National Scholar Updates

Preface

There are numerous ways in which a person can stand up for a principle. It can be through action or inaction, speech or silence, song or march, it can be overt or even an internal stand known only to the principled actor.

In our history, there is one character-type whose job is fundamentally to stand on principle, to “speak truth to power” (to use a tired and grossly misused current cliché) and to be ready to declare God’s Truth to an unwilling and resistant audience. That is the “prophet,” the Navi who is God’s agent, sent with a message that no one ever wants to hear. There is no better place to find example after example of principled stands than in the books of our Nevi’im, books that have inspired generations of people to right wrongs, to insist on justice and to refuse to back down in the face of tyranny. I give you…Amos of Tekoa.

Introduction

The 14 books of literary prophecy (Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel and 11 of the “Trei Asar”[1]), in spite of their heavy emphasis on oratory, include numerous (auto)biographical narratives. While these are chiefly found in the three independent books, there are also mini narratives in a number of the smaller volumes included in Trei Asar. The nine-verse interaction between the prophet from Judean Tekoa’ and Amaziah, the high priest of the royal sanctuary at northern (Samarian) Beit-El, makes up the one such passage in Amos.

Before tackling the text, it is important to note that this interaction at Beit-El bears some significant parallels with another interaction at Beit-El. Amos’s adversarial dialogue is with a “Kohen” at the bama in Beit-El, and the king who is the focal point of Amos’s diatribe is Jeroboam ben Joash. But we have previously encountered a similar prophetic interaction. Just after Jeroboam ben Nebat establishes his two “alternate” worship sites at Dan and Beit-El to serve as a local and more convenient substitute for Jerusalem, an enigmatic visitor arrives there:

And, behold, there came a man of God out of Judah by the word of Hashem to Beit-El; and Jeroboam was standing by the altar to offer. And he cried against the altar by the word of the Lord, and said: “O altar, altar, thus says the Lord: Behold, a son shall be born to the house of David, Josiah by name; and upon you he will slaughter the priests of the high places that offer upon you, and men's bones shall they burn upon you” (I Kings 13:1–2).

Note the parallels—a “man of God” (i.e., a prophet) from Judea comes to the altar at Beit-El and prophesies destruction of the site. Jeroboam is seen as the direct target of the prophecy, and the priests of the high places (“kohanei bamot”) are explicitly identified as targets of God’s anger.

Is it possible that Amos deliberately chose Beit-El in order to reenact that earlier anonymous Judean prophet’s appearance there? Is it significant that the king in Amos’s time is the only one in the numerous dynasties that ruled Shomron to carry the pioneering king’s name? Perhaps. In our study of this confrontation, we will see even more parallels that draw these two meetings together.

The Text

Then Amaziah the priest of Beth-el sent to Jeroboam king of Israel, saying: “Amos hath conspired against thee in the midst of the house of Israel; the land is not able to bear all his words. For thus Amos saith: Jeroboam shall die by the sword, And Israel shall surely be led away captive put of his land.” Also Amaziah said unto Amos: “O thou seer, go, flee thee away into the land of Judah, and there eat bread, and prophesy there; but prophesy not again any more at Beth-el, for it is the king's sanctuary, and it is a royal house.” Then answered Amos, and said to Amaziah: “I was no prophet, neither was I a prophet's son; but I was a herdsman, and a dresser of sycamore trees; and the Lord took me from following the flock, and the Lord said unto me: Go, prophesy unto My people Israel. Now therefore hear thou the word of the Lord: Thou sayest: Prophesy not against Israel, And preach not against the house of Isaac; Therefore thus saith the Lord: Thy wife shall be a harlot in the city, And thy sons and thy daughters shall fall by the sword, And thy land shall be divided by line; And thou thyself shalt die in an unclean land, And Israel shall surely be led away captive out of his land.” (Amos 7:10–17)

Then Amazia the priest of Beth-El sent to Jeroboam king of Israel, saying: Jeroboam appointed non-Levites to act as his priests.[2]

We have no idea if the “priesthood” that Jeroboam established became dynastic, such that only the sons of his appointees could take over the position, or if it remained non-tribal. Although Jeroboam I established the sanctuaries as oriented to worship of Hashem, within a hundred years or so (Ahab’s time), those same sanctuaries may have been devoted to Ba’al worship. That is why the Rishonim here, without identifying Amazia’s tribal background, mark him as an idolatrous priest. If that is the case, then the priests would have been a whole new crop of devotees to Ba’al. Alternatively, with each change of dynasty (Jeroboam, Baasha, Omri, Yehu), there may have been a change in “religious leadership.”

Note that the end of the third vision (verse 9) and the first two verses of this narrative are the only places where Jeroboam is mentioned by name in the book.

Amos has conspired against you in the midst of the house of Israel: Amazia sees Amos as more than a troublesome prophet from the south; he perceives him as a rabble-rouser, whose rebukes and visions of doom have the potential to generate a popular rebellion against the crown.

The message here is odd, considering the content of the book until this point. Nearly all of Amos’s oratory is aimed at the aristocracy, the corrupt judiciary, and the royal house—hardly “in the midst of the House of Israel.” We must consider the possibility that Amazia sees Amos as a personal threat. Remember that Amos already warned the people not to go to Beit-El (or Gilgal or Beer-Sheva) to worship. If the leadership heeds him, the populace is likely to follow suit. That may be a threat to (at least) the livelihood of the priests at Beit-El. Perhaps the message that Amazia sent to the king, tinged with some hysteria, was intended to spur the king to action against Amos and was itself an exaggeration.

It is also possible that Amos was delivering some of these prophecies—notably, the visions in this section—in Beit-El, at the site of the royal sanctuary. Amazia’s words in the next few verses seem to support this back story. If so, celebrants and onlookers would have also heard him, and even if Amos did not intend his prophecies to speak directly to the people, they would have heard and been potentially inspired to rebel.

The word kesher, which appears approximately 20 times in the monarchic history,[3] appears only twice (with the meaning of “conspiracy”) in the words of the literary prophets.[4] In other words, although it is a somewhat regular feature of the narrative, describing the fate of dynasties, it was not often used in rhetoric.[5]

The land is not able to bear all his words: The image of the land having to “bear” words is a curious one. Radak reads “the land” as meaning “the people of the land,” and he explains that the people (who are presumably loyal to the crown) cannot bear to hear so many bad things about their own nation. Hakham, on the other hand, sees the phrase lo tukhal ha-aretz le-hakhil et kol devarav as a metaphor. His words are like bubbling wine, which, when put into a barrel, will burst the barrel. In the same way, his words are likely to generate a rebellion among the people.[6] Abravanel, without resorting to the metaphor-explanation, sees it the same way—as a warning against the potential of Amos’s words inciting rebellion against the king.

This approach presumes a significantly lowered sense of loyalty among the people. Their first response would not be to despise the “southern man of God” who threatens the king, but rather to side with him!

It is significant to note that there is a history, specifically in the north, of prophets identifying and anointing kings (such as Elisha in the case of Hazael and Jehu, and Ahija in the case of Jeroboam ben Nevat). It is not unreasonable to think that Amazia saw Amos as yet another prophet aiming to unseat Jeroboam and the house of Yehu and replace him with another king (who might be, in their eyes, a Judean vassal).

Paul points to the alliteration in this phrase—tukhal le-hakhil kol. A subliminal message of this alliterative scheme would be okhel ha-kol—that his words will lead to (or prophesy) everything in the north being devoured.[7]

For thus said Amos: This short phrase is heavy with implication. The priest uses the same familiar introductory “messenger formula” with which Amos himself had delivered the first series of oracles. Remember that this formula is used when relaying or delivering the words of a liege to a vassal. Thus, “Ko amar Balak,” “Ko amar Par’oh,” and “Ko amar Yosef.” The understated power of “Ko amar Amos” as a message to the king is clear—Amos presumes himself to be the lord over Jeroboam, his servant. That is, of course, not Amos’s position, but that is how Amazia wants to portray the Judean prophet to his king.

Secondly, and of no less significance, is the very phrase ko amar Amos. Amos would not have said ko omar (“thus say I”), but rather ko amar Hashem. This central and determinant piece of Amos’s prophecies is omitted. The conclusion that Jeroboam is intended to reach is that these are Amos’s words—not God’s! As such, corralling Amos as a rabble-rousing orator from the south is the right move—just as Jeroboam I sought to do to the anonymous Judean prophet at Beit El, two hundred years earlier (yet another parallel).

Jeroboam shall die by the sword: This paraphrased quote from Amos’s last vision is inexactly presented. Amos had reported in God’s name that the meaning of the anakh vision was

the high places of Yishak will be made desolate and the sanctuaries of Israel will be destroyed, and I will rise up against the house of Jeroboam by the sword.

In other words, the threat of the sword hung over the “house of Jeroboam”—i.e., his children. Indeed, Jeroboam’s son, Zachariah, was assassinated and killed by the sword. Amazia’s deliberate blurring of the message was intended to spur immediate and drastic action on the part of the royal house against the Tekoite interloper.

And Israel shall surely be led away captive put of his land: When we look back to Amazia’s first warning—“the land will not be able to tolerate/contain all of his words”—we observe a nearly polar divide among the commentators as to the intent of the phrase. Some, such as ibn Ezra and R. Eliezer of Beaugency, understood that the people naturally sided with their king, and they would not tolerate the threats uttered by Amos. However, we also saw the comments of others, notably Abravanel, who included the phrase as part of the threat. In other words, Amos is riling “the whole land” against the king. It is difficult to sustain this interpretation considering Amazia’s brief message, however. The first half—that Jeroboam will die by the sword—fits this read comfortably. But the second half—that Israel will surely be exiled—does not comport, prima facie, with this interpretation. For if the threat is against all of the people of the Northern Kingdom, why would this lead to a rebellion? It would more likely lead to a popular lynching of Amos!

There is a way to salvage Abravanel’s approach, and it may be contextually (and textually) appealing. If the message that Amos is broadcasting is specifically anti-Jeroboam and his intent (per Amazia’s reporting) is to provoke a popular rebellion, then the second part of the message should be understood with a bit more nuance. Instead of reading the two clauses as sequential—first the king will be killed and then Israel will be exiled—read it as conditional. To wit—Jeroboam must die by the sword or else Israel will be exiled. These two verses comprise Amazia’s excited and near-hysterical message to the court. The next few verses are the direct dialogue between “priest” and prophet.

Then Amatzia said to Amos: Are we to understand that Amos was privy to Amatzia’s message to the king? Did Amatzia state it aloud, or was it sent as a private message to the court? Nothing in the verses above provides any guidance, but this verse may be indicative. If we interpret va-yomer here as, “Also, Amatzia said,” as numerous translations render it (KJV, JPS), then this would seem to be the second overt and public statement made by Amatzia. First he turned to a messenger, in the presence of those gathered as well as Amos, and sent his urgent message to the court. He then turned to Amos to confront him directly.

On the other hand, if we interpret va-yomer here as, “then Amatzia said” (as we have it here, per NET, CSB and numerous other translations), these may very well be the first words that Amos (or anyone else present) heard.

Seer! Go, flee yourself away to the land of Judah: Amazia uses a seemingly archaic term for a prophet—hozeh, literally “seer.” We will revisit this and the implication of Amos’s response below, where he references the term navi.

And there eat bread, and prophesy there: This is a most curious send-off. What does Amazia mean here? Why would Amos be eating bread “there” or “here”? Amazia sees Amos as an unwelcome southerner, out of his element and without the right to orate in the north.[8]

But prophesy not again any more at Beit-El: This phrase gives us the impression that Amos may have been at Beit-El for a while, presenting his prophecies. Why would he choose this location? Several answers come to mind. First of all, it was a royal sanctuary (mikdash melekh), where the king may have himself have come to participate in the cult practices. It was also a popular pilgrimage site.[9] In addition, it was originally chosen by Jeroboam (in addition to its storied past beginning with Yaakov) due to its proximity to Judah. It was, for a time, the southernmost city in the Israelite kingdom. This may have made it a “safer” place for Amos to preach, given that it was also quite a distance from the capitol in Shomron.  

