved by God. These parties represent a trend in Judaism that clearly exists (sadly), but they present it as the only legitimate form of Judaism. That is false. It is also dangerous to Israeli democracy.

The doctrine of the chosen people, while certainly central to Jewish self-understanding, is not unique to the Jews.[4] The Jews, however, may be the only people to ground their chosenness in a covenant with God.[5] Why did God enter into the covenant with the Patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and their descendants? There is surprisingly little discussion of this point in the Torah itself. There are many iterations of the idea that God chose the Jews (“How odd of God to choose the Jews…not so odd, the goyyim annoyed Him”) out of love for their ancestors, but why did God love their ancestors? That is a question that generated an on-going debate between Judah Halevi and his followers and Maimonides and his followers.[6]

The Torah teaches that the Jews were God’s am segulah, treasured (chosen) people. What does it say about the “unchosen”? About the vast run of humanity, the Torah has little to say. There are clearly “others,” first and foremost those who are to be exterminated: the seven Canaanite nations and Amalek.[7] Other others include those with whom Israelites may not marry (Moabites and Amonites). There are other others, of course, about whom the Torah does not have much to say, beyond acknowledging their existence: Edomites and Egyptians primarily. There are also Abraham’s other progeny, Ishmael assuredly, but also those born to him after Sarah’s death by his wife Keturah. Here it is very useful to bring into play Jacob Kaminsky’s distinction between the elect (God’s chosen people), the “anti-elect” (Amalek and the “Seven Nations”), and the vast run of humanity whom Kaminsky calls the “non-elect.”[8]

Alexander  Altmann put this matter well:

[Judaism,] it may be said, in general, is intolerant of Israelites falling away from the God of the Fathers and of the Covenant. It shows no trace of intolerance of heathens following their customs and traditions. Ruth the Moabite is welcomed as a proselyte, but Orpah, her sister-in-law is not reproved because of her return to her native paganism. David and Solomon extended their kingdoms far beyond the Israelite borders, but they did not impose their religion on the subjugated peoples.[9] 

The Biblical story opens, of course, with the creation of all that is. Abraham, the progenitor of those whom we now call Jews, does not show up until 20 generations have passed. For many traditionally oriented Jews today (influenced by R. Judah Halevi and those who follow him), Abraham was literally and specifically chosen by God. For Maimonides and those who follow him, on the other hand, Abraham chose God.[10]

Returning to Halevi, Abraham belonged by descent to a special subset of humanity capable of achieving prophecy. This special subset of humanity continued to develop through Abraham (but not through his brother Haran, or his nephew Lot, or the children of his second wife, Keturah), through Isaac (but not through his brother Ishmael), and through Jacob (but not through his brother Esau) and finally to all of Jacob's descendants, the children of Israel/Jacob.[11]

The Torah itself seems to support a view later to be held by Maimonides rather than that later to be held by Judah Halevi. The clearest expression of this might be Dt. 7:6–8:

For you are a people consecrated to the Lord your God: of all the peoples on earth the Lord your God chose you to be His treasured people. It is not because you are the most numerous of peoples that the Lord set His heart on you and chose you—indeed, you are the smallest of peoples; but it was because the Lord favored you and kept the oath He made to your fathers that the Lord freed you with a mighty hand and rescued you from the house of bondage, from the power of Pharaoh king of Egypt.[12]

God chose Israel as a special treasure for no characteristic of theirs, but, rather, to keep a promise made to the Patriarchs, their ancestors. This and similar verses can be read differently, but this seems to be the simple sense, and it is certainly the way that Maimonides (but not Halevi![13]) read them.

Thus, for example, in Guide iii.51 we find Maimonides stating:

It is also the plane our Patriarchs reached, coming so close to God that He became known to the world through them: The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob…This is my universal name (Ex. 3:15). One result of this union of their minds with thoughts of God is His eternal covenant with each of them: I shall remember my covenant with Jacob [---and also My covenant with Isaac, and My covenant with Abraham shall I remember] (Lev. 26:42). For these four—the Patriarchs and our Teacher Moses—were plainly united with God by love and knowledge of Him, as our texts proclaim. Another result was his Supernal providence over them and their seed after them…[14]

For Maimonides the election of Israel is a consequence of the antecedent covenant made by God with the Patriarchs. This covenant is a consequence of their love and knowledge of God, not a consequence of any special characteristic found in the Jewish people—zekhut avot (ancestral merit) indeed!

So what is the relationship between the efforts of the Patriarchs and the Jewish People? Maimonides continues (p. 521):

For the object of their efforts, lifelong, was to found a nation that knew and served God: For I have know him, that he may charge [his children and his house after him to keep the way of the Lord, by doing right and justice] (Gen. 18:19). Their every endeavor, you can see was devoted to spreading monotheism through the world, guiding people to the love of God. So they earned the rank they reached [emphasis added].

In this crucial passage Maimonides informs us that the object of the Patriarchs was to found a nation that knew and served God, a nation educated to keep the way of the Lord by doing right and justice. The overall aim of the Patriarchs, and one assumes Maimonides held, of the Jewish people also, was to spread monotheism throughout the world. We also learned that the Patriarchs earned their rank; it was not inherited as Halevi would have it. So, too, their descendants have to justify their chosenness by earning it.

This is a doctrine of election far from those of Halevi, Zohar, Kabbalah, and of far too many Jews today.

