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American Jews and the American Dream

Rabbi Marc D. Angel is Director of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals and Rabbi Emeritus of Congregation Shearith Israel, the historic Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of New York City.

(On September 12, 2004, a special service was held at Congregation Shearith Israel in New York (founded in 1654) to mark the Congregation's 350th anniversary. Since Shearith Israel is the first Jewish Congregation in North America, this occasion also marked the 350th anniversary of American Jewry. Rabbi Marc D. Angel delivered a sermon at the 350th anniversary service, reflecting on American Jewish history through the prism of the experience of Congregation Shearith Israel. This is an abridged version of that sermon.)

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights,that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.” These words from the American Declaration of Independence reflect the deepest ideals and aspirations of the American people. America is not merely a country, vast and powerful; America is an idea, a vision of life as it could be.

When these words were first proclaimed on July 4, 1776, Congregation Shearith Israel was almost 122 years old. It was a venerable community, with an impressive history--a bastion of Jewish faith and tradition,and an integral part of the American experience.

When the British invaded New York in 1776, a large group of congregants, including our Hazan Rev. Gershom Mendes Seixas,left the city rather than live under British rule. Many joined the Revolutionary army and fought for American independence. Our story in America is not built on historical abstractions, but on generations of Jews who have played their roles in the unfolding of this nation. It is a very personal history, ingrained in our collective memory.

On this 350th anniversary of the American Jewish community,we reflect on the courage and heroic efforts of our forebears who have maintained Judaism as a vibrant and living force in our lives. We express gratitude to America for having given us—and all citizens—the freedom to practice our faith. This very freedom has energized and strengthened America.

Within Congregation Shearith Israel, we have been blessed with men and women who have helped articulate Jewish ideals and American ideals. Their voices have blended in with the voices of fellow Americans of various religions and races,to help shape the dream and reality of America.

The American Declaration of Independence pronounced that all men are created equal. In his famous letter to the Jewish community of Newport, in August 1790, President George Washington hailed the United States for allowing its citizens freedom—not as a favor bestowed by one group on another—but in recognition of the inherent natural rights of all human beings. This country, wrote President Washington, “gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance.”

And yet, if equality and human dignity are at the core of American ideals, the fulfillment of these ideals have required—and still require—sacrifice and devotion. Reality has not always kept up with the ideals. In 1855, Shearith Israel member Uriah Phillips Levy—who rose to the rank of Commodore in the U.S. Navy—was dropped from the Navy’s active duty list. He was convinced that anti-Semitism was at the root of this demotion. He appealed the ruling and demanded justice.He asked: are people “now to learn to their sorrow and dismay that we too have sunk into the mire of religious intolerance and bigotry?... What is my case today, if you yield to this injustice, may tomorrow be that of the Roman Catholic or the Unitarian, the Presbyterian or the Methodist, the Episcopalian or the Baptist. There is but one safeguard: that is to be found in an honest,whole-hearted, inflexible support of the wise, the just, the impartial guarantee of the Constitution.” Levy won his case. He helped the United States remain true to its principles.

Shearith Israel member Moses Judah (1735-1822) believed that all men were created equal—including black men. In 1799, he was elected to the New York Society for Promoting the Manumission of Slaves. During his tenure on the standing committee between 1806 and 1809, about fifty slaves were freed.Through his efforts, many other slaves achieved freedom. He exerted himself to fight injustice, to expand the American ideals of freedom and equality regardless of race or religion.

Another of our members, Maud Nathan, believed that all men were created equal—but so were all women created equal. She was a fiery, internationally renowned suffragette, who worked tirelessly to advance a vision of America that indeed recognized the equality of all its citizens—men and women. As President of the Consumers’ League of New York from 1897-1917, Maud Nathan was a pioneer in social activism, working for the improvement of working conditions of employees in New York’s department stores. Equality and human dignity were the rights of all Americans,rich and poor, men and women.

The Declaration of Independence proclaimed that human beings have unalienable rights, among them are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.These words express the hope and optimism of America. They are a repudiation of the tyranny and oppression that prevailed—and still prevail—in so many lands. America is a land of opportunity, where people can live in freedom. The pursuit of happiness really signifies the pursuit of self-fulfillment, of a meaningful way of life. America’s challenge was—and still is—to create a harmonious society that allows us to fulfill our potentials.

President George Washington declared a day of national Thanksgiving for November 26, 1789. Shearith Israel held a service, at which Hazan Gershom Mendes Seixas called on this congregation “to unite, with cheerfulness and uprightness…to promote that which has a tendency to the public good.” Hazzan Seixas believed that Jews, in being faithful to Jewish tradition, would be constructive and active participants in American society.

Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness were not reserved only for those born in America; they are the rights of all human beings everywhere. This notion underlies the idealism of the American dream, calling for a sense of responsibility for all suffering people, whether at home or abroad. American Jews have been particularly sensitive and responsive to this ideal.

On March 8,1847, Hazan Jacques Judah Lyons addressed a gathering at Shearith Israel for the purpose of raising funds for Irish famine relief. The potato crop in Ireland had failed in 1846, resulting in widespread famine. Hazan Lyons well realized that the Jewish community needed charitable dollars for its own internal needs; and yet he insisted that Jews reach out and help the people of Ireland. He said that there was one indestructible and all-powerful link between us and the Irish sufferers: “That link, my brethren,is HUMANITY! Its appeal to the heart surmounts every obstacle. Clime, color, sect are barriers which impede not its progress thither.” In assisting with Irish famine relief, the Jewish community reflected its commitment to the well-being of all suffering human beings.American Jewry grew into—and has continued to be—a great philanthropic community perhaps unmatched in history. Never have so few given so much to so many. In this, we have been true to our Jewish tradition, and true to the spirit of America.