For it is the king's sanctuary: Is the proper translation “it is the king’s sanctuary” or “it is a royal sanctuary”? The distinction makes quite a difference. In the first read, Amatzia is telling Amos to leave because this is the “property” of Jeroboam, and the king himself is liable to return at any point. In the second read (which I admit to favoring), it raises Amos’s effrontery to an insult to the crown—coming into a royal sanctuary and preaching against the king.

The phrase mikdash melekh (which we know from a more positive context, as R. Shlomo Alkabetz integrated it into Lekha Dodi) appears only once in Tanakh. Indeed, the notion of a mikdash melekh is familiar to us, but from foreign, pagan nations, where the divinity and the royal house sit at proximate corners of a blurry divide. In a sense, Amazia’s clumsy description of the altar at Beit-El says more than Amos could, although this is not a point that Amos ever directly attacks. The establishment of Beit-El was occasioned by Jeroboam’s fear that the people’s pilgrimage to Jerusalem would lead them to revert their allegiance to Rehoboam, and Jeroboam’s kingdom (or his life) would not last long. Beit-El (and Dan) were set up to provide a “local and convenient” place to worship Hashem. Yet it wasn’t long before Jeroboam turned the “off-site” sanctuary to God into a royal sanctuary, which it remained for at least two hundred years.

And it is a royal house: The concluding phrase here seals the point made above. The sanctuary is not a guarded place, off-limits to impurity and outsiders due to its connection with the divine. It is, instead, a royal precinct and, as such, someone coming with a message of doom against the kingdom is a true trespasser.

Then Amos answered, and said to Amazia: Again, we will assume that this interaction is public and that Amos is aiming his response at the assemblage, far more than at Amazia himself.

I am not a prophet, nor am I a prophet's son: At this point, we may note that Amos’s claim is that he is not part of a professional guild of prophets, nor is he a prophet by vocation. Rather, he is…

For I am a herdsman: Amos is a rancher, who herds animals. In other words, he is not part of the scholastic or ascetic class, but rather a “regular person.”

And a dresser of sycamore trees: The word boleis is a hapax legomenon (word unique in Tanakh), but the best hypothesis as to its meaning is the puncturing of sycamore figs; evidently this practice, which is still done in Egypt today, hastens the ripening of the fruit without exposing the fruit to worm infestation. This was only done during a short part of the season therefore it was possible for Amos to be both herder as well as a “sycamore dresser.”

And the Lord took me from behind the flock: This description is evocative, in no uncertain terms, of God’s words to David.[10] The notion is that, like David, Amos was not someone who sought this office, nor did he relish the awesome responsibility that comes with it. He was tending his flock, dressing his sycamores, when God plucked him up and sent him on his mission for the benefit of the entire nation.

And Hashem said to me: Although this is a necessary cog in the oratory, it does seem to underscore that which Amazia deliberately omitted. The words that Amos is delivering are not his own; they are God’s words and a divine message, ignored at one’s own peril.

Go, prophesy unto My people Israel: This completes the picture. Amos was sent; he did not “go.” When Amazia tells him to “go and flee yourself,” he expresses an assumption that Amos chose to come and may now choose to go. This is not the case, as Amos spells out for him.

Before moving on, I’d like to address two oddities in Amazia’s words. The priest speaks directly to Amos. Even though he referred to him by name in his message to the court, here he calls him hozeh—literally “visionary” or “seer.” What does this term mean?

This question becomes either clarified or intensified when we see that he tells Amos—seemingly in a derisive manner—sham tinavei, using the popular root for “prophecy” (from which navi derives). If we assume that the two words are synonymous and interchangeable—i.e., hozeh=navi—then the phrase is straightforward, and the differentiation in terms used is intended for rhetorical variety. If, on the other hand, the two words are distinct in meaning, then our question becomes exponentially more complex. Why did the priest call him by the unusual sobriquet hozeh and then tell him to no longer tinavei? This interpretive fork widens with Amos’s answer in which he avers that he is neither a navi nor a ben-navi, avoiding the term hozeh altogether. This does not augur well for those who would read hozeh as equivalent in meaning to navi. For purposes of their dispute, it would have been more impactful for Amos to deny his prophetic vocation by responding to the word hozeh and say, lo hozeh anokhi ve-lo ben hozeh. That is, of course, not the case.

A brief but vital tangent is in place here. We have only one character in Tanakh who is identified as a hozeh. That is Gad ha-Hozeh, who operates as David’s “court prophet” as early as his time on the run from Saul[11] and is most well-known for his role in the census punishment.[12] It is helpful to note that when he is first referenced in that story, the text uses seemingly redundant terms: “…and the word of Hashem was given to Gad the prophet (ha-navi), the seer (hozeh) of David, saying.”

Note that the term navi remains independent, but the hozeh belongs to David—hozeh David. Gad is also noted as one of the three authors of the chronicles of David’s life:

Now the acts of David the king, first and last, behold, they are written in the words of Shemuel the seer (ro’eh), and in the words of Natan the prophet (navi), and in the words of Gad the seer (hozeh).[13]

Other than the references to Gad, hozeh as a generic title is used disparagingly. When Ezekiel describes the false prophets,[14] he consistently returns to the word hozim and juxtaposes them with kosmim (wizards) several times. Indeed, the most famous kosem in Tanakh (Bilam) refers to himself as one who mahazeh Shadai yehezeh (“sees the visions of Shadai”)—but never calls himself a navi.

The evidence here points to an essential difference between a hozeh and a navi. The hozeh is a court prophet, who works in the employ of the king and serves as his royal oracle. Gad is first introduced this way; his first “visionary act” is to direct David where to move in his wanderings, and his most famous prophetic task is to lead David in response to God’s anger over the ill-conceived census and to identify the location of the altar. The court hozim referenced by Ezekiel would present prognostications favorable to the king. This is not to say that the members of such a group are never called nevi’im,[15] but overall the terms have an underlying difference.

Whereas a hozeh works for the king, the navi works for God; he brings God’s word to the court, the leaders, and the people. (Some have suggested that the root of navi is havei, bringer, i.e., of the Word.)

All of which means that Amazia assumes that Amos works in the employ of the Judean king. He has been sent to Beit-El, goes the thinking, in order to stir up the local populace against their king and to potentially restore sovereignty of the north to the House of David.

Regarding Amazia’s other odd phrase—“eat bread there,” this seems to point to the crucial difference highlighted above. Is the prophet in the hire of the court—does he “eat bread at the king’s table”? Or is he an independent person, carrying the unpolluted word of God?[16]

When Amos responds that he is not a navi, it is clear that he means that this vocation is not one he chose for himself. Ben-navi is a different story. We meet the benei ha-nevi’im in several contexts in Tanakh, chiefly in the company of Shemuel[17] and in the Elijah-Elisha circles.[18] They are a guild of students who, at least in Elisha’s times, had adopted a life of penury in their quest to “study” prophecy. It appears that they had guided meditation-type experiences in which they became more sensitized to receiving prophetic inspiration. Amos is claiming that he not only is not a navi by vocation, but he was never in the navi-school; he never studied for it.

He is, rather, a “regular” person, fully occupied by his chosen vocations. Having a mission to speak to God’s people was never his choice.

He is not a professional navi who “belongs” to a court; he represents one thing and one thing only—God’s word to God’s people. He is not about to return to Judea and eat bread there, for although he comes from there, he is not supported there. He is not in the employ of the southern king. It is possible that Amazia was not even aware of any other type of prophet, and Amos’s words bring home the point of the type of agent that he truly is.

And Hashem took me from behind the flock and the Lord said to me: Go, prophesy unto My people Israel: With this short phrase, Amos makes it clear that he was “plucked” from a hard-working but serene and pastoral life and thrown directly into the crucible of conflict with kings, priests, and judges.

Now therefore hear the word of the Lord: The causal ve-ata appears over 250 times in Tanakh, with 55 appearances in the literary prophetic canon, but it only appears this one time in Amos. The meaning—“and now”—is always presented as the back half of a causal relationship and is usually found in the middle of a passage.[19] In other words, “such-and-such has happened” or “God has done such-and-such for you,” ve-ata here is the appropriate response.

Amos’s use of ve-ata here is a bit curious. We would expect it to follow a rebuke or detailing of the crimes of the kingdom (or judiciary or aristocracy). Instead, it follows Amos’s autobiographic sketch of his call to divine agency.

Paul understands that ve-ata indicates a transition. Amos has concluded justifying his agency and now shifts (ve-ata) to the pronouncement. Hakham, on the other hand, interprets the use of ve-ata as causal: “Now that I’ve been tapped as a prophet, I have prophecy regarding you, Amazia…” This seems to be the most likely meaning of ve-ata, as it fits the usual usage in Tanakh.

What is unusual about this opening clause is that Amos punctuates his prophecy with the words “hear the word of Hashem”—but then, before actually stating the prophecy of impending doom, he recalls Amazia’s call for Amos to cease prophesizing to Israel. We would have expected the line shema devar Hashem to follow his repeat of Amazia’s attempt to throw him out, as follows:

Ve-ata ata omer lo tinavei al Israel, ve-lo tatif al beit Yishak

Lakhen ko amar…

In other words, the clause shema devar Hashem appears to be superfluous and somewhat clumsy.

We apparently must conclude that the line ata omer…Yishak is part of the words of Hashem. In other words, Amos is not speaking on his own behalf when he rebuffs Amazia’s attempt to have him silenced.

Ve-ata—and now, here is the prophecy that God has sent me to deliver: “You tell me (or Me) not to deliver prophecy against Israel and not to rebuke the house of Yishak. Therefore, this is what Hashem says…”

Amos’s paraphrase of Amazia’s words are not his own personal response; they are prophetic and part of God’s response to the attempt to silence God’s words at Beit-El.

You say: Prophesy not against Israel, and do not preach against the house of Yishak: Note that Amos uses tinavei in parallel with tatif.  The root natof means “drip,” as it is used in most of its infrequent appearances in Tanakh (there are 18 in total). For instance, in the opening lines of Devora’s song, poetically describing the cosmological reaction to God’s appearance at Sinai.[20]

This original meaning is then borrowed to describe, metaphorically, prophetic words of rebuke, which “drop down” from heaven.[21]This root is used with this meaning in Micah[22] and Job.[23]

The only other time that Amos uses the root natof is at the restoration prophecy of consolation at the epilogue of the book. There it takes the original meaning of “dropping” and inheres great blessing and grace. Why does Amos, whose prophecies are filled with rebuke, choose to use this word so sparingly and only here?

Keep in mind that Amos is standing at Beit-El, looking, as it were, “up” to the priest who is officiating at the altar. The difference between their perspectives on the prophet’s words could not be more diametric, as outlined above. The application of natof to prophecy implies a directional orientation—the words are coming down like dew (if comforting) or like harsh rain or hail (if threatening). It is specifically here, where Amos’s role and agency is directly challenged, that he stresses that his words are coming “down,” i.e., from above.

The alignment of hinavei with “Israel” and tatif with “Beit Yishak” is deliberate and elegant. The classic and familiar word navi is associated with Israel, beginning from the promise of prophetic continuation of Moshe’s leadership.[24] On the other hand, the “put-down” implied by tatif specifically targets “Beit Yishak.” The one other mention of “Yishak” in Amos’s prophecies, delivered just before Amazia’s angry reaction, made mention of bamot Yishak—the “high places” of Yishak.[25] As we discussed in analyzing this uncommon spelling in the prophecy of the anakh, this was a deliberate play on the name Yishak, turning it from a name of divine favor and joy to a name of licentiousness and frivolity. For Amos’s words to “drop down” on the “high places,” it would have to be a word that emanates from on high—exactly the point of Amos’s response to Amazia throughout.

Therefore thus says Hashem: Amos is already delivering God’s words. Why add this introductory phrase?