It turns out that Bible (and rabbinic texts) do not offer clear answers to questions concerning the reason for election and the nature of the Jewish people. This is not surprising: These texts are not overtly theological in nature and rarely address abstract theological issues straightforwardly, if at all. Was the Torah given to Israel in consequence of God’s choice or was the giving of the Torah the mechanism of God’s choosing (as Halevi and Zohar would have it)?  Deuteronomy (7:6–8) as we just saw appears to answer that question by de-linking God’s choice to some quality of the Jewish people. Others could have been chosen but weren’t. On this view, The Torah is a record of what “happened to happen,” not a record of what had to happen.[15]

Election—Torah

The Book of Genesis is largely devoted to the history of God’s relationship with the Patriarchs, but the reason behind that relationship is never made clear. God chooses Abraham by commanding: “Go forth…” (Gen. 12:1) but no explanation for that choice is found.

The ancestral patrimony is not raised in a passage from Deuteronomy dealing with what came to be called the election of Israel, 14:1–2:

You are children of the Lord your God. You shall not gash yourselves or shave the front of your heads because of the dead. For you are a people consecrated to the Lord your God: the Lord your God chose you from among all other peoples on earth to be His treasured people.

That these verses teach that God chose Israel from among all the nations is clear. Why? These verses do not tell us.

Similarly, in a further passage in Deuteronomy (26:16–19):

The Lord your God commands you this day to observe these laws and rules; observe them faithfully with all your heart and soul. You have affirmed this day that the Lord is your God, that you will walk in His ways, that you will observe His laws and commandments and rules, and that you will obey Him. And the Lord has affirmed this day that you are, as He promised you, His treasured people who shall observe all His commandments, and that He will set you, in fame and renown and glory, high above all the nations that He has made; and that you shall be, as He promised, a holy people to the Lord your God.

“High above all the nations (elyon al kol ha-goyyim)”—many will want to read that as a claim of Israel’s inherent superiority. Nevertheless, the verse itself speaks of superiority in fame, renown, and glory, nothing else. Here the connection between election and obedience to the commandments is made clear.

The prophet Amos seemed to be conflicted about the nature of the election of Israel. On the hand one, he wrote (1:1–2):

Hear this word, O people of Israel,
That the Lord has spoken concerning you,
Concerning the whole family that I brought up from the land of Egypt: You alone have I singled out
Of all the families of the earth—
That is why I will call you to account
For all your iniquities.

On the other hand, six chapters on, he states (9:7):

To Me, O Israelites, you are
Just like the Ethiopians
—declares the Lord.
True, I brought Israel up
From the land of Egypt,
But also the Philistines from Caphtor
And the Arameans from Kir.

But the following verse makes clear that unlike the Philistines and Arameans,

Behold, the Lord God has His eye
Upon the sinful kingdom:
I will wipe it off
The face of the earth!
But, I will not wholly wipe out
The House of Jacob
—declares the Lord.

For Amos, being the apple of God’s eye, as it were, can have negative consequences—unique attention and unique punishment—but the House of Jacob will never be wiped out.

One thing is clear from this brief survey: There is no obvious biblical doctrine of election. Given the nature of the Bible itself, this is not surprising, even if it would surprise many Jews today.

Continuing with the issue of theological surprises, there is very little doubt that most Jews raised in a traditional context would be surprised to discover that rabbinic texts contain a variety of positions concerning God’s choice of Israel.[16] Many of them would be even more surprised to discover that many such texts imply the view (later adopted by Maimonides) that God might have chosen other nations, and that the choice of Israel reflects no special qualities found in the Jewish people. 

This may be the message of the following oft-cited passage (AZ 2b): “R. Johanan says: This teaches us that the Holy One, blessed be He, offered the Torah to every nation and every tongue, but none accepted it, until He came to Israel who received it.” The point of this passage is not to teach history, but to praise the ancient Israelites, who accepted the Torah unconditionally.[17] However, the praise makes no sense had the Torah been predestined for the Jews.

Menachem Hirshman has analyzed in detail the many texts that ask why Torah was given in the Wilderness of Sinai as opposed to the Land of Israel. Hirshman demonstrates that these texts teach that God chose to do so in order that the Torah could have been available to all the nations.[18] It should be no surprise that thinkers who hold such a view expect the Torah to be accepted by all nations in the fullness of time.[19]

These few paragraphs do not do justice to the rich variety of rabbinic opinions on the nature of the election of the Jews. What they do indicate is that the variety of opinions available to the post-rabbinic Jewish tradition is certainly more variegated than many Jews today have become accustomed to think. This is particularly true in Israel, among Orthodox religious Zionists who are raised to believe that Halevy, Zohar, Ramban, Maharal, and following them Rav Kook, represent “authentic” Orthodox Judaism. It is equally true among Haredim, whose Judaism is deeply inflected by Kabbalah (obviously in the case of Hasidim, but no less so in the case of non-Hasidim for whom Reb Haim Volozhin’s Nefesh Ha-Hayyim is a core text).

Election—Liturgy

The Jewish liturgy may be no more interested than the Bible in theological consistency, but it surely emphasizes the election of Israel in the context of God’s love for the Jewish people.

A text well known to all Jews who attend traditional services on the three pilgrim festivals and on the High Holy Days states:

You have chosen us from among all nations, loved us, desired us above all other tongues; You have sanctified us with your commandments and brought us close, our King, to your worship; you have called us by your great and holy name…

Here we see God’s love for the Jewish people and the election of Israel directly connected. Sanctification by the commandments,[20] the privilege of worshiping God, and having God’s name (El) made part of the peoples’ name (Israel) all appear to be consequences of that election, even if we are not told why God loved the Jews.

The motif of love finds emphatic expression in a central place in the daily liturgy, the blessing preceding the recitation of the Shema:

With great love have you loved us, our Lord and God, with great and boundless compassion have you been compassionate to us. Our Father and King, because of our ancestors who trusted in you… Blessed are you, Lord, who chooses his people of Israel in love.

Here the motif of ancestral merit takes pride of place. Followers of both Halevi and Maimonides accept this idea. For Halevi the patriarchs of the Jewish people were chosen for God’s special interest because of their descent—no one else could have been chosen. For Maimonides it was the historically contingent fact that Abraham chose God and raised a son and grandson who followed in his footsteps that gained for them the special merit in light of which God promised to elect their progeny.