Who articulated the hope and promise of America more eloquently than Emma Lazarus? “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” How appropriate it is that her poem is affixed to the great symbol of American freedom, the Statue of Liberty.

Alice Menken, (for many years President of our Sisterhood) did remarkable work to help immigrants, to assist young women who ran into trouble with the law, to promote reform of the American prison system. She wrote: “We must seek a balanced philosophy of life. We must live to make the world worth living in, with new ideals, less suffering, and more joy.”

Americans see ourselves as one nation, indivisible, under God, with liberty and justice for all. Yet, liberty and justice are not automatically attained. They have required—and still require—wisdom, vigilance, and active participation. America prides itself on being a nation of laws, with no one above the law. The American legal tradition has been enriched by the insights and the work of many American Jews.

In one of his essays, Justice Benjamin Nathan Cardozo—a devoted member of Shearith Israel--referred to a Talmudic passage which has been incorporated into our prayer book. It asks that the Almighty let His mercy prevail over strict justice. Justice Cardozo reminded us that the American system relies not only on justice—but on mercy. Mercy entails not merely an understanding of laws, but an understanding of the human predicament, of human nature, of the circumstances prevailing inhuman society. Another of our members,Federal Judge William Herlands, echoed this sentiment when he stated that Justice without Mercy—is just ice!

Our late rabbis Henry Pereira Mendes, David de Sola Pool and Louis C.Gerstein, were singularly devoted to social welfare, to religious education, to the land of Israel. They distinguished themselves for their devotion to Zionism, and played their parts in the remarkable unfolding of the State of Israel. They, along with so many American Jews, have keenly understood how much unites Israel and the United States—two beacons of democracy and idealism in a very troubled world.

During the past 350 years, the American Jewish community has accomplished much and contributed valiantly to all aspects of American life. We have cherished our participation in American life. We have been free to practice our faith and teach our Torah. We have worked with Americans of other faiths and traditions to mold a better,stronger, more idealistic nation.

America today is not just a powerful and vast country. It is also an idea, a compelling idea that has a message for all people in all lands. As American Jews, we are committed to the ideals of freedom and equality, human dignity and security, to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, the pursuit of harmony among ourselves and throughout the world. We have come far as a nation, but very much remains to be done. May God give us the strength and resolve to carry on, to work proudly as Jews to bring the American dream to many more generations of humanity.

George Washington and Religious Liberty

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This is an excerpt of a sermon delivered by Rabbi Dr. David de Sola Pool at Congregation Shearith Israel in New York City, February 20, 1932. The full text is included in the volume "Rabbi David de Sola Pool: Selections from Six Decades of Sermons, Addresses and Writings," ed. Rabbi Dr. Marc D. Angel, Union of Sephardic Congregations, 1980, pp. 63-71

In Washington’s days, religious liberty as we now know it was not a well understood, conventional policy. It was a daring revolutionary departure from the universally accepted order. In all Europe, and throughout the New World also, there were established state churches. In this land, too, notwithstanding the pioneer efforts of Roger Williams, Jefferson, Madison and Washington, many of the clergy belonging to the faith of the majority were zealous in endeavoring to see their Church constitutionally recognized as that of the established official religion of the new United States. To their sincere piety, the state should naturally be, as it was everywhere else, the ally of the universal claims and missionary spirit of the Church. Had not that tradition been set up in this land by the Pilgrim Fathers when they established here not so much a state as a church polity expressing itself through the forms of a state?

The results of that union of Church and State are all too well known. Those very Pilgrim Fathers who had sought these shores as a refuge from the intolerant discriminations exercised by a dominant majority Church in the Old World, in their turn here exercised the same discriminations against those whom they regarded as dissenters.

Against this danger, George Washington took a firm, determined and consistent stand. Churchman though he was, he could not understand a concept of national liberty which gave physical freedom without spiritual freedom. He declared: “The cause of American liberty is the cause of every virtuous American citizen, whatever be his religion or descent.” In the eyes of George Washington, this complete spiritual as well as civic liberty had to be not a grudged or a gracious concession, but a right. It was not to be toleration exercised by a privileged majority, it was to be religious equality.

Again and again he expressed himself in this vein, as when he wrote to the United Baptist Churches: “Every man conducting himself as a good citizen and being accountable to God alone for his religious opinion ought to be protected in worshiping the Deity according to the dictates of his own conscience.” To the New Baptist Church in Baltimore, he wrote: “In this enlightened age and in this land of equal liberty, it is our boast that a man’s religious tenets will not forfeit the protection of the laws nor deprive him of the right of attaining and holding the highest offices that are known in the United States.”

In Washington’s letter to the Jewish Congregation in Newport, he wrote: “All possess alike liberty of conscience and immunities of citizenship. It is now no more that toleration is spoken of as if it were by the indulgence of one class of people that another enjoyed the exercise of their inherent natural rights, for happily the government of the United States which gives to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance, requires only that they who live under its protection should demean themselves as good citizens.”

Washington himself took more than one occasion to give public and eloquent demonstration of his own utter freedom from religious prejudice, and his convictions that in this new America all religions must stand on a footing of equality, as when at his inauguration as first President of the United States the whole clergy of this city, including Gershom Mendes Seixas, the Minister of Shearith Israel at the time, took official part in the parade and epoch making ceremonies. In his letter to the Jewish community of Savannah, Georgia, he expressed his rejoicing that “a spirit of liberality and philanthropy is much more prevalent than it formerly was among the enlightened nations of the earth, and that your brethren will benefit thereby in proportion as it shall become still more extensive.”