One possible explanation is that Amos’s words are made up of two segments. The first one, introduced with ve-ata shema devar Hashem, is God’s response to Amazia’s attempts to silence God’s prophet. The second is the prophecy that had already been given to Amos and for which he was sent to Beit-El in the first place.

This is a bit difficult, however. Amos reported three visions and, in the case of two, his own attempts at intercession. These presentations were presumably made at Beit-El, before being stopped by the priest. He continues with a fourth vision and it is commonly assumed that this takes place at the same setting of the first three—at Beit-El. In other words, the fourth vision was the final intended prophecy for Beit-El—not the harsh five-fold curse here.

Holding onto the notion that Amos’s words are to be understood as segmented into two, we might propose that they are both divine responses to Amazia. The first is a strong-arm rebuff of Amazia’s attempts to silence God’s prophet. The second is the concomitant punishment that will now befall Amazia and, presumably, his sovereign due to their attempts to silence Amos.[26]

In what may be an ironic twist, it is possible that this harsh pronouncement was originally intended for the king only. This is implied in the denouement of the curse—that Israel will be exiled. Perhaps since the priest tried to prevent the prophet from announcing God’s words to the king, these words now also apply to his minion at Beit-El.

As pointed out above, this curse has five prongs to it. This is a rhetorical pattern that Amos has used several times. There are five instances of punishment listed in 4:6–11, each of which concludes with “and still you have not returned to Me.” There is also the list of five cosmic wonders in chapter 4:13, as well as the curse of Amazia and/or Jeroboam in our verse.

Your wife will act the harlot in the city: R. Eliezer of Beaugency understands that this means that his (whose? Amazia’s? Jeroboam’s?) wife will voluntarily go out into the city and commit harlotry/adultery. The excess here is that, as he points out, a person violating a marital bond will typically do so discreetly, whereas, to heighten the shame, she will do so publicly.

Paul suggests that this is directed exclusively at Amatzia and that it is his wife who will act the harlot, heightening the shame (as it will be public knowledge), as the real Kohanim were banned from marrying a zona.[27]

Both of these commentators, one medieval and the other modern, assume that the act of tizneh is voluntary and brazen. This does not, however, fit the context. The rest of the curse is about an enemy conquering the land, killing their children, dividing up the land, and exiling the people.

I believe that the wife in question (again, whose wife? Perhaps everyone’s?) will be so desperate for food that she will turn to whoring. She will do so in the city, publicly, as she will be so far gone in her tragic circumstances that she will just focus on finding sustenance for herself and her family.[28]

This interpretation also fits the form of the verse. This is not a simple curse of five horrible things. It is a sequence, concluding (as these sequences often do) with exile. First, there will be such dire hunger that women (including wives of previously notable people) will offer their sexual favors for food. This suggests a siege—something that the people in Samaria were all too familiar with from their own history.[29] This is followed by an incursion in which the young people (fighters?) will be slaughtered, after which the land of the vanquished will be divided up by the victors. This progresses to the exile of the leaders, who have seen their own wives, children, and land taken from them. Now they will be led away from Israel to die “on impure land.” The curse concludes with and a complete exile of the people.

And your sons and your daughters will fall by the sword: Admittedly, the mention of daughters here seems to belie the proposal above that these are soldiers. There are two possibilities here. It is possible that the enemy referenced here is excessively brutal (and operating against their own long-range interests to boot), and they massacre everyone. But if that is the case, then why stop at the children? Why exile the leaders instead of killing them? We would expect the leaders to be killed first.

The other possibility—which is, I believe, more likely here—is that even in biblical times, young women would join young men at war when every person was needed. This is evidenced—again in Yoel—when he describes, yeitzei chatan mei-chedro ve-kalla mi-chuppata, “let the bridegroom go out from his room and the bride from her wedding canopy.”[30] Even though contextually this seems to be about joining the community in prayer during times of plague, Hazal read it as a call to conscription.[31]

And your land will be divided by the surveyor’s rope: The image of the conquering enemy dividing the spoils of the vanquished is fairly common in Tanakh.[32]

And you yourself will die in an impure land:  Is this “impure land” implying that all lands outside of Eretz Israel are impure? Or does it reflect specifically on dying in the land of the enemy? Prima facie, we would assume the former.[33] Yet, from the perspective of Israelite sovereignty and a recognition that conquest and exile represent an essential breach in the covenant, one might argue that it is specifically dying in the captor’s land as an eternal exile that constitutes the impurity.

And Israel will surely be led away captive out of his land: This is where all biblical downward spirals end—in Leviticus 26, Deuteronomy 28, and throughout prophetic literature. The end of the relationship that the Torah confirms, and that Jewish history consistently reaffirms is shattered with exile.

Afterword

We have explored one of numerous interactions between prophet and politician, the one representing the eternal voice of God and the other—the established aristocracy’s mewling for the status quo. Generations of students of the Tanakh, from all walks and across cultural borders, have drawn inspiration from the prophetic oratory of Amos and his colleagues; yet the words deserve—nay, they demand—much more attention than use as convenient slogans. If we are to take Amos seriously, we ought to take every word seriously and constantly deepen our connection with the text to discern ever greater depths to the eternal messages his words convey.

Notes

Is it appropriate for just anyone to get drunk on Purim?

The Talmud (Megillah 7b) quotes Rava’s opinion that one must become drunk on Purim so as to be unable to tell the difference between “cursed be Haman” and “blessed be Mordecai.” But the same passage goes on to report that Rabba and Rav Zeira became so drunk on Purim that Rabba slaughtered Rav Zeira with a knife. The latter was revived only by a miracle. When Rabba invited Rav Zeira to a Purim celebration the following year, Rav Zeira wisely declined.

Some people read this passage but stop right after Rava’s opinion that one must become drunk on Purim. Others correctly read the entire passage and recognize that the anecdote is a blatant refutation of Rava. The Talmud’s lesson is: don’t get drunk; terrible things can happen if you become intoxicated.

Drunkenness is a shameful state. Maimonides (Hilkhot De’ot 5:3) states: “One who becomes intoxicated is a sinner and is despicable, and loses his wisdom. If he [a wise person] becomes drunk in the presence of common folk, he has thereby desecrated the Name.” In his section on the Laws of Holiday Rest (6:20), Maimonides rules: “When one eats, drinks and celebrates on a festival, he should not allow himself to become overly drawn to drinking wine, amusement and silliness…for drunkenness and excessive amusement and silliness are not rejoicing; they are frivolity and foolishness.”

Not only does drunkenness impair one’s judgment, it demeans a person in the eyes of others and in the eyes of God. Drunkenness is an affront to one’s own dignity and an affront to the ideals of Torah.

Is Torah-true Judaism inherently aligned with conservative politics, liberal politics, a combination, or neither -- or is this the wrong way to think about the Torah? 

Torah-true Judaism is inherently aligned with policies that foster love of God, respect for fellow human beings, and the wellbeing of society as a whole. We strive for a world of honesty, justice, peace, a world in which the ideals of our prophets can be realized.

Rabbi Benzion Uziel (1880-1953), late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel, wrote of our responsibility for yishuvo shel olam, the proper functioning of a moral society. Judaism demands that its adherents live ethical and upright lives. Religious Jews must feel troubled by any injustice in society and must strive to defend and protect the oppressed. Striving to create a harmonious society is not merely a reflection of social idealism; it is a religious mandate.

Sometimes Torah values are more aligned with conservative politics, and sometimes they are more aligned with liberal politics. Our real concern isn’t with political labels, but with the over-arching values that conduce to a more righteous society.

Although our concerns need to relate to society in general, we can’t ignore issues that specifically impinge on Jewish life and on the State of Israel. If conservatives or liberals promote policies that are detrimental to our physical and spiritual welfare, we obviously must oppose them. If they advance bills that weaken or endanger Israel, we have the right and responsibility to object. Our universal commitment to society does not negate our particular commitment to our own wellbeing.

In spite of the many problems Torah-true Jews face, we are optimists.  We believe, with the prophet Amos (8:11), that righteousness will prevail: “Behold, the days are coming, says the Lord God, when I will send a famine in the land; not a famine for food nor a thirst for water, but for hearing the words of the Lord.” Amen, Kein Yehi Ratson!!

Is it proper to eat kosher l'Pesach rolls, pasta, cakes, pizza and "bread" on Pesach?

It’s best to leave it up to people to decide for themselves what they do or don’t want to eat on Pessah, as long as all the ingredients are kasher for Pessah. For those who want to add stringencies to the already stringent rules of Pessah, that’s their business. But no one should stand in judgment of others who choose not to add unnecessary stringencies. We should each worry about what’s on our own plates, not on what’s on the plates of others.

Moadim leSimha.

Is it proper to listen to a cappella music during Sefiras Ha'Omer?

The real question is: why would it not be proper to listen to such music during the Sefirah period? Although the Talmud (Yevamot 62b) reports a tradition that 24,000 students of Rabbi Akiva died between Pessah and Lag L’Omer, no formal mourning prohibitions are indicated for this period. Sefirah mourning practices are first reported in a Gaonic collection, Sha’arei Teshuva 278. The Shulhan Arukh (O.H. 493: 1-2) refers to the customs of restricting weddings and haircuts, but mentions no prohibition relating to music.

It seems that restrictions relating to music only developed in the Middle Ages, and not consistently throughout the Jewish world. In recent centuries, various stringencies have been added including the limitation of dancing, music, and even recorded music. Some now also wish to prohibit a cappella music. These prohibitions do not go back to the Talmud, Rambam or Shulhan Arukh. If people wish to adopt these stringencies, or if they are part of communities that consider these stringencies as obligatory minhagim, then that is their right.

But there is no fundamental halakhic prohibition to listening to music, let alone a cappella music, unless one has adopted this stringency as a minhag; or unless one follows posekim who rule stringently on this.

Different Responses to New Realities

Beginning in the nineteenth century, cataclysmic changes affected Jewish communal life. Secularization, the separation of Church and State, emancipation, and the institution of civil marriage undermined the authority of Jewish communal leadership and led to a shift from a generally traditional society to one where the majority of Jews no longer observed all of halakhah and many chose social assimilation and (increasingly) intermarriage. The latter phenomenon gave rise to the following question: If a Jew has chosen to marry (or to live with) a non-Jewish partner, and that partner applies to convert, what is the proper rabbinic response? While there is a wide range of opinions among rabbis responding to this question, they can be divided broadly into a more lenient position and a more restrictive position. This chapter will explore the central arguments of each side.

The basic issues on which the two sides disagree are as follows:

1. If the non-Jewish partner of a Jew applies to convert, is her motivation for the sake of marriage (rather than sincere religious motivation)? If so, are we required to reject this application out of hand?
2. If we agree to accept such spouses for conversion, are we not thereby implicitly condoning and even encouraging intermarriage?
3. If a Jew has chosen a non-Jewish spouse, this frequently reflects that he or she herself holds a cavalier attitude toward observance of mitzvot. It stands to reason that we can expect no more from the prospective convert. If so, then:
   
   1. Should we agree to accept a convert who likely will not be religiously observant?
   2. If halakhah regards “acceptance of the commandments” as a crucial part of the conversion ceremony, can such a candidate fulfill that requirement? If not, then even if we want to accept such a person it is a waste of time, for without acceptance of the commandments conversion can never be valid.

Several German rabbis, including Yaakov Ettlinger, Samson Raphael Hirsch, and Azriel Hildesheimer, opposed performing conversions in cases of intermarriage. They maintained that in the era when Rambam permitted such a conversion (see previous chapter), the Jewish community was generally observant. Back then, conversion to Judaism necessarily meant entry into an observant Jewish community. However, one no longer could presume that a convert would join an observant community, since the majority of born Jews no longer fully observe halakhah. These rabbis maintained that it is contrary to Torah to accept a convert who will be non-observant. Therefore, Rambam’s ruling is not relevant as a precedent in the modern era.