We have examined examples from the liturgy expressing God’s special love for the Jewish people. However, the liturgy also teaches that God is concerned with the well-being of all human beings, apportioning reward and punishment to them all. Thus, for example, in a hymn traditionally given pride of place in the Ashkenazic liturgy of the High Holy Days (“Unetanah Tokef”) we find:

We acclaim this day's pure sanctity, its awesome power. This day, Lord, Your dominion is deeply felt. Compassion and truth, its foundations, are perceived. In truth do You judge and prosecute, discern motives and bear witness, record and seal, count and measure, remembering all that we have forgotten. You open the Book of Remembrance and it speaks for itself, for every man has signed it with his deeds. The great shofar is sounded. A still, small voice is heard. This day even angels are alarmed, seized with fear and trembling as they declare: "The day of judgment is here!" For even the hosts of heaven are judged. This day all who walk the earth [kol ba'ei olam] pass before You as a flock of sheep. And like a shepherd who gathers his flock, bringing them under his staff, You bring everything that lives before You for review. You determine the life and decree the destiny of every creature.[21]

Despite what many traditionalist Jews mistakenly believe,[22] this hymn means what it says: On Rosh ha-Shanah God examines and judges all human beings, Jew and non-Jew. 

This duality, God’s particular love for the Jewish people, allied with concern for all humanity, finds dramatic expression in one of the core elements of the Jewish liturgy, the aleinu prayer, the first paragraph of which emphasizes the election of Israel while the second anticipates a universalist messianic era.

Election—Judah Halevi and Maimonides

Judah Halevi and Maimonides essayed answers to the question why God chose the Jews, answers that reflect very different understandings of what the Jewish religion actually is.[23] For Halevi, God really had no choice, as it were, in the matter of choosing the Jewish people: The choice of the Patriarchs and their descendants after them was determined by their special qualities. As noted above, for Maimonides God did not choose the Jews; rather, the Jews (or, more precisely, their progenitor, Abraham) chose God. The covenant with Abraham’s descendants was both a fulfillment of a divine promise made to Abraham and a reward to him for having chosen God. As we have seen, the Torah itself offers no conclusive support to either view.

Maimonides and Halevi et al. all agree that the nation that came to be called Jewish was chosen by God. For Halevi, this is a function of the special nature of the Jewish people, determined from creation. For Maimonides this is basically a function of an historically contingent event; it did not have to be the ancestor of the Jews who rediscovered God.

The Bible is, of course, a complex document, but until the Book of Ezra there appear to be no texts that clearly support Halevi over Maimonides, i.e., that support the claim that the Jewish people are in some inherent fashion innately superior to non-Jews, to the other.[24] Indeed, Christine Hayes, in an important article,[25] opines that

The rabbis seem eager to disassociate themselves from Ezran holy seed rhetoric and related Second Temple traditions that denounced even casual interethnic unions as capital crimes, subject to the vengeance of zealots. They rule that those who read a universal prohibition of intermarriage into the Bible are to be severely suppressed (M. Megillah 4:9). The rabbis' failure to take up Ezra's ban on foreign wives and their children—indeed, their very reversal of this program by allowing conver­sion—is all the more remarkable in light of the rabbis' general perception and presentation of themselves as Ezra’s (indirect) successors.

Assuming that Hayes is correct, we might have here an example of a rabbinic attempt to resist the conversion of universalist aspects of the Bible to a hard-edged particularism. The very fact that the laws of conversion were codified in Talmud and later codes indicates that the Rabbis resisted Ezra’s attempt to harden the distinction between Jew and non-Jew. Non-Jews can become Jews because, in the final analysis, there is no difference between them so far as their humanity is concerned. This is a message which many Jews today would be well advised to learn.

Election Tomorrow—A Modified Maimonideanism

According to the twelfth of Maimonides' Thirteen Principles of Faith, Jews are bid to anticipate the coming of the Messiah, “even though he tarries,” (as the popular Ani Ma’amin poem puts it) and pray for his coming.[26] Why? Not in order to enjoy power and dominion, or this-worldly pleasures, but in order to be free to devote themselves to the Torah and its wisdom.[27] Such devotion will make those wise enough to engage in it "worthy of life in the world to come." In such a well-organized and enlightened world, in which its natural riches are shared among human beings rationally as opposed to selfishly, not only will war disappear, but delicacies will be as common as dust. This is not a function of miracles, but of proper organization and the self-restraint of a population focused on important matters. Is it any wonder that in such a world human beings (not just Jews) will achieve great wisdom? The point of the Messiah's coming is thus to help human beings bring about a peaceful society enjoying the just allocation of resources and devoted to the cultivation of the intellect.[28]

Maimonides brings his most extensive discussion of the messiah to a dramatic summation in “Laws of Kings,” xii.4. With this text, he ends the entire Mishneh Torah:

The Sages and Prophets did not long for the days of the Messiah that they might exercise dominion over the world, or rule over the nations, or be exalted by the peoples, and not in order to eat and drink and rejoice, but so that they be free to devote themselves to the Torah and its wisdom, with no one to oppress or disturb them, and thus be worthy of life in the world to come, as we explained in 'Laws Concerning Repentance'. [29] Then there will be neither famine nor war, neither jealousy nor strife. Good things will be abundant, and delicacies as common as dust. The one preoccupation of the whole world will be only to know the Lord. Hence they[30] will be very wise, knowing things now unknown and will apprehend knowledge of their Creator to the utmost capacity of the human mind, as it is written: For the land shall be full of the knowledge (de'ah) of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea (Isa. 11:9) [emphasis added].[31]