Alas that his roseat belief has been so bitterly belied, and that a century and a half after he wrote these noble words the great majority of our brethren of Israel in other lands are cowering or crushed under social segregation, political discrimination, economic boycott, calculated persecution or bloody violence. This great principle of religious liberty for which George Washington stood so strongly, bravely and unflinchingly is not yet fully granted by lesser men with narrower hearts. Eternal vigilance is the price of religious liberty. We must still be on our guard against those who, without daring openly to advocate an overthrow of the constitution, would yet undermine it by a thousand insinuating ways of giving to our government, our public schools and all our institutions a sectarian character in the pattern of a dominant Church. We must still exercise unwearying vigilance against the hydra-headed monster of bigotry.

Truly, America’s enemies today are within her own borders. We do not need a George Washington to lead us against a foe from other lands. Today we need a George Washington to preserve our America from disrupting intolerance within our own borders, whether it be the intolerance of religion or the intolerance of irreligion. Among America’s enemies today are those who flaunt that constitutional civic liberty and liberty of conscience which we recall today as among the most precious gifts bequeathed to this country by George Washington.

Let us pray in the very words of Washington: “May the children of the stock of Abraham who dwell in this land continue to merit and enjoy the good will of the other inhabitants, while everyone shall sit in safety under his own vine and fig tree and there shall be none to make him afraid.”

Paired Perspectives on the Parashah: Hukkat

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Rabbi Hayyim Angel

Hukkat:

The Sin at the Rock: Leadership, Anger, and the Failure to Begin Again

The episode of Mei Merivah (Numbers 20:1-13) is among the most difficult and perplexing narratives in the Torah. After the people complain about the lack of water, God commands Moses to take the staff, gather the nation, and speak to the rock so that it will produce water. Instead, Moses angrily rebukes the nation, strikes the rock twice, and water emerges abundantly. Immediately afterward, however, God declares that Moses and Aaron will not lead the people into the Land of Israel.

The punishment appears astonishingly severe. The Torah never explicitly states what the sin was, and generations of commentators struggled to identify it. Moses had devoted his life to leading Israel through impossible circumstances. Yet this moment at the rock becomes the event that bars him from entering the land. The problem is compounded further by Aaron’s inclusion in the punishment. Even if Moses sinned, what precisely did Aaron do?

The classical commentators offer a remarkable range of answers.

The Sifrei (Devarim 349) already raises the problem of Aaron’s culpability. Ramban and Sforno explain that Moses and Aaron functioned as partners in leadership, and therefore shared responsibility for the failure. Rabbi Tobiah ben Eliezer in Lekah Tov suggests that Aaron should have restrained or corrected Moses.

Rashi explains that Moses’s sin was striking the rock instead of speaking to it. Rashbam and several others adopt similar approaches. Yet this interpretation raises difficulties. Ramban asks why God instructed Moses to take the staff if striking the rock was entirely inappropriate. Moreover, why would this constitute a desecration of God’s Name? The people did not know the precise command God had given Moses, and in their eyes an extraordinary miracle still occurred.

Rambam, at the end of the fourth chapter of Shemonah Perakim, develops a different approach. Moses’s primary sin was anger. By crying out, “Listen now, rebels,” and striking the rock twice, Moses projected rage and frustration. The people therefore concluded that God Himself was angry with them. Yet, according to Rambam, the narrative contains no indication that God was enraged at Israel in this episode.

Other commentators focus on Moses’s language: “Shall we bring forth water for you from this rock?” Rabbenu Hananel, Bekhor Shor, and Ramban understand this formulation as potentially attributing the miracle to Moses and Aaron rather than to God. Ramban further explains that “speak to the rock” means that Moses should publicly announce the miracle before the people in the rock’s presence, emphasizing God as the source of salvation. Moses regularly does this before miracles throughout the Torah. Instead, the wording here risked creating the impression that Moses and Aaron themselves possessed supernatural power. This concern becomes especially significant in light of Numbers 21, where the people sing of the well provided by the “princes” and “nobles,” potentially associating the miracle with human agents rather than with God.

Yet beneath the many technical explanations lies a deeper question: why did this moment disqualify Moses and Aaron from leading the nation into the land?

The answer may emerge from the broader literary context of the narrative.

The complaints in Numbers 20 sound strikingly familiar. Once again, the people lament leaving Egypt. Once again Moses and Aaron fall upon their faces. Once again there is a crisis involving survival in the wilderness. The scene recalls the generation of the spies and the rebellion of Korah.

But there is one crucial difference.

In the earlier narratives, God reacts with fury. After the spies, God threatens destruction. After Korah, divine wrath breaks forth against the nation. Moses repeatedly intercedes to save the people.

At Mei Merivah, however, God’s response is entirely different. He neither threatens annihilation nor rebukes the nation harshly. Instead, He simply instructs Moses to provide water.

As Eliyahu Assis observes, this episode marks the Torah’s first major encounter with the new generation. The old wilderness generation has nearly disappeared. God seeks to begin again with their children. The new generation must learn that God remains present and caring despite the failures of their parents.

Moses and Aaron, however, do not fully recognize the shift. Hearing the familiar complaints, they interpret the people through the lens of the previous generation. “Listen now, rebels.” Their response assumes continuity rather than renewal. God seeks a fresh beginning, but Moses and Aaron still see the shadow of the old failures.

Within this framework, the symbolism of the rock becomes profound.