Similarly, some rabbis ruled that a mohel should not circumcise a boy born from a Jewish father and a non-Jewish mother, since there was little likelihood that the child would grow up in an observant Jewish home. Thus, even if the child were later to complete the conversion process by immersion in a mikvah, he would at most become a non-observant Jew, whom (as noted above) Torah does not want as a convert. In addition to their halakhic analysis, this group of rabbis believed that a strict policy against conversion and circumcision of sons born through intermarriage would deter others from intermarrying.[1]

            Other rabbis disagreed with this analysis. They believed that a Bet Din is obligated to do whatever it can to avoid an intermarriage and that this can be achieved by converting the non-Jewish partner. Moreover, the Bet Din also has a responsibility to ensure a Jewish future for the children of intermarried couples. Rabbis Zvi Hirsch Kalischer and Marcus Horowitz insisted that a mohel should circumcise a boy born from a Jewish father and non-Jewish mother, since he is still of Jewish stock, zera Yisrael. The Bet Din has a responsibility to keep such children closer to Judaism and the observant community, and perhaps one day they would come to accept Judaism more fully. These rabbis maintained that a Bet Din should view a father’s desire to circumcise his son as an act of sincere commitment, since he did not have to request this circumcision at all.

            In this spirit, Rabbi David Zvi Hoffmann ruled that if a couple is civilly married and the non-Jewish spouse comes to a Bet Din to convert, this should not be considered a conversion “for the sake of marriage” since they already live as a married couple and therefore have no ulterior motive for conversion. Aside from the responsibility to do everything it can to prevent intermarriage, the Bet Din also has a responsibility to the children of these couples, and can help in their religious development by giving them two Jewish parents.

Rabbi Hoffmann understood that this situation was not ideal, but considered performing the conversion as the lesser of two problems. Rabbi Hoffmann also wanted prospective converts to avoid going to Reform rabbis, as the converts (and many others) would mistakenly think that they are Jewish even while not having undergone a halakhic conversion. Within his permissive ruling, Rabbi Hoffmann maintained that the non-Jewish partner must commit to three pillars of mitzvah observance: Shabbat, kashrut, and the laws of family purity.[2]

One of the central debates between the two positions revolved around the requirement of conversion “for the sake of Heaven” (Gerim 1:3). The permissive side maintained that any choice made by the prospective convert not for personal gain should be considered “for the sake of Heaven.” A civilly married couple, then, could be considered sincere since they did not need to come to a Bet Din in order to be married. Rabbi Yehiel Yaakov Weinberg agreed with Rabbi David Zvi Hoffmann, that if a couple already lives together, a Bet Din may view their voluntarily coming to the Bet Din to mean that the conversion was not for ulterior motives. Others, including Rabbi Shlomo Kluger and Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef, maintained this view, as well.[3]

Additionally, many who permitted such conversions did so in order to avoid the greater problem of intermarriage. A lenient interpretation of the rules of conversion was the preferable choice. Finally, the permissive side insisted that a Bet Din has a responsibility to work proactively to help people avoid living in sinful relationships.

The restrictive side disagreed. True, such a conversion may not be for the sake of marriage, but it also is not a sincere conversion for the sake of heaven. The Jewish partner, for example, may want his or her non-Jewish spouse to convert for social and communal acceptance. The restrictive side also maintained that it is not the responsibility of a Bet Din to proactively bend the rules of conversion to help sinners. Additionally, they argued, of what benefit would it be to convert a non-Jewish spouse if the couple likely will remain non-observant? Similarly, of what benefit would it be to the child of an intermarriage, who was unlikely to grow up observant? Such individuals are better off as non-Jews, since they will not be culpable for violating the Torah. Better remain a Gentile than become a non-observant Jew![4]

Toward the end of the nineteenth century, some rabbis pushed the restrictive position further and maintained that absent a fully sincere and heartfelt commitment to observing all of the mitzvot at the time of conversion, conversions are not valid even after the fact, even if performed by an Orthodox Bet Din. Professors Avi Sagi and Zvi Zohar maintain that Rabbi Yitzhak Schmelkes was the first to state and defend this position (in 1876).[5] Two leading exponents of this position were Rabbis Mordechai Yaakov Breisch and Moshe Feinstein.[6]

One of the leading exponents of the permissive position in the twentieth century was Rabbi Benzion Uziel, the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel at the time of the founding of the State. Rabbi Uziel maintained that many mixed couples exist, whether just living together or married under civil law, and the Bet Din has a responsibility to change this situation for the better if it is able to do so. He therefore ruled that if a couple already is civilly married, or they are certainly going to get civilly married, a Bet Din should perform the conversion to create a marriage in which both partners are Jewish.

Rabbi Uziel understood the obligation of a Bet Din to inform a prospective convert of some mitzvot prior to conversion (Yevamot 47a–b) to mean that the convert is required to be informed that a central aspect of Judaism is commitment to Torah and mitzvot, and that Jews are held responsible by God to observe them. However, the halakhah does not demand that a convert commit to observing all of the mitzvot, but rather only to understand that he or she is responsible to observe the mitzvot.

            Rabbi Uziel also invoked Rambam’s responsum (#211, discussed in the previous chapter), where he permitted the less-than-ideal conversion of a Christian maid who had an affair with a Jewish man so that they could get married. Similarly, argued Rabbi Uziel, many circumstances in the modern period fit this less-than-ideal status, where a Bet Din must choose the lesser of the two evils.

            Rabbi Uziel also insisted that the Bet Din has a responsibility to the children of intermarried couples. If the father but not the mother is Jewish then the child is of Jewish stock, zera Yisrael, and should be converted so as to become halakhically Jewish. If the mother is Jewish, then the child is Jewish. If that child’s non-Jewish father wants to convert, the Bet Din should accept him so that the child grows up in a unified Jewish home with two Jewish parents.

Not only is the Bet Din permitted to do such a conversion, but it is obligated to do so in order to progress from a situation of intermarriage to one in which the entire family is Jewish. Rabbi Uziel stressed that the Bet Din first must attempt to break up such an intermarriage, but if it could not dissuade the couple, the conversion should take place.[7]

A prolific contemporary writer on conversion, Rabbi Chaim Amsellem, maintains that there are particular halakhic grounds for leniency where a prospective convert is of Jewish stock, zera Yisrael. He maintains that some actual religious commitment is required of a convert, but that is not tantamount to an acceptance to observe the entire Torah. Rather, commitment to have some semblance of a Shabbat and holidays, as well as a belief in one God and an abandonment of previous religious affiliations, is sufficient.[8]

Current Realities

With the creation of the State of Israel, a new identity was possible as people living in Israel could cast their lot with the fate of the Jewish people, without adopting any meaningful religious lifestyle.[9] Ashkenazic Chief Rabbis Yitzhak Herzog and Isser Zalman Unterman both maintained stringent policies for conversions that occur outside of Israel. However, they believed that if an intermarried couple wanted to convert to make aliyah under the Law of Return, and it was safe to live in the country where they currently resided (so that they did not have the ulterior motive of converting to attain physical safety by moving to Israel), then their adoption of the Zionist dream is to be considered casting their lot with the Jewish people.[10]

With hundreds of thousands of people from the former Soviet Union living in Israel today who are not halakhically Jewish, several religious Zionist rabbis maintain that a lenient policy is required. Rabbi Yoel Bin-Nun has argued that there should be a mass conversion ceremony. Rabbi Yigal Ariel similarly maintains that their living in Israel fulfills the halakhic requirement to accept Jewish peoplehood.[11]

Similarly, the rampant rate of intermarriage throughout the Diaspora has led several rabbis to adopt the lenient ruling on conversion so that they can prevent as many instances of intermarriage as possible. These rabbis also attempt to convert the children of mixed marriages when possible.

In contrast, the restrictive position maintains that every convert must be judged on a case-by-case basis as an individual, and each one must demonstrate a full and sincere personal commitment to halakhah and Jewish belief. Without such commitment at the time of the conversion, the conversion is invalid even post-facto.

Rabbis who espouse the restrictive position maintain that a Bet Din should welcome anyone who fully accepts the Torah’s religious standards, and everyone else is better off remaining non-Jewish. People who sin through intermarriage and assimilation are not the responsibility of a Bet Din, since they brought these problems onto themselves by making sinful choices.

Summary of the Major Issues

            There is a wide range of definitions assigned to “acceptance of mitzvot,” including the following: (1) The convert agrees to fulfill the ritual of conversion, circumcision, and mikvah (Ramban, Tosafot).[12] (2) The convert must give verbal assent to observe the mitzvot (Rabbis Hayyim Ozer Grodzinski, Abraham Isaac Kook). (3) The convert needs to understand that a central aspect of Judaism is commitment to Torah and mitzvot, and Jews are held responsible by God to observe them (Rabbis Raphael Aharon ben Shimon, Benzion Uziel). (4) The convert must commit to observe all mitzvot. If, at the time of the conversion, the convert said untruthfully that he or she was committed, then the conversion is invalid even post-facto (Rabbis Yitzhak Schmelkes, Mordechai Breisch, Moshe Feinstein).[13]

            There also is debate over the meaning of conversion “for the sake of heaven”: (1) As long as there is no tangible benefit for the convert, a conversion can be considered to be for the sake of heaven. Therefore, an intermarried couple that approaches a Bet Din so that the non-Jewish partner can convert is accepted, since they already are living as a married couple. (2) Some concede that such conversions are less than ideal, but it remains good policy for the Bet Din to accept such converts to avoid the greater evils of intermarriage, mixed-religion households, and to keep the children of intermarriages closer to the Torah. (3) Conversion for the sake of Heaven requires a full and sincere commitment to God, the Torah, and mitzvah observance.[14]

            There is a fundamental debate regarding the obligation of a Bet Din toward sinners: If the more lenient positions are a compromise with pure halakhah (which they may not be, as we have seen), is it the obligation of the Bet Din to bend the rules to accept the lesser of two evils, or does the Bet Din have no obligation to compromise?

            Intertwined with the purely halakhic debates is a disagreement over the best public policy. Granting that there are strong halakhic opinions on both sides of this debate, what policy best serves the Jewish people? Do hundreds of thousands of people of Jewish stock from the former Soviet Union living in Israel who fight in the Israeli armed forces and marry other born Jews; or the countless couples who either are intermarried or will intermarry, and the children of intermarriages, require the Bet Din to be proactive and as inclusive as possible? Or is it preferable for a Bet Din to be as restrictive as possible toward those who do not fully adopt the ideal beliefs and observant lifestyle of the Torah?

            To summarize, the permissive side has two dimensions: (1) The classical halakhic sources support the permissive side. (2) The classical halakhic sources may not fully support the permissive side at the level of ideal halakhah, but we live in an age where halakhic compromise is preferable to the greater problems that arise by not performing the conversions. The restrictive side, in contrast, insists that the classical halakhic sources do not support the permissive side, and that a Bet Din should not bend any rules to help sinners.