Maimonides provides a parallel description of the messianic world in a very short chapter of the Guide of the Perplexed (iii.11; Pines, 440–441). Zev Harvey has pointed out that this chapter of the Guide is a kind of poetic and philosophical rendition of the last paragraph of the Mishneh Torah, glossing it in the way Maimonides meant it to be read.[32] Here is the chapter in its entirety:

These great evils that come about because the human individuals who inflict them upon one another because of purposes, desires, opinions, and beliefs, are all of them likewise consequent upon privation. For all of them derive from ignorance, I mean from a privation of knowledge. Just as a blind man, because of absence of sight, does not cease stumbling, being wounded and also wounding others, because he has nobody to guide him on the way, the various sects of men—every individual according to the extent of his ignorance—does to himself and to others great evils from which individuals of the species suffer. If there were knowledge, whose relation to the human form is like that of the faculty of sight to the eye, they would refrain from doing any harm to themselves and to others. For through cognition of the truth, enmity and hatred are removed and the inflicting of harm by people on one another is abolished. It holds out this promise, saying: And the wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid, and so on. And the cow and the bear shall feed, and son on (Is. 11:6–8). Then it gives the reason for this, saying that the cause of the abolition of these enmities, these discords, and these tyrannies, will be the knowledge that men [al-nas] will have then concerning the true reality of the deity. For it says: They shall not hurt nor destroy in all My holy mountain; for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea (Is. 11:9). Know this.

There is, of course, much more to be said about Maimonides’ view of the messiah and of the messianic era, but the texts cited here should be enough for me to be able to conclude this essay with the following argument. I assert, following what I learned from Steven Schwarzschild (who always insisted that he was only following Hermann Cohen), if not necessarily from Maimonides himself, that ends should determine means.[33] That being the case, if we can show that Maimonides anticipated a messianic era characterized by enlightenment and (therefore) peace, we can then point out to him (whatever he himself may have thought in the midst of the crusades) that war and discrimination among human beings will never achieve that end. This position is Maimonidean, if not necessarily that of Maimonides himself.[34]

Judaism, Maimonides would insist, has something important and valuable to teach the whole world even for those who deny the truth of the Torah as adumbrated in the rabbinic tradition. I refer to aspects of the messianic hope as expressed by Maimonides, especially as that hope was understood by Hermann Cohen and by Steven Schwarzschild after him.[35]

Two aspects of Maimonides’ messianic teaching are relevant to us here are: universalism and naturalism. This is not the place to defend an interpretation of Maimonides according to which by the time the messianic process reaches its completion all human beings will worship God from a stance of religious equality.[36] In Maimonides’ view, the point of the messianic era is to bring the Torah lekhol ba’ei olam, to all human beings. One can easily derive from Maimonides the understanding that the Torah in question is Abrahamic, not Mosaic; i.e., a Torah of ethics, science, and philosophy.[37] Maimonides’ messianic naturalism is admitted even by those made uncomfortable by it.[38]

This messianic vision offers us a goal at which to aim, an ideal by which to regulate our behavior. That goal is the realization of the opening chapters of the Bible: all human beings are created in the image of God and should be treated, therefore, as Kant would later put it, as ends also, never as means only. Maimonides’ naturalism means that this goal can be achieved by human beings, without divine intervention, miraculous or otherwise.

Kant insisted that ought implies can: if I ought to do something, I must be able to do it. Steven Schwarzschild insisted on a Jewish corollary to that Kantian teaching: If I can achieve some worthwhile goal, then I ought to try to achieve it. Getting ever closer to a messianic world is surely a worthwhile goal. Actually reaching that goal may not be possible, but getting ever closer is.[39] Since we can, we should make every effort to make the world a place in which all human beings are treated as creatures made in the image of God. In effect, Maimonides, Cohen, and Schwarzschild teach us that we ought to devote ourselves to the project of creating a messiah-worthy world.[40]

There is something else that Maimonidean messianic universalism and naturalism teaches us: hope. We can hope for (and work toward) a world in which different nations and cultures can value their own contributions to the human mosaic without diminishing the value of others—without wholly “otherizing” the other. If we can hope, we need not despair; the human condition is not necessarily tragic.[41] That message alone justifies the continued allegiance of the Jewish people to the Torah of Israel and to their destiny.

Notes

Angel for Shabbat: Tazria/Metsora

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Years ago, I—along with many others-- regularly received envelopes stuffed with pages put together by a group that claimed to represent “authentic” Judaism. The authors believed themselves to be the sole arbiters of true Judaism, and they vilified those who deviated from their views. Their screeds were drenched in hateful, slanderous language. It seems not to have occurred to them that lashon hara—evil gossip—is a highly serious sin.

Halakha teaches that just as it is forbidden to communicate lashon hara, so it is a transgression to receive it. I sent the authors several requests to remove me from their mailing list but they ignored my requests. I finally came up with a great idea. The next time I received one of their mailings, I took a red magic marker and wrote in large letters on the front of the envelope:  RETURN TO SENDER: OBSCENE MATERIAL. That solved the problem. I received no more mail from them.

When such people engage in gossip/slander/defamation of character, they are indeed generating obscene material. They somehow delude themselves into thinking that they are permitted to defame people whose views they deem insufficiently religious. Their misguided and self-righteous behavior reflects an incredible arrogance…and sinfulness.

The problem has become far more severe now that people can spread their defamations via electronic means. They reach thousands of readers by posting their venom on websites, or entering malicious material on Wikipedia, or sending emails.

Rambam points out that among the sins for which there is almost no possible atonement is the sin of maligning someone in public.  Even if one eventually wishes to repent, he/she will not know who heard the sinful words and therefore cannot ever be sure he/she can reach everyone to retract the wicked statements. Evil words, once made public, are impossible to retract fully. All the more so with “electronic lashon hara.”