Rashi cites a Midrash explaining that had Moses spoken to the rock rather than striking it, the people would have learned a powerful lesson: if even an inanimate rock obeys God’s word, certainly human beings should do so willingly. The miracle was meant to educate through persuasion rather than coercion.

The distinction between speaking and striking reflects two fundamentally different models of leadership. The first generation of freed slaves often required firmer discipline. They emerged from Egypt traumatized, fearful, and unstable. But the second generation stood at the threshold of nationhood. They needed to be addressed differently.

A Midrash in Yalkut Shimoni compares this process to education itself: when a child is young, the teacher may discipline physically; when the child matures, the teacher instructs through words. Speaking to the rock would symbolize leadership through communication, trust, and internal growth. Striking the rock symbolized force, confrontation, and external control.

This transforms the episode entirely. Moses’ action was not merely a technical deviation from God’s command. It reflected a deeper inability to transition into a new stage of leadership.

The tragedy is therefore not that God scrutinized the righteous “to a hairsbreadth.” Rather, the moment revealed a genuine leadership failure. Moses and Aaron remained shaped by decades of struggle with the first generation. They could not fully enter the psychological and spiritual world of the new one.

This perspective also helps explain why Aaron shares the punishment. The issue was not merely Moses striking the rock incorrectly. It was a shared leadership posture. Both leaders interpreted the people through categories that God Himself no longer wished to apply.

Moses remains the greatest prophet in Israel’s history. His failure at Mei Merivah does not erase his unparalleled greatness. Yet even the greatest leader may become bound to the struggles of one era and unable to guide the next. The generation entering the land required a different kind of leadership, a different language, and a different beginning. At the rock, Moses and Aaron could still produce water from stone. But they could no longer fully speak to the generation standing before them.

Together...Uniquely: Thoughts for Parashat Naso

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Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Naso

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

When the Almighty calls on Moses to command the priests to bless the people of Israel, the instructions are in the plural (emor lahem). When the blessing is concluded, the Almighty indicates: “and I will bless them” (va-ani avarakhem)—also in the plural. The setting of the priestly blessing, then, is clearly to be a public event intended for the entire collective.

Yet, the tripartite blessing itself is entirely in the singular form. Although the blessing is intended for the plurality of Israel, it is aimed at each individual separately. It prays that God will bless and protect each of us; that God’s countenance should shine on each Israelite and grant each one of us peace—shalom.

The formulation of the priestly blessing is alluding to a profound truth. The blessings are given to the entire community…not as an anonymous mass of people, but as an assembly of individual human beings. The emphasis is on the uniqueness of each person, the desire that each of us finds blessing and fulfillment in life. The goal is shalom…peace, wholeness, personal satisfaction.

God’s infinite wisdom encompasses all…but focuses on each. This idea is underscored in a Talmudic teaching (Berakhot 58a) that requires the recitation of a special blessing when witnessing a vast throng of Jews. We are to praise the Almighty Who is hakham harazim, the One who understands the root and inner thoughts of each individual. “Their thoughts are not alike and their appearance is not alike.” The Creator made each person as a unique being. He expected and wanted diversity of thought, and we bless Him for having created this diversity among us.

Religious life entails participating in a community, observing shared rituals, following traditional patterns. It can happen that one’s individuality may seem compromised or lost in the process. The overwhelming emphasis on communal mores tends to diminish the uniqueness of each individual. The priestly blessing reminds us of the need to be part of the community…but to retain our own distinctive individuality.

In his famous essay, “Self-Reliance,” Ralph Waldo Emerson taught: “There is a time in every man’s education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion.” We each are who we are; to squelch our individuality in order to imitate others is self-destructive. Emerson lamented the tendency to forfeit one’s ideas, ideals and values in order to blend in with the dominant group. Rather, one should be true to him/herself.

Poignantly, Emerson wrote: “Man is timid and apologetic. He is no longer upright. He dares not say ‘I think,’ ‘I am,’ but quotes some saint or sage.” These words, proclaimed in the mid-19th century, continue to ring true nearly 200 years later. So many religious people, including rabbis, are reluctant to express an original opinion unless it is authenticated by sages of earlier generations. Instead of relying on their own thinking, they seek to amass sources of earlier “authorities.”

The framework of the priestly blessing provides a vital dynamic. We are a community; we stand together in our beliefs and observances. At the same time, though, we are each unique individuals with our own particular thoughts, sensitivities and needs. While we—as members of a community—receive the blessings from the priests and from God, those blessings are directed to each of us separately.

This is not merely a blessing on us. It is a challenge for us.

* * *

Rabbi Marc Angel has a youtube series on religion and literature, with the first session dealing with the teachings of Ralph Waldo Emerson: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqP9UMJOwmk

The Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals: Core Values

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The Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, founded in 2007, offers a vision of Orthodox Judaism that is intellectually sound, spiritually compelling, and emotionally satisfying. Based on an unwavering commitment to the Torah tradition and to the Jewish people, it fosters an appreciation of legitimate diversity within Orthodoxy. It encourages responsible discussion of issues in Jewish law, philosophy, religious world-view, and communal policy. It sees Judaism as a world religion with a profound message for Jews, and for non-Jews as well. It seeks to apply the ancient wisdom of Judaism to the challenges of contemporary society.

Do you sense that Orthodox Jewish life is

***narrowing its intellectual horizons?

***adopting ever more extreme halakhic positions?

***encouraging undue conformity in dress, behavior and thought?

***fostering an authoritarian system that restricts creative and independent thinking?

***growing more insulated from non-Orthodox Jews and from society in general?

Do you think that Orthodox Jewish life should be

***intellectually alive, creative, inclusive?

***open to responsible discussion and diverse opinions?

***active in the general Jewish community, and in society as a whole?

***engaged in serious and sophisticated Jewish education for children and adults?

***committed to addressing the halakhic and philosophic problems of our times, drawing on the wisdom and experience of diverse Jewish communities throughout history?