Tragic Recent Development: The Possibility of Annulling a Conversion

Toward the end of the twentieth century, a radical new development took place, as several rabbis began to insist that a conversion can be revoked at any time if the convert demonstrates a lack of halakhic observance.[15] This innovative ruling led to a series of truly dreadful events. In 2006, then Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel Shlomo Amar declared that he rejected most Orthodox conversions from abroad. In 2008, Rabbi Avraham Sherman of Israel’s Rabbinical High Court cast doubt on thousands of conversions performed by Rabbi Haim Drukman, who had been the head of the State Conversion Authority in Israel. He also declared Rabbi Drukman to be invalid to serve as a rabbinical judge since Rabbi Drukman disagreed with what Rabbi Sherman maintained was the accepted position in halakhah. In 2009, then Ashkenazic Chief Rabbi of Israel Yona Metzger supported Rabbi Sherman, and insisted that Israel’s Chief Rabbinate has the power to annul any conversion.[16]

The besmirching of the good names of righteous judges who performed the conversions, and the horrific anguish brought upon halakhic converts and their children who are fully and irrevocably Jewish, are absolutely unacceptable. The Talmud debates whether one who oppresses the convert violates 3, 36, or 46 Torah laws (Bava Metzia 59b). Rabbi Yosef Zvi Rimon condemns Rabbi Sherman’s sinful conduct of disqualifying Rabbi Drukman and his court:

Rabbi Haim Drukman is a God-fearing and righteous man. Disagreeing with his judgment is one thing; disqualifying him from being a judge—or even a good Jew, since conversion overseen by three observant Jews is valid—is intolerable. Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein…intimated that Rabbi Sherman’s comments about Rabbi Drukman is a transgression of Torah prohibitions relating to bein adam l’haveiro [interpersonal relationships], which disqualifies him from testifying or serving as a dayan [rabbinical judge].[17]

Returning to the genuine principled debate, rabbis who insist on the restrictive position recognize that many leading halakhists maintain positions against their own.[18] Therefore, they should grant legitimacy post-facto to conversions performed by Orthodox Batei Din who follow the permissive opinions. All converts need to know that once they convert through an Orthodox Bet Din, they are irreversibly Jewish and nobody ever can take that Jewishness away from them or from their children.[19]

The religious establishment is obligated to address cases of intermarriage, children of intermarriages, and people of Jewish ancestry. While halakhists must determine the proper halakhic ruling and policy, it is clear that both sides have great halakhic decisors and strong arguments to support them. The key to Jewish unity, then, is for Batei Din to recognize the rulings of others who follow different halakhic opinions, even when they vigorously disagree with their positions.

            There are fewer people more courageous and beloved than adult converts, who enter under the wings of the Shekhinah, transforming their identity, and identifying with the Jewish people.[20]

            One Midrash states this point beautifully:

God greatly loves the proselytes. To what may this be compared? To a king who had a flock [of sheep and goats].... Once, a deer came in with the flock. He associated with the goats and grazed with them…. The king was told: “A certain deer has joined the flock, and is grazing with them every day.” The king loved him. When he went out into the field, the king gave orders: “Let him have good pasture as he likes; no man shall beat him; take care of him!”… They said to him: “Master! You have so many rams, so many sheep, so many kids—and you say nothing to us about them; but with regard to this deer you instruct us every day!” The king said to them: “The sheep, whether they want to or not, such is their way: to graze in the field all day…. The deer sleep in the desert, and it is not their way to enter into human settlements. Should we not be grateful to this one, who abandoned all the great wide desert where all the animals live, and came to be in our yard?” Similarly, should we not be grateful to the proselyte, who abandoned his family and father’s home and left his people and all peoples of the world, and came to be with us? (Numbers Rabbah 8:2)

In her landmark book, The Feminine Mystique, Betty Friedan asserted that “American women no longer know who they are. They are sorely in need of a new image to help them find their identity.” Originally published in 1963, her book became a rallying cry for the feminist movement. Friedan lamented the fact that women were expected (and expected themselves) to model themselves after the stereotypical image of mother and home-maker; that their self-image was vastly influenced by images of women in glossy magazines and the movies.

Friedan argued that woman needed to become equal partners in society—socially, politically and economically. “There is only one way for women to reach full human potential—by participating in the mainstream of society, by exercising their own voice in all the decisions shaping that society. For women to have full identity and freedom, they must have economic independence….Equality and human dignity are not possible for women if they are not able to earn.”

The Feminine Mystique played an important role in triggering a re-evaluation of the role of women in society. The feminist movement has achieved monumental changes since 1963. When the book was reprinted in the 1990s, Friedan wrote an epilogue in which she rejoiced over past progress, and foresaw an era of true equality. “We may now begin to glimpse the new human possibilities when women and men are finally free to be themselves, know each other for who they really are, and define the terms and measures of success, failure, joy, triumph, power, and the common good, together” (from her epilogue, written April 1997).

Friedan’s hopes are reminiscent of Martin Buber’s philosophy of “I and Thou.” Ideally, people should relate to each other as full, dignified human beings. Relationships between an I and a Thou are characterized by respect, sympathy, sensitivity. When relationships operate on an I-It level, the “It” is reduced to an object, someone whose full humanity is not encountered.

When it comes to relationships between men and women, things can become complicated. Regardless of the ideals of human equality and mutual respect, we also have to deal with the reality of sexuality. Human beings are not pure spiritual beings; physical appearance and sexual drives must be taken into account.

Some communities/societies attempt to curtail male/female relationships so as to avoid sexual improprieties and abuses. The most extreme example of this is in Muslim societies where women are expected to stay out of the public domain to the extent possible, and only to appear in public while totally covered from head to toe, including the face (except for the eyes). Less extreme examples can be found in other communities—including the so-called ultra-Orthodox Jewish community—where women are restricted to wearing clothing deemed to be modest by their rabbinic leaders and are limited in their social interactions with men. The goal is not to foster equal and dignified relationships between men and women, but to keep the genders as separated as possible for fear of falling into temptation and sin.

On the other extreme are societies that foster sexual promiscuity, where women and men interact according to their own feelings rather than by norms of religious modesty. While such societies ostensibly foster equality between men and women, the ubiquitous sexual component can tend to foster relationships of the I-It mode, rather than the I-Thou ideal. Since the bars of religious or cultural morality have been dropped, men and women may see each other as potential objects of sexual pleasure rather than as dignified human beings.

Betty Friedan believed that our society was beginning “to glimpse the new human possibilities when women and men are finally free to be themselves, know each other for who they really are.”  But is this really so? With all the permissiveness and freedom in our society, have relationships between men and women actually become I-Thou?

Although it is argued (correctly) that women should be viewed as human beings rather than as objects, in fact much of our popular culture promotes women as objects of sexual attraction. Female models, movie stars, and television personalities often are dressed in highly provocative clothing. Even women reporters on local television news programs wear sleeveless, or low-neckline, or overly tight clothing. Whether they are required to dress in this fashion, or whether they do so on their own, the fact is that women present themselves in immodest dress (or undress!).  The goal—stated or unstated—seems to be: I need to be sexually attractive.

Popular women’s fashions promote the view of women as objects. Women’s clothing is often too revealing or too tightly fit to be classified as modest. Why do women wear such clothes? Why do designers keep designing such clothes, unless there is a market for them?

For men and women to operate on an I-Thou basis rather than an I-It basis, we need to avoid the extremes of prudery and promiscuity. We need to focus on the nature of modesty--tseniut.

Tseniut is not simply a system of prevention from sin. Rather, it encompasses a positive philosophy relating to the nature of human beings. While acknowledging the power of human sexuality, tseniut teaches that human beings are more than mere sexual beings.  By insisting on modest dress and behavior, tseniut promotes a framework for human relationships that transcends the physical/sexual aspects.

Non-tseniut behavior signals a person’s desire to be seen as an object of sexual attraction. When people dress provocatively, what they are communicating is: notice me, I crave your attention, please don’t ignore me. Underlying this non-vocalized plea is the feeling that one will not be noticed unless prepared to become an object of attention or unless one conforms to the prevailing fashions, even if those fashions violate one’s sense of decency and propriety.

It is normal and natural for people to want to appear pleasing to others. That is why they spend so much time and money on clothing and grooming. Dressing nicely, neatly, and modestly is a sign of self-respect as well as respect for others. If, though, one specifically dresses or behaves in a manner that is aimed at arousing sexual attention, this crosses into the non-tseniut mode. One has chosen to be an It rather than a Thou.

Human beings all have feelings of insecurity; we need to be needed, appreciated, and loved. Although these tendencies are often exacerbated in teenagers, they continue to exist throughout adult life. Exhibitionism is a short-cut to gaining the attention—and hopefully the affection—of others. Yet, underneath the veneer of showiness is a layer of essential insecurity, loneliness, and dissatisfaction with self. Exhibitionism may gain the attention of others, but it does not gain their respect and love.

Tseniut should be understood as a framework for maintaining our human dignity. It teaches us to treat ourselves and others as valuable human beings, not as objects. Non-tseniut behavior and dress serve to diminish our full humanity, reducing us to the level of objects of sexuality. Tseniut is a manifestation of holiness. Exhibitionism is a manifestation of crudeness and feelings of insecurity.

Genuine modesty avoids the extremes of prudery or promiscuity. It fosters self-respect and respect for others. In a real sense, tseniut is not “old fashioned;” it is the avant garde of those who wish to live as dignified human beings.

(For a fuller discussion of tseniut, please see my article, “A Modesty Proposal: Rethinking Tseniut,” on the website of jewishideas.org   The direct link is: https://www.jewishideas.org/article/modesty-proposal-rethinking-tseniut)

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Bemidbar

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

“And the Lord spoke unto Moses in the wilderness of Sinai, in the tent of meeting, on the first day of the second month, in the second year after they came out of the land of Egypt…” (Bemidbar 1:1).

The Torah refers often to the “tent of meeting” (ohel mo’ed) as the place where God communicates with Moses. But where exactly was this tent located?

It seems that the ohel mo’ed was another name for the mishkan—the sanctuary that was constructed in the center of the Israelite encampments while in the wilderness. The Torah goes to great length describing the exact measurements and materials in the construction of the mishkan. It specifies the clothing that the cohanim must wear, and the details of what kind of offerings are to be sacrificed. The ohel mo’ed/mishkan was the physical and spiritual center of the Israelites.

But Shemot 33:7, in a scene prior to the construction of the mishkan, informs us that Moses took the tent and pitched it outside the camp, “far off from the camp; and he called it the tent of meeting, that was outside the camp.”

Commentators and scholars offer various suggestions attempting to understand these two frameworks for the ohel mo’ed—one at the center of the camp and one outside the camp.  Perhaps the Torah is teaching us something essential about the proper functioning of religious life…and of civilization in general.

The ohel mo’ed at the center of the camp represents orderliness, organizational integrity, ritual propriety. All the tribes of Israel were arranged around the ohel mo’ed. This reminded the Israelites that their physical and spiritual core was God-centered. The ohel mo’ed symbolized a structured pattern of religious and communal life.

The ohel mo’ed outside the camp was a counter-force. If the tent at the center of the camp represented orderliness and organization, the tent outside the camp represented an unpredictable source of divine truth. It was a challenge and corrective to the central tent. Yes, religion and civilization require a structured central framework…but they also need an outside voice that doesn’t allow them to become complacent. Orderliness and ritual—while vital to society’s wellbeing—cannot be allowed to become stultified. An outside prophetic voice must constantly inject new insights and new approaches; it must inspire the central tent to stay alive and receptive to the needs of the people. Spiritual friction—while not always welcome or appreciated—is vital to the overall wellbeing of society.

In his novel, The Lost World, Michael Crichton offers a wise observation. “Complex systems tend to locate themselves at a place we call ‘the edge of chaos.’ We imagine the edge of chaos as a place where there is enough innovation to keep a living system vibrant, and enough stability to keep it from collapsing into anarchy….Too much change is as destructive as too little. Only at the edge of chaos can complex systems flourish.”

The two tents of meeting were, in a sense, keeping the community at the “edge of chaos,” a spiritual condition that required balancing stability and innovation, orderliness and spontaneity. “Organized religion” provides vital structure. But the voice from outside the camp prods innovation, creativity, re-evaluation. It challenges stagnation.

We need a strong and stable spiritual center. And we also need prophetic voices from outside the camp. The “edge of chaos” keeps religion alive and awake. It is challenging to stay on balance…but very dangerous to slip off the edge into chaos.

It has been two years since the groundbreaking Abraham Accords have been signed. The UAE, Kosovo, Bahrain, Morocco and Sudan now have full and open diplomatic and economic ties thanks to this achievement of international relations. As Israel celebrates her 75^th birthday, it is a great moment to reflect upon the diplomatic accomplishment for the Jewish State and wider region.

As time passes it is incumbent for educators to celebrate this watershed mark in Israel’s story as it turns the page in the 21^st century. Tangible, pragmatic lessons can be gleaned from the success of the accords and should be cited by educators, parents and the wider community. The Abraham Accords are named for our common forefather Abraham and captures the essence of Israel being a blessing to the world that should be discussed explicitly and openly.