Modern technology makes it quite easy for people to post hostile remarks against those with whom they disagree. These ad hominem attacks gain lives of their own, being forwarded to readers who then forward them to others etc.  When people—including those who think of themselves as being religious—spread defamatory material, they undermine the moral fabric of society. 

Rabbinic tradition teaches that the disease of Metsora—spiritual leprosy— is brought on by speaking lashon hara. By debasing others, the sinner becomes debased and befouled. Such individuals need to be isolated so that they can come to terms with their personality flaws…and hopefully change their ways for the better.

The daily Amidah prayer has a concluding meditation: “Oh Lord, guard my tongue from evil and my lips from speaking deceitfully.”  Let everyone pay close attention to these words and strive to live up to them. Lashon hara is obscene material. It must be avoided, it must be rejected, it must be returned to sender for atonement.

Even a father and his son, a teacher and his student, who are studying Torah together in one gate, become enemies to each other but do not leave there until they love each other. (BT Kiddushin 30b)

This aphorism, the end of which is more properly translated as “do not leave there until their love for each other increases,” seems counterintuitive to someone whose academic experience lies exclusively in the world of secular academia. The Torah, however, is studied in a Beit Midrash that inheres an intense environment of passionate study, often in the dyad format of havruta study. Two people, young or old, engage in reading and understanding a text together. Since they are different people, each with a unique perspective and experience, their interpretative perception is almost assuredly going to differ with that of the partner. One might think that, given the emphasis that our tradition places on manners, on respect for a fellow—especially for a parent and teacher—that intellectual fire would be stilled by reverent acquiescence. Yet, as any member of a serious Beit Midrash can attest, the opposite is the case. Indeed, the more revered the sage, the more likely the students are to challenge him in a nearly uninhibited, vociferous manner. This has the potential—at least to the outside observer—to create enmity between these study partners, with the intense frustration of the partner (or student—or teacher) to see what is obvious to the other. A casual observer would be surprised by this intensity. This can be cured by spending a few days in a Beit Midrash, engaging in study. If nothing else is gained (and much can be gained from every Beit Midrash session), this experience will make it clear that to a serious student of Torah, study is lifeblood and the intellectual battle over its truth, its meaning and its application to our lives is a fight “to the death,” as it were—“take no survivors.” What true study partners, even be they of inequal status, background and knowledge, find when they conclude their study session is that the intensity of this battle over the truth has, miraculously, brought them closer together. 

In this article, I hope to explore this unusual phenomenon which has been a blessed reality of traditional Jewish scholarly life[1] for at least 1,500 years. It is my contention that in these contentious times, where political alliances are exclusive, where friendships and even families are threatened by party alliances and by demagogic positioning, the Western world has much to gain from learning about how mahloket—dispute—can be not only healthy but may be the source of a great blessing of healing these rifts. 

Before doing so, I’d like to explore several modes of “unity” as proposed, sometimes urgently, both in the national political arena as well as in the religious world—where we call it ahdut. 

            Calls for unity usually come in three variations. I will term them “Unity of Compromise,” “Unity of Emptiness,” and “Unity of Resignation.” No leader would propose a healing process using any of these monikers, but we will see that at the essence of each mode these descriptions are accurate. 

Some call for unity by identifying the testiest areas of disagreement and trying to convince the two sides to remove that particular position from their platform. This is a valuable and laudable method in the political arena and is at the heart of most bipartisan attempts to pass legislation. It has proven to work—with two willing sides—but for legislative purposes only. In other words, it does nothing to bring the two sides together on the national (or local) scene in any meaningful way. In other words, this is a successful model for promoting the common good. However, on the social plane, it avoids the most critical issues which sit at the heart of the national divide. 

The second type of unity is not of a legislative or political context and is usually found in social or religious settings. The idea proposed is that all sides agree to disabuse themselves of those positions and beliefs which are unique and opposed to by any of the other groups. This can be found in some of the large social movements of the last few decades, where anyone who wishes to participate must relinquish—at least publicly—any position or belief that is not acceptable to the rest of the group (or, more accurately, the leadership). An example of this is a group of Jews committed to the welfare of the State of Israel who agree to not bring religious sentiments into the discussion—thus allowing Orthodox and non-Orthodox to work together. These approaches are temporarily successful in meeting the needs of the organization but do nothing to bring people together in anything but a fragile and inherently temporary manner. 

The third type of call for unity is what I term “Unity of Resignation.” One position has become dominant in the given social or political group and its leaders try to prevail upon their ideological opponents to admit defeat, so to speak, and join the majority (to become a “supermajority”). This type of call is usually met with derisive opposition from the minority group, who is convinced that its relatively unpopular stance represents a non-negotiable truth. In those cases where the embattled few agree to join the broader group, if their iconoclastic positions have any merit, this abandonment can be viewed as a shame—or it may fester and cause further dissension within the newly broadened ranks of the majority. We have seen this happen with several political splinter groups which were corralled into one of the two major parties in the United States. The resentment felt among those who acquiesced inevitably finds its expression in internal strife and, in some cases, leads to a repeat of the original divide. 

Note that in the observant Jewish world, each of these has been proposed in a call for the much needed “ahdut” (unity). Examples of each abound—usually a call for ahdut means that everyone should agree to follow the direction laid out by the one calling for such unity—in other words, a Unity of Resignation. 

What all three of these methods have in common is not what they are but what they are not. In every case, the differences between the groups are ignored, avoided, or (theoretically) discarded. Practically, this may be the only way to get groups to work together, to march together or to vote together. But it sidesteps the real issue that, I suggest, sits at the heart of our current social crisis—both in the United States and in Israel. Put simply, people are unable to tolerate, much less debate, those who hold opinions with which they disagree. Stereotyping, vilification, and shaming become the knee-jerk reaction to dissent. 