If you agree that Orthodoxy can and should create a better intellectual and spiritual climate, the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals is here for you. The Institute works for an intellectually vibrant, compassionate and inclusive Orthodoxy. Together we can reclaim the grand religious world-view of Torah Judaism at its best.

***We have an active and informative website, jewishideas.org, reaching many thousands of readers throughout the world

***Our National Scholar has been giving classes, lectures and programs in many communities and on college campuses

***We have published 47 issues of our journal, Conversations, read by many thousands

***We provide publications and guidance to students free of charge

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***We are a vital resource for thousands of people seeking guidance on questions of halakha, religious worldview, communal policies, conversion to Judaism… and so much more!!!

As the Institute celebrates its 18^th anniversary, your support and partnership enable the Institute to maintain and expand its work in the years ahead. We have come a long way…but there is a long road still ahead. Thank you for being part of the Institute’s growing community of members, friends and supporters.

Reclaiming "Bible Zionism"

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This op ed piece by Rabbi Marc D. Angel appears in the Jewish Link, December 12, 2024.

What is Zionism after all?

The term seems to have originated in the 1890s by Nathan Birnbaum, founder of the Kadimah nationalist Jewish students’ movement. Theodor Herzl popularized the term as the expression of the Jewish People’s national aspiration to return to their historic homeland in Zion.

The term “Zionism” is often used by friends and enemies of Israel without proper reference to its historic roots in biblical times. Zionism didn’t just pop up in a vacuum, as though it was a new and artificial framework for Jews to return to their land. Although the term as a political movement dates from the late 19^th century, it in fact encapsulates thousands of years of Jewish attachment to their historic homeland.

Zion is mentioned over 150 times in the Hebrew bible. While originally referring to Mount Zion, it came to refer to Jerusalem and then to all the land of Israel.

Rabbi Dr. Henry Pereira Mendes, who was associated with the historic Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of New York from 1877 to 1937, advocated what he called “Bible Zionism.” He was proud of the fact that Theodor Herzl asked his cooperation in organizing the Zionist movement in the United States. Dr. Mendes was elected vice-president of the Federation of American Zionists and a member of the actions committee of the World Zionist Organization. He believed that Zionism had the goal of establishing a Jewish State founded upon the principles and ideals of the Jewish religious tradition. In a letter to Haham Gaster of London (July 21, 1903), Dr. Mendes wrote: Here is true work for Zionists: to keep Hebrews true to Jewish life, Jewish law, Jewish sentiment.”

Dr. Mendes taught that “Bible Zionism” aspired to go beyond simply providing a homeland for Jews. It had a universal message and goal: “Peace for the world at last and the realization of reverence for God by all men. These are the essentials for human happiness. Zionism stands for them.”

We rarely hear about “Bible Zionism” from Israeli political leaders, media, or the various Zionist organizations worldwide. But wouldn’t it be nice if leaders and opinion makers reclaimed “Bible Zionism” and reminded the world at every opportunity of the biblical roots of Zionism?

“Bible Zionism,” as Rabbi Mendes pointed out, has a dual agenda. It stresses the national aspirations of the Jewish People to live in their own historic homeland and foster their religious and cultural traditions. The prophet Isaiah foresaw that Jews will “come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing will flee away” (Isaiah 35:10). He taught that “Zion will be redeemed with justice and those that return to her with righteousness” (1:27).

But “Bible Zionism” also points to the ultimate victory of justice and righteousness for Israel and the entire world. Isaiah taught that many people shall come to Zion “for out of Zion shall go forth Torah and the word of the Lord from Jerusalem” (Isaiah 2:3). Isaiah looked to the day when “the nations shall see your righteousness and all kings your glory” (62:1-2). The prophet Zechariah (8:3) taught that the Lord has returned to Zion and that “Jerusalem shall be called the city of truth and the mountain of the Lord of hosts the holy mountain.” Zion was to be a bastion of truth, justice and wisdom for the entire world.

Recent months have seen ugly manifestations of anti-Zionism throughout the world. The haters have distorted the meaning and mission of Zionism. We need to embrace “Bible Zionism” in every forum to set the record straight.

The Psalmist sang (122:6): “Pray for the peace of Jerusalem; they who love you will prosper; peace be within your walls, prosperity within your palaces.” Just as those who love and support Zion will be blessed, the Psalmist warns (129:5): “May all who hate Zion be put to shame and turned back.”

As for us, we must heed the words of Isaiah (62:1-2): “For the sake of Zion I will not hold my peace, and for the sake of Jerusalem I will not be still, until her righteousness goes forth like radiance and her salvation like a burning torch.”

Paired Perspectives on the Parashah: Naso

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Rabbi Hayyim Angel

Naso:

The Nazir — Restraint or Crown?

The Torah’s presentation of the Nazir (Numbers 6:1–21) invites a fundamental question: is nezirut primarily a discipline of restraint, or an ascent to a higher, crowned sanctity? The answer emerges from the Torah’s own language, which points simultaneously in two directions.

On the one hand, as Ibn Ezra observes, nazir is cognate with neder—a vow of abstention. The Nazir is one who refrains, most prominently from wine (Numbers 6:3–4). This aligns with a broader biblical pattern in which separation functions as a boundary against excess or impurity (cf. Leviticus 15:31). From this perspective, the Nazir is defined by deliberate restraint.