The forefather Abraham is specifically invoked in the title of these agreements as the common ancestor of the parties involved. The text of the UAE- Israel Treaty states this point unambiguously:

Recognizing that the Arab and Jewish peoples are descendants of a common ancestor, Abraham, and inspired, in that spirit, to foster in the Middle East a reality in which Muslims, Jews, Christians and peoples of all faiths, denominations, beliefs and nationalities live in, and are committed to, a spirit of coexistence, mutual understanding and mutual respect;

This commonality for all people in the Middle East; Jewish, Christian and Muslem underscores the ideas of harmony and mutual purpose. Rather than focus on difference and points of contention, the framework of the Abraham Accords is a new chapter focused on shared values and united aspirations.

Israel’s detractors do not shy away from any chance to point to the State of Israel’s faults and make sweeping generalizations and mischaracterizations in the most vicious terms. As an educator on an American campus, I find it critical to encourage Jewish and non- Jewish students to celebrate and be proud of Israel and the Abraham Accords. As parents, educators and general supporters of Israel, we should take the opportunity to discuss Israel’s achievements as a blessing to the world.

Background

Many organizations and observers were skeptical at first, but the Accords have proven to be quite popular and resilient. Whereas some predicted imminent catastrophe and discontent among Palestinians, it would seem that the reality is the opposite and the only effects have been positive. Furthermore, the Accords have proved resilient in surviving both the American Administration of President Donald Trump and the Premiership of Bibi Netanyahu.

We often hear the story of Zionism described through a framework of armed conflict. The accords open possibility for a new narrative. For youths, especially those living in the West, security concerns and historical antecedents of 21^st century Israel are abstract. Indeed, the ancient Prophets of Israel imagined Israel as a “light onto nations” while modern visionaries of Zionism, such as Theodore Herzl imagined Israel as an idealistic country where armies would not be necessary.

While Herzl’s utopian vision of an ideal Israel bringing prosperity to the region has in the past been difficult to conceive, there is now hope that a better future is possible. It would seem, that the Abraham Accords represent a new development in diplomatic achievement for both Israel and her neighbors with each country advancing. Evidence of this success is expressed almost daily in news of economic cooperation, healthy political relations and overall prosperity to all parties involved. In other words, the narrative for Israel’s neighbors is less about security and conflict more about cooperation and stability.

It is to the credit of the trailblazing efforts of a small group of ambitious negotiators on all sides that this diplomatic turning point was accomplished. Led by former US Secretary of State Mike Pompeo, Special Envoy Jason Greenblatt, senior advisor Jared Kushner, Ambassador David Friedman and a small cadre of others proved so many accepted dogmas to be false in the Middle East and created a new and objectively better reality for the region. Equally remarkable are the coalition of Arab and Israeli leaders who chose to engage and shatter decades long taboos, by realizing the potential of breaking away from outdated stigmas.

The full story of the Abraham Accords is available through the published memoirs of some of the aforementioned negotiators and strongly recommended for those looking to seek fuller appreciation of this story. Without delving into the elaborate and fascinating details of statesmanship that went into these Accords, below are four reflection points to consider upon Israel’s 75^th anniversary which are underscored by the Abraham Accords.

1. Israel’s next phase

The Abraham Accords represents the first treaty signed with Muslim countries that were unrelated to military engagements. In other words, Israel is now in a new phase of relations that is based on mutual values and aspirations.

Early diplomatic achievements and relationships with Israel’s neighbors were predicated on the use of force and ability to defend herself. For example the 9 month long Independence War of 1948 was concluded through a series of diplomatic agreements that brought the war to a close by forcing a realization that the Jewish People could not be eliminated. Similar patters emerge in subsequent wars and can be reviewed in the summary chart below.

Figure 1 below summarizes, that while Israel’s adversaries did not officially recognize the Jewish State, armed confrontation forced the Arab States into negotiated covenants. This older group of diplomatic agreements with Syria (1974), Egypt (1979), and Lebanon (1983) are important achievements from an earlier part of Israel’s history. This first phase of peace agreements were precarious at best and were mostly based upon security concerns for all parties. Following the assassination of Anwar Sadat in1981 and the ejection of Lebanon from the Arab League in 1983 for negotiating with Israel, it would seem that all progress with the wider Arab World would only occur through military resolution.

Figure1. Israel’s First Phase Treaties

This status quo changed in 1994 with the Israel- Jordan treaty. Unlike the former agreements, where diplomatic achievement only occurred in the wake of a confrontation, Jordan and Israel had not been in military conflict since the Six Day War. As it turned out, Israel and Jordan had a lot of common interests. Economic benefits, the sharing of resources and the prosperity of each country’s respective citizens were the primary objectives that led to a new type of agreement not predicated on armed conflict. 

The Abraham Accords is the next step in this new phase which has been dubbed the “new order” of the Middle East. As the Moroccan Foreign Minister observed:

There is a need for a new regional order where Israel is a stakeholder and no longer an outsider in its own region. This new regional order should not be perceived as against someone, but rather to benefit us all. Also, this new regional order should be based on an updated joint assessment of threats, but also on how to generate opportunities that favor stability and development forward.[1]

The Abraham Accords is the next chapter of Israel’s history in which the Jewish State plays a positive regional role in the Middle East with her neighbors. It is as the US state department succinctly puts it: “friendly relations based on shared interests and a shared commitment to a better future.”[2]

2. Pragmatic Diplomacy

Today’s college students in Israel, the Arab World and the United States were born after the 2000 Camp David summit. Yasser Arafat was dead before they were in Kindergarten. This new generation does not have the privilege to meet the pioneering generation that built Israel, but also is not burdened or shoehorned to diplomatic dogmas of the previous generation. The Abraham Accords is an opportunity to have an Israel conversation that breaks away from a generation of failed Oslo policy in favor of a more pragmatic approach.

The more than 25 year lapse between the Jordan Peace treaties in 1994 and the Abraham Accords is cause for reflection. The time gap represents a generation of stalemate and quagmire of little hope and resolution that has impacted Israel negatively.

The preoccupation and aspirational hopes of an elusive peace Initiated by the Oslo Accords (1993-1995) is a critical factor. The powerful idea of Oslo, while based in praiseworthy aspirations led diplomats to reflexively ignore the wider opportunities of engaging with willing counterparties. Like so many other idealistic goals, the means to an unrealistic end produced a worse off reality than the original status quo. 

While at an earlier time, an achievable peace through the Oslo accords may have been possible, the violent, selfish and illogical rejection by Palestinian leadership of all overtures should have made clear that goal would remain intangible and required a re-assessment of a difficult situation. The Israel Ministry of Foreign Affairs counts the following major acts of terror that were committed in the short time between the initial Oslo signing and before the tragic Yitzhak Rabin’s assassination[3]:

1. Apr 6, 1994 - Eight people were killed in a car-bomb attack on a bus in the center of Afula. Hamas claimed responsibility for the attack.
2. Apr 13, 1994 - Five people were killed in a suicide bombing attack on a bus in the central bus station of Hadera. Hamas claimed responsibility for the attack.
3. Oct 19, 1994 - In a suicide bombing attack on the No. 5 bus on Dizengoff Street in Tel-Aviv, 21 Israelis and one Dutch national were killed.
4. Nov 11, 1994 - Three soldiers were killed at the Netzarim junction in the Gaza Strip when a Palestinian riding a bicycle detonated explosives strapped to his body. Islamic Jihad said it carried out the attack to avenge the car bomb killing of Islamic Jihad leader Hani Abed on Nov 2.
5. Jan 22, 1995 - Two consecutive bombs exploded at the Beit Lid junction near Netanya, killing 20 soldiers and one civilian. The Islamic Jihad claimed responsibility for the attack.
6. Apr 9, 1995 - Seven Israelis and one American were killed when a bus was hit by an explosives-laden van near Kfar Darom in the Gaza Strip. The Islamic Jihad claimed responsibility for the attack.
7. Jul 24, 1995 - Six civilians were killed in a suicide bomb attack on a bus in Ramat Gan.
8. Aug 21, 1995 - Three Israelis and one American were killed in a suicide bombing of a Jerusalem bus.

Six out of eight of these major attacks were perpetrated against civilians, not to mention countless other attacks in which civilians were only injured and not killed. Towards the end of his life, even Ytizhak Rabin acknowledged that his original grand vision for a Palestinian “State” should be downgraded to an “entity”.  The Palestinians, he believed, would have “less than a state,” and Israel would have to preserve security control over the Jordan Valley “in the broadest meaning of that term”[4].

The ongoing campaigns against Israeli civilians led many early supporters to be reluctant of initial support of the Oslo framework. Pedagogical hate spewed wholesale in Palestinian schools coupled with rejection of even the most generous overtures such as the Camp David Accords in 2000 and the unilateral 2005 Gaza pullout left little incentive for progress on either side.  The continued belief in the ideal at Oslo became increasingly abstract. This is what former Ambassador Ron Dermer called on multiple occasions the “two State illusion”.

The small group of negotiating parties on all sides of the Abraham Accords recognized the pragmatism of working together. The UAE ambassador for example goes on record saying “…understanding that countries can have very fruitful and forward-looking relations but can disagree on issues and need to work the disagreements together. It can’t be just zero-sum games but it has to be positive as we move forward.” Indeed each party had more to gain from cooperating and acting in their respective citizens own interests, rather than holding old grudges.

Small incremental victories are preferable to overarching and intangible goals. Surely there are average Palestinians that want a better life for their families through cooperation with Israel and her citizens before any “final status” is reached. Many sovereign Arab leaders recognize the common destiny of the region and choose to embark on a new chapter in which Israel is an active player.

3. Creative Thinking

Former US ambassador to Israel David Friedman’s memoir of the Abraham accords is titled “Sledgehammer: How Breaking with the Past Brought Peace to the Middle East”. The title recalls that the Accords only came to fruition from a decisive departure from the established narrative and status quo.

The Abraham accord was initiated by creative and daring establishment outsiders that had the audacity to challenge the dream of Oslo and come up with something better. The Status quo conventions and talking points were hardened into a political correctness at the expense of pragmatic possibility for over twenty five years. The “two state solution” of peace was repeated while seldom explaining how that step would achieve peace even in the face of decades of failure and bloodshed.

Breaking the inertia of the establishment created the Abraham Accords. It was only “outsiders” that could have created these important developments through fresh pragmatisms without the liability of previous statements, ideas and hypocrisies.

While the expert establishment insisted that all Palestinian issues must be solved before any progress is made, The Arab World actually believes the opposite. Upon the one year anniversary of the accords the UAE Foreign Minister Anwar Gargash stated officially in a  conference with Israel organized by the United States that:

Politically, also, we feel that the Abrahamic Accords will allow us to help and assist further in the peace process, leading to what we all see as the ultimate goal of a two-state solution. This, of course, will be up to the Palestinians and Israelis to agree. But I think we can all be more constructive as we build a network of trust, and that network of trust I think will allow us to put away a lot of the fears of the past and replace it by the hopes for the future.

In other words, the UAE believes – in stark contrast to many established organizations and policy experts, that the Accords accelerated the peace process. Dialogue, relationships and trust increase mutual understanding which only helps peace.

These accords prove that we can all make a difference. Informed, conscientious stakeholders have the ability and right to make a change. The expert class does have insight and experience, but also more inertia and less creativity and willingness to try new avenues of success. We would be doing ourselves a favor to engage with Israel and voice our concerns in a meaningful way.  No matter who you are, a good idea has currency and the ability to make a difference. Through hard work amazing result are possible and we can all contribute to that great success.

4. Regional Prosperity

Are The Accords the beginning of the end of the BDS movement? It is ironic that it was in Sudan, now a partner in the Abraham Accords, which the Arab League declared in the aftermath of the Six Day War: “No Peace with Israel, no recognition of Israel and no negations with Israel.” Lebanon was formally ejected from the Arab League in 1983 for negotiating with Israel.  For decades no progress was made. Jordan, Egypt, UAE, Bahrain, Kosovo, Morocco and Sudan have now all reversed course and made a decision to improve the lives of their respective citizens by allowing them to trade freely with a willing partner.