But the Beit Midrash may hold a golden key to the current crisis of polarization. Entering the Beit Midrash is a glorious way to luxuriate in the passionate combativeness over the meaning of a common text, a common concept or common practice. I would like to take you into the Beit Midrash and see how the method of dispute can shine a salvific light on our current moment of dissent and division. But to do so would mean that the various players would have to agree that there is, indeed, a common text, a common concept or a common practice which is to be examined and to set some basic ground rules for how that analytic inquiry is to take place. This is, I believe, well within our reach once we admit that we are all interested in the same outcome—for instance, a society governed by norms of fairness, common human rights for all—but informed by an overall sense of morality. Numerous descriptions of the beauty of hard-fought disputes in the Academies of Yavne, Sura, Mainz, and Volozhin—to name just a few—have the potential to launch an era of passionate dispute and debate that can pit side against side as “enemies” but that ultimately will bring them together in a majestic “real” unity which embraces the whole person, dissent and all. 

I would like to suggest that in spite of the vociferous and well-documented disputes between the schools of Shamai and Hillel in the first half of the first century, the type of healthy and nurturing disputatious academy environment was launched in the shadow of destruction, at Yavne. 

One prefatory note. There is a well-known story, reported in B. Berakhot (27b–28a) as well as in Y. Berakhot (4:1) and Taanit (4:1) about the ouster of Rabban Gamliel and the installation of R. Elazar b. Azariah as head of the Sanhedrin. According to the report in the Bavli, the accommodation made with Rabban Gamliel after he was returned to a position of leadership, was that he and R. Elazar b. Azariah would split the leadership—one week a month for R. Elazar and three weeks to Rabban Gamliel. This background is vital for understanding not only an odd phrase at the beginning of the story, but also the entire thrust of the series of homilies presented by our protagonist, R. Elazar b. Azariah. The Yerushalmi’s conclusion, that each of them held leadership roles simultaneously, is an equally compelling backdrop to the story and its ultimate message. 

The Tosefta (Sotah 7:8–11) shares the following rather long anecdote about that first generation of post-Hurban teaching: 

It so happened with Rabbi Yohanan ben Berokah and Rabbi Elazar ben Hisma, that they were traveling from Yavneh to Lod, [and they stopped] to pay a visit to Rabbi Yehoshua in Peki'in. Rabbi Yehoshua said to them, "What news do you have from the house of study today?" They said to him, "Rabbi, we are your students, and from your waters we drink." He said to them, "It is impossible that there nothing new was discussed in the house of study. Whose week was it?[2]" They said to him, "Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah." He said to them, "What did he discuss?" 

1. They said to him, "[He discussed the commandment of Hakhel, to] 'Gather the people, the men, the women, and the little children'" (Deuteronomy 31:10–12). He said to them, "What did he expound about it?" They said to him, "He expounded thus: If men came to learn [and] women came to listen, why did the little children come? In order to bestow a reward upon those who brought them. 

2. And another thing that he expounded (Deuteronomy 26:17–18), 'You have declared today for Hashem [to be your God] ... [and] God has declared today for you [to be his treasured people].' The Holy One Blessed be He said to Israel, just as you have made me your only object of love in this world, so too I will make you my only object of love in the World to Come." 

3. And he (i.e., Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah) also expounded (Ecclesiastes 12:11), "The sayings of the wise are like goads, like nails fixed in prodding sticks. They were given by one Shepherd." Just as the goad directs the cow so as to bring life to the world, so too words of Torah are only life for the world, as it is said, “It is a tree of life . . .” [Proverbs 3:18]. Or, just as the goad is movable, might it be so for words of Torah? Scripture says, “And like nails firmly planted.” [Or, might (words of Torah like nails) neither diminish nor increase? Scripture says, “firmly planted.”] Just as a plant flourishes and grows, so too words of Torah flourish and grow. 'Masters of Assemblies' these are students of the wise that enter into multiple assemblies and declare what is impure [to be] impure, and what is pure [to be] pure; what is impure [to be] in its place and what is pure [to be] in its place. Perhaps it will arise in one's mind that since Beit Shammai [declares] impure and Beit Hillel [declares] pure, so-and-so prohibits and so-and-so permits, [Why] should I henceforth study Torah? Scripture teaches "words" "the words" "these are the words" [see Exodus 19:6–7] all of these words were given by "one Shepherd" [Ecclesiastes 12:11]. One God created them, one Benefactor gave them, the Master of all deeds, blessed be He, said them. Now make for your heart chambers within chambers and bring into it the words of Beit Shammai and the words of Beit Hillel, the words of those who declare impure and the words of those who declare pure. [After hearing what had been expounded in the house of study, Rabbi Yehoshua] said, "There is no generation that [can be considered] orphaned, if Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah dwells in its midst."

    

According to this report, Rabbi Elazar b. Azariah presented three homilies (marked “a,” “b” and “c” above), concluding with his charge to his audience to learn how to hear both sides of a dispute. This Tosefta is quoted in the Talmud Yerushalmi (Sotah 3:4; Hagigah 1:1) but only the first homily is brought; in Avot d’Rabbi Natan (version A, chapter 18), the middle homily is elided, but the adjuration to his audience is included. The Bavli (Hagigah 3a–b) has all three homilies in this sequence, with added supporting verses. 

I would like to suggest that the entire story as recorded in the Tosefta, which is evidently the original report with all three homilies in sequence, provides a pedagogic and anthropo-theological weltanschauung that not only allows for dispute, but elevates it to a desired and potentially sanctified state of study. 