On the other hand, the very same root yields a different meaning. In Deuteronomy 33:16, nezir ehav refers to one “set apart,” even “elect,” among his brothers. Likewise, the Torah describes the Nazir’s hair as a nezer, a “crown” (Numbers 6:7–8). As Jacob Milgrom notes, the term also appears in the laws of the sabbatical year to describe an untrimmed vine (Leviticus 25:5, 11), suggesting that the Nazir’s uncut hair is not incidental but central. It is a visible, organic sign of consecration. Indeed, in Jeremiah 7:29, the term nezer itself denotes hair, reinforcing the centrality of the Nazir’s uncut growth. The Nazir, then, is not only one who abstains, but one who is “crowned” through that abstention.

These two meanings—withdrawal and elevation—generate two distinct perspectives on nezirut.

I. The Nazir as a Discipline of Restraint

Rambam, in the Guide of the Perplexed (III:48), emphasizes the dimension of restraint. For Rambam, the prohibition of wine is the primary feature of nezirut. The Torah introduces wine first (Numbers 6:3) and then extends the prohibition to all grape products (6:4), before turning to hair and corpse impurity. The structure suggests that wine is the axis around which the institution revolves.

This reading is reinforced by the rabbinic linkage between Nazir and Sotah, the suspected adulteress whose laws immediately precede this passage (Numbers 5:11–31). One who witnesses the degradation of the Sotah is moved to accept nezirut, abstaining from wine (Sotah 2a). Wine, in this view, leads to loosened inhibitions and potential moral failure; nezirut serves as a corrective discipline. It is a framework for regaining control.

From this vantage point, the Nazir is not primarily ascending to a new level of sanctity, but rather guarding against human weakness. Nezirut is temporary, reactive, and therapeutic. It addresses a moral danger by imposing structured limits. The Nazir withdraws in order to stabilize.

II. The Nazir as a Crowned Figure of Holiness

In contrast, Ibn Ezra and Abarbanel emphasize the nezer—the crown. Here, the Nazir is not merely avoiding sin, but entering a heightened state of sanctity, one that parallels the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest.

The textual parallels are striking. Like the High Priest, the Nazir may not become impure even for close relatives (Numbers 6:7–8; cf. Leviticus 21:11). The Torah explains this prohibition with the phrase, “for the crown of his God is upon his head” (Numbers 6:7), echoing the language of the High Priest’s consecration (Leviticus 21:12). Even the High Priest’s golden frontlet, the tzitz, is called a nezer (Exodus 29:6–7).

In this light, nezirut emerges as a voluntary assumption of priestly-like holiness. The Nazir becomes, for a limited time, a kind of private High Priest. His uncut hair serves as his crown, marking him as consecrated. He lives in a state of continuous sanctity, not merely during moments of ritual service.

This perspective also sheds light on a halakhic nuance. The Mishnah (Nazir 6:5) teaches that violations of corpse impurity or hair restrictions disrupt the Nazir’s status, whereas drinking wine, though prohibited, does not terminate the nezirut in the same way. This suggests that the defining core of nezirut lies not only in abstention from wine, but in the sustained state of consecration symbolized by the nezer.

III. Institution and Spontaneity

The comparison to the Kohen Gadol highlights a deeper distinction. The High Priest’s sanctity is institutional: it derives from his role, is regulated by precise norms, and serves the entire nation. The Nazir’s sanctity, by contrast, is voluntary and personal. It is an individual’s decision to enter a heightened religious state.

This contrast is reflected in their respective treatments of hair. The High Priest must remain meticulously groomed; the Talmud even prescribes a regular haircut schedule to maintain an appearance appropriate for Temple service (Ta’anit 17a). His sanctity is expressed through order and formality.

The Nazir, however, grows his hair pera, untrimmed and natural (Numbers 6:5). His sanctity is not institutional but organic. It emerges from within, through an act of personal commitment. As Rabbi Avia HaCohen suggests, nezirut represents a form of religious spontaneity—where an individual reaches beyond the baseline obligations of halakhah toward a self-chosen ideal.

IV. The Nazir Between Sotah and the Priestly Blessing

The placement of the Nazir passage sharpens its meaning. It appears immediately after the laws of Sotah (Numbers 5:11-31) and before the Priestly Blessing (Numbers 6:22–27).

In the Sotah ritual, the woman’s hair is loosened (u-para et rosh ha-ishah, Numbers 5:18), symbolizing disgrace and moral breakdown. Hair here becomes a sign of degradation. The Nazir, by contrast, grows his hair as a sign of sanctity. The same physical feature—hair—can express either degradation or elevation. The Nazir transforms wild hair into a crown.

Immediately following, the Priests are commanded to bless the people. Their holiness is institutional, conferred from above. The Nazir stands between these two poles: he shares with the Sotah the centrality of hair, but redirects it toward sanctity; he shares with the Priests the quality of holiness, but achieves it through personal initiative rather than office.

As Ibn Ezra notes, the juxtaposition underscores that the Nazir, too, participates in holiness. But his path is distinct: it is chosen, not assigned.

V. Toward a Synthesis

These two perspectives—restraint and crown—need not be mutually exclusive. They may instead describe a progression.

Nezirut may begin as an act of restraint, a withdrawal from excess and a safeguard against moral failure. Yet that very withdrawal creates the conditions for transformation. The individual who separates from indulgence may come to experience a new form of sanctity. What begins as discipline becomes consecration.

In this sense, the Nazir embodies a broader religious possibility. Not everyone is called to the institutional holiness of the Kohen Gadol, and not everyone requires the corrective discipline of nezirut. Yet the Torah introduces nezirut to suggest that beyond the baseline demands of halakhah lies a space for voluntary ascent.