 Instead of boycotting and marginalizing the Jewish State, the accords explicitly pronounce the opposite as something to strive for. In the Declarations section of the official Accord documents the following is recounted regarding cooperation and Dialogue:

We believe that the best way to address challenges is through cooperation and dialogue and that developing friendly relations among States advances the interests of lasting peace in the Middle East and around the world.[5]

The Arab League’s long running embargo against the Jewish State predated the founding of the county. The old idea that parties could be coerced by unilateral hostile actors through boycotts and embargos, has been rejected by the Arab World. The Abraham Accords find Israel freely trading with her neighbors, where all involved prosper. The optimism can be encapsulated by UAE minister of Economy Abdulla bin Touq Al Marri who projects “$1 trillion dollars of economic activity over the next decade," between his country and Israel.[6]

 Many critics abounded at the outset of the Abraham Accords. Among experts it was considered ludicrous to focus on other Arabs States before “solving” the Palestinian problem. In fact the Arab and Palestinian conflicts were so closely associated that the two were often conflated into a single cause or used interchangeably.  Hardened ideology linking the Palestinian Peace Process to the rest of the Arab Nations and wider regional concerns proved false.

Secretary of State Anthony Blinken remarked the following in closing statements during a conference with Israel and her new allies:

“Abraham, in our Bible, had the temerity to engage God, to argue with God, to ask why, and maybe more important, to ask why not. And I think each of you and each of your countries asked, “Why not?” And the answer now we see before us with the accords, with normalization, and with the manifest benefits that it’s bringing to people not just in the countries concerned, but I think increasingly more broadly.[7]

The answer in the past to Mr. Blinken’s rhetorical question “why not” was the long standing policy by experts which interlinked the Arab and Palestinian problem as one issue. It proves that aside from uninformed college students and radical leftist peace groups, even the Arab World now embraces Israel.

The Abraham Accords remind us that the Middle East reality is complex. Solving conflicts requires nuance, and the ability to separate problems and deal with them individually. There is no magic solution to a myriad of difficult problems. Trying to find a singular solution or coercing one party and expecting positive outcomes is relegated to the imagination. The Abraham Accord separated two long standing problems and dealt with each individually: The Arab- Israel conflict and the separate Palestinian issue.

By separating the two issues and viewing each as independent, diplomats found room to negotiate. This development is an incremental yet crucial step towards achieving wider goals. Pragmatically dealing with problems as solutions and ideas present themselves is a recipe for success that has increased opportunity and prosperity for all parties.

Discussion

The Israelite Prophets Isaiah and Micah famous vision of “beating swords into ploughshares “is spread across the walls of the General Assembly hall in the United Nations Headquarters. The universal hope of a better tomorrow in which foe becomes friend finds no truer expression than the Abraham Accords. As Zionists and lovers of Israel, we should celebrate this monumental achievement.

In the Western World, we have been blessed with stability, peace and prosperity. Other developing nations such as Israel and her neighbors are building towards a better future. In light of the Russian war with Ukraine and Iranian aggression, we are reminded once more about the horrors of war and armed conflict. The Ukraine Jewish refugee crisis prompts us once again of Israel’s primary role as a haven and protector as the one and only Jewish state. We ought not to forget how fragile a peaceful future is.

While the peaceful vision of the Biblical Prophets are essential Jewish values, these peaceful visions should not be confused with the irrelevancy of security in a pre-messianic and imperfect world. In Israel’s chronology, maintaining security has proved essential in order to guarantee the safety of her citizens. Security allows countries and their leaders to perform their principal obligation to ethically protect the lives, rights and property of citizens and should not be confused with the utopian ideals of a world peace and universal fraternity among men.

The covenant of the citizens of Israel is first and foremost the security of her citizens and second of worldwide Jewry. Consideration of other sorts as noble as they might be are tertiary to the safety and survival of the Jewish People. Eloquently commenting on the balance between security and peace Martin Luther King declared at the Rabbinic Assembly on March 25^th 1968[8]:

Peace for Israel means security, and we must stand with all of our might to protect its right to exist, its territorial integrity. I see Israel, and never mind saying it, as one of the great outposts of democracy in the world, and a marvelous example of what can be done, how desert land almost can be transformed into an oasis of brotherhood and democracy. Peace for Israel means security and that security must be a reality.

Israel the country- a beacon of personal freedom, morality and biblical values can only exist if Israel’s people can survive. George Washington is credited as saying that “To be prepared for War is one of the most effectual means of preserving peace.” That is, that power is a necessary tool in statecraft, and in our context one that Israel has had to maintain to promote peace.

The audacious players that pulled this agreement together should be celebrated for their courage and creativity. The results have been a new narrative and better reality in the Middle East where daily non- stop flights and constant announcements of economic agreements have created prosperity for each respective country’s citizens.  Where others would not dare venture, these individuals risked, persevered and succeeded.

The Abraham Accords therefore is another pragmatic step towards a long lasting peace that should be celebrated universally. Unlike earlier treaties that contained an element of military capability, these accords focus on the aligning incentives and purpose. A strong and prosperous Israel has much to offer counterparties willing to negotiate with her. It demonstrates a shift in the Arab World’s approach to Israel based on pragmatic considerations. This new phase in the Middle East examines what Israel and her neighbors have in common instead of how they are different.

This new narrative is now the counter-point to the college campus narrative of Israel. Where the latter finds anger, negativity and hate the Accords tell a story of progress, hope and prosperity. This new narrative of the Middle East embodies an Israel embraced by her Arab and Muslim neighbors working in partnership for a better future in the region and ultimately the world.

 There is a comedic paradox in all of this. Where Israel was the scorn of the vanguard intelligentsia of recent years, it is Israel who has proven most progressive. Where Israel is portrayed as a warmonger; Israel chose peace. Where political science experts and diplomatic professors thought impossible, Israel made possible for all. Where convention preached fatalism, Israel exemplified action and possibility.

The new Middle East narrative encapsulates a larger lesson of the Abrahamic values of self- determination and freedom. Delegitimizing Israel and by extension America and her Biblical values for the sins of an imperfect past is to throw the proverbial baby out with the bathwater. We can focus our attention on the shortcomings in our governments, communities, personal lives and turn to the darkness of nihilism and embrace a fate of failure with no escape. The Bible rejects fate, and believes in the ability to attain a better tomorrow. Celebrating success, breeds further optimism and confidence in creating that better future. 

Conclusion

Israel’s success has once again proven an inspiration to all who those who dare to dream. The Abraham Accords demonstrates the possibility of working together with our neighbors and achieving a once unthinkable mutual exchange of “peace for peace”. In so doing, the daring, pragmatic, creatives of the Accords have provided leadership and hope for humanity during troubled times. When darkness and despair cloud possibility, Israel and her neighbors have integrated in unexpected ways. The fact that these efforts were initiated by fresh and creative thinkers demonstrate the impact that we can all have to effect big changes on the eve of Israel’s 75^th Birthday. In signifying success amidst despair, Israel has provided hope by being “a light onto nations” and embodies the Prophecies of being a “blessing to the inhabitants of the world”. 

Angel for Shabbat--Aharei Mot/Kedoshim

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Book Review

Shabuot: Insights from the Past, Present, and Future (The Habura, 2023)

By Rabbi Hayyim Angel

          The Habura (www.TheHabura.com) has become a veritable force for high-quality Torah learning since their inception in 2020. Rabbis, scholars, and students learn and teach, primarily over Zoom. The Habura now has published its third holiday companion, in time for Shavuot.

          The Habura promotes the inclusion of Sephardic voices and ideas in Jewish discourse, coupled with an openness to the broad wisdom of the Jewish people and the world. In this regard, their work and values strongly dovetail ours at the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

          Their Shavuot volume contains an array of eighteen essays. The first two are by Sephardic visionaries of the 19^th and 20^th centuries, Rabbis Abraham Pereira Mendes (1825-1893, Jamaica, England, and the United States) and Ben Zion Uziel (1880-1953, first Sephardic Chief Rabbi of the State of Israel). The rest of the book is divided between contemporary rabbis and scholars, and younger scholars who participate in the learning of The Habura.

          The essays span a variety of topics pertaining to Shavuot in the areas of Jewish thought, faith, halakha, and custom. As in my reviews of their companion volumes for Sukkot and Pesah (see https://www.jewishideas.org/article/book-review-sukkot-companion-habura; https://www.jewishideas.org/article/book-review-haburas-passover-volume), I will summarize a few of the essays I personally found most enlightening.

          Rabbanit Dr. Devorah Halevy explores the fundamental differences in curriculum between the classical Ashkenazic and Sephardic models. Although the true obligation for a religious education lies with a child’s parents, most contemporary parents outsource that religious education to institutions. These institutions must be . equipped with the wisdom from the Sephardic world to enhance their impact on students.

          Rabbanit Halevy characterizes the classical Ashkenazic curriculum as being fairly insular, focused primarily on Talmud and theoretical halakha, and far less on Tanakh, Jewish Thought, or general wisdom. In contrast, she characterizes the classical Sephardic curriculum as being broader, encompassing a fuller knowledge of all Jewish areas, and also general wisdom. There also is a greater emphasis on arriving at practical halakhic conclusions. Rabbanit Halevy therefore calls for the integration of the broader, Sephardic model into yeshiva education, insisting that contemporary Jewish students would find this mode of education far more compelling and inspiring.

          Although I fully agree with this vision of a broader curricular approach within Jewish education, it appears misleading to make a sweeping Sephardic vs. Ashkenazic generalization. Rabbi Benzion Uziel, who indeed championed a grand religious worldview, was alone within his own Sephardic Yeshivat Porat Yosef in Jerusalem. Most of his colleagues focused more narrowly on Talmud and halakha. When the Sephardic Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh (1823-1900, Leghorn) published his Bible commentary Em LaMikra, which incorporated archaeology and other contemporary disciplines into his analysis, other Sephardic rabbis in Jerusalem and Aleppo, Syria called for the commentary to be burned as heretical.

           Our conversation is more effective when we highlight those rabbis of all backgrounds who espoused grand religious worldviews, such as Rabbis Shimshon Raphael Hirsch, Avraham Yitzhak Kook, Joseph Soloveitchik, Benzion Uziel, and Haim David Halevi, to name a few. The Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals hails and promotes such figures as representing the very best of what Judaism offers.

          Freddie Grunsfeld returns to classical rabbinic sources to define the principle of following the majority rule in halakha. Basing himself on Rambam’s writings, it appears that the majority rule principle applies only when rabbis sit physically together and actually deliberate. Therefore, rulings of the Great Sanhedrin in Temple times, or local rabbinic courts, indeed follow the majority.

However, after the abolition of the Sanhedrin, there is no concept of majority rule for individual halakhic decisions. Each local rabbi or court must make decisions for local communities, rather than determining a greater consensus from various books of rabbis who lived centuries apart. If one is unsure, one should tilt more strictly for Torah law and more leniently for rabbinic law. The process has nothing to do with counting later published rulings and taking a virtual poll.

          In light of this analysis of the primary sources, it is surprising that Grunsfeld’s search of the halakhic literature on the Bar-Ilan Responsa Project turned up over 2000 references to rov posekim (the majority of decisors), demonstrating the ongoing popularity of the “majority” approach even after the Sanhedrin. Grunsfeld explains that this approach is inconsistent with the primary sources.

          Aside from the lack of basis for counting decisors in the classical sources, Grunsfeld observes the additional difficulties in such an approach: Who is to be included in this virtual poll? What about opinions of scholars whose rulings were never published? Without face-to-face interaction, one cannot apply the majority rule principle. Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef rules this way, as well (Yabia Omer 2:17). In short, local rabbis and courts must make decisions based on their halakhic understanding, and their decisions form the halakhic policy over their local communities.