It is prudent to note, before examining this text, that R. Elazar b. Azariah’s approach to dispute is not the only voice heard. R. Yossi is famous for his nostalgic and wistful recall of the day when there were no disputes—and lays the blame for the amplification and proliferation of Halakhic disputes at the feet of the students of Shamai and Hillel, “who did not serve their masters diligently” (i.e., did not apply themselves to their study with the requisite commitment and focus).[3] But that is as it should be—what would a position glorifying dispute mean if someone didn’t challenge it?

 To put this series of d’rashot into their proper context, we must keep in mind that, per the report of the Bavli,[4] the newly inaugurated Beit Midrash at Yavneh was an exclusive academy. R. Gamliel, the Patriarch and undisputed (for a while) head of the yeshiva, maintained a policy of only allowing the finest and purest students to participate in the discussions and deliberations in the Beit Midrash. R. Elazar b. Azariah, according to the report in the Bavli, opened the doors and “popularized” the study of Torah. He engineered a revolution in which the value—not just the toleration—of dissent would play a central role. 

Before examining the homilies, we ought to note that the setting for this conversation is already one of dispute. R. Yehoshua wants his students to share the new teachings that they undoubtedly heard in the Beit Midrash—but they protest that they have come to learn from him, their master. His insistence is rewarded, per the expanded report in B. Hagigah 3, with a “jewel” of a homily, that they had conspired to keep from him. In other words, the dispute itself led to greater intellectual wealth on his part. At the conclusion of the students’ retelling, their master exclaims that this generation, which had every reason to feel abandoned and forlorn (having just experienced the destruction of Jerusalem, the loss of any semblance of sovereignty and the burning of the Mikdash), could not be considered an “orphaned generation” due to the personality of R. Elazar b. Azariah. Although this consoling coda may be read as expressing the extent of R. Yehoshua’s regard for his younger colleague’s rhetorical brilliance, I believe that this approbation reflects a more profound message which emerges from this series of homilies. And it is to those homilies that we now turn our attention. 

The first homily is anchored in the commandment of Hakhel (Deuteronomy 31:10–13), wherein the entire nation is commanded to gather once every seven years on Sukkot, as they all come to be seen before God. While gathered, they are to hear the reading of (select sections from) the Torah. Note that the Torah identifies three distinct groups among the assembled—“men, women and children” and provides two related purposes—“in order that they may hear and they may learn” but the text continues with what they are to learn and what those lessons ought to lead to: “and will fear Hashem your God and will observe to fulfill all of this Torah.” R. Elazar seems to pick up on the specificative wording of the text—“the men, the women, and the children” and matches that with the doubled goal “in order that they may hear and that they will learn” and understands that the text is directing us to what we, in our modern era, refer to as “differentiated learning.” In other words, a single educational experience can operate simultaneously in various modes and on various levels in order to meet the pedagogic needs of all of the target audience. 

The use of Hakhel as the inspiration for his homily speaks to his programmatic upheaval in the tenor of the Beit Midrash. For anyone who has come into the newly opened study hall, who was not welcome before this due to their lack of experience (or other limitations), must be struck by the theme of the great rabbi’s talk. Everyone must gather, and there will be a modality for each that will allow young and old, experienced and neophyte, to participate in the exciting life of this newly revamped Beit Midrash. 

Note that his explanation of the value of bringing little children—“to give reward to those who bring them” suffers from reification. If the only reason that the Torah commanded parents to bring their children was to give those parents a reward for following this command, this all begs the question, and we are still left wondering what the reason behind the command is. (After all, if the reason for the command is merely to give them a reward for fulfilling it, any random act could have been commanded with the same outcome). I’d like to suggest that latet sakhar le-mevi’eihem should not be seen as a purely technical explanation. Rather, the parents indeed are rewarded by exposing their children—from their earliest days—to the environment of the Beit Midrash. Knowing that they always can find a home there and gaining a nearly inborn familiarity with the air of learning and inquiry is itself a great guarantor to their richer future as denizens of the Academy.[5] This observation also increases the types of value that the Beit Midrash can confer on its participants. The men come to study—i.e., to engage in the exchange of information. The women come to hear, to gain from the experiential and spiritual benefits that the Beit Midrash offers.[6] The children come and at whatever age they are not yet ready for either of these, are enriched by “just being there.” 

Thus, R. Elazar b. Azariah’s first homily serves as a welcome to all those assembled to join in the exhilarating experience of this newly fully opened academy. 

A priori, it is difficult to see the connection between the Hakhel lesson and the one that follows. R. Elazar expounded on a difficult word which appears twice in sequential verses: he’emarta/he’eimirkha. The simplest reading of this word is “to raise up”[7]—to wit, “you have raised up Hashem today, to be your God…and Hashem has raised you up today to be His treasured nation….” For homiletic purposes, however, the master reads that hapax legomenon (it only appears in this form in these two related verses) as a form of amar—say. He interprets the verse as “You have declared regarding Hashem…and Hashem has declared regarding you.” He then goes on to read a symbiotic pair of declarations—that just as we declare God’s unity in this world, so does God affirm our unity. The expanded version of the Baraita in BT Hagigah adds markers for each. We declare God to be one when we vocalize the “Shema Yisrael…” and He affirms our unity (or uniqueness) when He states “Mi ke-amkha Yisrael, goy ehad ba-aretz”—“who is like Your people, Yisrael, a singular nation in the land.”[8]

I’d like to suggest that this second homily is part of a larger argument that R. Elazar is formulating. We affirm that God, despite the multitudinous and differentiated manifestations of His power and grace that we experience, is One. The thunder, the gentle rain, the sunset and the sunrise are distinct phenomena. Yet we see in those distinct miracles One God, understood as all the more glorious for His multi-faceted modes of interaction with His world. In the same way, the master teaches us, the unity of the Jewish people, not in spite of but on account of the many differences that distinguish us from each other, is worthy of God’s affirmation. 