The Nazir is one who, for a time, lives as if crowned—set apart not only from what is forbidden, but for what is holy.

Paired Perspectives on the Parashah: Shelah

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Rabbi Hayyim Angel

Shelah:

The Spies in Numbers and Deuteronomy

The spies narrative (Numbers 13-14) is among the most familiar and devastating stories in the Torah. In its presentation in the Book of Numbers, the narrative appears straightforward. God commands Moses to send spies to survey the Land of Israel. Moses agrees and instructs the spies regarding their mission. The spies themselves are distinguished leaders, divinely sanctioned representatives of the tribes. Everything about the mission initially appears legitimate and proper.

The catastrophe emerges only afterward. Ten spies return with a demoralizing report, the nation loses faith, and God decrees that the generation of the wilderness will perish before entering the land. In the plain sense of Numbers, the sin lies in the people’s faithlessness and despair after hearing the spies’ report.

However, the Book of Deuteronomy dramatically complicates this picture.

Moses’s retelling of the spies narrative in Deuteronomy chapter 1 is not an independent account. It plainly assumes familiarity with the original story in Numbers. Yet the retelling systematically shifts the emphasis of the narrative and redistributes responsibility in striking ways.

In Numbers, God appears to initiate the mission: “Send men for yourself, and let them spy out the land of Canaan” (Numbers 13:2).

In Deuteronomy, however, the initiative comes from the people: “Then all of you approached me and said: Let us send men before us” (Deuteronomy 1:22). Moses then states: “The matter was good in my eyes” (1:23).

Remarkably, God is not mentioned at all in connection with authorizing the mission until after the disaster unfolds and the decree is issued. In the plain sense of Deuteronomy, the mission appears to have originated with the people and to have been approved by Moses himself.

This shift is not merely technical. It fundamentally alters the theological atmosphere of the episode.

Even the language of Moses’s rebuke differs sharply from Numbers. In Deuteronomy, Moses emphasizes the nation’s initiative: va-tikrevun elai kullekhem (1:22). The phrase can be translated neutrally as “you approached me,” though some commentators hear a more accusatory tone: “you pressed upon me” or “you demanded of me.” Either way, the emphasis falls upon the people’s initiative rather than upon divine command.

How, then, can Deuteronomy’s retelling coexist with Numbers’s original presentation?

Drawing on Midrashic tradition, Rashi argues that Deuteronomy reveals the hidden truth behind the story all along. The request to send spies was itself sinful from the outset. According to Rashi, the demand for reconnaissance reflected a lack of trust in God immediately after Moses had enthusiastically promised that God would give them the land. For Rashi, the very desire to investigate and verify the land after God’s promise already betrayed deficient faith.

Accordingly, Rashi reads Moses’s words in Deuteronomy sharply. Va-tikrevun elai kullekhem does not mean merely “you approached me,” but carries a critical tone: despite Moses’s encouragement and God’s promise, the people pressed for spies anyway.

Even more strikingly, Rashi explains “the matter was good in my eyes” (1:23) to mean that Moses only pretended to approve of the request. Rashi compares Moses to a salesman displaying confidence in a used donkey to discourage further inquiry. Moses hoped that by expressing confidence, the people would abandon the desire to investigate the land altogether.

When they persisted, however, God acceded reluctantly: shelah lekha anashim—send for yourself (Numbers 13:2). According to Rashi, the phrase implies divine disapproval: “I am not commanding this; if you wish, send them.”

In this reading, the downfall occurred before the spies even departed. The actual mission merely exposed the people’s already defective faith.

Rashi’s interpretation is powerful and coherent, but it comes at a significant textual cost. In Deuteronomy, Moses’s statement that “the matter was good in my eyes” sounds like genuine approval, not strategic pretense. Likewise, Numbers presents the mission as divinely sanctioned. God speaks directly to Moses, and the spies depart “by the word of the Lord” (Numbers 13:3). Nothing in the narrative overtly conveys reluctant divine concession.

Ramban therefore rejects Rashi’s reinterpretation. Although Ramban agrees that the people initiated the request and that God responded afterward, he insists that the request itself was entirely legitimate.

For Ramban, prudent military reconnaissance does not contradict faith. Moses himself later sends spies, and Joshua does so as well before the conquest of Jericho. Gathering intelligence is normal military behavior, not religious betrayal.

Accordingly, Ramban reads va-tikrevun elai kullekhem (Deuteronomy 1:22) neutrally: “Then you approached me.”

Likewise, shelah lekhah anashim (Numbers 13:2) is simply standard biblical idiom meaning “send.” The sin occurred only later, when the spies abused their mission and the people succumbed to panic and rebellion.

Ramban thus harmonizes the two narratives without fundamentally reinterpreting either one. The people requested spies, Moses approved, and God endorsed the plan. The catastrophe emerged only afterward through the spies’ panic-inducing report and the people’s loss of faith.

Ramban’s approach resolves the major textual difficulties raised by Rashi’s interpretation. It preserves Moses’s straightforward approval in Deuteronomy while also maintaining Numbers’s clear presentation of divine sanction. At the same time, Ramban preserves a broader theological principle: responsible human effort and strategic planning coexist with faith rather than undermine it.

Thus, while Rashi sees Deuteronomy as uncovering the hidden failure already present at the beginning of the episode, Ramban views Deuteronomy as supplementing—but not overturning—the original presentation in Numbers. At stake in the debate between Rashi and Ramban is not merely how to read one biblical episode, but a larger question about the relationship between faith and human initiative in religious life.