          There are many other informative and thought-provoking essays in this volume. Rabbi Yoni Wieder explores the Second Temple controversy between the rabbis and sectarians on the proper date of Shavuot and the religious significance of the rabbinic position we adopt. Building off of the Hasidic master Rabbi Zadok HaKohen of Lublin, Rabbi Wieder highlights the central role of the Oral Law and the development of halakha on Shavuot. Rabbi Yitzhak Berdugo surveys rabbinic and Karaite responses to the biblical passages that suggest widespread ignorance of the Torah in the times of Josiah and Ezra and how that relates to our understanding of the continuity of our tradition. Sina Kahen focuses on the great revolution of the Torah against its ancient Near Eastern backdrop. These and so many other essays will give us food for thought for Shavuot, and for our ongoing religious growth and development beyond.

*****

          I have had the privilege to give five Zoom classes at The Habura, co-sponsored by the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. You may see them on our YouTube channel:

Understanding the Akedah: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5cxbQ9daWqY&t=11s

Understanding Biblical Miracles:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GUKbGmKJsB0&t=2s

Torah and Archaeology:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dN1XAtia_x0&t=57s

Torah and Literalism:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K__jp8V9sXY&t=25s

Torah and Superstition:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PD68xZ4J4M8&t=17s

We look forward to many other opportunities to partner in promoting our shared ideas and ideals.

  Elie Wiesel (1928-2016) won the Nobel Peace Prize in 1986. Actually, it was against all odds that he should have been alive, let alone become a powerful voice for world peace. When he was only fifteen years old, he—along with all the Jews in his town of Sighet—was rounded up by the Nazis and shipped to concentration camps where most of them were murdered. His mother and younger sister perished in the gas chambers of Auschwitz. His father died before war’s end. His two older sisters survived. The young Elie Wiesel—a religious, pious young man—was spiritually scarred for life by his traumatic experiences in the hell of Nazism’s death camps.

           After the war, he was sent to France, along with other orphans. He could not then find words to describe the Holocaust. The pain was too raw and too deep. He found work as a journalist. In the early 1950s he interviewed the Nobel Prize-winning French novelist François Mauriac, who encouraged Wiesel to write about the concentration camps and to bear witness for the millions whose lives were snuffed out by the Nazis and their collaborators. This led to Wiesel writing an extensive work in Yiddish, later edited down and published in French in 1958, and in English in 1960: The Night. That book was widely read and acclaimed; and Wiesel went on to write many more books, win many awards, teach many classes, give thousands of lectures.

           Upon moving to the United States in 1955, his career as writer and teacher flourished. He held professorial positions at the City University of New York, Yale University, and Boston University. He received numerous awards for his literary and human rights activities, including the Presidential Medal of Freedom, the United States Congressional Gold Medal and the Medal of Liberty Award. President Jimmy Carter appointed Wiesel chairman of the United State Holocaust Memorial Council in 1978. Shortly after receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, he and his wife established The Elie Wiesel Foundation for Humanity.

            Elie Wiesel, a survivor of a Nazi concentration camp, was not only to be a voice and a memorial for the murdered millions. His life’s mission was to serve as a conscience to the world, to remind humanity of the horrors of war and mass murder, to help humanity understand that there should never again be concentration camps, genocide, ruthless and merciless tyranny.

            Throughout his life, Elie Wiesel was a religiously observant Jew; but his faith in God—and humanity--was conflicted, sometimes angry; in spite of his grievances, though, he sought to remain optimistic.  “I belong to a generation that has often felt abandoned by God and betrayed by mankind. And yet, I believe that we must not give up on either…..There it is: I still believe in man in spite of man” (Open Heart, pp. 72, 73). 

            Wiesel’s approach found expression in his description of biblical Isaac, the son of Abraham who was brought to the mountain to be sacrificed to the Lord. At the last moment, an angel appeared to Abraham and commanded him not to put the knife to Isaac’s throat.  In Hebrew, the name Isaac (Yitzhak) means: he will laugh. Wiesel asked: “Why was the most tragic of our ancestors named Isaac, a name which evokes and signifies laughter?” And he provided his answer: “As the first survivor, he had to teach us, the future survivors of Jewish history, that it is possible to suffer and despair an entire lifetime and still not give up the art of laughter. Isaac, of course, never freed himself from the traumatizing scenes that violated his youth; the holocaust had marked him and continued to haunt him forever. Yet, he remained capable of laughter. And in spite of everything, he did laugh” (Messengers of God, p. 97).

            Wiesel’s religious worldview was strongly influenced by the Hassidic movement. He wrote much about Hassidic masters and drew heavily on their teachings. A central element of Hassidism was the role of the Rebbe, the rabbi and teacher, who was—and was expected to be—a tzaddik, a truly righteous person who was deemed to have great powers.

            The Hassidic movement began with Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov (1700-1760), born in a small town in the Ukraine. The Besht, as he came to be known, brought a message of hope to the poor and oppressed Jews. A man of humble origins, he taught that the less fortunate were beloved by God, “that every one of them existed in God’s memory, that every one of them played a part in his people’s destiny, each in his way and according to his means” (Souls on Fire, p. 25).  The simple, unlearned Jew could serve God through piety, joy, song, love of nature. What God required was a sincere and pious heart. When people criticized the Besht for associating with lowly individuals, he replied: “A small Tzaddik loves small sinners; it takes a great Tzaddik to love great sinners” (Somewhere a Master, p. 65). This was a basic principle of Hassidism: love for our fellow human beings must resemble God’s love; it reaches everyone, great and small.

            The Besht’s successor was Rabbi Dov Baer, the Maggid of Mezeritch. He drew hundreds of students and thousands of followers. To the more erudite, he taught the hidden truths of the faith. To the simple, he explained that their mere recital of the Sh’ma Yisrael prayer with proper devotion would make them worthy of redemption. The Maggid inspired loyalty. He was an excellent strategist and administrator and succeeded in spreading Hassidism throughout Eastern Europe. Although the Besht was the first leader of the Hassidic movement, it was Rabbi Dov Baer who established the role of the Hassidic Rebbe as a Tzaddik.  “As he saw it, the Tzaddik had to combine the virtues and gifts, as well as fulfill the roles and obligations, of saint, guide and sage. Spokesman for God in His dealings with man, intercessor for man in his dealings with God” (Souls on Fire., p. 66). An essential role of the Tzaddik was to encourage Hassidim never to consider themselves as being useless, abandoned, or neglected by the Almighty.

            As Hassidism grew and spread, new Rebbes emerged, each with his own distinctive style. The common denominator, though, was that each had to be a Tzaddik, a righteous person who could connect the people with God, and God with the people. Some Tzaddikim were ascetic and humble; others enjoyed a degree of luxury. Some were compassionate in the extreme, while others were more remote, less personally involved with the individual struggles of their followers. Some were expected to be wonder workers who could perform miracles; others were respected for their insistence on individual responsibility.

            Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev (1740-1809) was known for his unlimited love of each Jew, even the most sinful and ignorant among them. The notables of Berdichev chided him for associating with people of inferior rank. Rabbi Levi Yitzchak replied: “When the Messiah will come, God will arrange a feast in his honor, and all our patriarchs and kings, our prophets and sages will of course be invited. As for myself, I shall quietly make my way into one of the last rows and hope not to be noticed. If I am discovered anyway and asked what right I have to attend, I shall say: Please be merciful with me, for I have been merciful too” (Ibid., p. 99).

            A Tzaddik of a later generation, Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk (1787-1859), was known for the rigorous demands he made on himself and others. He sought no compromises with truth, no short cuts, no evasions. Wiesel describes him as “the angry saint, the divine rebel. Among the thousands of Hassidic leaders great and small, from the Baal Shem’s time to the Holocaust, he is undeniably the most disconcerting, mysterious figure of all. Also the most tragic” (Ibid., p. 231). The Kotzker always seemed to be yearning, to be reaching for something beyond. He once explained that the serpent in the Garden of Eden was punished and had to forever crawl in and eat the dust. It has been asked: why is eating dust a punishment? In fact, this makes it very easy for the serpent to eat without having to search for its sustenance. The Kotzer replied: “That is the worst punishment of all: never to be hungry, never to seek, never to desire anything” (Somewhere a Master, p. 101). The Kotzker spent the last years of his life as a melancholy recluse. Yet, his sharp wisdom and keen erudition made him a sainted figure among his followers, and one of the most quoted Hassidic Rebbes through modern times.

            Elie Wiesel was especially drawn to those Tzaddikim who were torn by internal conflict and doubts. Rabbi Pinhas of Koretz (1728-1791) taught that even if some questions are without answers, one must still ask them. Doubts are not necessarily destructive, if they bring one to a Rebbe. One must realize that others have gone through the same sorrow and endured the same anguish. “God is everywhere, even in pain, even in the search for faith” (Ibid., p. 12). 

            The Tzaddik invariably lives a double life. He must at once be a humble soul, aware of his limitations—and he must be a seemingly perfect person in the eyes of his followers. If he is too humble, he cannot gain their trust. If he thinks he indeed is perfect, then he is a deeply flawed human being. “A saint who knows that he is a saint—isn’t. Or more precisely, no longer is. A conscience that is too clear is suspect. To ever be clear, conscience must have overcome doubt. As Rebbe Nahman of Bratzlav put it: No heart is as whole as one that has been broken” (Ibid., p. 59).

            Elie Wiesel was drawn to Hassidic masters who were epitomes of religious faith and leadership…and who had their own questions, self-doubts, feelings of melancholy. In spite of personal internal struggles, the Tzaddik had to be available to his followers with a full and loving heart. “Just tell him that you need him and he will receive you. Tell him that you are suffering and he will be your companion. Tell him you need a presence and he will share your solitude without invading it. This may seem unusual today, but in those days many Hassidic Masters treated their followers in that way, with similar compassion” (Ibid., p. 142).

            Wiesel writes nostalgically, especially about the early Tzadikkim of Hassidism. But as the movement grew and expanded, it also lost some of the initial energy and idealism of its founders. Many different and competing groups emerged, each with its own Rebbe/Tzaddik.

To the outside observer, Hassidim appear to be cult-like groups blindly devoted to their charismatic Rebbes; they dress in distinctive garb, follow distinctive customs, and speak primarily in Yiddish rather than the language of the land. Yet, Hassidim are living testimony of the power of survival. Vast numbers of Hassidim perished during the Holocaust. Their communities in Europe were decimated. Yet, the survivors did not lose faith. They rebuilt communities in Israel, the United States and elsewhere; a new generation of Rebbes emerged, attracting thousands of adherents. Elie Wiesel’s emotional connection to Hassidism and Hassidim are an expression of his faith in humanity’s ability to overcome horrors…and survive with renewed vigor and optimism.

                                                *     *     *

          When it was announced in 1986 that Elie Wiesel won the Nobel Prize, many (including me) supposed it was the prize in literature. After all, he was a famous author of numerous highly acclaimed books. But the prize was not for literature, but for peace.

            Apparently the Nobel committee thought that his universal messages relating to peace were more important than his literary production. Some have felt that Wiesel’s writing is overly emotional, sometimes pretentious; it tries too hard to appear profound. While his books will be read for many years to come, his role as a conscience for humanity was deemed most significant.

                       In presenting the Nobel Peace Prize, Egil Aarvik, chair of the Nobel Committee, said this about Wiesel: “His mission is not to gain the world’s sympathy for victims or the survivors. His aim is to awaken our conscience. Our indifference to evil makes us partners in the crime. This is the reason for his attack on indifference and his insistence on measures aimed at preventing a new Holocaust. We know that the unimaginable has happened. What are we doing now to prevent its happening again?”

References

Conversations with Elie Wiesel, E. Wiesel and Richard D. Heffner, Schocken Books, New York, 2001.

Messengers of God, Simon and Schuster, New York, 1976.

Night, Bantam Books, New York, 1960.

Open Heart, Schocken Books, New York, 2012.

Somewhere a Master, Schocken Books, New York, 1982.

Souls on Fire, Random House, New York, 1972.