At this point, the essential message which the new “Rosh Yeshiva” is formulating is not yet apparent. The final homily will bring that home. 

This odd verse towards the end of Kohelet (12:11) reads: “The words of the wise are like goads, and like nails firmly fixed are the collected sayings; they are given by one shepherd” (ESV).

This reading, like any of the other versions, is cryptic. However, we might work with the peshat, R. Elazar b. Azariah uses these disparate descriptors of the Law to put the final prong in his argument. 

The words of the wise are compared to a painful instrument, used to goad the cattle in their work, to plow the field, which enables planting, reaping, and…eating. As such, the counsel of the sages, while painful (?) are the necessary vehicle for sustaining life. 

But these words are not, like a cattle prod, something light that can be used or disposed of—they are “like nails”—firmly planted. In other words, the teaching of the sages have a fixed property and are reliable and, essentially, eternal. 

Yet, the comparison to “nails” implies not only a fixedness, but also a rigidity and an inherent limitation of growth. To that end, he reads the word netu’im—which is contextually translated as “fixed,” as the opposite—“planted,” implying something that grows, develops and, again, nurtures. The metaphor is not only wildly mixed, it also presents seemingly contradictory messages about the words of the Sages—they are fixed and firm, yet they have the organic ability to grow and develop. At this point in his derashah, R. Elazar shifts his interpretative scheme from the words of Torah to those self-same sages whose words are the focus of the verse—and the homily. In peshat, we may read ba’alei asuppot as a synonym for divrei hakhamim—the words of the wise. But in his derashah, he reads it as a unique descriptor of the wise men themselves—the sages of this newly (re-)opened communal Beit Midrash. They are the rabbis and their students who gather there and discuss and debate the law, coming to diametrically opposed conclusions—“pure” vs. “impure,” “owing” vs. “exempt,” “permitted” vs. “prohibited.” This is where the larger program of his derashah becomes evident. He turns directly to his audience, those who until Rabban Gamliel was ousted, were not privy to these exciting and confusing debates:

Perhaps it will arise in one's mind that since Beit Shammai [declares] impure and Beit Hillel[9] [declares] pure, so-and-so prohibits and so-and-so permits, [Why] should I henceforth study Torah?[10]

He is addressing the understandable confusion that anyone who is uninitiated in the ways of the Beit Midrash would feel when first encountering the spirited, passionate and intellectually dizzying arguments pro and con on an infinitely broad range of issues. This new audience is adjured to: 

Now make for your heart chambers within chambers and bring into it the words of Beit Shammai and the words of Beit Hillel, the words of those who declare impure and the words of those who declare pure.

Or, in the words of the Bavli tradition of this homily: 

So too, you (the student), make your ears like a funnel and acquire for yourself an understanding heart to hear both the statements of those who render objects ritually impure and the statements of those who render them pure; the statements of those who prohibit actions and the statements of those who permit them; the statements of those who deem items invalid and the statements of those who deem them valid. (B. Hagigah 3b)

And he anchors his argument in the end of the verse: nittenu me-ro’eh ehad—given by one shepherd. One God gave us the Torah, one shepherd (Moshe) taught it to us. In other words, the Law, in its essence, is a pure light, radiating Divine knowledge which, by definition, must be unitary and of a single truth. Yet, as happens when pure light is refracted through a prism, it becomes differentiated and takes on the appearance of various colors and shades, at odds with each other. Behind the opinion of Beit Shammai is the same essential light as informs Beit Hillel. It is the student’s job to hear the opposing opinions and applications - the refractions of that light—and to learn how to recognize the validity of each side and, ultimately, to discover the unified light which informs it all. 

We can now revisit the entire homily and detect a deeper message, one which not only empowers the new students and provides some initiative guidance for them in the ways of the Beit Midrash but makes a larger point about the inherent value of dispute and of the opening of those hallowed doors. 

R. Elazar b. Azariah, presenting his new public policy platform, begins by invoking the great gathering of all—men, women and children—to the central place of worship as a valuable addendum to the pilgrimage festival of Sukkot. At that gathering, when all of the people have come to appear before God and to be seen by Him, part of that monumental event is the public reading of the Torah—the source of that great light—at which a deliberately differentiated audience participates, each in his or her own way. He underscores even the value of “just being there,” for the infants and the great reward that that brings to the parents. 

He continues by highlighting the reciprocal and—if it can be said—symbiotic relationship between the Jewish people and God, each with infinite expressions yet all anchored in a singularity and Oneness. His derashah may be understood on a deeper plane. Not only is there a parallel between these “Ones”—but it is the task of Yisrael to reflect, through their ultimate unity, the Unity of God. 

R. Elazar’s denouement is the hard-hitting description of the disputatious nature of the study of the Law and the opportunity and obligation that all must enter into the Beit Midrash, to accept the nature of the Law as arguable and to discover the intellectual ability to wrestle with both sides of an issue. This is not only an invitation, but also an exhortation. Now that the Beit Midrash doors have been flung wide open, no one has an excuse to avoid engagement. And that engagement takes place at the transformed “place where Hashem chooses to place His Name”—and it is here, right here, that we hear the historic calling to create a society that will reflect, in its unity of purpose arising from the passionate disagreements about how to achieve that unity, the Unity of God. 

We live in highly disputatious times. We have seen friendship, work relationships and even families broken apart over severe differences in opinion. If society around us can take a clue from this great homily—one which gave the aged R. Yehoshua comfort that the generation after the destruction was, indeed, not orphaned—we may be able to go back to basics. We can start with what we agree on and then, vociferously and passionately, disagree about how to get there. If we keep the bigger picture not only in mind, but also as part of the conversation, we can end up as greater friends and co-seekers:

Even a father and his son, a teacher and his student, who are studying Torah together in one gate, become enemies to each other but do not leave there until they love each other.

Notes