Facing Realities: Thoughts for Parashat Shelah Lekha

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Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Shelah Lekha

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Moses sent twelve spies, the leaders of each of the tribes of Israel, to go into the Promised Land and come back with a report. All twelve agreed that the land was wonderful but ten of them thought the inhabitants were too powerful to overcome. Caleb and Joshua called on the people to trust the Almighty who would help them conquer the opponents.

Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz describes the controversy between the two groups of spies. Ten of them thought the people were better off in the wilderness. Entering the land, after all, would entail war. Settling the land would require hard work—agriculture, building, creating infrastructure etc. In the wilderness, the people were provided with manna from heaven; they had no material responsibilities; they could devote themselves entirely to spiritual matters.

Caleb and Joshua contended that the people could not fulfill their earthly mission unless they took responsibility for establishing their own country. God had freed them from Egypt so that they would become a self-respecting nation. The Torah is meant to be lived in this world, with all its challenges and opportunities.

Rabbi Steinsaltz points out that the argument of the spies can be heard frequently even today. “Why should we lose our abstract spiritual essence, our Torah, and our manna, solely in order to go to the Land of Israel? It is better to remain in the wilderness.” (Talks on the Parasha, p. 306).

The error of the ten spies was that they wanted an other-worldly spiritual perfection, free of the responsibilities of nation-building. Let God provide everything and let us avoid the nitty-gritty of running a society with all the challenges that entails.

Their error is echoed by many today—Jewish and non-Jewish—who expect the people of Israel to be absolutely pure, and who feel that Israel is tainted by having to deal with the everyday issues of war, economics, politics etc. Wouldn’t things be better if Jews stayed in the wilderness seeking spiritual perfection, rather than getting their hands dirty in the real world?

Although Jewish critics of Israel are diverse, they seem to have one thing in common. They insist that the Jewish state be inhumanly perfect. For them, a Jewish state will never be satisfactory as long as Jews have to wage wars, kill enemies, rule over non-Jews, engage in political infighting, deal with social inequalities etc.

Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook (1865-1935) noted that “the great idealists seek an order so noble, so firm and pure, beyond what may be found in the world of reality, and thus they destroy what has been fashioned in conformity to the norms of the world.” Such people, through their unrealistic religiosity or idealism, in fact are part of what Rav Kook called “the world of chaos” rather than “the world of order.” Misguided idealism is destructive. Insisting that Jews be “angels” rather than real human beings is also a form of antisemitism.

Already in the 19th century, Rabbi Yehuda Alkalai (1798-1878) lamented that rabbis of his time opposed resettlement of Jews in Israel until Messianic times. He rebuked those “who say with full mouth that Jerusalem was only created for the sake of Torah study. While their intention is acceptable, their deeds are unacceptable. It is impossible to conduct life in this world as though it were the world-to-come, where there is no need to eat or drink.”

The approach of the ten spies is still espoused by many today. But just as their error caused massive suffering to the people then, it can cause serious harm to us today. We need to hear the courageous and faithful voices of Caleb and Joshua. Reality is difficult; escapism is far worse.

The future of Israel and the Jewish People will be secured by those who share the dream of a Jewish homeland that strives to be a “light unto the nations.” The goal is to make Israel as great as humanly possible, not to demand absolute perfection.

To demand the impossible is not only unrealistic: it is dangerous and self-destructive.

Spiritual Courage: Thoughts for Parashat Beha'aloteha

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Angel for Shabbat: Parashat Beha’aloteha

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

When I was a student at Franklin High School in Seattle, we were required to bring a note from our parents if we missed a day of classes. We were then marked as having an “excused absence” rather than having been truant. I ran into problems on several occasions when I brought a note from home requesting that I be excused for missing several days due to the Jewish holidays—Succoth and Shavuoth. The school official denied the request saying that “all the Jewish students were in school so it couldn’t have been a Jewish holiday.” I had to ask my rabbi to intervene. He explained to the school official that indeed Succoth and Shavuoth are Jewish holidays that necessitated my absences from school. Jewish children who attended classes on those days were not observing their own religious festivals. My absences were then listed as “excused.”

There were a few Jewish students at Franklin, like me, who observed the religious holy days. But for most of the others, attending class was more important than attending synagogue. I suppose those Jewish students learned a lot from the classes they attended. But those of us who missed classes probably learned a good deal more. We learned the importance of standing alone, of being faithful to one’s beliefs even if others believe and observe differently.

Bravo to Jews who forgo days at school or at work in observance of Shabbat and holy days. Even if they lose class time or take financial losses, they demonstrate the courage and commitment to maintain their religious values.

In this week’s Torah portion, we find a singular textual occurrence. Two verses are enclosed by upside down or backward Hebrew letters “Nun”. In his new book on Bemidbar, Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo suggests that the “Nun (the letters framing the passage) is also the Aramaic word for fish. Reversed, it suggests a fish swimming against the current—non-conformist, counter-cultural, audacious…” He goes on to note that “to be a Jew is to swim against the current; not merely to be different but to defy the very idea that the world as it is should define who you are. The upside-down nuns are not a footnote—they are a theological manifesto” (Cardozo on the Parashah: The Book of Numbers, Kasva Press, 2026, p. 64).

This “theological manifesto” is not only vital for religious observance; it is vital for life in general. If we have high values and principles, we need the courage to stand for them. We prioritize them and don’t surrender them in the face of external challenges or risk of losses.

It is very common for individuals to forgo their values and traditions in order to blend in with others or in order to gain financially or socially. Conforming to prevailing ideas and fashions is the norm for a great many people.

Missing school or work on Jewish holy days is not only a lesson in religion but a lesson in life. We gain much more than we lose.